DragonStorm Ch. 03

Darian stared at the queenrider. Her eyes were still closed as he pulled his head away. The pounding of her heart was evident even through their riding gear, the flush in her face flattering but unsettling. Instinctively, he looked for any nearby acquaintance. He found a pale brownrider staring back at him. The avion was barely aware of Astaroth's exultant roar and Valkryth's high-pitched thrum. The attending riders, however, were very much aware of them.

The Cygnan glanced at the dark head lying on his chest. Although he wanted to push her away, he couldn't move. The circle of smiling, expectant faces did nothing to ease his consternation. Looking over his shoulder, he found Astaroth staring at him with a thoroughly amused, challenging glare.

'Well, teamleader, where do we go from here?'

Darian gulped. The realization of what had happened was dawning on him. His stomach knotted. This was a queenrider, but not his queenrider. From her current pose, he didn't think it would take much to change that. 'I can't do this, Astaroth. It isn't right.'

'You're an idiot,' the black snapped. 'I like this queen.'

The avion stared at his ebony comrade. The strength of the retort was oddly comforting. 'Will you fly a queen?'

'Of course, if I want to. It's been almost ninety cycles.' The black reemphasized his opinion. 'I like this queen.'

Darian looked down again, drawn by a slight motion. The goldrider had turned her head and was looking up at him. A soft smile graced her lips. "Elysina," he began.

"It's alright, Darian," she said, shaking her head slightly. She reached up, kissing him gently, then slid a finger across his lips. Her whisper was so low that only an avion could have heard it. "When you're ready... " Smiling, she pulled away. "Let's get you cleaned up," she called, stepping to her queen. Valkryth crooned happily, extending a foreleg.

As the gold dragon flew off, the tiny gathering disbanded. Astaroth departed to hunt, leaving the avion standing with one other rider. They stared at each other silently for a moment. "Did I see what I think I just saw?"

"I, uh, I don't know. I mean, I'm not sure. I, uh, I.... What the blazes?"

T'marek chuckled. To see the Cygnan so discomfited by a girl nearly ten turns his junior was subtly reassuring. It made him think Darian might not be nearly as aloof as he acted. The encounter carried some fascinating possibilities. "Relax, my friend," the brownrider smiled. "Elysina has that effect on a lot of people. It's normal."

"Not for me, it isn't," the avion snapped.

T'marek lifted an eyebrow, smirking. "Wanna bet?"

Darian stared angrily at his companion, but only for a moment. The scent of jet-black hair was still in his nostrils, and the accompanying sensation puzzled him. Despite his confusion, he'd found the encounter oddly pleasant. The frown eased to a self-deprecating grin. "No, I don't think so. At least, not yet."

"Watch that little vixen," the wingsecond cautioned him. "She has a way of getting what she wants."

Darian nodded slowly. His smile faded to a blank stare.

T'marek wasn't sure how to help the Cygnan, or if he really needed help. Anything that kept his mind off Selana and Scylenth was an advantage. "That was a nice move you four pulled off. Good flying."

"Hmmm."

"You're a lousy host, though," T'marek chided. "Don't you think you should see to your guests?"

Darian looked up. The brownrider shrugged, pointing to the junior queen's weyrledge, where a bronze and a green perched side by side.

"I know it's been a while, but I'd swear that's Monarth and Path."

The avion focused his sharp eyes on the ledge. Indeed, the two Eastern dragons were there. He looked back to the brownrider. "You want to come?"

"Nah, you go ahead. I've gotta see to Kelth."

Darian waved, spreading his wings. Two strong sweeps and a long glide placed him in his weyr. Path greeted him with a joyful bugle, echoed with slightly more restraint by the big bronze. Giving them both a pat on the muzzle, he walked in.

T'gellan and Mirrim were at the table, sipping at mugs of klah. The Cygnan waved cheerfully, grabbed his own mug and sat down.

"Welcome, Weyrleader, Mirrim! It's good to see you again." He offered his arm to T'gellan, who gripped it warmly. "Monarth and Path seem to be in fine health."

"Thank you," T'gellan smiled. "They are. Hope you don't mind the intrusion. Barnath said you'd be back shortly, so we sat down to wait. Imala sent up some klah. But it's wingleader, not Weyrleader."

Darian released his grip. He pulled the pitcher to his side of the table, pouring a cup. His forehead wrinkled as he stared over the edge of the mug. After a long sip, he asked, "What happened?"

The bronzerider shrugged. "Regalth rose three seven-days ago. Zarth flew her. M'kel's Weyrleader."

Absorbing the news, the masterhealer set his cup to the bench top. So, Zarth had outflown Monarth. They'd expected it, but so soon? "Didn't Monarth want to fly her?"

"I don't know," T'gellan admitted. "I can't get a straight answer from him. He used to be so protective of Regalth, I can't believe he just gave up and let Zarth have her. But he seems satisfied."

Darian noticed the flash of fire in Mirrim's eyes and the smirk on her lips. He turned his own smile on the greenrider. "Path finally got him, huh?"

"He finally found out what's he's been missing," she chuckled. "Besides, he was tired."

"Hmmm," T'gellan smiled, hiding his eyes in his klah. "It's a step down from a queen, but he can handle it."

Mirrim's mild reaction surprised the Cygnan. She gazed at her mate, continuing to smile. "Monarth's not the only one who's satisfied with the arrangement, bronzerider." Her expression was anything but coy.

The interplay between the weyrmates had always amused him, and the quick exchange revived many pleasant memories. However, the comfort of their relationship, the casual affection in their banter, amplified the strain and dissatisfaction in his own. He lifted a hand to his forehead, rubbing his eyes.

"We heard that Selana impressed," T'gellan said. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Darian laughed bitterly. "Why? Selana isn't sorry."

T'gellan sighed. "I don't imagine she is. A queen is a wonderful thing. But it can't be much fun for you."

"I'll survive."

The bronzerider gazed at him speculatively. Mirrim, too, saw the depression and hopelessness in his manner. The greenrider's eyes dropped to the floor. She could feel her stomach and throat tightening. Bizarre circumstances had allowed her to escape a similar situation. Now, reincarnated in her alien friend, helplessness and anguish returned, crushing her spirits like an infinite weight. She wanted to circle the table to try to offer some comfort. Such an effort would be futile. Unless something altered the predictable future, the only answers the Cygnan would find would come from within himself.

Path's bugle distracted them. Monarth added his brassy call. A third trumpet and the sound of wings told them that Scylenth had returned to the ledge. The Easterners rose as Selana raced into the chamber. Her eyes sparkled at the sight of her ex-Weyrleader and his mate. Running around the table, she threw herself into T'gellan's arms. Darian's eyes closed.

Mirrim watched the avion's fingers tighten convulsively around the klah mug. The greenrider deftly pulled Selana out of her mate's arms and into her own. She turned an eager grin on her long-time friend. "Selana, how dare you impress a dragon without my permission? And a queen yet! You've got to introduce me. What's her name? Where is she?"

Delighted by the greeting, the new queenrider hugged her friend happily. "Her name is Scylenth," she told her. "She's right on the ledge. Come on!" Selana led Mirrim out. T'gellan couldn't resist a smile at the effectiveness of his mate's transparent ploy. As Mirrim was fond of saying, whatever works...

Darian looked after the departing women bleakly. He pulled himself to his feet, pushing the cup away. "I don't want to stay here. Do you mind talking in the lower cavern?"

"Of course not," the bronzerider replied. "Show the way, masterhealer."

They walked the narrow passageway wordlessly. T'gellan watched the avion shake his head. An alarming sense of resignation surrounded Darian, an attitude foreign to someone used to the Cygnan's feisty nature. Things were apparently worse than the Easterners had suspected. He reached out to touch his friend's shoulder. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"I don't know," the Cygnan answered. "I feel like I've been abandoned."

"Abandoned?"

"Yeah. I know it's not her fault, but I never see her anymore. Tryliri's fostering Riki and Rad. I'm even jealous of the time Loki spends with her. Which is more than I get."

"That's normal for a queenrider, especially with a young queen. They get awfully tied up in each other."

"I know. G'dened told me to expect it. But I didn't expect what's happening to me."

T'gellan turned his head. "What do you mean?"

"I still love her, T'gellan," he said. "I keep telling myself that she's happier than she ever would have been with me. But it isn't working. Shards, man, just before I came inside, I...." His voice trailed off.

The Easterner pursed his lips. The confusion in his friend worried him. He didn't seem to know what was upsetting him, or why. "What happened?" the rider insisted.

Darian released a long sigh. He fought to control his revulsion for himself, for Selana, for the entire situation. "Elysina," he explained, "Valkryth's rider. We managed a neat little rescue fighting Thread this afternoon. I guess we were both pretty happy about it, kind of pleased with ourselves. When we got back, she came over and hugged me. It was just a hug and a little kiss, that's all. Just a little kiss. But...." He broke off, grimacing.

T'gellan was mildly irritated by the delay. The story was hardly a distressing one. There had to be more than a casual embrace and a kiss to create such a reaction. "So?"

"Astaroth and Valkryth were encouraging us. I'm not sure what was happening. I don't know how it started or why it stopped. I don't know anything."

A sly smile tugged at the corner of the dragonman's mouth. He raised one eyebrow, gazing at his distraught companion. "You were dragon-roused?" he asked skeptically.

"I don't know," Darian repeated. "I wasn't in control. I was confused. It wasn't right."

T'gellan started to chuckle, a nasty sound that forced its way through the avion's stupor. "Good for you, my friend, good for you."

Darian looked up, astounded that the rider found the problem humorous. "What in the fires do you mean? What's good about it?"

"As I recall, jealousy worked wonders with Selana once. Why not twice?"

The avion shrugged. "It might," he conceded, "if Sel was even aware I'm around. She isn't."

"Scylenth is less than three months old. If Selana's like most queenriders, it's going to take an earthshake to get her attention for the next turn or more."

"So?"

"So, you just found your earthshake. Look, I know Elysina. That little siren could seduce a corpse. If she's interested, and if you can handle it, take advantage of it. Make Selana aware of it. That'll snap her out of her fantasy world." T'gellan chuckled again, shaking his head. "Better you than me, friend. Better you than me."

The Cygnan's eyes narrowed. He knew T'gellan to be every bit as subtle and manipulative as himself. More honorable, but not afraid to bend the rules to achieve a desired effect. This, though, he wasn't quite sure he was following. "What are you talking about?" he groaned.

"Just goes to prove," the rider laughed, "you're a better man than I'll ever be."

"How's that?"

The demonic chuckle sounded again. "Elysina? I wouldn't hesitate a second."

"You're a bronzerider, alright," Darian snickered.

T'gellan grinned back, slapping him on the shoulder. "Believe it. Keep flying, masterhealer. We're going to make you Pernese yet."

"I hope not," the Cygnan smiled.

Exiting into the lower cavern, they took seats at a side table. A cavern worker noticed them, hurrying to the kitchen and returning with bread and wine. They declined her offer of a fuller meal. T'gellan noticed a number of children running about the cavern. "Lot of hatchlings around here," he observed.

"Too many bronzeriders around here," Darian quipped back.

T'gellan coughed, taking a swallow from his goblet. His mood turned serious. "I heard about your little ploy at the Healer Hall. Nice work. Any word on your law enforcement idea?"

"No. I don't think they like the idea. Too much of a threat to the sanctity of Hall, Hold and Weyr."

"Could be," the rider admitted. "Don't give up. You've got more support than you think."

Darian sipped his wine. "Oh?"

"M'kel will assign two riders the moment the project is approved. So will K'van. T'bor likes it. Benden isn't saying which way they'll go but you know how progressive F'lar is."

"That's four. What about the other half?"

"Fort will go along. This kind of thing is right out of N'ton's shell. G'narish likes new ideas, and M'tarl's just like R'mart was. You should be able to tell me about Ista."

The Cygnan shook his head. "Sorry. G'dened and I haven't been the best of friends lately. I don't know what he thinks."

"Hmmm. That's too bad. I think he'll go for it. G'dened's a freethinker. Interesting. I know Toric and Jayge will support it. So will Larad, Asgenar and Jaxom. You'll get the Smith Hall, the Harpers, the Fisher Hall, the Printer Hall and the Healer Hall. That's a pretty good start."

"I wasn't aware there'd been that much discussion."

"There hasn't been. But things like this don't stay secret very long. Rumors were leaking almost immediately after your demonstration. Everyone knows something is in the wind."

"Let's hope it's something better than Thread."

T'gellan raised his glass to Darian. "That would be unanimous." With the toast, they drained their goblets. The dragonman changed the subject, his voice dropping. "Did you get anything from that arrowhead?"

"No. There were prints, but they were too smeared to read. Still, the configuration was off. The warhead had four blades. I've never seen that before." He thought about that strange arrowhead. Someday he'd find its owner. When he did... "Have you heard anything about more raids?"

"There were rumors of trouble in Igen territory, but nothing confirmed. You're more likely to get good information here. Since the, uh, mysterious battle near Paradise River, there hasn't been much trouble on the Southern Continent."

A kitchen drudge arrived, dutifully refilling their glasses. They suspended the conversation until he was out of hearing range. T'gellan resumed. "Have they caught on to you yet?"

"No, but they're suspicious. The Masterharper is too clever for his own good, or for mine. Oldive suspects something isn't quite right, and G'dened doesn't trust me. Sooner or later, they'll figure it out."

"Speaking of G'dened... " T'gellan nodded toward the cavern entrance.

The Weyrleader and Weyrwoman had just entered and were making their way toward the table. "Greetings, T'gellan," he called.

Rising to extend his arm, the Easterner smiled. "I would have come directly to you, but I saw Barnath on the ledge." He shrugged helplessly.

G'dened chuckled, seeing his mate blush lightly. "Thank you. And welcome. It's good to see you again." The Istan's eyes caught the knot on the rider's shoulder, narrowing to focus on the sight. "I'm sorry about that. How's M'kel doing?"

"Fine. He's going to be a good Weyrleader. I'm rather relieved, really. It makes life with Mirrim a lot easier."

"Is Mirrim here?" Cosira asked sweetly. Her lilting voice was richly melodic, almost too happy. It struck a deep resonance in the bronzerider.

"She's visiting with Selana and the young queen. She was hoping to see you both."

"Of course," G'dened chuckled. "If you don't mind, we'll say hello to her. I see the masterhealer is doing admirably as your host. We can trust you to him."

"Thank you. Good to see you again. Give my respects to Barnath and Caylith."

The weyrmates departed, leaving the healer gazing perplexedly at his guest. "Am I missing something?"

"I don't know. What do you mean?"

"Those two," he said, indicating the Weyrleaders. "What's with them?"

"Oh. Judging by Cosira, I'd say Caylith is due to rise shortly. Very shortly."

The announcement evoked an unexpectedly powerful reaction. Darian drained the wine goblet in a single gulp, returning it to the table with such force that it shattered in his hand. Jagged edges bit into the fleshy palm.

"Shards, man!" T'gellan bellowed, leaping over the table. Blood was flowing from the lacerated hand. The rider tore a swath of fabric from the table cover, tying it around the injury. Darian stared numbly at the crimson discoloration. A second strip of cloth was placed over the first. "What's wrong with you?" the rider demanded. Even as he watched, the second layer of bandaging soaked through. "Monarth! Cavern entrance, now!"

T'gellan lifted the Cygnan from the bench, sliding one arm under his wings and across his back, the other under his knees. They crossed the cavern at a dead run. Monarth was waiting, leg extended. "Get up there," the rider ordered. Darian complied. Immediately, T'gellan was behind him. "Healer Hall. Go." The bronze was airborne instantly. He hadn't cleared the Weyr bowl when he took them between.

Monarth burst into bright sunshine over the Healer Hall. The air was crisp, clean, invigorating. He dove for the main court. Only a sharp backwinging prevented a jarring landing.

An apprentice and a student met T'gellan as he carried the avion through the main entrance. Looking at the hand, the healer directed them toward a surgical room. The student moved off to the Masterhealer's quarters. In ten minutes, two journeymen and the Craftmaster were doing surgery.

Darian refused fellis, so his hand and arm were packed in numbweed. He watched stoically as surface tissues were sewn back into place. He'd been exceedingly fortunate. No tendons, no nerves, no major blood vessels were damaged.

An hour later, two Masterhealers and a bronzerider were seated in the Craftmaster's study, sipping on klah. Oldive informed Darian he would be doing his own operating again soon. "It's a clean slice. I see no risk of infection. You'll be fine in a month."

"What I want to know," T'gellan growled, "is why you crushed that glass?" He stared at the avion, who looked back through empty, haunted eyes. The vacant expression drained the anger from the bronzerider. Carefully, he reconstructed their conversation. He'd said something to upset his friend, but what? It had been profoundly disturbing. They were talking about G'dened. Darian said he wasn't getting along with the Weyrleader, but he wasn't angry. He'd asked about Cosira. She'd seemed unusually happy. So what? Caylith was due to rise. That didn't concern the Cygnan. He didn't have to worry about that until.... The color drained from T'gellan's face. He felt a cold sensation envelop him. How stupid could he be? How totally insensitive? It was obvious what was wrong. The dragonman looked at a concerned Craftmaster. He felt sick.

"Are you alright, T'gellan?"

The bronzerider nodded. He lifted the klah to his lips, then slowly set it down. "I'm sorry, Darian. I should have known."

"Don't worry about it," the avion answered. "There's nothing any of us can do."

Oldive watched his fellow healer, gauging the expressions on the two men. The conversation of two days past returned to him, and another Weyrleader's request for help. This injury could have been far worse. A quarter-inch deeper or to either side would have been crippling. To crush a wine glass in one's hand took great pressure, or great stress. "Selana and Scylenth?" he asked.