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

by Resa Nelson

  “You seem to be doing fine right now. Did he teach you how to fight? Did he put his hands on you?” Gershon ground his teeth, and his face darkened. He threw himself against the pit’s wall, stabbing as far as he could reach toward Margreet, missing her as she pivoted back on one foot.

  “Of course he taught me. He taught me to protect myself from men like you!” Margreet pivoted forward again, swinging with accuracy and grazing the side of Gershon’s head.

  Before he could react, she stepped away from the pit again.

  Gershon clutched the side of his head, gazing at his wife in horror. “You struck me!”

  “You challenged me to this fight!” Strangely delighted that she’d struck a partial blow, excitement rushed through Margreet’s veins. “You could have walked past me when you saw me. You didn’t have to let anyone know I’m your wife. We could have been free of each other so easily.”

  Furious, Gershon scrambled to climb out of the pit, but the town official ran forward, waving his arms and using his foot to shove Gershon back into the pit. After issuing a warning, the official retreated again.

  Margreet circled the pit, watching Gershon turn so that he always faced her.

  He has the advantage of timing, Vinchi had told her. No matter how fast you try to move around the circle, he can turn faster. But there are other ways to defeat him.

  “You have lain with him,” Gershon said, his voice low and guttural. “I can smell him on you.”

  Several paces back from the edge of the pit, Margreet straightened from her fighting stance, released one hand from the sling, and placed both hands on her hips while she stood tall. “I have done no such thing! I have been faithful to you since the day you claimed me as your wife!”

  “Liar!”

  Stepping forward, Margreet gestured wildly with her free hand as she typically did every time they argued. “I am no liar! And what of you, Gershon? Have you remained faithful to me? Or have you been bedding any woman who looks at you twice? Just as you’ve been doing for the past year.”

  “How dare you compare yourself to me! I have the right to live as I wish. You have the right to obey me.”

  Infuriated, Margreet’s neck and face burned hot. “How dare you treat me with such disregard? I’m the one who—”

  “Margreet—no! Watch your step!” Vinchi cried.

  Margreet halted at the sound of Vinchi’s warning voice. Remembering everything he’d taught her during the past months, she checked her position and distance from Gershon and discovered she had stepped close enough for him to stab her.

  Regaining her senses, Margreet pivoted a step back, eluding Gershon’s stab at her retreating ankle.

  “Badly fought,” she said to Gershon. Regaining her composure, Margreet smiled at his failure.

  She knew him well enough to recognize the slight look of hurt in his eyes and for a moment felt sorry for him.

  Despite his words, pain stung Gershon’s voice. “I never should have taken pity on the likes of you. I should have left you on the streets where you belong.” Sniffing, he raised his dagger blade to wipe it free of dirt.

  Margreet responded, just as she had done in training to the many cues Vinchi provided. Taking advantage of Gershon’s momentary lapse of attention, she sprang forward and delivered the mightiest swing she could muster to the side of his head.

  The rock inside the sling connected with a meaty thud, and Gershon had only time enough to look up at Margreet in wide-eyed surprise before he collapsed on the bottom of the pit in which he stood.

  CHAPTER 62

  The villager, who had signaled the beginning of the trial by combat, rushed to the edge of the pit and jumped inside, disappearing from view.

  Margreet bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. How could she have done something so horrible? What if she had taken her husband’s life? When she’d hidden during the slaughter at Limru and later seen the carnage left behind, she’d promised herself she’d never hurt any living thing, not even the men who destroyed the Temple of Limru and its Keepers.

  Not even the man who had murdered her mother.

  Margreet believed that if she allowed herself to give in to blood lust that it would overpower her and make her no better than the murderers she despised.

  And now she might have killed the man who had taken her in after the slaughter at Limru, given her shelter, and helped her want to keep living. How could she have killed Gershon?

  She wished she’d never met Vinchi and Astrid. She wished they’d never stolen her away from Gershon. How were they any better than her husband? Taking her away without asking Margreet if she so desired? If she’d stayed with Gershon, they’d at least both be alive, and Margreet’s hands would be clean of his blood.

  She stood frozen in time that never seemed to end.

  “He lives!” the villager cried from inside the pit. Placing both hands on the edge of Gershon’s pit, the villager hoisted himself out of it. He shouted to the crowd, “Gershon sleeps, but he lives.”

  Margreet’s heart lightened, and she silently thanked the gods of Limru for their mercy.

  Turning toward Margreet, the villager reminded her of the rules. “By law, his time to recover is the sun’s highest point of the day or its lowest, whichever happens first.” The villager pointed toward the sky. “Today the sun reaches its highest point when it rises above that tree.”

  Margreet followed his pointing finger to see a lone tree at the edge of the village, and the sun slightly to its right. It wouldn’t take long before the sun hung directly above the tree.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d hit Gershon hard, and he might not wake up until tonight or maybe even tomorrow. All her regrets and anger at Vinchi and Astrid melted away as she beamed, facing them.

  Vinchi ran forward to join her side. “No, Margreet! Pay attention! However long it takes, you must keep your attention on him and be ready to fight again.”

  The fear in his eyes startled her, and she nodded.

  “Back to the spectators with you!” the villager yelled, pushing Vinchi away from Margreet. “This is her fight—not yours!”

  Taking Vinchi’s words to heart, Margreet clung to the sling in her hands, ready to bash Gershon’s head again, should he rise from the depths of the pit.

  * * *

  An hour later, Margreet sat near the edge of the pit, watching the motionless Gershon. Still holding the sling, she’d spent the past several minutes talking quietly to him. Even though he still slept, she needed to say goodbye to him and decided that he would be able to hear her and understand.

  “When I lost Limru and my mother, I lost everything,” she said. “I assumed I’d never love anyone again. And when I first met you, I saw you as my salvation. I knew you’d take care of me, and that was all I wanted.” Margreet paused. “I never imagined how much I’d come to love you.”

  Gershon had collapsed on his side, and Margreet sat so she could watch his face. For a moment, his eyelids fluttered.

  Margreet gripped the sling tighter, ready to jump to her feet and fight him again.

  But Gershon’s face remained without expression, and his eyelids were still again.

  Breathing a slow sigh of relief, Margreet continued. “I admired your strength and the way everyone seemed to hold you in high regard. I appreciated the food you brought home and felt gratitude, knowing I’d never go hungry again if I stayed by your side. That made me want to make your life easier and better in any way I could muster.”

  Margreet’s throat tightened and she paused until she could speak again. “When we first married, I knew that luck had finally come my way. I believed you were a great gift brought to me by the gods themselves. My own life became beautiful and rich and perfect. I’d never dreamed I could love a man the way I loved you.”

  The corner of Gershon’s mouth twitched.

  Beware! the small voice inside Margreet cried.

  Margreet nodded her understanding. She studied his otherwise motionless fo
rm, wondering if he had come awake again and only pretended to sleep.

  “But then you struck me,” she said, the painful memory straining her voice. “I thought you’d simply made a terrible mistake. Everyone has faults, and I was willing to overlook one mistake. I remembered our happy times and knew we could be happy again. No matter how many times you struck me, I always thought we could be happy again.”

  “Stay alert, Margreet!” Vinchi called.

  She stared at her husband’s face, unable to decide whether she wanted to memorize it or forget it.

  “Wake up, Gershon!” one of the robed men called from the crowd, growing restless and vocal. “Do not let her control you! A man decides his own fate!”

  As more people cried out, Margreet focused her attention solely on Gershon. “Let me go,” she whispered. “Let us both be free again.”

  “It’s almost time!” Vinchi shouted. “It’s close to over!”

  Stay alert! the voice inside her warned.

  Keeping a careful eye on Gershon, Margreet stood slowly, clutching the sling. Although she still loved the man she had first known him to be, she felt ready to begin a new life in Guell.

  “The trial ends now!” the villager declared. “The Creator God has ruled that the winner of this trial is—”

  Happily, Margreet gazed up to see the sun positioned directly above the tree.

  She gasped as strong fingers dug into her ankles and yanked her feet out from beneath her. Her head hit the ground with a sickening thud when she fell. Disoriented and stunned beyond reason, she thought she heard Astrid scream while Gershon leaned over the edge of his pit and plunged his dagger between his wife’s ribs and into her heart.

  CHAPTER 63

  Astrid stood in disbelieving silence, staring at Margreet’s collapsed figure and the startled villager who had been interrupted while declaring her the just and true winner of her trial by combat with Gershon.

  Gershon pulled his dagger free from Margreet’s limp body, and the villager cleared his voice to amend his announcement. “The Creator God has ruled that the winner of this trial is Gershon.”

  The villagers crowded around the pit fell silent. No one seemed to want to move.

  “Is this a dream?” Vinchi said. He turned to Astrid, tears streaming steadily from the outer corners of his eyes and down the sides of his face. “Am I dreaming?”

  Astrid’s throat choked so tightly that she couldn’t speak. Instead, she shook her head.

  Vinchi screamed like an animal being slaughtered, rushing forward to barrel past the villager and drop to Margreet’s side. He pressed his hand tightly against her heart, and Astrid watched blood stain his hand and clothes.

  Astrid hadn’t let herself cry since the day she’d first been sold to Temple and he’d thrown the blanket she’d used to hide her scarred body into the smithing fire.

  Blacksmiths don’t cry, Astrid told herself as she walked toward Vinchi. It creates a danger in the smithery. You can hurt yourself too easily if you cry when you smite iron. You can hurt yourself so much that you will never be the same again.

  Astrid pushed away memories of the first time she’d seen Margreet, fighting with Gershon at the market. She shunned the discord between herself and Margreet, who initially fought with Astrid and Vinchi as she had with her husband. Most of all, Astrid put aside the happiness she’d known since she and Margreet had become training partners, helping each other learn a skill that could save their lives.

  Astrid knelt by Vinchi.

  She placed a hand on the grip of the dragonslayer’s sword hanging from his belt.

  Before Vinchi realized what happened, Astrid withdrew the sword from his scabbard.

  Rising, she faced the pit.

  At first, the villager who had announced the verdict pled with Vinchi and failed to notice Astrid. He spoke a Midlander language that Astrid didn’t understand, but she didn’t care what he told Vinchi.

  Astrid cared about one thing only, determined to see it through.

  She saw Gershon, leaning against the pit’s wall with one hand covering his face.

  Did he feel regret?

  Astrid didn’t care. She held Starlight’s grip with both hands, aiming the blade at the top of Gershon’s ugly head.

  The villager finally noticed Astrid’s presence, and he jumped to his feet, leaving Vinchi with Margreet’s body in his arms. The villager jumped in front of Astrid, waving his arms, his face paled in terror.

  Astrid shoved the villager aside, using a technique she and Margreet had practiced: Astrid shifted her bare hands to hold onto the blade, hooked the crossguard behind the man’s knees, and yanked to trip him before he knew what had happened.

  She didn’t feel the pain when each sharp edge of the blade cut her hands. In practice they always wore gloves to protect their skin. Flushed with anger, Astrid felt nothing as she shifted her hands back on the sword’s grip.

  She swung her blade from above her head, cutting straight down until the sharp iron cleaved into the edge of the pit.

  Shaken, Gershon looked up at her from the opposite side of the pit, his eyes brimming with tears. For a moment, the knuckles on his hand still holding the dagger turned white as he gripped it tighter.

  Astrid wanted to drive Starlight through him until he begged her to stop. Or she could spear him through the neck like a lizard. The overwhelming desire to chop him into bits rushed like blood to her head, dizzying her for a moment.

  Her arms itched violently and she resisted the urge to scratch them. She knew the scars she’d managed to keep locked in place on her skin all winter long were now crawling all over it. She detected a few scars crawl onto the back of her hand but didn’t care if anyone could see them.

  Gazing squarely into her eyes, Gershon loosened his grip and let the dagger fall to his feet.

  Astrid wrenched her sword free from where she had struck it into the edge of the pit. She pointed it at Gershon’s face, knowing he wouldn’t understand the words she would say but that he might understand the intent.

  Astrid’s voice shook with rage when she spoke. “Your hold on this woman is over. You took her life, but you cannot touch her spirit.”

  She is part of me now. I will set her spirit free, but she will always be part of me.

  Astrid became aware of Vinchi’s heaving sobs behind her. Ready to give Starlight back to him, she hoped the sword would bring some comfort.

  CHAPTER 64

  Gershon boarded the next ship that sailed from the seaport village, accompanied by the robed men.

  Taking pity, an elderly woman brought an armful of wool and linen scraps, taking it upon herself to wrap Margreet’s body until it looked like a caterpillar encased in a cocoon. Now wearing clean clothes and skin washed free of her blood, Vinchi lifted Margreet’s body and draped it across one horse’s back.

  Astrid paced the boarded walk by the harbor, watching the horizon. Now that Starlight hung at Vinchi’s side again, she kept one hand on the grip of Falling Star in case Gershon decided to return. Even though she noticed the shadows growing longer, she still jumped in surprise each time Vinchi touched her shoulder, approaching her from behind. “It’s time,” he said.

  Nodding, Astrid followed him. She saw no need to speak. They both knew what they were doing and where they were going. It took all Astrid’s energy just to keep breathing and the thought of trying to talk overwhelmed her.

  They rode until dusk and rose with the sun the following day. Between good weather and the luxury of riding horses instead of walking, they traveled the long distance quickly. At the end of each day, Vinchi lifted Margreet’s cocooned body from the horse’s back and laid it on a small blanket he used to cover the ground. Vinchi would then make their fire for the night, keeping the body close to the flames to keep the animals away from it. Although wrapped in layers of wool and linen, the odor of decay had become their constant companion.

  After the first few days, Astrid dared to break the silence between them one evening.
“Does it bother you?” Astrid asked as she arranged the kindling she’d gathered from the surrounding woods.

  Vinchi started at the sound of her voice, like a man who had grown accustomed to being alone. “What?”

  Astrid nodded at Margreet’s body. “You keep her under your nose all day. I could smell you a mile away. Does it bother you?”

  Kneeling by the body, Vinchi smoothed out the places where the fabric had wrinkled from the day’s journey. “It reminds me of what happened. I told her she wouldn’t die.” He shook his head in disgust.

  “It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill her.”

  “Of course it’s not my fault. It’s yours.” Vinchi spoke evenly, but rage bubbled under his words. “If we had stayed on the winter route, if we had gone further south, she’d still be alive.”

  Astrid opened her mouth, ready to argue, but then stopped. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

  The next morning, they arrived at the Temple of Limru. The sun’s rays streamed through the canopy of sacred trees rising above the top of the forest, and the yellow-green leaves glowed like fireflies. The crisp, cool air smelled like fresh earth broken by plants rising through its surface.

  Astrid breathed in the difference. No longer a site desecrated by a massacre, the temple’s sacred trees seemed to welcome them with open arms.

  At the edge of the temple itself, Vinchi dismounted, took Margreet’s body in his arms, and carried it into the center of the stone circle she’d created months ago.

  Astrid tied their horses to a tree at the edge of the woods and watched him.

  After placing Margreet’s body in the center of the stone circle, Vinchi reached into the cloth bag hanging from his belt. Frowning, he searched without success. Withdrawing his hand, he pointed at the weapons bag he’d unstrapped from his back and placed on the ground by the horses.

  Flint. He needed the flint from his bag to start the fire.

  Astrid opened the bag, pushing aside the few weapons remaining. But when she reached into the bottom of the bag, she cried out in surprise as something sharp nicked her hand.