by Resa Nelson
Astrid's throat tightened when she remembered Mauri's image pressing through the red sail.
Mauri must have felt very alone in the world to believe the best way to live was to look out for herself and herself alone. It must have been terrifying for Mauri to pretend all her life, never trusting anything except Drageen's lies.
All Astrid could think of was the last time she saw Mauri, her sailcloth hands reaching down toward Astrid while the red sail flew high into the wind, disappearing forever.
Astrid ran to the beach. The horizon glowed magenta. Even from here, Astrid could make out the rocky figures of Drageen and the alchemist where the shape of the dragon's body used to be on Dragon’s Head.
They'd have to rename it.
As she made a wood fire and cooked roots she'd gathered nearby, Astrid realized she didn't feel lonely. She knew she'd be in and out of Guell during lizard season. The rest of the year, she'd work with Randim and the other blacksmiths.
If and when the southern invaders came to Guell, Astrid would dig up her own bloodstones and make herself invincible.
After she finished eating, she let herself be warmed by the memories of DiStephan and his father. This had been their camp, and now it had become hers. In this place it would be impossible to feel alone.
A sudden breeze kicked dirt into her face. Astrid coughed, rubbing the dirt from her eyes.
She remembered what she'd said on the journey from DiStephan's burial mound: "If we meet brigands, I'll say, 'Beware! I'll run you through with my sword while the Death Shadow throws dust in your eyes.'"
Astrid stood abruptly, looking around the camp.
Maybe it had been the wind.
Maybe she was thinking wishfully.
Maybe it was her imagination.
Another swift breeze threw a handful of dust at her eyes.
Laughing, Astrid spit dust from her mouth. "Hello, DiStephan."
The wind brushed her loose hair away from her face, caressing her cheek.
The breeze tugged at the lacing of her vest, pulling her forward toward the beach.
Out of habit, Astrid reached for Starlight. As safe as she felt with DiStephan, she didn't go anywhere these days without his sword.
It had become part of her just as it had once been part of him.
The wind stopped her on the sand. It lifted her arms up by her side. It pulled back gently on her hair, tilting her face up toward the night sky, dark now and full of bright stars.
Stars like the white-hot sparks, big as her fist, that flew all around the smithery every time she welded.
The breeze spun her slowly in place, and Astrid remembered.
It was what she'd seen DiStephan do all his life, beginning the first night she'd met him, here at the dragonslayer's camp. He'd tried to convince her to do it, too, but Astrid always held back, never feeling she had the right. She'd always stepped back into the shadows, watching DiStephan from a distance, secretly envying his boldness.
But now things were different. Everything was different.
Now Astrid stood as Guell's first line of defense.
Now she had a pattern of dragon scales running down her spine and between her breasts, down her belly.
She sighed with wonder, spinning slowly in place on the beach, embracing all those stars with her open arms.
Understanding, at last, who she was and how she belonged in the world.
The Dragonslayer’s Sword
Copyright © 2016 by Resa Nelson
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Cover Art © 2015 by Eric Wilder
Second Edition January 2016
First published by Mundania Press, 2008
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the invention of the author, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, event, or locale is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
Dedicated to editor and friend Scott Edelman for buying and publishing my dragonslayer short stories in Science Fiction Age magazine and to all the readers who voted “The Dragonslayer’s Sword” into the #2 spot in that magazine’s first Top Ten poll. You made me realize there was more to the story, and that’s why I wrote this novel.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many people helped me research and write this novel. Thanks to John Stevens, my blacksmithing teacher. I also received help from the European Historical Combat Guild (special thanks to John Waller and Jonathan Waller) and the folks at the Royal Armouries in Leeds, England. I appreciate all the experience and advice I received at the Higgins Armory Museum in Worcester, Massachusetts, where I took courses learning how to use medieval and Renaissance weapons. Special thanks to Mark Millman for reading and critiquing the sword-making sections. Also, thanks to my friend and sword partner in the Higgins Sword Guild, Don Kindsvatter for his constant support and encouragement during the past several years and for our partnership in interpreting historical sword techniques.
Within the writing community, thanks to the members of the SpaceCrafts writing group and author Amy Butler Greenfield for reading and critiquing this novel. Also, thanks to my teachers and classmates from the Clarion Science Fiction Writing Workshop. It’s been many years since we were at Clarion, but what I learned from you still influences me greatly.
Many years ago, the way I perceive fairy tales changed when I read Women Who Run With the Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes. I think of my novel as a dark fairy tale for adults, and Dr. Estes’ book is the best resource I’ve found for understanding what’s at the heart of fairy tales. If you haven’t read it, go buy a copy now. It’s brilliant.
The making of the dragonslayer’s sword in this novel is based on a real-life technique called “pattern welding,” which dates back to the early Middle Ages. I used multiple resources to learn about pattern welding, but my favorite is The Pattern-Welded Blade by Jim Hrisoulas.
I’m blessed to have great friends who have helped me in many ways for many years. I’m especially grateful to Marcia Carney, Andy Volpe, and Kris Engdahl.
Finally, I’m grateful for the encouragement my parents gave me to go to summer school for Creative Writing when I was a little girl. Thanks to my mother for picking me up from my swimming lessons and hauling me across town to get me to summer school on time. Thanks to my late father for teaching me not only how to dream but how important it is to never stop dreaming.
The Iron Maiden
By Resa Nelson
CHAPTER 1
Don’t move, Astrid told herself.
The crumbling foliage danced in circles around her. Underneath the familiar scent of the forest—the tangy pine, the rotting and new wood, the rich earth—she detected the distinctive briny smell of lizard. One step on a crackling leaf would give away her position. If the lizard lay in wait nearby, it would be at her throat before she knew it.
Alone in the woods, no help would come to Astrid. She turned her head slightly into the oncoming breeze, cold and sharp. Brown and brittle leaves with curled edges drifted loose from their branches and swirled around Astrid like strange, dark snow in the cold breeze.
Lizards were huge and crafty things, and anyone other than a dragonslayer called them “dragons,” not “lizards.” Their hunting strategy consisted of digging a trench by the side of a path. The animals would lie low and hidden inside that trench and then spring out if anything juicy passed by. Despite their size, lizards were quick and agile, often catching those who assumed otherwise off guard.
This time of year, they migrated from Astrid’s home in the Northlands to the southern regions. Although she’d been a dragonslayer for only a few months, Astrid knew what to do because of DiStephan. For the past few weeks, she’d been making her final sweep through the territory she protected, starting in the Far Northern Boglands where people dredged the swamps to harvest and then smelt the blooms of iron she worked with as a blacksmith.
Behind her, brittle leaves rustled. Could someone be shuffling through them?
&nbs
p; Astrid spun, hand on the hilt of the sword at her side.
No longer swirling, brown leaves clung in a patchwork pattern to the air now facing her. She could see through empty patches here and there, but the leaves outlined the form of a man.
DiStephan’s ghost.
He pointed to the side between two pine trees that flanked the path.
Astrid nodded her thanks to the ghost and withdrew her sword quietly from its sheath while she studied the trees and the space between them, covered with pine needles and leaves. The space measured the length of a horse and a half, which indicated the presence of a growing lizard experienced in killing people. Lizards could lie still in trenches for hours, plenty of time to become camouflaged by quickly falling leaves. Astrid struggled to make out the shape of the lizard but took her best guess at which end was which. It would be impossible to sneak up on the thing.
Holding on tight to the grip of her sword, Astrid sprinted toward the trench, dead leaves crunching loudly beneath her feet, ready to face the lizard that would spring up out of it.
But nothing happened.
Astrid pulled up just short of the space between the trees. This might be an especially crafty lizard. One that waited for her to assume it wasn’t there. One with the hope of letting her get close enough to grab her throat.
Astrid’s heart raced, beating so hard she could feel it bang against her chest. She didn’t want to die, especially not from a lizard bite. The poisons in its spit would kill its victim within a day or two. Still new to dragonslaying, she missed her early days when she had the ability to see and speak with DiStephan’s ghost. She ached, still missing his touch. She missed seeing his quick smile and amused eyes. She longed to understand his thoughts just by looking at his face.
And she hated him for dying and leaving her to be her town’s only hope for keeping lizards at bay. Astrid barely knew how to wield a sword, and there already had been too many times that she’d come close to losing her life. She missed her smithery. She wanted to be a blacksmith again.
Astrid reminded herself that what others thought of as “dragon” season would end soon. But what most people called “dragons” were actually overgrown lizards, not true dragons like Taddeo and Norah.
Astrid neared her home of Guell on her final sweep through the region. In a day or so, she would hang up her sword and return to her anvil for the winter, taking comfort in the heat of her blacksmithing fire during the long winter months. The lizards wouldn’t return until spring.
This could be the last lizard I have to face this year, Astrid told herself. And Guell needs more meat to get us all through the winter.
Tired of waiting for the lizard to surprise her, Astrid leapt forward, plunging her sword into its hiding place, aiming for the target most likely to be its head.
The blade sank into a pile of leaves. Nothing jumped out at her. Astrid stabbed the leaves in different places, making sure nothing lurked beneath them. Finally, she dragged the tip of her sword through them. This was a lizard’s hiding place, all right. The shape and size of the trench seemed right, and the edges bore claw marks. She knelt by the trench, running her fingers through a set of claw marks. There—mingled with the smell of freshly turned earth—wafted the lizard scent she’d detected minutes ago. The lizard had been here recently.
Or maybe it waited nearby.
Something tapped her shoulder.
Astrid jumped up in surprise, still clutching her sword.
A spindly tree branch pointed first at the lizard’s trench and then beyond the trees that flanked it.
DiStephan again. In the days when she’d been able to see and communicate with his ghost, he’d told her about the thinness of the veil between her world and the spirit world. It took most of his energy to make his presence known at all. He could move and manipulate lightweight things—like a tree branch. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised each time he tapped her shoulder, but one never knew what else might be creeping around in the woods.
Suddenly, Astrid realized where she was. Whispering, in case the lizard might be close enough to hear her, Astrid said, “That path leads back to my camp. No lizard goes anywhere near a dragonslayer’s camp. They’re too crafty.”
Again, the tree’s spindly limb pointed with a sharp insistence toward the camp. Astrid smiled. She imagined she could hear the sound of DiStephan’s voice in her head: Trust me.
For the next hour, Astrid crept through the forest. At the time she’d first met DiStephan in childhood, she’d been traveling through these woods with a childseller. DiStephan and his father, Guell’s dragonslayer at the time, had heard them coming long before they arrived. Astrid had asked DiStephan how he’d known of their presence, and he’d laughed and said she’d been as loud as cattle. It had only been during the past few months that Astrid had come to appreciate what he meant. She’d spent her life surrounded by the loud banging of hammer against iron, the crackle of fire, and the whoosh of the bellows. Never before had she experienced such quiet, and she’d become attuned to the subtle sounds of the animals and trees.
Finally, she spotted her camp—what had once been the camp of DiStephan and his father. Beyond the abrupt line where the forest ended lay a strip of beach sheltered by sheer cliffs. Astrid’s heart raced again, but this time with anticipation. She was almost home. Astrid took a deep breath, grateful for the heavy scent of salt in the air. She picked up her pace, making her way through this last stretch of forest.
But the moment she stepped out of it and onto the beach, a lizard sprang from its hiding place, jaws wide open as it lunged toward her face.
CHAPTER 2
With a startled cry, Astrid sprang a step back while she drove the pommel of her sword into the veined jowls of the lizard’s throat. Stunned, the lizard paused, taking a hesitant step back on its bowed, crablike legs. As she’d suspected, it measured the length of a horse and a half but looked like an enormous and well-fed snake with four legs.
Swinging her sword above her head, Astrid tried to rush toward the beast, only to be yanked back by her own hair. She glanced back to find out who seized her from behind but saw that the single braid hanging down her back had snagged in a tree limb. She called out for help. “DiStephan!”
While the lizard shook off the pommel blow, invisible hands threw scoops of sand at its eyes.
Keeping one hand on her sword’s grip, Astrid reached back with her open hand, wrapped her fingers around her braid, and pulled hard to free it. Her hair came loose from the tree but the tree branch broke the thread keeping her dark hair braided.
Astrid darted away from the tree line, circling the lizard. Its scales were earthy and mottled, reflecting shades of brown and black and gold. Shaking its flat serpent head, the lizard backed away. A white film lowered between its eye and eyelids.
Astrid charged forward and stepped onto one of the lizard’s bowed legs, using it like a ladder to climb up on its back. But the lizard jerked sideways, throwing her off. It lashed its tail, scraping the sand as it flicked its long, yellow tongue.
Rolling onto her feet, Astrid’s hair now hung in the thick ribbons in which it had been braided. She charged again, running diagonally toward the lizard’s head and then making a sharp turn toward its back legs, hoping to catch it off guard. Instead, the lizard turned and struck her with its tail, which sent her tumbling toward the tree line again.
The ocean wind whipped the ribbons of her hair around her face, blinding her for a moment. Astrid panicked, still dizzy from the blow. She regained her footing. Thrusting her sword forward with one hand, she reached back with the other, frantic at the smell of the foul, hot breath of the lizard she couldn’t see.
Astrid recognized the feel of bark. She scrambled up the tree, dragging her sword with her. Panting, she climbed high and fast. She ignored the thorny limbs that scratched her skin.
The tree shook when the lizard reared on its back legs and slammed its chest against the tree in the same way Astrid had seen lizards battle each o
ther chest-to-chest over a fresh kill.
She lost her footing on the shaking tree, and the lizard nipped at her heels. Realizing she had positioned herself where she wanted to be, Astrid aimed her sword point at the open jaws just below her, letting herself slide down toward the lizard. She plunged the sword into its mouth and throat, but the lizard slapped her off the tree with its leg.
Again, the thick ribbons of hair swirled around her head while she fell, keeping her blinded. In desperation, Astrid reached out, grasping for anything that could slow or break her fall. Panic seized her heart. She realized that Starlight, the sword she’d made for DiStephan so many years ago, lay no longer in her hands.
It was the last thing she remembered before she hit the ground and lost consciousness.
CHAPTER 3
Minutes later, Astrid awoke to the sting of sand thrown against her skin. She tried to protest, but she choked on her own hair, still splayed across her face. Coughing, she pushed herself to sit up, head throbbing and body aching.
A nearby grunt and foul breath made her jump to her feet, ignoring the pain while she pushed the hair away from her face.
The lizard, sword stuck in its mouth and throat, had dragged itself toward Astrid, leaving a trail of blood in the sand. Flat on its belly, it struggled to inch itself forward.
DiStephan had thrown sand to warn her, and the sting of it had startled her awake.
“Thank you,” Astrid said, pulling a dagger free from where she kept it tucked under her belt. The lizard’s ridged eyes seemed listless, but Astrid wasn’t willing to take any chances. She approached with caution before jumping on the lizard’s back and plunging the dagger into its neck.
The beast shuddered beneath her in wave after wave. After one last groan, the air left the lizard’s body and it lay still beneath her.
“Are you well?” a familiar accented voice said behind her.
