Paege stepped forward. All of the men in the Prince’s horde grasped the hilts of short swords worn at their sides. Paege halted, glanced at Trysten, then lowered his chin slightly.
“But that you would then dare to presume that you could actually lead a fight.” The Prince shook his head as if chastising a child and continued. “It’s fortunate for you that the Western kingdom has not pressed up to Aerona yet. If so, I dare say your fate would have been even worse than that of the Hollin village.”
“We have engaged the enemy,” Trysten said, her words slow and careful, like drawing a steel sword of her own.
Prince Aymon’s eyebrow shot up.
“Twice.”
The Prince stared at her for a second longer, then a grin crept over his bearded face. Mirth spread to the lines around his eyes. He let out a chuckle, then clapped several times. “Oh!” he called out. “Wonderful, wonderful. Such lovely fiction from such a lovely creature.”
“We have dragons and prisoners captured from the battle.”
The laughter withered from Prince Aymon’s face. “You have prisoners? You have taken prisoners from your battles?”
Trysten gave a single, solid nod. “We have. They are being held in Aerona as we speak.”
Prince Aymon stared at her a second longer, his gaze growing harder. He pointed his finger at her. “If you are lying, woman, I will see to it that you grow old and withered inside a pillory. Now I ask you again, do you tell me the truth when you say you have prisoners of war?”
Trysten stepped forward. “Leading Aerona weyr as Dragoneer, I have taken seventeen captives from battle, as well as nineteen dragons. And I don’t lie.”
The Prince stared a few seconds longer, then clapped his hands together. “Well, then! What are we all standing here for? Let us go on to Aerona and meet our enemy face to face!”
Prince Aymon returned to his dragon. Paege watched the Prince go with enough malice in his eyes that if it were given form, he would have smashed the smug man like a bug beneath a hammer.
Paege tore his gaze away from the back of Prince Aymon and looked to her. He gave a brief nod before turning back to Sone. With a flick of his hand, he ordered the dragon to crouch, and as she did so, he climbed up and took the saddle once more.
Trysten looked from Paege to the Prince. In addition to convincing the Prince to retain her as Dragoneer of the weyr, it seemed that she may also need to persuade Paege that committing an act of treason on her behalf would not be smart.
Chapter 14
Prince Aymon flew point, leading the Aerona horde back to the weyr in an act meant to be perceived as an insult to Trysten and her hordesmen. Behind them, the Prince’s men flew like guards escorting prisoners on the wing. More than once, Trysten watched her hordesmen glance back at the royal horde, looks of obvious disdain on their faces.
Despite the steady chill rain, the village was out in full force watching as both hordes returned. The villagers began to cheer as the dragons neared, but the cheers soon faded as they realized something was wrong. This was not Trysten returning with another captured horde.
The dragons set down in the weyr yard. As soon as Elevera was on the ground, Trysten handed the reins off to a young weyrman who ran to assist her. She stalked straight toward Prince Aymon just as Tuse rushed out to see him.
“Your Highness!” Tuse called as his boots sloshed in the rain-puddled grass. “I am Tuse, overseer of Aerona village. How may I serve you?”
“You may start by showing me these prisoners you are rumored to have.”
Tuse stopped and glanced at Trysten, then back to Prince Aymon.
“Let me introduce Prince Aymon,” Trysten said with a halfhearted gesture in the Prince’s direction.
Tuse glanced from Trysten to the Prince. “Certainly. Certainly. This way, then. One moment please as I make arrangements for your dragon and —”
“Prisoners. Now.”
Tuse dispensed with any further attempts of hospitality that his position required and led Prince Aymon, Trysten, and four of the royal hordesmen across the village to the cottage that housed eight of the prisoners.
“We have eight in here,” Tuse said, then gestured at the next cottage. “Nine in there.”
“Seventeen altogether, then?”
Tuse nodded. “Seventeen.”
“And their dragons?”
“You saw them in the weyr yard, your Highness. We have no place to house them until…” Tuse dropped the explanation as Prince Aymon let himself into the cottage, placing a hand upon a short sword at his belt as he went.
“I am Prince Aymon, son of King Cadwaller. You have invaded our kingdom. I demand to know what you have to say for yourselves.”
Trysten squeezed in around the bulk of one of the Prince’s hordesmen. The prisoners were wary and confused. The one who had spoken so much the previous day looked from Prince Aymon to Trysten. His face grew tight and dark, full of accusation as he glared at her.
“They don’t speak our language, your Highness,” Tuse offered from the doorway. “Our own scholar has been working to establish communication—”
“Tell him not to waste any more of his time,” Prince Aymon said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “These men are hardly more than animals. They know only the language of violence. They understand the bow and sword and little more.”
Prince Aymon turned to one of his men. “You will consolidate all of the prisoners into this one cottage, and you will post a guard until the prisoners have been collected by a sheriff.”
As the hordesman nodded, the Prince turned to another. “You will fly back to the mother city after your mount has had a rest and a chance to eat. You will arrange for a sheriff to come back and collect these prisoners.”
The second man nodded and left the cottage. Prince Aymon turned to the third hordesman. “Determine what hardship this village has endured holding these prisoners for the kingdom. Make sure that it is compensated with meat, grain, or coin in total and seventeen percent more if there are indeed seventeen prisoners.”
Prince Aymon finally turned to Trysten, who was a little shocked at his last order. She had not expected the Prince to recognize the cost to Aerona of keeping the King’s prisoners. Maybe the Prince was more reasonable than she had first thought.
“You said there were also dragons?”
Trysten swallowed.
The vocal prisoner stepped forward. The two remaining hordesmen drew their swords partway. Prince Ayman turned to the prisoner whose face burned and smoldered with anger. The prisoner pointed at Trysten. “Bock nombret sa yalla ough reem!”
Prince Aymon turned back to Trysten. “Dragons.”
“I’ll show you the dragons, your Highness,” Tuse said.
Prince Aymon raised his eyebrow at Trysten and made no further move.
The prisoner shouted again, repeating a variation of his threat, or whatever it was. The Prince showed no sign of having heard it.
Trysten looked from the Prince to the prisoner, then nodded. She stepped into the rain. The Prince’s imperious steps squelched in the mud behind her.
Back at the weyr, Trysten gestured at the Western dragons staked at the edge of the yard, now opposite of the Prince’s own dragons. A large tent had been pitched among the Prince’s dragons, and his men peered out at him from underneath. They looked cold, miserable, and tired, and they watched with quiet, quick eyes as Prince Aymon crossed the yard to examine the rest of Trysten’s spoils.
“So it is true, then?” Prince Aymon asked as he surveyed the line of dragons. “How did you do it?”
Trysten took a deep breath as she recalled the slight jerk and hitch in Elevera’s frame when she snagged the Western Dragoneer in the battle. “Our own alpha. She tore the Western Dragoneer from his saddle. He fell to his death.”
Prince Aymon nodded as if this confirmed a long-held suspicion. He turned to Trysten. “What of the Western Commander?”
“As far as I know, he’s being held in
the other cottage.”
Prince Aymon’s eyes grew wide. It was the first time she had seen the man set back on his heels.
“You have him?”
Trysten nodded. “I believe so. We have the riders that were at the Dragoneer’s right and left.”
Confusion clouded Prince Aymon’s face. It surprised Trysten as if the arrogant man she had been speaking to had just been replaced without her notice.
“What happened to the Commander’s dragon?”
Trysten pointed to a deep, rich brown dragon near the end of the row. She stared at Trysten, her wings half open and dripping rain. She looked put-out as if being left in the weather was an unjust punishment.
Prince Aymon stared at the dragon a second, then turned back to Trysten. The arrogance was gone, crushed beneath a look of naked astonishment. “You mean to tell me, you have both the Commander and his dragon?”
Trysten’s breath caught in her throat and her heart hammered in her ears. Her bones turned to rubber as the Prince made straight for her secret.
She gave a single nod.
He stared a moment more, then looked back to the brown dragon. He turned back to Trysten, his face creased in concentration. “You are sure? You are positive that the Dragoneer is dead, and that the Commander and his dragon are in your custody?”
Trysten pulled in a sliver of breath. She held her chin up, shoulders back. “All of the hordesmen we faced that day are either dead or in our custody. Everyone is accounted for. No one escaped.”
Prince Aymon looked up and down the line of dragons, his neck moving in quick, furtive glances as if growing angry with what he found, or couldn’t find. At last, he whirled around. His wet cape flung a spray of water on Trysten as he turned.
“Muzad!” he shouted at the tent.
The Dragoneer of the Prince’s horde emerged. He trotted across the yard and stopped before the Prince.
“This woman claims that her alpha killed the Western Dragoneer and that she has both the Western Commander and the beta dragon in her custody.”
Muzad glanced from Prince Aymon to Trysten, and then back. “So she says.”
“Is that possible?”
Muzad studied Trysten for a moment. He turned back to the Prince. “It is unlikely.”
“I did not ask if it was likely, did I? I asked if it was possible.”
“I have…” Muzad glanced back at Trysten, then turned his head to the other side of the yard, to his own horde, which stood tall and erect in the rain, noble as statues. “I have heard stories. Legends. Half-drunken songs from roustabout bards.”
Prince Aymon nodded. “Dismissed.” He flicked his fingers as if shaking a bit of soil from his fingertips. Muzad trotted back to his tent.
“You will come with me, Trysten of Aerona,” Prince Aymon said as he started for the weyr.
Trysten followed. In the doorway of the weyr her mother, father, and Uncle Galelin stood huddled to one side. Her mother’s face was full of concern. Galelin was nervous. Her father was stoic as always, his expression unreadable.
As they entered the weyr, the Prince stopped and turned to Trysten’s father. He looked him up and down. “Prince Aymon, son of King Cadwaller.” He extended a hand to Mardoc.
“Fallen Mardoc of Aerona.” He took the Prince’s hand and gave it a curt, solid shake.
“Ah. Fallen. Your service and sacrifice honor us all, and we honor you. You then are the father to this … girl,” Prince Aymon said, gesturing to Trysten.
“She is my daughter, and more than that, she is Dragoneer of Aerona weyr.”
Prince Aymon took his hand back and looked to Caron. “And, my lady, you must be the wife and mother to the village weyr.”
Caron gave a curt nod. Her face grew tight and cold. No one had to wonder what she thought of the Prince. “Caron of Aerona.”
“And you are?” Prince Aymon asked Galelin.
“Galelin of Drowlin.”
“Drowlin? I am not familiar with that place.”
“It lives only in memory. It fell many fighting seasons ago.”
Prince Aymon inclined his head slightly. “Your loss is tragic, and a loss for us all. If you will please excuse us.” As the Prince turned away, Galelin rolled his tired eyes at Trysten.
Prince Aymon motioned for Trysten to follow him as he stalked down the aisle, toward the front of the weyr. Hordesmen and weyrmen all stopped what they were doing. A few onlookers at the entrance watched with wide eyes. Royalty had not visited their village before.
When the Prince turned toward the stairs leading up to Trysten’s den, she gasped. A hand flew to her tunic pocket, but she knew it was too late. She found nothing but an empty fold of fabric where the dragon tooth pendant should have rested. What in the wilds was she thinking not taking it with her when the warning bell rang?
Prince Aymon mounted the stairs, each step ringing with his authority. The crack of his boots against the wood tolled the approach of questions Trysten knew she dared not answer.
At the top of the stairs, the Prince glanced back at Trysten as if to make sure she was still coming. Satisfied, he opened the door and let himself into her den. Her blood boiled at his rudeness, but iced-over with the thought of the pendant she had left on the table that morning.
Trysten glanced down into the weyr. Everyone stared at her, including her parents and Galelin. Her father clutched his staff in one hand, his other arm resting over her mother’s shoulders. Caron nodded once. Her brows furrowed slightly, and she made a move that almost looked as if she were trying to shove Trysten into the den with her chin as if to tell her go get him.
If only it were that simple.
Prince Aymon’s footsteps had passed through the antechamber and on into her den. There was nothing she could do now. At least the waiting was truly over.
Chapter 15
Trysten stepped inside the antechamber of her den and closed the outer door. Immediately, the scent of woodsmoke met her nose. She glanced to the small stove in the corner. Light flickered from the grate. Someone had come into her den and lit a fire while she was gone. That was not uncommon. It was considered a courtesy to keep the room warm for the Dragoneer’s return.
She crossed the chamber to the inner den. Prince Aymon stood in front of the table, blocking her view of the tabletop where she had left the pendant in its small pool of silver chain.
“You may start by telling me exactly what happened in that battle.” He folded his hands behind his back, underneath his wet cape.
“What do you mean?” Trysten asked.
“I mean exactly what you know I mean. It cannot have happened the way you explained. I want you to start from the very moment you were aware of the Western horde. Leave nothing out. I will be asking the same of every hordesman, and if I find out that you withheld even one detail, then I will have you brought up on charges of treason for lying to a royal investigator. Surely I need not inform you of the penalty for such a charge.”
Trysten shook her head. Prince Aymon stepped away from the table. To Trysten’s astonishment, the table’s surface was empty. She glanced to the corner of the room and saw that the box holding the dragonslayer sword was also gone. What in the wilds?
Prince Aymon picked up her chair, brought it around to the front of the table, and sat it against the wall to her left. He then picked up the other chair and placed it against the wall to her right so that both chairs faced each other at the foot of the table.
“Sit,” Prince Aymon said as he gestured at her chair. “Shall I send for something to drink? Would you like a bite to eat?”
Despite the absurdity of the Prince’s apparent attempt to make her feel at home inside her own den, Trysten shook her head. Her mind hummed. Where had the pendant and sword disappeared to? Who had taken it?
Trysten’s eyes darted to the table top again. She thought of Paege and their embrace. He must have done it. He must have scooped them up while she was with the prisoners. He probably started the fire as well.
>
Her worry eased a bit. Paege knew the importance of keeping the sword and pendant hidden in the presence of the Prince and his men.
“Trysten?” Prince Aymon asked.
She glanced up at him.
“Sit.” He gestured at the chair again.
Trysten began to cross her arms, then halted. This was not the time to take a stand. The man had asked for information, had asked for the truth. Trysten took a seat, then a deep breath.
Prince Aymon removed his cape and folded it. He walked back into the antechamber, draped it across a stool and moved it closer to the stove. As he came back into the den, Trysten noticed how much he filled out his black tunic. The man was thick with muscle, and it surprised her. She had expected royal family members to be a bit soft with luxury. She doubted they were used to lean times.
The Prince sat, pulled his left ankle up over his right knee, then folded his hands into his lap. After a second, he gave a slight nod. “I’m ready.”
Trysten glanced at the floor. The dragons were anxious. Nervous. She could feel it, but it was her they were responding to.
She took a deep breath, then began with the moment Rast had pounded on her cottage door in the early morning hours the day of the battle. She told him of the brief ceremony with Tuse, how the sword of Aerona was presented to her, and she held it aloft as she led the horde into battle. She told of Issod, his death, and how Elevera had ripped the Western Dragoneer from his saddle and allowed him to plummet to the ground.
She left out her ability to know what the dragons felt. She omitted how she knew what was about to happen, what orders were being given to the opposing dragons the second they were issued. No one would be able to contradict her, and she had no obligation to tell the Prince things that were private to her and her family. And now, Paege also shared the burden of their secret.
The Dragoneer Trilogy Page 37