The Dragonslayer's Sword

by Resa Nelson

  Astrid's frown deepened. It was impossible.

  Taddeo smiled as he studied her face. In response, he gestured toward the open cavern behind him.

  For the first time, Astrid saw the similarities between the dragons' cavern and the Scaldings' tower. The spaces looked as if they'd been carved out with the same sensibilities, the same aesthetics. As if they'd been created by the same hands.

  Or the same claws.

  "That's impossible," Astrid said. "My grandfather killed the dragons that attacked Tower Island. He was hired to help the clan living there. He was their dragonslayer, and he protected them."

  Taddeo spoke with slow and considered compassion. "Then what happened to them? Why is it your clan—not theirs—lives on Tower Island now?"

  "Tower Island was payment for my grandfather's services."

  "Your grandfather was a true dragonslayer, and he died a good death in battle. Your father was also a true dragonslayer, but without your grandfather's guidance, your father lost his way. He claimed Tower Island as payment for his father's death. Your father led a battle, slaughtering the clan who lived there. He killed the people who hired your grandfather to be their protector."

  "No," Astrid said. "How could that be?"

  "It was your father who captured my brother, trying to rescue his mate and their hatchlings from the Scaldings' hands. Once inside the tower, my brother broke free. He killed your father. That was the day when leading the clan fell on Drageen's shoulders."

  Astrid remembered how, when she was little, Drageen, 10 years her senior, had towered above her like the birch trees behind her smithery yard in Guell. She remembered the hatred etched on his face, and how often blood had stained his face and hands.

  "Tower Island is a strong fortress," Taddeo said. "My kind made it that way. Anyone who recognizes the value of Tower Island will do anything to control it. But once we lost it to your clan, all we wanted was to reclaim our rightful home."

  Taddeo's claims were overwhelming, yet believable.

  All the while, Astrid had been tending her anger the same way she'd tend any good fire in her smithery. She was aware he hadn't answered her question yet. "Why did you do nothing when Drageen killed everyone in Guell?"

  "Every dragon who stormed Tower Island failed," Taddeo said. "They were captured and killed, except for Norah. I had to find a different way to get into Tower Island and take her back before Drageen killed her, too."

  His words chilled Astrid. "What did you do?"

  "I came to Guell to find out if the legend was true. If the girl given to the child seller had blood strong enough to produce bloodstones. If so, I knew she'd be lured back to Tower Island. I knew Drageen would keep Norah alive only long enough to scare the bloodstones out of you. And if I could follow—if I could blend in—I could get close enough to Norah to free her."

  Astrid slackened in disbelief. "You stood by—you hid—while Drageen murdered everyone in Guell?"

  Taddeo kept his resolve. "Everything I did, I did for Norah."

  "You could have fought Drageen," Astrid said numbly. "You could have saved lives."

  Taddeo shook his head. "I knew Drageen came to capture you. I needed him to take you to Tower Island so I could follow without being noticed."

  Astrid's anger let loose. "You used me! You used everyone in Guell!"

  "Yes," Taddeo said. "And I would do it again. I would do anything for Norah. I would do anything to help my kind."

  "What about my kind?"

  "Murderers."

  "I'm no murderer. And neither was anyone else in Guell."

  Taddeo rose, drawing himself up with pride. His eyes steeled. "When the Scaldings murdered my clan, they made a choice. Every choice has consequences."

  Astrid stood to face him.

  Taddeo said, "I am the consequences of the Scaldings' choice."

  He picked up the small leather pouch from the ground and tied it to her belt.

  "You lied," Astrid said.

  "I would do it again," Taddeo said. "I have no regrets."

  Astrid glanced at the Magenta, sheathed at his side. "I have enough for us both," she said.

  PART 4: THE DRAGON EMERGES

  Temple neared the end of his lesson of showing Astrid how to make a dragonslayer's sword.

  Astrid forged the fuller, a long channel down the center of each side of the blade. She ground the sword down to shape its length and thickness. She quenched and tempered the blade to its final state of hardness. She polished the blade, working smooth any scratches from grinding and other imperfections.

  Still, the sword appeared to be like any other sword, its surface looking like solid metal. Anxious, she said, "I don't see the pattern."

  "Have faith, Astrid," Temple said. "The dragon never emerges from the sword until it's done. Even when you can't see it, know the dragon is there, sleeping inside the sword, waiting for the day it will awaken and show its true self."

  Astrid picked up a large jar that she'd been peeing in for days. She poured her urine into a long trough, and then submerged the blade into it. She tried not to think about it as she forged the last pieces of the sword: the crossguard, the hilt, and the pommel. Finally, when enough time had elapsed, Astrid removed the sword from its etching bath.

  Temple was right. The pattern—the dragon scales—now showed clearly on both sides of the blade.

  When she finished the sword, sliding the crossguard, hilt, and pommel onto the tang, DiStephan walked into the smithery. He brightened when he saw the sword. "Can I hold it?"

  "Soon enough," Temple said, watching Astrid while she secured the final parts in place.

  She noticed every imperfection, every little mistake she'd made, although Temple insisted the blade would be sound. The last man she wanted to disappoint was the one whose life now depended on the quality of her work.

  Once she handed it to DiStephan, he seemed to get lost in the sword, gazing into the blade the way most people would stare into a lover's eyes.

  "What will you call her?” Astrid said, studying DiStephan closely, relieved to see he liked the first sword she'd ever made.

  "Starlight," DiStephan answered, running a fingertip down the sword's pattern of dragon scales, made by the billets forged and twisted and welded together by Astrid's hammer.

  CHAPTER 28

  That night the alchemist pumped the bellows into the lowest chamber of the five-foot-high clay oven. The air reeked of sulfur and horse dung. Happy with the steadiness of the flames, the alchemist scattered the measured salts and minerals into the middle chamber, just below the final chamber holding Mauri's remains.

  A sharp sigh pierced the silence.

  The alchemist moved an evaporating bowl in front of the clay furnace. Its properties would allow her to keep the spirit inside the furnace. She opened the door to the top chamber.

  White smoke swirled, taking the shape of Mauri's face above her bones, dried skin, and viscera. The spirit's voice said, “I see Astrid emerge from below. Her feet walk on land once more."

  "Below?” The alchemist was puzzled. "She's been below land all this time? Is that why you haven't been able to find her?"

  "Yes. She vanished."

  "Is she producing bloodstones?"

  The white smoke swirled as Mauri's spirit shook her head. "I have no power to see inside her. All I can see is what's outside, what's surrounded by air."

  Of course, the alchemist realized. Spirits were made of air. They understood air. They didn't understand land or water or fire. Only air. "Can you see her? Can you follow her? Can you lead Drageen to her?"

  The white smoke tried to dissipate, but the alchemist pumped the bellows.

  "I bind you to your bones by your own betrayal of the friend who loved you," the alchemist said. She tossed a handful of the ashes of Guell to make the spell stick. "As the betrayal of love binds you, only the forgiveness of the betrayed can set you free."

  The strength of the fire and the alchemist's words forced the spirit to sta
y materialized.

  "Simply because you are spirit," the alchemist said, "do not make the mistake of assuming I won't make your existence painful. I know many ways to induce pain. Already being dead won't help you."

  The white smoke sighed. "I can lead anyone to Astrid."

  The alchemist smiled. Drageen would be pleased.

  * * *

  Astrid was tired.

  She'd traveled for days along the same river leading to Guell, bypassing its charred remains to journey north for one more day. Once she'd understood she had no place among dragons, they led her out of the cavern, onto a small ledge on a sheer cliff, high above the ocean. Astrid had followed a narrow path up to the top of that cliff. She’d walked down until she found the river.

  Having only one arm, Astrid would never be a blacksmith again. She had no other skill to make her way in the world. Until she could learn a new craft, she believed the only way she could survive was by finding DiStephan.

  Astrid found the gorge Taddeo had described, and she walked along its edge, keeping a steady eye on the river far below.

  There!

  She spotted a small island in the middle of the river and two trunks beneath what appeared to be a single tree. Astrid glanced up at the sun. It was still mid-morning.

  By early afternoon, she'd hiked down into the gorge to the river's edge. Although the water ran swift, Astrid had confidence from the hours she'd spent swimming with dragons.

  She jumped into the water and soon found herself close enough to grab onto vine roots protruding from the island's edge. She wound her arm around the vine roots, ignoring their sharpness, digging into her skin as she pulled herself toward land, freeing herself from the current. Finding toe holds, she climbed, flinging herself onto soft grass.

  She shivered as a sudden breeze chilled her soaked body. But the sun beat hot from a clear sky, so Astrid stripped and spread her wet clothes and shoes on top of a large boulder. She let the sunlight dry her skin, her scars still visible since the day her body had shifted to its Scalding shape on Tower Island.

  Setting her sights on the trees, no more than a long stone's throw away, Astrid breathed. She didn't want to wait for her clothes to dry. She'd already waited too long.

  Astrid shivered when she walked under the island's only two trees, missing the warmth of the sun once she entered the shade. The thick mass of leaves rustled high above as if she'd disturbed a small army of nesting squirrels.

  She stepped in between the two trunks and saw a dark green, leafy herb growing at her feet.

  Night's bane.

  Astrid slapped her hand against her naked waist, looking for the small leather pouch Taddeo had tied to her belt.

  The pouch was still attached to her belt, drying on the boulder.

  Taddeo said she'd need night's bane to find DiStephan, whatever that meant. In the end, Astrid had felt so hurt and angry she'd forgotten to ask.

  Astrid shook it off. How could any herb help her find DiStephan? There had to be some kind of clue here. It was impossible for DiStephan to be on this island. No one could be here but Astrid. But maybe the night’s bane would help her discover some kind of message about where she might find him.

  A strong breeze kicked up, this time coming from the opposite direction.

  Astrid's nostrils flared, detecting a faint scent in the wind.

  DiStephan.

  His scent drifted in the air, barely detectable but there nonetheless.

  Astrid spun, facing the wind. She saw a small hill the size of her cottage.

  Astrid ran to it, circling the unusual mound, sniffing.

  She could still smell him. He'd been here. He'd left something behind, something that might point to where Astrid could find him.

  Astrid continued circling the hill until she found a shoulder-height stone slab wedged into the side of the hill.

  It looked like a door.

  Astrid tried prying it loose with her hand to no avail. She studied the slab, examining the edges where it cut into the hill. She climbed onto the slope above and dug grass and dirt from the slab's top edge. Astrid sat on the slope, placed the soles of her feet against the back of the slab's top, and then pushed with all her might.

  The slab door shifted. Not much, but enough to give Astrid hope.

  Wearing shoes would help.

  Astrid ran back to the edge of the island. Between the beating sun and the hot boulder, her clothes were almost dry. Astrid dressed, squeezing on her leather shoes which were still wet.

  Heading back between the tree trunks, Astrid paused long enough to fill her small leather pouch with night's bane. Maybe whatever she was about to find could make use of it.

  She sprinted back up on the hill and pushed against the slab door until it fell free.

  Astrid scrambled down, examining the results of her labor. The slab lay on the grass, revealing a stone-lined entrance inside the hill. Astrid had to double over to peer inside. She saw a shaft of dim light.

  A light breeze drifted from inside the hill, damp and earthy. DiStephan's scent was even stronger now.

  Astrid squeezed inside the passageway, still doubled over, concentrating on the light ahead. The air felt cool and damp. After taking several steps, she stood up in a large chamber carved inside the hill. Glancing up, she saw the narrow shaft of light coming from an opening high above, blocked by a cross-hatch iron grid, most likely designed to keep animals out but let light and air inside.

  It wasn't until her eyes adjusted that she saw the contents of the chamber.

  Bones.

  As clean and dry as if they'd been bleached by the sun. Arranged to make it clear they formed a man's skeleton.

  Astrid frowned, confused. She'd heard of burial chambers, but she'd never seen one, much less been inside. Who was buried here, and why would DiStephan leave anything here as a clue to his whereabouts?

  A quick breeze shot down from the small opening above, kicking up DiStephan's scent again.

  Astrid stepped closer to the skeleton, this time noticing the clothing underneath.

  His clothes.

  "No," Astrid said numbly. "He didn't die. Mauri said she'd spoken with him."

  She saw the familiar sheath by the skeleton's side.

  She knelt beside it, and grasped the hilt of the sword inside. Planting one foot on top of the sheath, she withdrew the sword.

  Even in the dim light of the burial chamber, the polished sword shone brightly, the familiar pattern of dragon scales running down the center of the blade. The crystal she'd set in the hilt with her own hands sparkled.

  Astrid stared at the sword in disbelief. "Starlight," she murmured, recognizing the first sword she'd ever made for DiStephan. His favorite. The sword that had never left his side except when it was in Astrid's hands for sharpening, polishing, or repair.

  Astrid entwined her arm around the blade, not caring when it cut into her skin, not caring when she bled.

  What did it matter? Her skin was covered in scars. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't control the shape of her body. She couldn't shapeshift. Because she couldn't change the way she looked, she'd be feared and stoned by others. The only reason the blacksmiths had let her in their camp was because she held the secret to making a dragonslayer's sword. With only one arm, she couldn't show anybody how to make a sword.

  She’d become worthless.

  She had no hope of making friends who might help or protect her. She couldn't work. It was inevitable that she would starve soon.

  It made more sense to die now.

  Astrid opened the leather pouch, taking a pinch of night's bane and stuffing it into her mouth. She grimaced at its bitter taste, but chewed it.

  Her hands trembled as she felt its effects. Energy shot through her arm and legs, making them tingle. Her skin warmed, and sweat beaded her forehead.

  Good. Maybe it wouldn't take too long to eat the entire amount, the fatal dose. Maybe this would be over soon.

  For a moment, her chest seemed to
collapse upon itself, and she struggled to breathe.

  But she heard his voice echo inside the chamber.

  "Hello, Pigeon."

  CHAPTER 29

  Sitting on the floor inside the burial chamber, Astrid looked up at the sound of DiStephan's voice. He stood on the other side of the bones in the center of the chamber, behind the rays of light streaming from the opening above. He was as lean and lanky as when Astrid first met him, now standing head and shoulders taller than her, his face fleshed out into a man's resolve with a boy's impish smile.

  Astrid squinted, barely able to see him in the shadows.

  All this time, she'd wanted to be with him again. But she'd thought about what she'd say if it happened. No words seemed good enough.

  He frowned, taking a step forward. "What happened to your arm?"

  Astrid hesitated. She didn't want to talk about Norah or Taddeo yet. She wasn't ready to admit they'd rejected her.

  Astrid shrugged with as much nonchalance as she could muster. "Dragon."

  His eyes widened in shock, reminding Astrid of the way he'd looked when they were children and his sword had impaled her blanket, forcing it to fall from her body.

  But he nodded, accepting her simple answer.

  DiStephan knelt across the bones from her. "Who sent you?"

  "Taddeo.”

  Taddeo had asked Astrid to say nothing about her experience with the dragons to the Scaldings, but he'd never said she couldn't tell DiStephan. But now that she was here with DiStephan, she had her own questions to ask. "Where have you been?"

  DiStephan looked down. "Here, sometimes. Lately, elsewhere. But mostly with you."

  At first, his words touched her. All this time, in her heart, she'd been with him. Relief washed through her. Even if everything wasn't all right with them now, maybe it could be. He didn't hate her, as she'd feared.

  But he hadn't answered her question, and Astrid needed an answer.

  "I don't mean in spirit," she said. "I mean in body."

  DiStephan met her gaze. "I was here."

  His words didn't make any sense. Why would he come here? DiStephan had always called himself Guell's first line of defense, and he had always taken that responsibility to heart.