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

by Resa Nelson

  Turning back to face the forested path, she saw the woods stretch out on either side of the road. They couldn't walk around the woods.

  Astrid saw only three choices: travel through the woods ahead, risk hiking through the distant mountains, or turn back.

  She liked the first choice but not the others.

  “Dismount,” Astrid called out to the Iron Maidens. “And keep a tight rein.”

  Casting worried glances at each other, they took the advice and followed Astrid onto the wooded road. Leaving Banshi to lead the horse they shared, Kikita hurried to walk by Astrid's side. “What troubles you?”

  Keeping her gaze on the forest now surrounding the road, Astrid said, “I don't know.” Her eyes narrowed when she noticed a stretch of fallen leaves from last autumn, brown and brittle, up ahead by one side of the road.

  Suddenly, a lizard emerged from the trough it had dug before covering itself with those leaves. About 10 feet long, it raced toward the women, its legs stubby and bowed but quick.

  The horses reared and shrieked in terror. Some of the maidens looked frightened when their horses galloped back the way they'd come, while others tried to control the reins they still held but without much luck.

  Only Kikita, who quickly took Astrid's reins into her own hands, succeeded in calming her horse by placing a gentle hand on the bridge of its nose and gazing solemnly into its eyes, as quiet as the eye of a storm.

  Astrid drew Starlight from its sheath. “Go back!” she shouted at the Iron Maidens.

  Frantic, the Iron Maidens raced back toward the light of day. Kikita managed to mount Astrid's horse and ride it away while the lizard bolted directly at Astrid, seemingly having eyes for no one but her.

  Before Astrid could deliver a blow, the lizard surprised her by rearing on its hind legs and running forward on them until its front paws slammed on top of her shoulders. The force knocked her to the ground and Starlight out of her hand.

  The lizard's foul breath filled her mouth and nose when it gazed into her eyes. Its yellow tongue flicked like flames against her face as the escaping maidens shrieked in the distance.

  CHAPTER 37

  Dunlop reined in his horse and signaled the handful of Krystr soldiers riding behind to stop as soon as he saw the road ahead leading into the forest. Something didn't feel right.

  Since childhood, he'd always been sensitive, especially with regard to animals. Before the Krystr days, whenever any farm animal became pregnant, Dunlop could forecast its time of birth simply by laying his hands on the mother's head and gazing into her eyes. He could perform the same task with women, which had made him popular among them. Every spring he foretold the precise day on which the birds that flew away before winter would return. He sensed the best time for tilling the land and planting seed. He understood the fickleness of the weather and always wore the clothes best suited for the temperature, no matter how much it shifted during the day.

  And sometimes he knew when danger lurked around the corner.

  One of the soldiers rode up next to him. “This road leads straight to the Upper Midlands. No need to worry about brigands or thieves. We've eliminated or recruited most of them.”

  Dunlop stared at the forest stretching ahead of them, cutting across the road like a knife beheading a chicken. He glanced to either side, noting the overgrown fields and meadows flanking them as well as the mountains in the distance.

  Based on the ashes he’d seen drawn upon a hearthstone in the abandoned village they'd left yesterday, he knew the barbarian women had taken this road.

  Taking a harder look at the landscape surrounding them, Dunlop knew the women hadn't headed toward the mountains. The terrain would take time and effort to cross, and the women on their horses—rather, on the horses they'd stolen from Dunlop and his men—would likely be in view right now, even from a distance.

  “I don't worry about brigands or thieves,” Dunlop said.

  “What then?”

  “I don't yet know.”

  The soldier shifted uncomfortably on his saddle. “Would you have us wait all day until you do?”

  Dunlop couldn't explain his sensitivity to this soldier or anyone else associated with Krystr or Mandulane. They'd consider him to be as barbaric as the women they pursued. They'd likely hang him or burn him alive, as he'd seen them do to other Midlanders.

  Dunlop willed his face to be as still as an iron mask even though anger flashed through his veins. If this soldier dared to be insolent, let him suffer whatever danger waited. “Go ahead. Lead the men into the forest.”

  The soldier paled, apparently startled and unprepared for Dunlop's order. “Me?”

  “Why not? Whoever captures the women can take credit for it.” Dunlop hesitated and then smiled warmly. “I will commend you to Mandulane myself, and I'm sure your reward will be plenty. I will keep a good distance behind you to make certain they're not in hiding.”

  Nodding, the soldier waved for the others to follow when he kicked his horse's sides, urging it into a trot toward the forest road ahead, darkened by the canopy of treetops.

  Dunlop stayed put, and his horse snorted while it shifted from foot to foot, taking a few steps back.

  Soon, the soldiers shouted to each other, dismounting and tying their horse's reins to trees at the edge of the forest.

  One of them called out to Dunlop. “We found them. They're all dead.”

  Drawing their weapons, they stood in the sunlit road and stared into the shadows lying ahead. They took slow steps into the dark, becoming murky images in the distance.

  For a moment, Dunlop wanted to ride away, far away, maybe even beyond the Midlands and the Southlands and build a new life for himself in the Far East.

  Nonsense. Other Krystr soldiers or clerks found the barbarian women before we did. They must have left their bodies out in the open to rot as a warning for anyone else traveling these roads.

  Dunlop reminded himself that he'd come too far to put his future at risk. He'd survived the Krystr invasion and already climbed in the ranks. Who would be foolish enough to throw that away?

  Sighing, he dismounted, leading his horse while he walked toward the trees where the soldiers had tied their own mounts. Apparently, he'd been with the Krystr soldiers long enough to lose his sensitivity to the world around him, which was probably for the best.

  Clearly, they faced no danger. It must have just been nerves that got the better of him, making him dream of a nonexistent threat. When he approached the mouth of the forest, Dunlop squinted, barely making out the figures of his men as they walked among the dead left on the shadowed and wooded road.

  Memories of the time before the Krystr soldiers invaded his family's territory rushed back to him. His father, constantly complaining that Dunlop accomplished nothing more than proving himself as a worthless son. His mother, pointing out his laziness and unwillingness to help the family plant and tend and harvest the food they needed to survive. His brothers, always tattling to their parents whenever Dunlop slipped away to nap or relax away from accusing eyes. Everyone in his family hated him and threatened to throw him to the wolves if he didn't shoulder his responsibilities.

  Angered by those thoughts, Dunlop gripped the handle of his ax so hard that his entire hand went white.

  Who had been slaughtered by the Krystr soldiers because of their foolishness in resisting them? His entire family.

  Who had not only survived but thrived in the midst of the Krystr followers? Dunlop.

  And who now had the opportunity to prove himself a mighty warrior that deserved to advance to the highest rank?

  Grinding his teeth, Dunlop let the anger he'd felt all his life toward his family roll over him. His brothers always showed him up, making him feel worthless and miserable. No one had ever let him shine. Instead, he'd always felt like the ground beneath their feet.

  He walked purposefully along the sunlit road toward the point where it became enshrouded by the forest. Dunlop resolved to take this chance to prove hi
mself. Not to his old family of self-congratulating idiots, but to his new and faithful family of Krystr followers. He'd show them his true worth, and the soldiers under his command would sing his praises when he delivered them safely back to camp.

  But then one of the soldiers screamed, and the others shouted.

  Dunlop's horse wrenched the reins free from his hand and galloped down the sunlit road, away from the forested area. The other horses, still tied to trees at the edge of the forest, whinnied in panic and struggled in vein.

  Dunlop pulled his ax from his belt. Still squinting, he made out soldiers running in the shadows and still figures on the ground but nothing else.

  One of the soldiers ran out of the shadows and into the light, his clothes torn and bloody. Stumbling, the soldier fell on his hands and knees. He screamed.

  Terror had left his face blank. Empty-handed, he'd apparently lost his weapon.

  A dragon clambered out from the darkened road, sank its teeth into the screaming man's leg, and dragged him back into the shadows.

  CHAPTER 38

  Dunlop watched in horror when the dragon dragged one of the Krystr soldiers under his command back into the shadowed depths of the forested road. Despite the warmth of the sun on his skin, Dunlop trembled as if he'd been buried in snow.

  This can't be happening.

  He reached the edge of the shadowed road, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness ahead. A tremor ran through him as if the ground beneath his feet had shaken, and he struggled to remain steady on his feet.

  Heaps of clothes lay scattered across the shadowed road. Clearly, the dragon had feasted on them, leaving few remains.

  His men stumbled among the clothes, and to Dunlop's dismay, they fought fruitlessly against an army of dragons. Everywhere Dunlop looked, he saw enormous tails thrashing and glistening ivory teeth gnashing. His men struck their weapons against dragon skin to no avail. Sharp iron edges slid off the animals' natural armor like a careless step placed in the mud.

  Stepping into this fight would be suicide.

  Within moments, every soldier on the shadowed path collapsed, either dead or moaning in pain, unable to move. One spotted Dunlop, who still stood on the road's sunlit edge, and reached one hand toward him. “Help me,” the soldier said, barely able to whisper.

  The dragon nosing him looked up at Dunlop, staring greedily. The animal seemed to weigh the benefits of attacking him.

  Mesmerized by the dragon's eyes, Dunlop held his breath as if that somehow would make him invisible. The intelligence in the dragon's eyes terrified him more than any creature he'd ever encountered. The dragon knew it was in charge. Killing Dunlop would be easy. But having already devoured the barbarian women and overpowered Dunlop's soldiers, would these dragons need one more?

  Dunlop glanced into the shadows, spotting two other dragons before returning to stare at the one closest to him.

  Only three dragons in all? Dunlop would have sworn there had to be at least twenty. He swallowed hard, keenly aware of the tightness of his throat. Perhaps the others had slithered into the woods in some sort of hunting tactic. Maybe they were circling behind him now, preparing to entrap him.

  Sure enough, the trees by the dragon nearest him rustled. He cried out, holding his ax in front of his face, ready to fight. The dragon eyeing him took a step closer.

  “Smoke!” a woman's voice called. “Stop!”

  Dunlop would have sworn that the look in the dragon's eyes sagged into disappointment. It halted and cast a look at the trees from which the voice had emerged. Had he still worshipped the old gods, what he saw next would have caused him to drop to his knees in reverence.

  A breeze nudged the branches of the canopy above the road, and soft light dappled onto the figure of a woman dressed in the colors of the earth and woods. As the light danced around and through her, Dunlop realized he must be looking at a ghost. Gripping his ax even tighter, he yelled, “Be gone, Shadow Demon!”

  The dragon that had considered attacking him now crept toward the ghost, positioning itself as if ready to protect her. Dunlop didn't know of a bond between ghosts and dragons, and this new insight disturbed him.

  The ghost mocked him. “Do you know who I am?”

  Dunlop squinted. Now he recognized her. “You were the woman who slayed dragons. And now they have killed you and your barbarian women!”

  “And now they have killed your men. You will be next unless you do as I say.”

  He let the ax drop to his side. His men had already proven that weapons were useless against dragons. And an ax could certainly do no harm to a ghost or convince it not to harm him. “What do you want?”

  “Tell Mandulane what happened here today. Tell him the line where you now stand is the line he must never cross. I now command all dragons, and I will make sure they kill any Krystr soldier who dares cross this line into the Upper Midlands or the Northlands. I will make sure they find and kill Mandulane himself, wherever he hides.”

  The ghost paused, seeming to fade as the breeze and light lessened. “And if you fail to deliver this message, I will make sure they find and kill you, too.”

  Then she dissolved into the woods, visible no more.

  Choking back a scream, Dunlop scrambled to untie and mount the nearest horse. Leaving the others behind, he kicked his heels into the horse's sides, despite the fact that it ran away from the shadowed road the moment it found itself free.

  CHAPTER 39

  A chilly wind whistled through the winding stone stairway inside the tower of Tower Island. Outside, seabirds shrieked as they circled above the tower. The drafty air smelled like the salt-drenched sea.

  Seated on a stair step, DiStephan shivered. “This makes no sense,” he muttered to himself. “I'm two years dead, but somehow I always feel alive when I'm with your kind.”

  “That's what they all say.” Fiera stood facing him several steps below. Keeping her eyes closed, she let her hands drift and sway like bellowed flames. The whistling wind lifted strands of her hair so that it surrounded her head like a crown. “Men, I mean. Women tend to fear me, but put a man before me and I'll have him mesmerized in moments.”

  DiStephan rubbed his face with his hands. Anywhere else, he'd feel nothing. But for some reason, any time he found himself in the presence of dragons he felt real and whole again. But perhaps it boiled down to nothing more than finding it easier to remember the touch of his own skin.

  “I need to be with her,” he said, louder this time. “She needs me more than you.”

  Fiera gasped when a sudden whoosh of air fanned her. It brightened her hair and caused her skin to glow warmer. She rubbed the palms of her hands together until white smoke spilled from them. Opening her eyes, she pushed the smoke in front of her until it pooled on top of the step below DiStephan's feet. She looked at him expectantly.

  DiStephan crossed his arms in defiance.

  “She has the metal girls,” Fiera said.

  “The Iron Maidens,” DiStephan said, correcting her. “There's hardly any of them next to the Krystr soldiers. Have you seen Mandulane? He's a madman!”

  “I am aware of him and his men,” Fiera said in a tone icy enough to extinguish herself. “Why do you think we're here?”

  “Because you're using me.”

  “That is not why we’re here, and you know it.”

  “But Taddeo used Astrid to set Norah free.” DiStephan's eyes narrowed with cruel accusation. “Just like Drageen used her to create bloodstones.”

  “And what about your bond with Taddeo? What about the sacred bond between dragon and dragonslayer?”

  DiStephan sat up straight, offended by her inference that he'd shirked his word. “That bond is for me to protect you and your kind by killing lizards that threaten people. It's for me to prevent people from killing true dragons by taking the role of dragonslayer. It's for me to convince others that dragons are so deadly that only a true dragonslayer can kill them. It's for me to convince people who see you in your dragon form
that I will kill you so they can sleep at night without having to worry about tracking you down and doing the deed themselves.”

  Fiera spoke pointedly. “And it is an honor for someone like Taddeo to trust you.”

  “Yes, of course.” DiStephan struggled to keep his patience with her, reminding himself that she could snuff him out like a candle, destroying him forever. And if that happened, Astrid would truly be alone. He had to reason with Fiera with the hope of convincing her to let him return to Astrid's side.

  Astrid assumed a lizard had killed DiStephan, never dreaming that he had died at Taddeo’s hand instead.

  “I died for the sake of helping your kind,” DiStephan said. “And in return Taddeo promised me I could stay with Astrid and watch over her. You have to let me go back to her before it's too late.”

  “Are you going to make it necessary for me to explain again why you're here?”

  For a moment, sparks seemed to ignite from Fiera's eyes, reminding DiStephan that even though he was a ghost, he faced one of the most powerful creatures in existence. “No, Ma'am.”

  Fiera tapped her foot and crossed her arms, nodding at the white smoke still pooled on top of the step.

  DiStephan stood and then stepped down into the white smoke.

  Sizzling, the smoke wrapped around him, covering DiStephan from head to toe. It squeezed him until he gasped for breath, even though he had no need for air. Light-headed, he sank to sit on the step on which he'd previously rested his feet, reaching blindly for the stone with his hands to steady himself.

  When his ghostly hands touched the cold stone, he felt as if hundreds of threads sliced through his body, leaving him shocked at the sudden and excruciating pain until the familiar voice of another ghost whispered in his ear.

  “Forgive me,” the faint voice of Mauri said as it rose up from the step on which the white smoke had pooled.