“We’re hordesmen,” Tyber said. “Riding dragons is what we do.”
Ren shook his head as he took up his position at the end of the weyr’s opening. He drew an arrow and notched it, but left his bowstring slack as he stared out at the empty yard. He shook his head, muttered something, and then returned his arrow to the quiver before turning back to Maybelle.
Tyber gave him a quick smile as he tightened Rius' saddle straps. Nothing ever went how they thought it would, so it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
Shella and Suven ushered the children into the weyr. Suven glanced at Samsen, and he shooed her on. Ander sent them to Verana’s stall and told them to stay low behind the wall.
Tyber finished securing Rius’ saddle, then plucked up his bow and quiver from where they lay by the wall. He slung the quiver over his shoulder and stood with the bow in his left hand. He looked down the line at the dragonjacks, all armed, arrows notched, fingers ready to pull back their bowstrings.
May they be as committed as they appeared. For their dragons. For themselves.
Tyber drew an arrow from his quiver, glanced back at Rius, then turned his attention to the yard, and waited. A strange calmness settled over him despite a tightness in his gut. His feet wanted to move, but the rest of him focused on the feel of the bowstring snugged against his fingers, the wooden notch of the arrow nestled between his index and middle fingers. Waiting was hard, but savoring the last few moments of peace was easy.
The clicks and burrs of grasshoppers and the song of one, lone lark soon were trampled beneath the sound of clopping horse hooves. Lots of them. Metal jingled softly. A horse nickered.
“Hello?” The Shepherd called.
Ander stepped out of the shadows.
Tyber pulled back slightly on the bowstring.
“Where is everyone?” The Shepherd asked. “Where are the children?”
“In the weyr,” Ander said. “We’re having a problem with one of the dragons.”
The Shepherd said something that Tyber didn’t catch.
Ander shook his head. “We’ll have it taken care of soon.”
The Shepherd said something more about their errand.
Ander stepped forward several feet. “Nothing but a handful of goats. Ten all told. There was nothing in the cottage of value. There was nothing at all.”
A guard laughed. The sound of jingling metal increased sharply. The men were dismounting.
“Here they come,” Brath said quietly. “Ready, men.”
He notched an arrow and waited for Ander’s signal to step forward and take The Shepherd and his men into custody.
Tyber took a deep breath. The urge to look back and check on Rius became almost an ache. It felt strange, to be in position for battle and not be on his dragon. It left him feeling vulnerable and unprepared.
The Shepherd approached with his men in tow. He wore a dark orange cape that fluttered in the wind leftover from the previous night’s storm.
“Then I have no more use for him, do I?” The Shepherd asked Ander, a look of mild disgust crossing his face.
“I didn’t think so,” Ander said. “So I acted accordingly.”
The Shepherd halted. The men behind him stopped suddenly in unison as if the most important part of their job was to avoid running into The Shepherd when he stopped without warning.
“Did you?” The Shepherd asked, a smile crossing his face. “I’m glad to hear it, Ander. I had my doubts about you, but it seems that you’re catching on quicker than Sirvon ever did.”
Beside Tyber, Halton shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
One of the guards looked in Halton’s direction, then squinted into the shadows. His hand twitched, moving slightly toward the hilt of the short sword at his side.
“Glad to hear that,” Ander said with a slight nod. “There’s one other thing I wish to tell you.”
“Oh?” The Shepherd asked. He peered back into the shadows of the weyr.
Ander stepped backwards, drawing The Shepherd’s attention to him.
“With the authority granted to me by King Aymon of Cadwaller, I hereby place you and your men under arrest.”
A smile crossed The Shepherd’s face as his men drew their swords. The two with crossbows on their backs reached for the stalks sticking over their shoulders.
“Now, men!” Brath snapped.
Tyber drew his bowstring taut and stepped out into the weyr yard along with the other dragonjacks. He peered over the tip of his arrow at the leather-clad chest of a guard; the clearest shot available to him.
“This is not a joke, then,” The Shepherd said.
“No joke,” Ander said. “You will put down your weapons…”
The Shepherd stepped backwards, and the guards parted for him. They closed around him, and the men with crossbows took aim at Ander.
“Tell your men to drop their weapons,” The Shepherd called from inside the knot of guards.
“You got two shots,” Ander said with a shake of his head. “Either of you release your quarrels, it will be the last thing you do. There are seven archers with full quivers back there.”
The crossbowmen kept their weapons on Ander as the guards began to back away slowly as a group, retreating toward the horses.
Tyber hissed through the hole in his teeth. They weren’t supposed to retreat. They were supposed to surrender.
“You realize that you’re a deadman now, right?” The Shepherd called. “You are dead, Ander. Dead, dead, dead. If you others put your bows down now and bring me Ander, you may live. I understand you are only following orders. But you will now follow my orders. Put your bows down!”
“What do we do?” Halton asked. “They weren’t supposed to retreat!” His voice grew in pitch.
“They’re heading for their horses,” Taffer said. “They make those horses, we’re dead men all right. He’ll send so many mercenaries after us... Oh, broken feathers. Why did I ever agree to this!”
“They haven’t made the horses yet,” Ren called. “Calm down. We can still do something.”
“Let them get the horses,” Tyber said.
“What! You traitor!” Taffer yelled.
Tyber looked from his target long enough to see that Taffer had turned his arrow to Tyber.
“Keep your target, Taffer!” Brath bellowed.
“Let them get on the horses,” Tyber called back. “Ren and I will go after them on dragons. They won’t be able to take clear shots at us while their horses are running.”
He looked across the weyr to Ren. “It’ll be like herding goats.”
Ren nodded in understanding.
“You’re going to herd them?” Taffer asked.
“No, you moron,” Brath barked. “We’ll follow them. We’ll make sure they never live to terrorize another living soul again.”
Ice ran through Tyber. The comment made him want to both laugh and throw up. Dragonjacks. Concerned with someone terrorizing another living soul.
“Save us The Shepherd,” Ren called. “He’s ours.”
“He’s mine,” Tyber said.
“As long as no one gets away,” Brath said. “I think there’ll be enough trouble to go around.”
Chapter 27
Once The Shepherd and his men reached their horses, Ander turned and raced into the weyr. The crossbowmen held their quarrels and stood guard as the others sheathed their swords and climbed onto their horses. Finally, the Shepherd pulled himself up into his own saddle, his dark orange cloak showing through the wall of leather-clad guards.
Reins cracked. The horses took off at a run.
Tyber slipped his arrow back into its quiver as he hurried back to Rius. He hung the bow on the gusset, then climbed into the saddle, and began to tie off his restraints. One crossbowman was already on his horse and sat watching as his companion climbed onto his. By the time Tyber knotted his restraints, the crossbowmen were racing after the others.
“Let’s get them, girl,” Tyber called, then thrust his h
eels into Rius’ shoulder. She ambled forward, cleared the opening, and then reared back, wings wide.
“Saddle up, men!” Brath called. “Don’t let them wild hordesmen do all the work for you!”
Rius launched herself into the air. Beside them, the air rippled with Maybelle’s wings. Tyber and Ren circled around and rose over the weyr and the house. Ahead, a dozen horses raced at a full sprint along the rutted road, gold and green grass swaying as they passed.
In the rear, the crossbowmen turned around in their saddles and lifted their weapons to the sky, but it was clear that they couldn’t make accurate shots for all the bucking and tossing of their mounts.
Tyber looked back. He signaled in the hordesmen’s code and told Ren to go around to the right, he’d take the left. Cut The Shepherd off.
Ren nodded, then signaled for good luck. He kicked Maybelle’s shoulders and sent her lunging forward, pouring on speed as he pulled his bow from the saddle, an arrow from the quiver, and took aim at one of the crossbowmen below.
A crossbow cracked. Tyber flinched. Ren’s arrow landed in the haunches of the horse that bore the crossbowman who had taken the shot. The horse stumbled and fell, dumping the rider. The other crossbowman swung his weapon toward Maybelle. Ren loosed another arrow. The horse skittered, then collapsed to the ground.
Tyber urged Rius on, her wings pumping hard. The dragons quickly caught up to the horses. Several men turned and loosed arrows into the sky, but the arrows all went wide or fell short, dropping uselessly to the grass. Ren returned several more arrows in response. Horses dropped. One rider rolled lifelessly off the side, hit the ground, and was dragged through the grass as his foot remained caught in the stirrup.
As soon as Rius began to pull ahead of the guards, the horses started to slow. Their riders struggled with the reins to keep their mounts from bolting at the sight of a dragon on the wing. An arrow zipped past Tyber, missing him by a few yards, but it was too close for comfort.
“Let’s give them something to panic about now,” Tyber said, then told Rius to bank down toward the right and pass directly in front of the horses. As she did, Tyber pressed the flats of his palms on either side of her neck, right at the base.
A rumble grew through the dragon, tickling the back of Tyber’s calves. A blast of firebreath rolled through the air before The Shepherd and his men. Rius roared.
Horses screamed and reared, hooves tearing at the air. They bolted in every direction. Maybelle and Ren swung down and sent the horses scattering again. Every direction except for down the road.
The Shepherd wrestled with a white mare who stamped her feet and tossed her head. She looked wild-eyed between the two dragons before The Shepherd forced her back toward the weyr.
The rest of the horde approached. The dark yellow of Verana and the deep brown of Irvess. Gurvi’s violet and the light wheat color of Samsen’s dragon. They spread out as they got closer, bows drawn, ready to gather up the rest of The Shepherd’s men.
The Shepherd’s mare turned sharply, away from the approaching dragons. She broke across the empty plains that stretched to the river’s bank beyond the horizon.
“No you don’t,” Tyber said with a shake of his head, then sent Rius trailing after him. She poured on speed. The Shepherd glanced over his shoulder, his cape billowing out behind him. He flapped the reins and kicked the horse’s side. The mare charged faster than Tyber had ever seen a horse run.
But there was nothing on land that was any match for Rius.
She swept down, wings set, gliding silently through the air. Gravity drew her to the horse.
Tyber leaned forward, reached down with both hands, and clutched the flesh of his dragon just beneath the lip of the saddle to tell her what he wanted.
Grab the horse.
Rius dropped a little more, leveled out, and pumped her wings to cover the last few yards.
Before she could snag the horse with her claws, it broke suddenly to the left, out of the dragon’s path. The Shepherd’s orange cape snapped taut and the man flew over backwards, toppling from the horse and dropping into the grass.
“Broken feathers!” Tyber shouted, then urged Rius around. The cape snapped in the air, waving in her foreclaw like a captured flag.
Tyber shoved hard on the saddle lip and sent Rius to the ground. She landed hard with a flap of her wings. As he raked away the restraints, The Shepherd staggered to a standing position before them. His left shoulder drooped in an unnatural way, and his arm hung limp. He clutched a dagger in his right hand.
Beyond and behind The Shepherd, the rest of the horde exchanged arrows with the few remaining guards.
“You don’t understand what you’ve done,” The Shepherd cried, waving the tip of the knife before himself. “Who you are dealing with!”
Tyber slid from the saddle and landed in a crouch. He stood and took his bow from the gusset and drew an arrow from his quiver. He took aim.
“With the authority granted to me by King Aymon, I am placing you in the King’s custody. Drop your knife and answer for your crimes.”
The Shepherd laughed and swayed on his feet. His left arm swung like a pendulum.
“You serve a fool!” he shouted. “A bewitched fool.”
“Drop the knife!” Tyber shouted.
The Shepherd shook his head, grimacing in pain. “He’s enchanted. Under the dragon sorceress’ spell. Don’t you see that?”
Tyber’s gaze flitted to the fray behind them. A dragon fluttered to the ground. Quickly, too quickly.
The Shepherd turned around, grunted, and looked back to Tyber, his teeth gritted. He let out a gust of air and shook his head. “We have to free the kingdom from her sorcery. She has no right to rule, and yet she rules the kingdom from behind the King’s shoulder. It takes men like me to stand up to her. Brave men. Men who—”
“Men who would steal goats from starving goatherds?” Tyber asked.
The Shepherd shook his head. “Men who are more powerful than you can imagine. Men who get what they want, no matter what. And what they want is to break the sorceress’ spell and crown a new king. One who is fit to rule. One who will not let a woman steal his power.”
“I’m growing tired of holding this bowstring,” Tyber said. “I suggest you put down the knife before my fingers slip.”
The Shepherd glanced at Rius. “Your dragon!” he cried as if suddenly noticing her for the first time. “Why should she belong to the King? She is yours. You ride her. You depend on each other. One guards the life of the other. Who is the King to say that she is not yours?”
Tyber eased back on the bowstring.
The Shepherd nodded, his smile growing. He lowered his knife some. “It’s not right. She is your dragon and she should be. How would you like to have her as your own?”
“She is mine outright. And we serve the King.”
The Shepherd’s blade rose slightly. He shook his head. “She is not really yours. Every dragon belongs to the Queen. Dragon Queen Trysten. But those dragons,” The Shepherd said, nodding back toward the others, “they are free of her. They are not bound to her. They can resist her sorcery.”
Tyber lowered his bow the rest of the way.
“We can outrun them,” The Shepherd said as he took a step forward.
The dark yellow of Verana banked through the air and started toward them. The violet of Gurvi followed close behind.
“Take me with you, and I will introduce you to friends who will free your dragon from the Queen’s spell. You can be a dragoneer. She can be your alpha. You answer to no one! And if you work with us, you will be rich beyond your dreams. You will never have to answer to the King again. You will never have to risk your life and put your dragon on the line for some legless fool hiding in a distant corner of the kingdom.”
The arrow slipped from Tyber’s fingers and fell to the ground. He stepped backwards, came abreast of Rius, then hung his bow on the gusset hook.
“Yes,” The Shepherd said, “that’s it.” He shuf
fled forward, his face drawing up in pain as his left arm swung limp and useless at his side. “Get up there. In the saddle. Pull me up, and I’ll tell you where to go.”
Tyber nodded, then turned to the saddle, dropping his attention to the stirrup.
Rius hissed.
Tyber whirled around. He swatted at the knife blade with his left hand as The Shepherd plunged it forward. The thrust went wide, but as The Shepherd followed through, having given it his all, Tyber’s right fist crushed the side of his head.
The man staggered. Tyber kicked him in the back of the knee.
The Shepherd fell. His left arm flopped beside him at a sickening angle. He gasped, let out a moan, and went limp.
“That was for Fang,” Tyber sneered.
He plucked the knife out of The Shepherd’s hand, then waited until Verana and Gurvi landed beside Rius.
“You’re bleeding,” Ander called from the saddle.
Tyber looked down at himself. Blood dripped from the index and middle fingers of his left hand. A deep gash had laid open the meat of his palm.
“Huh. I didn’t feel a thing,” Tyber said as he lifted his hand and studied it. Blood trickled down his wrist.
Chapter 28
Ander signaled for the horde to go to ground.
Rius followed Verana down. Ren shifted in the saddle behind Tyber.
“Think this is it?” Ren asked over Tyber’s shoulder.
“You’re still not getting your dragon back yet,” Tyber said.
He looked across the formation. The Shepherd sat in Maybelle’s saddle, his hands bound behind him, his feet secured to the saddle straps, and his hips lashed to the saddle itself. He stared ahead, silent as if he were a corpse they were taking to the burial grounds.
“Not that I don’t mind the… intimate time we’ve spent together, here in the same saddle over the last week and a half, but I’ll ride one of the dragonjack dragons the rest of the way to Aerona.”
“They get to take the saddles and the gear they contain. What are you going to do? Ride bareback? Besides, it’s just a few miles. I’m pretty sure Aerona is just over the horizon. I recognize that rock.”
Dragonjacks: Book 1 - The Shepherd: A Dragons of Cadwaller Novel Page 21