The Dragonslayer Series: Books 1-4: The Dragonslayer Series Box Set

by Resa Nelson

  Randim gazed back into her eyes. "A good name needs thought. And she's not even finished yet."

  "We'll make the grip for your hand," Astrid said. "Then we'll finish the blade and etch it to bring out the pattern—the best way to etch it is to pee on it."

  "For pity's sake, Randim," said the blacksmith with the victory-wreath hair. "It's bad luck enough to have a woman in the smithery. If you let her piss on the sword, it'll never be any good to any man."

  Astrid didn't mind the blacksmith's words. She could already tell a few of these blacksmiths would never have any use for her. She didn't mind their resentment, because the others showed none.

  That was enough to make her happy. That, and Randim, was more than enough.

  "Ease up," Trep said, beaming good naturedly at Astrid. "The Girly's proved herself, right and true. Makes no sense for such tiny arms to be so strong, but damn us all if she ain't."

  His words struck Astrid as odd. She'd changed her body, tripling the size of her arms and chest. How could he ignore that?

  Who knows? Maybe they think shapeshifting is cheating.

  At night, Astrid shared a bed with Randim's sister. Every night Astrid pondered how easy it would be to slip away from camp while everyone was sleeping.

  Astrid considered it now, while Randim's sister snored softly next to her. Astrid was anxious to find Mauri, worried that other brigands had found and captured her. She wondered how safe Mauri could be. Some brigands protected women strictly as goods to be traded, keeping them as safe as their own sisters. Others helped themselves to the goods before trading them. And once they learned the truth—once they figured out that Mauri wasn't Astrid's apprentice and knew nothing about blacksmithing—they might kill her.

  Or maybe Taddeo and DiStephan had found Mauri by now. What if she’d found safety with them?

  The truth was Randim and his blacksmithing camp felt like a home that Astrid could never have imagined. She wanted to live here. She wanted to work for Randim.

  She still felt numb about what happened in Guell. But as kind as many people in that town had been to her throughout her life, it couldn't compare to what she felt now.

  Lumpy was right. Astrid had found her own kind at last, never having imagined she could feel this way.

  Astrid had made a promise to Randim to work here for 40 days. She’d put her honor as a blacksmith on the line, and she had to live up to it.

  She ignored the sinking shame in her gut. She was using honor as an excuse to abandon Mauri. It seemed impossible to find Mauri—she could be anywhere. Just days ago, Astrid never would have considered this. But Mauri's strange behavior had changed Astrid's loyalty to her.

  Astrid closed her eyes, trying to quench the truth burning inside the same way she'd plunge bright yellow iron into a barrel of water until cool to the touch.

  The truth was Astrid found it easier to stay with Randim. Working with the blacksmiths made her happy, and she couldn't bear to give up that happiness for the impossible task of finding Mauri, who might do nothing but slap her in the face, once found.

  And yet that truth failed to convince her to change anything. Astrid had made up her mind: she would take the easiest path and stay in Randim's camp.

  When Astrid finally fell asleep that night, she dreamed of Mauri, weeping.

  Astrid tossed and turned as the truth burned bright inside her, refusing to be quenched.

  CHAPTER 17

  Once Astrid had taught everything she knew to the blacksmiths, she settled into a daily routine of working as a member of Trep's team.

  But she woke up every morning on edge.

  Thoughts of Mauri and the dragonslayers haunted her. Every day, the shame sank deeper into the pit of her stomach. How could she have abandoned Mauri for the pleasure of working with the blacksmiths?

  And yet, every day, Astrid labored in the forge, no matter how often she considered leaving to search for Mauri.

  She'd never been so happy and sad, all at the same time, in her life.

  Astrid refused to cry about it. A blacksmith had to be as strong and sure as iron, especially when working with other blacksmiths. One poorly placed hammer strike could cost a man his thumb or finger. An injury like that would rob a man of work while his body healed. It might even cost him his living if the injury crippled his hand.

  Trep cast a long glance her way. "You feeling puny today, Girly?"

  Astrid shook her head, smiling brightly. When she spoke, she kept her voice just as bright. "I'm fine. What do we work on next?"

  Trep held up a strange contraption: a narrow iron bar, shoulder width with an iron ring welded on top. "We've got a dozen of these to finish by week's end. Once that’s done, we'll pitch in and help the rest of the shop with the pikes."

  Astrid couldn't take her eyes off the contraption in Trep's hands. It seemed coldly familiar. "What is that?” she said.

  "It's work," said Maise, the blacksmith with victory-wreath hair, in a crisp, get-to-it tone. "That's all you need to know."

  Astrid kept pace with her team as they chose iron, heated it in the fire, and prepared to work. She sidled up to Trep, unable to ignore the bad feeling burning a hole through her stomach. "I've heard of things like this being used for torture."

  "We're here to make tools," Trep said. "Not to question how they might be used."

  Astrid ignored his advice. "Who's going to use them? Who are we making these for?"

  Trep focused his attention on preparing his tools and wiping flakes of slag from his anvil's surface. "No place you'd ever wish to know about, Girly."

  Maise glowered at Astrid while he turned the iron in the fire, checking its color. "How'd you like it if we ask questions that's none of our business? How'd you like it if I asked you why you're covered in scars?"

  Astrid froze, too stunned to move. "What?"

  Maise's face flushed as his anger heated up. "Your skin's covered and crisscrossed in scars. Dozens of them. Randim could've jumped to all kinds of conclusions about how you got them. He could have turned his back on you without speaking a word, without giving you any kind of chance.” He pulled the iron from the fire and slammed it on the anvil. "You've no right to question us until we question you first. Randim never questioned you. He took you in on faith. More than you deserve."

  "Enough," Trep said.

  Nothing made sense. No one had ever seen her scars since she'd become an adult and changed her appearance.

  Temple had told no one about Astrid's scars. He'd kept her safe, hidden inside his smithery until she'd grown old enough to change her shape and control her appearance. Old enough to decide what she wanted the world to see of her.

  Astrid stared down at her bare arms and hands. Her skin looked perfect and smooth, just like always.

  She couldn't see her own scars.

  How could anyone else?

  Trep extended the handle of a striking hammer to Astrid.

  When she saw the handle, she looked up at him.

  "Everything we make is for Tower Island," Trep said. "If you have a problem with that, take it up with Randim, although I expect his response won't be anything to your liking."

  His words sent a chill through her heart.

  Astrid fought a primal urge to run away as fast as she could.

  She wanted nothing to do with Tower Island. And she still wanted everything to do with Randim and his blacksmiths.

  "There's no problem," Astrid said, taking the striking hammer and her place at Trep's anvil.

  * * *

  That night, Astrid took a walk at the edge of Randim's camp, wanting to be alone with the night and the stars. She stood, staring above at the waning moon and brilliant stars, like a field full of dew drops sparkling in the morning sun.

  She always thought of DiStephan when the night shined bright with stars. She always thought of that night, a lifetime ago, when she and Mauri and the child seller made camp with the dragonslayers. It was the first time she'd seen DiStephan embrace the night sky, ex
tending his arms by his sides and spinning slowly, gazing up at the stars all the while. His father explained it made DiStephan feel at one with the world. When DiStephan embraced the stars, he knew who he was and how he belonged in the world.

  Astrid slipped her hand inside her pouch, relaxing when she felt DiStephan's dragon brooch. She could easily imagine DiStephan embracing the stars right now, as she'd seen him do time and time again, all his life.

  For a moment, Astrid wondered what it would feel like. She wanted to spread her arms like wings and spin in place, all the time looking up at the stars, embracing them.

  Instead, she stood still. The stars were bright and beautiful. How could they ever let someone like Astrid touch them?

  "Astrid."

  She turned to see Trep walking toward her. He'd been kind to her from the beginning, and today she'd caused nothing but trouble. "I made a deal to work for Randim," she said. "I never thought to ask about what I'd be making or who I'd be making it for. I'll do whatever work you want me to do."

  "That's not why I'm here," Trep said. "You're looking for your friend, Mauri. The blonde woman."

  Astrid's heart beat faster with hope. "Have you seen her?"

  "Yes," Trep said. "On Tower Island."

  * * *

  Days later, Astrid followed Randim while he and his team loaded a few wagons with everything the smithery had produced during the past month: some devices like the one Astrid had been loath to make, but mostly long pikes.

  "Please," Astrid said. "Let me go with you."

  Randim supervised his men, packing each wagon as full as possible. To Astrid, he said, "I got the impression you want nothing to do with Tower Island."

  Of course. Blacksmiths were wicked gossips. Anyone could have told Randim about Astrid’s argument with Maise and Trep.

  Astrid kept her voice low and confidential, wanting only Randim to hear her. "When you bought me, I told you I was looking for my friend. She's on Tower Island."

  Randim gave her a quick glance. He looked unconvinced. "By whose account?"

  "Trep. He's seen her there."

  Randim turned, scanning the camp. He stopped and shouted. "Trep!"

  Astrid followed his gaze and saw Trep walking behind the smithery wall, disappearing from view. "Randim, please. She's my friend. If she's in trouble—"

  Randim faced her. "If she's in trouble, there's nothing you can do to help her. I'm delivering goods. If you traipse along, looking for trouble, you'll find it, which means I'll lose you."

  "I've taught you everything I know. And you got six new swords to show for it."

  "You still owe me 12 days."

  Secretly, Astrid wanted Randim to win this argument. She didn't want to go to Tower Island. She wanted to stay here, where she felt safe and needed. The thought of going to Tower Island nauseated her. She'd rather walk through Guell a thousand times, watching dragons eat corpses.

  But if Mauri had ended up on Tower Island, all that mattered was trying to help her. It was probably impossible. Randim understood that.

  As much as Astrid dreaded the thought, leaving Mauri there would be far worse. Astrid would rather die trying to help Mauri than live knowing she'd turned her back on a friend in need.

  Randim looked toward the smithery again. "Trep! Where'd you go?"

  Moments later, Trep emerged from behind the smithery wall. He crossed the camp, joining Randim and Astrid as the blacksmiths finished loading the last wagon.

  "Did you tell Astrid you've seen her friend on Tower Island?"

  Trep nodded.

  Randim pursed his lips, searching Trep's face. "I've never seen any such woman there."

  Instead of his usual big grin, Trep's smile was small and strange. "I see many things that you do not."

  A young blacksmith nearby piped up, joining in the conversation uninvited. "Small wonder you're not married, Randim. You're too busy with work to notice women, even when they're right in front of you!"

  Every blacksmith within hearing distance laughed.

  Astrid couldn't help but feel uncomfortable as she realized she was standing in front of Randim, especially when their eyes met briefly while the blacksmiths kept laughing.

  "I paid good money for her," Randim said to anyone who would listen. "If she gets in trouble, how am I supposed to recoup my losses?"

  "Charge them," Trep said. "Make them pay for your loss."

  Randim considered the suggestion. "I suppose that would work.” He took a long look at Astrid. "Are you sure? Once we're on the way, there's no turning back."

  "I'm sure."

  Randim climbed onto the driver's bench of the first wagon, offering Astrid a hand up.

  She accepted, scrambling up to sit next to him. Astrid looked back at Trep, standing next to the wagon.

  Trep's eyes narrowed as they searched hers. His expression relaxed into a friendly one. He held his head high, nodding as if he'd performed a great personal service for her.

  Astrid watched Trep as he walked to another wagon and boarded it.

  Strange. Just now, he'd reminded her of Taddeo.

  * * *

  Long after the wagons had left Randim's blacksmithing camp, Maise walked behind the smithery wall and saw the naked, crumpled man. Maise shouted for help, running toward the man.

  Maise stared in confusion, joined by blacksmiths crowding around them. "Trep, how can you be here? I saw you leave with Randim, not three hours ago!"

  Trep tried to stand, but collapsed. "Girly?” He stared long and hard at Maise, puzzled when he recognized him. "You're not Girly. Where's Randim?"

  Maise examined Trep's head, pulling back a bloody hand. "You're hurt," Maise said.

  When he saw his blood on Maise's hand, Trep fainted.

  CHAPTER 18

  By mid-day, Randim's caravan of wagons reached their first destination: the sea shore.

  Astrid spotted the brigands' camp, bordered on one side by the shore and on the other by a half-circle of tall dune grass.

  Astrid looked for Lumpy and Broken Nose. She knew they weren't here. They'd opted to sell her to Randim for their own personal gain instead of returning her to these brigands. That was weeks ago. A few weeks' journey could take one far in the world. Far enough to escape trouble.

  Astrid envied them.

  She followed the lead of the other blacksmiths, who walked and stretched while Randim conducted business with the brigands' leader, a stocky man with narrow eyes and a relaxed manner. He didn't look familiar, although several other men did.

  After Randim finished talking to the brigand leader, he called out to his blacksmiths, "Load ship!"

  Astrid kept in the midst of the blacksmiths, hiding among them as they unloaded and carried the strange things they'd forged to a ship by a wooden dock stretching into the ocean.

  Trep walked beside her on the dock. Oddly enough, he wore the leather gloves he used for blacksmithing.

  He groaned, his armful of tools clattering on the dock when they slipped from his arms. He knelt, covering his pale face with both gloved hands.

  "Trep!” Astrid put down her own load, kneeling by his side as the blacksmiths walking behind them gathered round. "Are you all right?"

  "Dizzy," Trep said, his voice faint and fragile. "Sick, maybe."

  Without hesitation, Astrid divided his load and hers among the surrounding blacksmiths. "What do you want to do?” she asked Trep.

  He pointed toward the ship ahead.

  Astrid's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Wouldn't you rather stay here? Get some rest?"

  Trep gazed ahead at the ship. "I like the sea. Fresh air. It revives me."

  Sure enough, once Astrid helped Trep board the ship, his eyes brightened and his face glowed.

  Astrid smiled. "You've returned to yourself."

  Trep looked surprised for a moment, but he relaxed into a smile. Still sitting, he bent his head toward her, bowing slightly, holding his hands together as if in prayer. "Thank you, Astrid."

  Astrid to
ok a small step back, alarmed by Trep's odd words and actions. If she didn't know better, she'd swear he wasn't Trep at all.

  "Are you ready to go to Tower Island?"

  Astrid turned at the sound of Randim's voice. He walked toward her, his shoes thumping across the ship's wooden deck. Because they'd spent no time in the smithery today, Randim's face looked freshly scrubbed. In the absence of the soot smudged around his eyes, they looked less smoky and mysterious. Astrid thought she saw a depth of concern in them.

  "Yes," she said.

  Randim called out to the captain, and they set sail.

  * * *

  For the next few hours, Astrid sequestered herself as well as she could on the narrow and crowded deck, tucking herself in the least busy corner she could find. She tried not to think about where she was going or what she was about to do. But the thoughts crept in anyway. Thoughts that made her light-headed. Thoughts that made her want to hurl herself overboard and swim for shore. Even if the brigands recognized her and brought her back here, swimming would buy her some time.

  It would delay the inevitable.

  Astrid took a deep breath of crisp sea air, fighting the illness washing over her with every roll of the ocean. She should have known her past would come back to haunt her one day.

  And today was that day.

  She looked up when she heard the distinctive thump of Randim's shoes on deck.

  He sat beside her. "My first concern is my men and the work we do," Randim said. "You understand I can't help you?"

  Astrid nodded. It was something she'd figured out already.

  Randim kept his silence for several long moments. He said, "But I won't hinder you either."

  Astrid smiled. That was more than she'd hoped for.

  They sat together in silence until Astrid looked up, catching the first glimpse of golden light in the distance. "There it is," she said.

  It was a small island, surrounded by a high rock wall shaped by nature, like a bowl. Ten towns the size of Guell would fit on the island, but most of it consisted of farm and grazing land.

  Its most distinctive feature was a towering pinnacle carved from rock and covered in molten gold.

  Large carrion birds, like the ones that had swooped into Guell, circled high above the tower.