Outposts

by Vickie Knestaut

  A dark silhouette fluttered past.

  “You’re really starting to get on my nerves!” Trysten called after Yallit.

  The dragon dipped down into the shadows of the lane and disappeared.

  Trysten turned back to the door. She lifted her hand to knock again when the door opened.

  “Trysten?” Galelin asked from the dark. “Is everything all right?”

  “I need to speak with you,” Trysten said. “I’m sorry to bother you. I thought you’d be up.”

  Galelin cleared his throat and stifled a cough. “I thought I’d turn in early tonight, but I just laid down. What is it that I can do for you? Shall I put on some tea?”

  “I’ll do that,” Trysten said. She started to step inside when something brushed past her and nearly knocked her aside.

  “No, you don’t!” Trysten growled. Her hands grasped the tail of the wild dragon on instinct and gave it a yank.

  Yallit let out a yelp, then fell to the floor with a thud.

  “Out!” Trysten snapped as she dragged the dragon backward. “You can’t come in.” She dropped the tail, then hurried through the door and slammed it behind her.

  “He’s an insistent little fellow, isn’t he?” Galelin said from the dark. His voice was softer than usual.

  Trysten’s eyes adjusted to the dusk, to the light of the glowing coals in the fireplace. “Candle?” she asked.

  “Just a minute,” Galelin said, his footsteps shuffling across the floor. Outside, Yallit scratched at the door and let out a low, keening whine. Galelin’s knees popped, and his silhouette obscured the scant light of the fire and a sense of dread passed over Trysten, one that she couldn’t quite place. Her hand went to the pendant beneath her tunic, and then the glow of candlelight washed over Galelin, illuminating the wispy, white hair atop his head.

  “Here we go,” he muttered, and then after placing a hand upon a book-laden chair, he pushed himself up with a groan. The candle flame trembled and cowered as Galelin carried the candle over to his table and lit several more.

  “Where’s Clemens?” Trysten asked as if the man lived there.

  Galelin grinned. “Turns out that he knows a few people in the caravan. He’s out with them right now. I’m sure that hanging around an old man all day does get tiring. Now, what is it that I can do for you?”

  He placed the candle in a mug, then sat heavily upon his stool. His hand brushed up over his hair. In the light, his face looked drawn, and dark sacks hung beneath his eyes.

  “I can come back tomorrow,” Trysten said. She reached behind her and grasped the latch of his door. Yallit scratched again. Her teeth clenched.

  “Nonsense,” Galelin said with a wave of his hand. “You’re here now. Let’s hear it.”

  Trysten stood a second and felt like a fool for bothering him. But then she crouched and fished the paper out of her boot, unfolding it as she crossed the floor. She laid it on the table in front of her uncle and smoothed it with her palms.

  “Oh?” Galelin asked. “What is this?”

  “Can you decipher it?”

  Galelin picked up the piece of paper and tilted it toward the candlelight. The edge of the page fluttered in his hand. His eyes squinted a bit. “Interesting.”

  “What?” Trysten asked.

  Galelin looked at her. “Where did you get this?”

  Trysten took a deep breath. “Cornyn.”

  Galelin’s attention turned back to the page. He nodded. “I thought so. I recognize the handwriting.”

  “Can you read it?”

  Galelin bobbed his head. “Seelian.”

  “Seelian? What in the wilds?” Trysten asked. “What does it say?”

  “Questioning conducted. Line of dragons confirmed by numerous people. Including the Dragoneer and his daughter.”

  “The Dragoneer and his daughter!” Trysten snapped.

  Galelin looked at her. “I’m just reading what it says.”

  She took a step forward. “What else does it say?”

  Galelin fluttered the page slightly, then steadied it with his other hand. He studied it for a second, then shook his head. “He spoke to multiple people, and everyone agrees on the lineage. No eggs have been produced by the alpha. No one claims to know of breeding plans.”

  Trysten’s face reddened, and she clenched her fists. “What is he up to?”

  Galelin placed the page on the table. “Now before you take off to flay the man, know that Seelian is considered the language of scholars. It doesn’t surprise me in the least to see a historian taking his notes in such a manner.”

  “But if he’s recording our history for our King, why would he write in the language of the Seelians?” she asked.

  Galelin shrugged. “Knowledge is power. Men like to control power. Limiting who has access to knowledge limits who has access to power.” Galelin tapped the page. “Also, if no one but the learned can read this, then it might appear worthless to those who might steal it.”

  Trysten blushed, then looked at the flames of one of the candles. “Who is Kivalynn? That name sounds familiar to me.”

  “Kivalynn? Yes, I saw that.” Galelin returned his attention to the page, then rubbed at his chin. He usually kept his face shaved, but it appeared he hadn’t bothered for several days. The white stubble made him look older and more haggard despite the warmth of the candlelight. He nodded absently. “Kivalynn. It strikes a bell.”

  Galelin began to look around his cottage, searching for something.

  “Is there any test?” Trysten asked. “Is there something I can ask Cornyn that would confirm whether or not his claim of being a royal historian is true?”

  Galelin looked back to Trysten. “A test? Well, I suppose you could ask him about history, but then again, an incompetent journeyman isn’t exactly unheard of. But no, there’s no specific thing you can ask him that would prove his claim, at least not that I know of.”

  Trysten stepped up to the table and stared down at the stolen page. “There’s something about this that is off. It doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “He doesn’t sit well with me, I’ll say. But he’s done nothing that can be considered a threat. He is asking questions about our alpha dragon’s line. It is our history. And he’s recording it in the Seelian language, just as half of the self-important scholars of Cadwaller would do.”

  “Do you?” Trysten asked.

  “Write in Seelian? No. But I’m not a scholar.”

  “You’re one of the wisest men I know,” Trysten said.

  Galelin blushed slightly, and it was good to see a little color in his face. He patted Trysten on the arm. “You should talk to more people, my dear dragoneer.”

  “Are you all right?” Trysten’s grin faded into a look of concern. “You look tired.”

  Galelein sat up on his stool, straightened his back, and gripped his knees. “I am a bit tired. It’s been... These have been exciting times. I have just been busy. Once I manage to get a little rest, I’ll be fine.”

  Trysten stared at him a few seconds longer, not entirely convinced. Finally, she picked up the piece of paper she’d taken from Cornyn’s satchel. “I won’t keep you any longer then. I’m sorry to have bothered you, but I appreciate your help.”

  Galelin placed the tips of his fingers against the back of Trysten’s wrist as she started to take the paper away. “What are you going to do?”

  “Now? Now I’m going to go back to my cottage.” Her gaze dipped down to the book of the Originals on Galelin’s table. She wanted to ask him about it, what he’d read, but it wasn’t the time to do so. She’d already intruded enough.

  “I mean about Cornyn. What are you going to do about him?”

  Trysten pulled her hand away from Galelin’s touch so that she might examine the page once more. It filled her with agitation to look over the Seelian script, the chart of Elevera and her line. It was more than a gathering of history and pedigree. The man was up to something. She knew it. She felt it. It didn’t take the
wisdom of dragons to know a liar when she saw one.

  She looked up at Galelin. “I sent a courier to the mother city a week ago with news for the King. I asked him to find out whether or not there really is a royal historian in Aerona, and whether or not his name is Cornyn. I suppose I have to wait until he gets back. Unless Cornyn forces my hand sooner.”

  “Forces your hand?” Galelin asked as he leaned forward slightly. “What does that look like?”

  “It looks like he tries something, although admittedly, I don’t know what that would be,” she said.

  “I agree that he probably deserves scrutiny, but be careful, Trysten. You have stolen from that man, and he has done nothing but ask questions, pursue knowledge. I shudder to think there will be a day when asking for knowledge makes one a criminal.”

  Trysten stared a moment longer, her eyes fixed on Galelin’s, which were half obscured by shadows. “I’ll be careful, but I won’t let anything happen to Elevera.”

  Trysten left the cottage and swatted once at Yallit as he flew circles around her, lifting up into the air. The eyes of the gods shone down soft and twinkling. Off to the east, Yallit’s form became a silhouette as he passed before the glow of a moon about to lift over the horizon. As she watched the wild dragon dart around the sky, she heard the sound of laughter, muffled, and from a small distance. A yelp of surprise, and then a splash. More laughter.

  Trysten moved to the edge of Galelin’s cottage and turned an ear to the river. Sure enough, people were cavorting in the river, laughing and splashing. Now and then, several sparks drifted up over the edge of the small slope that scooped down to the river.

  The entire village came alive with noise as Trysten stopped to listen. People flowed through the lanes in pairs or small groups. There was much talking and chatter. Laughter. It was hard not to grin at the sound of the village filled with the easy relief of plenty that the caravan had brought. Off to the south, Trysten could make out the greasy twists of campfire smoke rising up from the makeshift campgrounds opened up in the secondary weyr yard.

  Yallit landed on the ground directly in front of her. He stood up on his hind legs and fluttered his wings. One little claw raked the air between himself and her.

  “What do you want?” Trysten asked.

  Yallit went down on all fours and waddled closer to Trysten. He sat and wrapped his tail around him like a cat, then flicked his tongue up at her.

  “No,” she said, and then without thinking, reached out and scratched the top of his head. He dipped his jaw and tried to push his head into her hand. “You can’t come in. You’ll wreck the place. The weyr is different. The weyr is for dragons.”

  Yallit looked up at her, and Trysten had a sense that he was patiently waiting for her to keep explaining until her explanation made sense.

  “No,” Trysten said. “And that’s final.” She moved past the wild dragon and on to her home. She slipped inside without much trouble from the wild dragon, greeted her father, who waved absently after glancing up from a chart that held the sketched plans for the second weyr.

  After gathering and lighting a few candles, Trysten went to her room, sat on her bed, and hunched over the book of Adalina. After paging backward from her bookmark, she came across the page she recalled. It was a chart listing the number of eggs laid over several years by a dragon named Kivalynn.

  Trysten sat up straight. She placed her hand on the open page of the book. She closed her eyes and pictured the sky spread out before her. A lush forest rolled below. She heard the sound of dragon wings, the whoosh of air around them that coincided with the gentle rise and lift of the saddle beneath her. A long, iridescent purple neck stretched out away from her.

  “Kiva...” Trysten whispered.

  Yallit thumped into the side of her cottage and scratched at the window.

  Chapter 41

  The following afternoon, Trysten found some time to continue reading the book of Adalina. She turned the page she was on without thinking, and realized that her mind had been wandering. She flipped the page back and skimmed the neat lettering of the court scribe.

  The book had turned its concern to a list of skirmishes along the southern border of Adalina’s kingdom, and to a mad prince named Sebastian who had united the people of the woods. Raids were common. Adalina tried to make peace with the prince, but he was not interested in sharing power. He wanted it all for himself.

  Trysten turned the page again. How much of this had actually happened? How much of it had happened as it was written? History was written by the victors, and it was the victors who occupied the lands Adalina once ruled.

  Trysten sat back in her chair and rubbed her hands over her face. She wasn’t finding what she was looking for, but what was it she was looking for in the first place?

  Her attention drifted to the window. The lanes of Aerona seemed full to overflowing now, and half the faces were unfamiliar to her. It felt odd as if the buildings of Aerona had been moved to someplace new and different. She recognized her surroundings, but it wasn’t home anymore.

  A man walked past holding the hand of a young girl. They were both unfamiliar to Trysten, members of the caravan. The girl’s steps, rapid and awkward, struggled to keep up with the man who was presumably her father. She nearly tripped and would have fallen if the man hadn’t raised his arm and jerked her upright.

  “Mortella?” the man asked.

  The girl raised a grubby finger and pointed at Trysten, and her face broke into a broad grin. The man’s gaze followed the girl’s gesture, and his eyes locked onto Trysten’s. Recognition flooded his face. He averted his eyes, then gave his daughter’s hand a slight tug, and they hurried on their way.

  Trysten slunk down lower in her chair. Such scenes had grown uncomfortably common in the last couple of days. Once word got out among the caravan members who Trysten was, she had become the subject of some odd mixture of celebrity, curiosity, and awe.

  It embarrassed her. It was one thing to have the prisoners and Rodden think of her as a queen because they were strange and foreign, but to have her own people, fellow subjects of King Cadwaller, treat her with reverence and awe was unsettling.

  Trysten cupped her hand over her face as she leaned forward to resume her reading. It was tempting to move away from the window, but she needed the window’s light. It was too warm for a candle or a lantern.

  A knock sounded on her door. She looked up as if she would see whoever it was standing outside her window. No one was there, of course, except a group of women who hurried past with several sheep. One of the women was Jalite, and the others were strangers. Jalite glanced in the direction of Trysten’s door, and then back to the sheep.

  Trysten picked up a dove feather and placed it inside the book to mark her place. She then answered the door and found Cornyn standing outside.

  Her face went hard and cold at the sight of him. Her heart leaped into her throat as she thought of the page she had torn from his book.

  “What do you—”

  Yallit thrust himself past Cornyn and through the door, nearly knocking Trysten aside. His claws scratched the wooden floor as he landed almost in a hop, then took off again, up and around the cottage’s interior once before he hit the floor again and skidded to a stop between Trysten and Cornyn. He spread his wings open wide, blocking the entrance to the cottage. He hissed at Cornyn, then snapped at his shin, nearly taking a bite out of the man’s leg before he jerked his foot back.

  Cornyn clutched the doorjamb as he pulled his leg back, and then back some more as if preparing for a kick. Trysten lurched forward, planted her hand against his chest, and shoved. Cornyn teetered back on one foot, still clutching the doorjamb as he twisted around. Then his hand slipped free, and he fell hard to the ground outside the cottage.

  Trysten gasped in surprise as dust puffed up around the man. She scooted Yallit aside, then stepped out and closed the door behind herself.

  “No one kicks dragons in this village,” Trysten snapped as Cornyn sta
red up at.

  “He tried to bite me!” Cornyn growled.

  “Dragons are good judges of character, I’ve found,” Trysten replied.

  “Really?” Cornyn asked.

  Trysten extended her hand. “What do you want?”

  Cornyn looked at her hand for a second, then ignored it as he pushed himself up to his feet. He looked around at the people who had stopped in the lane to stare at him.

  “Perhaps we should step inside to—”

  Yallit let out a barking roar and scratched at the window Trysten had been staring out of minutes before. If it weren’t for Cornyn, she’d roll her eyes at the irony. She’d kept the window shut to keep the dragon out, and now it was keeping the wild dragon in.

  “I’ve got work to do,” Trysten said. “What do you want?”

  Cornyn brushed the dust from the front of his tunic and took a step forward. “I want to know why you were in my room the other night.”

  Her breath stopped again, hot and sudden in her throat. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry.

  A sly, slimy grin fell over Cornyn’s face. “I knew it was you. I heard villagers talking about your dragon there.” He nodded in the direction of the window. “It seems that he was quite frantic to get into my room. The people I overheard thought it was quite an amusing sight, but I can’t help but wonder what he would be after if it wasn’t you.”

  Trysten’s mind raced for an explanation. She put her shoulders back and stood up straighter. “I have reason to believe that you are a threat to Aerona.”

  “Me?” Cornyn asked with a mock look of surprise. He placed his hand upon his breastbone. “What threat could I possibly be to Aerona?”

  “You claim to be a member of the historian’s guild, but you came without a letter of introduction. You haven’t shown me a single thing that proves you are who you claim to be. And now you are running around the village collecting information, but you aren’t speaking to villagers. You are only speaking to people who work in the weyr, and who have something to do with the dragons. You aren’t collecting a history at all. You are conducting an investigation into Elevera, and I want to know why, and I want to know who for, and I want to know now.”