The Dragonslayer's Fate Read online

  “Leave us be,” Gloomer said to the Scaldings circled around Sven. “He needs fresh air, and you’re keeping it from him.” Gloomer pointed at the doorway to the stairs. “Go check on the alchemist and see how she’s doing.”

  Putting the Scaldings in her path would delay the alchemist’s progress.

  Gloomer waited until his fellow Scaldings exited and vanished down the stairs. He then hauled Sven on his feet. “You don’t look well, cousin. Let’s see if some fresh air will revive you.”

  “Snip,” Sven uttered. “Where’s my wife?”

  Gloomer guided Sven to the edge of the tower that overlooked the dangerous sea below. “She’s right here, Sven. Snip hasn’t gone anywhere.”

  Hovering nearby, Snip looked up at the mention of her name. “Sven!”

  Gloomer squatted to get better purchase on Sven’s body. Standing up with a jerk, Gloomer lugged Sven onto the edge of the tower wall and then pushed him over.

  “Sven!” Snip screamed. She rushed toward the wall.

  Like catching a chicken run loose from its hen house, Gloomer laid hands on Snip and threw her over the wall.

  Leaning over it, Gloomer watched the people who had prevented him from gaining power hurtle with their limbs askew toward the unforgiving sea below. Had they time to prepare for such a fall, they might have accomplished a successful dive. But frantic and wracked with panic, their bodies twisted so that they crashed against the water as if falling onto hard rocks instead of piercing its surface.

  Gloomer smiled, knowing Sven and Snip died on impact.

  Soon after, he steeled his expression when he heard the commotion of dozens of feet thundering up the tower stairs. Gloomer turned and presented a distraught face to the other Scaldings and the alchemist, all of them out of breath.

  “What happened?” the alchemist demanded. “Who screamed?” She pushed her way past Gloomer and turned in place to search the rooftop on which they stood. “Where’s Sven? Where’s Snip?”

  Gloomer lowered his head and gave it a sad shake. He struggled to keep from smiling.

  A hush fell over the Scaldings. Like Gloomer, they looked down and shook their heads.

  The alchemist shouted at Gloomer. “What did you do with Sven and Snip?”

  Gloomer looked up at her so quickly that his neck cracked. He winced at the subtle pain. “I did nothing with my cousin and his wife.”

  The alchemist strode to him and pushed Gloomer in the chest. “Where are they?”

  Heaving a terrible sigh of anguish, Gloomer pointed at the far tower wall.

  Bee ran across the stone floor so fast that she nearly flew over the tower wall, slamming into it and pushing her wide-spread hands against it to steady herself. When she looked over, she screamed.

  Gloomer held up his hands to caution the Scaldings. “It happened too fast. I couldn’t save them. Snip must have thought the gods came to help, because she climbed on top of the wall. Before I knew what was happening, she lost her balance and tumbled over. I let go of Sven to rush to her aid, but it was too late. The next thing I knew, he went over the wall. I presume he thought he could save her.” Gloomer sighed again, adding a moan for good measure.

  “You mean they fell off the tower?” one of the Scaldings said. “They’re dead?”

  “Alas,” Gloomer whimpered. “It’s true.”

  Bee kept her distance while she walked toward the doorway to the stairs. “That means Drageen is the leader of the Scaldings now.” She jabbed an accusing finger at Gloomer. “You keep your distance from Drageen and Astrid!”

  “My darling girl,” Gloomer said. “They’re my kin. Drageen is now my leader.”

  Don’t any of them see what’s obvious?

  Gloomer had no reason to kill Drageen or his infant sister. It would accomplish nothing other than to pass the inheritance of leadership to one of Gloomer’s cousins. All of his cousins would have to die before leadership would fall into Gloomer’s lap, and murdering most of his clan would do Gloomer no good.

  Gloomer also recognized the ease with which a young boy like Drageen could be manipulated. And manipulating Drageen would be as good as holding the power of leadership in Gloomer’s own hands.

  And now I see the alchemist reveal her reason for coming to Tower Island.

  The alchemist’s recent arrival had baffled Gloomer and caused him concern because he didn’t understand her reason for being here. Now he could see it on her face and in the harsh tone of her voice.

  Someone sent the alchemist Bee here with the intent of protecting Drageen and his sister.

  Someone is invested in their gain of power.

  “I will be looking after the children,” Bee said, making her way closer to the doorway. “And make no mistake. I will guard them with my life if necessary.”

  One of Gloomer’s cousins stepped in front of Bee, blocking her path to the doorway.

  “No need for that,” Gloomer said. He waved his cousin to step aside, and the cousin complied.

  A wave of confusion crossed Bee’s face.

  Gloomer swept his arm in a grand gesture toward the doorway. “I believe I can speak for all Scaldings in saying that we are most grateful for your help with the children. You are welcome to remain on Tower Island and care for them.”

  Bee clenched her teeth, and the confusion disappeared. She stormed past the Scaldings and through the doorway. Her footsteps echoed in the tower as she hurried downstairs.

  Gloomer guessed she’d be heading toward the dock to retrieve Drageen and his sister.

  Let her. The alchemist has no idea how she plays into my hands.

  Gloomer gestured toward the doorway, and the Scaldings made a mournful progression down the tower. Gloomer stayed behind for a moment.

  He thought about all that needed to be done.

  Since collecting alchemy ingredients from past raids many years ago, Gloomer had tested each ingredient to measure its effects. From time to time, he’d placed a single ingredient in a select bottle of his homemade honey mead and give it to a Scalding he’d selected. Sometimes the honey mead had no effect, which prompted Gloomer to increase the dosage in the next batch. He observed his victims with intense scrutiny and then created his own obscure labels for each ingredient so he could remember its purpose.

  One ingredient had the effect of clouding one’s memory and judgment. Gloomer had kept a bottle of honey mead containing that ingredient to use on Sven, but his sons Einarr and Tungu had discovered the bottle and drained it.

  Gloomer pushed away the realization that his sons had done so on the eve of leaving Tower Island, a fact he’d pieced together when he found the empty bottle and their absence. He refused to entertain the notion that his sons might still be alive if they hadn’t found that bottle. After all, his sons had always been too foolish to see past the facades of life in order to understand what truly happens beneath the surface.

  Gloomer walked toward the side of the tower that faced the Northlands.

  He still had plenty of that ingredient. He could find a way to make sure the alchemist and Drageen consumed enough so that their memory of these past few days ebbed away like the receding tide.

  The alchemist knows what I did to Sven and Snip. She mustn’t remember.

  Looking down, he saw Bee hurry along the path toward the dock where they’d left Drageen and his sister.

  As if someone had called her name, Bee came to an abrupt stop and looked up at the tower.

  Gloomer didn’t attempt to hide his presence.

  Let her see me. It won’t be long before she forgets. I will convince her that I am her ally.

  Bee’s gaze at the tower lingered, and then she hurried along her way toward collecting the children that Gloomer knew he could control.

  CHAPTER 10

  After weeks of travel by cart, Mandulane arrived with his family at their new home in the Midlands. Flat farmland stretched to the horizon formed by sloping hills. A few dozen houses made of wattle and daub formed a cluster at the
edge of the woods bordering the farmland. This close to the border of the Southlands, the sun beamed bright and high in the sky, and the air felt warm on Mandulane’s skin. He jumped from the cart and ran around it in delight.

  He followed Mama and Papa Cobbler into their new home, where his parents put away the belongings they’d brought on the journey: clothing, blankets, a cooking cauldron and utensils, and cobblers’ tools. Mandulane didn’t know why he called his father Papa Cobbler, but it felt right. After all, his father made his living as a cobbler. Why shouldn’t Mandulane call him that?

  That night, they joined their new neighbors at a welcome bonfire in the center of the village. Dusk left a thin ribbon of light to outline the surrounding hills, and the thrum of insects made the air come alive in a mysterious way. One by one, people told stories, but one story in particular captured Mandulane’s attention.

  A young man told the story of how he’d come to live with his distant cousins here in the village after a harrowing experience. “It started when I was his age.” The young man pointed at Mandulane.

  Mandulane shivered with the delight of being singled out. He beamed when everyone turned to look at him.

  “Brigands came to my village,” the young man said. “They burned my family cottage and everyone inside.”

  Mandulane piped up before he realized he spoke. “Why didn’t you get burned up, too?”

  The young man locked eyes with Mandulane. “I’d gone off in the woods to gather mushrooms. I had the good sense to stay hidden, because my entire village went up in flames. I saw a few escape a fire-some death but the brigands captured them as slaves.”

  The thought of becoming a slave terrified Mandulane. He couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from Mama and Papa Cobbler.

  The young man lowered his voice as if worried about being overheard, despite the fact that everyone in the village hung on his every word and there could be no one else around for miles and miles. “I waited until the brigands left. Then I walked for days. I found my way to a land baron's estate. I found work tending the baron’s crops and animals. But the baron's stinginess often left all of us workers hungry while he and his family feasted.”

  “That’s terrible,” Mama murmured.

  The young man continued. “It was but a year ago that Krystr clerks wandered onto the baron's property.”

  “Krystr?” Papa Cobbler said. “Clerks? Who are they?”

  “Men devoted to a new religion,” the young man said. “The clerks talk about the religion but also do whatever tasks are asked of them by their superiors. The baron welcomed them but I could tell they made him uneasy. The clerks offered to join us workers in the fields in exchange for daily meals. The baron agreed. He didn’t understand how the clerks had manipulated him into handing us workers over as their captive audience.”

  “Audience?” Papa Cobbler said. “Why do clerks need an audience?”

  When the young man looked at Papa Cobbler, Mandulane saw fear in the young man’s eyes. “That is the question the baron should have asked,” the young man said. “For months the clerks spoke of their new god and his remarkable power. The clerks claimed he would conquer the gods of all other nations in the world.”

  Mama and Papa Cobbler gasped in surprise.

  Mandulane noticed no one else did.

  Our neighbors already know this story. We’re the only ones who are surprised by it.

  “I kept my silence,” the young man said. “But I noticed the way the clerks captured my fellow workers with words. It took time, but the clerks converted the workers to the new religion. The clerks staged an uprising. The workers stoned the baron and his family to death. His wealth landed in the hands of the clerks, who offered to manage it in the name of the god Krystr.”

  “Was it near here?” Mama said in a panic. “Will they come here next? Are we in danger?”

  “No, that happened on the opposite side of the Midlands,” the young man said. “That’s why I came here. Lucky I have family that took me in.” He smiled at the group sitting on either side.

  Mama’s voice wavered. “We’ll be safe here?”

  An older woman spoke up. “What would people like that want with us? We’re but a little village. Our only wealth is the food we grow. What do we have that anyone would want to steal?”

  Mandulane saw how Mama and Papa Cobbler relaxed at the old woman’s words, but the story told by the young man washed over him like a river.

  The details of the story whipped around Mandulane like a whirlpool. He remembered the words, and they clung to his body and yanked on his limbs as if trying to rip them off.

  Brigands came to my village. They burned my family cottage and everyone inside.

  Mandulane imagined hunting for mushrooms in the woods only to witness the destruction of his home. He wondered if the young man had been close enough to feel the heat of the fire just like Mandulane felt the heat of the villagers’ bonfire right now.

  I walked for days. I found my way to a land baron's estate.

  Mandulane thought about how lonely and frightening it would be to walk through the world on his own. He imagined what the baron and his property looked like. He imagined being a worker for the baron.

  Krystr clerks wandered onto the baron's property.

  The thoughts spun so fast around Mandulane that he felt dizzy.

  The clerks spoke of their new god and his remarkable power.

  Mandulane remembered the scents of fragrant herbs, and stinky needles in the alchemist’s shop back in the port city. He remembered the rattle of dry pods on the wooden floor, the silkiness of milkweed, and shimmering dust.

  He remembered the alchemist talking about how the magic she worked on Mandulane might cause his memory to muddle. She said his memories could become fluid.

  That’s why I came here.

  “Lucky I have family that took me in,” Mandulane said. In that moment, Mandulane believed all the things the young man had experienced were Mandulane’s own memories and experiences. He forgot who his mother was and didn’t recognize her when she looked at him. Mandulane looked up and smiled at the people seated on either side of the young man.

  The villagers stared at Mandulane.

  Mama laughed. “Yes! We’re your family. And we’re all so lucky to be welcomed by our new neighbors.”

  The villagers smiled and stopped staring.

  But Mandulane sat very still because for several moments he didn’t know who his family was.

  Were they the people sitting on either side of the young man?

  Or were they the man and woman sitting by Mandulane?

  The world spun around him, and Mandulane felt so dizzy that he thought he might get sick.

  Was it Mandulane that had seen his village burned by brigands? Did Mandulane work for the baron and encounter the Krystr clerks?

  The boy shook his head in an attempt to clear it.

  A loving arm wrapped around his shoulders, and the woman sitting next to him whispered, “Everything is alright, Mandulane. Your mother and father won’t let anything hurt you.”

  Mandulane recognized Mama’s voice, and the world became clear to him at once. He remembered now. He’d moved from the Midlander port city with Mama and Papa Cobbler.

  It was the young man sitting across from Mandulane who had seen his village burn and worked for the baron and heard the Krystr clerks talk about their new god.

  Not Mandulane. His memories had twisted inside his head until he confused his own life with the story told by the young man. But now he began to remember what was real versus what he had strangely imagined.

  The words from the young man’s story circled around Mandulane as if waiting patiently for his memory to slip again.

  Mandulane ignored the young man and the words of his story that had been so confusing.

  Thanks to Mama’s comforting words, Mandulane knew who he was.

  And how likely could it be that he would forget again?

  CHAPTER 11
r />   In the city of Zangcheen in the Wulong province of the Far East, Madam Pingzi Po hoped for a good night’s sleep when she went to bed.

  She should have known better.

  Pingzi fell asleep quickly and dreamed of wandering through the Midlander port city where she had met with a large group of dragonslayers months ago. Although that meeting had been real, she recognized dreams for what they were and never mistook a dream for reality.

  In this dream, she walked alone on empty streets and thought about what had transpired.

  The dragonslayer Skallagrim, wracked with grief over his wife’s murder by his brother Frandulane, had let the demon desire for revenge overwhelm him. He refused to be quelled. Without his consent, Pingzi the demon queller could do nothing to help him. He’d stormed away from her and his fellow dragonslayers. Pingzi didn’t know what had become of him.

  The Red Bird tavern where the dragonslayers had met with him now loomed ahead of Pingzi.

  Why am I here?

  Pingzi walked to the open door of the tavern and peered inside. The tavern stood deserted. She gazed upstairs, remembering that Skallagrim had left his children here with his fellow dragonslayers Bruni and Seph.

  A shriek from upstairs pierced the empty air.

  Springing to help, Pingzi crossed the threshold. The tavern vanished, and she found herself standing on an island dominated by a tower covered in gold.

  I know this place. I’ve been here before.

  Pingzi had come to Tower Island decades ago when she was a little girl. A portent had led her here to the first demon she would quell: Benzel of the Wolf. After the quelling, Benzel had become an important friend.

  The irony that Benzel’s only son Skallagrim refused to be quelled baffled Pingzi.

  She shook that thought away.

  Shimmering yellow light rained down all around her. She recognized the sign at once.

  I see. The dream now becomes a portent.