The Dragoneer Trilogy

by Vickie Knestaut

  Paege rubbed at his chin with the palm of his hand as he considered something over her shoulder. He then looked back to her. “I’ve been talking to Galelin about the old myths, the lore. He’s been telling me about Adalina, and the kingdom that she used to command.”

  Trysten swallowed hard.

  Paege shook his head. “How does Prince Aymon write himself and his family into that legend?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is Adalina that controlled the united kingdoms. She had a vast horde of dragons. None could stand against her.”

  Trysten shook her head. “You should talk to Aymon, then. He says that he’s done some research into those legends. He says that there was an Adalina, but she didn’t use a vast horde of dragons to control the kingdom. It was a genuinely peaceful and prosperous kingdom. She ruled because she was well-liked. Because she treated her subjects well and made sure they prospered.”

  Paege’s brow lifted slightly. “So then how was it that her kingdom came to an end if everyone loved her so much?”

  Trysten thought of Aymon’s accusation that it was the Originals that had undermined her. Could it have been? Or did the Prince really fear her, and it was part of a scare tactic to bring her and her powers under his influence?

  “Jealousy," Trysten said. "The surrounding kingdoms were envious of her and her power. Her wealth. I mean, the wealth of her kingdom. They banded together and overthrew her.”

  “So what you’re saying then, is that peace and prosperity was such a great threat to these kingdoms that they went to war with a superior force to end Adalina’s rule.”

  Trysten blushed. Heat spread over her face as she sensed she had just strolled into a trap. “Your point?”

  “You consort with the enemy. You talk of bringing about peace while you wield an ability that could bring every surrounding kingdom to its knees—”

  “I would never do that!” Trysten protested.

  “You wouldn’t, no. But the Prince would. He expects it because it is what he would do. Don't you see?” Paege asked.

  Trysten thought of Muzad, and his accusation that they kill Rodden before he had a chance to kill them.

  Paege stood up straight. He lifted his elbow from the half-wall, and his hand hovered in the air for a moment, as if ready to reach out, before it fell to his side. “All I’m saying is that you have to be careful. I know Prince Aymon has said that he has rescinded his father’s order against you, but he fears you. And your... bond with Rodden here might be seen as further justification for his fear.”

  “Do you think I did the right thing?”

  Paege looked back at Maejel and Rodden for a moment. He turned back to Trysten. “I would weep with relief if I could toss this aside forever.” He clasped his hand against the sword at his side. “I don’t want to be a warrior, but I do want to protect those I love.”

  Trysten swallowed. “The village.”

  Paege nodded, his eyes holding hers. “Of course.”

  Trysten looked to Maejel and Rodden to give her eyes someplace else to go for a moment. She took a deep breath, then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what Prince Aymon thinks because his fears are unfounded. Aerona comes before all, and the kingdom after that. We are subjects of the King, loyal hordesmen to the last.”

  She looked back to Paege, her eyes now as hard as dragon scales. “His ignorance of us, of me, might bring him fear, but our actions will show our hearts. Once we turn back this army, there will be no doubt where our loyalties lie.”

  Paege grinned. “Well said.” There was a slyness to his grin as if having something confirmed that he long suspected.

  “What?” Trysten asked.

  Paege shook his head, and his grin only grew wider as he dropped his smiling eyes to a spot between them.

  “No, what?” Trysten insisted.

  Paege looked up. “I remember playing dragoneer with you when we were little. The way you used to hold up a plank of wood and swear to defeat all the Western hordesmen. And off we would fly on our make-believe dragons until one of us tripped over a stone in the ground. I never in my wildest dream thought it would actually come to be, that here we would stand, Dragoneer and Commander, facing down the greatest threat our village has ever known.”

  Trysten’s brow arched. “Well, I’m glad you find it amusing.”

  “I don't,” Paege said with a shake of his head. “It’s just a memory that popped into my head. Besides, we always won. We won every time, didn’t we?”

  Despite everything, Trysten grinned as she recalled Paege as a boy, thin and wiry running along beside her, gripping an imaginary saddle lip before him as he urged on his imaginary dragon named Wind.

  “Every time,” she said with a nod.

  Chapter 5

  At the first light of day, Trysten watched Paege and a group of hordesmen saddle their dragons and take to the sky to scout out the army in the west. They would return later in the day with more information on the army's size and the speed of their approach.

  After watching them disappear over the horizon, Trysten walked to Galelin's cottage and knocked on the door. When Galelin didn't respond, she rapped the door again.

  A soft thump came from inside along with a muffled curse.

  “Galelin?” she called.

  “One moment...” the old man croaked, his voice hoarse.

  The door creaked open. Galelin greeted Trysten with a head of wild, thin hair and eyes swollen with sleep. “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Galelin looked around the village lane and squinted as if the daylight through the broken gray clouds was a bit unexpected, but not entirely unheard of.

  “No bother,” he said, then waved his hand as if dismissing the village. “What can I do for you?”

  “I can come back later.” Trysten began to step away.

  Galelin clucked his tongue. “My dear Dragoneer, it is my understanding that an army is marching upon our village from the mountains. It seems to me that there aren’t that many laters to choose from. I am awake now, and there is a pile of books and papers requiring my attention. Come in and start a cup of tea for an old man as I straighten up my mess.”

  Galelin disappeared into the shadows of his cottage. Trysten stepped inside, closed the door, and waited for her eyes to adjust. Embers glowed in the hearth but offered little light to supplement the muddy daylight that filtered through the dusty curtains hanging over the windows.

  In the middle of the room, a pile of books and papers lay spread out across the floor like the remains of an avalanche that had tumbled from the seat of a nearby chair. With popping knees, Galelin lowered himself to the floor and began to straighten the mess.

  “Let me get that,” Trysten said as she took a step forward.

  “By the time I get these books back in the order I would like them, the tea should be done,” Galelin said without looking up.

  Trysten paused, then moved to the fireplace. She added wood and stirred the embers. A small flame caught as she glanced around for teacups.

  “Now what is it that you wanted to see me about in the first place?” Galelin asked. “Surely you didn’t find me some fresh trinket to look at last night, did you?”

  “Not exactly,” Trysten said slowly.

  The sound of rustling paper stopped. Trysten looked over her shoulder. Galelin rested on his knees, sitting back on his heels. “Not exactly?” he asked.

  “I recaptured one of the prisoners last night. He came back. Or he never left. I found him talking to Maejel.”

  “Maejel? If you’ll please forgive an old man’s memory—”

  “Stop that,” Trysten said. “You’re not an old man. You know every single dragon by name the minute they enter our weyr.”

  “Recent events have certainly aged us all," Galelin grumbled. "You captured one of the escaped prisoners? I assume then that you wish me to continue my interrogations.”

  “You know m
ore about their language than anyone in the village.”

  Galelin leaned forward and resumed sorting the mess of papers and books. “I’m afraid that what I know doesn’t amount to much. I never did find any references to their words in any of my books. All I have is a ragged piece of parchment with their words in one column, and a possible meaning in the other.”

  Trysten stood, dusted her palms together, then took the kettle from the hob. It was empty.

  “You’ve got more of a start than anyone else here,” she said.

  “Be that as it may, I can’t believe that language lessons would be the best use of my time.”

  The empty kettle dangled from Trysten’s fingers.

  Galelin looked up from his fresh stacks of books and papers. He sat back on his heels again. “I heard that Prince Aymon believes it will take five days for the army to cross the plains. I find that a little hard to believe, but he’s a man of the military, far more versed in these matters than I am.”

  Galelin looked around the one-room cottage cluttered with books and papers and baskets and jars and boxes. “Suffice it to say, I have less than five days to do something with the most important of these treasures, and then I have to prepare for the inevitable casualties.”

  Trysten shook her head. “But you always prepare before the fighting season begins. You stockpile the salves and bandages and supplies that you’ll need for the season.”

  “Yes,” Galelin said with a nod. “For the dragons. But I dare say that the stock I keep for their riders is a little more limited. I suspect the human toll will be greater than the dragon toll this time.”

  The empty kettle pulled Trysten’s hand down to her side as if filled with molten lead. She shook her head.

  “You don’t think the army will make it here, to Aerona, do you?” Galelin asked. He rubbed absently at his thighs.

  “If we could speak to the Westerners,” Trysten said, avoiding his question, “then we might be able to minimize the casualties. If we knew why they are attacking, we might be able to better defend ourselves.”

  After a lengthy pause, Galelin sighed. “I’m afraid five days simply isn’t enough time. I wish it were. The gods above know that I would be the first in line to seek a peaceful solution to this nasty business, but I worked with those prisoners for how many weeks? Two? And all I have to show for it is a translation chart that might be half correct, and doesn’t cover enough to convey even the simplest ideas between our two peoples.”

  “It’s different now. The prisoner I have now, Rodden is his name—”

  “That’s a strange name,” Galelin said, his brow creasing. “Why would you give him such a name?”

  “No, that is his name. He told us.”

  “He told who?”

  “Me and Paege. Well, me. He told me.”

  Galelin arched an eyebrow. “It sounds to me like you already have a rapport established with this man. Are you sure it is me that should be trying to learn his language?”

  “I don’t have the time. I have to fight a war, remember?”

  Galelin ran his hands through his hair and smoothed the worst of it back against his skull before he began to lift stacks of books onto the seat of the chair. “I’m afraid none of us are flush with time, my dear Dragoneer. Perhaps it is best to wait until after the battle to decide how to undo a war.”

  “It may be too late by then.”

  Galelin sat back on his heels once again. “If you cannot silence their blow, what reason do they have to listen with their ears?”

  Trysten blinked at Galelin. “I beg your pardon?”

  Galelin scooped up a stack of parchment pieces and deposited them in a heap atop the books stacked on the seat of the chair. Several pieces slid off and dropped to the wooden floor with a dry click. Instead of picking them up, Galelin planted his hands on the edge of the chair’s seat and pushed himself to his feet.

  “What I mean to say is that you must consider the amount of effort the Westerners are expending here. How big is the army?” he asked.

  Trysten shrugged. “Hundreds. At least. Paege took a few riders out to survey and assess this morning. He’ll have the answer by this afternoon.”

  “But it’s enough to say that it is a sizable army. One of considerable power and strength, right?”

  Trysten nodded.

  “So,” Galelin continued as he approached, “it is conceivable to believe that there are many resources tied up into this attack. Hundreds of men. Great contraptions, or so I have heard from the royal hordesmen, that launched a hundred deadly spears into the air at unheard of velocities.”

  “Twenty," she corrected. "There were twenty spears launched at the royal hordesmen.”

  Galelin stopped before Trysten, then took the forgotten kettle from her hand.

  “Oh, sorry!” she said, startled to find she still held it.

  “Anything capable of that level of destruction, to be that big and hurled hard and far enough to pluck battle dragons from the air must be huge. And something large enough to accomplish that probably wasn’t dragged across the Gul pass, which means that it had to be constructed on this side of the mountains," Galelin said.

  “I’ve thought of that.”

  Galelin placed the kettle on a small table, popped off the lid, and used a ladle to pour water from a bucket into the kettle.

  “Yes, but think about the implications of that. It means that the Westerners brought tools with them. Enough tools to build great, complicated contraptions. And to move them, they likely brought beasts of burden, too. And food to feed these beasts as well as themselves. The logistics involved in moving that army across the mountain ranges to even begin approaching our village is astounding.” The old man shook his head as if in awe.

  A knot grew in Trysten’s stomach. “What are you getting at?”

  Galelin replaced the lid on the kettle, then held it out for Trysten.

  She took it from him and turned back to the hearth, where orange-yellow flames licked at the wood.

  “It means that whatever it is that caused the Westerners to change their tactics, it is something of almost incomprehensible value to them," Galelin said quietly.

  A chill ran up Trysten’s spine as she leaned into the growing heat of the fire and placed the kettle upon the hob. She stood and looked back at her uncle.

  “The Second Hordesmen found what they were looking for,” Galelin said, his voice quiet and flat. “And now the army has come to take it.”

  Trysten sucked in a deep breath as her hand went to her chest, to where the pendant had been hanging last night. She had taken it off when she went to bed but had neglected to put it back on in her haste to investigate what turned out to be Rodden.

  She looked around, to the floor, to the table, and her eyes immediately sought out the dragonslayer sword that had been sitting on Galelin’s table before Prince Aymon and Muzad had taken it.

  “So, my dear,” Galelin said as he approached a stool at the table, “I don’t think that five days of language lessons with Raddle—”

  “Rodden.”

  Galelin shook his head. “Forgive me. My ears are still asleep. Rodden. Five days with Rodden will not reveal anything that will turn back the momentum of the king’s fortune that has sent an army marching against us. I am willing to bet my life that there is nothing your prisoner knows that holds an equivalent value.”

  Trysten swallowed hard. “He might know what it is that they have come for.”

  Galelin’s lips trembled as he regarded Trysten. He wiped a hand across his mouth and then nodded as if confirming something for himself. “We already know that. Don’t we?”

  The bell in the weyr rang. Trysten jumped and looked to the door. The dawn bell had already rung once. And then the second toll came, too far apart to be the alarm bell. A third clang. A fourth.

  The tension eased from Trysten’s shoulders.

  “It seems that Tuse wants a word with the entire village,” Galelin said as the bell rang a fifth
time in the slow, ponderous rhythm meant to call all available villagers to the council chamber.

  "I have a question before we go, Galelin," Trysten said. "How would the Western kingdom have had time to mount such an extensive attack if they only found out about me after the battle with the Second Horde? That was only the beginning of this same season. Not enough time has passed. It doesn't make sense."

  The old man studied her as if trying to come up with an answer. "We best get going," he said, turning for the door. "Tuse is waiting."

  Chapter 6

  Together, Galelin and Trysten made their way to the council chamber in the center of the village. Scores of people milled about the round, stone building meant to provide a place for the people to meet and discuss village business. The chamber could also be used to house the most vulnerable villagers in the event of an attack or disaster, although this would be the first time that purpose was tested.

  Instead of herding the villagers inside, Tuse stood on a hastily-constructed platform outside the chamber doors.

  He held up his hands and called for quiet. “Thank you all for coming,” he said, his voice rising above the crowd in a practiced manner. “I called the village here because I want to clarify some of the confusion and rumors going around. I have been informed about the situation directly by Prince Aymon and Trysten and want to share with you what I know of the days to come.”

  Trysten crossed her arms over her chest as others in the crowd looked back to her and Galelin near the edge of the chamber grounds.

  “It is true that an army of Western soldiers has been spotted leaving The Wilds,” Tuse continued.

  Excited, hushed words rippled out over the growing crowd. A few people called out and asked what they were going to do.