Dragon's-Eye View
The Wisdom of Dragons #1
by
Vickie Knestaut & Danny Knestaut
First published by BL Books 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Vickie Knestaut & Danny Knestaut
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
First edition
Editing by Angela Clemens
Cover by covermint designs
For Thea,
who has the heart of a dragon
and a wisdom all her own.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About the Authors
Also by Vickie Knestaut & Danny Knestaut
Chapter 1
The glint of a sword in the sunlight caught Tyber’s attention. He glanced from the back of Nather’s brown cloak to the spectacle on the balcony above the crowd. There, Prince Regis lifted the jewel-encrusted sword from his scabbard and held it before him. Tyber glowered at the gems inlaid in the hilt. He was too far away to see them clearly, but it didn’t take great eyesight to know that the jewels alone would feed his family until his baby brother was an old man. No matter. The ritual served no purpose but to flaunt the wealth and power of the royal family of Cadwaller. The people would have to fend for themselves.
“We honor the service of your predecessor, Gerig of Cadwaller,” Prince Regis intoned, his voice as loud and clear as the bell atop Gods’ Reach spire. “The loss of our Wing Master is a great loss for our kingdom. But in times of loss, we find new opportunities. We find new chances to serve the King and rise to greatness.”
“What a bunch of broken feathers,” Tyber spat as his gaze dropped back to the crowd ahead of him.
His breath stopped. His eyes raked the rich silks of red and yellow of the more affluent spectators as he searched for the coarse brown of Nather’s cloak. It was gone. By the scale, he’d lost sight of his friend!
Tyber shifted from foot to foot, lifting himself up onto the toes of his boots as he searched for Nather. Losing sight of him was bad. Very bad. Why did he ever agree to do this?
The crowd murmured and shifted slightly. Despite the tightening coil of panic in Tyber, he glanced back up to the balcony where a royal dragoneer knelt and inclined his face to the Prince.
“I, Prince Regis, first son of King Cadwaller, invite you to rise, Yaris of Cadwaller, and greet the people of our kingdom as their new Wing Master!”
Yaris stood, and the spectators below roared in congratulations, raising their hands above their heads in cheers and applause. Tyber’s jaw tightened, and his body grew tense as he shifted from foot to foot. This was the moment when Nather would strike.
And then Nather appeared, stepping out from behind a curtain of red and yellow silks. The wealthy and well-heeled of the mother city cheered the new Wing Master while trying to avoid being touched by Tyber’s friend who wore the clothes of a poor person.
Nather stood out in the crowd, as visible as a golden dragon on the blue sky. But his plain clothing, like Tyber’s, would make it easy for them to disappear as soon as they waded out of the sea of wealth.
The sword glinted again and Tyber’s eyes flicked back to Prince Regis. The man grinned a wide, polished grin as he slid the sword into its scabbard like he knew what to do with the thing.
Tyber’s brow furrowed even tighter. He shook his head slightly as he stared at the grinning, waving Yaris. Poor sod. He looked as if it had never occurred to him that his new position of honor was because the King had thrown away Gerig’s life, as well as the lives of the one hundred sixty hordesmen who had perished with him fighting the Western Kingdom.
The streets were thick with gossip. The Western Kingdom had ramped up their attacks and sent armies across the mountains. King Cadwaller was throwing hordesmen at them like buckets of water at a blazing stable.
Poor Yaris and the men who served beneath him. They were as good as dead. The Western Kingdom would swallow them up just as it had with Regis’ younger brother, Aymon.
Tyber studied Regis’ grinning face. It was hard to grin like that after losing a younger brother. After each sibling lost, it got harder to smile again, but the Prince seemed to manage.
Tyber’s gaze flicked back to Yaris. Did the new Wing Master have brothers and sisters? Tyber’s grimace tightened as he thought of the sorrow Yaris’ family would feel when they learned that their brother had died because the King didn’t care whose lives he threw away. That much was abundantly apparent to anyone with eyes and ears.
But then again, Yaris had chosen to ride the King’s dragons. It was no one’s fault but his own if that choice cost him his life. Who in the wilds would even want to be a hordesman, let alone the master of all the King’s dragons and riders?
Only a fool.
Tyber’s eyes flicked back to Nather as his friend stepped up to him and handed off a leather coin purse. Nather never made eye contact. He moved away as if Tyber had simply been in his path. The man was good. Practiced.
A sly grin teased the corner of Tyber’s lips as he gave the purse a slight heft before slipping it into a pouch worn at his belt. His own share of the money would be enough to feed his family for a couple of days. He could swallow his feelings of guilt if it meant his brothers and sisters could swallow something more than thin broth.
His grin faded as he turned from the crowd and looked over to the True Gate. He was supposed to meet Nather on the other side, but the wall that surrounded the city suddenly looked much farther away than the single mile between the plaza and the gate. The broad lane that stretched between himself and the entrance to the city was more crowded than usual, packed with people milling about, visiting the markets and shops that lined the lane, as well as those who came to the plaza to watch and cheer as the Prince gave Yaris the same promotion that had killed his predecessor.
“Stop! Thief!”
Tyber glanced over his shoulder, trying to look mildly surprised, but not concerned, as if he too was curious to see what the fuss was all about.
The people in the crowd looked around, but none of them checked their own purses, oblivious to the idea that they could be robbed without noticing.
Tyber bumped into someone.
“Sorry,” he said as he moved around the man without making eye contact.
“Wait a minute,” the man said. “Hold on there.”
Tyber put on a little more speed, then clenched his teeth as he realized his mistake. He had drawn attention to himself. By the dragon’s breath, how did Nather survive long enough to get good at this?
“
There!” the man shouted. “He’s right here!”
Broken feathers! Tyber pushed into a run, shoving people aside as the brightly colored silks of wealthy merchants and their families began to give way to the drab colors of cotton, fustian, and wool worn by the common people. He was nearly free.
“Thief! Guards! Thief!” a small chorus of bystanders shouted.
Guards. Tyber glanced around. The royal guards were everywhere today, a chance for the King to show off his might as if that would convince the people that he’d be victorious despite the news of the Western victories running rampant through the streets.
The pikes of a royal guard unit appeared above the heads of the throng off to Tyber’s right. Guards shoved through the crowd headed in his direction, responding to the commotion, but they hadn’t spotted him yet. There was still a chance for escape, a chance to see that his family ate well enough for a few days.
Tyber broke to his left, away from the wide-open end of the plaza and broad lane that would take him to the safety of the True Gate. Nather would have to wait. Tyber needed to save his hide more than he needed the purse. There were few enough opportunities to earn money outside of the King’s dungeon. He’d find none at all if imprisoned inside it.
The crowd thinned out quickly as Tyber made his way to one of the smaller exits on the side of the plaza, away from True Lane. He broke into a light jog, dodging bystanders with ease. He’d been navigating the stifling crowds of the mother city his whole life to get to his home in the slums that clung to the outer side of the city’s wall.
At the edge of the plaza, Tyber stopped before two guards standing at attention on either side of a small lane that disgorged a steady stream of people still entering the plaza. The guards looked from Tyber to the bustle behind him, and they began to lower their pikes. The flow of people into the plaza slowed as the crowd moved to the center of the opening to avoid the pikes. The entrance, hardly wider than a wagon, quickly became choked off and inaccessible to anyone wanting to leave.
“Back there!” Tyber called to the guards. He pointed to the crowd behind him. “They need your help. They’re after a thief.”
One guard looked to the other, but his partner wasn’t so easily tricked. He frowned as his brown eyes darted about, sizing up the situation.
“Quick!” Tyber snapped. “They need you now.”
The suspicious guard nodded toward his partner. “Go on.” He then lowered his pike to obstruct a little over half of the exit. The flow of people slowed to a trickle as spectators stopped to see what the excitement was about.
“Stop him!” shouted a man behind Tyber. The guard still at the gate scanned the crowd for the man who had shouted.
Tyber no longer had a second to waste. He dashed forward. The guard swung his pike out toward Tyber, trying to put the pointed end of the blade between Tyber and himself, but he wasn’t quick enough.
As the top end of the pike swung toward him, Tyber snatched it in his left hand guiding it up and over his head. The guard’s uncertain partner was too surprised to do anything but stare, shocked that someone dared to ignore the voice of authority.
The crowd jostled and spilled around Tyber as he shoved his way in and through the jam of people. They shouted and screamed, pushing forward, or pressing themselves against the walls of cut granite blocks. An elbow caught him in the cheek, and his head snapped back. He spun, leaned into his right shoulder, and pushed deeper into the crowd.
“To the side!” a guard shouted. “By order of the King of Cadwaller, move to the side!”
As the crowd began to part, the guards yelled for someone to “Stop that man!” Confusion clouded the faces of the bystanders as Tyber shoved past. Soon the crowd thinned out into regular traffic, and Tyber broke into a run, weaving and darting around people and donkeys laden with goods, past a small cart filled with beets and a round-shouldered man who held the reins in his hand as if unsure of what to do with them. At the shouting of the guards behind him, people moved aside, hugging the walls of the buildings that lined the lane, while being careful not to step in the ever present refuse that collected there.
Tyber picked up more speed and had nearly achieved an all-out run when a thick man with a long beard stepped into the center of the lane and held his ground. He spread his stance and opened his arms, ready to snag the fleeing Tyber as he passed.
Tyber wrenched his face into the meanest grimace he could manage, then dropped his shoulder and took aim at the point where the man’s breastbone ended and his belly began.
The do-gooder thrust his right foot back and braced himself as he brought his arms around to call Tyber’s bluff and take his tackle.
At the last second, Tyber lifted his shoulder and spun around to the man’s left, catching a glimpse of wide-eyed surprise and flailing hands as Tyber danced past. The man would be in the guards’ path in a matter of seconds.
Tyber charged on, dodging carts and wagons. Vendors stepped back but never halted their calls. Meats. Fruits. Vegetables. Cheeses and teas. Sweets and sweets and sweets! The noise of the mother city surrounded Tyber, drowning out the roar of his heart and the rush of his lungs. He panted at the air thick with manure and rot and the constant dust that overhung the whole city. It was so dense he could taste it as he tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.
He burst out of the end of the lane and into a small courtyard. Dark windows open to the summer heat surrounded him and hid the riches of the wealthy merchants who lived inside. The buildings rose four stories into the air and obscured the city wall that was less than half a mile from where he stood. There was a small gate, hardly more than a tunnel wide enough for two men to walk abreast and exit on the western side of the city, but if he got outside, he could walk around to the True Gate on the north and find Nather. He’d give Nather the purse, then swear to never get involved in his friend’s plans again.
A huge shadow passed over the courtyard.
Everyone, including Tyber, looked up as a dragon sailed overhead on fixed wings. The midday light obscured the royal hordesman’s face, but Tyber could feel his gaze.
Broken feathers! He’d have to hide. There was no outrunning a dragon.
Chapter 2
As the guards behind renewed their shouts for someone to stop him, Tyber dodged to his right. He headed for an alley that exited the courtyard in the same direction the dragon had been flying. By the gods, he hated dragons. They were cared for and fussed over, their riders growing fat on hefty salaries while they watched the people starve in the streets.
But dragons did have limitations. The hordesman glanced over his shoulder. His long hair and the tassels on his tunic rippled in the wind above the city. The fiery red dragon twisted her wings slightly and banked off to the right, disappearing over the red-tiled roofs of the stone buildings. The hordesman would circle around and try to get behind Tyber and direct the guards from the air.
Tyber needed a place to hide. Now.
The alley opened out onto a broad avenue that swept down into a large market where it intercepted True Lane. He recognized where he was before he finished looking to his left. The avenue led to the royal weyr yard. A grand building with soaring arches glared at him, the city wall curving behind it as if embracing the ornate structure of blinding white stone.
Dragon Lane.
Tyber glanced up and expected to find a whole horde of dragons circling overhead, but saw only the pale blue sky and the high, thin clouds of the relentless summer.
He had only a moment to disappear.
A hammer rang on iron off to Tyber’s left. A blacksmith worked his anvil beneath a canopy, his tools and goods moved out of doors to spare himself the mid-summer heat. Still, a wide swath of sweat stained the man’s broad back.
Tyber dashed over to the blacksmith’s shop and stepped up to the anvil, panting. He made a show of drawing in a deep breath. The blacksmith stood with his hammer poised for another blow of the smoldering iron plate on the anvil and stared at Tyber.
“Excuse me,” Tyber said, as a dragon’s shadow swept across the broad avenue behind the blacksmith. Several people in the lane craned their heads back and pointed. Children cooed in awe.
“I was sent here by a friend who highly recommended you,” Tyber said. He pulled out the coin pouch and dropped it onto the anvil. The slips and strips of metal inside made a pleasing sound as they jangled together. It brought a smile to the faces of both men.
The hammer dropped to the blacksmith’s side. He drew his free arm across his forehead and wiped away sweat, leaving a dark streak across his brow from the ash caught in the wiry hairs of his arm.
“What can I do for you?” the blacksmith asked, his eyes on the coin purse.
“A sword,” Tyber said. “I want a sword.”
“What kind of sword?”
“Well, a good one, of course. Which is why my friend recommended you.”
“Me?” The blacksmith asked.
“Well, yes. You can do it, can’t you?”
“Of course, I can. What kind of good sword do you want?”
“I want one that’s at least an ell in length,” Tyber said, then held his hands before him, about two feet apart.
“That long?” the blacksmith asked.
“A good sword,” Tyber said with a nod. His eyes flicked to the avenue. Guards began to split up and run either way. Several crossed Dragon Lane and entered the alleyway.
Tyber leaned forward slightly so that his dark, shoulder-length hair would hide his face. He shifted his stance as if to show an imaginary hilt at his side while also putting more of the broad, muscled blacksmith between himself and the guards.
“And I want a grinning skull for the pommel,” Tyber said, patting his hip where a sword would hang.
“A grinning skull?” the blacksmith asked. He shifted his head back slightly on his neck as if surprised by the request.
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