DragonStorm Ch. 06

The Weyrleader suddenly stiffened, glancing at Darian, then peeked under the table. "Oh, it's Loki," he breathed. "Never know what to expect when I visit here. Seen Akira lately?"

"He's in the sleeping chamber. Looks like he had his fill of tunnellers."

G'dened nodded his approval. "Good. I'm glad someone around here works for a living."

"Bronzeriders wouldn't know about that," T'marek instructed his host. He got a sharp look from the Weyrleader.

"You looking for a transfer," the bronzerider threatened.

T'marek's eyes widened. "Transfer? I thought this place was escape proof."

Darian was too interested in the exchange between the dragonmen to hear Selana call down the service shaft. He didn't pay much attention to Tryliri and Cosira setting out clean plates. He did notice a slight surge of cold air and a rustle of wings. Sharp claws gripped his shoulder.

"Hand me those scraps, would you, Tryl? I've finally got some intelligent company." He sat down, settling the bronze.

The young woman handed him a plate of leftover wherry. She glanced at T'marek, chuckling at the chagrin in his face.

Even G'dened seemed surprised by the last statement. "Have we just been insulted?" he asked the brownrider.

"Unless that's an awfully smart lizard, we have."

The Cygnan felt another surge of cold then found himself feeding two greedy dragonets. Lucifer bolted down the meat while Ti ate a bit more daintily. Both riders watched the feast with amused grins.

"I think," G'dened pointed out, "we've finally found something he can do."

The firelizard picked up his mind-mate's irritation, squawking his disapproval at the Weyrleader. The bronzerider laughed but maintained a discreet distance.

Devouring every remaining trace of the roast, the bronze turned dissatisfied eyes on his handler. A demanding chirp sounded through the chamber, quickly echoed by the queen.

"Sorry, Lucy, we're out. You ate everything we had left."

The lizard hissed his annoyance, then disappeared. Ti craned her neck to look for him, then followed.

"Well trained, too," T'marek observed.

Motion approaching the table stopped Darian's retort. He watched Tryliri set several serving utensils down, then saw Cosira moving toward them with a large, multi-layered cake.

Selana circled the table, stepping behind him and encircling his shoulders with her arms. She leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Happy Birthday, love."

Darian stared up at her. He saw the grins on his visitors, heard T'marek start to laugh.

Selana stepped back as Cosira stepped beside him, giving the avion a light peck. "How old are you?" she requested.

"How should I know? I don't have the faintest idea of when my birthday is."

"Well, then, maybe this is your birthday."

He had to think for a moment. His hesitation got another laugh from the brownrider.

"First sign of senility," T'marek explained. "Doesn't even know his age. The eyes are first to go, you know."

Darian grinned back mischievously. "It's not the eyes I'm worried about." His fingers stroked the back of the Weyrwoman's arm. Cosira shivered, glancing down in surprise. The avion noticed the Weyrleader's raised eyebrow. "I'm thirty-one, I think," he chuckled.

Reaching back with his right arm, he pulled Selana around him and into his lap. He gave her a gentle kiss. "Thank you, little one. This is nice. Even if it isn't my birthday."

His mate grinned back at him. "It is now."

Everyone enjoyed the cake. Imala had baked alternating layers of white, chocolate and fruit flavored pastry, all coated in a light mint frosting. Cosira hoped the Headwoman had tasted her creation. It didn't survive the ten partiers.

The Cygnan knew what birthdays were, but he'd never celebrated one of his own. He felt oddly embarrassed by the attention. For the length of his memory, he couldn't recall having received a birthday present. That was something for others. He and his teammates had little time for such sentimentalities. At this tiny gather, he received four.

Selana had sewn a tunic. How she managed to complete the project without his knowing she'd begun bothered him. He didn't think he was becoming that inattentive. Examining the gift, he forgot his concern. It was made of fine cloth, dyed a deep Istan orange with black trim. On the left breast she'd emblazoned the Healerhall Crest. A newly woven master's knot was affixed to the right shoulder.

T'marek and Tryliri handed him a carefully tied bundle. He opened it gingerly, pulling out a riding vest. Sturdy hide had been tanned to a soft pliancy and a lustrous sheen. On the right breast was the diamond volcano emblem of Ista, on the left the unmistakable silhouette of a Cygnan dragon, done in solid black.

Darian laid the vest on top of the tunic.

He felt a strong hand at his shoulder. A quick glance showed it to be G'dened's. "Cosira thought you might like this." He laid a small pouch on the table. The drawstring at its throat was pulled tight.

Picking the purse up, the avion slowly loosened the string. He turned it over in his hand. A single coin rolled out, gleaming bright silver. Darian looked at it closely. One side was inscribed with the Healer Hall emblem. He recognized the date below the caduceus as the night he'd been named masterhealer. The reverse was emblazoned with Ista Weyr's crest and the date they had first arrived. G'dened squeezed his shoulder, then sat down beside his mate. A thick but happy silence closed on the weyr.

After a short wait, Selana spoke up. "Mareka, would you bring that box to your father, please?"

"Uh huh. I'll get it, mom." The girl bounded from her seat to the covered shelf at the side of the room, returning with a wrapped box.

Taking it from his daughter, Darian saw the note attached. A slight smile crossed his lips as he read:

Happy Birthday, Masterhealer!

May there be many more.

Fandarel, Terry, Wansor, K'trin

"Open it," Selana suggested. "None of us have any idea of what's in it. We're dying to find out!"

Grinning at her, the avion pulled the strings. The top lifted easily, revealing a soft cloth folded within. Placing the box on the table he unfolded the covering. He withdrew a short, razor-sharp belt knife. The beautifully polished blade gleamed.

Expanding from the point, it reached its greatest width halfway down the length, narrowing again to join the hardstone hilt. The handle ended in a distinctive "Y". Darian reached into the box again, producing a second, identical knife.

A loud whistle greeted the knives. G'dened stared at the gifts, then at Darian. "What are those?"

"Belt knives, specially made for throwing," the avion revealed. "They're K'trin's design." He removed one of the blades he was wearing, sliding the new knife into the vacated sheath. The fit was loose but acceptable. "I can't wait to play with these," he whispered.

"You'll wait until our party's over," Selana grinned. "T'marek, pour some more wine, will you?"

Wineglasses freshened, conversation resumed at a normal pace. Darian handed one knife each to G'dened and T'marek, passing the coin to Selana. He excused himself, taking the vest and tunic into the sleeping chamber. When he returned, he was wearing his wife's gift. He stepped behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing the top of her head.

Selana smiled up at him, reaching back to squeeze his hands. He sat down next to her, sliding his arm around her waist. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Alright," T'marek quipped. "Enough of that. You've got company."

"Oh, well," the avion sighed, "can't have everything."

"At least not yet," Selana whispered, kissing his cheek. He couldn't resist an amused snort.

The early evening slowly gave way, spreading its arms across the sky in a colorful surrender to the night. When the Benden ran out, Selana changed the beverage to klah. She'd seen more than enough of T'marek, Darian and wineglasses together. Her plans for the night didn't include an incoherent husband.

Putting away the last goblet, the brownrider felt the crawling sensation of being watched. He turned around, finding the Cygnan staring at him with a somber, reflective expression. Frowning at the change in his host's mood, he crossed back to the table. "Something wrong?"

Darian shook his head. "No, not really." He released a long, slow sigh, reaching up to scratch a wing. "Kind of miss N'rad," he admitted.

T'marek grimaced, looking down at his feet. "Yeah," he agreed.

They looked at each other, then reached simultaneously for mugs. The blackrider took a long drink. He stared into the dark liquid.

"What's with you two?" G'dened requested.

"Nothing," Darian smiled. "Just remembering an old friend. What can I do for you, Weyrleader? More klah? Or would you prefer a more civilized beverage?"

"I'll go for that!" T'marek enthused.

"Klah will do nicely," the bronzerider chuckled. "I hate to mix business with pleasure, masterhealer, but when you can spare a minute, I have something we need to talk about."

Darian refilled the dragonman's empty mug. "What's wrong with now?" he asked.

"Nothing. I'll get the report for you." The Weyrleader stepped away, leaving the avion and brownrider.

T'marek rose from the bench, taking his cup. "If you two are gonna talk shop, I'm leaving," he grinned.

"You don't have to," Darian told him. "If it was that big a deal G'dened wouldn't want to talk here."

"No problem. Keep him busy for a while. I'm gonna chase Cosira around the weyr."

The Cygnan laughed. "If you catch her, throw her back. She's a bit undersized for you, isn't she?"

"Don't bet on it," the wingsecond warned. "Think I'll follow your lofty example to find out, oh master of healers."

Darian gave him a tolerant smirk. "How's that?"

"Research, my friend, thorough research."

As T'marek left, the Weyrleader returned. He carried a few sheets of paper held to a small board by a spring-loaded metal clip. Taking a seat, he explained, "We got a message from High Reaches. They have a sick rider up there they'd like to transfer to us. The winter's been so bad they think he'd recover faster here."

"Did they say what was wrong with him?"

"Some kind of illness. They gave me this report." G'dened passed the board to the masterhealer, who immediately scanned the attached papers. "You may have known the rider. He was at Eastern for quite a while. His name's V'line."

The Cygnan nodded. "We've met. He transferred just after I got there, but he visited a few times. Nice enough kid. He and Sel were friends. Bronze named Clarinath, isn't it?"

G'dened shook his head. "You never forget a dragon's name, do you?"

"Not if I can help it. Particularly not bronzes." Darian skimmed through the report, frowning. Looking up, he called over his shoulder. "Selana, take a look at this." He waited for the journeyman to cross the chamber. "Give me a provisional diagnosis based on this."

The queenrider read carefully. Her eyes narrowed, an annoyed grimace crossing her face. She looked up. "This report is incomplete."

"Obviously. What do you think?"

"Sounds like bronchial pneumonia, but that's more a guess than a diagnosis. Where's the blood work? What's the causative factor?"

"Who's the healer at Reaches?"

"I think it's Zurbin. Journeyman. He specialized in veterinary medicine after starting in orthopedics."

Their concentration was interrupted by a squeal from across the room. Another voice called out. "T'marek, leave her alone! What do you think you're doing?"

G'dened glanced toward the developing lunacy. Frowning, he looked back at the masterhealer. "Did you really have to bring him with you?"

Darian shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time. Why blame me? It's your Weyr. You approved the transfer."

"Don't remind me."

The avion chuckled briefly then returned his attention to the sketchy report. "If this is an example of Zurbin's work he should stick to veterinary. Then again, I don't know if I'd want him working on dragons."

"He's a good healer, love. Must have been in a hurry to leave this many holes in a report. Why do we have this, anyhow?"

"They want to transfer the rider down here."

Selana's eyes widened. Her lips formed a circle as she breathed an enlightened, "Oh!"

"Is that a problem?" G'dened asked.

"Maybe," she hedged. "I don't want him in the Weyr until I know the causative factor."

G'dened glanced at the Masterhealer, wordlessly requesting his opinion. Darian nodded. "I agree. If this is viral, it could spread through the Weyr like burrowed Thread. Before we accept him, I'd like to go to Reaches and have a look. You mind if T'marek takes me up there tomorrow?"

"Not at all. You can leave as soon as the Fall is over."

"Good. Sel, check our stocks tomorrow. We'll need antitussives, plenty of moss-tea and a variety of antibiotics. Depending on what Zurbin can tell me, a wide-spectrum might be useful."

"Okay," she agreed. "Do you want an inventory or a wish list?"

"Just give me the list. I'll go to Bilko if we're short. He keeps a nice stock."

"Anything I can do here?" the Weyrleader asked.

"Is our old weyr still empty?" Darian countered.

"I think so."

"Have Imala get it ready. We'll need extra furs."

"Aren't you going to put him in the infirmary?"

"Not hardly. If we do accept him, I want him isolated. The fewer people in contact with him the better."

"You're making me wonder if I want him here."

"If it's viral, you don't. If it's bacterial, I'm not too concerned. Some basic precautions would make that fairly safe. Sel, do we have any low grade general anti-bios in the stores?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Let's both get on them, tonight. If we're going to be in close contact with a BP patient, I want every advantage we can get."

"I'll go draw some. Who is this anyhow?"

Darian looked up. "V'line." He saw a shadow pass through his wife's eyes, her face turn momentarily expressionless. Her forehead wrinkled but she walked quickly away.

Watching the journeyman stride from the chamber, G'dened peered down at the avion. He reached up to scratch at his cheek. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine. Probably a little worried, that's all. She likes V'line."

"Oh." The bronzerider shrugged. "I think I'll leave this to you, Masterhealer. Let me know what you decide to do."

"Okay. Get Imala on that weyr, will you? Thanks, G'dened."

The Weyrleader would have asked a question, but Darian was deep in concentration, lost in the medical report.

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

High Reaches Weyr

(Next day, March 12th)

Darian approved the transfer before he spoke to anyone at High Reaches. Kelth brought them out of between high above the Weyr, in the teeth of a raging blizzard. The howling wind bit through his riding gear. Gritting his teeth and squinting against the fury of the storm, the avion decided he'd have been as well protected naked.

Kelth announced himself to the watchdragon, although his riders doubted the bugle could be heard above the wind. The shivering blue instructed them to land at the infirmary ledge.

Zurbin met them as they entered. He thanked the masterhealer for responding to his request, assuring both visitors that the Weyrleader was on his way. The journeyman mentioned that V'line wasn't in the infirmary. He'd isolated the rider immediately after identifying the illness.

"I'm sorry the report I sent was so incomplete. I didn't have all the bloodwork finished. I had an older work-up, but I didn't want to give you dated information. Took a little time to get the latest results. You can see what our weather's been like. The sooner we get him moved south, the easier his recovery is going to be."

Darian nodded, following the Weyrhealer into the inner corridors. He assumed they were being taken to the quarantine weyr. "Have you isolated the causative agent yet?"

"No, but I'm convinced it's bacterial. There's no evidence of pulmonary injury, his white count is radically elevated, and the onset was too gradual for a viral attack. I've been using broad-spectrums and he seems to be responding. The biggest problem is the fluid in his lungs. Can't get them to drain. Respiratory distress has been bad at times."

"Do you have the blood work-up here?"

"It's in his weyr. I'll give it to you when we get there."

Arriving at the low-level weyr, Zurbin showed the masterhealer to his patient. V'line was propped at a slight angle, sipping at a cup of fruit juice. His normally lively face was drawn and pale. A cursory examination revealed a slight fever and a mildly alarming bluish tint to the rider's lips and fingers. Darian accepted the case chart from the journeyman, paying particular attention to the results of the blood tests. He was reading when T'bor walked in.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Masterhealer. I appreciate your help."

"Glad to be here, Lord T'bor," the Cygnan replied. "V'line's an old friend. Thought I might rescue him from this deep freeze." He shared a grim chuckle with the Weyrleader.

"Are you going to take him back?"

"If he's stable enough, yes. Zurbin's done a nice job, but I concur with his conclusion. This is no place to recuperate from a lung condition."

T'bor grunted, nodding his approval to the Weyrhealer. The journeyman allowed himself a slight smile.

"Are you satisfied with this fever track?" Darian asked his colleague.

"No. It's higher than it should be this far into the course, but it's stable. Hasn't been any elevation for five days."

"Well, it could take another two or three seven-days to see any substantial improvement in these vitals. That time'd be better spent at Ista. I think we'll go ahead and move him."

The Weyrleader grimaced, pawing with his right foot. "Hate to lose a wingleader, even in a winter like this. V'line's a good one."

"I'll talk to G'dened," the avion said. "Maybe we can arrange a replacement."

T'bor coughed, frowning sourly. "If you're thinking of R'travil, keep him. I've got enough trouble."

Darian caught T'marek's eye, barely suppressing a snicker. The brownrider rolled his eyes. "Got somebody else in mind?" the avion asked.

"No. I wouldn't impose on G'dened. You're doing me a big enough favor taking care of V'line. Of course, if Pr'sin, B'kler or Tr'san are available..."

"Hmmm," the masterhealer grinned. An interesting possibility presented itself. "I don't know about B'kler or Tr'san, but I'll suggest Pr'sin to the Weyrleader. Pr'sin has a damned good wingsecond," the avion pointed out, looking at T'marek.

T'bor nodded, chuckling at the brownrider. "I wouldn't transfer a wingleader, not even on loan. But we're in a bind. This weather's been a good thing but I'm still short too many riders. If G'dened has people to spare, I'd appreciate the help." Looking at his bed-ridden bronzerider, T'bor returned to the main issue. "Is it safe for him to travel between? "

Darian shrugged. "It's not the best idea, I grant you. Still, eight seconds of between beats straight flight in this. He'll make it."

"How are you going to move him?" Zurbin asked.

"Strap him onto Clarinath as tightly as possible. I think we can trust his dragon to take care of him. I'll ride the bronze and hang onto V'line."

"That should work. It'll take a few minutes to get his belongings together and get him prepped. Would you like to wait in the cavern? Get some klah and stew?"

"Sounds good." The avion turned toward T'bor. "Are you sending his weyrmate?"

"Doesn't have one. Just as well. I don't need a queenrider worried sick about him."

Less than an hour later a brown and a bronze rose into the swirling snow. Struggling clear of the sharply spiked Weyr ridge, they disappeared.

Kelth bugled happily as the warm Istan breeze washed over him, easing the chill of High Reaches and between. He'd yet to reach the weyr ledge when Barnath relayed his rider's query.