The Dragonslayer's Curse Read online

  The Dragonslayer’s Curse

  by Resa Nelson

  The Dragonslayer’s Curse

  Copyright © 2019 by Resa Nelson

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Cover Art © 2018 by Eric Wilder

  First Edition January 2019

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the invention of the author, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, event, or locale is entirely coincidental.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many thanks to my fellow authors, Carla Johnson and Tom Sweeney, who read this novel before publication and gave me excellent feedback.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Where is he?” Skallagrim shouted when he stormed into his childhood home on Tower Island with his dragonslayer sword in hand. “Where’s Frandulane?”

  He paused at the shocked expression on his mother’s face when she looked up from where she knelt, tending the mid-day meal bubbling in the pot on the hearth fire.

  “Skallagrim,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  As the only dragonslayer to ever hail from Tower Island, Skallagrim rarely returned to his childhood home. His duty to the Northlands kept him roaming that country from late spring through fall, and he spent the rest of his year traveling the winter route through the Midlands and Southlands. Every other dragonslayer had already left the Northlands to begin the winter route. Under normal circumstances, Skallagrim would have no reason to be here.

  But his circumstances were far from normal.

  Skallagrim panted with rage. “You’re hiding him. Tell me where he is!”

  His mother, Snip, stood to face him. Her proximity to the hearth fire reddened her cheeks. Snip took the same firm tone she’d used when Skallagrim was a child. “I am doing no such thing.” She balled her fists and planted them firmly on her hips. “Remember, you’re speaking to your mother.”

  Like all Northlander homes, this one consisted of one large room. Benches that provided sleeping and storage lined its walls. Although Skallagrim doubted his brother Frandulane could fit inside one, he strode around the perimeter and opened every bench lid to look inside.

  “Look all you want,” Snip said. “He’s not here.”

  Her presence took him back to his childhood. Skallagrim had always felt safe in her embrace. His mother consistently offered an attentive ear when needed or good advice when asked for it. Even now, Snip might be his closest ally.

  Skallagrim wanted to run into his mother’s arms and weep, desperate for her comfort.

  But his anger got the better of him.

  Skallagrim ignored his mother until he’d checked every bench, fuming to find them filled with food and supplies instead of his brother. “What have you done with him?” Skallagrim demanded.

  Snip crossed her arms and stood pat.

  Skallagrim eased toward her. “Frandulane’s eyes are lavender now. Did you notice that when you saw him?”

  The sadness that filled his mother’s eyes and her hesitation to speak told Skallagrim what he wanted to know.

  Not long after Skallagrim and his brother Frandulane were born, an alchemist had placed a potion inside a meal that all Scaldings ate. Legend said the potion attached to each Scalding’s essence forever, able to distinguish when that Scalding committed murder—or already had. Whenever a Scalding committed an act of murder, the potion responded by changing the eyes of that Scalding from blue to lavender. That change would affect that same Scalding’s children, whether already living or yet to be born.

  Frandulane has been here. I knew it!

  Finally, Snip spoke. “Why are you looking for him?”

  Skallagrim snorted his disgust. “Did he tell you how he earned the new color of his eyes? He did it by killing my wife.”

  Snip paled, and she reached for a nearby stool to sit. “Are you sure it was him?”

  “It was him. Along with Einarr and Tungu—but they’re dead now.”

  Snip’s face became so pale that it almost appeared translucent. “Your cousins? They’re dead?”

  Skallagrim paced, feeling his anger reverberate inside like a caged animal looking for a way out. “They deserve it.”

  Snip let out a gasp. “How can you say that about your own blood?”

  Skallagrim halted and stared at her. “My own blood? We both know I have no blood in common with any of the Scaldings, including you.” He pointed his sword toward the dirt floor and impaled it, leaving the sword to stand upright on its own. Skallagrim crossed his arms and planted his feet in a wide stance. “I think the time has come for you to tell me who I really am, because I know I’m not a Scalding.”

  “Of course, you are,” Snip said. “You’re just as much a Scalding as me.”

  Standing in his childhood home made Skallagrim think of things he’d forgotten long ago. Ill-placed memories came rushing back.

  “You think I don’t remember that day when I was a little boy, but I do. The day Frandulane said I’m not your flesh and blood. He said someone brought me here and made you pretend to be my family. He said I’m a foreigner and you need to kick me out to protect the real Scaldings in this family.” Skallagrim took a breath. “And that’s the only day you admitted I have a Midlander mother who gave me to you. Ever since, you’ve acted like you never confessed it, but I remember. You never told me anything about my blood mother except that she was your friend. You never told me who my father is.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I remember no such thing.” Snip sounded unconvincing.

  Skallagrim felt his confidence and determination strengthen. “When you sent me to the Southlands to become a dragonslayer, there’s one thing you didn’t take into account: that I’d hear stories about the Scaldings and what they’ve done. How they used to roam the Northlands. How they used to raid villages, stealing and leaving nothing but dead bodies behind. How they got their name—by holing up in a fortress and pouring scalding water down on anyone who approached its walls.” Skallagrim jabbed a finger at his chest. “I’m no murderer. And neither are you. But you married into a family of them.”

  Snip ignored his question. “Not every Scalding is a murderer. Your father isn’t one.”

  “Your son is,” Skallagrim said. “Your real son, not me.”

  Snip looked down and whispered, “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true. Two dragonslayers were killed in the Northlands. Their swords were stolen.”

  Snip wept in dismay.

  “I teamed up with other dragonslayers in Gott, and we stumbled upon the murderers: Frandulane and Einarr and Tungu. They killed again, and we caught them stained with blood. We saw the stolen dragonslayer swords in their hands. My cousins and your son murdered more people in Gott.” Beside himself with grief, Skallagrim’s voice cracked when he spoke. “They killed my wife. My teacher. The husband of my teacher’s friend.”

  “Teacher?” Snip said. Her voice stilled. “Which teacher?”

  “My first teacher. Benzel of the Wolf.”

  “Benzel?” Snip stood up quickly. She wavered and held her arms out as if trying to find her balance, looking as if she might faint. Giving up, Snip sank back on the stool before she could fall over. “Benzel of the Wolf is dead?”

  Skallagrim remembered the times his parents had traveled to the Southlands to visit him and how they’d met all his teachers. His parents seemed fond of all his teachers, but he didn’t understand why the death of this one would upset her so much. “Yes. Your son killed my teacher, Benzel of the Wolf.”

  “No,” Snip said. “This can’t be. It’s not true. Benzel is fine. He’s alive.”

  “He’s dead. I saw his body with my own eyes. I checked to see if he had any l
ife in him. He didn’t.” Skallagrim’s voice quivered. “We sent his body back to the Southlands to be buried at Bellesguard.”

  “No!” Snip insisted. The color came back in her face, and she glared at Skallagrim. “Stop telling lies! Benzel can’t be dead!”

  “He’s dead!” Skallagrim shouted. “And Frandulane is the one who did it.”

  Snip balled her hands into fists and stared at Skallagrim with hateful eyes.

  For a moment, he thought she would charge forward and strike him.

  Instead, all expression from her face fell into grief, and she wailed like a banshee.

  Her reaction startled Skallagrim so much that all he could do was stand and stare at her until his father Sven rushed into the house. Sven ran to her side and kneeled next to Snip, now doubled over on the stool and sobbing into her hands. Sven wrapped his arms around Snip and held her close. “What’s wrong?” he asked her. “What happened?”

  Like an afterthought, Sven looked up and noticed Skallagrim’s presence for the first time. “Skallagrim. What are you doing here? What happened to your mother?” Sven stared at Skallagrim in apprehension, waiting for an answer.

  “I came looking for Frandulane. He murdered people.” Skallagrim swallowed hard, not sure he wanted to reveal what made his mother cry for fear of how his father might react. “I told her that Frandulane murdered my teacher, Benzel of the Wolf.”

  Sven closed his eyes with a knowing look and held Snip even tighter.

  The words popped out of Skallagrim’s mouth before he could consider whether he wanted to say them. “Why is she grieving so?”

  Sven looked up at Skallagrim. “Benzel of the Wolf was her brother.”

  Now Skallagrim reached for the nearest bench to sit down before he collapsed in surprise. “Her brother? Benzel of the Wolf was my uncle?”

  “No,” Sven said with heartbreak in his voice. “Benzel of the Wolf was your father.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “If Benzel of the Wolf was my father,” Skallagrim said, “then Frandulane murdered my father as well as my wife.” Rage and shock and anguish stormed inside him, making Skallagrim dizzy with confusion.

  Snip looked up at Skallagrim and addressed him through her tears. “Your father—this man beside me—saved my life. He saved Benzel, too. If not for Sven, you never would have been born because Benzel would have been killed before he could grow up.” She covered her face with her hands again.

  Feeling more stunned by the moment, Skallagrim said, “I don’t understand.”

  Still holding his wife, Sven said, “When I was a boy, things were different.” He paused as if reluctant to continue.

  “I don’t care if things were different,” Skallagrim said. “You lied to me!”

  Sven proceeded as if he hadn’t heard Skallagrim. “Before Tower Island existed, before the Scaldings lived here, they roamed from village to village. Country to country.” Sven cleared his throat and looked away. “They took what they wanted.”

  Still incensed, Skallagrim said, “The Scaldings stole from people. They killed people.”

  Sven continued to avert his gaze. “I didn’t like it. The first time my father took me with the Scaldings on a raid was in Heatherbloom.”

  Snip let out a moan and kept weeping.

  “Heatherbloom?” Skallagrim said in astonishment.

  Sven nodded. “Benzel’s home village. The Scaldings killed his parents—the people who would have been your grandparents. Someone thought they saw movement on the outskirts of the village and sent me to check. I saw Benzel hiding. I meant to kill him, but the thought of it made me feel horrible. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to.”

  Sven looked at Skallagrim and continued. “That day, I decided I never wanted to kill anyone. I left Benzel alone. I lied to the Scaldings and told them I found nothing. We went to the next village, Bubblebrook, where Snip’s mother had hidden her in plain sight. We never found her. But later that day, Benzel did. He was trying to find help, and he found Snip instead. He saved her life.”

  “But you said they’re brother and sister. What was she doing in another village?”

  “We chose each other.” Snip wiped her tears away. Instead of sobbing, her face now streamed with quiet tears while she composed herself. “Just like Sven and I chose to be husband and wife, Benzel and I chose to be brother and sister.”

  “But that’s not something you can choose,” Skallagrim said.

  “Of course, it is,” Snip said with defiance. She glared at Skallagrim. “We didn’t need to be related by blood. We decided to be family.”

  “Benzel is the one who named her.” Sven exchanged a slight smile with Snip. “Her full name is Parsnip, because a pile of parsnips was spilled on the floor of the home where Benzel found her.”

  If not for the way his adoptive parents looked at each other, Skallagrim would have thought they were trying to fool him into believing the ridiculous. “Years ago, Frandulane insisted I didn’t belong here—you admitted I’m half Midlander and that you knew my mother. Who was she? And why didn’t you tell me about Benzel when you told me about her?”

  “For your own good,” Sven said. “Benzel harbored hatred for the Scaldings all his life, and it nearly ruined him. He spent too many years trying to hunt them down.”

  “But the Scaldings live here on Tower Island,” Skallagrim said. “How did he not know that?”

  Sven and Snip exchanged another look, a serious one this time.

  “He didn’t know the Scaldings were the ones who destroyed his village,” Snip admitted. “Not until after I’d married Sven.” Before Skallagrim could ask, Snip said, “Sven was the one who stopped the bloodshed. He’s the one who convinced the Scaldings to change their ways. And he told me who he was before I agreed to marry him.”

  “How could you marry a Scalding?” Skallagrim said.

  Snip remained calm. “How could I not fall in love with a man who convinced his entire clan to listen to reason and live like reasonable people?”

  The question that bothered Skallagrim the most popped out of his mouth. “And what about Benzel? Why did he give me to you?”

  Sven said, “To protect you from being taken from the mortal world by one of our own gods. Benzel made a foolish decision. He asked the Northlander gods to help him find the people responsible for destroying his village and family. The gods wanted his first-born child as payment. Benzel agreed because he never wanted to have children. You were a surprise. Your mother was a dragonslayer, too. She died when you were born, and Benzel feared the gods would find you and take you away from him if he kept you.” Sven paused. “The gods would have killed you. You’re alive today because your father hid you with us. Now that Benzel is dead, the gods can’t follow him. Without him, they have no way to find out who you are.”

  Skallagrim didn’t know what to think or how to feel.

  He didn’t know whether to hate Benzel for promising his first-born child to the gods or love him for hiding him with Snip and Sven on Tower Island, disguising Skallagrim as a Scalding.

  He didn’t know whether to hate Snip and Sven for hiding the truth from him or love them for keeping him hidden from the gods who would take him.

  One thing that Sven said kept ringing in Skallagrim’s thoughts.

  Your mother was a dragonslayer, too.

  “Both of my parents were dragonslayers,” Skallagrim said. “That why you sent me to the Southlands to become one. It’s why you said I have the heart of a dragonslayer.”

  “That’s one reason,” Sven said. “It also was a way for you to spend time with Benzel. It’s why he became a teacher of dragonslayers. Benzel hid himself in plain sight. He wanted to meet you. To know you. To work with you and teach you what you needed to know.”

  Skallagrim thought about the day Benzel died. They’d met unexpectedly that day on the dock in Gott. Skallagrim remembered the way Benzel had looked at him. The way Benzel had kissed Skallagrim’s forehead.

  “He found a way to be i
n your life,” Snip said. “And you spent as many years with him in the Southlands as you did with us here on Tower Island.”

  Skallagrim lashed out in anger. “But those years are gone! I’ll never see Benzel again. I can never tell him that I know he’s my father.”

  “You don’t understand,” Sven said.

  “Your son, Frandulane—your own flesh and blood—ruined everything.” Skallagrim let his anger boil up again. Casting a hateful glance at Sven, Skallagrim said, “I guess you can’t convince every Scalding that it’s wrong to kill.”

  Sven held a halting hand in front of Skallagrim. “You say Frandulane killed people. How do you know this? Did you see him do it with your own eyes?”

  Skallagrim hadn’t. He’d come upon the murder scene after everyone had been killed or lay dying. All that mattered was that he’d seen Frandulane moments before, holding a dragonslayer sword that didn’t belong to him. “I know he did it.” Skallagrim scoffed. “But don’t believe me. I’m not your son.”

  “You’re our favorite son,” Snip said.

  Her words shocked Skallagrim into silence. He stared at his adoptive parents in disbelief.

  “It’s true,” Sven said. “Something isn’t right with Frandulane. We’ve known it since you two were children. We knew we’d always have to watch him to make sure he didn’t harm anyone.”

  “But we never had to do that with you,” Snip said. “The goodness in you is obvious. We knew we could trust you.” She frowned. “Except now…”

  Sven looked at her in surprise. “Except now? Now what?”

  Snip spoke directly to Skallagrim instead of answering her husband. “Benzel’s greatest weakness was his anger. It acted like a poison. It muddled his thoughts. It made him determined to kill every Scalding when he could have been living a happy life. Your father’s anger cursed his life. Don’t let that be your legacy. Don’t let it destroy your life and your family.”

  “My family is dead,” Skallagrim said.

  “What?” Sven stood and reached for his dagger as if ready to defend against attackers.