The Dragon Seed Box Set

by Resa Nelson

  The Midlander woman rested her head against Uncle Claude’s shoulder, and her voice sounded wistful. “The boy looks like her.”

  Now she had Skallagrim’s full attention. “Who do I look like?”

  Before Auntie Thurid or Uncle Claude could speak, the Midlander woman said, “Our dragonslayer, of course.”

  “Dragonslayer?” Skallagrim said. First, he felt more confused. “How can a woman be a dragonslayer? What kind of woman would want to be one?”

  Auntie Thurid and Uncle Claude hurried to speak at the same time as the Midlander women, but Skallagrim heard the Midlander woman say, “Your mother, of course.”

  While his guardians protested and denied the claim, Skallagrim said, “My mother?” He remembered how Mother and Father said they had a friend who gave Skallagrim to them as their son.

  “Your mother is at home where you left her,” Auntie Thurid said with an edge in her voice.

  Everyone turned toward her, and she stood tall with a fierce look in her eyes. “You’re the son of Snip and Sven Scalding,” Auntie Thurid said to Skallagrim. “Let no one tell you otherwise.”

  Skallagrim didn’t want to upset her, but he also wanted to know the truth. He’d learned there were good times to talk to adults and bad times. When Skallagrim chose a good time, it resulted in a pleasant and easy conversation. When he chose a bad time, the results ranged from terrible to disastrous.

  Auntie Thurid is upset. This seems like a bad time.

  It occurred to Skallagrim that the subject might be one that he should never discuss with Auntie Thurid, Uncle Claude, or his parents. It certainly made no sense to discuss it with anyone else on Tower Island.

  On the other hand, Skallagrim considered the fact that his guardians would deliver him to dragonslayer training soon.

  Maybe I’ll meet someone who knows the truth about me. Someone who wouldn’t get upset if I ask questions.

  A commotion of crashing tree limbs and thudding feet interrupted Skallagrim’s thoughts, and he turned to look in the direction of the disruption.

  A lizard twice the size of a deer leapt out of the woods and into the green clearing. It skidded to a stop at the sight of dozens of people surrounding the clearing on all sides.

  Dark, mottled scales covered the creature’s body. Its legs bowed out to the side like steps. When it took a step, the back of its foot first dragged against the ground and then flipped up into place. Its feet displayed sharp, curved claws. Sharp teeth lined its open jaw, and strings of spittle hung from it. A bright yellow and forked tongue flicked out of its mouth like a flame.

  The animal’s eyes gleamed with intelligence.

  It’s a dragon!

  Terror gripped Skallagrim, and he couldn’t speak or move.

  However, none of the Keepers of Limru had that problem.

  The old man who had first greeted Uncle Claude hummed a low tone.

  The other Keepers matched his tone. Within moments, humming voices filled the clearing and surrounded the dragon.

  A young woman came crashing out of the woods in the dragon’s footsteps. Like the other Midlanders, she had dark eyes. She wore her long, black hair tied up in a bun on top of her head. She wore a long black dress, but its sides were hiked up and tucked under her belt, exposing her legs covered with black woolen hose. She held a long strip of muddied white cloth in her hands. She spoke to the dragon, but Skallagrim didn’t understand the words.

  She looks like a Midlander. She must be speaking that language.

  The dragon spun to face her and whipped its tail back and forth.

  The young woman straightened her back and sharpened her tone when she spoke to the creature again.

  The dragon emitted a moan lower than the humming still surrounding it. The animal paced back and forth, but its tail slowed down to a twitch.

  The young woman took a tentative step toward the dragon. When she spoke, she sounded as if she were trying to reason with it.

  All of the Keepers hummed louder.

  When Skallagrim realized Uncle Claude and Auntie Thurid were humming as well, he joined in. Skallagrim liked the way it made his throat feel. As soon as he started humming, Skallagrim became aware of something he could almost touch in the air, as if it had filled with the kind of vibrancy that came from a thunderstorm. That vibrancy made Skallagrim feel strong and powerful, as if he were at one with the Keepers of Limru.

  Appearing to give up, the dragon sank to the ground with a heavy sigh.

  The young woman sped to kneel before it and wrap her muddied white cloth several times around its jaw to close it shut. When finished, she tied a neat bow and kissed the top of the dragon’s head.

  It stared at her with such forlorn that Skallagrim wondered if the creature loved her.

  The old man called out to her. “Come meet the boy who will become a dragonslayer.”

  The young woman walked toward them with the dragon at her heels. She stared at Skallagrim with a perplexed look. “He speaks Northlander?”

  “It’s all he speaks,” Auntie Thurid said. “For now. He’ll learn Midlander and Southlander as part of his training.”

  The young woman nodded to Skallagrim and said, “Welcome to the Temple of Limru. I’m Flora.”

  Stirred by what he’d just witnessed, Skallagrim brimmed with curiosity. “Are you a dragonslayer? Why did you let the dragon live?”

  The dragon stepped in front of Flora and curled its tail around her legs.

  “I’m not a dragonslayer,” Flora said. “I’m a dragon queller.”

  “Queller?” Skallagrim stared at her, dumbfounded.

  “I don’t kill dragons.” Flora paused and reconsidered her statement. “Better to say I won’t kill a dragon unless it gives me no other choice. I see if I can calm it down first. That’s what quelling is.”

  For the first time, Skallagrim noticed a sheathed sword at her side, obscured somewhat by the folds of her skirt falling from the bits of hem tucked under her belt.

  The dragon moaned and rested its chin on top of Flora’s leather shoe.

  She winced.

  Alarmed, Skallagrim said, “Does it hurt?”

  Flora grimaced. “Only when I have to clean the spit off at the end of the day.” She paused. “It does leave the leather nice and soft, though.”

  The lax attitude of Flora and the Midlanders toward the dragon troubled Skallagrim so much that he couldn’t hold back his thoughts. “But all dragons should be killed! Otherwise, they’ll destroy crops and people alike. What good does it do to let one live?”

  A hush fell over the Midlanders.

  Flora appeared to choose her words with care. “If a dragon can be quelled to a point where it does no harm to crops or people, why not let it live? How are we to know that a dragon’s life isn’t as valuable as our own?”

  That idea shocked Skallagrim to the core.

  Isn’t the life of a mortal far more important than an animal’s life? Especially one with the power to kill people?

  Flora shook her head slightly, as if she’d read Skallagrim’s thoughts. “And what if a dragon can be convinced to help us?”

  “Help?” Auntie Thurid said in surprise. “How?”

  The dragon tapped its tail against Flora’s leg, still curled around her. She reached down and grasped the end of its tail as if holding someone’s hand. “As a guard. Maybe even a protector.”

  “You think you can train the dragon.” Uncle Claude said it as a statement, not a question.

  “Possibly,” Flora said. “If it works, I’ll be happy to know we’ve got a dragon patrolling the perimeter of Limru.”

  “But why would you need one?” Auntie Thurid said.

  Flora exchanged a worried glance with the old man who had first greeted Uncle Claude.

  The old man cleared his throat before speaking. “An ill will blows throughout the Midlands.”

  As if in agreement, the gold and silver chains hanging in the trees jingled in response to a soft breeze rushing throug
h the leaves.

  “The tree spirits,” Uncle Claude said. “They’ve warned you?”

  “Not so much a warning as a mild alert,” the old man said. “Nothing is cast in stone.”

  “Nothing ever is,” Uncle Claude agreed.

  “But there is a certain danger afoot in the world right now. Whether or not that danger passes through the Midlands is yet to be seen.”

  “Danger?” Auntie Thurid said. She shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other. “What type of danger?”

  The old man shrugged. “That is also yet to be seen. In the meantime, we see no harm in exploring new ways to protect Limru should we need it.”

  Skallagrim looked up at the massive canopy of green leaves and glittering gold and silver high above his head. For a brief moment, he wondered if he should have stayed on Tower Island where everyone was safe from dragons and unknown, mysterious dangers.

  Another breeze stirred the trees, making their limbs and leaves move like waves in the ocean. The air smelled fragrant and pure. Beyond the clearing, birds continued singing their bright and cheery songs in the forest.

  Skallagrim remembered how his parents claimed he had the heart of a dragonslayer. Surely, no dragonslayer would ever prefer to hide away on a remote island instead of preparing himself to face whatever danger might come.

  He looked up at his guardians. “It’s alright, Auntie Thurid,” Skallagrim said. “When danger comes, we’ll all be ready for it.”

  CHAPTER 5

  For the next several days, Skallagrim continued traveling by horse and cart with his guardians throughout the Midlands and then into the Southlands. He didn’t notice that much difference between the two countries. Neither had any true mountains. Instead, soft, rolling hills ran through lush fields and valleys. It wasn’t until they reached the lowest part of the Southlands that the flattest land Skallagrim had ever seen stretched between a few hillsides.

  When they reached Bellesguard, the place struck Skallagrim as being an especially friendly and open community that appeared to welcome every traveler. Its narrow city streets were made of cobblestones, lined with simple stone houses. Although the stone houses reminded him of the homes on Tower Island, instead of being spread around a courtyard, they stood jammed against each other. Women wore simple kerchiefs on their heads and wide flowing skirts as colorful as the wildflowers that graced the hillsides. Men wore leather breeches tied at the knees, colorful woolen hose on their calves, and simple but roomy white blouses.

  Uncle Claude explained that the people of Bellesguard rose as gently as the sun and took their time enjoying each day. “They’re not like Northlanders or Midlanders,” Uncle Claude said. “The fields here are much easier to tend. Southlanders work only as much as needed. They spend most of their time eating and talking.”

  “They’re lazy?” Skallagrim wrinkled his nose in distaste at the thought.

  “Not lazy,” Uncle Claude said. “They get their work done, and then they enjoy the pleasures of life.”

  They traveled to the far end of Bellesguard. Auntie Thurid pointed at a ridge where a large oak tree grew. A large grassy lawn dotted with sheep and goats spread between the ridge and a large manor. “That’s where we’re going. We’re almost there.”

  Beyond the ridge, Skallagrim considered the beautiful stone manor. It looked peculiar because it stood three stories high but its width looked smaller than its height. On the left side of the manor, an enormous iron flower adorned the top of a slim tower that stretched twice as high as the manor.

  “See?” Auntie Thurid continued, pointing at the manor. “Doesn’t it look like a giant toad? Can’t you see the way the toad shoots its tongue up to catch a fly?”

  Skallagrim squinted. “I don’t see it.”

  They drove along a narrow dirt road toward the stone manor, leaving the center of Bellesguard behind. Heading toward the ridge that defined the estate’s boundary, they had open fields to the left and woods to the right.

  A short distance ahead, a Northlander girl darted across their path and ran to the other side of the road. She dove to the ground and disappeared in the tall grass growing by the path.

  “Who was that?” Skallagrim said.

  Before either of his guardians could respond, a boy wearing the garb of a Southlander dashed onto the road and looked in all directions, sword in hand. He froze for a moment when he spotted the horse and cart but then relaxed and waved with his free hand.

  “I don’t understand,” Skallagrim said. “Is he trying to kill her with the sword?”

  “I have no idea,” Auntie Thurid said. “We don’t know these children.”

  The Southlander boy took a few steps forward toward the cart.

  Out of the tall grasses, the Northlander girl pounced. She caught the boy from behind and wrenched his sword away into her own hands. She then pointed the sharp tip at his chest.

  Sagging in defeat, the Southlander boy raised his hands above his head and sank to his knees, remaining there until Uncle Claude pulled the cart up alongside them.

  The Northlander girl beamed. “Welcome to the dragonslayer training camp of Bellesguard!” She paused and then spoke to Auntie Thurid. “I thought the new boy would be a Northlander.”

  “I am one!” Skallagrim said.

  The Northlander girl brightened again. “Oh, I thought you were a Midlander because you look like one. But you’ve got a real Northlander accent!” She thwacked the Southlander boy with the flat of his blade but held onto his weapon. “All of the others are Southlander boys. I’m so happy to have a fellow Northlander to talk to.” She screwed up her face in a scowl for a moment. “Of course, everybody speaks Northlander so we can’t have any secret conversations in front of them. But still—I won’t be the only Northlander anymore!”

  The Southlander boy began to rise, speaking words Skallagrim didn’t understand.

  The Northlander girl thwacked him again and forced him back on his knees. “Speak my language so everyone can understand you!”

  “I said,” the Southlander boy said with a heavy accent, “give me back my sword!”

  “It’s mine for now,” the Northlander girl said. “I won it fair and square. I’ll give it back when we’ve greeted our guests accordingly.” She took a few steps forward with a flounce and then swept the sword in a grand gesture. “My name is Bruni. I’m from the Boglands.”

  “The Boglands!” Auntie Thurid said in surprise. “How can that be?”

  Bruni laughed. “I was born there. It’s only the folks who move to the Boglands who want nothing to do with people. I’m not like that. I want to see the world!”

  The Southlander scrambled to his feet and charged at Bruni. When he reached toward her, she spun away and took several quick and well-placed steps away from his grasp. Once more, Bruni pointed the sword at his chest, keeping him at bay. Without taking her gaze away from him, she said, “This is Seph. He thinks he’s better than me. It’s tiring to keep proving him wrong, but a dragonslayer must do whatever is necessary.” Bruni sighed. “These Southlander boys make it necessary to prove myself again and again and again.” She nudged the tip of the sword at Seph, and he cried out in fear. “Don’t make me prove my point, Southlander.”

  Enthralled by the young dragonslayers, Skallagrim jumped from the cart and joined them. He pointed at the sword that Bruni had wrenched away from Seph. “Can I hold it?”

  Bruni looked at him with startled eyes. “No! Seph had no right to bring it outside, much less take it in his hands. I shouldn’t even be touching it, except for the fact I needed to show Seph which one of us is cleverer.”

  Skallagrim’s guardians eased their way from the cart and stepped forward. Uncle Claude extended his hand. “Then it’s best for me to take it.”

  “I think not,” Bruni protested. “I don’t know you!”

  Skallagrim sidled closer to her. “It’s fine. He’s my Uncle Claude and a weapon merchant. You couldn’t ask for safer hands to hold that sword.”
r />   Bruni stood her ground.

  “You welcomed us when we rode up,” Skallagrim continued. “You must have known we were coming.”

  “Just you,” Bruni said. She kept a sharp gaze on Uncle Claude. “But it’s occurring to me that you might not be who I think you are.”

  She backed away and nudged Seph with her foot.

  The boy jumped to his feet and reached for the sword.

  “I’ve got the sword!” Bruni said. “Use your dagger.”

  Seph frowned but withdrew his dagger and stood side by side with Bruni as if anticipating a fight.

  Uncle Claude raised his hands in surrender. “Nothing to worry about. We’re here by invitation.”

  “You,” Bruni said to Skallagrim. “You never told us your name.”

  “I’m Skallagrim. We’ve come from Tower Island.”

  “I doubt that,” Seph said. He adjusted his grip on his dagger and pointed it at Uncle Claude. “Only Scaldings live on Tower Island. And you don’t look like no Scalding.”

  “He already explained he’s a Northlander,” Bruni said to Seph. “And he’s got a proper Northlander accent, so I believe he was raised as one even if he doesn’t look like one.”

  Seph gestured with his dagger at Uncle Claude, inspiring the man to take a step back. “But what about him?” Seph said. “He’s obviously a Midlander.”

  “I call him my uncle,” Skallagrim said. He pointed at Thurid. “I call her my auntie. But we’re not related by blood. Like I said, Uncle Claude is a weapon merchant and sells his wares throughout the three countries. Auntie Thurid is an alchemist.”

  With growing concern etched on their faces, Bruni and Seph turned their attention to Auntie Thurid.

  “She’s a Northlander!” Skallagrim said. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “We’ve heard talk about portents of uncertain times,” Bruni said. “And Northlanders who betray their fellow Northlanders.” Bruni paused and reconsidered. “At least one Northlander. Maybe more.”