by Resa Nelson
Ignoring the pain in his ankles, Dunlop teetered when he stood, looking for the next place where he could be useful. Hearing the moan of a man behind him, Dunlop turned to see a fellow Krystr soldier fall as a woman withdrew her sword from his chest. Before she noticed Dunlop’s presence, he knocked her sword aside and tackled her. She cried out while he scrambled to pin one knee against her chest and the other against her arm holding the sword.
She struggled but couldn’t move under Dunlop’s weight. He picked up the sword he’d knocked out of her hands. Before he could drive the blade down toward her throat, she bashed the side of his head with her free fist.
Shaken by the blow, Dunlop maintained his grip on the sword with one hand while pinning her arms to the deck. It took all his strength to keep the thrashing woman under the weight of his body, but he finally managed to drive the pointed tip of her sword through the base of her throat.
The ship pitched, making Dunlop mindful to keep his balance while he looked for his next target.
At the sound of Mandulane’s throaty yell, Dunlop looked back at his ship in search of his master. Dunlop stared in horror at the sight of a woman aboard Mandulane’s ship, clinging to the rigging as she lifted her body and kicked Mandulane squarely in the chest with both feet.
“Mandulane!” Dunlop shrieked.
The force of the woman’s kick propelled Mandulane over the side of his ship and into the sea below.
“No!” Dunlop yelled as he ran to the enemy ship’s railing. Looking down, he saw Mandulane bob above the water’s surface for one moment only to disappear the next.
Dunlop faced Mandulane’s men and called out, “Fall back! Mandulane is fallen! Fall back!”
A nearby soldier who had just killed an islander man picked up Dunlop’s order. “Fall back!” the soldier called to his peers. “Mandulane is fallen!”
Dunlop hauled himself onto the railing and then hurled himself into the sea below.
* * *
As Mandulane slowly regained consciousness, he instinctively batted the air in front of him, filled with the terror of drowning. But when he saw the faces of his soldiers hovering above his, he pretended to reach for an imaginary hand to help him rise.
Quickly, Dunlop extended his and Mandulane accepted it.
Mandulane’s head swam and the world went fuzzy for a few moments while he allowed Dunlop to help him sit up. “What happened?” Mandulane said.
“Dunlop saved your life,” an unfamiliar voice answered.
Mandulane didn’t worry that he didn’t recognize the soldier’s voice. He depended on their simple uniforms to identify them as his own men. He rarely recognized individual faces or voices.
But he did recognize Dunlop to be the one man who for a while successfully tracked the dragonslayer woman who escaped Mandulane’s camp and then joined forces with the self-important women who helped her.
When Mandulane shivered, someone quickly placed a blanket around his shoulders. His nose wrinkled at its distasteful odor and coarse texture. Like smelling salts, the foul smell cleared his senses immediately. “Did you steal this from the back of a donkey?”
The men surrounding him paled. Their eyes widened with fear.
And yet Dunlop had the audacity to speak with a soothing tone of voice. “You nearly drowned. We simply want you to stay well and keep from catching ill.”
Mandulane struggled to his feet, and the Krystr soldiers stood with him. Only Dunlop dared to lend a helping hand to Mandulane’s elbow when he teetered for a moment.
Mandulane took the offensive blanket off his shoulders and threw it to the ground. The sea wind made him shiver and realize his clothes were soaked.
His voice sank in disappointment. “Look at these pants! They are ruined. Completely ruined. And I acquired them only a week ago.” Mandulane reached down to the wet fabric, moaning in deeper disappointment when the dye left his hands red. “Perhaps they can be salvaged once they dry.” He examined his chest. “What happened to my shirt? It’s streaked with black! Is that from my cloak?”
Mandulane reached back, but he felt nothing draped behind him. In fact, when the chill wind blew, it cut through his clothes to his damp skin. In a tone as icy as the breeze raising his flesh, Mandulane said, “Where is my cloak?”
After a stretch of silence, Dunlop cleared his throat. “It wrapped itself around you and would have pulled you into the depths of the sea like a monster. I had to pull it off you.”
At first, Mandulane assumed he’d misheard the soldier. “My cloak is gone? It cannot be gone. How is that possible?”
The other soldiers backed away from Dunlop.
“Your cloak would have killed you,” Dunlop explained. “Your life is what matters.”
Mandulane shivered just as his attendant arrived with a dry cloak. It was simple and for everyday wear, not the fine, rich cloak he’d saved for battle wear. While his attendant arranged the everyday cloak across his shoulders, Mandulane said, “It was my best cloak. A very expensive one. Pinned with my finest silver brooches. I suppose the brooches are lost as well. And look! The silver I wore on my arms is missing.”
“Yes, and I’m sorry for the loss,” Dunlop said. “But you are more important than anything you might purchase.”
Mandulane nodded. “Of course. I should count my blessings that we have defeated the enemy and taken their ship. Perhaps they have something worthwhile on board.”
The other soldiers took another step away from Dunlop.
Mandulane took a few steps away from them and scanned the sea surrounding his ship, only to spot the rebel ship sailing away in the distance.
“I killed two of the women,” Dunlop said hopefully. “And a few of the islander men are dead. Not all of them escaped with their lives.”
“Not all of them,” Mandulane murmured dreamily. He pointed at Dunlop. “On your knees.”
Dunlop obeyed.
Mandulane circled him slowly. “Lie with your face on the floor.”
With his face twisted and red, Dunlop obeyed again.
Mandulane grabbed the hilt of a sword sheathed to the nearest Krystr soldier, ripped the sword free, and yelled as he delivered a forceful overhead blow that cut off Dunlop’s head.
Handing the sword back to its rightful owner, Mandulane said to his stunned soldiers, “Clean that up.”
As they scrambled to follow his orders, Mandulane stood at the ship’s side, watching the enemy sail out of sight.
“Enjoy your freedom while you have it,” Mandulane said to the enemy ship. “Because it will not last much longer.”
CHAPTER 66
Komdra believed the Krystr soldiers would most likely strike the Northlands through its busiest port of Gott. To reach it, Komdra's men sailed diagonally across the sea from the Southwest to the Northeast, taking two days to cross the water. During that time, they saw no sign of Krystr vessels.
Having the seas to themselves, they gave appropriate ocean burials to Jewely, Efflin, and the islander men killed by Mandulane’s Krystr soldiers.
Astrid recognized Gott immediately. Flanked by the Iron Maidens, Komdra, and his men, she walked through the bustling village on a long and wide walkway of wooden boards that ran parallel to the sea.
Komdra's men tethered their ship between dozens of others that filled the docks next to the walkway. Astrid suppressed a chill at the sight of the crates and goods set up in front of each merchant ship, forming the marketplace opposite rows of wooden houses jammed against each other.
Here, she had first met Margreet and Vinchi a year ago last winter, and the sudden memory of walking the boards where they'd met made Astrid's heart ache with bitterness and regret. Why couldn't she have been wiser about understanding the lengths to which Margreet's husband would go? Why hadn't any of them understood the depths of that man's wickedness?
Astrid scanned the faces of the merchants selling their wares to the townspeople. She caught herself looking for Vinchi's familiar face and then silently scolded
herself. Vinchi had returned home to his native Southlands and now spent his days teaching his fellow country men and women how to protect themselves from the Krystr soldiers. Vinchi would never come to Gott again.
Astrid hesitated, oblivious when the Iron Maidens and men walked past her.
In front of a ship with a tattered and stained sail stood a broad and tall man who had the large, meaty hands of a butcher, sorting through his pile of furs on the crates in front of him. Astrid remembered that he'd once sported an unkempt yellow beard, although his face was now as bare as his shaved head.
Gershon. Margreet's husband.
Astrid swiftly drew Starlight from its sheath while she shouted, “Murderer!”
* * *
Although Astrid kept her gaze fixed on Gershon, she sensed the Iron Maidens and Komdra's men closing rank behind her. Taking one hand off of Starlight's grip, Astrid pointed at Gershon. “Murderer!” she shouted again, tears welling in her eyes.
Gershon's eyebrows drew together in anger when his potential customers backed away from his displayed furs. Seeing Astrid pointing at him, Gershon pointed back. “Lie!” he shouted.
Gripping Starlight with both hands again, Astrid strode toward him, keeping her sword's tip pointed at him.
Everyone in the marketplace backed up to form a circle around them.
“Krystr!” Astrid shouted at Gershon.
He recoiled as if she'd slapped him across the face. “No!” Gershon bellowed. “No Krystr!” He slammed his open palms down on the crate's surface, and the furs piled on top of it trembled. He grimaced as if disgusted by the accusation.
Astrid narrowed her eyes, staring into his. She held Starlight steady, ready to slice him into pieces. “Killer!”
Startled by the accusation, Gershon returned her stare, searching her eyes until his face hardened with suspicion. “No weapon,” he said evenly, holding up his empty hands as proof. “Work. No fight. Live in peace.”
His words only served to enrage Astrid deeper. “I saw you murder Margreet!” she screamed.
Gershon's suspicious expression fell away, replaced by astonishment. He studied Astrid's face, only to look confused and bewildered while he struggled to recognize her. “Trial,” Gershon said, his voice softer now. “Fair fight.”
Of course. He doesn't recognize me. He’s never been able to see the results of shapeshifting because he doesn't drink lizard blood or eat its meat. He met me as a one-armed boy covered in scars. This is the first time he's seen me since Norah restored my arm and rid me of my scars forever. Gershon doesn't know who I am.
Before Gershon could blink, Astrid took a few quick steps and struck the crate between them with her sword, wood cracking loudly as the blade split the crate open. Wrenching the sword free, she pressed its tip against his nose. He stood frozen in place when Astrid said, “Do you remember me now?”
Gershon's face sagged in resignation as he stared into Astrid's eyes. Still bewildered, he finally recognized her. “Margreet friend,” he said. “You and Vinchi.”
Astrid nodded. “You were her husband. You were supposed to love her. Protect her. You were supposed to keep her from harm.” Astrid paused and focusing on her hatred of Gershon instead of her love for Margreet. “But you beat her. You drove her away from you.”
“You steal Margreet,” Gershon said, his voice still soft and quiet. “She no leave.”
“To save her from you!” Astrid cried. “To keep her alive. And in the end she wanted to stay with us, not you. She chose us to be her family, not you.”
Instead of continuing in broken Northlander, Gershon spoke rapidly in his native Midlander language.
Having no idea what he said but convinced he was scrambling to gain sympathy from the crowd surrounding them, Astrid stood her ground, shouting, “Liar!”
Flushing with rage, Gershon placed his meaty hands on the remains of the crate before him and ripped it apart, throwing the shards to either side while he pushed Starlight's blade away.
Astrid dropped her sword and then circled it above her shoulder, bringing it down to rest against his neck.
Gershon stopped, breathing heavily with frustration. Staring into Astrid's eyes, he said, “Love Margreet.” Tears burst from his eyes and ran down his cheeks. “Miss Margreet. Every day.”
Before she could slit his throat, Astrid found herself pulled back by the Iron Maidens flanking her.
On her right, Kikita dug her fingers into Astrid's biceps, holding her back from Gershon. “He claims it was a trial by combat,” Kikita said. “Word of this trial spread throughout the Midlands as well as the Southlands. Everyone knows of it. Even Vinchi says it was a true and legal battle.”
Astrid struggled only to find more Iron Maidens holding her back.
“No!” Astrid cried out. “She did nothing to harm him! She was innocent!”
Kikita frowned. “It was combat. Margreet had a weapon.”
Ignoring her, Astrid's chest heaved while she struggled against the hands holding her back. “He could have just left.”
“In the eyes of the law,” Kikita said, “he did nothing wrong. If you want to fight him, you must challenge him.”
“Have you forgotten what the Krystrs did to Efflin?” Astrid cried. “To Jewely? He did the same to Margreet. He's a killer! A monster!”
A slow trickle of blood stained Gershon's shirt from where Starlight's tip had nicked his neck, but he took no notice of it. “Monster,” he said, considering the word. Still weeping, he took a long look at Starlight. His face softened, as if the world suddenly made sense to him. Shifting his gaze to Astrid, he said, “Dragonslayer.”
“Yes,” she said as the Iron Maidens continued holding her back. “I kill lizards. But I can kill monsters, too.”
Gershon nodded slowly. Sweeping his arm across another crate to clear away the displayed furs, he then knelt and put his head on the crate. He spread his arms out to either side, seemingly waiting for execution.
Astrid's heart flamed with elation.
“That is not why we are here,” Kikita said while she and the Iron Maidens pulled Astrid farther away.
“The law is the law. And we all obey it.” Thorda gently pried Astrid's fingers from Starlight's hilt. “Do not be like him,” Thorda said.
Astrid shook with rage when she saw Komdra and Dirin approach Gershon and speak with him.
She turned her attention to Thorda, suddenly hating the Iron Maiden. “Who are you,” Astrid said, “to tell me not to kill?”
CHAPTER 67
“Gershon was in league with the Krystrs,” Astrid said, trying to calm herself in an effort to be heard. “You killed the Krystr clerks easily enough. Why not kill Gershon, too?”
Gershon stood from the crate where he’d knelt to offer Astrid the opportunity to cut off his head. Now flanked by Komdra and Dirin, he listened closely as they spoke to him in the Midlander language.
“This not battle,” Thorda said in a soothing voice. “This is village. We keep peace here.” She placed an equally soothing hand on Astrid’s shoulder.
Astrid shoved away Thorda’s touch. “Then you’re putting all our lives in danger. Have you forgotten that Mandulane’s men murdered Efflin and Jewely and some of Komdra’s men? What makes you think he won’t try to murder the rest of us?”
Kikita eased her way to stand between Astrid and a teary-eyed Thorda. “There is only one of him,” Kikita said. “And there are still many of us.”
“What if he murders us in our sleep?” Astrid shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Gershon.
“That will not happen,” Kikita said. “We have safety in our own numbers and those of Komdra. Gershon cannot harm us.”
“But he could betray us. What do you think will stop him from telling Mandulane?”
Astrid struggled to keep what she had left of her composure, worried as Kikita and Thorda exchanged doubting glances.
Kikita then called out a question in Midlander to Dirin, who answered with a nod.
; “Gershon no longer follows the Krystrs,” Kikita said. “He could face his own danger by approaching Mandulane.”
* * *
Gershon did not want to stay on the coast and join the ranks of Northlander men preparing to fight the inevitable Krystr invasion. Instead, he agreed to spread the word as he journeyed throughout the Northlands, selling his goods.
The morning Gershon left, Astrid stalked him, convinced he could not be trusted. Unable to sleep, she rose before the others and waited outside the home where Gershon boarded.
A hand clapped Astrid’s shoulder. Jumping in surprise, she turned to see Komdra standing behind her.
Komdra squeezed her shoulder, his brow knotted with worry while he shook his head.
Astrid jerked herself free from his touch. She crossed her arms.
Komdra sighed in resignation and shouted, “Kikita!” Moments later, the Iron Maiden appeared carrying a basket of fresh food she must have just purchased.
“Leave me alone,” Astrid whispered.
Komdra pointed at the house, gave Kikita a knowing glance, and said, “Gershon.”
“Gershon can’t be trusted,” Astrid explained.
Kikita weighed her words before offering them. “So you plan to murder him? How will you pay for that crime? By handing over your sword? Do you have any other means to pay the fine for killing a man? Or have you forgotten the consequences for murder in your homeland?”
A chill overcame Astrid. Kikita spoke the truth. Killing Gershon would be cold-blooded murder. By law, Astrid would have to confess to killing him and pay a hefty fine for her crime.
And killing Gershon wouldn’t bring Margreet back to life.
What is happening to me?
Disturbed by her own behavior, Astrid reconsidered her plan. “Will you stay with me to make sure he leaves this morning, as he promised?” she said.
Kikita nodded.
Although Komdra didn’t understand their words, he also stayed until Gershon left that morning.
Astrid felt the islander’s sharp gaze upon her the entire time.
* * *
