Ren snorted. “Not that it matters. They were probably here to deliver a declaration of war. The King has got to have himself a war. It’s the only way to keep things in order.”
Weiss shook his head as he looked up the stairs before himself.
“I think that’s enough, Ren,” Tyber said.
“I’m just telling you, man, that’s how things are. The lords have to have a war to collect taxes. And the merchants need it in order to sell their goods to the King. War is what greases the purse strings. Peace is miserable for business. Isn’t that right, Weiss?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Weiss said without looking back. He reached the top of the stairs and turned into the hall, the other recruits on his heels.
“Well, ask your father, then. He would know.”
“I don’t think war has much impact on the salt trade.”
“Soldiers need salt. How else are you going to preserve their food?”
“You could smoke it,” Lambert offered.
Ren waved a hand to shush him.
“There’s enough for the King to worry about,” Aunger said. “What with the dragonjacks.”
A stillness settled over the recruits. Tyber recalled the look of Dragoneer Malcums’ horde when they returned from Aerona. They had landed in the yard with fourteen of the twenty-one dragons they had departed with. The recruits in Chanson’s horde had paused their sparring practice, watching Malcums’ recruits dismount with a heaviness that seemed immeasurable.
They had been so smug when they had mounted their dragons to escort Prince Regis’ royal caravan to Aerona. But since their return, they were quiet, pensive. A cloud hung over each of them as if they had left mirth and humor behind with the bodies of their fallen comrades.
“Well,” Ren said, breaking the silence, “raising taxes to fight common thieves isn’t nearly as compel—”
“Shut up, Ren,” Weiss snapped over his shoulder. “I’ve had enough of your babble.”
Ren opened his mouth, but then let it drift shut as he turned his attention to something outside a window.
Silence followed them the rest of the way to the parlor. Inside, they found the surviving recruits from Malcums’ horde clustered around several game tables in a corner, their gazes quiet and watchful. They had begun to return to their old selves in the weeks since their return, but now their wary expressions were back. By tomorrow, the dark circles under Padrus’ eyes would return after finally fading away only a few days earlier.
“Do you guys know what that was all about?” Ren asked as they entered the room.
Several recruits shook their heads. Padrus straightened in his chair. “What?”
“We saw Seelians fly over the city,” Weiss said as he approached the gaming tables in the opposite corner. “They were flying white flags.”
Sundroe, one of Malcums’ recruits, stood and started for the exit. He halted, looking back at the others as if lost and unsure of how to ask directions. He circled a chair slowly, then sat, crossing his ankle over his knee.
“Chanson told us to dress for battle,” Lambert said as he sat heavily at the table, then laced his fingers together and stretched his arms over his head. “We sat like wild statues in the saddles for… I don’t know how long.”
“Days,” Ren said.
“It wasn’t even an hour,” Weiss said.
“We were ready,” Padrus said with a single nod.
Sundroe began to jiggle his foot. He planted his elbow on the arm of the chair and covered his mouth with the tips of his fingers.
Ren shook his head as he sat at an empty table and began to flip stones over for a game of petra. “This is the first sign of trouble—”
Tyber stepped over and gripped his shoulder.
Ren looked at him. Tyber shook his head.
“What?” Padrus asked.
Ren looked across the room. “Nothing.”
He returned to readying the board.
“You think we’re going to war with Seelia?” Padrus asked.
Tyber’s hand slid from Ren’s shoulder.
Ren shook his head as he studied the board. “Doesn’t matter what I think.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Weiss muttered.
Ren shot him a glare.
Padrus’ chair creaked as he pushed himself to his feet. “You think we can’t handle it?”
“Handle what?” Ren asked, watching Padrus.
“War,” Padrus said as he approached. Several of his hordesmates fell in behind him. “Think we can’t fight? We can’t hold our own?”
“I never said—”
“We didn’t run,” Padrus said, pointing at Ren. “We stayed. We fought. Hammon and the others gave their lives to protect the Prince. We did what we had to do. So don’t you even—”
“Padrus,” Weiss said, his voice even and calm.
Padrus sneered. “Don’t even think we can’t hold our own in a battle. Because we came back. We got their dragoneer. We scattered their horde. And you? You would have just run for the nearest rock. That is if you could get that idiot dragon of yours to figure out where the ground is.”
Ren stood, his chair tipping back and threatening to crash over before Tyber caught it.
“Padrus,” Weiss said, coming around the table. “Don’t pay him any attention. It isn’t worth it.”
An artery throbbed in Padrus’ temple as he glared at Ren.
“You’re going to pick a fight?” Ren said, his voice soft and even. “Remind me who the idiot is again, because there are eighteen of us and only—”
Padrus swung. Ren ducked and dodged the blow. Before Padrus could recover, Tyber and Lambert pushed him back into his hordesmates.
“Stop it!” Weiss called. “All of you!”
Padrus lunged forward, but one of his mates grabbed him by the arm. Padrus glared at the recruit holding him, but he didn’t yank his arm away.
The door opened.
Everyone turned as Dragoneers Chanson and Malcums entered the room, followed by Ander, Olsid, and Radulfus, the remaining proctor in Malcums’ horde.
“What game is this you are set to play?” Dragoneer Malcums asked.
The recruit restraining Padrus released his arm.
“We were just discussing the finer points of petra,” Ren said.
“Well, I hate to interrupt a spirited debate,” Chanson said, “but those in my horde will follow me.”
Tyber took a deep breath and glanced at Sundroe, who had remained seated. He rubbed his palm over his mouth as he looked back and forth between Padrus and Malcums. Sundroe’s nervous energy made Tyber fidgety. It was a relief to follow the others into the hall.
“We will stop by your bunk hall,” Ander said as he motioned down the hallway. “We are having a special class tonight on the roof of the academy. Get what you need to dress appropriately.”
“I hope they’re not going to try to teach us to fly without the dragons,” Ren whispered behind Tyber.
“What was that, recruit?” Ander snapped.
“Nothing, sir! Clearing my throat, sir.”
Ander glared a second more, then motioned for them to get moving.
Chapter 4
Ander opened the door onto the night sky. Cold air rushed down the steps and pressed against the recruits as the eyes of the gods peered from their heights. The proctor stepped onto the roof of the academy, and the recruits followed.
Tyber drew his cloak tighter. It seemed odd to simply take a flight of stairs to the roof instead of climbing the pole like he’d done when he snuck out of his room before the first trial. Then, he’d found a male dragon perched on the parapet. Or what he’d thought was a dragon before it became the silhouette of a man as Tyber watched.
Now, the roof felt like a different place. Ahead, two silhouettes stood against the parapet. One of them was the same person Tyber had seen before. It had to be.
Geoff bumped into Tyber.
“Keep moving,” Geoff grumbled, shuffling arou
nd Tyber.
The door closed with a click behind them. “That’s it,” Olsid said.
“Thank you for coming,” one of the figures said. The voice belonged to Master Groal.
“We have been handed a special mission by the King. As you all know, these walls have lips and ears, so I’m sure you’ve heard that a Seelian delegation visited the palace today.”
The two men stepped before the recruits. In the dim light of the gods’ eyes, the features of Master Groal and Dragoneer Chanson were barely discernible. Tyber looked above as if the eyes of the gods might be persuaded to shine brighter. As he studied the sky, he recalled being shielded from the heat of the fire by a pair of wings as he carried an old woman to safety. He looked back to Master Groal.
“The Seelian kingdom has sent our city a caravan of goods,” the headmaster continued. “It is imperative that this caravan reaches the mother city in safety. Therefore, by order of the King, you will depart the academy on the dawn of the overmorrow and follow the Great Eastern Road to the Seelian border. You will rendezvous with the caravan and escort it safely back to the mother city.”
Master Groal’s frosted breath rose over the gathering silence. A dog barked in the distance, its warning call sounding so far away as to be coming from the other side of the kingdom.
“I wish you the best of luck,” Master Groal said with a firm nod of his head. “I have the utmost confidence in your horde to do what is necessary, as does the King. May the gods see your path safely home.”
As Master Groal moved around the crowd, Tyber shuffled to the edge of the group and reached for the headmaster’s sleeve.
Master Groal stopped before Tyber touched him, before Tyber even realized what he was doing.
“Do you need something, recruit?” Master Groal asked, his face hidden in the shadows.
Tyber stared at the headmaster, then shook his head. “Thank you, sir. For your confidence in us.”
The words slipped out easily as if they were the words he had intended to say all along.
“We are in the habit of graduating capable hordesmen at this academy, recruit. If I did not have confidence in you, then I would be a poor headmaster.”
Master Groal continued on, his cloak filling out behind him with each step until he left via the stairwell they had just climbed.
“All right,” Dragoneer Chanson said. “You are probably wondering why you were brought to the roof to receive that news.”
A hand went up.
“Hand down, recruit,” Olsid called.
“In the city, you navigate by landmarks,” Chanson went on. “You learn where the landmarks are and where other things are in relation to them. You know that Gods’ Reach is in the center of the city, the palace just before it with the King’s Plaza right before that. You know the academy is on the southeast corner, that each gate marks a cardinal direction. You knew all of this before you even entered these grounds.”
Chanson looked across the recruits. “But how do you navigate when there are no landmarks? When the land is strange and unfamiliar?”
Another hand went up. Chanson nodded at the recruit.
“Will there be dragonjacks?” one of Olsid’s recruits asked.
Tyber’s back stiffened.
Chanson let out a long, slow breath that billowed around his head before lifting to the glittering eyes of the gods. “That is not the answer I was seeking, but since that question will apparently keep others from paying attention to tonight’s lesson, then let me say that there is a strong chance that we will encounter dragonjacks on this mission. That is precisely why we were chosen. To guard against a dragonjack attack.”
“But why not send the Royal Horde?” Ren asked without raising a hand.
“I cannot speak to the King’s motives, recruit,” Chanson said. “What I can tell you is that Master Groal has ordered us to guard the caravan, and so that is precisely what will happen.”
Tyber shifted his weight. His feet tingled with cold as he rubbed his hands over the arms of his sweater. When he had learned what happened to Padrus and the others on the trip to Aerona, Tyber had felt grateful even though he missed the chance to see his family. Since Prince Regis had chosen Malcums’ horde to accompany him, it hadn’t been Tyber and his friends who were attacked. He hadn’t lost anyone, and Rius had not been hurt or worse.
And then the shame of that gratitude had swept over him, casting his face in a wave of heat.
Now Chanson’s horde would take their turn. Would they fare any better than Padrus and the rest of Dragoneer Malcums’ horde had?
Tyber pushed his shoulders back. They had to. A caravan of goods meant food and supplies for the city and its people. The horde had to succeed.
“Your training will save you,” Dragoneer Chanson went on. “That is why you’ve been living it day in and day out since the first class. We have trained each of you to be a capable dragon rider and formidable warrior in the last year. If you keep your lessons and your studies in mind, and more importantly, if you follow the chain of command, you will survive this mission. You will return with a great deal of food and items badly needed by the people of this city. And if you will keep your mouths shut and your ears open for a short while, I will teach you how to navigate without landmarks.”
Chanson studied them a moment longer before pointing to his left, to a spot in the sky far to the north.
“The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, but what do you do if you need to ascertain your position at night?”
No one offered any suggestions.
“As the gods above watch over us, we set our paths by their eyes. That god in the north, the brightest one just to the right of Gods’ Reach, that is Mollus the Peaceable.”
Tyber’s gaze honed in on the glittering, white eye of the god, little more than a finger’s width above the northern end of the wall.
“When Mollus is in the sky, we know that it is the peaceful season. That is the only time he emerges to watch our dreams. And when he does, he sits upon his throne there in the north, from the edge of the sea where he likes to watch. Wherever Mollus rests, so does the north.”
On Chanson went, pointing out various gods and relating their positions, warning which of them were the wandering gods that moved about the sky and could not be counted on to provide accurate directions.
As the dragoneer spoke, Tyber stirred and shifted his weight, drawing his cloak tighter. He kept his attention where directed and resisted glancing at the door, hoping to see Master Groal. The memory of the headmaster turning into a dragon had grown so threadbare with Tyber’s constant poking he sometimes wondered if it had been nothing more than his imagination.
But seeing the headmaster on the roof, the eyes of the gods behind him, made the memories vivid again. Why had he ever doubted himself?
The chill of the night began to settle into Tyber, threatening to never leave. Dragoneer Chanson soon dismissed them to their bunk halls, warning that they would have a full day starting at dawn.
As the recruits stepped out of the stairway and into the hall, they followed two weyrboys with lanterns who’d been waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. The boys moved through the hallway like scarlet shadows beneath their lights.
“Something about this doesn’t seem right,” Ren whispered behind Tyber. “They have a royal horde stationed here. Why not send them out to escort the caravan?”
Ahead, Weiss looked over his shoulder. “Your archery skills must be the stuff of legend.”
Despite the teasing tone of Weiss’ words, his voice was hushed as if they were passing through a mausoleum.
“Shut up, Weiss. I’m being serious. Why not send the big boys? Or one of the eastern hordes? Isn’t that why they have weyrs in the east? To guard against dragonjacks and protect the trade routes?”
Weiss stared back at Ren for a moment, then shrugged and turned forward.
“This must be the fourth trial,” Tyber said. “The final one.”
“Mak
es sense,” Ren said. “What more can they teach us if we’re dead?”
“Shut up, Ren,” Lambert said from behind, his voice heavy and loud in the hall.
“Seriously, what’s left to teach us if they think we’re good enough to be thrown at dragonjacks?”
“More than Malcums’ horde knew,” Quall said, his voice barely audible.
“But they’re still in,” Weiss said, turning halfway around as they continued down the hall. “Padrus and the others.”
“What if that’s the fourth trial?” Ren asked. “You have to go against a real enemy. And you have to…”
“Someone’s going to die,” Quall said, his words and voice were shuffled underfoot like dust beneath their boots.
Tyber’s back stiffened, and his chest grew tight. Did Theola have to go through anything like this? For all the wilds, she fought on the front lines, at the foot of the mountains that held the Western dogs back. And if the Dragon Queen had brought an end to the war, surely it had only been after such a battle as to bring the Western kingdom to its knees.
Had Theola survived?
“No one is going to die, Quall!” Weiss snapped.
“That’s the final test,” Quall said, his words growing quicker, more harried, but no louder as they continued on. “They want to see how we’ll handle it when someone dies.”
“Oh, that’s stupid,” Ren said. “Why would they do that? It’s hard enough for them to get recruits now as it is.”
Quall shook his head. “Look what happened to Padrus and the others. They haven’t been right since they came back. Especially Sundroe. He looks like he’s going to jump out of his skin any minute.”
Tyber kept his eyes ahead as he recalled the way Sundroe had jittered in the parlor, wiping the lower half of his face as if he’d never be able to rub away whatever he felt on it.
Weiss turned and walked backwards down the hall. “Enough, Quall,” he said as he pointed at the slight man. “No one’s going to die. We’re hordesmen.”
“Who promoted you?” Ren snapped.
Weiss swung his pointing finger to Ren, his eyes growing wide with warning.
Hordesmen: The Wisdom of Dragons #4 Page 2
