DragonForce Ch. 03

The avion grimaced. His lips pulled into a tight line. Both riders read his annoyance.

"Is something wrong?" the Weyrleader asked.

Darian regarded him carefully. He was struggling to keep his anger and frustration under control. The dragonman was not responsible for their situation, but he had reached his limit. "Look, T'gellan, I mean no disrespect, but this can't go on. We've been here more than a week, and we've done absolutely nothing except sleep. The inactivity is driving us to distraction. Loki and Akira are adapting well, but Astaroth and I are starting to come apart at the seams. We're both getting irritable."

He stopped to breathe. Neither rider made any attempt to interrupt. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mirrim and Selana staring at him. It dawned on him that his voice had been getting progressively louder. Trying to control his inner turmoil, the avion looked away from the humans. His gaze quickly found the brown dragon. As their eyes locked, Kelth crooned encouragingly at him. His anger and frustration melted away. A quiet smile crossed his face. "Besides," he continued, turning back to the Weyrleader, "we're a law enforcement team. We're not used to hiding. Now," he continued, "what can we do?"

T'gellan eyed the avion intently. The outburst was a bit surprising, but understandable. Obviously, the man meant it. He was tired of sitting by idly. The Weyrleader's gaze travelled around the room. V'line sat silently, an expression of respect and agreement on his face. Mirrim looked surprised. And Selana... his eyes narrowed, and his head tilted. The healer's eyes shone as she watched Darian. The pride and affection in her smile were obvious.

He was in for a bigger surprise. As his survey of the room continued, he found himself looking at Kelth. The brown was observing closely, his attention focused on the Cygnan. The beautiful, many faceted eyes whirled a deep blue.

T'gellan's eyebrows lifted. The visitor was full of surprises. He had shown himself a talented healer, at least according to Selana. What other talents did he possess? The Weyrleader returned his regard to his guest. "I don't know. What can you do?"

Above Eastern Weyr

(Next day, August 18)

T'gellan sat astride the great bronze neck, surveying the aerial display forming around him. V'line had insisted on flying the Fall. Clarinath vaned easily at Monarth's right. At least for today, High Reaches would assist Eastern.

The Reaches wingleader and his dragon were an interesting case, the Weyrleader mused. Clarinath was a Benden dragon but, after he and his rider had graduated from the weyrling wing, they had transferred to Southern Weyr. In turn, they had been part of Southern's contribution to staffing the new Eastern Weyr. V'line had quickly established himself as a wingsecond, then wingleader. When Eastern found itself overstocked with bronzes, he had agreed to transfer again, this time to the depleted High Reaches. T'bor had been glad to receive them. Adding a Benden bronze could only strengthen his Weyr. So, where most riders spent their entire lives in the Weyr in which they impressed, V'line was now serving in his fourth.

'We're ready,' Monarth told him. The great dragon was hovering silently, his wingmates in position facing the rest of the Weyr's assembled strength.

The Weyrleader surveyed the impressive array of bronze, brown, blue and green beasts, silently awaiting his order to attack their ageless foe. Strange, the bronzerider thought, just a few turns ago this was more than the entire strength of Pern. Now, he was keenly aware that he would soon be a full wing short. Two hundred and seventy dragons filled the afternoon sky, and he felt under-complement.

'Two hundred seventy-one,' his bronze corrected him.

T'gellan looked ahead and down, below M'kel's wing. A solitary dragon climbed into position above the Weyr rim. Like the others, it waited for the battle ahead, ready to face the unknown danger. Like the others, its hide reflected the brilliant sunlight back at the Weyrleader's eyes. The rainbow was beautiful; metallic bronze, a wide variety of browns, varying shades of blue, verdant greens, and one glistening black.

Just to the ebony dragon's right, a tiny figure was barely visible, brown and white feathered wings holding it in formation. This figure was not a firebreather. Unable to chew firestone, the smallest member of the armada carried a mechanical agenothree sprayer. The Weyrleader was worried about this one but knew he couldn't stop him.

They heard Zarth bugle a greeting to the latecomer, heard the roaring answer. Before he could think about it further, C'nol waved an arm then pointed above and behind them.

T'gellan swiveled on the great bronze neck. In the distance, he could see the sun mirror off drifting silvery strands. They stretched from horizon to horizon, slowly advancing. Those beautiful glistening filaments, so pleasing to the eye, were the greatest bane known to Pern. A single fiber could destroy entire holds, given the chance to burrow. Even dragons, much less men, were no match should the Thread make contact. The Weyrleader gave the order to engage. 'Inverted V, descending wing order, flights to wing left and right. Let's go.'

Monarth relayed the directions to the waiting riders. Nine wings positioned themselves, quickly and precisely, T'gellan's in front and highest, M'kel's to the far left and slightly behind and below, T'sarl's to the far right and at the same relative position as M'kel's. Across the Pernese sky, huge heads turned on graceful necks, chewing large amounts of firestone. The corrosive stomach acids churned, creating the volatile chemical gasses which would sear the mindless Thread in mid-air. Monarth crunched on stone after stone until he was certain he had enough to last the fight. He lifted his head and gave vent to the trumpeting war cry of the fighting dragons. Two hundred voices answered.

The bronze surged upward, winging directly at the descending spores. He moved toward a grouping of five or six medium sized clumps on his right. The massive jaws opened, and a brilliant gout of flame erupted. Battle had been joined.

A wild melee ensued above Eastern Weyr. Dizzying whirls of diving dragons, straining riders, bursts of flame and clumps of Thread filled the sky. Wings rose and dove as one, changed positions in intricate patterns, and slowly gave ground to the advancing Fall. Occasionally, some unfortunate dragon disappeared, darting between to stop the sting of a Threadscore. For at least the first few minutes, none of them failed to reappear.

The Weyrleader looked below him, watching one of the trailing wings engage a heavy cluster of Thread. He cursed helplessly as three dragons flashed out of sight in rapid succession. A fourth, a large blue, was in trouble, surrounded by the settling spores. 'He'd better skip,' he told his bronze.

As the hovering pair watched, a stream of fire engulfed the major portion of the attacking Thread. The blue made a superb spinning turn, backwinging to flame the remaining portions of the cluster. As the dragon returned to a normal glide, a small black streak passed above him. The blue's rider looked up, pumping his arm in a grateful salute.

T'gellan saw his wing quickly reform around him, one dragon short. In seconds, they were diving back into the engagement. To his satisfaction, the missing beast winked back into position, a scored rider grimly hanging on.

Monarth folded his wings, and thirty flying incinerators dropped to the attack. The bronze had selected a very heavy area of spores which had thus far avoided detection. As the wing concluded its lighting pass, he looked back to see the air clear of the deadly parasite. A fond pat on the neck told him his rider was pleased. 'Well done, my friend, well done!' T'gellan praised him.

The Weyrleader again surveyed the situation, looking down to the Weyr below. He could just see the sprayer crews moving in the Weyrbed and on the slopes. It was a disquieting observation. Some of the Thread was getting through.

A fast count revealed only eight wings in sight, including his own. He identified as many wingleaders as possible at their current speed of flight, then asked Monarth, 'Where is R'kar? I don't see his wing.'

The bronze swiveled his neck, searching all points of the compass. His answer came quickly and reassuringly. 'Directly above us. They are diving.'

T'gellan watched as Pyroth made a spectacular spinning pass, cutting a pirouetting path of fire through the Thread. His wingmates followed closely behind, and another section of sporefall vanished. As the wing sped past, one green dragon spun wildly out of control, then vanished. The Weyrleader felt cold dread grip him. 'Monarth, was that...'

There was no time to worry. As suddenly as it had disappeared, the green was back. With a defiant scream, it rejoined the wing and resumed the fight. Just as suddenly, the bronze was diving, leading his wingmates. Ahead and below, T'gellan saw the target. A lone Thread-fighter was nearly engulfed by the spores. But this was no dragon. The winged humanoid turned in a lazy circle, sprayer lofting an acidic mist in a great arc. It was an inspiring spectacle, although a hopeless one for the overwhelmed fighter.

Monarth flew by above, fire erupting from his mouth. Other dragons passed below and to either side, followed by still others repeating the pattern. Quickly, the threatened flyer was in open air. He followed the bronze's flight, hoisting the nozzle of his weapon in salute.

Up, down, left, right, forward and back the battle raged. Skilled rider, magnificent dragon and mindless enemy danced in a lethal waltz, ground crews fighting anything that avoided the flaming aerial net. The Weyrleader eased his beast out of the melee, taking time to scan the other wings. The Fall seemed to be thinning, and none too soon. Several of the formations looked ragged, a few were missing dragons. Grimly, they fought on.

He watched a brown attack a large area of Thread. Far too large, the bronzerider thought, for one dragon. Again, an awesome river of fire washed over the devouring Thread. Once more, the black dragon flashed past, looking back at the reprieved brown and his rider. He roared acknowledgement of another wave.

T'gellan saw the tangle of Thread looming in front of the black, but the dragon, looking behind himself, didn't. There was no time for anyone to react. The speeding beast flew directly into the writhing mass. The Weyrleader saw the marvelous wings collapse, the neck stretch out. He felt the sickening sensation in his stomach of watching a dragon die.

Astaroth released an outraged bellow. The black began to spin violently, appearing to bore his way through the air. Moments later, the purpose of the action became apparent.

Bronze dragon and bronzerider watched incredulously as the snarled Thread untangled and then spun away from the twisting black. The Cygnan beast righted himself then turned one last circle, exhaling a huge swath of flame to eliminate the spores.

'Impressive,' Monarth allowed approvingly.

'And dangerous,' T'gellan added. ' I wouldn't want to be anywhere near him while he's throwing Thread all over the place.'

'It's better than letting it eat him. He can't go between.'

The Weyrleader nodded. 'Hope he's not too badly hurt. That's gonna be one sore dragon.'

'He doesn't look like the Thread hurt him. Maybe it can't get through that strange hide.'

Riders and dragons watched with awe as the outraged beast cut a twisting, turning path through the remaining Thread. The Cygnan's speed was unbelievable, his agility incredible. The Weyrleader watched C'nol's wing dive out of the way, avoiding the furious inferno created by the black.

The beast somersaulted, releasing another deafening roar. This call, however, sounded frightened. T'gellan extended his gaze along the dragon's flight path. Far below he saw two falling specks. One was tumbling rapidly, simply falling. He wasn't certain what it was, but it wasn't a dragon or a rider. The other wasn't falling. It was diving directly at the Weyr lake, wings folded. If the dive was controlled, the speed was excessive.

Monarth released a wild bugle, answered immediately by every dragon within earshot.

'What's wrong?' T'gellan queried, deeply concerned.

The bronze turned its great head to look at the rider. The agitation in the eyes was obvious. 'It's Kelth. He says he's coming.'

T'gellan sat momentarily stunned. How could the bronze know? They couldn't hear Kelth. How could he come? The brown was injured. 'What do you mean? I thought you couldn't hear him. Who says Kelth is coming?'

'Kelth says he is coming,' the bronze repeated. 'I hear him. It's not clear, but it is Kelth.'

The Weyrleader looked around him. Everywhere, dragons were screaming in confused voices, riders staring wildly. An uproar bordering on chaos reigned in the air. Wingleaders and wingseconds struggled to keep their formations in order. It was as though the dragons had lost interest in where they were and what they were doing. The bronzerider had never seen anything like this. 'The outer infirmary entrance, now!' T'gellan ordered. Immediately, the cold of between closed around him. Before he could feel the full bite of the emptiness, they had erupted back into the light, directly in front of the infirmary's dragon entrance. The sight that greeted them was startling.

The injured brown was struggling to reach the opening, one wing open, the other moving feebly. A frantic healer held his foreleg, being dragged helplessly by the huge animal. Her screams for help were as yet unanswered.

'Stop him!' the Weyrleader commanded his bronze. Monarth roared a throaty warning, moving toward the ledge to block it from the brown. Kelth replied with a panicky roar and a violent hiss, still advancing. His eyes were whirling madly, gleaming a violent red. His mouth dropped open, revealing the dangerous array of teeth. 'By the Egg,' T'gellan thought, 'he's going to attack!'

From the rear of the infirmary, another figure struggled into sight. He was just visible behind the dragon, but his voice sounded clear and sharp. "Gewph, thtop! Pweathe, thtop!"

The brown froze. The whirling eyes slowed, fading from red to orange. The great head arched backward on its graceful neck. The infirmary became deathly quiet.

Selana rolled away from the leg, gasping for breath. Her arms ached and she knew she was bleeding. Maybe it was a foreclaw. She didn't know. She didn't care. Somehow, the brownrider had stopped his beast. A few more feet and they'd have been airborne...

A tremendous roar echoed through the infirmary. Kelth spun on his tail and rear legs. T'marek threw his good arm across the huge neck and began to sob.

Bronze dragon and bronzerider watched soundlessly. They were still hovering, just outside the ledge. T'gellan looked away, gazing into the sky where wing upon wing still fought the falling spores.

'Ledeth leads the wing. The Fall is nearly over.'

The Weyrleader nodded silently, stroking the soft neck. He turned back to the scene before him. 'Let's land, Monarth,' he said. 'Let me down.'

Benden Weyr

(Late evening)

Monarth burst from between high above the Weyr. The Benden watch-dragon trumpeted a greeting, which the bronze returned in fine fashion. Although they had gained three hours moving from Eastern to the mountainous northern Weyr, it was already twilight. The Weyrledge was crowded with dragons, and the sound of happy voices lifted through the warm sky to reach the pair. They started a gliding descent, enjoying the summer air after having fought all afternoon in the cold southern skies.

T'gellan was exhausted. The day had been a long one, beginning with the Fall and ending with the transfer of T'sarl's wing to High Reaches. The Threadfall had been heavier than expected, and Eastern had taken a number of casualties. Thankfully, the bulk of the Fall had been above the Weyr and the adjacent mountains. His eyes closed momentarily. Sleep would be so welcome now, but one didn't refuse an invitation to such a gather. The hatching had occurred while they fought, and all Weyrleaders and lords were assembled to honor the new weyrlings and celebrate the joyous occasion.

As the bronze continued his lazy circles, a blast of cold above announced the arrival of another dragon. The green quickly dropped beside Monarth, and the two dragons settled to the Weyr bowl together. After dismounting, Mirrim joined her weyrmate with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be late."

"That's alright, weyrling," T'gellan smiled back. "It's been a long day." He looked carefully at the hair falling across her forehead, gently sweeping the curl over her left eye aside. He was careful not to touch the thin red line, lightened in color by a coat of numbweed paste. "Hurt much?"

"I'm alright, love," the greenrider smiled. "Next time, I'll be more careful."

"You do that," the Weyrleader smiled, wasting just enough time to pull her into his arms and give her a promising kiss.

"Hello, Eastern!" called a cheerful voice from the weyrbed. A tall, slender man wearing the colors of Ista Weyr waved a greeting. Bronze and greenriders waved back as they walked toward him.

"Good evening, G'dened. How does Barnath?"

"Well, T'gellan, thank you. I take it Monarth is settling in for the evening? And how is Path, Lady Mirrim?"

Mirrim's eyes sparkled with elation at the question. She knew and liked the Istan Weyrleader, but to have any senior rider remember her green was a treat she savored. She was both flattered and gratified. "She's fine, Weyrleader. Thank you for asking!" The reply wasn't a formality, but a genuine statement of appreciation.

T'gellan rewarded the Istan with a broad smile and a firm forearm clasp. The Weyrleaders said nothing, but the understanding and appreciation between them was clear.

"Your late arrival has disappointed some guests," G'dened announced slyly. The Eastern riders saw a mischievous glint in his eyes, slightly out of character for the normally serious old-timer. They exchanged glances, wondering why a gathering in honor of Benden would pay more than passing notice to the presence or absence of the junior Weyrleaders.

"How's that?" T'gellan wondered aloud.

"You'll find out," the Istan chuckled. He swept his free arm toward the cavern.

"Welcome, Eastern," called a tall, slender man at the entry of the cavern. Masterharper Sebell smiled at the pair as they approached. "Come with me, please."

The Easterners paused to peruse the assembly. It appeared as though all of Pern was here. Only befitting, T'gellan thought, of a Benden hatching. Far across the cavern, a slight woman dressed in flowing red with black trim waved to them. Long, tightly braided black hair outlined the thin face. The warm smile removed any hint of harshness from her regard. Even from this distance, T'gellan gave the woman a deep bow, seconded by his weyrmate. G'dened took his leave as the Masterharper escorted the new arrivals.

The Eastern Weyrleader acknowledged greeting after greeting as he passed the many tables. While he was well known and generally well thought of, this degree of interest struck him as somewhat unusual. His weyrmate was ecstatic at the unexpected reception.

Nearly every important person on the planet was seated somewhere in the hall. A side table near the front held several Weyrleaders. A youthful, slight figure rose to call a greeting, answered by Mirrim. The Weyrleader at Southern, K'van was the youngest of the eight men so appointed, and Eastern's nearest neighbor. Beside him, T'gellan noticed K'zel, the senior wingleader from High Reaches. Apparently, T'bor was not well enough to travel, or unwilling to leave Orth. Either situation was less than promising.