The Dragoneer Trilogy

by Vickie Knestaut

  She shook her head. “Perhaps. But yalla...”

  “Yalla,” Rodden said and pointed to her again.

  “It must mean dragoneer,” the guard offered as he rested his back against the wall, his decision final.

  She shook her head once more. “It’s the way he says it. It’s... There’s something more to it. Heart...”

  “Heart of the horde,” the guard said. “That’s a dragoneer, isn’t it?”

  Trysten reached up and tugged absently on one of her braids. Could yalla mean horde? Her mind ran through different ways to test that theory. She could stand Elevera next to Avice and ask Rodden if they were the same. Was it yallum, or yalla?

  But it would have to wait. As much as she wanted to understand what he was saying, the fact was that she didn't have time. If she were to have any hope of finding a way to stop the army before it reached the village, and before it required her to run such costly maneuvers, she’d best get to it. Trysten left Rodden and the guard behind and climbed the stairs to her den.

  Chapter 11

  As she opened the door to her den, Trysten saw the fireplace in the antechamber was cold and dark. Although unusual, it had been warm overnight, and the weyrmen may have thought the fire wouldn't be needed until the weather turned cold again. Besides, they had plenty of more pressing things to see to right now than her comfort.

  She closed the door behind her and crossed to the fireplace. Maybe a few embers remained to stir up a fire, but the grate was cold. It was probably best since she didn't plan to be in the den for long anyway. There were too many things that needed her attention in the weyr and if she found a few minutes she should try to speak with Rodden again. It felt like she'd made some headway. Who knew when the breakthrough would come that she needed? Her mind caught up in finding a way to stop the army, she turned toward the inner chamber that housed her table and froze.

  A man sat in her chair with his elbows on her table, his fingers laced together before him. He was a stranger.

  As Trysten whirled around and reached for the door, the man called out, “If you want to defeat the army do not open that door.”

  Her fingers hovered over the door latch. Trembling slightly, she looked around the room once more, then over her shoulder. She was alone in the antechamber. If there were other men inside the den, they’d have to step into the doorway before they could approach her. She could throw the door open and scream, and a dozen armed hordesmen would be up in a matter of heartbeats.

  Her hand dropped away from the door latch.

  “That’s it,” the man said. There was something odd about his voice.

  She turned back to the man. “You’re in my seat.”

  The man unthreaded his fingers and held his palms up near his shoulders as if gesturing that he didn’t know what else to do.

  Trysten’s brow dropped. There was also something odd about the way the man moved. Something... unsettling. She replayed the motion in her memory.

  “Do you recognize me?” the man asked.

  “How did you get in here?” she asked, deliberately ignoring his question.

  “It’s not important. What is important is that I am here.”

  There was something familiar about the man, indeed, but Trysten couldn't place him. She squinted. The light coming in from the window in the back of the room made his face difficult to see clearly. Most of it fell into shadow. His head seemed large. Too large. His face was long, oval-shaped. And his hair slicked back along his scalp was both blonde and dark depending on where the light hit it.

  She planted her hands on her hips. “Tell me who you are, or I will have a dozen hordesmen up here in a matter of seconds.”

  The man stood. As he did so, a shiver ran through Trysten. She had a fleeting sense that she had lived this moment once before.

  “Come in,” the man said. “If you want to know, come in and see me. Step out here, away from the shadows.”

  Trysten’s eyes darted left to right as if she might see evidence of other men just on the other side of the wall.

  “I am alone,” the man said. “I have no reason to hurt you or to see you hurt. You have my word.”

  “What good is the word of a man who trespasses and sneaks into my own private chambers?”

  The man smiled.

  A shudder and gooseflesh shook Trysten. The man’s teeth were... She squinted and leaned forward slightly. “Tell me who you are and what you want, or I swear I am yelling for the hordesmen right now.”

  Trysten reached back for the latch.

  “We can stop the army. My friends and I. But I am here to make a deal with you, and you alone.”

  The man walked around the table. Trysten’s hand dropped away from the latch, and her jaw fell open. As the man rounded the table and more of the light from the window fell upon him, Trysten swore she could see...

  She thought of her dreams of creatures half-men and half-dragon, whose hands became claws when they lifted them. Creatures whose faces grew the muzzles and jaws, the teeth of dragons when they threw their heads back and screamed.

  He was one of those creatures.

  "What is your name?" Trysten asked.

  The man leaned back against the front of the table and crossed his arms over his chest. Trysten saw not only his arms but the arms of a dragon, following, moving just behind his as if a shadow. And then the man was still, and he appeared to be no more than a man, with a large head, broad shoulders above long, thin arms, thick hips and large thighs. Trysten’s breath froze in her chest. Her hand went to her lips as she waited for the man to shake out a pair of leathery dragon wings from behind himself.

  “You’re...” she said, and her hand sank to the pendant about her neck. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her tunic, and if she could have, she would have clutched the tooth tight.

  The Original nodded once. “Come with us, Trysten of Aerona. Come with us, and we will turn the army away.”

  “Come with you?” Both of Trysten's hands drew up into fists. “Come with you?” she asked, this time more incredulous than curious. “Why would I go anywhere with you?”

  The man cocked a pale hint of an eyebrow. “As I said—”

  “No.” Trysten shook her head. Her hand wanted desperately to flit to her hip where the dragonslayer sword had hung the morning before. She had left it in her bedroom in its box beneath her bed when she dressed today. She would not make that mistake again.

  “No?” The Original asked. He cocked his head slightly.

  “No,” Trysten said and shook her head. “Tell me what you want. Where did you come from?"

  A smile spread over the man's face. His teeth were sharp, long for a human mouth. The sight of them made Trysten's head swim, like when looking at the dual nature of the pendant. Her hand went back to her chest.

  "I want you, Trysten. That is why I am here." The Original motioned to the room around him. His movements unsettled her, made her stomach flip. Her eyes couldn't help but track the edges of his limbs, the point where the dark, tight-fitting fabric of his tunic ended and the sight of the wall behind him began. There was something there. Back there. Right behind him.

  Trysten's teeth gritted. Anger flushed through her. "What do you want from me?"

  The Original's grin widened again. "I don't want anything from you. I want you. Come with us, and we will stop the army. We will see that Aerona is safe."

  "Come with you to where?" Her mind raced. How could she get someone up here? Someone with a sword or any kind of weapon? How had this creature managed to get into her den unnoticed, and how was she going to stop him when he wanted to leave?

  The Original shook his head. "Does it matter? You have never been one to concern yourself with your own safety, have you? With you, it has always been about the kingdom. Those beneath you. It's the wrong direction. The wrong way to look. You don't concern yourself with the cost to you. You never have. You need only know that if you come with us, your people will be safe. They will live to sing you
r name. And if you don't..." The Original shrugged. Half of a grin crossed his face.

  Trysten took several steps forward as her hands clenched into fists. "If I had my sword, I'd have your head now for that threat."

  The complete grin returned to the creature's face, and the bottom fell out of Trysten's stomach as she saw the teeth again. There seemed to be too many in his mouth, and they were impossibly long, pointed, and her head ached to try and reconcile all that her eyes said was there. It couldn't be.

  She squinted.

  "Oh?" The Original said. "Have you forgotten what we look like? Is our appearance so strange to you now, out among the humans and dragons? Has it been so long? Have the centuries taken such a toll? Feeble now, are we?"

  Trysten's brow broke into furrows. "Centuries?"

  The smile faded away from the ghastliness of the Original's mouth. "By the sky's breath. You mean it, don't you?"

  "Start from the beginning," Trysten spat. A tremble of rage rolled down her arms, along her spine. "Refresh my memory."

  The grin returned, and Trysten wished to mash her fist into it and twist like grinding a snake beneath a stone.

  "Come with us. There will be time to tell you. But you will remember. You will remember it all."

  The Original reached out for Trysten, and the motion of his arm tore into Trysten's head with the impossibility of what she was seeing—the human and dragon arms both reaching together, one atop the other, one behind another, neither in front, both behind.

  She closed her eyes and lashed out with her right fist, swinging hard and fast and throwing her weight into it like she'd seen the men do. Her fist smashed against something hard and soft, flesh and scale. Her eyes snapped open as the Original staggered several steps away, a claw-like hand clutched against his temple.

  He hissed. His lips turned white and pulled back from his teeth, and he hissed as his eyes flashed green and cat-like. "You! You took the pendant!"

  "What of it?"

  "Give it back!" The Original held out his hand, his bony fingers slightly curled. "It's not yours to keep."

  "I found it," Trysten said. "It's mine to keep. Tell me about it, and I'll consider giving it to you."

  The slick grin returned to the Original's face. His outstretched hand dropped away. "You don't remember any of it. Nothing at all."

  "Enough of your games. Either speak or take your ugly face from this village."

  The grin grew wider. The edges of Trysten's eyes twitched at the sight.

  "My, my," the Original said. He shook his head, and Trysten's knees turned to jelly. His expression changed. The grin dropped away, and his posture straightened as if something had just occurred to him.

  "Hand over the pendant. You are playing with things you don't understand. Surrender it now before you get hurt."

  "Lay a hand on me—" she warned.

  "I'm trying to protect you!" the Original bellowed, louder than any voice she'd ever heard.

  His words hit Trysten like a slap in the face. She started and took half a step back.

  Anger simmered under the creature's shifting features. "This is how all of this started. Hand over the pendant. Listen to me." He extended his hand. "For once. Listen. You never could listen."

  Trysten reached up and clutched the pendant through the fabric of her sweater. She shook her head. "Speak. If this is so dangerous, then I want to know why. Tell me."

  The Original glanced to the doorway. His eyes widened slightly. "No time. Come with me now. Come with me, and I will protect you. I will turn away the army, and I will see to your safety." His hand turned into a reaching claw.

  She slapped the creature's hand.

  The Original let out a grunt of pain as he recoiled from her touch. His eyes darted to her chest, to the pendant still gathered in the wool of her sweater and clutched in her other hand.

  He drew his hand up to his own chest. The back of it looked discolored where she'd touched it.

  The stairs outside thundered with footfalls.

  Trysten took a step backward. "No. I will not go with you. Any man—any thing that would make such an offer cannot be trusted. If you can turn the army back, do it now. Do it first. Then we’ll talk.”

  The Original grinned. Despite herself, Trysten glanced to the wooden floor between them to give her eyes a break from the disconcerting sight of his teeth.

  “You know what I am,” the Original said. “I am not here to negotiate a deal. This is not a matter for discussion.”

  The s in his speech came out slightly slurred, sibilant, and it put Trysten in mind of the hiss of a snake.

  “You want to save your village. Come with us.”

  Trysten’s fists tightened again. Where was the nearest dragonslayer sword? Prince Aymon’s tent? It was too far away.

  She looked up at the Original. His smile had subsided. “Go where?” she asked.

  “To the end of the world, of course." The creature smiled.

  A fist pounded on the door. "Trysten?" Paege called. "Are you all right?"

  The Original's face twisted into an agitated grimace. He ran his right hand down the length of his left arm, and then tossed something toward Trysten. As he flicked his wrist, she caught a flash of a blue-gray dragon’s claw mingled with the pale flesh of the man’s hand. Whatever he tossed clattered against the floor at her feet.

  A dragon’s scale.

  The room filled with a hushing noise, a swelling of the rushing noise she had heard in the dragon bridge with Maejel. She looked up again as the sound ceased.

  The room was empty.

  "Trysten!" Paege yelled. The door creaked as he opened it a crack.

  "Come in," she said as her eyes dropped back to the scale at her feet. She crouched and swept it up in her hand.

  "What's going on?" Paege asked as he crossed the floor, his footsteps hard and hurried, weighted with the concern in his voice. Several more pairs of footsteps charged in behind him. "I thought I heard someone yelling."

  Trysten opened her fist. A single dragon scale covered half of her palm. A single scale that was blacker than the blacksmith’s coal. She turned it over in her hand, and her eyes threatened to fall inside of it as if she were holding a small hole. It was so dark that it looked like she could poke a finger down into the scale. She squinted her eyes, then looked up again to the spot where the Original had stood. It was empty.

  "Trysten?" Paege asked. He laid a hand upon her shoulder. She nearly jumped and melted with relief at the same time.

  She looked up at Paege, then back to the scale. She pinched it between two fingers and held it between herself and Paege as if it explained everything. Vanon and Deslan joined Paege, each of them staring at the scale.

  "An Original was here. He just left," she said.

  She twisted the scale in the light that fell through her window. At an angle, she could see the faint lines that ran along the scale, tiny hints of ridges that she could feel when she ran her finger along a dragon scale lightly. She turned it over and peered at the underside of the scale. It had a gray sheen. It was dark, but not as dark as the outer side.

  "An Original? In here?" Paege looked about the room. Vanon and Deslan did the same. "Just now?"

  "Where did he go?" Vanon asked. He peered around the room again as if he had perhaps missed the mythical creature before.

  Trysten shrugged. "He disappeared. I wouldn't go with him. And he just disappeared."

  Paege grabbed Trysten's shoulders as if to hold in her place. "You wouldn't go with him? What did he want? Where did he want you to go?"

  “He... He said that he would turn the army away if I went with him.”

  “Went where?” Paege asked.

  Trysten took a deep breath, then shook her head. “He didn’t say. He gave some nonsense answer. Then he threw this to the floor between us and disappeared.”

  She looked down to the scale in her palm.

  “He left a dragon scale?” Deslan asked.

  “That’s not one
of ours, is it?” Vanon asked.

  Trysten’s jaw dropped at the incredulity of such a statement.

  “Of course not,” Paege said. “We don't have any dragons that color.”

  “Lorga is kind of blue,” Deslan said.

  “What?” Vanon asked. “Blue? Well, yes, but not that shade of blue.”

  “Blue?” Trysten asked. She resisted the urge to curl her fingers over the scale and hide it.

  “What do you see?” Paege asked.

  Trysten flexed her palm, rolled it so that the scale turned over in her hand and rested in the spot over the joints where her fingers met her palm. “It’s black. Black as can be. Blacker than the night sky.”

  “It’s blue,” Paege said as he shook his head. “A dull blue. Almost gray. Like in the worst of the summer when you wake up in the morning and the sky foretells a day of heavy breathing and still air until the storms arrive? That’s the color. Hot sky and thick air.”

  She peered down at the scale again. “It’s black. It’s so black, it looks like a hole in my hand. A hole that opens up into some great, dark chasm. If you were to drop a bean on it, it looks like it would fall through the scale and drop forever.”

  Vanon reached up and rubbed his palms over his arms. He shook his head. “It’s blue. I agree with Paege. Deslan? You see anything different?”

  Deslan shook his head. "It's blue. A bluish gray."

  She closed her fist over the scale, and it felt like a spell had been broken. She slipped the scale into the pocket of her tunic.

  “Do the dragons look different to you?” Vanon asked. “Are any of them black?”

  Trysten’s brow furrowed. “Different? No. Why?”

  Vanon shrugged slightly. “Well, you see the scale as black. And Prince Aymon says you are a Dragon Lord. I thought maybe you see everything differently because of that.”

  She shifted her full attention to Vanon.

  “No, that has nothing to do with it. I can’t explain the difference, why I see it differently than you see it, but being a Dragon Lord has nothing to do with it. I am the Dragoneer over this weyr first and foremost.”

  Vanon held up his hands in placation. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I can’t explain the difference either, but as sure as I’m standing here, that dragon scale you showed us is blue.”