by Resa Nelson
Watching the sun rise above the ocean's edge, Komdra smiled. Already the sky radiated a pure blue color above the spreading orange hue. The waves ran steady and calm, crashing upon the nearby beach and leaving noodles of seaweed behind. Not beautiful like his home in the Western Islands, but beautiful nonetheless.
Along with a few of his men from the Western Islands, Thorda, and a few other Iron Maidens, he'd traveled south of the trading town of Gott and spread the warning about Mandulane and his plans to invade. Northlanders now secured their farms and sharpened their weapons, ready to travel to all the port cities in the Northlands and protect them from invasion.
He didn't flinch at a low growl emerging from the pit dug into the sand yesterday afternoon by his men. However, the same did not hold true for the clerk they'd found in the nearby port town, who paled to a shade whiter than the smock he wore beneath his belted brown robe.
Komdra smiled, speaking his enemy's name for the pleasure of watching him squirm. “Clerk Thomas.”
The short man with bushy brown hair stood still, surrounded by a few Iron Maidens armed with axes. His blue eyes seemed to pale like his skin. The man claimed to be a clerk, a man who spread the word of the new god, Krystr. But for now he simply swallowed hard and said, “Yes, sir.”
Komdra started in surprise. They'd discovered the man in town last night, hog-tied him, and left him close enough to the water's edge to make him wonder if the incoming tide would drown him. No one had bothered speaking to him yet, and Komdra assumed the clerk spoke only Southlander or Midlander. Suspicious, Komdra took his time to think through every question before asking it. “You know the language of the Western Islands?”
His men loosened the clerk's bonds enough to prop him in a kneeling position in front of Komdra while keeping the enemy's hands tied behind his back. “Clerks are learned men,” Clerk Thomas said. “We know many languages in order to—” He stopped abruptly, thinking better of what he had planned to say.
Komdra nodded. Of course the clerks knew many languages. It would be necessary to force people in other countries to give up their own beliefs and embrace the new Krystr god. But knowing many languages could serve more than one purpose. “All the better for you to explain Mandulane's plans to invade the Northlands.”
Clerk Thomas sputtered in protest. “I'm but a simple clerk! Mandulane holds the highest position of Krystr power. Why would he confide in me?”
With Hevrick translating, Astrid had told Komdra all her suspicions before she and Kikita set off for Guell. They'd seen Clerk Thomas in the market town of Gott. Astrid believed the clerk held sway over Gershon and influenced his decision to request formal combat with Margreet, resulting in her death. Astrid experienced Gershon to be a strong-willed man, so his acquiescence to a Krystr clerk sparked her concern about Clerk Thomas's ability to control the will of others.
In Astrid's opinion, Clerk Thomas threatened to be as grave a danger, if not even more grave, than Mandulane himself.
The kneeling clerk stayed silent, so Komdra took a step toward him and said, “Tell me how Mandulane expects to conquer these lands.”
Instead of responding, Clerk Thomas tucked his chin to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut.
Komdra gazed at the pit dug into the sand, surrounded by several of his men and the Iron Maiden Thorda, a Midlander woman who stood tall and sturdy like most Northlander women but with hair the color of tree bark instead of hay. He watched Thorda gaze into the pit, pull her sword from its sheath, and walk toward him.
She spoke, knowing Komdra couldn't understand her words but that Clerk Thomas would.
Sure enough, the clerk looked up sharply as Thorda joined Komdra's side. Although he didn't recognize a single word she spoke, during the past several weeks they'd discovered a commonality that made it easy to read each other. Thorda pointed the tip of her sword at Clerk Thomas, then at the pit.
“No!” Clerk Thomas shouted. “That will not be necessary!”
After pretending to mull the situation over for a few moments, Komdra nodded his consent to Thorda’s unspoken recommendation. Thorda and another Iron Maiden approached the clerk from behind, looped their arms under his armpits, and dragged him across the beach toward the pit.
“No!” Clerk Thomas screamed, thrashing ineffectively. He tried to dig his heels into the uncooperative sand. “How can you throw me in there with a dragon?”
Komdra waited until the Iron Maidens hauled the clerk to the edge of the pit before he signaled them to pause. Komdra shouted, “Tell me!”
“I know nothing to tell! I do not know Mandulane. He is surrounded by soldiers. It is the soldiers who know his plans, not I.”
Komdra shook his head in disappointment and looked down at the sand, unable to bear the sight of the clerk.
“Please!” Clerk Thomas screamed. “Have mercy!”
Taking his time, Komdra looked up to see the Iron Maidens ready to throw the clerk into the pit. Komdra waved his hand nonchalantly, and the Iron Maidens paused.
Komdra motioned for them to release the clerk from his bonds. It would be kinder to throw him unbound to the dragon. That way, the dragon would understand the sight of prey trying to escape rather than be confused by something tied with ropes that required chewing. The dragon would kill the clerk more quickly and efficiently.
Thorda looked at Komdra as if he'd gone mad. She gestured with her sword, offering to decapitate the clerk before tossing him into the pit.
Although tempted to take her up on the offer, Komdra shook it away. He believed Thorda’s solution to be kinder than the clerk deserved.
Clerk Thomas kept still, and Thorda sliced him free from his bonds. When she finished her last cut, the clerk sprang to his feet and bolted toward the shore.
Surprised, the Iron Maidens and Komdra's men chased after him, but the clerk ran faster than any of them could have imagined.
Clerk Thomas slogged into the shallow depths of the incoming waves, but then he sprang into a shallow dive and glided through them.
Being the closest on his heels, Thorda shoved her sword into its sheath, ripping it from her waist and hurling it onto the beach. She threw herself toward Clerk Thomas, but a wave swelled past him and hit her squarely in the face.
Thorda struggled and lost her balance, falling into waist-deep water that threatened to drag her into the sea. Another wave, thick with white foam, crashed over her head, and Thorda disappeared.
“Thorda!” Komdra bolted from the soft dry sand onto the shoreline, firm with packed sand from the high tide that now retreated. Thorda’s hair spread across the water's surface like seaweed.
Komdra rushed past the others running to her aid, more concerned with saving her than stopping Clerk Thomas. Sliding across the water, Komdra soon reached her side, sank one hand into the thickness of her floating hair, and pulled her above water. She coughed fiercely, and Komdra carried her back to shore while the others slogged in pursuit of Clerk Thomas, who now swam away.
Thorda gasped for air. She collapsed on the beach. Komdra kept one hand on her shoulder while he gazed out to sea and spotted Clerk Thomas distancing himself from the shore. The other men and Iron Maidens gave up, knowing the opportunity to catch him had slipped through their fingers the moment they went to Thorda’s aid.
The sea separating the Northlands from the Midlands was narrow but treacherous due to the rocky terrain beneath its surface and its strong undertow. Dragons swam it regularly and with ease. Komdra once heard of a man who crossed the sea by swimming, but he'd been an exceptional specimen of strength and stamina. Clerk Thomas couldn't hold a candle to such a man. Why would he choose to swim out to sea instead of take his chances running down the beach?
“Hevrick!” Komdra shouted. He kept a steady hand on Thorda's shoulder, determined to stay by her side until certain that she faced no danger.
Hevrick joined Thorda's side.
“Go back to Gott,” Komdra instructed him. “Stop any men from gathering at the port towns. Te
ll them to come here to the Southern coast instead.”
Hevrick frowned. “We agreed guarding the Southern coast is pointless. It is too dangerous for ships to sail.” He paused, struggling to be tactful. “That is why there are no port cities on the Southern coast.”
“And that gives reason for Mandulane to attack here. Send every man and ship to me. We must develop a line of outposts along the entire Southern coast. We’ll set up a warning system so that when Mandulane attacks, we can alert everyone the moment it happens.”
Hevrick fidgeted. “What if they won't give up the plan to guard the port cities?”
Komdra watched Thorda until she met his gaze and saw gratitude in her eyes. He squeezed her shoulder before releasing it and stood to face Hevrick. “Tell them the only reason a Krystr clerk would choose to swim to the isle-lets off the Southern coast is if he knows there is a ship sailing somewhere nearby that can rescue him.”
Komdra pointed at Clerk Thomas, now a small figure in the ocean who headed toward a tiny island no larger than a cottage. A series of rocky islands looked like a path of stepping stones stretching far out into the sea. A man could swim to one and rest however long he needed before swimming to the next. Once far enough out to sea, a ship could sail close enough for a man to swim to it.
Hevrick followed Komdra’s gaze, his face sagging with apprehension.
Komdra clapped a hand on Hevrick’s shoulder. “Take heart. Remember the isle-lets are the reason why ships sail past this Southern shore and up to the eastern ports. Just like you said, this sea is too dangerous for ships to sail. The jagged rocks beneath these waters will tear apart all but Northlander ships, and even those sail at a certain degree of risk.”
Komdra watched while the diminishing figure of Clerk Thomas splashed his way out to a rocky isle-let.
CHAPTER 6
After searching for Astrid in the woods alongside Randim, Lenore, and Donel, Trep paused when they reached the edge of their village. He noticed the young dragons guarding the gates of Guell.
Odd things, they were. Young enough to be playful as puppies while large enough to jump on a man and pin him to the ground with ease. Trep swore that every time one of them looked at him, it sized him up like a cow that could easily be ripped apart for supper.
But then the dragon's amber eyes would glow with an intelligence Trep never dreamed possible in such a creature. Could it be that the dragon remembered it owed its life to Astrid and honored an unspoken pact that it would never harm any of her people?
The young dragons Astrid had named Smoke, Fire, and Slag heaved sighs of disappointment. They sank to the ground, crossed their front paws in resignation, and looked mournfully at the villagers wishing to walk past them and through the gates to Guell. Trep imagined the dragons would prefer to eat the people instead.
“Makes my skin crawl, they do,” Trep muttered. He led the others between the young dragons, their eyes wide and sad.
“They come in mighty handy against that Krystr spy, though,” young Donel piped up happily. “You got to give them that.”
Trep knew Donel had dogged Astrid for years to become her blacksmithing assistant and eventually became exactly that, mostly by wearing her down.
Randim snorted but held Lenore's hand tightly.
She paled and trembled at the sight of the dragons, making her feet become transparent and weak.
“What we should do is kill one of them and feed off it,” Randim said. Pointing at Lenore’s feet, he added, “You need dragon meat to keep those feet solid.”
Trep couldn't help but shake his head. He'd heard of shapeshifters before coming to Guell, with Astrid being the first one he'd met in the flesh. But Lenore beat all. In her past, she'd begged a blacksmith to cut off her feet to save her life, and the feet she walked on today came out of her belief in them. Trep never would have imagined such a thing if he hadn't known Lenore and watched her feet fade in and out with his own eyes.
Randim scooped Lenore up in his arms before she could stumble, and carried her through the gate that Trep opened. Donel followed.
Trep shut and locked the gate behind them. The young dragons carried out their ritual: they sprang forward and hurled themselves against the gate, which shook and clanged loudly.
Trep crossed his arms, glad to be standing on the safe side of the iron gate and fence he and the other blacksmiths forged years ago. “Very amusing,” he said dryly to the animals that now paced and flicked their tongues at him.
“They think they're being funny,” Donel said. He walked several paces behind Trep on the path to Guell. “Just look at them. All grinning and pleased with themselves.”
Donel spoke the truth. The young dragons' eyes gleamed with amusement, and their jaws hung open as if they were laughing.
“Don't know what she sees in them,” Trep said under his breath. He turned his back on the creatures.
Lenore's feet became more solid, so Randim let her slip out of his arms. Guell appeared around a bend of trees, and they walked rapidly toward the heart of the village.
Donel ran to catch up with Trep and paced by his side. “Don't worry about Mistress Dragonslayer,” Donel said. “DiStephan would go missing for weeks at a time when he was our dragonslayer, and nothing ever happened to him.”
Trep turned his head slowly to give Donel a pointed look.
Donel frowned, realizing his mistake. “Well, except for that one time he was killed by a dragon, but that doesn't mean that's what's happened to Mistress Dragonslayer. She's very smart and quick and never gets fooled by a dragon.” Donel paused. “Well, that's not exactly true. There have been a few times—”
“Enough,” Trep said quietly. He knew the boy meant no harm. Donel cared for Astrid just as much as anybody else in Guell, maybe more than most.
Trep tried to ignore his stomach even though it churned with worry. They'd checked the most obvious places: the dragonslayer's camp outside of Guell, the farmlands surrounding the village, and the woods.
They'd found no trace of Astrid anywhere, and Trep couldn't bear the thought that once again she'd left without saying anything to him.
He hoped she’d run off, no matter how unbearable the thought.
It was better than any alternative he could think of.
CHAPTER 7
Astrid woke up on the beach next to the large pile of papery skin. Startled by it, she thought she’d only dreamed about the skin she’d shed. How could it be real?
Sitting up sharply, she stared at it.
Impossible. That can't have come from me. It must be part of the debris from Dragon's Head that washed up on shore.
A gentle breeze ruffled the papery pile, startling Astrid so much that she skittered away from it on her hands and feet like a crab. She scanned the beach and the stretch of grass at the foot of the walkway in search of other papery piles but saw nothing like the one near her.
A low beam of light rested across the wooden walkway.
It’s gone. The wall of light has given up on keeping me from Guell.
But the moment Astrid set foot on the wooden boards the low-lying beam raised itself into a wall again.
Instead of running at it, Astrid took her time stepping toward it, reaching out with her hands to feel its bright surface, now cool and smooth to the touch. She tried easing her way through it, but the light’s surface wouldn’t yield any more than a wall made of iron. She tried climbing over it, but the wall rose out of her reach.
Thinking she could dig in the ground beneath it, Astrid discovered the light sinking into the depths of the sand. She looked for a way around it, but the wall extended itself on each side so that it spread along the coast to the north and the south.
“Trep!” Astrid shouted from behind the wall of light. “Lenore! Donel! I’m here!”
But the wind pushed back so hard from the land that it carried her voice out to sea. The light filled the wall so brightly that Astrid could see nothing beyond it.
Anyone on the other side of t
he wall would be equally blinded by its light, making it impossible to see Astrid.
The dragons are behind this! They’re probably angry that I set Drageen free and then escaped from Dragon’s Head. How could I have been so foolish to imagine Taddeo or any of the other dragons would give me a true second chance? He probably set me free so he could use me in some way. I could stay here for weeks and they’d make sure no one in Guell could hear me or see me.
Astrid crossed her arms and stared at the wall of light. “What am I supposed to do? Stay on this side and walk to the North?”
The wall brightened as if happy that Astrid finally understood its intent.
Shaking her head in resentment, Astrid muttered “Dragons,” under her breath and walked in the only direction the light would allow.
* * *
“Astrid!” Trep called out. He returned to her cottage and smithery, hoping she'd come back. He found no sign of her.
He stood in her smithery, letting his hands rest on the anvil, cool and solid and strong. Tiny pit marks covered its surface, dusty to the touch with slag. The scent of smoke hung heavy in the air, even though Trep had put out the forging fire hours ago.
He examined the smithery, but every tool stood in its place. If she'd left, that meant she'd taken nothing other than Falling Star with her. How peculiar that she’d left Starlight behind, the first sword she'd made and the one she kept by her side at all costs.
Frustrated, Trep ground his teeth.
Where are you, Woman?
The incoming sea wind brought a woman’s voice with it. “Trep!”
He bolted out of the smithery toward the edge of the grassy lawn that bordered Dragon's Teeth Field. Trep squinted against the blazing sun hanging low on the horizon. It blinded him for a few moments. He strained to hear her voice, but waves crashed hard against the beach on the other side of Dragon's Teeth Field.
Trep saw no sign of her. “Astrid! Where are you?”
