The Dragon's Price

by Bethany Wiggins

  “So you think we should wait and let them come to us, Olenn?” Marrkul asks, his voice so deep it almost sounds more like a growl.

  “Yes,” his son—Olenn—replies. “Let them wear themselves out with travel before they fight us. It will give us the advantage. What do you think, Ingvar?”

  Ingvar nods. “We can arm ourselves and wait just north of the city. Golmarr will lead the foot soldiers, and I will lead the mounted troops. They won’t know we’re there until our archers have taken down a third of their soldiers.” His strategy is sound, but…“And then we will pounce on them and give them the choice to continue the fight or turn back.” All four men nod and make deep grunts of approval. Olenn yawns and scratches the back of his head, his fingers tangling in his long black hair.

  King Marrkul leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “All right. At first light, we will finalize the preparations to draw the mercenaries to us and end this battle before sundown.”

  “No, you can’t,” I blurt. All four men whip around and look at me.

  “Good evening, Princess Sorrowlynn.” King Marrkul stands and walks over to me. His shirt is wrinkled and untucked, his eyes weary. Smiling, he takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips. His bushy beard tickles my skin.

  “Good evening, sir.” I dip a respectful curtsy even though I am wearing a nightgown.

  “Don’t worry yourself over us, young lady. We are merely talking battle strategy,” Marrkul says. He studies me for a long moment, and I wish I had changed back into my skirt and tunic before coming downstairs. I firm my shoulders and lift my chin. “Do you want for anything, Princess? A glass of warm cinnamon milk, or some buttered bread?”

  I take a deep breath and look up into his eyes. “I need nothing. I know that you are discussing battle plans, sir. You can’t fight here!” My voice rings with authority.

  Golmarr’s brothers quietly chuckle. Marrkul schools his face to concerned sympathy. “And what would a young northern princess like yourself know about battles fought in Anthar, hey?”

  The hundreds of battles flash before my eyes again. “More than you can imagine,” I whisper. “Your strategy is good—very good, if all you are going to be fighting tomorrow is men. But a dragon is coming.”

  Marrkul frowns and looks at his sons. Looking back to me, he says, “But the fire dragon is dead.”

  “Not him—not the fire dragon. The dragon of the Glass Forest is coming for me.”

  “The glass dragon has never left the forest,” Ingvar says, glaring at me like I am an idiot.

  For a heartbeat I see the grasslands covered with a thick layer of sheer ice. “Yes, she does, and she will freeze your city and your people if I am here, until she finds me.” I look out a window to the moonlit field behind the house, to the horses. They are the best horses in the world—the fastest, strongest. I could saddle Dewdrop this very moment and gallop away, and the glass dragon threat would be removed from the horse clan. “If I am gone…” The thought of leaving hurts so badly, it robs me of the ability to speak.

  A warm hand closes over mine. “Jessen, wake Golmarr,” the king commands. He gently pulls me over to the empty sofa, and I sit. Lifting a wool blanket, he wraps it around me, tucking it behind my shoulders and beneath my bare feet. “Your hands are like ice, Princess.”

  A moment later Golmarr, his hair mussed from sleep, wearing only a pair of wrinkled pants, strides into the room stretching his long arms over his head. He sees me sitting on the sofa and sits down beside me, lifting half of my blanket and covering himself so my arm is against his bare chest. Even through the fabric of my nightgown I can feel his warm skin, and I can’t help but wonder what his father thinks of his son walking around in front of me with no shirt. Golmarr fumbles under the blanket until he finds my hand and twines his fingers with mine and then he looks at me. “Jessen says you’re raving about dragons attacking us tomorrow and trying to tell them how to fight their battle?” he asks, a curious grin spreading over his sleepy face.

  I nod. “The glass dragon is coming for me.” I feel Golmarr’s heart speed up beneath my shoulder, and his hand turns as cold as mine as the grin is replaced with a frown. “If I run tonight—”

  “No,” Golmarr blurts. He looks to his brothers and father.

  “No,” King Marrkul echoes. His brothers nod in agreement.

  “But—”

  Marrkul leans forward and cuts me off. “You are my son’s betrothed, Princess Sorrowlynn. That makes you part of our clan. We will fight this dragon with you, so you don’t have to run and fight it alone.”

  My battle with the mercenary in the forest comes to mind, when he told me he would capture me and ask my family for ransom, and the gut-wrenching realization that I didn’t know if my own mother would pay to get me back. I look into King Marrkul’s sincere eyes and a lump rises in my throat. “I…,” I whisper, and then sniffle as tears fill my eyes. Golmarr drops my hand and wraps his arms around my shoulders, hugging me tightly to him so my cheek is pressed to his neck.

  “You belong here with us, Sorrowlynn,” he whispers against my hair.

  “That’s settled, then. You will stay,” Marrkul says. He turns to his sons. “Ingvar? Olenn? Jessen? Should we redo our battle strategy to incorporate the threat of a possible dragon attack?”

  “Yes,” I say, sitting forward and clenching my skirt in my fists. They all turn their eyes to me, and Ingvar and Jessen hide their smiles behind their hands. It takes every bit of self-control I possess not to glare at them.

  “What would you suggest?” King Marrkul asks, and I know he is merely humoring me—a weak northern princess.

  I clear my throat. “There is a hill about halfway between your city and the forest, right at the edge of your farmland—”

  “Crow Hill,” Golmarr says.

  “Hide the foot soldiers at the base of Crow Hill, and hide the archers on top. The hill is big enough for a large mounted army to wait behind it without the mercenaries spotting them. If you have your archers attack first, you will drastically cut the mercenaries’ numbers before any of your people risk their lives. When the enemy engages in battle with your foot soldiers, bring out the cavalry from behind the hill and surround them.” Now four pairs of shocked dark eyes are staring at me. I uncurl my fists and smooth the wrinkles from my skirt.

  “What about the glass dragon?” Jessen asks. “It will freeze our soldiers hiding in the grass.”

  “Not if they are covered by cloaks. The beauty of the grasslands is you can see for miles in every direction, especially on a hilltop,” I say. “Assign several people to watch the sky, and we will see the beast coming long before it can breathe its ice on us. If we lure it to the hill, the people here in Kreeose will be safe. Your crops and women and children will be spared.”

  “I think that sounds like a well-thought-out plan,” Golmarr says, laying his hand flat against my back. “That way, if the glass dragon comes, we risk it freezing our warriors only if they are too slow to shelter beneath a cloak.”

  “And you wield the sword that can kill the dragon,” Ingvar says to Golmarr. “For the first time in the history of our people, we stand a chance at beating a dragon.”

  I peer back at Golmarr. His lips are pulled tight against his teeth, and his brow is furrowed. After a moment he nods. “I wield the sword,” he whispers.

  King Marrkul stands. “Then we are finished here. Go to your wives, boys. Keep them warm for the rest of the night. Tomorrow we will travel to Crow Hill.” He turns to Golmarr and me. “After the battle, we shall have the feast. What say we marry you then, as part of the celebration?”

  Golmarr’s hand, still pressed flat against my back, slowly closes on the fabric of my shirt. “What say you, Sorrowlynn?” he asks, and I can hear the mischief in his voice. “If we marry tomorrow, I won’t make you think improper thoughts anymore—at least, they won’t be improper because they will be about your husband.”

  My heart starts pounding. “Yes,” I say.
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  “All right. If all goes well tomorrow, we will get married at the feast,” Golmarr says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

  Marrkul looks between the two of us. “Very well. Now, I trust you will behave yourselves if I leave you alone out here and go to bed?”

  “I don’t know,” Golmarr says, tugging on my shirt so I lean back against him. “Sorrowlynn can’t keep her hands off me, Father.”

  I glare at him and smack his shoulder, and Marrkul laughs. “Soon enough you will be married and you can have your hands on him all you want, Princess, though I suspect it is the other way around—him not keeping his hands off you.” He gives his son a meaningful glance. “I will see you before first light.” Marrkul yawns and leaves.

  “I can’t believe you said that to your father,” I say.

  He shrugs. “I am his youngest son. I don’t think anything can shock him anymore.” He clears his throat. “I’ve come up with a plan to not kill the glass dragon tomorrow.”

  “What is the plan? How can I help?”

  “The dragon is coming for you, so no matter what I do, you will have to be there with me. Otherwise I would fight it alone.”

  I lean in closer to him. “I will be there with you.”

  He trails his hand up my arm. “First of all, you have to wear a cloak. You are going to try to distract it any way you can, without getting close enough for it to use its claws or teeth on you. If it breathes ice at you, fine. You shelter under the cloak. You’ll survive that. Meanwhile, I will use the reforged sword to immobilize and injure it to the point that it cannot come after you for a long time. And then, while it is healing from its wounds, we learn how to kill a dragon without being forced to inherit its treasure.” He looks at me. “What do you think?”

  I nod. “I think that is our only option.”

  “Then we are ready for tomorrow’s battle.” He lies down and pulls me so my head is on his chest and my back is against the back of the sofa. Turning his body to face me, he lifts the blanket up over us.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper, smiling. He wraps both his arms around me and tangles his legs with mine, just like he did when we slept in the cave by the lake. He is right. I fit perfectly against him.

  “I am savoring every moment we have together and keeping you warm until morning.” He slowly trails his hand up the length of my spine, and I shiver. “It is a family tradition,” he whispers. “On the night before a battle, we keep our women warm just in case…” His voice trails off.

  I press my hands against his chest and feel the deep, steady beat of his heart. “In case it is our last night together,” I finish.

  He kisses my forehead and leaves his lips there, and with the feel of his heart beating against my hands and the quiet noise of the fire, I sleep.

  Wearing tan leather pants and a metal-lined leather vest over a simple cream shirt, I sit astride Dewdrop and breathe the cool dawn air. The wind blows, tugging on my braided hair, swishing Dewdrop’s mane, and whispering through the tall grass, creating ripples that spread as far as the eye can see. At my waist, I wear the belt from Melisande and king Marrkul’s hunting knife, and my staff is tucked into a leather loop on the side of my saddle. For all the rigid things I wear, purple and yellow flower garlands are draped over me and my horse, thanks to the tearful goodbye given us by those not fighting. Every single soldier is wearing flowers of some sort, such a sharp contrast to their armor and weapons.

  Each soldier has one extra weapon today—or piece of armor, rather—that is not made of metal, wood, or leather: a heavy wool cloak. Protection of a sort against a dragon’s breath of glass. Axes are also tucked into saddlebags for cracking ice, should the need arise.

  We ride hard, and every once in a while I glance behind me and meet the scowling dark eyes of Evay. I can feel her stare like fire against my back.

  I look at Golmarr, sitting astride Tanyani and riding beside me. His eyes have a familiar fierceness burning in them, his mouth is pulled down in a frown, and the first hint of dark scruff shadows his chin. His body moves with his horse’s steps like they are one single, lethal entity. And yet I can’t help but smile. He is wearing a crown of pale pink baby’s breath flowers on his head.

  We arrive at Crow Hill before midday. The archers, dressed in leather tanned to match the gold grass, take their places at the top of the hill and disappear into their surroundings when they crouch. The soldiers who fight on horseback, including Golmarr’s eight brothers and his father, stay on the far side of Crow Hill, waiting. The footmen take their places below the hill and hunker down in the grass. That is where I will be fighting.

  I stand at the top of the hill, the tall golden grass swaying against my waist, and stare at the bright blue sky. I feel like I have done this before, hundreds of times—this waiting for the possibility of my death, the knowledge that I might be taking life, the surety that I will see men die today, and I feel so tiny in the grand existence of humanity.

  Arms wrap around my shoulders and pull my back close against a warm body. “What are you thinking?” Golmarr asks, his mouth beside my ear.

  “That one life is so small. My existence is so trivial.” I put my hand on his wrist, right below my chin.

  “Not to me,” he says. He has been quiet all morning, his hand gripping and releasing the pommel of his sword over and over.

  “What are you thinking, Golmarr?” I turn in his arms to look at him, and his hands loop behind the small of my back. His eyes sweep the sky behind my shoulder, study the collar of my cream shirt—look anywhere but at my eyes.

  “When I am leading the foot soldiers, hold back. I don’t want you on the front line with me. Enzio says he will stay with you.” He still hasn’t looked at me.

  “What else are you thinking?” I coax.

  He sighs. “I’m thinking that life is unpredictable. When a person finally gets what he wants, even though he didn’t know he wanted it in the first place, the thought of willfully losing it, of making a choice to destroy it, is almost too hard to bear.” He looks at me now. The sorrow in his eyes makes my breath catch in my throat. I throw my arms around his neck and hold him as tight as I can. “Sometimes our lives turn out in ways we never imagined they would,” he whispers, and tightens his arms around me until I am nearly being crushed against him. He presses his face to my neck, and I feel moisture against my skin. I pull back to look at Golmarr just as a bird calls.

  Golmarr ducks down to the ground, taking me with him. “That’s the signal. One of our scouts has seen movement on the horizon,” he whispers, quickly wiping the back of his hand over his eyes. Within seconds, every visible person is gone, hiding in the waving grass. I follow Golmarr to the warriors who will fight on foot and crouch beside them. The women nod at me. Some touch a single finger to their foreheads. “Our female warriors are honoring your presence among them,” Golmarr whispers. “Everyone knows you beat Evay with your staff. They know you can fight.”

  Enzio crawls over to me. “I will not leave your side,” he says. His gaze flickers to Golmarr, and from the corner of my eye I see Golmarr nod.

  “Thank you, Enzio.” I try to smile but can’t. Not in the moments before battle.

  When the approaching army becomes visible—a gray stripe on the horizon dividing the golden grass and blue sky—the hiss of steel fills the air. Everyone has drawn a weapon. They crouch in the grass, silent and intent as the gray stripe approaches. I study these Antharian people, with their aggressive eyes and strong bodies—violent barbarians, my mother would say, and yet, what they are doing is necessary. No, not necessary. Fighting to protect the greater good is more than simply necessary. It is noble, honorable, and self-sacrificing. I am among good people.

  Golmarr grabs my chin and turns my face to his. “Whatever happens out there, I will always love you,” he whispers, pulling my face to his and kissing me. He is wearing chain mail and holding a sword, and his eyes are fierce from thoughts of the approaching fight, but the gentleness of his lip
s makes my heart ache.

  I cup his jaw with my hand and run my thumb over his bristly cheek. “I know. And I will always love you.” As the last word leaves my lips, the twang of a hundred bowstrings echoes through the air. I look up as a burst of arrows zoom overhead, darkening the bright sky for a fraction of a second. “So it begins,” I whisper.

  “Hold until I give the word,” Golmarr quietly calls. Through the tall grass, we can just make out the approaching mercenaries. The archers shoot again, and men fall. We watch as those still standing run toward us. My blood curdles at the sight of them. They have smeared their faces with blood, and wear armor covered with spikes and human bones. My heart starts pounding in my chest.

  Again, the archers let loose their arrows, and then Golmarr leaps to his feet and thrusts his sword into the air. “Forward!” he screams. From behind us, a horn blares, and then I am on my feet, running, my staff gripped in my hands. For a split second I wonder what I am doing here on this battlefield, on the front line. I am a princess. I am soft and regal. I am quiet, forgotten Sorrowlynn, who never leaves her rooms. And yet I am so much more. I have the capacity to be anything. To be everything! This girl running to fight for the greater good is me. For the first time ever, I feel like I am living the life I was meant to be living all along.

  As the foot soldiers spread out on the field, the mounted soldiers come galloping out from behind the hill and surround the mercenary army. They have half the numbers that the Antharian army has. I can already see we have won this battle, and no one besides the archers has raised a weapon to fight.

  When the foot soldiers meet the mercenaries, there is a giant clang that rattles against my eardrums as energy bursts between the two armies. Tanyani: the energy that vibrates the air when two armies collide on the battlefield. A mercenary leaps for me. He snarls, and the bones hanging around his neck clang together. He swings a flail in a circle above his head once and then uses all the momentum to crash it into my skull.