The Dragonslayer's Sword

by Resa Nelson

Lenore ran her hands across the smooth dirt where Astrid had stepped.

  "Maybe you picked up a rock in your boot.” Lenore slipped her hand inside the boot Astrid had removed. "Nothing. Let me see the bottom of your foot."

  Astrid obeyed, wincing at a sharp, sudden pain in the ball of her foot. "Something's in my foot—I can feel it."

  Lenore prodded Astrid's foot with her thumb. When Lenore pushed the center of the ball of Astrid's foot, she cried out in pain.

  "There's no cut," Lenore said, keeping her grip on Astrid's foot. Lenore reached into her bag with her free hand.

  "That's impossible.” Astrid winced. It felt like a large stone, getting bigger and sharper by the moment, was working its way through her foot. "I must have stepped on something, and it's cut into my foot."

  Lenore retrieved one of her wooden digging sticks.

  Astrid's eyes widened in alarm. "What's that for?"

  Lenore focused on Astrid's foot, wielding her digging stick as if she were sizing up a new find of sing root, still buried underground, invisible, but detectable to experienced eyes. "Take some deep breaths."

  Astrid tried to yank her foot out of Lenore's hand, but her grip was too tight.

  Lenore poked Astrid's foot harder.

  Astrid yelped, struggling to get free.

  Lenore kept a steady grip. "That's right, keep breathing. But it will hurt more if you don't keep still."

  Without thinking, Astrid held her breath.

  "Breathe," Lenore said, resting the flat, thin edge of the digging tool against Astrid's skin.

  As Astrid closed her eyes and breathed, she felt the digging tool go into her foot like a knife. Lenore poked and prodded for several long moments.

  Lenore pulled the stick from Astrid's foot.

  Relief washed over Astrid. Her foot felt sore, but fine, otherwise. "I thought you said it wouldn't hurt if I didn't struggle."

  Lenore placed her digging stick on the ground, its tip stained with Astrid's blood. Lenore examined something in the palm of her hand. "I said no such thing," Lenore said, barely seeming to notice Astrid's presence. "I said it would hurt less. Trust me, it did."

  Astrid drew her foot into her lap. Blood flowed freely from a small gash in the ball of her foot. "I thought you said there wasn't a cut."

  "There wasn't. Not until I made one."

  Astrid wiped the blood away with her fingers. Strangely, her skin already looked like it was healing. "I don't understand. What just happened?"

  Lenore looked up at her. "This was in your body. I opened up your skin and dug it out."

  Lenore handed the object to Astrid. At first glance, it looked like a stone no larger than Astrid's smallest fingernail. But when she took a closer look, she realized she held a crimson-colored gem.

  The thing that had caused her pain—the foreign object Lenore claimed to have cut out of her foot—was a smaller version of the stone in Taddeo's sword.

  CHAPTER 8

  By the time Astrid limped home, she found a loaf of freshly baked bread on her threshold.

  She sat on the threshold, ripped off a fistful of bread, and devoured it.

  Mauri rounded the corner of the cottage, stopping when she spotted Astrid. Mauri held a vase in one hand, a bunch of bright orange wildflowers in the other.

  Instead of trying to speak, Astrid stuffed more bread in her mouth. She didn't know what to say, so she waited for Mauri to speak first.

  "Good bread, isn't it?” Usually cheerful and bright, Mauri's voice was subdued, like the pale light of day recovering after a rain storm.

  For the first time since their argument today—the most serious argument they'd ever had—Astrid felt hopeful. Maybe their friendship wasn't over, after all.

  "It's very good bread," Astrid said.

  Mauri ventured a smile. "A peace offering. These, too."

  Astrid pointed at the fired vase in Mauri's hand. "Isn't that the vase you made for Kamella?"

  "It's yours now," Mauri said. "I can make another vase for Kamella."

  Astrid frowned, pointing at the orange wildflowers in Mauri's other hand. "Aren't those from my garden?"

  Mauri hastily arranged the flowers in the vase. "Look how much prettier they are like this.” She held the arrangement at arm's length. "Besides, my flower bed is empty. I can't get flowers to grow."

  Astrid smiled, amused by Mauri's justification.

  Mauri grinned as she followed Astrid into her cottage. Mauri placed the vase of flowers on a wooden table.

  "Do you know any alchemists?” Astrid said.

  Mauri frowned. "What do you want with an alchemist?"

  Nervous, Astrid handed the crimson gem to Mauri before she could change her mind. If anybody could help her now, it had to be Mauri. Astrid trusted no one else.

  "Where did you get this?"

  "From me," Astrid said. "It came out of me."

  The color drained from Mauri's face. Holding the gem with one hand, she reached with her other hand for the nearest chair, trembling. Gripping its back, Mauri sank into it. "I don't understand."

  "I don't either. That's why I need an alchemist.” What puzzled Astrid was Mauri's reaction.

  "But this morning...you didn't say anything."

  "It hadn't happened yet. It happened this afternoon, when I was in the woods."

  Mauri turned the gem over in her hand. Picking it up between her forefinger and thumb, she held it up to the light. "There's an alchemist in Ramsland. I'm sending Donel there tomorrow—he's trading for me. I'll tell Donel to give this to the alchemist.” Mauri glanced up at Astrid. "Do you think an alchemist will know what this is?"

  Astrid sat across the table from Mauri and tore off another piece of bread. "I don't know what else to do."

  "Do others know about this?"

  "Just Lenore. She's the one who pulled it out of my foot."

  Mauri scrunched her face up in distaste. "Lenore? What were you doing with her?"

  "She was—" Astrid remembered what Lenore told her. Women who traded for sing root, and if they realized Lenore was the sing root hunter, they'd stop just for spite. As much as Astrid disliked Lenore, she didn't have the heart to hurt her. "I was walking and came up lame. Lenore happened to be close by."

  "My condolences.” Mauri put the handkerchief-wrapped gem in her pouch. "Do you think she'll tell anyone?"

  Astrid shook her head. "I don't think so. Why? Do you think we should keep this a secret?"

  "Yes.” Mauri stood to leave, the color back in her face. She smiled. "Don't worry. You'll find out what this is. Maybe even sooner than you think."

  * * *

  For the next several days Astrid kept herself cloistered inside her smithery and cottage. In the smithery, she found it easy to focus on the work at hand—she always had plenty of it. But when she wasn't working, Astrid worried more and more about the crimson gem Lenore had pried out of Astrid's foot and what it could mean.

  One morning, before Astrid went to the smithery to begin her day's work, someone rapped sharply on her cottage door.

  It's Mauri. Donel's come back with news from the alchemist.

  When she opened the door, she was startled to see Donel smiling on her threshold. He was the youngest of the butcher's children, only 16 years old. His long, berry-brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, revealing his narrow face and close-set cornflower blue eyes.

  His presence had become a cruel reminder of his sister Natalia's death and of DiStephan's disappearance. Sometimes Astrid found it difficult to look at Donel, no matter how fond she was of him.

  Donel grinned. "Morning!"

  "Good morning, Donel."

  He stood there, grinning.

  Astrid felt a flutter of hope. Maybe Donel had good news from the alchemist. Maybe Mauri had sent him running to tell Astrid the good news himself. "What are you doing here?"

  Donel kept grinning. "The usual."

  Oh. That.

  "No," Astrid said firmly. "You can't be my apprentice."

>   Donel stood his ground. "How else can I become rich and successful and prominent and...rich?"

  "You already have plenty of work."

  Donel shook his head. "Tending crops? Feeding livestock? Butchering when need be? Not for me. I've got to learn a trade."

  "I'm sure your father—"

  Donel snorted in exasperation. "How would you like being elbow-deep in guts and blood all day?"

  The boy had a point. There was no glamour in cutting meat.

  "I don't need an apprentice," Astrid said. "I don't want one. Never have, never will."

  Donel gave her a charming and convincing smile. "You can't resist me. If anyone can change your heart, it's me. I'm not giving up on you, Mistress Blacksmith."

  Astrid smiled. "See you next week, then?"

  Donel winked. "Of course. But if you change your mind between now and then, which you're very likely to do—"

  "Donel!"

  Both Astrid and Donel jumped at the sound of the butcher's harsh and guttural voice.

  He reached for the scruff of the boy's neck, but Donel scooted past before the butcher could lay a hand on him.

  "I know," Donel said while he walked backwards toward the heart of Guell. "I've got a pig to slaughter."

  When Donel sprinted away, the butcher wedged his foot between the door and doorjamb, even though Astrid tried to shut the door.

  "Stay away from the boy," the butcher said, his voice low and his gaze fiery. "It's bad enough to lose a daughter, but I'll skin you alive if my only boy gets killed by a dragon."

  Astrid struggled to maintain her composure—and a firm grip on her front door. "What—"

  "You know what I mean.” The butcher reminded her of smoldering coals ready to burst into powerful flame. "I know what you did to Taddeo. And what you didn't do to that dragon."

  His words shocked Astrid into silence.

  He knew. The butcher knew.

  "Do it again," he said steadily, "and I'll have your hide."

  He yanked his foot from her threshold, and then walked away in anger.

  Astrid shut her cottage door and leaned against it.

  If the butcher knew she'd weakened Taddeo and talked a dragon into leaving instead of killing it, then it wouldn't be long before the entire town knew.

  Maybe everyone already knew.

  "What was the child seller thinking when he brought me here?" Astrid said, thinking out loud. "I don't belong. I never have, and I never will."

  Years ago, the people of Guell had treated her with caution and disdain, as if she were a landed man, even though Astrid was no foreigner. It was because she'd landed a coveted spot as Temple's apprentice, a position most families wanted for their young sons. Like landed men, Astrid had worked hard for her wealth and some people envied her for it because she hadn't been born in Guell.

  She pulled the silver dragon brooch from her pouch. Since DiStephan had vanished, she'd taken to holding it whenever she missed him. Wrapping her fingers around the cool silver reminded her of the most frightening moment of her life in Guell: when the child seller had told her to drop her blanket and show Temple what she really was, before he bought her.

  Holding the brooch felt like holding DiStephan in her arms.

  To herself, Astrid said, "Courage, Pigeon."

  She turned the brooch over in her hands.

  Why was I afraid of DiStephan that day? Astrid wondered, thinking about the last day she'd seen him. It's his duty to kill dragons, whether they're hatchlings, fledglings, or full grown. A dragon is a dragon.

  Astrid slipped the brooch back into her pouch. Suddenly, everything seemed clear and obvious.

  She couldn't stay in Guell. Once the townspeople knew she'd weakened Taddeo and let a dragon go free, they'd hate her as much as the butcher did. She'd sealed her own fate: she wasn't welcome here anymore.

  "I need DiStephan," Astrid said.

  That was the answer!

  She'd leave Guell and find DiStephan. Maybe it wasn't too late to make things right with him. He regularly patrolled the hinterlands up north, where people gathered iron blooms in the bogs. She'd go there first.

  She surveyed the room. Astrid stacked a few wooden bowls on her tabletop, gathered her favorite utensils, and put them inside the top bowl.

  A sudden knock at her door startled Astrid.

  Staring at the door in horror, she realized she'd forgotten to latch it.

  "Astrid?” Lenore opened the door and stepped inside. She gazed at the tabletop. Looking at Astrid in surprise, she said, "Are you leaving Guell?"

  "No," Astrid lied, shaken by Lenore's perceptiveness. "Of course not."

  Lenore looked back at the stacked bowls, stepping closer until she saw the utensils inside. "It looks like you're leaving. Astrid, there's no other blacksmith in town. There's no one to replace you, and nobody can get by without a blacksmith.” Lenore looked at Astrid sharply. "I saw you talking to the butcher. What did he say to you?"

  "Nothing," Astrid lied again. "Everything is fine. I'm just..." Astrid struggled to invent a convincing argument. Then it came to her. She brightened. "I decided to do some rearranging. I want to change this room around a bit."

  "No one is going to let you leave," Lenore said.

  Fine. Then I'll leave at night, when everyone's asleep.

  "I'm not going anywhere," Astrid said, laughing. "I promise."

  "I'm glad I came," Lenore sighed. "I haven't seen you in town all week, and I've been wondering how you're feeling."

  "Fine. But it's time for me to work —"

  "All right," Lenore said, playing along. "I need some work done. I can pay you in sing root—if you'll take it from me."

  Astrid smiled. "I'm sorry. I'm not taking on any new work right now."

  "Because you're leaving?” Lenore crossed her arms, staring at Astrid. "You never turn work away. You can't. You're the only blacksmith. If you won't do it, who am I supposed to turn to?” Lenore's face softened with disappointment. "Unless I'm the only one you're refusing..."

  "No!” Astrid didn't want Lenore to think Astrid was like the other women in Guell—at least, she didn't want to be like them when it came to Lenore.

  As anxious as Astrid was to leave Guell to look for DiStephan, she couldn't bear to turn Lenore away, especially after Lenore had helped her.

  "What do you need?"

  Lenore stopped and turned back toward Astrid. "A pair of silver shoes."

  The answer befuddled Astrid. "Shoes? Made of silver? Why ask me? Why not ask Beamon Waterson? He's the best jeweler—"

  "They need to be strong," Lenore said. "Silver is soft. You know how to make things strong."

  "To a certain degree," Astrid smiled, relaxing at the pleasure of shop talk. "But every piece of metal has its own character, its own strength. Silver is soft in its purest state—why does it have to be silver?"

  "I need shoes stronger than leather or cloth."

  "Why?"

  "Because I have no feet."

  Astrid stared dumbly at Lenore's calm face for several long moments. Finally, Astrid looked at the ground.

  Lenore's feet were beautiful. Astrid hadn't noticed that Lenore was barefoot until now. Astrid took in every detail from the high arches to the straight and narrow toes.

  Astrid laughed. "I beg to differ."

  "You don't believe me."

  Astrid didn't understand what kind of game Lenore seemed to be playing. Astrid felt tempted to ask Lenore to leave, no matter how she might hurt her feelings.

  But the calm expression on Lenore's face made Astrid curious. Lenore had to be lying, but she didn't look it.

  Lenore pointed toward Astrid's table and benches. "Sit there."

  Astrid obeyed. Lenore sat next to her on the bench and plopped her feet into Astrid's lap.

  "I can see your invisible feet."

  "I didn't claim they're invisible. I said I don't have any feet. Hold them, and I'll prove it."

  Not expecting much, Astrid wrapped her finger
s around Lenore's feet, realizing they were longer and sturdier than Astrid first realized. Bones and muscles moved fluidly under her touch as Lenore flexed her feet.

  Eerily, Lenore's skin felt like tanned leather.

  And then her feet dissolved, like frost melting on a warm morning. What had been muscular and bony vanished into empty air.

  Lenore's legs ended at her ankles in stumps crisscrossed with thick scars.

  It was impossible.

  No one could create something out of air.

  It was only possible to shift the shape of what already existed.

  When Astrid looked up, she felt even more shocked by how Lenore had changed. Gray streaked her hair, and wrinkles creased around her smiling mouth and eyes.

  "As I said the other day," Lenore said. "People aren't always what they seem."

  CHAPTER 9

  Something solid filled Astrid's hands again, and she looked down to see Lenore's feet. Astrid ran her fingertips along Lenore's ankles, where stumps had been just moments ago. The skin was seamless and unflawed.

  "I'm sorry," Lenore said. She'd returned to herself, her hair solidly dark, and her face smooth. "I don't mean to be vulgar. I mean to be honest about who I am."

  Astrid felt the warmth from the feet she still held. It was impossible. "What just happened?"

  Lenore lifted her feet from Astrid's hands and swiveled to rest them on the cottage floor. "I believe I deserve to have feet, so they exist."

  Astrid was confused, trying to make sense of what she'd just seen. "It looked like someone cut off your feet."

  Lenore nodded. "A blacksmith."

  Astrid's eyes widened in new horror. She suddenly wished she hadn't asked.

  "It wasn't his fault," Lenore said. "I asked him to."

  Astrid remembered how Lenore's feet had felt: the bones, the muscles, the warmth.

  The skin that felt more like leather than skin.

  Astrid was afraid to ask the question, but she heard the words come out of her mouth before she could think the situation through. "Why would you ask anyone to cut off your feet?"

  "I gave up too much. I had to pay a high price to get everything back, and the price I paid was my feet."

  Astrid was torn between not wanting to hear another word and wanting to know everything. Curiosity won. "I don't understand."