by Resa Nelson
Taddeo cocked his head to one side. “I simply needed Mauri to align with you and carry out your plans for Astrid. I never approved the woman’s murder. The alchemist’s participation boiled down to nothing more than a necessity to keep you appeased. You are the one who made the decision to kill the girl. You are the one who bears the greatest responsibility.”
Rubbing the side of his head where Bee had pulled out his hair, Drageen let his anger continue to rise. “What have you done with the Scaldings? Where are they?”
“Gone,” Taddeo said. “When we reclaimed our rightful home, we allowed them to leave in safety.”
“Rightful home.” Drageen spat the words out as if their bitter taste offended his mouth. “It was given to my grandfather. Tower Island belongs to the Scaldings!”
“Of course it does,” a woman said, emerging from the dark doorway of the tower. Her skin shone alabaster white and her long black hair curled like smoke. She walked from the darkness into sunlight, and Drageen thought he saw sparks dance across her shoulders. Her flame-colored gown swirled around her legs. Orange, red, and yellow sparkling gems encrusted the gown's bodice and high standing collar. “Tower Island also belongs to us, and we’re in greater need of it.”
“Fiera,” Taddeo said, “meet your nephew.”
Fiera joined Taddeo’s side, brushing imaginary wrinkles from her gown.
Drageen opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. Surely, the dragons were taunting him.
“Do with him as you wish,” Taddeo said, turning toward the tower. “We have what we need from him. I do not care what happens next.”
“How charming,” Fiera said. “My own nephew can’t believe dragon’s blood runs in his veins.”
“It’s impossible,” Drageen said. “No wife of a dragonslayer would ever lie with a dragon. My mother may have been unfaithful to her husband, but I remember her well enough to know she would never sink that low.”
Fiera laughed. “You believe your mother was unfaithful, but you’re wrong. You’ve always been wrong. The dragonslayer was Astrid’s father and yours.”
Drageen’s head spun.
The dragon toys with me. But why? What can she gain from this game she plays? I’m a Scalding! And dragons are lowly creatures that are far too impressed with themselves.
“What I tell you is true,” Fiera said, seeming to lose patience. “The ability to produce bloodstones comes from the lineage of dragons, not dragonslayers.”
“No,” Drageen insisted. “No dragon can be a dragonslayer.”
“That’s true,” Fiera said. “For dragons that have pure blood.” She sighed loudly, as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders.
“The dragon wasn’t your father,” she said. “The dragon was my sister. Your mother.”
CHAPTER 18
For the rest of the day, Astrid worked in the Boglanders' simple smithery at Peat's side. The smithery stood in the open air, protected by a free-standing roof.
Despite the warmth of the summer day, Astrid welcomed the rise of the heat from the smithing fire like a long-lost friend. She relished the way the thick black smoke clung to her skin and climbed inside her nose. Although Peat's hammers were a little too large for her hands, Astrid didn't mind. She simply choked up her grip on the handle until the hammer's weight and balance felt right.
When they paused to evaluate the work they'd just quenched, Astrid said, “If you're a blacksmith, why did you decide to come to the Boglands?”
Every time Peat grinned, his face lit up. “Nothing like being replaced by some upstarts to make you yearn for a place where you'll be appreciated.”
Astrid picked up the cuff she'd forged, pulling on it to test the rivets. “Any village would be foolish to let you go.”
Peat used his sleeve to brush slag off the face of his anvil. “Boglanders' gain,” he said brightly, still grinning.
Astrid squinted up at the sky, covered so completely by low-hanging clouds that it appeared white. In the distance, the clouds hung like a veil across the mountains. “Looks like rain moving in.”
“Could be,” Peat grunted. “Could be not.” He looked up and followed Astrid's gaze. “But let's say it is and be done with it.” He picked up a bucket of ash and dumped it on the fire to put it out.
His sudden action startled Astrid. “We haven't made a chain yet.”
Peat shrugged. “There's one strung up like a fence by the west gate. It's serving no purpose. Only thing that can get to the west gate is animals and they pay no mind to that chain.”
Astrid helped Peat clean up the smithery and put his tools in the places where they belonged. They gathered up the cuffs and iron pins they'd forged and walked to the nearest bog.
Located near the smithery, the bog looked smaller than the one Astrid had worked. The stone walkway surrounding it stood like a high wall.
Using her bog rake, Astrid had wrangled the lizard from the working bogs to this abandoned one, searched so thoroughly for so many years that it had no more lumps of iron to yield. The lizard thrashed in protest when Astrid mustered it into the bog water, and now it clung to the rough surface of the rocky wall and gave a fearful look at the shallow water.
Clearly, it's no dragon. A dragon would have changed its shape and climbed out by now.
“Look who it be!” a man said behind her. “The barbarian girl!”
Smiling, Astrid turned around. “Stop calling me a barbarian.”
The two men still bore scars of their first encounter with Astrid. The man she'd always thought of as Lumpy bore a permanent misshapen knot on his forehead from where she'd hit him with a hammer, while Broken Nose sported a crooked nose from where her thrown hammer had connected with his face.
“That ain't her,” Broken Nose said. He pointed at Astrid. “The last time we seen that girl, she lost an arm to a dragon. This girl's got both arms.” Broken Nose thwacked the side of Lumpy's head. “Did you think she grew it back?”
“Oh,” Lumpy said, his voice sinking in disappointment. He rubbed the spot where Broken Nose hit him. “But it look like her and all.”
“It is me,” Astrid said. “A dragon took my arm away, and a dragon gave it back.”
Broken Nose frowned and his face darkened. “That ain't right.”
Lumpy brightened. “Maybe she be a monster like we told people!” Buoyed by a new wave of excitement, Lumpy jumped up and down, pointing past Astrid. “Look at that dragon she got cornered in the bog! I told you it be her! She become a dragonslayer girl, remember?”
Leaning on her bog rake, Astrid looked them up and down. The men looked well fed and healthy. “What happened to that village? The one where you told everyone I was a monster who would eat their children?”
“It ain't a village no more,” Broken Nose said.
Lumpy cut him off. “Merchants coming through told us about the Krystr soldiers in the Midlands. Drageen always said if they get as far as the Midlands, the Northlands be next. We came up to the Boglands to work enough to buy us a ship. Then we be going to the Land of Ice.”
Broken Nose kicked him. “Ain't no need to go around telling every living creature our plans!” Broken Nose glared at Astrid. “What if that one wants to come with us?”
“The Land of Ice?” Astrid said, wondering if she’d misheard.
Lumpy nudged Broken Nose. “See? I told you most folks never hear of it.” To Astrid, Lumpy said, “Most think it be nothing but legend, but we met men who been there. It be far north, even of the Northlands. They say it be so close to the top of the world, there's ice on top of every mountain, being so cold and all.”
“We ain't got room for you,” Broken Nose said to Astrid while he eyeballed her. “Already got enough for a full boat.”
“Don't worry,” Astrid said, stifling a laugh. “I have no desire to go to the Land of Ice.”
“We can buy a ship with the iron we find and smelt into blooms,” Lumpy added. “Or trade, if we find someone in need of fresh iron who got a ship to sel
l.”
“That's nice,” Astrid said. “But if you don't mind, I've got a lizard to tend.”
Lumpy shrieked like a little boy and clung fiercely to Broken Nose. “Now it be climbing on the rocks behind the barbarian monster girl!”
Broken Nose paled. He took a step back but stumbled. “Quiet! If it don't notice us, it'll kill her instead!”
Resisting the urge to laugh, Astrid showed the iron cuffs to the former brigands.
“No!” Broken Nose hissed, taking another backward step. “Ain't no way you getting those on us!”
“They're not for you.”
Lumpy happily punched Broken Nose in the arm. “They be for the dragon.”
Astrid turned back to the lizard clinging to the rock wall of the abandoned bog and approached it with care.
“That be the dragon that ate your arm?” Lumpy called out.
“No.” Astrid took time to focus her attention on the lizard, which flicked its yellow tongue rapidly and watched her every step.
“Be it the one that gave your arm back?”
“No.”
The lizard became perfectly still, but it continued to study Astrid.
“Be it a dragon you don't know?”
“Yes.”
Astrid extended the bog rake like a sword, pointing the tines of the rake at the lizard's mouth.
“Then why don't you bash it in the head and stun it?”
The lizard blinked, and Astrid thought she saw hatred in its eyes.
Suddenly, Lumpy's idea didn't seem like a bad one.
With lightning speed, the lizard scampered up the rock wall and onto the stone path, charging toward Astrid.
Using the bog rake like a sword, Astrid delivered a horizontal cut, and the iron rake head thudded against the lizard's head. Conscious but dazed, the lizard stumbled and collapsed at Astrid's feet.
She dropped to her knees and fastened the iron cuffs around the lizard's paws. After securing each cuff in place, she pushed the young lizard onto its back, exposing its belly. She attached the chain she'd brought with her diagonally from one of the lizard's front paws to its opposing back paw to control the length of its stride, making it impossible for the lizard to run.
“I almost forgot to show you my girl,” Lumpy announced. He crept toward Astrid while keeping a sharp eye on the groggy lizard. Lumpy fingered a patch of tanned hide the size of his palm that he kept tied to his belt. His face lit up like sunrise on a clear morning. “You ever seen such a beauty?”
Astrid placed the final cuff around the lizard's neck, and held onto the attached chain like a leash. She used her bog rake to pin the lizard's head to the ground. She looked up to see the image of a baby's face carved into the patch of leather hide. Confused, she said, “Who is this?”
Lumpy beamed. “My baby girl.”
Looking at the brigand's face, Astrid noticed an unexpected softness in his manner along with the pride that new fathers could barely contain. “She's beautiful. And who knew you were such an artist?”
“It be her mother that drew this. We all be going to the Land of Ice soon as we can buy a ship to go there.”
Broken Nose snorted. “Ain't never can get there if you don't stop your infernal yapping. Put away that looky-look so we can get back to bogging for iron!”
Lumpy sighed. He gave Astrid a knowing look and a shrug. “You know him and his ways. But we do got to get working.” He winked. “I expect we be seeing you later and all, and you can meet my family then.”
“I'm looking forward to it,” Astrid said, surprised that she meant it.
“Sometime today,” Broken Nose growled.
“Hold your horses,” Lumpy said. He gave a little wave before turning away from Astrid and walking back toward Broken Nose.
“We don't got no more horses since you tied them up outside of town where the dragons hauled them off for supper.”
“I'm not the one who left them there. I learned my lesson the first time we was in her village and I lost Blossom.”
“If I hear one more word about Blossom, I'll feed you to the dragons myself!”
Suddenly, the stone in Astrid’s hand shot a beam of light toward the northwest.
The brigands spun to face her, stunned by the sight of the brilliant light.
Broken Nose pointed an accusing finger at Astrid. “White sorcery!”
Without thinking, Astrid showed the palms of her hands to the brigands in a gesture of surrender. “It’s not in my control!”
The beam shooting from the center of one hand swung into the eyes of the brigands, momentarily blinding them.
“Help!” Broken Nose shouted. “The barbarian sorceress is killing us!”
Horrified, Astrid swung her hands around until the beam of light stabilized toward the northwest again.
Lumpy blinked the brightness out of his eyes and then stared at the beam. “Wait. This be no sorcery. This be portent come true.”
Startled, Broken Nose cast a suspicious glance at his colleague. “Portent? What portent?”
Boglanders came one by one in response to Broken Nose’s call for help, staring at the beam of light and keeping their distance from Astrid.
Lumpy took a hesitant step toward Astrid, now studying her. “Had a grandmum from the Far East. She told me about them customs and beliefs and stories in the Far East. Always had a favorite, one about a Scalding destined to lead any Northlanders in trouble to a safe place.” Lumpy’s voice softened. “That be why I went so quick to work for Drageen, him being a Scalding and all. I figured he had to be the one Grandmum used to talk about. She said a Scalding would light the way for Northlanders like us.”
Broken Nose quivered as if he didn’t know whether to be furious or terrified. “What should any of that have to do with this barbarian?”
Lumpy stared at Astrid, his face glowing with wonder. “Grandmum said powerful light comes from dragons, and the only ones they trust with it is Scaldings.”
“But Drageen ain’t here,” Broken Nose protested.
“Only one answer,” Lumpy said. “I always thought it would be Drageen. Or a Scalding man. We known her all this time, and she never told us her family name.” Pointing at Astrid, he said, “That be a Scalding girl. And she be the one my Grandmum told me about.”
CHAPTER 19
Mandulane's camp spread like a great city of blue tents in a place that had once been the Midlands' northernmost port city. Thousands of tents formed a massive cluster around the well-guarded pavilion where Mandulane currently considered the man who knelt at his feet.
“I am no spy, my Lord,” the man said, looking at the floor.
One of the guards behind the kneeling man stepped forward, disgust contorting his face. “Don't believe a word that comes out of this sneaky little bugger's mouth! We caught him stealing—”
“I didn't know I was stealing,” the captive said, looking up to meet Mandulane's eyes. His triangular face ended with a sharply pointed chin. “My eldest son longs to become one of your soldiers when he’s old enough, but he has fallen ill. I came here seeking herbs to heal him.”
The guard kneed the man in the back but stopped when Mandulane signaled him.
“I understand,” Mandulane said. “I once did something similar.”
Mandulane remembered the deaths of his parents. His mother died giving birth to his youngest sibling, a girl child. His father became sick a few years later. When Mandulane desperately sought help for his father, no one would listen to his pleas.
Not knowing what else to do, Mandulane stole food, thinking it would mend his father. Instead, Mandulane was caught in the midst of his theft and put into a cellar for a few days as punishment.
Once freed, he ran home to find his father dead and his spinster aunt taking over the family home. Although kind to Mandulane at first, his aunt was a woman easily influenced by others. Wracked with envy of her neighbors who bought slaves captured from the Northlands, she began treating Mandulane like her own slave while coddl
ing his young sister, the only sibling who hadn’t run away during his absence.
Even now, Mandulane took a deep breath to calm himself. He remembered working from sunup to sundown at the whim of his horrible aunt, all the time dogged by a younger sister who wanted to watch everything he did. He grew to hate them both, feeling stifled and enslaved by their whims. Anger and resentment boiled inside him like a slow-cooking stew.
One day, his sister followed him to the stream where he washed the family laundry. She waded deeper and deeper into the water. Mandulane poured his hatred into beating the dirt out of the clothes. After all, laundry was women's work, and doing it embarrassed him. He heard a small cry and looked up to see his sister slip and fall in the stream.
His instinct had been to rush to her aid, but his contempt stopped him. Watching her head slip below the water, which churned with her splashing attempts to help herself, a sense of calm washed through him. It seemed as if some higher power cleansed him in the same way he cleaned the clothes.
After his dead sister's body floated to the surface, he watched the current wash it away, suddenly filled with enlightenment and purpose.
Women caused problems in the world, and this higher power had eliminated one of Mandulane's most nagging problems.
Inspired, he left the laundry half-done at the stream and returned home. When he entered the cottage, his aunt asked why he returned without either the laundry or his little sister. Mandulane answered by picking up a heavy iron cooking ladle and beating her to death with it.
From that moment on, his life had become his to live without being meddled by bothersome women. Mandulane eventually met other men who had found the same kind of spiritual enlightenment and introduced him to the new god Krystr.
Mandulane's mission was to make sure no boy ever had to endure the kind of torture he'd experienced in his own childhood.
Perhaps the man who knelt before him truly tried to help his son in the same way Mandulane once tried to help his own father.
