The Dragoneer Trilogy

by Vickie Knestaut

  Paege sat back in his chair, nearly slumped into it. The wood creaked as if the burden had been placed upon the chair instead. “I’m just pleased with the way things have turned out. You should be the Dragoneer. You should have always been the Dragoneer. From the start.”

  “Are you all right with being the commander?”

  Paege appeared to consider it a moment and then gave a slight nod. “I suppose I must be. No, I am. I mean, yes, I am fine with it.” He sat upright in his chair again. “I’m glad to be flying at your side. I may not be the Dragoneer, but I think my dad would, in some way, be even more proud of me that I have followed in his footsteps altogether, being a commander like him.”

  It did seem to suit him, and Trysten was thankful for his presence, for his help, but it did seem that he was still living someone else’s life, following his own father’s wishes rather than his own. But then again, he was serving the village and the kingdom. He was a capable hordesman, and he was needed as such. It was unfortunate, however, that he couldn’t serve the village and kingdom by pursuing his own wishes and desires.

  Chapter 33

  For several weeks, Trysten and the hordesmen practiced and drilled as the cloud cover over the mountains thinned with each passing day. Even on the days when clouds overtook the foothills with squalls of wet snow and driving rain, they still looked thinner, less like a wall and more like a curtain. With each passing day, a knot grew in Trysten’s stomach as she looked to the West and knew she was closer to being tested by the Western Kingdom.

  On a clear day, as they did another round of mock battles, Rast, on Trysten’s team this time, suddenly broke formation and circled above. Woolyn banked and allowed everyone a chance to see him waving with one hand and pointing to the southwest. Trysten peered in the indicated direction. Against the gray clouds on the horizon, she saw a series of dark dots heading their way. They were too large to be birds.

  It was another horde.

  The knot in Trysten’s stomach became a lead weight, and it was a wonder it didn’t drag her and Elevera from the sky. She knew the day was coming, but she hadn’t imagined it would be so incredibly soon. The Western Kingdom had caught them off guard. They didn’t have time to fly back to the weyr and arm themselves with quivers of proper arrows. A few were kept stowed in each saddle for emergencies, and that would have to be enough. She peered into the distance again, squinted, and tried to count the number of dragons approaching. It didn’t appear to be a full horde. A set of scouts, perhaps? Then it was even more important that the Western Kingdom’s scouts never returned. A missing scout party would be a far greater deterrent than word of how well-prepared they were.

  The mock battle formation quickly fell into a holding pattern. The dragons flew slow circles behind Elevera as all the riders turned their attention to Trysten. She peered up at the sun. It was far along the sky now and would present only a slight advantage to the approaching horde. The best thing to do would be to engage them quickly and fiercely, keep them from gathering as much intelligence as possible.

  Trysten gave out a series of orders. Practice arrows were stowed away and replaced with the three sharp arrows each carried for emergencies. With the horde as ready as they could be, Trysten ordered them to intersect the enemy with all available speed. Elevera broke the holding pattern and threw herself in the direction of the approaching horde before Trysten could even give the orders.

  Behind, the rest of the hordesmen fell into the familiar V-shaped formation to conserve energy, and to conceal their true numbers. Trysten crouched behind Elevera’s neck. Her heart hammered in her chest, thundered and threatened to launch itself from her throat like a stone from a catapult. How often she had seen her father go to battle, to take the village sword given to him by the overseer, and with it, order the hordesmen to follow. She had felt so proud of him when she had seen the ceremony, and she had hoped to have a ceremony of her own. The only way to accomplish that now would be to survive the coming battle.

  Her heels dug into Elevera’s side as she urged the dragon on.

  Soon they closed enough distance between themselves and the advancing horde to count ten dragons approaching. It was a small horde, indeed. If they were scouts, they’d have a looking glass and were probably looking at her right now. She raised her left fist into the air and signaled for the others to draw their arrows and hold them at the ready. Without looking, she knew her orders were being followed. She detached the bow from her saddle and drew an arrow of her own. As she slotted the arrow against the string, the Dragoneer of the other horde waved a white cloth in the air.

  Trysten relaxed her right arm. The horde was flying in a standard V formation. The hordesmen were not armed. Their bows were still stowed on the saddles. They appeared to be unarmed. One of the dragons had no rider.

  Trysten signaled for the horde to hold their bowstrings. The Aerona horde zipped over the other. The advancing dragons did nothing. As they passed, Trysten felt a great sense of weariness flood her, nearly warping her bones, and then stretching them with a great longing. A longing for sky and something else. Shadows of what she had felt in the weyr right after Aeronwind died.

  She gasped and gripped the edge of the saddle. Her teeth and eyes clenched as she was nearly overwhelmed with sorrow and exhaustion. It was an absconded horde.

  Trysten tore a deep breath from the sky. She thrust her left arm up and gave orders for her horde to flank the other. As they broke into two groups, Trysten turned Elevera around and quickly caught up to the lead dragon. The rider waved his white cloth again.

  A sense of yearning, pulling, like the sense of iron to a lodestone wracked Trysten.

  “Who goes there?” Trysten yelled across the distance between herself and the lead rider. His colors were familiar. They weren’t the same as hers, but similar. She had seen the uniform of the Western Kingdom dragon riders once. It had been on display briefly in the weyr after it had been taken from a captured rider. Her father put it up so that all might know their enemy upon sight. The Western Kingdom uniforms were plain, not as ornate as their own, but were still the basic woolen sweaters and leather armor.

  “Nillard of Hollin weyr,” the man yelled back. “We are of the Cadwaller Kingdom.”

  Trysten drew in a deep breath. Hollin weyr. There was a village called Hollin many miles to the south. It was the last outpost before The Expanse.

  “Well greeted, Nillard of Hollin weyr. I am Trysten, Dragoneer of Aerona weyr.”

  The man’s head moved back on his neck. The surprise on his face was more evident than need be.

  “Dragoneer?” Nillard called back. He turned in his saddle to peer back at the rest of the Aerona horde. “Did you say you were Dragoneer of the weyr?”

  “I am.” She patted Elevera’s neck. “This is Elevera, alpha of the weyr.”

  Nillard gave a brief shake of his head, then glanced down at the ground briefly. By the wilds, what was his problem?

  “Trysten, Dragoneer of Aerona weyr,” Nillard called back. “We require rest, and we have news of the Western Kingdom.”

  News of the Western Kingdom tightened her chest nearly as much as the thought of flying into battle with them. Her grip on the saddle tightened. She nodded. “Follow me,” she called and then signaled for her horde to return to the weyr.

  Before they touched down in the yard, weyrmen were already spilling out of the weyr and into the yard upon news that twenty-nine dragons were returning instead of the nineteen that had left. Among them, Trysten brought Elevera to the ground. As soon as all four claws were in the grass, Trysten untied herself from her saddle, slipped off, and hurried back to the pearl-colored dragon of Nillard.

  “Where is your alpha?” Trysten called up before Nillard even finished unfastening his ties.

  “Our alpha?” Nillard called back. His eyebrows rose up in surprise, then dove down beneath a furrowed brow. He scowled at the ties of his saddle.

  “This dragon is no alpha. I can tell to look at it. Where is
your alpha?”

  “Our dragoneer was killed in battle. He went down with his mount. The commander and the beta fell as well.” Nillard looked up at Trysten. Deep lines spread out from the corners of his eyes. Gray peppered his long beard. “I am the senior hordesman of the… I am the senior hordesman. May we speak in private?”

  Trysten gave a nod.

  Nillard passed a signal onto the other hordesmen. It wasn’t a signal that Trysten recognized. As soon as Nillard hit the ground, he began to stalk towards the weyr. To Trysten’s relief, several of the weyrmen who were exiting the weyr sported short swords strapped to their waists.

  “Forgive me,” Nillard said as Trysten drew up beside him, “but up in the air, did you not say that you were Dragoneer of this weyr?”

  Trysten nodded. “I did. I am.”

  Nillard looked her up and down. It was difficult to tell if he was disappointed, disgusted, exhausted, or all three.

  “How long have you been Dragoneer?”

  Trysten drew in a deep breath and held her posture as straight as possible. “Three weeks.”

  Nillard nearly halted but regained his pace quickly. “Three weeks? You’ve been Dragoneer three weeks? How old are you?”

  “Old enough.”

  Nillard shook his head. “Was there no one else to take the title?”

  Trysten stopped. Nillard continued several more steps, then drew to a halt himself. He glanced back at Trysten.

  “Like it or not, I am the Dragoneer of this weyr, and as my guest in this village, in my home, I would ask you to show me the proper respect.”

  Nillard glanced back at his horde, then gave a slight bow at his neck. “My apologies, sir—ma’am. I meant no disrespect. It is just that in Hollin, a female dragoneer is unheard of. A dragoneer of your youth is also quite rare, and given the circumstances, I am, to be honest, a little disappointed not to find a more battle-hardened dragoneer before me.”

  “And I am a little disappointed to find that my honored guest is not a more respectful hordesman,” Trysten said. “Now that we have that out of the way, you said that you had news of the Western Kingdom. I will have that news now.”

  Nillard glanced about. “In private. Away from prying ears.”

  Trysten ushered Nillard on. They climbed the stairs to her den. She gestured towards the chair she used to sit in, and then she sat in the chair her father used to sit in. “Your news?” she asked as she laced her fingers together and rested her hands upon the table.

  Nillard sighed and leaned back in the chair. His calloused hands dangled over his spread thighs. “Our cloud reader warned us that the peaceful season would be short this year.”

  “As did ours,” Trysten said with a nod.

  “But not even he imagined just how short,” Nillard said. He leaned forward and rested his elbows upon his knees. “The Western Kingdom is on the move already. A horde of their dragon riders came screaming through the Bottoms Pass at the first break in the weather. They caught us unprepared. We were in the air within minutes of a watchman’s warning, but by then, the Western horde was circling the village. They rained flaming arrows down upon us. It was a cursed thing, the way they flew, the dragons all lighting the arrows of the other riders. It was a thing of horror. Of beautiful horror, to see them forming those lines that slithered past each other, and the dragons puffing away, jets of flame writhing between the two lines.”

  Nillard shook his head and let it drop a bit. He ran his fingers through his beard. “We climbed up to meet them as quick as we could. By the time we got close enough to let their bellies feel the sting of our arrows, they broke formation and rained wild wrath down upon us. Their first volley of arrows took out several good men. Then their dragons dropped upon us like stones. Several more men, including our dragoneer, was crushed under the weight of a Western dragon.”

  Nillard let his head hang as if the memories of the event were too much for the muscles of his neck.

  “I barely escaped. Leewind was hardly able to twist herself out of the way. She’s a good beast. A mighty beast. I’ll be wild if she didn’t give the Western dragon after us a good, ripping gout on its way down. I could tell by the roar. But by then, it was too late. The Western horde fanned out through the village. Their dragons spread more flame, aimed for the thatch roofs. Set the whole village to blazes. Several of them even flew straight through our own weyr, setting fire to the whole thing. By the gods’ breath, Trysten, it was a level of fury and wildness that I have never seen in a fight with the Western Kingdom. They were unnatural. There was nothing they weren’t capable of.”

  Nillard took a deep breath, then wiped his hands over his face. They fell to his lap with a clap. “Our dragoneer was dead. The alpha took to circling the village, crying and mewling with a broken spirit that set our mounts on the edge of panic. It was everything I could do to keep Leewind under my control. The commander mounted a defense, and we were able to bloody a few noses, but while we focused on half of the Western horde, the other half went after old Betalla, her beloved master broken upon her back. Poor thing didn’t stand a chance. Them wretched westerners nearly did the old thing a favor by putting her out of her misery. By the time we realized what they were doing, we were pinned down. They filled old Betella with so many arrows that the weight of the arrowheads is what probably brought her down, twisting and screaming, roaring like the ground itself was crying before she smashed into a burning cottage in a crash of soot and flame.”

  Trysten gasped and covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers. Her body tingled with the thought of such a horrific death.

  “The beta fell soon after, and once she hit the ground, I wouldn’t have been able to hold old Leewind with the hands of the gods. The Hollin horde broke. Most of the remaining dragons took off north, following Leewind. She wasn’t born of the line, but she is the oldest. And several of the males from the weyr took off as well. One came with us, you saw. Other dragons went east and south. For the wild gods, I have heard tales of hordes absconding, but let me tell you how terrible it is to be on the back of a dragon when she decides that she has nothing left to live for. We flew away from our village as fast as wind and wings would take us, and no amount of screaming, of cursing, of yanking on my saddle or digging my heels into that blasted beast’s hide would stop her, would allow us to head back and do what we could for our village.”

  Nillard took a deep, gaping breath that showed a few gaps in his teeth. He stared up at the ceiling and blinked hard. “I hope to the wild gods that you never have to sit upon your dragon’s back and hear the screams of your friends, of your families, of the people you love and vowed to defend with your life as they are slaughtered in your shadow.”

  Nillard’s gaze dropped down as if to pin Trysten to the back of her chair. “The Western Kingdom is on the move. They are on the wing, and they are fighting like the wild gods gone mad. Sure as I am sitting here in your den, Trysten of Aerona weyr, there are armies on foot ready to cross the Bottoms Pass as soon as the snow melts enough to allow passage. And I will further guarantee that an equally devastating horde is on the other side of the Gul Pass if they aren’t passing through right this minute. They are coming. If you are indeed a dragoneer, then ready your horde now, because the Western Kingdom seems intent on making this fighting season the last fighting season. Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d even go so far as to say they’ve had some help bringing about the early start.”

  Trysten lifted an eyebrow. “Help?”

  Nillard nodded. “I am not a superstitious man, but to see the early end of the peaceful season coincide with that level of ruthlessness makes me wonder if there is a bit of truth in old tales.”

  Trysten leaned back in her chair. Old tales such as female dragoneers?

  “What old tales?”

  “They say that not all the Originals were split into man and dragon. They say there were a few who were able to hide or resist the gods, and that they walk the ruins of their kingdom yet. Such… demigods
are said to have influence over some matters, such as the clouds, and the hearts and minds of men and dragons.”

  Trysten leaned forward. “But you say you don’t believe in such things.”

  Nillard leaned forward as well. The odor of smoke and sweat rolled off him. “I believe in what I see. And what I saw was an end to the peaceful season weeks before even the earliest recorded ending, and I saw men and dragons fight like beasts never seen before.”

  The table creaked as Nillard placed his elbows upon it and leaned in a bit more. “They fought as if of one mind, as if a force was driving them back to what they once were. They fought in a way that put a man to mind of the Originals. To see the way they lit each other’s arrows with dragon’s breath made a man recall the tales of how terrible the gods could be.”

  Trysten’s breath froze in her chest. Goose flesh pricked its way across her arms. Dragons and men of one mind? How in the wilds would Nillard and his men take it if they knew about Trysten’s ability to understand the dragons on such a deep level? She was beginning to realize that keeping her secret was more serious than she had imagined.

  Nillard leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “But why should I waste my breath with telling you? You will see first hand. In fact, I should like to see to my men and our dragons.”

  Nillard stood and placed the tips of his fingers against the top of the table, pressing down on them as if he expected the table to leap up, perhaps attack him even. He stared down at Trysten, his eyes hard and set in challenge, but she had no idea what challenge he was presenting. Did he expect her to call him on his story? Did he expect her to claim it was false, a lie?

  “If you will excuse me, my men and I have a long way to go before we reach the mother city.”

  “The mother city?” Trysten asked.

  “Yes, the mother city. Haven’t you heard a wild word I said? The king has to know. We have to take word of it straight to his ear. He has to know that Hollin weyr has fallen and that a horde of Western wretches is loose in his kingdom. By the wilds, they must be hunted down. And on top of that, if little sprites like you are passing as dragoneers these days, then the king needs to send reinforcements as soon as possible.”