DragonStorm Ch. 01

Darian shook his head. A smile pulled at his features, ending in a sardonic chuckle. "Oh, why not? I guess I should at least earn the title." He lifted his glass to the Weyrleader. "In service to Weyr, Hall and Hold!"

"Right," G'dened snickered. "You've been around T'marek too long." He raised his glass, hearing a sharp tinkle as the goblets met. Both drained their wine. As Darian got to his feet, the bronzerider asked, "Do you want a dragon to take you?"

"That's alright," the avion declined, stretching his wings. "I think I'll walk."

The Weyrleader's eyes widened. He stared at his guest. "Huh?"

A hearty laugh erupted from Darian at his host's bewilderment. Pointing to the outer weyr, he asked permission to use Barnath's ledge.

The dragonman frowned, waving his permission. "Get out of here," he ordered. Just before he jumped from the ledge, the avion's sensitive ears caught the added "Smart ass."

He dropped about fifteen feet before his wings caught the air. With two strong sweeps, he was gaining altitude and heading out over the Weyrbowl. He considered landing at his own weyr. He really needed to apologize to Selana. The thought was only a passing one, the thrill of being airborne relegating that effort to the future. The watch dragon bugled a cheerful greeting. He waved to the blue and its rider, wheeling across the lip of the crater and down the steep ravine that led to Ista Hold.

Flying from Weyr to hold meant crossing the narrow end of the island, a trip of just under fifty miles. From the volcano's stark visage, a series of tree-covered valleys, ridges, ravines and gullies converged on the seaside hold. Despite being principally rain forest, Ista Island was rugged country. The balmy summer air made it enjoyable flying, and he would savor the hour and a half journey. A sudden impulse made him close his wings. He hurtled toward the jagged rocks below, snapping his feathered pinions out at the last moment, soaring back into the clouds on a strong thermal. It was going to be a good flight.

All too soon, the Eastern shoreline was in sight. Foaming waves broke against the various small reefs. The watch fires of Ista Hold hadn't been lit, but he could see the firestone pits, piled high with the phosphine-rich rock. He dipped his shoulder, starting a circling approach. It would take only a few sweeps to drop within the hold itself.

Rustling wings and a passing shadow startled the watch on the parapet. He looked up at the winged healer, far too late to prevent entry to the central hold. Nonetheless, he shouted the challenge. "Who goes there? Identify yourself!"

"Masterhealer Darian," the Cygnan called, turning back to the sentry. He wheeled easily to the awed guard, assuming a quiet hover about fifteen feet away. "Tell Lord Warbret I'm here to see him and his healer. Could you direct me to the proper entrance?"

The sentry gulped. Although the avion had been on Pern for nearly six turns, his unexpected appearance still unnerved most people. The young man refocused his eyes then spoke. "Of course, Masterhealer. Welcome, sir." He eased to the edge of his parapet, pointing over Darian's shoulder. "That tall door by the main stairway is the usual entrance. Would you like me to escort you?"

"That won't be necessary," the Masterhealer grinned, waving his thanks. He dipped down toward the stairs, chuckling at the sentry's open-mouthed reaction. It occurred to him that his initial instructions had been a bit unfair. There was no chance the young guard would reach his Lord before the avion. It would likely be necessary to reassure Warbret that his watchmen hadn't been lax in their duties.

The first holder to meet him on the ground was equally as surprised and recovered equally as gracefully. Darian was escorted into the main hall, where he was offered wine and a sweet roll. Scant moments later, three sets of footsteps approached from one of the several corridors leading to the main hall. Lord Warbret and Journeyman Healer Bilko were brought to him. The Lord Holder seemed upset. Whether Bilko was irritated or amused was uncertain.

"Welcome, Masterhealer," Warbret began in his nervous, wheezing voice. "Thank you for coming. I must apologize that our hospitality at your arrival is somewhat lacking."

"No need, Lord Warbret," Darian smiled. "It's a credit to your watchmen that they saw me at all. I flew in, and I'm a bit harder to spot than a dragon. I appreciate the cordiality and competence of your people." He gave a deep bow to his host, sealing the greeting with the standard formality.

"Well," Warbret beamed, "I am pleased to hear that. Thank you again, Masterhealer. And congratulations on your promotion."

"Indeed," added the short, rotund man standing beside the Lord Holder. Journeyman Bilko's dark complexion was the crowning touch in the almost ludicrous contrast he presented beside the tall, bony Warbret. His voice was equally opposite, a rich baritone to Warbret's nasal tenor. He extended his hand.

Darian accepted the congratulatory grip firmly. "Thank you both. Now, what can I do for you?"

"Would you care to sit down?" Lord Warbret inquired. "Some wine, perhaps?"

"Thank you, no. But I would like some klah, if you don't mind."

The Lord Holder motioned to his attendant, who moved off down another hallway. He called after the man, telling him to bring the beverage to the council room. Then, Warbret led the way up a stone stairwell and into a small chamber. He indicated seats around a sturdy wooden table.

"My son, Seiten, doesn't agree with Healer Bilko about his condition. He seems to feel that only a Masterhealer knows enough to advise him properly. With apologies, Bilko. You know that's not my opinion." Warbret gave a proper nod toward the journeyman, punctuating his statement with a short cough.

Darian looked toward Bilko, noticing that the man had stiffened, his jaw set, and his lips pulled into a thin line. It was obvious that the healer's professional pride had been injured. The Cygnan knew that feeling. "What is your diagnosis, sir?" he asked of the Hold Healer.

Bilko peered at the avion with a guarded expression. He was gratified that his opinion was sought by a Masterhealer, but a bit dubious about the qualifications of a man far too young for such a position and obviously not Pernese. Clearing his throat carefully, he explained, "The young man has some badly strained muscles in the groin and in the scrotum. He was warned to refrain from any sexual activity." The journeyman grimaced, turning toward the door as it opened slightly.

The servant from the main hall stuck his head around the frame. "Klah, my lord?"

"Yes, yes," Warbret called, waving the man in. "Please, serve us. The Masterhealer is thirsty."

Darian sported a slight smile as the servant deftly placed three mugs, each full to overflowing. A pitcher was placed in the center of the table. The man bowed to the trio and departed. Lifting his mug and sipping the steaming liquid, Darian nodded to Bilko, indicating he should continue.

The Hold healer took a sip of his own drink then resumed his description. "Seiten decided not to listen. His testicles are constricted, the epididymi are enflamed, and the scrotum swollen. He's convinced it's some kind of disease. I can't make him understand it's an injury."

"I'm afraid," Lord Warbret interjected, "that my son thinks there is some miracle cure that Bilko doesn't know about or is withholding from him." The Lord Holder shook his head dejectedly, clucking his tongue. "Young fool just doesn't want to listen to anyone. Thinks he knows everything. He's going to hurt himself, he is."

"How serious do you think his condition is?" Darian asked the journeyman. It was apparent the youth's father thought it serious enough for major concern.

"It isn't. Not if he'd listen. But he won't. All he needs is two seven-days rest and some cold soaks. But, as soon as the swelling recedes and the pain eases, he puts himself back in circulation."

"What do you see as possible complications?"

Bilko snorted, grimacing as he reclaimed his cup. After a long sip, he looked sourly at his winged colleague. "As far as physical injury, he could have strangulated testicles. That's not my concern. Right now, it's only an inflammation and it's confined to the scrotum. If he keeps aggravating it, it could become a uremic or even a systemic infection."

"Any prostate involvement?"

"Not yet, but that's probably next."

"Have you taken any preventive measures?"

"Broad-spectrums. I think he's taking those as prescribed."

Darian frowned, lifting his mug. "Well, at least that's something positive."

Silently, the three men finished their klah, each pondering his own thoughts. Darian could understand the journeyman's frustration. Such injuries were common, particularly among weyrfolk. They were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. However, the youth's obstinance could make a minor irritant a serious problem. There was no doubt Bilko was both disgusted and insulted by the young lord's attitude. Any apprentice could identify and handle this situation. He looked at the expectant Lord Warbret.

"Frankly, my Lord," the Masterhealer admitted, "there's nothing I can do that Bilko hasn't. Do you want me to just talk to him?"

"If it's not inconvenient, Masterhealer," Warbret requested. "He won't listen to us. Perhaps he'll listen to you."

Darian glanced at Bilko, who simply shrugged. He sighed resignedly, shaking his head. "Very well, take me to him."

Lord Warbret led the way, guiding his guest through a maze of passages that ended on an upper level in a well-lit, comfortably breezy room.

Lying on a large bed was a well-proportioned, dark- haired youth who looked less than twenty turns of age. He turned a superior glare on the three men as they entered the bedchamber, demanding in a sneering voice, "Who are you?"

"Masterhealer Darian," the Cygnan answered sharply. "Who are you?"

The young man was momentarily taken aback by the retort. His eyes widened, but he checked his startled expression before it had fully formed. The haughty look returned. "Lord Seiten, Masterhealer."

"Really?" Darian intoned. "From your demeanor, I wouldn't have guessed." The avion caught Bilko's suppressed laugh, saw the flash of surprise and amusement in Lord Warbret's eyes.

Again, the young man faltered, but only shortly. "I see no master's knot on your shoulder. Where is your insignia of rank? You don't even wear the Healer Craft emblem."

"That's my concern, young lord, not yours," Darian snapped, aware that the man's eyes weren't on his shoulder, but on the wing behind it. If Seiten was unsure what to think of him, so much the better. "You requested the presence of a Masterhealer," he continued, "and I'm here. Now, tell me. What's so important that you take me from my duties in the Weyr?"

"The Hold Healer refuses to treat this infection properly," Seiten replied. "He keeps saying it's an injury and won't give me the proper medications." He stressed the word 'Healer' in such a manner as to make it an insult. The inference wasn't lost on the visitors.

"Very well," Darian allowed. "Pull down that fur." The light covering was shed immediately, giving the healer access to the injured organs. Both Bilko and Warbret moved forward to join in the examination. The dark blue of distended blood vessels was obvious against the swollen scrotum. The surface tissues were reddened, and Darian found them hot to the touch. He noticed Seiten's hiss of discomfort at the slightest pressure from his fingers. The Cygnan caught his associate's eye. "The prostate isn't hot?"

"No, just the epididymis. Muscle strain is pronounced, though. You can see the striations at the thigh juncture."

Darian looked carefully, picking out the evidence of abused muscles near the surface of the skin. The youth's condition was more significant than the earlier conversation had led him to believe. "Herniated?" he asked.

"No," Bilko assured him. "But that could happen easily. The tissues are strained near their tensile limit now. Won't take much more."

The Masterhealer released his breath in a long sigh, standing erect and lifting the fur back over his patient.

Seiten stared up defiantly, as though challenging them to tell him he was wrong. "Well?" the young lord demanded.

"Well," Darian replied, "you're injured, not ill. That's a serious muscle strain. The pain is caused by inflammation of the injured tissue, not by infection. However, if you continue to ignore your healer's advice, you may develop a serious infection."

Lord Warbret looked up at the avion, concern etched across his features. "How serious?"

"If he continues to abuse himself in this manner, he could end up sterile or impotent. If he causes an infection that becomes systemic, it could be fatal. What's more likely is the muscle strain will cause permanent damage."

"Then do something!" Seiten roared.

"There's nothing we can do," Bilko repeated. "You need rest. Allow those muscles and tissues to heal."

"To the contrary," Darian contradicted, "there may be something we have to do."

"I knew it!" the youth crowed.

"You know nothing!" the Masterhealer snapped. "Strangulated testicles are a serious matter. Abuse those muscles much more and we may be forced to castrate you to keep you alive. Instead of a stallion, Lord Seiten, you're going to find yourself a gelding!"

Seiten sagged back on his pillow, eyes wide.

The avion gave him a final, searing glare then strode from the room. Bilko and Warbret followed close behind. As the door swung shut, the Lord Holder hurried to move alongside his guest.

"You didn't really mean that, did you?"

"I'm afraid I did, Lord Warbret," Darian sighed. "Granted, that's a worst-case scenario, but with Lord Seiten's attitude, worst case seems the most advisable to prepare for."

"Yes, well, you may be right. Hopefully, he'll pay attention to what you just said."

"It will serve a better purpose if he'd pay attention to what Bilko says. Such injuries don't become this severe unless they're aggravated or treatment is ignored. He has only himself to blame for his condition."

"No doubt," Warbret conceded. "I'll go back and talk to him. Perhaps... " The Lord Holder hesitated, pursing his lips then turned a slight smile on the avion. "You'll not be offended if I leave you with our Hold Healer?"

"Not at all, my lord. I thank you for your hospitality."

Warbret smiled warmly, venting a nervous cough. "I thank you for coming, Masterhealer." The two exchanged polite bows, then the Lord Holder pivoted and was gone.

Bilko placed his hand on the Cygnan's shoulder and guided him back toward the main hall. "Young man's got quite an attitude," he said sourly.

Darian nodded emphatically. "He'd better change it, or he'll never become an old man."

Bilko laughed harshly, wordlessly expressing his agreement. As they continued their stroll, he inquired, "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"As a matter of fact, we are short of redwort, and any anti-tussive would help. We've had trouble getting some of our supplies lately."

"Yes," the journeyman nodded. "I heard that the last supply train didn't get through. Sorry. Let's see what I can pull together for you here."

An hour later, Darian headed back to the Weyr. A satchel of supplies was strapped to his side. He winged toward the setting sun, needing to gain too much altitude to allow for gliding. The warm thermals permitted a good deal of soaring, which the avion took advantage of. Settling into the long flight, his thoughts returned to Selana and the greeting he could expect from her. He wondered if G'dened and Cosira had settled whatever differences they had. He decided to check on the Weyrleader before confronting his own mate.

Deep twilight had settled when Darian swept over the lip of the Weyr bowl. The brown on duty trumpeted a greeting, returned in an appropriate avion screel. Across the bowl, he could see the Weyrleader's complex. Barnath had returned to the ledge, his glistening bronze hide just visible in the fading light. Backwinging to a landing, the healer quietly greeted the massive dragon.

As he prepared to enter, his ears brought him up short. The sounds from the inner weyr told him that the bronze and queenriders had indeed reached an accord. Discretion dictated that he postpone his check-up. 'See you tomorrow,' he said, patting the bronze on the muzzle. Barnath crooned as the avion launched himself toward his own weyr.

He found Selana seated at the table in the inner weyr, carefully sewing his master's knot to the shoulder of his newest tunic. The healer crafthall emblem had already been attached to the left breast. Quietly, he crossed the weyr, removing the supply satchel and laying it on a shelf. He eased his arm around his wife's shoulders as he sat down.

Selana looked up at him. Her eyes were red, the tracks of dried tears visible on her cheeks. Her lips were trembling. "Darian," she whispered, "I never..."

He placed a finger on her lips, silencing her. "I know, little one. Believe me, I know. And I'm sorry." He sealed his apology with a gentle kiss.

Her arms slid under his wings and across his back, her kiss becoming passionate. Darian stood up, lifting his wife in his arms. He crossed the chamber and eased onto the bed. No sooner had he reclined beside her than an insistent wail interrupted them. Selana began to laugh, burying her face in his shoulder.

Darian kissed her hair, staring across the top of her head. With an aggravated whisper, he told her, "We have got to foster that kid!"

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

Dragonrider, flying high

through fire, Fall and strife.

Diving, soaring, searing Thread

in peril of your life.

9th Pass -- Year 25 - September

(Fort Weyr, September 8th)

"Yes," K'van admitted, "it is unusual, but it's not unprecedented. Under these circumstances, I think it's needed."

Several of the assembled Weyrleaders exchanged glances. Others shook their heads. G'narish wore an unconvinced, disapproving frown. "I still don't think we should involve ourselves in hold matters."

N'ton grunted. His lip pulled to the side in a sharp grimace. "This is no longer a hold matter," he insisted. "Several tithing trains have been attacked, as well as supply trains. And," he emphasized, "the attack at Cove proves that dragonfolk aren't invulnerable."

A murmur of assent circled the Fort Weyr council table. Most eyes turned to the Igen Weyrleader, who remained dubious. "With respect, N'ton, T'gellan, that wouldn't have happened if Eastern had stayed out of it. I don't question your motives. I might have done the same, but Thread is our primary duty. Your people had no business defending Cove."

The Eastern leader sat silently, turning slightly pale at the memory of the abortive raid on Cove Hold. His wingriders had turned back the attackers, done it without inflicting any harm, but they'd paid a terrible price for their success. To him, it was a closed matter. The choice had risen above being defended. It couldn't be undone, and the consequences had to be lived with.

"Our duty," inserted a stern voice, "is to protect. Perhaps it's time we think beyond our narrow interpretation of only protecting against Thread." Everyone turned his or her attention to the Benden leader, who spoke for the first time in this meeting. "Normally, holds and holders are capable of defending themselves. Cove is an obvious exception. The recent raiding, considering how costly it's been, indicates we need to help."

"Our job is Thread, F'lar. We don't have the dragons to fly patrol and enforcement all over Pern."

"Agreed," the Bendenite conceded. "Nor do I think we should try. Direct intervention isn't the answer. It would tax us beyond what we can handle."