Dragon’s Blood
A Novella
Published by Paul Weber at Smashwords
Translated from the Old High Thulic by Paul Weber
Illustrated by Jaclyn Weber and Emily Weber
Copyright © 2010 by Paul Weber
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter One
Once, long ago, during the age of dragons, there was a kingdom called Thulia. It was a rich kingdom, filled with hardworking people who minded their own business and minded it well. The Thulians were exceptional craftsmen who figured nothing was worth making unless it was made as well as possible. Thus, Thulian ships were the most graceful, swiftest craft on the oceans. Thulian metalwork was always a work of art, even when the things being made—swords, files, hammers—were made for practical purposes.
The Thulian short sword—the preferred weapon of both the Thulian army and militia—was particularly elegant, bearing a brief proverb or verse written in old style Thulian script. Only sixteen to eighteen inches long, the Thulian short sword was designed especially for close, hand-to-hand fighting. It flared wider and thicker as it went from hilt to tip, so that extra weight would contribute to the force of its blow. Opponents sometimes called it the Thulian hammer-sword, such was the force it would unleash when wielded by a well-trained soldier. Made of slow-tempered Thulian steel, the blade rarely lost its keenness, and never tarnished.
The Thulian longbow, too, was a work of art, long and graceful, and like the short sword, invariably inscribed with a wise saying written in old-style script. The longbow was strung quite tightly, allowing the archer to fire his arrows with great speed and accuracy. A good Thulian archer could fire ten arrows per minute; a company of archers could fire enough arrows—or so it was said—to darken the skies.
For countless ages, the Thulians had been ruled by kings and queens, though ruling is perhaps not quite the right word. The kings and queens of Thulia had long been content to stay in their castles and be entertained by great Thulian poets and singers. The royal Thulian palace was as elegant as can be imagined, having been made by Thulian craftsmen. But beyond living comfortably and making an occasional ruling on some dispute or other, Thulian royalty interfered little in the affairs of their own subjects. Because Thulian royalty, like Thulian commoners, minded their own business, the commoners loved them, and gladly paid the few pennies of tax each year that was required to maintain the royal family in comfort and luxury.
But then, one day, an evil spirit entered the kingdom, taking the form of a princess from a nearby kingdom. The people of Thulia noted that, once she had met and captured the heart of King Grimur, things began to change. Princess Elisar found ways to change Thulia from a rugged, hardworking, and honest land into something quite different.
Princess Elisar was quite beautiful, as evil often is. Her hair was jet black but for a single streak of white that graced her right temple. She was tall and slender, with dark, arching eyebrows over striking green eyes. She looked like royalty whether dressed in royal robes, or in a commoner’s rough woolen dress. She was a sharp-witted conversationalist, too. At courtly dances, she could converse easily with visiting royalty, generals, or poets. Often, she knew more about their particular specialties than they did.
It may be an exaggeration to say that Princess Elisar captured Grimur’s heart. Royals, as may be proved by any glance at history, rarely marry those they love, or love those they marry. For them, love and marriage are practical affairs, to be dealt with in a most calculating manner. Elisar’s kingdom would be a useful ally in Thulia’s constant rivalry with Phalia, and marriage between her and Grimur would seal the deal.
Grimur was tall and gaunt, with hollow cheeks and deep-set eyes. His hair was a striking, yellow blond, and hung in long locks well past his shoulders. Though he was an imposing physical presence, his mental acuity did not match up. Often, at royal dances and balls, he would discuss history, getting all the facts wrong. His guests, of course, politely nodded and agreed with his brilliant assessment of the past. If Elisar was nearby, however, she would correct his facts, right there in front of his guests, leading to some very tense moments of awkward silence.
It was even said that Grimur was just a little bit mad. Not mad enough, mind you, to prevent him from ruling his kingdom—madmen often rule kingdoms and empires—but mad enough to make those around him quite uncomfortable. He had a habit of talking to himself as he paced back and forth, sometimes clearly addressing people who were not there. At other times, he would look in the mirror and hold a conversation with himself over the affairs of state, rather than consult his advisors. Sometimes, he would fly into a rage over some minor matter, such as the way in which his servants dressed him, or the temperature of his food, and threaten to have them flogged. The flogging never happened, Thulia having outlawed the practice centuries before, but awareness of his unpredictable temper made those around him very cautious about what they said and did.
With the exception of Elisar. She was never afraid of her husband. When she rebuked him, he fell silent like a kicked puppy.
Though they did not love each other, the king and queen were meant for each other. The servants (if you really want to know what’s happening in the palace, ask the servants) knew right away that the new royal couple had no feelings of tenderness or love for each other; if anything, they seemed to loathe each other. But they did share one common passion: the lust for power.
Queen Elisar obviously had much to teach King Grimur, and he learned quickly. After an alliance between Thulia and Elisar’s homeland was sealed, Grimur ordered taxes increased, and the military expanded. Thulia, he said, was under threat of attack from its long-time rival, Phalia, so taxes had to be raised to defend the realm. Grimur, on Elisar’s urging, ordered all Thulian gold and silver coins to be recalled, and replaced them with brass and bronze. In order to make the exchange seem reasonable, Grimur gave out five bronze marks for each golden mark. To answer those common citizens who murmured that bronze and brass was not worth as much as gold and silver, Grimur proclaimed that all subjects in the land must honor the new marks exactly as they had the old. With so much more money, he proclaimed, Thulia would become even more prosperous. This seemed true, for a while. The people, suddenly rich with five times their previous wealth, spent it freely. Merchants ordered more goods. Suppliers of those merchants expanded their workshops and hired more people, at higher wages.
But then, everyone began raising prices. The workshops had to pay more to attract their new workers, which meant they had to charge more for their goods. The merchants naturally had to charge more for their goods. For a while, the citizens paid the higher prices, until their five-fold increase in money began to dwindle.
Then, they didn’t buy any more. Merchants’ goods sat on the shelves, unsold. They ordered no more from the workshops, so the workshops had to let their workers go. Grimur issued a proclamation condemning the greed of the merchants who had raised their prices, adding that any merchant found raising prices again would be subject to imprisonment.
Elisar had taught her husband well.
For the royal couple, all seemed to be going well. Foreign lands either came into alliance with Thulia, or were invaded, always on the pretext of self-defense. Tribute poured in from those conquered lands. Though the Thulian peasants and craftsmen grumbled about the scarcity of goods and their rising costs, they felt a surging sense of pride in their kingdom’s military triumphs. Occasionally, the royal couple would hold victory celebrations in which they distributed a small portion of the booty from these wars. At other times, they would entertain the people with shows of strange, exotic animals, and extravagant circuses. This patched things up quite nicely.
War, it seemed, had its advantages. Grumbling about hard times was drowned out by enthusiastic cheers for Thulia’s mighty navy and infantry. Tribute poured in as foreign countries learned it was better to pay protection money to Thulia than to fight her. Phalia refused to pay any tribute, and likewise strengthened her army and navy. The two kingdoms formed alliances, skirmished occasionally at sea, and roundly condemned each other, like rival gangs of children itching for a showdown.
But then, something happened that neither kingdom had anticipated. Dragons from the frozen north that had seemingly been vanquished long ago, began to appear again, attacking and burning the ships of both kingdoms. As time passed, even the coastal ports and villages came under attack. A single dragon could turn a village into a sea of flame, and no amount of arrows or lances could bring the monster down. The dragon’s scales were hard like tempered steel, its wings thick and resilient like tanned leather.
To the kingdoms of Thulia and Phalia, the dragons seemed a force of sheer malevolence. The royal families of both kingdoms bemoaned how the dragon attacks ruined their plans for war. The dragons seemed to have a particular fondness for gold and silver, picking through the charred remains of a village, snapping up precious metals and jewels, and carrying them back to their lairs in the north.
Worst of all, the sudden increase in dragon attacks reduced tribute to both Thulia and Phalia, and threatened to postpone indefinitely their mutually-desired showdown. Grimur and Elisar had learned the art of ruling men, but had no idea how to confront the powers of magic. And dragons, they reasoned, had to be the product of some sort of magic they could neither understand nor combat. Not alone, at least. As tribute dwindled and the people began to grumble again, Grimur and Elisar began to fear their own subjects—something royals must never do.
Grimur and Elisar ordered their commanders to select the best and bravest of their soldiers to be dragon-slayers. These young men, experts with every manner of weapon, sallied forth to engage the monsters. They met with little success. They wielded their spears and longbows with great skill and accuracy—before being consumed in a sea of flame.
In desperation, Grimur and Elisar decided they had to use magic to fight magic. The rulers of Thulia had long disdained the ancient order of Norns, considering them bygone relics of primitive times, unworthy of the new age of commerce by conquest. Once the Phalians were out of the way, the royal couple had decided, they would turn their attention to the weird sisterhood and crush it.
But for now, they needed them. And so, with great reluctance, Grimur and Elisar turned to the Norns for help.
Nuala was a Norn, of the oldest order of the land of Thulia. She was sometimes called Nuala of the White Hair. The whiteness of her hair had nothing to do with age; in fact, at the time the business with the dragons started, Nuala was still in her twenties. Norns in those days were known to live for hundreds of years, so she was in effect barely out of childhood. Nuala was slender and delicate-looking. Though she was proud of her appearance, and strove to always look her best, she disliked her rather large ears that tended to protrude slightly through the long, straight, platinum hair. A further aspect of this feature was the disastrous tendency for her ears to turn bright red when she blushed, giving her a most comical appearance. Since she was so fair-skinned, her blush was quite noticeable enough, even without the added feature of her ears. As is often the case with both men and women, she was much more self-conscious about a perceived defect than she needed to be; others hardly noticed it at all. To them, she was unusually attractive, and even a bit mysterious, being a Norn.
To understand the nature of the Norns, we must first free ourselves from some of the stranger beliefs of our modern times. We believe that Norns were, one and all, old hags with blemished skin, bad teeth, and a hideous, cackling laugh. This is not true; Norns were human beings and came in all appearances. If anything, they were usually more beautiful than average folks, because they always sought ways to live in good health through natural means. After the Dark Times, when the Norns were wiped out by the adherents of a new belief dedicated to love, the victors could scribble nonsense about the ugliness and devil-worship among the Norns without fear of reproach; no one was left to defend the vanquished sisterhood.
The Norns sought knowledge, above all else, of nature. To this end, they carefully sampled all of plants that nature had placed on the earth, keeping detailed records of what each plant did to those who ate them (or consumed them in any number of ways). Some, they found, induced visions and dreams. Others cured certain diseases. Still others induced a state of cheer and happiness. Still others caused agony, and death. Over the centuries, the Norns studied the way one could combine nature’s gifts to make medicines, and the proper dosage to achieve the desired effect. In a sense, they were the first scientists, though modern scientists to this day scoff at their herbal potions.
The Norns also studied magic, which often went hand in hand with their study of nature and plants. In our proud modern view, there is no such thing as magic, but the Norns knew better. For in those days, magic was as real and as common as food and drink, but only those who studied the arts in great depth could master them. Magic still exists to this day, only there are none left who know how to use it. Indeed, the extermination of the sisterhood of Norns may be viewed as one of history’s greatest tragedies.
The Norns were a force for good in the world, back in those days. (Of course, being of the same species as the rest of us, Norns had their occasional bad seed. But the nature of Norn-craft ensured that most practitioners of the art would only use it to cure disease and solve problems, rather than create them.) Valuing knowledge above all, they frequently met with other Norns to trade discoveries. Their meetings were frequently interrupted by experiments, in which they would eat, drink, or smoke newly-discovered herbs. The results of these experiments were dutifully recorded and distributed among the sisterhood, who administered them to any commoner who had the good sense to consult them.
The careful reader will note that Norn-craft was a sisterhood. Occasionally, men would try to study and master the arts of the sisterhood, but their efforts were like those of boys trying to compete with men. The mastery of magic remained the almost-exclusive domain of females, for reasons unknown to this day.
Norns worshipped nature, and as such did whatever would bring them health and long life. Nuala was no exception. She was of average height and very slender, her hands long and expressive. She kept her hair in the style that was popular among Norns of her day: but a few inches long on the left side, but with the right side kept in exceptionally long braids, decorated with ribbons and beads, usually of purple, green, or blue. Her eyes were pale blue, almost powdery in color, as one so often sees among those who are unusually fair.
It has been said that the Norns even discovered a potion that made one fall in love with the first human viewed after taking the merest sip. Authorities who have studied this myth are in dispute. Most have concluded that the potion (whose formula was lost, like so many great discoveries, during the madness of the Norns’ Holocaust) could not actually make one fall in love, but could ignite in the subject a deep-seated and fiery passion. This opens up the whole subject as to whether love is more than just a fiery and misguided passion, or whether it is in some way also governed by reason. Several authorities have also pointed to documented cases in which the potion was used on a subject who then fell in love with someone whom he had previously failed to realize was his perfect soul-mate. In this sense, the potion merely helped a dullard by igniting a passion he should have, in all reason, ignited on his own.
And then there are the many apocryphal cases in which the love potion was used to deleterious effect. In all these cases, a perfectly happy and well-adjusted young lad was given the potion, and then viewed someone totally unsuited to him. The resulting years of pining away in the agony of unrequited love helped form the plots of many an amusing or tragic romance. Some fragments of these histories exist to this day, in highly edited form, having survived the book burnings and mass hysterias that were so common during the Age of Reason.
A frequent question that also arises in modern studies of ancient Thulian Norn-craft, was whether or not an antidote existed to the love potion. Authorities are mostly in agreement that no such antidote existed, though time would eventually heal the wound of unrequited love, just as it does in those who fall in love through more conventional means. Though the victim of a love potion would eventually get over the madness, there was always some little remainder of the toxin in his blood. If a young lady were particularly cruel, she could torment the young lad—seemingly forever—by giving the slightest hint that she might someday consider him.
Most authorities also agree there was a difference in the potion intended for use on men, and that intended for use on women. Thulian Norns, being remarkably thorough in their studies, carefully catalogued the effects of using male potions on females, and female potions on males. We can imagine that the results ranged from amusing to horrifying, but unfortunately those catalogues, too, were lost to history.
Nuala’s father was a Thulian shopkeeper, her mother a Phalian peasant. The story of how they came together during the Second Phalian War is a worthy tale in its own right, but we have not the time to discuss it here. Nuala took to the Norns’ arts at an early age, an interest encouraged by her mother and tolerated by her more practical father. She was quite wealthy by the time she was in her late twenties, with a full slate of customers every day seeking her advice and buying her well-crafted potions and powders, along with the proper incantations to make them most effective.
Nuala was famous and wealthy, but followed the Norns’ commandment never to show excessive pride nor engage in tasteless displays of her wealth. The Norns were keenly aware of the petty jealousies outsiders were bound to feel toward them, and wisely sought to blend into Thulian society as much as possible. Despite those efforts, some Thulians came to resent the Norns and their secretive ways. It was only a matter of time before Thulian rulers—being only human, after all—would use that nagging resentment to further their own ends.
Despite the obvious good the Norns did for their customers, there were murmurs against them among missionaries from the east. These missionaries, devoted to the worship of their own version of god, saw the Norns as practitioners of evil. They were quite insistent that their god was the one and only god, a jealous god. Most Thulians, being a practical people, were puzzled that a single god should be jealous of other gods that, presumably, didn’t exist. So, most Thulians politely ignored the missionaries. A few, however, converted to the new and decidedly un-cosmopolitan faith. And recently, more and more of them had gained a foothold in the King’s court. Grimur at first sought to expel the new missionaries, on the grounds that they challenged ancient Thulian tradition. Elisar, however—infinitely the cleverer of the two—convinced her husband to welcome the missionaries warmly, and to tolerate the practice of their religion, for she observed how easily their zeal could be converted to practical usage.
Many Norns, including Nuala, sensed danger, and sought to prove themselves loyal to the king. Not that they had any loyalty to political rulers, but they always tried to deal with the impractical art of politics as practically as possible. A common way to do this was to display the flag of Thulia, along with paintings of King Grimur and his beautiful queen in their homes and shops. Nuala followed this sensible procedure, and always, when asked, asserted her loyalty to the king without hesitation.
Despite her belief in not displaying her pride and abilities too ostentatiously, Nuala was proud, deep inside. In matters of love, she had turned down several suitors whom most young ladies would be thrilled to catch. In her heart, she felt she would always be in control of such situations, and not be one of those foolish young ladies who fall head over heels for some handsome but thick-headed young chap. The gods of love, however, are often quick to correct such notions.
One of those gods, offended at Nuala’s pride despite her efforts not to show it, one day sent a sylph to wreak some mischief. Taking careful aim with his (to us) invisible arrow, he struck Nuala’s heart and made her fall madly in love with the first man she saw.
One warm and breezy summer’s day, she was sipping a particularly good herbal brew, when a young man in military uniform appeared at her door. Nuala, casting her eye on the young fellow, forgot to breathe. So strong was her attraction to him that she looked at her drink and wondered if she had accidentally dropped a love potion in it. But such was not the case; the feelings she felt (at least, from her perspective) were real and irresistible.
The mischievous sylph who had plunged the arrow of love into her breast snickered in delight, though the sound to mortal ears was merely the twitter of a far-off bird. Speeding back to its master, the sylph reported on its mischief. The god of love was, as usual, pleased to hear about mortals who presume to control his mighty power, being made fools instead.
“This can’t be happening,” she thought wildly to herself. “I will fall in love when I choose to, to whom I choose.”
But still, she felt her heart pounding and her face blushing. To her, the fellow looked like a work of art, the sylph’s arrow having pulled love’s veil over her eyes so that she could see only perfection. And, to add to the utter humiliation and timeless horror of the situation, she felt her ears blushing red.
Chapter Two
Prior to his stumbling into Nuala’s shop, the soldier named Leif had visited Old Man Caldr, a hero of former wars, a one-time commander who was considered a tactical genius, who now devoted his considerable energy, at the age of one-hundred-five, to the timeless art of farming.
Thulian culture always reverenced those who lived to advanced age, but Old Man Caldr tried to avoid celebrations of his life, as such celebrations made him feel more like an old relic than a man who still had long to live. After all, Thulian men had been known to live almost to two hundred years—not as long as Norns, but respectably long.
The name of Caldr is common in South Thulia, where they speak an unusual dialect which tends to run together long strings of consonants. Old Man Caldr, however, spoke the standard High Thulian without a trace of an accent. He was wiry, yet still quite strong, despite his age. The decades had put a few spots on top of his bald head, though a fringe of hair remained around the ears. He attributed his healthy old age to the daily smoking of herbs, and a single glass of good Thulian red.
Like most old men, Caldr could seem a little grumpy when conversing with people who did not understand or appreciate the perspective he had gained from decades observing the foibles of men. Following a tradition that was rarely followed anymore, Caldr wore a Thulian short sword and frequently practiced with the longbow. When asked why he, at such an old age, should still bear weapons, Caldr answered grumpily that he bore them for the same reasons everyone should bear them: one did not lose the need for self defense when one got older, after all.
Caldr had taken a liking to Leif, a man a little over thirty who looked like someone in his late teens. His hair was red, his skin fair and freckled. Frequently, he had a touch of sunburn on the tops of his cheeks and ears, even in Thulia’s legendary gloomy overcast. His broad smile added to his boyish appearance, but did not detract from his air of authority when he commanded his men. His chin was deeply cleft and prominent.
The young man, though, was troubled, and felt he had to turn to Caldr for advice. The two sat at the window of Caldr’s living room, looking out at his herb gardens under the morning sun. Caldr got out a long-stemmed pipe, stuffed it with dried herbs, and enjoyed a relaxing smoke.
“Care to indulge?” the old man asked, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a pipe for his young friend.
“I’ve never tried the stuff,” Leif said, uncertainly.
“Well, it’s high time you did!” Caldr said, with a touch of grumpiness. “Smoke my pipe-weeds, and you’ll live to be two hundred! Now c’mon, lad—light up!”
Leif shrugged and followed orders.
“Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?” Caldr asked. Thulian men had a habit of getting right to the point.
Leif drew a tiny puff of smoke into his mouth and was surprised to find it tasted sweet and slightly spicy.
“What I’m going to tell you, Caldr, I tell you in confidence.”
“Of course. A Thulian would rather die than betray something spoken in confidence.”
“I’m having problems with my career. Not problems with my men or superiors, mind you, but problems in my own head. I’m in line for more promotions, but the higher I rise, and the farther I see, the more I question whether I’m fighting for the right side. You see, I can’t help but question why Thulia is invading foreign lands, when no kingdom on earth can threaten us, not even Phalia. I’m beginning to think all these wars serve no purpose but the vanity of the king and queen.”
Caldr chuckled and blew a smoke ring. “Sounds like you’re having a bout of clear thinking. Very dangerous for a man in your position, to consider the big picture.”
“I’m worried that I might go too far some day, and commit treason.”
“Listen, young lad. If everyone thought the way you do, there’d be no more war. The king and queen want you to do your duty, without looking at the big picture. That’s a privilege they want to reserve only for themselves. The best thing that could happen right now would be to have you and a handful of men like you lead a rebellion. Men respect you, Leif—lead them!”
“You mean, commit treason?”
Caldr’s laugh was surprisingly bright and merry, coming from a man so old.
“There is no treason. Let the scales fall from your eyes, boy. Treason is a word they use to prevent you from thinking things through, all the way down to the root. If you could look into the minds of the men you lead, you’d be surprised how many of them think as you do. All they need is someone with the courage to lead them.”
“I’m surprised to hear such things,” Leif said, “coming from someone like you, of all people. You’re the one who led troops in defense of the realm, ages ago.”
“Aye, but things were different back then. If I had it all to do over, I’d give back every one of my victories if I could have prevented the king from gaining so much power. I’m getting too old for that sort of stuff. You’re still young.”
Leif took another draw of smoke, then rested his pipe on the table. Caldr’s blend of herbs seemed to clarify rather than cloud his thoughts.
“When the time is right, Caldr, I will do what you suggest. But there is another thing I want to ask you about. Have you heard about my latest raid on Norheim?”
Caldr shook his head. “We don’t get much real news, these days.”
Norheim was a settlement on the far side of the Great Sea, on a narrow strip of level land between the cliffs and glaciers to the north, and the sea. It had been settled in past years by adventurous folks from both Thulia and Phalia, and had grown and thrived. Oddly, the settlers from the two rival kingdoms, who spoke two dialects of the same language, got along quite well. After all, it was a matter of either cooperating, or perishing, as Norheim was a harsh and unforgiving land. Working together, they had extracted minerals from the mountains and cliffs, and harvested vast amounts of fish from the banks just off their shore. Trading with other merchants on the rim of the Great Sea, the Norrish had managed to become wealthy.
But they had no rulers, no army, and no navy. Rulers of both Thulia and Phalia claimed Norheim as their own colony, and rushed to back up that claim with force. Thulia was the first to move, sending a flotilla of ships to “defend” Norheim against Phalian aggression. Leif had been given the honor of leading the expedition. Arriving in Norheim, Leif learned that the Norrish did not want to be defended, and they did have a form of leadership: the Norns. Furthermore, he learned that Norheim did in fact have a defense. Dragons, thought to be long extinct, flew high above the cliffs around Norheim. The settlers did not fear them.
“I met with the council of Norns,” Leif explained. “But they insisted that I leave and take my flotilla right back to Thulia. They said they would give the same order to Phalia, when their ships arrived. I told them that would, reluctantly, have to take military action and put Norheim once again under the rule of Thulia.”
“So what happened?”
“Dragons, old man. They protect Norheim. When I returned to my ship, they started to attack the flotilla. They burned three of my best ships; fortunately, most of the men were able to jump overboard and be rescued. Then they stopped the attack, ascending again into the air, as if they were giving us a chance to withdraw safely. I took the hint and ordered a retreat.”
“Interesting,” said Caldr, stroking his chin. “Do you think the Norns have some sort of pact or alliance with the creatures?”
“I don’t know if it’s a formal alliance, or if the dragons just know somehow that Norheim will not attack them. But Norheim is invulnerable so long as dragons protect her. I returned to Thulia and sought a meeting with the king and queen. They were furious that I didn’t press the attack, even though I explained to them that doing so would be suicidal. Grimur was particularly angry with me—I actually thought he might order me beheaded, right then and there. But Elisar—she’s the scary one, the one with the brains. She understood my position, once I explained it, and said we need to use the magic of Norns to find a way to kill the dragons.”
Caldr chuckled. “She wants the Norns to prove their loyalty first, before she has them exterminated.”
“What? Why would she do such a thing?”
“Wake up, boy. The Norns may claim they are loyal, but they also think for themselves. Kings and queens don’t like those sorts of folks. Elisar is indeed the smart one; she’ll use the Norns to finish her splendid little war. Then, she’ll turn on them.”
“And I am to meet with Nuala, to find a way to slay the dragons. Old man, what would you do, if you were me?”
“Nuala, you say?” The old man raised a single eyebrow.
“Yes. I’m told she is unusually talented in the Nornish arts. Do you know her?”
Caldr blew a last puff of smoke before setting his pipe down. “I’ve known Nuala quite well, since she was but a little girl. As to what you should do: play along, for now. Learn what you can. Stay close to your men. You will know when the time is right to strike.”
And so Leif found himself in the shop of Nuala. It was a strange little place, with long shelves stocked with books and scrolls; glass jars filled with dried and powdered herbs; and tiny flasks and ampules, carefully labeled, containing various potions.
The shop itself was not a dark and musty place, however. Sunlight streamed in from large windows, and from several round openings in the ceiling—covered with ground glass that admitted light, but could not be seen through—that illuminated all corners of the shop.
“The king requests the honor of your presence, to assist him by using your powers of divination. He believes the Norns have powers that can help him.”
“And you? Do you believe in the power of Norns?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think; my life belongs to the King. But if he were to ask my advice, I would tell him not to waste his time with magic and wizards. War is a practical business; the opinions of those who practice outmoded beliefs don’t matter one way or the other.”
Nuala looked as though she had been slapped. This man who made her pulse race had just insulted her. She would have ordered anyone else out of her shop for such rudeness, but the sylph’s arrow had done its task well.
Leif waited an awkward moment. “I meant no offense, of course, but it is part of my training to assess things honestly, and give the king my honest advice if he asks. But he has not asked for my advice, choosing instead to ask for yours. So, will you accept his invitation?”
“The king need not invite me. He can compel me, if he so desires.”
“He could. But then your advice would not be honest. Our kingdom is facing new threats. You have heard, no doubt, about the re-emergence of dragons?”
Nuala had heard the news already, and had even spent a little time studying some old dragon lore. She wondered why dragons should return from the brink of extinction, and again assert themselves in the affairs of men. She had, as yet, no answer.
“I have heard about the dragon attacks, though I’m sure I am supposed to know anything. You realize, I’m sure, that your weapons of war are useless against them?”
“That is why we seek your help. We need to find other ways of fighting them. Some weakness that can be exploited. Otherwise, our kingdom faces great danger.”
A thought occurred to Nuala that made her shudder. “I hope you are not one of those chosen to fight the dragons.”
“I am.”
Nuala could not refuse. If she did not love him, she might well have refused the invitation, despite the danger of offending the king. Or, she might have delayed the meeting and requested further information. But she had to protect Leif.
“As a loyal subject, I shall do all in my power to assist the king and queen,” she said.
Leif left, glad to have succeeded in enlisting Nuala’s help. He felt strangely and strongly attracted to her, for reasons he could not identify. But it was no sylph and no potion that engendered his feelings; the attraction he felt was genuine.
All of which made no sense, he thought to himself. The Norns believed in old superstitions; they were anachronisms. He needed help fighting dragons, and that was a battle to be fought with better weapons, not magic incantations and potions.
Still, he had grown tired of battle. He had met the king and queen, and had discovered that behind their pomp and finery were the basest of human motivations: lust for power, ruthlessness, hubris. Perhaps the time was near when he should gracefully exit the direct service of the king and queen, and devote his energies to farm and family.
And perhaps, he had met the one who could be his companion.
Or, he could do as the old man had counseled, and return his beloved country to a land of peace and prosperity. The risks of that were great—he might end up dying under most unpleasant circumstances. But it is strange how difficult it is for men to turn away from a dangerous quest, when they know they have it right.
And after all, what interest could such a young lady have in one of the king’s warriors? She was as unlike him as night is to day.
Old Man Caldr had finished his tasks for the day, and paused a few moments in the last hour of daylight to admire his thriving garden. In addition to his pipe-weed, he grew cabbages, spinach—everything his body needed to continue strong into old age.
“Your garden looks unusually good this year!”
Caldr turned and saw Nuala, her white-blond hair aglow in the warm, late afternoon sun.
“A fine garden indeed. Have you come to buy some of my herbs?”
“I have. But I also wanted to ask your advice, if you don’t mind.”
Caldr chuckled. “Now that’s a switch! What possible use would an old man’s words be to a practitioner of the art?”
“My questions have to do with other matters. I met a soldier yesterday who asked me to use the arts in service of the king and queen.”
Caldr nodded and smiled. “Red-haired young chap. Good looking.”
Nuala looked astonished. “How did you know? Have you been studying the art, and not told me?”
“Nothing so mysterious. He’s like a grandson to me, asks me advice. He told me he’d be seeking you out to find a way to slay the dragons that defend Norheim. He needs your help.”
“What would you do?”
“Give it to him.”
Nuala was surprised that so complex an issue could be made so simple. Norns, accustomed as they were to studying and unlocking many complex aspects of nature and magic, were sometimes surprised when presented with something simple.
“But…what about actually using the art in service to a king? Do you think that’s right? What if the king uses my help to further his own ends?”
“Oh, I guarantee he’ll try. He’s a king, after all. Convinced he knows what’s best for himself, and everyone else. Normally, I’d tell you to find some way to refuse. But in this case, go along with it.”
Nuala looked perplexed.
“Is there something else, young Norn?”
“Can you keep a confidence, old man?”
“People have been asking me that question quite a bit, lately. Of course you can.”
Nuala’s ears reddened slightly, making them devastatingly obvious against her white hair. Self-consciously, she tried to pull her hair over them, to no avail.
“I always thought I’d be immune to…well…immune to falling in love. I mean…that I’d be the one doing the choosing. That I’d approach love the way a Norn should—you know, using your head to choose a compatible man. Logically, in control. But yesterday, I met this red-haired young fellow, and somehow I…I just fell for him! The terrible thing about it is, it’s so un-Norn-like of me.”
Caldr smiled, remembering the hair-pulling confusion he had felt when he was young and in love.
“I don’t see a problem in all this,” the old man said. “So smile, be your charming self, and let nature do the rest.”
“Oh, it’s not that simple.”
“Oh, but it is. You just want to make it complicated. Trust me, Nuala—when you’re as old as I am, things that used to look complicated, look pretty simple.”
Nuala shook her head. “But he’s totally unlike me. A soldier, for the gods’ sakes! He didn’t show the slightest interest in me, personally—it was all business. And how could I love someone who has to be away for months or years at a time, serving the king? And furthermore, I don’t even like the king.”
She put her hand to her lips, thinking she had said too much.
“Don’t worry, young lady. I think Grimur’s a heap of dung, too. We’re speaking in confidence—you said so yourself.”
“What I want to do,” Nuala said, “is help nature along a little bit. If I could just give him a sip of love-potion, he’d notice me for sure.”
Caldr frowned. “Nuala, you have indeed gone mad! Why, that would go against every ethical precept in the Book of the Norns! If the sisterhood found out, you’d be an outcast! And you know the most important law of Nornish potion-craft—never to give a potion to anyone without telling him what it’s for and what it does. If you did this, the fates would inevitably make things go awry, turning your desires to disasters.”
“But…I….”
Caldr smiled. “Listen, Nuala. Give it time. I know a week or a month or a year seems like forever, when you’re so young. Give it a little time, and he’ll notice you, the way you want to be noticed.”
Chapter Three
The land of Thulia had once been prosperous, back in the days of the Breithym, or judges. In those times, which now seem more legend than history, men spent their allotment of days in the pursuit of happiness. They found happiness in taming the wilderness, growing crops, making useful tools--all the things that make life pleasant and comfortable.
Back in those times, Thulia had no king. From our modern perspective, we find this almost impossible to conceive, but men got along well together by following the old law of the Breithym. The rules of living back then were simple: it was forbidden to steal, to murder, or to lie to further one’s prosperity; men found they could work with one another and achieve great things if they agreed to abide by those laws. It was rare that people broke their contracts, but if they did, the whole matter was resolved before a Breith, whose word was final. Not only would the contract breaker have to pay restitution, but he would find it much more difficult to regain a Thulian’s most precious asset—reputation—after such a ruling. Thus, Thulians had powerful incentives to work things about before they went that far.
The Breithym were typically old men and women of the community, commoners who had spent a lifetime making useful things. Being commoners, the Breithym understood the virtue of keeping things simple and straightforward; the code of justice they enforced was remarkable for its simplicity and for the fact everyone understood it. The small expenses in keeping up the system of the Breithym were paid voluntarily by anyone wanting to insure a contract. The price was quite low.
The most basic law of the Breithym was the forbidding of violence and fraud; all other laws were simply corollaries of this one, central tenet. From time to time, a Thulian citizen would get what he or she thought was a great idea, but could not get anyone to support it. Citizens over the ages had asked the Breithym to enact laws for mandatory contributions to charities, or to schools, or any number of seemingly worthy goals. The Breithym, being practical-minded commoners, rejected all such proposals, on the grounds that such worthy projects, if they were indeed worthy, should be financed voluntarily.
Then one day, a form of madness came over Thulia, and people began calling for a king. Eventually, they got what they asked for, good and hard. Under the kings, the Breithym were gradually replaced by judges loyal to the crown. Law became complex. Contracts required the services of experts, and even then resulted in lengthy disputes.
The kings were experts at creating new problems to solve. They would solve them in ways that created yet more problems to solve, guaranteeing the king always had something to muddle up. Some things, the kings insisted, were too important to be left to chance—they had to be made under the guidance of the king, because the king knew best, always. These included things like bread and milk, at first. But the list soon expanded. Anything that people considered important, should be provided for free, out the treasury of the king. The king, of course, was more than willing to do this.
The Thulian people learned that, once a king is enthroned, his most overriding goal is to increase his power. Those who remembered the old days of the Breithym gradually died out, though certain backwards-looking folk wrote and recalled how those days had been. They quickly came to be regarded as quaint anachronisms.
Still, a small but hopeful minority of Thulians hoped and longed for the day when the people would awaken and realize they had no need of kings, but each year, that hope grew dimmer and dimmer.
It was after hours. Nuala has locked the door of her shop, and began mixing herbs, carefully following the directions from an old book. Old Man Caldr had warned her against making and using a love potion. She had even consulted with an elderly Norn who had happened by the shop earlier in the day.
“Speaking theoretically,” she asked the old wise woman, “is there ever a time when it’s justified to give someone a potion without their knowledge?”
“Of course not, young lady. Every Norn knows this. No matter how much sense it seems to make in the short term, such actions always make things worse. If you love the young man, just tell him.”
Nuala felt her ears blush slightly. “I was only speaking theoretically, of course.”
The old wise woman smiled. “But of course you were.”
Leif honed the sharp edge of his sword with a whetting stone, trying to drive the image of the lovely young Norn from his mind. But it was a hopeless quest—she was beautiful, intelligent, and renowned. He was just a soldier. And she had not shown the slightest interest in him in her shop; in fact, she had barely spoken a word. And then he had gone and insulted her, his words leaping from his mouth, as usual, before his brain had a chance to weigh them.
How easy was making war in service to the King, as opposed to summoning up the courage to pour out his heart to a beautiful woman he loved!
Was she merely mocking him when she spoke kindly to him in her shop? Or perhaps she was merely being polite, seeing as he was merely a loutish warrior, while she was a fine lady, well versed in the most complex issues of science. If he dared pour out his heart to her, would she laugh in amusement?
That would kill him, for sure! A shocked rejection would be tolerable, but a gale of laughter would destroy him, right down to the core of his being.
He pressed harder on the edge of his blade, as though doing so would add a little extra edge to his already razor-sharp sword.
How true love makes fools of us, he thought. Here he was, a dragon-slayer, serving at the right hand of the king himself, yet he was frightened by the thought of speaking his heart to a slender willow of a woman!
It struck him how low it was that he should serve the King and Queen, whom he had begun to realize were such loathsome creatures, unworthy of deference. Why not throw away the foolish and ephemeral joys of serving a king, and trade them for the love of a woman? Why continue in this foolish charade of waving the king’s banner and smearing lavish praise on the undeserving royal couple?
Yes, he thought. Tomorrow is the day. I shall beg my release from service to the King and Queen, and become a commoner. Then I shall pour my heart out to this lovely Nuala, and let her reject me if she please! But I cannot go on winning honor in men’s eyes, while losing it in my own.
Yes, tomorrow.
Nuala waited for Leif in the hallway before the throne room in the royal castle, a small flask of love potion in her small leather purse. When he finally entered, striding resolutely down the hall, Nuala shivered nervously, both from her desire for him, and from anxiety at the thought of what might go wrong. As a student of nature, she knew that trying to influence the natural course of things—particularly things as complicated as love and romance—was to court both love and disaster. But the driving force of love was strong enough to make her ignore all warnings.
They faced each other in the castle’s grand receiving room, where guests typically assembled and waited for the command to enter into the throne room itself. The receiving room was decorated in such a way as to make visitors gasp with astonishment at the wealth and power of the royal family. The ceiling featured a painting of Grimur receiving inspiration from angels, the latter descending from the clouds of heaven in blinding bright light. Along the walls were portraits of each of preceding kings and queens, all of them depicting the royals receiving a touch of the divine, that they might rule with justice. Grimur was depicted with his foot firmly planted on the head of dragon he had slain, his great sword buried to the hilt in the monster’s breast. The king’s face seemed to glow, and above his head was a circle of light.
In her portrait, Queen Elisar was surrounded by the symbols of war and conquest—something that had never been done in the long history of Thulian art. The convention of women was to be portrayed with symbols of learning, art, and the home. For example, a great Thulian dame might be shown writing a poem, with an allegorical muse guiding her hand as she wrote her verses. Or, a woman might be portrayed making yarn on her spinning wheel. But symbols of war and conquest were not considered appropriate symbolism for a Thulian lady. Elisar, however, deliberately chose this new symbolism.
Elisar was depicted on horseback, in a full suit of armor like Grimur, only with the shape of the breastplate modified to show her femininity. She held the bright sword aloft, leading her troops into battle with the enemy. The troops gazed on their queen in looks of sheer worship.
A fountain of spring water stood in the hallway of the palace, along with rows of silver goblets. Nuala turned to the fountain, took a goblet, and filled it with water. Then, making sure Leif wasn’t looking—he was busy looking at the artwork—she put three drops of love potion into it.
“Are you thirsty, Leif?” she asked, offering the goblet.
“Why, yes. How thoughtful of you!”
Leif took the goblet, letting his eyes linger on Nuala for just a moment. Nuala understood the look of desire, and her heart beat loudly and rapidly. But then, like an explosion, the realization came to her about just how wrong her actions had been. If Leif did indeed show an interest in her, the worst thing she could do would be to use her arts to make him love her. Such a love would always be unsatisfying, a mockery of the real thing. She realized then what she must do: she had to smite the goblet from his hand!
But it was too late. Leif had closed his eyes and drunk deeply. Then, he opened his eyes. He stood transfixed, his countenance showing the look of complete adulation. Then Nuala knew just what a mess she had gotten herself into.
His eyes were resting on the portrait of Queen Elisar.
Grimur, King of Thulia, sat upon his throne, ready to receive his servant Leif, and assign him a new and dangerous task.
The throne room of the King of Thulia was designed to make one gape in awe. The room itself gave the illusion of being a long rectangle, but the king’s skillful architects had actually made the two long walls converge slightly towards one another as they stretched from the entryway to the throne itself. Thus, the eyes of all who entered were led to the throne and the majesty that sat upon it. The throne itself sat on a stage, three feet above the rest of the floor, so that all would have to raise their heads to view the king. At the apex of the domed ceiling, directly above the throne, was an opening covered with a lens of glass that gathered the sun’s light and directed it towards the throne. Thus, those who entered the throne room to beg favors of the king typically stood in murky light of the windows, while the king sat on his throne, illuminated in blinding radiance.
Yet, when Leif and Nuala entered the room, neither showed any sign of being overwhelmed by such grandeur. Following established protocol, Leif bowed low, while Nuala curtsied—a gesture not well practiced among those of her order.
“Rise, Leif and Nuala,” said the queen. “We have much to discuss.”
Leif rose, raised his head, and let his eyes rest on the queen. Nuala, seeing instantly what was happening, and the danger this could cause them both, took his arm in hers and grasped his hand, just a little too tightly. He seemed to get the message, turning his eyes to King Grimur.
“I present you Nuala, one of the most accomplished in the sisterhood of Norns. She is ready to serve her kingdom.”
“Excellent,” said the queen. “We wish you to use your powers of astrology and prophecy to advise us in several important matters, if such powers you have.”
“I have from time to time been able to foretell the future, but a proper and complete prophecy will take a few days. If it please your Majesty and your Highness, I should advise you of the entire process of an accurate prophecy.”
“Speak, then,” said Queen Elisar, noticing with some amusement that Leif’s eyes had moved back from her husband to herself.
Nuala noticed the same thing, and realized Leif could easily get himself in deep trouble. She cupped her hand around Leif’s ear and furtively whispered for him to look only at the floor. He dropped his gaze. Turning back to the royal couple, Nuala noticed the look of amusement in the Queen’s eyes, and thanked the woodland spirits that there was no sign of offense in the eyes of either king or queen.
Nuala, being unaccustomed to the court, tried to remember the rules of Thulian etiquette for addressing royalty. Was the king “his Highness,” or “his Majesty?” And were they to be addressed in the third person these days, or was the second person plural considered polite enough? She decided to struggle along with third person.
“His Highness and Her Majesty must first formulate their questions. I will then ask questions of them. Though they may be tempted to take offense at the questions I ask, they must not. I must know not only the question, as it were, but the question behind the question, if I am to serve his Majesty and her Highness.
“If they find my questions troubling, they must remember that a prophetess must know not only their questions, but the reasons behind them.”
King Grimur’s face showed both irritation and concern. “We agree to your terms, as we must have an accurate prophecy. But we remind both our servants that whatever is said in this throne room is private information, and must not be discussed with anyone else, on pain of death for revealing royal secrets.”
“Agreed, Highness, but there is one small problem. Once I have your questions, I will return to my home and prepare a potion that will unleash my ability to see what is yet to come. The process of the Sight is dangerous, and must not be done alone. Another member of the order must be at my side, to observe and be ready to break the spell if I am in danger.”
Grimur was clearly uncomfortable. “We can trust you, Nuala, as a single Norn, but we are loath to allow another of your order to hear our secrets, for we have heard how many of them resist the new order. Perhaps my young officer can stand beside you during this prophecy.”
Nuala turned to Leif, who had yet again let his eyes wander to Queen Elisar, staring at her like a dog awaiting a command. She spoke to him, but this time he didn’t look away from the Queen. Reaching up, she cupped his chin in her hand and turned his gaze away from the Queen, towards herself.
Queen Elisar barely suppressed a chuckle of amusement.
“Will Leif stay with me as observer during my visions?”
“I will, to serve my King and Queen.”
Nuala thought for a moment that the easy thing to do would be to finish this conference, then drink poison to end the folly. But then she realized she had an obligation to make things right once again, though she had not the slightest idea how she would do it. For under both regular Thulian law and Nornish custom, one who caused problems was obligated to correct them.