DragonForce Ch. 03

At another table sat a collection of Lord Holders. He saw Groghe of Fort, Larad of Telgar and Asgenar of Lemos. The table was dominated by the imposing figure of Southern's Toric. To the Weyrleader's surprise, directly next to the Southern Lord sat Jaxom and Sharra of Ruatha. He hadn't noticed Ruth on his arrival and was surprised to see Ruatha and Southern seated so closely. The sight was heartening. The Southern Lord's relationship with Ruatha had been a tenuous one. All would benefit if the animosity between the two Lord Holders could be resolved.

Further across the room, his eyes rested on a delicate, brown-haired woman seated beside a somewhat ungainly looking rider. The man had his arm possessively curled around her shoulder. Her shy smile indicated that Brekke was still uncomfortable in large crowds. Her mate was quite the opposite. F'nor seemed more gregarious than ever, a broad smile beaming across the table.

T'gellan searched the cavern, wondering if he could find the reason for the brownrider's exceedingly good mood. At the far wall, among the weyrling tables, he found it. A slender youth with an unruly mop of dark hair and finely chiseled, almost feminine facial features was applying himself vigorously to the meal before him. The Weyrleader grinned broadly, pointing. "Mirrim, look, Fenorek has impressed!"

Sebell nodded. "Indeed, a bronze." He chuckled. "From the look on F'nor, you'd think he impressed the little fellow."

As they approached the head table, a tall, dark figure rose to greet them. The wiry rider was the epitome of what every dragonman wanted to become. But he had paid a price for that accomplishment. The thin lines of repeated scorings were in his face. T'gellan noted with more than a bit of regret than the hints of grey in his hair were increasing in length and number. The Benden Weyrleader held out his hand in welcome. "Join us, Eastern," he said. "We've been waiting for you." He indicated two vacant seats on the far side of the red-clad woman, who continued to smile at them. Mirrim gasped.

"At the headtable?" she whispered to her mate, eyes wide.

A merry chuckle escaped the Benden Weyrwoman, who had overheard the comment. "Of course, at the headtable," she responded. "You are honored guests, and always welcome here. Please, join us."

Mirrim momentarily locked eyes with Lessa. She was bewildered by the degree of their welcome and the unusually cordial reception she was receiving. There was no hint of condescension in the Benden Weyrwoman's eyes, only a genuine friendship. Quickly, the Easterner averted her gaze, blushing self-consciously.

T'gellan again bowed respectfully. "We're honored, F'lar, Lessa, and grateful. It's good to be home." He grasped arms with the Benden Weyrleader, who smiled broadly at the Eastern rider's reference to his upbringing at Benden. F'lar had trained the young man and took almost fatherly pride in his accomplishments. T'gellan hadn't disappointed him.

The Easterners were promptly served with fresh portions of roast herdbeast, warm bread-rolls and steaming klah. Lessa engaged Mirrim in Weyrwoman small talk, utterly delighting the young woman, who could think of no greater honor than to be treated as an equal by the legendary Benden queenrider.

T'gellan beamed at his mate, deeply satisfied by her mood. It was uncommon for Mirrim to be well-received at such gatherings. He ate quietly while she talked.

The Masterharper seated himself at T'gellan's left, his wife, Menolly, also a Masterharper, at his side. He vividly described the events of the afternoon's hatching. The little bronze had been one of the first to emerge, much to F'nor's elation and Brekke's relief. He could imagine the brownrider's mate hurrying from the gallery, only too happy to be absent at the hatching of the queen egg.

The memory of Wirenth was still painful to her and to those riders who had shared in the tragedy of that ill-fated mating flight. A second queen had taken to the cold skies over the barren peaks of the High Reaches, disrupting Wirenth's first flight. Enraged by the challenge to her claim on the pursuing bronzes, the virgin gold attacked her competitor. The disaster ended with both queen's disappearing between, never to be found, Brekke comatose, the second queenrider insane, and all of the High Reaches Weyr in shock. It would have been absolute torture for Benden's Weyrhealer to see another of the glowing gold dragons impressed.

The lone sour note of the day was that the Ruathan candidate had failed to impress the little queen. Lessa had been understandably displeased by this set-back. Fortunately, Fenorek's impression of the bronze, Dragoth, had removed the sting of the perceived slight. T'gellan listened with interest as he ate the splendid meal. Only now did he realize how hungry he was.

Draining his cup of klah and picking up the wineglass which replaced it, T'gellan turned to face the storyteller. "Forgive me, Master Sebell, but why are we up here? And why all this deference to Mirrim?" His voice was low, ensuring that only his neighbor heard him.

"You haven't changed," the Masterharper chuckled softly. "Straight to the quick of it."

The Weyrleader gazed at him soberly, waiting for an answer, showing only the patience and sobriety of attitude that Sebell recognized as F'lar's trademark. The Eastern Weyrleader had been well trained indeed.

In a conspiratorial tone, and with a good deal of reflective humor, the Masterharper explained, "Indeed, you are the guests of honor here, despite the hatching. Those firelizards have been raising havoc since whatever happened at Eastern happened. Everyone wants to know what is going on, but Benden was the first to have a good reason for pulling you aside."

T'gellan smirked his understanding, stealing a glance at F'lar, who responded with an uplifted eyebrow and a wink.

"So far as Mirrim is concerned," the explanation continued, "Lessa made it known, in her usual diplomatic manner, that any discourtesy to your weyrmate would be received as an insult to Benden."

The Weyrleader inhaled sharply at the reference to the fiery Weyrwoman's tact. The wine he was sipping rose through his throat into his nostrils, burning as it went. T'gellan found himself doing a passable imitation of a fountain as he sprayed the red fluid across the table and tried to cough it out of his lungs.

Mirrim turned to stare at him. Lessa raised a disapproving eyebrow but, seeing the Masterharper's expression, smiled indulgently and continued, diverting the Eastern woman's attention. F'lar bit his lip to keep from laughing and turned away.

"Now I know," T'gellan chuckled, dabbing sprinkles of wine from the table. He smiled cheerfully at Sebell, who saluted him with a half-filled goblet which was promptly emptied.

The remainder of the meal passed in relative silence. During the ensuing shoptalk, K'zel had caught the Weyrleader's attention from across the room, raising his clenched fist and pumping it into the air twice while smiling broadly. T'gellan acknowledged the salute and tapped Mirrim. "It appears," he told his weyrmate, "that T'sarl has been well received." He nodded, directing her attention across the cavern.

Mirrim waved cheerfully to the High Reaches wingleader, who grinned in return while offering a respectful bow. She looked up at T'gellan, basking in the glow of her newfound acceptance and recognition. "What's going on?" she asked. "Why does everyone like me?"

The Weyrleader chuckled knowingly. Rather than answer, he leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss. "Don't worry about it," he advised, "just enjoy yourself."

Slowly, the gather began to wind down. Various personages migrated to others of their own kind; dragonrider, crafter, holder, each forming small groups. All of the groups were either glancing repeatedly toward the head table or slowly moving in that direction. Lessa had deftly removed Mirrim, disappearing along with Brekke, Manora and several others. At the same time, F'lar had changed seats and was now directly to the Eastern Weyrleader's right. T'gellan felt increasingly uncomfortable.

"That was a superb gesture you made this morning," the Benden leader began. "It's hard flying a wing short."

T'gellan shrugged. "We did alright. If we'd needed help, K'van would've been there."

"Agreed. How badly were you hurt?"

"Eight dragons, eleven riders, none lost." T'gellan sighed. "We were lucky."

"No," F'lar disagreed, "you are good. It takes good men and good dragons to fly a hard Fall and have so few injuries." He reached up and grasped his young counterpart by the shoulder. "And good leadership."

"He had a good teacher."

Both men were startled by the interrupting voice. They looked up to see Lessa standing behind them, Mirrim at her side. The women were smiling at their mates, pride and affection shining from their eyes. "You trained him well, F'lar," Lessa continued, "and now Eastern is as well led as Benden."

"Almost," Mirrim chimed in, patting T'gellan on the top of the head. He looked at F'lar with an expression of infinite patience, eyes rolling upward. Benden's Weyrleader grinned.

"I'm told you had some unusual help today," the red-clad Weyrwoman prodded sweetly.

The Eastern weyrmates exchanged glances, bronzerider's stern and disapproving, greenrider's apologetic and helpless. The Weyrleader's lips pulled into a tight line.

"Oh, come now, T'gellan," Lessa insisted, "you know I didn't take Mirrim away just for social natter, and you know you can't keep this secret any longer."

"In point of fact," Menolly noted, "I don't think you can consider it a secret." She guided T'gellan's stare to the front of the table, where a considerable number of riders and others were assembled. At the center of the group, grinning from ear to ear, stood G'dened.

"I did warn you," the Istan reflected.

Mirrim put her hands on her mate's shoulders, gently massaging his neck from behind. In a soft, purring voice, she said, "I think you've been had, love."

Lessa chuckled, resting her hand on F'lar's shoulder. He, too, was grinning at the Easterners, waiting for some response. T'gellan simply sat silently, shaking his head from side to side.

Master Sebell broke the impasse. "It would seem, my dear Weyrleader, that you have the floor."

A few more moments passed before a stocky, dark-haired man in red and black spoke laughingly from the impatient crowd. "Well, don't just sit there, you dimglow!"

The Weyrleader peered into the assembled faces, breaking into a smile as he recognized his detractor. The rider had been his wingsecond while T'gellan had served at Benden. Although the new Weyrleader had wanted to take the man south, other considerations at the time had prevented it. Due to subsequent developments, the transfer had never taken place. The teasing prod kindled many fond memories.

"Sorry, N'sal," Eastern grinned, "hadn't seen you there." Both men laughed as a flood of questions arose from the floor, each voice striving to be heard above the last. In the resultant din, even the firelizards seemed mere onlookers. Sebell and F'lar turned amused smiles on T'gellan, waiting for him to take control of the gather.

Eastern's Weyrleader raised both hands in front of him, signaling for a bit of quiet. "It is true," he told them, "we have some very unusual visitors. We've been meaning to tell everyone, but the timing's been less than ideal." A murmur of assent came up from the dragonriders, all of whom had played some part in the unusual planet-wide Falls of the recent past. "We don't know what they are," he continued, "or where they came from. They've given us their names, which is just about all they know. They're completely lost and have no explanation for how they got here."

"My firelizard said something about a huge black dragon," someone called from the crowd. Several voices seconded the comment, and T'gellan had to wait for quiet.

"One of them is a black dragon," he revealed, receiving several doubtful expressions, "named Astaroth. As to huge, that's an exaggeration on the part of the lizards. He's actually about the size of a medium brown." He paused as a series of relieved laughs erupted.

"Don't let that fool you," he cautioned them. "Astaroth is an impressive animal. He's faster and more powerfully built than our dragons. The only way I can describe him is to say he has a dangerous appearance about him, and a temper to match." He waited for that comment to sink in among the dubious listeners before adding, "A bit like Mirrim's."

Wholesale laughter erupted as the greenrider swatted him soundly across the back of the head. F'lar sighed, lowering his forehead into his hand.

Again, T'gellan waited for order to return. A long, deep yawn escaped him. "The others," he continued, "are a small feline named Loki, a kind of snake named Akira, and a humanoid named Darian. He's the teamleader. At least, he says they function as some kind of team. It's really not very clear."

A subdued buzz went through the crowd, numerous conversations beginning simultaneously, until one nasal voice was heard far more clearly than its owner desired. "Another flying freak, just like that white runt!"

Silence fell on the gathering, all eyes turning toward the speaker. Ramrod straight and furious, the Lord of Ruatha started to move forward, only to be restrained by a gentle female hand and a not-so-gentle male hand. Out of deference to his hosts and respect for the powerful Southern Lord, the Ruathan curbed his anger.

Eastern's Weyrleader did not. T'gellan rose to his feet, fury flashing from his eyes. Bitter cold colored his voice. "That flying freak, Lord Sangel, flew Thread beside us today. Both he and his rider were scored for their efforts."

Gulping nervously, the Lord of Southern Boll stammered an apology. All eyes moved quickly to the Weyrleader to see if the contrite words would be sufficient.

A collective sigh sounded through the cavern as the bronzerider slowly nodded. He regarded the anxious faces somberly, then turned to face his host. "With respect, Weyrleader, have I your permission to speak freely?" His jaw was firmly set, no hint of compromise in his eyes. F'lar observed him silently for a long moment, then indicated the gathering with his open hand.

T'gellan faced the assemblage. His voice was controlled but tight, the tone unforgiving. "Lords, Masters, Ladies and Dragonriders, know this. Astaroth and Darian have been at Eastern for only a short time, but they more than proved their courage today. A dragon and rider willing to fight Thread are worthy of respect. Our two guests have earned that respect. While they remain at Eastern, they are counted among our numbers. Any insult, affront or slight to them will be regarded as a slur on Eastern Weyr."

The Weyrleader studied the watching faces, ensuring his words had been heard and understood. Finally, he turned back to the Benden Weyrleader. "My apologies, Lord F'lar, I did not intend to disrupt so joyful an occasion. I ask your forgiveness." T'gellan sat down slowly, reaching up to squeeze Mirrim's hand, which held his arm.

Benden's leader rose from his seat, reaching out to firmly grip the younger man's shoulder. His striking amber eyes swept across the cavern, measuring each man and woman present. "No apologies are needed, Eastern. Your words are well spoken. A dragon and rider who fly against Thread, any dragon and any rider, are welcome at Benden." His words echoed off the silent cavern walls. No sound answered them.

"Lords and Ladies," he continued, his tone softer, a smile crossing his lips, "the hour is late. It has been a full day. Lessa and I thank you for joining us. Those who wish are welcome to spend the night at the Weyr. For those who return to hall or hold, my dragons and riders are at your disposal." He gave a polite bow to the crowd, then retook his seat.

No one moved. It was as though T'gellan's words had frozen them and none dared be the first to act. Sensing the indecision, G'dened stepped forward through the crowd and reached out to take the Easterner's arm.

"Anyone welcome at Eastern is welcome at Ista," he said. "Well spoken, friend!"

The Istan's action opened the floodgates. The dragonmen and several Lord Holders crowded forward, speaking to either T'gellan or F'lar. Others began moving toward the cavern entrance. A restrained frenzy of activity swept over the chamber, everyone in motion at the same time. Within a very few minutes, the cavern was nearly empty.

Mirrim slowly worked her fingers over her mate's neck while he stared at his folded hands. A circle of friends stood by waiting.

Finally, the Benden Weyrwoman spoke. "You've been less than honest with us, T'gellan. Why?"

The Weyrleader shook his head, denying the assertion. "No, Lessa," he countered, "I've been honest. I just haven't told you everything."

F'lar's eyebrow peaked, his lips drawing into a thoughtful scowl. "Why is that?"

T'gellan looked up, surveying his circle of confidante's. The Benden pair, Ista, Fort, Southern and his former wingsecond stood by. To his left, still quietly observing, were the Masterharpers. An impressive group, he thought sullenly. "I hadn't wanted to tell the rest of Pern until I could ask most of you to join me at Eastern," he explained. "There are a series of very strange things happening there. I have some ideas, some theories, but it will take more knowledge and experience than I have to figure this out."

F'lar studied his friend. His chin rested in his left hand. Inquisitive eyes moved to inquire of the Weyrwoman. Lessa nodded.

"When do you want us there?"