Eric Flint - Pyramid Power

Bes hefted Agent Schmitt off Throttler's broad back. Cruz caught the bundle of a man who hung limply in his arms. He was breathing. "He seems to have lost his wits. I had to subdue him, or he'd have had us out of the sky too. This Norse place is full of snow and people with no manners." Bes seemed to relish the idea of teaching them some. "Anyway. It's all set up. Throtsy needs a rest, though, before we fly again."

Throttler nodded. "At least four hours. And I need lots of food."

Three hours and fifty-eight minutes later, Bes and Throttler were ready to go again. Cruz was waiting, with his pack, a composite bow and a jungle knife, being hugged by a crying little boy and a woman with pride and tears on her face.

"I'll bring him back, Medea," said Bes indulgently.

"And my big brother," said Priones.

"Do my best," said Cruz, getting up on Smitar's back.

"Don't you dare chew," said Throttler to Bitar, as the creatures formed a daisy chain, preparing for flight.

"You sure you don't want me along?" asked Mac, looking up at him.

"Yeah. Someone has to keep the army going," said Cruz, knowing what the offer meant, and knowing just how little his buddy wanted to go into the Mythworlds again. "Okay, let's move out."

Cruz found himself airborne above the island of S?varstad where the newly erected military issue kit-sphinx now stood.

"Hello. What's that?"

It was a dragon in the water, a huge dragon, at least twice the size of Bitar or Smitar. The last time these two had seen a dragon-which had proved to be a shape-shifter and not the real thing-they'd plunged headlong. Now both of them coughed nervously, almost in unison. "Uh, Cruz."

"Yeah?"

"What do we say?" demanded the dragons.

"We don't know how to talk to lady dragons," said Smitar.

"Yeah, you haven't told us about those birds and bees yet," complained Bitar.

"Should we… er, go and ask her if she's doing anything Saturday night?" suggested Smitar. "We could go clubbing…"

Bitar wrinkled his nose. "But I don't like them after they've been clubbed. Too tender. Maybe we could just give her a florist?"

"Offer to buy her a drink?" asked Smitar. "Candy is dandy but liquor is…"

"Let's just fly down and see what happens," said Cruz who really had no idea what pick-up lines worked on dragons. "How do you know she's female? You might want to say 'hello sailor.'?"

"She's swimming. Females are aquatic," explained Bitar.

"It figures. Beach romances. Do they wear bikinis?" asked Cruz bemusedly.

"Not as far as I know. Is my crest straight?" asked Smitar nervously.

They were skimming the wave tops in aerobatic elegance now. The female dragon put her head up from the water. "Bitar and Smitar?" she said.

The two dragons ended up crashing into each other and splashing down into the waves, both puce with embarrassment and too tongue-tied to speak.

Cruz stood on Smitar's back. "That's them," he said. "Can I introduce my two suave dragon buddies to you, lovely lady?"

She answered him in Norse.

Beneath him Smitar quivered. "What a voice," he said faintly. "And a Swedish accent too."

"Sweetish? She's pure sugar." Bitar seemed completely besotted by the huge dragon. "I wonder how good my dragonish is?"

"Do you mind taking me to the beach before you start trying?" asked Cruz. He'd have got more response out of a brick wall.

Eric Flint Dave Freer

Pyramid Power

Marie Jackson lay within the ring of fire, unbreathing and yet not dead, walking through dreams of her youth with an older man she loved. A man with a quick retentive mind, just out of the Marine Corps, hopeful of a bright future. She was not alone and afraid in those dreams.

She was not alone in the ring of fire either.

When Sigurd rode up on his great battle-steed Grani, having jumped the wall of fire and kicked open the great brass-bound door, he found the hall was so full of Valkyries that the walls were close to bulging. He had his instructions from Odin, though. Find the copper-skinned one, the one he'd fancied after killing Fafnir, wake her, give her Andvari's ring, and the usual courtesies to seal their betrothal.

He had to leave Grani outside and wander around the hall a bit, pausing for a serious drink at the end of each row. My, but there was quite a selection here! He found the woman at the end of the third row, if she'd been another five rows on, he'd have found two of her. Like dragonslaying, it was dry work, keeping his attention on their faces.

To save time later, he arranged her skirts. She had good legs. He took off his sword belt because it was in the way. Then, kneeling down between those legs he leaned forward and pulled out the thorn of sleep. He had a thorn of his own to put in instead.

Marie blurred out of the sweet dream to find someone leaning over her, his lips pursed for a kiss.

And it wasn't the person she'd been dreaming of, either. He was holding her shoulders, but her legs were free, and so were her hands. The slaps he got were so fast and had all her strength in them that they must have almost popped his eardrums. Then, when he sat back, she kicked him with both feet. Hard.

He was big muscular man. But she had strong legs and he really hadn't expected it.

Sitting up and pulling her skirts down, the first thing that Marie noticed was the sword lying next to her. Seeing as the muscle-bound lover-boy was getting to his feet looking ugly, Marie pulled it out of its scabbard. She expected it to be so heavy she could barely lift it.

Instead it was as light as… well, a feather duster. A very big feather duster.

She'd never used a sword before, but she knew how to wield a feather duster. And was this guy ever a big cobweb!

"Be careful with that sword, Brynhild!" said the lover-boy. He backed off, and tripped over a girl in a steel breastplate. He knocked the thorn out of her neck and she groaned.

"Now look what you've made me go and do. Where is it?" He scrabbled around looking for the thorn, and pushed it back into her neck as she sat up. The girl promptly collapsed again.

"I'm not Brynhild, and take that thing out of her neck," said Marie trying another swing with the sword.

"But then she'll wake up. And it's you I am supposed to give my ring to." Marie recognized the overmuscled lover-boy. The dragon-killer. He was holding out a broad gold ring. "I am the mighty Sigurd, the Dragon-slayer, Valkyrie. I have come to make you mine."

"I got the only ring I want, thanks," said Marie, showing him her wedding band. "And that means hands off, see. I'm taken. Or I'll use this thing to make your plans genuinely unworkable. No tools left, so to speak. Now take that thing out of her neck, before I take your fool head off."

With this odd sword she felt as if she could almost do it. She looked around and realized that it wasn't just the one girl with a thorn in her neck. There were hundreds of them. Well, they probably didn't want to be in this enchanted sleep any more than she did.

She noticed that, instead of doing as he was told, the mighty Sigurd was attempting to edge around her. She took a wild swing at him, not expecting to hit him-or even really intending to.

The sword had its own ideas though. Sigurd leaped backwards, falling over yet another blond woman with a mailshirt and a thorn in her neck. He yowled and held the pieces of his chainmail vest. "That was kobold-weave, you silly bitch!"

You didn't talk to Marie Jackson like that. Not now. Not ever. And certainly not in the mood she was in. Ten seconds later, Sigurd the hero had retreated out of the door and was scrambling to mount his horse. Marie was alone in a hall of full of armored women who lay like corpses around her. She rested on the sword for a bit, looking at the scene. Well. She had a husband and kids to get back to, while she could. She stepped toward the fire-wall.