In the flame of battle, even the innocent get burned…
Dyrfinna is a born commander. She bests her peers in dragon riding, sword fighting, and battle strategy. So when the Queen calls the people of Skala to battle to revenge her murdered daughter, Dyrfinna outfits a ship and brings a crew.
Once in the field, Dyrfinna leads her troops to victory in a series of hard-fought battles over overwhelming odds. Yet a commander is raised over her, and because of his clumsy leadership, a horrifying disaster decimates a quarter of the Queen’s army. The commander unfairly blames a second disaster on Dyrfinna. She is denied her job as a dragonrider — the work she’s trained for all her life, her heart’s desire.
That’s when the wrong stroke of her sword undoes everything that Dyrfinna has ever worked for, earns her the fury of her friends … and exile to certain death.
But you can’t keep a true warrior down. When things are darkest, a flame rises out of the desolation.
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Here is the first chapter of THE FLAME OF BATTLE, a YA high fantasy filled with Vikings, dragons, epic battles, raw courage … and devotion.
CHAPTER ONE
NONE SHALL GET THROUGH ME
Dyrfinna and Aesa were out in the field that morning to hoe—though, to be closer to the truth, Dyrfinna was tilling the fine soil with her hoe. Little Aesa chopped at it for a little while, trying to be a big girl like Dyrfinna. Then she would tire and pretend she was a puppy. She was only five years old and just a little goosy. She romped around the broken clods of soil, yipping and barking, and then she’d come back and put her hands on Dyrfinna’s side, panting up at her and smiling.
“Are you my little puppy? Who’s my little puppy?” Dyrfinna asked, giving Aesa-puppy a one armed hug. “Puppy puppy, dig a little hole. Look at these stones! We’re growing a big crop of stones. Can you help me dig them up?”
And indeed they had, because Dyrfinna’s hoe had struck sparks on a stone that the soil had heaved up. Every winter, the soil shrugged up a new crop of stones, slowing down the spring tilling and planting.
Aesa-puppy barked and started digging away around the rock with her little hands, but then changed her mind and picked up her hoe and used that to dig. Dyrfinna joined her, scooping the soil out around the small boulder, a round, smooth stone that was the bones of the rugged land. Dyrfinna handled them with care, as she considered them sacred objects in a sense, even though they were a terrible annoyance.
Dyrfinna straightened her back and rolled her neck, looking across the small Viking city of Skala down toward the endless ocean and the great mountains of the fjords. The smell of wood smoke from many chimneys came to her, the quiet conversations of many people in the streets, the complaints of the sheep on the hills, and the music of a hammer striking iron in the forge — all the sounds of home came to her at that height. The great ships stood in the harbor, the masts of their fleet black ships standing side-by-side with a trader from the Balkans, several Moorish ships from Iberia, and a number of Viking ships from places like Oslo, Hedeby, and Birka.
She wanted to get the hoeing done before midday, for she had the usual chores to attend to at home, and she also had to get those out of the way so she could take Grandma for her walk, which was to keep her hands and legs from twisting more. But also Grandma told the best stories and Dyrfinna loved being with her. Then if everything was finished, she could do a little fishing and squeeze in a little sword-work with her battle-friends. They liked to practice combat on the long cliffs over the sea when they could, and they were all going to gather late in the afternoon, and bring in supper. They would fight and eat, though not at the same time.
Suddenly Aesa drew in a long breath. “Sissy….”
Dyrfinna jerked her head up from the boulder she’d just dislodged. Her breath stopped in her throat.
From out of the tall winter grasses at field’s edge came a wolf, his yellow eyes full on them.
Aesa started to whimper. She was only five. When Dyrfinna was her age, she’d seen a pack of wolves take down one of their horses, her favorite horse, and Mama had snatched her up and run hard for the house while Papa had run backwards at our side – backwards – while slamming home arrow after arrow from his bow at the wolves. Afterward, three dead wolves littered the field with arrows sticking out of them. Her papa’s arrows. But her poor horse had been killed. She had nightmares about that for moons.
And here Dyrfinna was, alone in a field because she was too impatient to wait for anybody else, with no protection but a sword. But she’d have to wait for the wolf to come right up to her little sister in order to use that sword.
“Grab hold of my leg,” Dyrfinna commanded her. “Do it!”
Aesa’s little shaking arms went around Dyrfinna’s left leg.
“Sissy …” Aesa said again, and her little face crumpled. Her shaking arms loosened. She started to sob against Dyrfinna’s leg.
The wolf’s intense stare never wavered. It took one slow step toward them. Then two.
Dyrfinna would have to move quickly. She had to pick up her sis, and she’d need to stoop to do it, and the wolf would likely rush them when she was on his level. At least he was alone, for a wolf with a pack would be calling to them. But a lone wolf would also be more desperate – hungrier.
With her foot Dyrfinna touched two of the stones she’d dug up, and pulled them close together so she could easily grab them when she picked up her sister.
“Aesa,” she said. “On the count of three, I’m going to stoop down and pick you up. If I have to fight this stupid wolf, I need you to hold me as tight as you can. Tight. Like a barnacle. Do you understand?”
Aesa started crying out loud, but she nodded. Dyrfinna touched the sword in her scabbard, pulled it up a little so it would slide out in one smooth motion when she needed it.
Her heart was pounding so hard. This whole time, her eyes had been fixed on the wolf’s, except for a brief moment when they’d flickered to the stones, and when they’d flickered to Aesa. Her little sister. She loved her so much.
Well. Now Aesa was going to see how her big sister, who loved her more than anything else in the world – she could see how well Dyrfinna could fight.
“When I pick you up, I’m going to scream like nothing you’ve ever heard,” she told her sister. “Hold on tighter when I do.”
The wolf moved in a step. That bastard.
“Count to three with me,” Dyrfinna told her. “Then you scream when I scream. Okay?”
Her left hand was around her little shoulders. She felt Aesa nod.
Dyrfinna made her heart iron.
That wolf was not going to get her little sis.
That wolf was going to die right now.
“One.” She placed her feet into a solid stance, both for fighting and for picking up a three and a half stone girl.
“Two.” Aesa’s little trembling voice echoed hers.
Dyrfinna breathed in deep, let it out, let power uncoil through her, just as she’d been taught for so many years.
“THREE.”
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In the flame of battle, even the innocent get burned…
Dyrfinna is a born commander. She bests her peers in dragon riding, sword fighting, and battle strategy. So when the Queen calls the people of Skala to battle to revenge her murdered daughter, Dyrfinna outfits a ship and brings a crew.
Once in the field, Dyrfinna leads her troops to victory in a series of hard-fought battles against overwhelming odds. Yet a commander is raised over her, and because of his clumsy leadership, a great disaster results in the massacre of a quarter of the Queen’s army. Then the commander unfairly blames a second disaster on Dyrfinna. The wrong stroke of her sword could undo everything she’s ever worked for, earn her the fury of her friends … and exile to certain death.
But you can’t keep a true warrior down. When things are darkest, a flame rises out of the desolation.