In an untidy village in the Border Kingdom of Heinmark there lived a worm-farmer. Now, he was not the sort who dug up earthworms for the ends of fish hooks or who raised grubs for the keepers of pigeons. Nor did he raise poisonous angarra for sale to apothecaries and murderers. He was, in fact, a cultivator of giant silk worms, but not a very good one. Hendrik was his name, though only his wife ever called him that, and though his surname was Keltsen, he was most often called Sulk, though never to his face.
Hendrik, or Sulk, if you will, was a moody man of average height and outstanding girth, with a surly disposition. Some attributed his ways to his notable lack of success as a worm-farmer, and others to chronic indigestion, but in either case, Sulk was pleasant enough to be around if he was in a good mood. Such moods were rare indeed, and it was during one of these bouts of uncharacteristic good-naturedness that Sulk went down to the local slave market to acquire some help for the farm.
The slave market was really not much more than a moldy wooden platform of questionable workmanship where men of poor manners and poorer hygiene bought and sold those unfortunate enough to have been sold for debts, captured in raids, or who had been born into bondage. On this day, like most market days, the small square was crowded and noisy, thick with the scent of unwashed bodies, tobacco, and horses.
Sulk pushed his way past some old men playing at dice and took a seat on one of the raised benches facing the platform. The gallery was what the local men called it, though it was hardly worth the name. He grinned at a serving maid from the nearby tavern. She smiled brightly but deep dislike simmered in her eyes as she minced her way back to fetch another tray of ale.
A good number of slaves were bought and sold as the day drew on. The men nodded to one another as a particularly promising one was brought out. “Only ten years old, this one, and look how big he already is! A good bargain at twelve gold marks, I tell you,” the old auctioneer cried out. The boy, however, had seen his tenth birthday come and go some five years earlier.
The bidding ended at fourteen gold, and the boy was carted off by a kindly old farmer who’d never had a son. The next slave to be sold did not fare as well, being sold to the keeper of a small coal mine. He spat at his new master, and was swiftly put down with the sort of spiteful vigor for which the Men of the Borderlands were well-known.
“Now, there’s some action at last, wouldn’t you say, Keltsen?” A skinny old man with more warts than teeth took a seat next to Sulk with a laugh.
“I was hoping it’d last longer, Toomes. Hasn’t been a good fight here in months.” Sulk laughed and pointed to the cages, where some of the younger slaves jostled one another. “There’s bound to be some sport today, I’ll warrant!”
“I reckon you’re right, there, sonny,” Toomes said. “It ain’t much, but in a little town like this, a slave market’s the best entertainment a man can have without spending money.”
By mid-afternoon Sulk’s good mood had eroded. “They’ve had a few good ones, but these slavers want too much money.”
“But you’re still got it fixed in your head to get yourself a slave, I take it?” Toomes grinned, and took a swig from a small bottle.
“Yessir, I’m determined. A man’s got too much to do in life to be bothered with drudgery, I say.” Sulk gulped down the last of a watery ale, and looked to see if the tavern maid was near.
“How much are ye looking to spend?” Toomes asked.
“Not a copper above seven marks,” Sulk replied.
“You’re not going to get a boy, for that much, I’ll take my oath on that,” Toomes said. “But this one might suit you.” He pointed as the auctioneer began again.
“Only five gold marks for this fine little specimen of a rechaizo! Young and ready for work,” the auctioneer said. “Taken in a raid, she was. Sweet as a summer apple.” The little rat bit me six times before I got her in the wagon, he thought. Ain’t gonna turn much of a profit on this one, but best to be rid of her before she starts making trouble again. I’m getting too old for this.
There were no takers at five gold, and it obvious seemed to all present why. She was a small, wiry girl with dark, unkempt hair, large violet eyes, and long, pointed ears. “She’s rechaizo, all right,” Toomes quipped. “Unwanted, the elves call them. They got no place among whats left of the elves, and for the most part a cruel place in the world at large. You should buy her, it’d be good for you and the missus. Civilize her, and turn a nice profit, too.”
“Five marks ain’t cheap, even for a girl,” Sulk replied.
“Maybe, but the wiry ones are always the best suited to hard work. Think about it, Keltsen! She’s small enough that it won’t cost you much to keep her. Can’t be more than nine or ten years old, though with these half-breeds it’s kind of hard to know for sure. She could tend your worms and maybe even raise a decent garden. By the time she’s a woman grown, she’d have earned your money back, and you could sell her for three times as much.”
Sulk fingered his purse. “You’re talking sense, now, old man.” He waved to the auctioneer. “You there! Don’t put that one away just yet.” Just a few years, and I’ll get twenty gold for her, for sure, Sulk told himself as he counted out the coins to the auctioneer. Some of the townsfolk later said that he seemed almost fond of the child. This may have been true of Sulk in his better moods, but such a mood had little chance of lasting once he returned to the reek of worms and a wife who would rather he had bought a young mule.
“You’ll work, you will, little one, and hard, too, if you’re to earn your keep,” Sulk said to the child. “I’m a kind man, but I don’t take to lazybones and freeloaders, no sir.” The child nodded, and they walked on in silence, the man leading his purchase by a thin leather rope.
* * *
“Does this child even have a name?” Mayrah Keltsen frowned. “Winter’s just two months away, and there’s too much to do without having to tend to a child, and a girl at that!”
“Call me Katarina.” The girl’s eyes never left the stone floor of the farmhouse.
“I’ll call you a sass-monkey and give you a good wallop, if you speak out of turn again!” Sulk, it seemed, was himself again.
A shadow passed over the girl’s face. You will be free of these people one day soon. Her mother's last words echoed in her mind, and she clenched her teeth. You will return to Moonshadow, and restore our people. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Now, see here, Hendrik. She might be one of those rechaizo heathens, but there’s no need to threaten her just for saying her name. Come here, and let’s have a good look at you, girl.” Mayrah took the girl’s chin in her plump hand and studied her face. “You’re a pretty child, despite them long, pointy ears.” Mayrah put her hands on her hips and stepped back. “Now, listen to me, Kat -that’s what I’ll be calling you. We’ll not be cruel to you, but you’ll have to know your place. Just you stand there and keep those pointy ears shut and your nose out of grown folks’ business.”
* * *
“Now, Kat, don’t you forget to water the garden,” Mayrah said as she waddled by. “I’m heading to town, now. You know your master always comes back from hunting empty handed, so I’ll expect my table set and supper on it when I get back.” Mayrah had discovered the considerable pleasures of delegating much of her own work to the help, and she spent now little time at the farm if the weather was good.
The girl nodded but said nothing. If I’m still here, she thought. Katarina sighed, and dragged another sack of dengo seed to the feeding trough.She looked toward the rain barrel just outside the barn door and thought of the little bag of coins she’d tucked under it. Who am I kidding? I can’t escape just yet. Even if get my hands on a good map, Sulk’s hounds would find me quick as crickets unless I find a way to cover my scent. I’d have to get a chance to make it to the southern road, and that’s not likely. I’ll be selling old scraps of metal from the forest to the blacksmith for years before I have enough to buy my freedom.
“Ow!” One of the brood mothers had bit the girl. They were docile most of the time, but they did not like to be moved. That’s going to hurt for a few days, she thought as she looked at the welts forming on her wrist. I’d better get the rest of these worms moved.
* * *
“They’re gone, Camby,” Katarina said to the mule from her perch on the cottage roof. She scrambled down and picked up a hornbeam stick she’d cut for herself. If old Sulk saw me, he’d work me harder for sure, Katarina thought as she skittered up onto the paddock fence. She ran along the top rail and then sprang into the small corn field with a flourish. Back in Moonshadow they called me Monkey for a reason, she said to herself with a grin.
“You are a murderer, and a coward!” she said as she crept up behind the scarecrow. “Vengeance has come for you. How do you answer?” The scarecrow was silent, clearly oblivious to matters pertaining to the formal Challenge. Katarina stalked closer, and then attacked, ramming the end of her stick into the scarecrow’s back. Straw flew everywhere. Just like the Grey Ghost! Maybe one day when I’m free I’ll become an adventurer like him. Stories abounded of the elvish assassin who’d become something of a legend in recent years. She swung her stick through the air in a series of attacks, striking the beaten scarecrow on the legs and chest. “Where the Grey Ghost-Walks, kings hide,” Katarina said with a smile.
There was a commotion at the barn, and Katarina gasped. I left the barn open again! She ran back to find feathers scattered in the yard, and footprints leading inside. A wolf! Panic took hold of her for a moment, and then she clenched her stomach against it. Fear cannot defeat me, she said to herself. That’s what the old legends say the Pelethite champions once shouted when going to battle. Death itself must stand aside if my cause is just. She inched closer to the doorway. I wish I had my slingshot.
She peeked inside. A small, mangy wolf barely larger than a dog snarled at one of Sulk’s younger goats. Just had to be the day Sulk took the hounds out on a hunt. Maybe I can get to my slingshot and scare him off. She tiptoed into the barn, and a breeze blew in from the South. Katarina, you ninny, the barn is upwind!
The wolf turned to face her and snarled. Kat climbed up the slats of a stall door. “Get out of here,” she said, clinging to a post and brandishing her stick. The wolf circled in, barking. It leaped for her and Katarina swung her stick, striking the wolf on the snout. It yelped and backed away, but then circled back with a growl.
The wolf bared yellow teeth. Kat swung again when it snapped at her, and the predator’s jaws closed on her stick. The wolf tugged hard, and the girl went flying. She twisted in midair, and landed on the feed bin, surprised. I didn’t know I could do that. Lupine eyes glared at her from a few feet away. Fear cannot defeat me, she thought as she scrambled to her feet and picked up the old grain scoop. It’s not much of a weapon, but what else can I do? “Get out of here!” she screamed again at the wolf. It leaped for her in a storm of fangs and fur, and she struck.
The wolf gagged as it knocked her off the bin, bearing her down to the barn floor. The scoop was stuck deep in its mouth. The wolf staggered, coughing and shaking its head to dislodge the scoop. Katarina rolled and jumped to her feet. She took a pitchfork and thrust it at the wolf’s haunches. It yelped and ran out of the barn and into the woods beyond. Katarina stood panting. She was dirty and bruised, but a grin slowly spread on her small face. Let’s see what else I can do.
* * *
The rest of the summer was uneventful. Sulk had been spending too much time in the village, leaving Katarina with much more work to do. She took to it all without complaint. By summer's end, Sulk’s absence became a relief. Kat grew used to the work and learned to order her days so that there was time for daydreams of freedom and forays into the woods in search of herbs and adventure.
“Kat! Don’t you dare go traipsing about the forest when there’s work to be done,” Mayrah scolded. “Think you’re a real smart monkey, don’t you? Well, I’ve got my eye on you! Now get out of my kitchen! You can eat when your work’s done.” Katarina trudged out of the cottage carrying a bucket and a trowel. Mayrah sat at the table and began to eat the girl’s breakfast. “No sense letting hot food get cold.”
Good thing I picked some mushrooms and berries earlier, Katarina thought as she looked over her shoulder. She spent the rest of the morning picking carrots and sweeping out the root cellar. She smiled brightly and waved when Mayrah’s heavy form went by on the wagon. As the farmer’s wife faded into the distance, Katarina stuck out her tongue.
* * *
“What are you doing with my property, Alley Kat?”
He’s back early. Kat stacked the boards neatly, and picked up a hammer. “These boards were half-buried behind the barn. Most of them were no good, anyway.” Katarina said.
“They’re still mine, you pilfering little weasel,” Sulk replied. “Ought to tan your hide, teach you not to go thieving.”
“I’m building something for the farm.” Katarina looked him in the eye, and Sulk looked away.
“Is that so? Out with it, then,” he said. “What’s the smart monkey wasting an afternoon on this time?” Katarina’s last idea had been to plant small plots of vegetables at the base of the fruit trees behind the cottage. The little gardens flourished, but Sulk had refused to let her use any chicken wire to fence them in. “Going to feed the rabbits again?”
Katarina clenched her teeth and fought an urge to throw the hammer at Sulk’s forehead. “I’m using them as molds to build an earth stove, for the winter, to keep the animals warm. Mayrah said you lost half the worms last year.”
“Now, we can’t go wasting firewood.” Sulk didn’t know what else to say.
Katarina shot a glance at the forest and sighed. “It won’t use much, and I can make the chimney fit the hole in the barn roof,” Katarina offered.
Sulk scratched his head. Well, I wouldn’t have to fix the roof, at least. “All right, then, get to it, but it better not cut into your chore time. And be thankful I’m such a good and kindly master.” Without another word, he stomped back toward the house.
* * *
“It’ll be hours before the fire goes out,” Katarina said to one of the goats. “You’ll be okay until I come back.” Katarina sat in a small nest she had fashioned for herself on top of the earthen stove she’d built. Small steps spiraled around it to a height of about ten feet, where a platform built of cast-off boards held a warm and tidy, if humble place for a young girl to sleep. From there, the column narrowed, rising up through the barn roof. Kat looked up. No more leaks. “I don’t think even Sulk will mind if I step out for a bit,” she said. The goat bleated softly. “I know, I know,” Katarina replied, as though the goat was speaking to her. He only let me build it because it’s keeping the worms alive but at least now he leaves me alone when I have an idea for the farm.
Sulk’s good moods had come the oftener over the last few months, as his new help was a better keeper of worms than he, but he was still a difficult master to please. These days, however, he left the worms to Katarina’s care. Now that winter had come, Kat’s chores kept her mostly confined to the barn. She’d finished early today, and sat on a reed mattress she’d woven for herself.
Katarina sang quietly, as her mother had taught her, in the old tongues of the Elves. She did not understand the song, but it gave her comfort with the memory of her mother, a slender half-elven woman with a voice like crystal chimes.
Watch, children, watch.
The Balance will come
like doom creeping on the hills,
like the dew upon the fields.
Watch, children, watch,
and let justice guide your ways,
for your redeemer is coming,
with his unshakable purpose
to break the world.
Her hands moved silently, swiftly, putting the final knots in the edge of a hempen vest. She slipped it on and smiled. Kat picked up the new walking stick she cut for herself earlier and ran down the earthen steps. She leaped into the air, brandishing the hornbeam stick as if it were a sword. The old mule in its stall eyed her with interest.
“It’s going to be a grand day in the Old Forest, Camby, you’ll see!” She patted the grey muzzle and ran outside and down the stony path that led to the forest road.
Hours passed without much adventure, though there was a particularly fat crow which seemed to follow Katarina at a distance. “It’s getting late, and the evening chores will need doing soon,” she said to herself. She was just about to turn back when she noticed an overgrown trail heading east from the road. Unused trails hold ancient secrets, the elders used to say. With a skip, Kat set off to see where it led. Nowhere seemed to be the answer for a while, until after a turn around a stony ridge, the trail came to an end at the mouth of a cave.
“Stay away from caves, you hear me?” Sulk had said to her on more than one occasion. “You’ll find naught there but bears or trolls or trouble of an ugly sort.” Kat reached into her small satchel and drew out a reddish stone about the size of a robin's egg. She rubbed it briskly, shook it and then stepped toward the cave as the fire gem began to cast its dim light. If old Sulk knew I found one of these, she thought with a grin. The fat crow squawked and hopped onto a large rock at the cave’s mouth, craning its neck to peer inside.
“Fortune favors the bold, does it not, Mister Crow?” Kat stared at the bird for a moment, half-expecting an answer, and then stepped in.
The mouth of the cave was untidy and rank with the stench of rotten eggs and decay. Maybe I should leave, she thought. Curiosity, however, overcame discretion, and so Katarina stepped in further. About ten yards from the mouth of the cave there was a sort of nook. In it was a small mound of what at first appeared to be refuse.
Katarina poked about in the mound. It’s just garbage. Probably from drunks and vagabonds. She kicked a broken pot aside. Hey, that’s metal! She dug in with her stick and smiled. Among the broken potsherds and scraps of leather were coins of silver and gold. Kat looked over her shoulder and bit her lip. Surely this has to belong to someone, but then who would leave gold and silver in a pile of rubbish? She stuffed two handfuls of coins into the small square pouch on her belt. She patted the pouch and smiled. Sulk only gave me this pouch to carry tools, but now it holds my life-price.
“I'll buy my freedom and become a wandering adventurer, like Moab of Starwatch, who defeated the troll king Bokwa in single combat but spared his life and became his friend,” she told the crow, who seemed to nod. “Or maybe I could be a dreaded assassin like the Grey Ghost!” The crow hopped and squawked.
Kat stood on the heap and struck what she thought of as a dramatic pose. She rammed her walking stick down on the pile, and it sank in, striking something that shifted, and then stuck. She strove to free her stick to no avail, then leaned back on it with what weight she had. Her staff came free in a shower of clay shards, leather scraps, and rocks, and she fell backward, getting a nasty scrape on her left arm for her trouble. A scowl crossed her face. She dusted herself off, and then her violet eyes brightened and the scowl became a grin.
Much of the small mound had been scattered, and near what had been its center metal gleamed in the flickering light of the fire gem. A pair of thin shortswords with curving hilts lay on the cave floor in plain scabbards on a broad leather belt. She strapped the swords on with a smile. She drew one of the swords and held it aloft. A cool feeling like a breeze within her chest passed over her, and she sheathed the weapon, unsettled by it. Is this magic?
As the sun began to approach the horizon, Kat emerged from the cave wearing a scaled shirt much too large for her. She rolled the sleeves back. “Surely this must have been crafted from the hide of some terrible beast,” she said. Katarina ran most of the way back, stopping at the small spring which fed the ponds on the farm. She took a long drink, and then noticed that the old fat crow was still with her. For a moment she imagined him to be a fine hunting falcon, but then the call of freedom once again took her firmly in its grip, and she was off for the house.
* * *
“Where have you been, Alley Kat?” Sulk rose from the chair beside the door of the cottage, almost dropping his pipe and burning a finger in the bargain. He spat a curse and stepped toward her as quickly as his bulk would allow, his cheeks florid with rage. “You missed the worms’ evening mud stir! I had to do it myself. Got bit up something fierce, to boot.” His glare gave way to confusion as he noticed her change of attire. “Found yourself some outlandish clothes, and now you think you’re fancy, don’t you? Stole them is more like it!” He reached for her, but Katarina was quicker. She circled around him toward the barn.
“I’m leaving!” Kat glared back at him, fists clenched.
“Pig slop, you are.” Sulk belched loudly.
“I’ve got my life-price. You know the law.”
Sulk’s anger ebbed as he considered her words. He doubted her, but greed shone in his eyes nonetheless. “Where’d an alley cat like you get twelve gold marks? I’ll not have you thieving and bringing trouble upon us.” He moved toward her, and she backed away lightly.
“Why would you care where I got it? I found a great treasure in the forest, and the lawful price is ten.” She looked him square in the eye, and he spat on the ground at her feet.
“I’m not taking less than twelve.” She’s got to be lying, but maybe at least she’s found some coppers that I can take for ale money.
Without taking her eyes off Sulk, the girl reached into her pouch and threw the coins at his feet. That leaves me with just six marks and a few silvers and coppers, but I’ll make for the coast and be free of the Borderlands.
The farmer gasped, and dropped to a knee to gather the coins. Twelve gold Imperial marks! That’s almost half this year’s silk harvest.By law I have to let her go, but with the slave market closed for the winter, I won’t be able to get any new help right now. The shock on his face gave way to bitterness at the idea of working the farm himself again, but then his eyes brightened anew.
“I’ll thank you kindly for the generous donation toward the welfare of our humble farm. I daresay it might even pay for all the care we’ve taken of you, ungrateful as you are.”
“Ungrateful?” Katarina’s voice shook with anger. “You and Mayrah barely feed me!If I didn’t know how to fish and forage, I’d starve.And you cut most of my hair off and sold it for a few coppers when you first bought me!”
His voice then took on the affected tone of those who feign concern with the barest veil of hypocrisy. “I know your savage mind cannot understand that we know what’s best for you. You were crawling with lice, you know.”
“I got them from sleeping in your barn,” Katarina said. Her hands drifted closer to her swords, but Sulk did not notice.
“So you say. Anyhow, freedom can be dangerous for a little thing like you. An ignorant half-breed needs a proper upbringing, and I’d not have it on my conscience if something terrible befell you. Like my own child, you are.” Unable to hide his true meaning, he chuckled as he put the coins into his purse. “Without this little trinket, you’ll just be carted back to a slave market anyway.” Sulk lifted a thin iron chain hanging on his neck. Secured to it was a small brass disk, the token of ownership. Stamped into it was a design matching a brand on Kat's right shoulder.
Kat’s face darkened. “You can’t keep me here! I’ll tell the magistrate!”He can’t do this! In the Border Kingdoms, without a token matching my brand I’d be assumed to be a runaway slave. I’d be in constant danger of enslavement or worse.
Sulk laughed. “And who will he believe, a respectable farmer or some rechaizo dog eager to slip the leash?”
The girl clenched her fists and fought back tears. Sulk is lazy, ill-mannered, and selfish, but could he really be this bad? “I will have my freedom, Mister Keltsen! I will have it, or—” she faltered. She could think of few threats she could make against such a man. If I escape, I’ll be hunted down, but to murder him outright would surely be abomination. “I’ll have my freedom — or the Balance will come for you!”
“You ignorant little heathen, I ought to tan your hide for even mentioning your filthy gods.” Sulk took a step toward her.
“The Balance is not a god. He is sent by the—” The words died in her throat, and her eyes grew wide. Sulk reached for his belt. Somewhere above, a crow cried out.
A smirk crossed the farmer’s plump face. “Don’t have the nerve to talk your sass when there’s a ready belt, hey?” He took another step toward her, then noticed that she stood unmoving. She’s never been that afraid of my belt. “What are you gawking at, girl?” A loud huff came from behind him, and with it a warm breeze and the smell of brimstone. Sulk looked over his shoulder, and stood transfixed. He opened his mouth, unable to speak, and urinated.
Behind him there stood a scaly, reddish-brown creature the size of a small bear. Its splayed feet bore sharp claws and its broad neck ended in a blunt, horned head full of teeth like daggers. A long, heavy tail swayed back and forth behind it, and a deep rumble came from its chest while yellow eyes glowered with murderous intent.
Kat stifled a scream. It’s a ner’gash, a land dragon!The elders in Moonshadow thought they’d been hunted to extinction. The dragon snarled then made a harsh, strangling noise. A mute? I thought all dragons could speak. The dragon leaped toward Sulk with open jaws, and a torrent of flame burst forth from its gullet.
* * *
Traces of foam were starting to fly from the mule’s mouth, and his ragged breath kept pace with the sobs coming from his rider. Kat kept her grip on Camby’s mane while trying to wipe her eyes with a sleeve. “Oh, Camby. I didn’t mean for old Sulk to get killed, I didn't.” She looked over her shoulder. He didn’t follow us. Yet.
They crossed the small bridge into the village, and Katarina hopped off the mule’s back. She gave the animal a sharp slap on the rump. “Go on! Get out of here! Before that dragon gets a taste for mule.” The animal sprinted a few paces, then slowed down and sauntered off into the forest. Kat ran to the large brick house at the north end of the square. She hammered on the door. A window above opened, and a balding old man thrust his head out to peer down at her.
“My word, Kat! What for are ye raising such a ruckus? It’s near dark, it is. Run home and tell your master not to send you to trouble me after the day’s done!” The magistrate liked the little girl well enough, but he was known to refuse to deal with even serious matters once the sun began to set.
“Master Cullywich, you’ve got to rouse the Watch! There’s a dragon! A big one! And it’s killed Sulk!”
Cullywich sighed, then scowled. She’s a fair child, to be sure, and a pleasant one, but her head’s been filled to bursting with stories and adventures ever since that skinny old minstrel came through the village last summer. “A dragon, you say? There’s been no wild dragon in these parts in near to fifty years. And them that’s of the Covenant keep to the West, if they even still live.”
“I’m telling the truth! It came out of the forest! It’s big as a bear and breathes fire and has teeth like knives!” Kat looked around. “Please, you must call the Watch!”
Cullywich frowned. The Watch were volunteers, mostly old soldiers and tradesmen, who were rarely called upon to do anything more than track down a lost child or stolen horse. “There’s trouble enough to be had from the Council without raising an alarm over wild stories, child.” Though he was appointed by the Imperial government, that government was far over the mountains to the east, and the Council was just a short walk away. “Repent of your lying ways, child, and get ye home! It’s been a mild winter, but them wolves still come down from the hills and like to eat cute young things like yourself. Don’t trouble me again!” He slammed the window shut.
Kat stood there for a moment, then hurried off to the blacksmith. Marcus always liked me, and he knows I’m no liar. She found the huge man in his shop cleaning his tools. A broad smile broke through his thick, dark beard, but then vanished. The girl's cheeks were tear-stained and she was clearly shaken.
“Miss Kat, what is the matter?” He set his tools down and knelt, taking her hands in his. “Is it Sulk? Has he forgotten his manners again?” Sulk had once struck Kat outside the smithy, and Marcus had called him over and had spoken quietly with him for some time. After that Sulk hadn’t hit her again.
“No, no, Marcus! Sulk is dead!” The girl looked up at him. “You have to believe me, I never meant for it to happen. I found these things in the forest—” Marcus now noticed that she wore a leathery scale shirt and a pair of shortswords on her belt. “I found them in a cave and when I got back to the farm, it came and killed him!”
“What came? Who killed Sulk?” Marcus poured a mug of hot cider and handed it to her.
She sipped at it, and made an effort to calm down. “It was a dragon! It breathed fire and it jumped on him. I think it ate him.”
Marcus motioned for her to sit, and pulled up a stool for himself. “I’d think this was a mighty tall tale, Kat, but I’ve never known you to lie. Are you sure it wasn’t a bog salamander?” He did not doubt that Sulk was dead, but he hoped that it had been fear and upset that had colored her story. “Salamanders are dangerous, to be sure, and they can spit a little fire, but a wild dragon of even modest size would be a grave danger to the whole village.”
“I know the difference!” she said. “It was a lot bigger, reddish brown, with a short, wide head and a thick body. Salamanders are small and skinny.”
Marcus nodded, and was about to speak when someone outside screamed. There was a crash, followed by more screams. Marcus crossed the shop, and put on a mail shirt and a set of heavy bracers. He took up a wide-bladed axe. “Stay here.” He stepped out of the smithy, latched the gate, and then ran toward the square.
* * *
Kat peered over the gate. Smoke rose from nearly every building near the square. Several bodies lay in the street. One of them looks like Kendyll, the butcher’s boy. A dozen men of the Watch stood ten yards from the ner’gash, swords drawn and looking as though each one aimed to time his rush so as not to be the first to get close. The dragon sensed their fear and charged, scattering all but a small, portly man determined to stand his ground. He swung his sword wildly as the ner'gash leaped upon him. He never screamed.
A hulking figure approached the dragon from behind and swung an axe at its spine. Marcus! The axe scored a gash on the first stroke, but on the second it stuck in bone as the dragon spun to face its attacker. The dragon reared up, and Marcus held onto the axe with both hands. He kicked at the reptile’s flank as he struggled to free his axe. The dragon snarled and shook the man off. Marcus rolled to his feet. He picked up a large rock and hurled it as the dragon charged.
The ner’gash stopped and shook its head. Dark blood seeped from one of its nostrils. Marcus eyed the dragon warily. It must have exhausted its flame for the moment. He drew a pair of long daggers from his belt and attacked.
One dagger flew from his hand as it collided with a horn. The other nicked the side of the dragon’s jaw. The man and the dragon crashed to the ground, and soon the beast had him pinned. Marcus stabbed and slashed with his remaining dagger while struggling to keep the dragon’s jaws at bay. The ner’gash bit down on his forearm. Though he wore bracers of steel, bone snapped and blood ran down his arm. He stretched out his free hand and slammed the butt of his dagger into the hollow where he thought the reptile’s ear might be.
The dragon released him with a roar. It reared up, and Marcus kicked at its belly with both feet, knocking it back. His hand found the hilt of the sword which had belonged to the portly watchman. He rose to his feet and faced the dragon.
The dragon snarled, its eyes alight with rage. It circled in slowly. This one is not soft like the others. The dragon opened its mouth, and made strangling noises again. Marcus readied himself for the attack, lifted the sword, and then the ground rose up swiftly to meet him and he knew no more.
Marcus! Kat was out in the street before she’d even thought to cry out. Most of the remaining men of the town had fled. The few who had not taken to their heels only watched from what they regarded as a safe distance. “You Cowards!” Kat shouted. “Will you not fight?”
Katarina drew both of the shortswords, and again that feeling of a cool breeze filled her chest. She ran into the square and stopped about twenty feet from the ner’gash.
“You murderous brute! You have no quarrel with these people. Vengeance stands before you. How do you answer?” She knew little of the formal Challenge that the heroes of old once made, but the dragon appeared to consider her words. After a moment of thick silence, the reptile made a huffing noise that lasted several seconds. It might have been laughter.
Katarina charged, and the dragon surged forward to meet her attack. It snapped at her legs, but she hopped up onto its head and jumped over its back, turning in the air as she slashed downward. The ner’gash cried out in its strangled voice and turned to face her, but the girl was gone. Blood flowed from a large gash in the dragon’s shoulder.
I am a servant of Kurumarrak, a keeper of the light, Kat whispered to herself as she circled around the dragon. Fear cannot stop me. Death must stand aside. She moved in and out with a speed this dragon had never seen in its short life, for he was a young dragon, and he had never seen one of these long-eared man-things.
The dragon slashed and snapped, but could not reach his prey. This small one is too fast, and her claws are sharp. The ner’gash bled from several wounds now, and his rage was giving way to a feeling as unfamiliar as it was suffocating, for had never been afraid before. The ner’gash feinted, and this time the girl attacked from the left, to bring her blade down on a scaly leg. She never saw the dragon’s tail.
It struck her solidly in the ribs, driving the air from her lungs and knocking her into a tree. She kept her grip on her swords, and tried to rise but sank back down. It hurts to breathe. The dragon approached, its shambling walk unsteady from deep wounds on its right flank and legs. Kat forced her eyes open. Over in the square, Marcus lay motionless in a growing pool of blood. Death must stand aside.
She stood up, using the tree at her back to steady herself. Defeat will not consume me. The dragon was closer now, his snuffling breath matched by a deep rumble coming from its chest. His flame is replenished! Kat fought the urge to drop the swords and run.
The adventure continues in
Katarina the Dragonslayer and the Foebreaker's Curse, on sale now at Amazon.com, Smashwords, Graphicly and WOWIO.