At the end of book 1, Hest had met an arc lukesure and freed the small dragon. Although it’s been several months, he still has a connection with the creature.

Rittider Training

Hest’s sword clattered on the stone pavers of the palace training ground, and he held his stinging hand against his chest.

“Why’s he so inconsistent? One moment he can best Farr, and the next he’s floundering worse than my sister with a blade.” Tarhall shook his head.

“I wonder why Athair even chose him,” another Rittider mused.

 “Do you question your king?” Farr’s presence was enough to silence the men; his words stilled them.

“You’re dead.” Kyeth shook his head at Hest. “It’s a good thing you handle your horse better than your sword. I’d hate to have to teach you everything a Rittider is supposed to know.”

With a groan, Hest picked up his weapon. He gritted his teeth and returned to the ready stance, his sword up to protect his chest, his weight settled evenly over his feet.

Kyeth grinned. “You’re determined. Maybe that’s what convinced Athair to let you join our ranks.”

“Are you going to talk me to death, or are we going to continue?”

Faster than Hest could even see, Kyeth lunged forward, his blade a flashing blur. Scrambling to recall the techniques he’d learned, Hest countered and was swept aside. Although he managed a single solid block, he was soon faltering under the other man’s experience.

A Dragon’s Help

Blade high!

Hest blinked at the male voice that sounded in his head, but then saw what Usheen had in mind. He narrowly missed being clipped on the forehead.

Down and in.

Trusting the arc lukesure, even though he couldn’t see the dragon, Hest obeyed. He swept his sword down while dodging the blow that followed and then thrust—and connected directly with Kyeth’s leather cuirass. As soon as he saw what had happened, Hest retreated.

“I- I’m sorry, Kyeth.” His voice trembled. “Are you all right?”

“Boiwith.” The Rittider placed a hand on Hest’s shoulders. “You did fine. I’m not hurt.”

Hest rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the memory of Darrow’s blade embedded in Sydur’s chest. It’d been two cycles since his master’s battle in the throne room, but Hest still had nightmares.

“Listen.” The broad-shouldered warrior pushed his red hair out of his face. “The cannonsea is fine. You’re doing your job.”

“I know, but…” But the image remained.

“It’ll take time. For now, what was that?”

With a shrug, Hest clumsily tried to recreate the maneuver. Kyeth shook his head but didn’t push for further answers. The other Rittider in the courtyard, however, mumbled.

“It’s like he has eyes outside of himself,” Tarhall muttered.

“Strangest thing I’ve seen.”

Even with his limited Atsegenian, Hest could understand them. A stocky redhead stepped up to the edge of the training ring.

“Is everything all right, Kyeth?” Clancy eyed Hest.

“Aye, thank you. The boiwith pulled one of his mysterious moves again.”

“Hest, ya know if ya could ever reproduce those on a consistent basis, ya wouldn’t have to be out here trainin’ and racking’ up the bruises.” Clancy laughed.

“Aye, sir. I wish I could explain it.”

Although Kyeth had been with Hest when he’d met Usheen, the lad felt uncomfortable telling the Rittider more than what the man had seen.

I am not a secret. Usheen’s voice whispered in Hest’s mind. You could tell them, and not appear as an amadan.

A what?

Ah, an amadan.

This time Hest understood the implication of the word. An idiot?

Aye. Usheen chuckled.

“Boiwith?” Kyeth waved a hand in front of Hest’s face.

“Oh, sorry. Ready?”

“Nay, that’s enough for a step. Do you wish to continue language lessons or go for a ride?”

Hest grinned. “Why not both”

Kyeth considered this. “Very well, but we’ll speak only Atsegenian from the moment we mount up.”

“Deal.” Hest had his misgivings, but after the last four cycles, he’d learned how to get by with the language of his new home.

The Barn

As they stepped into the barn, Achan, the stablemaster, greeted them. “What brings you two in here this fine step?”

Kyeth nudged Hest in the ribs. “This boiwith thinks he can have a language lesson while on horseback.”

Achan laughed. “If anyone can do it, ‘tis Hest. He was born to ride. If the king hadn’t appointed him Rittider I would have taken him as a bayheah.”

The breath left Hest as abruptly as if he’d been hit by one of the wooden practice blades. “Really? I thought Sydur told me there was only one bayheah. Even those under you aren’t called that.”

“You understood correctly, boiwith. I am the bayheah.” Achan let his gaze travel down the stalls and encompass the whole of the barn. “I’ve been here since my youth. I was a boiwith younger than you when Bethock took me in and trained me to take his place. ‘Tis about time I find the one who will follow me.”

“Thank you, Achan.” The words didn’t seem sufficient for the gratitude welling up inside Hest at the compliment the older man gave him.

A smile lifted the bayheah’s lips, lighting his whole face. “If the Rittider ever let you go, there’s a position available for you. In the meantime, you have a horse who’s looking for you.”

A dark head reached over a stall door down the row, and Hest grinned as he walked to Beskallare. It’d been over a lunar cycle since he’d had a chance to exercise his horse.

“How’re you doing, boiwith? Have Achan’s boys been taking care of you?”

Beskallare pushed his nose against Hest’s chest, searching for a treat.

“Nay, not there. Maybe after we’re done with our ride.”

With sure movements, he tacked up Beskallare—blanket, saddle, and bridle—all the while enjoying the familiar scents of leather and liniment blended with straw and manure.

“I see why Achan would want you around.” Kyeth’s words pulled Hest from his reverie.

He hadn’t realized he’d even paused in his work. “Why’s that? Because I sleep standing on the job?”

Kyeth chuckled. “Nay, ‘tis the way you have about you. Your horse is practically asleep; that’s saying something for a creature of his temperament.”

“Well, let’s wake him up then.”

 With a grin, Hest led Beskallare to the courtyard where he mounted and urged him into a brisk walk to the castle gate and beyond. Kyeth followed on a bay that shone in Graen’s rays. Hest preferred to stay in the shadows of the buildings, so he didn’t squint as much. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the brighter light in Cahar, but that didn’t mean he didn’t prefer the dimmer sky of his homeland.

A Ride

Once outside the city, Hest gave Beskallare his head and reveled in the joy of riding such a strong and graceful horse. With the thud of hooves on the ground echoing around him, the wind blew his lengthening hair out of his face, taking the cares of the world with it. His horse seemed to love it just as much, for he was blowing hard before he finally dropped into a trot, his flanks shining with sweat.

It is enough to take your breath away, isn’t it? Usheen’s voice didn’t startle Hest because although he couldn’t explain it, he’d been aware of the dragon’s presence as Beskallare had eased into the new gait.

Aye! Hest replied. It is. Riding like that is probably the closest I’ll ever come to flying free like a bird.

Usheen didn’t reply, but Hest was filled with a satisfaction that wasn’t entirely his own.

“Are you done showing off?” Kyeth’s smiled softened his words, but the sweat glistening on his horse’s sides sent a pang through Hest.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize how fast we were going.”

Kyeth waved his apology aside. “I think this horse needed the workout; probably why Achan gave him to me.”

You are going to tell him, aren’t you?

Is that really all right with you, Usheen? Hest adjusted his weight in the saddle.

As long as you trust him.

Instead of answering, Hest nodded. He’d trust Kyeth with his life; besides the Rittider had been there when Hest had met Usheen.

A Confession

“Remember the dungeon?”

Kyeth frowned. “Why wouldn’t I remember?”

Hest laughed; again, his limited language skills had conveyed something he’d not quite meant to say. “I’m sorry. Do you remember when we rescued the queen and princess?”

“Aye.” A faraway look came to the Rittider’s eyes.

Figuring that was a good sign, Hest plunged ahead. “What do you remember from the bottom room?”

“You mean that room behind the hidden door?”

“Aye, that’s it.”

“Well, the first thing was the stench! Holding my nose wasn’t enough to block it out; breathing through my mouth just made me taste it.” He made a disgusted face. “And then you went wandering off into the pitch black without a torch. To be honest when you were gone for so long, I was terrified something had eaten you. I kept hearing noises. But when you returned, it was as if you brought hope with you.” He slapped at a fly that had landed on his horse’s neck. “Sounds crazy, but that’s the best I can put it.”

Hope. That made perfect sense to Hest for that’s what he felt when Usheen was around.

A Dragon

“Did you see anything?” Hest held his breath for the answer.

Kyeth glanced sideways at him. “What are you getting at, boiwith?”

“Beside me, when I returned. Did you see something?”

“I don’t know.” Kyeth wiped his hand across his face. “Listen, I’ve been trying to decide ever since. Call me crazy, but I could swear I saw a…” he paused, “a dragon.”

Hest smiled. It felt so good to have someone else confirm it. There’d been times much like Kyeth had said, when Hest doubted his own memory of that moonstep.

“You’re not crazy.” The words barely carried across the breeze, so he spoke louder. “That smell?” He waited for Kyeth to nod before continuing. “That was the mother.”

Kyeth pulled his horse to a halt. “Wait! So, you’re telling me that not only was I right about the dragon, but there were two?”

“Aye, Kyeth. The creature calls himself an arc lukesure.”

The Rittider sucked air through his teeth creating a whistle.  “I heard rumors, but I didn’t think much of them. It’s been synods…” He shook his head, glanced at Hest, and looked down to his hands. “An arc lukesure?”

Hest’s heart sped up. Had he said something wrong? Come to think of it, back in the dungeon, Sydur and Lugh had both reacted similarly to the name.

“You spoke… with an arc lukesure?” Kyeth’s eyes sparkled, but he squirmed in his saddle. “Have you told the cannonsea?”

The question was like a splash of cold water in the face. Hest realized he should have had this conversation with Sydur before speaking with another Rittider, but he’d barely seen the warrior for the past two cycles. Their paths crossed in the sitting room between their bedrooms, but that was it. Sydur had been busy cleaning out all of Darrow’s followers, and Hest had had his hands full with training—the previous battles had been enough to show his ineptitude with a sword.

“I’ll take that look on your face as a no. You plan on it?”

Hest nodded vehemently.

A Tale of Dragons

“Well, ’tis my turn to tell you a tale. As a boiwith my father’s grandfather sat at the feet of his grandfather who recounted a time when a silver arc lukesure flew free over Cahar without fear of danger from the Rittider, for the king was a dragon rider.”

Beskallare shook his head, jingling the bit.

“Never in my life did I dream I’d see an arc lukesure with my own eyes.” Kyeth met Hest’s gaze. “Whatever you do, keep this news to yourself. There are many who would take advantage of the creature.”

Tears gathered in Hest’s eyes as he remembered Usheen’s pain at his mother’s death. “Aye, any friend of Liam would be an enemy of the arc lukesure.”

“Liam?”

“Aye, he was the one who knew of the mother, and possibly even killed her. How the baby survived, I don’t know.”

Kyeth shook his head. “This is beyond my station. Please, talk to the cannonsea before this step is out. He’ll know what needs to be done.”

Hest agreed. Why he’d waited this long was beyond him, other than the fact that his relationship with Usheen was something to be treasured. He debated explaining his erratic swordsmanship, but thought better of it. Kyeth hadn’t thought he was crazy for admitting he’d seen a dragon, but he’d surely change his mind if Hest told him the creature spoke into his mind. The real question was: what would Sydur say?