Cornyn’s head shifted back slightly on his neck as if caught a bit off guard.
“I am collecting a history. I’ve told you that I am also collecting the information the Master of History has asked for. To be quite frank, I have found it wise to question weyr members first because they have a tendency to die in battle during the fighting season, and a dead man doesn’t have much to say about history. He becomes history.”
Cornyn shook his head and looked down the lane, to some of the people who milled about and watched, waiting for something more to happen.
“I plan to speak with others.” He looked back to Trysten. “I plan to speak to most of the villagers as soon as I’m done speaking to the hordesmen and weyrmen.”
“I want to see what you’re recording,” Trysten said.
“Excuse me?” Cornyn asked. A sly grin crossed his face as if mocking her with his surprise.
“You heard me. I want to see what you have recorded so far. I want to read it. All of it.”
Cornyn shook his head. “The guild does not allow people to edit what we record—”
“I won’t change a word of what you’ve recorded. But I want to see it. I want to read it.”
“This is highly irregular. We do not—”
“If you want access to my people, then you have to let me read what you are recording,” Trysten said.
Cornyn’s expression collapsed into a glare. “I am a journeyman of the Guild of Historians. You can’t —”
Trysten held up a finger. “One word from me, and no one in this village talks to you. If you want to talk to any more of the hordesmen or weyrmen, you will let me read your notes. It’s that simple.”
Cornyn opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. He crossed his arms over his chest.
Yallit renewed his scratching at the window. Cornyn glanced in his direction, then back to Trysten.
She lowered her finger. “Of course, if you want to take it up with the Master of History, I would welcome word from him. I would welcome it very much.”
Cornyn’s hands dropped to his side, and then he raised a finger to wag at Trysten. “Stay out of my room.”
He turned and stormed away in the direction of the Fire and Stone. Trysten watched him go, and the small crowd that had gathered in the lane began to disperse.
Trysten let herself back into her cottage and turned to Yallit, who sat atop the table and stared at her. His tail was laying over the top of the closed book of Adalina.
“Off,” Trysten said and pointed to one of the chairs around the fireplace.
Yallit bounded up, and with a quick couple of flips of his wings, he landed on her father’s chair, his back legs on one of the wooden arms, his forelegs on the other. He glanced back at her as if checking to see if she’d yell at him. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he stepped down onto the chair’s cushion, curled himself up into a ball that was smaller and tighter than Trysten thought possible, and then he laid his chin upon the arm of the chair and stared at her.
“All right,” Trysten said. “But stay there. You make the slightest bit of trouble, and you’re out of here.”
Yallit flicked his tongue at her, then let out a long sigh. His eyelids drooped until closed.
Trysten shook her head, then returned to her seat at the table. She pulled the window open and inhaled deeply as the fresh, cooler air tumbled in. As she sat, she reviewed in her head the conversation with Cornyn.
He hadn’t mentioned that his research was penned in Seelian.
Chapter 42
Clemens peeled a bandage off of Ulbeg’s shoulder, and Trysten grimaced slightly as she felt the pull of the wound where it stuck to the linen bandage.
“Much better,” Galelin said from her side.
“Agreed,” Clemens said. He rolled the bandage up and dropped it in a basket at his feet.
Mayem stepped forward, around Trysten to better see what was happening. “I’m so sorry, little guy,” she whispered.
Trysten nearly cautioned Mayem against touching the dragon but stopped. Mayem made no further move toward Ulbeg. Ever since she had come back from The Wilds with Rast, she had been nearly forgotten. Paege said that she saw to Rast’s care most of the time and that she got along with the hordesmen rather well, but she bugged them frequently about becoming a hordesman herself. She’d been told by numerous people to speak to Trysten about becoming a recruit, but she hadn’t so far.
Galelin and Clemens conferred with each other, speaking in quiet tones laced with words that Trysten didn’t quite understand. They pointed to various spots on the wound that traced where the courier dragon’s harness used to sit. Trysten stepped forward and peered at the wound herself. It glistened with ointment, and fresh blood welled up in a few spots where the bandage had pulled away some of the new skin.
A dread filled Trysten as she surveyed the wounds. She looked up at Galelin and nearly said something about how the scales weren’t going to grow back, but then she stopped, mindful of Mayem right behind her. It wasn’t Mayem’s fault, but she would take it as such.
Galelin looked to Trysten. His face grew concerned, and then understanding dawned. He nodded once. Slowly. Affirmatively.
Trysten rocked back on her heels and shook her head slightly.
“What?” Mayem asked. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Galelin said as he turned his attention back to the wound.
Clemens crouched and pulled a clay jar of salve from another basket.
“Nothing?” Mayem asked. “You looked like...” she stopped.
Trysten took a deep breath and turned to Mayem, ready to explain that the tissue damage might be too deep, that Ulbeg may never grow his scales back, that the wound would knot up with scar tissue and the dragon would never be able to bear a rider again.
But as she opened her mouth to say as much, the bell began to peal.
Everyone looked up.
Dragons. As soon as Trysten stopped concentrating on Mayem and Ulbeg, she sensed them. Lots of them.
Her eye whipped from the ceiling near the trap door of the watchtower to the open doors on the west. She searched the gray block of the Cadwaller mountain ranges for a fleck of white, any sign that Kingwind was on the wing, bringing Aymon back to Aerona.
The trap door above snapped open. “Horde in the east!” the watchman cried out.
“Horde in the east!” Borsal echoed. The bunk hall door burst open, and hordesmen spilled out into the weyr.
“Horde in the east!” Borsal called.
Trysten ran down the aisle for Elevera. She caught sight of Karno. “Be sure to bring our colors!”
Karno nodded before he slipped into Ollym’s stall.
Trysten looked over the aisle quickly before she entered Elevera’s stall. Vanon had left with six others that morning to check on the outpost and fly a patrol. That left Trysten with thirty-four dragons and twenty-nine hordesmen. They would still present a formidable horde if it were trouble that approached from the east.
After Trysten yanked the harness out of the tack trunk and hefted it over to the front of Elevera, the alpha dragon peered down at Trysten. She paused as Elevera’s brown eyes stared into hers. There were lots of dragons approaching. Scores.
“Kit for battle!” Trysten hollered out across the weyr. Her command was echoed down the line. Hordesmen cast quick glances her way, their faces betraying more curiosity than fear. It was unusual to be attacked from the east, but certainly not unprecedented this fighting season.
A weyrgirl ran flapping after two of the older boys who were supposed to be showing her what her new duties were. She had come with the caravan. Her father was at the outpost, helping to finish it. Her mother was a spinner and had been put to work shearing the influx of sheep brought to the village. The girl, Itti was her name, had hung around the weyr for glimpses of the dragons before one of the boys had invited her to become the weyr’s first weyrgirl.
Within a few minutes, Trysten had Elevera out in the y
ard. The rest of the horde filed out behind her. As she pulled herself into the saddle, she caught sight of Tuse running for the yard, the village sword held on the pillow before him.
“They’re friendly,” Trysten called out to Tuse. She glanced to the east. From her vantage point atop Elevera, she could see the horde approaching. It was large. Two hordes at least. She couldn’t sense much from the approaching dragons, but Elevera was calm, not at all agitated. Whatever approached, it didn’t present itself as a threat to the skies of Aerona’s alpha. She squinted at the sight. Why would the King send two more hordes? Surely he wasn’t sending dragons to supplement the weyrs. But then again, there had been a ridiculous amount of lumber and building materials. Maybe the King wanted a third weyr built, but she had no idea where they’d put it.
“Trysten of Aerona,” Tuse began.
“No,” Trysten waved him off as she turned back to him. “They’re friendly. Put that away. We have our colors. We’re just going out to greet them.”
Tuse looked to the east as if he might be able to see them despite the cluster of cottages in the way. He nodded. He looked a little dejected as if she had taken something away from him by depriving him of the cumbersome and unnecessary ritual. But he’d had his hands full since the caravan’s arrival. The size of Aerona had nearly doubled overnight, and though some members of the caravan expressed a desire to return to the mother city, a good many wanted to stay.
“Very well, then,” Tuse said. He took a step back and nodded.
“Colors?” Trysten asked Karno over her shoulder.
“Ready to unfurl,” he said, then slapped the flag wrapped around a pole mounted to Ollym’s saddle.
“Let’s say hello then,” Trysten said. She signaled for the horde to take the sky. As she did so, Elevera reared up on her hind legs and launched herself and Trysten into the air. Instantly, Trysten saw that she was dealing with something far larger than two hordes. There were many more dragons than that stretching from the vanguard back toward the horizon.
Chapter 43
As the Aerona horde approached, an odd kind of pressure began to build in Trysten’s head as if her head was wrapped in increasing layers of warm wool drawn tight. The thoughts and feelings and awareness of dragons threatened to overwhelm her as her gaze traveled back and forth, up and down over the V formations approaching, flying in a chevron eight layers deep.
Eight layers. Eight hordes. A swell of one hundred and sixty dragons.
Trysten signaled for the colors. The Aerona flags cracked and fluttered as Karno and Kaylar unfurled them.
In response, the lead rider of the approaching swell signaled for his colors. The riders on each side of him unraveled the purple and silver of Cadwaller.
Eight royal hordes.
If someone had asked Trysten how many hordes were stationed in the mother city, she would have said eight. Four, maybe. Not only had Aymon already passed through Aerona with four royal hordes, but eight more were now approaching, and Trysten was sure there were more left behind to protect the King. How many dragons were there in the mother city? It’d be a question for Clemens upon her return.
In the meantime, Trysten marveled at the size of the horde, the sheer number of dragons as they sailed past. Most of the riders merely glanced at her as they slid by, but a few openly stared. At the back of the horde, two courier dragons flew in the wake of the swell. One of them was Aerona’s own, accompanied by the two battle dragons she had sent to make sure the courier made it to the mother city. The rider nodded at Trysten and made a half-hearted wave. His expression was solemn and more befitting of a man who was being dragged back to Aerona in irons rather than flying upon his dragon.
Trysten signaled for her horde to take up an escort formation. The idea of escorting a swell of 160 dragons was ridiculous, but it was the protocol. So the dragons spread out behind the royal hordes, extending the final V in the formation in a token gesture of protecting the swell’s flanks as Trysten returned to the head to lead the way.
As she took up her position ahead of the point rider, Trysten glanced over her shoulder. The point man had a solid, handsome face. It looked like a bust chiseled from marble, both in its beauty and its expressionless demeanor.
He gave Trysten a curt nod. She returned his nod, then turned back toward the village. Whatever it was that had brought this horde to Aerona, it certainly wasn’t a good thing.
As they closed in on the village, Trysten knew the weyr yard was out of the question as a landing site. She considered ordering her own horde down there, but it might seem disrespectful. And her own horde was so far behind her that she wasn’t sure they’d even see her orders.
Below, people climbed out of the tents that had popped up on either side of the road that entered Aerona. Others responded to shouts and poured out of cottages to fill the lanes. They shaded their eyes and craned their necks to watch more dragons than any one of them had ever seen stream over Aerona in a wide column.
As much as she hated to do it, there was only one place to land so many dragons. Trysten signaled for the attention of the horde and then ordered them to ground just to the west of the weyr, in the field of charred ash and fresh grass.
Elevera lowered herself to a spot just outside of the weyr doors, then took the ground. Around her, ash swirled and rolled with the wind of dozens upon dozens of wings. Unlike her own, the royal dragons landed in a column similar to the one they flew in, each horde setting down several feet ahead of the horde that just landed. The Dragoneer of the horde, after landing just ahead of Trysten, looked back once, then took his time with removing a pair of gloves, then undoing the restraints upon his saddle.
Trysten dropped to the ground. Villagers filled in along the edge of the field, but not moving onto it as if watching from the other side of a fence. Weyrmen and weyrboys choked the open mouth of the weyr. Rodden peered over Borsal’s shoulder.
As Trysten approached the other dragoneer, he dismounted, stepping down off the stirrup instead of sliding off the saddle like most hordesmen did.
“Gerig of the mother city,” the man announced as he approached Trysten. His eyes dropped down to the sword at her side and then bounced back up to her own. “Wing Master of Cadwaller.”
Trysten’s eyes widened slightly. Wing Master. This man was in charge of all of the King’s dragons. Every battle dragon in all of Cadwaller, including her own.
“Trysten,” she said. “Dragoneer of Aerona weyr.” She took his hand and shook it as her father would have.
A sly grin crossed Gerig’s face. “Modest. I admire that.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Gerig released Trysten’s hand. “There are eight alphas and eight dragoneers back there.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “The eight of them together could not hope to accomplish half of what a Dragon Lord is capable of. Yet you introduce yourself as a dragoneer. I was a bit worried that you might forget your rank and try to throw your abilities around when I first met you.”
Trysten’s face grew tense. “Why would I do that?”
“Indeed. Look, I will see to formalities here right away. I have orders for you from King Cadwaller. They are in my saddle bag, which I will present to you shortly, but suffice it to say that we are ordered to proceed through the Gul Pass. We are to seek out Prince Aymon and his men, and if we cannot find them, we are to take our revenge upon whichever horde, weyr, or Western target we find.”
Trysten’s jaw dropped slightly as she tilted her face forward some. Her eyes went over the ranks and numbers of the horde again. “You’re going to the west?”
“Yes,” Gerig said. “And King Cadwaller has ordered you along as well.”
Chapter 44
Trysten shook her head. “You can’t take this horde through the pass.”
Gerig raised an eyebrow and his mouth tilted in a quirk. Trysten imagined the expression was probably meant to convey disappointment, but she couldn’t say for sure.
“Can’t? Why? Is the pa
ss closed?” He looked at the mountains beyond.
“There is a lot more going on than you understand. Please come up to my den, and I will fill you in on the situation.”
Gerig appeared to consider this for a moment, then barked orders at a man standing nearby. They would set up camp for the night and prepare to engage the enemy the following morning, leaving Aerona at dawn.
The man gave a slight bow, then repeated the orders to other hordesmen. Trysten signaled for Karno to take his hordesmen back to the weyr. As Trysten grabbed Elevera’s reins, Gerig reached into the saddlebags of his own mount and produced a rolled piece of parchment.
“Your orders, signed by King Cadwaller himself.”
She held out her left hand, and Gerig snapped the parchment into her open palm. The wax seal was larger and more ornate than any other she had ever received.
As Trysten led Elevera back to the weyr, Gerig kept pace with her. “I assume there has been no further word on Prince Aymon.”
Trysten shook her head.
“And the outpost? You were ordered to construct an outpost at the mouth of the Gul Pass. Is that complete?”
“It is,” Trysten said. It was more or less complete. The addition of members of the caravan and their added supplies and tools had allowed Jurdun and his crew to finish the fence, lay a foundation, and erect a frame in a matter of days. Jurdun expected to have the building done in two more days. But more importantly, there was a constant watch on the pass, and that was the point.
“And you’ve seen no signs of retaliation since Prince Aymon led his men through the pass?” Gerig asked.
Trysten shook her head. “No. Not here. The outpost has come under attack several times since we started building it, but we believe that wildmen are responsible and that they have nothing to do with the Western kingdom.”
Outposts Page 29
