by Resa Nelson
“Of course,” DiStephan said, meaning it. He wished he'd never witnessed Mauri's betrayal of Astrid, but in the end it was Mauri who saved Astrid from being murdered by her own brother. “I forgive you.”
Although DiStephan rarely encountered other ghosts, he knew enough to tell the difference between the true presence of a ghost and the remnants it left behind. He'd seen Astrid free Mauri's spirit two years ago, and he knew Mauri no longer existed in this world.
Instead, the violence done against her had trapped part of her essence within every step of the winding stairway within the tower, and there were hundreds of them.
Fiera had brought him to Tower Island because she needed one ghost to free the remnants left behind by another.
As Taddeo had explained, the remnants left by Mauri's ghost blocked the gateway that he and the other dragons needed to leave the surface of this realm and return to their home. The dragons had come here for a reason. They’d come to learn about people and to understand the decisions people make. And now the dragons readied themselves to leave.
The threads cutting through DiStephan's ghostly body spun together until he nearly fainted from the phantom pain.
Then the white smoke cleared, transforming the step beneath his feet into a pale pink stone. The phantom pain vanished, and DiStephan collapsed.
A thin beam of sunlight came through the open doorway above. The beam illuminated a dozen pink stone steps. Hundreds of gray steps stretched below.
“Well,” Fiera said with a heavy sigh. “That was quite exhausting. I do believe that's enough for one day.”
He watched her flounce down the steps. DiStephan wished he had the ability to sleep. As long as he kept his ghostly form in this realm, it forever kept him awake.
A few steps above him shifted shape until Wendill rose out of them and walked down to sit next to DiStephan. “Come now,” Wendill said. “Be of good cheer.”
“I wish none of you had ever come here,” DiStephan said. “I’d still be alive and killing lizards. And everyone else would be safe and sound.”
When Wendill draped a friendly arm around DiStephan, the ghost at first felt startled by the dragon’s touch and then wondered if he should feel honored by it.
“But that is not what happened,” Wendill said lightly. “Taddeo determined we needed to learn about people before deciding what to do about you. You must admit it is quite fair. And even if you do not like the current state of affairs, you must admit things could be far worse.”
DiStephan snorted. “How could things possibly be worse than they are right now?”
Wendill hummed for a few moments. Finally, he said, “Without us, none of you would be alive.”
DiStephan sighed in resignation. As always, the dragon spoke the truth.
CHAPTER 40
Astrid watched Dunlop ride away from the shadowed forest until he disappeared into the horizon. Then she kept watching for a good long while. Finally, the gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder startled her back to the task at hand.
Thorda's brow creased with concern. She squeezed Astrid's shoulder. “Men are dead. Dragons eat them. Time to leave.”
Astrid gazed at the shadowed road. The lizards made quick work of the Krystr soldiers they killed. In the past, Astrid would have been horrified at the plan she proposed.
She recognized the lizards to be the ones whose lives she saved near Guell last year. Suspecting they might be true dragons, she'd slain an adult lizard bent on devouring them and then traveled with them until they went their own way and ended up in Taddeo's care. She'd even named them: Smoke, Fire, and Slag. And now they were juveniles. Their bodies were the same length and weight as her own, not counting tails.
She felt the tightness in her jaw when she clenched the muscles in her face, a habit she seemed to be developing in the presence of Krystr followers. Astrid believed in peace. She hated any kind of bloodshed, but something had changed when Margreet died an unnecessary death. No one would have been harmed if Margreet had lived. But the choice had been taken from her without her consent.
Astrid could accept death when it came in the form of disease or accident. But she refused to accept death when it came by murder. It stirred her anger deep inside. Margreet should still be alive. She should have moved to Guell with Vinchi and perhaps even married him. Margreet should have met all of Astrid's friends and neighbors: Lenore, Randim, Trep, Donel, Beamon, Kamella, and all the blacksmiths and their families. Every time Astrid returned to Guell or woke up inside her own cottage, she experienced a groggy moment when she wondered what Margreet was doing and looked forward to seeing her.
And then Astrid would remember that Margreet had not only died, but Astrid had set her spirit free from this world. Astrid would never see Margreet's face or hear her voice again.
That's what made it easy for Astrid to watch her young dragons rip and tear the Krystr soldiers into pieces. If not for Krystr and all his followers, Margreet would still be alive. Astrid had no pity for anyone associated with her death, even those who knew nothing of it. As far as Astrid was concerned, all Krystr soldiers and followers were the same.
They were monsters.
“Astrid?”
Realizing she'd been lost in her own thoughts, Astrid looked away from the carnage and back at Thorda, who looked even more worried now. “Fine,” Astrid said. “Tell the Maidens we're leaving.” She frowned. “But we should burn the clothes first.”
The clothes they'd brought from the deserted village where they'd spent the night had sparked Astrid's plan. After the initial panic of thinking the dragons were attacking them, the Iron Maidens kept their distance while Astrid found herself entwined with her long-lost friends. Once the young dragons calmed from their initial excitement at seeing Astrid, she and they became aware of distant hoof beats.
Still keeping their distance, the Iron Maidens watched while Astrid heaped the clothes in piles on the shadowed road. Astrid worried that the dragons might greet the Krystr soldiers in the same way Smoke had jumped on Astrid with joy. But when the Krystr soldiers arrived, her worry evaporated. The dragons attacked the men immediately, leaving no doubt in her mind that these were in fact true dragons and not lizards.
Surprised but grateful, Astrid saw Kikita carrying a burning stick toward the feeding frenzy. The Far Eastern Maiden had a knack for making fire. The ease with which Kikita moved among the feeding dragons to set the heaping piles of clothes on fire startled Astrid. When Kikita passed Smoke, the dragon paused to give the Maiden's hand a friendly nudge.
Astrid expected Kikita to scream or cry or run away in terror. Instead, Kikita smiled while Smoke returned his attention to the glorious feast of men spread before him.
“Gather up their horses,” Astrid told Thorda. “Now every woman will have her own horse, and we can sell the spare ones when we reach the Upper Midlands.”
Astrid and Thorda looked at the direction from which the Krystr soldiers had come, making sure the one who had escaped was truly gone for good.
CHAPTER 41
Leaving the dragons behind to feed, Astrid and the Iron Maidens un-tethered the horses belonging to the dead soldiers and rode for the rest of the day through the forest without incident. Trees and bushes crowded both sides of the road, still darkened by shadows.
A short distance ahead, a chipmunk sat on its haunches and chewed on an old acorn left over from autumn. Without warning, a hawk swooped over the women's heads, its wings hunched while it glided with its legs and talons extended. Grabbing the unsuspecting chipmunk, the hawk then beat its wings and flew to the nearest treetop.
Astrid watched, swallowing hard.
“Bad sign,” Thorda said, riding next to her and shaking her head. Thorda and Astrid led the pack. For now they kept the pace at a walk. “Bad omen.”
“I don't believe in omens,” Astrid said, convincing no one but herself. The hawk had come to rest on a treetop thirty feet high. When they passed under that tree, Astrid craned her neck to watch the h
awk, even though it paid no attention to her.
“No time to sleep,” Thorda said with resolution.
“What?” Astrid shifted her attention from the hawk to the Maiden.
Thorda glanced quickly at the treetop and then shivered. “We cannot go back. We must go to Upper Midlands. But it must be fast. We cannot be slow.”
“Why? Because you think we've seen a bad omen?”
Thorda nodded. “The gods warn us. We must listen.”
Astrid sighed. The gods Midlanders like Thorda worshiped seemed to be similar to those in the Northlands. But unlike many Northlanders, Astrid never put much faith in the gods. She'd witnessed many people pray to them for help and either receive nothing or stumble upon a lucky coincidence. The Northlanders placed a great deal of credit upon luck, believing the gods bestowed a certain degree of luck on each man and woman at birth.
But Astrid believed luck to be a matter of happenstance.
At the same time, she believed in respecting the beliefs of people like Thorda and the other Iron Maidens. From what Astrid could tell, they seemed to be good people who cared about others. And for all Astrid knew, maybe Thorda's belief in bad omens could help them evade the Krystr followers.
Astrid snorted in disgust at the thought of them. She had seen enough in Mandulane's camp to be convinced they were little more than men who manipulated others to get what they wanted, and Astrid had no respect for such people.
She wished all the gods of the Northlands and Southlands and Midlands and all the rest of the world would rise up and demolish such wretched people. Remembering Margreet, Astrid wondered for a moment what it would feel like to stand among the gods and raise her sword to help them.
“Astrid?”
She looked at Thorda and noticed lines of worry creasing her face. “What?”
Concern threaded Thorda's voice. “Be you all right?
Astrid smiled. “I'm fine. But I think you're right. We should make only brief stops to rest until we reach the Upper Midlands.”
When they rode forward, the hawk let loose a piercing cry behind them, sending shivers down Astrid's spine.
CHAPTER 42
Dunlop rode his horse hard and fast. He stared straight ahead and never dared to look back. Once convinced he'd left the shadowed road far behind, he felt safe in the bright sunshine dousing the vast countryside of rolling meadows and fields.
Dunlop reined his horse near a stream where they both could quench their thirst. Sliding from the saddle, he watched the horse wade ankle-deep into the water and drink. But Dunlop fell to his hands and knees and vomited onto the grass.
“I'm sorry,” he said to his horse, which ignored him. “I didn't know there'd be dragons or shadow demons. I didn't know they'd murder everyone.”
The horse continued to ignore him, raising its head to stare at something on the other side of the river. Dunlop followed the creature's gaze and saw nothing.
He crawled to the edge of the bank and rinsed his mouth out several times before drinking, but the horrid taste still lingered. He covered his face with his hands and cried. For the first time since Mandulane and his Krystr soldiers invaded his homeland, Dunlop missed his dead family and the simple life he'd once lived.
* * *
Late that afternoon, Dunlop paused his horse at a fork in the road. The road on the right would take him back to Mandulane's camp, where he would have to report the horrors of seeing his men killed and eaten by dragons as well as his encounter with the ghost of the girl who called herself a dragonslayer.
What would Mandulane do to him? Dunlop had witnessed soldiers flogged and beaten to death for lesser offenses. Mandulane might make an example of him, maybe even testing new torture techniques on him.
The road to the left would take him into the eastern Midlands and beyond that into the stretch of mountains separating the Midlands from the Far East.
Dunlop had once known traders who traveled across those mountains and told stories about a fabled land full of magical landscapes and creatures. They said the language could be challenging to learn because it shared no commonalities with the languages of the Northlands, Midlands, or Southlands. Traders described the Far Easterners as an odd and distant people.
Running away to a new country seemed a strange but appealing choice to Dunlop. It would provide the opportunity to start his life over. He could become anyone he wanted without having to worry about the past haunting him. He felt weary of the conflicts brought about by the Krystr invaders and longed for a new adventure.
At the same time he couldn't push the sight of his dying men out of his head. They trusted him, and Dunlop unwittingly sent them to their deaths. Although he couldn't call any of them his friends, they willingly followed him even though he'd won the right to lead ahead of more experienced and maybe even more deserving soldiers.
What right do I have to let their fates go unknown? Their families and the other soldiers will want to know what happened to them. And Mandulane might appreciate knowing where the dragons are. And what if he’d like to know the girl who failed to slay those dragons is dead?
Setting his jaw in grim determination, Dunlop took the road to the right, leading back to the commitment he’d made.
* * *
Dunlop reached Mandulane's camp by nightfall. Exhausted, he dismounted, handed his horse's reins to a servant boy, and put in a request for an audience with Mandulane.
Dunlop joined the outdoor encampment circled around an open fire to eat supper.
A messenger brought word of agreement for an immediate meeting with Mandulane.
Eyeing a cauldron full of roasted meat and potato stew, Dunlop's stomach rumbled. But he turned his back on the opportunity to fill his belly and walked to Mandulane's tent instead.
Dunlop regretted his haste when he entered Mandulane's tent and saw his master resting atop a pile of furs and bright gold and red pillows. Dozing women with skin colored blue surrounded him. Obviously, everyone here had already supped and now relaxed to let digestion do its work.
Dunlop repressed a sigh, not wanting to appear any more pathetic than he already felt.
“I hear you returned alone,” Mandulane said. He petted one of the women lying next to him. “Where are the rest of my men?”
Dunlop cleared his throat. “Dead, Sir.”
Mandulane cocked his head to one side, puzzled. “How can that be?”
Dunlop wanted to stare at his feet in shame, but he forced himself to look directly into Mandulane’s eyes. “We found the barbarian women dead, piled up in heaps. I sent the men ahead to make sure they were dead. But dragons came out of the shadows and killed them all.”
“Dragons,” Mandulane sighed. “I keep hearing there are few if any left, and yet they seem to find my men. How do you explain that?”
Dunlop shrugged. “I remember far more dragons in my younger days, but dragons still exist. The dragonslayers haven't killed them all yet. This time of year they travel north. Maybe we got in their way.”
Dunlop paused, considering his options. He could walk away right now and ignore everything else that had happened.
But the shadow demon told him she'd make sure the dragons would kill Dunlop if he didn't deliver her words to Mandulane. “There is something else,” Dunlop said.
Mandulane raised a questioning eyebrow. “Pray tell.”
Dunlop cleared his throat again, stalling. “The dragonslayer girl was dead, too. I met her shadow demon. It told me to relay a message to you.”
Mandulane's face tightened with concern. “What message?”
“She guards the Upper Midlands and Northlands. She forbids us to enter. She claims all the dragons listen to her and do what she says. I'd say it's true because I saw it happen with my own eyes.”
Surprisingly, Mandulane relaxed, smiling. “What else did this ghost tell you?”
“If we don't stay out of her territory, she will have the dragons kill us. She said no matter where you hide, they can find you and kill you
.”
Mandulane laughed long and hard, waking up some of the women next to him. “Everything she said is a lie.”
Dunlop frowned. Mandulane's response to the threat made no sense. “I don't understand.”
But instead of explaining himself, Mandulane simply kept laughing while tears rolled from the corners of his eyes.
CHAPTER 43
A few days later, the air took an unexpected chill. The wind blew hard and cold, sending last fall's dead leaves scampering like mice across the road in front of Astrid and the Iron Maidens. Looking up, Astrid frowned at the ever-growing presence of low-hanging dark clouds that blocked the sun. But when the wind shifted for a moment, she took heart at the scent of salt.
That meant they must be near the coast. In that case, they'd reach the Upper Midlands sometime today. And once they set foot in the Upper Midlands, they'd be safe from Mandulane and the Krystr followers.
Astrid took in a deep breath of relief. During the past few weeks the only bright spot had been meeting Thorda and the other Iron Maidens. The rest of it, from encountering Mandulane and his blue women to finding no answer to the purpose of the stone of darkness she still kept in the pouch hanging from her belt, had felt like a nightmare.
Although duty still bound her to follow the dragonslayer's winter route and kill any lizards she encountered, Astrid couldn't wait to head back to the Northlands and her home in Guell and see her friends again.
Maybe the Iron Maidens could come with me.
Astrid held onto that thought for a moment. It reminded her of long-ago plans to return to Guell with Margreet and Vinchi.
I should have killed Gershon when I had the chance.
Astrid remembered her brief opportunity to put an end to Margreet's murderer. Instead, she'd suppressed her intense hatred of him the same way she'd learned to rein in her feelings about other people in order not to change the way they looked. It felt like honoring the unwritten law of the Northlands: while people always had the right to change themselves, they must not impose change upon others.
