by Resa Nelson
“Grand?” Perri huffed, offended. “What do you call setting a trap like this one? What do you call cutting you off in such a way that you cannot get the help you need?”
“A simple plan,” Frandulane said. “But I can give you an example of a grand plan.”
Once more, Perri spouted in the Midlander dialect at his men. Once more, they grumbled in protest.
“If you listen to my example of a grand plan,” Frandulane said, “you might see how you and your men could benefit from it.”
“Grand plan.” Perri paused and spat at the ground. “If you fail to impress me, prepare to learn what it feels like to fly.”
Frandulane resisted the urge to glance at the edge of the quarry. He didn’t hesitate to begin with the truth and then twist it to his convenience. “My cousins came up with a plan for us to gain even greater wealth. We went to the Northlands. We cornered a dragonslayer and killed him. We took his sword to the market and traded it for a fortune.”
With a wary gaze, Perri conversed with his fellow brigands in their dialect. After a heated discussion, he turned toward Frandulane. “Few merchants have the means or the willingness to consider trading for a dragonslayer sword. Certainly, it is a treasure, but there is too much risk in stealing one and then figuring out what to do with it.”
Frandulane doubted that any of these brigands had ever set foot in the Northlands or knew anything about his homeland. He decided to find out how easily they might believe his lies.
“My cousins and I didn’t have that problem.” With a casual air, Frandulane added, “There is a dragonslayer in the Northlands right now. His name is Skallagrim. No one can safely leave or enter the Northlands until winter ends. But once that happens, anyone with a will that’s quick enough can find this dragonslayer and take his sword before the other dragonslayers can return. There are plenty of merchants in the Northlands who will be fat with riches at winter’s end. They’ll fight over the chance to buy a dragonslayer sword.”
“It may be a grand scheme,” Perri said. “But it is also a foolish one. Where would one find this dragonslayer? And how could he be parted so easily from his sword?”
“There is only one place this dragonslayer would be at winter’s end: the port city of Gott in the Northlands. But as soon as spring comes, he will see it as his duty to take the first chance to get to the Southlands and help his fellow dragonslayers at the spring migration of dragons.” Frandulane paused and cast a look of mild disdain at the brigands. “It took only three of us Scaldings and a bit of trickery to steal swords from two dragonslayers. Maybe brigands don’t have what it takes to do the same.”
Perri switched to the dialect and conversed with his fellow brigands. After a long discussion, he faced Frandulane with a grim expression.
The look in Perri’s eyes gave Frandulane pause. He couldn’t tell if the brigand had convinced his companions to do as he wished or if they had convinced him to do otherwise.
“You will be one of us until it becomes possible to sail to the Northlands,” Perri said. “We will continue to do as we wish here in the Midlands. When the time comes, you will guide us to where we can find this dragonslayer and take his sword.” Perri paused. “But we want no blood from a dragonslayer on our hands. If taking his sword requires killing him, then you must be the one to do it.”
Frandulane smiled. “I would have it no other way.”
CHAPTER 13
In the Far Eastern city of Zangcheen, the winter passed with ease. The low-lying city enjoyed a temperate climate throughout the year. Snow fell rarely and left little more than a light coat that soon melted.
Pingzi Po grieved the loss of her husband. She did little more than stay in bed for weeks until her merchant friend TeaTree insisted she accompany him to the morning exercises in the heart of the city each day. Thousands of people gathered in the grassy parks that surrounded the royal palace like a jade necklace. Men, women, and children stood an arm’s length apart in straight rows. Acting as one, they performed a series of slow and gentle movements.
According to the ancient texts passed down through the Po family of royalty, the morning exercises had been created a thousand years ago to train warriors in the fine art of battle and balance. Every step, every arm movement, and every bend of the waist was intended to be a very slow and deliberate action of attack or defense.
At first, Pingzi felt numb as she plodded through the morning exercise. Instead of relying on her own training and memory, she watched the people in the row in front of her and copied everything they did.
Pingzi felt like a fallen, dead leaf, brittle and ready to crumble apart. She expected to break into dust and be swept away by the wind.
But she didn’t break. She didn’t crumble.
When the morning exercise ended, Pingzi stood still. She didn’t know what to do with herself.
The touch of TeaTree’s hand on her shoulder startled Pingzi. He said, “It isn’t necessary to mourn all the time.”
Pingzi didn’t know how to make sense of TeaTree’s words. “How can you not expect me to mourn? My husband died.”
“Five months ago.” TeaTree’s usual light and good nature vanished. He spoke with grim determination. “I miss him, too. Hsu Mao was a good man. A good husband. A good friend. And he would not want you to wallow in misery on his account.”
Pingzi took offense. “I do not wallow.”
“Hsu Mao would want you to walk among the living, not fixate on the dead.”
Pingzi looked away, overwhelmed by the directness of TeaTree’s words. “How would you know what he would want? I honor my husband with my grief.”
“There is no honor in grief.”
With a quick jerk, Pingzi finally succeeded in wrenching free of TeaTree’s grasp. “You know nothing of grief.”
TeaTree raised a questioning eyebrow. “When we first met, I had no home because my father was too ill to care for me. You know that. You took me into your home and gave me a second chance.”
“And you’ve had years to recover. With my help!”
TeaTree paused. “Yes. With your help. And now I’m helping you.” Before Pingzi could respond, he cut her off. “I know how this country’s laws require grief. I know what you are bound to do. What the law believes you should do. I know you’re expected to display your grief in certain ways, and you have already succeeded in doing that. That now allows you to take some time and breathe. You have earned the right to ease up on your grief and begin a path back to your life without Hsu Mao.”
When Pingzi tried to speak, her voice caught in her throat like a wayward piece of bread. “I don’t want to take that path.”
“I know. But it’s for your own good. You’re lost inside your sorrow. You might as well have died the same day as your husband.”
Pingzi felt punched by TeaTree’s words because she sensed the truth in them.
“Let’s go home,” TeaTree said.
The effort to leave her home, walk to the city center, and perform the morning exercise left Pingzi feeling so drained that it hurt to think about walking back home. At the same time, Pingzi felt her blood pulse in such a steady and rhythmic way that she wondered if all that effort also revitalized her.
TeaTree extended his hand toward Pingzi, and she took it. Together, they returned to Pingzi’s home, which she silently vowed would be a mourning house no more.
* * *
That night, Pingzi slept soundly and walked in bright green pastures inside her dreams. The crisp air gave her skin a slight chill. Sea birds shrieked as they circled above.
A familiar voice spoke behind her. “You are wise to listen to TeaTree.”
Pingzi spun around to face the image of her dead husband, Hsu Mao. The sight startled her so much that she froze in place.
Hsu Mao stepped forward and embraced her. “Don’t worry. We’re safe inside your dream.”
Wrapping her arms around his neck, Pingzi fell into relief at the solid feel of his body. She buried her face agains
t his shoulder and breathed in the familiar scent of spice that always managed to settle into his clothing. She trembled and wept with gratitude.
“No time for that,” Hsu Mao said. “Collect yourself. The dragon goddess of fire promised to bring me back to you, and that promise is fulfilled.”
Pingzi pushed away from her husband with an urgent sense of fear. “Is this the only time I’ll see you?”
Hsu Mao grinned. “Not at all. You’ll see me whenever you have a portent, because I’ll be the one to lead you into it. You can see me whenever you want inside your dreams.” He continued. “Now is the time for you to uphold your end of the bargain.”
The bargain I made with the dragon goddess Fiera. She promised to reunite me with Hsu Mao if I would agree to quell the demon in the Northlands.
“Now?” Pingzi said. Her husband’s proclamation took her aback. Pingzi faced him with crossed arms. “This is the first time I’ve seen you since your death. Are you saying I should leave? Before we spend any time together?”
“A bargain is a bargain. It is always best to uphold one’s promise at the soonest opportunity.”
Again, Pingzi knew her husband spoke the truth. She had never been one to procrastinate.
Inside the realm of her dreams, Pingzi noticed low flames flickering along the horizon. “I have no need to see or speak with the dragon goddess of fire ever again,” Pingzi said. “Not after the way she ignored my plea for help. Not after the way she let you die.”
A sound that whooshed like a fanned fire swept around Hsu Mao. He cocked his head to one side and kept quiet, as if listening to words that no mortal could understand.
Hsu Mao looked into Pingzi’s eyes. “The winters in the Far East are mild, but those in the Northlands are brutal. Winter is ending. But sailing to the Northlands from your home might be dangerous. It’s better to travel under the wing of a goddess.”
Resolute, Pingzi shook her head. “Not Fiera. Not that goddess.”
“But you will consider accepting the help of another?”
The low flames along the horizon flickered and died.
A fresh wind thrashed around Hsu Mao and Pingzi, whipping their hair in all directions and raising a whirlwind of dust.
Pingzi closed her eyes to keep the dust out. She flinched when it stung her face. Pingzi gripped the back of her head with her hands and squeezed her elbows together in front of her forehead to protect her head from flying debris. The gale screamed in her ears.
The sudden storm fell into silence.
Pingzi waited a few moments before daring to open her eyes.
She recognized the female figure standing beside Hsu Mao at once by her ethereal gown and the way her black hair fell across her shoulders like a waterfall. Pingzi gave a brief bow to Kikita, the dragon goddess of air.
“I recognize your sorrow,” Kikita said. “I know this isn’t the way you wished to be reunited with your husband. No dragon god or goddess has the power to bring him back to mortal life. This is the best that can be done.”
Pingzi considered the situation.
It isn’t Kikita’s fault that Hsu Mao died or that he can’t come back to life. She wasn’t there when Fiera let him die.
If Pingzi were a proper Far Eastern woman—one who acted meek and obedient—she would fawn over Kikita and beg for forgiveness.
But Pingzi was a member of the emperor’s family, and she’d been recognized as a demon queller at a young age when her services were needed to protect the Far East. No demon queller could afford to be meek or obedient. A demon queller had to be bold and brave. A demon queller had to understand how to evaluate people and situations in order to take swift and proper action.
A demon queller didn’t have to kowtow to any dragon god or goddess. Successful demon quellers earned the right to stand toe to toe with them.
And since childhood, Pingzi Po had been a very successful demon queller.
For the first time since her husband’s murder, Pingzi felt a tug of desire to seek out a demon and quell it.
Kikita smiled. “I can take you to the Northlands now. Without delay.”
Pingzi blinked in surprise. “But we’re in the realm of my dreams. Only my spirit is here. My body lies in bed back in the mortal realm.”
“It makes no difference,” Kikita said. “I can take you to the Northlands directly from here. Once we arrive, your body will snap through the realms and join your spirit.”
“It’s too sudden,” Pingzi said, filled with worry. But then she reconsidered.
My dead husband Hsu Mao and my dearest friend TeaTree are in agreement. Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s time to let go of grief and join the living again.
And what better way to do that than to do what I do best?
Pingzi stilled herself until she felt at peace. To Kikita, she said, “I’m ready to go to the Northlands.”
Before Pingzi could say another word, Kikita evaporated into the air and transformed into a gale that swept Pingzi out of the dream realm and into a bottomless pit of darkness.
CHAPTER 14
Before she could make sense of what had just happened, Pingzi felt a force slam into her. She fell out of the darkness and into the light of dawn. Pingzi landed on a boardwalk by a familiar harbor. The frigid air made her shiver, and she realized she’d reunited with her body, barefoot and wearing lightweight bedclothes.
She looked for the dragon goddess, but Kikita had not taken mortal shape. Either Kikita had simply dropped Pingzi in the Northlands or lurked somewhere in the air. Either way, the goddess wouldn’t show herself unless she wanted to do so.
Pingzi realized she was on her own. First, she needed to understand her location.
This is the port city of Gott. This boardwalk is where my husband was murdered. Where Benzel of the Wolf was killed.
A white sea bird landed a few feet in front of Pingzi and looked at her with plaintive orange eyes. It pecked at the board as if asking for food.
Pingzi showed empty hands to the bird. “I have nothing.”
The bird took a few steps to one side and pecked at a different spot.
Ignoring it, Pingzi assessed her surroundings. A handful of small fishing boats were moored in the harbor and looked as if they’d been abandoned for the winter. Pingzi spotted a blanket wrapped around the base of one mooring as if to protect it from the elements. Deciding she needed it more, Pingzi borrowed the blanket and wrapped it around her body to ward off the cold. She focused on the task at hand.
I have to find Skallagrim. If Kikita brought me to Gott, he must be somewhere in the city.
A Midlander ship approached the dock, probably the first ship to sail since last fall.
Pingzi dismissed the Midlander ship. She assumed it brought the first group of dragonslayers ready to begin their routes. Fiera had said Skallagrim was already here in the Northlands, not expected to arrive.
Movement stirred aboard a moored Northlander ship down the boardwalk. Pingzi imagined it had been moored all winter and now prepared for its first spring voyage.
Clutching the blanket around her, Pingzi ran to the other ship and saw a young man bustling about on board. “Please,” she called out to him in Northlander. “Do you have some spare shoes or clothes I could borrow?”
Startled, the young man peered at her over the ship’s railing. “You don’t look like any Northlander I’ve ever seen. How do you come to speak the language?”
“Can’t you see I’m freezing?” Pingzi said when a vicious shudder overtook her. “I need help, not questioning.”
Another man appeared by the young sailor’s side.
Recognizing him, Pingzi called out his name. “Skallagrim!”
The dragonslayer vanished from sight for a few moments. He then brushed past the other man and climbed over the railing and onto the boardwalk. Approaching Pingzi, he revealed some clothes and shoes in hand. “These are the smallest I could find, Madam Po. I don’t know if they’ll fit.”
Taking the offerings i
n hand, Pingzi gave the same bow she’d presented to the dragon goddess that day. “I’m grateful for your kindness, Skallagrim.” Dropping the blanket, she donned a large shirt over her bedclothes. The shirt fell loose on her frame. She climbed into the pants, belted them in place, and rolled up the hem of each leg so it wouldn’t drag on the ground when she walked. She then slipped her feet into shoes slightly too large.
Skallagrim stared at the ground before meeting her eyes. “I was so stricken with grief over my wife’s death that I never told you how sorry I was that you lost your husband.”
“I regret your loss as well.” Gazing at Skallagrim, Pingzi remembered the day she’d quelled his father, Benzel of the Wolf. She remembered the stunned look on Benzel’s face when he understood that the demon Pingzi had come to quell was him. She remembered Benzel’s shame and disappointment in himself and the realization that he’d allowed the damage done to him by the Scaldings to dictate his life. She remembered how hard Benzel worked in the following years to right his thoughts and the way he lived in the mortal world.
And now it’s time for me to quell his son.
“We will need a ship,” Pingzi said. She looked at the one where she’d found Skallagrim. “This one will do nicely.”
Skallagrim’s expression went blank. “I’ve already paid for this ship to take me to the Midlands. Unless you’d like to go there with me, you’ll need to find your own ship.” He frowned and then looked around the harbor. “You must already have one. How could you get here without a ship?”
Drawing upon the firm nature of quelling that she’d learned as a little girl, Pingzi spoke to Skallagrim with compassion. “You will not be going to the Midlands. You will come to the Far East with me.”
Skallagrim laughed in surprise. “The Far East? You’re mistaken, Madam Po. I’m going to the Midlands. I have to.”
Perplexed by Skallagrim’s response, Pingzi said, “Why?”
The dragonslayer’s eyes darkened. “My Scalding cousins died the day your husband and my wife were murdered. But Frandulane lives. He’s responsible for their deaths, and he has to pay.”
