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

by Resa Nelson

  I’m one of them.

  Astrid rested her hand at her throat, where the scars that once covered her body now formed the pattern of a dragonslayer’s sword.

  I’m part mortal and part dragon. I belong to the mortals who walk upon the surface of this world, and I belong to the spirits who live beneath it.

  She became more aware of her surroundings. The coldness of the earth beneath her. Wendill, the dragon of earth and stone, once conspired with her grandfather to set all of this in motion.

  The glow of the dying embers from the fire she’d built to help keep warm at night. The dragon of fire must have been her invisible companion during all her blacksmithing years.

  The creaking of the trees swaying in the wind. Kikita, who Astrid now recognized as the dragon of air, had kept a protective eye on Astrid while they traveled as Iron Maidens.

  The crashing waves of the ocean. Taddeo and Norah, dragons of the water, the key to everything.

  A new understanding hit Astrid like an ocean wave knocking her off her feet.

  If my parents had lived, none of this would have happened. They both died so suddenly … they always meant for Drageen and me to know the truth.

  If the world’s spirits came to learn about people, that’s why Taddeo and the other dragons had to keep their true identity a secret. If they hadn’t, people would have acted differently around them. People would have been too scared or intimidated to be their true selves.

  In that moment, she recognized the gift Taddeo had given to her: the understanding that all mortals have the power to become whoever they want to be through the choices they make.

  Taddeo kept his identity hidden from Astrid all these years in order to understand her, but he also guided her to the power of deciding who to be through every choice she made, every day of her life.

  Did he teach me how to be mortal? Or did he teach me how to be a dragon?

  Astrid thought about dragons and dragonslayers. Years ago she’d been told about the special bond between them. Wendill and Benzel the Wolf. Her father—and Taddeo? After her father’s death, DiStephan’s father became the dragonslayer of the Scalding region, and after him, DiStephan. That meant they both must have bonded with Taddeo.

  And Taddeo … all of his past actions made sense now.

  Of course he needed to free Norah from the Scaldings.

  Had he not done so, wouldn’t that have put the waters in the world at risk? If the well at Limru had dried up until Norah’s presence brought it back to life, did that mean that other wells throughout the region and perhaps throughout the world might also be at risk?

  The Scaldings killed many dragons, perhaps dragons that belonged to those wells or rivers or lakes. Taddeo’s desperation to free Norah came from his love for her as his niece. But didn’t the death of every dragon mean a spirit of the world had been destroyed?

  What if Norah represented some sort of tipping point? She’d been close to death the day Taddeo had slipped onto Tower Island to release her. What if her near-death had resulted in enough harm to put the world itself in danger?

  All of the murders and destruction caused by Drageen paved the way for Taddeo to follow Astrid onto Tower Island and free Norah. Drageen didn’t instigate the horrors that Astrid endured. It all begun because DiStephan went missing.

  Taddeo killed DiStephan, Astrid realized. If DiStephan had lived, none of what followed would have happened.

  Overwhelmed with rage, Astrid jumped to her feet, not caring if everyone else in the camp believed her to be mad. Pulling Starlight from its sheath, she shouted, “Show yourself, Taddeo!” She gripped her weapon in both hands and used it to shred the early morning air surrounding her. “Face me, Taddeo! Come here—now!”

  Astrid felt something shift inside her. Wincing at the cramp in her hand, she dropped her weapon’s grip. Astrid doubled over in pain when she felt the stone of light come out of her hand.

  Wrapping her fingers around the stone, Astrid straightened. She opened her hand, and the pale light of dawn revealed a simple stone resting on her palm, already healing from the gash made from its emergence. No longer a stone of light, no longer a stone of darkness, it looked like a simple rock.

  It reminded her of the rock she’d set in the hilt of the Magenta, years ago when she’d first met Taddeo.

  “Ship!” Thorda called from where she patrolled the shore.

  Along with everyone else in camp, Astrid turned to look.

  Thorda pointed out to sea.

  Astrid squinted, barely able to make out a tiny speck against a thin band of light on the horizon.

  Thorda ran to meet Randim at the tower of stacked wood, while Astrid sprinted toward them.

  “Ship,” Thorda said gasping. “Looks like dragon.”

  Randim looked beyond Thorda to the sea. “You have the sharpest eyes of anyone here. You can see a masthead?”

  Thorda nodded. “Hevrick said Mandulane took dragon ship.”

  Worry creased Randim’s forehead. “A Northlander ship.”

  “Who else could it be?” Astrid said, joining them. “Every Northlander who left has no reason to come back. The others already sent every ship and boat they can spare to us, and we’ve sunk them. And if Hevrick said Mandulane took Drageen’s ship, I’d say it’s him trying to sneak in.” She frowned. “Unless Drageen survived. Maybe he overpowered Mandulane. Or killed him. Maybe it’s Drageen coming back.”

  “No,” Thorda said. “Not Drageen.”

  “But how do you know?” Astrid said, growing more excited by the moment. Maybe Hevrick was wrong about thinking he’d seen Drageen’s demise.

  Randim shook his head. “Hevrick said he saw Mandulane cut the legs off your brother and throw him into the sea. Drageen could not have survived that. Not even a Scalding could live through such a thing.”

  Randim’s fingers curled across the top of Astrid’s shoulders, and she felt grateful for his firm touch, holding her in place, keeping her from swaying or toppling over.

  “I see,” she said, letting go of her last hope to fight by her brother’s side.

  “Ship!” Thorda said again, pointing fervently at the sea.

  Randim’s voice sounded distant. “We should light the fire. Astrid, do you agree?” When she didn’t answer, Randim squeezed her shoulder. “The times we’ve feared are coming upon us. We can face them together.”

  Astrid nodded, knowing he spoke the truth.

  I failed on Slaughter Island. I caved in to my anger. I didn’t have the right to commit murder, but we all have the right to defend ourselves and our homes.

  Taddeo’s advice crashed against her.

  You must decide who you are before you can stand up inside your own skin.

  On the night she became a dragonslayer, Astrid decided who she was.

  Deciding who you are isn’t something you do just once. You decide who you are every day with every decision you make.

  On the day Margreet died, Astrid chose to be someone who cared about foreigners in the same way she cared about her fellow Northlanders.

  If you fail to keep an eye on who you are, you might turn into someone else when you aren’t paying attention.

  Astrid lost herself and become a murderer on Slaughter Island.

  But now she recognized that no matter what hardships or disappointments she faced, Astrid always had a choice.

  Every day, every moment, she had a choice.

  And every choice gave her the power to become who and what she wanted to be. She’d made a mistake on Slaughter Island, but she chose not to make that mistake again. Never again would she attack unarmed men on their own soil.

  Instead, she could make a choice to protect herself, her friends, and her home. She would make a choice allowing her to live with the consequences of her decisions.

  She looked at the friends who now stood by her side at the dawn of a new day. Randim, the blacksmith. Thorda, the Iron Maiden.

  “Light the fire,” Astrid said.

  CHAPTE
R 56

  Everyone stood between Astrid and the ocean. She watched Komdra direct a couple of blacksmiths to tend and feed the warning fire, encouraging it to blaze higher and stronger. Randim, Lenore, Donel, and others from Guell stood guard around the bonfire, monitoring the progress of the incoming ship with a dragon figurehead.

  Astrid chose to be the last line of defense. If any Krystr soldiers fought their way through the Northlanders, Astrid had Starlight in hand, ready to stop them.

  Along the shoreline, a distant burst of light punctuated the dawn. That meant the closest encampment had seen Komdra’s warning fire and lit their own. Soon, the entire Southern coast of the Northlands would come ablaze with fire, announcing the pending attack.

  High tide brought waves crashing onto the beach. Shouts of men aboard the incoming Northlander ship carried across the sea. The Iron Maidens called out encouragement to each other, weapons in hand.

  Astrid looked up to the sky, certain the bold light from dozens of bonfires along the coast now made it brighter.

  “More ships!” Thorda shouted, pointing toward the sea. She paced like an animal establishing its territory while the Iron Maidens took their positions at the water’s edge, insisting that the invaders meet them first. Komdra and his men spread out to form a line behind the women, ready to back them up.

  Astrid looked to the sea. Sure enough, a dozen Krystr ships now clustered behind the single Northlander vessel in a formation indicating they were following its lead. Even from a distance, she recognized the ship on which she had once sailed.

  They thought they could fool us with my brother’s ship. But all the bonfires are making it obvious we recognize who they really are. They’ve given up on trying to trick us.

  “Others!” Randim shouted from where he tended the warning bonfire with Lenore and his fellow blacksmiths. He gestured to the east, where specks of ships dotted the horizon. Although barely visible, these new ships glided low in the water and each had a single sail full of wind.

  Northlander ships. The guard ships stationed at sea are coming to help!

  Astrid smiled. Pacing like Thorda, she walked along her stretch of sand that bordered the forest, ready to face any soldier who made it this far.

  She watched her brother’s ship navigate the treacherous waters. It drew close enough to shore that she could see all the soldiers crammed on deck. There looked to be at least 50 of them, more if any others waited below deck.

  Astrid swallowed hard, awash with anticipation.

  We’re strong. We’re ready.

  Within minutes, Drageen’s ship slid onto the beach. Dozens of Krystr soldiers charged from it, swords and axes in hand, launching a frenzied battle. Shouts and screams permeated the air, along with weapons clanging against each other when they failed to find their mark.

  Astrid picked up a few hammers she’d borrowed from the makeshift smithery and buried the strong iron hammer heads into the hot, hot embers of the small fire by where she’d slept.

  She still wore the small silver brooch in the shape of a tree near the dragonish brooch given to her by DiStephan. Margreet named Astrid the last Keeper of Limru, and Astrid wanted every Krystr soldier to know whose allegiance she kept when they saw her.

  The blacksmiths shouted, each pulling a blazing branch from the fire and charging toward the Krystr soldiers that pushed past the Iron Maidens and Komdra’s men.

  Seeing the hammer heads turn a dark red, Astrid grabbed the handles and pulled the hammers out of the fire.

  A Krystr soldier ran one of Komdra’s men through with his sword and then noticed Astrid. The soldier grinned, taking a moment to look her up and down.

  All she needed was that moment of inattention. Astrid threw a hammer, knocking the soldier squarely between the eyes with a red-hot hammer head.

  Screaming, he dropped his weapon, collapsed on the sand, and sank his head into his hands.

  Astrid walked over to the man, picked up her hammer from the sand, and struck him in the back of the head with the same force she used to smite iron on an anvil.

  Will the dragons care if the Krystr soldiers never set foot off the beach and onto solid ground?

  Astrid watched the battle while walking the edge of it, ready for the next soldier to attack her.

  Or have things already gone too far for it to matter?

  Do they already consider the Northlands to be poisoned?

  Beyond redemption?

  Another Krystr soldier rushed toward her with ax in hand, and Astrid reacted quickly. She swung one hammer to knock the ax out of his hand, instantly followed by an uppercut with the hammer in her other hand that connected loudly with the man’s jaw. He fell without a sound to the sand.

  Beyond the shore, Astrid heard a mayhem of shouts and wood cracking apart. On the sail of each Krystr ship, she could see the image of a fish with its tail split to form legs. Sailing single file in the narrow waters, some Krystr ships listed to one side. They cracked open on the rocks and debris beneath the water’s surface and began to sink. Others rammed into the sinking ships from behind, incapacitating themselves.

  Scanning the chaos on shore, Astrid saw a Krystr soldier swing a short sword at Lenore. He gaped in astonishment when it slid harmlessly off her arm, protected by Astrid’s tears and bloodstones. Lenore countered by burying an ax into the man’s side. He cried out, crumpling to the ground.

  Nearby, Randim and his blacksmiths defended themselves with hammers and tongs and other tools of their trade. Many of the Krystr soldiers fell on the beach, victim to the women forming the first line of defense. Komdra and his men fought the soldiers who made their way past the Iron Maidens.

  Astrid saw a bedraggled clerk hauling himself out of the sea, apparently swimming in from a sinking Krystr ship.

  I remember him.

  Astrid felt herself grow strangely calm, watching the clerk plod past battles, seemingly invisible to all other Northlanders occupied with Krystr soldiers.

  The clerk noticed Astrid and paused, catching her gaze. He walked toward her, pausing once more to pick up an ax dropped by a fallen Krystr soldier.

  Astrid withdrew Starlight and pointed its sharp tip at the clerk as if he were a lizard, ready to run him through with the blade.

  The clerk stumbled toward Astrid, acting ready to collapse at any moment. Suddenly, he lunged forward, wrapping one bare hand around Starlight’s blade. He shoved the sword aside and then swung his ax at Astrid’s face.

  She let go of Starlight and raised her forearms to block the clerk’s incoming arm.

  Shocked by her quickness, the clerk hesitated.

  Astrid yanked Falling Star from her belt and jammed it into the clerk’s heart.

  He paused again, speechless, and then fell to the ground.

  Hoof beats thundered above the ongoing cries of battle. Astrid turned to see Northlanders approaching on horseback, flaming torches held high and illuminating their faces. The Northlanders dismounted and ran to join the blacksmiths in the fight, swinging torches fiercely at the Krystr soldiers.

  She checked the sea, searching for the incoming Northlander ships. But all the sinking Krystr vessels now clogged up the waterway, making it impossible for other traffic to pass through.

  Remembering what her brother had once said, Astrid repeated it, proud that he’d died defending their homeland. “And so they came to claim what was theirs, bashing, thrashing, and crashing like gods. Except this land isn’t yours. It’s ours.”

  A silky voice emerged through the noise. Astrid picked up Starlight from where she’d let it fall and wrapped both hands around its grip.

  A tall, dark figure stepped through the chaos, dressed in beautiful silken clothes. He spoke to her in another language. The moment the firelight fell upon his face, Astrid knew him.

  Mandulane.

  He laughed when he saw her, but Astrid sensed he didn’t recognize her.

  Mandulane took a sword, dripping with blood, and slid it into its sheath. He smiled and held his
arms open as if inviting Astrid to embrace him.

  “Take one step closer and Starlight will hold you close,” Astrid said, even though she suspected Mandulane knew nothing of her language.

  He stood in place and cast a curious look at Astrid.

  In that moment, Astrid believed she saw a glimpse of something in his eyes, a hint of who he might have been before some kind of madness took hold of him and made him want to take the world for his pleasure, regardless of the people harmed by his actions. In the moment, Astrid saw something vulnerable, some kind of hope or dream that must have been crushed out of him long ago.

  More than most, Astrid knew what it felt like to be crushed. She also knew there were better ways to recover and regain one’s hope. For a moment, she felt the same kind of compassion she’d once felt for Drageen’s brigands that captured her years ago.

  She asked, “Who were you?”

  Mandulane looked startled but quickly adopted an expression Astrid had seen on the faces of many men. She recognized the expression most often on the faces of Krystr soldiers and clerks but sometimes saw it on the faces of Southlander, Midlander, and even Northlander men and women.

  She recognized the expression of someone who thought she was beneath him.

  For the first time, she considered pity for Mandulane and all his Krystr soldiers. What kind of lives must they have led that made them feel they needed to rise above others?

  In that moment, Astrid’s love of the Northlands and the Scaldings and Tower Island and the dragons deepened.

  All this time, she realized, I’ve lived in a place where who I am—not what I am—can matter. Where all people can matter.

  Mandulane took one step closer, speaking smoothly and gesturing with open hands.

  All the more reason to protect myself from him.

  Astrid stood at the ready, deciding to strike if he took one more step.

  Suddenly, the warning fire blazed, soaring high into the night sky.

  Mandulane pulled out the short Midlander sword he’d just sheathed with one hand and a second sword with his other.

  Astrid recognized the Magenta immediately. It was the sword that she’d repaired for Taddeo when he called himself a dragonslayer.