by Resa Nelson
The square-shaped well stood waist high, and a few wooden planks covered its mouth. Astrid drummed her fingertips lightly against the wood. When they arrived yesterday, Thorda advised against drinking from the well. Everyone had a leather flask of fresh spring water, and they'd very likely come across a stream or river today as they traveled toward the Upper Midlands.
Knowing Thorda was right, Astrid removed the cover anyway, staring into the depths of the water inside the well. She folded her arms on the top of the wall and rested her chin on top of her wrist. Had it only been a year since she'd seen Norah rise up from the well at Limru?
Astrid didn't like thinking about her childhood when she and Norah had been caged together. The Scaldings had forced the young dragon Norah into a situation where the only way she could survive was to chew on Astrid and drink her blood.
She spent years thinking about her own pain, never imagining what it must have been like for Norah.
Astrid dipped her fingertips into the well water, shivering at its frigid touch. Norah could have killed Astrid when they were trapped on Tower Island. Instead, Norah had taken only what she needed from Astrid to keep herself alive. Now, Astrid thought about the pain Norah must have felt all those years ago, as well as the strength it must have taken to be in constant hunger so that Astrid could live.
“You gave my arm back to me,” Astrid whispered to the water inside the well. “I don't understand how it was possible. I only know I'm grateful.”
The well water rippled as if someone had dropped a stone in its center.
Something touched Astrid's fingertips, still resting on the water's surface.
Gasping, she jerked her hand back. Astrid took a few steps away from the well, as timid as the rabbit that had darted away moments ago.
It can't be Norah. Norah lives at Limru now.
Astrid crept toward the well, holding her breath while she peered into the well.
Its water stood perfectly still, as if nothing had disturbed it.
A new thought occurred to Astrid. “DiStephan?” she whispered.
The water remained still, but the low-lying fog rolled from the cottages and the woods behind them, heading toward the well like spokes being placed into the hub of a wheel. Astrid looked up from the well, startled by the sight.
The fog collected next to her, taking the shape of a familiar ghost.
“DiStephan,” she said with relief. “I haven't seen you since I met the Iron Maidens.” Feeling a flush of guilt, she said, “I've been busy with them since the Krystr soldiers took me to Mandulane, and we've been running ever since.”
The faint, foggy shape of DiStephan's face smiled slightly and nodded in understanding.
“But you've been with me?” Astrid said, now leaning at ease against the well.
The ghost nodded again. The fog drifted within the shape he took, like smoke captured inside a bottle. His expression shifted. Frowning, he pointed at the cottage where the Iron Maidens slept. His lips moved rapidly, but only silence filled the air.
“What is wrong? Are we in danger?”
DiStephan first shook his head to signal no, and then nodded to signal yes. He pointed at the door of the cabin, then jabbed his finger at it.
“I don't understand. What are you trying to tell me?”
The door opened, and Thorda stepped out.
Surprised, Astrid shrieked.
Thorda stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Astrid.
Turning to face DiStephan, Astrid's mind raced while she tried to figure out how to explain the presence of his ghost.
But the fog he'd used to take shape now swirled innocently at Astrid's feet, dissipating as the sun broke above the horizon.
CHAPTER 30
With ax in hand, Thorda hurried toward Astrid, casting a watchful gaze across the open center of the village, the cottages, and the woods behind them. “Why scream?” Thorda asked, keeping a tight and ready grip on the handle of her ax.
Astrid looked down, watching the dissipation of the fog that DiStephan's ghost had used to take shape moments ago. She always recognized his concern for her but felt confused by his message. When she'd asked if they were in danger, why had he first indicated they weren't and then jabbed an accusing finger at the door of the cottage where the Iron Maidens slept, indicating they were in danger, after all? How could both be true at once?
“I'm sorry,” Astrid said, staring at the dirt with the hope that DiStephan might have drawn some sign in it to make his message clearer.
But all she saw were the footprints left by herself, Thorda, and the other Iron Maidens.
Looking up at last, Astrid said, “I'm sorry. You startled me. I thought I was the only one awake.”
Thorda nodded at the horizon, where the rising sun poured light into the pale pink sky above. “Time to go.”
“I'll gather food for breakfast.”
Thorda grabbed Astrid's shoulder before she could walk away. “No,” Thorda said quietly, her face looking drawn and weary despite her having just woken up. “Time to go now.”
“Why?”
“We stay, easy to find us.”
“Of course,” Astrid said, thinking it through. “The longer we stay in any one place, the sooner Mandulane and his men will find us. We have to keep moving, except to sleep.”
“We rest in Upper Midlands. We rest in safe place.”
“You're right.” Astrid smiled. “Let's get everyone up and ready to go.”
Within a short time, the Iron Maidens hurried to gather their weapons and wits, most of them still groggy from waking after a fitful night's sleep.
Soon, they gathered by the well, ready to leave, although their head count was one short.
Astrid made a final sweep through the small village, making sure they'd left nothing behind and looking for the last maiden. In case soldiers traveled the road nearby, the women agreed to keep their voices low.
Finally, Astrid opened the door to the cottage where they'd slept, startled to find Kikita kneeling in front of the hearth, full of dead embers from last night's fire. Hands spread apart over the ashes, thin strands of smoke wove between Kikita's fingers as if she were examining newly spun thread.
Astrid blinked. The fire had died hours ago. Without fire, there could be no smoke.
When she looked again, the smoke had vanished. Kikita stood, toeing the embers. “I wished to make sure no sparks remained. There is no need to risk wild fire that could burn down the forest.”
Astrid remembered DiStephan's ghostly finger. If the door had been open when DiStephan had taken his form from the fog, he would have been pointing at the exact spot where Kikita now stood.
Smiling, Kikita breezed past Astrid and quickly climbed to sit behind Banshi on her horse.
The unmistakable scent of smoke filled the air.
Suppressing a shiver of sudden fear, Astrid followed her outside to join the rest of the women.
When she walked past the bloodied clothes left hanging on the line, a gentle breeze made them move and gave her an idea. Astrid said, “I saw a pile of old clothes in one of the cottages. We should take them. Our clothing is wearing thin and we could use what’s been left behind.”
Already mounted on her horse, Thorda cried, “No!”
Ignoring Thorda’s protest, Astrid dismounted and went to fetch the clothes, surprised when Kikita joined her side to help.
CHAPTER 31
Fiera focused on the small fire she'd just ignited while Taddeo and Wendill stood nearby and watched. They'd led her inside a peculiar structure within the tower, which Taddeo explained had been used by the Scaldings' alchemist when the family controlled Tower Island.
Old scents of herbs and spices still hung in the air. The room itself hung like a goiter from the inner wall of the tower, and a narrow stone stairway led to it from the main circular steps that connected the top of the tower to the ground level. Inside and out, the room's smooth, polished walls, floor, and ceiling curved gently, making it sphere-li
ke.
When Fiera knelt before the small fire, she shivered at the cool touch of stone against her skin.
“Do you see anything?” Taddeo asked. His fingertips tapped anxiously against his crossed arms.
“Hush,” Fiera said. “How can I possibly concentrate when you're talking?”
Looking up, she saw Taddeo open his mouth to protest, then quickly press his lips together in a tight grimace.
Good, Fiera thought. It's likely been far too long since he's needed anything from someone who can put him in his place.
She resisted the urge to smile, even when she heard Wendill's soft footsteps as he paced nervously behind her. Fiera gave all her attention to the small fire, letting her hands drift above and around its heat to give it shape while the wind howled and sucked the gray smoke through the doorway and up the tower.
Fiera closed her eyes, shutting out the world as she allowed herself to connect with the comfort of the flame, barely staying aware enough to maintain her own shape instead of bursting into fire herself. She sensed the kindling and wood, longing to feed directly from it. Longing to become unpredictable and wild and filled with life-giving heat.
She let a small cry of surprise loose when she felt the connection on the other side, even though she intentionally sought that connection. In another land across the sea, someone tended a similar fire. With her eyes still closed, Fiera visualized the request and sensed an understanding and intent to provide what she needed.
Time had no meaning in this state. Afterwards, Fiera never knew if minutes or hours or weeks had passed. She only cared about what she accomplished during that time, happy when she succeeded and devastated whenever anything unanticipated happened.
When her hands tingled, Fiera opened her eyes, grinning at last when she saw wispy tendrils of black smoke intertwining with her fingers, stretched wide apart. She nearly giggled with delight at the smoke's gentle touch, wrapping it around her hands like newly spun linen thread. It wound around her wrists and forearms. When she'd extracted all the smoke from the fire, she leaned over it and spat into its heart.
The flames popped and sizzled, then extinguished themselves, leaving nothing behind but a few charred embers.
Becoming aware of her surroundings again, Fiera heard Wendill's pacing come to a stop. Of course, both Taddeo and Wendill would watch closely now. They'd only heard of such things that dragons like Fiera practiced and had never witnessed them in person.
She prepared to thrill them.
Fiera stood up with a regal air, moving with grace and purpose. Sweeping her smoke-laden arms across her body, she cried out, “Manifest!” as she pointed her hands toward an empty spot in the center of the room.
Threads of smoke un-spooled from her hands and arms, first pooling on the stone floor and then rising to form the shape of the dragonslayer she'd requested.
The smoky shape became solid, and the dragonslayer looked at Fiera in surprise.
Taddeo and Wendill sighed with relief.
Fiera looked the figure up and down. She said, “I presume you are the dragonslayer known as DiStephan.”
CHAPTER 32
Sitting astride his horse, Dunlop studied the drawings on the small piece of leather one of the savage women had balled up and crammed into his mouth. By the time he and the other Krystr soldiers had walked back to their encampment, the sun had vanished and dusk crept across the horizon. He needed light to find the landmarks denoted on the tiny map he'd received.
The soldier in charge of the encampment jumped to conclusions and mistakenly praised Dunlop for his cleverness in deceiving the savage women, first by stealing the map from them and then keeping it safe by letting them tie him up.
Dunlop worried he’d appear cowardly, but all the other soldiers agreed that only a fool would try to fight so many women who carried weapons and knew how to use them. Surely a man so clever should take the lead in hunting these women down and delivering the punishment they deserved.
Only Dunlop knew the truth: he’d been attacked and bound by the women first. One of them slipped the map inside his mouth. But why should he admit the truth? Only he could recognize one of those women as a traitor to her kind and a friend to his.
That knowledge gave him power, and Dunlop wasn’t fool enough to give that power up to anyone.
Dunlop cradled the precious map in both hands. He saw no reason to reveal the truth that he'd been ambushed and hog-tied by women half his size. He deserved to benefit from the ordeal.
What he hadn’t counted on was benefitting so quickly and directly. By showing the map to the soldier in charge and pointing out to him that it showed where the women intended to travel, Dunlop’s superior promoted him on the spot. The commander would lead most of the soldiers on their planned route, while Dunlop would lead a few soldiers to follow the path shown on the map.
Dunlop suspected his commander feared Mandulane and what might happen if the commander failed to cover all possibilities. If Dunlop failed, the commander would look good by having followed the plan dictated by Mandulane. But if Dunlop succeeded, the commander could take credit for having taken the initiative of sending expendable men on a potentially fruitless mission while covering important ground elsewhere.
Now, in the middle of the countryside, a handful of soldiers dismounted to rest the horses they’d taken from the villagers. Dunlop stayed mounted, pored over the clues on the map, and compared them to his surroundings. A soft breeze blew his fine hair across his eyes, and Dunlop tucked it behind his ears.
He wrinkled his nose at the dust from the road kicked up by the breeze. This region had seen no rain in a week or so, and the dust he'd inadvertently inhaled had a stale taste. Nonetheless, the pastures flanking the road managed to sprout new grass, and well-fed sheep bleated happily in the distance. Even though the clouds above gleamed white and thin in the bright sunlight, Dunlop worried they might portend an oncoming storm.
He had to figure out where they were in accordance with this simple map. Only then would he understand where to go.
His horse shook its head and walked to the side of the road, where it nibbled on flowering weeds.
“Fine,” Dunlop said irritably. He dismounted quickly, leaving the horse to eat in peace while he plopped to sit in the middle of the road. He shut out the chatter and laughter of his men, who drank from their flasks and took chunks of cheese and bread from their pouches.
Let them eat. Dunlop had more important things to consider than lunch.
He returned his attention to the one part of the drawing he understood for sure: a handful of triangular images clearly meant to denote the Krystr encampment. There, below, was a cottage with smoke rising through the roof, clearly representing the village where the savages had ambushed him once he'd been left alone with the soldiers' horses. The series of roads leading beyond the encampment and village looked simple enough, but Dunlop couldn't tell which ones were true roads used by men and which ones were narrow paths used by walking villagers or animals.
A soldier leaned over Dunlop's shoulder and said, “Maybe it'll help if you turn it sideways.” Laughing, the soldier offered a small chunk of cheese.
Dunlop grumbled but took the cheese and gnawed on it as the soldier walked back toward his colleagues, still giggling. Making sure no one could see, Dunlop took the soldier's advice and turned the tiny map sideways.
That doesn't help at all.
Dunlop snorted. For a moment, he inadvertently inhaled a bite of cheese, terrified to realize he couldn't breathe. Letting the map fall to the ground, Dunlop pounded his own chest until the cheese came loose, wheezing while he struggled to regain his breath.
His heart raced as Dunlop let go of the terror of nearly choking to death, and he chewed the cheese slowly and thoroughly before swallowing it. For a moment, a flame of rage overwhelmed him when he considered the possibility that the soldier who had given the cheese to him may have meant to kill him.
Nonsense. It was your own foolishness and lack
of attention.
At that moment, he saw the map had landed near his feet, right side up and tilted at an angle so that it took the shape of a diamond instead of a square. And the chunk of cheese he'd been eating had landed on top of the map, blocking out the entanglement of roads that confused him. Somehow, that simple difference made the map come to life in Dunlop's eyes.
All of a sudden, he understood the relationship between the encampment and the village and the roads leading from them into the Upper Midlands. And in understanding that relationship, he realized where he and his men were located on the map and where they needed to go next.
Smiling, Dunlop picked up the cheese and took another bite, careful this time to chew it well while he studied the map.
Yes. It all makes perfect sense now.
After swallowing and brushing the last bits of cheese from his hands, Dunlop picked up the map from the ground and stood, telling his men to mount up and get ready to ride.
CHAPTER 33
Hundreds of miles away, the sun brightened the skies above Guell, Astrid's home village, and sparkled along the dangerous waves of the sea between the shore by Astrid's empty cottage and the rocky outcrop of Dragon’s Head Point.
Lizard eggs the size of a man's fist were scattered throughout its nooks and crannies, warmed by the sun. Within weeks they would hatch, and the young lizards would stay on Dragon’s Head in safety. Lizards used Dragon’s Head only as a place to deposit eggs because no people lived on the outcrop. It couldn't support any kind of growth or food other than the lichen and tiny crabs that provided plenty of nourishment for the newly hatched. If adult lizards lived on Dragon’s Head, they would eat the young lizards without hesitation.
Spring came slowly to the Northlands and even more slowly to Dragon’s Head, where the sea wind felt harsh and cold, even though the sun heated up the rocky ground quickly. Sea birds cried as they coasted on spread wings above, rarely tempted to land. The bite of a newly hatched lizard would kill a bird instantly. A handful of dead birds dotted the outcrop, a warning to others that might be tempted by the sight of unprotected eggs. The eggshells, too, were poisonous to anything that tried to eat them.
