“There’s cool water in the kitchen. In the bucket beneath the table. Bring it!” Caron called after him.
“Oh, Little Heart,” Caron said and shook her head. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.”
“Who fell?”
Caron blinked as she stared down at Trysten. A large tear dropped away and splashed against Trysten’s leather armor.
“I don’t know,” Caron said. “I didn’t stay to count.”
Trysten looked away to the window in her room and the blue beyond. Her eyes began to drift closed as she opened herself up to the fiery wall of pain as if preparing herself to touch the belly of a hot stove. She wanted to know which dragons were still there, which were within her senses.
“Trysten?” Caron asked as she laid her hand upon her cheek.
Trysten blinked again and looked up at her mother. “I want the names of the Fallen.”
“In time,” Mardoc called from the doorway. “You will have time.”
His staff thumped against the wooden floor as he approached the bed.
Caron gasped. “Are you all right, Little Heart?” Her finger went to the hole punched in her armor.
“Fine,” Trysten said.
“How in the wilds did you survive this?” Caron's finger traced the edge of the hole. Trysten grimaced. Even the slight pressure applied by her mother’s finger hurt.
“This,” Paege said as he stepped into the room. He placed the bucket at his feet and dumped a handful of rags onto the dresser. He reached into the pocket of his tunic and pulled out the pendant. The broken tooth dangled and danced from the end of the chain.
“It hit that?” Caron asked. “The arrow hit that? Let me see it.”
Paege held the pendant out to Caron, and she snatched it from his fist. She pinched the setting between her fingers and moved the tooth back and forth as if trying to see the double nature of it.
Trysten could not. Neither did she want to. She averted her eyes to Paege, to his eyes. The hazel of the river bank in deep summer.
“I told you that they wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he said.
“Who?” Caron asked.
Paege nodded at the pendant. “The Originals. Whatever they want her for, they want her alive.”
Trysten took a deep breath and suppressed an urge to cough. If she coughed, it’d be the end of her. She’d just shatter. Fall apart like an intricate pot dropped to the floor.
“Aymon?” Trysten whispered. “Anyone see him?”
“He was directing the last of the defense,” Mardoc said. “Some of the soldiers wanted a fight to the death. He wasn’t the least bit hesitant to give it to them, but I do not know his fate.”
Trysten lifted her arms and held one hand out to Caron, the other to Paege.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Caron asked.
“Help me sit up. Please. I just want to sit up.”
Paege took one hand. Caron grasped the other. Trysten pulled herself up, gritting her teeth and ignoring what felt like bone scraping bone in her chest.
She let out a grunt and sat for a moment and panted on the edge of the bed, her hands clutched tightly around Paege’s and her mother's hands. Finally, she sat up straight. With one hand she braced herself on the edge of the bed, and with the other, she plucked the pendant from her mother’s hand.
“Can you still see it?” Trysten asked as she examined the broken tooth.
“It’s still there,” Caron said. “It looks like you’d think it would look. You can see both, but they’re both broken.”
“Both broken,” Trysten repeated in a whisper, though unsure why. Her hand closed around the tooth. She felt herself squeezing it, trying to crush it into a worthless, meaningless powder. Her fist began to tremble.
“Little Heart?” Caron asked.
Trysten cast the remnants of the pendant aside. It narrowly missed the shins of her father before it landed on the floor and clattered to the shadows beneath the chairs in front of the fire.
“I’m done with it,” Trysten said. She straightened her back and eased a breath around the burning in her chest. “I’m done with them.”
Epilogue
Once Prince Aymon and his escorts slipped beneath the line of the eastern horizon, Trysten turned away. The awareness of her dragons faded from her, leaving her feeling slightly empty and hollow. He promised he'd bring them back after a visit to the mother city, but it would be a couple weeks before his return.
She would miss the dragons until then.
She turned away from the horizon, and once again found herself startled at the sight of the weyr yard. The royal encampment was gone. The tents had been struck, and nothing remained except brown squares where the tents had stood and the men inside had packed the dirt solid. A blackened circle of ash and stone marked their fire pit.
The weyr held twenty-two of the dragons remaining after the battle with the army, while another twenty-two were staked in the weyr yard. A score of the large oxen pulling the Western spear launchers had been butchered and added to the weyr's supplies as well, and the village archers did their part to add to the dragons' meals with hares and other small game. The dragons were well-fed for now. Prince Aymon said he would send more livestock, as well as supplies to build a second weyr, when he reached the mother city.
She lowered her eyes to the ground at her feet. She did not wish to see the field of ash between herself and the mountains. She closed her eyes for a second, but could not silence the cold clack of stone on stone as a team of villagers worked for the third straight day on the monumental task of burying the dead.
They were her dead. She opened her eyes and looked up as the sun warmed her back. The fallen Western dragons and soldiers were being buried in a mass grave among the ash. Their bodies laid under piles of stones that formed a high berm stretching along one edge of the village.
Many objected to Aerona's own being buried in mass graves, but few argued against the idea that the hordesmen couldn't be spared for burial details. After such sudden and drastic changes in tactics from the Western kingdom, no one wanted to risk allowing the hordesmen a day's trip to the burial grounds. The horde must remain at the ready to defend the village.
So villagers had volunteered to build the platforms and carry the dead to the burial grounds. Many carts and even two sheds had been sacrificed to make the platforms, the latest of which would be carried to the burial grounds soon, accompanied by a few hordesmen who were grounded as either they or their dragons healed from battle wounds.
Trysten licked at her dry and cracked lips. She had bathed nightly since the battle but still felt like she stank of burnt hair. She wanted to cut off her braids, but her mother would not hear of it. So she sat by the fire in their cottage for hours every evening, her mother brushing and combing her hair, working out the singed and shriveled strands as Trysten tried to let a blanket of numbness cover her, Paege and Mardoc stealing glances at her while they discussed the plans for the second weyr. She didn't want to think about it all, and so she let her mind wander with the dragons in the evening. They thought about the battle frequently, but their recollection and opinions were so foreign and strange that the entire ordeal seemed like something distant, a great tragedy spoken of across years and decades. The stories of legends and myths.
She looked at the weyr yard once more, then entered the weyr through the the side door.
"Trysten!" Kaylar called. She rushed up to her from the end of the aisle where she had been perched on the stool outside of Maejel's stall. "Are you ready?"
Trysten nodded at the stall where Maejel stood and watched her fleeing guard. Inside, Rodden leaned against the half-wall and smiled after Kaylar. He always seemed to have a grin when it was Kaylar's turn at guard duty. His eyes met Trysten's and an enormous sadness settled into both of them. Although they could not understand each other yet, as bonded riders they shared a vocabulary without words that spoke of sorrow and lost dragons and fallen comrades. While holdin
g her gaze, he clasped his hands together in front of his chest and squeezed them, mimicking the pumping of a heart, then he bowed his head slightly. She knew it was an offer of compassion more than anything else this time.
"Aren't you on guard duty?" Trysten asked Kaylar.
"Deslan said he'd finish for me. I thought I'd help you with the new recruits," Kaylar said. "I can't just sit by and let you do all of the work."
Trysten's back stiffened slightly, as a twinge of pain shot down her spine. She was grateful for the help. Remarkably, none of the nine women who had asked to join the horde had changed their minds after the battle. When Alea had been found among the fallen hordesmen, Trysten was concerned that it would dampen the enthusiasm of the potential recruits. If anything, it seemed to have made them even more determined to join the horde.
"You're still meeting with them today, aren't you?" Kaylar asked.
Trysten nodded. She held up a scroll that Prince Aymon had passed to her before he left. "Let me put this away. I'll meet you..." She paused. It was a nice day outside, but she didn't really want to teach hand signals while the villagers buried the dead just to the west of the yard. "Down here. In front of Elevera's stall."
"Right!" Kaylar said with a nod. "I'll go get the recruits now."
Kaylar hurried off, and Trysten climbed the stairs to her den. Each step sent a spasm through her back. She clasped the railing and used it to pull herself up. Galelin had assured her that it was only a pulled muscle, that it would heal in time with rest. She would not consent to bed rest, but she was trying to take it easy, although she felt guilty for it. She should be out in the ash field, her hands black with soot as she buried the fallen, but her body would not allow it.
As Trysten entered her den, her attention turned to the scroll in her hand. She unfurled it and read the words that Prince Aymon told her were there. It was a royal decree proclaiming her Dragoneer of Aerona Weyr with honors of knighthood. It bore his signature, which was by far the largest thing on the parchment. She almost smiled, then shook her head. At least the man hadn't tried to make her a dame of the kingdom. Damsels didn't fly into battle on the backs of dragons.
Not that she needed a royal decree to make anything official, but Prince Aymon had insisted, stating that if anyone were to question her, then his decree would put all questions to rest.
As Trysten crossed into the inner chamber of her den, she looked up. A dark-clad woman stood before the den table.
"Fish and birds!" she gasped. The decree fell from her hand. She gripped the hilt of the dragonslayer sword as she took in the long, pale face of the woman. Limp, dark hair fell over her shoulders, reaching almost to her waist.
"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" the Original asked as she dipped her face slightly. She smiled, and despite the alarm Trysten felt, the woman’s grin felt somewhat familiar, almost comforting.
"Who are you?" Trysten asked, shaking her head against what she was seeing. "What do you want?"
“I heard you didn't remember us, but I didn't believe it," the Original said. "You don't remember me at all?"
Trysten’s grip on the hilt loosened a bit. "I've never seen you before. I've never seen your kind at all until I met the other one."
The Original smiled again, and Trysten softened a bit more. There was something there. Her brow furrowed slightly as she chased the shadow of a memory. She had the faintest picture in her head of leaning close to this woman, their foreheads almost touching as they traded conspiratorial whispers about someone else. That smile.
“It will come back to you,” the Original said. “All in due time.” She nodded as if to assure Trysten, or perhaps herself.
Trysten’s grip tightened on the hilt of her sword again. “I still won’t go with you. And if you threaten Aerona again—”
The Orginal’s eyes widened, and her head shifted back on her neck in surprise. “Threaten Aerona? Why would I do that?”
Trysten’s gaze narrowed. “You’ve been threatening it. You promised to turn the army back if I agreed to come with you. If you were able—”
“No,” the Original said with a shake of her head. Her black hair flowed back and forth across the black shoulders of her cloak and looked a bit like the night shifting, rippling over itself. Like the dark dragon that had come to Trysten before. Framed in the darkness, the woman's face was an oval-shaped moon.
“I never made such a promise,” the Original said. “I wouldn’t.”
“But you did,” Trysten said. “Or the other one did.”
“I am not him, am I?” She spread her arms slightly, palms out.
Trysten’s jaw tensed with confusion. She shifted her grip on the hilt slightly. “You are of his kind. You want the same thing.”
“And the Westerners are of your kind.”
She had a point. Trysten’s hand dropped from the hilt, but tension remained in her arm, ready to grab it if needed. She no longer had the pendant, and so no longer had protection from them.
“What is it that you want, then?” Trysten asked.
The Original grinned again. “Well, I had hoped that we might catch up on old times. But I see that we may have to wait until tomorrow to talk about yesterday. But I also wanted to give you this.”
Trysten’s hand moved toward her sword again as the Original reached into the folds of her cloak. When the woman pulled her hand out, a dragon tooth pendant dangled from a chain. It was identical to the one that had been broken in the battle.
“You are going to give me that?” Trysten asked.
“To replace the key that was broken," the Original said. A sly look shifted over her face as if about to reveal a cunning secret to a girlfriend. “I may not be able to choose the path for the arrow, but I can certainly nudge the tip.”
Trysten’s hand fell to her side. There were so many questions. “Nudge the tip?” Trysten finally asked. "You deflected the arrow?"
The Original rolled her eyes in a ribbing, good-natured way, then shook her head as if deciding better of something. “I’m returning the favor. I promised Adalina.”
Trysten took a step toward the Original as if the world had shoved her forward. “Adalina? You know her?”
The Original nearly flinched at Trysten’s movement. The pendant quivered at the end of its chain. “You really don’t remember a thing, do you?”
“Tell me about Adalina.” Trysten took another step forward. “Please.”
The Original appeared to consider her request for a few moments, then shook her head. “There is nothing I can tell you about Adalina. If you can’t remember, it’s probably best that I don’t say anything right now.”
The woman's face softened with concern, and for a second, Trysten nearly expected the Original to reach out and draw her into a comforting embrace.
“What is it that I am supposed to remember?” Trysten asked. “Tell me.”
The Original shook her head. “I can’t. I am sorry, but I can’t tell you anything you don't already know.”
“Why? What does that mean? Do I already know something? How will I learn it?” Trysten pleaded. She took another step forward.
The Original took a step backward, turned, and placed the pendant on the table. The chain slipped from her pale, short fingers and pooled around the nearly-translucent tooth.
She folded her hands in front of herself. She had the same blurry quality to her as the male Original. It appeared that something was moving right behind her, mimicking her every movement so perfectly as to be indistinguishable. But where it had been unsettling in the first Original, in this one it was somehow comforting, or at the least, not threatening. It filled Trysten with a sense that forces greater than herself were at work and would protect her.
“I cannot break the spell,” the Original said with a slight shake of her head. “To break the spell is to break the arrow’s path.”
Trysten’s brow furrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I can’t tell you. I can’t risk
breaking the spell.” The Original’s posture perked up and the mischievous grin returned to her face. “By the way, that Paege is as good to look at as he is sweet.”
“What?” Trysten asked.
Someone knocked on her door.
Trysten looked over her shoulder. The second she lost sight of the Original, she heard the shushing sound made by the male Original and the black dragon. She whipped her head back around, but the Original was gone. No sign of her visit remained except for the pendant upon the table.
“Come in,” Trysten said weakly, out of breath.
The door creaked open and Paege entered. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Kaylar and the new recruits are waiting.”
Trysten studied him for a moment. She would tell him later.
“Let’s go,” she said and turned to follow him down to the weyr.
The Dragoneer: Book 4
Outposts
Read now
Also by Vickie Knestaut & Danny Knestaut
Dragon's-Eye View
The Wisdom of Dragons #1
Unlike his twin sister and most of his friends, Tyber has never been impressed with dragons. Instead of admiring them and their riders, he’s busy doing whatever he can to make sure his siblings have enough to eat.
But after getting caught helping a friend commit an act of petty theft, Tyber is given a choice between imprisonment or entering the King’s Royal Academy of Dragon Riders. New recruits are desperately needed in the face of an escalating war, and King Cadwaller is offering a bonus to any family that enrolls its young adult sons. Even larger bonuses await those who go on to become Royal Hordesmen.
It sounds like a golden opportunity for Tyber and his family. But can he endure the trials of the academy and overcome his distaste for serving the king he blames for his family’s poverty? Neither task, however, will be as difficult as winning the loyalty of a young dragon named Rius and accepting the wisdom of dragons.
The Dragoneer Trilogy Page 79
