DragonForce Ch. 06

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Cove Hold

(Two days later, September 29th)

The morning sun danced merrily off lightly foaming waves, creating a ripple of color across Cove Bay. Although it was nearly spring, the water was still cool. The two dragons cavorting offshore, however, didn't seem to mind. A bronze and a black dove and broached repeatedly, making loud smacking sounds as they slapped the surface.

Three pairs of eyes watched from the sandy beach. One listened with barely disguised drollery as the others discussed the art of swimming.

"But why would I want to swim when I can fly?"

"Because it's fun and it's good exercise."

"It's slow, it's cold and it's wet."

"True, but it keeps you clean."

"That's what they make baths and showers for."

Sebell shook his head at the avion's inescapable logic. The winged alien simply wasn't going to learn to swim.

"You have to admit," the Weyrleader insisted, "that the Weyr lake saved you from a very serious scoring."

"True," Darian admitted, "but that was just a dive and a launch. I still don't need to know how to swim."

"Shells," T'gellan grumped, "you'd think you were afraid of melting."

"Not at all. I just don't want my feathers to mildew."

The bronzerider stared at his friend in dismay. Choking laughter from the masterharper rolled across the turquoise inlet. A dragonish inquiry returned. 'Is the Harper injured?'

'No,' T'gellan snarled. 'The only thing injured over here is the voice of reason.'

With a passable imitation of condescension, Monarth asserted, 'I don't want to know.'

The Cygnan watched his draconic counterpart surface on his back, blasting a respectable geyser of water into the air. He hadn't seen the black relax like this since their strange voyage had begun. In fact, he couldn't remember Astaroth acting so puppyish during their entire partnership. The actions were intriguing.

"Looks like he's enjoying himself," T'gellan mentioned.

The avion agreed. "I don't think I've ever seen him play before."

'I'm not playing,' came a stern rebuff. 'I'm fishing. There's a difference.'

Darian started laughing, passing the message on to his sunbathing companions. All three then sat back to wait. For what, the avion wasn't sure.

The meeting of two nights ago had brought about another assembly of Weyrleaders, one at which the Cygnan hadn't been present. Apparently, a course of action had been selected. Eastern was still being secretive. Darian suspected Benden had played a major role in the process. That seemed to be the norm on this strange world.

He wondered what kind of comments the Igenite had made. Despite the rebukes the Weyrleader had suffered at the conference, they had parted on amiable terms. Whether that cordial consideration remained was debatable.

Lying on the sunny beach was enjoyable, but recreation for its own sake wasn't the Weyrleader's style. There was a reason for their being here, and the choice of the late Masterharper's small hold supported his suspicion. As if in answer to an unspoken question, a tiny dragon appeared high in the sky, carrying two riders.

"What is that?" Darian asked, pointing at the diminutive beast.

"That," T'gellan answered, "is Ruth. And don't talk about him that way with Jaxom around."

Two riders seemed a more than sufficient load for the unusual dragon. As it backwinged to a soft landing, an even more startling feature became apparent; Ruth was white. His passengers disembarked and walked toward the waiting trio. Lord Jaxom, a tall, wiry youth, and Lady Sharra waved appropriate greetings.

As the Ruathan Lord and Eastern Weyrleader grasped arms, the slender, dark-haired woman announced cheerfully, "I understand congratulations are in order, T'gellan."

The Weyrleader gave her a blank look, glancing back to the Ruathan. His brow creased as he asked, "They are? What for? What did I do?"

Sharra regarded him with surprise which rapidly turned to irritation. She gave her husband a grimace of pure distaste. "Don't you tell me, bronzerider, that you don't know your weyrmate is pregnant! I know better!"

T'gellan breathed a sigh of relief, happy that he hadn't missed something important. Turning toward the Masterharper, he replied, "Oh that, yes. Thanks. Sorry."

The healer-turned-Lady Holder stopped, placing fisted hands-on hips, glaring at the Easterner. Her eyes skewered the rider and pure acid dripped from her lips. The fire-lizards circling her head squawked in unison and disappeared. "Lord T'gellan! Don't you 'Oh that' me when Mirrim is going to have your first child! How dare you? I should have Ruth bespeak Path... "

"Don't you dare!" the Weyrleader shouted, spinning in abject terror. Jaxom roared with laughter while a bewildered dragon and confused avion looked on.

Darian turned to the harper and asked, "Did I miss something?"

"More likely," Sebell explained, "our fearless Weyrleader is afraid he'll be missing something should Mirrim hear about this conversation!"

As the laughter died away, T'gellan asked his young friend, "Did F'lar tell you what this was about?"

"Only that you had a special job, and that you thought Ruth was the best choice."

Eastern nodded his agreement of that judgment. "That he is," he assured Jaxom. The next two hours were spent giving the Ruathan Lord a detailed description of the conference's proceedings. Sharra had brought a small lunch, so everyone munched along with the Harper's recapitulation. Ruth joined his two fellows and had to be recalled when the riders were prepared to begin the day's work.

"So, the problem is projection instead of retrieval?" Jaxom inquired.

"That's it," T'gellan confirmed. "We don't know if either is possible. Oldive seems to think that what happened was just a fluke caused by Kelth's injury. He said that if the dragons had such an ability, in two thousand turns, we'd have discovered it."

"Why not have one of our dragons take them back? It's just a long jump, isn't it?"

"Might be," T'gellan frowned, "if one of us could give the image. Relying on a verbal description or even the pictures in that atlas and then trying to use that as a guide is too risky."

Darian spoke his agreement. "I'm not going to allow any of your dragons to try that trip. You need them here, not lost half-way to Cygnus."

Nodding, the whiterider called for his dragon. Ruth complied immediately, spraying the waiting party with sea water from his soaked wings. 'You need me to help?' he inquired.

"Yes, my friend," Jaxom beamed at the white. "You're the only one who can do this." Carefully, the Lord Holder described the Cygnan's problem and what they hoped to do about it. Ruth's eyes whirled with excitement and then with agitation as he grasped the concept. Jaxom could sense immediately that his beast was nervous. "What's wrong, Ruth?"

'This is dangerous,' the little dragon answered, 'but I'll try for you.'

After some minor disagreements, the experiment was decided upon. Ruth would try to project a large mug, retrieved from the hold, to Eastern Weyr. The white dragon bespoke Path, telling her to be watching should the object arrive. Ruth gazed carefully at the cup, visualizing it in the soft sands of the Weyr bed. With the utmost care, he projected his image. A blast of cold air engulfed the observers. Before them, the mug remained on the ground. Ruth was gone.

Seconds later, their attention was wrenched out to sea by Monarth's terrified bugle. An equally frightened roar came from the black. Instantaneously, the bronze disappeared and Astaroth streaked toward the shore. 'Where is the white one?' he demanded.

'I don't know,' Darian answered, staring at his dragon. 'What's wrong?'

'The white one is frightened. Where is he?'

"What's going on?" T'gellan asked, worried by the bronze's sudden departure.

"He says something is wrong with Ruth."

Everyone looked to Jaxom, who had drained of all color. He stood as though entranced, eyes staring into nothingness. Sharra took his hand and stood anxiously beside him. 'Ruth,' the young Lord called, 'where are you?'

Moments later, a calm thought responded. 'I'm at Eastern. I'm alright. Monarth and Path are with me.'

T'gellan was in touch with his bronze, but the image he received was confusing. He looked at his fellow rider with concern. "Monarth says they're digging Ruth out!"

Jaxom nodded. "Ruth says he misjudged the jump. They'll have him free in a minute."

Darian scowled at the comments. He looked to Astaroth with deep concern.

'The white one made a mistake. He says he's alright. He's nearly free now.'

The riders waited tense minutes until two dragons burst from between above them. Monarth landed several yards away but Ruth made directly for his rider, landing as closely as possible. His eyes whirled with disappointment. 'I didn't do well. I visualized poorly. I'm sorry. I'll try again.' Jaxom stroked the soft neck affectionately.

Astaroth repeated the message to Darian. The Cygnan reached out to take the Lord Holder by the shoulder. "Don't let him try again, Lord Jaxom," he insisted. "I want to know what happened first."

T'gellan had been standing silently, receiving a detailed report from his bronze. He faced his fellows with deep worry in his eyes. "Monarth says Ruth came out of between buried up to his belly. He apparently misjudged the exit point, or else his image was for the mug and not for himself."

Jaxom and Sharra exchanged frightened glances. The Ruathan realized that he'd come terribly close to losing his precious dragon.

Darian's eyes narrowed at that revelation. The idea of being projected back to Cygnus only to materialize waist deep in solid rock was not appealing to him. He looked at Jaxom pessimistically. "What exactly was Ruth trying to do?"

"To send that mug to Eastern," Jaxom replied.

"I know that," the avion grimaced. "What I meant is how?"

"Well," the Ruathan explained, "he would visualize the mug, then visualize Eastern, then project the mug into his visualization of the Weyr. At least, I think that's how it would work."

The Cygnan's brow furrowed. He mulled over the prospects of this experiment, then looked at the Weyrleader. "For this to work, the dragon is going to have to visualize Cygnus, right?"

T'gellan nodded silently.

"Where is he going to get the image?"

"From the atlas, of course, or from you," the bronzerider replied. "They're the only images of Cygnus we have."

A nervous cough from the Masterharper diverted their attention. Sebell's dubious frown did little to strengthen anyone's confidence. They'd thought every aspect of this venture had been carefully considered. If the Masterharper harbored any doubts, the entire project was in jeopardy.

"Is something wrong?" T'gellan asked.

"Maybe," Sebell admitted. "It occurs to me that the images in AIVAS' memory banks are more than two thousand turns old. If we can teach a dragon to project, the image we would be forced to use would not only send our four guests back to Cygnus, but back to that time as well. Instead of two hundred turns in their future, Darian and his friends might be two thousand turns in their past. It appears, Weyrleader, that the cure might be worse than the disease."

The Easterner's face contorted in a disgusted grimace. Despite all their careful planning, they had overlooked the most obvious problem. Even if the dragons could develop the ability to project the Cygnans, they didn't have a satisfactory reference to project them to. "What about getting the image from Darian?"

"We still have to describe it to the dragon. They can't read his thoughts. That's probably even more dangerous."

'I can give Ruth an image,' Astaroth suggested silently, 'but I can't be certain that my memory is precise enough for what you want.'

Darian considered the idea for less than ten seconds. 'Thanks, Nasty, but that's just too dangerous. I won't risk you or their dragon getting lost between. Not worth the risk.'

Jaxom looked expectantly at Darian. The disappointment in the out-worlder's face was almost painful. He reached out to grasp his forearm. "We can keep trying. It may work yet."

Darian shook his head. "Forget it. It's not worth the risk." He looked up, a dejected smile on his lips. His hand extended to give the white an affectionate pat on the muzzle. "Particularly not to this marvelous little fellow."

The white dragon extended his muzzle, crooning softly.

"Don't be, Ruth," the avion smiled. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

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Across the void, through endless night,

On wings of thought upheld,

From distant star, four heard the call,

and rescued two hard-felled.

9th Pass -- Year 21 - January

(Eastern Weyr, January 2nd)

Mirrim had just finished a cup of broth when she heard Path's furious roar. The anger and fear in the green's thoughts struck her like a slap. "What's wrong, Path?"

'Trenth is back,' the dragon answered. 'His rider just entered the infirmary.'

The greenrider straightened from her bench, starting for the weyr entrance. She knew the healer was studying in her quarters. If she hurried there would be enough time to reach Selana and get her out before the brownrider could arrive. Her thoughts reached out to Path as she raced for the lower cavern. 'Call Monarth and Lioth. Tell them he's here. Hurry!'

Mirrim ran as quickly as her dizziness would permit. The urgency of the situation spurred her legs although the nausea gripping her stomach tried to slow her. By the time she reached the healer's quarters perspiration was rolling from her forehead. "Selana," she called, "you've got to get out of here!"

The Weyrhealer appeared at the curtain to the inner chamber, staring curiously at the greenrider. The feline stood beside her. "What's wrong, Mirrim?"

"We've got to get you out! K'trin is back!"

Selana turned white, taking a half step back to hold her balance. Her hand reached out to the wall, using it as a crutch. "What can we do?" she asked.

"Path will meet us at T'gellan's weyr. She'll take you to Benden."

The healer looked around in confusion, wondering what she should try to take. It shouldn't have mattered, but Mirrim's stated destination suddenly struck her as unusual. "Why Benden?"

"K'trin won't cross F'lar. Even he isn't that stupid. Now hurry! You're wasting time!" The greenrider was about to continue when she noticed that Selana wasn't looking at her but past her. The healer's eyes were wide with fear. Mirrim turned quickly then moved backward, stumbling over the feline. As she regained her balance, Loki scrambled clear of her legs.

"You're just a little too late," K'trin grinned at her. The huge rider had the chamber entrance cut off. He pulled his heavy riding gloves off before explaining, "I only want to talk to her. Leave us alone for a few minutes."

Selana shrunk back into the inner room, her friend backing away as well. The six-foot-five-inch dragonman shook his head at their plight, a self-satisfied chuckle leaving his lips. He stepped forward, following them through the curtain.

"Relax, Selana," he smiled, "I'm not going to hurt you." He reached out to take her by the shoulder. The healer screamed, pulling back, her tunic shredding in the rider's powerful grip. The force of her retreat caused her to stumble against the table bench, falling over it to the floor below.

Galvanized by the scream, Mirrim stepped forcefully in front of the invader. Green eyes flashed their emerald fire. "Leave her alone!" she ordered. She pushed hard at the rider's chest then swung at his head. K'trin deflected the blow with a forearm.

"You're out of order, greenrider," he replied. His right hand came up in a sharp backhanded slap, driving the girl back against the table. A spray of blood erupted from the corner of her lower lip. He was about to close on her when he saw the approaching blur. Instinctively, his left arm came up and he turned to his right. Powerful jaws closed hard on his forearm.

The force of Loki's charge pushed the rider back, slamming him into the chamber wall just short of the curtain. Although the spin had caused the left paws to miss, both sets of right claws found their marks, with devastating effect.

The foreclaws raked down the upper arm, shredding jacket, tunic and flesh in a single stroke. The rear leg slashed the inner thigh, tearing a deep gash into the muscles beneath the skin. Loki twisted his back hard, trying to bring the other two paws to bear.

Hitting the wall winded K'trin, but it also absorbed much of the attack's impetus, giving him a moment to recover his senses before the cat could employ the remainder of its weaponry. He reached out for something to hold but succeeded only in tearing the curtain from its hooks. Despite the agony in his left arm and right leg the Fort rider managed to hold the stalker away from his body. His right hand pushed at the beast's chest, then slipped to his waist for the heavy belt knife. Drawing the blade fast and hard, he slashed upward but couldn't make effective contact. A defiant shout tore from his throat as he reversed his arm's direction, driving the blade into his assailant's side.

Loki released his grip, screaming in agony. The feline fell to the ground, landing so hard that the knife dislodged on contact. His first thought was to resume the attack, but he couldn't find the rider. Fighting back to his feet, only swirling colors answered his panicky eyes. Blood filled his mouth and lungs, pain clouding his vision and judgment. Reeling, he struggled for several steps. His right shoulder collided with the corner of the bed. The stalker slid down the post, thudding to the ground with a choking whimper.

Mirrim righted herself, fighting the urge to vomit. The sight of the knife lying on the floor prompted her to step forward. If she could get to it before the brownrider recovered she might yet be able to protect the healer. One step was all she took. Motion at the entrance froze her.

A slender form glided past the fallen divider, stopping to survey the chamber. Its head swayed back and forth, pointed first at the woman, then the prostrate stalker and, finally, the bleeding dragonman. K'trin tried to sidle away, watching the elongate body rise from the floor. He screamed as the head darted forward. The snake imbedded its fangs in his right hand, holding on for only a second before withdrawing.

Mirrim watched Akira assume an alert posture, ready to strike again. His victim stared at the bitten hand, breathing hard. Slowly, the dragonman sagged to a sitting position.

Getting her breathing under control, Mirrim moved around the table to the prone Weyrhealer. A quick check satisfied her that Selana wasn't injured. She pulled her to the bench.

'They are coming,' Path reported. 'The winged one just reached the cavern.'

Wiping at the burning in her cheek and lips, Mirrim glanced down to see smears of bright red on her hand and arm. She spat hard, spraying the rock floor with the sticky red fluid. Selana sat beside her, staring at her seated attacker. The feline lay on his side, chest heaving, each breath making a loud gurgling sound. At the other side of the chamber, Akira remained tensely erect, poised to strike again.

The greenrider's gaze returned to K'trin. "Die, you worthless grub!" she screamed.

From the cavern tunnel the echo of approaching footsteps sounded.

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This Fall wasn't overly heavy but it was keeping them busy. T'gellan held tight as his bronze led the wing in a banking dive, searing a moderate band of Thread from the air. The other wings were achieving similar success. Nothing was getting through them.

As usual, the black was free-lancing his way among the wings. He had an uncanny knack of showing up wherever and whenever needed. The Weyrleader still couldn't decide if it was strong fighting instincts or sheer speed that gave him that ability. Either way, he'd become a valuable member of the team. His avion confidante had proven an equally important part of the queens' wing. They certainly didn't compensate for the reassignment of T'sarl's wing, but they made a dent in the shortfall.