by Arthur Slade
“You can smell magic?” This dragon ability wasn't in any of my books.
“Of course. I can smell a number of things.”
I didn’t know if he was hinting about my smell, which I hoped wasn’t that bad. I'd said the word that removed the eye charm because there was no use in having it on while we were in the air. “But how did you know what the witch looked like?”
He laughed. A dragon laugh is so throaty, and his long neck echoed with the sound. “They all look like crones. Probably they have charms that make them appear ancient and decrepit. A comely young woman could only sell spells and knickknacks to men. An old witch can sell them to everyone.”
“That makes sense,” I said. I was pretty certain she was as ancient as she’d seemed. One thing assassin school taught was that eyes could be easily fooled. But my dragon eye? I didn’t think so.
“Do you trust these other two?” He motioned with his head toward Thord and Megan. I looked back, wondering if his question would be carried along the wind to them.
“Yes,” I said. I wouldn’t have had the same answer a few weeks ago at school. Not that Thord was someone I couldn’t trust, but I had been suspicious of his motive for being kind. But now that I'd had time to reflect, I saw that it was just kindness. That was all. Did I feel more trusting now I had two eyes? And Megan had been a viper toward me, toward everyone sometimes. But she didn’t seem to be the type to betray me.
Again, I wondered if it was just having the dragon eye that made me confident enough to trust them. Or was it having been deceived so horribly by my brother that I knew what true betrayal was?
“You are thinking deep thoughts,” Brax said. “You’re not good at that.”
“I’m beginning to see why you were banished from your country. I have a feeling it was your snarkiness.”
He laughed again, though it sounded hollow.
“And I do trust them,” I said. “Both of them came to warn me the night our school was attacked. They could have fled without doing that, but they risked their lives to see if I was safe.”
“That’s something then,” Brax said.
“I do have one more question,” I said, realizing I was using my left hand to hold on to his spike. “My hand healed incredibly quickly. But only hours ago acid had burned right through the flesh. Do you know why this would be? You heal quickly, too.”
“I don’t know exactly why that would happen. And my only answer is that you are very, very lucky to have my eye in your head. Now, let me concentrate on which direction is the shortest to Gudheim.”
We flew for hours. It was such a perfect and smooth flight. It still didn’t feel natural to be on a dragon’s back and viewing the world from such a height. It was like being a god. It was more exciting than anything I could imagine.
But I eventually yawned. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept or even rested properly. But sleep was not in the cards for me, because we had to go as far and as fast through the night as we could.
As the sun rose the world below became more visible. We found a landing spot in a copse of trees that had been cleared in the center. The swans were still not comfortable around Brax, and he looked at them and spoke, “I don’t eat swans. They taste horrible.” Naga hissed at him but they settled down after that.
“They really do taste worse than horrible,” he continued more softly.
“You ate a swan?” I asked.
“Shh.” He lifted a talon to his lips. “Not so loud. They’re sensitive about being eaten. Like I said, they’re not worth the crunching, and those little wing bones stick in the throat. Now mutton—I can eat mutton all day long and will do so soon. But first I sleep.”
He lay down and pulled a wing over this head to shade his face and was asleep within moments.
“He is quite the creature,” Megan said when I joined her and Thord. The way she was looking at him made me think of the mercenaries who had viewed him as something to chop up, skin and sell.
“He’s more than just a creature,” I said.
"I see that. Don't get too sensitive about it."
“He’s changed you,” Thord said. “It’s very curious how much more confident you are."
"I was always confident." I felt like standing up and shouting that. Thord and Megan exchanged a glance as if I was going mad.
"He's also an incredible asset,” Thord added. "We're lucky to have him on our side."
“I’m an asset, too,” Megan said. She sounded upset that Brax was getting Thord’s attention. Or was I reading that wrong?
“You do breathe fire, that is true,” Thord said.
She flicked fallen leaves at him. They had clearly bonded in the last two weeks. I wondered what else they had done?
“This incredible asset has to sleep.” Megan stretched out on the mossy ground using her knapsack as a pillow.
“I’ll unsaddle the swans and feed them the last of the bread,” Thord said. “And keep first watch.”
I stretched out beside Megan, who was already snoring. She snored! At least she had that tiny imperfection.
It was not long before I joined her in sleep. I didn’t know if I snored. I’d have to ask Brax later.
17
The Cold of Woden
The land of Woden was the furthest country to the north, and it took five nights of hard flying to get there. We stopped on the third night near a stream, so we could wash ourselves while the swans fed on trout and salamanders. Brax contented himself with an otter. Thord wandered further down the river to give Megan and me privacy.
“You don’t smell as bad,” Brax said once we were up in the air again.
I didn't talk to him again for at least an hour.
As we crossed the border between Trusk and Woden the air grew colder and the land rockier. After a few hours of shivering and staring down at mountaintops, I began to dream about diving into any hot springs I spotted. The country matched Thord. He was as strong as this land.
“The mountain goats are stringy here,” Brax said. “This is an ugly place.”
A skinny bearded goat was standing on a mountain path a great distance below us. It likely hadn't seen fresh grass for months.
“You’ll just have to eat three,” I said.
Thord gave a shout to tell us he would take the lead, and we followed him for the next few hours, passing over torch-lit villages and darkened farmlands. It looked like a stoic land with stoic people. I wrapped my cloak tighter around me. They would have to be stoic to put up with this cold.
Thord pointed down several times then went into a steep dive. At first I thought he saw something and was aiming toward it, but after a few loops and further dives, I realized he was showing off.
“He is a man of little brain,” Brax said.
“Don’t say that!” I said.
“Sorry.” There wasn't even a pinch of contrition in his voice. “You’re right. I shouldn’t say man. I should say boy.”
We landed on a large hill topped with a gray stone barn-like building. A stone fence surrounded it and outlined several pens. On the other side of that fence was a flock of sheep—all of them ran as far away as possible from Brax until they reached the end of their enclosure. They turned to face him, watching nervously and staying still. One let out a meager baaa.
“Oh, food,” Brax said. He rubbed his talons together. "They look fatter than the goats."
“Eat none of them.” Thord walked up to Brax and came close to pointing right up his nostril. “Those belong to my father.”
“This is your family’s land?” Megan asked.
“Yes, I grew up here with my eight brothers. Last born means last to inherit.” He stared into Brax’s eyes. “If you are going to eat sheep, fly over to Oin’s farm.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.
“You dare to tell me what to do?” Brax drew himself up so that he dwarfed Thord. But Thord didn’t back down.
“I'm not telling,” Thord answered in a voice that very much sounded like he
was telling. “I’m asking politely as your friend.”
“We aren’t friends.” Brax snorted out a small flame as he said this.
“As your companion, then. As someone who has the same goals as you. Please don’t eat my father’s sheep.” Thor jabbed his thumb over his shoulder again. “Oin deserves to lose a few sheep. I hear his great-great-grandfather killed a dragon.”
Brax held his face stern, then smiled. “I’ll eat his sheep first, but don’t leave me here too long. I have a big stomach.”
I gestured to the tall barn, hoping to distract both of them from their I'm tougher than you display. The building had what looked to be living quarters on the top. “Is this your home?”
“No!” Thord said.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said. Megan laughed. Was I missing something?
“I guess you wouldn’t know, since you grew up in the Red Fortress,” he said. “This is our sheep hutch. My brothers and I would take turns staying here in winter to feed the sheep. Our family home is much, much larger and warmer, and it's in the valley below us.”
“Oh, I see,” I said. “I don’t know a lot about sheep herding.”
“Why would you?” he said. “The swans and Brax can hide in the barn. It’ll be big enough for them, assuming Brax can fit through the door. He can have one side and the swans the other and maybe they won’t fight.”
“It wouldn’t be a fight,” Brax said. “It’d be a feathery massacre.”
Bolt and Naga hissed at him and he grinned.
“You be good.” I wagged a finger.
“That’s not in our agreement,” he replied. His grin didn’t fade.
Brax did fit through the door. I followed him into the barn, which was surprisingly pleasant smelling. Well, if one liked the smell of straw. Each of us bunked down near our mounts and fell asleep.
An hour or two later Thord shook my shoulder. “It’s time to get up.”
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and nodded. The dragon eye was always the first to focus, and it outlined him in a red glow. I stretched.
“Just to make this clear,” Brax said without opening his eye. “You’re going down into a dangerous city populated by smelly barbarians, and you’re leaving the fire-breathing dragon behind. Is that wise?”
“There isn’t another way,” I said. “You can’t flap around there during daylight. You know that. They'd put a thousand bolts through you. And it’s hard to sneak around with a dragon hanging over your shoulder.”
“Yes, but I wanted to point out that I won’t be able to hear your sad hoots for help.”
“The three of us should be safe enough together.” I made sure my daggers were held properly in their sheathes. “But I appreciate your worry.”
“I’m not worried. If you die, our contract is broken and I am free.” He still hadn’t opened his eye.
I didn’t want to say anything else so I snuck out of the barn, following my companions. Thord led us down a long grassy hill, pointing out landmarks as we traveled. He and his brothers had spent most of their youths hunting and playing among these hills and rocks. All the other assassins had memories of the places they’d grown up. Megan had Allessaria and stories about the endless waves of the eastern coast. But Corwin and I only remembered the fortress. It was the only place we had called home.
And he had burned out its insides and left the walls covered with student blood. I put my hands on my daggers.
“We can’t visit my parents,” Thord said as he pointed at a long house nestled between two hills. "But that’s my home. I'd give my left arm for another bowl of her mutton stew." I could see why he’d been offended when I thought he'd been living in the barn. This place was large enough to house a small army. He came from what counted as wealth in Woden. There were torches lit out front, and it had a chimney that rose high into the air. The place looked so warm and inviting. It wasn’t hard to imagine some breakfast porridge bubbling in the hearth. “Corwin may have figured out who our families are and where they live," Thord continued. "The Empire's agents are likely watching for my return.”
He glanced longingly as we strode by. When we were over the next hill, the city of Gudheim stood below us. It was not anywhere near as impressive as Avenus or Myra. The protective wall was high and wide, but it was constructed of wood. It guarded a massive collection of huts that looked like a giant had plucked them up and popped them down any which way. I didn't know if there were actual streets in the city. “We are getting close—prepare yourselves,” Thord said. He pulled a wax mask out of his pocket and placed it over his face, waiting for the heat of his body to make it stick. “Someone might recognize me,” he said.
"It looks like you have a pimple," Megan said, and she pressed her finger against his face. "There, got rid of that air bubble. That mask is a big improvement on your real face."
"You said that last time," Thord said. "But thanks."
Megan didn’t bother with a mask, and I whispered my charm to make my eye look human.
The sentries were at a lookout point on the wall. By the way they were chatting with each other and sharing what I assumed was warm mead, they didn't seem to expect any type of attack. We waited until Thord gave a signal and then we scaled the wall easily, threw ourselves silently over the ramparts and climbed down the other side into a backyard pen of one hut. A pig, completely nonplused, watched as we stepped through the muck. “Oh, wonderful! Pig poop,” Megan said. “People will smell us before we can sneak up on them.”
She was right. The gloop we'd stepped in was thick and stuck to my boots. It made it hard to walk.
“We’ll fit right in,” Thord said. He put his hand on her shoulder, and I did feel a moment of envy. “Pig poop is the smell of home for me. Sheep dung, too.”
“What a romantic notion,” she said. And she leaned toward him.
“So where are we going?” I worked myself between them, so that all three of us were walking side by side down an alley.
“Well,” Thord said. “The scroll mentioned Eye of Hokum Flower, Skull of Bardur Fox, and Berry of Black Lotus Vine. That vine you brushed on that gate was a Black Lotus vine.”
“Is it poisonous?” I asked.
“Only if you eat three bales. So all the ingredients are here in Gudheim. Plus there was that little riddle: The messenger has one arm. The blade will come. We just have to find the messenger with one arm and Banderius will come to us.”
“Do you know anyone with one arm?” Megan asked.
“That’s the hard part,” he admitted. “Every man and woman carries a blade in this town and tends to hack away after the slightest insult. We have a horde of one-armed men and women.”
“Then how will we figure out who it is?” I asked. The manure had hardened enough so that my feet didn’t stick to the path.
“Oh, I may have the answer to that,” he said.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I hadn’t realized that he had a mischievous side. He was always so serious in class.
“I am. I was rarely two steps ahead of you two.”
“Only because you live here,” Megan said. “If it was anywhere else, we’d be using you to wipe the floor. Intellectually speaking, that is.”
“Which is why I am so enjoying this moment. I’m enjoying it so much I almost don’t want to say this: here we are.”
We turned the corner around a hut. A giant one-armed man stood before us.
18
The Wolf Fighter
The twelve-foot-tall man’s hand was stretched toward the rising sun as though in welcome.
He didn’t move. That was because he was made of wicker that had been banded together to form his arms and legs and body. He was wearing trousers made from living leaves. His anguished face had been carved from the wood of a large tree.
“I give you Tor,” Thord said. “He who lost his arm to the wolf that swallowed the moon. He who saved the world from being eaten.”
“This is a statue of a god?” I
asked.
“Yes,” Thord said. “One of many. Gods, that is. And we burn it on the first day of winter because that’s when he climbed down to Knifheim and, when the snow melted, he returned with wheat kernels. The priests and priestesses rebuild him every spring.”
Megan reached up to touch the giant. “So he’ll tell us where Banderius is?” She pulled on his hand. “He seems kind of quiet. And woody.”
“My guess is someone in there will help us.” Thord pointed at the long house behind the statue. It was surrounded by so many wooden gods I assumed it was a religious building. It was timber-framed, the walls green with growing moss, and the roof was thatched. Ravens sat in a row along the crest of the house. “We’ll go inside and pray. Then—and I'm crossing my fingers as I say this—our answer will come.”
“Pray?” I asked. The only deity I’d ever prayed to was Belaz, the goddess of assassins.
“Yes, pray,” Thord said, in a somewhat lecturing tone. “That is what people do in holy houses. It won’t hurt, I promise. Follow me.”
He led us through the open wooden doors and into a large central room. It was dark and the only light came from a fire in a central hearth. The smell of smoke and the stink of something dead hit me and even though I’d been trained to handle powerful smells, I had to gird myself. This was a holy house?
“There are many sacrifices here,” Thord explained. “Sometimes they leave the bodies.”
“Human?” Megan asked.
“Not until harvest, so we’re safe. Unless there’s been some catastrophe. Failed crops. Drought. Sheep sickness. Then we pick a sacrifice.” He smiled as he said this last bit. Was he kidding?
A bald man in a long hooded robe nodded to us. His head had a score of tattoos that looked like they’d been written in Oldtongue. Maybe they were magical wards. He gestured to the benches around the central hearth.
“That’s a gothi,” Thord whispered when the man left the room. “He’s a priest.”
“I did read about the various religions of Ellos,” I said. “And I listened carefully in class.”
