by Resa Nelson
DRAGONSLAYER STORIES
Two Short Stories
by Resa Nelson
Copyright Information
DRAGONSLAYER STORIES Two Short Stories
Copyright © 2013 by Resa Nelson
The Dragonslayer’s Sword originally appeared in Science Fiction Age magazine © 1992 by Resa Nelson
The Silver Shoes originally appeared in Science Fiction Age magazine © 1996 by Resa Nelson
Cover design by Tom Sweeney/Resa Nelson
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictional or used in an imaginary way to entertain. Any resemblance to any real people, situations, or incidents is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
The Dragonslayer’s Sword
The Silver Shoes
Books in the Dragonslayer Series (complete)
What reviewers say about the Dragonslayer series
About the Dragonslayer Stories
The Dragonslayer’s Sword
By Resa Nelson
Heat stood around Astrid like a wall when she worked, built in layers by the fire and the metal tools she used. The bellows wheezed as she pumped them, her arms aching, smoke stinging her eyes, until the charcoals burned bright yellow. The smithery was outside, adjacent to her cottage. Rows of tall, ancient poplars surrounded the cottage and the smithery, giving shade and privacy.
Astrid enjoyed the heat of the smithery, loving the way it baked into her skin. When it became too intense, she'd set down the horseshoe or dagger or whatever else she might be tapping into shape and step back into the cool of the day for relief. One September day, at such a moment, Astrid paused and turned around to find the dragonslayer standing behind her.
Astrid gasped, because it was the first time anyone had seen her blacksmithing body. Although fully clothed, she felt as vulnerable as if he had just found her naked.
The body nature had given her was small but sturdy. As with any woman, Astrid's legs were the strongest part of her body, her thighs and rump large but muscular from running long distances between villages when she was a girl, delivering messages or trading light goods. Also as with any woman, Astrid's chest and arms were soft and rounded. She had not been born to develop the body of a blacksmith.
It wasn't unusual that Astrid changed her body when she worked, enlarging her chest and arms several times until the upper half of her body looked more like a man's physique than a woman's. Everyone changed their shape as they needed or wanted to. Only Lenore caused anyone's eyebrows to raise, because she was indiscreet about the times and places she chose to alter her body: Lenore would toss her head back and laugh as she'd sprout larger breasts and longer legs while crossing the road from one man's side to another. It was unusual for anyone else to change shape in such a crude manner. And yet Lenore was respected because no man had ever been able to alter her body by staring at it--Lenore had the confidence to maintain whatever shape she chose, no matter how anyone else might want her to appear.
Unlike Lenore, Astrid felt sensitive about changing to her blacksmithing body, because it meant finding the male qualities within herself.
As a matter of respect, there was an unspoken agreement among the villagers that no one would find reason to visit the smithery during the hours that Astrid worked. It was considered only rude to gaze upon the larger, more muscular shape to which she chose to alter her body. Everyone in the village understood this.
But as the dragonslayer was a foreigner who had lived on the edge of the village for a short time, he was unaware of this custom. Because he did not live inside the village, he was not considered part of it. His accent was strange, although he spoke their language perfectly. He was taller and stronger than any man Astrid had ever seen, and nearly every woman felt a tug of attraction to his muscular body and cool green eyes. His skin was several shades lighter than Astrid's, and it was rough and weathered.
During the seven months since his arrival, Astrid had never seen him change.
Unlike anyone else Astrid had ever known, the dragonslayer's physical appearance could not be altered, either by what someone else thought of him, or by how he perceived himself. Or perhaps, unlike anyone else, he just knew how to keep changes at bay, as if they were dragons.
Astrid made an effort to be friendly, covering up her surprise at finding him watching her. "Hello, Taddeo. How are you?"
Leaning against a poplar, his gaze was casual but open. He stared at her muscles, slick and shiny with sweat. "I am well ... are you?"
She licked her lips, tasting the salt in her sweat. Every other time Taddeo had seen her, she had worn the body everyone else was accustomed to seeing, small and slim. This was the first time he had seen her in a different form.
Astrid was, at the moment, nearly as tall as the dragonslayer and probably his equal in strength. And yet, his stare made her feel vulnerable. No one had ever caught a glimpse of her when she forged, much less examined her blacksmith shape so intently. She wanted to change back to the body she wore in public, but changing shape was a private thing. She would sooner change her clothes in front of an audience than change her body.
And Taddeo wasn't an audience for whom she would ever remove her clothes. Their friendship was a professional one.
Astrid suddenly felt very aware of the clothes she wore: loose-fitting man's pants and a light cotton vest with large armholes cut away to free her movement. Not knowing what to do with her arms to conceal them, Astrid finally crossed them to steady their trembling. Unlike a man's corded musculature, her arms were smoothly defined. She tripled the size of the muscles in her arms and chest every time she prepared to blacksmith, in order to do the work that she loved. Until now, that much strength had made her feel good about herself.
"I'm fine," she said, answering his question. Astrid caught sight of the sword he held by his side, the one she had created for him. Inside the village, the dragonslayer usually walked unarmed. "The Magenta!" she said, relieved to find something else to talk about. "Is she serving you well?"
Taddeo smiled strangely for a moment, then flourished the sword and held it up, tilting it until the sunlight struck its polished blade. He cocked his head sharply at Astrid and laughed. "Have you had no lizard meat upon your table lately?"
Astrid nodded, but her smile was a small one. Only a few days ago, Taddeo had left the fresh corpse of a young dragon in the town center. Stretched out on the soft grass, it measured the length of four horses from snout to the tip of its spiked tail. Its neck was long and slender, as was its tail. The dragon's skin was gray with a lavender sheen, rough, and dry. Its throat and belly, unscaled and tender, had been slit.
Astrid had stared at its eyes, large as saucers, lifeless. Eyes like those had stared at Natalia, the butcher's daughter, only eight months ago. Apparently, dragons found vital organs to be delicacies and devoured them first. Then they ripped the meat from the bone. Natalia's head had been left relatively intact, but the rest of her was grisly. She had been killed a few weeks after DiStephan, the previous dragonslayer, had disappeared and a few weeks before Taddeo's services had been contracted. In that short time, a dozen crops were destroyed and several herds of livestock were ravaged.
Natalia's body was discovered by the river; DiStephan's body was never found.
This dragon, dead on the town green, might have been the same one that killed Natalia. The butcher must have thought so, judging by the way he tore it apart. But then, the butcher had attacked every dragon corpse that Taddeo had deposited on the town green with a frenzy.
"I received my share of the meat," Astrid said in a hushed voice. Searching for something else to say, she gulped, "It was very tender."
Taddeo held hi
s head higher and nodded as if he'd performed a great and personal service for the blacksmith. "It pleases me you are satisfied." Again, he gazed unashamedly and with approval at her arms and chest. "I wish I were as pleased with the quality of the women in your village."
Astrid returned his stare, unsure if she had understood him.
"The women here are too small," he said matter-of-factly. "There is nothing to them, no meat on their bones. They've arms and legs like twigs."
Astrid was stunned into silence, searching his face for a sign of jest. He had shown her nothing but kindness and courtesy before this moment. And the dragonslayer's sword...she had imagined that it had forged a bond between them. A bond of mutual respect.
She groped for a way to change the course of the conversation. Taddeo's behavior was strange and she had no desire to see more.
The dragonslayer's sword. Perhaps that was why he had come to her.
"The Magenta," she said. "Did you bring her to me for sharpening?"
Taddeo's eyes narrowed as they searched hers, then his face relaxed into a friendly expression. "The stone fell from its setting." He opened his free hand, and the crimson-colored gem rested there. "Would you replace it for me?" He held out the sword to her.
Astrid took it from him. She was the blacksmith, a craftsman. The weight of the sword resting in her hands renewed her professional persona. Smiling, she said, "Taddeo, I already told you--I am a blacksmith, not a jeweler."
"I have traveled widely," he said, holding his posture proudly. "Your work is fine as any jeweler's."
Astrid held her tongue. The dragonslayer had boasted of his travels many times to her, and she was always torn between feelings of jealousy and annoyance. Astrid had not traveled since her girlhood days as a runner and messenger, and she longed for a reason to travel widely. At the same time, she was content with who she was and what she had accomplished, even if it was an accomplishment confined to the small boundaries of her village. She refrained from reacting to what she considered to be the dragonslayer's condescension. "Beamon Waterson can help you," she said. "He's a fine jeweler."
Taddeo spoke evenly. "My people believe continuity yields consistency. You created a beautiful weapon from a lump of iron. I want no one else to touch the Magenta other than her creator and her master." He paused and bowed slightly. "You were very kind to give her to me. This time, though, you must accept payment for your labor."
Payment.
Astrid thought of Natalia. Her life had been the cost of DiStephan's disappearance. The price of losing a dragonslayer had been much too high to pay, a price that must never be paid again. And because Astrid believed that she was to blame for Natalia's death, she had promised herself to do whatever was necessary to keep a dragonslayer at hand.
"I can't accept your money," Astrid said, hiding her feeling of guilt over Natalia's death. "Your helping the village is payment enough." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. "After all, it is September."
Dragon eggs hatched in February each year, perhaps as far away as 100 miles north of Astrid's village. Dragon fledglings left the nest by July, migrating south to find a safe place to hibernate for the winter. Sometimes they hibernated nearby, re-emerging in the spring, such as the dragon that had killed Natalia, a mother dragon with a vengeance. The most dangerous time of year was September, when young dragons migrated south, ravaging the land for food. Now was when Taddeo's services were needed the most.
Taddeo fingered the crimson-colored gem. "I found this when I cut open a lizard's gullet. I have found several like it, as well as some that are different in color but just as beautiful. I believe that once I find and kill the mother lizard, I will find even more."
He was lying. Astrid was sure of it. There were some people in the village who still believed in stories about dragons guarding treasure, but Astrid didn't believe in magic. The dragons were exactly what Taddeo said they were: lizards. And there were fewer these days than she remembered from childhood. Along with most of the villagers, Astrid believed that in another 10 years dragons would be scarce, if any were alive at all.
If Taddeo had more gems in his possession, he must have acquired them in his travels.
His eyes glinted darkly. "I insist that you accept."
Baubles. Pretty baubles.
"No, thank you," she said quietly. "I'll reset the stone as my share of payment for your services."
She held his gaze until he shrugged and broke it. "As you wish." He handed the gem to her. "You should travel with me sometime."
"What?" Astrid bit her tongue, wishing she'd ignored him.
He shrugged again. "I have no plans to stay here. You should travel and see different sights. Meet different people, experience different cultures. My people, for instance, are not farmers, like yours. My people are hunters. We have an entirely different way of living, different customs." He maintained eye contact with Astrid. "For example, I have noticed the men in your village are passive. That is why they never hunt dragons. They lack aggression and confidence."
It was true. DiStephan had been an exception. Native-born to the village, he was the only man she'd ever known who could keep his body strong under the gaze of a dragon.
She'd heard stories of how a man's body would shrivel and collapse under a dragon's stare, because the dragon perceived the man to be weak and insignificant.
She'd heard the village healers speculate that dragons had grown to giant proportions, because their bodies inflated in keeping with their views of themselves. But those were most likely tales created by storytellers.
What Astrid knew to be true was that the remains of anyone slaughtered by a dragon did seem different from the way she remembered them alive--smaller and weaker and with less meat on the bones than what should have been there. Whether this was due to the dragon's belief or the victim's lack of belief--or just the fact that the dragon had eaten part of the body by the time the victim was found, Astrid didn't know.
"When a passive man--such as those here in your village--is interested in a woman," Taddeo said coolly, "he sits back and waits for her to come to him."
Astrid held the sword in one hand and the gem in the other. A gust of wind fanned the fire, and it whooshed behind her.
"Among my people, a man pursues a woman until she relents."
Astrid stifled a gasp as she felt a binding sensation across her chest. Small tearing sounds broke the silence between them. She felt the lacing between her breasts grew taut against the eyelets.
Taddeo smirked, still holding her gaze. "I suppose I am a combination of both cultures." His face assumed an expression of innocence. "Would a week's time be enough for you to reset the Magenta?"
Astrid struggled to maintain her composure. "She will be ready the day after next."
For a moment, he let his gaze drop. He met her eyes again and smiled. "Good."
###
Astrid watched him walk away. As the lacing began to pull from the vest, she clasped it with one hand. She dropped the sword and gem, then ran through the smithery and into her cottage, into her bedroom, and stood before the mirror on the wall.
She was different. The dragonslayer had imagined her the way he wanted her to look, and that act had changed her.
Astrid pulled the remaining laces from her vest and held it open. Her breasts had moved so that they were higher on her chest and set farther apart. They'd doubled in size but were firm and fully rounded. The nipples had lightened in color and were erect.
They were fine breasts, but they weren't hers. They were disproportionate with the rest of her body. The shape she'd chosen over the years made her happy. This change made her look top-heavy, like a caricature of a woman. She felt awkward and ungainly.
Unnerved, she stared at herself. Never had anyone had a perception strong enough to change her in such a noticeable way. On occasion, after spending time with others, she might find slight changes in her appearance: a more even skin tone, her nose a bit longer or a bit s
horter. It was customary to refrain from intruding upon another's appearance whenever possible.
And Astrid's view of herself was usually strong enough to keep her body as she liked it. She touched her breasts, stroking them, trying to imagine what they used to feel like.
Nothing moved, nothing shifted. Nothing changed.
Astrid opened her eyes. All she'd been able to think about was Natalia.
And DiStephan.
###
Astrid waited until the spinning sound began to grate and slow before knocking on the door jamb.
"Astrid!" Mauri looked up in surprise. She sat at her potter's wheel. Her hair was plaited into several braids and pinned up, leaving soft wisps at the nape of her neck. Her hands were gray and slick with the clay she worked with, the edges of it pale and dry on her wrists.
Astrid leaned against the door jamb, wanting to walk in, and at the same moment wishing she had never left her own cottage.
Astrid's body had kept the shape Taddeo had left her with. For the first time in life, she was unable to change herself. She stood in Mauri's doorway, too tall and too muscular. She wore large, loose clothing and kept her arms crossed in front of her breasts, which were still much too large. "I don't want to interrupt you."
Mauri smiled, giving no indication that she noticed the difference in Astrid's appearance. To do so would have been insensitive. "Nonsense," she said. "Come in and sit down. Talk with me awhile."
Astrid paused, feeling foolish for having left the safety of her home, for exposing her problem, then shook her head. "I should go home."
Mauri kept her voice even and calm. "Let me show you what I made. Here—you can sit at the wheel."
Astrid hesitated, then sat on the floor, only wanting to be small again, not wanting her friend to notice her enormous size.
Again, Mauri paid no notice. She took a vase, fired cobalt blue, from a shelf. The vase was slender and long-necked. "This is for Kamella. Last week at church she asked me to make a vase. Did you know Beamon Waterson is courting her? Kamella said he brought a handful of field lilies to her. Bright yellow ones."