by Marie Daye
He shook his head at her, and stomped through the slick snow past her. “I am not a child elf.”
“Yes, you're not. You’re thousands of years older than me, but you're not used to walking on two legs like you are. Don't need you slipping down a slope on me, too much work to go chasing after your sorry ass.”
Eskil did not stop, instead he continued on the slippery path down the mountain side. They should reach the bottom by mid-afternoon, if he would listen. However he did not seem interested in listening to her at all right now. He was stomping through the snow at a reckless speed, not paying attention where his feet were landing. He was bound to fall.
Libelle turned and nodded towards Davyn who simply nodded back and returned to the warmth of the main hall. She pulled on her stallion's reins and jogged after Eskil, fairly common with trudging up and down these unforgiving hills. She was familiar with the twists and turns on the mountain, knew where the paths led and where the wind blew the hardest.
She slowed and kept pace with him at his side, still leading her horse. “You should watch where you’re going.” She said, a hint of teasing in her voice.
“I am. I am walking down these blasted paths to the bottom of this bloody mountain.” He snapped, adjusting the wolf’s furs around his neck. His nose and cheeks turning red the longer he was out in the cold wind.
“Yes, we are walking to the foot of the mountain. But I am saying, you should watch where your feet are going.”
He stopped and glared at her, his lip curling over his teeth. “My feet are on the ground, they are not going anywhere. They go where I put them.” He turned away again and proceeded to stomp down the path at a distance from her.
Libelle couldn't help but smile as she watched him. “I wouldn't put your feet there.” She heard him grumble a curse under his breath at her. “Or there.” Another curse.
Eskil spun on his heel and faced her, “Slayer, stop with your blasted commentary. I know what I am doing, I am walking. It is not that hard!”
She tapped her lip with her finger when he turned around again, “I would not step there either.”
Eskil waved his hand at her and took another step forward, this time his foot failed to find the stone step and his knees buckled into the snow. His feet fell out in front of him and he tumbled onto his back, sliding down the steep slope that was rough from the unkept stone beneath it. He grunted when he came to a stop roughly twenty feet when where he had slipped, shaking his head and brushing the snow from his hair. He looked back up at Libelle who covering her mouth, her eyes wide.
“If you laugh, I will drag you down right here with me.” He snarled.
Libelle tried desperately to hold in her laughter, her stoic demeanor disappearing in a moment. Eskil, an all-powerful deity who was skillfully crafted by Búri who was the father of gods. Thousands of years old, with a strong and powerful voice. An explosive temper. A will to live, and to kill. A great dragon who was meant to be feared, by mortals and his kin. He was a prince among the dragon-kind.
This powerful, menacing, cruel beast, slipped and fell down a snowy hill. Buried up to his waist and covered in snow. He looked almost innocent despite his dark and demonic glare. She couldn’t stop herself, she couldn't hold it in. How was she supposed to remain serious in such a moment?
She laughed hard, all the way down the stairs and to his side. “You should have seen your face! Your eyes were about to burst from their sockets when you fell!” She laughed more. “I told you, watch where you put your feet.”
Eskil wanted to reach up and strangle her, but he didn't want to be stuck in the cold with waves of excruciating pain pulsing through him. He wadded up a ball of snow and hurled it at her, missing and hitting her horse behind her. Her stallion snorted angrily, pulling on his reins and attempting to turn his rear end towards Eskil.
“That’s enough now, settle yourself.” She patted her horse’s neck, trying to ease his new anger. “Will you climb on now?”
Eskil looked up at her horse, its brown eyes telling him he was in for a treat if he got too close. “Your beast looks like it wants to take a chunk out of me now.”
“Well, you did hit him with a snowball.”
“It was meant for you.” He tried to stand up but his feet slipped out from under him and he returned to the snowy prison he had collapsed in. He stared at the hand Libelle extended out to him, tears from her laughing fit freezing to her lashes.
“I do not need your help.”
She lost her smile, and Eskil saw the life in her expression disappear in seconds. Her eyes turned dull like her soul had fled from her body. In a moment, she had returned to the dragon slayer he was used to seeing: one lacking all emotion. She was an empty shell again. It was puzzling how she could simply switch like that; she was smiling and laughing a moment ago. Now she looked as if she could take his life, right here and now, and not feel a thing.
Her hand was still extended out, and he hesitantly took it. She pulled him up to his feet and led him back to the stairs without a word. He remained quiet, mentally trying to figure out what just happened. She gestured towards her horse again, and instead of arguing he stepped up into the stirrup and climbed into the saddle. It was strange to see her so quiet, it was unlike her. Unlike the woman he had grown to hate.
She took the reins once he was comfortably in the saddle and began walking at a speedy pace down the mountain, her feet seeking out secure footing without effort. She remained silent until the sun was at its peak in the sky, it was mid-day. Eskil had remained quiet as well, keeping his thoughts private from her. He watched his surroundings closely, taking in the sights and smells that were different than they were as a dragon. Smells were not as strong, he struggled to pinpoint where the scents came from. His hearing was not as sharp, he didn't hear the rustling that small animals made in the brush until they were darting away.
When he gazed out into the distance he could only see so far, when he looked to the thick forest at the foot of the mountain all he saw were trees. Being mortal was terrible. His face still ached from the slayer’s assault on his nose which had been turning a dark blue that spread to under both his eyes. The priest who spoke called it a bruise, he had never had such a wound.
The slayer’s horse was plowing through the snow with hardly any effort as well, and he was noticing that the further they traveled down the mountain the less snow was covering the landscape. Green blades of grass peaked through the thinning ice, trees did not appear to be frozen in a forever winter. Leaves actually budded and others were completely covered in dark green leaves. It was warmer now that they were further down the mountain, the heavy animal skins did not seem so necessary. His pants were still damp from the snow that had melted on them when he fell and he shifted uncomfortably in the leather saddle.
He looked down at the elf who had remained silent for the last few hours, she never once uttered a word. She never huffed or puffed while wading through the snow. She did not trip or flounder. Her ivory skin was flush and her long strands of hair danced in the wind or bounced along her lower back. The only sign that she was not an undead was the occasional pet to her stallions chin. The horse would nicker at her and push its nose into her palm, being rewarded with a gentle caress.
He had found himself thinking of all the gods who could have aided her, what spell had they given her, and what was the answer to returning to his original form. Yet he could not find any answer, no conclusion to anything that he asked himself. He would need to journey to the home of the gods for those answers, and to do that he needed his wings. He was stuck for now, he knew that. There was nothing he could do until the conniving mortal female beside him chose to. She was right, he needed her. He would have to play her game.
He could not kill her, even if he wanted to, even if he tried to: he could not kill her. Not with his own hands, and that would be the only way her life would be taken. He would not grant that pleasure to any other dragon, any other man.
If he could not harm
her, simply because she was mortal: he would not be able to take any other mortals life. So what would he do? Turn to his kin? The kin who had been talking of late about revolting against him? The dragon slayers still lived, still hunted their kind and took their souls. He was failing as a leader to some of them, he was showing that he was weak. If he asked for their help now, he really was weak. His place as prince would be replaced by someone inferior to him.
A low throaty growl escaped his throat, he had walked his mind in a circle again. All he could do was wait this out, perhaps the magic would wear off and he could return to his true form. Then he could take his time and break this slayer’s will before taking her life. He looked back down at her when she unlatched the metal clasps to her wolf’s pelts and let it fall from her shoulders. She caught it in her spare hand and tucked it under her arm, not missing a beat as she stepped down the clean stones. He looked behind them and saw that the snow had dried up several steps ago and they now walked on a snow-free path. He could see a small town now, at the end of the weaving stone path at the foot of the mountain.
It must be the one the old man mentioned. “Dragon Slayer,” He said.
She at least responded to him, but did not look at him. “What?”
He pulled his pelts from his shoulders, securing a latch around his waist so it would not fall to the ground but his hands were now free. “What do you plan to do with me?”
She shrugged and steered her horse around a tight corner. “Clothe you, feed you, and keep you out of trouble.”
That couldn't be all she planned to do, what about torturing him? Beating him? Making him suffer for all his accused sins? “And? What else?”
“What else? Besides feeding and clothing you? I don’t know, I have not thought that far ahead.”
“Slayer-” He said, his voice quieter than he’s ever spoke. Why was he being so gentle with her, he questioned himself? Ever since her expression had turned dull, he found himself being incredibly conscious of her.
She interrupted his sentence, “Enough with the Dragon Slayer nonsense. You shall stop calling me that, understand?”
Eskil frowned, she did not want him to call her that? What was he supposed to call her then? Wench? She-elf? He thought about it for a moment, the realization finally hitting him that he did not know her name. He only knew her as a slayer, his mortal enemy. The slayer of his brethren. A female elf with power he did not think compared to his. What was he supposed to call her? He looked back down at her and cleared his throat. How was he supposed to ask for her name?
“My name is Libelle.” She said, still not bothering to look at him.
“Libelle?” Her name flowed off his tongue like water, smooth and cool.
“Yes, just Libelle.”
It was strange, he liked her name. He liked it more than calling her slayer. “Why that name?”
He saw the crease in her brow form when her head turned just slightly, but she still didn't look at him. “You're asking me why I have my name? Really?”
She sighed. “My mother named me that, it has something to do with dragons. Other than that, I don’t know why she chose that name. Now no more questions, we are reaching Braedon in less than an hour. No more calling me slayer either, I do not need people to be finding out about that. You’ll call me by my name, or nothing at all.”
Eskil was pleasantly surprised. “The townsfolk do not know you are a slayer?”
“No, they do not know. I’d like to keep it that way, makes for less of a headache when I want to be at home.”
Even more surprise. “You don't want others to know you’re the slayer? Why? Wouldn't you want everyone to know, for them to shower you with gifts and gold? It is an honor for you mortals to be dragon slayers.” He said the words with menace, allowing his hatred for her and her kind to seep into them.
“Yes, I suppose for some it would be an honor.”
What? Eskil thought, more puzzled than before. She didn't say anything else to him, her lips locked together and the key was lost. Her words threw him off, and his intentions of leading their conversation into an argument were long gone. Wouldn't… a mortal be proud of that title? That power? He held onto the leather horn when she and her horse descended a long slope of steep stairs. Every slayer in history were famous, they used their power to do nothing but slay dragons and earn gold coins from their lords and masters. They were cruel and vile, they showed no remorse for the killing of my kin. Granted, I show no remorse for killing her kin, heh. Why is she different? Why does she not rejoice in her power? It will bring her all the gold coin she could ever desire, and all the dragon souls she would ever need with unlimited power? She could become so strong. Eskil looked back down at her, why have I not killed her yet?
The steep flight of stairs finally ended when they met a long stone and mossy bridge, she led him across it and into the town. He looked about the log framed buildings and at all the nord’s who were out in the sunny weather tending to their chores. Men and women bustled about, carrying baskets, working iron, tilling gardens and tending to fields. Many seemed to not pay attention to their passing through, but some still stopped to stare at him. Those that stopped he overheard commenting about the ‘devil-like horns protruding from his scalp.’
Libelle did not pay any attention to them, walking quickly through the town until she reached a small stable. The small building had three stalls, one was empty and two had brown geldings in them: standing on hard dirt and eating fresh hay. Libelle walked up to the wooden fence that encased the stable, and resting against it was a young boy. He was whittling a small branch with a dull blade, his attention elsewhere.
“Boy,” Libelle said catching his attention. “Where is your father, I need to buy a horse.”
The small boy with smoke colored hair looked up at her with auburn eyes, he smiled wide at her. “Pa’s not here right now. He left me in charge.”
Libelle tied her horse to the hitching post and motioned for Eskil to get off. The boy stood up and faced her. “Pa has these two for sale. They both are geldings that one with the star is six and the one with the white on its hoof is eight! Pa says they are both broke to ride and drive.”
Libelle nodded but nothing more as she opened the gate and approached the two geldings, Eskil and the young boy following closely behind her. The boy went up to the older gelding and pet is muzzle before offering a handful of oats to it. Libelle approached the younger gelding first, petting its forehead and running her hands down his neck. She rubbed her hands down his back to his rump, lightly tugging on his tail. She bent over and felt each of its legs, picking up each hoof and examining its shoes. She repeated this on the older gelding and then stood back to look at both of them.
“How much is your father asking for them?” Libelle asked.
“1000 gold coins! Each!”
Eskil watched as Libelle’s lifeless eyes widened and nearly popped out of her head. She shook her head at the body, “No son, these geldings are worth no more than 500 gold coins. The eight year old has sores from pulling a harness, the six year old has foundered in his front feet. Neither are worth that much.”
“Well that's what my Pa wants for them.” The boy was still smiling, trying to use his boyish charm to his advantage.
“Boy, no one in their right mind will pay 1000 gold coins for these horses. I’ll give you 500 gold coins for the eight year old.”
“1000 gold coins.”
“600 gold coins.”
“1000 gold coins.”
Libelle rubbed the bridge of her nose with a frustrated sigh. This boy was stubborn, incredibly stubborn. No doubt due to his father's teachings. If she didn't need the horse she would move on, but she needed the horses and the only town near here that should could by a horse from was far out of her way. “I’ll give you 800 gold coins, and I'll even buy enough oats for two horses for three days ride.”
“Ok! 800 gold coins, and enough oats for two horses for three days.” He started counting on his fingers and st
ared at the sky. “You owe me, 1000 gold coins!”
Libelle unconsciously slapped her palm into her forehead. Before she could respond the boy skipped off and started bagging oats for her. She knew the oats were incredibly overpriced, but arguing with the child seemed to be getting her nowhere. She needed the horse for the man-beast, but she didn't want to spend such a ridiculous amount for the gelding; the conclusion was, she would buy the horse and oats for 1000 gold coins.
Eskil slowly stepped forward and stopped by her side, leaning into her ear he whispered. “You just got played by a child Libby.” He had a wicked smile on his lips.
She shook her head and paused, then looked at him confused. “Did you just call me Libby?”
He nodded, “Why does that bother you?”
“Yes, it does, my name is not Libby. It’s Libelle.”
Eskil chuckled, the sound reminding her of his scaled body shaking with his rare laughter. “I’ll call you Libby then.” He walked away before Libelle could respond, leaving her standing with her eyes narrowed and mouth open in shock.
He couldn't kill her but he could get under her skin like a parasite and make her regret what she did to him. She cursed at him and the boy under her breath and pulled a leather pouch from her pack on her horse’s saddle. She rummaged through it, and when the boy approached her she handed him the coin. He happily and greedily counted it, then smiled at her again and walked away.
“Bairn’s these days, greedy little rats taught by their parents. Tsk. Good gold spent on a sore horse.” Libelle sighed again, holding the reins of both horses. “Get on.”
Eskil momentarily resisted the urge to tease her further when she looked like all she wanted to do was sleep, he stepped into the stirrup of the brown gelding and settled himself in for what he assumed was going to be a long ride. He looked down at Libelle who was still cursing under her breath and shaking her head about the young boy and her wasted coin.
“What's wrong Libby?” Eskil asked mockingly, again acknowledging that it was more fun to mess with her.