DragonStorm Ch. 06

The avion opened his eyes, seeing the worried look on both dragonmen. The journeymen were staring at him with abject fear. His shoulders sagged. "Get him prepped for transport," he told the young healers. Shaking his head grimly, he looked upward. "Astaroth, down here. We've got some flying to do."

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Ista Weyr

(Same day, April 2nd)

Selana was angry and hurt. He'd no right to chase her away like that. They weren't doing anything wrong, and she could have helped. There were a lot of injured men. He had no right.

'He was worried.'

'Why? We weren't in danger.'

'Yes, we were.' Scylenth corrected. 'They were still fighting. There were a lot of crossbows. He was worried about you. He loves you.'

'There wasn't anything to worry about. He didn't need to chase us off.'

'He wanted us back here. We're safe now. He isn't worried anymore.'

The queen had come out of between high over the Weyr. She descended in long, sweeping curves, covering nearly the entire perimeter with each circle. The watch dragon watched her glide majestically overhead, roaring his approval. She replied appropriately.

'I still don't think he had a right to send us back,' Selana pouted.

'The Weyrleader would be very angry to find out we were there. He would be even angrier to know we landed. The winged one doesn't want him to know.'

'Afraid he'll get into more trouble, isn't he?'

'No. He doesn't want us to get into trouble. He doesn't want the Weyrleader angry with you.'

The queenrider hadn't thought of that. It was, she realized, altogether possible. Darian thought that way; around, over, under and through a situation. He was always at least two steps ahead of her. That was becoming annoying. 'Well, maybe he was right. I still don't think he should have treated us like that.'

'He was right. He didn't mean to be cruel. He was worried. He loves you. Not as much as me, but he loves you.'

Selana smiled, giving her queen a loving pat on the neck. 'How do you know so much about him? You'd think you were impressed to Darian, not me.'

'You are my rider,' Scylenth assured her. 'I am your dragon. I know everything that's important to you. You're happy when he's with you. That makes me happy.'

A greeting bugle caught the rider's ear. The proximity of the sound made her look for its source. She recognized Clarinath as the realization struck that her queen was heading for the upper weyr. 'Scylenth, where are you going? This isn't our weyr.'

'No. This is the new rider's weyr. You're still upset. You need something to do. Talk to the bronzerider. It will make you feel better. I'll wait here.' The queen backwinged to a landing, promptly extending her leg.

Selana slipped off the golden neck, rubbing the dragon's eye ridge. She walked into the familiar chamber, her thoughts on its occupant. By the time Scylenth and Clarinath touched noses, the healer was out of sight.

V'line looked up as she walked in. He was about to speak when a series of wracking coughs prevented him. The spasms that shook his body disturbed and alarmed both of his visitors.

The healer crossed quickly to the bed, placing her hand on his forehead. There was no indication of fever. To the contrary, he felt clammy. His color wasn't good.

"Still can't break that up, can you?"

"Not yet," he admitted, "but I am trying."

"Hah!" she replied. "You aren't fooling me. You think lazing around at Ista with everyone waiting on you is easier than working for a living at Reaches."

The bronzerider gave her a wan smile. "It is. The company's better, too."

Selana crossed back to the table, retrieving a cup and filling it with fruit juice. She sprinkled a generous amount of hyssop and a touch of sweatroot into the beverage. Satisfied with the potion, she returned. "Who's company do you prefer," she asked, handing the rider his drink, "his or mine?"

"I'm not sure," V'line answered. "Let me rub your tummy and see if you purr."

"You're definitely feeling better," the healer grinned. She reached down beside the bed, affectionately scratching the erected ears. Loki started to rumble noisily.

The rider gagged on the juice, choking it back out of his throat. Selana was beside him immediately, lifting his head and turning him. He coughed hard several times, then relaxed.

"Sorry, Needles," he apologized. "Didn't mean to inhale it." He sipped more carefully at the cup.

Selana eased him back down, sitting beside him on the bed. A reflective smile spread across her face. "I haven't heard that in a long time. I'd almost forgotten it."

"I'm sorry about that, too," he added.

She waited until he drained the mug, then set it on the floor. A slight gurgling was still audible in the rider's breathing. If that new instrument Darian had told her about really worked, and if they ever got it built, such cases would be a lot easier to work with. She laid a hand on his torso just below the left side of the rib cage. He wasn't sensitive to the touch, but a slight push closed his eyes and drew a groan. She eased her hand away.

V'line was improving. Progress was painfully slow, however. It had been three seven-days already and all they'd managed to do was eliminate the remnants of his fever. Fluid still constricted his breathing. Any exertion exhausted him. The cyanosis had disappeared, but he remained pale. Even his usually brilliant blue eyes were dark and clouded. The Masterhealer was concerned about that fluid. If they couldn't drain it or get the rider to expel it, it would lead to a secondary infection. Such relapses had a disturbing tendency to end fatally. She reached up to clear the disheveled hair from his forehead, shuddering at the course of her thoughts.

"Hey," he smiled, opening his eyes to look up at her, "what's wrong? You look worse than I feel."

"Thanks a lot. I'm glad I don't feel as bad as you look."

The afternoon passed quickly as the friends relived old experiences and updated each other on newer ones. By dinnertime, V'line was feeling stronger and Selana was in better spirits. He ate a small bowl of stew, drinking a bit of klah. Imala made fruit juice available and Selana ensured that he drank it. T'marek paid a brief visit, sharing a joke or two with his former wingmate. The Weyrleaders stopped by as well, inquiring after their visitor's health.

Aware that V'line was concerned by his prolonged absence from High Reaches, G'dened made a point of informing him that fifteen riders, including a bronze and two browns, had been loaned to T'bor. The relief on the High Reaches wingleader's face was obvious.

Selana left for a deck of dragon cards. She discovered that Darian was involved in major surgery and would be gone most of the night. Not interested in staying in an empty queen's weyr, she elected to prolong her visit with the bronzerider. Scylenth indicated her satisfaction with the arrangement.

'That's fine. I'll wait. Clarinath is my friend. He'll sit with me.'

'Are you hungry, dearest?' the rider asked. 'Would you like me to oil you?'

'I'm fine. Enjoy yourself. Clarinath and I will wait.'

The healer smiled at her dragon's reasoning. She described the conversation to V'line.

"She's a fine-looking queen," he grinned. "Not much longer now, is it?"

Selana averted her eyes, her smile disappearing. She lifted her elbows to the tabletop, dropping her chin into clenched hands. Her eyes focused on the nothingness behind the bronzerider.

V'line's eyes narrowed in alarm. "Hey, girl, what's the matter? I say something I shouldn't have?"

"No," she said remorsefully, "you didn't say anything wrong. She is getting big. The bigger she gets the more frightened I get."

Grimacing with confusion, the wingleader cocked his head. "You want to explain that?"

"She's full grown, V'line. She'll rise in a few months. I know G'dened's trying, but nobody's come up with any kind of an answer yet. I'm terrified of what I might do during the flight or what Darian might do after it."

"Haven't you invited any outside riders? How about T'sarl or F'lessan? They're good men with good animals."

Selana shook her head miserably. "I'm really not interested. F'nor suggested F'lessan. I like him, but... I don't know, maybe. F'lessan would do. I don't want anything to do with anyone from Eastern. It would be too painful for me and Darian."

"Okay. I'll contact Benden. I think F'lar will agree to send Golanth. Do you have anyone coming?"

"Darian requested Trenth," she said numbly.

"He's a brown!" V'line snapped. "It's your flight, not Darian's. Get yourself some bronzes, one's that you want!" He watched with concern as her eyes filled with tears.

"I asked two. They both refused. They don't want to cross Weyr boundaries." She said the last bitterly, hopelessly.

The bronzerider closed his eyes, feeling his throat tighten. Her anguished retort hit him hard. He was one of the riders who'd refused to cross Weyr boundaries. His reasons for refusing were sound. If his bronze succeeded in flying Scylenth, she could transfer to High Reaches. Not that she'd want to. His loyalty to T'bor, and High Reaches' reduced dragonstrength, wouldn't allow him to request transfer to Ista. The despair on the healer's face was unbearable. He crossed to the far side of the table, sliding his arm around her as he sat down. Selana's head sagged to his shoulder. "Isn't there anyone else you might want? Someone you might have overlooked?"

"No one," she shuddered, barely getting the words out. "Everyone here already considers Scylenth and Quarelth weyrmates." With a voice of sheer agony she added, "And me and R'travil."

V'line held her, searching for an alternative, anything to restore some hope to the despondent rider. In this condition, her queen would be out of control, the flight short and unproductive. He pulled her against him, trying to will her back to a semblance of herself. Then, the thought struck him. He turned his head, brushing his lips against her forehead. A chuckle rippled from him.

Selana looked up, eyes reddened by tears and anger. Her mouth was pulled into a furious grimace. "How can you laugh at me?" she cried. "What could be funny about this?"

He shushed her, placing a finger across her lips. "Take it easy, Needles," he soothed. "It's not as bad as you think." He smiled, lifting his finger to scratch the tip of her nose. "How much longer will it be before I can return to High Reaches?"

"I don't know," she groaned. "Maybe four or five months. We have to get the fluid out of your lungs before we can even think about it."

"Okay. How long until Scylenth rises?"

She buried her head against his shoulder, trying to hide from the threatening words. "Another three or four months, maybe five."

"Well then," he reasoned, "there aren't any Weyr boundaries to be crossed, are there?"

She looked up blankly, failing to comprehend his meaning. "I don't understand."

V'line coughed sharply, turning his head. His lungs burned from the effort. Waiting until he was breathing more easily, he explained. "Scylenth is an Istan queen. She really should be flown by an Istan bronze. I'm assigned to Ista. From what you just said, I'll still be here when your queen rises."

Selana's eyes widened. She spun her head toward the weyr ledge, then back to the rider. "You mean you, he, Clarinath...?"

"Why not? At the moment he is an Istan bronze."

Her arms tightened spasmodically across his back. An infinitely relieved, almost maniacal laugh burst from her.

The bronzerider smiled as she burrowed into his arms. He heard a two-note, contented croon floating from the ledge. His cheek rested against her forehead, his lips close to her ear. "I love you, Needles," he reminded her.