“He wanted me to go with him.”
“Where to?” Caron asked.
“Was he covered in scales?” Mardoc asked.
Both of her parents moved in slightly closer to Trysten.
“Father...” Trysten said, then tugged at her father’s grip.
“Oh. I’m sorry, Little Heart.” He released his grip. “I was just surprised. What did this creature look like? Black or gray?”
“No scales, I don’t think. His skin was pale, and he was oddly proportioned. He had a big head with a long, oval-shaped face. A long, skinny neck and spindly arms. Wide hips with thick legs.”
“A tail?” Caron asked, as if Trysten had described a dragon. Then Trysten realized she nearly had.
Trysten shook her head. “There was something strange about the way he moved. It was like... Imagine if you were watching someone. Someone who stood in front of another person and their movements were so finely tuned, so synchronized, that they appeared to be moving together. You might get the sense that there was something more, something going on behind this person, but their movements were so perfectly timed that you couldn’t really see another person behind him, but you still knew he was there. It was strange.”
“So he had this scale, then?” Mardoc asked.
“And where did he want to take you?” Caron stared at her daughter.
“Trysten!” Jurdun repeated. “You will see the Prince, now!”
Trysten held her finger up again. “He said we would go to the end of the world. And if I went with him, he’d turn back the army.”
“You didn’t agree,” Caron said with a shake of her head, and Trysten was pretty sure it was a statement, not a question.
“No, I refused. Then he wiped his hand down his arm as if brushing something off of it, and tossed this at me. When I bent down to pick it up, I heard a noise like rushing air and water, and then he was gone. Just vanished. If it weren’t for...” She nodded at her palm.
Mardoc plucked the scale from her palm and held it up, squinting as if it were a coin, its stamp faded to the point of illegibility. He turned it around and peered at the back side before shaking his head.
“I see nothing wrong with it. I mean, it looks as normal as any dragon’s scale to me," he said.
Caron shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s blacker than coal ever was.”
“Like the tooth,” Trysten said.
Caron reached up to her chin, and her hand paused, her finger curled up until her chin hovered just over the knuckles of her index finger. She nodded. “That had occurred to me as well.”
“The pendant?” Mardoc asked.
“Trysten,” Jurdun said as stepped up to her. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, but the fifth son of your king is demanding that you go speak to him now. I advise you to do as he says. I’ve personally put men in the pillory for less.”
Trysten turned on Jurdun. “You will not speak to me like that while in Aerona. Now that you’ve delivered your message, leave and stop interrupting me. The more you pester me, the longer it will be before I can see what it is that Aymon needs.”
Jurdun’s shoulders went back as he lifted his bearded chin and looked down his nose at Trysten. “You cannot dismiss me. I am delivering—”
“Leave,” Trysten said and pointed to his tent. “Get out of my face, or I will have you escorted away. Understand?”
Jurdun stood a moment longer. He took a deep breath through his nose, held it a second, then let it out in a long, exaggerated manner that nearly caused it to whistle as it left his lungs. It seemed that he wanted to make it clear that he was leaving because he wanted to go, rather than because she had ordered him to. His point made, he turned sharply and made for Prince Aymon’s tent.
Trysten turned to her father. “I wish the dragoneers in the mother city were as good at teaching respect and manners as you were.”
Mardoc grinned, then looked after Jurdun. The grin dropped away. His gaze grew in weight, appearing to take more effort to hold it. “He’s seen many of his fellow riders fall in a day. It is a hard thing to endure.”
Trysten opened her mouth to make a comment about their own idiocy, but let it go. It didn’t matter.
Caron gripped Trysten's upper arm, her fingers curling into her daughter's flesh. “Promise me that you will never take the Original up on his offer.”
“I promise that I won’t take him up on his offer. Not that it will even be necessary," Trysten said with a slow shake of her head.
“We will prevail,” Mardoc said. “Those who live by the wisdom of dragons will always survive.”
Caron looked between her husband and her daughter. “Dragon wisdom aside, the Original is not done with us. Whatever it is he wants, he hasn’t gotten it yet. He’ll be back, and next time, he won’t have a simple horde waiting for you if you refuse.”
“You think he sent...?” Trysten nodded to the west.
“Anyone who would make such an offer is not someone to be trusted,” Caron declared.
“That’s what I said. Word for word, I swear.”
Caron grinned. “Good. I raised you right, then.”
“Go,” Mardoc said. “See to Prince Aymon. I’m sure he has many questions about what happened to his horde.” He held the scale out in his palm.
Trysten plucked it up and stared into its darkness. Whatever they were dealing with was unlike anything that even the lore of their land had dared touch. None of the stories she’d heard as a girl had mentioned dragon teeth that shifted shape depending on how they were held, or dragon scales so dark as to absorb the eye’s sight. Or anything at all that only certain women could see.
But that was the rub of it, wasn’t it? As a girl, when she had told others that she could hear what the dragons were thinking, that she could speak to them, no one believed her. They smiled at the romantic imaginings of a little girl. If she and her mother had tried to tell anyone about the tooth and the scale before this fighting season, they would have been dismissed as crazy women stirring up trouble or making up stories for the attention. How much of history was lost because it was inconvenient to believe the witnesses?
She pocketed the scale, then started for Prince Aymon’s tent.
By all that was wild and split, they needed that history now. All of it. Anything that could help them against an enemy that seemed to exist in and out of two different realities, as if there was a world of magic right behind the very one they lived in.
Chapter 19
“Prince Aymon?” Trysten called from outside the flap of his tent.
“Enter.”
Trysten brushed the flap aside. Prince Aymon sat at the table in the middle of his quarters. Little beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. His hair was mussed as if he’d run his hands through it several times. Dark bags were starting to appear beneath his eyes. Trysten’s stomach tightened at the sight of the man. He seemed to always be in control, confident to the point of arrogance. But now he looked worried. He looked like a wrung-out damp rag, and as she stepped inside the tent, she decided he smelled a bit like one as well.
As he opened his mouth, Trysten cut him off.
“For all the sky, Aymon, Muzad is going to get all of us killed! During that entire battle, he acted on his own every step of the way. He went after the point dragon without waiting for us. He just focused his entire horde on it, and it was a decoy. Fortunately, Elevera made a display, and the true beta took the bait, and I was able—”
“The Original,” Prince Aymon said.
Trysten stopped, her mouth still open as if waiting for the next word in her rant to drop out like an egg.
Prince Aymon sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. A patch of fabric down the front of his black tunic was dampened by sweat. Was it really that hot out?
“The Original?” Trysten asked.
“The Original. Before you start telling me what a horrible man and dragoneer Muzad is, I’d rather hear about your encounter with
the Original, and then why you decided not to bring this information to me directly.”
Trysten swallowed. She shook her head. “I’m not doing this anymore, Aymon. I’m not rehashing this argument with you. I don’t have time to hear about how you think I should go back to the mother city with you. I don’t need to be convinced that I have to use my powers to protect your father and his kingdom. It's all I've ever wanted to do. I am a dragoneer in his service, and that is enough. That is all you need to know. I have taken my oath, and my oath is my bond to Elevera. I am tired of this, all right? I am sick of the adversarial position.”
Prince Aymon opened his mouth to respond, but Trysten lit into him again.
“We have a wild army ready to fall on this village. They have a horde. They know to keep their alpha and dragoneer away from me. They are taunting us now. They have taken away our best defense. I had to evacuate the villagers from Quiet Creek because the Western horde knows about them now, and we don’t have the forces to protect them and hold the creek. We are relying on the reinforcements to arrive before the army, yet your wild dragoneer is cavalier with his men. He charges into battle without consulting with me. Instead of working with me, he works against me, as if trying to prove something. And all it is doing is getting dragons and men killed!”
Prince Aymon opened his mouth once more.
“I thought you said you were going to address this, Aymon! When we got back from The Wilds. Your men wouldn’t listen to me the first time we went up against this horde, and it cost them a quarter of their own horde. We lost five more dragons and two riders today because they still won’t listen to me. That number doesn't even include those still alive but too injured to fly.”
Prince Aymon stood, then swayed a second. A flinch passed over his face, then was gone as he gripped the edge of the table. A pitcher at the corner shivered with the Prince's effort. Rings of water passed over the dark surface.
“First of all," the Prince finally said, "my men earned their positions through years of military training and testing. You have earned your position as a coincidence of birth, much like myself. The men respect me, however, because I have endured the same training and same discipline as them. You have done nothing but grow comfortable with giving orders. Have you spoken to Muzad about how you two are going to fight together?”
Trysten’s head drew back in surprise. “I... It’s my weyr, my responsibility to decide—”
“Which is why you should be taking the initiative. You should approach him if you want his cooperation. Otherwise, he is here to serve me directly; not supplement you and your horde, which as I saw with my own eyes, left directly behind Muzad’s horde and not in front of it. If you wish to take the lead, then you best start by leading."
Fire flashed over Trysten’s cheeks. The butt of her palm went to the hilt of the dragonslayer sword.
Prince Aymon’s eyes tracked the motion, but he didn’t seem the least bit threatened or unsettled by it.
“I had to get this,” Trysten said. “I needed—”
“I don’t give a broken feather,” Prince Aymon said. “The Western army isn’t going to be interested in your excuses, and neither am I. The fact of the matter is that both of you engaged the enemy and took heavy losses without capturing the enemy horde.”
“They had—”
“Unless you are going to contradict Muzad’s accounting, then I don’t need to hear it.”
Trysten took a deep breath. A tremble raced through her, and it was difficult to pin down exactly which emotion had her strung the tightest, between her desire to throttle the Prince, and her desire to hide beneath his table.
“What I do want to hear is every detail about your encounter with the Original," Prince Aymon said.
“How do you know about that?” Trysten asked, her voice much quieter and softer than she had intended.
“Your men talk. I heard about it indirectly from one of the wounded who returned after your first engagement.”
Trysten’s hand strayed to the pendant beneath her leather armor. Her fingertip pressed against the tip of the tooth.
“Sit,” Prince Aymon said and motioned at the chair before her. He then sat with a grimace. His hand rubbed once at his wounded thigh before he folded his fingers together and placed his hands on the table.
Trysten looked from his hands to the back of the chair before her. She placed a hand on it as if to draw it out, but then stopped. She took a deep breath, then looked Prince Aymon in the eyes. “I need your help.”
She pulled the scale from the pocket of her tunic and placed it before the Prince.
He looked up at her. His expression indicated that he was waiting for further explanation.
She told him the story of all that had happened up until the time she and her hordesmen took off from the weyr yard.
“What color is that scale?” Trysten asked.
“Blue-gray.”
He didn’t bat an eyelash or look the least bit puzzled by her inquiry.
“To me, it’s black. It’s blacker than black. It’s so dark, it looks like a hole.”
“Looks like?” Prince Aymon peered down at the scale. He poked at it once with his finger, and the scale teetered gently and briefly against the wood. He picked it up and held it between forefinger and thumb.
“So, a scale from an Original, huh?” Prince Aymon said. “I don’t want to sound disappointed, but I expected something more... exotic.”
“It’s blacker than night. What were you expecting?”
Prince Aymon hiked an eyebrow in her direction. “It looks like a normal dragon scale to me.”
“What do we do now?” Trysten asked.
Prince Aymon replaced the scale on the table. He stared at it for a second, then looked up at Trysten. “We have a very serious problem, indeed.”
Trysten shook her head. “I won’t take him up on his offer.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She started as if slapped.
Prince Aymon slouched slightly in his chair. A grimace of pain played over his face and then dissipated. “A man like Muzad makes a good dragoneer because he believes in the kingdom far more than he believes in even himself. He sees himself as insignificant. He is but a pawn in a greater game, though I daresay that I think of him more like a knight. Regardless, he would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat if it came down to a choice between his life or the kingdom. But you...”
Prince Aymon pointed at her. “You do not tie your identity to anything larger. You are who you are. Your identity is your position, your burden. Muzad does not care if history forgets his name, as long as the Cadwaller kingdom lives on for eternity. You, however, are wedded to the sacrifices you have made for this village."
Trysten stepped forward. Her thighs pressed against the back of the chair. She leaned forward until she had to rest her hands upon the table or fall on her face. “I would give my life for this village. For this kingdom. I am the Dragoneer. I have sworn.”
Prince Aymon waved his hand before himself, dismissing her claim. “Yes, yes. You take the saddle with that charming little sword that Tuse gives you. But you don’t understand. There is a difference between risking your life and sacrificing your life. If Muzad were in your position, he would kill himself rather than choose. He would undermine the Originals, take that ultimatum away from them. You, however, will choose to go with them. That is a problem.”
“How do you know that?” Trysten asked.
“I know you.”
Trysten shook her head. "If you did, you would not think we had a problem.”
Prince Aymon reached for the pitcher on the edge of the table. He poured himself a cup of water, then set it down before Trysten.
“Help yourself. There is another cup over there.” He waved his hand at a basin stand in the corner.
It surprised Trysten how agitated she grew as she stood upright and waited for Prince Aymon to down the water. Rather than get her own, she crossed her arms over her chest in agi
tation.
“Come with me to the mother city,” Prince Aymon said as he put the cup back on the table.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Why should I? I have a weyr to run, a village to protect.”
“Exactly!” the Prince proclaimed, as if catching her in a trap he had set.
Trysten’s brow furrowed in confusion.
Prince Aymon filled his cup again but did not touch it after he replaced the pitcher.
“If you wanted to go, then I wouldn’t have to do anything other than make the offer. But I know you don’t want to go, and so I must either sweeten the pot until it is too tempting for you to resist, or I must apply pressure to you until I can drag you down there. Likewise, the Originals know that you don’t want to leave. They will force you. They will clamp a metaphorical iron collar around your neck and lead you on the end of a chain to the end of the world.”
“The end of the world?” she asked, her voice near a whisper.
Prince Aymon shifted in his seat and looked at Trysten. “You said that is where they wanted to take you.”
She looked away, to the cup, to the still surface of the water. He placed his hand upon the table, his fingers curled loosely, and the water trembled briefly at the slight disturbance.
“This village will be destroyed,” Prince Aymon said.
Trysten looked up, met his gaze again.
“Come back with me to the mother city.”
She shook her head.
“For all the sky, Trysten!” Prince Aymon slapped his hand upon the table. Trysten jumped, and the water sloshed from his cup and splashed onto the table’s surface.
“If you stay here, the Originals will keep applying pressure until they break you. Can’t you see that? By the dragon’s breath, you were out there. You saw the army, the weapons, the alpha and Dragoneer taunting you. This is the work of the Originals. They are after you. They will destroy this village to get to you, and you are a fool if you think otherwise!”
Trysten drew in a tight breath and clasped her hands behind her back. The weight of the dragonslayer sword on her hip felt suddenly doubled, and it felt good.
The Dragoneer Trilogy Page 63