The Dragonslayer's Curse

by Resa Nelson

  Skallagrim stared at him. “Frandulane killed my wife.”

  Sven squirmed as if he wanted to protest but thought better of it. He didn’t appear surprised. “What about Drageen?” Sven said. “Is your boy alive?”

  “He’s alive. And so is the girl child my wife bore before being murdered.”

  Snip jumped to her feet. “Where are your children? We can help take care of them. You can move back to Tower Island, and we’ll help.”

  “My children are in a safe place with someone who will care for them until I return.” Skallagrim took a final look around the room to make sure he’d missed no place where Frandulane could hide. As Skallagrim walked out of the home in which he’d grown up, he said, “No Scalding will ever touch my children again.”

  Skallagrim stepped outside into the wind whipping across Tower Island. He ignored the cries of Snip, reminding himself that although he’d been raised by her, they weren’t related by blood.

  His real mother—the mother he had never met—had been a dragonslayer.

  The sharp sting of the cold wind made him focus on the next task at hand.

  I have to scour this island. If Frandulane is here, I’ll find him. If he’s not here, I’ll find someone who will tell me where he’s gone.

  “Skallagrim, wait,” Sven said from where he stood in the house’s open doorway. “There’s more you need to know.”

  “Unless you can tell me where Frandulane is, I’m not interested.”

  Sven stepped toward him. “An alchemist predicted your death. If you insist on killing Frandulane, you will die, too.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The words of his adoptive father gave Skallagrim pause, but not for long. He walked away from the house. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Sven rushed to keep pace with him. “What doesn’t matter? Knowing an alchemist predicted your death?”

  Skallagrim shrugged it off. “Someday I will die. Everyone dies. All I care about is doing something worthwhile before my time comes.” He glanced at Sven. “And wiping Frandulane’s existence from this world strikes me as something worthwhile.”

  “What about your children? Do you want them to grow up without a father?”

  Skallagrim remembered seeing his newborn daughter for the first time, just a few days ago in the port city of Gott. He remembered the careful way Drageen had held his baby sister in his arms.

  At the same time, Skallagrim remembered his own childhood and how fraught it had been with Frandulane’s constant harassment.

  Drageen would never do that to his sister. He’ll be a good brother. If something happens to me, they’ll be alright without me.

  Skallagrim stood and looked at the other houses that ringed the courtyard and the gold tower rising above it. The day had clouded, and the tower’s gold looked muddled as it reflected the dark houses and the courtyard. Behind Skallagrim’s boyhood home, he heard the worried clucks drifting from the large chicken coop out back.

  Sven faced him. “You must take care of your children. That has to come first.”

  Skallagrim gave a blank look. “It does. They’re fine.”

  Sven glanced around the courtyard and then lowered his voice at the sight of a handful of Scaldings near the tower. “This world isn’t a safe place. No one has an easy life. Your children will suffer from the loss of their mother. Don’t make it worse by making them lose their father as well.”

  Skallagrim felt something darken inside him. “I will do whatever is necessary to protect them from my brother.”

  When Skallagrim moved to step past him, Sven gripped his shoulder and stopped him. “Don’t let your anger get the better of you. It’s too easy for your anger to become a curse that falls upon you. I’ve seen it happen with the Scaldings. If you let your anger tell you what to do, its curse will strike down your entire family.”

  Skallagrim stepped out of Sven’s grip. “There is no such thing as a curse on a man seeking justice. By Northlander law, Frandulane is required to notify the next of kin and pay for the death of everyone he kills. He did not tell me or pay for the death of my wife. He failed to pay Pingzi for the death of her husband.” Skallagrim narrowed his eyes. “Your wife must be the closest kin of Benzel of the Wolf. Did your son notify her of Benzel’s death and pay for it?”

  Sven’s face sagged in sorrow. “He’s our son, Skallagrim.”

  “And that puts him above the law?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Isn’t Tower Island part of the Northlands?”

  Sven nodded, and the sadness in his eyes seemed to cloud them.

  Skallagrim clenched his jaw. “Then he needs to pay. No one on this island is willing to hold Frandulane accountable for his crimes. So, I’ll do it.”

  Before he could take another step, Sven stopped him once more. “Fine. But let me help.”

  Skallagrim keep his voice cool. “The way you helped by hiding him from me? By pretending you didn’t see him?”

  “No one is hiding Frandulane. He arrived yesterday and left last night with his wife and son.”

  “Wife?” Until a few days ago, Skallagrim hadn’t seen anyone in his family for years. He couldn’t imagine Frandulane as a husband. “Who would marry him?”

  “A milkmaid from the Midlands,” Sven said. “A sweet girl who gave him a good son. They don’t deserve to be left without a husband and father.” Sven pleaded. “Please let me help you find him. I will convince Frandulane to pay for every crime you say he’s committed, and then we’ll be done with it.”

  “If Frandulane isn’t on Tower Island, where did he go?”

  “He didn’t say. But it makes sense he’d take his wife back home to the Midlands. She probably knows people there who would help them.”

  Skallagrim considered the task of searching Tower Island on his own without the aid of any Scaldings. If Sven lied and Frandulane remained on the island, it would be easy for the Scaldings to rush him from one hiding place to the next while Skallagrim searched.

  Without Sven’s help, Frandulane is sure to evade me if he’s still here.

  “You’re willing to help,” Skallagrim said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then prove that Frandulane has left Tower Island.”

  Sven gave a laugh of surprise. “There’s no need. I just told you he left.” The severity of Skallagrim’s request dimmed Sven’s spirits. “You don’t believe me?”

  “I need proof. Are you willing to give it?”

  Disheartened, Sven said, “I will.”

  Skallagrim looked up at the tower. The Scaldings considered it their sacred treasure, but none lived inside it. “First, I’ll lock myself inside the tower and search it from the bottom up. Wait until you see me at the top, then gather every Scalding on this island into the courtyard where I can see you. Once everyone is gathered, I’ll search all the houses and then the rest of the island. Can you keep everyone in the courtyard while that happens?”

  For the first time, Sven looked confident. “Yes. They’ll do as I say.”

  “Then let’s get started.”

  * * *

  Skallagrim took his time searching the tower. He scoured every nook and cranny. But the more he searched, the less evidence he found that anyone had been inside the tower recently enough to leave a trace of their existence.

  After climbing the stairs to the tower’s height, Skallagrim stepped outside onto the circular floor surrounded by the rooftop’s low stone wall. Up here, the wind was stronger. It buffeted Skallagrim with such force that he struggled to stay upright on his feet. When he made his way to the edge overlooking the courtyard, he clung to the stone wall to keep from being blown off.

  Skallagrim took his time to count every Scalding on the courtyard below. He counted again to make sure. After descending the tower stairs, he walked into the courtyard. Strolling among the Scaldings again, he counted them in silence, careful not to let them guess that he did so. Once satisfied that his count from the top of the tower now matched his current c
ount, Skallagrim began his search of the homes surrounding the courtyard.

  In house after house, Skallagrim found no sign of Frandulane or of any disturbance a visitor tended to make. Every home simply looked occupied and lived in. After completing the search of all homes, Skallagrim crossed the courtyard and counted the Scaldings again. Satisfied no one had left to help or hide Frandulane, Skallagrim now traversed the small island. Other than the area he’d already searched, only fields of crops and small pastures covered the island. It had no woods or anyplace else to easily hide.

  Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe Frandulane has left Tower Island.

  Skallagrim considered returning to the courtyard to count the Scaldings a final time but thought better of it. He walked the perimeter of the island, well aware Sven and the rest of the Scaldings could follow his progress from where they remained in the courtyard.

  They haven’t seen me cover this part of the island yet. They shouldn’t suspect anything.

  Instead of beaches, the island had abrupt and rocky edges. Skallagrim glanced in the direction of the shores of the Northlands and noticed a small fishing boat approaching the island.

  I’m not far from where my ship landed. By the time I get to the dock, no one can get there soon enough to stop me from leaving Tower Island.

  Skallagrim heard shouts from the courtyard and knew Sven must know by now that Skallagrim planned to head for the Midlands to find Frandulane.

  But when Skallagrim arrived at the dock, he discovered that the Scaldings had already put all the ships—including his—in a nearby building for winter storage.

  Of course. They were moving all the ships when I arrived. At this time of year, they assumed I’d be staying. No one thought it would be safe for me to leave until spring.

  Even if he had the strength to haul his ship back in the water, it was impossible to do it before the entire Scalding clan arrived.

  “Hey there!” a voice called from behind.

  Skallagrim spun around to see a small fishing boat glide into the dock. He recognized a young cousin steering it next to a ladder and then mooring the boat in place before climbing halfway up the ladder with a small gathered net of fish in hand. “Skallagrim!” the cousin cried in recognition. “Take this and I’ll bring the rest.”

  Skallagrim reached down and took the bag while his cousin hopped back on his boat and gathered up the rest of his catch.

  He glanced toward the tower. The rest of the Scaldings headed toward the dock but were still too far away for their faint cries to be understood.

  “Everyone warned me not to go,” the cousin said while climbing back up the ladder. “From here, the sea doesn’t look so rough but it is once you get out there. I figured we could use more cod to salt to help get us through the winter.”

  Skallagrim gave his cousin a hand up from the ladder onto the dock.

  The cousin lugged another bag of fish out from where he’d held it under his arm. “I should have listened. Some of the waves are as high as the tower. I lost count of the times I almost capsized. I’m lucky I got back in one piece.”

  Skallagrim scurried down the ladder.

  “No need to hurry,” the cousin said, dropping his last bag of fish. Studying his haul of fish, the cousin spoke absent-mindedly. “There’s plenty of time to ready it for winter storage.”

  Ignoring him, Skallagrim untied the boat from where his cousin had moored it and used an oar to push it away from the dock. He then took two oars in hand. With his back to the ocean, Skallagrim rowed the small fishing boat out toward the sea.

  “Hey!” his cousin called out. “You can’t take my boat!”

  By the time the rest of the Scaldings came to the dock, Skallagrim had rowed far out of their reach. He put the oars down and raised the boat’s single square sail. It billowed at once with the strong wind sweeping across the island, and Skallagrim had no trouble angling the sail to speed him toward the Northlander shore.

  Even if the Scaldings worked together to move a single boat or ship out of winter storage, they had no chance to catch up with Skallagrim. All they could do was watch him sail away.

  The wind whipped the sail so hard that Skallagrim worried for a moment that the force would snap the mast in half.

  The mast held solid, but when Skallagrim looked ahead, he saw the enormous waves that his cousin had warned him about.

  CHAPTER 4

  For the rest of the day, Skallagrim wrestled to keep his cousin’s small fishing boat safe and intact from the surf that threatened to break it in half. The towering waves batted the boat around like a cat toying with a mouse.

  Drenched to the bone by frigid water, Skallagrim shivered violently. His teeth rattled so hard that he worried they’d crack. Soon after leaving Tower Island, he’d brought down the sail, knowing it would do no good in these conditions. He could do little more than wrap his arms around a bench nailed across the width of the boat and hope for the best.

  Finally, a monstrous wave picked the boat up to a dizzying height and smashed it back down on the ocean surface.

  Skallagrim felt his heart drop when the boat cracked apart beneath his feet. He reached out and grabbed the oars, knowing they could help him stay buoyant enough to float.

  More waves flung the broken pieces of the boat in all directions. Skallagrim held onto the oars, but the force of another wave pushed him underwater with such velocity that it pried his fingers from the oars before he knew what happened.

  Now underwater, Skallagrim saw darkness surround him. He thrashed in a panic, trying to find his way back to the surface before he ran out of air. He felt the wet weight of his clothes threatening to drag him down to the bottom of the ocean.

  Although the water muddled his ears, Skallagrim heard a flopping sound above his head. Pushing his arms up, he felt a wet fabric that felt different than his clothes.

  The sail!

  The touch of the sailcloth filled Skallagrim’s head with images of sailing with ease and grace. He knew the sail to be true and good.

  For that reason, he clung to it.

  However, some edges of the sail responded to his touch by twisting into a mangled mess that sank down around his arms and legs.

  In another moment of panic, Skallagrim realized the wet sail might as well be a sea monster getting ready to consume him. With a weight far heavier than his own clothes, if he became tangled in the sailcloth, it would sink and take him with it.

  Regret swept through him.

  This is how I die. I’ll never see my children again. I’ll never be able to give my daughter a name. What if they never know what happened to me? How will they live with that?

  In that moment, Skallagrim felt foolish for wanting to kill his brother.

  I would trade every moment of wanting Frandulane to die for just one more day with my children. I would change my ways. I would pretend that Frandulane didn’t exist and live the rest of my life as a dragonslayer in service to others.

  Skallagrim wished with all his might that the gods would give him another chance so that he could live a better life.

  The sail jerked upward, taking Skallagrim with it.

  Breaking through the surface of the sea, Skallagrim gasped for air. Huge swells of water surrounded him like rolling hills.

  He felt the sail wrapped so tightly around one forearm that he saw stars. But when the violent wind whipped the sail around Skallagrim’s head, the cloth worked itself loose and released him.

  Before the sail could lurch away in the wind, Skallagrim grabbed onto two edges with both hands and held on tight.

  The sailcloth snapped upward and lifted him high enough above the water that his feet grazed the highest swells. Looking up, Skallagrim saw he’d managed to grab opposing edges. The sail billowed above him in a similar way as it billowed from a proper mast.

  The wind made an abrupt stop, disappearing as if it had never existed.

  Skallagrim plummeted into the water below but kept a tight grip on the sail.


  A moment after he’d submerged, a new wind picked up the sail. It lifted Skallagrim back into the air.

  A powerful gale flung the sail toward the shore of the Northlands.

  For the first time, Skallagrim felt awash with hope. He willed his numb hands to hold onto the sail long enough to drift over a sandy beach. Finally, he let go and tumbled into a heap on solid land.

  Once more, the wind died. The drenched sail collapsed on a higher end of the beach, far away from the incoming tide.

  Skallagrim’s training as a dragonslayer had prepared him not only to fight dragons and dangerous people but to survive any threat of nature as well.

  I have to get warm. I have to get dry. If I don’t, the cold will kill me.

  Skallagrim sat up and studied his surroundings. He then looked across the sea until he spotted Tower Island, located far more to the west than where he’d expected to see it.

  The storm took me eastward. I must be in the central part of the southern shore.

  This is where migrating dragons often rest before heading up into the Northlands or swimming across the sea toward the Midlands. It’s why there are few villages in this part of the Northlands.

  Skallagrim checked his own body. He found no serious injuries but discovered that the storm had knocked the dagger out from under his belt—that weapon was lost for good. Luckily, the dragonslayer sword he kept strapped across his back had stayed firmly in place, along with the silver bracelets he wore on his upper arms.

  I won’t need that dagger. I can trade for a new one in any port city. No dragon should be here in the Northlands. They should all be gone by now.

  Should be.

  Skallagrim knew there were no certainties when it came to dragons. Sometimes stragglers stayed behind in the Northlands. It happened rarely, and the dragons had never been sighted anywhere but along the southern coast. No dragon had ever attacked a village during the long winter months.

  Instead, the dragons that lagged behind until the weather made it impossible to swim across the sea hibernated in the caves that lined the southern shore.

  Skallagrim hauled himself up on his feet and looked out to sea. The rough waves continued, guaranteeing that no one from Tower Island could follow without putting their own lives at risk.