Late afternoon light turned the lake beyond Greenwood's borders into polished silver. Dot knelt at the water's edge, spear improvised from a sturdy branch, eyes locked on the glassy surface.
A short distance away, Dren perched on a rock, singing softly to himself.
Without warning, Dot thrust the spear. Water sprayed. He lifted a fat silver fish, a rare grin touching his lips.
Dren's song continued, louder now.
"Aren't you going to help?" Dot asked.
Dren didn't answer, just kept singing.
Night fell. A small fire crackled on the pebbled shore. Two fish roasted on sticks, skins blistering with savory scent.
Dot tore into his portion with ravenous hunger. Dren ate slowly, staring toward the dark wall of Greenwood.
"Slow down," Dren said with a quiet laugh.
Dot eyed the remaining fish. "You going to eat that?"
"Take it. I'm full."
After a moment, Dot asked through a full mouth, "What's the endgame here? You hardly take royal jobs."
"We need the money," Dren replied evenly.
"This is your last job," Dren added. "I promise."
Dot spat a bone into the fire. "You've been saying that for a month."
"I know you're furious," Dren said. "But we're in Green's territory. Calm down."
"Don't speak to me like we're friends," Dot snapped, voice calm but edged. "We need each other for now. When I'm done, you give me what I want, then I'm gone."
Dren nodded silently, firelight dancing on his scarred face.
The next morning they rode toward the city. Greenwood's massive oak gates loomed, flanked by towers and green banners. Guards blocked the way.
Dren leaned down and whispered a word. The guards' eyes widened. "Pass."
Inside, the streets bustled with spice-scented stalls, glowing crystals, exotic birds, and laughter from red-lantern brothels. A blacksmith's hammer rang. Children darted through the crowd.
Soon, royal guards approached. "The Drought and his companion. The king expects you."
They were led to a side entrance and locked inside a lavish but guarded chamber. Dren tested the door. "Prison with better sheets."
Hours later, a captain fetched them.
In the hallway, the princess swept past in emerald silks, laughing cruelly with her entourage. "I bet Father will have their heads."
Dren offered a small, dangerous smile.
The throne hall was vast, columns carved with twisting vines, guards lining the walls. The king sat on a throne of dark wood and living thorns, forked beard framing a hardened face. His son watched in brooding silence.
"You were meant to be here yesterday, Dren the Drought," the king said.
Dren bowed lightly. "Something urgent came up."
The prince sneered. "Punish them, Father. Him and his son."
"We're not related," Dot said coldly.
The king silenced everyone with a look. "Three billion quibes. For the weapon of Thornhold—Boldr's head."
Dot frowned. "Weapon?"
Dren grinned. "Boldr. The Thorn King's brother. The Last Æsir. They say he uproots siege towers with bare hands and has divine blood."
The king leaned forward. "Arrows bounce off him. Poison fails. If our forces are seen, worse things awaken. You two are ghosts."
Dren's voice turned mocking. "O mighty Sweyn Forkbeard... what happened to the warrior who charged with axe singing? Now you hide behind blades in the dark?"
Guards tensed, but the king raised a hand.
"Make it five billion," Dren said. "And a writ for safe passage after."
The king agreed. "Bring his head. Legends say only a dwarf-forged god-killer weapon can end him."
The king raised an eyebrow, glancing at the massive sword on his back.
"Tho the tales have told you've been able to scratch Boldr".
Do turned to look at Dren smirking wondering how little he knew him.
As they left, the king murmured to his advisor, "When they return... kill them."
Outside, Dot said quietly, "Five billion. That's more than kingdoms cost."
"They pay high when scared," Dren replied. "And higher when lying."
Dot stopped. "You think they'll betray us?"
"They always do." Dren shrugged. "That's why I brought a little insurance."
He opened the back of their wagon. Inside, bound and blindfolded, the princess struggled. "Let me go! My father will have your heads for this you filthy_!"
Dren gagged her firmly. "You talk too much, princess."
That night, the king burst into his wife's chamber to find her weeping.
"They took the princess," a guard stammered, handing over the note:
*Hey fat king, if you want your daughter back, keep the end of your deal.*
The king's face twisted. In fury, he stabbed the knight who had guarded her room.
Later, in the throne room, he summoned a hooded man with a katana and scarred face.
"Bring me the Drought's head. Command of my second legion is yours."
The man smiled thinly. "Consider it done."
At that moment, the prince slipped from a postern gate and galloped into the dusk, determined to rescue his sister.
Chapter End