DragonForce Ch. 02

Darian winced at the hurt in her voice. Why did she have to be so childish, taking every word, every mood personally? She acted as though the entire planet held her accountable for each mistake and every personal slight. No one could be that important, or that naive. He clenched his teeth as she turned, her sandals making a soft scratching noise against the rock floor. "Sit down," he called, pivoting to follow her. He noticed Astaroth's tail slide up, a single open eye regarding him curiously. Whatever the black's thoughts, he didn't share them. The eye closed and the tail dropped back into place.

She was at the table when he walked in. Loki had stretched out at her feet, looking up pensively to greet him. Darian was beginning to wonder if the cat preferred the female human's company to that of his fellow Cygnans. He sat down across from them, staring absently into space, avoiding her questioning gaze.

Several minutes passed with nothing said. Selana scratched the stalker's head and poked at the redfruit on the table. Loki's incessant purr was the only sound in the chamber.

Suddenly, the healer stood up and circled the table. She sat down beside the avion, placing her fingers at the side of his throat. He suppressed his initial impulse to pull away, instead glaring at her from the corner of his right eye. Her intense concentration lasted only a few seconds. Her eyes widened as she pulled away from him. "Well!" she exclaimed.

The avion's lips pulled into an irritated sneer. Still not looking at her, he demanded, "What was that all about?"

"You are still alive!" she informed him.

Darian spun on her angrily. The action made Loki spring to his feet, ears flattened and fur erect. The stalker snarled.

Selana flinched. The avion's attitude was so violent that she fully expected to be struck. His hand was poised above her, fingers stiffly curled into a position frighteningly reminiscent of claws. She closed her eyes.

Darian glared at the terrified girl. In his peripheral vision, he saw the hand ready to strike, fingers in a raking position. He heard both Loki's angry growl and his own pounding heart. Slowly, he lowered his arm. Rather than slash at the healer, it extended to pick up the mug of klah. He took a deep drink, grimacing at the taste of the cold liquid.

Selana didn't move. Her own heart was pounding, an immobilizing fear gripping her body. This was a side of the avion she hadn't seen, hadn't suspected was there, and would not risk provoking again. She hardly noticed Loki moving around the table to place himself in front of her, cautiously facing Darian. The feline's menacing growl continued.

'Enough, Loki,' he commanded, his thoughts a thinly veiled threat. The stalker stopped growling, but remained pointedly in place, tense and alert. Darian stared into the thick brown fluid, fingertips tapping on the mug. He chewed at his lip, wings moving back and forth across his shoulders. A thin smile creased his lips, widening until he heard himself laughing aloud. Nonetheless, both the stalker and the healer remained silent. "Alright, little one," he said, "you win. What can I do for you?"

She watched him carefully, not certain how to avoid angering him again. The untouched food on the table caught her attention. "Have something to eat?"

A deep chuckle escaped him. He turned to face her. "Certainly. How about you?"

Loki came to his feet, back arched, fangs bared. The gurgling challenge that came from his throat was half-growl, half-scream.

Selana looked from feline to avion, eyes-widening. The color that had returned to her cheeks faded quickly. Her voice was a shocked whisper. "You're not a cannibal!" she protested, hoping her instincts were correct. She could see the long, powerful fangs extending from his upper jaw. It didn't take much imagination to realize the purpose they served. So far as she knew, all flying animals were predators.

"No, I'm not," he agreed. "But I am a carnivore. And," he added, smiling devilishly, "you look rather tasty."

She jumped in abject terror as he reached out to touch her arm, gently squeezing the soft flesh between forefinger and thumb. The tip of his tongue extended, running across his lower lip. "Hmmm. Rather tender."

Loki's reaction was immediate. The cat stopped growling, dropped to his haunches and started purring.

Selana glanced at her protector, unable to comprehend the feline's action. Sickeningly, it occurred to her that cats, too, were meat-eaters. A sudden gasp of air made her realize she had been holding her breath. Her lungs burned as she gulped oxygen. She lifted her eyes to look at Darian's face. He was grinning at her. Slowly, realization dawned on her. She'd been had. Her cheeks flushed bright red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Hastily, she slapped his arm away. She wanted to scream at him, but the only sound she could make was a confused sputter.

Darian was laughing so hard that Astaroth gave a disturbed snort from the outer weyr. Loki was purring loudly, rubbing his head against the team-leader's leg.

"That wasn't funny!" she squealed, standing up to leave.

"Oh yes, it was!" he assured her. As she walked past, a strong arm shot out to restrain her at the waist. With a single fluid motion, he pulled her into a sitting position beside him. Still laughing, he handed her a piece of the fruit she had been toying with. She looked at it sourly as he bit into a piece of buttered bread. They sat quietly for a moment while he finished the roll. Then he asked her, "What did you come here for?"

"I don't remember," she said quietly, not looking at him. Her head was down, her eyes concealed by the forward sweep of golden-brown hair. Her slight shoulders were bent forward.

"Come now," he soothed, brushing the hair from her cheek with a gentle hand, "don't be like that. This is the first good laugh I've had since I got here."

"It wasn't funny," she repeated, still not looking up. "It was inhuman."

"I'm not human," the avion reminded her, "only humanoid."

Now she looked up, a hint of fear in her eyes. She saw no menace, only his amused smile. Loki padded across his leader and placed his head in her lap. Unconsciously, she began to scratch the soft spot behind his ear. His gratified rumble was instantaneous.

Darian reached out and cradled her chin in his fingers. He slowly turned her head so that their eyes were locked. A forefinger softly pulled at the corner of her mouth. He noticed a bit of moisture at the corner of her eye and reached up to wipe it away. Maybe, he thought, I played that just a bit too far. He watched her eyes close and a shudder run through her body. "Now," he said gently, "once again, what can I do for you?"

She opened her eyes and looked at him with a strange, wondering expression. He inclined his head questioningly but got no response. Her hand came up to remove his. "I wanted you to examine T'marek and Kelth with me," she explained. "Maybe you can see something I don't."

"Why? What's wrong with them?"

"They can't hear each other."

Darian frowned. He'd seen their injuries. Despite the facial lacerations on the rider, neither had sustained any ear damage. They had been able to hear him during earlier examinations. Why should they suddenly lose their hearing? "Have they sustained any further injuries?" he asked.

"No. Why?"

"There has to be some reason for a loss of hearing, unless you think it's psychosomatic."

Selana was confused. She had the impression they weren't talking about the same problem. "There's nothing wrong with their ears," she stated, "they just can't hear each other." The puzzled look on Darian's face told her that he was equally confused. Somehow, he just didn't understand what she was saying. Then, it struck her. "Dragons and riders have a telepathic link," she explained, "from the moment they impress. They are in constant contact for the rest of their lives. For some reason, T'marek and Kelth aren't able to link telepathically anymore. They can't hear each other."

The avion nodded slowly, grasping the general problem. What he could do about it, though... "How long ago did you notice this?" he asked.

"I really hadn't thought about it," Selana admitted. She pursed her lips, recalling her recent check of the rider. He and Kelth had both acted strangely, almost hysterical, since waking up that first afternoon. They had been well sedated most of the time since. "I think it's since they regained consciousness," she added.

Darian stared at the facing wall, his eyes unfocused. He was deep in thought. Both rider and beast had been battered, he recalled. Maybe they hadn't realized how badly. "Then it's possible this is part of the initial injury."

The young healer looked up at him. "Not only possible," she agreed, "but probable."

The Cygnan got to his feet, stepping back from the table. He reached down for Selana, taking her hand and helping her from the bench. Two physicians, one Cygnan, one Pernese strode out of the weyr into the tunnel. The stalker padded silently beside them. From behind, Darian heard a sarcastic draconic snort. 'Something bothering you?' he asked soundlessly.

'Are you going to eat her or mate with her?'

Darian laughed, drawing a curious glance from the woman walking beside him. He smiled down at her, considering the question. 'You know, Nasty, I'm really not sure.'

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The watch-dragon's trumpeting greeting caused T'gellan to look skyward. He saw a lone bronze begin a slow, circling descent.

'It's Clarinath,' Monarth informed him. 'He brings the new wingleader.'

"You have company," Betrella commented, looking away from the tithing train they were cataloging.

"Uh huh," the Weyrleader agreed. "Would you excuse me?"

He waited politely for the headwoman's muttered assent, then strode out into the Weyrbowl, avoiding the larger puddles the heavy winter rain had created in the sand. They wouldn't last long in the Weyr bed but, for the time being, a swarm of fire-lizards were splashing about wherever the opportunity presented itself. As the bronze dragon settled to the ground, several dragonets flashed out of its way.

The rider slipped from the neck to the foreleg, then jumped to the ground, sinking into the soft sand. He pulled his riding boots free of the clinging silt while removing his gloves.

"Welcome, V'line!" T'gellan said cheerfully, grasping the newcomer by the forearm. He looked slightly downward at the slender youth, brown hair just extending beyond the wher-hide helmet. V'line sported the wide, engaging smile that had been a major part of his popularity while assigned to Eastern.

"Greetings, Weyrleader," he grinned. "It's good to be back. Had a bit of rain?" Both men laughed, listening to their footgear make squishing sounds as they moved.

"Just stopped. It's been like this the past few days. A little sun, a lot of rain." The Weyrleader cast an admiring glance at the bronze crouched behind V'line.

Fully aware of the attention, Clarinath extended his glistening wings, humming happily. He raised his head, bugling a happy greeting to another bronze gliding across the Weyr rim.

"The Reaches seem to agree with you," T'gellan observed. "Clarinath is looking well."

"He is a handsome fellow," V'line agreed. He looked affectionately at his bronze, listening carefully. 'Sure, big guy,' he allowed, 'enjoy yourself.'

With a surge of the great wings, the bronze was airborne, rising toward the north ridge. The riders turned toward the lower cavern entrance.

"A tithing train?" the visitor asked, waving to Betrella. "I thought Eastern was self-supporting?"

"It is," the Weyrleader responded. "That's one of Jayge's trains."

"Jayge, huh? Is he a Lord Holder yet?"

"No. I don't think he's even considered it. He's got a nice-sized hold now, but the rest of the Lord's don't want to contend with Toric. Doesn't look like Jayge cares."

V'line nodded energetically. "With Aramina and a hold full of hatchlings," he chuckled, "I guess he's got enough to do, anyway."

A dark-haired female bounded from the Weyrleaders' complex, squealing a greeting to the High Reaches wingleader. She raced across the Weyrbowl, throwing her arms around him and kissing him happily. T'gellan watched with amused surprise as V'line blushed.

"Hello, Mirrim, good to see you again."

"Hmmm," the Weyrleader intoned, mock disapproval clouding his features, "I don't get that kind of a greeting, and she's my weyrmate."

"Oh, T'gellan!" Mirrim scolded, "I don't see V'line much. We're good friends."

"Really?" the Weyrleader inquired. "Have Clarinath and Path been up to something I should know about?"

The bronze sounded a properly virile roar from the ledge while T'gellan ducked a wild swing. The wingleader's eyes were wide with amusement, both at Mirrim's speedy invective and the irritated bugle he recognized as Path. The greenrider gave both men an irritated, accusing stare, at which both dissolved into laughter. Arms intertwined, all three resumed the walk toward the cavern.

"I hear congratulations are in order," Mirrim purred, smiling up at her returned friend.

"Yes," agreed T'gellan. "You were good when you left here, but wingleader? Already?"

The High Reaches bronzerider grinned, sweeping his right hand upward, using the thumb to indicate the dragon behind them. "Don't congratulate me," he corrected. "That was Clarinath's doing. Any dimglow could ride him against Thread!"

'But only you do,' the bronze responded. The loving thought prompted a warm smile from his rider.

"Nonsense," the greenrider chided, "you were one of the best here, and you're probably THE best at High Reaches!"

T'gellan lifted an eyebrow, glancing down at his weyrmate then turning a curious eye on his guest. "I think we need to have a talk," he said cryptically.

V'line returned the look then made a show of gulping nervously. Mirrim quickly elbowed him in the ribs. "I want to go home," he said quietly.

The trio walked into the main cavern, seating themselves at the far wall, near the kitchen entrance. Fresh bread, meatrolls and klah were quickly provided.

"Have you eaten lunch yet," the Weyrleader asked, picking up a meatroll.

"More like dinner, last night," V'line replied, reminding his hosts of the time difference between High Reaches and Eastern. He reached for the steaming klah and a chunk of buttered bread, taking a bite. His eyes widened at the delicate sweetness, and he brought the roll up to his eyes, regarding it closely. "This is delicious."

A brown streak entered the cavern, flying at breakneck speed to the diners. It settled on V'line's shoulder, rubbing an adoring head against his cheek. The bronzerider's left hand came up to scratch the firelizard's back. "This is Nervous," he explained.

"Nervous?" Mirrim exclaimed, leaning forward to look at the little brown. "Why did you name him that?"

A devious chuckle answered the question, V'line turning a knowing smile to his companions. "Because he has about as much fear as a watch-wher." The brown lizard crooned his satisfaction at the compliment, eyes whirling happily. "And about as much sense," he added, grinning.

Nervous responded with an angry squawk and disappeared. V'line dropped his head to the table, resting it on his folded arms. Mirrim laughed noisily, patting him sympathetically on the head.

"I see you're good at handling him," T'gellan observed. The comment drew a mortified groan from the wingleader and another giggle from the greenrider.

The Weyrleader was laughing now, bringing a mug of klah to his lips. He took a long sip of the stimulating drink. Good klah could be found just about anywhere, he thought, savoring the taste, but really good klah was rare. Betrella was a genius at brewing the rich tea, and he used every opportunity to take advantage of that talent. He returned the mug to the table, waiting for the levity of the moment to pass. When his comrades had quieted, he turned to the business at hand. "So, what brings you back to Eastern?"

"Weyr business," the wingleader answered, his smile fading. "T'bor would have come, but Orth was badly scored yesterday. I was sent because I flew here."

Mirrim's eyes darkened with concern at the word of an injured dragon. Worry that the same could happen to Path was never far from her mind. "Will he be alright?" she asked.

"I think so. His flank and tail got the worst of it, and his wings weren't damaged. He'll probably fight again in a seven-day or so. T'bor wasn't hurt."

"Was anyone else injured?" T'gellan inquired somberly. His own scoring was still fresh, and thoughts of Thread boring into Monarth again sent a chill through his body. No rider was comfortable with the news of a dragon, any dragon, being scored. It was a reality of life on Pern, but a painful reality to be avoided whenever possible.

V'line nodded slowly. He, too, felt the pangs of fear and worry of his fellow riders. His own concerns were even more immediate, having survived the havoc of yesterday's Fall. Orth wasn't the only beast trying to mend. "We took a beating," he admitted sadly. "Eighteen dragons and nearly as many riders. I've never seen a Fall like that one. Didn't seem it would ever end." His voice trailed off, lost in the memory of a ruinous fight with the mindless spores. Again and again he had fought that battle in his mind. Again and again the results were the same. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

T'gellan watched the young rider thoughtfully, sharing his concern and his consternation. High Reaches wasn't the only Weyr experiencing unusually heavy Falls lately or Falls occurring out of pattern. The problem had gotten so bad that some Weyrs were coordinating their efforts on a regional basis, flying combined for the first time in turns. Even R'mart at Telgar and G'narish at Igen had agreed to the temporary measure, although they had initially resisted.

Had their youthful counterpart at Ista not been a bit overaggressive by showing up without an invitation, the Igenites would have taken a serious pounding less than a seven-day ago. Right now, they all took whatever help they could get, wherever it came from.

"How can we help?" Mirrim asked softly. Her distress and sympathy were obvious, traits which endeared her deeply to the Weyrleader. He gave her a quiet, loving smile, although her attention was focused on the High Reaches rider.

"We're down more than a full wing now," V'line reported. "I came because I thought Eastern might be best able to send some extra riders. Fort and Telgar have their own problems. They can't help us." The wingleader looked at T'gellan with a combination of deep worry and raw fear in his eyes. He was deeply troubled. "I know Eastern is a young Weyr, but we're in trouble. If we can't get help," he continued, "I'm afraid T'bor might try to fight wounded dragons."

Mirrim caught her breath, looking at the bronzerider in disbelief. T'gellan felt his throat tighten. Injured dragons could fight so long as their wings weren't badly scored, but they were slower and less agile. Worse, if they should have to go between...

He heard his dragon's response before he was aware of his thoughts.

'I'll tell Gireth. The wingleader will come.'

T'gellan voiced a silent thank you, looking carefully at his former student. He noticed how tired and strained V'line looked. It must have been a hard night at High Reaches. "Relax, my friend," the Weyrleader said reassuringly. "Finish your meal. You aren't going home alone."

V'line glanced up at him. His tight features slowly relaxed, giving way to a tired smile. He picked up another piece of bread and started munching.

T'gellan rose from the table and walked to the kitchen entrance. Moments later, he returned with a glass of wine. The wingleader accepted it gratefully. "Tell me," the Weyrleader began, changing the subject, "have you heard any news of the hatching at Benden?"