DragonForce Ch. 05

"Hello, N'ton. Thanks for coming early."

"Good day, Monarth," the Fort leader said, grinning at the bronze. The dragon sounded an appropriate crooning greeting.

"Did you know K'trin was here this morning?"

N'ton's grin evaporated. He pulled his lips tight, looking uncomfortably from the Weyrleader to the avion to his dragon. "I'm afraid I did," he confessed. "But I didn't find out until after he got back to Fort. Did he say why he came?"

T'gellan nodded grimly, wiping his hands on his trousers. "He's after her again."

"Oh, shards!" N'ton exclaimed. He looked cautiously at Darian then spoke to the Weyrleader. "Does he know?"

Eastern's eyebrow lifted. A sour grimace crossed his features. "He does now."

Darian found the conversation most enlightening. It was readily apparent that the current situation was neither new nor unexpected. What the aggressive brownrider's story was he didn't know, but he intended to find out.

"What happened?" Fort requested.

"He refused to leave when I told him to. Tried to force a fight. Darian stopped him."

"Oh?" N'ton queried, glancing at the avion. "How did you manage that?"

"With this," the Cygnan replied, revealing the crossbow.

"A bow," the Fort leader decried, "against a belt knife?"

T'gellan flushed red while Darian stood impassive. The Weyrleader spoke in even tones, but his anger was showing through. "N'ton, you and I have been friends for a long time. You know I would never interfere in Fort's affairs. But you've got to control K'trin. He threatened to have Trenth attack us. Astaroth stopped him."

A heavy pause hung in the air. Two men, friends, fellow bronzeriders, fellow Weyrleaders, stared at each other. They felt the same anger, the same concern, even the same fear. Both knew that this morning's confrontation had threatened the most dreaded conflict conceivable on Pern, dragon against dragon. The Fort leader shook his head. The very idea of such a battle was unthinkable to dragonmen. He looked at Darian with both concern and gratitude. "Thank you. I'm glad your dragon's bluff worked."

The Cygnan turned a blank expression on T'gellan then looked at N'ton. "What bluff?"

"You mean you would have actually let your dragon attack Trenth?" the bronzerider gulped. "A Pernese dragon won't attack a human!"

"Could of fooled me," the avion retorted. "Look, I'm not Pernese. I don't know how you people think, so I'm going to tell you how Cygnans think. You can take all your dragon droppings about honor and fair fights and choke on it. So far as we're concerned, a fight is something to be avoided. If it's forced on you, it's something to be won. If I have to fight, I'm going to win, and I don't care how I do it. And, if I'm threatened with a dragon, I fight back with a dragon!"

T'gellan observed the avion thoughtfully. Honor was to be upheld, but there was merit in the Cygnan point of view. Under these circumstances, the entire concept was rhetorical. His comment was as much to himself as his fellow rider. "I've seen Astaroth in action. I don't want him mad at me."

'I will defend you,' a supportive thought announced, 'but he is dangerous.'

The Weyrleader smiled grimly. As large and powerful as his loyal bronze was, he feared Monarth had little chance in open combat with the black.

'Perhaps,' the dragon conceded, 'but I would try.'

N'ton stood with his arms folded. His back was against a wall where K'trin was involved. The brownrider was a superior Thread fighter, but a complete loner and recurrent disciplinary problem. Sooner or later, he was going to create a situation none of them could handle. "Well," he sighed, "I'll find a way to keep him away from Eastern."

"You'd better," Darian said flatly.

N'ton regarded him with mild irritation. The comment held a frankly menacing tone. "What do you mean?" the Fort leader inquired. He placed a challenging glare on the blackrider, unwilling to be intimidated.

The Cygnan's expression was equally unyielding. "If he touches her, I'll kill him."

Both Weyrleaders were shocked by the threat. T'gellan knew his guest could be volatile, but this was more than he'd anticipated. The man was a law enforcement specialist, but his reaction to K'trin's aggression was still extreme. Was there something in his relationship to the young healer that provoked such vehemence? This wasn't the first time Darian had assumed a menacing posture in defense of the girl.

"There's more to it than that," he elected to explain. "If you kill a rider, his dragon will suicide." K'trin he couldn't care less about. With Thread falling, though, the loss of a brown was a serious matter.

Darian shrugged his shoulders, unimpressed. "Then you have two reasons to control him."

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

Eight Weyrleaders were seated and waiting when Masterharper Sebell led the rest of the conferees into the council room. Eyes opened increasingly wider as the stream of craftmasters entered.

Behind the harper walked Masterherder Briaret, followed by Mastersmith Fandarel, Masterhealer Oldive and Starmaster Wansor. The procession ended with Darian, Selana and, to the surprise of many, T'marek.

T'gellan watched carefully. His mentor had told him that one could learn much by watching how people came into a room; who they spoke to, who spoke to them, where they chose to sit. The greetings exchanged by this group proved no less instructive.

As expected, Benden's only spoken greeting was to the Masterharper. G'dened had an especially cheery hello for the Cygnan, while Fort sat silently, his only acknowledgement a barely perceptible nod to the journeyman healer. The only negative reaction came from Darian, who bridled at the sight of the Igen Weyrleader.

No sooner had the participants seated themselves than G'narish startled them by turning on the Eastern Weyrleader. "Is it true," he asked, "that your guest's dragon attacked a brown this morning?"

A murmur swept through the chamber. T'gellan saw N'ton grimace angrily. He agreed. This was not how he'd intended to open this session. "No," Eastern replied. "Actually, he kept the brown from attacking me."

Howls of outrage erupted from several of the riders. Explanations were demanded amid the uproar, along with denials that any dragonman would allow such an act. T'gellan sat impassively. If justification needed to be given, he would give it on his terms. Those terms did not include a shouting match.

Sebell surveyed the room, cataloguing the reactions of various people. T'bor was vociferously demanding the identity of the rider involved. G'narish wore an expression of barely controlled anger. R'mart, oldest of all the Weyrleaders, sat livid but silent, glaring at his Igen counterpart. The avion watched alertly, tense and poised, as though he expected trouble. The female healer's face was drained of all color.

A hand reached upward, demanding quiet. The din abated, ceasing altogether when it was noticed that Fort, not Eastern, had given the signal. N'ton clarified the problem with a simple statement. "K'trin was here this morning."

A violent expletive sounded through the stillness. Darian's cynical smile rewarded its Istan originator.

"Agreed," said N'ton and T'gellan simultaneously.

Despite the revelation of the rider involved, G'narish pressed the issue. "Regardless, it's unspeakable that any rider should set dragon against dragon! I want to know what you intend to do about it."

T'gellan stared back, maintaining his composure with inexplicable ease. He answered so softly that some were unsure they had heard him. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" G'narish fumed, "What do you mean, nothing?"

"I mean nothing," he repeated. "Of course, if you'd like to stand in front of a charging brown, we can arrange to appease Trenth."

"Don't try to change the subject, Eastern!"

"He isn't," N'ton snapped. "You are. K'trin was doing his best to force a fight with T'gellan. When Darian stopped him, he told Trenth to attack."

The Igen leader snorted. Scowling, he asked, "How do you know, Fort? Were you there?"

"No," N'ton replied evenly. "T'gellan explained it to me."

"And you take his word," G'narish questioned, "against that of one of your own riders?"

"That's right. I accept the word of a fellow Weyrleader."

Several riders chuckled nervously at the connotation of that statement. Even F'lar lifted an eyebrow, peering at the Igenite. He was in an interesting predicament.

"Allowing that," G'narish continued, clearing his throat, "I'm told our courageous outworlder met a belt knife with a crossbow." The statement creased a number of foreheads, and several riders turned to look at the Cygnan.

"So what?" T'bor inquired. "He's not Pernese. He's not bound by our rules."

G'narish turned a disgusted frown on the High Reaches Weyrleader. He turned again to face T'gellan. "It's a sad day for Pern when a Weyrleader hides behind a freak with superior weaponry!"

The Eastern leader had heard enough. He started to rise when a hand caught his shoulder from behind, holding him down. Spinning to look, he found himself locked eye to eye with F'lar. The Benden leader shook his head.

"G'narish," a level voice from across the room broke in, "what's the point? Are you trying to prove yourself a bigger fool than T'kul?"

The Igen Weyrleader spun on his detractor. Three seats away, a tall, sallow youth stared back disdainfully. His long, sinewy arms were folded across his chest.

"What do you mean by that?"

"The man prevented a duel," G'dened reminded him. "Or do you prefer a dead rider and dragon, either brown or bronze?"

"A man has a right to demand satisfaction," G'narish avowed, "without interference!" Several riders admitted grudging agreement, further encouraging him. He was about to continue when sardonic laughter from across the table halted him. His stare shifted again, this time to the chuckling spectator. "Is something amusing?"

Darian nodded, smiling at the Weyrleader. "Yes," he replied, "you are." G'narish turned red, eyes flashing. Before he could respond, however, the Cygnan continued. "You humans are always ready to claim your rights, no matter what planet you're on. And you're equally ready to defend them. Particularly your right to kill."

"You claim to be an off-worlder," the Igenite replied. "So be it, off-worlder. How do you presume to tell us how to run our own affairs? We've done nicely for thousands of turns without your assistance."

A loud thumping on the table distracted them. An equally powerful voice asserted itself. "Bravo, Lord G'narish, bravo! Well spoken!" Silence fell on the gathering as the powerful voice came to the Weyrleader's defense. Disbelieving eyes watched the speaker rise from his chair and turn on the avion.

Speaking calmly, Sebell continued. "You are new to this world, Cygnan, and you presume much to judge us without knowledge or experience. Ours is a proud and ancient race. Our resourcefulness and perseverance have helped us overcome many deadly threats. If we claim our rights, it is because we have earned them. If we cling to our traditions, it is because history has taught us that they are correct and effective. Our customs have preserved and guided us, lighting our path to ever greater achievements."

The orator paused to observe G'narish. The bronzerider's surprise had transformed itself into a smile of vindication. "We do not profess to know the culture and customs of Cygnus. However, we beg to remind you that this is not Cygnus, but Pern. Pernese law and Pernese custom prevail here, and we will not allow an outsider to corrupt our proud heritage. Lord G'narish has spoken eloquently in defense of his legacy as Weyrleader and that of all dragonmen. We will not tolerate the denial of that which has been honorably earned and justly claimed, especially our right to settle our own affairs in our own manner, which includes murdering those who disagree with us, and killing anyone who attempts to prevent it."

The Weyrleader's expression of triumph slowly faded. Uneasy silence prevailed as all eyes focused on him. The potent if somewhat sarcastic oration, and his initial acceptance of it, had placed him in an awkward position. His smug grin transformed itself into a shocked and angry frown. He turned disbelieving eyes on the speaker.

Sebell bowed in acknowledgement. "Of course, Igen, you, K'trin or Trenth may demand satisfaction from me. In that way, Pern would not be deprived of a fighting dragon."

G'narish blinked at him, unable to answer. Challenging the Masterharper was unthinkable. He had been thoroughly outwitted.

"Please, Lord G'narish," Eastern said pleasantly, offering his embarrassed peer a graceful exit, "we share your displeasure with today's incident. Fortunately, no one was injured, human or dragon. I believe we can leave any remaining action with Fort." He nodded toward N'ton, taking care to avoid letting his voice reveal any of the pleasure he was feeling inwardly. "However, K'trin is not the reason for this council. Darian is. So let's begin the evening's business."

Swallowing nervously, the Igen Weyrleader turned a polite bow to his host. The only sound in the chamber was a subdued chuckle from the Telgar Weyrleader.

"Lords, and Ladies," T'gellan began, politely inclining his head toward Selana, "the last time we met together, you were told all that we knew, which wasn't much, concerning Darian's arrival on Pern. What little investigation I did taught me that my knowledge was next to useless in this case."

He paused, hearing a few coughs and some stifled laughter. His warm smile showed the assembly that he shared their humor. "About a month ago, I arranged with Master Oldive to bring together this impressive group of masters to consider the problem."

"Impressive?" R'mart chided with one of his sharp snorts. "It's about all we have!" More laughter followed that observation.

"Agreed, Telgar," T'gellan smiled. "Fortunately, no one was too distressed by my invitation to come to Southern in late winter. The only major problem was keeping enough Benden wine on hand."

"Guilty as charged," the Masterharper conceded, "but a small price to pay for such distinguished assistance." His arm swept across the table, indicating the assembled craftmasters. "I did gain at least one pleasant habit from my mentor."

"True, Master Sebell. Since you and these good masters did the work, would you conduct this meeting for the time being?"

As the Masterharper voiced his acceptance, T'gellan glanced at the rider to his right. F'lar had an amused smile on his lips and a gleam in his eyes. Quietly, he commented, "Impressive, Eastern. My compliments." Their attention returned to Sebell.

"Lords and Masters, this was a most interesting and perplexing problem which Lord T'gellan gave us. We don't have many definite answers, but there is much we believe to be true. The records have been a major aid in this. If there are pieces of information which you may find difficult to grasp or beyond credibility, you are invited to join us in the future at that location." The Harper paused, lifting a blue goblet to his lips. Downing a modest amount of wine, he held the glass out in salute to his host, drawing laughter from around the table. "Excellent, as always, Benden! My thanks."

F'lar and T'gellan grinned back at him, shaking their heads. "I hope we have enough to last the night," Eastern whispered.

"If you don't," Benden chuckled, "I'll send F'nor after more."

"Since this proved to be a medical problem, rather than a question of transport, I will ask Master Oldive to begin."

The Masterhealer waited until his friend had seated himself, then addressed the gathering. "Please forgive me if I don't stand," he requested, getting immediate nods and spoken affirmations from his listeners.

"We were making little headway in our examination of this problem until one of Darian's comments at our last meeting was recalled. If you remember, he said they didn't 'come' here, they just 'arrived' here." The Healer paused, watching the Weyrleaders' faces light up as they brought the seemingly innocent comment to mind. "That statement," he continued, "made us realize that the key to this situation isn't Darian or Astaroth, but Kelth."

A buzz of comments filled the air. Riders glanced at each other in confusion, then back at the Masterhealer. G'narish was the first to ask directly. "Kelth was badly injured, or so we were told. How could he have had anything to do with it?"

"We think," Oldive declared, "that his injuries are what created our current situation." He waited for quiet, then resumed.

"T'gellan, you had how many dragons searching for Kelth?"

"Two wings," the Weyrleader replied, "About sixty dragons, for more than four hours."

"And they found?"

"Nothing."

The master paused again, making eye contact with every Weyrleader. "Consider, Lords, that some sixty dragons, all of them familiar with the Southern Continent, having a fixed starting point because they knew where T'marek and Kelth were patrolling, could not find them. Yet four aliens, from a planet an incredible distance from here, found them almost immediately."

Again, a tumult of voices erupted. Again, G'narish's inquiry sounded above the others. "You keep telling us, they keep telling us, that they're from another planet. But I still haven't heard or seen any proof of that!" He looked in exasperation at T'gellan, who nodded sympathetically.

"We do have proof," Master Sebell proclaimed, "or as close to proof as we can get." Immediately, all eyes focused on him. "You recall the Weyrhealer's disclosure of the medical tests she did on Darian during his illness. They indicated, at least to her and the Masterhealer, that our guest was not Pernese. After several weeks' effort, almost by accident, I am loath to admit, I stumbled across information about Cygnus IV in the historical archives. That information was later shared with Darian, Eastern and his wingsecond. Benden's wingsecond was also with us. I imagine he passed the information on to you?" Sebell glanced meaningfully at F'lar.

"He did, Master Sebell, not that I understood all of it."

"You can join us there at your convenience, Benden, and see it yourself. Fortunately, that discovery gave us a tremendous amount of information to work with. It described the native life forms on Cygnus IV, which include avions, felines, snakes and black dragons." He paused again, watching the words impact on his audience. "Master Oldive, would you care to continue?"

"Certainly. T'marek, do you remember anything just prior to being injured?"

The brownrider looked the length of the table at the Master, shaking his head. The scars on his face were less visible, and he had control of his voice. Still, he didn't look like his experience had been a pleasant one. "Not really. It was hard flying in close, because of the gas and vapors. We were having trouble breathing and our eyes were stinging. I remember looking down and seeing a red flash. That's about all. Sorry."

"No need to be," Oldive grimaced at him. "That's a great deal more information than you might think. For instance, you mentioned that you were having trouble breathing and that your eyes stung. That's to be expected near a volcano. The fumes include sulfur, which causes those effects. Did you notice any lightheadedness or confusion?"

"Uh, yeah, come to think of it. I couldn't think straight at all."

"That effect is caused by methane," the physician explained, "an odorless gas that clouds a person's thinking and judgement. I would imagine it affects dragons in the same way. Masterminer Nicat couldn't be here, but he believes the red flash you saw was a minor eruption of that volcano. If so, you are fortunate that you and Kelth were struck by a rock, rather than a magma spout."