Dragonjacks: Book 1 - The Shepherd: A Dragons of Cadwaller Novel

by Vickie Knestaut

  “I thought you were the dragoneer,” Ren said quietly.

  “I am,” Ander replied.

  “Then why are we sitting back here with our hands tied behind our backs?”

  “Long story,” Ander said.

  “You going somewhere?” Ren asked.

  “The drawing compound I mixed up,” Tyber said, his voice low. “I put it on Pendro, and she died.”

  “What!” Ren exclaimed.

  One of the dragonjacks watched them for a few seconds before turning back to his dragon.

  “It wasn’t much of a drawing compound. I think it was a fire compound. It burned my skin. I think it was too much for Pendro. She couldn’t handle it. Her boil burst, and she just died.”

  “Wow,” Ren said.

  “Verana took the horde,” Ander said. “And so that leaves me as the dragoneer. Sirvon is in a pickle now. He can’t kill me because none of the other riders can perform the bonding.”

  “You can’t perform the bonding,” Ren said.

  “Shush,” Ander said, then whispered, “I believe we have the wing master to thank for that.”

  Ren chuckled. “So it is sorcery.”

  “Sirvon can’t risk losing the horde, so he can’t risk losing me. Not until he finds someone who can replace me.”

  “So what is he going to do?” Ren asked.

  Ander turned his attention from the dragonjacks and looked at Ren. “He’s going to learn to trust me.”

  “What! Are you serious? We’re just going to…”

  “Why? You going somewhere?” Ander asked.

  Ren let out a deep breath and slumped back against the stone wall of the weyr.

  “We have a mission to complete,” Ander whispered. “This situation isn’t ideal, but there’s a good chance that these men know The Shepherd.”

  Tyber stirred as one of the dragonjacks went up to Rius and started to unfasten the buckles of her saddle. He planted his heels and tightened his back against the wall. If he needed to, he’d push himself up to standing and run to Rius. He’d figure out what to do with his hands along the way.

  “Could Sirvon be The Shepherd?” Ren whispered.

  “I doubt it,” Ander said. “If he could replace me, he would. And the horde that The Shepherd sent to assassinate Prince Regis was broken by the Prince’s escort. Sirvon himself was a dragoneer until yesterday. I don’t think The Shepherd is a dragoneer, I believe he commands them.”

  “Like a wing master?” Tyber asked.

  “More like the master of thieves. Which is why the best way to find him would be to present ourselves as the kind of horde that he can call on to do his bidding.”

  “Are you kidding?” Ren asked. “You see those other dragons? They’re the winged dead. I wouldn’t call on them to do anything. They can barely stay in the sky.”

  “All we have to do is remember our training and try to whip this horde into shape.”

  The dragonjack with Rius pulled the saddle from her shoulders and carried it to the wall. He dropped it unceremoniously, then barked at one of the weyrboys to look her over. Rius turned her head back to Tyber, and he willed her to come back, to amble on to the rear of the weyr and just stand before him, let him see that she was fine. She looked from Tyber to Verana in her new stall, then back to Tyber, but she remained still.

  “Let me get this straight,” Ren whispered. “You want us to train a horde of dragonjacks?”

  “We have a role to play, and so we will play it well. The most important thing here is that we get our man.”

  Tyber slumped against the wall. This was ridiculous. So ridiculous that he began to chuckle.

  “What in the wilds is so funny about this?” Ren asked.

  Tyber shook his head. “Remember when we were back in the academy? And our biggest concern was being sent off to the front lines?”

  Ren was silent for a few seconds. “Yeah? So?”

  Tyber sighed. “I’m just glad the war is over. That’s all.”

  They remained tied up at the back of the weyr most of the day, given short breaks from time to time to feed or relieve themselves, but always the twine was retied.

  Despite his discomfort and the severity of the situation, Tyber managed to drift off to sleep until Ander struck his calf with the heel of his boot.

  Tyber woke with a start and lifted his head.

  Outside, Sirvon stood in the light, speaking to a group of men. They were dressed in leather armor, and short swords hung at their sides. A couple of them had bows over their shoulders, and another stood with the stock of a crossbow sticking out from a harness on his back.

  “Visitors,” Ander said.

  “Who are they?” Tyber asked as he struggled to sit up.

  “They came on horseback,” Ren said. “I can hear them. The horses.”

  Sirvon pointed toward the interior of the weyr. A man with a cloth cap and a close-cropped beard followed Sirvon’s gesture. He nodded, then said something to Sirvon.

  “Bring them out,” Sirvon called to his men.

  Tyber’s gut tightened.

  The dragonjacks entered the weyr and began to dress the dragons, leading them out of the barn one by one.

  “What are they doing?” Tyber asked.

  The man in the cloth cap moved forward, looking the dragons up and down as they emerged from the shadows. He paused to examine lesions and weeping scales. When Rius was led out, he made a comment to one of the leather-clad men beside him.

  One of the dragonjacks approached Verana’s stall.

  “Who is that?” Ander called.

  The dragonjack looked at him. “None of your concern.”

  “I’m the dragoneer of the weyr. I think it is very much my concern.”

  The dragonjack let out a short laugh and continued on to the stall. He pulled back the gate, dressed Verana, and led her out.

  After the men had inspected the dragons, the capped man nodded again to the weyr and said something more. Sirvon spoke to Brath, and then Brath called three men to follow him. They approached Tyber, Ren, and Ander.

  “We have some guests that would like to meet you,” Brath said as he approached. “I expect you don’t have much longer to live, so if you want to put up a struggle now, I’d be happy to make your lives short and less painful.”

  “How generous,” Ren spat.

  The men yanked them to their feet and marched them outside. Tyber squinted as he stepped into the sun. The bruise on his face ached, and the cut on his cheek itched.

  The capped man smiled at Sirvon and pointed to Ander. “Him?”

  Sirvon nodded once.

  “Well…” the capped man said as he looked Ander up and down. “So you’re the dragoneer of this merry band.” He waved an absent hand at the other dragonjacks.

  “I am Ander of Thralkeld. Dragoneer of this weyr. Who are you?”

  The man looked up at Ander, his smile broadening. The leather-clad man beside him gripped the hilt of his sword.

  “How did you get to be dragoneer of this sorry bit of rotting flesh?” the capped man asked.

  “I will not answer your questions until I know how to address them.”

  The leather-clad man began to step forward. The capped man held up a hand. He looked to Sirvon. “I don’t know about this, Sirvon. I think you’re just making excuses.”

  Sirvon’s eyes went wide. “I am not! There is no way—”

  “I’m afraid you wouldn’t know what a true dragoneer was like if he were trussed up and sitting on the floor of your weyr. Why, this one almost has the same haughtiness of a royal hordesman.”

  Ander lifted his chin. “I don’t care to be insulted. Especially by men who don’t have the courage to share their names.”

  The leather-clad man looked to the capped man, who rolled his eyes. “I’m not all that interested in what you do or don’t like, or whether you feel insulted or not. What does interest me is what to do with you and your friends now that you’re here.”

  “Can I make
a suggestion?” Ren asked.

  “I understand that you are truly the dragoneer,” the capped man went on as if Ren hadn’t said anything. “That the dragons will follow you around and cannot be persuaded to go back into the weyr unless you are there.”

  “That seems to be the case,” Ander said with a nod.

  “Why?” the capped man said as he folded his arms before himself.

  Ander shrugged. “Charisma, I guess.”

  The capped man smirked, then looked at Ren, and then Tyber. He stepped forward and inspected the side of Tyber’s face. He looked Tyber in the eye. “You’re the one that killed Pendro, aren’t you?”

  Sirvon shuffled, moving his weight from one foot to the other.

  “I did not,” Tyber said with a slow shake of his head. “I tried to help. But the herbalist they took me to didn’t have everything I needed. He told me he’d substitute some stuff, that it’d all work out. But it didn’t. He gave me the stuff for a heating compound, not a drawing one. Look at my hand.”

  The capped man turned to Sirvon, who stared intently at Tyber.

  “And under whom did you apprentice?” the capped man asked, turning back to Tyber.

  “Apprentice?” Tyber asked. He wished he had Ander’s calm and swagger.

  “Yes. Apprentice. What is the name of the healer who taught you your skills?”

  Tyber shook his head. “No one. I was at the academy. They talked about how to cure common ailments in lecture. Dragon ailments.”

  The capped man looked back to Sirvon. “Lectures?” he asked Sirvon, who avoided the man’s gaze. “Did he tell you that he had apprenticed under someone?”

  Sirvon’s gaze slid to the leather-clad man’s. He was about to say something, and then appeared to think better of it. He shook his head.

  “So let me get this straight,” the capped man said to Sirvon. “Your men told you that they found someone who could heal your dragons, and rather than have him make the compound and send it to you, you invited him here. To your weyr. And once here, you had a boy who didn’t even graduate from the academy mix up a compound to put on your dragon. And he did. And your dragon died as a result.”

  Sirvon looked away.

  “Look at me!” The capped man snapped.

  Sirvon turned back to the man, then dropped his gaze. “Yes,” he said with a nod.

  “So now your entire horde belongs to a man you don’t know and can’t trust.”

  “It appears that way,” Sirvon said.

  “Appears?” the man said with a grin.

  “I didn’t know this would happen,” Sirvon said. “I just thought that maybe if he did have a compound that would cure the dragons, then we would be able to—”

  “Enough!” the capped man said, raising his hand. “Enough. I’ve heard quite enough.”

  Sirvon’s gaze sank. He paled, and Tyber found he was actually a little concerned for him.

  “Your services are no longer required,” the capped man said.

  Sirvon lifted his head again. He drew a deep breath, his lips parting, but then he looked to the leather-clad men. One drew a knife and started forward. Sirvon lifted his chin, drew his shoulders back.

  “Wait!” the capped man said, holding up his hand and glaring at the man with the knife. “What’s wrong with you, Ricard? There are children present.”

  Ricard looked back to the house, then lifted his head as if to stare past the two women and several children.

  “Behind the weyr should be sufficient,” the capped man said.

  The leather-clad men grabbed Sirvon and marched him toward the edge of the weyr. Sirvon glanced at the house, and a woman cried out.

  Tyber’s back tightened.

  “Now,” the capped man said as he clasped his hands before himself and turned to Ander, “I need the services of a dragoneer. Should you decide to work for me, I will grant you exclusive use of this estate.”

  He swept his hand out at the barn and the house. In the distance, a woman wailed and a child cried. Tyber dared not look away from the capped man.

  “There will be goats to feed your dragons. I will see that you, your men, your staff, and your women are all fed well. You may keep all plunder beyond what I have asked for. Your duties will be simple. Keep this weyr hidden. If it should be discovered, then you will make sure the discoverer will never be able to tell anyone about it. You will push back any hordesmen dumb enough to fly into my territory. You will collect tribute owed to me by the farms in this area. On occasion, you will be asked to collect a tax from the caravans that travel along the Wightmouth road. Finally, I may ask you to do some sort of special favor. The kind of things that must be done without question. Does this sort of thing interest you?”

  “I don’t really get to say no, do I?” Ander asked.

  The capped man smiled. “Of course you do. But if you do, then I have no use for you.”

  “No choice is still no choice.”

  “You don’t choose fortune, Ander. It is simply delivered on you. The only choice you have in the matter is if you will accept it or not.”

  “It didn’t appear to be very fortuitous to Sirvon.”

  “Fortune flees fools. Are you a fool?”

  Ander shook his head. “I am not.”

  The man smiled. “Good. Good.”

  He turned to Tyber. “And you? Will you join your dragoneer in my employment?”

  Tyber lifted his chin. His heart thundered. He could see this man ordering out the dragonjacks that had killed Fang in their attack on the caravan.

  “He’s the dragoneer,” Tyber said. “Where he goes, my dragon goes.”

  The man’s smile broadened a bit, then softened as he shook his head, his expression approaching one of pity. “What a romantic notion,” he said, but it wasn’t clear if he was being facetious or not.

  “And you?” the man said as he turned to Ren.

  Ren shrugged. “It sounds like a pretty good deal to me. Better than I’d expect for just terrorizing travelers.”

  “And it is. You can be sure of that.”

  The capped man looked back to Ander. “Then it’s settled. You and your horde will work for me, and you will never want for work again. Brath knows how to contact me. Payment will be delivered when I send it. This estate and everything on it is yours, Ander, until I no longer have need of you.”

  “So then I best remain useful.”

  The capped man smiled. “My fafa said that the key to a long, happy life was to always be useful.”

  “Sounds like a wise man.”

  The capped man turned to the dragonjacks, then pointed at Ander. “This man is the dragoneer of this weyr now. You will answer to him.”

  “Shepherd,” Brath said, his face red and brimming with anger. “He cannot be—”

  Tyber’s jaw clenched, and he steeled himself against glancing at Ander and Ren.

  “He has the dragons,” The Shepherd said. “And I can’t see anyone else around here who is capable of replacing Sirvon. The dragons have chosen. And if you had taken better care of them, then perhaps they would have chosen better.”

  Brath fumed, his jaw working in silent exasperation as The Shepherd turned back to Ander.

  “Do you have any questions?” he asked.

  Ander bowed his head slightly. “What would you like me to do first?”

  “Your first order of business would be to get to know this lot,” The Shepherd said with a wave of his hand at the others. “Know your men and your dragons. I dare say that there appears to be some bad blood between you. You will get over it and you will do so now.”

  The Shepherd looked between Ander and Brath. “All of you need to work together. I will send some people around to check on your progress. They will have a favorable report, because I’m not sure how long I can continue to support a horde full of sick and feeble dragons.”

  Brath turned an even darker shade of red.

  The Shepherd turned to Tyber. “And you. Do you actually know anything about
the healing arts?”

  “I, uh… A little bit.”

  The Shepherd watched Tyber’s lips, then smiled slowly before turning to one of his men. “You hear that? He almost said, sir.”

  The man nodded.

  “Do you think you can do anything for these dragons? Don’t lie to me… Tyber, was it? Don’t lie to me. If you can’t, then so be it. I don’t expect any of these other louts to know a wing from an elbow, and so I’m not going to ask any more of you. But if you know how to fix this situation, I can make you a very wealthy man.”

  Tyber opened his mouth to reply, but there were no words there. He looked off to the other dragons. His attention rested on the violet scales of Gurvi. The scales along her foreclaw were dark with the seeping fluid again. He was too far away to be certain, but there looked to be a little more shadow than there should be beneath the scales above the weeping, as if they were puckering out with the start of a boil.

  “I don’t know,” Tyber said. “I know a little bit about dragons and healing, but I’m not a dragon healer.”

  “Pity. You could have had a fortune.” The Shepherd nodded.

  “Well,” The Shepherd said, spinning suddenly toward Ander, “it’s been a pleasure to meet you and your men, Ander. May your employment last longer than Sirvon’s. I will be sending people around regularly to check on you. Should I find you mysteriously dead, then the rest of these people will pay with their lives. I cannot have my hordes at each other’s throats. But likewise, if I find that you are not working out here, I will not hesitate to see if Brath can live up to his bluster.”

  “I would rather have one of my own men as a commander,” Ander said.

  “Interesting. Which one?”

  Ander didn’t respond right away. “Ren.”

  The Shepherd smiled. “Maybe one day. After Brath’s back gets the best of him. Until then, you need a commander who knows the land and sky, one who has the situation beneath him, even if he doesn’t know how to command it.”

  “Very well,” Ander said.

  The Shepherd looked across all of them again, then rubbed his hands together. “Well. I believe that takes care of everything. You will excuse me while I see to other business matters.”