He nodded once.
Trysten carried the steaming kettle over to the table and set it down. She shook her hand against the heat, despite the woven pot holder she had used to pick up the kettle.
“How goes your progress with Rodden?” Mardoc asked.
“Not as well as I'd hoped,” she said.
She poured the water from the kettle to the pot and listened to the slosh of it inside the tin, listening for the pitch that meant it was nearly full.
“Give it time,” Mardoc said. “By next fighting season, you might even be able to hold a conversation with him.”
Trysten replaced the kettle on the table. She couldn’t give in to thinking that there would not be another year to come. She had to believe that she would see it. To do otherwise would be to invite defeat, and her father knew that as well.
“But what if...”
“No,” Mardoc said. “You can’t think like that. If I have ever taught you any lesson at all, then it should be that lesson. Never plan for defeat. Don’t even consider it. Plan only for victory. You will always win the battle. Always.”
Trysten tapped on the wooden tabletop with her fingernail. The sound was loud, more resonant than she had expected. Her father’s lessons easily applied to a dragoneer, but how many dragoneers had received offers from the Originals? How many dragoneers were bonded to an alpha that held a horde of over forty dragons? At what point did her father’s advice break down for her? When, and where, was the line that separated the Dragoneer from the Dragon Lord?
She swallowed hard, then glanced at the teapot. “Fish and birds!”
“What’s that, Little Heart?” Mardoc asked.
“I forgot to count off the tea.”
“No matter. It’s only been a minute or so.”
Trysten tried to count in the slow, steady way that her mother taught her to ensure a good cup of tea; strong, but not overpowering.
Her heart fluttered. “What am I going to do, Father?”
She looked back at Mardoc as he twisted around in his chair to meet her gaze.
“Wait a couple of minutes more. The tea will be fine,” he said.
“No, I mean about me being the Dragon Lord. I never really...”
She looked back to the pot. “I was out with Paege today. We were talking about things we did as children. I remembered how when I was younger I didn’t want to be the Dragoneer as much as I wanted to ride with you. I wanted to fight at your side. I wanted to be with you. And then after your accident, then, it seemed only natural that I would become the Dragoneer—”
“Natural?” Mardoc said with a hike of his brow.
Trysten shook her head and scowled to let him know she didn’t appreciate his interruption. “That’s all I wanted. I wanted to fly by your side, and I knew that someday you’d have to step down, and I thought I’d be the Dragoneer then, but never so soon. And I never thought that I’d end up having to deal with...”
She flapped her hand against her thigh in frustration and turned her attention to the corner of the room.
“The army?” Mardoc offered.
“It was hard being the Dragoneer without any of the training. I mean, I spent a lot of time watching you as a little girl, and so I learned what you did from watching you train recruits, watching you in the sky. But now, who in the wilds has ever heard of a Dragon Lord? And now I have this ability, and I don't know how to use it to help us, to save us," she sighed in frustration.
Mardoc shifted in his seat, and his brow creased a bit. His lips got tight. It was a look she’d seen him give to young hordesmen right before he dressed them down for complaining about how hard something was.
Trysten shook her head. “I’m not complaining. I’m telling you, as a daughter to her father... I’m a little scared.”
As the words dropped from her lips, she shivered.
“Your first taste of defeat, eh?” Mardoc said in a quiet tone.
Trysten dropped her gaze as she turned away. She stared at the lazy wisps of steam floating out of the spout of the teapot. She pulled the lid off and removed the perforated cup and let the tea drain off the leaves.
“You’re right,” Trysten said. She shook the cup gently. Several more drops fell into the shallow recesses of the pot before she set the basket aside. “I went out there to trounce that horde, to take it for my own. And I didn’t. And we lost a lot of dragons and men, and I don’t have anything to show for it.”
She picked up the pot and poured two cups.
“That’s not entirely true,” Mardoc said. “From what I’ve heard of the battle, you certainly bloodied their noses as well. They lost dragons and riders, and they can’t fly with their alpha. It’s a severe handicap for them.”
Trysten picked up the cups and turned to her father. “But to be honest with you, I think about what would have happened if I had captured their horde. What would we have done, then? We’d have another score of prisoners to watch over and another score of dragons that we couldn’t ride. We don’t even have room for the first horde I captured.”
“We’ll build the second weyr as soon as the army is defeated,” Mardoc said as Trysten placed his cup of tea on a table next to his chair.
“That’s not it,” Trysten said with a shake of her head. “What am I going to do after the army is defeated? What am I going to do during the next fighting season and the next one after that? Am I going to capture horde after horde? What will we do when Elevera is alpha to eighty dragons? A hundred? Two hundred?”
“There’s no reason to think that Elevera couldn't handle a horde that size.”
“Father...” Trysten said as she sat in the chair opposite him.
He nodded, then took a deep breath as his gaze dropped to the tendrils of steam wafting off his cup. “You have a point.”
“It is my duty to protect this village with my life and the lives of the dragons bonded to me,” Trysten said. “But that is the oath of a dragoneer. What is the oath of a Dragon Lord?”
Mardoc sat up as if to reach for his cup but then settled on placing his elbows upon his knees. He continued to stare at the tea. He eventually raised his gaze to his daughter.
“I cannot say,” Mardoc said. “I’ve never known there to be one outside of legend.”
Trysten looked into the cup that she held in her hands. She blew across the surface, and it rippled. The warmth soaked into her hands and the aroma filled her with the scent of comfort and home. She inhaled and felt herself relax a bit.
Mardoc picked up his cup and took a sip. “You might die tomorrow.”
Trysten looked at her father, eyes wide in surprise.
Mardoc shrugged, then gave his head a slight, slow shake. “I never wanted you to be Dragoneer. I never wanted that for you because I know full well the danger that one takes with that title. The Western horde might return tomorrow after a day’s rest to lick their wounds. They might return with their own reinforcements, fresh from the Gul pass. They know of your power, and you will be their primary target. Should one get lucky, you may take an arrow through the throat, or one in the chest at close range. Elevera might fall and take you with her. Firebreath might roast you alive—”
“Father!”
He shrugged again. “These are the risks you have volunteered to take. You knew full well of them when you started this dragoneer business. You knowingly accepted them. And so if you die tomorrow, then it won’t matter, will it? There won’t be a horde of two hundred dragons. There won’t be a Dragon Lord. There won’t be any responsibilities for you to face. There won’t be a new role for you to define. You will have wasted your last evening worrying about something that never happened.”
Trysten shifted in her chair. “That’s unfair. You can’t go through life living like that. We have to plan for the future. You yourself said that defeat doesn’t exist.”
“It doesn't, until you are defeated. Death spares you until it doesn’t. Then there is nothing you can do. So don’t worry about what might come. Don’t
fight tomorrow’s battles today. Not when there is an entire army in front of you now. Fight the enemy you can see. Fight the one directly before you,” Mardoc said.
Trysten let out a long, tense breath. She looked at her tea again. Tiny ripples ringed the surface and shimmered.
“I don’t know what being a Dragon Lord means,” Mardoc said. “That is for you to discover. But what you have learned today is that whatever it means, it has limits. That is a good thing. Dreams do not have limits. The wild imaginings of madmen do not have limits. You do. You are real, and you are the Dragoneer of Aerona weyr. Being a Dragon Lord has not changed that."
She looked at her father again. He was right. She was still the Dragoneer, and she was as real as every person in the village. They all had burdens to carry. Hers was not more special because she was a Dragon Lord. It was only different. Although it may be heavier at times, she would always have the strength to carry it, not because of her special powers but because of the man sitting on the other side of the room and how he and her mother had raised her.
She picked up her teacup and crossed the room to sit next to her father. Soon she would fight the enemy before her, but tonight she would draw strength from her father, the greatest Dragoneer she had ever known.
Chapter 23
To Trysten’s surprise, the fitful dreams subsided that night. She had gone to bed and slept solidly for the first time in weeks. Upon waking, it startled her to see the dawn in her window, and her first thought, as the curtains stirred in the breeze, was that a great fire raged outside.
She crossed to the window and pushed the curtains aside. Warm air greeted her. A warm morning and a clear sky meant it would be a hot day.
To occupy the hordesmen as they waited for the army, or for the next attack from a Western horde, Trysten asked Borsal and the weyrboys to close and lock the side doors of the weyr, and then place bales of hay in the yard. The hordesmen gathered with arrows and quivers and began to take target practice in between glances to the mountains and the skyline in the west.
Soon, Muzad and his men stood about their tents and watched. Trysten eagerly invited them to join the competition that had quickly emerged as hordesmen vied to see who had the truest aim.
Her attempt at camaraderie was met with grudging acceptance. Muzad nodded at his men, and soon they were standing in line, taking turns to prick the center of targets painted on pieces of canvas and draped over the bales of hay.
Even Prince Aymon emerged from his tent, dragging a chair with him, and sat in the morning shade, watching the sport. Weyrboys brought around water and bread with bits of cheese and meat.
Despite the dread pressing down upon the weyr and the village, Trysten found herself grinning and feeling more refreshed than she had in a long time. She was pleased to see that Muzad’s men and the Aeronian hordesmen were finally starting to get along some, as they ribbed each other in good-natured competition.
It was a moment of levity and hope that was welcomed by all, and then dashed with the shout of, “Dragons!”
Everyone looked to the west but saw nothing. When the bell in the tower began to clang, Trysten looked around in confusion.
“Dragons!” Iven yelled. He pointed to the east.
A cheer went up among the hordesmen and echoed across the village. A wide grin plastered itself over Trysten’s face and even more of the weight on her shoulders lifted.
As if afraid she might float away, Vanon clapped his large hand over Trysten's shoulder. “By all that’s wild and split, isn’t that a beautiful sight to see?” he asked.
Trysten nodded. The relief at seeing the reinforcements collided with the knowledge that she would send them to their deaths. Her insides quivered.
No, wait. It wasn’t that after all. The smile faded from her face.
“Something’s wrong,” Trysten said, but her concern was buried beneath the shouting and carrying-on of her hordesmen and Muzad’s.
The dragons in the east approached in two waves, one horde behind the other. The dragons were... Something wasn’t right. They were too far off for her to get a detailed grasp of what they were feeling, thinking, but she got a glimpse... a whiff of it, like a familiar odor, but one not quite strong enough to recognize and name yet.
“Shall we fly out and give them a proper escort?” Vanon shouted.
“Yes,” Trysten said. She could hardly make out anything more than the line of them across the sky, the slight undulation of their flight, but they weren’t moving like they should. Something was off.
“Yes,” Trysten said more forcefully, and then turned back to her hordesmen. “Listen up!” She yelled across the celebrating men and women. “Listen up! We’re going out to meet them, and I want you dressed for battle.”
The cheers dropped away from the hordesmen.
“Battle?” Jurdun asked. “They’re royal hordesmen.”
Trysten turned back to the east, to their approach. There was nothing new to see.
She turned back to the hordesmen. They stood about looking confused.
“Now!” Trysten shouted. She clapped her hands together.
“You heard her!” Paege shouted. “Move!”
The Aeronian hordesmen all looked up to the eastern sky once more, then broke for the weyr.
Paege remained behind.
“All right, men!” Muzad shouted. “Up in your mounts. We’re going to give them a proper welcome, hear?”
Muzad’s men hurried off to their dragons.
“What’s wrong?” Paege asked Trysten as the royal hordesmen hurried away.
Trysten turned back to the horde once more. She shook her head. “I don’t know, but something isn't right. I can feel it.”
She looked back to Paege, who squinted into the morning sunlight and regarded the dragons himself. He nodded, then broke off for the weyr in a trot.
Trysten glanced back one more time, and then hurried off to Elevera.
By the time Trysten got Elevera into the weyr yard, Muzad's horde had leaped into the air and taken off ahead of her own. They didn’t get much of a head start, however, as Trysten saw the last of her hordesmen secure their straps less than a minute later. With a sweep of her arm, she ordered the horde into the sky.
A sense of aching and sore muscles passed through Trysten as her dragons worked the stiffness out of their muscles after yesterday’s excitement. The sensation passed quickly, however, and Trysten was able to open herself up and focus her full attention on the dragons ahead.
Fear.
A strong sense of fear struck her like a cold breeze on such a hot day. Fear and exhaustion. The dragons were fleeing. They were racing as hard as they could. For Aerona.
Muzad’s men were in the way. Trysten ordered the horde to gain some altitude, and as they lifted up over Muzad and the remains of his horde, Trysten suddenly saw what made her think something was wrong. It was the rhythm of their flight. The approaching dragons were flapping their wings as hard and forcefully as they could. They were sprinting, exhausting themselves. It was not the steady, measured flight of dragons simply traveling.
Trysten signaled for Paege to release their colors. He unfurled a flag that bore the gold and blue of Aerona. On Trysten’s left flank, Vanon did the same.
Ahead, the oncoming horde unfurled its colors. The purple and silver of a royal horde flapped in the wind, but only one flag. Then the bearer began to wave it back and forth, left to right, in an indication of distress.
He pointed back.
Twelve dragons flew in the first wave in a shallow V formation. Behind the first wave, another wave approached..
Trysten squinted at the thirty-two dragons approaching in the second wave. She expected to see the dragons bearing the leather hoods of the Western kingdom, but they did not.
They also did not display colors.
Trysten peered at the second wave. Something was wrong. Not quite right.
The rider at point in the first wave signaled for everyone’s attention. He th
en ordered an attack on the wave behind him.
He repeated the order.
For all the sky.
Trysten whipped her arm up and repeated the order, signaling for her own horde to take a U formation and intercept the advancing royal horde.
As Elevera slowed to let the other dragons advance around her, Muzad glanced over his shoulder, presumably to see what she was doing. To Trysten’s surprise, he ordered his own horde to fall back. The royal dragons dipped down and slid underneath the Aerona horde before taking up a V formation right behind, guarding Trysten’s flanks.
As the four hordes drew close to each other, Trysten focused on the advancing ones. She sensed the alpha in the reinforcements. But the alpha's hold on the other dragons was... tenuous. New. It was the beta dragon that had recently advanced to alpha.
Trysten drew in a deep breath and did her best to peer into the eyes of the point dragon flying behind the approaching royal horde. They were still too far away to be sure, but it seemed quite likely that the point dragon in the attacking horde was the alpha. But there was a second one in the horde behind it, among the ranks. There were definitely two alphas, two hordes and they were both Western.
As the riders forming the arms of the U looked back for last orders, Trysten ordered her horde to attack the point dragon flying behind the royal horde, then peel off wide, away from the center. The oncoming royal horde would be absorbed and sheltered by the arms of the U formed by the Aerona horde.
She pulled her bow from her saddle, then an arrow from Elevera’s quiver.
The enemy hordes would not be so lucky this time. There would be no escape.
Chapter 24
“Western!” the royal Dragoneer yelled as his horde approached.
Trysten nodded, then drew her bowstring taut.
Ahead, the rest of her horde did the same.
The lead Westerner made several signals. The ends of his flanks broke off and moved inward and up, forming a second wave to fly behind the first and provide some cover for the dragons at the front.
The Dragoneer Trilogy Page 66