“And don’t you dare ret—” the old man shrieked as the door closed, cutting him off.

  Vidar brushed off the snow, then stowed the robe that they, for some reason, hadn’t taken from him, in the cloth sack with the bread. The key, he retrieved and placed next to his other one. With this, he could absolutely return once things settled down a little. If he found a way to read without so much trouble, that library provided information and lore usually only reserved for guilded scribes. Valuable, to be sure. Not to steal, but to learn from.

  He was about to head to the church when a familiar voice called out. Alvarn came running from over by the front door, breathing hard and with a red, bordering on blue, flush in his face that made him appear deeply ill.

  “Not much of a runner, are you?” Vidar asked. “Good to see you didn’t succumb to dragon fire.”

  Alvarn leaned over and propped his hands against his knees, panting hard for a moment, taking deep, trembling breaths. The cold made him cough, adding to the picture of someone on the verge of some illness-induced collapse.

  “Didn’t. Even. See. It,” Alvarn said, his breathing steadying a little. Even in that state, Vidar could read the regret in his friend’s voice.

  “Very few did, I’d imagine. It was dark out, so all I saw was a dark blob in the sky,” Vidar said, correcting himself a brief pause later. “Except for when it breathed fire, of course.”

  “You’re well too, then, I take it?” Alvarn asked, straightening his back to stand upright now that he’d regained control of his breath.

  Vidar felt his own face sour. “The blasted thing burned down my room and all my things.” Then he brightened. “But I’ve got good news!”

  “Me too!” Alvarn said, speaking before Vidar was able to continue. “Stakra!”

  “The thrust rune?” Vidar asked.

  “That’s right! I found an old book with brief explanations of ancient languages. The thrust rune was among them in a language called Elder Futhark.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Hold on. How did you know what I was talking about?”

  “My friend told me its name. Stakra.”

  A look of disbelief warred with interest on Alvarn’s face. “Your friend knows the language?”

  “I suppose so. He might not be what I thought he was, exactly.”

  “And what was that?”

  “A vagrant,” Vidar said. “A half-crazy vagrant.”

  “And what is he?”

  Vidar shrugged. “Not sure, if I’m being honest. That book you found. Does it describe the rune on the spinning thing?”

  Alvarn shook his head and pulled a book out of his coat pocket. “It isn’t in here for some reason.”

  It was a small thing, no bigger than his palm, and the text was so cramped Vidar couldn’t make it out. “How can you read that?”

  “Like this,” Alvarn said, holding it open, pressed again his nose.

  Vidar couldn’t help but laugh. It felt good. He couldn’t remember when he’d done that last. He pulled out one of the pictures of the new rune, the barrier. “Is this in there?”

  “Hold on, I think so,” Alvarn said, flipping the pages of his little book. Then his eyes widened, and he stopped to peer up at Vidar over the rim. “Is that a?—?”

  “A new rune,” Vidar confirmed.

  Alvarn wet his lips. “What does it do? Where did you find it? How is this possible?”

  “See if you can find it in your book,” Vidar teased.

  “Right,” Alvarn said, diving back in to scan the pages. Finally, he found what he was looking for. “Here!” he half shouted with excitement.

  “What does it say?”

  “Algiz,” Alvarn said. “It is described with a meaning near enough to either protection or…” He turned the page. “Elk.”

  “Elk? Like with the antlers?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t think it does anything with elk, but I haven’t tried. This rune,” Vidar said, leaning in close to Alvarn to share, “is a barrier, like a shield.”

  “That’s amazing!”

  “And that’s not the best part,” Vidar said, excited.

  “No?”

  “You don’t have to trigger it.”

  Alvarn’s excitement drained away from one moment to the next and he stood there, dumbfounded. “What?”

  “It does all that on its own. Look!” Vidar was about to slap the piece of paper, but then looked around at the thickening mill of people. They were all moving in the same direction. “Hey, where is everyone going?”

  “The church is open today for prayer and to distribute food and water to those affected by last night’s attack. I’m going there with almost all the students soon to hand out runes as well. After that, the steward of Halmstadt is going to make some sort of speech at the steps of the keep. I’m guessing all of Halmstadt will be there to listen.”

  “Oh. I’ll have to go listen to that.”

  “More importantly, tell me more about the algiz rune.”

  “Algiz…” Vidar tasted the word. “It’s already saved me once. Did you know that sowilo runes explode if you destroy them while they’re triggered?”

  Alvarn sighed and slowly shook his head. “Yes, of course I know that. Everyone knows that.”

  “Well, I didn’t,” Vidar said stubbornly. “I’ve used the stakra rune to protect myself, too, to push people away.”

  That seemed to impress Alvarn, who nodded to himself, thinking. “That’s a good use for it.”

  “It can be pretty powerful, so you have to be careful.”

  “Did someone get hurt?” Alvarn asked.

  The horrible scene with the dead guardsman outside Vidar’s cell played out before his inner eye again, and he shuddered. “You could say that.”

  “I hope they’ll recover,” Alvarn said, before looking down at the algiz rune again. “A weapon and a shield, then.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Vidar said. “Have you found anything about the other rune?”

  “Nothing anywhere. Even made a few careful inquires in the guild, but no one knows anything.”

  “You think that’s wise? You’re not telling anyone about our runes, are you?”

  “Of course not. But, Vidar, they’re not our runes. They belong to everyone, that’s the whole point. I mean, you’re teaching thieves!”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Good. Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt.”

  Vidar decided against telling him of how he intended to teach Siv and then possibly others.

  “I found a use for the stakra rune as well,” Alvarn said, waving for Vidar to follow him down the steps and back to the door so they were better hidden from the ever-increasing stream of people meandering uptown.

  “What is it?” Vidar asked as he hunched down, facing the side of the stairwell.

  Alvarn didn’t answer. Instead, he withdrew a wooden disc with a stakra rune on it. After turning it around so the rune was at the bottom, he placed a ball of snow he’d squeezed together on top. Then he triggered it.

  Vidar gasped as the disc stayed in the air, hovering above the ground with the snowball on top. It only managed about a second before tipping over and spilling the ball to the ground. That made the rune change its angle, and the disc flew toward the door, thudding against it before dropping to the ground.

  “It flew. Like a bird,” Vidar breathed, his mouth hanging open.

  Alvarn held up the wooden disc. “My first attempt was with a far-too-powerful triggering. It flew straight into the wall and broke. Thankfully, stakra runes do not explode.”

  Excitement surged through Vidar’s chest. “Have you tried it?”

  “Tried what?” Alvarn asked, perturbed.

  “To put them under your shoes to fly, of course!” he shouted, immediately regretting it. He peered up over the stairwell, but no one seemed to have heard him, or they didn’t care.

  “To fly,” he whispered.

  Alvarn let out a small laugh. “I don’t have a death wish.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Maybe with this, I can kill that dragon,” Vidar mused.

  “What?!”

  Vidar raced up the steps, turning. “This is good. I can feel it. We’re on the verge of something big here. Something grand. I have to go to the church now, but don’t forget, don’t tell the guild!”

  “You’re crazy,” Vidar heard Alvarn mutter as he shook his head and looked down at the stakra rune in his hand.

  The crowds thickened as he approached the church. People of all sorts mingled in the gray and brown mass of Halmstadt’s citizens. A mother pulled two children along, talking of happy things and keeping a smile on her face that Vidar saw did not reach her worried eyes. Walking past them, a scuffle broke out between two men who quarreled over some unknown slight. Most people Vidar slid past smelled of smoke and fire, their clothes covered in soot. Many eyed his cloth bag, but he hurried along before someone might think to question why he wasn’t sharing. Too many of them. Far too many to help.

  With so many displaced people, the square around the church was packed, brimming with the hungry and the cold. Vidar made his way through the crowd, looking for Siv without luck. People were screaming for help, pleading with the closed gate into the church. Many were praying, something he hadn’t seen in a long while, and a few were even on their knees in the icy slush.

  The side door finally came into view and Vidar sidestepped a crying young man, the tears creating clear streaks down his soot-blackened face. A new lock secured the door he’d broken in through. Making sure no one took interest in him, he slapped the metal surface. No barrier. To Vidar, this was another clue pointing to the priesthood not knowing what sort of lock had kept their door safe. They didn’t know. The secret was safe.

  Over the murmur of the crowd, their crying and their pleading, the squeaking hinges of the large gate leading into the church barely made a sound. Still, all mouths fell silent except for the small children, and all eyes turned to what they hoped would be their salvation.

  The smell of fresh bread wafted out from within the church walls. Only when the gate was fully open did someone emerge. A priest, not the same man who’d overseen the grave digging, stepped outside and raised his arms to speak in a booming voice that carried over the heads of the silent onlookers.

  “In these trying days, when the demonic, winged creatures have returned, the church will provide for its flock. The fallen angels will shelter and nurture. Come one, come all, for we have food. We have water.”

  Shouting erupted as the crowd pressed forward. An elbow struck the side of Vidar’s head as some rough-looking laborer used his bulk to progress past those around him. A sense of being carried along, as if by water, rose in Vidar. His feet barely touched the ground anymore, and it was getting difficult to take deep breaths. Frenzied men and women wanted nothing more than to move forward, to reach the entrance and the promise of food and shelter.

  “No,” Vidar muttered. “Let me out!”

  He used his own elbows to create some room around his chest. It allowed him to draw in a breath and turn around. Those behind him kept pushing but broke around him. Every few moments, enough space formed, granting Vidar a step in the opposite direction. Soon, he was out of the worst of it.

  Citizens who’d lost everything were still arriving at the square from all directions.

  Someone grabbed his sleeve and Vidar pulled free, looking to head north. The hand returned and Vidar spun to give whoever it was a stern talking to. It was Siv.

  “There you are,” he said.

  Erik stood right by her side. His eyes were red and puffy, but he looked somewhat collected.

  Vidar nodded to a side street, and they left the square and walked until they found a place of relative quiet.

  “The thieves’ guild was a poor idea, but I think we’ll be fine. Is Ida around here somewhere?”

  “We haven’t seen her,” Erik said.

  Vidar glanced up at him, then back to Siv. “You and Ida both might be in danger from them, so best if you keep out of sight for a while.”

  A look of fright passed over her face but was soon replaced by determination. She nodded, then gestured back toward the church. She put her palms together and rested her head against them, closing her eyes.

  “No,” Vidar said. “I don’t trust those people. Besides, it’ll be full to the point of becoming dangerous.”

  He glanced around to make sure no one paid them any mind, then withdrew the pouch of silver and removed a few coins before handing it over to Siv. “Can you find us a room to rent?”

  She nodded, then glanced at Erik.

  “He can come too, I suppose. Try to find a place big enough for us with room to craft runes. With the whole city in turmoil, this is a good opportunity for us to get ahead.”

  “I, uh, I don’t want anything to do with witch things,” Erik said, swallowing hard and scratching at his neck.

  “I’m not looking to have any graves dug, and I’m not Embla. You’re not staying for free.”

  Siv frowned, but Vidar did not relent. “Everyone contributes.”

  “I’ll find a way to help,” Erik said. “Can Sven come too?”

  “This isn’t a charity,” Vidar emphasized.

  Erik licked his lips. “You said the thieves are after you. We can be guards, I think. Or something else.”

  “We’re going to need a lot of materials,” Vidar mused. “Would you gather those? You might have to go outside the wall if you don’t want to steal.”

  Erik looked a little panicked, and he glanced up at the sky and then down at his feet before swallowing hard and nodding.

  “You fine with this?” he asked Siv, who gave a bright nod.

  “Fine, then. You can come, but I’m not sharing a bed with anyone,” Vidar muttered.

  Apparently, the lad knew of a place where rooms were available, and he didn’t think it’d burned down. He and Siv would go see to it. Vidar had a speech to listen to. There wouldn’t be much to glean from the priests, and he had no desire to sneak in through the passages again.

  His thoughts were once again drawn to the deceased men and women in that cart. He didn’t know if a dead man’s skin was supposed to be that pale, or if something more malicious was underfoot in there.

  The gates back into the northern part of Halmstadt were back open. A throng of men and women, but mostly men, pushed and scuffled to get inside. These didn’t appear too worse for wear. No soot covered their faces and clothes, showing the fire never reached into their homes. Their faces were haggard and worried, yes, but that was all. Like Vidar, they’d come to hear the speech and have their fears assuaged.

  Noses turned up and faces away when they noticed Vidar, but he didn’t care in the least. The smell of his clothes and the soot clinging to his hair were secondary. A dragon had attacked Halmstadt. Believed to be a creature of myth and legend, a beast out of stories and the enemy in religious texts, no one actually thought they were real. Now, they all knew. The implications of last night’s appearance were far-reaching and people knew it. Their sense of safety had been shattered the instant fire rained from the sky. Everyone’s place in the world had shifted.

  A man in torn gray rags stood upon a crate near the entrance, pulling on his long, bushy beard while shouting something about the fallen angels and the day of reckoning. Many glanced in his direction and a few even stopped to listen.

  One of the soldiers at the gate regarded Vidar as he passed under the archway, and for a moment he thought they would arrest him and throw him back into a cell, but then the soldier’s interest shifted to someone else.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, he hurried along in the crowd, gazing up at the keep in the distance. Even from down by the townhouses and shops, the damage to Halmstadt’s most fortified building was evident. The rightmost tower, the one closest to him, was damaged with a deep grove in the stone near its middle, as if cut by a huge knife. Everything above that part sagged and looked in danger of collapsing. Much of the stonework was blackened by fire.

  Vidar followed the milling crowd up the incredibly wide set of stairs leading to the massive square right in front of the keep. Several smaller passageways meant for carts were full of citizens as well, blocking the men heaving and pulling to make their deliveries to the keep. Fights broke out and people shouted.

  Vidar ignored them all. The gates to the keep were still closed and the soldiers stationed in the square were far too busy with people demanding answers and pushing past to notice him slink off to the side, heading for the scene of last night’s battle.

  Touching the wall of the keep, he moved quickly along, doing his best not to look up. The height of the building when standing right next to it was dizzying. How they’d built such a structure, with walls reaching the sky, was unfathomable, so Vidar tried not thinking about it as he neared a team of workers clearing stone and other rubble right below the sagging tower.

  They glanced his way but made no comment when he greeted them with a cheerful smile, doing his utmost not to look out of place, to appear as if he belonged. This side of the keep was a sight to behold. Even with the new snow, obvious signs told of a battle fought. While all bodies had been carted off, bits and pieces of armor remained scattered among the broken-down carts that still littered the snow. He saw a giant arrow—more a spear, really—and figured these were what Erik had spoken of. The huge crossbow-like constructions. One of the entrances down to the sewers was visible nearby. Strange place for one, in the middle of a plaza.

  Vidar bent down to pick up a helmet. The bare stone ground beneath the chunk of unadorned, half-melted metal was a shade of brown, telling of grievous injuries with plenty of blood. Whoever wore this piece of armor had probably not made it through the night.

  The side of the keep showed scores from talons or claws, along with the many areas blackened by flames. Somewhere far up above, there’d be a parapet. Archers would have fired from up there. At ground level, all he saw was a line of black. The dragon’s reach must’ve been a terrible thing, and the soldiers and guardsmen facing the monstrous creature must’ve thought they were in a waking nightmare.

  Vidar shuddered. From the scene before him, he saw no clues as to how they might’ve finally driven it off.

  “Terrible, is it not?”

  He must’ve been deep in thought not to hear someone trudging through the snow. Trying to appear unaffected, Vidar glanced to his side to assess whoever snuck up upon him. It was a blond man, a rare characteristic in Halmstadt, to be sure. Taller than Vidar by far, he looked placid enough despite the sword dangling from his side.

  “Terrible,” Vidar agreed.

  “I only wish our swords would’ve reached the beast.”

  “You’re a soldier, then?” Vidar asked, dropping the helmet back into the snow.

  The blond stranger seemed to consider the question before answering, with a hint of a smile playing across his lips. “You could say that.”

  He was handsome, this man. The clothes he wore, a thin but well-cut and properly maintained wool coat with chain mail peeking out from beneath it, told the story of a man of means. A man in the know.

  “How did you chase away the dragon?”

  A momentarily lifted eyebrow before he schooled his expression showed the blond man’s surprise at the question. “Inquisitive for a builder.”

  Vidar glanced at the team of workers by the wall, then nodded. “Everyone in Halmstadt is looking for answers.”

  A faraway look came over this stranger and he glanced at the incredible expanse of sky above them before he sighed. “I am not sure it is in your best interest to learn of such things. Perhaps you ought to return to your work.”

  So he did know. Now it was just a question of dragging that information out of him. By chance, a huge opportunity had fallen into Vidar’s lap, and he did not intend to squander it.

  “You should have more faith. Knowledge brings about a sense of safety, don’t you agree?”

  The blond man narrowed his eyes. “Not the sort of words I would expect from one in your profession.”

  “Are you calling all builders stupid?”

  The blond man blanched, his face going red. “On my father’s name, I would never!”

  “Then tell me, unless you think me too dull of mind to comprehend? Knowledge is a source of security for the mind, isn’t it?” Again, Vidar fell into the speech pattern of the person he was speaking with. He wasn’t sure why, but it did seem to do the trick.

  “Indeed, it is.” The blond man relented. “You have bested me with your sound logic, builder.”

  A gentle snow began falling.

  “In truth, we were unable to do much in way of harm against the creature you name dragon.”

  “You’re saying it’s not a dragon? Looked an awful lot like a dragon to me. I’ve seen pictures.”

  “Imagery, in children’s tales. Until the Crown recognizes the beast as a dragon, we shall not refer to it as such. But yes, between you and me, it was a dragon. What else could it be?”

  “If you couldn’t harm it, why did it leave?”

  “As of this morning, we do not know. Our arsenal of weaponry did little more than scratch at its scaled hide.”

  “Best guess?”

  His blond hair was filling up with snow and he shivered. “Blasted cold. From what I have been able to gather, it attacked with abandon until it suddenly reconsidered its mission and took to the sky. No one knows what brought on the creature’s change of heart.”

  “Interesting,” Vidar muttered, thinking.

  “What is your name, builder?”

  Thinking of possible reasons for the dragon’s retreat and what that meant for his mission to slay the thing, he gave his real name without consideration. “Vidar. And yours?”

  “Jarl. You may call me Jarl, Vidar.”

  Hearing his own name said back to him brought Vidar out of his own thoughts, and he realized his mistake. Clearing his throat at Jarl’s obvious interest in him, Vidar took a step back and pointed to the builders. “Perhaps I ought to return.”

  Jarl held out a gloved hand to stall. His other moved to rest on the pommel of his sword. The leather glove creaked as he wrapped his fingers around the sword. Despite the change in stance, his expression never veered from pleasant. “Something just occurred to me, Vidar.”

  “What’s that?” Vidar asked.

  “You are not shivering. Also, the snow touching you is melting.”