Both dragons tangled for a second. Wings and necks and tails intertwined before they bounced apart. The collision took out another of the Aerona dragons, a bright green, medium-sized female, which twisted hard to avoid the collision but managed to clip it with her wing. Leya and the copper alpha each fell to the ground as the green dragon dipped down and collided with the stone and heather and began to roll end-over-end, broken wings flapping as the rider was crushed over and over until the dragon came to a stop on her side.
Trysten cried out. She clenched her eyes shut and fought to put it all away, the pain of the two hordes colliding and exchanging blows. She pulled a deep breath in, then snapped her eyes open and forced her focus on the scene below. Elevera executed a quarter barrel roll and banked around. Trysten clutched her belly. Sticky blood seeped from the hole in her armor. Below, the two hordes scramble to regroup.
The copper alpha lay upon her side on the ground. Her head lashed at the air. A roar escaped her throat as the Dragon Lord stumbled away. He slid his bow off his shoulders and pulled an arrow from his quiver as he turned towards Leya and Paege. Leya struggled to rise to her feet. Paege lay several feet away, still tied to his saddle, which had broken free of his mount. He struggled to right himself but appeared to have problems with the straps meant to secure him to the saddle during aeronautic maneuvers.
The Dragon Lord lifted his bow and took aim at Paege.
Trysten pushed hard on the saddle and dug into Elevera’s side with her heels. Elevera dove hard. Another great roar escaped her throat as they swooped down.
The Dragon Lord glanced over his shoulder, then spun around and took aim at them. Trysten crouched over Elevera’s neck. Her hand drifted to the hilt of the village sword.
As they swept down upon the Dragon Lord, he released his arrow. Elevera answered with a great stream of fire as Trysten pulled the sword from its scabbard. Flames engulfed the arrow, which then whizzed past Trysten’s ear. The rushing gas and fire of Elevera’s flame had offset the arrow’s course the tiniest bit, enough to spare her.
The Dragon Lord dropped into a crouch, but it was too late for him. Trysten swung the sword down and forward as if trying to strike a ball on the ground. On instinct alone, she missed nicking Elevera’s wing and then tensed when the blade found its home.
She tightened her grasp on both the hilt and the edge of the saddle as a great yank tugged at the sword. The sword slid free as Elevera swung up into the air.
Behind them, the Western Dragon Lord lay crumpled on the ground. Further back, the two hordes circled to take another pass at each other, arrows drawn and ready.
“Stop!” she called, screaming back behind herself. It was too late. The momentum of each horde was about to take one across the path of the other. If she ordered the dragons of the Aerona horde off, it would only upset the aim of the riders and open them to attack.
To her absolute horror, Trysten knew she must open herself to all that was happening around her. It was the only way to take the second horde as her own and stop the bloodshed. She forced the muscles in her body to relax, her mind and heart to drift open, to embrace the onslaught of pain and suffering about to hit her on behalf of all the dragons. Nothing could be done about it. A shudder ran through her. She gasped, and a yelp escaped her as she saw in her mind’s eye what was about to happen. The dragons of the second horde knew what was coming.
The riders of the second horde cast their bows aside. They rained from the air in what appeared to be an act of surrender. It was enough to throw the Aerona horde off. They held their own arrows and watched as the second hordesmen each pulled a long sword from a scabbard. The swords were longer than anything Trysten had seen, and they curved sharply. They put her in mind of a dragon’s claw. As the two hordes swooped into each other, the second hordesmen turned their swords upside down so that the blades pointed downwards. As Elevera let out a great roar to call the dragons to her horde, the hordesmen thrust the swords into the shoulders of their mounts.
“No!” Trysten screamed as the dragons of the second horde roared. They dropped from the sky, colliding with several Aerona dragons as they fell.
The second horde slammed into the ground. The hordesmen had not only pierced the hearts of their mounts but had managed to sever the straps for their saddles as well. The riders themselves lay broken among the stones.
As the initial shock waned, Trysten lifted her head to the sky above, to where the first horde continued to circle in a wide, slow circle where their riders could not interfere. The dragons above had no sense of impending death, and none of the riders appeared to be making an effort to slaughter their mounts.
What in the wilds had just happened?
Trysten returned her attention to the scene below as Elevera banked through the air. The Aerona horde had lost a couple more dragons and riders in the final pass. Her loyal hordesmen lay broken or writhing among the stones and cairns of a long forgotten village burial ground. No movement at all was spotted among the fallen Western hordesmen.
The remaining Aerona hordesmen doubled back and took up position behind Trysten and Elevera. They banked left and right as the riders peered down at the carnage, as stunned as she was even without the benefit of her dragon lord sense.
Chapter 44
The minute Elevera landed, Trysten cast aside her restraints and slid off the side of her dragon. She landed in a crouch and turned around to survey the underside of her mount. Several arrows poked out from her more tender spots, but the shafts and fletchings of the arrows were coated in dried blood. To her relief, no bright, fresh blood dripped from the ends. Upon their return, Galelin would certainly have his work cut out for him, but thanks to the miraculous healing powers of dragons, most of the horde would be back in fighting shape in no time.
Not far from Trysten, however, Leya, the beta lay upon her side. Her chest heaved up and down in a quick and labored rhythm. It stopped for a second, and Trysten found her own breath did as well. And then with a whoosh, Leya’s breath started again, fast and steady. It was not a good sign. Despite the healing powers of dragons, Leya was soon destined for the burial grounds of Aerona.
Ten yards away, Paege stood over the fallen Dragon Lord. He held the long sword of the dragon slayers at his side, holding it as if it were an item he needed to transport to home, or a market, rather than wield it like a weapon. He stared wordlessly at Trysten as a wind came along and tousled his hair, drove it into his eyes where it covered some of the red and swollen flesh on the left side of his face.
As Trysten started for him, he started for her. His face curled into a grimace, and he limped along, trying not to clutch his right hip.
“Are you all right?” Trysten called.
Paege nodded. He glanced back at Leya, then shook his head. “She will have died in service to the village and kingdom,” he said.
“She saved my life,” Trysten said. “You and her.”
“You wasted no time in returning the favor.”
They stopped before each other. The black eye on the left side of his face had begun to turn yellow and lighten up over the last couple of days. The whole right side of his face would be a bruised mess by tomorrow, by the looks of things. Hair stuck in dried blood that had run down from a gash on his cheek, back near his ear.
Trysten wished to throw herself at him, wrap her arms around him and pull him close, feel him against her and know that he was alright, that they were all alright. Or at least those who had survived. Instead, she turned and surveyed the carnage around them. It seemed so much greater from the ground. Perhaps it was just the additional bodies, the able riders and their mounts who rushed to the injured, and those who stood about in shocked awe at the fallen Western hordesmen.
“Can you believe…” Trysten began, but her words trailed off.
“These swords,” Paege said. He drew the one he had taken from its scabbard, and he held it out for her to see. Up close they looked impossibly vicious. She had seen cutlasses sported by a few of t
he village men who fancied weapons. The cutlasses were sharpened on the one side only. They were blades made for slashing. Cutlasses also were shorter blades. This sword, however, was brutal. The length was typical of a broad sword but curved like a cutlass. The blade was sharpened on both edges instead of just the one. The point of the sword finely-honed. The curved nature of it, like a talon, and the length spoke loudly of the blade’s intended purpose, which they had all seen with terrifying clarity.
“Who would do such a thing?” Trysten asked.
“Better yet,” Paege said as he carefully sheathed the sword and presented the hilt to Trysten, “why did these riders slay their dragons, yet those up there did not, or have not?”
Trysten lifted her eyes to the skies again. The first round of Western hordesmen remained imprisoned upon the backs of their dragons. She stared for a second, and the loss she had seen today threatened to overwhelm her. It was senseless that these men should slaughter their dragons and end their own lives. She wasn’t sure what would become of the men imprisoned aloft, but they would not be harmed. Their dragons would be cared for, held in as much esteem as any of Elevera’s horde.
She knelt. The man before her wore leather armor stained to black. Strips of black leather had been sewn down the length of the top of his sweater’s sleeves. His leather helmet had a leather flap on the back of it that protected his neck, but it was not adorned with the feathers that the Western hordesmen typically sported. This man was different. Very different. Was he even from the Western Kingdom?
She stood and peered at the men above. They would have answers if she could find a way to communicate with them. She then returned her gaze to the man at her feet. But if he wasn’t from the Western Kingdom, where did he come from, and why had he attacked them? Surely they were from the Western Kingdom. The first horde had slowed up once spotting her. Why would they have done that if they weren’t buying time?
Perhaps they were doing nothing more than conserving energy. When they saw her dragons approach at full speed, maybe their instinct had been nothing more than to allow her horde to wear itself out?
Answers would come. But first, the injured needed to be seen to.
Chapter 45
Clanging bells greeted Trysten upon their return. Below, villagers scrambled. Archers took up positions behind freshly-made bunkers. Bucket brigades formed near stores of water. Despite being mistaken for an enemy, Trysten was quite pleased to see the villagers’ readiness for an attack. Since she was returning with more dragons than she left with, she could understand their confusion.
Elevera’s strength was fading fast, but she still had it in herself to spread her golden wings in a display that would easily be recognized by all the villagers watching over the tips of arrows. She then ordered Elevera to ground. The dragon dropped into the yard of the weyr. She came down a little too hard and stumbled forward. Thoughts of Aeronwind and her father flashed through Trysten’s mind. But Elevera came to a stop, lifted her head high, and flashed her wings once more in a flourish before tucking them at her side.
“Good girl,” Trysten said with a pat on her neck. “I’m so proud of you.” She blinked away tears with a bat of her eyelashes and then turned to the villagers rushing out to greet her. She pointed at the approaching hordes. The captured horde flew in a tight knot surrounded by the remaining Aerona hordesmen, who held arrows at the ready should the Western hordesmen offer any resistance.
“Arrows and swords at the ready,” Trysten called out to the villagers. “Take those riders into custody.”
Many of the villagers glanced back and forth, openly astonished, unable to make sense of what approached, and the strange orders that accompanied it. But as the first of the Western dragons set down, they rushed forward, arrows and swords drawn, yelling uselessly at the Western hordesmen to get down.
As Trysten dismounted, her father stood at the open door of the weyr, leaning on his staff as if he’d been standing there since she left. He gave her a nod. Galelin rushed out from his side and ran at surprising speed towards Trysten. Uncle Galelin. She shook her head in disbelief.
With her feet once again on the ground, Trysten crouched and peered underneath Elevera. The arrows remained in her, but it seemed that Elevera’s belly pooched out more, slung lower to the ground, heavy with exhaustion and pain that she worked to hold from Trysten.
“Oh, Elevera,” Trysten cooed. She pressed her palm against the dragon’s side and nearly leaned her head into her heaving flank when a pair of hands grasped her about the shoulders and pulled her to her feet.
“Are you all right, my child?” Galelin asked as he whipped her around. His gaze dropped to her belly, to the hole in her armor.
“I’ll be fine. See to Elevera. She has arrows in her ventral side.”
Galelin lowered himself on a cracking knee and peered beneath. He gave a nod, then motioned a weyrman over to help stand back up. “Get this dragon into her stall immediately,” he said as he clutched the weyrman about his shoulders. “Keep her standing until I can clip off the arrows. Lots of water. Clean linen. I must perform surgery.”
The weyrman nodded and took Elevera’s reins.
“Don’t you worry, my child! She’ll be as good as new by tomorrow morning.”
“I know she will,” Trysten said as she peered up into the brown eyes of her dragon. How calm and resolved they were. It was her strength. It was her will. All that was good about Trysten was in that dragon, and she would be all right.
A commotion and excited voices, shouts broke out behind Trysten. A few of the captured Western hordesmen put up pointless resistance. Village archers stood about with their arrows pointed at the Westerners, and then at their dragons, and then at the riders again, apparently unsure of what to do in such an unprecedented situation.
“Hold up!” Trysten called back to the weyrman. She ran forward, patted Elevera’s side, then undid the scabbard of the village sword from the saddle. As it dropped free, the weight of it threatened to yank her to the ground as she thought of it swinging in her arm, the force of it pulling against her as the blade dug into its target.
“What is going on here?” the village overseer asked from behind Trysten.
She turned around to see him gesturing at the captured dragons and hordesmen.
“There are injured on the field of battle still. Several of our riders stayed behind to see to them. They were in too bad of shape for flight.”
She turned to the nearest weyrman, who stood about wide-eyed as if waiting for someone to explain everything. Trysten pointed at him. “Outfit several dragons with supplies. Rations. Linens. Water. Have one of the hordesmen lead them back to the field of battle to collect the survivors who… who will need a ride back.”
The color drained from the weyrman’s face, be it from the weight of Trysten’s words, or his sudden involvement in this historical event. He gave a quick nod and hurried away.
Trysten turned back to the village overseer. She lifted the sword before her. “I have defended the village from those who would have what is ours. I return your lives to you.”
With a struggle to keep the grimace from her face, Trysten knelt before the overseer and lifted the scabbard.
The overseer lifted the scabbard and sword from Trysten’s palms. “Rise, Trysten of Aerona, and receive our ceaseless gratitude and praise for your service.”
The attempt to keep a grimace from her face was renewed as she struggled to her feet while refraining from pressing her palm to the wound in her abdomen. She gave a nod to the overseer. She would need that gratitude as soon as the prince arrived. Once on her feet, she motioned at the prisoners. “Keep them secured for a few days. A prince from the mother city will arrive soon. Turn our prisoners over to him. The dragons are ours. They belong to Aerona weyr. They are bonded.”
The village overseer’s jaw dropped open. He turned to peer out at the Western dragons and the hordesmen who were on their knees now, hands behind their backs as their wrists were bound
.
“A prince?” the overseer said. He turned to Trysten, then glanced down at the sword. “A prince? Why is there a prince coming? When was this arranged? Why didn’t I know about it before now?”
Trysten surveyed the dragons that touched down. Verillium stood at the edge of the crowd. A group of people worked to unfasten Issod’s body and pull it down, along with that of two other riders who had been struck down in the air. All told, four men had been lost for certain. Two men remained at the field of battle to look after another who was too injured to fly, and another man was unaccounted for when his dragon broke formation and went to ground in a fit of exhaustion as they made their way back to Aerona. Assuming that the dragon who fell short recovered after a rest and returned home, then she would have lost two of her own dragons. It was a small price to pay considering that she came back with sixteen more dragons than she departed with.
But each wound, on both sides, were etched onto her bones, stitched into her muscle. She felt them all over and over again as she crossed the yard. A small crowd of people gathered around her. They shouted congratulations and encouragement, well-wishes and gratitude, but they all wanted to engage her, to ask about the captured horde and riders. They wanted the story, wanted to hear first hand what would eventually be passed down from ear to ear and recorded in scrolls and books, especially once the tales of the dragon slayers left the hordesmen and filtered through the village. Such horrors were unthinkable in such a place as Aerona, and not a man, woman, or child would be ignorant of the story by sunset. Nothing like this had ever happened in Aerona before, perhaps never in the entire kingdom, and as such, they were all witnesses to history.
The Dragoneer Trilogy Page 28
