DragonForce Ch. 03

"Nicely done, healer, very nicely done." Darian examined the detailed suture work where the shredded membrane had been reattached to the bony extensors on the wing. The tissue showed definite signs of regeneration, with minimal scarring. Strong, gentle hands slowly probed the length of the anterior stabilizer, searching for any sign of further displacement. There was none.

T'marek watched nervously as the Cygnan examined his dragon. Both brown and rider had been nearly comatose when the two healers entered the infirmary. A combination of confusion, despair and moderate sedation created that condition. Now, they were marginally alert, aware of what was happening and of each other. "Why cam I heaw him?" the rider asked in a distorted voice. "Whaz wong wid me?"

"There's nothing wrong, T'marek," a soft, female voice comforted. "You've both had quite a time. It will be alright. You'll hear each other again, soon." She looked up at the winged healer, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. It was horrible to have a dragon and rider unable to hear each other. If they hadn't kept them together at all times since their return to the Weyr, the brown would likely have suicided. As it was, his rider looked more dead than alive.

Having completed his check of the wing, Darian was now probing the immobilized foreleg. Great whirling eyes regarded him with more curiosity than concern as he verified the tautness and sterility of the bindings. The healer seemed unaware of the massive head, his attention riveted to the alignment of the shattered humerus. He was slightly startled when the soft nose nudged him.

He couldn't explain why, but Darian felt a tremendous sense of relief and contentment when looking into the brown's multi-faceted eyes. It had been an excellent decision to help these two, regardless of the consequences to himself and his companions. This beast was nothing like his unpredictable black, but he still sensed a kinship, not only between the dragons, but between the brown and himself. It was an unsettling but strangely satisfying sensation. The avion's momentary daydream was interrupted by a faint exclamation behind him. He looked down at Selana and the brownrider.

"This is amazing," she observed, a surprised smile on her face. "Look at this!"

Darian stepped down from the platform he had been using to examine the dragon.

Kneeling beside the female, he saw what she was remarking about. The rider's arm appeared perfectly straight, almost normal except for the massive amount of suturing from the middle of the upper arm to above the shoulder. She was delicately running a finger along the stitch line below the left shoulder blade.

"Dom wowwy aboud me," T'marek mumbled. "Dage caew ob Gewph." His eyes focused on the avion, widened as he fought to see clearly, then rapidly clouded. The brownrider was fighting to gain full control of his faculties, but a steady diet of diluted fellis juice had drastically reduced his ability to function rationally for any length of time. The remnants of a fever complicated the problem.

Selana ran her hand across his left cheek, smiling at him. She was careful to avoid his lips and chin, not wanting to strain the torn tissues on the right. Her melodic voice eased his worry slightly. "Kelth is going to be fine. He's young and strong and healing nicely. You will too if you just relax and let us take care of you."

The brownrider gazed up at her. In a different time, her tender smile and radiant eyes might have provoked a rapid response in him. Right now, however, he only knew that he couldn't hear his wonderful brown, and no woman in all Pern was that important. Whatever they felt was wrong with him, Kelth was more important. They should be taking care of Kelth. "Dage caew ob my dwagom," he repeated weakly.

"We are, brownrider," a masculine tone reassured him. "And we're taking care of you, too. Kelth is as worried about you as you are about him. We can't leave both of you alone."

T'marek wasn't sure he could follow that reasoning, but he was too tired and too confused to argue. He groaned his distress and closed his eyes.

The Cygnan returned his attention to the injured shoulder. He examined the bone structure as best he could through the substantial bruises. Despite the discoloration and swelling, it was obvious that the joint had been rebuilt well. "Incredible," he agreed. "Oldive isn't a healer, he's a magician."

"What do you mean?" Selana asked.

"You saw what this shoulder looked like," the avion explained. "I wouldn't have believed the arm could be saved, let alone the shoulder rebuilt. This looks like he could regain full function."

Selana smiled, thinking back to the events of that unbelievable night. She had known the summons would be a severe inconvenience to the masterhealer, but she now felt vindicated in her decision. Certainly, her skills weren't up to this level. As she recalled, a second set of hands had played a major role in treating the critically injured rider. "Master Oldive is the very best," she informed her companion. "Now, though, he has someone nearly as skillful to help him."

Darian turned to her, his head tilted. "Oh? I'd like to meet this person. I could learn a great deal from him."

The Pernese healer laughed softly, reaching out to touch the avion's hand. Her smile was both cryptic and engaging. "You already have, Darian. Between Oldive's reconstruction of the bones and your rerouting of the blood supply, T'marek couldn't have been in better hands. I wasn't even needed here."

Smiling, the blackrider continued to check the damaged shoulder and arm, carefully testing a few of the stitches. He appreciated the young woman's confidence but felt it somewhat overstated. "I'm not even in Master Oldive's class," he corrected her. "The man is a true master. I'm barely an apprentice. And you," he stopped, turning to look directly at her, "my little one, are always needed." His hand closed over hers momentarily, then moved away to resume probing T'marek's sutures. Darian worked his way down the arm, checking a separate group of stitches just below the elbow. Satisfied that the limb was progressing, he shifted his gaze to the rider's face.

"This will scar rather badly," he informed Selana, who had to consciously move her attention from the Cygnan to the brownrider. She forced herself to concentrate on the severe lacerations her fellow healer was indicating.

"Facial tissues heal fast, but they tend to heal ugly. With all of this damage," he traced the wound stretching from just under the right ear to the corner of the eye, "he'll probably have a substantial scar. Fortunately, his hair will cover a good bit of it. This, however,... "

The healer carefully took T'marek's chin in his fingers, turning it to open the right jaw and cheek to Selana's eyes. He pointed to the sutures extending from mid-cheek, across the corner of the mouth, to the point of the chin. A second line of sutures traced the length of the fractured right jaw. Fortunately, the rider had not lost any teeth. "... is going to be fully exposed. I suspect it will be rather livid. There's a full blood supply to the area, and no realistic way to immobilize it."

Selana nodded her understanding. The moving skin would stretch the sutures, increasing the size and depth of the scar tissue. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be much they could do about it. Most dragonriders eventually had Threadscores on their faces. The pencil-thin scars actually added to the rugged mystique of the dragonpeople. These scars, though, would be grotesque. It was sad, she thought, to see so handsome a man disfigured. "That first night," she remarked, "after we had finished, you said something about being able to repair some of the scarring. What did you mean?"

Darian nodded energetically, still staring at the facial wounds. In his concentration, he failed to notice that his lower lip was curled under his upper teeth. The elongated eye teeth would have been unnerving, had his patient been awake. Selana, however, did notice. He wasn't joking when he said he was a carnivore. "Skin grafting," he replied. "It should work here."

"How do you do that?"

The Cygnan's eyes narrowed and he turned to the female. "You really don't know?"

She shook her head, lips pursed in a half-frown. "I don't have any idea of what you're talking about."

Carefully, in great detail, Darian explained the process to the young healer. Her questions made it apparent that the procedure might be a bit more difficult than he was accustomed to, considering the type of equipment he would have to work with. It took several minutes before the two realized they had an attentive audience. The winged physician reached up and rubbed the soft nose breathing on him.

Selana noticed with interest that the great eyes seemed to spin less rapidly, the blue hue deepening at the avion's touch. She began to wonder if Kelth had accepted the alien as simply another kind of dragonrider.

"And that's really about it," he concluded. "It takes time, may take several operations, but it's usually successful."

"I don't know, Darian," she said, revealing her doubts. "It almost sounds like you would need different equipment or different techniques than we're used to."

"If in doubt," he chided, "improvise. It's worth a try. Now," he turned his attention to the brown above him, "if Kelth would be so kind as to open that wing a bit, I'd like a look at that second proximal extensor."

As if on cue, the brown slowly opened his wing. Selana's mouth fell open. She stared at both Pernese dragon and Cygnan rider. Darian set about examining the wing, checking the junction of extensor and stabilizer, testing the integrity of the membrane. "A bit higher, if you can," he said. The dragon's eyes turned slightly red from discomfort, but the wing obediently rose. Cautious fingers slid across the delicate surface.

Selana sat down at the nearby table. Her eyes were wide, staring at the unlikely pair. "This isn't happening," she whispered.

Sensing his associate's astonishment, Darian looked down. The healers stared at each other silently. Kelth crooned softly, a bit unnerved by the tense silence. Darian instinctively reached back to scratch the ridge above the whirling eye. Selana observed the perfection with which the fingers found the sensitive bony extension.

The sound of approaching voices broke the silence, rousing the healers. They faced the entrance to the infirmary. Promptly, three dragonriders walked in.

"V'line!" Selana cried, running across the infirmary to hug the bronzerider. The young man's arms closed around her, drawing the healer into a tight, affectionate embrace. Their kiss was enthusiastic if not passionate. She stood back quickly, seeing T'gellan place his hands on his hips and the young rider blush behind a sheepish grin.

Mirrim started to laugh aloud, only to be shushed by Darian. She was about to answer when she saw the sleeping brownrider. "Oh, sorry."

The Weyrleader spoke to V'line with amused envy. "After what I've seen today, why did you agree to leave?"

The youngster grinned at him. "Self-preservation?"

Both men laughed as the healer self-consciously backed away. She felt that she was the brunt of some inside joke but wasn't sure of exactly what. Mirrim, too, was grinning at her.

"How are they doing?" T'gellan asked her.

Selana looked toward the Cygnan before responding. He gave no indication of seeing her, his attention on the High Reaches rider. The expression was more curious than friendly, almost hostile, which puzzled her. V'line had left Eastern long before Darian's arrival, so he couldn't possibly know him. What would make him uncertain about the personable bronzerider?

"Kelth seems to be better," she replied, "but T'marek is still having problems. We're keeping him sedated."

"Do you know what happened to them yet?" he countered.

"No. T'marek isn't coherent long enough for us to get much from him." She shuffled her feet nervously, looking at the Weyrleader almost apologetically. "It shouldn't be too much longer, though."

"Good. Keep at it."

T'gellan greeted the avion with a wave, signaling him to join the new arrivals. Darian responded with a proper bow then crossed the room. His eyes stayed fixed on V'line. He seemed unhappy to see the young rider. That was unusual, the Weyrleader thought. The Cygnan was open and cordial around most folks.

"Darian, this is V'line, wingleader from High Reaches Weyr. He wanted to meet you."

The young bronzerider spoke a cheerful hello, extending his hand in greeting. The avion clasped the arm in the fashion he had seen from other riders, getting a delighted smile from V'line. Then the young man froze. Slowly, without moving, without releasing his grip, the rider studied Darian. He turned his head toward the Weyrleader, bewilderment written on his features. "Wings?"

T'gellan lifted his eyebrows, smiling slightly. He nodded.

V'line turned back to the avion, who was staring at him. The smile didn't seem a gesture of friendship so much as an open display of the alien's intimidating dentition, a warning. The bronzerider released his forearm grip and took a step back.

Darian's smile widened. "Yes, they're wings," he confirmed, "and they work."

A slight giggle sounded to the Weyrleader's side, quickly expanding to open laughter. By the time everyone's attention had shifted, Mirrim was holding her stomach, tears starting from her eyes. Within seconds she was virtually helpless, doing her best not to fall. She reached out for T'gellan's arm to maintain her balance, but the laughter continued.

Selana didn't know whether to join in the laughter or see if the woman needed help. She glanced at the others in the infirmary. With the exception of their recumbent patient, all eyes were on the convulsing greenrider. From the expressions of the others, she was not alone in her uncertainty.

The humorous display had an unexpected side-effect. From his perch against the far wall, a curious stalker rose to his feet. Silently, Loki slunk across the room, ears peaked forward and eyes wide. After a roundabout approach, he reached Mirrim from behind, stretching his neck to full extension and sniffing experimentally.

The feline's antic ended any semblance of sanity. Darian started to chuckle, followed immediately by Selana's delighted chortle. The Weyrleader broke into open laughter, leaving only V'line to wonder what was happening.

As her spasms started to subside, Mirrim looked out through tear-filled eyes. Looking at her weyrmate, she pointed at the wingleader. "That," she gasped, "is the first time I've ever seen him speechless!"

Darian looked about the room. He found himself chuckling at a curious brown dragon, who was pleased that everyone was happy, but had no idea as to why.

Loki decided the situation was totally out of control. Quickly and quietly, he snuck back to his corner.

V'line stood quietly, hands folded, waiting for the rest of the world to return to normal. He saw the Cygnan turn back to him, shaking his head with a quiet smirk. "I seem to have amused them," the wingleader admitted.

Darian smiled back at him. This time, the smile was warm and friendly. "It would seem so," he agreed, chuckling. The two riders grasped arms again, this time firmly.

"Please excuse my surprise," V'line requested. "I'm afraid I've never seen anyone with wings before."

"From what I've been told," the avion replied, "no one else on this planet has either."

The High Reaches rider felt a hand grip his shoulder. He glanced up to see T'gellan standing beside him. The Weyrleader decided to guide the discussion. "Darian and his teammates are from Cygnus IV. They're not Pernese."

V'line started to protest the statement, but his eyes fell again on the white and brown feathered appendages protruding from between the avion's shoulder blades. Absurd as it may have sounded, no one or nothing like Darian had been developed on Pern. His question took a different direction. "Teammates?"

T'gellan pointed at the stalker, doing his best to disappear into the far corner. "That's Loki. There's a kind of snake named Akira. And then there's Astaroth." The Weyrleader hesitated, facing the Cygnan, who smiled slightly. After a sufficiently dramatic pause, he finished. "Astaroth is the black dragon your firelizards are screaming about."

"Black?" V'line echoed, becoming more confused by the minute. First, a normal enough looking man with wings. The peaked eyebrows were a bit weird and the fangs not an everyday occurrence, but he was otherwise normal in appearance. Then a friendly feline. Now a black dragon? This was too much.

T'gellan nodded. "Black. Like nothing you've ever seen. A bit smaller than ours, like a medium brown, more compact, more powerfully built. He's strange at first, but absolutely beautiful."

"Thank you," Darian commented, smiling at the compliment to his friend. "Nasty would be happy to hear that."

"Nasty?" the two Pernese riders asked in unison.

"His nickname," the avion explained. "It fits him."

The three men started to laugh, but were quickly silenced by the Weyrleader, who did not want to reignite his mate. Mirrim had finally regained her composure and joined the healer. They seemed to be discussing the attentive feline.

"We have a more serious subject to discuss," T'gellan indicated, his voice losing its cheery tone. "Let's sit down."

The riders gathered about one of the wooden tables in the room, seating themselves. The Weyrleader began by addressing his young counterpart. "We'd give you more details, V'line, but we don't have any. Neither Darian nor I have any idea of how he and his friends got here. Worse yet," he turned a concerned glance on his alien visitor, "we don't know how or if they can get back."

The Cygnan looked down at his hands but said nothing. After only a moment, he changed the subject. "You said we had a more serious matter to discuss. What is it?"

T'gellan drew a deep breath then slowly released it. After a pointed nod toward V'line, he started. "Tomorrow, V'line goes back to High Reaches. We're sending a full wing back with him." The Weyrleader paused momentarily, shifting on his bench. "Tomorrow afternoon, we'll be fighting Thread over the Weyr."

"You didn't tell me..." the wingleader protested, turning on his fellow bronzerider.

T'gellan cut him off with an uplifted hand. "You're not leaving until after the Fall. I'm not that generous, V'line. Anyhow, you and I both know that T'bor will fight injured dragons if he doesn't get help. You're taking that help back with you. We'll still have eight overstrength wings here. We can manage."

The High Reaches rider settled. He knew that T'gellan had made up his mind, and that further discussion was pointless.

The Weyrleader continued the conference, directing his inquiry toward Darian. "Are you at all familiar with Threadfall?"

The Cygnan nodded. He didn't know a lot about the phenomenon, only what Selana had explained to him and the bits and pieces he had garnered from the comments of other weyrpeople. "Somewhat," he said. "Selana has described it to me."

"Then you know how dangerous it can be. Even with a full Weyr,..." he glanced at V'line, "... clumps can get through. It doesn't take much Thread to put a dragon between, or to kill holder or crafthaller." T'gellan looked at the wingleader, who nodded agreement.

"We lost eighteen dragons yesterday," V'line told the Cygnan, "and eighteen riders with them. That's why we need help."

"And why I'm sending a wing north," the Weyrleader added.

"Understood, Weyrleader," Darian affirmed. "But how does this affect us?"

"The Fall should begin in the late afternoon," T'gellan explained. "It would be best if you kept your team under cover."