by Resa Nelson
“Let him stand,” Mandulane told the guard.
Grudgingly, the guard stepped back.
The man rose to his feet. Standing slightly taller than Mandulane, he wore a fabulous coat made of patches of different leathers riveted together over a simple tunic. The leathers ranged in color from tan to a deep rich brown, and the rivets shined like gold even in the diffused light inside Mandulane's tent.
Mandulane stepped forward and ran his forefinger across the man's shoulder, sighing at the soft touch of the leather. “I would believe your story if I wore such a fine coat as this.”
The captive looked stunned for a moment but then gathered his wits. He took his coat off and presented it to Mandulane. “Of course, my Lord. It would do me honor to see you wear it as your own.”
Before Mandulane could dismiss him, a boy rushed into the tent. “Supper,” the boy said simply and then turned to leave.
“Wait!” Mandulane cried out.
Wide-eyed, the boy halted in mid-step.
“Face me.”
The boy turned slowly, fear welling in his eyes.
Mandulane believed he'd seen the boy countless times but had never noticed the purse that hung from his belt until now. “Where did you get that?” Mandulane said, pointing at the purse with a flap made from the triangular face of a fox.
“One of the men in camp is a merchant,” the boy said. “He gave it to me for good service.”
Mandulane nodded. He absorbed the very becoming design of the purse. “I see.” Turning his attention back to his captive, Mandulane waved a dismissive hand at the boy, who bolted out of sight.
Mandulane had been debating with himself about the best way to strike fear into the hearts of Northlanders. They seemed to be fiercer than any people his soldiers had fought to date.
Perhaps he could accomplish that task through a fashion statement.
He accepted the many-leathered coat from his captive and tried it on, delighted to discover it made a perfect fit. “Guard,” Mandulane said. “Kill him. But don't leave any marks on his face.”
“My Lord!” the captive cried out in horror. The guards grabbed him, dragging him out of the tent while he kicked and screamed.
Another guard poked his head inside the tent. “The guard ship picked up a clerk out of the sea. He claims to know the Northlanders. He says they plot against you.”
Mandulane sighed. “How irritating. Question him more. With enthusiasm, this time. If he seems to be telling the truth, bring him to me.”
The guard nodded and disappeared.
Happy to be left to his own devices, Mandulane pranced back and forth inside his tent as he admired himself in his new leather coat.
CHAPTER 20
Komdra made it a habit to survey his stretch of coast every morning at sunrise.
The Southern coast of the Northlands stretched flat, and the ocean waves lapped gently upon it. The narrow beach consisted of sand mixed with dirt, small rocks, and empty shells left by the seabirds that waded in shallow pools for shellfish and flew high above the beach to drop them on the rocks and crack them open. Stranded seaweed touched the air with a fishy stench. Woods of leafy trees and evergreens stood a short distance behind the beach.
Here, Komdra, the Iron Maidens, and his men set up a hidden camp, which would be undetectable by any ships that might sail within sight of land.
Of course, they’d seen no ships during the few weeks they’d been here, but the fact that Clerk Thomas chose to escape by swimming into the sea still troubled Komdra. The clerk could have survived only if he’d been confident in swimming from isle-let to isle-let, planning to stay on the one farthest out to sea until a ship picked him up. The swim to each isle-let would be long and laborious, but it could be done, especially counting time to rest between swims. Even someone like Clerk Thomas could accomplish the task, a man who realized his life would soon end if he didn’t make his escape.
By the end of the day Clerk Thomas had escaped, Komdra thought he could spot movement on an isle-let, but he detected no such movement the following day. Either Clerk Thomas died, or a ship picked him up during the night. Were there ships patrolling at night, watching the Northlands from the dark sea?
Landing on the beach here on the Southern coast of the Northlands would be easy.
Getting to it is what proved to be a challenge.
The waters were dotted with isle-lets, created by a field of rocky boulders and ships sunken by them, leaving only a narrow channel that most ships preferred not to attempt. The twists and turns a ship would have to take to navigate its way safely to the beach made sailing here so difficult that the early settlements here had vanished many years ago. This part of the Northlands had been abandoned and forgotten.
While the Iron Maidens and his men woke up and prepared for the day ahead, Komdra strolled at the edge where the forest met the flat land leading to the beach, ready to slip behind a tree if he noticed anything out of order.
Komdra rested his hand on top of the pommel of the short dragonish sword sheathed at his side. Astrid made this sword for him years ago as payment to buy his slave Lenore. Until the invasion of the Krystr soldiers he’d had little need to use the beautiful weapon, but now its presence brought him confidence and peace of mind.
He’d never seen a Krystr soldier carry a dragonish sword made of twisted iron. Komdra knew from experience that a sword made from a single piece of iron was unpredictable. One never knew if such a weapon would bend or break until the moment he used it in battle. If the iron had weak character, it failed its owner, most likely leaving him vulnerable to a fatal blow while still clutching his ruined sword.
Of course, the making of a dragonish sword had always been a well-kept secret, known only by the few blacksmiths who protected that secret because it made them wealthy and kept them constantly in demand.
Astrid should have stayed here. If we had iron, she could be making dragonish swords for the others.
What a meddlesome problem!
The loud crack of a twig made Komdra stop, easing his hand from the pommel of his sword to its grip. Scanning the beach, he saw something move behind a boulder.
Squinting, Komdra made out the flutter of a brown robe. The boulder was small, but it might be hiding a man sitting on the other side of it.
Komdra crept toward the boulder, silent and determined. Drawing close to it, he pulled his sword from its sheath and yelled. He raced around the boulder to discover a pair of Krystr clerks resting against it, looking worn and haggard.
Komdra pointed the sharp tip of his weapon at the startled clerks, who stared at him in wide-eyed terror. “Invaders!” Komdra shouted at the tree line protecting the hidden camp from view. “Bring your weapons!”
The clerks babbled incoherently, most likely in the Midlander or Southlander language.
Komdra snarled in response, and the clerks shut up.
Hevrick reached Komdra’s side first, followed quickly by Thorda, and they drew their weapons.
Hevrick had followed Komdra’s order to recruit Northlander men to set up a string of camps, which would soon stretch across the entire Southern coast and up along the eastern coast. Ships were harder to come by, and none had shown up yet. Like each camp along the coast, a huge fire pit had been dug into the beach, and the dry wood stacked inside took the shape of a pyramid, ready to be lit when need be. Everyone hoped they’d never have to light it.
“Where did they come from?” Hevrick asked, shocked by the sight of the clerks in their white shifts and brown robes.
Komdra paused and gave Hevrick a sharp glance. “How would I know?”
Thorda spoke in her Midlander language and poked at one clerk’s robe with the blade of her ax. The clerk shrieked and cowered in response.
“She says their clothes are dry,” Hevrick translated. He nodded his understanding at Thorda. “So they walked here. But how did they get past the other camps?”
Thorda spoke rapidly at the clerks, whose faces puckered in
disdain. They looked away from her, refusing to answer.
Hevrick spoke to them, and from what little Komdra could tell, he seemed to repeat Thorda’s words. This time, the clerks paid mind to Hevrick and answered.
Angered by their response, Thorda smacked the one nearest her with the flat of her ax blade, and he cried out in pain.
“They say they are walking the length of the coast and demolishing everything in their path,” Hevrick said.
Komdra laughed, winking at Thorda after she flashed a hurt look at him. “These two? These fools? Impossible. I imagine another camp captured them and they merely found a way to escape.” Komdra reached out to Thorda and gave a reassuring pat to her back. “Tell the Iron Maiden she is welcome to check the nearest camp to make sure it has not been demolished, if she so wishes.”
Hevrick translated to Thorda, and she looked slightly relieved.
“Tell her,” Komdra said, “we will make sure these fools cause no more trouble.” Komdra took a quick step forward and stabbed one clerk in the belly.
The clerk paled, too shocked to make a sound.
The other clerk screamed and ran.
Komdra caught up with him and delivered a slashing blow at the clerk’s legs that toppled him, followed by a stab that impaled him to the ground. All the time, the clerk squealed like a stuck pig.
Pulling his sword out of the clerk, Komdra examined its blade and wiped the blood off with his tunic. Once satisfied of its cleanliness, Komdra put the sword back in its sheath.
The clerk now screamed, watching the blood spurt from his wounds.
Komdra wrapped his hands around the clerk’s ankles and dragged him into the sea, where the clerk screamed even louder at the sting of salt water, too wounded to drag himself out of it.
Walking back to the boulder, Komdra looked up in surprise at the first clerk he’d wounded.
The man wheezed and stared at Komdra in horror.
“Why does he still live?” Komdra asked Hevrick and Thorda, noticing that they each looked surprised. “Did you forget Clerk Thomas? The one who got away? The one who may right now be telling Mandulane himself about our plans? What chance do you think we have if we let the Krystrs know how we plan to defend ourselves?”
Hevrick nodded his acceptance of Komdra’s words.
Thorda looked from one to the other. Finally, her face sagged.
Mimicking what they’d seen Komdra do, Hevrick faced the clerk lying at their feet and held his ankles while Thorda took his wrists.
The clerk moaned and wriggled the best he could while they carried him to the water’s edge and threw him into it.
A shout from the tree line broke Komdra’s concentration. One of the Iron Maidens shouted and pointed at the eastern side of the beach.
A caravan approached, consisting of men on horses and carts, followed by women and children on foot.
Shouting for others to follow him, Komdra raced toward the caravan, pulling his sword out of its sheath once more.
A woman broke away from the caravan, yelling and waving her arms.
Komdra hesitated when he realized she called his name. Moments later, he recognized her.
“Komdra!” she shouted. “We’ve come to help!”
Happily, Komdra put his weapon back in its sheath, impressed that she still remembered his language after all these years.
He opened his arms wide and grinned, moved because the woman accepted the invitation and embraced him. Komdra said, “You are a good sight for weary eyes, Lenore.”
CHAPTER 21
Stunned to a point where he thought he might faint, Drageen allowed himself to sit on the cold, hard stones of the courtyard of Tower Island.
Before him, the dragons Fiera and Taddeo stood in front of the tower door. Beams of sunlight bounced off the tower’s golden surface.
For a moment Drageen thought he detected the scent of smoke, but that was impossible. The courtyard ovens stood abandoned, and he saw no fire burning anywhere.
Smoke seemed to arise from Fiera’s shoulders and curl around them.
Drageen closed his eyes and shook his head. He looked again, but the smoke had disappeared.
“Lies,” Drageen said, startled by the weakness he heard in his voice. Clearing his throat, he forced himself to speak louder and stronger. “My father killed dragons and yet you claim my mother was one. Why would a dragonslayer marry a dragon?”
Taddeo and Fiera exchanged glances. Fiera shrugged and took a step toward Drageen. “The Scaldings never knew. She claimed to be a Scalding from another region, and they believed her.”
“No!” Drageen covered his face with his hands.
Why had the Scaldings been so easily duped by dragons? How could he alone defeat these wretched creatures who pummeled him with lies to weaken his resolve?
Allowing his hands to fall away, Drageen said, “No Scalding would ever consort with the likes of you!”
“How do you know what we are?” Taddeo said, cocking his head to one side. He stared at Drageen. “What we truly are?”
“I know everything about dragons and dragonslayers.” Drageen straightened, feeling defiance run through his veins. “One hundred years ago my grandfather killed the dragons that invaded Tower Island and destroyed the first people who lived here.”
“We created this island,” Fiera said. “We created a beautiful home, but people who saw the island rise out of the sea invaded and drove our kind away.” She sniffed delicately at the air. “We took it back.”
“Lies and cries,” Drageen said. “Oaths and loathes. Evil dragons, keep your distance from me!”
Fiera crossed her arms and turned to Taddeo. “You should have let my sister tell him the truth.”
Taddeo sighed. “We agreed no children should be told the truth until they became old enough to keep the secret. Drageen was a boy when his mother died. He wasn’t yet a man when his father died. According to our pact, Drageen’s father kept his word with us. He would have told Drageen the truth once he reached manhood.”
“You have just revealed your own lie,” Drageen said, finding the strength to stand on his feet again. “If what you say is true, you could have come to me. You could have told me.”
Fiera tossed her long hair, and it rose all around her like flames for a moment. “How little you know. We decided only the direct descendents of Benzel the Wolf could know the truth, not the Scaldings that claimed your father as one of their own after Benzel died. Your father became a Scalding in name only, not blood. Our pact is with your true family only: you, Astrid, your parents, and Benzel of the Wolf. Once your father died, the Scaldings surrounded you, making it impossible for us to reach you.”
Drageen held his ground, glaring at them in suspicion. “Nonsense! Why keep the truth from the rest of the Scaldings? The blood Scaldings?”
“The truth is delicate,” Taddeo said.
“Truth is truth,” Drageen said. “Spit it out!”
Fiera approached him slowly. “We once hated your kind.”
Drageen fought against the sudden wave of hurt feelings. “The Scaldings?”
“Mortals,” Fiera hissed. She paused, seeming to calm herself, and Taddeo nodded his approval, watching her. “We came here to learn who you are. Why you make your choices. We wanted to gain compassion and consider a more palatable solution to the problem you mortals create.”
With every step that Fiera took toward him, Drageen became more aware of his fear of her. “What problem?”
Fiera smiled in response. Ignoring his question, she changed the subject. “You spent your life believing only your sister could produce bloodstones, but you always held the power to do so yourself. You simply didn’t know it.”
“Not true! Only the child of a dragonslayer can produce bloodstones, and my alchemist told me my blood has no trace of dragonslayer strength.”
“She lied,” Fiera said, “because we told her to.”
“No,” Drageen said, not wanting to hear Fiera’s words. “You speak
nothing but lies.”
“Your dragon blood gives you the ability to produce bloodstones, but the mix of mortal blood and dragon blood gives them their power,” Fiera said. “A gift from us in exchange for the bond between us. A bond forged by intertwining our families and our blood. A gift for the help of your father and his father before him in helping us learn about mortals.”
Fiera stepped closer, and Drageen fell silent, staring at her face. For a moment, she reminded him of his mother.
“It’s done!” the alchemist Bee cried brightly, emerging from the tower doorway. “We’ve cleaned the poison away. The passageway is open.” She hesitated and looked first at the dragons, then at Drageen. The alchemist’s voice softened. “It is possible for you to leave our world now.”
Fiera slid her hand behind Drageen’s head, pulled him close, and kissed his forehead. “Goodbye, nephew.” Letting her hand drift to his shoulder, she stared into his eyes.
Drageen met her gaze, surprised to find himself first shocked and then humbled by it.
He hadn’t noticed her eyes until now.
“I regret that you never knew,” Fiera said. “That you missed the opportunity to work with us. But one chance remains if you wish to take it. A chance to stand as a Scalding whose veins run rich with dragon blood. But I can’t convince Taddeo to let us help you. If you wish to face Mandulane, it must be with whatever strength you can muster on your own.” She touched his face with her hand. “This is your fate if you choose to accept it, but it might not end well.”
Despite himself, Drageen touched her hand.
Fiera whispered, “I wish you luck, son of my sister.”
Drageen stared into her eyes, still mesmerized by the sight of them.
Fiera’s eyes were lavender, the same color as drageen’s.
CHAPTER 22
Astrid spent the better part of the afternoon figuring out how to chain the lizard to the outside of the main gate while keeping a safe distance from it. Of course, the Boglanders could no longer use this gate. They’d have to use another and use this one to guard against outsiders, should any come.
