Chapter Five
Libelle stood outside at the base of the steps of Uppsala, her stallion calmly eating the bucket of oats provided by Olief. His tail flicked back and forth, while she stood by his side, tightening his cinch to the saddle. He lifted his head and nipped at her hands in protest to the tight girth. She playfully swatted at his nose and then offered him a bite of her apple, instead of a bite he kindly took half of the sweet fruit with him.
She chuckled and brushed some snow from the saddle seat, adjusting the saddle bags over his hips. She had one more journey before she was home, she had to somehow get the man-beast down the mountain side and through two cities without causing an uproar. Olief and Jolgeir provided her with three days’ worth of bread and a bundle of salted meat. Two blankets, and even animal pelts that had been tanned with great craftsmanship.
She pulled her wolf's pelt tighter around her shoulders and up closer to her neck. The silver and white coat had been collected from multiple wolves, annoying pests to any farmer’s livestock. Their pelts were warm, but worth little. She had a hunter to thank for providing the priests with such a pelt, one large enough to fit snugly around her shoulders and neck; and long enough to cover her arms and past her buttocks. A hard metal clasp held the pelts together by her collarbone, another by her heart. Lots of time went into this hide to make it fit so perfectly. She smiled and snuggled herself into the warm fur again.
Davyn opened the heavy wood doors to Uppsala and with him stepped out Eskil. He wore worn out boots and his pants had holes in them. He clung to the similarly made arrangement of wolf’s hides around him, shivering in the cold: the mountain air was not forgiving. She chuckled as Eskil was fitted with appropriate black pelts, Davyn likely behind the choosing. White for the hero, black for the enemy. He held the fur tightly to his body, exposing the tip of his nose and his gold eyes. His black hair waving about in the wind and it looked like his horns were building up frost already.
Davyn handed him a small brown sack with a whispered exchange of words, Eskil glared at him but did not respond. He stepped down the steep and slippery stairs and stopped by Libelle and her stallion, who did not seem too keen on the new person. Her stallion stomped and pawed at his empty bucket.
“Climb on, I won't let him make off with you.” Libelle said, holding her horse's reins in her hands.
Planning to lead the two down the time consuming slopes that would take them from Uppsala, down to the small hunting village, Braedon where she would purchase him a horse. The safest route would be to head north around the mountain and through Lowestoft, the fastest route however would be to head west into Grimsby. Grimsby had been rebuilt in the last ten years since Eskil initially burned it to the ground, however it was not rebuilt by kind hearted folk. It was not the best route, and with her companions attitude she figured it would be best to take the longer route home. She did not feel like fighting her way home, not through a crowd of bandits and a lord paid off by the thieves.
Eskil stared at her then back at her horse. She motioned him to climb into the saddle. “Climb on, I’ll lead you down the mountain. It’ll be faster.”
He shook his head at her, and stomped through the slick snow past her. “I am not a child elf.”
“Yes, you're not. You’re thousands of years older than me, but you're not used to walking on two legs like you are. Don't need you slipping down a slope on me, too much work to go chasing after your sorry ass.”
Eskil did not stop, instead he continued on the slippery path down the mountain side. They should reach the bottom by mid-afternoon, if he would listen. However he did not seem interested in listening to her at all right now. He was stomping through the snow at a reckless speed, not paying attention where his feet were landing. He was bound to fall.
Libelle turned and nodded towards Davyn who simply nodded back and returned to the warmth of the main hall. She pulled on her stallion's reins and jogged after Eskil, fairly common with trudging up and down these unforgiving hills. She was familiar with the twists and turns on the mountain, knew where the paths led and where the wind blew the hardest.
She slowed and kept pace with him at his side, still leading her horse. “You should watch where you’re going.” She said, a hint of teasing in her voice.
“I am. I am walking down these blasted paths to the bottom of this bloody mountain.” He snapped, adjusting the wolf’s furs around his neck. His nose and cheeks turning red the longer he was out in the cold wind.
“Yes, we are walking to the foot of the mountain. But I am saying, you should watch where your feet are going.”
He stopped and glared at her, his lip curling over his teeth. “My feet are on the ground, they are not going anywhere. They go where I put them.” He turned away again and proceeded to stomp down the path at a distance from her.
Libelle couldn't help but smile as she watched him. “I wouldn't put your feet there.” She heard him grumble a curse under his breath at her. “Or there.” Another curse.
Eskil spun on his heel and faced her, “Slayer, stop with your blasted commentary. I know what I am doing, I am walking. It is not that hard!”
She tapped her lip with her finger when he turned around again, “I would not step there either.”
Eskil waved his hand at her and took another step forward, this time his foot failed to find the stone step and his knees buckled into the snow. His feet fell out in front of him and he tumbled onto his back, sliding down the steep slope that was rough from the unkept stone beneath it. He grunted when he came to a stop roughly twenty feet when where he had slipped, shaking his head and brushing the snow from his hair. He looked back up at Libelle who covering her mouth, her eyes wide.
“If you laugh, I will drag you down right here with me.” He snarled.
Libelle tried desperately to hold in her laughter, her stoic demeanor disappearing in a moment. Eskil, an all-powerful deity who was skillfully crafted by Búri who was the father of gods. Thousands of years old, with a strong and powerful voice. An explosive temper. A will to live, and to kill. A great dragon who was meant to be feared, by mortals and his kin. He was a prince among the dragon-kind.
This powerful, menacing, cruel beast, slipped and fell down a snowy hill. Buried up to his waist and covered in snow. He looked almost innocent despite his dark and demonic glare. She couldn’t stop herself, she couldn't hold it in. How was she supposed to remain serious in such a moment?
She laughed hard, all the way down the stairs and to his side. “You should have seen your face! Your eyes were about to burst from their sockets when you fell!” She laughed more. “I told you, watch where you put your feet.”
Eskil wanted to reach up and strangle her, but he didn't want to be stuck in the cold with waves of excruciating pain pulsing through him. He wadded up a ball of snow and hurled it at her, missing and hitting her horse behind her. Her stallion snorted angrily, pulling on his reins and attempting to turn his rear end towards Eskil.
“That’s enough now, settle yourself.” She patted her horse’s neck, trying to ease his new anger. “Will you climb on now?”
Eskil looked up at her horse, its brown eyes telling him he was in for a treat if he got too close. “Your beast looks like it wants to take a chunk out of me now.”
“Well, you did hit him with a snowball.”
“It was meant for you.” He tried to stand up but his feet slipped out from under him and he returned to the snowy prison he had collapsed in. He stared at the hand Libelle extended out to him, tears from her laughing fit freezing to her lashes.
“I do not need your help.”
She lost her smile, and Eskil saw the life in her expression disappear in seconds. Her eyes turned dull like her soul had fled from her body. In a moment, she had returned to the dragon slayer he was used to seeing: one lacking all emotion. She was an empty shell again. It was puzzling how she could simply switch like that; she was smiling and laughing a moment ago. Now she looked as if she could take his life, right here and now, and not feel a thing.
Her hand was still extended out, and he hesitantly took it. She pulled him up to his feet and led him back to the stairs without a word. He remained quiet, mentally trying to figure out what just happened. She gestured towards her horse again, and instead of arguing he stepped up into the stirrup and climbed into the saddle. It was strange to see her so quiet, it was unlike her. Unlike the woman he had grown to hate.
She took the reins once he was comfortably in the saddle and began walking at a speedy pace down the mountain, her feet seeking out secure footing without effort. She remained silent until the sun was at its peak in the sky, it was mid-day. Eskil had remained quiet as well, keeping his thoughts private from her. He watched his surroundings closely, taking in the sights and smells that were different than they were as a dragon. Smells were not as strong, he struggled to pinpoint where the scents came from. His hearing was not as sharp, he didn't hear the rustling that small animals made in the brush until they were darting away.
When he gazed out into the distance he could only see so far, when he looked to the thick forest at the foot of the mountain all he saw were trees. Being mortal was terrible. His face still ached from the slayer’s assault on his nose which had been turning a dark blue that spread to under both his eyes. The priest who spoke called it a bruise, he had never had such a wound.
The slayer’s horse was plowing through the snow with hardly any effort as well, and he was noticing that the further they traveled down the mountain the less snow was covering the landscape. Green blades of grass peaked through the thinning ice, trees did not appear to be frozen in a forever winter. Leaves actually budded and others were completely covered in dark green leaves. It was warmer now that they were further down the mountain, the heavy animal skins did not seem so necessary. His pants were still damp from the snow that had melted on them when he fell and he shifted uncomfortably in the leather saddle.
He looked down at the elf who had remained silent for the last few hours, she never once uttered a word. She never huffed or puffed while wading through the snow. She did not trip or flounder. Her ivory skin was flush and her long strands of hair danced in the wind or bounced along her lower back. The only sign that she was not an undead was the occasional pet to her stallions chin. The horse would nicker at her and push its nose into her palm, being rewarded with a gentle caress.
He had found himself thinking of all the gods who could have aided her, what spell had they given her, and what was the answer to returning to his original form. Yet he could not find any answer, no conclusion to anything that he asked himself. He would need to journey to the home of the gods for those answers, and to do that he needed his wings. He was stuck for now, he knew that. There was nothing he could do until the conniving mortal female beside him chose to. She was right, he needed her. He would have to play her game.
He could not kill her, even if he wanted to, even if he tried to: he could not kill her. Not with his own hands, and that would be the only way her life would be taken. He would not grant that pleasure to any other dragon, any other man.
If he could not harm her, simply because she was mortal: he would not be able to take any other mortals life. So what would he do? Turn to his kin? The kin who had been talking of late about revolting against him? The dragon slayers still lived, still hunted their kind and took their souls. He was failing as a leader to some of them, he was showing that he was weak. If he asked for their help now, he really was weak. His place as prince would be replaced by someone inferior to him.
A low throaty growl escaped his throat, he had walked his mind in a circle again. All he could do was wait this out, perhaps the magic would wear off and he could return to his true form. Then he could take his time and break this slayer’s will before taking her life. He looked back down at her when she unlatched the metal clasps to her wolf’s pelts and let it fall from her shoulders. She caught it in her spare hand and tucked it under her arm, not missing a beat as she stepped down the clean stones. He looked behind them and saw that the snow had dried up several steps ago and they now walked on a snow-free path. He could see a small town now, at the end of the weaving stone path at the foot of the mountain.
It must be the one the old man mentioned. “Dragon Slayer,” He said.
She at least responded to him, but did not look at him. “What?”
He pulled his pelts from his shoulders, securing a latch around his waist so it would not fall to the ground but his hands were now free. “What do you plan to do with me?”
She shrugged and steered her horse around a tight corner. “Clothe you, feed you, and keep you out of trouble.”
That couldn't be all she planned to do, what about torturing him? Beating him? Making him suffer for all his accused sins? “And? What else?”
“What else? Besides feeding and clothing you? I don’t know, I have not thought that far ahead.”
“Slayer-” He said, his voice quieter than he’s ever spoke. Why was he being so gentle with her, he questioned himself? Ever since her expression had turned dull, he found himself being incredibly conscious of her.
She interrupted his sentence, “Enough with the Dragon Slayer nonsense. You shall stop calling me that, understand?”
Eskil frowned, she did not want him to call her that? What was he supposed to call her then? Wench? She-elf? He thought about it for a moment, the realization finally hitting him that he did not know her name. He only knew her as a slayer, his mortal enemy. The slayer of his brethren. A female elf with power he did not think compared to his. What was he supposed to call her? He looked back down at her and cleared his throat. How was he supposed to ask for her name?
“My name is Libelle.” She said, still not bothering to look at him.
“Libelle?” Her name flowed off his tongue like water, smooth and cool.
“Yes, just Libelle.”
It was strange, he liked her name. He liked it more than calling her slayer. “Why that name?”
He saw the crease in her brow form when her head turned just slightly, but she still didn't look at him. “You're asking me why I have my name? Really?”
She sighed. “My mother named me that, it has something to do with dragons. Other than that, I don’t know why she chose that name. Now no more questions, we are reaching Braedon in less than an hour. No more calling me slayer either, I do not need people to be finding out about that. You’ll call me by my name, or nothing at all.”
Eskil was pleasantly surprised. “The townsfolk do not know you are a slayer?”
“No, they do not know. I’d like to keep it that way, makes for less of a headache when I want to be at home.”
Even more surprise. “You don't want others to know you’re the slayer? Why? Wouldn't you want everyone to know, for them to shower you with gifts and gold? It is an honor for you mortals to be dragon slayers.” He said the words with menace, allowing his hatred for her and her kind to seep into them.
“Yes, I suppose for some it would be an honor.”
What? Eskil thought, more puzzled than before. She didn't say anything else to him, her lips locked together and the key was lost. Her words threw him off, and his intentions of leading their conversation into an argument were long gone. Wouldn't… a mortal be proud of that title? That power? He held onto the leather horn when she and her horse descended a long slope of steep stairs. Every slayer in history were famous, they used their power to do nothing but slay dragons and earn gold coins from their lords and masters. They were cruel and vile, they showed no remorse for the killing of my kin. Granted, I show no remorse for killing her kin, heh. Why is she different? Why does she not rejoice in her power? It will bring her all the gold coin she could ever desire, and all the dragon souls she would ever need with unlimited power? She could become so strong. Eskil looked back down at her, why have I not killed her yet?
The steep flight of stairs finally ended when they met a long stone and mossy bridge, she led him across it and into the town. He looked about the log framed buildings and at all the nord’s who were out in the sunny weather tending to their chores. Men and women bustled about, carrying baskets, working iron, tilling gardens and tending to fields. Many seemed to not pay attention to their passing through, but some still stopped to stare at him. Those that stopped he overheard commenting about the ‘devil-like horns protruding from his scalp.’
Libelle did not pay any attention to them, walking quickly through the town until she reached a small stable. The small building had three stalls, one was empty and two had brown geldings in them: standing on hard dirt and eating fresh hay. Libelle walked up to the wooden fence that encased the stable, and resting against it was a young boy. He was whittling a small branch with a dull blade, his attention elsewhere.
“Boy,” Libelle said catching his attention. “Where is your father, I need to buy a horse.”
The small boy with smoke colored hair looked up at her with auburn eyes, he smiled wide at her. “Pa’s not here right now. He left me in charge.”
Libelle tied her horse to the hitching post and motioned for Eskil to get off. The boy stood up and faced her. “Pa has these two for sale. They both are geldings that one with the star is six and the one with the white on its hoof is eight! Pa says they are both broke to ride and drive.”
Libelle nodded but nothing more as she opened the gate and approached the two geldings, Eskil and the young boy following closely behind her. The boy went up to the older gelding and pet is muzzle before offering a handful of oats to it. Libelle approached the younger gelding first, petting its forehead and running her hands down his neck. She rubbed her hands down his back to his rump, lightly tugging on his tail. She bent over and felt each of its legs, picking up each hoof and examining its shoes. She repeated this on the older gelding and then stood back to look at both of them.
“How much is your father asking for them?” Libelle asked.
“1000 gold coins! Each!”
Eskil watched as Libelle’s lifeless eyes widened and nearly popped out of her head. She shook her head at the body, “No son, these geldings are worth no more than 500 gold coins. The eight year old has sores from pulling a harness, the six year old has foundered in his front feet. Neither are worth that much.”
“Well that's what my Pa wants for them.” The boy was still smiling, trying to use his boyish charm to his advantage.
“Boy, no one in their right mind will pay 1000 gold coins for these horses. I’ll give you 500 gold coins for the eight year old.”
“1000 gold coins.”
“600 gold coins.”
“1000 gold coins.”
Libelle rubbed the bridge of her nose with a frustrated sigh. This boy was stubborn, incredibly stubborn. No doubt due to his father's teachings. If she didn't need the horse she would move on, but she needed the horses and the only town near here that should could by a horse from was far out of her way. “I’ll give you 800 gold coins, and I'll even buy enough oats for two horses for three days ride.”
“Ok! 800 gold coins, and enough oats for two horses for three days.” He started counting on his fingers and stared at the sky. “You owe me, 1000 gold coins!”
Libelle unconsciously slapped her palm into her forehead. Before she could respond the boy skipped off and started bagging oats for her. She knew the oats were incredibly overpriced, but arguing with the child seemed to be getting her nowhere. She needed the horse for the man-beast, but she didn't want to spend such a ridiculous amount for the gelding; the conclusion was, she would buy the horse and oats for 1000 gold coins.
Eskil slowly stepped forward and stopped by her side, leaning into her ear he whispered. “You just got played by a child Libby.” He had a wicked smile on his lips.
She shook her head and paused, then looked at him confused. “Did you just call me Libby?”
He nodded, “Why does that bother you?”
“Yes, it does, my name is not Libby. It’s Libelle.”
Eskil chuckled, the sound reminding her of his scaled body shaking with his rare laughter. “I’ll call you Libby then.” He walked away before Libelle could respond, leaving her standing with her eyes narrowed and mouth open in shock.
He couldn't kill her but he could get under her skin like a parasite and make her regret what she did to him. She cursed at him and the boy under her breath and pulled a leather pouch from her pack on her horse’s saddle. She rummaged through it, and when the boy approached her she handed him the coin. He happily and greedily counted it, then smiled at her again and walked away.
“Bairn’s these days, greedy little rats taught by their parents. Tsk. Good gold spent on a sore horse.” Libelle sighed again, holding the reins of both horses. “Get on.”
Eskil momentarily resisted the urge to tease her further when she looked like all she wanted to do was sleep, he stepped into the stirrup of the brown gelding and settled himself in for what he assumed was going to be a long ride. He looked down at Libelle who was still cursing under her breath and shaking her head about the young boy and her wasted coin.
“What's wrong Libby?” Eskil asked mockingly, again acknowledging that it was more fun to mess with her.
She turned around and he was thrilled to see anger burning in her eyes, the minor incident with the stable had brought some life back to her. She reached back and he prepared himself mentally for her slender hand to bash him across his face, instead her hand made full contact with his horse’s rump and the pitiful thing squealed before bolting down the road. Eskil held onto the reins and the saddle as tightly as he could, but the choppy gait the horse was lopping at made it impossible to stay on. He bounced out of the saddle and onto the ground, hitting the stone cobble road with a loud thud. He groaned and looked up, his horse slowing to a stop near him and Libelle in the distance just climbing onto her tall stallion.
She rode up to him, a mocking tone in her voice now. “What's wrong?”
She laughed and urged her horse into a walk as Eskil pushed himself up. He brushed himself off and climbed back into his horse's saddle, kicking the gelding’s sides so it would move forward. He clumsily held its reins, confusing the beast with his pulling and yanking of its bit. His feet were hanging in the stirrups and the more he kicked, the more the horse said no. The gelding snorted and stood still, not moving from its claimed spot.
Libelle turned her stallion around and returned to his side. “Not so easy is it?”
He glared at her, “Not so easy controlling a beast with a mind of its own.”
She frowned at him, “You're not supposed to control the horse. You're supposed to ask it, and with enough trust it will listen to you and answer.” She leaned over and pulled the reins from his hands, giving plenty of slack to the horses bit. The gelding chomped down onto the iron in its mouth and stretched its neck out and lettings its head down.
“You're taking in too much rein. Hold the leathers loose, keep slack in it. You should be able to feel his nose through the leathers, but you should not be pulling on him. Keep your feet deep in the stirrup, push through your heels and keep your toes pointed up. It will help with balance.” She pushed on his knee, then demonstrated with her own foot. “Rock in your seat, sit back and rock with your hips. Don't bounce, you will only exhaust yourself and destroy his back. To turn left, pull the reins over his neck like so-” She pulled the right rein over its neck and the horse turned its head to the left, its foot following.
“To turn right is opposite, like this. To slow down or stop, pull back: but do not yank on the reins. Any sound horse will send you flying. Tap with your heels into his sides to go forward, do not kick. If you ask him, he will listen.”
Eskil stared at her like she had three heads and spoke in tongue, everything she had just explained to him made little sense. She didn't smile at him, but held his gaze as she lightly tapped her horse's side with her heels and the stallion moved into a gentle trot. She turned him with light motions of her hand, the reins touching its neck with little pressure. Her stallion was well-trained, soft in the hand. He looked down at his bulky gelding and lightly nudged his heels into its side and the gelding walked forward.
“Good.” Libelle said. “You will figure it out by nightfall, we ride until dusk. Then we will make camp. We have three days ride ahead of us.” Her horse trotted forward, its movements were graceful and she hardly moved in the saddle. His horse clumsily loped after them, crashing him around in the saddle. He hoped he would figure this out before nightfall, otherwise he was in for a rougher ride than he thought.
Eskil groaned as he slowly lowered himself out of the saddle and onto the ground, his legs felt weak: like they would collapse out from underneath him. His back was sore and his groin was throbbing from being tossed around in the saddle for several hours. Libelle was watching him from the ground, kneeling over a collection of twigs and dry grass. She was organizing larger pieces of lumber around the small kindling and above it. She had found several stones even before he had managed to climb down from his horse, making a circle around the fire she was preparing.
He half expected her to light the fire with her flint, but instead a spark lit from her hand: she held a bundle of dried grass to it and waited until the material came to life with an orange blaze. The magic that the elven race possessed was rare, and only a handful of her kind was gifted with the abilities she possessed. She stuffed the kindling in with the rest of the kindling and gently blew on it. Within minutes, the fire was fully lit and the wood crackled as the fire ate away at it. He sat down next to its warmth with his black wolf skins wrapped around his shoulders.
He was sore and exhausted, wondering how the she-elf had energy left in her. Being a mortal was quickly proving to be harder and harder. He crossed his legs underneath himself, then crossed his arms over his abdomen when a loud rumble echoed from his stomach. Libelle looked at him surprised, her brows raised and the light from the fire flickering in her eyes.
Libelle stood up and silently returned to her horse's side, unlatching several leather straps before pulling the saddle and blanket from its back. She turned and did the same to his, setting both saddles on a nearby downed tree. She tied both their horses to small trees with long leads, fetched one of the bags of oats, and sat down by both their heads. Each horse nuzzled her hand as she scooped a small amount of oats into her palms, taking her time feeding them. She sat quiet and content for a long time, stroking their manes and tickling their lips as they ate from her hands.
She tightened the strap around the bag and set it down by their saddles, then rummaged through another bag and removed some of its belongings. He stretched his tired limbs when she sat down on the opposite side of the fire from him, she was unwrapping something from a cloth that smelt somewhat good. Libelle looked at him, assuring herself that she had his attention before tossing a half loaf of bread, then a portion of dried meat. He stared at it, then back at her. Watching as she took a bite of tough meat and grinding it up between her teeth. She sipped water from a small pouch, then took a bite of bread. He watched her for a moment, then repeated her gestures and filled his stomach with a bland meal.
She rolled a saddle bag up and set it down by her side, pulled her ghostly wolves pelts up against herself and laid down on her side. Her knees were curled up tight against her chest, her thin fingers holding the furs close.
“You should get some sleep.” She said.
He sighed and leaned back on the tree he was near, “Yes, we should. However, I’ve never slept like this before. It’s a bit interesting…”
“What is?”
“Seeing the world from this view.” He stared up into the clear sky, counting the rising stars lazily. “It’s been a long time since I just stared at the stars, a long time since I’ve just sat here and done nothing.”
Libelle looked like she was about to laugh, “What else is there to do besides look at the stars and think at night?”
“Sleep.” He shrugged.
She shook her head and then was silent to him again, her expression growing calmer as the evening progressed. Her blue eyes looked silver, eerie as the flickering flame mirrored in her eyes. He watched her for several minutes, even tossed a few more logs onto the fire as he did. Slowly, her eyes closed, her breathing slowed and she drifted to sleep.
“It would be easier to hate you Libelle, if you didn't look like that.” Sigh.