The Dragoneer Trilogy

by Vickie Knestaut

  Trysten nodded.

  “Well, there is a story that not all of the Originals were destroyed. A few escaped the wrath of the gods by hiding in a clever spot that is a whole other story unto itself. Needless to say, that after the destruction of the heavens, the remaining Originals sought to rebuild them. But the destruction was so complete that they soon lost all hope that they could do it by themselves. A few of the Originals decided that the best way to proceed would be to take mates among human women. The idea of mating with a lower form of life was repugnant to the Originals, but a couple of them were desperate to raise an army that could rebuild the heavens and throw the gods from the skies.”

  Galelin brought his tea to his lips, sipped, and seemed to consider the story as if trying to draw the details up from a deep casket.

  “One of the Originals took the form of a handsome young warrior, and he quickly seduced a young human woman. Before long, she bore a daughter and named her Adalina. Adalina grew up fast. She was fair, beautiful, strong and clever. The Original was quite pleased with his daughter, but being the offspring of an Original, she soon discovered that she could not only persuade her human counterparts with her charm and guile, she could also speak to the dragons and have them do her bidding as well.

  “Armed with her father’s abilities and her mother’s ambitions, it wasn’t long before Adalina married a king, and then had herself a kingdom. She led her armies into battle and soon reigned over a vast empire that stretched from one corner of the world to the other.

  “This caught the attention of the gods, however. They feared exactly what they discovered, that at least one of the Originals had escaped their wrath. So they brought destruction to the lands. Storms and famine struck the empire. A plague rose up and swept the entire world, and those who contracted it were driven mad and spoke in tongues. Confusion spread across the land. Adalina’s empire fell. It shattered like a dropped plate, and each one of those fragments became one of the kingdoms that exist today, and the inhabitants of each kingdom speak the tongue of their plague, even us. That is why we cannot understand those in other kingdoms. It was all to bring an end to Adalina’s empire.”

  “And what of Adalina?” Trysten asked. “What happened to her?”

  Galelin shrugged. “She died. I’m sure of it. The gods would not have settled for anything less than her head.”

  “And that is why women are forbidden from becoming dragoneers?”

  Galelin shrugged again. “You must ask one of the chroniclers of the King’s court. I’m just an old dragon healer who has heard too many fanciful stories to know anything of value.”

  Trysten took a drink of her tea, then regarded Galelin again. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  Trysten’s eyes narrowed. “The Original. Did he try and have any more children?”

  Galelin shrugged his shoulders. “The story doesn’t say. But if you ask me, if a man—or at least a human man—is intent upon siring himself an army, then it doesn’t make much sense to stop with one child, does it?”

  “No. He’d want to have more. Many more. With a lot of different women, because he doesn’t want to wait for a year between each child.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And if he had a lot more, then there would be a chance that the gods missed them, that they didn’t get all of them because the Original would know where to hide them, wouldn’t he? Because he hid from the gods the first time around.”

  Galelin nodded as he took a sip of tea.

  “So then, assuming that the story is true, then there are a lot of people who are descended from the Originals.”

  “Perhaps. Or maybe only a few survived. And furthermore, it seemed that if they themselves had children, then their Original blood would get watered down, diluted with humanity until there was little left.”

  Trysten’s head sank a little bit as if disappointed that she came to the end of the trail she had been pursuing.

  “But you know, bloodlines are a funny thing. Before my hair went gray, it was red. A fiery red. But my parents both had brown hair. All of my siblings had brown hair. No one at all in my family had red hair, except for my mother’s father, and my father’s grandmother. Sometimes traits skip generations, and when certain people come together, then their children will have these traits that go back in the bloodlines.”

  Trysten sat up again. “So if two people who were descended from the Originals were themselves to have a child…”

  Galelin took another sip of tea. “Especially in the families of dragoneers. I’m sure you’ve noticed how the title is passed from father to son, or grandfather to grandson in the case of your own father, but it always stays in the family even though there is that open charade called the consideration. Yes, anyone may audition for the title, but it is a pointless exercise, mostly just posturing on the part of the hordesmen, because everyone knows that the title is getting passed down to the Dragoneer’s descendants, almost as if there is something passed along in the bloodline, like red hair.”

  Trysten sat up. She nearly asked a dangerous question.

  Galelin gave Trysten a veiled look and continued. “I’ve heard rumors of a dragon lord since the new hordesmen came to our village. It seems that they are breathing life into a legend that many people have grown accustomed to dismissing. To hear their stories, it does make a person wonder if there is some truth to it.”

  Trysten’s gaze fell to the tea before her. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “Our people’s history is a chronicle of all the things we once believed, but believe no more. What history teaches us is that our beliefs are impermanent. They are shifting, changing things. They are spun from stories and facts. What if the stories of the Originals have an element of truth to them? What if there are descendants of one of the Originals walking among us? What if there are even Originals still walking among us. And if two of the descendants of the Original were to sire a child, then what is to say that that child might not have a trait not manifested in the family for generations, such as my former red hair?”

  Trysten’s clutched her cup tighter to keep her hands from shaking. She focused on one breath in, one breath out in order to keep herself from blurting out her secret, from telling Galelin of her ability and asking if he truly believed that she was descended from one of the Originals.

  But it was too dangerous.

  She took a sip of tea to give herself time to think, time to recover. “My father says that the King will take exception to my position.”

  Gaelin nodded. “That seems like a reasonable assumption.”

  “If I could have some precedent, some history, a story even to help secure my position, it would be helpful.”

  “The only story that will help you is the one you write.”

  Trysten regarded the cup in her hands. “I was hoping for a little more than that.” She looked up at the old healer. “If you could look through your books and find some evidence of a previous dragoneer who was a woman, I’d appreciate it. It would be helpful.”

  Galelin shrugged. “I always delight in any excuse to look through my books, but I already know them pretty well. There is very little in them that would escape my knowledge or memory.”

  Trysten’s shoulders drooped. She rolled the teacup slowly between her palms.

  “Don’t despair, young lady. If nothing ever changed, then there would be no point in keeping all of these dusty old books full of history. We record history to know what things once were. Things will change. They always do. You may count on it.”

  A weak grin struggled across Trysten’s face. “Thank you.”

  “A good healer knows how to impress upon the spirit of all creatures, not just dragons.”

  She sat up and looked at Galelin. “How about the Dragon Master? Might he know more? Might he have stories and precedents to help my situation?”

  Galelin shrugged. “He might. He might also have a greater underst
anding of why women aren’t supposed to, or aren’t allowed to be dragoneers. And after the men from Hollin horde reach the mother city, he will find whatever the King instructs him to find.”

  Trysten slumped back in her chair. She lifted the cup and swallowed the remainder of the tea. The pungent, rich odor of it overwhelmed her slightly for a second. She took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of smoke and wood ash.

  “Thank you all the same,” Trysten said. “For the tea and the stories. I must be off to bed now. I have a long day ahead of myself.”

  “Certainly. And let me tell you what a nice change it is to have the Dragoneer call on me, rather than being summoned to the den each time I’m needed.” Galelin slapped his hands down upon his knees. “These aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

  Chapter 37

  The following morning, when Trysten met the hordesmen in the weyr, it was hard to ignore Paege’s black eye. She approached him. As she did so, he averted his gaze to her feet.

  “What happened?”

  “It was an accident,” Paege said. He glanced in her eyes, then looked at her feet again.

  “I’m sure it was,” Trysten said. “But that doesn’t answer the question. What happened to your eye?”

  The men near Paege shifted slightly.

  “I had to use the latrine last night. I bumped into the door in the dark.”

  Trysten lifted an eyebrow. “You bumped into a door?”

  Paege gave a quick nod. “It was open. I didn’t know. I mean, I didn’t see that it was open. Because it was dark, you see? I collided with the corner of it. It caught me right in the eye.”

  Trysten studied the line of hordesmen that extended from Paege’s right. All of them found something very interesting to stare at straight ahead. She returned her attention to Paege, then realized that something else was amiss. She glanced to her left again, then counted the men standing in the line. The line was missing one man.

  “Where is Issod?” Trysten asked.

  “Issod?” Paege asked. “He’s in his sick bed today.”

  “His sickbed? And what exotic illness is he suffering from?”

  “He… fell out of bed last night. Hurt his arm.”

  A choked snort came down the line as someone stifled a laugh.

  “He fell out of bed?”

  Paege nodded.

  Trysten stepped back. “Do they have such different beds in Hollin?”

  The men stared forward with stone-etched faces.

  “I’m waiting on an answer, gentlemen.”

  One of the Hollin hordesmen gave his head a slow shake.

  Trysten took in a deep breath and let it out slowly in hopes of keeping the heat from building up in her face. “Is anyone going to tell me what really happened?”

  Paege stared straight ahead, just past Trysten’s gaze.

  “All right, then. Saddle your mounts and meet me in the yard. All of you!”

  The men broke the line and started for their respective mounts. As they scattered, Trysten planted her hands upon her hips. It was bad enough that she’d have to integrate the two hordes as quickly as possible, but it was all the more challenging for the fact that the combined horde was composed all of bull-headed men. How in the wilds would she get them to work together as one horde if she couldn’t even get them to talk to each other or her?

  Whatever it took, it would have to be done soon.

  Trysten crossed the weyr to the hordesmen’s quarters. As she entered the bunkhouse, Issod pushed himself up from his cot onto his left elbow with a grimace. His right arm was held before him, cradled in a sling.

  “What happened?” Trysten asked as she planted her hands upon her hips.

  “I tripped and fell.”

  “Out of bed?”

  Issod studied her face a second and then laid back on the cot. “I suppose so.”

  “What were you two fighting about?”

  Issod stared at the ceiling. “There was no fight. I fell.”

  “And how was it that Paege got his black eye?”

  Issod sighed. “You will have to ask him.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “I can’t say.”

  “I am giving you an order. Tell me how you hurt your arm.”

  “I already did.”

  “You are lying to me.”

  Issod continued to stare at the ceiling.

  “On your feet.”

  Issod gripped the edge of the cot with his uninjured hand, but there he remained, caught between the two things he struggled with.

  “On your feet, Issod, or I will have you tossed over a donkey’s back and sent off to the plains.”

  Issod took a deep breath, then pulled himself to a sitting position with a grimace on his face. After a brief second on the side of the cot, he rose to his feet and stared across the room.

  “I will have the truth now,” Trysten said as she folded her hands behind her back.

  “The truth?” Issod glanced at her with a lifted eyebrow. “The truth is that none of this matters. The truth is that it doesn’t matter one bit how I hurt my arm or how your commander got a black eye. I lost my family. I lost my friends. Everything I ever had and loved is gone now. Except for Verillium. The truth is that I owe her. I was a coward. I should have never allowed her to leave Hollin. I should have made her stay. I could have.”

  “What would that have accomplished?”

  Issod shook his head as he turned his attention to the bunks across the hall. “We would have fallen and died there, alongside the other dragons, alongside my family. My friends. But now we are going to die out here, far from everyone, in a strange land where our bones will bleach under a strange sun. I was a coward. After seeing the way those men fought, I knew we were done for. Running has only postponed the inevitable.”

  “We are not going to die.”

  Issod scoffed. “My dragoneer was a good man. A seasoned man. The bravest man I have ever known, and as fierce as the most ill-tempered dragon. He fell within the first few minutes of battle. What hope has this bastard horde? A mismatched, motley crew of dragons and hordesmen led by a girl hardly stepped away from her mother’s teat? What battles have you fought? What glories have you won?” Issod asked as a sneer writhed across his face.

  Trysten took a deep, measured breath. The man deserved to be tossed out on his behind. He was a coward indeed, and his belief that they were goats in a pen, waiting for slaughter was a dangerous position, as evidenced by the fight he likely started with Paege. The man was frightened to the edge of panic.

  But if what the Hollin hordesmen said was true, then every capable rider would be needed. A large horde was an advantage, to be sure, but she was three riders short for their twenty-nine dragons, and on top of that, two of her hordesmen were always out on a scouting patrol. At any moment, she had twenty-three hordesmen ready to fly into battle behind her, which was hardly more than an average-sized horde. The village—the kingdom couldn’t afford for her to lose another rider.

  Trysten stepped up to Issod. His expression hardened, his mouth drew up tight, and his shoulders shifted back. Despite the busted arm, he appeared ready to step back and throw a punch.

  “What battles have I fought?” Trysten asked in a calm, measured voice. “I have fought a battle for a dragon’s heart. I have the glory of earning a dragon’s trust and loyalty. And not just any dragon, but the alpha dragon. The same alpha dragon that yours now serves. If you have any respect at all for your mount, you will respect her wisdom, her choice. Verillium chose to follow Elevera, and Elevera has chosen to follow me. It is that simple. I am the Dragoneer, and if you cannot trust me when I say we will be victorious, then you dishonor your own dragon as you dishonor yourself. Is your opinion of Verillium really so low?”

  Issod flushed. His gaze dropped away, and his face tilted down slightly. It appeared as if Trysten had pierced him, vented some of the vitriol that he had brimmed with.

  “Do you trust your dragon?” Trysten asked.<
br />
  Issod gave a slight nod but still refused to look her in the eye.

  “Then you must also trust me. We will stop the Western Kingdom here. With the help and experience of the Hollin horde, and the strength and might of the Aerona weyr, we will stop them. But we are already a number of riders short. I need every capable person in a dragon’s saddle in order to avenge the deaths of your friends and family, of your dragons and your dragoneer. Every person.”

  Issod looked up at her at that.

  Trysten returned his gaze for a second, then took half a step back. “You will go find Galelin. You will tell him that I want you patched up and ready to ride by dawn tomorrow. Is that clear?”

  The color drained from Issod’s face. For a second, it looked like he was about to crumble, to collapse into a ragged pile upon the floor. But then he gave another nod and hurried out of the bunk hall.

  Trysten sighed and closed her eyes. By the wilds, managing the dragons was far easier than looking after the men. Would her father feel the same way?

  Probably.

  She took another deep breath to collect herself, to allow her frustration and concern to simmer down, and then she went to gather Elevera and meet the hordesmen in the yard.

  Chapter 38

  Over the course of the next few days, Trysten pushed the Hollin hordesmen for details on what they saw and experienced. She consulted with the village overseer and drew up a plan for a fire brigade. Blacksmiths worked around the clock. Their hammers became a metronome that echoed through the village day and night as they fashioned large, iron gates from whatever could be spared around the village. Carpenters recruited help from the villagers in order to build an extension on the weyr to house the additional dragons and hordesmen. Finally, the iron gates were suspended from tracks above the weyr doors so that the building could either be closed off from attacking hordesmen, or the weyr could be used as a trap to contain attacking hordesmen.

  Jalite, Assina, and Talon had their work cut out for them as they organized knitting and leather-working circles among anyone in the village who had any skill at all. The tavern was empty of its regulars as they worked in the blacksmith shops or at the weyr, showing up only briefly for meals, so the armor guild moved into the tavern and spread their baskets of yarn and needles, of leather and tools. The tables became work areas, and the proprietor made as much money as ever making sure that none of the knitters or leather workers went hungry or thirsty as they worked to outfit the new hordesmen in the colors and style of Aerona weyr.