DragonForce Ch. 06

Monarth released a furious bugle. Far below and to the left, a throaty roar answered. The bronze spun out of the wing, diving toward Astaroth. T'gellan held tightly, calling to his dragon. 'By the shell, Monarth! What's wrong?'

'Path calls. There's trouble at the Weyr. Trenth is there. Ledeth, take over. We're going back to Eastern!'

The Weyrleader ground his teeth. Of all the devious, underhanded stunts, only K'trin would be so calculating as to wait until the Weyr was flying Thread to try and return. He looked ahead of the diving bronze, seeing two streaks climbing at them. The large one was black, the small one white.

Monarth backwinged quickly, spinning into a hover with his back to the approaching Cygnans. T'gellan wondered how the off-worlders knew there was a problem, but his question was answered as they approached.

"Loki needs help!" Darian shouted. He was already in a hover, waiting for the black to slide beneath him. Within seconds, Astaroth had braked to a stop, gaining his rider and dropping to Monarth's back.

"Go!" the Weyrleader barked.

Almost before the thought was completed, Monarth had taken them between. They burst into late afternoon above Eastern, the sun already touching the mountains on their right. Darian and Astaroth detached immediately, both diving toward the infirmary ledge.

The bronze hovered while his rider scanned the Weyr. Trenth was sitting on the infirmary ledge, Path holding her airborne position several meters above him. The Weyr bed was empty of dragons, although cavern workers were staring at the invading brown from the safety of various tunnels. K'trin wasn't in sight.

High to their right an entire wing burst into view. T'gellan knew the Fall wasn't over. He felt a flash of anger that any of his wingleaders would return with a battle half fought. The ire was short-lived however, as Monarth corrected him. 'It's Lioth.'

The newly arriving bronze darted toward the stationary pair, assuming a similar position alongside. The remainder of the wing dove for the infirmary. They slid in front of Astaroth and Path, fanning into a protective umbrella around Trenth. The brown greeted the arriving Fort dragons with a pitifully confused, anguished call. Four browns and a bronze took up guarding positions, the other dragons moving to the crater rim.

Astaroth maintained his hover, bellowing in rage. He glared furiously at the interposed dragons but made no move to penetrate the screen. The avion was already past them and in the infirmary.

Darian glanced quickly around the chamber, satisfied that it was empty. That left one other area, the lower cavern. He turned quickly, sprinting past the disconcerted brown and his escort, launching himself from the ledge. Two strokes of his wings sent him into a streaking dive toward the cavern entrance, roughly three hundred feet distant. To his left he saw two bronzes move to intercept him. The dragons had no chance.

The avion rejected a landing, racing through the outer cavern in full flight. He narrowly averted a collision with two startled drudges as he turned into the narrow tunnel, still airborne. Behind him, he heard Monarth's angry bugle.

The restricted passageway precluded extending his wings. Forward speed failing, Darian curled his legs under himself, bringing his feet to the ground in a full sprint. In less than two minutes he was in the healer's quarters.

He entered cautiously, both belt knives drawn. The outer chamber offered no resistance and he eased inward. Turning the corner, his eyes widened. The curtain to the inner chamber had been torn from its hooks, lying in a heap across the floor. K'trin sat in the entrance, legs extended, breathing hard. His right hand grasped his left forearm, blood oozing between the fingers. The right leg of his trousers had been badly slashed, the light-colored hide stained dark.

Darian approached the brownrider slowly, tensed for immediate action. He saw the head turn slightly, dazed eyes rolling upward at him. K'trin was in no condition to offer resistance. The avion sheathed his blades and moved to the inner chamber.

Selana was seated at the table, staring in terror at the rider. Her shirt had been torn at the shoulder, but she appeared unhurt. The young woman holding her didn't look as well. An angry welt spread across Mirrim's cheek. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Green eyes sparkled with malignant fury as she regarded the prostrate dragonman. She looked up at the Cygnan's entrance but didn't relax.

At the corner of the small bed, Loki lay on his right side. The stalker was panting hard. Blood covered his foreclaws and fangs. Pink-tinged foam bubbled from his nostrils. He tried to lift his head in greeting, but the effort was unavailing. 'I tried to protect her,' he told the avion. 'I really tried.'

Darian knelt beside his feline. Softly, he stroked the motionless head. Loki tried to purr, managing a strangled cough. "Looks like you did a pretty good job," he praised the stalker. "He's not going anywhere." Loki blinked absently. The Cygnan ran his hand over the matted fur. As his fingers passed the foreleg, the feline winced. A warm, sticky sensation made him look down. The tawny colored fur was dyed bright red. He lifted his hand and watched blood trickle toward the wrist.

The avion turned to face K'trin. A blood-stained belt knife was pinned under his hip. The rider hadn't moved, and now he saw why. On the opposite side of the entrance, Akira was poised and tense, a third of his length lifted off the floor.

Darian rose to his feet deliberately, stepping to where he stood above the brownrider. He stared down at the lacerations in the arm and leg. Although they were serious enough, such injuries shouldn't have frozen the dragonman. Hesitantly, he knelt beside K'trin, moving the hand from the bloody upper limb. There was no resistance. "Akira, did you..."

'Yes.'

The avion closed his eyes, releasing his breath in a measured stream. Drawing one knife, he started to cut the sleeve away from the battered arm. "How much?"

'A full load.'

The snake slid forward, hissing violently as loud voices presaged two men charging into the chamber. Both came up short as the irate animal lifted himself to full extension. Darian glanced up momentarily, then returned to shredding the riding jacket.

"What happened?" N'ton demanded, staring wide-eyed at Akira.

"Your brownrider miscalculated," the winged healer said sourly. "She wasn't as unprotected as he thought."

The Weyrleaders looked from rider to snake, realizing with chilling horror what had taken place. An irate screech from the inner chamber assaulted their ears.

"Scorch him!" Mirrim shrilled. "Take care of your feline!"

"I can't," the avion admitted grimly. "I can't let this man die."

T'gellan located the prostrate stalker, his stomach souring at the sight. He sent an urgent call to his bronze. 'Find a fighting dragon, quickly. Send him for the Masterherder. Go yourself if you have to.'

Darian eased the torn arm to the rider's side. He looked carefully into the blank eyes, finding the pupils unresponsive. Frustration welled up in him. 'Fangs and fire, Akira! I haven't got enough anti-venin to handle this!'

The snake swiveled its head in his direction. Coldly, maliciously, Akira responded, 'How unfortunate.'

The Cygnan's ire galvanized T'gellan. He spoke quickly. "How much help do you need, and do you want anyone in particular?"

"All I can get," Darian replied. "Master Oldive, if he's available."

N'ton moved faster. 'Lioth,' he called, 'send a bronze to Fort. Bring back the Master Healer. No questions. Now!'

The avion pulled the heavy weapon from beneath K'trin. He turned it in his hand, offering the hilt to the Fort leader. Rising to his feet, he warned, "Get rid of this before I sheath it in his ribs."

N'ton accepted the knife, stepping aside as Darian moved past him. He stared at him in confusion, glancing back at the bleeding brownrider.

"I need my equipment," the Cygnan explained. "Don't move him. Akira stand down. This little fiasco is over."

Before he could leave, the Fort leader called after him, "Is there anything we can do?"

Darian stopped. He turned back to the dragonmen. His eyes fixed on K'trin, then slowly moved to N'ton. A bitter laugh slipped past his lips. "It's a little late for your help, Weyrleader."

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

Two tired healers continued to work on the wounded dragonrider. Around them lay the paraphernalia of their profession, syringes, scalpels, needles, sutures and various preparations and compounds. The surgical table and parts of the floor beneath showed crusted brown areas, evidence of the extent of the injuries.

The patient was propped at a forty-five-degree angle in an effort to ease his labored breathing and to retard the spread of the venom. One physician prepared medicine to ease the man's discomfort while the second continued to close the badly slashed right leg.

"Do you think that tendon will hold?" Oldive inquired.

"I don't think it matters," the Cygnan replied grimly. After a momentary pause, he amended his comment, "Sorry, Masterhealer. Yes, it probably will."

"Accepted, healer. Unfortunately, you may be correct in your assessment. I'm not sure these preparations will stabilize his breathing for any length of time."

Darian nodded his understanding. The skin and muscle tears inflicted by the stalker were significant, possibly even maiming, but for the most part could be repaired. Blood flow had been staunched, herniated muscles sutured, and the shredded skin closed. These wounds were ugly and obvious but they were treatable.

Hardly noticeable but far more dangerous were the two insidious wounds Akira had delivered. The punctures were all but invisible, hidden in the fold of the right hand. Slow to take full effect but nearly irreversible, the paralyzing venom had already incapacitated its victim.

Three vials of anti-venin had been injected into the comatose brownrider. Only one remained, and the healers knew they couldn't use that one, at least not yet. All four vials weren't enough to counteract the bite but it would buy them some time.

The avion tightened the final stitch in the thigh. His eyes traced the ragged incision, reaching nearly to the groin. It was closed now, but the scarring would be massive. His arm would look no better. K'trin had already paid a heavy price for his lack of discretion. The final cost was likely to be much higher.

"We have to make more anti-venin if we're going to keep him alive," the Cygnan stated. "And we're going to need it fast."

"The Masterherder can help us. How long does it take to make raw serum?"

"About seventy-two hours, maybe a bit more."

Oldive shook his head, grimacing. If they could keep the lungs clear of fluid... "That's going to be close."

The winged physician grunted, reaching for one of several bottles behind him. He applied a liberal coating of the red astringent to the leg, ladling extra fluid into and around the lacerations. That done, a sterile bandage was painstakingly wrapped around the entire limb. Minutes later the surgery was complete. Darian stretched fully erect, extending wings, arms and neck to lessen the cramping that had set in. Restoring the mutilated arm and leg had taken the entire late afternoon and evening. The strain of the undertaking was taking a toll. He felt exhausted.

The Masterhealer glanced over at the loud yawn from his peer. There was little left to be done for the rider, and both physicians needed rest. "That's all we can do tonight," he told the avion. "Let's see about some food and some sleep."

Darian shook his head. "You go ahead. Somebody's got to watch him at all times. I'll stay tonight."

"Get something to eat, Darian," a third voice interrupted. "I'll stay with him."

Both men turned to see a tall female standing at the infirmary entrance. The dark-haired healer had equally dark circles under her eyes but wore a pleasant smile. She bowed to Master Oldive as she approached. "It's good to see you again, Master. I wish the circumstances were a bit less taxing."

Oldive smiled back at her, allowing himself a chuckle. "You look lovely, as always, Sharra. I trust you're taking care of that Ruathan scamp?"

A musical laugh answered the question. The woman's dark eyes sparkled. "I do my best, sir. Jaxom is fine."

Sharra walked around the table, looking at the beakers and bottles arrayed on the various benches. Her eyes sought out the Cygnan's inquisitively. "Respiratory difficulty?"

"Pronounced," Darian confirmed. "He needs to be monitored at all times. Keep him where he is and watch for any sign of pulmonary edema. We may need to tube him before the night is over."

Sharra nodded, examining the arm and leg bandages. Finishing quickly, she glanced up at the avion with a tired grin. "Loki is going to be alright. Masterherder Briaret can tell you more about him. Now, go get something to eat. They're all waiting for you in T'gellan's council room. Both of you."

Darian shrugged. If the female wanted to watch K'trin, that was fine by him. He glanced expectantly at the Masterhealer. "Coming, Master Oldive?"

With a sour grimace, the older man acceded. "Indeed, I think I will."

The two physicians left the infirmary, leisurely making their way to the Weyrleader's complex. An equally weary group of dragonriders met them in the council room. Two empty places had been prepared. Kitchen hands stood outside the chamber waiting for the healers to arrive. They served hot soup, bread and klah. Other bowls and mugs were scattered around the table.

Bleary-eyed, T'gellan nodded to the new arrivals. Beside him, N'ton regarded the avion apprehensively. He showed signs of serious strain and near exhaustion.

Darian became aware that several other people occupied the meeting room. Sipping at the hot beverage, his gaze identified the Benden Weyrleader, his Weyrwoman and his wingsecond, the Masterherder, T'gellan's weyrmate and Lord Holder Jaxom. None of them said anything while the two healers started to eat.

The first person to speak was the Cygnan. "Your brownrider is alive, Lord N'ton, but I don't know how long he'll stay that way. We're doing everything we can." With slightly less conviction, he added, "I know you tried to stop him. I'm sorry it had to be Akira."

The Fort leader stared unhappily at the avion then looked down at his hands. His only response was a muffled thank you.

Oldive swallowed a spoonful of the thick vegetable soup. He directed his question to the Masterherder. "We need to try to make some serum anti-venin. Do you have a runner or herdbeast we can use?"

"Of course," Briaret replied, "but where are you going to get the raw venom?"

"From Akira," Darian replied, smiling around his spoon at the various looks of consternation. Only Mirrim seemed to share his amusement.

"How badly is K'trin hurt?" T'gellan asked.

The Cygnan swallowed, pursing his lips in a fatigued frown. He glanced at the Masterhealer who simply shrugged and picked up a roll. "His arm and leg have been stitched and bandaged. They should heal, at least for the most part. The real danger is from Akira's bite. He says he delivered a full load, and the symptoms seem to bear that out. We've given K'trin three of the four vials of anti-venin I had and he'll get the fourth tomorrow."

Darian delayed, taking a gulp from the mug of klah. The stimulating fluid and hearty broth were restoring some of his vitality. "He's having trouble breathing and he's essentially paralyzed so far as peripheral muscle control is concerned. Master Oldive's preparations have stabilized him temporarily, but we're going to need anti-venin. Probably a lot of it."

N'ton listened gravely to the description, sipping absently from a wine goblet. At present klah didn't contain quite the sting he desired. "If you can't get the anti-venin," the Fort Weyrleader asked, "will K'trin live?"

"I doubt it," the avion answered indifferently. He took a healthy bite from a roll, peering at the Masterhealer. Downing the bread, he changed the subject. "How's Loki?"

Briaret glanced hesitantly at T'gellan, uncomfortable with the Cygnan's apparent lack of interest in the dragonrider. The Weyrleader returned the glimpse, nodding.

"He's going to be alright," the Masterherder reported. "The blade punctured his left lung but missed the heart. We repaired the organ damage, cleaned the wounds as thoroughly as we could, then gave him a stiff dose of fellis. I think he'll sleep for a while. Right now, that's best. He's in your weyr with the snake and your dragon."

The Cygnan's features brightened noticeably. His voice held a note of cheery relief as he thanked the veterinary master. Quickly, he turned toward N'ton. "How's Trenth, Lord N'ton?"

The display of concern for the brown caught the Weyrleader unprepared. He looked blankly at T'gellan, who responded with a tired smile and a shake of his head. "He's confused and worried," the Fort leader began, clearing his throat. "I think he's about as close to hysterical as dragons can get. But he has a lot of others watching him. Monarth, Lioth and Mnementh are all with him. So is Kelth. Lioth says Trenth can still reach K'trin, so he'll be alright. At least for now."

N'ton reached for the goblet in front of him taking another deep draught. From his right a meaningful cough distracted most of the assembly. The bronzerider peered down the table to see the Ruathan Lord Holder staring intently at the Benden leader.

"Darian," F'lar queried, "why haven't you told us Astaroth can hear Ruth?"

A surprised expression flashed across the avion's face, followed by the furrowed brow and narrowed eyes of deep thought. The Cygnan looked up, his eyes widening rapidly. "He can, can't he?" he asked delightedly. F'lar nodded, his eyebrow lifted.

Darian sat quietly for a short time, a bemused smile on his face. He shook his head, the grin widening. "Is there anything that little guy can't do?" he wondered.

F'lar started to chuckle, looking at Lord Jaxom. The Ruathan was beaming. After a faltering start the diminutive white had proven to be quite a dragon in his own right. "Not much," Benden allowed. "Not very much."

"Do you realize what this means?"

Everyone turned to face Lessa, who had said nothing until now. Her gaze was locked on the Cygnan. He met her eyes openly but could only shrug.

"I'm not really sure. Nasty does seem fond of the little guy, though."

The Weyrwoman grimaced impatiently, throwing a disapproving glance at her weyrmate and the white's rider as they shared a laugh at the disclosure. "It means," she announced peevishly, "that Astaroth fits in here, really fits in. If Ruth can hear him, he can relay information to and from him."

"True, Lessa," Jaxom concurred. "However, Astaroth lacks the ability to travel between. That limits him severely, at least by our standards."

T'gellan snickered. "With respect to Ruth, Lord Jaxom, you've yet to see Astaroth fly at full speed. He's easily three times as fast as our dragons, maybe more. It's not as fast as between, but he manages."

"I'm not sure where that kind of speed fits in," F'lar admitted, "but somehow, somewhere, there's going to be a need for it. Now that we can communicate with him it will be easier to utilize his abilities. That is, if you think he's willing?"

Darian shrugged. "I don't know. You'll have to ask him. Or," he looked at Jaxom, grinning broadly, "have Ruth ask him."

A heavy sigh sounded from the direction of the Eastern Weyrleader. The humor of the moment had quickly drained from him and a sober reflection showed in his eyes. He peered intently at his winged guest. "I'm sorry to ask you this, Darian, but it has to be done. Can you give us any kind of guarantee that Akira isn't going to do this again?"