The Dragoneer Trilogy

by Vickie Knestaut

  The men followed suit this time, not waiting for Paege’s lead. Three cheers erupted from those gathered, and even one more of the Hollin hordesmen joined the ranks, leaving Nillard a single compatriot to join in his coward’s stand.

  A broad grin spread over Trysten’s face as she stepped forward to meet the newly enlarged horde. Immediately she started handing out instructions to the weyrmen sprinkled among the crowd to begin plans on how to enlarge the weyr to accommodate the newcomers, both the men and the dragons.

  Nillard turned to her father, said something, and after a nod from Mardoc, he slunk away, walking down the outside length of the weyr before turning the corner and disappearing. The remaining holdout jogged after him, but Trysten could not worry about it as she busied herself with getting to know the names of the new dragons and the hordesmen.

  Chapter 35

  After a long day, Trysten retired to her den and added the names of the new dragons and hordesmen to the weyr’s chronicle. She paused and stared at her own handwriting, there beneath her father’s. Below his inscriptions of new and lost dragons and men, there was her own mark on the weyr already. Ten new dragons and seven new hordesmen. New riders would be selected from the village population and training would begin immediately. In the course of one day, she had increased the size of the village’s horde by more than half making it the largest horde in the weyr’s history.

  She slumped against the back of her chair. On the one hand, she was thrilled to have such a coup under her cap already, to have made such a mark within her first few weeks of being Dragoneer. On the other hand, how in the wilds was she going to manage such a huge horde? She had made a lot of progress with the original horde in the last couple of weeks, but she had the legitimacy of her father to fall back on. They saw him as their dragoneer, and when he knelt to her on the day that Aeronwind died, it was as good as an order for them to honor her as they honored him. This new horde, however, had no loyalty to her, to her family, to the village or the weyr. In her conversations with them, she found them to be a group of men who were weary and in shock from the battle. She heard snatches and bits of stories that corroborated what Nillard had told her. It seemed that the Western Kingdom had attacked the village instead of the horde, and completely overwhelmed them in a matter of minutes with tactics never before seen.

  At least they had the benefit of experience from the Hollins hordesmen.

  Among the flurry of activity, Trysten had dispatched a courier to the mother city with news of what had happened to the Hollin weyr, along with the names of the dragons and hordesmen that had survived the attack and joined the Aerona weyr. As Ulbeg and his courier charged towards the eastern horizon, Trysten dispatched two of the hordesmen on smaller, faster dragons to fly up and down the Cadwaller range, one north, and one south, and report back with any news of hordes in the sky. She put Paege in charge of drawing up a regular rotation for watch, never leaving the skies unattended. Finally, she let the village overseer know about the events. He would establish a watch in the village and alert the shepherds to be on the lookout not only for hordes in the skies but also for signs of armies moving through the Gul Pass.

  A knock at the door to the den brought her out of reviewing the day’s events.

  “Come in.”

  Her father entered, then shut the door behind him, and as his staff clunked against the planks of her floor, she wondered how in the wilds he had gotten up the stairs without her being able to hear.

  “You’ve had quite a day,” her father said as he passed through the receiving room and entered her den.

  Trysten nodded, then rubbed her hands over her face. “I’m up for the challenge,” she said as her hands dropped to her lap. Her gaze flitted down to the log again, to her neat script below her father’s.

  “That’s good,” Mardoc said as he approached the chair on the other side of the table. “Because you are indeed in for a challenge.”

  Trysten leaned forward and placed her elbows upon the edge of the table. “I’m not afraid of the Western Kingdom. We have good dragons, and a large horde now. We will turn them back should they show their faces in our skies.”

  Mardoc let out a little noise just before he dropped himself into the chair. It could have been a grunt, a start of a laugh, or some note of derision. “It’s not the Western Kingdom that will challenge you. I have no doubt at all that you will win the day when the Western Kingdom comes, and they will come. It is the threat from the kingdom in the east that you should worry about.”

  Trysten swallowed as if to clamp down on the sudden skittering of her heart. She knew what he was speaking of, yet she asked the question all the same. “What threat is that?”

  “I just returned from the livery stable. Nillard and his man traded a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a very finely crafted dagger for two mules and some supplies. They’ve already begun making their way to the mother city.”

  “What of it?” Trysten asked, then glanced to the top of the table. Her voice had betrayed her, high and tight and full of concern over what they would bring.

  “Come now,” Mardoc said after a small grunt. “I raised no fool. You know as well as I do that Nillard is off to tell the King about the weyr that took his horde, and is commanded by a woman.”

  Trysten shook her head. “I had every right. It’s the law.” She nodded to the books above them. “He brought an absconded horde here. The dragons chose Elevera. There was nothing—”

  “That law you are referring to also excludes you from being a dragoneer.”

  Trysten let out a long, low breath as she stared at the names in the ledger. Was the ink dry yet? If she ran her fingertips across the bold, black strokes, would they smudge? Or was it already fast, not to be altered. Not to be taken away.

  Unless the page was ripped from the book, as perhaps it had been when it had recorded the presence of the first female Dragoneer, as she was beginning to suspect.

  Trysten sat back against her chair. “What do you think will happen?”

  Her father’s gaze fell to the ledger as well. He gave his shoulders a slight shrug. “I have no idea. There has never been a situation like this before. It’s good that you sent a courier upon Ulbeg. At least when Nillard makes it to the mother city, his news will be old. He will have a greater chance of appearing before the King as a sore loser. But he also might find an audience who will buy his story of nobility, of how he humiliated himself, how he lowered himself and rode into the mother city, a hordesman upon the back of a mule, rather than break the law he has sworn his life to defend.”

  “What can they do? Elevera has chosen. I am the Dragoneer.”

  Mardoc tapped his staff upon the floor. “I heard a story once. I was a young man, still riding for my grandfather. He took me with him to the mother city for business with the Dragon Master. One night in a tavern frequented by hordesmen from around the kingdom, I heard a tale of a weyr on the northern shore, along the great sea. Their alpha dragon was caught in a storm. The winds blew it away from the shore and thrashed the strength from it. It fell to the sea and drowned, taking the weyr’s dragoneer with it. The man set to be the new Dragoneer, the man who rode the beta dragon, was overthrown by another hordesman who managed to bond with the beta despite not being its regular rider. The weyr honored the wishes of the new alpha and made this man the Dragoneer. But his heart was wicked, and he had no loyalty to anything. Not to his horde, his village, or his kingdom. He used his power to threaten the villagers, to amass wealth. Fishermen had to pay excessive taxes directly to him, or he would not allow their boats upon the sea.”

  “How could—” Trysten began.

  Mardoc held up his hand. “The other hordesmen wished to stop him. They knew what he was doing was wrong, but their mounts would not fly against the alpha. They turned on their riders, ignoring them in the best cases, and killing them in the worst. New hordesmen were selected from the village to replace those who would stand against the crooked Dragoneer. They became a force of ter
ror along the northern shore that ran unopposed until the Dragoneer’s greed began to extend to neighboring villages. Finally, word made it to the Dragon Master of what was happening. The King sent several of his hordes north to rendezvous with local hordes. Together, they descended upon the village and destroyed the weyr, killing the Dragoneer, the commander, and all of the dragons.”

  Trysten’s eyes widened. “All?”

  Mardoc nodded. “Every once in a while, there comes along someone who has the ability to know the heart and mind of a dragon. This person is said to be able to speak to the dragons, to know at a glance what they are thinking and to impart upon the dragons what is in their hearts. These people are called dragon lords. They are especially feared in the kingdom because of examples like this. Someone who can control a dragon horde so easily and so completely presents a grave threat to the kingdom.”

  Trysten glanced to the book. If she could, she would crawl beneath it, push herself down below the table, through the floor, beyond the straw and dirt beneath them.

  “When the King gets word of a dragon lord in the Western Kingdom, he will feel threatened. It took several hordes to destroy this one, for a single horde is no match for a horde commanded by a dragon lord, and already the Western Kingdom has destroyed the King’s outpost in the southwest. He will feel threatened. So when word of a female dragoneer reaches his ears a couple weeks later, he may feel compelled to react in a rash matter. I have never heard of a woman bonding with a dragon before. I must admit that if the King begins to look for his enemies behind every cloud, then he may see them whether they are there or not. Not only have you done what no woman has done before you, your command of the horde is quite exceptional, Trysten. It is unlike anything I’ve seen before.”

  Trysten gripped the edge of the table to keep herself from reaching forward, from running the tips of her fingers across the text she had so recently drawn. She wanted to know it was dry, that it was immutable, that it would never and could never be changed.

  “Trysten?”

  She glanced up at her father. Her lungs felt tight as if she had to suck her breath through a narrow reed.

  “Do you understand the threat you are facing?”

  Her gaze dropped to the ledger again. She gave a single, simple nod.

  Mardoc shifted in his seat, pushed himself up with his staff. “Someone will come here seeking answers. I very much doubt that it will be the King himself, or even the Dragon Master, as Aerona is certainly a dangerous place to be all of a sudden. But the King will send a representative to see for himself what history is being made here. He will be seeking an explanation. What will you tell him?”

  Trysten swallowed. “About what?”

  “About your position. Why are you the Dragoneer?”

  “Because Elevera chose me.”

  Her father shook his head as if disappointed. “I raised no fool. You know what I mean. Why are you the Dragoneer?”

  Trysten pushed herself away from the table and stood as she had seen her father do before when presented with a tough choice. She stepped over to the window and looked out over the village. The warped glass hid most everything from her. The light of a few lanterns made it through the windows of cottages and then into the window of her den. The light seemed like such a feeble thing as if she might cup her palm and place it over the light and snuff it out.

  She drew in a deep breath. Now was the time to tell her father.

  She turned away from the window, and as she opened her mouth to speak, her father pushed himself to his feet with the staff. “Someone is coming.”

  A knock announced another visitor.

  “Come in,” Trysten called before the echo died away.

  The door cracked open. Paege poked his head into the room. “Am I interrupting?”

  Trysten inhaled a deep sigh of relief, then shook her head. “No. No, nothing at all. We were just… talking. What can I do for you?”

  “I can come back,” Paege said as he glanced between Trysten and her father.

  “Nonsense,” Mardoc said. “You two have a weyr to run and far more of a horde than I ever did. You can excuse an old man and his silly stories.” He glanced back at Trysten, held her gaze for a second, and then hobbled on out of the den.

  As the door shut behind him, Trysten fell into her seat. Her muscles fell about her like worn-out rope. As Paege began to tell her of the accommodations made for the newest hordesmen, Trysten’s gaze anchored on the ledger and the neat rows of names she had recorded.

  Chapter 36

  Trysten knocked on the door, and a moment later, Galelin opened it.

  “Ah, come for my report on the new dragons, have you? My! You are more eager even than your father ever was.”

  Trysten’s practiced excuse for her visit fell away. She grinned. “You caught me. I’m sorry.” She glanced about beyond him. The interior of the cottage was as bookish and impressive as it was the last time she was inside. “I hope I’m not an imposition.”

  “Certainly not!” Galelin said, then opened the door and waved Trysten in. “An imposition would be if you summoned me to your den for the report as your father would have. If you come here for it, you save an old man a walk, and you grant him the extra favor of making a cup of tea for himself and his honored guest. Can I get you a cup of tea?” Galelin asked as he approached the hob.

  “That would be nice. Thank you.”

  “Well,” Galelin said as he pulled his kettle from the hob, “I’m pleased to report that the newest additions to the family are in good shape. There are a number of battle wounds to attend to. Nothing serious. Puncture wounds. A torn aerial membrane. It’s nothing that can’t be mended. I’d like to keep that brown dragon… What was it called?”

  “Quella.”

  “Quella. That’s right. Unusual name for a dragon, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so. They’re not from around here, though.”

  “Well, Hollin isn’t…” Galelin stopped in the middle of scooping tea into a pot. His hand trembled a bit. “Or rather, it wasn’t that far away.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Hmm? Yes. Where were we?” Galelin asked. “Oh, dear me. I lost count. Confound it!” The old dragon healer dumped the tea leaves out of his pot and back into the cannister he had scooped them out of. He began again.

  “As I was saying, that Quella ought to remain on the ground for a few days. I noticed some swelling along the right angelic muscle. I think he may have strained his wing. I want to keep an eye on him.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” Trysten said. “I will make sure it is addressed.”

  “Well, then, that is all there was to my report. There is nothing left but to drink the tea, is there?” He poured steaming water from his kettle. Trysten took a seat at a table and refrained from picking at her nails while Galelin took the kettle back to the hob, then approached the table again and poured two cups from the pot. He handed one to her.

  “I was filling out the ledger this evening, adding the names of the new dragons and hordesmen, and I was wondering if there had ever been a female dragoneer before.”

  Galelin regarded her a moment, and then lifted his cup to his lips. He blew across the surface. Steam rolled away from his breath and evaporated into the cold, dry air. “You know as well as I do that dragons don’t bond with women.”

  Trysten lifted an eyebrow.

  Galelin grinned over his cup of tea.

  Trysten studied the old man and continued. “If it simply was a matter of women not being able to bond with dragons, then why is it forbidden by law? Why make a law to forbid something that cannot happen?”

  Galelin sipped his tea. When he drew the cup away, his grin stretched wider. “You are a very clever girl, aren’t you? Sharper than your father, even, who is sharper than any ax.”

  “Thank you,” Trysten said as she cupped her hands around the tea. The warmth seeped into her palms and fingers. “But that compliment is no answer. Can I order you to tell me?
To tell me the truth?”

  Galelin nodded. “I am a member of the weyr, am I not? Unless you got another healer from the Hollin weyr?”

  “Tell me the truth, Galelin. Was there ever another female dragoneer?”

  Galelin placed his cup upon the table and stared down into it. Steam rose from the surface and dissipated, and Galelin continued to stare at it as if he expected the answer to bloom from it like a flower.

  “The truth, dear, is that I don’t rightly know what the truth is.”

  Trysten sipped at her tea. “What do you know, then?”

  “I know that you have a good point and a keen mind. Why indeed forbid something that cannot possibly be? It seems to suggest that there was a female dragoneer at some point in time. There had to be one in order for some long-dead king to decide that it wasn’t a good idea, that it should never happen again.”

  “In all your studies, have you come across something that might suggest who it was, and why she was… Why there have been no more up until now?”

  Galelin shrugged. He considered his tea for a moment more, then took another drink. “Well, there is the tale of Adalina.”

  “Adalina?”

  “Oh, it’s an old folk tale. It’s a legend. There’s about as much truth to it as there is to any of the wild stories about the Originals.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I thought you wanted to know the truth?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Very well.” Galelin took a deep breath, then let it out as a sigh. He opened his mouth again, and then took a sip of tea. “You know the stories of the Originals, right? About how the gods grew to fear them, and so split them into men and dragons and destroyed the heavens in the process.”