“I have to go,” Trysten said, her voice hardly over a whisper.
Her father’s hand tightened around her own as if he were deciding to never let her go, never to release her, to keep her and protect her from a world that never understood them, that feared them for no good, sensible reason.
He nodded, and his hand slipped away. He sat back in his chair, a hand curled around his staff, and once again he was Fallen Mardoc of Aerona weyr.
“When you return, then,” he said. “And you will return.”
Trysten stood from her chair and wiped her palms over her cheeks. How many times had she sat where he sat now? How many times had she watched him rise from behind his table after dismissing her, ready to head out of the den and on to some important matter.
How horrible it was to see the tables turn. In that moment, in that very second, she would have given it all up, every bit of it to wrench the tables back to the way they were, so that he could be strong and vital, the Dragoneer lecturing the daughter he feared would be greater than even his imagination, some day.
“When I return,” she said, and lest she say anything more and completely uncork the dam of tears, she stalked past him and out of the den. She thundered down the stairs and took a deep breath. She drew in the calm courage of the dragons. By the time she hit the bottom step, she was almost as much dragon as human in her demeanor, solid and collected as the dragons who patiently waited to be underway.
Elevera stood ready for her when she approached. The weyrmen had saddled her. Her bow and two quivers rested on their appropriate hooks. Rations and a bandage kit waited in a small pouch. Bags of water sloshed like a whisper in their skins as Trysten took the reins and nodded thanks to the weyrman. She led her dragon out into the yard where the other hordesmen waited, all standing next to their mounts and staring at Trysten. Issod, having returned from the watch, stood with Verillium’s reins in hand.
The entire village had gathered around the yard. As Trysten exited the side door of the weyr, all of the villagers knelt, except for the overseer, who approached her with a sword and scabbard balanced upon a large, plush pillow of gold felt.
“Trysten of Aerona weyr,” the overseer called out as they approached each other, Trysten with Elevera in tow. “Our village is in jeopardy. May we call upon you? May we place our lives in your hands and upon the wings of your capable horde?”
The overseer stopped at the end of his question, as he had done every time he had seen her father off to battle.
And as she had seen her father do, she led her dragon up to the overseer.
“Overseer Tuse of Aerona, it is my honor, as it has always been my family’s honor, to take your lives into my hands and onto the wings of my horde. I can no more turn you, or anyone in Aerona away, than I can turn away my own kin. You are my kith. Your life is mine, and I will protect it as such.”
As the words left her mouth, she pictured her father speaking them, standing tall and strong and handsome in his Aerona riding uniform with the dark gray Aeronwind behind him like his massive, winged shadow, as if he were far more than a human body could ever contain.
Overseer Tuse lowered himself on one, cracking knee. He lifted the pillow up. “Take this sword, Trysten of Aerona. It is the fighting spirit of our village. May it call the wind to your wings and the aim to your arrows.”
Trysten released Elevera’s reins to reach forward and lift the sword and scabbard from the pillow. She buckled the scabbard to her side, then drew the sword and held it before her. She had never seen it unsheathed up close before, and the detail etched into the blades arrested her heart. Each side of the blade was etched with a motif that resembled the cables that ran up the sleeves of their sweaters. In some places, the cables appeared to be twining rivers. In other places, they appeared to be twining dragons, all running together before disappearing at the point.
“Rise and cheer!” Trysten called out, her voice loud and solid. “Your voice is our wind!”
The villagers stood. All around the yard, the people she had grown up with yelled and cheered. They raised hands and fists to the sky. They shouted out wishes of luck and victory. Among them, Trysten picked out Jalite and Assina and the rest of the armor guild standing and cheering. All of the guilds-women had their hair done up in hasty braids. Kaylar, in her hordeswoman sweater waved from behind them.
Trysten gave a nod to them, flashed a grin, and then turned back to Elevera, who knelt down without a word from Trysten. She lifted a foot into the stirrup, and with her free hand, grasped the edge of the saddle. Holding the sword made things difficult, but she’d seen her father do this a number of times. She counted to three, then pulled herself up, swung a leg over the saddle, and landed in her seat, the sword still held aloft and weighing heavily on the muscles in her arms.
The hordesmen followed suit. With a renewed round of cheers, they took their saddles, unfastened their bows and quivers, and slung each over their shoulders.
Trysten peered ahead into the mountains. The sun had climbed over the horizon. The light lit the lowest peaks as the taller ones disappeared into the gray cloud cover before it dissipated in the dawn light. The gray band grew shorter each day, as if it were a drape slowly being pulled up to reveal some ghastly surprise, the first hints of which awaited them now.
She glanced back toward the weyr, and there in the doorway stood both her father and her mother. Her father stood tall, a hand on his staff. The other hand was wrapped around her mother’s waist. She stood beside him and smiled and waved. Trysten grinned back, then felt a flash of pain at the realization that she didn’t know. Her father and Galelin had kept her heritage from her. Would she dare break it to her?
It was her right. She deserved to know. Just as soon as Trysten got back.
With a flick from her heels, she urged Elevera forward across the grass. She leveled the tip of the sword at the mountains ahead. “Hordesmen! Your bravery has been proven beyond all doubt in these last few weeks. All of you are seasoned veterans who have flown in the fighting season. I know that I can trust my life to each of you, that I can trust this village to each of you. You have proven in seasons past your courage, your skill. Even those who have not started their lives with us, in our weyr, have proven skill and courage for they have survived against incredible odds to fight again, to take their vengeance and put their lives on the line for this weyr and this village. Your bravery and courage is not in question. What makes you among the finest hordesmen to ever ride is that you have not only proven yourselves in battle, but that you have the courage to cast aside any prejudice that our society may have heaped upon you. You see me, and you see generations of tradition cast aside. But you also see a new future being born. Our new brothers have told us of an enemy that fights like no other. And so to defeat them, we will defend ourselves like no other. Your courage is greater than any hordesmen before you. Today, we will make sure that each of your names are forever known to the hordesmen behind you. You are the finest people to ever take to the saddle, and you ride the finest dragons who have ever flown for a weyr. The day will be ours. Victory will be our light. Legend will be our shadow!”
With relief, Trysten let the sword sweep down, past Elevera’s shoulder.
Buoyed on a great cheer, Elevera leaped into the air, her magnificent wings spread and pushed down as if to wrap themselves around and protect the entire village. Trysten struggled to lift the sword and stuff it back into its scabbard as her dragon propelled them up into the sky. As she slid the sword back into place, she looked over her shoulder, and there, behind her, twenty-six dragons leaped into the glory of the sky. To her right, as a V formation took shape, her gaze lingered for a moment on Paege, who gripped the edge of Leya’s saddle and held tight. He returned her look, but his face was set and unreadable. He was a stone, and whatever he felt at the moment, it was hidden behind the wall that men build to hide their emotions.
As Trysten turned back around, she thought of her father’s wish that she should marry him
.
She shook her head.
Chapter 42
The village fell behind them. Below, the rising sun glinted off of the rushing, tumbling waters of the River Gul as it wound through the hills and often ran white, as if trying to shake the mountain chill from its shoulders. Her gaze followed the river until she lost it behind a set of mountains.
Her mind raced, charged forward in starts and stops. She thought of her father’s revelation, of her heritage and what it meant. Her father had called her a Dragon Lord. She then cast the thoughts aside and forced herself to concentrate fully on the landscape ahead between the hills and mountains.
The thoughts lunged back. What would she do about the approaching prince?
What would she do? That was simple. She would protect the village.
Ahead, movement crested a large hill covered in stone and heather. It spread along the crest and moved into the air. A horde of dragons approached them.
Every inch of Trysten tightened at the sight of them. Elevera grew tense, like a bowstring ready to snap the horde behind her into the heart of the enemy. Trysten crouched lower, then quickly surveyed the situation. Twenty dragons approached them. A hint of a grin pressed onto her face. Twenty Western hordesmen against twenty-seven from Aerona weyr. Those were good odds. Also, meeting them out in the open, on hills with air currents familiar to her dragons gave them several distinct advantages. Too much confidence could be dangerous, but so much in their favor should hopefully steady the nerves of the Hollin hordesmen, who were undoubtedly a bit jittery with the memories of their last battle and the thought of facing the same enemy again.
Trysten lifted her arm into the air and drew it in two wide circles before pointing at the enemy. She thrust her arm up into the air, then angled it back towards the sun. With a flick of her heels, Elevera began to climb and gain altitude. In addition to everything else in their favor, the Aerona horde would attack at the sun’s angle, keeping the sun at their back to blind the enemy and shield the riders from Western arrows.
The landscape dropped away as they climbed. Undoubtedly they had been spotted by the enemy, but they did not appear to change their tactic. The enemy horde picked up elevation, but they were not trying to out climb the Aerona horde. Trysten’s brow tightened. Why? That would be the expected answer to her tactic. If they had to fight with the sun in their faces, then they should be trying to climb above the Aerona horde so that the sun wasn’t at a direct angle, and they would have the advantage of gravity to guide their arrows while it shielded them somewhat from Aerona’s own.
Were they trying to slip beneath? If they flew under the Aerona horde altogether, it would force Trysten to order pursuit. They would turn around, and suddenly find the sun in their faces. Also, with fresher dragons, the Western horde might try to run for Aerona and duplicate the attack strategy that brought down Hollin.
As she watched the Western horde for a hint of their strategy, a shout caught her attention.
Issod waved wildly at Trysten. He then motioned to the south. In the distance, just over the horizon, another horde of dragons sailed along. They couldn’t be the prince’s dragons. They would come in from the east, and this horde was heading north. Then the shape of the horde changed. It shifted, leveled out some. It had spotted the Aerona horde, and was now on an intercept course.
Trysten’s jaw tightened. She couldn’t count the individual dragons at this distance, but it appeared to be a normal-sized horde. The Western horde’s plan drew into sharp focus. Such sharp focus that it cleaved away her numerous advantages. The second horde was also from the Western Kingdom. The two hordes were to rendezvous, but when the first horde saw what she was trying to do, they kept reeling out enough rope for her to hang herself and her horde. Her plan of gaining elevation and keeping the sun to their backs had only served to reveal their presence and intentions to the approaching second horde. Soon it would be forty dragons to her twenty-seven. By the wilds.
Her grip tightened on the front edge of the saddle. Her knuckles blanched. A brief tremble shook her in the chill morning air. They were outnumbered nearly two to one. On top of that, at least one, and possibly both of the Western hordes was manned by a Dragon Lord such as herself.
Her eyes drifted closed. She took a deep breath. The air sank to the core of her. Elevera’s powerful shoulders shifted and moved beneath her. The air whooshed about her as the dragon cupped it in her expansive wings and pushed it down and away from them. She leaned forward and placed her palms against the cool scales of her dragon’s neck. The breath she held passed through pursed lips, slipped through her, from her, and was whipped away by the wind in her face.
The odds were against them, but she had a good horde, a solid crew of riders and dragons who knew the landscape. The Hollin hordesmen had the experience of a previous battle. The Aerona hordesmen were fighting for their friends and family. All of them were fighting for the kingdom. They had far more to gain, far more to win than the Western hordes.
Trysten opened her eyes. Her gaze narrowed in on the horde ahead of them. The advantages still belonged to Aerona weyr. They day would be theirs. The Western hordes were still separated by several miles. The Aerona horde had a few minutes to engage the first horde before the second one reached them. That would be enough time. It had to be.
Trysten waved her left arm in the air, then made a forward, pinwheeling motion to indicate that the horde should charge ahead at all available speed. She kicked Elevera in the sides with her heels, then flicked them forward several times. In response, the gold dragon surged ahead, her wings beating hard at the air as if to grab the very sky and shove it behind them.
As they approached, the beating wings of the first horde began to slow. They were stalling, angling for time in order to allow their reinforcements to arrive. Bravery belonged to the Aerona weyr. It was perhaps the greatest advantage they held. She pinwheeled her arm forward again and urged Elevera onward. A glance to the south showed that the second horde pushed hard as well.
Trysten’s heart beat faster. They’d have very little time to deal with the first horde before the second fell upon them. She thrust her arm into the air again and ordered a concentrated attack on the Western Dragoneer. If they could take out the rider or his dragon in the first pass, then they could take advantage of the resulting confusion and possibly neutralize half the horde before the reinforcements arrived.
What should have been minutes felt stretched into hours as Trysten watched the two hordes approach. The one before her didn’t seem to approach fast enough, while the one to south screamed towards them. Finally, as they nearly drew within range, Trysten slowed Elevera a bit with her heels as she ordered a maneuver designed to focus a barrage of arrows upon a single target. Elevera dropped to form the base of a U as Trysten grabbed her bow and slipped an arrow from her quiver. The other dragons filled in around her and formed the stems of the U. Trysten gasped as Verillium sailed over her, then began to drop down in a twisting motion that was not at all part of the plan. As the dragon twisted around in her spiral, she revealed Issod, who notched an arrow and pulled his bowstring back while taking aim at the Western alpha.
“Issod!” she called out. It was too late. Verillium twisted around with her wings folded nearly to her side. Gravity had embraced the dragon as it fell towards the hordesman’s target.
Trysten dug her heels into Elevera’s sides. Her arrow sailed uselessly into the void beneath them before she slung the bow over her shoulders. With the other hand, she clutched the edge of the saddle and shoved downward. Elevera, however, hadn’t waited for the commands. Before Trysten’s hand had even touched the edge of the saddle, the golden dragon hunched its shoulders, arched its back, and with a swoop of wings, dove after Verillium.
What a fool she had been for allowing Issod to fly! His loss had indeed been too much for him to bear. But what was done was done. Her only chance to save him was to order Verillium down, to allow Elevera to assert her dominance and force the subordinate drag
on to ground where she would largely be ignored by the fray.
As Verillium dove, Issod’s arrow flew. It missed by a wide margin, hampered perhaps by nerves as much as the injury to his shoulder. In response, the Western Dragoneer wasted no time. An arrow arced up from his bow and disappeared behind Verillium as she continued to twist around in her spiraling dive. Her pale belly flashed before Trysten, and then as she spun back around, a bow dropped away.
Issod lay back against his dragon, limp and leaning into the momentum of Verillium’s fall. An arrow protruded from the young man’s neck.
Trysten gasped.
A volley of arrows erupted from the Western hordesmen. They arced up and whizzed towards Trysten, who was within range of their bowstrings.
Elevera whipped around. Pain fell upon Trysten’s stomach and arms like blows from a hammer. The ache and throbbing then fizzled away as she realized what had happened. Elevera had taken a number of arrows in her belly and wings in order to shield Trysten, and their connection, their bond allowed her to feel it.
A long, pained growl escaped Elevera’s throat. Trysten grasped the edge of the saddle and prepared to pull Elevera out of the dive as soon as they slipped under the Western horde. Hopefully they would manage before the enemy horde could take aim again. As she watched the speed with which they pulled arrows from quivers and notched them in their bowstrings, it seemed unlikely. She sucked in a deep breath, then held it as arrows streaked past her from above and sent the Western horde scrambling to avoid the onslaught.
Gratitude lit Trysten’s face as she peered back at her horde, diving down behind her. Pain exploded through her again. She lunged forward and gripped the edge of the saddle. Her arms howled with pain. Her head tingled. A blow sent her back arching and her fingers digging into the saddle’s lip.
She turned towards Elevera, but knew immediately it was not her dragon that felt the pain. Arrows had pierced several wings. A dark orange dragon flashed by underneath with an arrow protruding from its back, down near its rear left haunch. The rider glared up at Trysten, his face wrenched into anger, hatred, hurt, as if the whole war was her idea and he and his dragon were nothing but innocent bystanders.
The Dragoneer: Book 1: The Bonding Page 26