Chapter 42 Greta
Greta
The legend was true. The beast under the mountain was indeed a dragon. It was trapped in a cavern barely wide enough to fit it and it was staring right at Greta as she knelt on the rocky path, its eyes like twin pools of ice-water.
The beast behind her was of another sort entirely. Traitor. Conniver. She could feel Elias breathing down her neck, his sharp fingers prodding her forward, into the cavern.
‘Get to it, wrangler,’ he hissed. ‘Tame that thing so we can get it out of here.’
She glared at him over her shoulder. ‘I’m trying to think.’
‘Regna is a direct descendant of the Vaskan king who bred and gifted this very creature to Gevra. Dragons are the most loyal of beasts. Regna has assured me that this one will answer to her. So, go in there and tell that dragon it’s time to finally go home.’
Greta almost snorted. Did Regna really think that was how wrangling worked? That restless, half-starved beasts could be so easily reasoned with? So easily summoned from another kingdom with the simple click of a turncoat’s fingers?
‘It’s not that simple, Elias.’
One wrong move and they could end up as twin piles of ash.
He dismissed her warning. ‘Make it simple, before I draw my sword. If you don’t wrangle this beast, then I’ll make a human sacrifice of you and wrangle it myself.’
He prodded her again.
Greta’s thoughts spun, panic lacing her ribcage.
She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. A voice stirred in the back of her mind.
Remember, Greta. You’re an Iversen. The song of the wild flows in your veins. A magic as old as the hills of Carrig, a gift beyond compare.
It belonged to her father; those vital words he had said to her before she left for Grinstad came flooding back.
Her heartbeat settled in her chest.
I am Greta Iversen,
And I am not afraid.
When she opened her eyes, her mind had settled, too. She had to be smart about this, think quickly before the dragon struck. The mountain was crumbling. The beast would crash through these walls eventually. That much was certain.
Without direction, it would wreak havoc.
And who knew how hungry it must be after all this time?
How long it had slept in this icy, endless dark?
It could destroy Grinstad, burn the king and all of his guests.
But if Greta was careful, and steady, and true to her wrangler’s spirit, she could help this ancient beast. They could help each other.
She could save Grinstad and bring Elias down.
To run now would only doom them all.
And anyway, the dragon had seen her.
It was looking right at her.
Silver smoke curled from its nostrils as Greta staggered to her feet and entered the cavern, beholding the dragon in all its wonder. It was impossible, and yet it was before her, a creature so lost to this world, it dwelled now in half-forgotten legends and whispered bedtime stories.
Despite the dragon’s hulking size, Greta’s terror quickly gave way to awe. Here was the greatest hidden treasure in all of Gevra, a thing so extraordinary she might have thought she was dreaming were it not for the bite of pain in her knees and the hiss of Elias as he came to stand behind her.
‘Do something,’ he said, impatiently.
‘Shut up unless you want to get eaten,’ she said, without daring to tear her eyes off the beast. ‘Let me focus.’
Elias took a step back, flattening himself against the wall.
Greta smiled up at the dragon, careful not to show her teeth. She sensed it was a female by the hum of her spirit. ‘You are a beauty,’ she murmured. ‘A true and utter marvel.’
The dragon’s nostrils flared as though it was inhaling the wrangler’s praise.
Greta craned her neck, taking in the rest of the creature.
She was at least three times the size of her parents’ cottage back on Carrig – her large, ridged back covered with thick scales of silvered blue, as though she had been carved from the icy rocks that surrounded them.
Wide, pearlescent wings protruded from the middle of her back, spanning out to touch the sides of the cavern as if in mid-flight.
A peculiar pose, given the size of the chamber.
Greta frowned, tracking the slope of a wing to where it was pinned – no, staked – to the wall of the cavern. The other was the same.
She reeled backwards in dismay. ‘Oh, you poor creature.’
She remembered, then, what Alarik had told her of his father’s story.
Cowed by grief and pain, it grew angry and restless, and so the soldiers at Grinstad had no choice but to keep it there. Trapped.
‘I am so sorry for what they did to you,’ she said, pressing a hand to her heart. ‘For adding more pain to your grief.’
The dragon snuffled, and a wave of heat washed over Greta. It blasted the cold from her bones and swiftly returned the feeling to her nose. She sensed it was a kindness. Or perhaps a plea.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, softly. ‘I’m going to help you.’
The dragon clawed at the ground, and the sound of rattling chains filled the cavern. Holding out her lantern, Greta sidled around the beast, to see where her left leg was chained to the rocky ground. Somehow, she had managed to shatter the ones that had shackled her right leg, and both forearms.
There was blood everywhere. It stained the ground, mixing with pools of ice-water.
All too aware of Elias’s eyes on her back, Greta returned to the dragon’s head and raised a gentle hand to her snout. ‘You’ve been so brave, ancient one,’ she said, stroking the hard ridges between her nostrils. ‘Be still just a little longer.’
For a moment, they stared at each other, the beast’s eyes glowing in the darkness. Greta sensed her spirit brushing against her own, sizing her up. She stood perfectly still, bearing her wrangler’s soul to this mighty creature, feeling her pride and her pain, her desperate yearning to be free.
She reached into her satchel and removed the lamb strips. It would hardly count as a morsel for a half-starved dragon but she offered them anyway, as a show of friendship.
I won’t hurt you.
Please do not eat me.
She half considered offering up Elias, but she could tell by the nearby glint of his blade that he had drawn his sword. She had to tread carefully, play along until the right moment.
The dragon’s leathered tongue swept out, gobbling the strips up in a single bite. Greta wiped the saliva from her hand, trying not to quail at the sight of all those sharp silver teeth.
‘Right. Time to get to work.’ She made for the wall where the dragon’s right wing was skewered. She pocketed her dagger, then shucked off her satchel, sizing up the climb.
‘You could help me, you know,’ she called over her shoulder to Elias. ‘You’re much taller than I am. And your blade is far longer.’
Elias took one look at the dragon and shook his head. ‘Nice try, wrangler. I’m not turning my back to you or that dragon.’
‘Coward,’ she muttered.
‘Get on with it,’ he snapped.
She used the handle of her oil lamp to slide it up her arm, freeing her hands for the climb. The rock face was slippery and uneven, but she found a narrow foothold. And then another. Slowly and methodically, she hauled herself up towards the dripping ceiling.
There were cracks everywhere, the entire cavern seeming to shake under her. There was a ledge not far from the dragon’s wing. Greta’s stomach clenched as she pulled herself on to it. Up close, the wing was soaked in blood, the rusty puncture chafing the membranous scales.
She grabbed hold of the iron stake and tugged. It wiggled, causing a spout of fresh blood.
The dragon roared.
The cavern shook. A boulder fell from the ceiling, nearly smashing Greta’s skull.
Another nearly flattened Elias.
‘What in freezing hell are you doing?’ he yelled, ducking from the onslaught of dust and shale. ‘You’ll kill us all!’
‘If you’re not going to help, then be quiet!’ she yelled back. To the dragon, she said, ‘Please, just hold still. I promise I’ll be quick.’
The dragon was twitching in pain, its fear as thick as mist between them.
If she didn’t soothe it into submission, it would bring the whole cavern down.
But Greta had never sung to a dragon before.
She had never even seen one before today.
She wracked her brains for the right song – for any song – but her mind was blank, her attention spiralling towards that dangerous thrumming in the earth.
She reached for a tune, something soft and low and ancient, and the words came pouring out of her, wrenched from some primal part of her soul.
‘Ye dragons were forged in the fires of old,
Hunted for sport by the foolish and bold.
But still, there are those who treasure your kind,
Who worship your strength as they worship your mind.’
The dragon stilled at the lilt of her voice. Greta worked on the stake as she sang, gaining another inch.
‘Your fire is fury, your fire is fear,
Your fire protects the soul you hold dear.
Forgive me your pain, my brave ancient one.
Give me your trust and I’ll see this undone.’
The dragon slumped to the floor. Flames spouted from its nostrils, turning a nearby puddle to steam. Sweat beaded on Greta’s brow as she worked the stake free. At last, it yielded, sliding from the rock and through the wing, spurting blood all over her hands. She was too relieved to care.
The dragon whimpered as its wing flopped down, causing another spill of rubble. Greta tumbled with it, catching herself on a lower ridge. The lamp swung, clanging against her armour, but she barely felt it. She hopped to the ground, then braced herself against the wall to catch her breath.
Elias was closer now, watching her with glittering eyes. ‘That was impressive.’
She glared at him. ‘Save your praise, turncoat.’
‘Maybe you should reconsider your loyalty, Iversen,’ he remarked. ‘You would do well at Regna’s court. You’d certainly be treated better than you are here.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’