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

by Resa Nelson

  For the past several months, Norah had healed inside the cave occupied by Taddeo and other dragons. They’d kept her safe and fed her what little Norah would eat, but no one revealed any information about her other than simply recognizing her as a dragon.

  But what did being a dragon mean? Norah knew she’d hatched inside the cage. She’d been startled the first time she’d transformed into a dragon and even more so when, in the womanly shape she held now, she’d begun to become part of the cave itself, as if the stone had seeped into her blood and therefore made her something hard and heartless. Inexplicably, the Scalding girl had reached out to Norah, who repaid her by devouring her arm.

  Still spinning, Norah’s head dropped in shame. How could she have had the strength to resist such a thing for so many years only to give in at a time of crisis? Consuming the Scalding girl’s arm had revived Norah and made it possible for her to heal, but to what end? Still shocked by the vastness of the world, Norah shuddered at the sight of the mountains rising on either side of this valley, feeling as if the world clutched her firmly in its jaws, ready to revive itself by consuming her the way she’d consumed the Scalding girl’s arm months ago.

  Maybe she should trust her first instinct—maybe Wendill had poisoned her. Maybe he acted as Taddeo’s agent. Maybe Taddeo had lied about being Norah’s uncle.

  Or maybe Wendill wasn’t who he claimed to be.

  “Come look at this,” Wendill called as he studied the ground.

  Norah doubled over. “Sick,” she murmured.

  Moments later, she gasped at the sharp fingertip pressure against her skull. The nausea vanished and the world came back into focus.

  Astonished, she gazed at Wendill, now at her side with one hand on her head. “Better,” she said.

  Wendill released his healing grip on her head. Frustration laced his voice. “It’s been so long since you’ve had a real meal that your body can’t remember how to digest food.” He reached into his pouch and handed a few more berries to her. “Eat more—that should help.”

  Willing to do anything to keep from feeling sick again, Norah took the berries and nibbled on them.

  “Come look at what I found.” Wendill led her to the patch of grass. “What do you make of this?”

  Norah frowned at the impression in wet dirt surrounded by grass. “Footprint?”

  “Yes. But what kind of footprint is it?”

  Norah touched it gingerly, careful not to disturb the imprint. “Don’t know.”

  “Stand next to it for a moment.”

  Like other dragons, Norah walked in bare feet. Obeying Wendill, she placed her own foot parallel to the imprint, a few inches away from it. Wendill nodded, and she withdrew, leaving her own footprint behind.

  By comparison, Norah’s footprint looked shorter and slightly narrower, but the impressions were similar in shape. “Man?”

  Wendill paused. “Male. But not necessarily a man.”

  “Then what?”

  Wendill pointed at the pebble-like impression each of Norah’s toes had left in the mud. He then pointed to the long and narrow marks extending from the ball of the other footprint.

  Norah frowned, and then leaned over the foreign footprint until her nose touched the ground. She inhaled deeply, taking in the sweetness of the grass, the tangy earthiness beneath it, and a faint, peculiar scent that puzzled her.

  She examined the long, narrow marks and the tiny points that had dug deeper into the ground than the rest of the print. “Talons?”

  “Or claws,” Wendill said. “Like the claws we have when we take the shape of a dragon.”

  Norah became light-headed again, but the berries she’d eaten seemed to settle in her stomach safely. “Not dragon.” She sat up slowly, frowning at Wendill. “Not man.”

  Wendill looked at her steadily, but Norah thought she saw fear in his eyes. “Exactly.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Margreet paced the ship’s narrow deck, losing patience every time the seamen, bustling to lower the square sail and tie it down, crossed her path. Vinchi worked among them, calling out orders, while the annoying boy stayed out of the way, clutching the ax in his only hand while his other shirt sleeve hung empty and useless. Margreet caught Vinchi’s gaze, and she shouted, “Hurry!”

  Vinchi looked away, acting as if he hadn’t heard her.

  Men. Stupid, stupid men.

  Gershon would tan their hides for stealing Margreet away. He was her husband. Her protector. The man who let her share his safe and warm bed.

  Out of breath from pacing, Margreet slipped to the side of the ship where she gazed at the nearby shore of the Midlands. She recognized this major port of Gershon’s home country in the Upper Midlands.

  A handful of ships nestled next to each other by the simple dock where ropes tethered them to fat posts. A delta opened up adjacent to the dock, where a river poured itself into the sea. Hills jagged with rocky spines surrounded the port village, casting ominous shadows upon its streets. The first time Margreet had seen them, she had clutched her husband’s arm in terror, believing it to be the shadow of a dragon ready to attack.

  Margreet had been born and raised in a more pastoral country in the Lower Midlands, where one could count on the weather being more kind and gentle throughout the year. Here, like the Northlands, winter came early and took its time to depart. A sudden icy gust made her shiver. At times like this, she missed her homeland.

  Don’t think that, Margreet told herself. It’s dangerous.

  Once upon a time, the Lower Midlands had been safe, but no place could be perceived as safe anymore. Not with the infiltration of the armies of the Krystr. The world constantly changed, and not in a good way.

  Margreet had already learned her lesson. She’d witnessed the mistake of her mother, who believed in standing up for the sake of a just cause. On the day of her mother’s murder, Margreet had been lucky to save herself by finding a hiding place in a thicket of trees. After the attack ended, Margreet stayed in her hiding place until thirst and hunger drove her out.

  Although she hadn’t seen the destruction itself, looking at the aftermath changed Margreet. She’d been a bright and happy child. Approaching adulthood, she’d been quick to make jokes and laugh. But after she’d understood what the Krystr’s men were willing to do for the sake of their new god, Margreet’s lightheartedness escaped like the dying breath of an old man.

  Before, she’d enjoyed life and perceived it as an adventure. Now, she saw life being little more than a test of endurance. Her one and only mission focused on survival. She cared about nothing else.

  And Gershon was her best bet for survival.

  Finally, Vinchi and his seamen unfurled and secured the sail. They removed a dozen oars hanging on the ship’s outer hull, threaded them through the holes just below the railing on each side of the ship, and sat down to row.

  Margreet turned away from them, looking out to sea. That might be Gershon’s ship in the distance, although to Margreet it looked like little more than a speck on the horizon. Surely, someone would have told Gershon where to find Vinchi. Pausing, she thought she remembered Vinchi mentioning this port days ago. Of course. Gershon already knew where to find her, and he’d be here soon to reclaim her as his own.

  Her eyes filled with tears for a moment, thinking of the day she’d met Gershon. She’d wandered the roads alone, always a bad idea. Brigands scoured roads looking for victims to rob. Armies marched everywhere, whether they were soldiers of Krystr or a small band of men defending their own territory or trying to steal away new land from its rightful owner.

  And then, of course, there were dragons that hid by roadsides, patiently waiting to devour the next unwitting animal or traveler.

  One day, Gershon had driven his cart up behind a walking Margreet and offered a ride. Margreet had been weak from hunger and still faced many more days of walking, so she’d accepted the offer. Gershon had been respectful and kept his hands to himself on the journey, but once they arrived at
a village, he paid the local clerk to marry them.

  Margreet had been surprised but grateful. Since the destruction caused by the armies of the Krystr, she’d felt alone and hopeless. Marrying a merchant such as Gershon meant she would have food and shelter for the rest of her life. Margreet didn’t hesitate to marry him.

  Oddly enough, she began to gain confidence, knowing she could depend on her husband to make her life right. Although Margreet recognized her responsibility to run their household in the Upper Midlands, she soon became bored and turned her attention to how her husband ran his business.

  Margreet had many ideas for improving the business that Gershon not only used but claimed as his own ideas. At first, Margreet didn’t mind—after all, as long as Gershon’s business thrived, her life would be fine.

  But people began to compliment Gershon on his prowess for business, and she developed a habit of losing her temper. Instead of having an occasional argument like most married couples, they bickered daily. Margreet felt happy for his success, but she longed for his recognition of her contribution to it.

  Instead, Gershon yelled at her until he reached his breaking point. Once that point broke, he used his fists.

  Margreet knew she should keep her mouth shut. They could be happy if only she were willing to let him take credit for her ideas. If only she could accept her place as a dutiful wife who accepted her mission to take care of her husband and do everything within her power to make his life easier. If only she were willing to accept the Krystr’s lies that women were evil creatures that caused all the pain and suffering in the world—and therefore had to be kept in their place.

  If only, if only, if only.

  Run away now, a voice whispered inside Margreet’s head. These people can help you. Let them!

  Margreet knew the voice well. It had told her to hide, saving her from the attack by the Krystr’s army of dedicated and dangerous men. It had been her closest ally for as long as she could remember. During her childhood, Margreet had been scared every time she heard it speak, but her mother had assured Margreet it was nothing more than a spark of intelligence and wisdom that served to guide her through life.

  But Margreet’s mother had the same kind of voice within her, and it had failed her on the day of the attack. It had led her astray. Therefore, these voices could no longer be trusted.

  She shook her head, still gazing out to sea. Margreet would learn to be dutiful, and Gershon would be kind to her again. Their lives could be like their happier, earlier years of marriage. It was her fault he hit her—he’d told her so many times. She provoked him. She angered him to a point beyond reason.

  And besides, he apologized so prettily and promised it would never happen again.

  He always promised it would never happen again. Every time.

  If you don’t leave now, he will kill you!

  Margreet shook the voice out of her head. It spoke the same kind of nonsense as the boy with the ax.

  “Hold on,” Vinchi called out.

  Spinning toward his voice, Margreet noticed their ship prepared to dock. She sank to her knees, closing her eyes and hoping for a safe landing.

  CHAPTER 30

  Feigning seasickness, Astrid raced downstairs, looking for the three baby lizards she’d brought on board.

  “Smoke!” she whispered fiercely. “Fire! Slag!”

  Astrid squinted while her eyes adjusted to the dim light. The sky had thickened with dark clouds, leaving little light to filter down the stairs leading below the ship’s deck. She thought she saw something move in the dimness. “Smoke?”

  Tiny, clawed feet skittered across the wooden floor like a smattering of raindrops striking a cloth sail.

  Astrid sank to her hands and knees, hoping her new proximity to the floor would help her see better. She drummed her fingernails against the wooden surface, imitating what she’d just heard with the wish that she could attract the lizards to her.

  Silence.

  Vinchi’s shouts to the seamen drifted down the stairs, along with the scraping of the oars and the crashing of waves against the side of the ship. Convinced they couldn’t hear her, Astrid raised her voice slightly. “Smoke! Come here!” She reached an open hand on the floor, willing the lizards to step into her palm. “We’re landing soon, and this ship is no place for any of you to live. If you haven’t already had a run-in with them, there’s usually lots of rats that hide inside ships. They could be terribly dangerous for you. I have no idea where this ship will sail next, but it could be a very long voyage and I don’t know if there’s anything on board that’s good for young lizards to eat. And never mind the men who sail it. If they discover you, that will be the end of you.”

  Astrid’s eyes began to adjust to the dim light. She stifled a shriek when something sniffed her hand. A few tiny footsteps skittered away.

  She noticed something on the floor next to her hand, too small to be a lizard. It looked like a very small stick. Astrid picked it up, surprised by the feel of its leathery, scratchy surface. It didn’t feel like wood. It felt like…

  The tail of a rat. Just the tail.

  Astrid cried out, dropping the horrible thing and scrambling up to her knees.

  Tiny eyes flashed for a moment in the dark, reflecting the small amount of light coming down the stairs.

  “Smoke?”

  Astrid began to see more and more in the dim light. She thought she saw the lizard sitting on its haunches and chewing on something round clutched between its front feet.

  “I’m quite serious,” Astrid said. “We have to go now.”

  Two other shapes skittered to Smoke’s side, knocking the object out of his feet and batting it across the floor toward Astrid.

  Even in the dim light, she recognized it as the decapitated head of a rat.

  Screaming, she jumped to her feet and ran back toward the stairs. “Stop that!” she yelled. “Smoke! Fire! Slag!”

  When the ship rolled slightly with the ocean waves, the rat’s head tumbled toward Astrid’s feet. Screaming again, she hopped up on the stairs just as Vinchi came running down them with a pail of water in hand. Colliding, the pail flew out of Vinchi’s hands, water spilling onto the floor while Vinchi and Astrid fell onto the wet surface.

  Rising slowly, Vinchi squinted. He rubbed his elbow gingerly and winced in pain. “There’s no fire down here. Why did you say there was?”

  Astrid opened her mouth to protest and then realized what had just happened. She’d called out just loud enough for those above deck to hear her. “I apologize,” she said. “I thought I saw something, but I was wrong.”

  Swearing, Vinchi limped back up the stairs. “Get yourself ready to land. We’ll be docking soon.”

  Realizing she sat on a small, round object, Astrid fought back the urge to vomit. “Don’t think about it,” she told herself. She stood and shook the legs of her pants, hoping to shake off whatever she’d landed upon. She imagined the three young lizards hiding and smiling at the result of their antics. “Well,” Astrid said as she climbed up the stairs. “At least I know they’re not going to starve.”

  CHAPTER 31

  After Astrid climbed back up to the ship’s deck, she hurried to catch up with Margreet and Vinchi. He shouldered a sack of weapons, and they walked across the wooden plank to dry ground.

  “What do we do next?” Astrid said, joining Vinchi’s side. “Where can we go to make sure Gershon can’t find us?”

  Running ahead of them, Margreet hopped from the plank onto land and darted to the edge of the small dock. The village looked much smaller than the town in the Northlands where Astrid had met Vinchi and Margreet. A handful of tall Northlanders dressed in woolen pants and cloaks carried barrels onto and off of a nearby docked ship similar to Vinchi’s, like ants hurrying about their business. A local woman shivered, pulling her cloak tighter as she zigzagged through the small crowd with a basket full of fresh fish in hand.

  Astrid squeezed her eyes shut against a sudden burst of frozen rain
that splattered into her face. Wiping the tiny hail pellets from her eyes, she looked up to see Margreet pacing the dock, arms crossed, staring out to sea. She didn’t look like a woman eager to escape her husband.

  Quite the opposite.

  And now Vinchi had made his way halfway through the crowd, shielding his eyes from the hail while he asked for directions, nodding as he followed a Northlander’s arm pointing toward a nearby cluster of simple wattle-and-daub houses.

  Astrid caught up with him again. “What’s happening? Why is Margreet waiting for Gershon?”

  Vinchi glanced nervously at Astrid. “Because she wants to.”

  Aghast, Astrid walked quickly to keep up with Vinchi’s pace. “But we brought Margreet here to protect her from him!”

  Vinchi kept walking, seeming to not hear her.

  “If he finds her, Gershon will kill her,” Astrid said. “And her blood will be on our hands because we didn’t protect her. It’s the same as murder.”

  Vinchi stopped briefly to shift the bag he carried from one shoulder to another. The bag muffled the sound of clanging metal inside. “I never should have interfered. She’s his property, not mine.”

  “Why can’t we buy her?” Astrid said. “If she’s our property, we can set her free. Then she’ll be nobody’s property.”

  “You don’t know Gershon,” Vinchi said, unable to meet Astrid’s gaze. “Once he claims ownership, he never lets go. There is nothing you could offer that would tempt him. Besides, Margreet wants to go back to him.”

  They walked side by side for a few moments in silence.

  “Or worse,” Vinchi finally said, “Gershon is the type of man to strike a deal without living up to his end of the bargain. Even if we convince her not to leave and we give him something he wants, I see no argument that could persuade him to let go of Margreet.”

  “Then why are we waiting for him to get here?”

  Vinchi nodded toward Margreet, still pacing anxiously while she scanned the horizon. “She wants him.” His voice cracked. He sounded like a man with a broken heart.