DragonStorm Ch. 03

Dragonrider, be forewarned!

See your duty clear.

Hold no lover, seek no friend,

But dragon, Pern and Weyr.

9th Pass -- Year 26 - January

(Healer Hall - Fort Hold, January 16th)

Masterharper Sebell let his hand go limp. The fingers holding his directed them smoothly. A thin coat of ink on the first digit was deftly transferred to the waiting card. As soon as the impression was complete, Darian released his hand, offering a cloth moistened with alcohol. Sebell accepted the towel, mimicking the motions just completed by his wife.

They were gathered in a chamber at the Healer Craft Hall. The Cygnan bent over two pieces of stiff paper. Nearby, Wansor hovered protectively over the viewing device he had built to the Masterhealer's specifications. Masterhealer Oldive, Mastersmith Fandarel and the Fort and Istan Weyrleaders completed the group. All watched with interest as the avion continued to work.

Oldive had monopolized the early proceedings, observing enthusiastically as Wansor explained the operation of the device and the surgical master described potential applications. The three had engaged in a detailed conversation which left all but Fandarel completely bewildered. Fortunately, it had been brief. The Cygnan retrieved a small pouch which contained the mysterious supplies he'd collected months ago. The appearance of the unusual materials kept everyone intrigued.

Darian glanced at the Masterharper. He pointed at the wineglass he'd requested. "Hand me that glass, would you?" Sebell dutifully retrieved the goblet. Everyone watched the curious method with which the avion accepted it, holding it at the very edges.

Easing the container to the bench, Darian reached for the bottle of powder from the Minecraft Hall and the fine-bristled brush the Harper Hall had provided. He dipped the tip in the chalk and carefully painted the body of the glass. As he did so, swirling patterns became visible. The Cygnan grunted his satisfaction. The brush slipped to the table, and he picked up a roll of transparent film. This creation had been wheedled from the woodcraft master, who was sworn to secrecy until the project was complete. A piece of the film was removed and stretched across the glass. He then lifted it, transferring it to yet another piece of card. There, the swirling image was perfectly reproduced.

"Okay, Masterharper, take a look at this." Darian inserted the powder image under one of the device's lenses, the ink image under the second. When he moved away, Sebell lowered his eye to the viewer.

The harper turned the knob on the side of the device as Wansor had shown, bringing the twin views into sharp focus. As the fuzziness cleared, he pulled back. The fascinated observers saw his head turn toward Darian, eyes expressing surprise and confusion. Sebell returned to the viewer. After a long moment, he stood upright. "They're identical."

The Cygnan nodded. Darian removed the second card from the viewer, replacing it with the card Menolly had imprinted. He invited the Masterharper to look again. Sebell complied quickly. He stared into the device then eased back. "Not even close".

"You got it. But, if Menolly had touched the glass, these would match."

Expressions ranging from surprised to cynical greeted his statement. The Cygnan continued his explanation. "Each of you, look at your fingertips. Do you see those tiny lines, ridges and swirls? You all have them, and every last one is unique. Not only does no other person have the same pattern as yours, but each of your fingers also has its own."

Darian noted with satisfaction how each person stared at their fingers. Sebell reached for Menolly's hand, getting a sly giggle from the woman as he held her fingers next to his own. The burly Mastersmith was utterly fascinated.

"Your skin excretes a light oil which it uses for protection, lubrication and regeneration. Anytime you touch anything, you leave a light film of that oil behind. The only way to remove it is to intentionally clean it off. That oil is deposited in the exact same pattern as the ridges on your fingers."

"That's what these cards are for?" Menolly queried.

"Exactly. With this technique, I can positively identify any human on Pern who has touched anything. The only invalidating factor would be some type of injury which destroys the tissue. About the only thing that will do that is a serious burn."

A low, rolling chuckle came from the side of the group. Fandarel gazed at the Cygnan approvingly. "Most efficient, masterhealer, including your underhanded methods of gathering these unusual tools. A most impressive demonstration."

Darian grinned back at the smith. He'd hoped Fandarel wouldn't be offended when his duplicity was discovered. More than any other, he needed the support of the Smithcraft Hall. "I apologize for being deceitful, Mastersmith, but I think you can understand the difficulty I'd have had in describing this procedure?"

"Indeed, indeed," the smith chuckled. "No apologies. Most impressive. Most impressive."

"It wouldn't take long to train people to use this method. With a few volunteers from Weyrs, halls or holds, we can create an investigations bureau that could handle most of the crimes you deal with on Pern." The avion paused, looking around the room, reading faces. The Mastersmith's easy dismissal of the trick was not shared by all those present.

"That's something we'll have to talk about," N'ton answered. "I like the idea, but the practice could be harder that you think."

Darian nodded. "Fair enough," he conceded. "That's all I can ask for." He was distracted by the start of a conversation behind him. Wansor and Fandarel were discussing possible refinements to the magnifier. While the Starmaster was pleased with the initial design he was far from satisfied. Fandarel concurred. The device's efficiency could be improved. The avion was immediately pulled into the dialogue.

G'dened took advantage of the opportunity to take Masterhealer Oldive and his fellow Weyrleader aside. Placing as much distance between himself and the smiths as the chamber allowed, he spoke in a low, serious tone. "Have you received my request for a new healer at Ista, Master Oldive?"

"I have, but I haven't acted on it yet. You already have a Masterhealer and a journeyman. Why do you want another?"

The Istan pulled his lips into a tight line. He shifted nervously. "Selana's time is almost totally committed to Scylenth. Darian spends most of his time out of the Weyr and, frankly, I wish it was more. I may need your help with him, too."

"Why?" Oldive questioned. "Do you expect trouble from Darian?"

G'dened responded with a low, harsh laugh. The Fort leader's brow furrowed at the reaction, giving his fellow Weyrleader a curiously concerned look. "I'm already having it," G'dened revealed, "and it's going to get worse."

"Why's that?" N'ton asked.

"A couple of days ago one of my wingleaders made a rather tasteless remark about Selana and Scylenth. Not only did I have to deal with Darian, but we almost had a duel between the wingleader and one of my brownriders. The riders I can handle, but I need Darian out for a while. To make matters worse, he's upsetting Selana and that's upsetting Scylenth."

"Where does that leave Selana? They are married," Oldive pointedly reminded him. The Masterhealer did not look happy.

G'dened snorted with ill-concealed disgust. "Until recently, I've had no problem with that. I like Darian and I like Selana. I'm happy they've had some time together and I'm sorry her impression caused them problems. However, my first responsibility is to my Weyr. So far as I'm concerned, their marriage ended the moment Selana impressed Scylenth. She's a queenrider. So long as she's at Ista I intend to hold her to that responsibility."

N'ton caught his breath. He watched the Masterhealer's mouth draw into a deep frown.

The physician's dark eyes flashed angrily. "Lord G'dened, I ask you to remember that you have asked my hall to assign you a healer when you already have two. I understand your concern, but I suggest you reconsider. Darian is a master in my craft and Selana a journeyman. Her impression does not change that. Your insensitivity to their problem, if you adopt the approach you just described, will not go unnoticed. Nor will it be appreciated. I can reassign Selana, if necessary."

The Weyrleader's eyes narrowed. He hadn't expected so strong a reaction. After all, the dragons were essential to Pern. A queen was a treasure to be preserved and protected at all costs. Surely his feelings weren't unreasonable. He glanced at N'ton, who peered anxiously between the antagonists. "Scylenth is an Istan queen. That means Selana stays at Ista."

"Not if I withdraw the Healer Hall support of your Weyr," Oldive reminded him. "I'm sure Eastern would be happy to have them back."

"Lords and Masters, please," the Fort Weyrleader interjected. "We're in the middle of a pass. There has to be an answer that doesn't jeopardize Scylenth or Darian. We don't need a confrontation between Ista and the Healer Hall."

"I concur heartily," a soft baritone added. The trio started at the interruption, turning as one to find the Masterharper standing next to them. "I suggest," Sebell continued, in a low, soft, intense voice, "that you find a solution quickly. And make it one that makes Darian happy." The vehemence in his voice conveyed an uncomfortable sense of urgency. There was no doubt he was deeply concerned.

"I don't think many of us realize how serious this situation is," he explained. "Do you have any idea how dangerous Darian can be?" No one offered an answer, so the harper continued. "Haven't any of you ever wondered how this man, this creature, came here from another planet, from two centuries ago, and speaks our language perfectly?"

"We came forward four centuries, and we all understand each other," the Istan replied. "A few minor changes, yes, but we speak the same language."

"You came forward, yes," Sebell allowed, "but you came from Pern to Pern. Darian comes from Cygnus 4."

"We have common ancestors," G'dened responded, "or at least our planets were both colonized by humans. He had to know the basics. Even if there are minor differences, he'd have learned them in six turns."

Sebell shook his head. "No, Lord G'dened," he informed them. "He speaks our language but only in very general terms. He's still learning the tones and inflections of Pernese speech and much of the vocabulary. What he is doing is like our trying to learn Latin, with the possible exceptions of the Healers and the Herders."

The three men stared at him. Since his arrival on Pern, Darian had communicated easily. How could the Masterharper suggest he didn't know their language.

"That's ridiculous," G'dened growled. "We all understand him."

"Yes, we do. All of us. No matter what he says, no matter how he says it, tone of voice, volume, wind, surrounding noise, no matter what, we all understand him perfectly. Even those with hearing disorders understand him perfectly."

Again, there was silence. The sense of uneasiness in the harper spread to the others. Oldive stared at him grimly. "What are you driving at, Sebell?"

"Watch him when he talks. You won't see it if he's talking to you so watch when he's speaking to someone else. His lips move, but the patterns are inconsistent. It's motion, not speech. It's very well practiced, but it is an act. He's still struggling with our language."

N'ton inclined his head, staring across the room to where the Cygnan and the two smiths were still lost in conversation. His eyes widened. "Telepathy?"

Sebell nodded, exhaling slowly. "Telepathy. Pure thought. He can read our minds. What's more, he can project his thoughts into ours. He does generate sound so, between the sounds reaching our ears and the thoughts he projects into our minds, we think he's talking to us. Another thing. The next time you're anywhere near him with dragons around, watch how they react."

"I've never seen them react to him," G'dened shrugged, "except to acknowledge his presence. They seem to like him."

"I believe they do," Sebell agreed. "I believe they all do. They all like him. They like him. He never does anything to upset them. Always seems to do exactly what they want. Doesn't that strike you as strange?"

"Are you suggesting he can hear the dragons? Why wouldn't they tell us?"

"They would, if they knew. Think about it. He can hear us, and he can make us hear him, when he wants us to. But only when he wants us to. I believe that applies to the dragons as well."

"Come off it," G'dened complained, "you sound like you think he had this all planned."

Sebell rewarded the comment with a meaningful glance. "He may have. This is a creature who spent his entire life fighting to stay alive. It's unlikely he'd reveal anything about himself unless it was to his advantage. He's subtle and determined. Look at what he did today. He manipulated four crafthalls and two Weyrs to come up with a completed project none of us even knew he was working on. That was no accident."

"Are you suggesting," Oldive asked, "that Darian is our enemy?

"Not at all. I firmly believe he is our friend, and I thank the Egg for it. But I warn you, my friends, if anything should happen to turn him against us, Darian will be the most dangerous man who ever lived on Pern." The honesty in his face, the ring of his voice, convinced the listeners he was in earnest. Sebell swallowed then added an ominous post-script. "One other thought. These abilities likely apply to his teammates and his children."

"Shells," G'dened moaned, "Mareka and Seradan are being fostered by Tryliri. Do I need to warn her?"

"I wouldn't," Sebell answered. "What's more, for as long as we can, don't let Darian know how much we've learned. Once he goes on the defensive, I don't think we'll ever learn anything else about him."

Oldive stared at Sebell, contemplating his Hall's involvement in the situation. He lifted an eyebrow before turning back to the Istan. "I can keep him out of the Weyr. There's plenty of call for his skills, and there are things I can teach him at the hall."

"Thank you, Master Oldive. That helps. But I really need another healer at the Weyr."

The Craftmaster shook his head, frowning. "I'm sorry, G'dened, I just don't have anyone available, not at journeyman level or better. I don't want to put an apprentice..." He stopped, the light of sudden inspiration dawning in his eyes. "You say Scylenth is causing strain between Darian and Selana?"

G'dened nodded. Apparently, the Masterhealer had an idea.

"There just might be something we can do," Oldive chuckled. "N'ton, can you provide a dragon to take me to Benden?"

The Fort leader nodded emphatically. "Sure. Lioth will take you."

"In that case," G'dened inserted, "I need to collect Darian and get back to Ista."

The small gathering moved back to the smiths and their companion. The trio was still engrossed in the magnifier. They didn't seem to have noticed the others' departure.

"Oh, that's very reasonable," Wansor bubbled. "Will that be enough?"

"For the time being, probably," Darian answered. "We can get more as the demand increases." He glanced over his shoulder at the approach of his Weyrleader.

"Sorry to interrupt," G'dened said, "but we need to get back. Will you be much longer?"

"No, we're finished." He turned back to the Starmaster, gripping the man's shoulder. "Thanks again, Master Wansor. Superb work." The avion turned to leave, then stopped. He looked at Fandarel. "Mastersmith, could you make me some more of those high velocity bolts?"

G'dened's derisive laugh drew everyone's attention. The Weyrleader shook his head, smiling. "More arrows? How many of those things do you need?"

Darian gazed at him guardedly. That threatening smile returned, exposing just the tips of his fangs. "I'm not sure," he said coldly. "How many bronzeriders are there on Pern?"

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

Ista Weyr

(Two days later, January 18th)

Darian and Astaroth launched themselves the moment the young queen burst from between. The avion wore an ecstatic smile, rivaled only by the grin on the goldrider. He let out a jubilant screel, executing a rolling dive through the air above the Weyr bowl. The black responded with a pirouetting swoop and a savage roar, echoed by the thoroughly self-satisfied queen. Soaring into a hover, Darian pumped the 'well done' signal.

He was already shrugging out of the sprayer when Valkryth landed next to him. Delighted by the impromptu airshow, a cavern worker stood by, taking the device. A happy squeal caused the avion to turn toward the dragon.

Elysina had doffed her sprayer almost before she was on the ground. The tiny black-haired rider raced to Darian, flinging her arms around his neck. He closed his hands at her waist, lifting her from the ground. As they pivoted in a tight, fast circle, her legs curled at the knees. She planted an exuberant kiss on the Cygnan's lips.

Astaroth eased to the sand beside the young queen. Valkryth looked at him approvingly, answering his playful snort with a happy croon. The queen extended her neck until their muzzles touched.

A line of laughing riders applauded the spectacle, closing on the embraced pair. Pr'sin, T'marek, D'phel and several other wingriders formed a loose semi-circle around the happy riders and their dragons. Elysina kissed the startled avion again, winking at Pr'sin.

"That was the wildest maneuver I've ever seen," Pr'sin congratulated them. He clapped the Cygnan on the shoulder, grinning at the queenrider.

Darian saw D'phel step up beside him. Quickly, he transferred Elysina into the weyrlingleader's arms. She received an affectionate, grateful hug from the brownrider. "Thank you," he smiled. "That was quite a sight."

Elysina slid to the sand, grinning back at the training wing leader. She turned and stepped to the big black, placing her hands under his chin and giving him a resounding kiss on the nose. Astaroth pulled back in surprise but did nothing when Valkryth rubbed her chin against the side of his head. The queenrider laughed at him fondly then stepped away, sliding under Darian's wing as she encircled his waist with her arms.

They had good reason to celebrate. It had been pure luck that Elysina was looking over her shoulder when the young green popped out of between, out of position and in the path of several large clumps of wind-swept Thread. Pr'sin's wing had recognized the danger, but only Valkryth was close enough to help. The queen had nearly torn her wing from its socket, she turned so sharply. Startled by the hurtling approach of the golden beast, the greenrider was unaware of his mortal peril.

Suddenly, queen, avion and black dragon were streaking past, attacking the threatening spores. Before he realized his deadly predicament, the weyrling was in clear air. The entire drama lasted only seconds, but the effect was exhilarating. At least one youthful dragon and rider had learned a lesson they were unlikely to forget.

Elysina's eyes opened wide, her mouth dropping into a surprised circle. She looked past the avion to the whirling eyes of the gold. "Valkryth!" she squealed. The exclamation was followed by a red-faced giggle and a tightening of her arms around Darian.

"What did our little heroine have to say?" Pr'sin prodded. His head swiveled rapidly between the grinning rider, her confused companion, a smugly satisfied queen and an amused black.

"She asked," Elysina giggled, "if Astaroth flies queens."

Darian's eyes met T'marek's. His expression was dazed. "Will he what?" he asked

The raven-haired rider tightened her embrace, giving the avion a kiss so intensely passionate he stumbled backwards against the black.

Pr'sin's eyes widened. Clearing his throat, the wingleader looked at his junior wingsecond. "By the shell," the bronzerider smiled, "what have we here?"