by Resa Nelson
The blacksmith’s apprentice appeared preoccupied. “Mostly gone at this time of year. There’s a few left on the boardwalk but not many.” He pointed at a long and narrow wooden dock behind him.
“Gone?” Tungu said in dismay. “How can we sell these swords if all the merchants are gone?”
Not seeming to notice the dragonslayer swords, the apprentice said, “You can always book passage and go to the Midlands. That’s where merchants spend the winter. There and the Southlands.” The apprentice spotted a familiar face far behind the cousins and yelled out, “Missus! I got the nails you asked for!” He then sprinted toward a matronly woman carrying a basket filled with potatoes.
“Now what?” Tungu said.
“First, we see if there’s anyone left who’ll buy the swords,” Frandulane said. “If not, we’ll hop on a ship to the Midlands.”
“The Midlands?” Einarr said. “If we go there, we can’t get back home until spring.”
Frandulane remembered the way his cousins had taunted him about his devotion to his wife and child. It troubled Frandulane that he’d left telling them little and leaving them to wonder when he’d return. But his desire to gain stature as a Scalding trumped his feelings for his family.
“If you like,” Frandulane said, “you can leave for Tower Island now. You can be safe and sound at home while I strike out for adventure.”
Tungu guffawed. “That’s right. Me and Frandulane will make our riches while you sip your mama’s soup all winter.”
Einarr bristled. “I was thinking we left telling no one of our plans. Just don’t want people thinking we’re dead.” In a huff, he led the way toward the boardwalk.
A peculiar ship at the end of the boardwalk caught Frandulane’s attention. Its scalloped orange sails made it look like a fish jumping on top of the water.
He didn’t understand why, but the sight of that ship made him queasy.
“If we have to sail,” Frandulane said, “we’ll do it on a Northlander or a Midlander ship. And by all means, stay away from that strange ship at the end of the boardwalk. We can’t risk dealing with strangers from lands whose ships we don’t recognize. Such people are too unpredictable.”
The cousins sidled down the boardwalk, examining the few merchants and ships remaining. No merchant would agree to purchasing the dragonslayer swords, and they acted perturbed by the offer.
“That’s it,” Einarr said when the last merchant brushed them off. “Now we’ve got to find a ship that’ll take us to the Midlands.”
Frandulane spotted a ship whose crew busied with its rigging. “Look. There’s one getting ready to leave.”
The cousins hurried to the ship and stood on the dock while Frandulane shouted to those on board. “There’s three of us needing passage to the Midlands. Do you have room?”
A young man stepped to the rail. “What do you have for payment?”
Frandulane raised his hands and arms, on which he’d shoved the silver rings and bracelets they’d taken from the last dragonslayer’s corpse. “There’s more if you need it.” He pointed at Einarr and Tungu, who wore the silver they’d stolen from the first dragonslayer they killed.
The young man turned and talked with the crew. After a few minutes, he faced the dock again and said, “That’ll do. But waste no time coming aboard. We leave now.”
Before the cousins could take a step, a grizzled old man stood between them and the ship. He stared into Frandulane’s eyes and said, “Sven?”
Being called mistakenly by his father’s name shook Frandulane. “No,” Frandulane said to the old man. “I’m his son. Frandulane.”
His answer surprised the old man, who now shifted his gaze to the hilt of the dragonslayer sword that peeked over Frandulane’s shoulder. “His son, Frandulane,” the old man said. “But you’re no dragonslayer.”
Einarr smirked. “He is, and so am I. Move aside, old man. We’re on our way to the winter route.”
Before they could take a step forward, the old man withdrew his own dragonslayer sword and struck two warning blows in the space between them.
Terrified, Einarr and Tungu stumbled back on their heels.
The young man on the ship shouted, “Come on! We’re not waiting on you.”
Frandulane stood his ground, feeling bolder by the moment. “Don’t make me hurt you, old man.” He pulled out his stolen dragonslayer sword. Forgetting its length, he tried holding it one-handed only to feel its full weight and cumbersome size when horizontal. Frandulane wrapped both hands around the grip and pointed it at the man’s eyes.
“Wait! I know that old man!” Tungu took another step back and took his short sword in hand, while Einarr pulled out the dragonslayer sword and fumbled with it. “I heard of a man ready for the grave who knows his swords,” Einarr said. “That’s Benzel of the Wolf.”
Remembering all the stories of the Northlands from his childhood days, Frandulane knew it had to be true. His uncles told all the children on Tower Island frightening stories—about a Northlander who wanted to kill all of the Scaldings—to make those children behave.
If you don’t do as you’re told, Benzel of the Wolf will skulk back on the island with his rabid wolf. He’ll stab you in your sleep and then his wolf will rip you apart and eat your bones.
Seeing the man who inspired those scary stories made Frandulane’s blood run cold, despite Benzel’s advanced age.
The elder swung his sword again with expertise and speed to keep the cousins at bay. “You’ve committed no murder, Frandulane,” Benzel said. “Your eyes are still blue. Walk away from those scandalous Scaldings.”
Tungu stepped up to Frandulane’s side. “That’s why you had us do the killing,” Tungu said to Frandulane. To Einarr, Tungu said, “Frandulane meant to blame us for it all along while keeping his own hands clean and his eyes blue.”
Einarr turned to face Frandulane, bringing his sword to point it away from Benzel and at his cousin instead. “Is that what happened? You said you wanted us to show you how. You said you wanted to learn from us. But it’s all been to make you look innocent?”
Benzel ignored them and spoke directly to Frandulane. “I wasted my life seeking vengeance against the Scaldings because they murdered my father. My mother. My unborn sister. Rage blinded me. It turned me into someone I never wanted to be. A monster. Don’t let that happen to you. There is still time to save yourself.”
Frandulane kept his sword pointed at Benzel. When he turned his head to look at Einarr, Frandulane saw a foreign-looking woman approaching. She pointed at Frandulane and shouted, “Demon!”
CHAPTER 27
Pingzi Po marched toward the three Northlander men with determination but caution. She hadn’t understood why Benzel rushed between them and the ship they intended to board until now.
Two of the men had dragonslayer swords that didn’t belong to them.
In her native Far Eastern language, Pingzi called out to her husband Hsu Mao, who followed her footsteps. “Do you see their swords?”
“Yes,” Hsu Mao called back. “I see them.”
“I will try to reason with them,” Pingzi said. She shifted her grip on the walking stick that she kept with her at all times. “But I sense they are not like Benzel. They may have no sense in their heads.”
She heard the sound of Hsu Mao taking his short sword from its sheath, and it helped her resolve.
“They have no training with those swords,” Hsu Mao said. “We equal them in number, but we outshine them in knowledge.”
Heartened, Pingzi Po switched to speaking Northlander and shouted at the three Northlanders. “Demon!”
Their inexperienced response threw Pingzi off balance.
The three Northlanders waved their swords wildly in the air as if battling off the wind. In a flurry of random blows that connected with nothing, Tungu stumbled forward. When he tripped over his own feet, he reached out with his sword and it impaled a startled Benzel.
At the same time, Einarr sank to his kne
es in fright while swinging the dragonslayer sword like a rope.
Hsu Mao cried out when Einarr’s sword cut into his side.
With an angry yell, Pingzi rushed at Frandulane and struck blows in his direction with her stick.
Frandulane evaded her by running toward the ship that began to push away from the dock.
“Hurry!” called the young man from the ship’s deck.
Pingzi rushed forward and whipped the end of her stick at Frandulane’s feet.
The blow struck him hard. With a crippling yell, Frandulane fell on the boardwalk. His hands stretched toward the moving ship, but it drifted beyond his reach and out into the harbor.
Although Pingzi’s intent had been to quell the demon, the cries of her injured husband and the sight of Benzel’s blood rocked her to the border of rage.
Some demons are beyond quelling.
Keeping a firm grip on her walking stick, Pingzi delivered a flurry of blows at Frandulane, each striking him with full force.
Frandulane hurried away on his hands and knees toward the toppled Benzel, who groaned with pain as he clutched his bleeding wound.
Tungu hovered in dismay, still holding his short sword, its blade covered with Benzel’s blood.
When Pingzi rushed toward Frandulane, he scrambled toward Tungu and pushed his dazed cousin toward her.
Pingzi cried out in anger as Tungu stumbled toward her. She knocked the sword out of his hand with her stick. She then snapped the stick at his face and neck.
Tungu’s eyes rolled back. Unconscious, he collapsed to the ground.
Pingzi picked up his short sword, holding it in one hand and her walking stick in the other. She turned to see Einarr straining to free his dragonslayer sword from her husband’s side.
With an enraged shriek, Pingzi leapt toward Einarr and plunged Tungu’s short sword into his back. She then whipped her stick at his head, satisfied when a solid crunch rendered him unconscious.
Hsu Mao sat on the ground, clutching his wounded side.
When Pingzi looked at her husband, the sight of Hsu Mao’s clothing soaked in blood made her feel faint for a moment. Steeling herself, Pingzi stepped toward him.
“No,” Hsu Mao said. He pointed behind her. “Benzel.”
Pingzi spun to see Frandulane crawling toward Benzel. She pulled the short sword out of Einarr’s back and hurried to cut off Frandulane. In Northlander, she shouted, “Demon, stop! Obey me!”
Without looking at her, Frandulane said, “I will. Tell me what you want.”
“Be still! Stay where you are!”
But instead of obeying, Frandulane climbed to his feet and lunged toward Benzel, too weak and injured to combat him. Frandulane pulled the dragonslayer sword out of Benzel’s hands and pointed it at Pingzi. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just let me go.”
Pingzi paused to assess the situation. Hsu Mao’s wound required immediate attention, as did Benzel’s wound. The other two Northlander demons were still unconscious and possibly dead.
But this final Northlander demon held a dragonslayer sword that was never intended to be used by anyone other than a dragonslayer.
For the first time, she understood the rage Benzel of the Wolf had held toward all Scaldings when she’d first met him and convinced him to allow her to quell the demon rage that had sickened his spirit.
For the first time, Pingzi felt that demon rage inside her own spirit. She struggled between the desire to kill Frandulane and the desire to help him.
“Put that sword down,” she said. “I can’t let you go, but I can help you.”
Silence fell between them for a moment.
Frandulane charged at Pingzi with the dragonslayer sword pointed at her heart.
Pingzi crossed the short sword and the walking stick in front of her body.
When Frandulane’s sword came close, Pingzi caught its point in the place where her short sword and walking stick intersected. She wrenched the incoming blade to one side, and it slid past her.
Frandulane’s forward momentum crashed him into Pingzi.
Their weapons flew out of reach.
Frandulane pounced on Pingzi and squeezed his hands around her neck.
Frantic, Pingzi punched at his head to no avail. But just as her vision began to weaken and she expected to pass out, a glorious sight appeared behind Frandulane.
A glorious sight that Frandulane would soon experience for himself.
A dragon stood behind Frandulane with open jaws.
CHAPTER 28
When Lumara heard the commotion outside the ship, she knew the moment that she’d discussed with her dragon goddess sister Fiera had come at last.
The Northlander gods want to eradicate all mortals from this world. Their only reason is vanity. The mortals who worship us don’t deserve that. No mortals do. We can help them.
Lumara acted quickly. She took the egg containing her second child from where she kept it hidden beneath her skirt and secured it in a safe place on the ship.
We can help them by combining our blood—the blood of true dragons—with mortal blood. Our blood will give the children of a dragon and a mortal the power to save the world.
Lumara then found her son Drageen and called upon the Far Eastern crew members. She spoke first to her son in Northlander and then to the crew in Far Eastern.
Lumara dropped to her knees and held her son in her arms. “Drageen,” she whispered. “Your sister will come into this world soon. I need you to take care of her. I need you to love her.”
Drageen pushed out of his mother’s embrace and stared at her with frightened eyes. “Mama?”
Lumara held him by the shoulders. “You are my good boy. The best boy I could have ever wanted. Know that I love you. Know that sometimes we must do things—things that frighten us because they could harm us—to help others. Listen to your father and know he loves you, too.”
“Don’t go,” Drageen whispered. His eyes filled with tears.
“Go below deck,” Lumara told him. “I’ve tucked an egg in a nest of blankets. I need you to guard that egg and let nothing harm it.”
Startled, Drageen’s gaze shifted to her now-flat belly. He pressed his hand against it. “Did you hide my sister in the egg to keep her safe?”
Lumara smiled. “Yes. And now I need you to keep her safe.” She kissed his cheek. “You are a wonderful son. You will be a wonderful brother. Now go.”
Drageen wrapped his arms around her shoulders and cried. But then he ran away and disappeared below deck.
Awash with relief, Lumara stood and addressed the crew. “Protect my son. Let no one near him. If anyone who doesn’t belong on this ship boards it, kill them.”
The crew members looked at each other in bewilderment.
Cries from the boardwalk below caught Lumara’s attention. “Do as I command!” she shouted at the crew.
Lumara shifted her shape from mortal to dragon. Her skin changed to scales, and her lizard body grew, ripping her clothing to shreds. She leapt over the ship’s rail, landing on the boardwalk. She saw Hsu Mao and Benzel of the Wolf too wounded to fight. When she saw Frandulane strangling Pingzi Po, Lumara stepped toward him with open jaws.
Frandulane turned and then vaulted to one side.
Lumara still reached for him with her open mouth, lined with rows of needle-like teeth.
He picked up a fallen dragonslayer sword, flipped onto his back, and aimed it at Lumara’s mouth.
The sword impaled her as she reached in an attempt to swallow him.
Lumara felt her throat rip open, surprised at how pleasant the fresh sea air rushing inside her body felt. Her dragon body plummeted to the boardwalk.
Her mind filled with mortal memories. The day she’d met Skallagrim. Their travels together in this mortal realm. The birth of their son and the impending birth of their daughter.
What surprised Lumara the most before she choked to death on her own blood was realizing how easy it had been to fall in love with her husband, because
that had never been part of her mission to help mortals.
* * *
Skallagrim and Bruni arranged to borrow horses from the stables that served dragonslayers. Each mounted a horse and walked them through the streets of Gott toward the outskirts where they’d begin their search for the man who murdered dragonslayers.
While still close to the stables, Skallagrim squinted at a man running toward them. Skallagrim called out to Bruni, “Wait.”
They reined their horses to stop.
Bruni pointed at the approaching man. “He has a dragonslayer sword!” She remained mounted but withdrew her own sword and pointed it at him.
Skallagrim jumped down from his horse and then pulled out his sword. “Stop!” he shouted at the man. Skallagrim squinted, shocked by what he saw. “Frandulane?”
Frandulane pulled up short. He panted, out of breath from running. He raised a welcoming hand. “Hello, brother.”
Skallagrim let his sword fall to his side. “What are you doing here?”
Frandulane smiled but stood his ground as if unwilling to step closer. “Mother sent me. You know how she likes her purple carrots. Her own crop failed, so she sent me here to see if the merchants had any left.”
Skallagrim thought he heard someone scream in the distance, and the sound of it unnerved him. “This late in the season? I take it you didn’t find any.”
Frandulane shrugged. “I tried. I’m on my way back to Tower Island. I’d stay and visit, but you know how Mother worries.”
Bruni spoke up. “Why do you have a dragonslayer sword?”
Frandulane looked at it as if surprised to find it in his hands. “Is that what this is? I bought it from a merchant.”
Skallagrim walked toward his brother. “May I see it?”
Bruni urged her horse to walk behind Skallagrim, backing him up.
Frandulane shuffled his feet. “Why?”
Skallagrim squinted again as he drew closer, looking for any marks on the blade that might distinguish it. “We know every dragonslayer and every dragonslayer sword. I’d like to see who that one once belonged to.”
Bruni’s horse gave a troubled neigh.
Frandulane smiled and walked to meet Skallagrim. “Fine.”
