“But you don’t know for certain. Just because you say it with important sounding words doesn’t make it so.” It was an accusation, not a question. She shook her head, her braids shifting over the shoulders of her vest. “You are making guesses, even if they are researched ones.”
Prince Aymon sat up in his chair. His brow furrowed a tiny bit. It was the first time Trysten had gotten under his skin, and she resisted the urge to grin. She did not delight in putting him in his place. But he needed to see that she would not be content to remain in the place he had put her.
“There has been no record of an Original inside this kingdom since the beginning of my ancestors’ history,” the Prince huffed. “Now, with your ascension to Dragoneer suddenly there are Originals about. You present a threat to them unlike any that has existed since Adalina. You threaten to stabilize the kingdoms and bring about a new era of prosperity.”
The accusation made Trysten’s head spin with possibility. She had not considered this before. She had merely wanted to protect her village, keep Aerona safe.
She swallowed. “And is that a threat to you as well, Prince Aymon, son of the King of Cadwaller?”
“Peace and prosperity? Hardly.” Prince Aymon snorted.
“Even if it means the end of your own kingdom?” Trysten pressed.
“Why would it mean the end of anything?” Aymon shrugged, feigning confusion.
Trysten held her tongue. Now she understood. The Prince needed her on the side of the King. He knew that if she wanted to, Trysten could form an unstoppable force of dragons and riders. None could stand against her. And Prince Aymon wanted to make sure that her power would preserve the Cadwaller line. If insulated and isolated in the mother city, Prince Aymon thought she could be convinced to support his father, the very man who ordered her banishment.
What would he do if she refused to go? He couldn’t force her. What better way to make her think she had no choice than to invent a blood-thirsty enemy that would come for her and harm the people she loved and was sworn to protect?
How far would he go to make her believe him? Could he have orchestrated the destruction of the cairns at the burial ground? She didn’t think so. He couldn’t have known which cairn to leave undisturbed. Besides, he could not have put that dream inside her head. No, he was right about one thing. The Originals seemed to be back. She needed to speak to Galelin.
Trysten nodded once at the Prince. “I will give it some thought. I’ll come back to you in a day and give you my decision.”
“A day may be too late.”
“I am growing tired of this. Do you honestly expect an open attack on the people of Aerona?” Hands on her hips, she stared directly at the Prince, both eyebrows raised.
Prince Aymon shrugged. “I don’t know what to expect. I suspect they will soon come for you and your horde, and the people of Aerona will try to stop them and be massacred. The people of Aerona could no more stand against nineteen Originals than they could nineteen dragons.”
“If you are even correct,” she said.
Prince Aymon chuckled. “Well then, what do you think their motive is? After they were thwarted in their attempt to kill you in battle, and after they have risen from the grave in the bodies of those you have defeated, what do you think they intend to do?”
“I don’t know. But I find it interesting that you have shifted from portraying the Originals as mere myth to now casting them as certain destruction. Am I that persuasive?” Trysten asked.
Aymon shook his head. “Not at all. Do you know the intent of the Western kingdom?”
Again, Trysten was surprised by his question. She shook her head.
“They intend to destroy us, Trysten. It is plain in their actions. Why do you need to know more of the Originals than you already know to see their intentions?”
She nearly said, if it is, in fact, the Originals, but held her tongue. If this was all an elaborate ruse, she didn’t want to tip her hand. Not yet.
“I’ll be going now,” she said.
Prince Aymon slumped back in his chair and did nothing to hide his irritation. He flicked a hand at the tent flaps. “Go. Until you decide, rest assured that myself and my men will stay for the remainder of the fighting season to ensure the safety of this village.”
“How gracious,” Trysten said. “And how impressive that the royal horde can withstand an assault from nineteen Originals.”
She turned to leave then looked back at the Prince. “If what you say is true, what makes you think the fighting season will even end? Surely Originals are not stopped by snow and ice.”
She ducked out of the tent, but not before seeing Prince Aymon’s face color with the realization that he had underestimated her. Again.
Chapter 28
That evening, Trysten stopped by Galelin’s cottage. As usual, he let her in and offered her a cup of tea.
“I heard that Prince Aymon had a word with you,” Trysten said as she sat upon a stool at his table.
Galelin nodded as he fetched his kettle from the hob. “And I heard that he had a word with you as well. We had a lengthy conversation, to say the least.”
“What about?”
Galelin paused as he glanced over his shoulder. “I’m sure you can imagine.”
“What did you tell him?”
After wrapping the handle with a rag, Galelin picked up the kettle and brought it to the table. “The truth, to a degree. He seemed interested only in what I knew about Dragon Lords, Originals, and magic; all of which amounted to very little.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get involved.”
“No need to apologize, dear,” Galelin said as he placed the kettle down and picked up a tin and a teapot. “I am involved. Part of being a man of learning is that you will be called upon by those less enlightened than yourself to answer questions, whether you know the answers or not.”
He scooped tea leaves from the tin and dumped them into the pot.
“Did he threaten you with anything?” Trysten asked, watching his progress.
“Threaten me?” Galelin glanced up from his tea with a look of surprise and mild amusement. “Why would he threaten me?”
Trysten shook his head. “That seems to be his nature, somewhat. He has been threatening me since his arrival.”
“No,” Galelin said. “He asked me to keep the nature of our conversation quiet, but he did not threaten me.”
“What did you tell him about the Originals?”
Galelin picked up the kettle and poured the steaming water into the pot. “Oh, just what everyone knows. He seemed quite disappointed that I didn’t know more, but to be honest, my work here in Aerona is about keeping the dragons healthy and happy. That is where my efforts are focused.”
“I don’t suppose he told you why he was asking?”
“He did, as a matter of fact. He said that ancient lore was a hobby of his, and he wanted to know what I knew so that he might compile a book on the matter, a compendium of history.”
Trysten let out a frustrated sigh.
Galelin lifted an eyebrow at her.
Trysten shook her head. “He is lying to you.”
She told him of her dream and her multiple visits to the burial ground and what she and Paege and Prince Aymon and his men found. She produced the pendant from her pocket and told him of its dual nature. He studied it hard and drew the light of a candle closer as she pinched the base of the tooth between thumb and forefinger. Her eyes threatened to cross as she regarded the impossibility of two teeth together, in the same place at the same time.
Galelin leaned forward, nearly putting his nose to the tooth before backing off and shaking his head. “I cannot see it for the life of me. But you say your mother can see it as well?”
“And so could your sister.”
Galelin sat back on his stool. He stared down at the table top and looked hurt. “Why would she keep that from me?” he whispered to no one in particular.
Trysten shoved the
pendant back into her pocket. “Can you look through your books once more and find out what you can about the Originals and dragon teeth?”
Galelin picked up his cup and sipped at it, his brow furrowed. “There is an old myth about dragon teeth. It is said that if one scatters them across a battlefield, new soldiers will spring up from them.”
He glanced at Trysten. “I had always written that off as the work of an imaginative bard. It’s difficult to know what is truth and what is fiction when everyone gets to add—or subtract—a tiny bit from every retelling.”
“It has to be more than that. Surely I can’t just take the skull of a dragon to a battlefield and spread the teeth about.”
“No, there is more to it than that. That pendant is...”
“Magic?” Trysten suggested.
Galelin sighed, and the sound was the noise of defeat. “I hate to say it, but I have no other explanation for it. That pendant isn’t simply a dragon’s tooth. It is enchanted somehow. And by someone. It all seems so deliberate now. I thought that the Second Hordesmen themselves were the message. They instead appear to be the conveyance.”
“Can you find out more about them? Can you read up more on the myths of the Originals?”
Galelin took another sip of his tea as his eyes fluttered closed. Once he pulled the cup away from his face, the bags beneath his eyes were more pronounced than the last time she had seen him. He looked impossibly old and tired as if he had aged years since she became Dragoneer.
Trysten reached out and placed her fingers over Galelin’s wrist as he sat the cup back down. “I don’t mean to push you too hard or too far...”
Galelin nodded. His eyes opened, and he peered at her. “Such is the burden of knowledge combined with ignorance. I do not know what I need to know, but I do know where to search for it.”
Galelin let out another sigh. “I will tell you this, however. It occurs to me that if you can see the enchantment in that tooth, and so can your mother, and her mother could also, then it seems reasonable to assume that the person responsible for the enchantment could also see it.”
Trysten pulled her hand away as she sat up straight. “How else would she know it was done correctly?”
“She. So you do understand what that implies?” Galelin asked.
“That it was a woman who enchanted the pendant. A woman descended from a line of dragoneers.”
“It would be interesting to visit another garrison, would it not? Find a dragoneer’s daughter and see if she can see the enchantment as well. Or is it only the women of your particular line that can see it?”
Trysten’s breath caught in her throat. Such a thing hadn’t occurred to her. Hollin was gone. Where was the next weyr? North. Silas. She didn’t know the Dragoneer who ruled there, but surely her father would, and might know if he had a daughter.
She shook her head. No. She couldn’t go to Silas with the pendant. She could send for the daughter. Have her come to Aerona. But not during the fighting season. It would have to wait.
Trysten stood from the stool. “Please excuse me, but there’s something I need to do.”
Galelin shook his head. “If you are going to Silas, can you carry a letter for me? I wish to keep in touch with the local dragon healers when I can.”
“I’m not going. I can’t leave here. Not during the fighting season. Not with all this going on. It will keep until the peaceful season.”
The crows feet around Galelin’s eyes deepened a bit. He nodded. “Wise. The waiting might just be over.”
Trysten gave him a confused look. “Waiting? What waiting?”
“The Western kingdom,” Galelin said with a nod towards the mountains beyond his cottage walls. “They haven’t attacked. Either the disappearance of two hordes spooked them enough to keep them from sending more hordes our way, or more likely, they are waiting for something. The reanimation of nineteen Originals might be what they were waiting for.”
Trysten nearly jumped. That thought hadn’t occurred to her, either. It could also explain why nothing had been seen in Aerona, even though there had been plenty of time for the revived hordesmen to approach on foot from the burial grounds. They may very well have emerged from the cairns and traveled west, toward the mountains.
And then what? What would the Western kingdom do with a horde of Originals?
It was a frightening thought, but Trysten agreed that it felt like she wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.
Chapter 29
The following morning, as Trysten approached the weyr, she slowed and watched the weyrboys in the yard tending to the Western dragons. The boys were nervous, distracted by the royal hordesmen on the other side of the yard.
The Western dragons focused on Trysten. Every pair of cat-like eyes followed her. She felt their curiosity, then bone-twitching restlessness and heavy, thick boredom. The brown dragon—the former Western beta—raised her wings and stretched them out. In response, the weyrboys scattered, backpedaling with their shovels and rakes as they cleared the space. Although the dragon wouldn’t intentionally hurt the weyrboys, they had learned to be careful nonetheless.
The brown dragon shook her wings, then her head. A shiver worked its way down her neck and along her body before she stretched, lengthening herself out across the yard and arching her tail behind her, like a dog shaking off water.
An irresistible urge to stretch washed over Trysten. She lifted her arms and extended them behind herself. The dragons were bored. They itched to return to the sky. She saw it all clearly in her head.
Her breath stopped. She saw it all. The dragons were thinking of the sky, of flying, of wind and clouds. She saw it in her mind and felt the pull of it in her muscles, even in muscles she didn’t have. It was her connection. Could she use that connection to communicate with the prisoners?
The hordesmen of Cadwaller communicated with their dragons through touch and hand signals, but the dragons were intelligent beings as well. They knew some words for things. When the weyrmen spoke of goats, the dragons knew they would be fed before long. They knew talk of water meant their troughs would soon be full.
What if the Western dragons knew the language of the Western kingdom? If that was the case, then Trysten may have had a translator available the entire time.
She approached the brown dragon and stared up into her golden eyes.
“Sa yalla,” Trysten said.
The dragon continued to regard her with a passive and curious gaze.
“Sa yalla,” she repeated the phrase the prisoner had used. She touched the tip of her finger to her breastbone. “Sa yalla.”
The dragon’s tail flicked. She stared and waited. She wondered if Trysten had come to ride, to take her to the sky.
A sigh escaped Trysten’s lips.
“Is that her name?” one of the weyrboys asked.
“No,” Trysten said as she continued to stare at the dragon. “I don’t know what her name is.”
“What does it mean then?”
Trysten shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s something that I heard one of the prisoners say.”
“Sa yalla!” the boy barked as if issuing a command to a stubborn dog.
The dragon continued to stare at Trysten in a thick and heady mix of anticipation and hope laced with boredom. The words had no effect on her.
Trysten knew it was the lack of context. The dragons communicated with each other through a series of very subtle noises and cues. Context was important to them. A word meant one thing in a specific situation, and something else in another. If she were speaking of goats while in the air, the dragons knew that they would not get fed. They didn’t eat in the sky. They ate in the weyr.
Likewise, repeating foreign words that meant nothing to her would probably mean nothing to the Western dragons as well. She was most likely speaking them out of context.
But one of the prisoners would know the context and the meaning of the words. If Trysten could observe as one of the prisoners spoke to one of the dragons
, she might be able to glean something from the dragon’s understanding. But did the prisoners even talk to their dragons?
There was one way to find out.
Trysten gathered Vanon and a few of the hordesmen from the weyr. They armed themselves with short swords, and together they approached the cottage in which the prisoners were being held.
The royal hordesman serving as the guard at the door lowered his hand to the hilt of his sword as Trysten neared. She expected him to ask what they wanted, but he remained silent even after they came to a stop before the cottage.
“I want to speak to one of the prisoners. We need his help in a matter with the Western dragons,” she said.
“The prisoners are not to be bothered,” the guard offered.
Trysten leaned forward slightly. “They are my prisoners.”
The guard shook his head. “Not anymore. They are Prince Aymon’s. They are not to be bothered.”
“They are in Aerona. Until they are removed from Aerona, I will see them as I please. Furthermore, I have an agreement with Prince Aymon that neither he nor any of his men will interfere with village business until his investigation is complete. You are interfering.”
“I am performing my duty. I serve the King.”
“As do I. But my duty to King—”
“Your duty to the King is to obey his orders,” the guard interrupted.
Trysten inhaled deeply. Did she really have the time to wait until Aymon was available to complain about his guard? No. This was her weyr and her village.
She drew her shoulders back. “This is weyr business. As Dragoneer of Aerona weyr, I order you to stand aside. If you do not obey, you will be arrested and taken prisoner yourself.”
The guard’s eyes flashed to Trysten’s left, and then her right at waist-height. He was watching as the hordesmen behind her placed their own palms upon the hilts of their swords.
The guard locked on Trysten’s gaze again. “I answer to Prince Aymon alone.”
She lifted her hand to shoulder height, then flicked her finger at the guard in imitation of the Prince. “Arrest this man.”
The Dragoneer Trilogy Page 45