Outposts

by Vickie Knestaut

She sat back in her chair, then wiped her hands over her face before allowing her arms to fall at her side. Her belt twisted at her waist as the scabbard was pushed out and up when she slid down in her seat.

  “What’s wrong?” Kaylar asked.

  Trysten shook her head again. “This all just seems too perfect. It’s like... I feel like all of this is a game of chess, and I’m sitting here, a knight on the board, watching this game unfold, and I can see that it is a game, that our moves are being directed by two players, but I can’t convince any of the other pieces that we are just that—game pieces.”

  Kaylar shook her head. “I’m not following.”

  “Look at this!” Trysten held her hand out at Rodden. “It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy almost. Someone is attacking the Western kingdom in our name. So the Western kingdom attacks us. For centuries we don’t take the bait, but now something has changed. The stakes have been raised and now we are attacking his kingdom. Now he is right. Now there are armies ready to march up the sides of the mountains. And do you think they’ll stop once they reach the staging area?”

  Trysten stood and walked to the window. “There is some force that wants us to be at war. And it looks like the Originals. Why?”

  Trysten turned around and found Yallit sitting in her chair. She looked up at Rodden. “Where is the end of the world?”

  He stared at her for a few seconds, then looked to Kaylar. She shrugged. Rodden shrugged as if passing on the expected answer.

  “What if...” Kaylar started. “What if he’s right? What if you... are...” She gestured at Trysten, indicating that she ought to finish the sentence.

  Trysten shook her head. “No. I refuse that. I’m not some demigoddess. I’m me. I’m the daughter of my parents. I’m Trysten of Aerona, Dragoneer of Aerona weyr. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  “But your abilities—”

  Trysten waved a hand before her to cut Kaylar off. “I may have an unusual talent, but it’s not divine or supernatural in nature. It’s too easy to write me off if you believe that, as if such abilities and strength in a woman could only be explained by the result of the supernatural, and not just a combination of birth and hard work. I may have been born with these talents, but it is work that puts me in the saddle, in the sky, in battle.”

  Kaylar nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply...”

  “No apology needed,” Trysten said.

  Kaylar slumped down in her chair some. She looked to Rodden, then back to Trysten. “What if we flew out to Opplenot? What if we went and spoke to this Ojantis?”

  Trysten chuckled at the suggestion. “I don’t think we’d be all that welcomed. We saw what happened the last time we went through the pass. One thing that is absolutely clear to me is that the last thing the Originals—or whoever is responsible for this—wants is for us to talk.” She gestured between herself and Rodden, then spoke to him. “If what you say is true, and I believe it is, then someone has gone to a lot of trouble to pit our two kingdoms against each other.”

  She turned back to Kaylar. “So the only place we are going to find the answers we need is out there,” Trysten said and pointed to the mountains. “In the west.”

  Kaylar’s eyes grew wide. “You’re not going, are you? With Gerig?”

  Trysten shook her head. “No. Not tomorrow.”

  Trysten turned to Rodden again. “You’re the key to all of this. Once you can speak our language clearly, once you can serve as an interpreter and you can speak for me, then we will go to Oppelnot. We will find Ojantis, and together, we will stop those who are threatening both of our kingdoms.”

  Instead of looking joyed or relieved, Rodden leaned into the arm of his chair and looked expectantly at Kaylar.

  “I’ll explain later,” Kaylar said with a wave of her hand. “So, what about Gerig?”

  Trysten turned to the window again. She peered out at the Wing Master’s dragons, and the similarity of how they were spread out in a line along the edge of the village in a shape that echoed the burial mound beyond them sent a shiver down Trysten’s back.

  “There’s nothing I can do about Gerig,” she said. “He’s convinced he is right. He has become Wing Master of the kingdom precisely because he has earned the King’s favor. He will not turn back. He will not waver from the path the King has told him to walk. There is nothing I can do for him, his dragons, or his men.”

  Trysten folded her hands behind her back again as she let that truth tear into her.

  Chapter 46

  Before dawn the following morning, Trysten crossed the village to the encampment on the western side. Her stomach tied itself into knots and her muscles felt tight, but cool. She walked with purpose, her posture strong with her faith in the wisdom of dragons.

  The royal hordesmen glanced at her as she passed, but kept working at a quick and steady pace to finish striking their camp. At dawn, they would lead their dragons to their deaths.

  A hordesman nodded at Trysten, then muttered something as he looked up at Gerig. The Wing Master turned around. A grin spread across his face, and then quickly cooled as he took in Trysten’s expression. He was not a dumb man.

  “Good of you to join us on this fine morning,” Gerig said, his voice somewhere in a shadow between sincerity and sarcasm.

  “Yes,” Trysten said as she stepped up to him.

  Gerig regarded her a second longer, then glanced back at the activity of his swell. “We’ll be ready for flight at the break of dawn. If you wish to fly point to the pass, that would be appreciated.”

  Trysten nodded. “I will.”

  Gerig looked relieved, and a bit like he was savoring victory already. “Excellent. Once we reach the pass, if your horde would kindly fall back to the rear, I’d like you—”

  “My horde is not going,” Trysten said. She folded her arms over her chest.

  The smile dropped from Gerig’s face. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I will escort you to the pass. I will see you through it. I will do that as Dragoneer of this territory. But I will not allow my horde to accompany you on this mission.”

  “You have been ordered to do so by the King.”

  “I have received and read those orders. My horde is staying here. Its place is here, in Aerona. If you would wait for a week—”

  “No!” Gerig said as he clamped his hands upon his hips as if preparing to give a stern scolding to a misbehaving child. “I will not wait for a week, not even a minute. The King has ordered me to act on his behalf at best speed. We are attacking this very day.”

  Trysten considered him a moment. He wouldn’t listen, but if he was intent on leading them all to their deaths, then he should at least hear her warning.

  “The Originals are involved in this—”

  “The Originals?” Gerig scoffed. “The devils who steal misbehaving children? You can’t be serious.”

  Trysten let out a long sigh. “They are real. We have fought them. We chased another horde through the pass, into the Western kingdom. Originals attacked us, and we barely made it out. They are impervious to arrows. You have no defense against them. They want us to be at war with the Western kingdom.”

  “Do you have any proof of this?” Gerig asked.

  Trysten caught herself before her hand drifted to the hilt of her sword. It would be tragic if her action were misread. Showing him the scale she had received, or the pendant would do nothing. Even Prince Aymon’s book would do nothing to sway this man. If she were able to take him up to her den and introduce him to the Original that kept pestering her, she doubted he’d believe her even then.

  “I have witnesses,” Trysten said.

  “Your hordesmen,” Gerig said. “Those who have taken an oath to follow your every word and wish, right?”

  “They are the most honorable people in the kingdom.”

  Gerig looked away, out over the bustle of his men getting ready for the fight. Trysten studied them as well, wondering if she would see or sense fear. The men moved and sp
oke with twinges of excitement. They were ready to be underway, ready to deliver the slaughter that they knew without a doubt would bring them victory.

  “I must say,” Gerig said as he returned his attention to Trysten. “I am thoroughly disappointed in what I have found here. You have been given a direct order by King Cadwaller, written in his own hand, delivered under his very seal. If you disobey him, I will have no choice but to charge you with cowardice under the King and take you back to the mother city for trial.”

  Trysten squared her shoulders and lifted her chin slightly. It wasn’t much of a threat. “If I am wrong, and you do return from the Western kingdom, then I will be grateful for your good fortune, and I will turn myself over to you for judgment.”

  A crease deepened over the bridge of Gerig’s nose. “I am surprised. Cowards usually try to bluster their way past judgment, try to weasel their way out of punishment. Yet you tell me that you do not fear judgment?”

  Gerig cocked an eyebrow. “Will you be here when I return?”

  Trysten nodded. “But since you will not listen to me, I don’t expect you or any of your men to return.”

  Gerig sneered. “I will return. Rest assured. But if I don’t, I will have died with honor in brave combat while cowards shivered in my shadow. Shall I have you arrested now? Held in irons until my return?”

  Trysten shook her head. “There is no one in this village who will allow that to happen.”

  Gerig looked off to the cottages, dark and quiet in the dwindling minutes before dawn. He looked back at her. “Do you give me your word, then? Do you promise to be here when I return?”

  “It would be an empty promise, so let me promise you this instead. I am Dragoneer of Aerona weyr. If you look for me here, you will always find me here. In Aerona.”

  Gerig’s arms dropped away from his chest, and he folded his hands behind his back. “It is known that dragons will only bond with those whose souls are steeped in honor and courage. Though I cannot explain your actions, I will accept your vow. I will accept it by the wisdom of dragons, and that will be good enough.”

  Trysten looked to the east, to the glowing, fading blue over the deep shadows of the cottages and the weyr itself. She wanted to tell Gerig of Muzad, take the Wing Master to the outpost and introduce him to Jurdun, the last man of Muzad’s horde. Let Jurdun tell him of the spear launchers that took out a number of his fellow hordesmen because they wouldn’t listen to her.

  She turned her face to the south, toward the burial grounds of her village where Muzad and Avice both rested with the village’s honored dead.

  This was how things had to unfold.

  “I will be ready to fly at dawn,” Trysten said.

  “It isn’t necessary,” Gerig said. “Unless you change your mind.”

  “An escort is the least I can do,” Trysten said. “It is our custom.”

  Gerig nodded, then turned away to busy himself with preparations. The hordesmen who had been within earshot gave Trysten hard looks, glaring at her with contempt.

  She turned her back to them and returned to the weyr to prepare Elevera. By the time the first rays of the dawn struck the roofs of the cottages, Trysten had bid Kaylar, Vanon, and a few others goodbye. She hitched her heels against Elevera’s shoulders, and the dragon reared as she spread her great wings. They spiraled up into the light of day, the dawn rays catching on the golden scales of Elevera. Up they flew, circling over the village, and then out over the royal swell.

  Below, Gerig motioned from the back of his lavender dragon and the dragon leaped into the air. Behind him, scores of dragons launched as well, following Trysten and Elevera as they escorted the swell and their men to the pass.

  Trysten refused to look over her shoulder at the swell behind her. The presence of so many dragons threatened to overwhelm her at times, and she didn’t want to have to see Gerig’s expression. She sat upright in the saddle and refused to feel sorry for them, or sorry for herself that she couldn’t stop them or save them. She could not halt whatever it was that the Originals had set into motion. She tried to keep her mind empty and blank as if in a funeral procession as the sun came up and painted the mountains ahead shades of gray and green. The peaks gleamed the brilliant white of the hottest of the blacksmith’s iron.

  As the swell approached the pass, Trysten peered down at the outpost. From the air, the structure appeared to be finished. Several people stood in the yard and stared at her, craning their necks back to find the end of the swell. Atop the cliff, the two volunteers who had drawn night watch stared at the approaching swell, rather than the mouth of the pass. But it was understandable.

  She looked down again as Paege emerged from the building that anchored the center of the yard. He stared at her, raised his hand, and it froze somewhere between a wave and a shield against the dawn’s rays.

  Trysten turned her attention to the Gul Pass. Elevera crossed over the cliff and began to climb up to meet the join between the two mountain peaks. Trysten flicked her heel against the dragon’s shoulder, and Elevera banked off to the right.

  Trysten twisted in the saddle and looked back to watch Gerig continue on. He didn’t glance at her but only leaned back slightly, pulling on the lip of his saddle, signaling his dragon to rise with the land.

  Elevera flew in a wide circle, coming up on the flank of the swell as if cutting off their retreat. The men at the back of the swell turned to watch her, but then turned back to the opening ahead.

  When the tip of the last tail disappeared between the peaks, an overwhelming sorrow flooded Trysten. She slumped in her saddle for a moment, then drew herself up tall again as she let the sorrow fall to the broken stones below.

  This war was what the two kingdoms had wrought, and the price they were willing to pay. But all was not lost. As long as she was Dragoneer of Aerona weyr, and as long as she had her village behind her, they could still find a way to bring peace. They would bring this senseless waste and slaughter to an end. First though, she must be prepared should the Western kingdom decide to respond to this provocation.

  She turned Elevera around and pushed on the lip of her saddle, sending the alpha down to the outpost as Trysten’s eyes came to rest on the little dot of Yallit, charging up the side of the mountains after her.

  Chapter 47

  Elevera sighed with relief to land on the packed dirt and stone at the outpost. She swished her tail once behind herself and fluttered her wings as if to drive her point home. But Trysten ignored the alpha’s dramatics as the workers hurried out to greet her.

  “What was that all about?” Paege called. He glanced back up at the pass.

  Trysten followed his glance. The mountain peaks soared above them, huge and absolute in the sky. Points made. Points that couldn’t be argued with.

  “That was Gerig, Wing Master of Cadwaller,” she said.

  Jurdun nodded as he stepped up to Paege’s side. “I’ve met him.”

  “He has orders to take a swell of one hundred and sixty dragons through the pass. They are to find Prince Aymon. If they cannot, they will avenge his death with as much violence as possible.”

  Paege looked back up to the pass as if seeking confirmation from the immutable stones above.

  “It makes sense,” Jurdun said.

  “He won’t find Prince Aymon, will he?” Paege asked.

  Caron approached from the crowd and stepped up behind Paege, but moved no further. This was weyr business, and she knew it.

  Trysten undid her restraints. As she dropped the leather cords aside, Yallit crashed into the top of a tree nearby. The treetop swayed with the weight and momentum of the dragon. Pine needles sprinkled to the ground.

  “How goes the outpost?” Trysten asked. The fortification blocked her view of the building, even from the top of Elevera’s shoulders.

  “We’re nearly done,” Paege said.

  “The fortification is complete,” Jurdun added. “We can retreat within if attacked. The outpost itself is finished except for a fe
w minor details.”

  “Furniture,” Caron called from behind Paege. “There’s nowhere to sit inside. No bunks to sleep on.”

  Paege nodded. “We’ll start on that soon. We have some seasoned wood from the caravan set aside for it.”

  Trysten peered up at the pass again, then slid down from Elevera’s saddle. “I think we should evacuate as many of our people as possible, leaving behind a handful to finish the work and man the outpost. I don’t want it abandoned, but if the Western Kingdom should decide to retaliate against Aymon and now Gerig, I don’t think we should have a lot of people out here.”

  Jurdun glanced to Paege and then nodded. “Makes sense. I’ll round up some volunteers to stay with me.”

  “Enough people to defend the outpost against wildmen,” Trysten reiterated, “And enough to keep an eye on the pass, of course, to perform watch. We need someone who can fly back to the village on a courier to warn us should an attack come.”

  “Agreed,” Paege said.

  Trysten looked back at the fortification. The sharpened posts rose up over the heads of the people. It looked like such a small, ridiculous gesture against the cliff face behind it, but it would be effective. The outpost crew could lock itself inside and rain arrows on attackers from the ramparts above. It was an impressive and ingenious design.

  “You’ve done a good job,” Trysten said to Paege and Jurden. She lifted her voice up. “You’ve all done a good job. I’m very impressed with what I see. Our village is safer for your efforts.”

  No applause or self-congratulations rippled through the crowd, just indistinguishable murmurs between worried glances at the pass. Gerig’s swell had crossed over like a cloud bearing a bad omen. It wasn’t just Trysten. She could see it in the faces of all. If she asked them to walk back to the village, she had no doubt that they would strike out now.

  “Anything else we need to discuss?” Trysten asked.

  Paege shook his head. “When will you bring the horde around?”

  “Tomorrow. We’ll depart the weyr at dawn.”