The Dragoneer Trilogy

by Vickie Knestaut

  Rodden.

  How much things had changed since he had a name. She closed her eyes and tried to picture him on the back of Maejel. She tried to recall him in the battle. She had looked to each of the riders as soon as the Western Dragoneer had fallen from the sky. She had wanted to know which one was the Commander, which dragon would inherit the horde. She’d had no idea at the time that it was to be her.

  And now, fresh from the Prince’s tent where she had helped plan a battle that would cause the deaths of over forty dragons and many more riders and soldiers, she felt guilty. It did not seem fitting that she should get to command such an incredible collection of dragons if the best solution she could come up with was to destroy them.

  She turned her face up to Elevera. “I live by the wisdom of dragons, don't I?” she asked.

  Elevera bobbed her head once as if confirming, though it seemed unlikely that the dragon had any sense of her question.

  Trysten glanced to the far wall of the weyr, then back to Elevera. The gold dragon studied her with wide, brown eyes and cat-like pupils as black as the night cradled between stars.

  “I’ll think of something better. I swear. We can’t lose so many of you, can we?” Trysten asked, expecting no answer.

  She took another deep breath, then moved on to the back of the weyr. Deslan sat on a stool, his back against the wall. He couldn’t see Rodden from where he sat, but he watched Trysten approach and didn’t move in the slightest.

  Trysten looked over the wall. Rodden lay against Maejel’s chest, the easy rise and fall of his breath suggesting that he was asleep. Maejel lay on the ground, her neck wrapped around at a sharp angle so that her head laid across Rodden’s legs. It looked uncomfortable as if her head should crush his legs, yet the two of them couldn’t look any more peaceful.

  “How’s our guest?” Trysten said in a quiet voice as if standing near a sleeping infant.

  Deslan sat up on his stool and raised his arms in a full-body stretch. His jaw trembled with the effort, and he squinted his eyes shut before allowing his arms to fall at his side.

  “Been like that all morning, since I relieved Paege,” he said.

  Trysten turned to Deslan. The boy had stopped shaving, and had a few days of patchy growth, but hadn’t really had a chance to begin growing out his hair in the fashion of the hordesmen. Trysten scolded herself silently for thinking of him as a boy. He was only half a year younger than her, but she felt much older.

  He would fly near the middle of the wing. That was where the greenest hordesmen flew, halfway between point and end, surrounded by experienced hordesmen. It would be a favorite spot for archers to direct their aim. If they missed Deslan’s dragon, then there was a good chance that the arrow would hit the dragon ahead of or behind him in the V formation.

  She thought for a second. “Why did you become a recruit?”

  Deslan sat up straight on his stool. He glanced into Maejel’s stall, then back at Trysten. “Well, I wanted to... Well. I guess I did it because...” A blush crept over his face.

  “Go ahead,” Trysten said. “You’re in. You can be honest with me.”

  Deslan took a deep breath and then leaned against the wall behind him. “Well, to be honest, it was because of watching you and the other hordesmen. Watching you all do maneuvers in the sky. It looked like you couldn’t do anything more amazing in this world than get on the back of a dragon and fly.”

  Trysten shrugged. “So why become a hordesman? Why not fly courier?”

  Deslan’s gaze dropped to some point beyond Trysten’s hip, out among the dirt and straw of the aisle. He thought for a moment and then turned his gaze back to Trysten. "You can’t do maneuvers on the back of a courier. On a battle dragon, it looks like you can do anything in the world, and if you have that, if you can just do that, then why wouldn’t you? Why wouldn't you do everything you could to protect the village from them.” He nodded his head in the direction of Maejel and Rodden.

  Trysten followed his motion and stared into the stall. How wild it was that they had so much of their identity wrapped up in fighting the Westerners. The weyr didn’t exist to protect Aerona from danger in general. Its sole purpose was to protect the village and the Cadwaller borders from the Western kingdom.

  She looked over her shoulder, down to the end of the weyr. Double doors at the end of the aisle opened up onto the plains that spanned the distance between them and the mountains that rose on the horizon. A notch in the middle of the mountain range indicated the Gul Pass, a gate that opened with every spring thaw, allowing the Western hordesmen to pour through and attack Aerona, and then froze shut with the coming of every winter, locking the Westerners back into their own kingdom.

  The Western hordes were as much a force of nature, like storms rolling through, as they were men. No wonder many people, like Muzad, had trouble seeing the Westerners as humans. A force of nature was merely dealt with. It did not require reason, empathy, understanding. It required only strength and endurance.

  How many centuries had the Western and Cadwaller kingdoms feuded? And why? How did it become more acceptable to throw away the lives of hundreds or thousands of young men and dragons rather than change the kingdom’s behavior?

  She looked back to Maejel and Rodden. A force of nature could not be stopped. But a kingdom could be reasoned with, made to see differently. The fight was unnecessary.

  “How long are you on watch?” Trysten asked as she continued to study Maejel and Rodden.

  “Lunch.”

  Trysten nodded. “Let me know when he wakes up. I'll be up in the den.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Deslan said.

  Chapter 9

  As Trysten made her way to the den, her father appeared in the side-door of the weyr.

  “I wish to show Prince Aymon a chart of the western plains,” he said.

  “I’ll get it for you,” Trysten said.

  “I don’t need you to fetch it,” Mardoc said. “You are not my servant, I just know how irritated I would be if someone had removed that from the den when it was my den.”

  Trysten grinned. “It’s still your den. You can help yourself to anything in there.”

  “No,” Mardoc said. “It’s the Dragoneer’s den. It always has been. You are the Dragoneer now.”

  “Then let’s go get it together. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

  “Oh? About what?”

  Trysten glanced over her shoulder, to the back of the weyr, as if Rodden could even understand had he been close enough to hear.

  “About the plan to stop the army,” Trysten said.

  Mardoc lifted his brow. “Oh?”

  “Have you thought about the casualties this plan will bring?” Trysten asked, as they began to walk toward the den.

  “I dare say that not following through with the plan will bring more casualties. For us, most of all.”

  Trysten nodded. “Have you fought with multiple hordes before?”

  “Once. We pursued a Western horde south once, where they had the misfortune of running right into the Hollin horde.”

  “Who led the assault then, when the two hordes met?”

  “Who was in charge, you mean?” Mardoc asked.

  She nodded.

  “In such situations, it is custom that the Dragoneer who is native to the area is the one in charge. She is the ranking Dragoneer in this particular case. That is why Prince Aymon put you in charge of the assault.”

  “If I lead the charge—” Trysten started to say.

  Mardoc grabbed her by the arm and stopped her statement. “You cannot lead the charge.”

  “The Dragoneer—”

  “You are not the Dragoneer. All right, you are the Dragoneer, but you are more than the Dragoneer. If you should fall, then we lose our greatest asset," Mardoc said, his eyes hard.

  Trysten looked away. She wished to the wilds that hearing her father call her the greatest asset would have made her feel better than it did.

  “No one is sure wh
at will happen should you or Elevera fall.”

  She looked back to her father. "What do you mean?"

  “If the unthinkable should happen, then I believe our horde, as well as the remains of the Hollin horde, would fall in behind Paege and Sone.”

  “You think?”

  “With him about,” Mardoc continued with a nod in Rodden's direction, “I’m not sure if the Western dragons would fall in behind Sone, or if they would fall in behind him and Maejel.”

  “His name is Rodden, and the Western dragons would fall in behind Sone. They are part of the horde now.”

  Mardoc gave his head a slight shake. “Even among wild dragons, one rarely sees more than a score of dragons in a horde. It seems to be some natural limit.”

  “Except for Elevera," Trysten stated matter-of-factly.

  “She is bonded to you. If you fall, I don't know what happens. I've not encountered a Dragon Lord serving as Dragoneer before,” Mardoc shrugged.

  “How big was Adalina’s horde?” Trysten asked.

  “Adalina’s horde is only a myth.”

  “Is your daughter a myth as well?” Trysten held his gaze.

  Mardoc looked away to the den. A slight flick of agitation passed over his face. He released Trysten’s arm and resumed his progress. “The point of the matter is that the Dragon Lord must lead this assault from the rear. Allow the royal hordes to clear your path. That is their duty.”

  “I’ve run this scenario through my head a dozen times or more,” Trysten said. “It’s suicide. The first horde to fly against the army will be wiped out. Between the spear launchers and the longbow archers, they will not stand a chance. The second horde to fly will take heavy casualties as well. I don’t see how we can do this without losing any less than forty dragons, and probably more riders than that.”

  Mardoc paused at the bottom of the stairs. “If that should be the case, then those riders and their dragons will have died not only in defense of the village but in defense of the entire kingdom. There is no greater honor for a hordesman.”

  “I think there is plenty of honor in living to fight again,” Trysten countered.

  “No one says there isn’t,” Mardoc said as he planted his staff on the first step, and then mounted it with his good foot.

  “There has to be a better way,” Trysten said. She put her arm out behind him to catch him should he fall. It amazed her how he could seem frail yet strong and vital at the same time.

  “I need your help, Father. Help me think of something better. Help me come up with a better plan,” she pleaded.

  Mardoc pulled his twisted foot up behind him and then began to repeat the process. “Well, the only other thing I have thought of would be a multi-pronged attack. If one horde came from each of the cardinal directions, then it would devastate the enemy’s ability to concentrate fire. But I am afraid that flying so many dragons in such a tight, chaotic area would result in as many accidental casualties as a single assault on the flank.”

  Mardoc paused long enough to look over his shoulder. “And again, it would put you in unacceptable danger.”

  Trysten sighed in frustration. “Should I spend the battle in bed then, with the covers pulled over my head?”

  Mardoc looked forward again. “Had my last landing been on a courier, I would still be Dragoneer. But it was the size and might of Aeronwind that made her alpha, and that size and might are what shattered my leg. The more power we wield, the more we can hurt ourselves. You will fight, but you will fight the battle that is best for the village, and that means you will not take unnecessary risks.”

  “You say that like you still are the Dragoneer.”

  Mardoc pulled himself up another step, and Trysten moved up behind him, a hand hovering behind the small of his back just in case.

  “I was not able to train you as my grandfather trained me,” Mardoc said. “I regret that. The least I can do for you now is provide some wise counsel since there is no other Dragon Lord about to share his wisdom with you.”

  Chapter 10

  The following morning, after watching Muzad and his remaining horde leave with a group of villagers to ferry out to Quiet Creek, Trysten paid a visit to Elevera. The gold dragon greeted her with a low bow of her head. She raised her wings, spread them out, then snapped them back before folding them up against her body. Straw and dust blew past her in the backwash of air that rebounded off the wall.

  “Are you sure you’re up for it?” Trysten asked.

  Elevera lifted her head again, tall and regal and ready to go. Though Trysten still found a bit of an ache in the dragon’s muscles and a dull throb in her belly yet, the alpha was ready to return to the sky.

  “Soon,” Trysten said. "I promise. I have some other things to do first though."

  Before heading up to her den, Trysten stopped at Maejel’s stall. Rodden sat next to his dragon, cross-legged on the floor despite the addition of a stool to the stall. He mopped up the last of his breakfast with a piece of bread, then nodded to Trysten.

  “Sheck tash,” he said with a nod.

  “You’re welcome,” Trysten replied.

  The hordesman on guard sat up straight. “You understand him?”

  Trysten shook her head. “Not at all. It just sounded like that was what he was saying.”

  The hordesman leaned back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest and regarded Rodden with a cool expression.

  “How is he?” Trysten asked.

  “The night watch said he slept like a baby. Appetite’s good, as you can see.”

  “I wish you could fly with me, tell me what I was seeing,” she said to Rodden, her voice barely a whisper.

  “What was that?” the guard asked.

  “Nothing.”

  As she turned away, she heard, “Sa yalla!”

  Trysten looked over her shoulder.

  Rodden stood at the edge of the stall. The guard stood, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword.

  “Sa yalla,” Rodden said and held his arms out at his side. “Repp pass neelit oppelnot Rodden dee sa yalla.” He bowed his head low, his body rocking forward slightly.

  “Don’t mention it,” Trysten said, her tone soft and unsure.

  The guard looked back and forth between her and Rodden. “What do you think that was about?”

  “Rodden,” Trysten said.

  The man looked up at her.

  “Sa yalla,” she said, then pressed her hand to her chest and felt the pendant press against her breastbone. “Trysten. Sa yalla?"

  Rodden nodded. “Trysten eade sa yalla.”

  She motioned at Maejel, then made a grand flapping gesture with her arms. “Yallum. Dragon.”

  Rodden looked behind himself. “Yallum. Maejel.”

  “Yalla?” Trysten asked.

  Rodden’s brow furrowed a tiny bit. He pointed at her. “Yalla. Sa yalla.”

  “Yalla?” Trysten asked as she pointed at the guard.

  Rodden’s face scrunched up slightly as if he found the suggestion to be ludicrous at best. He shook his head.

  “Yalla.” He pointed at Trysten.

  “Yalla?” Trysten asked once more as she pointed at Rodden.

  His eyes grew wide, and he took half a step back. He slowly shook his head. “Say. Say lara teshnim yalla doprish. Sa yalla.” He pointed at her again and jabbed his finger in her direction. Sa yalla.”

  Trysten shook her head as she let out a slight, exasperated sigh. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “It sounds like yalla is their word for dragoneer,” the guard offered.

  “Perhaps,” Trysten said. “I suppose I should get Muzad in here and ask if he is yalla as well.”

  The guard let out a smirk. “I’m sure Muzad would love that.”

  “Sa?” Trysten asked.

  Rodden furrowed his brows in apparent confusion.

  “Sa...” Trysten said and rolled her hand.

  “Yalla,” Rodden added.

  “I think it’s thei
r word for the,” the guard offered.

  Trysten pointed to Maejel. “Sa.”

  Rodden looked from Trysten to Maejel and back. His look of confusion remained but relaxed slightly. He stepped back to Maejel and pointed at her chest. “Sa.”

  “Dragon?” the guard asked.

  “Yallum,” Rodden said. He swept his hand back and forth across the length of Maejel. “Yallum. Dragon eade yallum.”

  “Eade?” Trysten asked.

  Rodden looked at her and nodded. He pointed at Maejel’s chest again. “Sa. Sa eade...”

  “Chest,” the guard offered.

  “Sa eade chest. Yallum eade dragon.”

  Trysten’s heart began to flutter in her chest. “No,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “It’s more than that.” She put her hand to chest and fluttered it slightly. “Sa?”

  Rodden watched her hand. His face grew serious. He nodded. “Sa.” He cupped his hands together and squeezed them in the motion of a heart.

  Chills ran over Trysten’s arms. “Sa eade heart.” she said.

  “Heart?” Rodden asked.

  Trysten thumped her hand over her chest in a rhythm meant to mimic the beating of a heart. “Heart.”

  Rodden nodded. “Sa eade heart.”

  The guard shifted his seat on the stool. “So what does that mean? Sa yalla is dragon heart?”

  “Dragon heart,” Rodden repeated. He pointed at Maejel’s chest. He cupped his hands together and made the squeezing motion of a heart. “Sa yallum. Sa yallum eade dragon heart.”

  “But not sa yalla?” Trysten asked.

  Rodden pointed at her. “Sa yalla.” He motioned at Maejel and then swept his finger along the line of stalls, up one side and down the other as if to indicate all the dragons. “Yallum. Sa yallum.”

  He clenched both fists before himself and beat them slightly in the rhythm of a dragon’s heart. “Sa yallum.”

  “So... yallum means dragons, then? More than one?” the guard asked, and then looked to Trysten as if she would confirm it for him.