Trysten’s head sank a little bit, as if disappointed that she came to the end of the trail she had been pursuing.
“But you know, bloodlines are a funny thing. Before my hair went gray, it was red. A fiery red. But my parents both had brown hair. All of my siblings had brown hair. No one at all in my family had red hair, except for my mother’s father, and my father’s grandmother. Sometimes traits skip generations, and when certain people come together, then their children will have these traits that go back in the bloodlines.”
Trysten sat up again. “So if two people who were descended from the Originals were themselves to have a child…”
Galelin took another sip of tea. “Especially in the families of dragoneers. I’m sure you’ve noticed how the title is passed from father to son, or grandfather to grandson in the case of your own father, but it always stays in the family even though there is that open charade called the consideration. Yes, anyone may audition for the title, but it is a pointless exercise, mostly just posturing on the part of the hordesmen, because everyone knows that the title is getting passed down to the Dragoneer’s descendants, almost as if there is something passed along in the bloodline, like red hair.”
Trysten sat up. She nearly asked a dangerous question.
Galelin gave Trysten a veiled look and continued. “I’ve heard rumors of a Dragon Lord since the new hordesmen came to our village. It seems that they are breathing life into a legend that many people have grown accustomed to dismissing. To hear their stories, it does make a person wonder if there is some truth to it.”
Trysten’s gaze fell to the tea before her. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
“Our history is a chronicle of all the things we once believed, but believe no more. What history teaches us is that our beliefs are impermanent. They are shifting, changing things. They are spun from stories and facts. What if the stories of the Originals have an element of truth to them? What if there are descendants of one of the Originals walking among us? What if there are even Originals still walking among us. And if two of the descendants of the Original were to sire a child, then what is to say that that child might have a trait not manifested in the family for generations, such as my former red hair?”
Trysten clutched her cup tighter to keep her hands from shaking. She focused on one breath in, one breath out in order to keep herself from blurting out her secret, from telling Galelin of her ability and asking if he truly believed that she was descended from one of the Originals.
But it was too dangerous.
She took a sip of tea to give herself time to think, time to recover. “My father says that the King will take exception to my position.”
Gaelin nodded. “That seems like a reasonable assumption.”
“If I could have some precedent, some history, a story even to help secure my position, it would be helpful.”
“The only story that will help you is the one you write.”
Trysten regarded the cup in her hands. “I was hoping for a little more than that.” She looked up at the old healer. “If you could look through your books and find some evidence of a previous dragoneer who was a woman, I’d appreciate it. It would be helpful.”
Galelin shrugged. “I always delight in any excuse to look through my books, but I already know them pretty well. There is very little in them that would escape my knowledge or memory.”
Trysten’s shoulders drooped. She rolled the tea cup slowly between her palms.
“Don’t despair, young lady. If nothing ever changed, then there would be no point in keeping all of these dusty old books full of history. We record history to know what things once were. Things will change. They always do. You may count on it.”
A weak grin struggled across Trysten’s face. “Thank you.”
“A good healer knows how to impress upon the spirit of all creatures, not just dragons.”
She sat up and looked at Galelin. “How about the Dragon Master? Might he know more? Might he have stories and precedents to help my situation?”
Galelin shrugged. “He might. He might also have a greater understanding of why women aren’t supposed to, or aren’t allowed to be dragoneers. And after the men from Hollin horde reach the mother city, he will find whatever the King instructs him to find.”
Trysten slumped back in her chair. She lifted the cup and swallowed the remainder of the tea. The pungent, rich odor of it overwhelmed her slightly for a second. She took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of smoke and wood ash.
“Thank you all the same,” Trysten said. “For the tea and the stories. I must be off to bed now. I have a long day ahead of myself.”
“Certainly. And let me tell you what a nice change it is to have the Dragoneer call on me, rather than being summoned to the den each time I’m needed.” Galelin slapped his hands down upon his knees. “These aren’t getting any younger, you know.”
Chapter 37
The following morning, when Trysten met the hordesmen in the weyr, it was hard to ignore Paege’s black eye. She approached him. As she did so, he averted his gaze to her feet.
“What happened?”
“It was an accident,” Paege said. He glanced in her eyes, then looked at her feet again.
“I’m sure it was,” Trysten said. “But that doesn’t answer the question. What happened to your eye?”
The men near Paege shifted slightly.
“I had to use the latrine last night. I bumped into the door in the dark.”
Trysten lifted an eyebrow. “You bumped into a door?”
Paege gave a quick nod. “It was open. I didn’t know. I mean, I didn’t see that it was open. Because it was dark, you see? I collided with the corner of it. It caught me right in the eye.”
Trysten studied the line of hordesmen that extended from Paege’s right. All of them found something very interesting to stare at straight ahead. She returned her attention to Paege, then realized that something else was amiss. She turned to her left again, then counted the men standing in the line. The line was missing one man.
“Where is Issod?” Trysten asked.
“Issod?” Paege asked. “He’s in his sickbed today.”
“His sickbed? And what exotic illness is he suffering from?”
“He… fell out of bed last night. Hurt his arm.”
A choked snort came down the line as someone stifled a laugh.
“He fell out of bed?”
Paege nodded.
Trysten stepped back. “Do they have such different beds in Hollin?”
The men stared forward with stone-etched faces.
“I’m waiting on an answer, gentlemen.”
One of the Hollin hordesmen gave his head a slow shake.
Trysten took in a deep breath and let it out slowly in hopes of keeping the heat from building up in her face. “Is anyone going to tell me what really happened?”
Paege stared straight ahead, just past Trysten’s gaze.
“All right, then. Saddle your mounts and meet me in the yard. All of you!”
The men broke the line and started for their respective mounts. As they scattered, Trysten planted her hands upon her hips. It was bad enough that she’d have to integrate the two hordes as quickly as possible, but it was all the more challenging for the fact that the combined horde was composed of pig-headed men. How in the wilds would she get them to work together as one horde if she couldn’t even get them to talk to each other or her?
Whatever it took, it would have to be done soon.
Trysten crossed the weyr to the hordesmen’s quarters. As she entered the bunkhouse, Issod pushed himself up from his cot onto his left elbow with a grimace. His right arm was held before him, cradled in a sling.
“What happened?” Trysten asked as she planted her hands upon her hips.
“I tripped and fell.”
“Out of bed?”
Issod studied her face a second, and then laid back on the cot. “I suppose so.”
“What were you t
wo fighting about?”
Issod stared at ceiling. “There was no fight. I fell.”
“And how was it that Paege got his black eye?”
Issod sighed. “You will have to ask him.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I can’t say.”
“I am giving you an order. Tell me how you hurt your arm.”
“I already did.”
“You are lying to me.”
Issod continued to stare at the ceiling.
“On your feet.”
Issod gripped the edge of the cot with his uninjured hand, but there he remained, caught between the two things he struggled with.
“On your feet, Issod, or I will have you tossed over a donkey’s back and sent off to the plains.”
Issod took a deep breath, then pulled himself to a sitting position with a grimace on his face. After a brief second on the side of the cot, he rose to his feet and stared across the room.
“I will have the truth now,” Trysten said as she folded her hands behind her back.
“The truth?” Issod lifted an eyebrow. “The truth is that none of this matters. The truth is that it doesn’t matter one bit how I hurt my arm or how your commander got a black eye. I lost my family. I lost my friends. Everything I ever had and loved is gone now. Except for Verillium. The truth is that I owe her. I was a coward. I should have never allowed her to leave Hollin. I should have made her stay. I could have.”
“What would that have accomplished?”
Issod shook his head as he turned his attention to the bunks across the hall. “We would have fallen and died there, alongside the other dragons, alongside my family. My friends. But now we are going to die out here, far from everyone, in a strange land where our bones will bleach under a strange sun. I was a coward. After seeing the way those men fought, I knew we were done for. Running has only postponed the inevitable.”
“We are not going to die.”
Issod scoffed. “My dragoneer was a good man. A seasoned man. The bravest man I have ever known, and as fierce as the most ill-tempered dragon. He fell within the first few minutes of battle. What hope has this bastard horde? A mismatched, motley crew of dragons and hordesmen led by a girl hardly stepped away from her mother’s teat? What battles have you fought? What glories have you won?” Issod asked as a sneer writhed across his face.
Trysten took a deep, measured breath. The man deserved to be tossed out on his behind. He was a coward indeed, and his belief that they were goats in a pen, waiting for a slaughter was a dangerous position, as evidenced by the fight he likely started with Paege. The man was frightened to the edge of panic.
But if what the Hollin hordesmen said was true, then every capable rider would be needed. A large horde was an advantage, to be sure, but she was two riders short for their twenty-nine dragons, and on top of that, two of her hordesmen were always out on a scouting patrol. At any moment, she had twenty-four hordesmen ready to fly into battle behind her, which was hardly more than an average-sized horde. The village—the kingdom couldn’t afford for her to lose another rider.
Trysten stepped up to Issod. His expression hardened, his mouth drew up tight, and his shoulders shifted back. Despite the busted arm, he appeared ready to step back and throw a punch.
“What battles have I fought?” Trysten asked in a calm, measured voice. “I have fought a battle for a dragon’s heart. I have the glory of earning a dragon’s trust and loyalty. And not just any dragon, but the alpha dragon. The same alpha dragon that yours now serves. If you have any respect at all for your mount, you will respect her wisdom, her choice. Verillium chose to follow Elevera, and Elevera has chosen to follow me. It is that simple. I am the Dragoneer, and if you cannot trust me when I say we will be victorious, then you dishonor your own dragon as you dishonor yourself. Is your opinion of Verillium really so low?”
Issod flushed. His gaze dropped away, and his face tilted down slightly. It appeared as if Trysten had pierced him, vented some of the vitriol that he had brimmed with.
“Do you trust your dragon?” Trysten asked.
Issod gave a slight nod, but still refused to look her in the eye.
“Then you must also trust me. We will stop the Western Kingdom here. With the help and experience of the Hollin horde, and the strength and might of the Aerona weyr, we will stop them. But we are already a number of riders short. I need every capable person in a dragon’s saddle in order to avenge the deaths of your friends and family, of your dragons and your dragoneer. Every person.”
Issod looked up at her at that.
Trysten returned his gaze for a second, then took half a step back. “You will go find Galelin. You will tell him that I want you patched up and ready to ride by dawn tomorrow. Is that clear?”
The color drained from Issod’s face. For a second, it looked like he was about to crumble, to collapse into a ragged pile upon the floor. But then he gave another nod and hurried out of the bunk hall.
Trysten sighed and closed her eyes. By the wilds, managing the dragons was far easier than looking after the men. Would her father feel the same way?
Probably.
She took another deep breath to collect herself, to allow her frustration and concern to simmer down, and then she went to gather Elevera and meet the hordesmen in the yard.
Chapter 38
Over the course of the next few days, Trysten pushed the Hollin hordesmen for details on what they saw and experienced. She consulted with the village overseer and drew up a plan for a fire brigade. Blacksmiths worked around the clock. Their hammers became a metronome that echoed through the village day and night as they fashioned large, iron gates from whatever could be spared around the village. Carpenters recruited help from the villagers in order to build an extension on the weyr to house the additional dragons and hordesmen. Finally, the iron gates were suspended from tracks above the weyr doors so that the building could either be closed off from attacking hordesmen, or the weyr could be used as a trap to contain attacking hordesmen.
Jalite, Assina, and Talon had their work cut out for them as they organized knitting and leather-working circles among anyone in the village who had any skill at all. The tavern was empty of its regulars as they worked in the blacksmith shops or at the weyr, showing up only briefly for meals, so the armor guild moved into the tavern and spread their baskets of yarn and needles, of leather and tools. The tables became work areas, and the proprietor made as much money as ever making sure that none of the knitters or leather workers went hungry or thirsty as they worked to outfit the new hordesmen in the colors and style of Aerona weyr.
Trysten saw very little of her family during the period. With many people busy with preparations for the coming battle, her mother spent most of her time in the hills or along the river, hunting or fishing. Her father even gave up his habit of hovering around the weyr, and instead of grumbling about the addition, he surprised Trysten by staying home and devoting most of his time to preparing food for the weyr and the laborers working on it.
It was just as well, as Trysten worked from dawn to dusk with the hordesmen. Each morning, as she stepped out of the cottage, she stared at the mountains and held her breath as she examined the level of cloud cover. As the first rays of the sun spread over the land and fell upon the mountains, her chest tightened to see the cloud cover dwindling. More and more of the rocky, snow-strewn slopes became visible.
She pushed the hordesmen hard, drilling the Hollin hordesmen on the Aerona weyr signals and commands. They herded doles, flew relay races, and engaged in mock battles. As Trysten stared out at the mountains and listened to the grating sound of arrowheads sharpened against a stone, she realized that the lowest peaks in the range could be made out in the dwindling cloud cover.
It was a wonder they hadn’t encountered a Western horde yet.
She proceeded to the weyr. There she met the hordesmen, and together they set out for another day of practice.
Towards evening, as the sun was about to set
, Paege motioned and pointed to the east. A dragon flew towards the village. A small dragon. A courier dragon.
With several swoops of her arms, she ordered the horde back to the weyr while she herself flew out to meet the courier and encountered Ulbeg, pushing himself through the growing dusk. Upon sight of Elevera, the little male perked up and pushed even harder, finding one last burst of speed at the end of his long flight from the mother city.
Atop Ulbeg’s back, one of the village couriers waved at Trysten, then pointed at a pouch slung across his shoulders before pointing at her to indicate that he had something for her.
She nodded her understanding, and searched the courier’s face for an indication of what kind of news it might be. If it was for her specifically, it was unlikely he had read it, but he had been in the mother city long enough that Trysten and others had begun to wonder if something had happened to him. The longer they waited, the more his absence weighed on Trysten. The worst thing would be if something had happened to them on the way to the city and the courier was unable to relay the news of Hollin weyr and the Western Kingdom. Beyond that, the worst thing would be that they did indeed make it, and the King had a difficult time deciding what to do with her, waiting long enough that Nillard finally made it down out of the high plains upon his bartered mule.
Whatever had happened, the courier would know the flavor of the court, know what the mood was inside the King’s castle. The stoic, emotionless look upon the courier’s face did not bode well for the future.
As soon as their dragons touched down in the yard, the courier dismounted, and a weyrman rushed up and took Ulbeg’s reins. The courier walked across the yard in a stiff-legged manner that betrayed how many consecutive hours he had been upon the dragon’s back.
“I bring a message from King Cadwaller,” the courier cried as Trysten approached. Instead of removing the message from his pouch, he slung the whole pouch from around his neck and held it out to Trysten, as if the whole bag had been sullied by its contents.
The Dragoneer: Book 1: The Bonding Page 23
