The Dragonslayer's Fate Page 8

  TeaTree gave him a blank look. “What do you want me to say? I’m just a merchant. I have no ability to decide such matters.”

  “But you’re Madam Po’s closest friend,” Seph said. “I need you to tell her what I’ve decided. I want her to know why I’m making this choice. And I want to know if there’s anything else I can do to help find Mandulane.”

  “One thing does come to mind. There is always the end of the dragon season. You’ll come back from the Northlands. It seems to me you could then convince the more seasoned dragonslayers to look for Mandulane and you could do the same. It will take more time, but perhaps it can be done.”

  A wave of relief washed over Seph. “Of course. That’s a most excellent plan.” He knelt and faced his son. “How would you like to become a dragonslayer like me and your mother?”

  The boy regained his focus and looked at Seph. “She’s gone. So is Bellesguard. I heard TeaTree say so.”

  Seph forced a smile. “But I’m a dragonslayer, and I can teach you everything I know. We’ll go to the Northlands and take your mother’s route. I’ll take you to every village and introduce you to everyone who lives there. I know a town called Guell that we could make our home base. You’ll make massive amounts of friends. In winter we’ll go back home to Bellesguard. And I’ll teach you everything about dragons and how to kill them.”

  The boy held his ground. “I want my mother to come back.”

  Something inside Seph collapsed, and it took all his will to keep his composure. “I want her to come back, too. But it won’t happen. We can’t make it happen. The one thing we can do is show much we love and respect her by taking on her work. What do you think?”

  The boy pondered the question for a long time. “Will we get killed?”

  Seph believed the most important thing he could do was be honest with his son. “Maybe someday. It might be someday soon or it might be someday many years from now.”

  The boy nodded. “Alright. We’ll be dragonslayers together.”

  “That’s right, DiStephan,” Seph said to his son. “We’ll be dragonslayers together.”

  CHAPTER 15

  During the next several years, Mandulane swelled with joy every time his mother gave birth to a boy child. With every passing year, Papa Cobbler gave Mandulane more responsibility in his small shop. At the same time, Mama depended on Mandulane to watch over his young brothers, which he did with pride. His years of being a lonely and only child melted away, and he thrived in the company of his happy family.

  But the year that Mandulane grew as tall as Papa Cobbler, Mama died while giving birth to her only daughter, Annalyse. Grief hit Mandulane like a falling boulder landing square on his chest. For weeks he felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

  “We must move,” Papa Cobbler told Mandulane one day. “My sister can help with Annalyse but won’t move here. Your aunt lives by herself and has gardens that can be expanded into fields. We’ll become farmers now.”

  Papa Cobbler’s decision wrenched Mandulane apart. He hated the idea of leaving the village he’d grown to love and all his friends. Even worse, they’d be leaving Mama’s grave behind, and he didn’t know when he’d be able to visit it again. But Mandulane focused on what mattered most: keeping his family together.

  As long as I have Papa Cobbler and my brothers and Annalyse, everything will be fine.

  When they moved into the spinster aunt’s home, Mandulane thought it looked like a mansion for one person but a hovel for his large family. The place soon took on a rank smell due to so many growing boys living inside.

  The spinster aunt appeared welcoming in the presence of Papa Cobbler but showed her irritation when he wasn’t present. She bossed Mandulane around and took a sharp tone with him. He didn’t like her careless ways with Annalyse. Mandulane had watched how Mama cared for his brothers over the years, and she wouldn’t have approved of the way his aunt treated Annalyse with such disregard and contempt.

  But when Mandulane told Papa Cobbler about it, he laughed it off. “You’re imagining things,” Papa Cobbler said. “That’s my sister! She’s family. She’d never do anything to harm any of you. Think about what she has done for us. She’s used to living alone. It’s a big change for her quiet house to become so boisterous all the time. She’s making a lot of sacrifices for our sake, and we must be grateful.”

  Mandulane took Papa Cobbler’s advice to heart. He talked to his brothers about being considerate of his aunt, but they were too young to understand and continued their wild ways. He took care of Annalyse whenever he wasn’t farming alongside Papa Cobbler in an attempt to lighten his aunt’s load.

  But the truth became clear to Mandulane over the course of time. His spinster aunt had a mean streak, and Papa Cobbler fell blind to it. Mostly because she kept that mean streak well hidden from him.

  One autumn, at the height of harvest, Papa Cobbler fell ill. He insisted on harvesting the food they’d worked so hard to grow all year until he collapsed in the field. Working alongside him, Mandulane hoisted his step-father to his feet and dragged him back to the house.

  For once, Mandulane ignored his spinster aunt’s sharp remarks and ordered her to help get Papa Cobbler into bed and make the kind of soup that would nurse him back to health. Mandulane then herded up his young brothers and took them out to the field, where he showed them how to help with the harvest. But the boys still kept their wild ways and soon ran amuck, using the field as their playground instead of listening to Mandulane.

  When Mandulane saw how his brothers were using food as weapons against each other and spoiled that food for consumption, he shouted at them and banned them from the field. His brothers looked at Mandulane in horror because he’d never raised his voice in anger before.

  In that moment, he missed his mother more than ever. Self-pity enveloped him like a cloak, and he took his sorrow out on his brothers. “Get out, you useless pack of pups!” Mandulane yelled at his beloved brothers. “I wish you’d never been born!”

  His brothers burst into tears and ran back toward the house.

  Mandulane knew he should have felt regret, but he didn’t. He knew he should apologize to his brothers, but he wouldn’t.

  Deep in his heart, he knew the words he’d said were true. No matter much he loved his brothers and Annalyse, he recognized that if none of them had ever been born, then Mama would still be alive.

  He needed her to be alive, and felt resentment toward everyone who had any hand leading to his mother’s death.

  Pushing aside his longing to wallow in self-pity, Mandulane returned to the harvest and worked long past sunset and into the dark. He worked even though his back ached and his hands bled from small cuts and scrapes. The more he worked, the angrier he felt.

  After many long days in the field, Mandulane came home to discover his brothers had taken most of the food he’d harvested and played with it to the point of spoilage. All of Mandulane’s hard work had been for nothing. He screamed at them. “What have you done?”

  Mandulane charged into the house and confronted his spinster aunt while Annalyse—now a very young girl—played by herself on the floor. “What did you let them do?” Mandulane shouted at his spinster aunt. “They’ve destroyed the food we need to get through winter!”

  Still sick in bed, Papa Cobbler moaned.

  Mandulane pointed at his step-father and continued the tirade. “Why isn’t he better? You were supposed to take care of him. What have you been doing while I’ve been getting food for the family that’s now gone to ruin because you weren’t paying attention?”

  The spinster aunt lifted a defiant chin. “I’m doing the best I can. I don’t know what ails him, so how can I help him heal?”

  Everything is falling apart. My life is a disaster.

  “You’re useless,” he said to his spinster aunt. “Why do you have to live in the middle of nowhere? Why can’t you live in a village like everyone else?”

  His spinster aunt sniffed. “You forget I opened my home
to you as an act of charity. You forget how much I do for you.”

  “I’m the only one who gets anything done.” Mandulane turned his back on his aunt and left the house.

  Although they lived near no villages, Mandulane knew of a city where he could seek help for his father. Once he arrived in that city, some people listened to Mandulane’s description of his step-father’s symptoms. But no one recognized them, much less knew of a cure.

  Finally, someone pointed Mandulane toward an apothecary, where he met an alchemist.

  When Mandulane first entered the apothecary, the competing scents of fresh and stale, sweet and sharp overwhelmed him.

  For a moment, those scents made him think of a day long past when he’d been surrounded by these same aromas. He had a flash of a memory of sitting on the floor with a circle drawn around him inside a thick, circular wall of blood-red smoke.

  He remembered Mama speaking her concerns and an alchemist answering them.

  You said there might be contamination. What does that mean? Will the past haunt him?

  His memories might get muddled.

  Mandulane shook off those remembered words. They would do him no good today.

  He talked to the alchemist working in the apothecary, explaining his father’s illness once more.

  The alchemist studied Mandulane’s arms and hands, which bore no silver bracelets or rings. “How do you expect to pay?”

  Mandulane’s heart sank when he realized his foolish brothers had destroyed the harvested food that could have paid for his father’s cure. “When my father gets well, he can pay you.”

  “With what? And what if your father doesn’t regain his health? What then?”

  While Mandulane thought to come up with an answer, he let his gaze wander. He stood in the middle of the apothecary with the alchemist by his side, but a bowl of fruit stood on a small table by the front door.

  That food could save my father’s life.

  Mandulane acted without another thought. He ran for the door and grabbed all the fruit his hands could hold on the way out.

  The alchemist tackled Mandulane to the floor and hollered out the open door for help.

  Taking pity on Mandulane, the alchemist refused to request a trial by combat. After all, there was nothing for the gods to reveal through the winner of a battle. It was obvious to all that Mandulane had attempted theft and been caught in the act. By Midlander law, his punishment consisted of a few days locked in a cellar without food or water.

  When freed, Mandulane wasted no time leaving that city. However, as he walked through its streets, he noticed a small group of Northlanders shackled in chains and paraded down the street. He asked a passerby about them.

  “Slaves,” the Midlander said. “Captured from the Northlands.”

  His answer left Mandulane aghast. “But we’re friendly with the Northlands! That’s where dragonslayers spend most of the year protecting their people.”

  The Midlander jabbed a thumb at the shackled men. “Make no mistake that these aren’t worth protecting. They’re brigands. Liars and thieves. They’d just as soon kill you after robbing you.”

  Mandulane understood the danger posed by brigands, but he’d never seen any captured as slaves before.

  He hurried home empty-handed, thirsty, and starving. When Mandulane entered his spinster aunt’s home, he discovered his father’s dead body laid out in the room. “What happened?” he demanded of his aunt.

  Before his aunt could answer, little Annalyse ran into the house and held her arms open. “Mandulane! Papa died!”

  He swept his young sister up in his arms and held her close. “Don’t worry, Annalyse. You still have your family.” Glaring at his aunt, he said, “Where are my brothers?”

  The spinster aunt shrugged. “Ran off. I don’t know what got into their heads.”

  Had it not been for the sensation of Annalyse’s head resting against his shoulder and her arms wrapped around his neck, Mandulane would have yelled at his aunt. Not wanting to cause his sister any more distress, he spoke in a calm but firm voice instead. “My brothers ran away? Where did they go?”

  “How should I know?” The aunt made a sour face. “They’re a bunch of hooligans. They’re no better than brigands.”

  “Brigands? I saw Northlander brigands in chains. They’ve been turned into slaves. What if that happens to my brothers because someone like you thinks they’re brigands?”

  “Slaves?” The spinster aunt’s eyes brightened with greed. “Where? Were they placed on sale?”

  Mandulane’s stomach twisted in disgust. “I saw them in the city.” Although his aunt had asked nothing about where Mandulane had gone, he said, “I went there seeking help for Papa.”

  Greed still burned in his aunt’s eyes. “There’s no help there. I could have told you that. How much did they want for a slave?”

  “What does it matter? We don’t have food to get through the winter, much less any extra to pay for a slave.”

  The spinster aunt drew her frame up with pride. “I salvaged enough of what your brothers tore asunder. And with them gone, we’ll be fine. They were the ones eating me out of house and home.”

  During the following weeks, the spinster aunt began to treat Mandulane as if he were a captured Northland brigand that she had purchased to be her slave. He brought in the remnants of food that could be harvested and then cleared the fields of the debris left behind. He made repairs on the home in preparation of winter. He took on tasks that his spinster aunt had previously done, like washing clothes and hauling water from the river and cooking meals. While he worked, the spinster aunt coddled Annalyse, who followed Mandulane at every opportunity, desperate to be close to her remaining brother.

  During those weeks, Mandulane felt put upon by his spinster aunt and dogged by his little sister. Despite his sister’s youth, he grew bitter because she did nothing while he slaved away every day. He felt trapped in a ruined life that had once held promise.

  Now the only lives that held promise were those of his spinster aunt and Annalyse.

  Mandulane felt left behind and unappreciated. He felt as if the entire world were taking advantage of him. With every day that passed, he dreaded a future of despair and sorrow for what might have been.

  If only Mama had lived.

  Mandulane became fixated on the lost way of life to which he felt entitled. If his siblings had never been born and Mama had lived, they’d be happy now.

  Mama would have known how to cure Papa Cobbler’s illness.

  And if Mama had lived, Papa Cobbler would have never become ill in the first place because she took such good care of us.

  Mandulane looked at Annalyse as someone who should have never been born. He stopped thinking of her as his sister. Instead, he saw her as a roadblock to the happiness he deserved.

  He grew to hate his spinster aunt and Annalyse, feeling stifled and enslaved. Anger and resentment boiled inside him.

  One day, Mandulane took a basket of dirty clothes to the river, and Annalyse followed him. While he washed the clothes, she waded deep into the water.

  Mandulane beat the dirt out of the clothes with a frenzy, wishing he were beating his spinster aunt instead.

  How dare she make me do women’s work? What if people happened along this river? What if they saw me? How can my aunt embarrass me in such a filthy way?

  Mandulane paused when a new thought struck him.

  Why do I allow my aunt to tell me what to do? I’m the man. I should be telling her what to do.

  He heard a small cry. Mandulane looked up and saw Annalyse slip and fall in the stream.

  His immediate impulse was to rush to her aid.

  Contempt stopped him.

  Annalyse’s head slipped below the water.

  Mandulane felt as if his heart stopped, but his thoughts reminded him that Annalyse did nothing but follow him around while he worked his fingers to the bone.

  The water churned while Annalyse splashed wildly and made fr
antic attempts to keep her head above its surface.

  A sense of calm washed through Mandulane as he watched her.

  A short time later, his dead sister's body bobbed to the surface. Mandulane watched the current wash Annalyse away.

  For a brief moment, he felt sick and terrified of the way he’d failed to help his sister.

  But then Mandulane remembered that Mama and Papa Cobbler would still be alive if Annalyse had never been born.

  Mandulane’s life would be so much better if Annalyse had never been born.

  I have a chance now. Maybe I can make my life right again.

  Mandulane knew he couldn’t bring back Mama or Papa Cobbler, but he believed they would want him to have a good life. He believed they would want him to be happy.

  With new hope in his heart, Mandulane left the laundry half-done at the river.

  When he returned home and entered the cottage, his spinster aunt asked why he came back without either the laundry or Annalyse.

  Mandulane answered by picking up a heavy iron cooking ladle and beating her to death with it.

  By the time he came to his senses, the sun hung low in the sky. Mandulane realized he must have spent hours standing over the corpse of his spinster aunt. He kept such a tight grip on the ladle that his knuckles had gone white.

  For the first time, he was happy that she’d insisted on living in a house isolated from villages. She wouldn’t be missed for weeks, if at all. If this had happened in a village or a city, any neighbor could have challenged Mandulane to a trial by combat that he would have no chance to win. He knew the gods had seen him commit murder. They wouldn’t allow him to win a trial. The gods would make sure any accuser would win in order to make Mandulane’s crime obvious.

  Mandulane let the ladle fall from his hand and clatter on the floor.