Outposts

by Vickie Knestaut

  Galelin scoffed. “And did they get a bump on the head when the poor things landed?”

  Clemens shook his head. “No. The harness is kept pretty tight. The injured are trussed up against the chests and bellies of the dragon. It also keeps them warm during the flight. Everyone we evacuated in such a matter lived.”

  Trysten looked back to Galelin, who returned her gaze, then shrugged.

  “Can you make one of those contraptions and fit it to one of our dragons?” Trysten asked Clemens.

  “Sure I can. It’s quite simple. I might need to get one of your weyrmen involved. We’ll have to make straps to fit one of the dragons.”

  “Do it,” Trysten said. “Get whoever you need to help. The sooner we can get Rast back here, the better I’ll feel about it.”

  “Consider it done,” Clemens said with a nod of his pointed chin.

  “But,” Galelin said as he held up a hand to the younger man, “there’s no sense in getting started tonight. It’s nearly dark outside on a rainy night. And I’m sure the weyrmen have their hands full of drying and oiling the tack from today’s excursion. You can start on it tomorrow.”

  Trysten opened her mouth to say something different, to kindly suggest that Clemens might indeed want to get started now. She had hoped to talk to Galelin about Clemens, but she didn’t necessarily want to do it in front of the man.

  “All right, then,” Clemens said. He sat down upon his stool.

  The wild dragon scratched at the door and let out a pitiful little whine.

  “Oohhh,” Clemens cooed as he cocked his head at the door. “I bet he’s cold and wet, miserable as can be.”

  “He’s free to fly back to The Wilds,” Trysten said. “He’s not a pet.”

  “Well,” Galelin said as he turned back to the fireplace, “I don’t want him in here, drying his scales on my books, so I’ll try and make this brief. Ulbeg will be fine with a little time. His scales were rubbed completely away from pulling incessantly at his harness, and his skin is bare in that area now. It looks like his harness hadn’t been removed since Rast left here. We’re treating it with some salve, but he is restricted from a harness until further notice. I also don’t know how he made it back here with the horde. His flight muscles look a little atrophied. I’d recommend letting him fly every day to rebuild those muscles, but under no circumstance is he to be ridden or saddled until those scales grow back.”

  “Understood,” Trysten said.

  Galelin smiled at his niece. “Well, that’s all I have to tell you. You can take that cup with you.” He nodded at the table.

  Trysten looked from Clemens to Galelin. It hardly seemed necessary to talk to him about how he was getting along with Clemens. Galelin obviously didn’t want the man to leave, and he had a light in his eye that she hadn’t seen in a long time. He appeared to be quite pleased with the situation. He had someone to talk with who understood what he went through with the care of the dragons.

  “How are you?” Trysten asked Galelin.

  “Oh, as well as an old man can be. I had a bit of a scare today when you and the horde took off in a hurry. I thought the lull in fighting had come to an end just as we got most of our dragons back on the wing. Can’t have me sitting around, dawdling away time, can we?” He let out a little chuckle.

  Trysten grinned. “Of course. That’s why I went out and found Ulbeg. I was afraid you were running out of things to do.”

  Galelin shook his head, then sat with a plop on his stool before the table. “Well, I’d much rather have to deal with injured dragons than that Cornyn fellow.”

  Clemens rolled his eyes.

  Trysten furrowed her brow. She had nearly forgotten about the man. “What about him?”

  “He’s just a tedious one,” Galelin said. “He spent a good bit of the afternoon talking with me. I don’t mind so much. I’m happy to help. And you will find for yourself one day, when you reach a certain age, that it is disappointingly rare when someone wants to talk to you, even though by then you have more wisdom and experience to share than when you were younger, and people did want to talk to you.”

  Galelin waved his hand as if to dismiss that line of thought and talk. “Regardless, I was pleased to speak with Cornyn. I have seen lots of history, and I thought he’d be interested in hearing about Drowlin because honestly, there aren’t many people left who remember the place. But all he seemed interested in was the line of Aerona alphas. Elevera on back to Windill.”

  Galelin rubbed his hand across his brow, then gestured at the cup of tea he had just poured. “Your tea is getting cold.”

  Trysten stepped forward. “What was odd about it?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” Galelin asked.

  “Well, it doesn’t seem all that odd in and of itself. I mean, what else would a historian talk about when approaching the dragoneers and a dragon healer of a weyr?”

  Galelin glanced at Clemens, then back to Trysten. “I suppose it is the singular nature of his questioning that puts me back on my heels. Certainly, I have thrown myself into my own line of studies, but as someone who has read many histories, it seems to me that his questioning ought to be broader. History is an accounting of how we got to where we are now. Cornyn’s questioning felt more like an investigation. He seemed more concerned with the why than the when and how.”

  Trysten nodded. “Do you think we should be concerned?” She sipped at her tea.

  “Concerned?” Galelin shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. Just because I don’t personally approve of his methods doesn’t mean that he’s up to no good.”

  “But you have a feeling?” she prodded.

  Galelin’s gaze slid away from her as if considering her statement. He nodded slightly. “I don’t wish to foment suspicion, but these are strange times, ones that are alive with more questions than answers. I think he bears watching at least.”

  Galelin looked to Clemens, and then back to the table. “It will probably come to nothing, but he said the King sent him, did he not? Did Prince Aymon mention him?”

  Trysten shook her head. “Not a word.”

  Galelin nodded at Clemens. “And you’ve never seen the man before, right?”

  Clemens shook his head. “But the mother city is a big city.”

  “But it’s not like you both worked somewhere in the same city. The historians work in the keep, don’t they?”

  Clemens shrugged. “It’s a big keep.”

  “How convenient,” Galelin said before turning his attention back to Trysten. “Still, I hope to see Prince Aymon again soon.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I just said that. All the same, I do hope we see him soon, and that he might verify Cornyn’s claims.”

  Trysten’s back stiffened. Had Galelin heard about the enemy horde leaving the pass? Surely he had. Secrets were impossible to keep in Aerona. He must have a great deal of faith in Aymon. Hopefully, he was right, and Aymon would return soon.

  In the meantime, she’d have the courier taking her letter to the King ask around in the mother city for any information on Cornyn.

  Chapter 23

  The following morning, Trysten stepped out of her front door, then walked around the outside walls of the cottage. She grinned, gratified to see that the wild dragon had apparently moved on and was no longer cowering beneath the eaves where she’d left him when she returned home from visiting Galelin.

  The dragon was not a pet. And now he was gone, thankfully. Bored, perhaps lonely. Hopefully, he had returned to The Wilds and his own loose horde.

  Above, the clouds moving past were no longer thick and heavy with rain. They rippled in spots, and would soon give way to blue. A slight chill in the air spoke of relief from the oppressive heat and a wonderful day of riding for the courier, even if he carried bad news.

  Trysten went on to the weyr. As soon as she stepped inside, however, it was apparent that something was off. The weyrboys and a few hordesmen were doing their usual chores, but they were quieter than usual.


  “Shhh,” Brand said as he looked up at Trysten from the floor of Belara’s stall. He held his finger over his lips, then rose and pointed to the rafters.

  “No,” Trysten said as she lifted her eyes.

  Sure enough, the wild dragon lay along the beam of a rafter. His tail was wrapped around the wood, his claws dug in on either side. His chest moved in deep, rhythmic movements of sleep and he buzzed with each exhale.

  She shook her head, then went up the stairs to her den, doing her best to ignore the little dragon as she went. Still, her eyes shifted to him, waiting for him to stir at her presence and come streaking over, a flurry of wings and scales and lashing tail.

  Thankfully, he remained asleep. Trysten opened the door to her den slowly, easing it past the creak of the hinges. With an eye on the dragon, she stepped inside and closed the door quickly, snapping it shut in its jamb.

  “What in the wilds am I going to do with him?” Trysten asked the door, then gave a slight shake of her head. She turned around and jumped, her hand grasping the pendant around her neck. An Original sat in her chair, his legs crossed at the ankles, heels upon her table, fingers steepled before him.

  “You!” Trysten spat. Her hand dropped from the pendant to the hilt of her sword. She drew it from the scabbard as she passed through the doorway from the antechamber and into the den.

  The Original kicked his feet down to the floor and stood, holding an open palm out to Trysten.

  “Wait! I have information for you,” he said.

  “Good,” Trysten snapped as she gripped the hilt with both hands and held it over her shoulder, ready to swing. “Because I’m about to ask some questions, and you wild well better answer them.” She stopped in front of the table, her feet held apart slightly, knees bent, ready to swing and strike with all her might.

  The Original’s hand fell away slowly as he stood up straight in the disorientating way that he moved. He looked at the piece of parchment that had been sitting on the table all night, drying. He looked back up at her, a slow grin growing like ice crystals across his pale face.

  “So Prince Aymon has yet to return,” he purred.

  “Who’s attacking the Western kingdom?” Trysten asked. “Opplenot. Who is responsible for those attacks?”

  The grin on the Original’s face grew wider, more wicked. “You are.”

  Trysten readjusted her grip on the hilt of her sword. “I’m not in the mood for games or riddles.”

  “Pity. I like games and riddles.” The Original sat back down.

  “That’s my chair. Move,” she said, gesturing to the door.

  The Original held his arms out, palms up in mock innocence. “But I’m a guest. Aren’t you to be a better host?” He shook his head and tsked. “You haven’t even offered me a thing to drink, yet.”

  “I didn’t invite you. You are not welcome here.”

  The Original stood, then leaned forward, his hands upon the tabletop. He made a tempting target as he grinned at her. A very tempting target.

  “Who?” Trysten demanded. “Who is attacking them?”

  “Oh?” The Original said. “Who? Well, that’s different. Obviously you aren’t attacking them. You are merely responsible. You are the one who has set all this in motion. You might as well be asking me who killed those humans out there.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the cairn, then shrugged. “Who’s to say? It was chaos, wasn’t it?”

  He grinned. His teeth were impossible, curved and straight at the same time. Trysten’s eyes cramped with the sight of it.

  “There are so many dead out there. Scores doesn’t even begin to cover it, does it?” he asked.

  “This is your doing,” Trysten said. “You sent them. You’re responsible for all of this, aren’t you?”

  The Original stood upright again. “As I have said, you are responsible. Did those humans out there die of firebreath? Burnt to a shadow where they stood? Were they crushed by falling dragons? Dragons felled by the arrows of their own countrymen? Were they pierced through the heart by your own dear mother’s arrows?”

  As he clasped his hand to his heart and donned a mock look of agony, Trysten swung the dragonslayer sword hard and fast. A grunt escaped her as the tip of the sword sailed past the creature, nicking the fabric of his black tunic as he jumped backward, slamming into the wall.

  The force of the swing nearly knocked Trysten off her balance. She recovered, lifted the sword again, then planted her foot on the edge of the table. She gave it a hard shove and sent it sliding toward the Original.

  The creature leaped up in place. His booted heels slammed down on the tabletop as it crashed into the back wall. Trysten lunged forward, and the Original jumped again, thrusting himself up and forward, tucking into a ball as he flew. Trysten twisted around, trying to find a path for her sword amid the Original’s changing shape, dark flicks of dragon wings, the lash of a shadowy tail. He landed in a crouch nearly three-sword lengths away from Trysten.

  “Still your blade if you wish me to speak!” he thundered. Rage flashed over his face, and in the shifting that followed him as he stood, Trysten caught a glimpse of a dragon’s maw full of sharp, dagger-like teeth. But under the rage, she caught a flash of fear. Felt it, like she could feel her own dragons. It was startling, not only because it was unexpected, but because she hadn’t realized he feared her. A slow smile crossed her face.

  Trysten paused. She inhaled deeply and listened. Hopefully, they had made enough noise that the hordesmen would be racing up here soon.

  “You have done this!” the Original said. He pointed a thin, pale finger at Trysten. “You! You have set all of this into motion. I always knew you would. The attacks on the Western kingdom are your own doing.”

  “I’ve got better things to do than listen to your lies,” Trysten said. For all the sky she was tired of this creature and his nonsense.

  The Original’s hand dropped to his side. “Then don’t ask me any more questions. I didn’t come here to answer them. If you want answers, you come to us. I came here to warn you.”

  “Warn me? Of what?” Trysten asked. “And why would I believe anything you have to say? I can see your nature.”

  A thump hit the den door. Something slid down to the landing, then scratched at the wood. The wild dragon let out a little screeching roar.

  The Original looked back from the door to Trysten. “We will not have you peeking through the keyhole. You are welcome to come in, and I dare say that I would make a better host than yourself, but do not attempt to look through the keyhole again. Keep your people close, Trysten of Aerona, if you truly value their lives.”

  “Keyhole?” Trysten asked. “I don’t know what you mean. If you want me to stop doing something, then you’re going to have to be clear. No riddles.”

  “Pity,” the Original said, feigning disappointment.

  The wild dragon screeched again and increased his frantic scratching at the door. Footsteps rang on the stairs.

  The Original pointed at Trysten again. “This is good faith. It wasn’t us who sent the army here. That was your own doing. Now I’m telling you for the last time if you want to save your people, keep them in Aerona.”

  Trysten pointed her sword at the Original. “And I am warning you. Stay out of my wild den. The next time I find you here, I will give you a good reason for your fear.”

  The Original turned and ran into the antechamber.

  “Paege!” Trysten screamed as she lunged after the creature.

  As soon as the Original passed through the doorway, he dodged off to his right, toward two chairs and a rack of coats and cloaks.

  Trysten followed, but she knew he was gone. She plunged through the doorway and raised her sword to the empty room before her.

  “Trysten!” Paege shouted. He was nearly at the top of the stairs. “Move!”

  The wild dragon screeched again, and Trysten stepped back, away from the door as it flew open. Paege charged in, short sword raised, his eyes search
ing for Trysten.

  “What happened?” he asked, panting.

  Trysten replaced her sword in the scabbard as more hordesmen began to crowd the landing. Behind them, the wild dragon hissed from his perch in the rafters.

  “The Original was here. You just missed him.”

  Paege peered into the shadows of the antechamber, then tucked his sword into the leather scabbard on his belt. “I’m going to station a guard up here around the clock.”

  “Some other time,” Trysten said. “First, I want you to get the courier ready to fly. And I want him to have an escort. Two battle dragons. And then I want you to lead a team out to the outpost. Check on them. Make sure they’re all right.”

  “Why?” Paege asked. His eyes slid to the shadows of the antechamber again.

  “The Original said he came to warn me—”

  “Warn you?” Paege scoffed. “What? That there’s an army coming?”

  She recalled the Original’s words, that she was responsible for the army, for the attacks. She shook her head. “He said that I should keep our people in Aerona.”

  Her hand strayed to her pendant. He’d also said something about peering through the keyhole. And the other Original, the female one, had referred to the pendant as a key. Her hand clutched at the tooth through the fabric of her tunic. Where would she find a keyhole that fit the key?

  “Did he say why?” Paege asked.

  Trysten shook her head. Her brow tightened with frustration, anger. “Of course not. I can see why the gods wanted to split them. They’re annoying and unpredictable. Unreliable. But let’s be on our guard.”

  “Agreed,” Paege said. “Who do you want to escort the courier?”

  “Your choice,” Trysten said. “Except for Kaylar and Verillium. I have plans for them.”

  Paege nodded. “And I’ll station a guard in your den.”