The Dragoneer Trilogy

by Vickie Knestaut

  Trysten saw very little of her family during the period. With many people busy with preparations for the coming battle, her mother spent most of her time in the hills or along the river, hunting or fishing. Her father even gave up his habit of hovering around the weyr, and instead of grumbling about the addition, he surprised Trysten by staying home and devoting most of his time to preparing food for the weyr and the laborers working on it.

  It was just as well, as Trysten worked from dawn to dusk with the hordesmen. Each morning, as she stepped out of the cottage, she stared at the mountains and held her breath as she examined the level of cloud cover. As the first rays of the sun spread over the land and fell upon the mountains, her chest tightened to see the cloud cover dwindling. More and more of the rocky, snow-strewn slopes became visible.

  She pushed the hordesmen hard, drilling the Hollin hordesmen on the Aerona weyr signals and commands. They herded doles, flew relay races, and engaged in mock battles. As Trysten stared out at the mountains and listened to the grating sound of arrowheads sharpened against a stone, she realized that the lowest peaks in the range could be made out in the dwindling cloud cover.

  It was a wonder they hadn’t encountered a Western horde yet.

  She proceeded to the weyr. There she met the hordesmen, and together they set out for another day of practice.

  Towards evening, as the sun was about to set, Paege motioned and pointed to the east. A dragon flew towards the village. A small dragon. A courier dragon.

  With several swoops of her arms, she ordered the horde back to the weyr while she flew out to meet the courier and encountered Ulbeg, pushing himself through the growing dusk. Upon sight of Elevera, the little male perked up and pushed even harder, finding one last burst of speed at the end of his long flight from the mother city.

  Atop Ulbeg’s back, one of the village couriers waved at Trysten, then pointed at a pouch slung across his shoulders before pointing at her to indicate that he had something for her.

  She nodded her understanding and searched the courier’s face for an indication of what kind of news it might be. If it was for her specifically, it was unlikely he had read it, but he had been in the mother city long enough that Trysten and others had begun to wonder if something had happened to him. The longer they waited, the more his absence weighed on Trysten. The worst thing would be if something had happened to them on the way to the city and the courier was unable to relay the news of Hollin weyr and the Western Kingdom. Beyond that, the worst thing would be that they did indeed make it, and the King had a difficult time deciding what to do with her, waiting long enough that Nillard finally made it down out of the high plains upon his bartered mule.

  Whatever had happened, the courier would know the flavor of the court, know what the mood was inside the King’s castle. The stoic, emotionless look upon the courier’s face did not bode well for the future.

  As soon as their dragons touched down in the yard, the courier dismounted and a weyrman rushed up and took Ulbeg’s reins. The courier walked across the yard in a stiff-legged manner that betrayed how many consecutive hours he had been upon the dragon’s back.

  “I bring a message from King Cadwaller,” the courier cried as Trysten approached. Instead of removing the message from his pouch, he slung the whole pouch from around his neck and held it out to Trysten, as if the whole bag had been sullied by its contents.

  “How’s the mood in the mother city?” Trysten asked as she took the bag.

  The courier glanced to the east as if he were examining the city now, trying to decide how best to answer. He wiped the knit cap from his head and wrung it in his hands. “A far sight more dreadful since I showed up,” he finally said.

  Trysten meant to press him for more details but then thought better of it. She was stalling, putting off what she imagined was in the scroll inside the pouch. She could talk to the courier later.

  “Thank you for your service,” Trysten said, then hurried off with the pouch.

  She took it to her den, closed the door behind her, crossed the receiving room and strode into her room where she dropped the pouch upon the table and stared at it a second as if a serpent might crawl out and try to bite her. She took a deep breath, pulled back the closures, and flipped open the leather flap. Inside, nested in the bottom, were a number of scrolls rolled up tightly and sealed with various seals. Different colored waxes indicated who sent them, and who they were for. The largest scroll and the one made of the finest parchment was the one intended for her. She need not pull it out and see the red cord and gold-colored wax to know that it came directly from the King’s court and was addressed to her.

  She broke the seal, slid off the cord, and as the edges of the parchment trembled in her grip, she unrolled the missive. In the large, ornate script of a court scrivener, she read the orders in which King Cadwaller the IV ordered Trysten of Aerona village to ground her horde until a prince of the court arrived, at which time, in accordance with the kingdom’s law, he would take command of the weyr and send her horde back to the mother city. She herself would remain behind in Aerona, where she would be forever banished from setting foot inside the weyr or having any communication whatsoever with any dragon of any kind.

  She read the words again.

  The parchment slipped from her fingers. It curled up on itself as it fell to the top of the table, and there it lay, curled as tightly as any serpent ready to strike.

  With a quick motion, she brushed the scroll aside, sent it skittering from the top of the table. She then shoved the pouch from the table as well. It landed upon the floor with a plop, the way worn leather bags do. The urge to stomp upon the scroll struck her. To just jump up and down upon it until she exhausted herself, and then pick it up and burn it in the flame of the nearest lantern and pretend she had never seen the cursed thing.

  But it didn’t matter. A prince was on his way. Surely. Ulbeg was a fast dragon, and by the appearance of him and the courier, they had made great haste on their return trip. It would probably be another day or two, possibly three before the prince arrived and ruined the rest of her life.

  She shook her head. No. She was Dragoneer. Dragoneers did not back away from challenges. They met them head-on. They met them with their hordes at their back. She would deal with the prince, with the King. She had a day or two to come up with a plan.

  Her attention fell to the scroll upon the floor.

  She turned away and stormed down the stairs and out of the weyr. The river beckoned to her. Down there, with the breeze in the reeds and water on the stones, she could clear her head and begin to think about how to get out of this situation.

  Chapter 39

  After a few steps, a familiar voice called out Trysten’s name. She stopped and peered into the gathering dusk. Assina approached down the lane.

  “I was coming to get you,” Assina said. “We’ve finished your armor, and we want you to try it on in case we need to make a few last-minute alterations.”

  Trysten’s heart sank. Of all the days… “Now is not a good time, Assina.”

  Assina’s shoulders drooped a bit. Her head tilted to the side slightly. “Come on. We’ve been working so hard to get your uniform done. We’ve all been very excited to work on it! Please. Just try it on. It’ll only be a few minutes. I know you’re busy.”

  Trysten took a deep breath and looked up at the mountains. The sun had sunk behind the clouds and stone. Only a brace of dark blue light remained in the sky, a melting barrier between the day and the starlight.

  To the wilds. Why not? They had worked hard at it, and it would be a way to postpone their disappointment a few days. She might as well let them have their excitement. Besides, it may very well be the only time she ever got to see herself in her own uniform. If the King was successful and took away her horde, at least he would never be able to take away that memory of herself in her uniform.

  “All right,” Trysten said with a nod.

  “Wonderful!” Assina said with a clap of
her hands. “Did I tell you how excited we all are?”

  Trysten and Assina walked back to her cottage in the gathering dusk. Assina ushered Trysten into the room at the back of the cottage where Jalite presented her with the sweater and the leather armor in the village colors. The sight of it brought tears to Trysten’s eye. She blinked them back, unsure of how much of it was from being touched by the work and care that Jalite, Assina, and Talon had put into the uniform, and how much was at the utter and complete unfairness with which the King was about to take it all away from her.

  “I know,” Jalite said as she clasped a hand over her chest. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Trysten swallowed hard rather than make a comment about how surprising it was to hear battle armor described as beautiful.

  “Try it on!” Assina urged.

  Trysten undressed slowly and pulled on the leggings and sweater. They fit well. Snug, but not constricting. It would allow her complete freedom of movement in the air but offered little for passing arrows or claws to snag. The thought restricted her throat again. What a conflict! To wish for battle so that she could wear the garments of a dragoneer, yet know the battle would likely be bloody and destructive to her hordesmen, her dragons and the village made her head spin.

  She passed a breath through tight lips, then allowed Jalite and Assina to help her into the leather vest that would protect her body from enemy arrows. As soon as the other women tugged it into place and tied off the leather laces, they showed her to a corner of the room and angled her towards a piece of glass leaning against the wall. In it, Trysten was able to see a slightly warped reflection of herself.

  “How wonderful!” Jalite nearly squealed. “It’s a perfect fit! That is astounding dear.” She grasped Assina’s shoulder and gave it a small shake. Assina grinned in response.

  “Talon!” Assina called out as she turned around. “Come take a look.”

  Assina’s younger brother entered the room. Upon sight of Trysten in her gear, he smiled and gave an approving nod.

  “Oh!” Jalite said. “I almost forgot. Here.” She reached into a basket upon a table and pulled out a leather helmet. Two braids of yellow wool cascaded from the temples of the helmet. Jalite placed it upon her head, then turned Trysten to the glass again. She picked up one of the helmet’s braids and held it near Trysten’s own. “Perfect!”

  Assina nodded.

  She looked at the braid still clutched in her hand, and then on into the glass. Tassels of the same color decorated her shoulder. That she could understand. She imagined it represented the long hair of the hordesmen as they flew through the skies, that they dared other hordesmen to try and grasp it, to capture it. But the braids? Why braids on the helmets? The men wore their hair loose or gathered behind their necks.

  “Why?” Trysten asked. She gave the braid a little shake. “Why braids?”

  A sly grin crossed Jalite’s face. She exchanged a knowing glance with Assina.

  Assina gave a solemn nod.

  “Talon,” Jalite said as she turned her attention on her son. “Would you please give us another moment of privacy?”

  Talon’s eyes widened slightly as if surprised, as if things weren’t going quite as he expected them to go. He gave a nod, took one last, long look at the handiwork of his leather armor, then left the room.

  “It’s a secret,” Jalite said as the door closed behind Talon. “It’s a secret that is usually passed down from mother to daughter in the armor guild. It’s a right of passage, almost. We hand this secret off to the next generation as a way to show our trust, that we are handing off an important tradition to our children. But we’ll make an exception for you, as it feels a bit like we’ve been keeping the secret just for you all this time.”

  “All this time?” Trysten let the woolen braid slip from her fingers.

  “Generations,” Jalite said with a nod. “As far back as anyone can remember.”

  Trysten’s brow lifted in expectation.

  “The braids are part of the uniform to remind us of the first dragoneers.”

  “The first?”

  Jalite nodded. “The first dragoneers were women. Almost exclusively. There were men, of course, but it was the women who first bonded with the dragons, who opened themselves up to the dragons and rekindled a shadow of the bond once broken by the gods.”

  Trysten blinked. Blinked in disbelief.

  The smile widened on Jalite’s face. “A queen arose from among the dragoneers. A queen so powerful that she threatened all the kingdoms surrounding her. She did not threaten them with malice, but with prosperity. Her kingdom grew so wealthy and prosperous that the surrounding kingdoms felt threatened by her, by her power.”

  “Adalina.”

  Jalite’s gaze widened in surprise. “You’ve heard of her?”

  “Stories. I heard she was the child of an Original.”

  Jalite shook her head. A grin crossed her face as if amused by a child’s belief in superstition. “That is what the men say. It is easier to believe that a woman can rise to such power and prominence if she is touched by the supernatural. The truth of the matter is that she was simply good. She was loyal, faithful, smart, and above all, she persisted.

  “But the surrounding kings couldn’t abide by what they saw as a threat. It drove them mad to know that her might would allow her to overrun their own kingdoms in a day should she see fit to do so, which of course she never would. But they were kings of small hands and minds. They suspected such treachery of her precisely because such treachery existed in their own hearts. They aligned themselves into a massive army and overthrew Adalina and her kingdom, and to protect themselves from similar perceived threats in the future, they outlawed women as dragoneers.”

  Trysten shook her head in disbelief. “But they say that women can’t…”

  Jalite cocked an eyebrow at Trysten. “You going to believe that?”

  “Of course not. But why would they spread that? Why would that story take root if it wasn’t true?”

  Jalite shrugged. “If you tell a woman enough times that she can’t do something, then some will come to believe that. But you and I and Assina here, as well as many other women in the armor guilds across the many kingdoms know better. The braid is a way to keep Adalina alive, to pass along the story.”

  Jaline leaned in and lowered her voice. “You’re the first female Dragoneer in a long time, Trysten. A very long time. And when word gets out about you and your abilities, other women will be inspired to join hordes, to ride, to become dragoneers, to do anything they wish.”

  Trysten’s insides wobbled. They quaked like a sheet of tin struck by a hammer. Her gaze drifted off under the weight of the story, the responsibility. Was it true? And if it was, then how much of Galelin’s story was true?

  “How did Adalina become a dragoneer?” Trysten asked.

  Jalite smiled. “She was good at it. She had a connection with the dragons that few others were able to touch.”

  “Was she a dragon lord?”

  “Dragon lords are superstition. When faced with someone possessing great talent and ability, men like to make up stories to explain their own shortcomings. How interesting is the story that goes, ‘I was too lazy and not dedicated enough to become a good dragoneer,’ as opposed to the story that by birthright, by sheer luck, someone else was able to be Dragoneer without the same work and dedication? Did you not work hard for the title?”

  Trysten opened her mouth, then stopped herself. She had worked hard. She did work hard still. Her sore muscles, callouses in places she never knew she had skin, her raw hands and aching thighs all spoke of the hard work she put in to being Dragoneer and preparing a horde worthy of any that the Western Kingdom might throw at them. None of her abilities to know the hearts and minds of dragons had helped ease the amount of sheer, physical work she had put into earning the position.

  “I did,” Trysten said with a nod. “I worked hard.”

  “So did Adalina. So did all those who are sai
d to be dragon lords. There are no such things.”

  Trysten nodded again, willing to step back from this line of conversation. As much as she liked Jalite’s version of the story of Adalina, she wasn’t about to accept her dismissal of dragon lords. No matter how hard she worked herself, it seemed that she still had an innate ability that others either lacked or had never developed.

  “Thank you,” Trysten said with a nod. “For the beautiful uniform, and for that story.”

  “You’re welcome on both accounts. Remember, you must keep the braids a secret. If men were to get wind of why they are on their uniforms, they would tear them all off across the lands, and Adalina’s story will be lost. You must promise us, and you must honor Adalina.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  As Trysten walked home, her mind wandered to the books in her den. Might she find something in there about the uniforms? She had never really looked into them before. And might her father know something? Would she dare ask him out of fear of revealing the secret?

  The more she thought about it, however, the more frustration bubbled up in her. How dare King Cadwaller do this to her. She was a dragoneer. She had earned it. And she was a good one. Paege had even confirmed for her that he’d overheard the Hollin hordesmen speaking among themselves of Trysten’s skill, the way she handled the dragons, how they seemed to follow her orders before she even finished giving them. The reluctance of the Hollin hordesmen to follow her became grudging respect with each day they trained together.