The Coming of the Dragon (19 page)

“That’s the wrong way,” Rune said, his voice low, and then, looking at Ketil, he spoke again, loudly. “We’re going the wrong way.”

“Halt!” Dayraven cried. Relieved that the older man believed him, Rune turned toward him.

Eyes narrowed to slits behind the holes in his mask, Dayraven raised his spear and pointed it directly at Rune’s heart.

EIGHTEEN

SWORDS SLID FROM SHEATHS. RUNE HEARD THEM AS HE
stood without moving, his eyes on the spear at his chest, his hands held away from his weapons.

“We should have sent this cursed wretch over the cliff with the slave,” Dayraven snarled.

The king stepped in front of Rune, pushing Dayraven’s spear to the side. “Put your weapons away,” he said, looking around at the other warriors.

Rune watched the king’s face, barely daring to breathe. Nobody moved.

“I said, put your weapons away.” The king’s voice was a threat.

This time, Rune could hear the ringing of metal as swords met sheaths. Dayraven lowered his spear, driving the butt into the ground, and sneered at Rune.

“Do you have an argument to settle with Rune?” the king asked.

Rune held his breath. Did Dayraven still believe that not killing him when he was a baby had put a curse on the kingdom?

The warrior stared at him but spoke to the king. “He was waiting for us beside the cliff. He tried to push you over.”

The king pulled off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. He gazed at Dayraven. “Did he? Try to kill me?”

Rune opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. How could the king think that?

“He knew exactly where to find us. And now he says he knows the way—into another trap, if you ask me.” Dayraven pounded the butt of his spear on the ground.

“Rune saved the king’s life!” Ketil said, and Rune shot him a grateful look.

As he did, the king caught his eye. “That’s what it seemed like to me.” He smiled.

Relief flooded through Rune’s muscles, making his knees feel weak, and he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He started to smile at the king, but as he did, a wave of pain and nausea swept over him. He staggered, hand to his head.

The king grabbed his arm, steadying him. “Sit,” he said.

“I’m all right,” Rune said, but the king guided him down.

His backside had barely touched the ground before the
next wave hit him, blinding him to everything except the blackness that engulfed him—and to Amma’s voice.

“Go now! You must not delay!”

A face swam in and out of focus. Rune swallowed the bile in his throat, waiting for the nausea to pass. When he opened his eyes again, he realized he was lying on the rocky ground with the king crouched over him.

“She says we have to hurry,” he croaked.

King Beowulf nodded, his brow creased with concern. “You know the way?”

“Yes.”

“Come, then.” Carefully, the king pulled him to his feet. Rune swayed as he stood and found Ketil at his side, grasping his sword arm to steady him.

He could barely focus on the king’s commands and the men snapping to attention around him. Instead, his head was filled with images he knew weren’t his own. He saw the three boulders, the ones he’d seen before. He’d been right—the dragon’s barrow lay beyond them, but not exactly the way he’d thought. There was a stream first, and then a flat place, strewn with rocks.

“Rune?”

He blinked. Ketil was looking at him cautiously, his hand still on Rune’s arm.

“Three boulders. On the sword-hand side,” he said.

Ketil nodded. “My lord!” he called, and repeated Rune’s words so the whole troop could hear.

They moved out, Rune stumbling along with them,
barely able to keep his eyes open. He didn’t understand the pain, just that the visions caused it.

“No, I want him in the middle,” he heard the king saying, and he felt himself being propelled behind Gar and Ottar. Ketil stayed beside him. Vaguely, he wondered what had happened to Dayraven—and the point of his spear—before another wave hit him.

“Close your eyes if it helps,” Ketil said in a low voice, and Rune closed them as Ketil led him up and around stones and bushes. This time he saw the black mouth of a barrow, a burial mound, and knew the dragon was inside it, stirring, unfurling its wings, readying itself to set forth.

He opened his eyes again and looked up the mountain slope. “There,” he said, pointing at a group of boulders high above them.

“The dragon?” Od said. His voice, not yet finished changing, squeaked.

“No, the three boulders,” Gar answered.

“There’s another cliff,” Rune said, his voice strong now. “Just beyond a rock face. Stay to the right.”

“You heard,” the king said. “Let’s go.”

The troop moved out, and Rune felt his head clear. “I’m all right,” he told Ketil, shaking his arm loose.

Ketil gave him a nod, but Rune could feel his friend watching him.

He kept his eyes on the path as they rounded a fir tree. “This is where I was when the mist came down.”

“The giant’s breath,” a voice said to his left. The king.
Despite his age and the steepness of the slope, he wasn’t out of breath. “The bard thinks the giants are in league with the dragon, that they protected it all these years, and here we are, walking through their domain.” He paused, looking up the slope. “Of course, the bard also thought I shouldn’t bring you along,” he added. “The bard and Thora. I shouldn’t have listened to them.”

Rune turned, staring at him in surprise.

“They had their reasons, but I didn’t agree.”

Rune’s heart leapt. The king
had
wanted him in the troop after all.

“A king should hear his advisors, but the final decision must be his own. Remember that.” King Beowulf shook his head ruefully, smiling at Rune, who smiled back, eyes shining.

They came to a narrow place in the rocks, and the king motioned him to go first. When the rock formation widened, he saw Gar at the opening, reaching his hand to pull Rune forward but looking anxiously behind him. For the king, Rune realized.

As he stepped into an open space, he could see Brokk and Ottar surveying the landscape ahead, their swords out.

The king came through the passage, followed by Ketil and then Dayraven. All of them stopped, waiting for the rest of the troop.

“Where are those three boulders?” Dayraven said.

Rune gazed up the slope. They had disappeared from view. He could feel the men looking at him, but he spoke
only to the king. “As straight up as we can. We’ll come to a rock face. There’s a cliff beyond it, but we stay to the sword-hand side and keep climbing.”

Dayraven breathed out a
huh
of disgust, but when Rune turned, Ketil was beside him. “Ignore him,” he said quietly.

“Brokk, Ottar?” the king called, and the two warriors set out again, leading the troop.

As Rune began to climb, he heard heavy breathing coming from behind. It turned into a wracking cough. Hemming stood bent over, hands on his knees, trying to get his breath. Ahead of the others, Brokk and Ottar hesitated, looking back.

Rune wasn’t sure the old warrior would make it the rest of the way up the mountain.

“This passageway is treacherous. An enemy could ambush us here,” the king called out. “I need someone to guard it. Ketil—no, wait, I need you to stay with Rune,” he said. “Hemming, you fought the Wulfing raiders. You’ll know what to do.”

Hemming straightened. “My lord,” he said, bowing briefly.

“The rest of you, move out,” the king called.

As they did, Rune heard Hemming breaking into another gasping cough that went on and on until they were beyond the reach of its sound.

No one commented, but Rune was sure that everyone, including Hemming, understood what the king had just done.

Beyond a stand of spruce trees, they met the rock face. Without the mist, it looked different, less of an obstacle, but the route was still obscured.

“There’s a goat trail to the right,” Rune called. “And up ahead, there’s a sheer drop-off.”

No one answered, but he saw Ottar’s stance shift.

Then the red-bearded warrior said, “I see the trail.”

“A goat trail,” Gar said. “That’s a good sign.”

“Aye, the Hammerer is with us,” Ottar answered.

They climbed the trail, loose dirt and rocks skittering under their shoes, showering down from the men above to those below. Rune slipped, staggering as he tried to catch his balance. Ketil reached out to steady him. Then it was Ketil’s turn to slip. “Watching you and not the trail,” he said, grinning ruefully as Rune grabbed his arm.

“Whoa!” Gar said from above them. “There
is
a cliff—careful!”

As Rune passed it, he saw the curl of tree root that had caught his foot, keeping him from going over the edge. He looked back to see Od staring over the cliff, his eyes wide, his face white. “No more drop-offs, we’re all right now,” he called down to the younger boy, keeping his voice low.

Od met his gaze, took a breath, and began climbing again.

The slope flattened and broadened as they rounded a bend, and the three boulders came into view. Now that they were so near, they loomed as huge as the king’s hall.

“Look! What’s this?” someone hissed.

As Rune climbed over a rock, he saw Gar and Ottar kneeling down, examining something on the ground, Brokk guarding them, his sword in his hands.

Rune peered between them. A round black eye stared up at him.

The remains of his shield, the metal rim and boss blackened by the dragon’s fire.

Ketil came up beside him. “That’s your shield. You fell from here?” His voice rang with awe. “My lord,” he said, turning to the king, “I found him at the bottom of the mountain. He fell from here and survived.”

“I didn’t fall all the way,” Rune said, anger that he knew wasn’t reasonable rising in him. “Only about halfway.”

“My lord, I take it back. He only fell halfway down the mountain and survived.” Ketil grinned.

Rune looked away. He didn’t understand his anger, but he felt as if this was no time to joke. They shouldn’t even be talking—they should be listening with every fiber of their beings.

A nameless panic rose in him, making it hard to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, trying to understand the feeling, trying to keep it from overwhelming him. Then he saw it: the dragon, inside its barrow, its body glowing red with fire. It was ready to set forth. They had to stop it—now, before it destroyed the rest of the kingdom.

He opened his eyes. The king watched him, waiting.

“My lord,” he whispered. “It’s here. The dragon is here.”

NINETEEN

A CRY CAME FROM ABOVE. RUNE LOOKED UP TO SEE A
raven circling, and then another meeting it, as if they were holding a conversation midflight. He watched as first one and then the other settled on the tallest boulder.

The king was watching them, too. Rune saw him bow his head a little, his lips moving as he mouthed a silent something—a vow? A prayer?

Then he straightened, turning his attention to the troop. “Men at arms!” he called, his voice clear and strong.

Rune’s breath quickened and he stepped forward. So did Ketil and Brokk. Gar and Ottar rose from the remains of Rune’s shield and looked toward the king. Thialfi raised his head, and Rune saw Buri cast a glance at Surt. Someone brushed against his cloak—Od, trying to get closer to the king.

“Our enemy is here, the foe who ravaged my kingdom with his flames. No more will he do so. Today he dies.” The words rang out in a voice Rune had never heard before.

He gazed at the king, awestruck. The gentle old man he had known since childhood gave way to a different figure altogether, a powerful prince, a hero. The king looked taller, his stooped shoulders broad and square now. The cloak of old age seemed to fall away from him, revealing a menacing warrior in his mail coat and masked helmet. Around his neck, his golden torque gleamed and the garnets in his cloak clasp shone like new-spilled blood.

Rune stood taller, too, and moved along with the others as the troop came closer, encircling the king like a shield rim.

“My shoulder companions,” the king said, looking from face to face, stopping to rest on each one. When the king’s eyes met his, Rune knew he would follow the man anywhere, into the very shadows of Hel’s underworld, if the king asked it. He tightened his hand around his sword hilt and gazed back at the king.