DragonForce Ch. 04

"Me, Loki," he stroked the stalker, who chirruped, "Akira and Astaroth."

"Akira is a snake of some sort," T'gellan reminded them, "and Astaroth is the black dragon."

A sense of discomfort and resentment emanated from most of the assembly. The Cygnan was frankly puzzled, turning a questioning gaze on the Eastern Weyrleader. However, it was the Masterharper who offered an explanation.

"Snakes and felines do not enjoy the best of reputations on Pern."

Darian frowned at the statement but decided against saying anything. He sat quietly until G'dened spoke up.

"T'gellan told us you're from a planet called Cygnus?"

"Cygnus IV," the avion confirmed.

The Istan nodded, placing his chin in his hand. "I realize that you don't know how you got here, but what I don't understand is how you found T'marek and Kelth when two wings of dragons couldn't."

The Cygnan shrugged. He released his breath in a long hiss. "You know," he replied, "that's not really how it happened. We didn't find them. We woke up next to them."

"Woke up?" F'lar repeated.

Darian nodded. "We were flying patrol. Astaroth said he'd heard something unusual, so we landed. We had just recalled Loki and Akira when the whole world went dark and freezing cold. Then I lost consciousness. When I woke up, we weren't more than ten feet from them."

The reaction of shocked silence he had encountered when relating the story to T'gellan and Mirrim repeated itself. Around the chamber, riders were staring at each other, expressions ranging from incredulity to acceptance. Again, he heard that word; "Between! "

Benden and Eastern looked at each other, T'gellan shaking his head emphatically. "Darian has already told me they can't fly between."

"We can't," the avion confirmed. "We don't even know what between is, let alone how to use it."

"Then how can they ride Threadfall?" N'ton asked.

"Astaroth used an interesting spinning maneuver to get rid of the Thread he flew into," Eastern explained. "But you don't want to be anywhere near him when he does it. It's worse than any windblown Thread you've ever seen."

"Even so," N'ton continued, "he'd have to be badly scored."

"The stuff doesn't penetrate his scales," Darian shrugged.

The rider introduced as G'narish regarded the Cygnan with a dubious frown. He glanced at Benden and Eastern before speaking. "As a dragonman, I appreciate what you and your dragon did yesterday. The arm is a result of that Fall?" Darian nodded, and the Igen leader resumed. "However, I find this talk of coming from another planet a bit of a wherry-ride. Granted, I've never seen anything like you or your feline, but can you prove that you're not Pernese?"

"No," Darian admitted, "I can't."

R'mart added his concern. "There are vast areas of this southern continent we've yet to explore. You could easily hide here for turns without being detected."

Darian was unable to answer. He had no idea of what the riders were talking about. If they chose to believe he and his party were Pernese, it would be nearly impossible to dissuade them. His defense came from an unexpected quarter.

"Dragons and dragonriders have died before," the Masterharper reminded them, "many, many times, both in the north and here in the south. It seems unlikely that beings such as Darian and his friends would wait for turns and then suddenly decide to intervene." He stopped, waiting for any reaction to his words. G'narish seemed a bit uncertain, but everyone else simply waited for whatever he had to add.

"More importantly, Lord G'narish, if in fact our strange visitors are natives of the Southern Continent, why wouldn't they simply fly away and return to wherever they came from? You know full well the remarkable ability of dragonkind to find a place once it has been there. Can we assume that because Astaroth is different than our beasts, he is necessarily less capable?"

G'narish frowned thoughtfully while several other riders nodded their heads in agreement. T'gellan allowed himself a hint of a smile. Beside him, however, the Benden Weyrleader remained impassive.

"I can prove he's not Pernese."

All eyes locked on the speaker. She looked down nervously, fearful she had spoken out of turn. "I'm sorry," she said, addressing her Weyrleader. "I shouldn't have interrupted."

"If you know something, woman," G'narish snapped, "speak up."

Darian stiffened at the tone of the rider's voice, his eyes flashing. The amiability in his features disappeared in the hostile regard he turned on the Weyrleader. His upper lip lifted, revealing the fangs beneath.

Selana winced under the intimidating words. Immediately, Loki assumed a defensive posture, ears back and fangs bared. Eastern and Benden Weyrleaders exchanged curious glances at the overtly protective behavior of the Cygnan pair. Everyone felt the heightening tension.

Unwilling to allow an untoward scene, T'gellan intervened immediately. "You're out of order, Igen," the Eastern leader said evenly. "Darian is my guest, and Selana is Eastern's healer. This council was called to discuss our situation. I ask that you conduct yourself accordingly."

G'narish breathed a slow sigh. The irritation in his eyes faded, and the hard set of his jaw eased. Calmly, with great dignity, he responded, "My apologies, T'gellan, and to Darian and Lady Selana. I don't mean to offend. We flew a hard Fall this morning. I and my Weyrriders are rather tired. Please, healer, if you have information that we can use, share it with us." He glanced at his host, who nodded acceptance and appreciation for the restating of the question. F'lar caught T'gellan's attention from the corner of his eye, giving a nod of approval.

The healer nodded nervously as her companion relaxed slightly. The stalker eased back to his haunches. Trelka turned a curious gaze on her Weyrleader, who lifted his eyebrows and shrugged slightly.

"When Darian was sick," Selana began, "I did a number of tests to try and find the cause. The results indicated that he was either extremely ill, or that his biological structure was significantly different than ours." She paused, looking at the Weyrleader. His supportive expression told her to continue.

"Other than being asleep for an unusual period of time, there were no physical symptoms to indicate he was sick. And the unusual vital signs and blood chemistry were constant. I believe, therefore, that he and his teammates are off-worlders."

"What are these unusual indications?" Lessa asked.

"The first," Selana described, "was his body temperature. When I first took it, I thought he had a fever. It was 101.3. But, during a series of readings, it didn't change. Darian told me later that 101 to 102 was normal for avions."

"Avions?" R'mart questioned. "I thought you said he was a Cygnan. Cygnus IV?"

Darian explained. "Both are correct. My home planet is Cygnus IV. My race is avion, Loki's race is stalker and Astaroth's is dragon. There are several races of intelligent beings on Cygnus."

The Telgar Weyrleader grunted his understanding, and Selana continued.

"The positive proof, I think, was in the blood tests I did. All life forms on Pern have high trace levels of boron and silicon in their blood. Darian's blood has almost none. Also, he has very high levels of copper and zinc in his blood. Those are trace elements in our blood. His white count is almost three times ours, and the red count is higher. In general, his blood has a much higher specific gravity than ours."

Most of the assembled riders were staring at each other. G'dened spoke for nearly everyone when he inquired of N'ton, "Right. What did she just say?"

"He ain't one of us," the Fort leader quipped.

From one person, however, there was total agreement and satisfaction. "Well done, Selana," Master Oldive congratulated, beaming his approval. "Thorough work and solid conclusions."

She blushed deeply, averting her eyes and inclining her head to hide her face. A soft chuckle sounded beside her, and a strong hand squeezed hers.

"Nicely done," the Cygnan whispered, "thank you."

"I would like to see your notes, if I may?" the Masterhealer requested. Selana blushed again, stammering her permission.

G'narish looked toward the Eastern Weyrleader. The dubious frown on his face revealed that he was far from convinced. However, he seemed content to continue the present discussion. "Alright, then," he conceded, "allowing that you are from somewhere other than Pern, that still leaves me wondering how you came here?"

Darian sighed, pursing his lips. He gazed directly at Igen before answering. "That's the problem, Weyrleader. We didn't come here, we just arrived here. We don't know how."

Discussion quickly found itself at a dead-end. Accepting the assertion that Astaroth lacked the ability to travel between, no one could explain the Cygnans' sudden appearance on Pern. What few answers could be found only raised a myriad of new questions. Only the Masterharper seemed satisfied, totally enthralled with the alien visitors. As the meeting deteriorated, T'gellan elected to change the venue.

"It seems, Lords and Masters, that we have gone as far as we can here. With Darian's permission, it might help to introduce Astaroth." He turned his gaze on the avion, who returned one of his unfathomable half-smiles.

"Of course, Weyrleader."

The conferees filed out of the council chamber, following T'gellan. Darian and Selana would have waited for the end of the procession had not Lessa taken the Cygnan by the arm and pulled him to the front. They moved quickly through the inner weyr, arriving at Astaroth's quarters in a matter of minutes. The black dragon wasn't there. However, the weyr was not empty. Beneath the bed frame, the entrants saw the slender figure of Akira, resting in a comfortable coil. The snake lifted its head in greeting, then settled back, disinterested.

"I recommend a discreet distance," T'gellan informed them. "His bite is extremely dangerous, although Darian assures me he doesn't use it often."

"Once would be quite enough," Trelka rejoined, content to give the snake all the room he wanted. The others shared her appraisal of the situation.

"I'll try to call Astaroth in," Darian told the Benden Weyrwoman, who still held his left arm. He noted with mild amusement that the healer had pointedly taken his right.

The dragon replied immediately to the unspoken summons, but it wasn't the answer his teamleader wanted. 'Leave me alone. I'm hunting.'

'We aren't permitted to hunt outside the Weyr. What's wrong with the herdbeasts?'

'Boring. I need something to do.'

'So do I. Getting us all in trouble isn't the answer. There are people here who want to meet you. Please return to the Weyr.'

'Very well. But I grow weary of this.'

Wonderful, Darian thought. All we need is Astaroth getting disagreeable. Unfortunately, he agreed with the black. There didn't seem to be any immediate prospect of getting back to Cygnus, and their limited existence here was growing more than annoying. They both felt trapped. "He's on his way," the Cygnan announced.

"Tell me, Darian," the Masterharper asked, "are you a telepath?"

"I suppose, in a limited sense, we all are. The four of us communicate telepathically."

"Can you read other's thoughts?"

"No, not normally. If a thought or emotion is strong enough, we might pick it up."

"That may answer one question," Sebell said, not bothering to elaborate. Master Oldive was watching the Harper thoughtfully and nodded in agreement.

"By the way," the Masterhealer said, speaking to Darian, "we have something for you." He reached into the pouch at his side and withdrew a small, cloth-covered bundle. Gently, he handed it to the avion.

Darian walked to the table, setting the parcel down and unrolling it. Inside were three perfectly crafted glass cylinders. "Hypos!" he exclaimed, looking up at Oldive. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and a wide grin covered his face. Quickly, he returned his attention to the syringes, picking one up to examine closely. "These are beautiful!" he announced.

"The Equipmentmaster did a fine job," Oldive agreed. A rumbling laugh erupted behind him.

"Indeed he did," Fandarel confirmed. He clapped the Cygnan on the shoulder, avoiding the wing with a deftness hardly expected of one so large. Pointing at the glass tubes, the Smithmaster commented, "Those things are highly efficient. Most impressive. Do you have anything else like them with you?"

Darian looked up at the piercing brown eyes. For all his intimidating size, the smith seemed a likeable person, genuine and outgoing. Unfortunately, the avion could think of nothing else mechanical that he had with him. "Only my bow," he finally replied.

"Bow?" Fandarel repeated. "May I see it?"

Walking to his bed, the Cygnan reached under it. Akira regarded him with mild interest as he withdrew the lethal device. The interest displayed by the others in the room was anything but mild. N'ton released a low whistle, echoed by his Istan counterpart.

Darian held a small crossbow, less than an arm long. The Mastersmith's eyes widened with wonder as he accepted it.

Three bolts, each about a hand-span long, sat on independent channels atop the weapon. The trigger was set under the curving neck, just in front of the stock, protected by a surrounding guard. The most impressive aspect of the device was its material. Only the body and stock were made of wood. The rest, including the drawstrings, were metal. The bolts were of a material none of them had seen before. Almost reverently, Fandarel removed one of the small arrows.

"Fascinating," he observed, turning the projectile in his fingers. "What is it made of?"

"The shaft is fiberglass," Darian explained. "The warhead is chrome steel and the feathers are neoprene." He noticed with interest the respectful silence that filled the weyr as dragonmen and other masters made room for the Mastersmith.

Fandarel's florid face pulled into a thoughtful scowl as he inspected the bow.

"Chrome steel? Fiberglass?"

"Of course. It doesn't rust, it's relatively inexpensive, and it has superb ballistics."

"Ballistics?" T'gellan inquired, realizing he was rapidly getting lost in this conversation.

"Ballistics," Darian expounded. "Flight characteristics, accuracy, impact, lethality." For people who took such pride in their fighting abilities, these Pernese had little knowledge of basic weaponry. The riders he had become acquainted with showed a distinct preference for belt knives. Against a decent crossbow, that was a ludicrous mismatch.

"Lethality?" F'lar probed. "What do you use these things against?"

The avion faced the Benden Weyrleader, his demeanor detached, almost cold. In a dispassionate voice, he replied, "Anything that gets in my way."

The dragonmen regarded him carefully, wondering if the answer carried a threat with it. Fandarel acted as though he had failed to hear the exchange, totally involved with the bow. Only the Benden Weyrwoman caught the ironic humor in the situation. She directed a soft smile at her weyrmate. "I know someone else with that attitude."

F'lar looked away from the avion to his mate, hearing N'ton's quiet laugh behind him. Sebell, too, showed the glint of merriment in his eyes. When he turned back to Darian, the avion was smiling.

A brassy bugle from the watch dragon diverted their attention, but the throaty roar that answered froze everyone in place.

"What was that?" demanded G'narish.

"That," T'gellan answered, "was Astaroth."

They walked to the outer weyr. Through the opening, a gliding dragon was visible as it approached the ledge. The impressive image of the black held them spellbound.

Astaroth backwinged slowly, climbing just above the rim of the ledge before settling to a landing. Flashing red eyes sought the avion. 'Alright, I'm back. Now what?'

Darian smiled grimly. The black was in a sour mood. This did not bode well for a first meeting. "Lords and Ladies, may I introduce Astaroth?"

The only response was R'mart's quiet expletive. Soundless and motionless, dragon and visitors stared at each other.

"The essence of pure evil," Sebell whispered admiringly. "Death sprouting wings." At his words, the black's head turned directly toward him, eyes blazing demonically.

"A bit melodramatic, eh, Masterharper?" Oldive ventured.

"He's a pure fire-breather," T'gellan informed his guests.

Without taking his eyes from the menacing sight, G'dened asked, "What do you mean, 'pure' fire-breather?"

"He doesn't need firestone," the Weyrleader answered.

G'narish laughed derisively, the harsh sound echoing in the nearly silent chamber. "That's too much, Eastern. No dragon flames without firestone."

Darian turned slowly on the Igen Weyrleader. This dragonrider with the poor manners and quick tongue was beginning to irritate him.

'I don't think I like him,' the black told his companion.

Darian chuckled. 'That makes two of us. I don't think he considers you much of a dragon. Doesn't think you can flame without their precious firestone.'

Again, T'gellan saw that strange smile, just revealing the imposing fangs extending from the avion's upper jaw line. This time, he realized it wasn't a smile, but a warning.

Astaroth launched himself backward. With incredible speed, the black crossed the width of the Weyr, turning high above the north wall. Awed viewers watched as he streaked the length of the crater, then turned. An ebony flash dove back into the Weyr. As he reached a point even with the observers, a tremendous burst of flame erupted from his jaws, exploding against the sand in a spectacular fireball.

A chorus of dragons trumpeted their defiant approval.

Darian turned a sinister smile on the Igenite. "You were saying?"

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

Most of the Weyrleaders had left. Astaroth's ill-tempered demonstration made it evident that he was not similar to the Pernese beasts in either capabilities or attitude. Although the Igen leader had remained unconvinced, everyone else was satisfied with the black's fighting prowess. Southern and Ista had left together. Telgar had followed, along with Igen and High Reaches. The Cygnan had been reluctant to let Fandarel take his prized bow to the Smithcraft Hall, so the Mastersmith was still at Eastern, making detailed drawings of the weapon. The winter sun had set before Betrella told the remaining visitors that a meal was waiting.

It was not on a par with the feast they had experienced the day before, but it was a satisfying repast. Thick, steaming stew, hot bread and plenty of klah adorned the table. Eastern, Fort, Benden and the three Craftmasters sat around the table. They had been joined by Mirrim, who sat with T'gellan, and N'rad. The eastern Weyrleader's wingsecond was delighted to join his weyrmate for the meal. Trelka beamed, her verdant eyes gleaming satisfaction. She had few opportunities to spend time with the brownrider in such distinguished company. Their Weyrleader made a point of accommodating them as often as possible.

Master Sebell had been content to remain silent during most of the day's proceedings. Now, with everyone eating and the more informal multiple conversations going on, he began asking the long list of questions he had stored for this fascinating visitor. Their discussion had attracted little notice at first but, as it progressed, more and more attention concentrated on them.

"Why do you say the avions are a dying race?" the Masterharper inquired.

"Since we started interbreeding," Darian explained, "just after the first humans arrived on Cygnus, our genetic stock has been shrinking. Human characteristics are almost entirely dominant in hybrids."

"Then you are a true avion."

"No, not at all," the Cygnan admitted. "My great-grandmother was human. That's why I have finger and toenails instead of talons, and no tail. That's also why I have to wear a vest to stay warm. My fur is far too fine to serve its function."