Aerona Stands Read online

  Vickie Knestaut & Danny Knestaut

  The Dragoneer: Book 3

  Aerona Stands

  First published by BL Books 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Vickie Knestaut & Danny Knestaut

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authors' imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

  Cover by covermint designs

  For Kayla

  It’s hardly an adventure without you.

  Contents

  I. STRATEGIES

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  II. CURTAIN OF FIRE

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  Also by Vickie Knestaut & Danny Knestaut

  I

  Strategies

  Chapter 1

  Trysten sat up in bed and held her breath. Her fingers curled into her blanket as she leaned forward slightly and listened, trying to hear more of the stream of hushed words that had wakened her. Whispered words in a language she did not speak.

  Her father’s soft snoring filtered through the cottage wall. She closed her eyes. The whispering was gone, vanished. Perhaps it had been a dream. She reached out to the dragons in the weyr. They were calm, not in any danger. But one of the dragons was listening intently. Trysten focused on that one dragon as if watching a single bird among a flock fluttering against the sky. It was Maejel, the former beta of the Western horde Trysten had captured.

  Someone was speaking to the dragon. Speaking to her in the Western tongue.

  Trysten gasped. A Westerner. Not only was there an army of Western soldiers descending upon the village, but there was one in the weyr yard right now, speaking to Maejel.

  She threw her covers aside, and her feet hit the floor. Quickly, she pulled on leggings, a tunic, and her boots, then hauled a wooden box out from beneath her bed. She lifted the lid. Her breath paused again as she stared at the vicious, curved blade of the dragonslayer sword.

  Touching the thing felt wrong, as if using it dishonored the dragons the Second Hordesmen had slain with it, but it was too dark to shoot arrows in the village. Besides, she hoped the Westerner whispering to Maejel would be as frightened of the sword as the Western prisoners were the first time she had shown it to them.

  She removed the sword and scabbard from the box and strapped them to her waist. The weight tugged at her hip. It felt awful to wear the thing at her side, but now was not the time for subtlety.

  With a hand on the hilt of the sword, Trysten crept over to the weyr as fast as she dared. The lanes of the village were empty this time of night, though lanterns burned beyond the windows of more than one cottage, betraying the sleepless inhabitants.

  Trysten stopped outside the weyr and looked to the west. The army was five days away if Prince Aymon was to be believed. Still, she peered into the dark beyond the village border, looking for anything unusual.

  The wound in her left side throbbed and her jaw tightened as she drew in a sharp breath through her teeth. By the wilds, she was tired. Her muscles ached, as did the dragons in the weyr and she felt all of it. Elevera and Verillium were especially sore from yesterday’s flight from The Wilds with an enemy horde in pursuit, and the others had spent the entire day in the air searching for the escaped prisoners.

  A north breeze drifted through the village. It carried with it whispers of the River Gul as the water chuckled over the stones at the river’s edge.

  Trysten peered around the corner of the weyr. The night watchman for the royal horde sat on a short stool before the remains of a fire, his chin against his chest. His shoulders rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. Across the yard, shadows hid the dragons captured from the Western horde. Though she couldn’t see them, Trysten knew they were all curled up on the ground, asleep beneath the thick carpet of clouds, dreaming their odd and startling dreams. All except for Maejel, who stood with her neck curled down, her head lowered to someone at her side.

  Trysten closed her eyes and focused on Maejel. Her skin tingled where a hand rested against the dragon’s side.

  Coonid shab. Ratch ayis maycalla tae opith bock yallis. May bock yallis.

  The muscles in Trysten’s shoulders and hands tightened as the words came to her. In her mind, she saw the sky stretching up and over impossibly high mountain peaks, clouds scuttling behind them as if clearing by mere inches.

  She squinted into the dark. It was impossible to see who stood there, or whether it was one man or many. She glanced at the short, stubby tower atop the weyr. Where were the night watchmen?

  Trysten slipped inside the weyr.

  A watchman looked up from the saddle he was polishing. “Trysten?”

  His bleary eyes dropped to the sword at her hip, then widened in surprise.

  Her hand went to the hilt of the sword, more out of self-consciousness than anything. It felt wrong to wear the sword at her side, and for a second, she considered exchanging it for one of the short swords locked away in the equipment room. There was no time for that now. She jogged forward, between the rows of dragons, all asleep except for Elevera, who stood tall inside her stall and watched Trysten with curious brown eyes.

  “There’s a prowler in the yard," Trysten said as she approached the watchman. "Go back to the bunkhouse and tell the men to arm themselves and patrol the perimeter of the village. Make sure there is nothing wrong.”

  The watchman stood upright. “The army?” All boredom and fatigue had vanished from his eyes.

  Trysten shook her head as she approached the side door. “The army left The Wilds just hours ago. There is no way they could have closed the distance so quickly. Go.”

  The watchman nodded and swallowed. He hurried toward the back of the weyr where the hordesmen slept.

  Trysten dashed out the side door opposite the weyr yard, ran down the length of the weyr and stopped at the back edge of the long building. She pressed her back against the wood planks, took a measured breath, then peered around the corner. Nothing was in sight exc
ept the bulk of several sleeping dragons along the edge of the yard.

  As she slinked past the back door to the bunkhouse, footsteps thumped against the wooden floor inside. The night watchman had roused the hordesmen, and they were scrambling to dress and get out the door. She would have to be fast to surprise the intruder.

  Trysten dropped into a crouch and scurried to the nearest dragon, still sleeping despite Trysten’s approach and presence. The dragon’s tail and wings twitched with dreams, and Trysten caught momentary flashes of joy as thick stands of pine trees swept by. She felt a pull in wings she didn’t have, the stretch of muscles she’d never known.

  She gripped the hilt of her sword to ground herself and push away the fragments of dragon dream that threatened to distract her. Over the top of the dragon’s back, she caught sight of Maejel standing. Her neck was still curved back toward the speaker. Trysten turned her head slightly to hear with her own ears instead of with the dragon's ears.

  Whispers.

  She slipped around the sleeping dragon, hurried past the next two, and crouched down behind a fourth dragon. She peeked around the dragon to where Maejel stood.

  The intruder had stopped speaking. In the faint light, she could see that he had grown still. He appeared to be looking in the direction of the royal encampment and the sleeping guard parked before his fire.

  The back door of the weyr opened with a creak. The intruder’s head snapped around, his attention glued to the weyr behind Trysten.

  Fish and birds!

  She took a quick, deep breath, then reached out to Maejel with her mind and pictured the brown beta dragon spreading her wings suddenly and forcefully.

  Maejel’s wings snapped open, and she reared up on her hind legs. The intruder released a grunt of surprise as the dragon swept him from his feet and knocked him to the ground.

  Trysten dodged around the dragon that concealed her and ran to Maejel. The intruder pushed himself up to his hands and knees, but Trysten planted the sole of her boot against his ribs and shoved. The man flipped onto his back. As he scrambled to get back up, Trysten stepped on his wrist, then drew the dragonslayer sword from its scabbard.

  She held the sword in front of her. The intruder stopped struggling and he tried to catch his breath.

  “Sa yalla,” the man said, almost in greeting.

  The fight evaporated from Trysten’s shoulders.

  “Who goes there?” the royal night watchman called, suddenly stirred from his slumber.

  “You,” Trysten said to the intruder. She lowered the sword but kept her foot firm on the man’s wrist. “Maejel’s rider.”

  “Maejel,” the man said, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Maejel bock yallis.”

  “Trysten?” Paege called from the edge of the weyr.

  “I caught the Western Commander. The one who rode Maejel.” She risked a glance back at her own commander. “Secure the village’s borders. Make sure there are no other Westerners around.”

  Paege stood a second, looking confused in the dim light and shadows. He turned away and gave short, hushed commands to the hordesmen who had gathered behind him.

  “What are you doing here?” Trysten asked the fallen commander, even though she knew he wouldn’t understand her.

  “Maejel,” the man said. His head fell back against the ground. He appeared defeated, resigned to his death and his destiny if they happened to be the same. “Bock yallis. Tate mashis kraught. Maejel coonis shab.”

  The royal watchman came to a halt a few steps away. He held a short sword in his grip. “What’s going on?”

  “You tell me,” Trysten growled. “You were on watch.”

  The man audibly swallowed, caught in his own embarrassment.

  “Shab breech. Breech.”

  “By the dragon’s blood! That man is speaking the Western language.” The watchman turned to the tents behind him. “Muzad!”

  “Fish and birds, shut your trap!” Trysten snapped.

  “Are there more of them?” the guard asked, his eyes darting in all directions. “Muzad!” he yelled again at the tents. “We have a prisoner!”

  “I have a prisoner,” Trysten said, not at all pleased to have to defend her authority again.

  Light washed across the side of Maejel’s scales as Paege approached with a torch. He, too, held a short sword in his hand.

  “What is this?” Paege asked.

  As he stepped closer, the light confirmed that the intruder was indeed the former Western commander. His face was pale. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes. He looked like he had been on the run for weeks, though he had escaped the custody of the Prince’s men less than a full day ago.

  Paege met Trysten’s eyes, breaking his gaze only briefly to glance at the dragonslayer sword still clutched in her hands.

  “I found him with Maejel,” Trysten started, then stopped before asking Paege to inspect the dragon. It wouldn’t be necessary. The man wouldn’t hurt his dragon. In fact, his bond with his dragon was why he was here. He hadn’t come back. He never left.

  Trysten glanced at Maejel, then back to the Western commander. As she did, she saw that his gaze had done the same, flitting to his dragon and back as if making sure Trysten hadn’t done any harm. She did clutch a dragonslayer sword, after all.

  Without lifting her foot from the man's wrist, she slid the sword back into its scabbard. The fallen commander visibly relaxed.

  “What prisoner is this?” Muzad called from the other side of the yard.

  The night watchman spun around. “The fallen commander captured in battle, sir. He has returned. No doubt to sabotage our efforts.”

  Muzad drew his sword as he hurried across the yard, and then quickly switched it to his left hand. His right shoulder was still weak after being dislocated while sparring with Trysten and Elevera several days earlier.

  “Put that away,” Trysten said.

  “Put what away?”

  “Your sword. It isn’t needed.”

  Muzad stopped before the Western commander. He leveled the tip of it at the prisoner’s throat. “Pardon me, but I don’t see your sword holding this man at bay.”

  Paege cleared his throat.

  “Oh, and what good are you doing back there?” Muzad asked. “This man could have her leg broken in three places before you were able to even step forward.”

  “Your concern is touching,” Paege spat.

  “Put it away,” Trysten said.

  Muzad turned to Trysten, the flame of Paege’s torch reflected in his eyes. His gaze hardened. “You can’t be serious. You can’t believe this man doesn’t intend you any harm. A wild army of his countrymen are marching toward us, and I doubt they are coming to help build your second weyr.”

  “He is not here to harm us,” Trysten said.

  Muzad’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh? And why then did this dog come back? Did he miss your company? The touching meeting that you held with him and his dragon?”

  “Muzad,” Paege warned, a rumble in his voice.

  “He couldn’t leave his dragon. Are you so hard and heartless that you can’t see that?” Trysten asked.

  “Hard and heartless? For all the sky, woman! I’m a dragoneer in the royal horde. My duty is to protect the kingdom and its royal family, and this thing here,” Muzad said with a slight jab toward the man’s throat, “is a direct threat to both. We should kill him right here and now.”

  “Kill him? Absolutely not!” Trysten said. Her hands clenched into fists.

  “What will you do with him, then? Put him up in the cottage again? Give him his own bed and chamber pot? Bring him tea, fresh bread, and cheese? This man is an enemy soldier. He is responsible for the death of your own hordesman. Issod, was his name, wasn’t it?”

  “It was the Dragoneer of his horde who killed Issod. Not him. And that man paid with his life.”

  Muzad shrugged. “It might as well be him as any of those animals. Any of them would have filled you and your horde with arrows. And, he attack
ed my men in his escape. He is dangerous, and right now, we don’t have time for this. I will take care of—”

  As Muzad stepped forward and lifted his blade, Trysten drew her own sword.

  Muzad’s eyes never left the throat of the prisoner. “Can’t stand to let me have that blow, can you?” A sneer twisted over his face.

  Men emerged from the tents across the yard. They placed their hands upon the hilts of their own swords.

  By all that was wild and split, this was getting old. If the situation weren’t so dire, Trysten would almost welcome the army if it meant that she could be free of Prince Aymon’s men.

  “This man is my prisoner, Muzad. You let him escape, and I have now captured him. He is in my custody. You will not touch him.”

  Muzad looked up at her. His face was as hard and set as the stone of the mountains.

  The dragon behind Trysten pushed herself up off the ground until she stood on her claws. She extended her neck and ruffled her wings. Muzad glanced at the dragon, and his bluster appeared to soften a bit.

  “We’re not doing this anymore, Muzad. This is my weyr.”

  Muzad’s gaze drifted back to her as the dragon settled down, but remained standing. Her tail swished once, and Trysten felt the movement of it in her head more than she heard the soft shift of scales over scales.

  “What will you do with him, then? He will only wait until the others arrive, and then he will seek the first opportunity to slit your throat. The longer you allow him to draw air, the sooner it will be that he kills one of your own.”

  “I will protect him from you. And I will protect you from the dishonor of murdering an unarmed prisoner who poses no threat.”

  Trysten looked at the horde of royal dragons along the other side of the yard. The horde had lost a fourth of its dragons and men when the Royal Commander refused to listen to her warning of a trap. She looked back to Muzad, but he had not seen the shift in her attention with Paege’s torch behind her.

  “You will spare an enemy soldier so that he might kill again,” Muzad snorted. “I will gladly bloody my hands to save the lives of the King’s subjects.” He stepped forward and lifted his blade.

  Trysten released the prisoner’s wrist as she moved between him and Muzad.