The Dragonslayer's Sword

by Resa Nelson

  "Randim," Astrid said warmly. "I drink dragon's blood for breakfast. Besides...” She reached back, patting Starlight, safe in its sheath. "We won't be going unarmed."

  * * *

  The first few days at sea took toll on Astrid and the other blacksmiths. But once she grew used to the ocean swells and the rolling motion of the ship, Astrid came to appreciate the solitude and peacefulness of the journey.

  Their ship approached the harbor of the island where DiStephan claimed they would find Lenore.

  The harbor was little more than a long stretch of beach, dotted with dozens of narrow ships slid upon the sand like sunbathing seals.

  Astrid slipped a small pinch of night's bane between her cheek and gum, the same way she'd seen Randim do.

  DiStephan materialized solidly by her side.

  "Look," DiStephan said, pointing at the ships already docked while theirs slid between them.

  The front of each ship rose high, carved in the shape of an open-mouthed dragon.

  "Beware," Astrid quoted solemnly, remembering Randim's map. "Here be dragons."

  "Right," DiStephan said, staring at the long ships.

  "Randim, come ashore with me," Astrid said. "Everyone else stay onboard.” When she touched Randim's shoulder, she realized how much she'd missed him.

  "I believe," DiStephan said coolly, behind Astrid, "I can lead you to Lenore."

  Guilt washed through Astrid.

  At the same time, she relished the moment. She'd never felt this way about two different men at once. Part of her simply wanted to enjoy the feeling and sort things out later.

  After Randim and Astrid climbed down from their ship, they followed DiStephan past the beach to a sunken pasture dotted with rolling waves of earthy mounds. Standing on the crest of a hill, Astrid looked down into the sunken pasture.

  But it wasn't a pasture.

  It was a hidden village.

  The rolling earthy waves turned out to be turf-roofed houses dug into the land. Shaped round like wheels, the houses contained stone walls that stood like spokes, dividing each house into a few rooms. A fire burned in a center hearth, at the hub of the wheel.

  Open stone walkways connected the houses, winding through the pasture in a maze.

  As they eased from their grassy perch down onto a walkway, villagers noticed, drawing daggers.

  "Let's be calm," Astrid said. To the closest villager, Astrid said, "We're looking for a woman named Lenore."

  The villager squinted. He spoke rapidly, slashing the air with his dagger in crisscross motions.

  "Does anyone recognize the language he's speaking?” Astrid said.

  "No," Randim said. "We should have brought the Captain. The Captain's fluent in many tongues."

  "Except for ours," DiStephan said. "We've never understood a word he's said. We're lucky he's fluent in gestures."

  "Gestures—of course," Astrid said. She made chopping motions at her ankles.

  Surprised, the villager relaxed. He motioned for them to follow.

  They entered a tiny wheel-spoke house, and Astrid saw Lenore sitting on the dirt floor where she fit a new pair of leather shoes to a villager's feet.

  She looked well fed and wore a plain gray underdress covered with a dark green apron. Just like when she'd revealed herself to Astrid on the day she'd asked her to make a pair of silver shoes, Lenore's hair was streaked with white, and wrinkles creased around her eyes and the corners of her mouth.

  As Astrid had guessed, there seemed to be no lizard meat to eat on this island. The villagers they'd seen were too ill in appearance for people with the ability to change it.

  And Lenore's feet were gone.

  The villager looked down at the shoes Lenore had fit to his feet, admiring them. He brushed past Astrid on his way out.

  Lenore's eyes widened in surprise when she recognized Astrid.

  Randim approached Lenore, staring at her legs. "What have they done to you?"

  Lenore sat up tall under Randim's stare as he kneeled before her. "Tell me who did this to you, and I'll break his hands.” He looked her up and down, and then gazed into her eyes.

  Astrid remembered the first time she met Randim. How he'd done the same with her, but had looked away to tell Broken Nose that Astrid wasn't for him, that he'd know his wife when he met her, thinking the brigands were offering him a wife only to discover they offered a blacksmith.

  Now Randim acted the same way with Lenore—except he didn’t look away. Instead, he seemed drawn to her.

  Astrid's heart dropped. Her head told her no one could hold onto a man as if he were a possession, but part of her ached for Randim's touch, for his attention...

  She looked up to see DiStephan raise a questioning eyebrow.

  Lenore crossed her arms. "A blacksmith cut off my feet."

  Randim jerked as if she'd slapped him. "Impossible! Blacksmiths are men of honor. No blacksmith would ever—"

  "I asked him to," Lenore said, watching Randim as carefully as he watched her.

  Astrid saw sorrow rise in Randim's eyes.

  Lenore's expression softened. "My feet would have killed me if he hadn't. The blacksmith who helped me was a fine and honorable man."

  A new villager entered the wheel-spoke house and talked to Lenore. His hair looked long, dirty, and tangled. His skin was rough and weathered.

  Lenore spoke a few words of the strange language. She looked at Astrid. "This is Komdra. My master."

  When he stepped toward her, Astrid realized Komdra’s height matched hers, but something about him unnerved her.

  He spoke questioningly. Komdra drew closer, and his eyes seemed to register surprise as he looked at Astrid's skin.

  "No lizard meat served on this island, I wager," DiStephan said.

  Astrid nodded. Although she saw herself with two arms and smooth skin, Komdra was seeing her with one arm and skin covered with scars. "Tell him we've come to buy you," Astrid said to Lenore. "Tell him you belong to us."

  Lenore brightened. "You've found the others? Have you bought back everyone else?"

  "Others?"

  "Kamella, Beamon," Lenore said. "About 30 of us altogether. Are they all back in Guell?"

  Astrid steadied herself. It wasn't just Lenore who had lived, after all.

  "Just as I told you, Pigeon," DiStephan said, showing no surprise at Lenore's words. "It may not be the way you want it, but it's there."

  Love.

  DiStephan had told her: You are loved—not the way you want, but you are loved.

  They were her people, the ones who'd known her since childhood. They'd suffered at the hands of Astrid's family, and now they'd been sold as slaves.

  I'll buy them all back. I'll send them back to Guell.

  DiStephan was right. It wasn't exactly what Astrid wanted.

  It was what she needed.

  She'd been left to die in a cage as a child. She wasn't simply freeing the survivors of Guell from slavery.

  She was freeing herself.

  CHAPTER 33

  Astrid offered to make whatever Lenore's master needed: iron parts for his ship, hinges and locks and keys for his wheel-spoke house, and tools and equipment he could sell to the island farmers.

  But Komdra stood fast, preferring to keep Lenore for himself over anything Astrid had to offer. It was only when she remembered the tactic Lumpy and Broken Nose had used to sell her to Randim that she caught Komdra's attention.

  It had been one thing to teach Randim and his blacksmiths how to make a dragonslayer's sword.

  It was another to teach foreign men.

  Deep in her gut, Astrid believed showing anyone other than Randim and his blacksmiths how to make a sword that wouldn't bend or break in battle would be a decision that would come back to haunt her.

  So instead, she offered to make brigand swords, half the length of a dragonslayer's sword.

  Komdra studied her as they bargained, paying careful attention to every expression on her face, every nuance in her voice.
Astrid was just as careful to keep her reserve. Finally, he pointed at the sword she carried.

  "No!” Astrid cried, panicked at the thought of losing DiStephan's sword.

  One corner of Komdra's mouth turned up the tiniest bit, and his tone turned cool when he spoke.

  "Your sword is what he wants," Lenore said, translating for Komdra.

  Astrid saw Komdra's request as an act of manipulation.

  She slipped her hand into her pouch, pulling out the brooch DiStephan had given to her when they'd first met: a dragon surrounded by snakes. It felt like giving away her best friend, but it was only a brooch. Only a harmless piece of metal.

  Lenore was flesh and blood.

  When Komdra took the brooch from Astrid's extended hand, he examined the tears welling in her eyes, not the brooch.

  "Take this instead," Astrid said.

  Komdra pinned the brooch near his throat. He pointed at the sword, held up one finger, and pointed to himself. Astrid nodded her agreement. The brooch and a newly-made short sword—something only the wealthiest man could afford—would buy Lenore's freedom.

  Days later, Randim and his blacksmiths cleared their anvils and tools from the makeshift smithery they'd built.

  Komdra examined the sword they'd made for him. Because the sword was shorter and lighter, he held it with one hand.

  In the past few days Astrid had learned a few words of Komdra's language. She rubbed the palm of her own hand. She pointed at Komdra's hand. "Yours," Astrid said.

  Lenore laughed good naturedly. "He knows it's his."

  Astrid smiled at Komdra. "I made it for his hand. That's what I want him to know."

  Focusing his attention on the blade, Komdra's face glowed like a man in love. He ran his fingertips lightly along the flat of the blade. He spoke rapidly and flushed with excitement. The only word Astrid recognized was "beautiful".

  "He said..." Lenore began.

  "I know," Astrid said. "I think Komdra and I understand each other when it comes to swords."

  * * *

  Weeks later, Astrid joined Randim at the ship's bow. It was a quiet day at sea, and the deck creaked gently beneath their feet.

  "The men want to go home," Randim told her.

  Astrid understood. Because Lenore had been the last one sold by the brigands, she knew where to find all the other survivors from Guell. Thanks to Lenore, they'd found 16 survivors. Astrid, Randim, and the other blacksmiths had forged goods to buy a second ship and hire another crew of seamen. They sent those 16 survivors home to Guell. Now they'd found 11 more, with only two remaining survivors to find.

  The 11 survivors huddled in blankets, hungry and sick with a fever that Kamella had brought on board with her from the last island.

  Astrid noticed how gaunt Randim's face had become during the past weeks. The people they'd bought back from the islands weren't the only ones who were cold and hungry and sick.

  Randim was right. The time had come to go home, where they could all rest by a hot fire and drink healing broth.

  "Leave me on this last island and take the ship to Guell," Astrid said. "I'll work to buy the last two people and another ship to bring them home."

  Each island had been more dangerous than the last. She'd found each group of survivors from Guell in worse shape than she'd imagined possible. Some were starved, others beaten.

  The blacksmiths worked hard, forging whatever each island needed most. They forged not just to buy back slaves but to stock the ship with food for its growing population. Everyone was exhausted and worn threadbare.

  Kamella's illness grew more serious by the day. Where she led, others would soon follow.

  Randim stood silent for a few long moments, looking out to sea. "I go where you go."

  By habit, Astrid checked the small bag of night's bane on her belt. Because Randim had eaten the stuff all his life and grown used to it, he could eat all he wanted.

  But Astrid was down to her last pinch. She hadn't seen DiStephan in days, and she wanted his opinion.

  She noticed Randim watching her touch the bag of night's bane. "Is DiStephan here?" she said.

  "We never have a conversation without him," Randim said.

  "What does he say?"

  Randim looked worried. "He says to keep our swords handy."

  * * *

  As the day progressed, sea birds flew high overhead, a sure sign of land nearby.

  But instead of exhilaration at finding the last island and the confidence of knowing she'd soon buy back the last survivors from Guell, Astrid felt uneasy. She first sensed that unease while aboard the ship, and it worried her.

  She wanted Randim's counsel, and she knew where to find him. At any given moment, he was likely to be at Lenore's side. At times, it seemed as if he could look at no one else but her.

  "Randim?” Astrid stood behind him. She felt uncomfortable because the 11 survivors stared at her.

  He gave her a cursory glance. "No troubles. We'll be there soon.” He returned his full attention to Lenore, ignoring Astrid.

  But Lenore cast a questioning gaze at Astrid, even though she spoke to Randim. "That's not why she worries."

  Randim turned, staring at the empty space next to Astrid. Moments later, he pressed his lips together, annoyed but obedient. To Astrid, he said, "The ghostie says talk to them."

  "Them?” Astrid twisted her hands together. "Who?"

  Randim gestured first to the survivors from Guell, then to his blacksmiths. "Them."

  The thought frightened her. She didn't know what she had to say to any of them. "Talk to them about what?"

  This time, Randim didn't miss a beat. "The truth."

  Astrid looked out across the ocean. There it stood: the last island. With the strong wind they'd had at their back all afternoon, they'd be landing soon.

  "I don't understand," she said.

  Lenore sat up taller, appearing to gain strength. "What happened to you? How did you lose your arm? And why are you covered in scars?"

  Of course. No one had said anything to her until now. Back in Guell, it would have been considered crude and impolite.

  Temple had taught her that people used the word "magic" when they found no rational explanation for what they saw. He'd pointed out that shapeshifting was no more magical than the natural growth from newborn baby to adult. Temple believed it dangerous to believe in magic. "When you look at the world," Temple had once said, "you should see it as it is, not as others wish it to be."

  Astrid decided to tackle the easiest topic first. "Eating dragon meat lets us change. The way you see me now isn't the way I see me. You see one arm, but I have two."

  "You're saying you don't look like yourself because we've eaten no dragons for months?” It was Beamon who spoke, his red hair grown long and unkempt. His eyes looked empty and hollow from hunger and sickness, but he kept his arm around Kamella's shoulders. She leaned against him, her eyes half open. "Is that why we look the way we do?"

  Astrid nodded. "I believe so."

  In truth, she thought it was nothing more than illness that made them look bedraggled.

  "And your arm?” Lenore wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them close to her chest.

  "Dragon," Astrid said. "It's something new."

  "Those scars don't look new," Beamon said.

  Astrid looked down at the wooden deck, examining its floorboards. She didn't want to speak, but she couldn't bear to lie. It had been bad enough keeping everything secret all her life. It had been difficult enough, knowing she was lying to everyone by saying nothing. But now that someone had asked her directly, the truth came spilling out like a cup with too much water poured into it. "When I came to Guell, I came from Tower Island. I'm of the Scaldings."

  She heard the floorboards creak all around her. While the seamen went about their work, the blacksmiths surrounded her, seeming to wait for an explanation long overdue.

  "But the Scaldings burn people," Beamon said. "They pour boiling water on them. Those scars
aren't from burns. And if you're a Scalding, then why would they—"

  "They gave me to a dragon," Astrid said. "Every scar is what's left of a dragon's bite."

  Astrid drew on all her strength. She had always feared this moment. She kept focusing on the floorboards, wanting to dive into the ocean and swim far away to a place where no one knew her or had ever heard of the Scaldings.

  Beamon's voice quivered in horror. "The Scaldings sacrificed one of their own people? To a dragon?"

  Astrid couldn't look up. She didn't want to see their faces. She didn't want to see the inevitable: that every one of them would want to run away from her. That they'd hate her for being a Scalding. That they'd be afraid of her, afraid she was capable of doing everything the Scaldings did.

  Only dragonslayers like DiStephan had the strength and courage to stand by her side.

  More than ever, she needed him now.

  Her hands trembled so hard, she could barely untie the small bag from her belt. She stuffed every last bit of night's bane into her mouth.

  Moments later, she saw DiStephan's hand entwined in her flesh-and-blood hand.

  "Courage, Pigeon," he whispered. "The day's not done, and there's plenty left to do."

  DiStephan was right. No matter what any of them thought of her, what mattered were the two people enslaved on the island looming ahead.

  Seeing his hand in hers gave Astrid hope and helped her focus on the task at hand. She could settle her standing with the others later.

  But when Astrid looked up from the floorboards, it took even more determination than she thought she possessed to keep her tears at bay.

  All of them—Randim and Lenore and Beamon and Kamella, all the others from Guell and the rest of the blacksmiths—looked at her with the same concern DiStephan had shown all those years ago when her blanket had first fallen away, impaled by his sword into the sand beneath the ocean waves.

  CHAPTER 34

  As the ship docked on the island's beach, Astrid's uneasiness grew.

  The blacksmiths carried dragonslayer swords made by their own hands and thanks to the technique taught by Astrid. So far, they'd only had to unsheathe those weapons to stop an attack, explain their search, or display what they could make for trade.