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

by Resa Nelson

  Leaping on top of the rail, Mandulane grabbed onto a rope to keep his balance. “Stop!” he shouted at his men. “I am Mandulane! I am your leader! Do not mistake me!”

  A new volley of flaming arrows rushed past him and landed mostly on the deck. However, their fire soon dissolved into wisps of smoke. He ran across the deck, scooping them up and flinging them overboard.

  Mandulane stomped his foot and pointed an accusing finger at the Krystr soldiers on the shore who attacked him. “I will not have this!”

  He hesitated, sensing a change in the air. The acrid smell of smoke surrounded him, along with the scent of burning linen from the smoldering sail behind him.

  The bell-like sound of the silver and gold chains on his belt and headband distracted him. Mandulane ripped off his belt and headband. He threw them overboard, not caring that the metals’ weight would drag them to the bottom of the sea where they’d be lost forever.

  A stray arrow sizzled through the air, piercing the leg of Mandulane’s pants when he leaned out of its path too late. He screeched at the sudden heat on the back of his thighs and looked down to see his black silken breeches catching fire.

  Panic-stricken, Mandulane jumped overboard, so frantic to put out the flames that he forgot he couldn’t swim. He hit the cold seawater hard, happy to feel relief from the doused fire. But without his headband, his drenched hair covered his eyes, blinding him.

  At the same time, without his belt, he’d instinctively held onto the edges of his yellow linen shirt, which had captured precious air and now billowed all around his chest and kept him afloat. Realizing what had happened, Mandulane kept his hands rigid at his side, holding the bottom edges of his shirt in place.

  “Fools!” he screamed at the men on shore. “Get me out of here!” The weight of his heavy black boots felt like boulders threatening to drag him under. “I am the warrior leader of the Krystr army!”

  The Northlander ship behind him creaked and groaned.

  Squinting, Mandulane thought he recognized a man run up to the soldiers and point excitedly at the ship. A man with grayish cropped hair. A man wearing a bright blue robe and acting with a manner that seemed womanly, even from this distance.

  Mandulane perked up. He remembered such a man! A merchant bearing fine clothes from the Far East. A flowery man but one who had delighted with his fine taste in garments and paid Mandulane the respect he deserved. What was the merchant’s name? Something to do with a tree? Or some type of tea?

  Filled with new hope, Mandulane shouted, “TeaTree! Tell them who I am!”

  The flowery man on shore became more animated, jumping up and down while he jabbed an insistent hand toward Mandulane. Within minutes, a few Krystr soldiers raced toward a small fishing boat, jumped into it, and rowed toward Mandulane.

  “Fools!” Mandulane shouted at them. “Stupid, stupid fools! How could you not know me, especially after I single-handedly captured an enemy ship! How could you fail to notice that I alone survived an attack that killed your fellow soldiers?”

  He hesitated, feeling himself sink lower in the water. His inflated linen shirt decreased in size. If it lost all its air, he’d have no way to stay afloat.

  “Hurry!” Mandulane screamed.

  He watched the small boat make steady progress, having only a short distance to travel. Mandulane slipped under water but then splashed wildly with his arms in a desperate attempt to raise himself back above the surface.

  I’m dying. Of all the ways I could have died in battle, why did I have to perish at the hands of my own men?

  A strong hand grabbed the back of his neck.

  Mandulane went limp, believing he’d spent his last moment alive. He sensed himself being hauled out of the wretched water and landed with a thud into the safety of the fishing boat. He coughed violently, and seawater spewed from his mouth.

  “He lives!” one of the Krystr soldiers in the boat called out to the men on shore.

  Mandulane sat up and swung his arms violently, smacking the soldier in the head and knocking him over. “Barely alive!” Mandulane shouted. “No thanks to your own hand! You are the ones who attacked me. I would have died because of you!”

  The three soldiers in the boat paled. “My lord Mandulane,” one of them said. “We couldn’t tell it was you. And the enemy ship. How were we to know?”

  Mandulane pushed his wet hair away from his face. Struggling to keep his composure, he said, “You had no trouble identifying the vessel as an enemy ship, but you failed to recognize your own leader?”

  A second soldier spoke. “A ship is larger than a man. It is easier to know at first sight.”

  “I went out this morning with the intent of intercepting a Northlander ship, thanks to the information gained by a clerk. He spent time as a captive in the Northlands. He overheard their plans.” Mandulane became more infuriated by the moment. “And he brought their secret plans to me so that I could defeat them and make them weaker!”

  The soldiers stared at him blankly. “If we’d known,” one of them said meekly, “we never would have attacked.”

  Another soldier said, “It looked suspect, is all. We saw no men on board. We thought Northlanders had to be in hiding, trying to trick us into assuming the ship must be empty.”

  “Or possibly a ghost ship,” the other soldier said.

  Mandulane considered standing to rise above them, but the waves rocked the boat enough to make him worry that it might pitch him back into the horrible, dreadful sea.

  Instead, he crossed his arms and glared at the soldiers who had just saved his life. “If Krystr men have such empty heads, perhaps I’d be better served joining the Northlanders. Perhaps I should join forces with the Scaldings. I know from having killed one that they can tell foe from friend, even at a distance.” Mandulane realized for a moment—just the briefest of moments—he meant the words he said.

  The new Krystr god had simply given Mandulane a way to make something of himself and gain power. Mandulane didn’t care what he believed in, only that he got what he wanted.

  “I believe I will,” Mandulane said, now with the intent of frightening the soldiers. “I believe I will join the Northlanders and help them defend their country from the likes of you.”

  “Sacrilege,” one of the soldiers whispered.

  Anger washed through Mandulane like a sheet of ice. Turning toward the soldier that dared to confront him, Mandulane said, “Into the sea with you.”

  The offending soldier looked toward his two colleagues for help, but they remained silent.

  Mandulane pounced on the soldier and threw him out of the boat, shouting, “I said, into the sea with you!”

  Turning to the remaining men, he said, “Take me back to shore.”

  * * *

  Mandulane’s rage grew with every oar stroke taken by the two soldiers remaining in the small boat. By the time they reached shore, he vaulted onto land fully flushed and clenching his fists. He stormed toward the hundreds of Krystr soldiers who stood with their women and children.

  Mandulane shouted, “Every man who fired upon me, take your position and stand before me!”

  The crowd became so still that the gentle lapping of water against the shore sounded deafening.

  A stout and well-muscled man stepped forward. He wore a silver brooch at his throat. Its silver threads wove together to form the shape of a tree with spreading branches.

  Limru.

  Mandulane recognized the pin as one once worn by a Keeper of the ancient temple. Some of the men who fought at Limru later collected pins like this from the Keepers they killed. Mandulane recognized their initiative by making them his highest ranking soldiers. He rarely bothered to learn the names of his men. Why bother when they might die tomorrow?

  But sometimes he recognized their faces.

  Ah, yes. I seem to remember this one.

  “My lord Mandulane, we beg forgiveness,” the man said. “We halted fire the moment we knew it to be you on board the enemy ship.”<
br />
  Calm yourself. See this moment as an opportunity to school the foolish and the weak.

  “Is your eyesight so poor that you cannot make out your own leader from such a short distance?” He paused to take in the shocked expression on the high-ranking soldier’s face. “I had no such problem recognizing you from the same distance.”

  Perhaps he didn’t speak the precise truth, but Mandulane believed his words fell close enough to it.

  Searching the crowd, he called out, “TeaTree! Did you find it difficult to know me from this distance?”

  The slight, graying man pushed his way through the crowd and stepped before Mandulane. “No, my lord!”

  Mandulane caught his breath. When onboard the Northlander ship, he’d thought TeaTree to be wearing a bright blue robe, but now he realized the garment to be far more complex and beautiful than any robe he’d seen before.

  Made of shimmering silk from the Far East, it hung in clean and neat lines, giving TeaTree a regal air. And the sleeves! They looked like simple sleeves when TeaTree kept his arms by his sides. When he raised them, the sleeves hung from his limbs like sheets of spun thread.

  Leaning forward to get a better look, Mandulane saw fine embroidered dragons covering the sleeves and hem. “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  TeaTree beamed. “I thought of you when I first saw it, my lord. It arrived today with one of my men. There are many other things I think might please you.” TeaTree’s hand hovered at his belted waist. “Would you care to try it now?”

  Mandulane nodded, and then turned toward his soldiers. “Every man who fired at me, on your knees! In front of me, now!”

  A few dozen soldiers obeyed, forming a line in front of Mandulane and falling to their knees.

  TeaTree shrugged off the robe, revealing a simple outfit of tunic and trousers beneath. TeaTree hesitated. “Would you prefer to try this later? Perhaps when you wear clothes that are dry?”

  A sudden breeze kicked up, making Mandulane shiver. Of course. His clothes hung wet and ruined on his body. All after he’d been so particular to select the outfit that would make him appear his most fierce!

  He pulled off his clothing and threw each piece in disgust at the soldiers on their knees before him.

  “Your fault!” he shouted at them. “Perfectly good clothing, all of it imported from across the world. Spoiled! All of it destroyed because of you!”

  Always blessed with a good sense of balance, Mandulane stood on one foot and wrenched the boot off the other. Switching to stand on his bare foot, he pulled the other boot off. He threw both of his useless boots at the men. “Ruined!”

  He stood in all his naked glory before them. Let them all stare at his beauty and his fine endowment. Mandulane relished the envy on the faces of the men and the desire he saw in their women’s eyes.

  TeaTree undid the simple but wide piece of linen he used to belt his tunic. “If I could reach high, my lord, I could wrap up your hair and keep it from dampening this fine robe.”

  Mandulane looked steadily into TeaTree’s eyes and saw the best of intentions. Without speaking, Mandulane dropped to one knee in front of the merchant, something he had never done and would likely never do again for anyone else.

  He heard TeaTree catch his breath in surprise, along with many others.

  “Thank you, my lord,” TeaTree whispered, draping the strip of linen across Mandulane’s bare shoulders. “This will take but a moment.” TeaTree worked quickly but steadily, wrapping one end then the other around Mandulane’s head, finally tucking the ends into the newly-fashioned head wrap. “You are a fine sight, my lord.”

  Mandulane stood, raising one hand to feel the neatly-wrapped cloth around his head. He then extended his arms and allowed TeaTree to dress him in the exquisite blue robe. Mandulane sighed at the softness of silk covering his bare skin, delighted by the expansive feel of the grand sleeves. Offering a brief smile to TeaTree, he said, “However do you find such wonderful treasures?”

  TeaTree shrugged. “The luck of the gods is sometimes with me.”

  Mandulane nodded, ignoring TeaTree’s reference to the old beliefs. Letting his smile fall away, he approached the first man kneeling before him. “Give me your most precious treasure.”

  The soldier tilted his head in confusion. “My lord?”

  Mandulane kicked him in the chest with his bare foot, hard enough to knock him onto his back. “The wealth that you wear on your arms! Your wrists! Your fingers! Give me the best of the lot!”

  Righting himself back into a kneeling position, the soldier studied his arms. He chose his thickest silver armband, slid it down his arm, and handed it over.

  Mandulane made a habit of leaving his own wealth at camp whenever he ventured outside it. Earlier this year, he’d been pushed overboard in a battle at sea and lost all the wealth he wore on his arms along with his best cape the day a soldier had rescued him from drowning.

  Now he examined the silver piece given to him by this soldier, deemed it worthy, and slipped it onto his own bare arm. Stepping in front of the next kneeling soldier, Mandulane said, “Give me the best of your wealth.”

  Without hesitating, the soldier removed the only silver he wore, a simple ring, and gave it to Mandulane, who nodded and put it on his own finger. He continued until he received the last piece of silver from the last kneeling soldier.

  His arms and hands now covered in silver, Mandulane beckoned to the high-ranking soldier who wore the pin of the Keepers of Limru. Speaking softly, Mandulane said, “Can you gather up enough men to take these traitors out to where they threatened my ship, hack off their limbs, and throw them into the sea?”

  The high-ranking soldier paled, his face slack with dismay. “My lord? Would it not be better to put them to another purpose? Have them work the fields? Or make them cook, like women, for the rest of us?”

  Mandulane smiled sweetly. “If this task is too vast for you to manage, you are most welcome to join them in the sea.”

  “No, my lord.” Turning to the kneeling men, the high-ranking soldier said, “Stay where you are.”

  The sweetness fell away from his smile. For good measure, Mandulane added, “I have no use for men who tried to murder me, whether intentional or not.”

  The high-ranking soldier then beckoned to other soldiers and commanded them to prepare one of the ships to sail.

  After watching long enough to make sure his order would be carried out, Mandulane turned to TeaTree and said, “I wish to see the other garments your man brought in today.”

  Returning his smile, TeaTree bowed and said, “Of course, my lord.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Astrid walked toward the last, distant encampment on the Southern coast of the Northlands. She recognized it by the rhythmic metallic ring in the air and curling wisps of smoke rising from a makeshift smithery.

  Close to the shoreline, the remaining nine Iron Maidens lined up and practiced their weapon blows in precise unity. Another woman walked, most likely on spirit feet, her hair flying freely in the wind.

  Grinning, Astrid broke into a run, shouting, “Lenore!”

  The woman stopped, and the blacksmithing tools she carried fell to the ground, clanging loudly. She raced into Astrid's arms.

  Moments later, Lenore pushed her away. Crossing her arms, Lenore glared at her. “I am angry with you! How could you disappear without a word to anyone? Again! It was bad enough that you vanished for months on end, but you'd just come home from the winter route!”

  “I'm sorry,” Astrid said. “When that blue woman came into Guell, everyone else knew she must be bringing danger with her. I saw the women in Mandulane's camp. I saw how his men tattoo women's skin blue.”

  The color drained from Lenore's face. “Like the color of a dead woman's skin.”

  Astrid nodded. “The same color as a dead woman's skin, when all of the life has run out of her body. I feel sorry for all those women. I thought I could help the one that came to Guell, but she almost killed Donel
because of me.”

  “She could have killed you, too, had it not been for Kikita.” The expression in Lenore's eyes softened. “The world is a better place with you in it and with that woman dead. I'm happy Kikita killed her. She saved your life.”

  “I left Guell because I thought my misplaced pity put us all in danger.”

  Lenore frowned. “Kikita convinced us all to come here and leave Guell behind, but then she disappeared. Have you seen her?”

  Astrid hesitated. With so much at stake, she didn’t want to waste time explaining that Kikita was a dragon and what that meant. There were more pressing matters at hand. “No. But I set Drageen free, and I need to find him. Have you heard anything of him?”

  Instead of answering, Lenore took a few stumbling steps back.

  Smoke, Fire, and Slag thudded around Astrid, knocking her to the ground.

  “Randim!” Lenore called out for help. “Donel!”

  Smoke plopped a heavy foot on Astrid's chest and flicked his long yellow tongue at her face.

  Lenore scrambled to pick up a hammer and raised it above her head, aiming at the back of Smoke's neck.

  Seeing her, Astrid wrapped her arm around the young dragon's neck to protect it. “No! It's our dragons from Guell! The ones who guarded our gate!”

  Lenore froze, looking unsure about what to do next.

  Randim, Donel, and a few other blacksmiths raced toward them, weapons in hand.

  Astrid filled with joy at the sight of them. She cried out when she saw the weapon Randim held. “Starlight!”

  “No worries.” Randim skidded to a stop just short of Astrid and the dragons circling her, raising Starlight high above his head. “Easy, now. Step away, and I'll take care of them.”

  Donel held a dagger. “We'll each take on a dragon, Mistress Dragonslayer! Just give us the space to do what we must.”

  “But these are our dragons, Donel,” Astrid said. Pausing, she studied the animals for a moment. “They've grown a bit.” Astrid sat up while the dragons circled around her.

  Slag collapsed on the ground, wrapping his tail around her waist.