Dragon’s Heir: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  Picking a spot below, I leveraged power and jumped to it, blade swinging and ready. The first vampire was a piece of cake. I’d positioned myself perfectly, and the blade was a flawless companion.

  I hefted the sword and swung, putting my weight behind the movement. Being tall helped, but the metal snagged on something, and I had to saw my way through gristle and bone. By the time the head rolled free, I was panting for breath. Worse, the other five vamps had closed on me. The stench of burned rotten flesh was cloying, thick in my nostrils. So extreme, I gagged as I struggled to breathe.

  Dragon fire rained down on the vampires, but they were close enough to me to limit its damage. Smart fuckers. They’d done that on purpose. My blade glowed red, anxious for its next victim. Music rose around me. It took a second, but I understood my blade was singing, urging me on.

  One of the vamps made a grab for my arm, but my ward stymied him. I needed space to swing the blade, something I no longer had. I stabbed at bare, burned feet to get them to move, but the vampires laughed in my face.

  Damn. They smelled worse than the one Ceridwen had adopted for a pet. Roadkill mixed with decayed garbage.

  A wrenching, tearing noise blasted me, but I couldn’t look away from the vampires. I was badly outnumbered, and all they had to do was break through my shielding and bite me. The lore suggested they’d have to drain me and entice me to drink from them to turn me, but sometimes the lore was wrong.

  What if a single bite would do the trick? And I’d spend the rest of my immortal days as one of the undead? A shudder ran down my back; I redirected my thoughts fast. What the fuck had the horrendous noise been? I shoved the point of my blade through more feet, but my slender margin was shrinking. No way to draw back and try a frontal approach with the tip of my sword through a heart.

  I drew my short blade, but it wasn’t glowing like the long one. Clearly, it had been forged to deal with something other than vampires. I couldn’t see through the circle around me. Zelli would take care of Geir. She was more protective than I was. How were Bjorn and Quade doing? What about Gwydion and his group?

  Gah. What was wrong with me? I should be fighting, not worrying about everyone else. I sheathed the knife and gripped the hilt of the longsword with both hands, willing its magic to flow into me. Something was sapping my will, and my money was on the vampires.

  They must have a way to immobilize their victims, or they’d starve to death. Not many people would willingly tilt their necks and expose their jugulars for the undead to feast from. My throat was dry; my stomach twisted in a painful knot. Proximity to all those vampires was doing a number on me.

  I had to find a way out before I couldn’t. A mocking voice in the very bottom of my mind suggested I should have made a run for it after I killed the first vampire. It didn’t sound anything like me at all.

  Had a vampire managed to slither past my wards and into my head?

  The specter of mind control terrified me. I’d thought I was out of adrenaline, but its bitter taste coated my tongue, and my heart jumped to triple-time rhythm. I upped the ante on stabbing feet. As I whirled in a circle, going from foot to foot, the ring of vampires moved back a tiny bit.

  Was it enough?

  I eyed the length of metal. Did I have enough space to swing it upward? Maybe cut off a dick or someone’s balls? I had to keep my hands on the hilt. The blade was razor-sharp, and I couldn’t risk cutting myself. The scent of my blood would drive the vampires to worse than they were already doing.

  Right now, they were toying with me, but it could get worse. Much worse. I’d watched a seethe tear into a group of Fae long before the world broke. The Fae had won, but it hadn’t been pretty. They’d sustained losses, and I had no idea what they’d done with their newly undead Fae companions.

  I drew my sword arm back; my elbow ran into a vampire. The feel of him even with clothing between us shaded my vision to gray, almost as if I viewed the world through undead eyes. I tried again, careful not to brush against my warding.

  Damn it. Not enough room. I stabbed more feet. Black blood oozed onto the ground. The ripping noise battered me again. What the unholy fuck was it? And then one of the vampires flew through the air. I didn’t question how or why. I had the space I needed, and I hefted my blade and cleaved through another vampire neck. This one went easier for some reason. Maybe because terror was driving me.

  “Two down. Four to go,” I shouted to give myself courage and let these undead creeps know I wasn’t in a backing down mood. I was in this to the death. Theirs, not mine.

  From above me, I heard Geir crowing with delight.

  Another swing. Another head hit the dirt. This must have been a younger vamp because blood sheeted from his severed vessels. It stank worse than he did.

  The remaining three vampires backed away from me. I skinned my lips back from my teeth and screeched, “Oh no you don’t.”

  A dragon I didn’t recognize, blue-black and shiny, picked up another vampire and threw him down on the ground hard enough I heard bones break. Great. We had more dragons. Odin must be here somewhere. He’d said his team was floating.

  I’m not picky about how I kill the undead—or anything evil. I sliced through the neck of the one splayed across the ground. He dissolved into dust before my eyes.

  When I looked up, on the hunt for my next victim, the remaining two vampires were nowhere to be seen. Gwydion pelted toward me and wrapped me in a huge hug while shades milled this way and that. “Excellent sword work.” Gwydion pounded my back.

  I started to say no thanks to him. Instead, I muttered, “Thanks. Where’s Odin?”

  Bran and Thor joined us, wading through a river of shades. They were an annoyance, but they couldn’t hurt anything. Not without direction. Mindless, they were ripe for the plucking. It gave me an idea.

  “Odin’s not here,” Thor told me. “Why would you think he was?”

  The blue-black dragon stomped vampire remains with his big hind feet before lumbering forward. Something seemed familiar about him, but I was almost certain I hadn’t seen him in Fire Mountain. For one thing, his scales were iridescent. Black, rimmed by turquoise, they reflected all the colors of the rainbow.

  “Rowan. It’s me,” was followed by a bucketload of steam.

  I fell back a pace and looked at Bjorn. In his dragon form. “How?” I sputtered, followed rapidly by, “I want to shift too,” and then, “Damn my eyes. You’re beautiful.”

  His eyes, the same brilliant blue as when he was human, spun faster.

  Quade landed next to me, crushing at least twenty shades. Zelli and Geir joined us on the ground. Geir ran nimbly to Bjorn, excitement streaming from him. “You’re like me, Da. Like me.”

  Bjorn bent and scooped our son into his forelegs. The combination of gold against iridescent black was striking and stirring. My throat thickened, and my heart was glad for them.

  I felt left out, but I could live with it.

  Ghosts ran at us, but we brushed them aside.

  “I told Bjorn he had to find his dragon form,” Quade rumbled. “At the time, I wasn’t thinking about silver being lethal to vampires. I believed our best chance was in the air.”

  “Of course.” Zelli’s eyes whirled faster. “Any dragon would draw that conclusion.”

  “Bjorn required better reasons than I could give him to locate his dragon form,” Quade went on. “Apparently, seeing you surrounded by vampires provided the impetus he needed.”

  Bjorn set Geir down and nodded. “It did. You might not have noticed,” he said to me, “but their fangs were out. They were intent on getting them into you any way they could.”

  “Would one bite have done it?” I asked and closed my teeth over my lower lip hard enough to hurt.

  “Yes,” Bjorn told me, and then he rounded on Gwydion and Bran. “You should be ashamed. You taught her nothing.”

  Gwydion shocked the crap out of me by bowing. “Ye are correct, Master Sorcerer and now dragon shifter. We should have
done more, and I am humiliated by our shortcomings.”

  “Me as well,” Bran was quick to chime in.

  “Kinsmen!” rang from behind me. I kicked a few ghosts aside and came face to face with a Celt I’d never met before. Black hair flowed to midback, and she was garbed in beige hunting leathers, much like Andraste preferred. Her eyes were dark and intense beneath stark black brows.

  A sour taste coated my tongue. “The Morrigan, I presume.”

  She sneered at me. “Ye’re Ceridwen’s get. With that dragon lover of hers. I warned her, but she dinna listen. Stupid bitch.”

  “Ye’re more trouble than ye’re worth.” Barely leashed fury rode beneath Bran’s words.

  “Hard to keep a good woman down,” she purred.

  “Ye’re neither good nor a woman,” Gwydion snapped and stomped until he stood eye to eye with her. The air around the Morrigan developed a liquid aspect, and she morphed into the biggest, blackest crow I’d ever seen. Her head reached Gwydion’s chest, and she clacked her sharp beak in his face. Unlike her human form, her eyes took on an amber hue. Lidless, they bored into Gwydion, and he shook his staff at her. Bran loped over to join the fray.

  Hopefully, they’d keep her busy for a while. As in not focused on me.

  Thor stared at the Battle Crow and muttered curses in Old Norse.

  The idea that had formed in my mind developed wings, but I needed to let the others know what I was about. The Morrigan would pick up anything threaded with Celtic enchantment. Was I capable of sorting out my dragon magic? I’d done it in the tunnel.

  To be on the safe side, I vaulted onto Bjorn’s back, hoping to communicate privately with him. Once he knew, he could tell the others. His scales were warm and welcoming beneath me. I resisted an urge to wrap my arms around his neck and never let go.

  Warm laughter burbled through my mind. “You can ride me anytime, darling.”

  I covered my thoughts with laughter of my own as I sketched out what I wanted to do. The stink of vampire intensified. More were heading our way. If we were going to move, we had to do it now before someone else stepped in and took over piloting the dead.

  Ribald laughter pounded into my brain like an icepick. I didn’t even have to look to know Loki had joined us. A low, guttural growl rattled from Geir, followed by a shrieking bugle.

  “Look what I found.” Loki capered about, my son suspended between his hands.

  Bjorn painted the trickster’s feet with fire. It didn’t faze him. Next, he blasted him square in the side. Nothing so much as smoldered.

  “Teleport!” I shrieked at Geir.

  He writhed in Loki’s big hands. “Can’t. He has my magic.”

  Quade and Zelli tag-teamed the problem, moving behind Loki. Quade knocked him to the ground. Zelli reached for Geir, but her claws bit through empty air.

  “Nooooooo,” tore out of me followed by something that sounded like an animal in mortal pain. I blinked and looked once more, but Loki was gone and Geir along with him.

  How could it have happened so bloody fast? The answer hit me between the eyes. Blood ties were the strongest. Loki knew damned good and well Hel was Geir’s grandmother. He’d cast a familial teleport spell and snapped Geir up. Probably the only reason he hadn’t netted Bjorn too was because his dragon side was in ascendency.

  I sheathed my blade and summoned tracking magic. I’d get even later. Right now, finding Geir before his trail faded—or Loki disguised it—was the most important task I’d ever faced in my life.

  Chapter Eighteen, Bjorn

  Magic poured from me as I put a tracking spell together. Rowan’s plan to marshal the dead to do our bidding was inspired, but nothing mattered if we didn’t get out son back. Ro’s power slammed into me, joining my burgeoning spell.

  “Chasing Loki won’t work,” Thor told me flatly.

  “Why not?” I puffed ash and smoke. My transition to dragon had been a crapshoot. I’d tried and failed, tried and failed, tried and gotten stuck between forms before I finally punched through. Like all enchantments, there was a trick to this one.

  “Loki just dealt what he believes is a mortal blow to our side by abducting the dragon princeling. We could spend years tracking him and never find him. He’s a master at covering his movements. While we’re following one dead end after another, he’ll take over the world, complete the destruction of Da’s domain.”

  “Odin hasn’t told us everything.” It was obvious, but I wanted to make certain Thor understood I wasn’t harboring illusions.

  “Why should he?” Thor countered. “By that token, neither have I.”

  I kept right on building my spell. Leaving my son to Loki was not going to happen. Not if I could help it. I added in a marker that would alert me to Geir’s unique energy—assuming we got close enough to him to activate it.

  “I can help you find him,” the Morrigan said sweetly. A sidelong glance told me she wasn’t a crow any longer.

  “Aye. Ye bargain for your freedom,” Gwydion said sourly.

  “Och, ye always were a smart one.” She patted the side of his face until he slapped her hand away.

  “Bjorn!” Rowan screeched. I didn’t have to look to know vampires were near. Their stink gave them away.

  “Do it,” I yelled.

  Compulsion flowed from Rowan, thick as clotted cream. She followed her magic to the ground and kept it rolling. The dead flocked to her call, forming nice, neat rows as they faced off against a whole lot more vamps than we’d just dispatched. I didn’t waste time counting them. What did it matter if there were twenty or fifty?

  It bothered me so many were hiding on the outer borderworlds though. Had they always been here, or was this a new development?

  “Brilliant,” Gwydion cried in Rowan’s direction.

  He, Bran, and Thor wove their power in with Rowan’s until a veritable army of shades stood ready to take on the vampires.

  “Ooooh. Fun,” the Morrigan purred. Clearly, she’d picked a side, and it wasn’t aligning herself with Loki. I didn’t trust her, but we had something she wanted: not being hunted for the rest of her days. It might be enough to keep her in line.

  For now.

  Worry for my son ate at me like a buzz saw grinding away at my equanimity from within. I started a tracking spell again. No matter what Thor said, I couldn’t remain here.

  A burst of Celtic power glistened around the Morrigan. Violet sparks arced from her outstretched hands. The shades shambled forward, impressive because of their sheer mass. If I hadn’t been so distraught about Geir, I’d have laughed at the confused expressions on the vampires’ faces. They summoned magic. I felt their pathetic efforts, but the dead were already taken.

  By us.

  Vamps dealt in mind control, in sex-and-blood rituals. Other magics were beyond their ability. Their superhuman strength was derived courtesy of the vampire transformation. Nothing magical about that part of their skill.

  I’d never fully understood the mechanism of commanding shades, but they seemed to have a tiny little vulnerable area in their decaying brains. Whoever had possession of that place could control them. The part I didn’t know was if the hundreds of dead flowing toward the line of vampires would have any impact at all. The shades surged forward, screeching a battle cry. The vamps didn’t even break stride. Either they weren’t worried, or this situation had never come up before.

  About the time the two lines of undead met head-on, a robust blast of Norse power was followed by Odin, a passel of dragons, Hel, Nidhogg, and Arawn.

  I bugled. Odin raised his shaggy eyebrows, clearly recognizing me at once.

  “Where in the fuck have you been?” Rowan shouted.

  “Busy,” Nidhogg said succinctly.

  “Yeah, well, Loki has your grandson.”

  Outraged roars from Hel and Nidhogg made my ears ache.

  “When?” Odin spat out the word, all rough edges, but he looked rattled by the news.

  “A few moments ago,” Rowan said. “Bjorn
started to build a tracking spell, but Thor told him it was pointless.”

  Odin opened his mouth and bellowed his fury to the skies.

  Meanwhile, Arawn had draped what looked for all the world like steel mesh over all the dead—shades and vampires alike. They added their howls of rage to the mix. The flash of fangs told me the vampire segment of the horde had sunk to their most primitive reaction. Bite anything in their path. They only looked human. None of their humanity remained once they’d been turned.

  “Hel!” Arawn boomed to make himself heard over the din.

  She twirled to face him, her face a mask of naked wrath. “Take them where ye will,” she shouted back. “I must hunt for my grandson.”

  “I canna do this by myself.”

  Judging from the set to Arawn’s shoulders, the admission cost him. Much like the Norse gods, the Celts were a proud lot.

  “Aid him,” Odin ordered.

  “But Geir,” she protested.

  “I will go after him. Find me once ye’ve secreted the dead where they canna bother anyone again.”

  “It takes time—a lot of time—to lock vampires away.” The tight angle of Hel’s jaw told me she was on the verge of rebellion.

  “Och, ye’re a rare bunch of ninnies,” the Morrigan squawked. Part goddess, part Battle Crow, she was in the midst of a shift. Winging skyward almost before her wings were done forming, she cawed furiously. A tawny mist puffed from her beak. The dingy fog spread and formed a bunch of vectors. Each zeroed in on a vampire.

  I had no idea what the Morrigan was up to until the first arrow bit through Arawn’s netting and augered into a vampire’s chest. A shocked expression wiped out his arrogant grin, and he crumpled to the ground, leaving a pile of cracked bones. More arrows buried themselves in vampires, courtesy of the Morrigan and her magical intervention. It was a neat trick. Maybe I could figure out what she’d done.

  Rowan ran to me and vaulted to my back. “Gwydion took over my portion of the casting. They don’t need me anymore. Build that spell, and let’s find our son.”