The Dragonslayer Series: Books 1-4: The Dragonslayer Series Box Set

by Resa Nelson

  Poor Vinchi.

  Astrid found herself torn between feeling sympathy and embarrassment for a man so clearly afraid to die. “No,” she said. “The footprints I saw in the mountains were unlike anything I’ve seen before, like half-man and half-lizard. The foot of a man with the claws of a lizard. And I saw the precise same footprint behind the mansion last night!”

  Vinchi focused his attention on the waster, now rubbing oil into the trickier parts—the crossguard, grip, pommel, and all the nooks and crannies between. “You saw it at night? How sure can you be of what you saw?”

  “Quite sure. There was plenty of light from the moon and stars.”

  “And did anyone else see this ‘monstrous’ footprint?”

  Astrid hesitated, not wanting to let Vinchi or anyone else know that she’d found a way to spend time with DiStephan’s ghost. The ghost seemed like all she had left of him, and she didn’t want to share it with anyone, certainly not with curiosity seekers who had only heard of ghosts but never seen one. “Yes. I was alone.”

  Vinchi breathed a heavy sigh and then smiled. “Well, there you go. It was night. You were alone in the dark. Of course one’s mind will play tricks—”

  “No!” Holding onto her waster’s grip through the rag, Astrid pounded its point against the floor. The clattering sound echoed through the empty practice hall as Margreet entered, yawning and stretching. Raising her voice, Astrid said, “I will not have you make me out to be imagining things. I know what I saw!”

  “Of course you do.” Vinchi’s voice dripped with insincerity.

  Margreet marched toward them, calling out. She pointed at Vinchi.

  Switching to Margreet’s language, Vinchi’s tone became quiet and apologetic. He seemed to be offering a reasonable explanation.

  Interrupting him, Margreet’s footsteps echoed loudly across the stone floor until she halted at Astrid’s side. Margreet clamped a solid hand on Astrid’s shoulder, this time jabbing the forefinger of her free hand from Vinchi to Astrid.

  Hanging his head, Vinchi stared at his feet and answered Margreet.

  “What is she talking about?”

  “Nothing,” Vinchi said quietly.

  Margreet slammed an open palm down on the empty space on the bench between Vinchi and Astrid. She then said something to Vinchi.

  Astrid strained to hear, even though she knew Margreet’s words were none she could understand.

  “She thinks we’re arguing about whether I will train just the boys or you and Margreet. She says she’s decided you’re her friend now, and that I must train you both with equal care.”

  Beaming, Astrid looked up at Margreet, still standing by her side.

  Margreet nodded and patted Astrid’s shoulder, still glaring at Vinchi.

  “And have you answered Margreet?”

  “I told her the boys must come first. That is why I’m here and why all of us have a bed to sleep in and food to eat. But whenever I can leave the boys to practice on their own, I will work with you.”

  “And the monster?”

  Vinchi looked up quickly.

  “I can probably draw what I saw for Margreet, and we can show the master, and—”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Vinchi said quietly. “I’ll talk to the master directly and tell him what you saw. He can have his staff look into it. There’s no need to frighten anyone unnecessarily.”

  Vinchi looked up at Margreet. Astrid noticed for the first time that his concern for her seemed to run much deeper than she’d ever suspected.

  CHAPTER 54

  In a remote corner of the Southlands, Gershon fought boredom at the daily service held after sunset and before supper. Now dressed like Thomas in a white smock and brown robe, Gershon sat on a bench in the front row of a simple meeting house in the center of the village.

  Thomas stood in front and droned on about the teachings of the Krystr.

  Gershon shivered, drawing the robe tight around him, tortured by the scent of smoke and the promise of blazing heat from hearth fires in surrounding houses. Thomas claimed their belief should provide all the fire they needed to stay warm, but the village men huddled close together on the benches behind Gershon.

  “…And when the Creation God invited the Mighty Krystr to come out of the sea, the Krystr was like all other Men of the Sea. He was all man except for his fish tail, but then the Creation God cleaved that tail in two, and they grew into legs.”

  The first time Gershon heard this story, it took all his willpower to keep his eyes from rolling toward the sky. Who ever heard of men coming out of the sea? He’d heard his share of sailors’ stories about creatures swimming in the waves that were half fish and half man. Gershon had been tempted to believe them at first. After all, the ocean seemed a vast and mighty place. How could one tell what kind of world lay in its murky depths?

  The first time Gershon crossed the sea from the Northlands to the Midlands, he sailed on a ship with a crew that swore they saw such creatures on every voyage. Sure enough, they skimmed alongside a rocky shore far from any village, and the crew excitedly pointed toward a narrow island of stones that paralleled the shore. While the crew trembled and stared, Gershon squinted and made out a colony of seals. Later, he discovered no one else on board possessed the good vision to see well at a distance.

  “The Krystr stood and walked until his feet and legs became strong and sure. He then called to his brothers who still swam in the sea and convinced them to breach themselves on the shore, promising to show them a mighty new way to be in the world.”

  At first, Gershon had enjoyed these stories. Of course, they were outlandish, but he’d heard equally bizarre tales of gods and goddesses from the High Northlands to the deepest regions in the Southlands. Every country and region and empire had such stories. He’d heard of gods taking the guise of all manner of animal and bird, including many strange combinations of various animals that clearly had never existed. Gershon took Thomas’s stories about the Krystr to be nothing more than stories, just like all the others he’d heard in his travels.

  “Krystr followed the example of the Creation God and cleaved all the tails of his fellow men into legs. He then taught every new man how to walk upright and hunt and gather food, because food on land isn’t plentiful like it is in the sea.”

  It had been a long winter. Here, hills rolled gently and the days were pleasant even though the temperature dropped sharply at sunset. At first, Gershon had been happy to have a place where he felt he belonged. After that thief Vinchi stole Margreet, Gershon felt lost and confused. Despite their habit of arguing, Gershon could count on his wife for a unique opinion. He often disagreed with her, but she always gave him something to think about, and that helped him in business arrangements. Although he’d briefly considered returning to his occupation of trapping, he found it easier to follow Thomas than strike out on his own without Margreet.

  “And life was good. Men left the sea and made a new home on land. Man became the king of all animals, thereby proving Man’s superiority to all living creatures. On land, men found their own perfect world of fields and valleys, streams and mountains, hearth and home. But that perfect world was destroyed when females decided to breach themselves, all because they wanted to follow men out of the sea.”

  Margreet always traveled with him, whether he hunted in the Northlands during summer or the Midlands during winter. He missed how good it felt to have her make his meals and mend his clothes. But he’d also grown used to her company and it seemed strange to have not seen her at all during the past few months. In some ways, Gershon didn’t feel like himself and wondered if he might be turning into someone different.

  “Men found a Sanctuary of their very own on land. A place where they could find peace and happiness. A place where they could dominate the world, which is right and true. A place where each man could fight and claim his own territory for himself. Where he could even dominate other men, if he so wished, for he had the freedom to do so. But when females breach
ed themselves in an effort to follow, men took pity upon them and clove their tails into legs. Women destroyed the Sanctuary of Man by calling female gods into creation. If women had accepted their fate as creatures of the ocean—if they had accepted the attention of men who returned to the sea when they wished to spawn with them—we would still live in a perfect Sanctuary today. Instead, women have ruined the world of men. It is our duty to make sure they don’t destroy the little we have left.”

  Gershon shifted on the hard bench, searching for a way to find comfort. In a way, Thomas’s words made sense. If Margreet would only mind him, they’d have no arguments. If they had no arguments, he would have no need to strike her in order to remind her that the role of the man in their marriage belonged to him. And if he had no need to strike her, Vinchi never would have stolen her away.

  Gershon reconsidered his anger toward Vinchi. Perhaps Vinchi couldn’t help having a soft heart. Maybe a woman had hurt Vinchi and worn him down, leaving nothing but a shell of who Vinchi used to be. Gershon remembered times when Margreet had worn him down to a point where he considered giving in just to make her stop talking. But Gershon had a deep well of fortitude, and he’d always managed to pull himself back up even though he’d been beaten down by the woman who’d accepted the duty of making his life easier, not more difficult.

  Maybe Gershon didn’t believe in men who came out of the sea with fish tails and a god that had turned their tails into legs, but he began to see a hidden meaning in Thomas’s words. The world could be a sanctuary for men if only women didn’t struggle so hard to ruin it for them.

  Gershon turned a renewed attention to Thomas, this time listening for the deeper meaning in his words instead of taking them at face value. Surely, Thomas would say something that would help Gershon understand the best way to punish Margreet as soon as their paths crossed again.

  CHAPTER 55

  For the seventeenth time that morning, Astrid fell to the hard floor of the practice room after being thrown off balance by Margreet. Astrid winced as she landed on her side, certain bruises already covered her body from the morning’s work, even though they’d only been practicing for an hour or so. She grinned at the sound of Margreet tapping the point of her waster against the stone floor while she called out to Astrid, most likely spurring her to hurry back up on her feet to face off against Margreet again.

  What they learned from Vinchi failed to compare to the skills for slaying lizards. Astrid’s slaying skills were about staying alert and avoiding the animal while trying to get close enough to climb on its back and then get a clear shot of stabbing the back of its neck. She knew about avoidance and waiting for the perfect opportunity and taking advantage of the opportunity once it presented itself.

  As much as Astrid enjoyed using a waster, she yearned to touch a real sword, especially one forged by her own hand. She missed the comfort of the leather grip and the clean, sharp feel of the way the blade cut through the air while swinging it at a lizard to keep it from charging.

  The techniques Vinchi taught were for a short sword, something meant to kill a man instead of a lizard. Even though the waster was the same size and shape of a small sword, it felt ungainly in Astrid’s hands. Because the sword Starlight had become so much a part of her, she struggled trying to learn how to use a sword that seemed so vastly different.

  Standing behind Astrid’s crumpled form, Margreet tapped the point of her waster against the floor, faster and louder.

  Astrid remembered the patience with which DiStephan’s ghost had taught her how to use Starlight, the sword she’d originally forged for him, and how quickly she’d taken to it.

  Speaking rapidly in an irritated tone, Margreet marched to face Astrid but stopped in mid-sentence.

  Vinchi called out from across the room where he worked with the boys, but Margreet waved him off. Taking a tentative step forward, she sank to her knees.

  For the first time, Astrid saw the expression in Margreet’s eyes relax. Margreet spoke, and her voice grew soft and concerned, still speaking rapidly.

  Astrid didn’t know what Margreet said. Even so, as usual, Astrid imagined Margreet’s meaning and answered, knowing Margreet would understand nothing she said. “I’m used to being good at what I do, and this is going terribly. We’ve been training for how many weeks now?” Astrid paused and counted on her fingers. She held up eight fingers.

  Margreet’s eyes glazed over for a few moments while she stared at Astrid’s fingers, but then they lit with recognition. She shook her head and showed Astrid nine fingers.

  “Nine weeks!” Astrid corrected herself and held up nine fingers to match what Margreet showed her. They both let their hands drift to their sides. “I’m terrible at reading what you’re about to do with your sword, which means I’m far too slow in making a decision about how to respond.” She waved a hand toward the boys grunting and groaning and shouting while they trained with Vinchi at the opposite side of the practice hall. “We work twice as hard as those boys and spend far more time at it than they do. And you’re marvelous. You’re so quick and decisive and strong.” Astrid paused. “And I’m not. I used to be quick and decisive and strong, and maybe I still am when it comes to lizards. But not when it comes to fighting men. I don’t want to fight men.”

  “You’re a dragonslayer,” Vinchi said, walking toward them. “Sometimes you have to fight men.”

  “I’ve fought men,” Astrid said, looking up at him. “I’m saying I don’t like it.”

  “But you like killing dragons?”

  Vinchi’s question gave Astrid pause. “Only when I’m defending my people or myself. I take no pleasure in killing for the sake of killing.”

  “And what if men attack?” Vinchi said. “Are you going to simply stand by or kill the same way you’d kill a dragon?”

  Astrid knew she shouldn’t be shocked by his question, but she felt like she’d stepped onto an ice-covered lake only to hear the ice crack open beneath her feet. On one hand, she wanted to always be ready to fight whether the foe happened to be man or beast. At the same time, she couldn’t shake the memory of being tortured by her own family on Tower Island.

  She didn’t want to be like them. She didn’t want to live up to the name of Scalding.

  Margreet looked steadily into Astrid’s eyes and spoke softly. Her tone remained calm but earnest. Astrid decided that whatever Margreet said, it sounded logical. Maybe her words simply encouraged Astrid not to give up.

  Finally, Margreet rose slowly to her feet, quiet now as she extended an open hand to Astrid, who accepted it and let Margreet help her stand. She kept talking for a few more minutes, placing a gentle hand on Astrid’s arm.

  Astrid breathed deeply, letting herself feel calm while realizing that every day Margreet reminded her very much of her friend Lenore back home in Guell.

  CHAPTER 56

  Daylight dimmed, and Vinchi made his usual rounds of circling the practice room to light the candles set in iron sconces shaped like ram horns on the walls. Throughout the winter, he’d had to set about this task by mid-day because the sun set so early. But now the sun ascended higher in the sky and sank more to the west than the south.

  When Vinchi drew closer to the women, Margreet signaled her intent to take a break and sat down on the bench where she and Astrid had once done nothing but watch. She dipped a wooden cup into a large bowl of water next to the bench and drank.

  Astrid watched the boys run out of the room, which they normally did at the end of each day. Once Vinchi stepped close enough to hear, she said, “You’re taking your time. Have you forgotten there’s a gathering to attend?”

  Vinchi had wrapped a wick around the point of a metal practice weapon, lit it, and took delight in extending the practice sword up to light the sconces high above his head. “The boys simply left to make themselves useful. The clerks departed this morning, so there will be no more gatherings until they return next year.”

  Turning toward Vinchi, Astrid said, “Have you spoken to
the master about the tracks I saw outside? About the monster?”

  “Yes.” Vinchi paused underneath a sconce he’d just lit, holding his flame-tipped sword to one side while watching to make sure the fire had taken. The light flickered and a steady ribbon of black smoke streamed from the sconce. He raised the sword again, repositioning himself to get a better angle for lighting the candle within. “He sent the servants out to investigate, and they say it’s a wolf print. Sometimes they circle the mansion at night during the winter. You shouldn’t be going out there. It’s too dangerous.”

  “That was no wolf print,” Astrid said. “I’ve seen plenty of wolf tracks, and I know what they look like.”

  A strong flame flickered above, and Vinchi hurried to the next sconce. “There’s a different type of wolf here in the Southlands. It’s bigger and stronger. Its paws are shaped differently.”

  “Then what was such a beast doing in the Northlands?”

  Vinchi lit the last sconce successfully and gazed around the room to admire his own handiwork of lighting the place before extinguishing the wick on his sword point and removing it. Gripping the blunt-edged blade with his leather-gloved hand, Vinchi walked toward Margreet and extended the grip to her.

  In wide-eyed surprise, Margreet took a last gulp of water and grinned. She wrapped her hand around the grip of the iron weapon.

  “What are you doing?” Astrid said, suspicious of his answers and even more suspicious that he seemed to be changing the subject.

  Margreet stepped out onto the practice floor. She lunged, thrusting the blade forward and followed up by slashing the air in front of her with diagonal cuts. Her face glowed in the soft candlelight. Like always, she’d tucked part of the hem of her skirt into her belt, revealing glimpses of her calves and clearing the way for her footwork.

  “What are you doing?” Astrid crossed her arms, still gripping her waster in one hand, its blade crossing her body like a shield. “You told us everyone has to train with wasters for at least a year or two before they’re ready to use metal. Why did you give that to her?”