Dragonslayer

by Tui T. Sutherland

  “I don’t think you’re saying that right,” Sky said, not for the first time. “Maybe it’s Death-something? Deathwarrior? Deathconqueror?”

  “No, it wasn’t either of those,” Wren said. “Anyway, he was fine with Murderbasket. I wonder how he assassinates other dragons. He was incredibly stealthy.”

  “I can be incredibly stealthy,” Sky said jealously, and quite incorrectly.

  “Of course, sweetness,” Wren said, patting his talons. “Well, the stealthiest way I can think of to kill someone is poison. So I’ll go work on that, and I’ll be back soon.”

  “Poison!” Sky said. “Wait, where are you going? Don’t leave me.”

  “I can’t stay here,” Wren said regretfully. “He’s finishing up out there, so he’ll probably be back before long. But I’ll come see you again as soon as he’s gone, and hopefully by then I’ll be all ready to slay a dragon.”

  “Be careful,” Sky said, nudging her with his snout. His wings drooped as she patted his nose and started across the floor. “I don’t like it here, Wren.”

  “I don’t either, Sky. We’ll fly right back to the mountains as soon as those chains are off. All right?”

  He nodded, and she waved good-bye before ducking out the door.

  She’d seen about a hundred mice scurrying about the palace, and she guessed that meant someone must be trying to get rid of them. In the absence of cats, surely that meant rat poison somewhere … most likely the kitchens.

  * * *

  “Don’t eat that.”

  Wren nearly fell off the counter. Was that a human voice? She whirled around, and in fact, there was a real, actual person standing behind her. A woman, hands on her hips, standing out on the kitchen counter as bold as a salt shaker.

  Wren stared at her. Now I’m having hallucinations.

  The woman was only a little taller than Wren, with long, messy dark brown hair and a defiant expression on her face. Her outfit looked like it had been hacked off the end of the curtains and then tied together with bits of leftover string. Wren could tell she was a grown-up, but she couldn’t guess her age.

  “Holy dragon scales,” Wren said. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Rose,” the woman answered. “Are you here to steal treasure? Because, speaking from experience, I can’t say I’d recommend it. Also, that’s not treasure, that’s mouse poison.” Her gaze traveled to the net bag Wren had borrowed from a pile of oranges, which contained the first two poison pellets Wren had found. A slow frown of puzzlement crossed Rose’s face.

  “I’m not here for treasure,” Wren said. “What are you here for?”

  “I live here,” Rose said, as though that were obvious, as though it were her palace and of course a human lived here among the dragons.

  “Really?” Wren said. This human was suddenly a lot more interesting than most. “And nobody eats you?”

  “Not so far.” Rose grinned suddenly, like a flash of lightning in a rainstorm. “OK, I’m playing it cool, but I’m actually dying of curiosity. What are you doing?”

  “You can’t tell anyone,” Wren said.

  Rose threw back her head and laughed and laughed. “I literally haven’t spoken to another human being in decades,” she said when she could finally breathe again. “There’s no one I could possibly tell, don’t worry.”

  “You could tell one of the dragons,” Wren said, “and I need you to not do that.”

  “These dragons do not pay attention to me,” Rose said. “Apart from my dragon, the others all reluctantly refrain from eating me, and they studiously ignore me. That’s it.”

  “Ohhhhhhhh,” Wren said. “That’s why the two who saw me didn’t freak out or kill me. They must have seen a human and thought I was you.” Overwatered plants — maybe they thought of Rose as a spoiled pet who had the run of the palace.

  Rose looked her up and down. “See, and you don’t look anything like me. That just goes to show you how little they pay attention to me. So please tell me what you’re doing, tell me tell me!”

  “All right,” Wren said. “There’s this dragon I have to kill — the general, Sandstorm. So I thought maybe I’d poison him with these.” She shook the bag of pellets, picked up the new one, and stuffed it inside.

  “That’s a decent idea,” Rose said. “But you’ll need a lot more than that,” she added skeptically.

  “That’s true,” Wren said. “So I’d better keep looking. Nice to meet you, good-bye.”

  “Hang on,” Rose said, following her behind the fruit bowl and down the stack of crates beside the counter. “Maybe I can help. I’ve seen a lot of those around the stronghold.”

  Wren reached the floor and turned to look at her. Asking a dragon for help was bad enough; asking a human for help was more risky than she was up for. A dragon would be straightforward about eating her, at least, if it wanted to do that. A human might pretend to help and then betray her by pushing her into a dragon’s jaws, or something like that.

  “That’s all right,” Wren said. “I can handle it myself.” She set off toward the fireplace.

  “Oh, I’m helping you anyway,” Rose said. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have made it sound optional. Did I mention the part where I haven’t talked to a human in years? I’m kind of overexcited about the idea of a real conversation. Plus, check it out, there’s one over here.” She darted behind a basket of yams and emerged triumphantly with another poison pellet. “See? Helping!”

  Wren accepted the pellet warily. Rose might be all right. She seemed to prefer the company of dragons to humans, like Wren did. It was probably pretty interesting, living in a dragon palace.

  And Wren could stay on high alert and make a run for it if Rose did try to feed her to anyone.

  They made a circuit of the kitchens and surrounding feast halls and wound up finding nine poison pellets in all. The net bag was almost too heavy for Wren to carry by herself now, although she didn’t let Rose see that.

  Rose chatted cheerfully as they went, asking questions about the world beyond the palace but never getting too nosy, which Wren appreciated.

  “Are you a prisoner here?” Wren asked. Should I be offering to rescue you? she wondered.

  “Not really.” Rose shrugged. “I mean, it’s all a matter of perspective, right? They might think they’re holding me prisoner, but I kind of like it here. I like my dragon. He’s pretty adorable.”

  Wren nearly admitted that she had her own dragon friend, too, but she wasn’t quite ready to trust Rose all the way. It was sort of thrilling to find a human so much like her, though. Someone who understands that dragons are like us — but better.

  “I hope this is enough,” Wren said to herself, hefting the bag of pellets.

  “I think it should be,” Rose said. “Wait, why do you have to kill this dragon? Tell me it’s not for treasure.”

  “No way,” Wren said. “I would never kill a dragon for something as pointless as treasure.”

  Rose laughed. “I wish I’d been as smart as you when I was your age,” she said. “Although I guess it worked out for me. But back then, I was totally excited about treasure … or maybe I was just excited to help my brother, who was REALLY excited about treasure.”

  Wren thought of Leaf and the adventures she used to drag him on. She wondered how quickly he forgot her — within a week? A month? A year? Did he ever think of her now?

  Probably not. Which is fine. They don’t need me, I don’t need them.

  “Anyway, I made it into the treasure room and out of the palace — twice!” Rose said, with all the excitement of someone who’d done something amazing but didn’t have anyone to tell about it for twenty years. “Buuuut then the dragon queen caught us. So, that was bad.”

  “The dragon queen — wait, the one who got killed by a human?” Wren asked. “Was that you?”

  “No, that was my other brother,” Rose said. “Kind of an accident, though. Anyway, they rode off into the desert, but I’d hurt my leg, so I hid in a sand dune. That’s where my
dragon found me. I knew he wouldn’t eat me. He has kind eyes.” She thought for a moment. “OK, that’s not entirely true. I spent the first couple of years expecting him to change his mind or, like, eat me in his sleep or something!”

  Wren laughed. “Well, Sandstorm does not have kind eyes,” she said. “He’s been threatening the Indestructible City — I figure if I get rid of him, it’ll keep the city safe.” This was true, and seemed like a safer explanation than telling Rose about Sky.

  “Which one is Sandstorm?” Rose asked. “And how do you know his name? Or did you just make that up?”

  “I heard the prince say it,” Wren said. “Sandstorm is the big, loud soldier commander with the annoying laugh. He’s been booming around the palace for days bragging about the prize he brought back for the queen.”

  Now Rose looked extremely confused. She studied Wren for a long, thoughtful moment. “Wren,” she said slowly, “you said all that as though you understand what dragons are saying.”

  Wren had sort of assumed that if Rose lived here, she must also speak and understand Dragon. But all the next few questions led straight back to Sky.

  “Oh, um,” Wren said. “I was just guessing. Anyway, I have to go. You know. Dragons to slay. Thanks for your help.” She tossed the net bag up onto the first step and heaved herself after it.

  “I’ll come keep watch for you,” Rose said cheerfully. “And then you can tell me how you understand Dragon.” She hauled herself after Wren and flung the pellets up another step.

  “I don’t!” Wren said. “That would be so weird! Humans can’t understand Dragon. No, no. Look, I’m sure you have other things to do.”

  “I guess I could steal some more cheese,” Rose said. “Or draw on my dragon’s wall some more, but hmmm, I can do that anytime, and how often do I get to interrogate a girl who understands dragons?”

  “I do NOT,” Wren said, putting her hands on her hips.

  “Oh, admit I can be helpful,” Rose said. “Don’t you need a lookout while you poison this loudmouth dragon?”

  “He’s out on patrol,” Wren said. “I can’t poison him until he comes back tomorrow morning, so you can’t help me right now.”

  Rose blinked at her again. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re guessing that, too?” she asked. “About patrols and when they’ll be back?”

  “Sure,” Wren said.

  A bell rang somewhere nearby, soft and silver and twinkling.

  “Oh — never mind, I’m being summoned,” Rose said. “Probably means I’m going back in the tower for a bit.”

  “The tower?” Wren asked. “Where the queen keeps her weird things? Are you one of her weird things?”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” Rose said. “I stay far away from the queen. My dragon watches out for me, and sometimes the tower is the safest place to put me, like if the palace has a lot of visitors who might eat me, or the queen is on a rampage, or anything like that.” The bell rang again, closer now. Rose took a reluctant step away from Wren. “So … good luck with your dragonslaying.”

  “Thanks,” Wren said. “Good luck with the tower.” Rose jumped lightly down the steps and pattered away into one of the feasting halls. Wren was surprised to feel a little pang in her chest, like she kind of wanted Rose to stay and keep talking to her. A human who made her laugh, who understood that dragons were complicated just like people, whose life story was as interesting as Wren’s? Wren hadn’t thought anyone like that existed.

  She knew Sandstorm’s patrol would be gone for a full day, probably returning early in the morning, which meant she had that long to find a good hiding spot in his room. Then she just had to wait for one of the servants to bring in his cinnamon milk and hope there was time to poison it before the general burst in.

  The hiding place wasn’t too hard — Sandstorm had an end table beside his bed with a single drawer, but it was poorly made, so there was a gap at the top of the drawer. Wren climbed down into it and found the drawer half-empty, with enough room for her to squeeze herself and the pellet bag into. It was highly uncomfortable, and she did not want to know what all the odd random things were that were poking her in the dark, but she could handle it for a little while.

  She left the bag there and spent the day keeping Sky’s spirits up. He was worried about everything about this plan, and he was especially worried about something bad happening to Wren. They took turns dozing during the night, each of them listening for the sound of the general approaching.

  Wren was the one awake and watching out the window when the patrol came flying in from the north. She darted over to the table, shimmied up the leg, and squished herself into the drawer before Sky was even fully awake.

  A short while later, a server dragon from the kitchens came in and left a cup on the table where Wren was hidden. As soon as he was gone, Wren scrambled out and hauled her net of pellets up after her. The cup of cinnamon milk was nearly as tall as she was, but standing on tiptoes, she could drop the poison into it.

  Splash went the first one.

  Dissolve, dissolve, Wren prayed, shaking the glass. She could see white powder swirling around inside. In a moment it disappeared into the milk.

  She hefted another pellet into the glass. Splash, shake, shake. Seven more, one after the other. Would it make the drink too chalky or change the taste? She had to pray that he wouldn’t notice before he drank it all.

  “I think he’s coming,” Sky whispered in a panic.

  Wren scooped up the net, gave the glass one last shake, and dove through the crack into the drawer. She wedged herself in the back of it, behind all the knickknacks and sand and odd little things Sandstorm had collected.

  Footsteps thumped into the room.

  “HEY THERE, PRISONER,” Sandstorm boomed. “GOOD NEWS! Burn should be back today sometime! HA HA! Isn’t that great? I can’t WAIT until she sees you. And then it’s off to the weirdling tower with you, and I can finally have my room to myself again!”

  “I’m not that weird,” Sky said plaintively. “I’m just an ordinary dragon, like you or any of your soldiers. Couldn’t you please let me go?”

  “Ridiculous,” Sandstorm scoffed. “You’re nothing like us. You’re less than a dragon! You’re a fascinating beetle. Burn will love prodding you to figure out what’s wrong with you, and then she’ll probably kill you, stuff you, and put you on display.”

  Wren could imagine the crestfallen look on poor Sky’s face. Wren felt even less bad than she ever had about killing General Sandstorm, and she’d been at zero bad before. This dragon was the worst.

  “Ah, good!” Sandstorm thudded over to the table and picked up his drink. “Just what I need.” He chuckled, and then there were some very loud gurgling-slurping noises.

  Yes, Wren thought triumphantly. Now lie down for a nap. And never wake up.

  Sandstorm yawned loud enough to shake the table. “What a day, lizard. You have no idea how important I am to Queen Burn. Wait until I find her treasure in that spiky human city! She’ll probably give me a palace of my own. HA HA! I’ll burn all those humans to ashes. It’ll be GREAT!”

  Wren heard creaking and rustling as he settled onto his cot. The general let out a sleepy grunt and a weird gurgling noise, probably from his stomach. “Hm,” he grumbled to himself. “Too sweet today.”

  “General Sandstorm!” A dragon burst into the room. “Help! Help! We’re under attack! It’s the end of the world!”

  “Arrgh, calm down, Camel.” The general struggled back up again. His stomach made another ominous gurgling noise. “Who’s attacking?”

  “I don’t know, sir! SandWings, but no one I recognize — they just appeared out of the sand!”

  “Any SeaWings with them?” Sandstorm demanded. “IceWings?”

  “No, sir! I don’t think so, sir! But there are a lot of them and they’re very angry and scary, sir!”

  Sandstorm snorted. “Let’s go kill them, then! HA-HAaaa.” He staggered into the table.

  Die now, Wren tho
ught frantically. Do ONE THING RIGHT and die NOW and HERE.

  But the general shoved himself up and stumbled out of the room with Camel. Wren rolled to the front of the drawer, wriggled out through the crack, and raced over to the window. From there, she could see Sandstorm leap into the sky from the nearest courtyard, wings spread wide, with a bunch of soldiers behind him. He roared and dipped sideways, then shot toward the desert outside the palace walls.

  Wren scrambled out the window.

  “Wren!” Sky protested. “Where are you going? That’s not safe!”

  “I’ll be right back,” she called. “Don’t worry, everything’s fine!”

  That was decidedly untrue: Everything was far from fine. She wedged her toes into the cracks in the stone and clambered all the way up to the roof. From there, she had a view of the dragon battle down below.

  An awfully clear view of General Sandstorm plummeting into the midst of the fighting. He roared and swung his venomous tail in a dangerous arc. Dragons scattered out of his way. He spun and seized a small SandWing, wrapping his talons around the dragon’s neck. With a grin, he started to lift the dragon up to choke him … and then General Sandstorm clutched his stomach and collapsed to the sand.

  The dragon he’d dropped stumbled back for a moment, then recovered and edged forward. He poked the general’s body once, twice with his claws. Looking confused but very pleased with himself, he finally swaggered off to fight someone else.

  With a shriek of terror, the dragon named Camel came pelting back toward the palace, probably to find backup.

  Wren dropped to her knees on the roof.

  She’d done it. She’d slain a dragon. And yet she’d still failed.

  General Sandstorm lay dead in the middle of the battle, out in the desert.

  Outside the giant human-proof walls. With the key that Wren needed around his neck.

  Heath’s guards came through the old village the day after the arrests. They poked long spears through every leaf pile, peered up every chimney, and knocked over a few unstable walls.

  If Ivy’s father had been with them, she might have tried talking to him. He was still her dad — even if he was mad at her, or suspicious of her, he’d still listen, wouldn’t he?