DragonStorm Ch. 04

She stopped for a moment, looking at the avion with a contemplative expression. "You know, it wouldn't hurt you to give in to her, at least occasionally. It might help you relax, and it might actually help Selana."

"How in the blazes do you figure that?"

"If Sel were to see that a simple affair didn't destroy you emotionally or damage your marriage, she might be able to loosen up a bit. Psychologically, not physically. Still, it might make the upcoming mating flight seem less of a threat than it does now."

"Avions don't think that way and we don't behave that way."

"Maybe not, but you told us yourself that you have human ancestors. Who knows how much human blood is in your emotional make-up?"

"Please don't remind me of that."

"You can't just wish it away. It's there and it's real. It's probably why you react to her like you do. Let's face it, there's something awfully flattering about being chased by someone as pretty as Elysina." She took another sip of her klah.

"Monogamy is a wonderful concept," she continued, "but it just isn't common among humans. Human males in particular are polygamous creatures. They've always been that way. There's nothing wrong with loving more than one woman so long as you don't try to take advantage of it or become abusive. I don't see that as much of a risk with you."

"You're starting to sound like a healer," he countered.

"I have a bit of training in psychology. Comes in handy as a Weyrwoman."

The avion grunted. "Yeah. Makes sense. Are human women the same?"

"Some are, usually to a lesser extent. A handful of lovers, two or three, is usually acceptable, but open promiscuity is frowned on."

"Acceptable to who?"

"To ourselves, mostly. The people who are overly concerned about our sexual habits generally aren't worth worrying about."

That brought a laugh from the avion. He lifted his mug and replied, "I'll drink to that!"

Cosira chuckled before mirroring the action. "So," she resumed, "you're really worried about nothing. Your actions are perfectly normal and perfectly acceptable."

Darian thought for a moment and then asked, "Where do you and El fit into that continuum?"

"On the low end, I suppose. She's had a few lovers, mostly because of Valkryth, but certainly not in line with her reputation. I've still only had one but, being a queenrider, that could change."

"Do I need to apologize to El?"

"No. You haven't done anything to apologize for. Just don't be afraid of her, and don't be afraid of yourself. Buried emotions have a very ugly way of resurrecting themselves. That's a problem you don't need." The Weyrwoman paused, pursing her lips. When she resumed, her voice was soft, gentle, almost pleading. He couldn't read the emotions behind it.

"And please, don't be hard on El," she requested. "She needs your support. If you can handle it, she needs your love. Your kind of love, D, not ours. She needs to feel special, emotionally special. She's had enough physical attention. You can do her a world of good. And Valkryth is really fond of you and Astaroth."

"But, what about Selana?"

"What about Selana? You don't need to leave her. You're still her husband, she's still your wife. Just be a bit more generous. There's enough of you to go around. Knowing you, I don't think there's much risk of you overdoing it."

The avion had heard enough. He decided to call the Weyrwoman's bluff. His expression slowly softened as he stared at the blonde. A mischievous smile crossed his lips. "If that's the case," he suggested, "why don't we do something about it right now?"

Now Cosira laughed, biting at her own lip. She stood up, circling the bench slowly, never taking her eyes from the Cygnan's. Pulling him to his feet, she drew him into a tender, alluring kiss. He was both surprised by the action and disappointed when she drew back. "Be careful about those kind of suggestions," she whispered. "That could backfire. Now, get out of here!"

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

Benden Weyr

(Late evening, January 20th)

Silence hung over the council chamber. Weyrleader and wingsecond considered each other. Their mutual distaste for the day's events soured the mood. An unusual tension permeated the room. Even the glow baskets seemed dim, the air thicker than normal. The brownrider sipped at his mug, grimacing at the tepid liquid. Fresh klah was poured quickly, warming the beverage. "Thank you," the rider acknowledged.

"He's a good rider," the tiny Weyrwoman said, "and an experienced one. I don't see what F'nor could have done to prevent it."

"That's not my concern. Experienced riders shouldn't make that kind of mistake. Are we flying too often, too long? Do we need to increase the rotation rate?"

"It's only one scoring, F'lar."

The Weyrleader looked up sharply at his mate, amber eyes glowing. "I don't want a second. I don't want any injuries. We've had too many losses lately. I'm tired of listening to Mnementh keen."

"I don't think it's the pace of flying," the brownrider stated. "This has been a hard turn, but the casualty numbers aren't much different than any other. Planet-wide, our dragon strength is still increasing. At this rate, we'll be averaging 350 dragons a Weyr by mid-summer."

F'lar grunted, offering his mug for refilling. His weyrmate complied. "That's good news, F'nor, but I'm still worried. We're going to need those numbers if our senior riders keep making weyrling mistakes."

The wingsecond rubbed his cheek. His half-brother's intuitions had an uncanny knack of being accurate. This time, F'nor wasn't certain. "I'm not convinced that was a mistake."

"Oh?" Lessa prodded.

"He's been cutting it fine for a long time. Too fine. About a seven-day ago he all but flamed my ears, cutting so close. There's been a couple times I thought we were going to collide. He's a good formation man, but sometimes he really crowds Canth."

"I've noticed that," F'lar mentioned. "He is a good formation flyer, but there are times he looks like he's shadowing you instead of holding his own position. You ever notice any pattern to these close calls?"

"No," F'nor admitted, "but I haven't been thinking about it. I should probably be grateful for the extra protection, but it's starting to get on my nerves. Seems like every time we're in a heavy Fall, Canth is wearing him."

The Weyrleader allowed himself a slight smile. "Getting old, brownrider?"

"Yeah, following in my big brother's footsteps."

"He's not hurt badly," Lessa revealed, "and Serpenth didn't get a scratch. They'll be flying again in a seven-day or so."

"Good. Might not be a bad idea to move him out of the wing, though. What do you think?"

"I'd like to be rid of him," F'nor admitted, "but I don't think he'd take it very well. Besides, Tr'lon's been in our wing since he got here."

F'lar sighed, letting a bit of the hot klah roll over his tongue. He swallowed. "Well, he'd be a senior wingsecond himself if he didn't keep refusing to leave the wing. Do you think he'd be offended if we offered him to the weyrlingmaster for a while?"

"While he's recovering?"

"Yes. That way, once he starts dealing with the younger riders, we can wait until we're ready or we really need him to put him back in the wing."

"With Fall as heavy as it's been lately," Lessa frowned, "we can't afford to have experienced riders baby-sitting."

"No, probably not. It was just a thought."

"We can still do something, without his even realizing what we're doing," F'nor suggested. "Post him as left pivot. Serpenth is stable and fast. He'd make a good hinge dragon."

The Weyrleader nodded. "Not a bad idea. See that it happens."

"In the meanwhile," the Weyrwoman suggested, "get cleaned up and relax, and I'll put a meal together for us."

F'lar was about to accept the offer when a powerful thought diverted him.

'Monarth is here,' Mnementh reported. 'His rider wishes to see you.' From outside, he heard his bronze's greeting roar, followed by the Easterner's reply.

"Thanks for the offer, dearest," the Weyrleader grinned, "but I think the rest will have to wait."

"I wonder what brings T'gellan here. Oh well, feeding four is no harder than feeding three. Do you prefer wine or klah this time?"

"Wine for me," F'lar answered. "Better have both for T'gellan." He raised an inquisitive eyebrow to his half-brother.

"Both, if you don't mind," F'nor smiled.

The queenrider shook her head. A teasing smile creased her face as she grumbled cheerfully, "Why do I ask? Why do I bother? What's the use? Men!"

F'nor chuckled at her departure. He noticed the quiet smile on the Weyrleader's face. The strength and ease of the weyrmates' once volatile relationship was a source of great comfort to him. They were invaluable to Pern, and the stability and perspective they drew from each other pleased him. He found it odd that they often included him in their private councils. But, if F'lar trusted him that much, he'd never be disappointed. Not if it were within F'nor's or Canth's power to prevent it.

The brownrider's fingers traced the scar on his right cheek. It had been bothering him of late. He wondered if the constant travel between was irritating the old injury. The wind-driven sand had buried itself right to the bone, and the skin above had never healed properly. The scar was unsightly, but it didn't keep him from flying. His weyrmate worried about it, but he insisted there was nothing really wrong. She didn't believe him but wouldn't argue the point. When the current rush slowed, that would change.

"That bothering you again?"

"Ah, F'lar, not you, too!"

The bronzerider smirked. He could imagine Brekke fretting over the wound, trying to help the rider in any way possible. Somehow, the image of his exuberant half-brother and the gentle healer still didn't fit in his mind, but he'd never admit that to F'nor. He valued his hide.

"What's bothering you again, F'nor?"

Shaking his head, the wingsecond stood and extended his hand. "Hello, T'gellan, good to see you. How's Monarth?"

"As unmanageable as ever," the Easterner smiled. He gripped F'nor's arm, then released it to meet the Weyrleader's. F'lar waved him to a seat. "Mnementh and Canth?"

"Fine. That old cheek injury's been giving him some trouble," the Bendenite informed his visitor. "But you know F'nor, he won't let anyone help him until he drops."

T'gellan laughed at the comment, lifting an eyebrow at his fellow bronzerider. "Runs in the family, huh?"

F'nor grinned, watching a frown form on his brother's face. It was there for only an instant. F'lar chuckled, shaking his head. "Make a man a Weyrleader," he grumped, "and he loses all respect for his elders."

The Eastern wingleader took great pleasure in successfully teasing his mentor. Few people had ever tried, and fewer still had succeeded. If the bond of trust between them had been less than absolute, he wouldn't have. There was no doubt that the twinkle in those piercing gold eyes was one of amusement and not anger. That relieved him. "If your cheek is giving you problems, F'nor, you should let Darian take a look at it. The man can work wonders."

"What could he do? It's already healed."

"From the way you keep playing with it," the younger bronzerider noted, "I'm not so sure of that. The least he could do is repair the scarring. You should see what they did to T'marek. Unless you know just where to look, you can't tell he was injured."

F'nor shrugged. "I'm not going to do anything that would make me stop flying. Besides, who would notice?"

T'gellan inclined his head slightly. "Brekke would notice," he replied. "Tryliri sure did. T'marek was only grounded for a couple of seven-days. He seems to think it was worth it."

"He was one of your wingseconds, wasn't he?" F'lar asked.

"He was M'kel's wingsecond."

"Tryliri's the holder girl he took as weyrmate?"

"Uh huh."

"I'm surprised she never offered as a candidate. Might have made a good queenrider."

"T'marek doesn't want any part of it. Neither does she."

F'lar nodded. "Strange. You'd think any girl would want to be a rider."

"Not necessarily," T'gellan replied. "She's got enough to do without caring for a queen. She's fostering both of Selana's children, has a boy of her own and one on the way. I don't think she's interested."

"Did you try to make her a candidate at Eastern?"

"Twice," T'gellan admitted. "She said no. Said she didn't want to run the risk."

"What risk?"

The Easterner grimaced. "She's holdbred, F'lar. Has conventional mores. She doesn't want the queenrider's lifestyle. Moving to Ista hasn't changed her mind. She's a lot closer to being T'marek's wife than his weyrmate."

"Hmmm. So, what brings you to Benden?"

T'gellan's expression became thoughtful, his forehead wrinkled by concern. He placed both hands on the table, intertwining his fingers. "I need your advice. We have a serious problem at Ista, and I'm not sure what to do about it."

F'lar's eyes narrowed. The Bendenite noted the surprise on his wingsecond's face. If the Eastern rider was worried enough to concern himself with Istan matters, the situation must be serious. "If the problem's at Ista, shouldn't you be talking to G'dened?"

"I would, if G'dened recognized it as a problem, or if he realized what he might be facing." T'gellan paused, collecting his thoughts. "F'lar, if I went to G'dened with this, at best he'd think I was interfering in his Weyr's internal matters. At worst, he'd think I'd scrambled my egg. Either way, he wouldn't listen. I know you'll listen to what I have to say."

"Of course," F'lar acknowledged. "But won't G'dened feel that Benden is interfering if I go to him?"

A derisive snort answered the question. T'gellan frowned at the Bendenite. "G'dened idolizes you and Lessa. He'll listen to anything either of you has to say. That's why I'm here."

G'dened was the youngest of the old-timers when they came forward, the Weyrleader remembered. He'd stood behind his father when D'ram supported Benden in the face of opposition and controversy. Since the young man became Weyrleader, turns ago, Ista had been one of Benden's staunchest allies. Perhaps he would listen to F'lar. First, F'lar had to know what he was going to listen to. "Alright, maybe he will. What's the problem?"

"Darian. He's been totally unpredictable since Selana impressed. The more mature Scylenth becomes, the worse he gets. And Scylenth seems to be maturing unusually fast."

"What makes you think that?" a new voice asked from behind.

T'gellan turned in his seat, finding the Benden Weyrwoman watching him. Behind her were several drudges, carrying trays of food and pitchers of wine and klah. She waved them into the council room, where they served the quartet. Lessa slid into a chair beside F'lar.

"Her size, Lessa. She's growing rapidly. She's already flying. I mentioned it to G'dened and Cosira. They think she'll rise in less than a turn and a half."

"Before she's two turns old?" the queenrider repeated.

The Easterner nodded. He spooned some of the meaty stew into his mouth, then took a sip of the bright red wine. "Selana's already showing signs of strain. A couple of the bronzeriders are giving her a hard time. They don't seem to understand how important her marriage is to her."

"She can't worry about that now," Lessa said firmly. "She's a queenrider. Her responsibility is to her queen, her Weyr and Pern."

T'gellan looked at her sadly. "You sound just like G'dened. You're right, of course." He stopped talking.

F'lar watched his fellow bronzerider eat. Something was troubling T'gellan deeply. The man had been a Weyrleader. He didn't need to be reminded of responsibility and duty to dragon, Weyr and Pern. Those he knew better than most. "What are you so concerned about, T'gellan? You look almost frightened."

The younger man looked up. He tried to swallow the dryness in his mouth and throat, reaching for his wine goblet. A long gulp of the sweetly crisp vintage cooled his throat. Looking down at his hands, he confessed, "I am."

The Weyrleader lowered his spoon to the table. His hand curled upward, placing his chin in the left thumb. "Alright. What's going on?"

Biting his lip, the younger bronzerider met F'lar's demanding gaze. He released a sigh, not wanting to reveal the knowledge he had held for so long, but no longer having a choice. He needed help, or they were all going to be in a lot of trouble. "Selana was my Weyrhealer for almost four turns. She was good, but she always seemed too withdrawn. I never did understand why, not until Darian arrived." He paused, drawing a deep breath. Again, he hesitated, forcing himself to continue. "Selana's unstable. She has almost no self-confidence. If a rider praised something she did, it was like watching a babe at a gather with a bubbly pie. If the compliment came from me or Trelka or Mirrim, or another wingleader or queenrider, she was floating. If anything went wrong, she blamed herself to the point where she could be ineffective as a healer for days."

F'lar nodded his understanding. He reached for his glass, raising it to his lips. Lessa was less patient. She scowled at the lengthy answer. "So?"

"She's afraid of dragonfolk. Has been as long as I've known her. Do you know she never took a weyrmate at Eastern? Not until Darian. I think it's the lifestyle she's afraid of. Seems especially nervous around bronzeriders."

"I thought you said Darian was the problem," Lessa interrupted.

"He is, but it's impossible to separate the two. Lessa, Selana gave Darian the stability he needed. In return, he stabilized her. That first turn was confusing and frightening for Darian and his friends. They were lost and basically alone on a planet they knew nothing about. Selana cared for them, helped them, and to some extent guided them. She was the one thing Darian trusted. Even now, with all he's accomplished, Selana's his only true tie to Pern."

"I understand that," F'lar told him, "but why is it a problem?"

"Because it's all in jeopardy now. F'lar, we're dragonfolk. These two aren't. Darian and Selana are in love, desperately so. The problem is that their relationship doesn't end there. Without the other, neither of them is stable. After being married for five turns, I wonder if their sanity is at risk if they were to be separated."

"You make this sound like they couldn't live without each other."

"I'm not sure they can. Their relationship is the closest thing to impression I've ever seen between two people, or a human and an avion. I'm afraid the emotional trauma of being separated might be as bad as the mind-wrench of losing a dragon."

Lessa was incredulous. "It's only a mating flight we're talking about, isn't it? Regardless of who the rider is, she'll be around the next day. It's not the end of the world. Shells, it's the most wonderful experience any woman could hope for."

"Agreed," T'gellan said quietly. "So, you won't mind the next time Ramoth rises if Monarth flies her?"

The Weyrwoman's eyes widened. "Only Mnementh flies Ramoth!"

"True, so far. But think a moment. Mnementh is aging. He's twenty turns older than Ramoth. She's still a relatively young queen. If something should happen to Mnementh or F'lar, she's too young to retire. She'll continue to rise. With all these superb Benden bronzes available, who'll be the lucky dragon? More to the point, dear Weyrwoman, who'll be the lucky rider?"

Lessa stared at him. Her mind reeled with the implications of the thought. She knew that each time F'lar and Mnementh rose to meet Thread could be their last. It was a grim reality all riders lived with. But she'd never thought beyond the unspeakable fear of losing her weyrmate. Ramoth was too young to stop mating. Lessa knew that. She also knew she could never resist the incredible passion of a mating flight. Her eyes closed. She reached for a glass of wine, not to drink, just to hold. Dizziness and nausea swept over her.