by Kate Pearce
Hadn’t Steinn already turned her away? As she prepared for the journey that early morning, she couldn’t help but smile thinking about yesterday when his dragon shoved him into a pile of shit. Probably served him right for treating her that way. They’d been friends for so long. What kind of friend couldn’t forgive another?
You had to choose the Women of the Frost over him, she told herself.
Many other things came to mind, but she pushed them away. Thinking about their relationship when heading into battle wasn’t wise. She checked over her staff for cracks or weak points. The wood was firm and would keep her safe until she reached the dragon keep. Checking a bag for supplies didn’t matter. She had hardly anything in her tiny pack. A few rations of dried meat from the sisters. Womanly necessities tucked into the pockets. The knife attached to her leg had far more value.
Dawn came swiftly and she ventured out to the dragon holding. Only red dragons remained. Not a single sign of Steinn. It was just as well. She’d be better off if he ran off with his unruly dragon and didn’t return. He’d be less of a distraction.
She approached Hrafn, who prepared his dragon for travel. As she took in the scaly creature, she wondered how it would support two riders.
Drifa greeted him first and then asked for a ride to Skarfanes.
“Not a problem, Lady,” he replied. “My dragon here is a fine mount capable of taking both of us.”
A laugh tickled the back of her throat, but she covered it with a cough. The term a ‘fine mount’ was a stretch. The beast had a wide belly with little arms jutting out. The dragon’s tiny head rested on the ground and it snored while its tail slithered from side to side. Children jumped over it, not in the least bit afraid of the overweight lizard.
“Did it eat someone before I got here?” she asked.
She meant to say something, but the word ‘someone’ jumped out of her mouth.
“Magr is just big-boned.” Hrafn’s smile stretched beyond his salt-and-pepper mustache and beard. “He’ll steal your food if you don’t keep an eye on him, but other than that he provides a smooth ride.”
“Who gave it the name Magr?” In the old tongue, it meant ‘thin.’
Hrafn laughed. “He’s actually lost weight over the summer.”
The dragon needed to lose a bit more.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” she mumbled.
She cast aside her staff and took a smaller broad sword one of the warriors in the dragon keep offered her. Her staff wouldn’t be useful for air-based combat. Dragons had a tough hide. A bow and arrow would be a fitting choice, but she didn’t see any available that were suited to her size.
“How long would it take to reach Skarfanes by foot?” she asked out of curiosity.
“The journey is impossible. That city is beyond the Outlands toward the Red Steppes Desert and is covered with deep crevasses, volcanoes, and Goddess-forsaken ash. Most of it isn’t breathable. A journey by air is the only way.”
It was almost as if the cities beyond the Outlands were another world entirely.
“Does she need help?” a deep voice asked.
She turned to see Jor looking her over, his gray eyes shining with dark amusement. He made no attempts to disguise his interest.
“I’m taking care of the lady just fine.” Hrafn grabbed her by the hips and helped her onto the saddle. He didn’t even look when she had to hike up her skirts to properly ride. “Keep your legs in the stirrups,” he advised her. “Don’t worry about Magr. He can read me by now without it.”
Even from her childhood she still remembered how dragons were trained by reading the rider’s placement on the saddle and the reins.
Magr didn’t even stir when she got on and Hrafn took his place in front of her. The kids behind them continued their hopping game on the tail.
She didn’t glance at Jor while Hrafn grabbed his pack and attached it to the back of the leather saddle. Didn’t he have somewhere he needed to be, too?
With a hard flick of the reins, Magr stirred to life with a lively fart and stretch of his wings. The kids had abandoned their game to escape from the fog of shit.
For having a round belly and stubby limbs, the dragon more than made up for his strange shape with a beautiful wingspan. Liftoff was made without effort. One minute they were on the ground, and in the next, a few rapid wing beats propelled them into the sky. The breath in her lungs rushed out as the village structures suddenly grew smaller.
Far up beyond the longhouses everything was so breathtaking. The stench from the pigsties that permeated the dragon’s pen disappeared once they were higher up. As much as she wanted to take in the sights, she couldn’t help but close her eyes as the wind tossed her hair about and whistled in her ears with each flap of the dragon’s wings.
This is what it feels like to be burden free, she thought.
She clung tight to Hrafn’s waist and peeked around him to see his dragon soaring even higher. All around them the other warriors converged into a triangular formation as they headed east. The dragons came in all shapes and sizes from the thin, puny one that Oddr rode to far the larger one that Brimir commanded. The others had been right about Jor’s mount—the dragon had half a foot in the grave with sunken eyes, old scars along its flank, and weathered wings.
“Have you ever seen Skarfanes before?” Hrafn asked her. It was rather hard to make out his words with the wind blowing so hard.
“Never.”
Hrafn asked her another question, but she didn’t catch it. Something from the corner of her eye soared past them and dove, only to ascend again. A spear of white, so beautiful with the widest wingspan she’d ever seen. It was the white dragon she’d seen earlier with Steinn riding it. She tried to form a word to best describe it—maybe majestic fit it best. Where the others seemed to just soar, this dragon danced along the cloud line with ease.
“Hang on,” Hrafn called out. “We’re about to jump on a current.”
She checked her grip and found it secure.
As they caught onto the current, their dragons flew faster. Taking it all in made her laugh. The Outlands whisked by, with mountains flattening out into a vast desert plane. A wide river, the water dirty and muddy red, passed beneath them. The boats on the water looked like tiny specks. She’d never been this far east before. Beyond the river, they came to the open desert with nothing in sight beyond the horizon.
“That’s the Raudr River,” Hrafn remarked. “The red river.”
Steinn flew not far ahead of them. She took in his back, wondering what he thought about their exchange yesterday.
I shouldn’t have approached him, she thought. She should’ve just spoken to someone else. Her face burned just remembering what he said to her. He hadn’t cared where she had spent the night or what dangers she might’ve faced while she was in Forsvollr.
Suddenly Steinn dropped behind them. He zipped past them drawing her away from her private thoughts.
What’s he doing? Then she caught Hrafn placing his hand on the sword on his hip.
Was there danger nearby? She glanced about and only saw the cloud cover here and there below, the empty desert, and the others who rode ahead and behind them. What danger did they face?
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“We’re being followed. There are raiders who attack travelers along the Red Steppes Desert,” Hrafn said. “Stay sharp, Lady.”
She readied her sword.
The attack didn’t come from in front or below. A blur descended hard on them from above, knocking their dragon off kilter. She clutched tight to Hrafn as Magr veered hard to the right into a spin. The dizzying movement knocked her teeth together and rolled her head about. Ugh! Walking seemed like a much better option right about now. Not long after getting jostled, Magr righted himself. But now the ground jumped at them as they plummeted faster and faster.
“Climb!” Hrafn barked, pulling the ropes backward.
The rock formations, with their pointy tips, grew larger and larger, ready
to impale them. Her lungs burned from holding her breath.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.
The red dragon veered hard to the left and they soared over the ground before they hit.
Steinn dove after their attacker, a blast of ice shooting through the air not far from them. The chill brushed against her backside.
“Watch where you’re aimin’!” Hrafn yelled.
They slowed considerably now that they’d jumped out of the current, but at least they controlled their ascent. The others continued to fight ahead of them. They weren’t alone for long though. Another dragon came for them from the right and Hrafn was ready with his sword drawn.
“My dragon’s hungry,” he beckoned.
They fought as a capable team, with the snarling dragon responding to each swing of Hrafn’s blade.
Once he dispatched their attacker, even more gathered in the distance. “There’s five more of them.”
Stay sharp.
One against five wasn’t good. Even with her sword in hand. Time to act instead of react. The first attacker came hard from another direction followed by two more. She inhaled deeply and held her breath. Warmth gathered in her chest, swirling and twitching to be freed. Not long before the attacker closed in she opened her mouth and exhaled. The cool air sought out the dragon’s heat from the fire coming out of its mouth. The magic stormed down its throat and she travelled with it. Feeling the enchantment smother the inferno churning in the dragon’s belly. The magic consumed the flames, feeding her every morsel of heat until the dragon dropped like a hard rock.
The others that came for them fell back as another attacker got too close and died.
“What did you do?” Hrafn whispered in awe.
She’d done what was necessary but at a price. She’d used magic she couldn’t properly control. Merely magic meant to push deserts southward. Unleashing the hungry nature of the frost to consume heat had been foolhardy, but it had worked.
Until her hands grew numb and she dropped her sword. The magic within her pulsed. Her heart beat faster and faster. She had never consumed so much heat so fast. The feeling of being full left her heady and she basked in the euphoria until it overwhelmed her. Her grip around Hrafn’s waist faltered. One moment she was on the saddle and in the next she careened off the side.
4
“Damn it, woman!” Steinn watched in horror as she let go of Hrafn and fell over the side. His stomach shot straight up to the back of his throat. For a heartbeat, he watched the flutter of her dress as she plummeted to the ground.
He steered Knurre in her direction, urging his mount into a dive.
If you so much as veer off course, Dragon…
But for once, he and the dragon were in sync.
He caught up to her, reaching his arm out to catch her. With ease, he placed her in front of him on the saddle. There wasn’t much room for two on the larger of the two seats, but he scooted back so she fit. Her skin was cold, only a corpse had such a chill to it. Relief filled him when she shuddered against him. She blinked a few times but didn’t speak.
“What did you do?” he chided her. His whole body was tight with alarm even though their enemies continued to retreat to the north.
“Frost magic—but it wasn’t meant for combat.” She blinked as if she struggled to stay awake. “I did what I had to do.”
Her back pressed against him and in time she fell into slumber.
Hrafn caught up with him not too long after. “Is the Lady well?”
“I don’t know, but she is breathing and her heart beats.” He shrugged to Hrafn, but his left arm around her waist tightened. She wouldn’t be falling again any time soon.
An hour passed without attacks.
Steinn held her close and wanted to savor the moment even longer. They had another few hours ride to reach Skarfanes before they might rest the dragons and offer them water. Knurre could’ve flown longer. Matter of fact, Steinn sensed its eagerness. Every time an enemy drew near Knurre’s muscles along its neck would tighten and flex. His mount hit an air pocket and jostled them. Drifa’s eyes shot open for a moment until she sighed and drifted off to sleep again. He tried not to think about her, but it was damn near impossible. Her hair smelled of lavender and her skin was warm to the touch again. He licked his lips. With each rise and fall of her chest, her breasts brushed against his arm, teasing him with the promise of pert, pink nipples. The tips would be sweet between his lips and wet from each swirl of his tongue.
Focus, Steinn, focus. She isn’t your woman, nor will she ever be.
His mind flashed back to when the dragons came at them. A much safer topic. He’d been too preoccupied to help. Damn it, he should’ve had her ride with him. Then he wouldn’t have put his friend in danger. But then again, now that he had her close to him, he was doing what he always told himself not to do: think about how he wanted to be with her.
Knurre veered a bit to the right and soared with the current. The beast could practically fight and sleep at the same time. Compared to other days, the dragon was flying far smoother and better with Drifa next to him.
Not far from them the trading post of Skarfanes appeared. Their first destination. He hadn’t visited the city since he was a boy travelling with his uncle. Such was a thing with his people. Whether the word was wanderlust or itchy feet, Uncle Olaf hungered to see new things. A future chieftain became a man in the Outlands either through conquering his enemies or protecting what he already had. Those goals were achieved with knowledge and practice. Shame came to those who died in their beds on their backs.
“Never let a woman keep you from exploring, Steinn,” his uncle said during their long jaunts. “There’s more for you to learn out here instead of coughing up dust in the mines.” His father had to remain in Eik to protect their clan so Steinn satisfied his need to learn more through his uncle.
Now that his father and uncle had passed away, protecting Eik and the crystal mines were of the utmost importance. No crystals meant no heat. No heat meant you didn’t have the means to trade either. No trade meant no food or water. Those who lived in the north had no food nor the means for heat. Those in the south lacked food resources other than whatever weeds grew in the ground. The cycle of trade along the rivers was their means of survival.
If he thought about it, he lived a simple life.
It would’ve been a better life with her, he thought.
“Where are we?” she finally whispered.
From her position, he could peek into the depths of her cloak. Her breasts peeked from her dress, full and round. He used his free hand around her waist to close her cloak against the cold. “We are approaching Skarfanes.”
“Don’t do that. I’m still hot,” she said.
When before she had been cold, now she radiated warmth against his stomach. The curve of her back called out to him. He imagined a time like this when they’d ride together, linked to Knurre. His fingers itched to trail his hand upward from her hip. Giving in, he rode the curve along her waist to the underside of her breast. Her head dipped back and the crown of her head gently bumped against his chin. He pressed his lips against her soft black hair and inhaled the sweetness. Where had his resolve gone?
They descended from the clouds toward the village. Naturally Knurre kept going until Steinn pulled on the reins to control the stubborn creature.
With a hard plop, they landed on a rocky outcropping with the four others ahead of them. Brimir surveyed the surroundings.
Or, what was left of them. Skarfanes was no more. What had once been buildings in the distance was nothing more than rubble. Fires had burned here recently, but after a few days of burning, the houses had fallen to the ground. Bits of the stone roofs were the only evidence this had once been a home.
“Steinn?”
Her words drew him back to the present. A moment passed between them and he wanted to say something. He should’ve said something brusque. Something to push her away, but he dismounted from Knurre instea
d.
When she tried to get down he held in her place by locking one hand on her thigh. “Don’t get off yet,” he said crisply.
Something about the charred ruins had Knurre on edge. A few of the dragons rested, most certainly the fat one Hrafn rode, but Knurre didn’t lie down. It stood there with a tense gaze on the destroyed town around them.
“Do you smell something, Knurre?” he asked his mount.
The dragon didn’t respond, nor did he expect it to. They didn’t have a bond.
What he did smell was death. Any Viking knew the scent of burnt flesh mixed with wood and stone. When crystals burnt they had a strange acidic scent, like the fires burning from the volcanoes around them.
Oddr took off into the sky with his dragon to scout the area while Brimir jumped off his mount and approached the ashes from one home. He picked up a burned bit and rubbed it between his fingers.
“How long ago?” Hrafn asked.
“At least two days ago,” Brimir replied. “Maybe less. We’ve had rainstorms come through since the winter is coming.” He ran more ash through his fingers, even tasted a bit.
He continued to speak. “Whatever came through here had major heat.” The older warrior kicked through the piles. “Even the crystals at the hearth have melted.”
Crystals radiated heat until they melted down to nothing. But they never burned in a manner like clothing or flesh. They were never incinerated.
Drifa left the dragon and walked over to him.
“What did this?” she whispered.
“The men from the heavens,” Steinn said simply.
“So we’re too late?”
“For this village, aye,” Brimir grumbled. “Instead of meeting them head-on like we wanted we’ll have to find them or go to the next town in their path.”
Oddr’s spindly dragon appeared from above them and landed hard on the rocky outcropping with them. “There are strange lines in the ground,” he reported. “They come from the east and head northeast.”
“Lines?” Brimir asked.
“How wide?” Steinn added.
Oddr’s shiny, bald head had a bright spot from the sunlight. “The length of about five dragons.”