The Dragoneer Trilogy

by Vickie Knestaut

  Trysten screamed until hoarse. She pushed Elevera as fast as she could, and as they approached the slope of the mountain, she matched one of the riders at the end of the formation.

  “It’s a trap!” The words tore at her throat. “A weapon in the woods. Hidden! It killed Aymon’s dragon!”

  At the mention of the Prince’s name, the hordesman glanced at her.

  “Do you understand?” Trysten shouted. “It’s a trap. They’re leading you into a trap!”

  The rider looked forward, off to the dragons ahead of them. A few glanced back at him and Trysten. A few shouts were exchanged up and down the formation, all of which had to do with her, and none of which mentioned a trap.

  Finally, Zandell, riding in the stead of Muzad, looked back at Trysten, then signaled for her to retreat to the weyr.

  “It’s a trap!” she yelled. Her voice broke.

  The commander repeated his order.

  The rider to Trysten’s right pulled his bow from the side of his saddle. He clutched it in his hand, holding it at his side.

  “I’m trying to save you!” she pleaded.

  With a sneer, the rider waved her off. “We don’t take orders from little girls!”

  Trysten leaned forward some, placed her hands upon the side of Elevera’s neck. The mountains were close. Below, she saw not only the site of the cutting party massacre but smoke rolling from the woods where Elevera had laid down fire.

  And between the two, along the edges of The Wilds, scores of men marched forward. The vanguard carried long shields of metal meant to protect them from dragon fire. Behind them, archers drew arrows from quivers and fitted them into longbows. More men exited the forest, swelling the ranks of an invasion force.

  “Hey!” Trysten shouted, and her voice broke again. She jabbed her finger in the direction of the army as she yelled at the hordesman beside her.

  He stared. His face, bearded and burned by sun and wind, fell into concern, then dawned into realization. Trysten watched as the information spread across the horde, as every man saw the army emerging from the woods.

  The commander urged them on, repeated his command to pursue the enemy horde.

  Trysten pointed at the base of the mountain, jabbed her finger emphatically. “It’s a—” Her hoarse throat locked up. A coughing fit wracked her beaten lungs.

  The other rider shook his head and waved a hand at the longbow archers below. “No threat,” he yelled back. “We’re too high.”

  “No!” Trysten croaked.

  The man waved her away.

  The edge of the Wilds approached fast. Trysten allowed Elevera to slow. She closed her eyes and willed the other dragons to slow down, lift up. She tried to convey that it was a trap. In her mind, she pictured over and over the sight of the spears launched impossibly high into the air. She recalled the fall of Prince Aymon’s dragon, the way she twisted and crumpled in the air. The snap and crack of the trees as Chyrvan crashed through the canopy. The streams of blood across the royal dragon’s pearl-colored chest.

  It didn’t work. The royal dragons charged on, driven by the commander and his beta.

  Trysten pulled back. She lifted on the lip of her saddle and flicked her heel into Elevera’s side. The dragon broke pursuit and swept away. Trysten tried not to look, but when the forest erupted with a series of cracks and answering thumps, she wrenched her neck back, unable to ignore the unfolding horror.

  Four dragons, including the beta, crashed into the woods. A fifth dragon struggled with an injured wing. The rider frantically signaled for help.

  Trysten’s grip tightened on the saddle as the pain of the dragons wracked her body. The fifth dragon tried to land in the treetops like an over-sized bird, but fell with her screaming rider.

  With the army ahead and behind, there would be no saving those men.

  The remaining members of the royal horde spread out and doubled back. The men shouted, hollered and gestured wildly to each other.

  Trysten took in a deep, hot breath that only fanned the rage inside her. Why in the wilds would they not listen to her?

  She closed her eyes, tried to reach out for the surviving royal dragons, to take them into her horde. But their bond to their alpha was too great for her and Elevera to overcome. The remaining men were marooned upon their mounts until the dragons returned to the alpha of the injured Muzad. They raced for Aerona, as they should have all along.

  Trysten turned Elevera away from the mountains and toward home. The ache of the dragon’s muscles hung over her. They were far above the archers, but the army was on the move, heading east. Elevera matched the pace of the royal horde, and together, they flew back to Aerona.

  At no point, would any of the royal hordesmen look at her.

  Chapter 38

  Exhausted, Elevera hit the ground a little harder than she meant to. As she rocked forward and her haunches absorbed the impact of the hard landing, Trysten thought briefly of her father and Aeronwind and their final landing.

  Around her, the dragons of the royal horde took the ground. Riders vaulted off their mounts, and like Trysten, they rushed toward the Prince’s tent. Having dismounted first, however, Trysten beat them all there and stormed inside.

  Kaylar leaped to her feet from a stool beside the cot. Prince Aymon lay propped up against a pile of pillows. Dark bags beneath his eyes were made all the worse for his pale flesh.

  “Trysten?” Prince Aymon asked.

  The canvas rustled behind her as the first of the royal hordesman barged in. “Zandell is dead, sir,” the hordesman barked.

  Trysten glared at the man over her shoulder. He appeared to be considering whether or not Prince Aymon would be added to the ranks of the fallen.

  “Zandell?” Prince Aymon asked. “How?”

  The hordesman met Trysten’s eyes for a second, then looked back to the Prince. “A trap, your Highness. The Western Kingdom has amassed an army and hidden it in The Wilds. They have weapons that throw spears at an incredible speed and force. They came out of the trees. We had no warning.”

  The man would not look at Trysten again. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  Trysten turned on him. “No warning?” she cried. Her hoarse voice ached.

  “I’m aware of the army as well as the weapon. We have Trysten to thank for that,” Prince Aymon announced.

  Trysten turned back to him in surprise.

  “Take the fastest dragon remaining and proceed to the mother city,” the Prince ordered. “Let my father know of the army moving against him. Have him send as many reinforcements as possible immediately. Go now.”

  The hordesman gave a sharp nod, then exited the tent. He murmured as he explained his orders to the men gathered outside.

  “Excuse us, please,” Trysten said to Kaylar.

  Kaylar nodded, then after a parting glance at Prince Aymon, she left the tent as well.

  “You didn’t —” Prince Aymon began.

  “I cried myself hoarse!” Trysten rasped. “I nearly ran Elevera into the ground trying to catch up with them. I yelled and signaled, and when I finally caught up with them and told them it was a trap, they waved me off. They threatened me. They said they don’t take orders from little girls!”

  She stepped closer to the Prince. “For all the sky, man! If your men had listened to me, five of them would still be alive! But they died. We need every rider we can get, and those five men died because you are too closed-minded to even consider my value.”

  Aymon flinched.

  Trysten planted her hands on her hips. “You have undermined me and threatened me and shown open contempt for me since your arrival, and it has cost you five men and six dragons, Aymon! Their blood is on your hands. Your hands. For no good reason.” Trysten spat her last words, her voice barely a croak.

  “You’re right,” Prince Aymon said quietly.

  Trysten could not recall ever being so tired and wondered if she had heard him correctly. “What?” she asked.

  “You’re absolutely r
ight,” Prince Aymon said again. He attempted to push himself up in his cot but stopped as a grimace of pain blossomed across his face. “We should have listened to you. I, above all, should have recognized the strength of your character and spirit from the start. You are the bravest person I have ever fought beside, Trysten.”

  Trysten blinked.

  “I owe you my life,” he continued. “After all of my threats, after everything I have promised to take from you, after all of my mistreatment, you risked your life to save mine. You embody everything noble, brave, and courageous about a dragoneer.”

  He struggled into a sitting position and continued, “I speak with the full authority and weight of my father, the fourth King of Cadwaller. I hereby order you, Trysten of Aerona, to serve as Dragoneer of Aerona weyr.”

  Trysten lifted her chin slightly. “Since Aeronwind died, I have always been Dragoneer of Aerona weyr. I’ve done nothing else and I’ve wanted nothing else.”

  Prince Aymon’s head fell back on the pillows piled behind him. A slight smile teased the corners of his lips. “Of course. But what I am saying is that I now officially recognize that, which means that everyone else must as well. Furthermore, I am rescinding my father’s orders.”

  “As they pertain to me, or as they pertain to all women?” Trysten asked.

  “All women?” the Prince responded, seeming confused.

  “Kaylar saved your life as much as I did. Yet you would forbid women from being hordesmen.”

  Prince Aymon’s gaze fell to the table between them. He nodded. “I have thanked her for her service to the kingdom as well. Let me just say that as Dragoneer, I will trust you to run your horde as you see fit.”

  “And other women? Can women be dragoneers as well?” Trysten asked, pinning him with a look.

  “You are a special case, as we’ve established.” Prince Aymon met her stare. He studied her for a moment. “I look forward to discussing the matter later. Right now, we have only five days to prepare for a war.”

  Trysten gave a single nod. “I will hold you to that promised discussion. But why five days? When I chased your horde back to the mountains, I saw the army again. They’re marching. The woods are on fire where Elevera lit them. The army is streaming down out of the hills, and it only takes a day for a person to walk from here to The Wilds.”

  “You may know a lot about dragons, Trysten, but I know more about tactics and strategy. An army is not a man. It would take an army two days to cover that distance, and they would attack on the morning of the third. Those new weapons will slow them down even more.”

  Trysten closed her eyes and ran her hand over her face. What could they do in five days that would make any difference?

  Aymon continued. “Anything powerful enough to launch spears like we saw must be a large, cumbersome piece of machinery. One that would require a team of horses or oxen to pull, and it sounded like they had more than one. That will be to our advantage. Fetch Muzad. And the village overseer. We must make plans if we are to stand against the Western army and prevail.”

  Trysten looked at the Prince a moment longer, then ducked out of the tent. Kaylar, Paege, and her mother were waiting for her. Kaylar threw out her arms and drew Trysten into a great embrace.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear everything!” Kaylar whispered into Trysten’s ear. “I’m so proud of you!”

  Trysten smiled at the recruit. “Thank you, but we’ll have to celebrate later. We have to prepare for the Western army.”

  Caron gasped, pointing at the gash in Trysten’s armor. “You’re hurt!”

  Trysten looked down, then recalled the wound in her side. It throbbed in pain, but it became difficult to keep her own injuries and those of the dragons from tangling in her mind. She forgot which were hers and which weren’t.

  “It’s nothing,” Trysten said.

  “So said your father many times,” Caron said quietly.

  “I’ll look after it soon,” Trysten promised. “Paege, fetch Tuse and bring him back to the Prince’s tent. There is an army marching on Aerona, and we must prepare.”

  Paege nodded and took off.

  Kaylar pointed at the tent. “I’ll make sure Aymon doesn’t need anything.”

  Trysten raised an eyebrow, but it went unnoticed as Kaylar slipped into the tent.

  Trysten turned to her mother. The tips of Caron’s fingers covered her lips, her face was ashen. Trysten had never thought that her mother could be rattled by anything. She longed for the days, not long ago, when her mother would hold her, stroke her hair and tell her everything was going to be fine. But there wasn’t time, and that girl was gone.

  Trysten’s hand undid the laces over her left side that held her armor in place. She slipped her hand into her tunic and pulled the pendant from her pocket. She held it in her open palm.

  Caron touched her on the shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “I’m sure there will be. Tell Galelin what is going on, that the village must stand against an army. There will be wounded. He will direct the response. Send Father to the weyr if he’s not there already.”

  Caron nodded. Her eyes were heavy with unshed tears as she turned and left to find Galelin.

  Trysten turned toward the next tent, the one in which Muzad slept with several other men, though there were cots that would remain empty now.

  She looked up. Above the roofs of the cottages, the mountains rose into the evening sky. They were dark with shadow even though the sun’s light poured over the village still. There, in that shadow, stirred the most significant threat the kingdom had ever seen with nothing to stop it but Aerona.

  She held the pendant up before her. It swayed on its chain.

  There were only a few hundred people in Aerona. She had seen at least that many marching forward as the royal horde fell through the trees. How many more were hidden in The Wilds? How could the village possibly stand against such a force?

  She took a deep breath. Enough. There was work to be done.

  She locked the pendant around her neck. She was the Dragoneer, bonded to the unstoppable golden alpha. They would prevail.

  Aerona would stand.

  Vickie Knestaut & Danny Knestaut

  The Dragoneer: Book 3

  Aerona Stands

  I

  Strategies

  Chapter 1

  Trysten sat up in bed and held her breath. Her fingers curled into her blanket as she leaned forward slightly and listened, trying to hear more of the stream of hushed words that had wakened her. Whispered words in a language she did not speak.

  Her father’s soft snoring filtered through the cottage wall. She closed her eyes. The whispering was gone, vanished. Perhaps it had been a dream. She reached out to the dragons in the weyr. They were calm, not in any danger. But one of the dragons was listening intently. Trysten focused on that one dragon as if watching a single bird among a flock fluttering against the sky. It was Maejel, the former beta of the Western horde Trysten had captured.

  Someone was speaking to the dragon. Speaking to her in the Western tongue.

  Trysten gasped. A Westerner. Not only was there an army of Western soldiers descending upon the village, but there was one in the weyr yard right now, speaking to Maejel.

  She threw her covers aside, and her feet hit the floor. Quickly, she pulled on leggings, a tunic, and her boots, then hauled a wooden box out from beneath her bed. She lifted the lid. Her breath paused again as she stared at the vicious, curved blade of the dragonslayer sword.

  Touching the thing felt wrong, as if using it dishonored the dragons the Second Hordesmen had slain with it, but it was too dark to shoot arrows in the village. Besides, she hoped the Westerner whispering to Maejel would be as frightened of the sword as the Western prisoners were the first time she had shown it to them.

  She removed the sword and scabbard from the box and strapped them to her waist. The weight tugged at her hip. It felt awful to wear the thing at her side, but now was not the time for sub
tlety.

  With a hand on the hilt of the sword, Trysten crept over to the weyr as fast as she dared. The lanes of the village were empty this time of night, though lanterns burned beyond the windows of more than one cottage, betraying the sleepless inhabitants.

  Trysten stopped outside the weyr and looked to the west. The army was five days away if Prince Aymon was to be believed. Still, she peered into the dark beyond the village border, looking for anything unusual.

  The wound in her left side throbbed and her jaw tightened as she drew in a sharp breath through her teeth. By the wilds, she was tired. Her muscles ached, as did the dragons in the weyr and she felt all of it. Elevera and Verillium were especially sore from yesterday’s flight from The Wilds with an enemy horde in pursuit, and the others had spent the entire day in the air searching for the escaped prisoners.

  A north breeze drifted through the village. It carried with it whispers of the River Gul as the water chuckled over the stones at the river’s edge.

  Trysten peered around the corner of the weyr. The night watchman for the royal horde sat on a short stool before the remains of a fire, his chin against his chest. His shoulders rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. Across the yard, shadows hid the dragons captured from the Western horde. Though she couldn’t see them, Trysten knew they were all curled up on the ground, asleep beneath the thick carpet of clouds, dreaming their odd and startling dreams. All except for Maejel, who stood with her neck curled down, her head lowered to someone at her side.

  Trysten closed her eyes and focused on Maejel. Her skin tingled where a hand rested against the dragon’s side.

  Coonid shab. Ratch ayis maycalla tae opith bock yallis. May bock yallis.

  The muscles in Trysten’s shoulders and hands tightened as the words came to her. In her mind, she saw the sky stretching up and over impossibly high mountain peaks, clouds scuttling behind them as if clearing by mere inches.

  She squinted into the dark. It was impossible to see who stood there, or whether it was one man or many. She glanced at the short, stubby tower atop the weyr. Where were the night watchmen?