The Dragoneer Trilogy

by Vickie Knestaut

  Trysten slipped inside the weyr.

  A watchman looked up from the saddle he was polishing. “Trysten?”

  His bleary eyes dropped to the sword at her hip, then widened in surprise.

  Her hand went to the hilt of the sword, more out of self-consciousness than anything. It felt wrong to wear the sword at her side, and for a second, she considered exchanging it for one of the short swords locked away in the equipment room. There was no time for that now. She jogged forward, between the rows of dragons, all asleep except for Elevera, who stood tall inside her stall and watched Trysten with curious brown eyes.

  “There’s a prowler in the yard," Trysten said as she approached the watchman. "Go back to the bunkhouse and tell the men to arm themselves and patrol the perimeter of the village. Make sure there is nothing wrong.”

  The watchman stood upright. “The army?” All boredom and fatigue had vanished from his eyes.

  Trysten shook her head as she approached the side door. “The army left The Wilds just hours ago. There is no way they could have closed the distance so quickly. Go.”

  The watchman nodded and swallowed. He hurried toward the back of the weyr where the hordesmen slept.

  Trysten dashed out the side door opposite the weyr yard, ran down the length of the weyr and stopped at the back edge of the long building. She pressed her back against the wood planks, took a measured breath, then peered around the corner. Nothing was in sight except the bulk of several sleeping dragons along the edge of the yard.

  As she slinked past the back door to the bunkhouse, footsteps thumped against the wooden floor inside. The night watchman had roused the hordesmen, and they were scrambling to dress and get out the door. She would have to be fast to surprise the intruder.

  Trysten dropped into a crouch and scurried to the nearest dragon, still sleeping despite Trysten’s approach and presence. The dragon’s tail and wings twitched with dreams, and Trysten caught momentary flashes of joy as thick stands of pine trees swept by. She felt a pull in wings she didn’t have, the stretch of muscles she’d never known.

  She gripped the hilt of her sword to ground herself and push away the fragments of dragon dream that threatened to distract her. Over the top of the dragon’s back, she caught sight of Maejel standing. Her neck was still curved back toward the speaker. Trysten turned her head slightly to hear with her own ears instead of with the dragon's ears.

  Whispers.

  She slipped around the sleeping dragon, hurried past the next two, and crouched down behind a fourth dragon. She peeked around the dragon to where Maejel stood.

  The intruder had stopped speaking. In the faint light, she could see that he had grown still. He appeared to be looking in the direction of the royal encampment and the sleeping guard parked before his fire.

  The back door of the weyr opened with a creak. The intruder’s head snapped around, his attention glued to the weyr behind Trysten.

  Fish and birds!

  She took a quick, deep breath, then reached out to Maejel with her mind and pictured the brown beta dragon spreading her wings suddenly and forcefully.

  Maejel’s wings snapped open, and she reared up on her hind legs. The intruder released a grunt of surprise as the dragon swept him from his feet and knocked him to the ground.

  Trysten dodged around the dragon that concealed her and ran to Maejel. The intruder pushed himself up to his hands and knees, but Trysten planted the sole of her boot against his ribs and shoved. The man flipped onto his back. As he scrambled to get back up, Trysten stepped on his wrist, then drew the dragonslayer sword from its scabbard.

  She held the sword in front of her. The intruder stopped struggling and he tried to catch his breath.

  “Sa yalla,” the man said, almost in greeting.

  The fight evaporated from Trysten’s shoulders.

  “Who goes there?” the royal night watchman called, suddenly stirred from his slumber.

  “You,” Trysten said to the intruder. She lowered the sword but kept her foot firm on the man’s wrist. “Maejel’s rider.”

  “Maejel,” the man said, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Maejel bock yallis.”

  “Trysten?” Paege called from the edge of the weyr.

  “I caught the Western Commander. The one who rode Maejel.” She risked a glance back at her own commander. “Secure the village’s borders. Make sure there are no other Westerners around.”

  Paege stood a second, looking confused in the dim light and shadows. He turned away and gave short, hushed commands to the hordesmen who had gathered behind him.

  “What are you doing here?” Trysten asked the fallen commander, even though she knew he wouldn’t understand her.

  “Maejel,” the man said. His head fell back against the ground. He appeared defeated, resigned to his death and his destiny if they happened to be the same. “Bock yallis. Tate mashis kraught. Maejel coonis shab.”

  The royal watchman came to a halt a few steps away. He held a short sword in his grip. “What’s going on?”

  “You tell me,” Trysten growled. “You were on watch.”

  The man audibly swallowed, caught in his own embarrassment.

  “Shab breech. Breech.”

  “By the dragon’s blood! That man is speaking the Western language.” The watchman turned to the tents behind him. “Muzad!”

  “Fish and birds, shut your trap!” Trysten snapped.

  “Are there more of them?” the guard asked, his eyes darting in all directions. “Muzad!” he yelled again at the tents. “We have a prisoner!”

  “I have a prisoner,” Trysten said, not at all pleased to have to defend her authority again.

  Light washed across the side of Maejel’s scales as Paege approached with a torch. He, too, held a short sword in his hand.

  “What is this?” Paege asked.

  As he stepped closer, the light confirmed that the intruder was indeed the former Western commander. His face was pale. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes. He looked like he had been on the run for weeks, though he had escaped the custody of the Prince’s men less than a full day ago.

  Paege met Trysten’s eyes, breaking his gaze only briefly to glance at the dragonslayer sword still clutched in her hands.

  “I found him with Maejel,” Trysten started, then stopped before asking Paege to inspect the dragon. It wouldn’t be necessary. The man wouldn’t hurt his dragon. In fact, his bond with his dragon was why he was here. He hadn’t come back. He never left.

  Trysten glanced at Maejel, then back to the Western commander. As she did, she saw that his gaze had done the same, flitting to his dragon and back as if making sure Trysten hadn’t done any harm. She did clutch a dragonslayer sword, after all.

  Without lifting her foot from the man's wrist, she slid the sword back into its scabbard. The fallen commander visibly relaxed.

  “What prisoner is this?” Muzad called from the other side of the yard.

  The night watchman spun around. “The fallen commander captured in battle, sir. He has returned. No doubt to sabotage our efforts.”

  Muzad drew his sword as he hurried across the yard, and then quickly switched it to his left hand. His right shoulder was still weak after being dislocated while sparring with Trysten and Elevera several days earlier.

  “Put that away,” Trysten said.

  “Put what away?”

  “Your sword. It isn’t needed.”

  Muzad stopped before the Western commander. He leveled the tip of it at the prisoner’s throat. “Pardon me, but I don’t see your sword holding this man at bay.”

  Paege cleared his throat.

  “Oh, and what good are you doing back there?” Muzad asked. “This man could have her leg broken in three places before you were able to even step forward.”

  “Your concern is touching,” Paege spat.

  “Put it away,” Trysten said.

  Muzad turned to Trysten, the flame of Paege’s torch reflected in his eyes. His gaze hardened. “You
can’t be serious. You can’t believe this man doesn’t intend you any harm. A wild army of his countrymen are marching toward us, and I doubt they are coming to help build your second weyr.”

  “He is not here to harm us,” Trysten said.

  Muzad’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh? And why then did this dog come back? Did he miss your company? The touching meeting that you held with him and his dragon?”

  “Muzad,” Paege warned, a rumble in his voice.

  “He couldn’t leave his dragon. Are you so hard and heartless that you can’t see that?” Trysten asked.

  “Hard and heartless? For all the sky, woman! I’m a dragoneer in the royal horde. My duty is to protect the kingdom and its royal family, and this thing here,” Muzad said with a slight jab toward the man’s throat, “is a direct threat to both. We should kill him right here and now.”

  “Kill him? Absolutely not!” Trysten said. Her hands clenched into fists.

  “What will you do with him, then? Put him up in the cottage again? Give him his own bed and chamber pot? Bring him tea, fresh bread, and cheese? This man is an enemy soldier. He is responsible for the death of your own hordesman. Issod, was his name, wasn’t it?”

  “It was the Dragoneer of his horde who killed Issod. Not him. And that man paid with his life.”

  Muzad shrugged. “It might as well be him as any of those animals. Any of them would have filled you and your horde with arrows. And, he attacked my men in his escape. He is dangerous, and right now, we don’t have time for this. I will take care of—”

  As Muzad stepped forward and lifted his blade, Trysten drew her own sword.

  Muzad’s eyes never left the throat of the prisoner. “Can’t stand to let me have that blow, can you?” A sneer twisted over his face.

  Men emerged from the tents across the yard. They placed their hands upon the hilts of their own swords.

  By all that was wild and split, this was getting old. If the situation weren’t so dire, Trysten would almost welcome the army if it meant that she could be free of Prince Aymon’s men.

  “This man is my prisoner, Muzad. You let him escape, and I have now captured him. He is in my custody. You will not touch him.”

  Muzad looked up at her. His face was as hard and set as the stone of the mountains.

  The dragon behind Trysten pushed herself up off the ground until she stood on her claws. She extended her neck and ruffled her wings. Muzad glanced at the dragon, and his bluster appeared to soften a bit.

  “We’re not doing this anymore, Muzad. This is my weyr.”

  Muzad’s gaze drifted back to her as the dragon settled down, but remained standing. Her tail swished once, and Trysten felt the movement of it in her head more than she heard the soft shift of scales over scales.

  “What will you do with him, then? He will only wait until the others arrive, and then he will seek the first opportunity to slit your throat. The longer you allow him to draw air, the sooner it will be that he kills one of your own.”

  “I will protect him from you. And I will protect you from the dishonor of murdering an unarmed prisoner who poses no threat.”

  Trysten looked at the horde of royal dragons along the other side of the yard. The horde had lost a fourth of its dragons and men when the Royal Commander refused to listen to her warning of a trap. She looked back to Muzad, but he had not seen the shift in her attention with Paege’s torch behind her.

  “You will spare an enemy soldier so that he might kill again,” Muzad snorted. “I will gladly bloody my hands to save the lives of the King’s subjects.” He stepped forward and lifted his blade.

  Trysten released the prisoner’s wrist as she moved between him and Muzad.

  Muzad stopped. He stood close enough that the heat of his breath washed over Trysten.

  “You dare to raise your sword to the Dragoneer of the Royal Horde? You know nothing of honor. Stand aside,” he spat.

  “Lower your weapon,” Trysten said, as two more of the former Western dragons stood and ruffled their wings, reflecting her agitation.

  Muzad looked at the dragons, his self-confidence waning. He pulled in a long breath as if he felt the need to puff himself back up.

  “What do you think the Prince will say?” Muzad asked.

  “He will say that I am Dragoneer of this weyr, and as such, I decide what happens with the weyr’s prisoners. That is the law.”

  A sneer crossed Muzad’s face. “The law? You have the wild nerve to tell me the law? That same law doesn’t recognize you as a dragoneer.”

  “The wisdom of dragons recognizes me as the Dragoneer of Aerona weyr, and that is all that matters. Prince Aymon himself has decreed I am the Dragoneer of this weyr. His word should be more than enough for you since you have declared it your sworn duty to protect the interests of the Royal family.”

  Even in the flickering light of the torch, it was plain to see Muzad’s color darken a shade as his shoulders lifted with anger looking for an outlet.

  “Return to your tent, Muzad. You are standing in my yard.”

  Muzad shifted his attention from Trysten to Paege, and then on to the dragons who stood at attention behind her. He swallowed once, then glanced down to the prisoner. His eyes hardened, and finally, he took a step back.

  “You will regret your foolishness one day,” Muzad said. “Whatever enchantment you have over these dragons protects you now, but you will soon meet with a force that even they cannot protect you from. You will regret your misplaced pride on that day. You will wish you had remembered your place.”

  “And your place is somewhere other than my weyr yard. Return to your tent before I have you arrested for trespassing.”

  Muzad stood a moment more, long enough to try and make a point of turning only because he decided it was time to turn around and retreat. His sword whispered as he returned it to its sheath and his shadow grew long and jittery as he retreated from the light of the torch and back to the yard.

  “Carlus!” he yelled. “Were you sleeping at the fire, man?”

  The watchman stood at attention, his shoulders tight and rigid, his chin lifted as if awaiting a blow.

  Chapter 2

  Trysten let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Then she remembered the prisoner behind her. She whirled around and found that he hadn’t moved. He remained on his back and rubbed absently at his wrist while staring up at her.

  “Should we find a cottage to use as a prison again?” Paege asked.

  Trysten didn’t look up from the prisoner. He could have easily delivered a blow to the back of her knees, grappled for the sword. Of course, Paege stood nearby with his own sword drawn. Perhaps the prisoner had realized that Trysten was trying to save him from Muzad. Regardless, he had made no effort against her. He appeared to have surrendered.

  Beside them, Maejel stared down at the prisoner. She held her head out toward him as if she were waiting for the right moment to offer a bit of comfort and assurance. A knot of emotions radiated from the dragon and hit Trysten all at once, threatening to overcome her if she gave into them. She forced herself to focus on the real world around her, not the half-world that the dragons saw.

  The prisoner turned his attention to Maejel. By the wilds, Trysten swore that she could nearly see the man’s heart hammering against his chest, fluttering the grimy sweater that covered him.

  Trysten looked at Paege. “Take him to the weyr. Maejel, too. Find a stall for them both.”

  “Both?” Paege asked.

  She nodded. The prisoner watched her, holding his breath.

  Paege shifted from foot to foot as if unsure of what to do. “Are you sure... Is that wise?”

  Trysten looked back to the prisoner. “He’s here because he couldn’t stand to be apart from his dragon. As long as we’re treating her well, he won’t be a problem.”

  “Just in the stall,” Paege said. “You want me to just put him in the stall? With the dragon.”

  She took a deep brea
th. How much easier everything would be if she could speak to the Western man. She looked off to the west, to where the mountains hid in the night. How wonderful it’d be if at that moment Rast approached, having returned on the back of his courier dragon with some shrewd merchant who knew how to speak both Cadwallian and the language of the West.

  But there wasn’t time to hope for that. The Western army would be on them in days. The Westerners always attacked on the backs of dragons during the fighting season. To send an entire army on foot was a drastic shift in strategy and no one in Aerona knew why the West had changed tactics except for the prisoner.

  Trysten turned to Paege. “We need to learn how to speak his language. And we need to learn fast. He’s the only chance we’ve got to do that.”

  “Five days? You expect to learn to speak his language in five days?”

  “Hopefully we can hold the army off a little longer than that. We don’t have to learn how to compose poetry in their tongue. We just need to know why they are attacking us.”

  “I agree, but still... Just in a stall?”

  Trysten sighed. “Fine. Tie a rope to his ankle. Bind him to one of the posts in the stall.”

  “Rope?”

  “We don’t have shackles in this village, do we?”

  Paege nodded in the direction of the royal encampment. “Something tells me that they do.”

  Trysten's stomach nearly turned at the idea of asking Muzad for anything other than to leave.

  “Post a guard. An armed hordesman will stand watch over him every hour of the day. But it won’t be necessary. I’m telling you that this man...”

  She looked down at him again. He would have become the Dragoneer of his horde, and Maejel the alpha, if Elevera had not killed the horde’s original dragoneer and allowed Trysten to absorb the horde into her own.

  She looked back up at Paege. “This man should be Dragoneer of his horde, and Maejel should be alpha. I know that bond. I tell you that he will not give us any trouble as long as he sees that we are treating Maejel as one of our own, as she is, along with all the other captured Western dragons.”