DragonStorm Ch. 04

Warm fingers curled around her hand. Her eyes opened, finding a concerned gaze and a tender smile regarding her. "He has a point, dearest," F'lar said softly.

She shook her head. "Never!" she whispered.

"Please, Lessa," T'gellan continued, "forgive me. I don't mean to be cruel. Somehow, I've got to make someone understand what Selana and Darian are going through. For them, it's even worse."

The Weyrwoman brought the wine to her lips, sipping at it. She took several small swallows. Setting the glass down, she nodded. "I understand. Go ahead."

"Remember, this is at Ista. Think about the bronzes and bronzeriders there."

Lessa thought quietly for a moment, then groaned. "Oh, no. R'travil."

"Yes, R'travil. He's harassing Selana and taunting Darian. If he isn't careful, he won't live to see Scylenth rise.

"Selana and Darian were married almost five turns when she impressed. So far as I know, the only other man who ever had her raped her. Darian says he never had a mate on Cygnus. He says he isn't interested in any other Pernese woman. I believe him. He's fiercely devoted to Selana, so much so that it's dangerous."

"Where is this leading us?" F'lar asked. "We've got to have Scylenth. It's the middle of a Pass. We can't have queens refusing to mate."

"Of course not, and Scylenth will rise. When she does, some bronzerider is going to mate with Selana." Stopping to catch his breath, T'gellan sipped at his wine. His voice was low and intense when he resumed. "Whoever that rider is, I fear for him."

"What are you talking about?" Lessa asked irritably. "You're talking in circles."

"Maybe I am. I'm sorry. I haven't told anybody about any of this. The only one who may have figured it out is Masterharper Sebell, although Darian tells me both Oldive and G'dened are suspicious, and I know M'kel and T'marek have about thought it out." He caught the flashing in the queenrider's eyes. Raising a hand defensively, he told her, "I'll get to the point. Give me a moment. We're all in agreement that Scylenth will rise. We need the dragons. Unfortunately, I doubt we'll get them. Selana will see her involvement as a betrayal of the one man she was ever able to trust, the only man who loves her. Even though she has no control over her queen's mating passion, she'll blame herself.

"Remember, I told you she was unstable. This will be the worst mental shock she's ever experienced. If it doesn't unbalance her completely, it'll cause such intense confusion and guilt that it's got to upset Scylenth. If we get a clutch, I wouldn't give you a weyrling's chance in Fall of getting a healthy one. It'll be small and weak."

The Bendenites stared at their guest. It was dawning on them that he might be right, and that the problem was more serious than anyone had considered. F'lar noticed that his half-brother looked strangely ill.

"That's only the beginning. Darian dislikes dragonmen in general, although he gets along with brownriders. He has no use for bronzeriders and he's totally contemptuous of blue and greenriders. Selana is his only true tie to Pern. I've known since their marriage that he's very insecure where she's concerned. He can't forget that he's Cygnan and she's Pernese. He's convinced that, sooner or later, some dragonman will take her from him. When the mating flight happens, he's going to think he's lost her. It's only natural that he'll blame dragonmen, bronzeriders in particular. The man has a highly developed sense of justice and a nasty habit of getting revenge. If we don't find a way to make him understand, really understand, we're going to have more trouble than we ever dreamed possible. And G'dened isn't helping. In fact, he's making it worse. He's been totally insensitive to their concerns."

F'lar stroked his chin. This seemed too emotional an approach for his analytical, methodical student. If T'gellan saw this great a threat, they'd better know about it. "How much damage do you think one rider and one dragon can do?"

"Not much, if we're talking about a Pernese rider and dragon. We aren't. Darian has conformed for the most part to our laws and customs. That's because he feels he has a reason to, that he belongs. If he loses Selana, even if he just thinks he's lost her, that reason is gone. After N'rad's death... " The bronzerider stopped. He looked down at his hands. They were trembling slightly.

The Easterner reached for his wineglass. He succeeded only in tipping it. The small amount of fluid remaining spread in a burgeoning crimson stain. T'gellan closed his eyes.

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. Looking up, he found Lessa at his side. F'nor, too, was there, righting the toppled glass and refilling it.

"I saw what he and Astaroth are capable of. They're ruthless, absolutely brutal. That kind of anger turned loose on Pern, especially against dragonfolk... " T'gellan shook his head. "There's no limit to the damage they could do. And it's not just Darian and Astaroth. We have Akira and Loki to think about. And they're inside a Weyr."

"Loki?" Lessa asked. "Aside from being a feline, he seems harmless, almost lovable. Selana thinks the world of him."

"Yes, and he thinks the world of Selana. We're back to Selana again. And as far as Loki being harmless, don't count on it. K'trin can tell you how harmless he is."

"To be as dangerous as you describe," F'lar pointed out, "Darian would have to be far more powerful than we're aware of. Granted, he can fly, and he's a superb knife fighter. I've also heard he's deadly with a crossbow. Is there something about him we don't know?"

T'gellan sighed heavily. "Yes. Do you remember the meeting at Eastern when Sebell got him so drunk? The Masterharper started to sing, and Darian joined in with that whistle of his. Think about the range of sounds he makes. He has that chirping whistle, the trilling whistle, the loud screeling sound, and that screaming war-cry." He looked about at his audience, waiting until all three had acknowledged their understanding.

"Sebell found it strange that he had such a range of vocal capabilities, all of those animal sounds and a beautiful speaking voice. Didn't seem possible one set of vocal cords could handle all that, or that he'd have two separate sets. So, we went back to the Printer Hall and did some checking. He does have two sets, but only the screeling set is fully developed. His speaking voice is defective. Besides, he doesn't really know our language yet. He's a tremendously powerful telepath. He relies on that telepathy to fool others into thinking he's talking.."

Lessa's jaw dropped. "Why weren't we told about this?" she demanded.

T'gellan shrugged. "No time. There was so much going on at the records hall it was a wonder the Masterharper even got to check on that. Then, after... " The Easterner stopped for a moment. "Well, there wasn't any time. He never got a chance to tell anyone else, and I never got back to do any more checking."

"I've suspected something like this for a time," F'lar admitted. "There was something about him that seemed odd. Like he was almost too perfect."

"He isn't perfect," T'gellan said quickly, "but he is dangerous. More so than we think. Like I said, the man is a tremendously powerful telepath, and his empathic abilities are good. He can make himself heard by any person or any dragon, and he can hear any person or any dragon. What bothers me is that he can channel that ability so specifically or turn it off so completely that no one can hear him if he doesn't want them to. That's how he kept it a secret for so long. The only thing that gave him away was his reaction to N'rad's death. Although, Kelth made me suspicious."

"Why?" Lessa required.

"When Kelth and T'marek were so badly injured, they couldn't hear each other. G'narish said at the council that Kelth should have suicided. Even with T'marek in sight, he should have gone between if he couldn't hear him. G'narish was right. Even if Kelth could hear other dragons and riders, he should have suicided when he couldn't hear his own."

"And you think Darian had something to do with it?"

T'gellan nodded forcefully. "I'm convinced of it. He could hear Kelth and Kelth could hear him. Somehow, he was able to mentally override Kelth's instinctive desire to suicide. I'm grateful for the life of the brown, but the possibilities of that kind of power being turned against us are terrifying." The Easterner locked eyes with F'lar. "If he can prevent a dragon from suiciding, there's no reason to believe he can't make one do it."

The Weyrleader pursed his lips. While the subject of their conversation seemed fantastically wild, it fit the pattern of disturbing inconsistencies and unexplainable coincidences that followed the Cygnans. If he was this powerful, they couldn't afford to have him as an enemy. "Then," F'lar conceded, "we have to keep him on our side. Which means we have to keep Selana in one piece mentally. From what you're saying, that may not be easy. I assume you've considered our options?"

"We don't have many. We can't stop Scylenth from rising. Darian says Astaroth won't fly a Pernese queen. They're genetically different. Anyway, the black doesn't have much of a mating drive, so his speed advantage is useless. If I see things right, we have two options remaining. One is to convince both Darian and Selana that a mating flight isn't the end of the world. Given their devotion to each other, I don't see that as likely. The other is even more remote, but it may be the only long-term solution possible."

T'gellan stopped, reaching again for his wine goblet. He drank deeply, slowly returning the glass to the table. His lips were drawn in a deep frown, his eyes flashing his worry and annoyance with their predicament.

"And?" F'lar finally prompted.

The Eastern bronzerider shook his head. "Present him as a candidate for impression and hope he gets a bronze."

The Weyrleader and Weyrwoman stared at him blankly. Lessa resisted her initial impulse to reject the thought out of hand. The more consideration she gave to the idea, though, the more sense it made. With Darian's suspected mental powers, if he did impress, it would likely be a bronze.

"That's not a bad option," she suggested. "If he got a bronze, he'd have a chance to make Selana his weyrmate, and he'd also get a firsthand taste of what it means to be a dragonrider. But I see three problems with the idea. First, I don't think Darian would want to be one of us. Second, if he does impress, and it isn't a bronze, we're worse off than we are now. Third, even if he does impress a bronze, it'll take at least a turn for it to be ready for a mating flight. Scylenth may rise before then."

F'lar grunted, indicating his agreement with his mate's concerns. He had a few more of his own. "If he's agreeable to impressing, which Weyr do we try? It doesn't sound like G'dened will let him stand at Ista."

"Probably not," T'gellan concurred. "If he does want to try, I think we should give him every opportunity, in every Weyr that will accept him. I know Eastern and Southern will. I think Fort will. T'bor likes him, so Reaches will probably allow it. How about Benden?"

The Weyrleader gazed thoughtfully at his friend. "He'll be allowed to present at Benden. But I'm not optimistic about the prospects. It seems our best option is trying to talk Selana into understanding what's bound to happen and talk Darian out of any retaliation. I don't see any realistic alternatives right now."

"That's how I see it," T'gellan agreed. "It's also going to be important that we make G'dened see what could happen. If he doesn't help, there's nothing we can do."

"So," Lessa asked, "who talks to who?"

"I'll talk to G'dened," F'lar replied. "It seems I was elected before this meeting started." He gave his guest a wry smile, shaking his head.

"I'll talk to Darian. I'm going to Ista."

They turned as one to face F'nor. The brownrider had been quiet for most of the discussion. He'd grown increasingly somber. Now, his face was drawn, his eyes dark with anxiety.

"Alright, F'nor, if you want to. When?"

The wingsecond looked up at his brother. Rising to his feet, he replied, "Right now." Without a further word, he turned and left.

The remaining threesome looked after him. T'gellan was curious. "I didn't mean for him to go now. Tomorrow will do."

"When F'nor looks like that," the Weyrleader stated, "it's best to let him do whatever he has in mind. Maybe he's thought of something to settle Darian down."

"I don't think so," Lessa said. Her eyes held a hint of pain, a deeper shadow of repressed fear. F'lar suspected she knew what was hidden behind the brownrider's impassive face.

"Then," F'lar asked, "why would he go tonight?"

The Weyrwoman met his gaze with a tender, mysterious smile. She answered softly. "He isn't going to see Darian."

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

Ista Weyr

(Next morning, January 21st)

The Bendenite awakened gradually, like climbing from a soothing darkness to a welcome light. The fragrant Istan night made sleeping easy after enduring the harsh, penetrating cold of Benden's winter. He yawned, drawing the morning air into his lungs.

Snuggled against his left side, a warm, pliant body pressed itself to him. Brekke tightened her grip, unwilling to let the brownrider rise. The timing of his visit had surprised her, welcome though it was. The urgency of his embrace made it unnecessary to inquire about its purpose. She rubbed her cheek against the powerful shoulder, turning her head to look up at him.

F'nor looked into emerald eyes, clear, bright, loving and his alone. He lowered his chin to close the distance between their mouths. The kiss was sweet, her lips as tender as they'd been that magical afternoon eighteen turns ago. Since that day, he'd needed no one else, wanted no one else. Brekke's love had completed his life in a way that not even Canth could, although the marvelous brown understood and enthusiastically endorsed their relationship.

Brekke lifted her head. "Good morning, love." She felt his finger trace the line of her cheek, the corner of her mouth, then the point of her chin. He guided her mouth back to his. His lips slid to the tip of her nose, her eyes, her forehead, then her hair. She sighed languorously.

F'nor breathed the scent of her hair. Many times before he'd enjoyed its bouquet, but this morning was different. It seemed oddly special, as though an opportunity that had never before existed was presenting itself, a chance that could never again be claimed. A momentary panic overcame him. His arms tightened, crushing her against him. He buried his face in her hair. A duet of high-pitched voices chirped their alarm in unison.

"F'nor!" she gasped, "What is it, love? What's wrong?"

Releasing the powerful grip, he rolled to his back. A thin veil of moisture clouded his eyes. "I love you, Brekke," he said weakly, imploringly. His hand searched for hers, catching the delicate fingers and lifting them to his lips. He sensed Grall and Berd settling behind his head, felt their concerned, loving thoughts crowd into his mind, easing the tension there. Canth's croon from the weyrledge added to the chorus. Four hearts and minds, fused to his own, forced back the vague discomfort. He shook his head to clear it. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened there. I'm so afraid of losing you."

The healer lifted her head, supporting it with her hand and elbow. She gazed at her mate, stroking his neck and shoulder with her free hand. "I'm here, F'nor. I'll always be here."

"I know. Thank you." He reached again for her hand. Closing his fingers around hers, he held it against his chest. Brekke lowered her head to his shoulder, easing down beside him. They held each other quietly, lost in their own thoughts and each other's nearness. Finally, she pushed herself back onto her elbow, smiling at him.

"All of this kissing and cuddling may be fine for you lazy dragonfolk, but we healers have work to do. I've got to get up."

He stared at her incredulously. The teasing smile made it hard to know if she was in earnest or not. He knew she had work to do. There was no doubt that he was a dragonman. But, lazy? He'd show her how lazy he was! "You'll get up when I tell you to!" he replied, pulling her down on top of him. She offered no resistance as the brownrider welded his lips to hers.

Grall trilled her approval, leaping into the air with Berd in immediate pursuit. Canth's croon took on a high, satisfied tone. Fully attuned to F'nor, Brekke and the two fire lizards, the big brown reveled in their ecstasy. He was never happier than when the weyrmates were together. No dragon could be impressed by two people, but the relationship with his rider and the healer came close.

"Now look what you've done," Brekke finally revealed. "I'm going to have to take a bath. I can't start the day like this." She slid out of the bed, walking to the clothes hooks.

"I'll wash your back," the brownrider offered.

"Oh, no you don't," she laughed at him. "I've got to get something done today."

"Why not? Don't you trust me?"

"Not in the least. Will Canth at least fly me to the falls? I can shower there."

They both showered in the warm volcanic waterfall, F'nor and Canth taking the opportunity to sport in the relaxing pool at the base. Their playtime was short. Brekke hurried them back to the Weyr, explaining she had two injured riders to look in on and other duties to attend to. She also suspected F'nor had more pressing business at Ista than a midnight rendezvous.

"What could be more important?"

"I know you too well, brownrider. You're here on business for F'lar, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, but... "

"I thought so." Nonetheless, she tightened her grip on the arms encircling her. F'nor returned the hug. Canth was already above the Weyrbowl, gliding to a landing at the infirmary ledge. Brekke turned to give her mate a parting kiss, then slid from the great neck and disappeared into the weyr.

F'nor watched her walk away. His thoughts returned to the conversation of an evening ago. T'gellan had caught everyone off-guard with his reference to Ramoth rising without Mnementh. Lessa in particular had been unsettled by the thought. Perhaps, the brownrider considered, we aren't all as fully attuned to this lifestyle as we think. Eighteen turns ago it wouldn't have bothered him to have Brekke mate with another rider. She had Wirenth and he and Canth would have been there when the mating flight was over. Canth might even have flown Wirenth himself. Now, he didn't want to share her with anyone. If she were to impress again, how would he react when her queen rose?

'I would have flown Wirenth. There was no time.'

'I know, Canth, I know.'

'You worry about her. Why?'

'Pern is supposed to be our only love, our only loyalty. But where Brekke is concerned, I'm not so sure.'

'She is ours. We are hers. You think too much.'

The wingsecond smiled, stroking the soft brown neck. Canth still had the last word most of the time. The dragon knew him well, maybe better than he knew himself. 'Could be, big fella. Right now, I think we'd better find Darian. Do you know where to look?'

'In the junior queen's weyr, of course.; Canth jumped backwards from the ledge, spreading his wings to catch the air. He worked the massive pinions only once, settling into a lazy glide to the rock shelf on the northern end of the small Weyrbowl. The landing was empty, nor was there any sign of the young queen within. F'nor dismounted the moment his brown touched down.

"Anybody home?" he called, stepping into the outer weyr. He noted the unoccupied queen's couch, the impression of the rapidly growing body visible in the sand spread on the stone.

"Right here." Darian stood at the entrance to the inner weyr, regarding his visitor curiously. "F'nor?"