The Dragoneer Trilogy

by Vickie Knestaut

Trysten nodded. She resisted the urge to look to the east for the Prince, finding herself in a position to hope he was near despite what it could mean for her.

  “I understand.”

  Chapter 3

  Outside of the council chambers, Trysten paused and considered where she might find her father. He was at home when she left the cottage earlier, but after the aerial display, he would have made his way to the weyr to spend time with the hordesmen and dragons. Most likely, he would also be getting in Borsal’s way and on his nerves, possibly even on purpose.

  Trysten grinned briefly at the thought, then headed for the weyr. She found Mardoc standing in the yard, supervising Iven, one of the weyr boys, as he filled a trough with water for the captured dragons.

  “I heard one of the escaped prisoners got a good jab in on you,” Mardoc said as Trysten approached. “Have you been to see Galelin?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, rubbing her side for a moment. “Can Iven spare you a moment? I was hoping to speak to you.”

  Mardoc raised an eyebrow in anticipation, then turned to the boy. “I suppose you can handle the other trough.”

  Iven nodded his agreement, gave Trysten a quick, shy look of gratitude, then hurried off to the well with his bucket dangling from his hand.

  “What’s on your mind?” Mardoc asked as he watched the boy run away. He turned to Trysten. “Shall we go to the den?”

  Trysten considered his suggestion. She hated to make him climb the stairs, but she knew he enjoyed being in the den, even if no longer in the Dragoneer’s seat. When they reached the base of the stairs, she clutched at the hem of her tunic to keep from placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him as he took the first step. He would not appreciate the gesture.

  Up in the den, they crossed through the receiving room with its small, brick-lined fireplace and entered the larger room, the Dragoneer’s den. Trysten walked around the thick wooden table that dominated the room and sat, facing the door in a simple hand-carved chair that used to be her father’s, and her grandfather’s before that.

  “What’s on your mind?” Mardoc asked as he lowered himself into the chair on the opposite side of the table. He did a poor job of hiding the grimace of pain on his face, and his body fell a little too hard the last few inches. The chair legs barked against the floor planks as his battered body betrayed his exhaustion.

  Trysten took a deep breath, straightened her back, and announced, “I want to build a second weyr.”

  Mardoc shifted his grip on his staff. “A second weyr? I don’t think that’s ever been done before. Every horde has one weyr.”

  She steeled herself and opened her mouth to make a rebuttal.

  “But these are unusual times,” Mardoc continued. “I think a second weyr is a good idea. I suspect that the size of our horde is not quite fixed yet.”

  Trysten grinned to hear her father speak of the horde as theirs and at his subtle acknowledgment of her unexpected powers.

  Mardoc cleared his throat. “I have given some thought to how to expand this weyr, but the truth is that it becomes dangerous to have all of our dragons in one place. Should the Western horde make it to Aerona, and try an attack as they did on Hollin, then two weyrs would make their work more difficult. A second weyr would also be better if there is an accident, if the winds ravage the village, or if there is a fire.” He nodded again. “Yes, I think it is wise.”

  Trysten’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad to hear you agree. I would like you to be in charge of building it.”

  Mardoc’s eyes lifted. “Me?” He shook his head. “I am Fallen. It is not my duty to—”

  “Oh, come on,” Trysten said with a grin. “You understand the operation of a weyr better than anyone. Three Borsals couldn’t hope to match your experience and understanding. There is no one in this village better suited for the job. Paege and I will have our hands full with training new hordesmen. Borsal can—”

  “Borsal can have an old man kept out of his hair, and he can have his own weyr back, right?”

  “You’re not an old man,” Trysten said with a shake of her head.

  Mardoc thumped his staff on the wooden floor. “This says otherwise. You are not asking me to do this because I am skilled with a hammer or saw, but rather because I have the wisdom that comes from age. I am an old man before my time.”

  Trysten glanced to the top of the table.

  Mardoc chuckled. It surprised Trysten to hear such a noise from her stone-faced father.

  “I suppose Borsal will just have to contend with my experience until the fighting season is over, won’t he?”

  She shook her head. “We’re building it now. I want a location picked by sunset tomorrow. I want people to start clearing stone and digging the foundation the day after.”

  Mardoc shifted in his seat. “Little Heart—”

  Trysten sighed. “Please, don’t call me that.”

  “We can’t build a second weyr until the peaceful season arrives. We don’t have the lumber,” Mardoc continued.

  “We’re sending a cutting party to the Wilds tomorrow. Tuse has already agreed.”

  “Now? During the fighting season?”

  Trysten scowled. Why were these men so concerned about that? She could understand Tuse’s concern, but her father knew better. He knew about the Second Horde. He knew about her abilities and what they meant.

  “The Western Kingdom is after me. Do you think they’d go after a small cutting party in the hills?”

  Mardoc didn’t answer right away. “Probably not. But if you send out a cutting party, who will you train to ride the empty dragons? There aren’t a lot of young men left to recruit if you send out a cutting party and still expect to have hands available to gather stone and dig a foundation.”

  Trysten sat back in her chair and held her father’s gaze. “Women are willing to do the work.”

  “A cutting party of women?” Mardoc raised his eyebrows. “Surely you can’t—”

  “Recruits.”

  It was Mardoc’s turn to sit back in his chair. “Recruits? You want to get women to fill the empty saddles?”

  “Why not? I’m sure that there are a few women in the village who’d be willing to step up. I’ve already told Kaylar that she could—”

  “Kaylar? The barmaid at the tavern?”

  Trysten sat up in her chair again, her spine as straight as an arrow’s shaft. “She has expressed an interest. I need riders.”

  Mardoc shook his head. “I don’t think that is wise.”

  “Wise? Why not? We need hordesmen. We need people to step up and ride all of these dragons. We have to present a formidable horde for the Western Kingdom. They are coming.”

  “It is the Prince who is bringing you your next battle,” Mardoc said.

  Trysten looked into her father’s eyes. “I am aware of that,” she said calmly.

  Mardoc took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “I agree that it is a good idea to show the Prince that you are capable of fulfilling the role of Dragoneer despite your age and gender. It will be more difficult for him to send you away once he sees how large our horde has become. He would not only be banishing you, but also all of the dragons bonded to Elevera. But if he arrives to see you ignoring the King’s law further by allowing women to be hordesmen, it will make matters worse. You should make plans for a second weyr. Perhaps we can even arrange for the lumber to be transported from the mother city before the end of the fighting season. But we should focus on rebuilding the forces. Every young man capable of flight should be in a saddle by sunset tomorrow.”

  Trysten sat back in her chair again. She raised her hands and threaded her fingers together. To her surprise, her father’s eyes widened as if astonished by something he’d seen.

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “This is the time. I will take recruits from among the women and the men. Anyone who is willing and able to sit in a saddle will train. Now is not the time to cling to outdated rules. We need all the riders
we can get.”

  Trysten sat forward and placed her elbows on the table. “When the Prince arrives, we will show him the prisoners, the swords, the absconded dragons. He will understand that the threat from the Western Kingdom has grown to a new level and that to defend ourselves we must adapt. We do not have the luxury of relying on centuries-old traditions to protect us. We must change to meet the times, or be trodden into the dust of the past.”

  A smile started at the corner of her father’s lips. He peered down at the table and gave his head a slight shake.

  “What’s so funny?” Trysten asked. Irritation flashed and baked off her face.

  “Just now. You reminded me of my grandfather; the way you wove your fingers together and sat back in his chair. I half expected you to call me Mardy. I hated that nickname.”

  “Mardy?” Trysten grinned.

  “I see the mischief in your eyes. Don’t get any ideas. I may be Fallen, but I am still your father, Trysten.”

  “Oh, I’m Trysten now, and not Little Heart?” She leaned forward.

  “You will always be Little Heart to me, even when you’re an old woman.” Mardoc reached across the table and placed his hand on hers.

  “Should I live that long,” Trysten said as she thought of the great-grandfather she had never met.

  “Oh,” Mardoc said with a nod of his head, returning his hands to his lap and sitting back in his chair. “You will live that long. I’ve never met someone more stubborn in my life. You will not fall or die until you have decided you are ready. Of that, I am sure. I would bet my own life.”

  Trysten smiled. “I am what you made me. You and Mother.”

  Mardoc nodded. “You’re more your mother’s child than you are mine. To be quite honest, if I hadn’t been courting your mother when Grandfather died, then I suspect your mother would have insisted on the consideration.”

  It was Trysten’s turn to arch her eyebrows in surprise. “Mother?”

  “She was a formidable one. Strong-willed. Tenacious. Qualities that she has passed on to you.”

  Mardoc sighed, planting his staff before him and grasping it with both hands as if to push himself up to standing.

  “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it is time for men like me to step aside and allow the next generation to find its own way. Until you became Dragoneer, life in Aerona has always been the same since the day I was born. Though nostalgia tells me that is the goal in life, to keep everything just the way it is, I must admit that there are some things left to be desired. Current practices have denied you a grandfather, siblings, and a father who is still capable and—”

  Mardoc held up a hand when Trysten opened her mouth to object.

  “It is enough to say that things could be better. The war with the Western Kingdom has raged since long before my grandfather’s days. The books in here speak of it as if it were in place since the day the heavens fell. I’m not convinced it is wise to recruit women into the weyr, but few who have seen what you’ve accomplished since you became Dragoneer can argue that a woman has no place in the saddle. If you think it is best, then I support you. I have lived by the wisdom of dragons since my birth, and it is by the wisdom of Elevera that I live now. If she has chosen you as her bond, then I choose to follow and support you.”

  Trysten blinked hard and bit her lip. “Thank you,” she said, her words barely a whisper.

  Mardoc tapped his staff on the floor, then with a groan, pushed himself up to standing. His left knee popped as he stood, and his twisted right leg trembled slightly with the effort.

  “If you will excuse an old man, I must go get my rest. I have a weyr that apparently needs to be built by sunset tomorrow.”

  Trysten grinned.

  As Mardoc turned away, Trysten stood. “Father…”

  Mardoc turned half-way around.

  “It is because of you that I was able to achieve this.” She swept her hand across the den.

  Mardoc glanced to his leg, and Trysten thought with sudden horror about what she might have accidentally implied. She shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean —”

  Mardoc lowered his head, then raised it to meet her gaze. “The Dragoneer must provide safety for all in his—for all in her weyr. I have merely done my duty. And if I have done it well, then I have done what was expected of me,” her father said.

  He turned and hobbled off, leaning more of his weight than usual upon the staff, and making no effort to hide it.

  Chapter 4

  The following morning, Trysten emerged from her cottage and peered off to the west. The snow-covered peaks stood out in sharp contrast to the dark blue of the clear dawn sky. She was not surprised to see that no Western dragons and hordesmen headed for Aerona. In years past, there had been only a few clashes throughout the entire season, each one coming weeks apart, but this season felt different. It was a mystery why the Western Kingdom invaded their territory year after year. There were stories and fables, but each was so varied from telling to telling that they were likely the work of bards or tall tales sprung to life inside a tavern.

  There were seventeen prisoners in the village though who would be able to tell her why the Western kingdom attacked them every year. They could explain if only she could understand them. She needed help.

  Several cottages down the lane, Trysten knocked on Galelin’s door.

  “Trysten, my dear,” Galelin said as he opened the door. “Come to greet an old man on this fine morning? Bless your heart. Come in, have a seat. Can I pour you a cup of tea?”

  The usual aromas of tea, woodsmoke, and old paper rolled past Trysten as she entered. Galelin motioned toward a stool at the large table that dominated a good quarter of the one-room cottage. It was messier than usual this morning, covered by books and baskets of scrolls. Many of the books were open. Scrolls stretched across the table with their ends held down by half-empty cups of cold tea, plates dotted with bread crumbs, and even a few stones.

  “Have you made any progress?” Trysten asked as she studied the cryptic markings in a book next to one of the tea cups.

  Galelin stepped up to the side of the table. He studied the cups for a second, then selected the one that appeared to have the least amount of tea in it. He dumped the remains into a clay pot, then filled the cup from a teapot on the hob.

  He handed her the cup. “I’m afraid that progress is not as plentiful as the dragons around here lately. I’ve been studying everything in my library, but I cannot find anything that sheds any light on what language it is the Westerners speak.”

  “Please, Galelin. We have to figure out why they are attacking, why their tactics have changed. We need to learn what they know about the Second Horde.”

  Galelin sighed. His shoulders lifted then sank, and his entire body appeared to deflate like a bellows. He laid his open hand on the book as if comforting a tired mule.

  Trysten nodded to the book beneath Galelin’s hand. “What language is that?”

  “This? Seelian.”

  “The language of the Plains people? You speak that?”

  Galelin nodded. “They are an ample source of food. They conduct a lot of trade. A river as wide as ten River Guls runs through the heart of their land. It is deep enough to allow the passage of great ships and runs to the Northern Sea. The Seelian people trade with kingdoms throughout the land. They are incredible collectors of stories and knowledge. They value education as much as they value food. No scholar would be thought worthy if he didn’t at least understand enough Seelian to read it. But if we could go to Seelia,” Galelin said with a nod to the book, “we might find someone who could speak the language of the Westerners.”

  “You think we could find someone to speak the language there, even though our kingdom lays between the two?”

  “As I said, the Seelians trade widely with others. It is quite possible that they sail along the northern coast, past the Cadwaller Mountain range, and on to the Western kingdom. Why they might even so much as know the Western kingdom’s proper nam
e.”

  Trysten shook her head as she crossed her arms over her chest. “We don’t even know their kingdom’s proper name, yet we battle with them every fighting season.”

  Galelin shrugged, then took a sip of tea. “We are social creatures. Communication is inevitable. But if we do not value words, then we must resort to blows, apparently.”

  Trysten leaned forward and planted her hands upon her knees. “This is ridiculous. We don’t even know why we’re fighting.”

  “I might remind you that we fight because they invade our territory every year.”

  “But why do they invade every year? The Second Horde is new. Something has changed. We need to know what that is. We have to talk to the prisoners, Galelin.”

  Galelin lifted his palms as if surrendering. “You’ll get no argument from me. I would much rather have an exchange of ideas as opposed to an exchange of arrows. But we need someone who can translate. If you can spare someone, it might be worth sending a rider off to Seelia to see if such a person can be found.”

  Trysten gripped her knees. “It’s too far away. The other side of the kingdom. It would take a week to get there on a dragon. I can spare the dragon, but I can’t spare the rider. The next attack could come any time.”

  “Or the Prince might arrive by tomorrow,” Galelin chuckled.

  Trysten sat upright. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m sure you agree that it would be helpful to be able to show the Prince that you have not only captured an enemy horde but that you were also able to establish a dialog and gain some information.”

  “I’m more concerned about getting the information than showing the Prince anything.”

  A wry smile crossed Galelin’s lips. “Of course. Nevertheless, it would impress the Prince, would it not?”

  Trysten looked down to the cup of tea on the table. A bit of color flushed over her cheeks. She hated that it mattered, that she did want to impress the Prince, but it was only to prove that he couldn’t afford to remove her as Dragoneer. Aerona’s future depended on it. Her eyes slipped from the cup to a dragonslayer sword leaning against the wall at the back of the table. Even sitting still, the curved, fine edge of the blade appeared to be sweeping outward, toward Trysten.