The Dragonslayer's Heart

by Resa Nelson

  Frandulane gave him a blank stare.

  “Think of it,” Einarr said. “The greatest wealth in the world is the worth of a sword. Especially a dragonslayer’s sword. The value comes from the work put into it but also from the iron. Where is raw iron harvested? In the upper Northlands. More specific, the Boglands. Where is that raw iron smelted into blooms that blacksmiths use to forge swords? The Boglands. Where do few dragonslayers travel because dragons are scarcely sighted there?” Einarr gestured for Frandulane to answer.

  “The Boglands,” Frandulane said. “But what has that got to do with you and Tungu?”

  Tungu spoke up, sounding irritated while he held his face as if worried his eyeballs would fall out from the force of Frandulane’s blow. “We went up there to scout the place last week. Wanted to get an idea of the people who go there to trade for blooms of iron. What paths they take. What time of day they travel. How easily we could stop them.” He let his hands fall away from his face. “But then we got found out by a dragonslayer, so Einarr killed him.”

  Frandulane’s heart sank at the worry that his cousin had stolen an opportunity away from him. “Skallagrim? You killed Skallagrim?”

  “There are more dragonslayers in the world than just our cousin,” Einarr said. “No. I didn’t kill him. It was someone else. Probably a Southlander.”

  “You,” Frandulane scoffed. “You couldn’t kill a dragonslayer. It’s impossible.”

  “Not if you wait until the dragonslayer sleeps,” Tungu said. “If you keep quiet and be quick about taking the dragonslayer sword resting by his side, it can be done.”

  Frandulane stared at his cousins in astonishment. “You killed a dragonslayer while he slept?”

  Einarr sniffed as if offended. “You try killing a dragonslayer when he’s awake. It won’t go well.”

  Frandulane shook his head in disbelief. “That’s the most cowardly thing I ever heard.”

  Tungu grinned. “Would you rather be called a coward or have wealth in your hands? I say that’s the easiest question I ever had to answer.”

  Einarr and Tungu laughed.

  “We’re talking about going back tomorrow,” Tungu said. “We didn’t want to be there when people found the dragonslayer dead. Didn’t want anyone to think we had something to do with it. We came back here. Relaxed for some time. And now when we go back to the Northlands, no one’s got any reason to suspect.”

  “Who saw you in the Northlands?”

  “No one,” Einarr said.

  “Of consequence,” Tungu added. “We stayed off the main roads. Took animal paths. Saw a few kids here and there. None old enough to remember our faces.”

  Frandulane doubted that was true but didn’t mind the risk. “I’m going with you. I can vouch for you if need be. Tell anyone who asks that you were on Tower Island when the dragonslayer was killed.”

  “Go with us?” Einarr gave a narrow look. “To the Northlands? You think you have what it takes to rob with us? Fight with us? Kill with us?”

  Tungu scowled at Frandulane. “You think your wife will give you permission?”

  Anger piled up like bricks in a wall around Frandulane, reminding him of how he felt in his younger days on Tower Island.

  He remembered who he was before he met his milkmaid wife and fathered their child.

  That memory made Frandulane happy.

  “I need permission from no one,” he said.

  CHAPTER 23

  The next morning, Pingzi Po woke up with a start and cried out in terror.

  Her cry woke up her husband, Hsu Mao, sleeping next to her. Half asleep, he said, “Did you have another portent dream?”

  Pingzi clutched the sheets, still reeling from what she had seen in her sleep.

  I’m home. I’m safe. Nothing can harm me here.

  She answered her husband’s question. “Yes. A dragonslayer has been killed in the Northlands.”

  Hsu Mao grunted. “You care too much about the Northlands. It’s their problem if a lizard kills one of their dragonslayers, not yours.”

  Torn between wishing she’d never experienced the portent and the instinct that she needed the information it provided, Pingzi focused to remember the details. It helped to speak them out loud. If her husband didn’t want to hear them, he didn’t have to listen. “I saw Fiera in the portent dream. She picked me up in her arms, and we flew through the skies to the Northlands.”

  Hsu Mao turned away from her and blocked his ears.

  Ignoring him, Pingzi continued for her own benefit. “Fiera took me to witness an attack on the dragonslayer, but it wasn’t a lizard that killed him. It was men.”

  Hsu Mao rolled over and looked at her. “Men?”

  Pingzi nodded. “Who would kill a dragonslayer?”

  Her husband pondered the question. “Brigands?”

  “Brigands have just as much to fear from lizards as anyone else in the Northlands. Maybe more. They travel alone on the roads. They face a greater threat than anyone else of being attacked by lizards. They need dragonslayers more than anyone else. It would make no sense to kill one.”

  Hsu Mao sat up next to her. “Do you think it might be demons?”

  Pingzi knew he asked because of her experience as a demon queller. “I don’t know.”

  “What else did you see in the dream?”

  “Blood,” Pingzi whispered. “There was so much blood. Walls of it.”

  “From the dragonslayer?”

  “I don’t know.” Pingzi rubbed her arms. “It felt so real that I feel covered in it. I want to wash it off my skin.”

  “There’s no blood on your skin. You’re fine.”

  “I know. It just feels that way.” Pingzi climbed out of bed and got dressed. “I need to go to the Northlands.”

  “What?” Hsu Mao jumped from the bed and put clothes on to keep up with his wife. “Why would you go to the Northlands?”

  Pingzi twisted her long hair, piled it into a knot on top of her head, and secured it in place with a large wooden comb. “If there’s a demon killing dragonslayers, I’m needed there.”

  Hsu Mao pleaded with her. “But you’d be placing yourself in danger. What if the demon kills you?”

  Pingzi crossed her arms. “You forget you speak to a demon queller. Or do you think I’m so old that I’ve lost my abilities?”

  Hsu Mao’s stunned face told Pingzi that she’d hit upon the truth. In victory, she flounced out of their bedroom and into the front room of their home to a low table surrounded by thick pillows. She noticed the steaming cups of tea on the tabletop and sat on a pillow in front of one.

  Her ward TeaTree, now a grown man and budding merchant, walked into the room with two more full cups in hand. “Good morning, Madam Po.”

  Hsu Mao stormed into the room, ignoring TeaTree. “I forbid you to go to the Northlands.”

  Pingzi laughed and sipped her tea.

  TeaTree stayed silent and took a few steps back until he bumped into Benzel, who rounded the corner behind him. TeaTree yelped in surprise.

  “Apologies, TeaTree,” Benzel said. Despite his white beard and heavily wrinkled skin, Benzel held TeaTree’s arm steady for the sake of the merchant, not his own balance. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “I’m fine,” TeaTree whispered. “But I don’t advise moving forward.” He nodded toward the still-seated Pingzi Po and Hsu Mao, who now paced around the table.

  Ignoring TeaTree’s advice, Benzel strode toward the table and took a seat on a pillow across from Pingzi. “What did I miss?”

  “I’m going to the Northlands,” Pingzi said. “There might be a demon there that needs quelling.”

  “If you need help,” Benzel said, “I’ll be glad to come along.”

  Pingzi smiled. “I think that’s a fine plan.”

  “No, it’s not,” Hsu Mao said. He stopped pacing and paused to compose himself. “No one is going to the Northlands. Pingzi had a portent dream. If the portent is true, then it isn’t safe in the Northlands.”


  “I can go with Pingzi to the Northlands,” Benzel said.

  “No one,” Hsu Mao insisted, “is going to the Northlands.” He shook his head in frustration. “You people are impossible.”

  Benzel blew on his tea to cool it. To Hsu Mao, he said, “You’ll be joining us?”

  Hsu Mao groaned. “What else would I do?”

  CHAPTER 24

  “A disturbance?” Skallagrim said to Lumara. “What kind of disturbance?”

  After asking a fellow dragonslayer to cover his normal route, Skallagrim had taken some time to himself and spent it with his son Drageen, now old enough to grasp matters of importance. Skallagrim had spent the morning sailing with his son on a mission to teach him the dangers of the waters surrounding the Northlands, just as his father Sven had done when Skallagrim was young. The boy played outside while Skallagrim and his wife talked in their room above a tavern in the port city of Gott.

  “You always expect everything to be as clear as new ice,” Lumara said. She wrapped both arms around the huge egg she kept hidden under her skirt. It made her look pregnant. Last week she’d taken her dragon shape to expel the egg, which contained their second child. Now she kept it next to her belly to keep it warm as well as hidden. “You expect everything to be perfect. Life isn’t perfect.”

  “But you’re a dragon.” Skallagrim gestured with his hands as if performing magic. “You have powers.”

  “I can take mortal shape or dragon shape. That’s the extent of my power.”

  “But your sister is a dragon goddess.”

  “Yes,” Lumara said in exasperation. “And as I keep telling you over and over again, that doesn’t mean she knows everything. Only Creation knows all. The gods and goddesses of this world are servants of Creation. That doesn’t mean they have the same powers.”

  Then what good are they?

  After years of marriage to a dragon, Skallagrim believed he’d have the same problems if he’d married a mortal woman. Instead of arguing about in-laws, they argued about gods.

  “Alright,” Skallagrim said, reminding himself to be patient. “What can you tell me about the disturbance?”

  Lumara walked to the window and looked outside, presumably to keep an eye on their son while he played. “I don’t like it.”

  “That doesn’t help. Is there anything specific you can tell me about it?”

  Lumara faced him and leaned against the wall. “Fiera explored the future as well as she could. She sensed trouble in the Northlands. Something dark and dangerous.”

  “Some kind of god?”

  Lumara shook her head. “Some kind of mortal.”

  Skallagrim laughed. “There are plenty of mortals who fall into the dark and dangerous category. Brigands. Thieves. Merchants with no morals.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Lumara’s voice trembled. “It’s something more serious.”

  “I doubt there’s much to worry about. The winter route is still weeks away. The Northlands is teeming with dragonslayers. And there’s no weapon forged that can defeat a dragonslayer’s sword.”

  They jumped at the loud rap on the closed door.

  Lumara took another look outside and then gave a relieved look to her husband. “Drageen is fine. He’s still out there playing.”

  All we’ve accomplished by talking about this unknown disturbance is to worry ourselves when there’s no need. Of course, our son is fine. Why wouldn’t he be?

  Skallagrim opened the door to their room, surprised to see his fellow dragonslayer Bruni on the other side.

  She entered their room before Skallagrim could invite her inside. Bruni’s face looked pale and fraught with anxiety.

  I’ve never seen her like this before. Not even when we trained in Bellesguard together.

  Skallagrim closed the door. “What’s wrong?”

  “Some villagers from Hidden Glen found the dead body of a dragonslayer,” Bruni said. She gestured to the west with shaking hands. “One of the new ones from the Midlands. The villagers brought his body here to Gott.”

  “Something is wrong.” Lumara took a step forward. “A disturbance.”

  Bruni looked at her in confusion. “What disturbance?”

  “Sometimes I sense things,” Lumara said.

  “Like a portent?”

  “Something like that. I’ve been sensing trouble in the Northlands, but I didn’t know what kind or exactly where.” Lumara cast another anxious look outside. To Skallagrim, she said, “I think it’s time for our son to come inside. I’ll get him.” On her way out of the room, Lumara gave Bruni’s shoulder a firm squeeze.

  Alone with Skallagrim in the room, Bruni said, “Come with me. We need to find out what killed that dragonslayer.”

  Unease crept over Skallagrim’s skin. “It wasn’t a dragon?”

  Bruni shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Why the confusion?”

  Despite being behind a closed door, Bruni lowered her voice as if fearful someone would overhear. “Because his dragonslayer sword is missing. No dragon would take the sword.”

  The unease creeping over Skallagrim seized him like claws.

  Everyone knew the danger of a dragonslayer’s sword falling into the wrong hands. Most people had the means to afford nothing more than a dagger, which they used for eating, cutting cloth or rope, and as a weapon when need be. Every wealthy man carried a short sword at his side, designed especially for fighting. Whether dagger or short sword, that weapon was the first thing everyone picked up in the morning and the last thing put down before bed.

  No one could predict when or where an attack could happen, and that meant being prepared at all times.

  But dragonslayer swords were different. Few blacksmiths knew how to make them, and those secrets had been guarded and passed down from blacksmith to apprentice for centuries. While the blade of a short sword might be as long as a man’s forearm, the blade of a dragonslayer’s sword typically stretched the length from a dragonslayer’s feet to chest. Though light in weight, a dragonslayer’s sword required two hands on its grip due its cumbersome length.

  And the cost of a dragonslayer’s sword equaled a fortune. For that reason, many villages pooled their resources to pay for the sword of one dragonslayer who protected all of those villages on the same route.

  But a missing or stolen dragonslayer’s sword presented a problem far greater than its superficial value. Unlike short swords that might bend or break at any time, a dragonslayer’s sword proved to be both strong and flexible. Although intended to be used only against dragons, anyone who carried a dragonslayer’s sword held the most powerful and dangerous weapon in the world. Especially if that weapon was used against people instead of dragons.

  “What I don’t understand,” Skallagrim said, “is how it’s possible for anything other than a dragon to kill one of us. No one goes out on a route without a dragonslayer’s sword. And as long as you hold that sword in hand, only a dragon can defeat you.”

  “I know,” Bruni said. “That’s why we need to take a look at his body. It’s our only chance to figure out what happened to him.”

  Of course. We know better than anyone else what a dragon’s claw marks look like.

  On their way out of the tavern, they passed Lumara with son in hand. Skallagrim told his wife that he’d return before nightfall.

  He followed Bruni to a blacksmith’s shop at the edge of Gott. Although the blacksmith had finished his work for the day and swept up his shop, he’d left his fire burning to provide light and warmth. The scent of smoke permeated the air. Skallagrim imagined that just being in the smithery at the end of the day would leave a film of black ash on his skin.

  They joined the other few dragonslayers taking a day or two of rest from their routes, who now huddled around a young Midlander’s body, lying supine on a wooden bench. All had studied at Bellesguard in years before or after Skallagrim and Bruni, so they didn’t know them well.

  A tall dragonslayer known as Powlo turned
and spread his arms wide to shield them from the sight of the dead body. “This is no place for a woman.”

  Bruni pushed Powlo aside.

  “Suit yourself,” he said with a wave.

  Skallagrim joined Bruni’s side and immediately wished he had taken a moment to brace himself.

  He resisted the urge to gag at the putrid smell. The dead man’s skin appeared so pale that it bore a bluish hue, making him look more like a spirit than a mortal.

  As Bruni had guessed, the body hadn’t been ripped apart by dragon bites. Although blood had soaked the shirt, now stiff because it had dried, there appeared to be only one wound.

  Powlo pointed at the single rip in the dead dragonslayer’s shirt. “It could be a dragon. A single tip of the dragon’s claw punctured him here. See how close it is to the heart. This man would have died at once.”

  “Have you looked at his back yet?” Bruni said.

  With the exception of Skallagrim, the other dragonslayers looked at her in astonishment. A short and stock dragonslayer named Zhawn dismissed her question. “There’s no need when the answer is staring you in the face.”

  “Flip the body over,” Bruni commanded.

  When the other dragonslayers sneered at her request, Skallagrim stepped forward and helped Bruni heave the body onto its front. When Skallagrim let go of the body, he noticed his fingertips left indents on the corpse’s skin.

  Skallagrim stared at the dead man’s back. “By the gods,” Skallagrim uttered.

  The back of the shirt showed a clean cut as wide as a finger.

  “That cut was made by a short sword,” Bruni said. She leaned closer to examine it. “Based on the width, the blade went deep enough for the sword’s point to pass through his chest.” She looked up at the other dragonslayers. “That’s not a claw mark on the front of his shirt. It’s where the point of the sword came through his chest and pierced the front of his shirt. He was stabbed in the back. This dragonslayer was killed by a man, not a dragon.”

  “Not necessarily,” Powlo said. “The cut in the shirt could be where the creature slashed at him before piercing his heart.”

  “Take his shirt off,” Bruni said. “We need to look at the wound.”