Dragon’s Call: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  I’d made it through why he’d dumped me into the middle of a battle and whether such events were about to become commonplace when the unmistakable reek of dragon told me I had a visitor. It wasn’t that the beasts smelled unpleasant, but nothing else smelled quite like them, either.

  I jumped up from the three-legged stool where I’d been perched and started out the door, returning when I realized I’d forgotten my fledgling list. Not that I couldn’t remember two items. It was more of a security blanket. A promise to myself I wouldn’t back down until I had something to work with.

  I emerged into what looked like midafternoon, judging from the angle of sunlight, in time to see Nidhogg and a blue dragon I’d never met before land in my courtyard. Don’t get me wrong, the beasts fly overhead more days than not, but it isn’t as if we’re on a first name basis or anything.

  Dragons keep to themselves. I suppose they deign to chat with Odin and perhaps Thor or Loki, but, for most of us, they may as well not be there at all. I shuttered my mind. Nothing like labeling dragonkind as snobbish and worthless when the dust hadn’t yet settled around the two standing nearby.

  “Not looking too much the worse for the battle,” Nidhogg rumbled, sounding pleased.

  It was as good an opening as I was likely to get, so I jumped in with both feet. “Why did you—?”

  “To test your mettle, lad. Why else?” he boomed before I’d even finished my question.

  I balled my hands into fists, effectively crumpling the vellum. The stuff was expensive and hard to come by, but I didn’t give a shit. “Why did my, erm, mettle, suddenly require testing?” I didn’t even try to mute the acid in my tone, and I felt compelled to add, “I’m a sorcerer. A wizard. I deal in potions and spells. I am not a warrior.”

  “Ye dinna used to be a warrior,” the blue dragon corrected smoothly.

  I planted my feet shoulder width and turned to face him. “I’m Bjorn. To whom do I—”

  “Stuff it.” The dragon’s eyes spun faster. “Ye’re mad as hell at Nidhogg, but ye must needs get past that as well.”

  I waited. I’d given my name. Common decency demanded the dragon provide his.

  “I am Ysien,” he said after such a long pause I’d become certain he wasn’t going to respond.

  Nidhogg puffed fiery ash off to the side. “Ye did well. Better than I expected.”

  Coming from him, I suppose it was high praise, but I still felt used and out of sorts. I uncrumpled the vellum, and bits of it fluttered to the ground. “What would you have done if I’d performed less admirably?”

  “I’m not sure,” Nidhogg replied. “It dinna come to that, now did it?”

  “Will you be plopping me into the midst of other battles?” I looked from one dragon to the other, but it bought me nothing. I was decent at reading men’s faces, but dragons have scales and reptilian jaws. It would be rather akin to looking at an alligator and determining its mood from the set of its teeth.

  A blast of flame scored the ground a few centimeters from my feet. I stood my ground and glared at Nidhogg. “If you find my attitude lacking, perhaps you’d be better served starting anew with another flunky.”

  “Silence,” Nidhogg roared. Fire shot at least five meters upward in an impressive display.

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” the blue dragon piped up like a poor rendition from a Greek chorus.

  “I am not feeling sorry for myself.” I spoke firmly. “I liked my life fine. I wasn’t looking for any changes. I’m not the type who requires excitement at every turn.”

  “Aye, well, we might have wished the obvious choice was someone other than you,” the blue dragon said in a voice dry enough to suck all the moisture out of my mouth, throat, and lungs.

  “What makes me such an obvious choice?” The words curdled in my throat like rotten cream. Did I really want to know?

  Rather than answering, Nidhogg growled, “We’re stuck with one another—at least for the present. We must join forces because Midgard is in deep trouble. Evil cuts so deep that world is in danger of failing entirely.”

  My eyes widened. I’d had no idea the situation was anywhere near that dire. Before I could ask what impact Midgard failing would have on the other eight worlds, Nidhogg began talking again.

  “If any of the Nine Worlds fail, rot will spread to the rest through Yggdrasil’s roots, so we must do what we can to avert disaster.”

  “We should have started long ago,” Ysien mumbled, “but dragons do not involve themselves in the affairs of others.”

  “You didn’t used to.” I threw his words back in his face and smirked.

  Fire blasted from the dragon’s mouth, missing me by centimeters. The dragon might be half Nidhogg’s size, but the fire was a potent reminder it was unwise to bait him.

  I flirted with apologizing and decided against it. Dragons appreciate strength. Nidhogg hadn’t apologized for nearly getting me killed. Folding my arms across my chest, I said, “I require a few things.”

  “Ye’re scarcely in a negotiating position.” Nidhogg regarded me with his eerie eyes.

  “Perhaps not, but there are only so many hours in a day. If I’m to switch vocations, I must be relieved of my current duties.”

  “And they are?” The blue dragon raised a scaled brow.

  Before I could list off my tasks, Nidhogg answered for me. “He’s the chief sorcerer for all worlds except Midgard. It may keep him busy, but it’s a cushy job and leaves most of his magical ability on the table.”

  Hearing my status tarnished like that grated, but I didn’t debate his impression of my efforts. I didn’t care for his opinion, but he was entitled to it. “If that part is settled,” I said, “I have other questions.”

  “Ye are not in charge,” the blue dragon reminded me.

  “Never said I was.” I kept my tone mild, which was a long way from matching my mood. “How long do we have to salvage Midgard?”

  “Not the type of question I have an answer for,” Nidhogg replied. “Time grows short, or I wouldn’t have rallied my dragons. But we have no idea how short.”

  “Something is powering Midgard’s demise,” Ysien broke in. “After the Breaking, we assumed the mischief wrought by that Celtic bitch would repair itself. When it dinna, we grew concerned. If we could determine what—or who—is sabotaging Midgard, it would help.”

  “Surely, you must have an idea or two in that regard,” I pressed.

  “Unfortunately, we do not,” Nidhogg told me.

  “Do you suspect Ceridwen is waging a not-so-subtle war on Odin?” I floated the idea that made the most sense to me.

  “We considered it,” Ysien said. “The piece we couldn’t determine was why. What would be in it for her? She’d gain nothing by unseating Odin.”

  “Never mind Hel and Loki would make her life a study in misery if she set foot in Asgard or Vanaheim,” Nidhogg growled.

  I was relieved the dragons were talking with me, but their lack of information was disconcerting. I’d always assumed the ancient beasts knew everything, when in truth they grasped about as much as I did. At least concerning this issue.

  “How about Odin?” I asked, hoping perhaps he knew more than the dragons.

  Nidhogg shrugged amid rattling scales. “He spends much of his time with the Hunt. It’s his way of watching over Midgard, yet the cavalcade of dead horsemen hasn’t made any difference at all.”

  “It may be making things worse,” the blue dragon mumbled.

  “We do not know that.” Nidhogg corrected him sharply.

  I blew out a tight breath and took a chance. A big one. “Where does Rowan figure into all this? Or does she?”

  Nidhogg puffed fiery smoke until black pieces of ash rained down. “Astute of you to figure that out.”

  “Figure what out? You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Nor are we going to,” Ysien said. Something about his tone, supercilious and patronizing, made me want to punch him.

  “Each of you ha
s…tasks,” Nidhogg told me. “Focus on yours. She will do the same.”

  “We hope,” Ysien muttered.

  Breath hissed from between my clenched teeth. “Fine. I’ll ask her what you tasked her with when I see her next.”

  “Ye’ll do no such thing.” Nidhogg shook a talon my way. The shiny red, razor-sharp claw must have been ten centimeters long.

  “Why not?”

  “Her path is different from yours, requiring a different type of courage. She may refuse and leave the Nine Worlds altogether.”

  “She canna do that.” Ysien sputtered smoke.

  I thought it unlikely that she’d go anywhere, given her attachment to the witches, but why had the dragon suggested her egress was forbidden? Silence reigned; time dribbled by. I wasn’t going to get any more out of the dragons, so I switched topics. “Will you deal with Odin about reassigning my current job to someone else?”

  “Perhaps,” Nidhogg replied.

  “If our paths cross,” the blue dragon chimed in.

  I looked from one beast to the other. “What am I missing?” I asked, wondering why they hadn’t left.

  Nidhogg nodded his huge head. He’d understood me well enough. “We are still here because we are waiting.”

  “For?” I furled both brows and swallowed annoyance. Being chained to him required patience. At least the stone was quiet while he was here.

  “For ye to get moving,” Ysien prodded. “Ye were bellyaching about being overworked, yet naught has occurred in the time we’ve been here.”

  Because no one in their right mind would show up with a request for me while the two of you are in my yard.

  I kept my thoughts to myself and retrieved my ruined vellum. A trip inside yielded a quill and ink. Squatting over a flat stone near my doorway, I created two columns. It didn’t matter that pieces of skin had flaked off my paper. It was still usable for the list I planned.

  I recorded weapons in the left-hand column and adversaries in the right. As an afterthought, I added a third column and delineated the magical mix I figured would work on each type of enemy.

  Both dragons lumbered close enough to read over my shoulder. Damn, they put out a lot of heat. Sweat beaded across my forehead and rolled into my eyes. It stung, but I was busy.

  “Add fire here.” Nidhogg tapped the vampire line with a claw.

  “Aye, almost all fire,” Ysien concurred.

  “And earth will work best for gnomes.” Nidhogg tapped a couple of lines up.

  I twisted to look at him. “Why? They live in caves. How could dirt be deadly for them?”

  “Do ye wish to take advantage of dragon knowledge, or no?” Nidhogg stared back. His eyes had slowed to perhaps one revolution every thirty seconds or so.

  Only an idiot would have told him no. I nodded. “Of course, I welcome your wisdom.”

  “Then doona question it.” Ysien was back to the patronizing, singsong tone that affected me like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  We worked together for perhaps another hour. The dragons added creatures I’d never heard of to my list, but I didn’t tell them that. I scanned the work we’d done and said, “Recapping here, it appears I’ll need two broadswords, a longsword, and any number of shorter blades.”

  “Look at this. And this.” Nidhogg pointed to a couple of lines. “The magic required is very similar. Ye could use the same weapon in both instances.”

  So I could. On closer inspection, the same reasoning applied to three groups of dark creatures. I rocked back on my heels. “Thanks for pointing that out. It will make things simpler.” I thought back to the previous night. “Magic first, and then weapons?”

  “Not necessarily,” Ysien answered me. “Every battle will be different. If ye canna get close enough to draw a blade, use magic.”

  “Can I use existing blades, or must they be forged anew?”

  “Newly crafted is best,” Nidhogg replied. “That way, ye can add magic to the metal while ’tis still liquid.” His head tilted at an angle as if he were listening to something. “We must go. If ye have need of me, use the stone.”

  “One last thing.” I stood and held up a hand.

  “Aye. What?” Nidhogg sounded annoyed.

  “The Breaking site. Using a blend of Rowan’s and my magic, I managed to—”

  “Waste of time,” Nidhogg cut me off.

  “Aye. Focus on the darkness beneath,” Ysien concurred.

  I’d skirted with the same conclusion, but it was a relief when they validated my suspicions. I was rather glad to see them spread their wings and leave. Not that I wasn’t grateful for their assistance, but if it weren’t for their insistence I had a role to play in the Midgard problem, I wouldn’t have required anything from them at all.

  Sure enough, the dragons hadn’t been gone five minutes when everyone who’d held back during their visit approached where I stood gazing at the empty skies. I hastily folded the vellum and got to my feet. Before anyone launched into queries about my visitors, I held up a hand and said, “No dragon questions.”

  Grumbling spread through the group, which was growing rapidly.

  At least a dozen people ranged around me with more arriving from all sides.

  “Who is here for my magic?” I glanced around the expanding crowd and was nonplussed when nearly everyone raised their hands.

  Usually, I offer private audiences, but there were so many gathered in my tiny yard, it would take until tomorrow go get through all of them. It required a little doing, but I managed to sort my customers into four basic groups. Once they realized they weren’t going to receive their usual personal time with me, a few left. I considered it a win.

  Others grew tired of waiting after the first hour or so. They drifted away as well. I still had at least half a dozen in the magic gone awry group, three in the spells not working correctly group, four in the magic not working at all group, and two in the magical objects no longer cooperating one.

  In all the years I’ve worked magic, I hadn’t had this many clients with problems. They’re not customers in the sense that they pay me for my services. The gods see I’m provided for. I have a place to live, food to eat, and garments to wear. It’s always been enough, and I’ve been willing to do what I can to ease people’s suffering. Power can be unruly, and it packs quite a wallop when it runs off the rails.

  It became abundantly clear as afternoon ceded to evening, and evening to midnight, I couldn’t continue to be everyman’s wizard. Not and meet my obligation to the dragons.

  I almost couldn’t believe it when I looked up and didn’t find anyone else waiting. I was still stiff and sore and tired. Big surprise. When would I have had a chance to recover? My magic hovered at a lower level than I liked. Worst of all, though, I hadn’t done a single thing by way of running down one of the many smiths in Vanaheim to see if they’d be willing to make blades for me.

  Unlike with my services, they’d demand payment. I’d turn the matter over to Nidhogg. Surely, he had a vault or a horde somewhere. I wasn’t concerned about who’d pay the smith. A far more pressing problem shot to the forefront of my mind.

  Why were so many inhabitants in the Nine Worlds having problems with their magic? Was this the leading edge of the disturbance created by Midgard disintegrating?

  It made sense to me.

  I tottered into my cottage and pulled the door shut behind me. I should spend time with my list and plans, but my brain was stuck reiterating the myriad problems I’d solved today. I always did that: replayed what I’d done for the folk who’d sought my services.

  Sometimes I learned something. Usually, I became better at dealing with the same type of issue the next time it cropped up. I reheated the gruel I’d made earlier and ate it standing in front of my collection of lore books. I wasn’t sure what I sought, but magical books had ways of giving me what I needed.

  Even if I wasn’t quite certain what it was.

  I’d just plucked a scroll from its spot and blown dust off it when amb
er, mint, and vanilla surrounded me.

  Rowan!

  Heart beating triple time, I spun in time to see her shimmer into being just inside my door.

  Chapter Fourteen, Rowan

  Inverlochy’s courtyard formed around me.

  Inverlochy’s empty courtyard.

  Heart in my throat, I opened my mouth to yell for Patrick and Hilda. And shut it just as fast. At the same time, I swathed myself in wards. If Mother had sent a cadre of monsters here, I’d be goddamned if I’d make things easy for them. Hidden within the folds of my ward, I drew power, holding it at the ready as I bolted up the stairs and into the castle proper.

  No one had been in the garden area. Maybe they’d taken a break to eat, but not finding anyone fueled my worries until they blazed into an inferno of righteous anger. The Breaking was inexcusable. If Mother lifted so much as a finger to sow further mayhem, I wouldn’t rest until I banished her to a spot she couldn’t get out of.

  Big words, but I meant every single one of them.

  How I’d manage it was anyone’s guess, but I was done standing by while Mother’s spoiled hissy fits dismantled everything I held dear.

  I took the stairs three and four at a time. I’d have teleported to the top floor, but I didn’t want to risk alerting anyone I was there. When I reached the top floor, the one with the Celts’ meeting hall at the end of a long, wide corridor, I snaked out a thread of seeking magic, intent on assessing who was here.

  I was breathing hard. Adrenaline coated my tongue and throat, tasting harsh and metallic. I located the witches easily. All of them were two floors down. Moments later, I ascertained we were alone.

  Still sucking air like a bellows, I loosed my ward and sagged against a stone wall. I’d worked myself into a frenzy. For nothing. I’d have to do a better job of—

  “No!” I slammed a fist into the wall. Better to overreact and have there be nothing than to underreact and put those I love in worse danger than they already were.

  I waited until I had myself under somewhat better restraint. The witches counted on me, and I didn’t want them to think I’d totally lost control of my faculties.