The Coming Of The Dragon Part 2

Rune looked at him. Instead of simply going back to ask Hwala, Skoll wanted him to go all the way out beyond the stream to the field that bordered Hwala's lands, and then come back to the field beside the farmhouse?

Then again, he thought, it would get him away from Skoll. He started walking.

When he got to the rocky path that led down to the stream, birds rose, chittering, from the branches. He grabbed smooth birch trunks and pulled himself along. Leaves tinged with gold and fiery red mingled with the greenery, whispering of the harsh winter to come. He crunched over wet brown pebbles and splashed into the stream, hopping from one rock to the next through the rushing water and then up the opposite bank.

He emerged from the trees into the far field, its slender stalks buzzing with insects and shining in the slanting sun. Dots of blue and red caught his eye from the flowers that wound their way into the oats.

A horned head rose out of the field, startling him. He laughed. "Ollie! What are you doing out here?"

The little brown goat came through the oats toward him, green stems and half-chewed blue flowers hanging from either side of her mouth. Rune shook his head in exasperation. Now he wouldn't just have to get back to the east field with his report, but he'd have to take Ollie back, too. He cringed at the damage she'd already done to the field.

He bent over to examine the oats for ripeness, feeling the moisture in the stalks, rolling the grain between his fingers. Ollie gave him an affectionate b.u.t.t against the shoulder, then nibbled at the back of his neck.

"Hey, that tickles," he said, touching his neck as the goat pranced away. She turned to look at him, a glint of humor in her eye, a leather cord in her mouth. At the end of it dangled his pendant.

"That's mine!" Rune said. "Give it back!" He lunged, but she danced out of reach.

Thinking fast, he grabbed more of the blue flowers she'd been eating and held them out enticingly. She watched him but didn't come any nearer, so he laid them in the path and took a step away. He could tell she was tempted from the way she eyed them. But not tempted enough. Without warning, the goat turned and raced down the path away from the farm.

"Come back here!" Rune cried. His hand went to his neck, but of course the pendant wasn't there. Would she turn when she saw he wasn't following her? Drop it when she got bored? Eat Eat it? it?

He looked at the oats in his hand. He needed to get back to the farm, not spend his time chasing a fool of a goat.

"Ollie!" he bellowed, but the goat kept running as if she were possessed. He squinted-she was already all the way to the tall runestone that marked the edge of Hwala's lands. There the path forked, the shield-hand side leading to the sea, the sword-hand path to the giants' mountain and, beyond it, to the king's stronghold. Ollie took the sword-hand path.

The pendant. It had been around his neck ever since Amma had found him when he was a baby. He had to get it back.

He took a last glance behind him, to the trees hiding the stream, the smoke rising from the farmhouse, the ash tree outside the hut he shared with Amma.

Then, oats dropping from his fingers, he ran.

TWO.

TALL GRa.s.sES WHIPPED AT RUNE'S LEGS. FAR AHEAD OF him, he could see the brown-haired goat bounding along, her white tail raised like a flag. She had to tire of the game soon, he told himself. As he ran, he scanned the ground for his pendant in case she had dropped it, but he knew he'd never find it that way. The path wasn't used often enough to keep it clear of vegetation, the way the ones around the farm were. him, he could see the brown-haired goat bounding along, her white tail raised like a flag. She had to tire of the game soon, he told himself. As he ran, he scanned the ground for his pendant in case she had dropped it, but he knew he'd never find it that way. The path wasn't used often enough to keep it clear of vegetation, the way the ones around the farm were.

He glanced behind him. Skyn and Skoll would just have to start on the east field by themselves. He'd make up for it later. He'd work through tomorrow's midday meal if he had to; he wouldn't have them thinking of him as a freeloader. Skoll's words about what would happen to Rune and Amma when he was in charge of the farm were no idle threat. There was more than one reason to pray Hwala's wound wouldn't fester.

Rune wished he'd hit Skoll earlier. He could just feel the satisfying crunch of his foster brother's jawbone against his knuckles. But, no, he'd backed down, the way he always did. It was laughable how Amma was always warning him not to fight. If she had any idea of the truth-that he always took the coward's path-she would save her breath.

In the distance, Ollie stopped short and turned to look at him. Finally. As he drew closer to her, Rune slowed his pace, panting. The pendant still hung from the goat's lips. She watched him through the horizontal pupils of her brown eyes.

He stopped a spear length away. "Come here, Ollie," he said, forcing cheer he didn't feel into his voice. He held out his hand invitingly.

She lifted one delicate hoof as if to take a step toward him.

He smiled and kept his tone low and soothing. "There's a girl."

Without warning, she bolted, racing away again. Rune pelted after her. She was close enough that he knew he could catch her. He threw himself forward, his hands grabbing for her legs-but she slipped out of his fingers.

"Ollie!" Frustration coursed through him, and he picked himself up off the ground, brushing dirt from his elbows and staring after her.

He should just go back to the farm and hope she would follow; he knew he should. But if he did, he might never see the pendant again. He had had to get it back. He started running again. to get it back. He started running again.

As he followed Ollie, he thought about what would happen if Skoll kicked them out. No farm he knew of could afford to take in two extra mouths. Could they stay in the stronghold? Amma hated it there-"court intrigue and corruption," she always scoffed when they got to the king's hall in the winters. She might not like it, but Rune thought he would. If he could practice the sword year-round, he might get better at it. Good enough to be one of the king's hearth companions?

Ketil Flat-Nose, his only friend in the hall, had been made a hearth companion last winter. Rune imagined himself joining Ketil and the king's other warriors. If he could practice as much as they did, maybe he could learn to dance with sword and spear the way Dayraven did-Dayraven, who had killed the wild ox single-handedly. Rune and Ketil had counted Dayraven's gold armbands, gifts from the king for the warrior's prowess. No other warrior wore as many, not even Finn, the king's shoulder companion, who taught the boys in the hall.

Rune pictured himself riding alongside Dayraven and Ketil as they patrolled the kingdom's borders, fighting off raiders, defending the land, hunting the bear and the wild boar. They'd gallop into the stronghold, their harnesses jingling in time to the horses' hoofbeats. In the hall, they'd report to the king before they relaxed on the mead benches, and bond servants would bring them ale and steaming slices of meat, while the bard told tales of heroes and the women watched, their distaffs in their arms, their spindles sinking to the floor.

His pace slowed as he imagined Wyn, Finn's fair-haired daughter, looking up from her thread-making to ask him if it was really true that he had slain a water monster, just like the king had done all those years ago. He was about to tell her how he'd been kept underwater so long a lesser man would have drowned, when a glint on the ground caught his eye. His pendant!

He grabbed it. The leather thong was slimy with Ollie's saliva, but other than that, the pendant was undamaged. He wiped it on his tunic and tied it around his neck.

Now, where was Ollie? He looked around him, surprised at how far he'd come, at how dim the light was. Ahead of him, the giants' mountain loomed, the last of the sun's rays illuminating its cliffs. Before it stood the crag, the promontory looking out over the water, the only part of the mountain where humans dared venture.

Rune gazed behind him. Shadow covered the valley. The sun had already dropped behind a line of distant trees. Hwala's farm lay beyond those trees, far out of sight. He shouldn't be out here at this time of evening. n.o.body should. It wasn't safe-not for him and not for Ollie. He had to find her; they couldn't afford to lose another goat.

A slight noise made him turn forward again.

A man stepped out from behind a boulder.

Rune's breath caught in his throat, and his hand went to the dagger on his belt.

"I'm no harm to you, boy," the man said, gesturing with his eyes at Rune's knife.

He was probably right; Rune could see that in a glance. The stranger wore no weapons, and his shoes, like his stained tunic, were torn and ragged, while the edges of his short cloak were frayed to a feathery fringe. His slight shoulders were stooped, and his thin strands of greasy hair made him look far from young. Yet he kept one hand hidden, holding it behind him. Rune stared at him. Who was he? There were no strangers here.

He could feel the man looking him over.

"Where'd you get that pretty thing around your neck?" There was something about the man's tone that made Rune take a step back. He reached for the pendant and shoved it under his shirt.

"Don't you speak, boy?" The man bent down and picked up a stone.

Rune pulled his dagger from his belt and dropped into a fighting stance, every muscle taut, every lesson he'd learned in the hall ringing in his skull. Whatever you do, don't lose your nerve Whatever you do, don't lose your nerve, Finn always said. a.s.sess your opponent. Don't let him surprise you a.s.sess your opponent. Don't let him surprise you.

Rune steadied his breath and shifted onto the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, watching the man's hidden hand, and readied himself to whirl out of range.

The stranger appeared not to notice. Instead, he brushed a place in the dirt clear of pebbles and weeds. Then, with the stone, he scratched marks in the dirt.

Rune straightened, staring. The marks were the same runes that were etched into his pendant.

Still crouching, the man squinted up at him. "I said, where'd you get that silver thing?"

"It's mine," Rune said.

"Whose neck did you cut it off of?" The man stayed on his haunches.

"n.o.body's. It's mine. It's always been mine."

"Always is an awfully long time, boy."

"It was my father's." He spoke the words defiantly, as if he knew the truth of them. Why was he even talking to this man? Strangers had no rights here.

The man laughed, a harsh bark with no pleasure in it, and Rune could see how sharply pointed his teeth were, as if they'd been filed. "Your father's. And who might he have been?"

"It's no concern of yours."

The man stood. "Is that what you think?" Suddenly, he lunged at Rune, his hand reaching for the pendant.

Rune was ready. He pushed the man, sending him sprawling. As he danced on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, preparing for the man's next move, he heard a bleat. Ollie stood on the path to the crag.

He looked at the man lying in the dirt. Then he looked back at Ollie. She was so close. He ran.

Behind him, the stranger laughed, and Rune glanced back to see him still sitting on the ground. In the man's hand, he could see a glint of gold from whatever it was he had held behind his back.

Rune kept going up the crag path-he wouldn't let Ollie get away this time. He scrambled up the steep slope, slipping on loose rocks and grabbing bushes to haul himself along.

By the time he reached the top, he was out of breath and the sun was almost gone. In the half-light, wind whipped his hair into his eyes, fingering at his clothes and drying his sweat. Where was Ollie? He scanned the flat promontory, but there was no sign of her. Where could she have gone? Surely not up the mountain.

It was foolhardy for him to be here, a place no one should ever be at twilight, the Between Time, when spirits roamed freely. Giants owned the mountain-if Ollie had ventured up it, he would have to leave her to her fate. Humans had no business here, not even on the crag, at this time of day.

"Ollie!" he called, but he heard no bell, no answering bleat.

He picked up a stone and gripped it in his fist, then threw it hard. It skittered across the shale, sending up a shower of rocks. He'd come all the way up here, and for what?

A booming sound startled him, making Rune look over his shoulder. The mountain slopes loomed black and forbidding behind him. The noise made his skin crawl.

He looked forward again. Surely a goat wouldn't fall off a cliff, would she? When he ventured far enough forward to see over the edge, the wind grew stronger, toying with him, threatening to send him over the side. Far below, the dark sea curled and crashed into white foam on the rocks. From where he stood, he could see no goat. Instead, he gazed at the two parts of the kingdom, divided by the mountain's roots, Hwala's isolated farm lost in the distant west and the more populous eastern section dotted with farms and fields. Beyond them, swathed in autumn mist, lay the stronghold and the king's golden hall.

Rune turned his back to the wind and listened for Ollie's bell, fingering his pendant as he did so. The stranger had seen it for the s.p.a.ce of a breath, hardly long enough to read the runes, let alone commit them to memory. How had he been able to draw them in the dirt? It was as if he knew more about the pendant than Rune did. Just who was the man, anyway?

He should have challenged him, or fought him, or done something something, instead of chasing after a stupid goat who was nowhere to be seen.

The stranger could be anybody, a harmless exile seeking a new ring-giver, a leader he could follow. But he could just as easily be a warrior in disguise or a spy for the vengeance-seeking Shylfings. And Rune had let him go. Could he still catch him, if he ran after him now? He pictured himself subduing the man, then leading him, hands bound at his back, into the king's golden hall, all the king's hearth companions watching Rune with newfound respect. He imagined Ketil grinning him a greeting the way he used to when they were still boys training together. He could see Dayraven giving him a gruff nod of approval, the warmth in his eyes secretly welcoming Rune into the king's warband. And the king-Rune could see the old man stepping forward to thank him for his courage.

The booming sound came again. And again, there was nothing. Nothing except the relentless wind and the fear hammering through his chest. He tried not to think of the tales Amma had told him about mountain giants and their dealings with humans they caught on their lands. Sometimes they let the humans go.

Beneath his shoes, the ground seemed to tremble. Thunder rolled and rumbled. Only it couldn't be thunder, because the twilit sky still glowed blue and clear.

The earth shook again. He felt it through the soles of his feet, into his bones. It could be giants. Had they seen him? The skin on the back of his neck p.r.i.c.kled, and now an acrid smell burned his throat, making him cough. His eyes stung and watered and his nose began to run.

Goat or no goat, he had to get out of here. Now Now.

He turned for the path-and stopped, eyes wide in horror. Something was coming toward him, some monstrous shape, some thing thing was rushing at him, flying through the air. A silent scream rose in his gorge, and again he tried to run, but it was too late. The thing was almost upon him. was rushing at him, flying through the air. A silent scream rose in his gorge, and again he tried to run, but it was too late. The thing was almost upon him.

He threw himself to the ground, covering his head with his arms. Hot wind battered his body, and a roaring filled his ears, deafening him. Dust swirled in the darkness as the thing blotted out the sky, the world. He was choking; he couldn't breathe. The biting smell was filling his lungs, his mouth. He was burning-he could feel the hair being seared off his arms, the clothes off his back. It was directly above him, so close he couldn't tell whether it was touching him, consuming him with its heat. On and on it came, its thunderous noise obliterating all other sound.

He screwed his eyes shut, cowering, whimpering in terror, tears and snot wetting his face.

This was death, and he hated himself for meeting it this way. Shame mingled with fear, and somewhere deep in his mind, he felt sorry for all that he would never become. Now he would never even find out who he was.

Amma! he cried out silently, and lay trembling, waiting for the final blow, the pain that would pierce his body. he cried out silently, and lay trembling, waiting for the final blow, the pain that would pierce his body.

He waited.

Nothing happened.

Slowly the noise and heat died away. Rune lay listening to the quiet settling around him, the scorched weeds crackling with heat, the wind-now a mere breeze-nosing around the rocks.

Gingerly, he raised his head. He was alive.

He was still alone on the crag below the mountain. His skin felt raw, but his clothes weren't burned after all.

He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked around him. In the east, golden light flickered in the air like lightning.

Still shaking too hard to stand, he raised himself to his knees, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

Above a farm, a black shape rent the sky. Like a dark ribbon blowing in a breeze, it undulated through the air, then straightened and shot toward the farmhouse. Fire streaked from it. The thatched roof blazed in sudden flames, and two tiny figures raced from the door. The thing wheeled and turned, beating heavy wings and retching forth more fire. Both figures fell.

Rune's body turned to ice. It was the worst thing he could imagine. A dragon.

Someone had awoken a dragon.

Another roof glowed orange. Rune watched in fascinated horror, unable to turn away.

The dragon wheeled lazily through the sky, turning again, beating its wings once, twice, then gliding. Where would it go next?

Amma! Rune staggered to his feet. He had to warn her.

A field ready for harvest went up in flame.

He stopped, staring at it. The whole eastern countryside would soon be ablaze, most of the kingdom's grain for the coming year. Beyond those farms lay the stronghold. Someone had to tell the king!

The dragon soared past another farm, wide out over the eastern valley. Hwala's farm-and Amma-lay to the west, on the other side of the mountain from the dragon.

Another field blazed up and then another as the dragon casually exhaled its fiery breath.

He had to tell the king.

Whispering a plea to the G.o.ds, Rune turned, slipping over loose scree as he made his way down from the crag. As he ran, he glanced toward the west. The dragon wasn't anywhere near Hwala's farm. Amma would be safe.