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“But what can I do? I have to save her.”

Snaff smiled sadly. “You can’t save anyone but yourself. I can’t save my own apprentice, though she means more to me than the world. I can only be good to her and hope she notices, hope she learns from me.” His expression clouded. “She will outlive me, as she should. She will face horrors that I will not. And in those moments, I hope she remembers my strength, not my weakness.”

Caithe stared at him for a searching moment. “She will. She will remember.”

“And this one that you care about—she will remember, too.”

The east was gloaming with approaching dawn when at last Eir and her comrades bid farewell to the other revelers. They staggered to the rooms prepared for them—the finest in Hoelbrak, which meant huge beds and simple linens and great basins for washing. It was more than any of them could have hoped for, and each was asleep the moment his or her head hit the pillow.

They slept all through the day and into the next night, awakening to hear the sounds of more merrymaking—norn merrymaking, which sounded like a continual bar fight punctuated with ferocious laughter. Norn were streaming into Hoelbrak from dozens of miles away—the wild wanderers and the loner nomads who had only just heard of the Dragonspawn’s destruction and of the team that did him in. Every one of these new arrivals had suffered beneath the terrible reign of the dragon champion. Every one had battled the icebrood. They now gathered to give thanks and gawk, to have a drink or five and celebrate heroes whose deeds would be retold for generations.

Eir retired from the second night of celebration a little earlier than the others, and Garm went with her. He watched her with interest. She had that look—the look of planning something.

First, she went to the statue of her father. “I did it, Father. I killed the icebrood, and the Dragonspawn, too.”

She paused as if expecting some response from the stony figure. The old man only returned her gaze, his eyes seeming to look beyond her.

Eir looked down at her feet. “I know. There’s still the dragon. He’s crippled now, without his greatest champion, and maybe we can strike.”

Still, the statue watched her impassively.

Eir went to her drafting desk, drew out a scrap of paper, and began drawing. At first, the figure was the Dragonspawn, and then, the Dragonspawn devolving into a cyclone, and then Sandy being pulled into the monster. She sat back and blinked.

Garm nuzzled her.

“Perhaps it is time to make a try at the old wyrm.”

The wolf looked levelly at her.

She smiled, ruffling the fur between his ears. “I’ll start by chipping its tooth.”

Next afternoon, before the celebrations began in earnest, Eir strode down the lanes of Hoelbrak. Her carving belt jangled, her axes and mallets hung in hand, and her dire wolf jogged beside her.

“She’s going to take on the fang!” shouted one of the norn revelers.

Many followed this living legend as she made her way toward the hunting hall. The crowd seemed to swell with each step Eir took. They had heard the magnificent tales of the Dragonspawn’s defeat, and whatever this woman planned next must be even more spectacular.

Among the crowd were Eir’s companions, following with excitement and a mixture of other emotions. When Rytlock and Logan had heard what Eir planned, they had wanted to lend their weapons to the attempt. Snaff had even wanted to bring Sandy to bear. Eir refused them all, saying she was their leader, and that if she was not strong enough to break the tooth, they would not face the dragon.

Caithe and Zojja were not starry-eyed about the prospects, either. Caithe knew all too well the power of the dragons, and she feared that Eir was only setting herself up for failure. Zojja, on the other hand, thought it absurd that physical attacks could do anything against a magical creature.

Dragging along a crowd of believers and skeptics, friends and foes, Eir reached the hunting hall of Hoelbrak and hurled the doors open. She strode in, and the crowd around her flooded in as well. Eir headed straight toward the central