DragonStorm Ch. 07

"Intercept it?" T'gellan asked, eyebrow lifted.

"Fly into it. Take it yourself."

"That's suicide!" Lessa snapped, shock, irritation and disbelief etched into her angry grimace. "No rider would do that to his dragon!"

Darian inclined his head, sipping at his mug. "Under normal circumstances, no. These aren't normal circumstances."

"Are you suggesting that Tr'lon took the Thread intentionally?"

"Yes."

T'gellan looked worried. The Cygnan wasn't certain why this information would trouble a rider from another Weyr, but the Easterner had known Tr'lon.

F'lar was agitated. The avion could feel the struggle between denial and acceptance being waged inside him.

Lessa was dubious. "Riders don't do that," she repeated.

"I've already said more than I should have," Darian confessed. "If I explain my theory to you, F'lar, I want your word that it goes no further than this chamber. I especially don't want F'nor or Brekke to hear this."

The Bendenite's eyes flashed golden fire. His lips pulled into a thin line. "Go ahead."

"Do you remember who you assigned to the Cove patrol during the time I was working with the records department at Landing?"

F'lar nodded. "Tr'lon and C'pan. I think N'hol had it once."

"I don't remember him, but Tr'lon had it at least three times. I had several opportunities to talk with him. He was shuttling Masterharper Sebell and some of the others back and forth. Do you know how he felt about being assigned there?"

"He never objected. Did he resent the job?"

"Not exactly. He was unhappy about being removed from the wing. Said he was worried about F'nor. Even though he was back when you flew Thread, he was concerned that he wasn't keeping an eye on his wingsecond. Said he felt responsible for him. I teased him about F'nor being a big boy, but he didn't seem to find it very funny."

The Weyrleader frowned. "I don't recall assigning him the job of protecting F'nor."

"Whatever. Even when he was getting ready to return to Benden after doing a shift at Cove, he mentioned being worried that you'd assign F'nor as the relief. Said it wouldn't accomplish anything if he got back to the Weyr and his wingsecond left."

"I appreciate his loyalty to F'nor, but that wasn't his concern. He had a job to do, just like the rest of us."

"His loyalty wasn't to F'nor, at least not directly."

F'lar's frown deepened. His brother had complained repeatedly about mistakes being made by the experienced wingman. In almost every heavy Fall, Serpenth seemed to be out of position, nearly on top of Canth. Apparently, the problem wasn't a matter of poor flying but of intentionally breaking formation. Now that he thought of it, this wasn't a recent issue. It had been happening for turns. If Tr'lon wasn't protecting F'nor, what was he doing? "Keep going," the Weyrleader said.

"I understand Tr'lon had been here about fifteen turns. Did anyone notice if he ever took a weyrmate?"

"I don't pay much attention to my riders' personal lives."

"This is important, F'lar," the Cygnan returned. "Nothing happens in this Weyr that you don't know about, particularly where your senior riders are involved."

Weyrleader and Weyrwoman glanced at each other. Lessa bit at her lower lip, shaking her head. "Not that I recall," F'lar answered. "T'gellan?"

"A casual affair or two. Nothing serious. But I haven't been here for turns."

"I suspect he never took a long-term mate," Darian enlightened them. "I doubt that he wanted one. Where did he come from?"

"Nerat Hold."

"And he was about forty-five turns old. You have anybody else from Nerat here?"

"I don't know," F'lar shrugged. "Maybe some cavernfolk. No riders that I know of."

"You do have another Neratian here, if you think beyond the Hold itself." He gave them a chance to think, lifting his cup.

The Weyrwoman was introspective, her features nearly blank. Suddenly, her eyes widened. She looked at the masterhealer. "Oh, no, you can't be serious."

"I am, Lady Lessa. After the records work, I had a bit of spare time on my hands. Something Tr'lon had mentioned in passing stuck in my mind, so I made some discreet inquiries. Were you aware he'd asked her father for a marriage contract?"

Lessa shook her head. "How could he? Before she was Searched?"

"About a week after. He didn't know she'd been Searched. From what I found, her father would have consented."

F'lar's head turned from Weyrwoman to healer, grasping the significance of their discussion. The concept they were considering was almost incredible, but three decades as a Weyrleader had taught him that nothing was beyond the realm of possibility. He looked at his mate. "Brekke?"

Lessa nodded numbly.

The Weyrleader sat quietly. A flush built on his dark cheeks. His mouth split in a furious snarl. "Shards. Shards! Of all the stupid, wher-brained... " He turned on the avion. "This is exactly what we've been trying to tell you about. This is why a dragonman's loyalty must be to his dragon and to Pern, not to another person. This is why we can't afford commoner morality and emotions. Because of a misguided sense of personal loyalty, Pern has lost an experienced rider and a brown dragon. What a ridiculous waste!"

"I don't think Tr'lon saw it that way."

"It wasn't his decision to make," F'lar snapped. "If he'd stayed in position where he belonged none of this would have happened."

"You can't be sure of that," Darian reminded him.

"No, I can't. But we have lost a rider and dragon now. I'm sure of that."

The Cygnan sighed, draining his klah. It didn't seem worth the effort to argue with the Weyrleader. What was wrong with these people? "Tr'lon felt it was worth the sacrifice. His commoner emotions saved an experienced wingsecond. Or would you have preferred to lose F'nor and Canth?"

F'lar glared at his guest. He wondered if the alien would ever learn, ever understand. Still, the thought of losing his senior wingsecond was a chilling one. He glared at the avion, but his momentary anger was fading. Despite the Cygnan's impudence, he had an irritating habit of being right, particularly when emotional issues were involved. The Bendenite reached for the wine flask. "Of course not. I don't want to lose F'nor any more than I want to lose any brownrider, or any other rider. Are you convinced that's what Tr'lon did?"

Darian nodded. "I'm convinced it's what he did and why he did it. He wasn't weyrbred and he was fully grown when he impressed. It would've been impossible for him to reject his entire upbringing. He couldn't have Brekke, so he did what he could to protect her, in the only way he knew."

T'gellan reached out to touch his friend's shoulder. He wanted to stop the discussion. Everyone's purpose would be better served if the matter was reviewed later. He closed his hand, hoping to distract the avion. The effort ended the debate, but not in any manner anticipated or desired.

Darian screamed. His hand shot across to grab the upper arm, pulling it against his body. Crystalline eyes opened wide for an instant, then squeezed shut. Spinning to the right, the healer sagged against the table.

T'gellan caught him before he fell. Circling the table, the Bendenites helped ease him back onto the bench. The wingleader knelt beside him, waiting for the ragged breathing to calm. "What did I do? What's wrong with your arm?"

"Nothing," he hissed, opening his eyes. "I'm alright."

"Right," T'gellan glowered. "Move your hand."

The determination in the Easterner's voice made it clear that refusal would be fruitless. Darian had spent enough time at Eastern to know better than arguing with the bronzerider. Slowly, the hand slipped back to its owner's side. His friend unfastened the tunic.

Bronze and gold riders watched the shirt open slowly. They noticed the stiffening in the healer's body as the fabric slid across his right shoulder. F'lar groaned and Lessa gasped as the score came into sight.

"Shells, man!" the Easterner exclaimed. "When did this happen?"

"This morning," he answered. "It's not that bad."

T'gellan looked up at his mentor. There was pain and anger in his eyes. "I told you he was one of us, F'lar."

"I never doubted it," the Weyrleader said quietly. He glanced at his mate. Lessa hurried off. As she departed, he sat down next to the avion.

"We'll get you some numbweed. Do you want me to call Brekke?"

"No. Leave her alone. F'nor needs her. Let them have a night to themselves."

"Alright, but you can't stay here like this. At least not to work. Get back to Ista and let Selana take care of you."

"I'm not that badly hurt, and I'd rather stay here."

F'lar gave him a blank look while T'gellan's eyes narrowed. G'dened had mentioned a meeting at the Healer Hall concerning the Cygnan. Something had gone wrong, but circumstances hadn't given them time for details.

Noticing the questions on the dragonmen's faces, Darian explained. "Sel and I had a disagreement. I was pretty hard on her and Scylenth. She threw me out. She doesn't want me back. At least not right now. Maybe it's for the best."

"Why do you think that?" a concerned Weyrleader inquired.

"Scylenth's her life now. She'll rise in a few months. I'm not sure I can handle it. It'll be a lot easier for everyone if I just bow out."

"Would Selana agree with that?"

"I don't know. Maybe not," the avion admitted, "but she's learning to be a dragonrider. We've already fostered our children. I don't think there's much doubt Scylenth is more important to her than I am. She can't be a queenrider and a wife at the same time."

F'lar lifted an eyebrow. He'd learned a good deal about this strange young man in the past turns and he'd learned a good deal from him. Perhaps the Cygnan needed to learn his own lessons. "We're not married, but Lessa and I managed. She's a queenrider."

"You're a bronzerider. I'm not."

"That can be remedied."

Darian frowned. "So I've been told."

The Weyrleader smiled. "Ramoth will be rising in the next month or so. She hasn't produced a clutch yet with less than two bronzes. I'll let you stand as a candidate at the hatching. There's no doubt you'd impress a bronze."

There was merit in that thought, the healer conceded. He still didn't want a dragon of his own, but it was the only long-term solution if he wanted to hold his wife. Impressing at Benden presented its own problems.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm not sure it helps. If I impress here, I stay here. Selana can only request an open flight the first time. That'll happen before Ramoth can even clutch. There may be a solution to that first flight yet, but... I'm not even certain it's necessary any longer. I just don't know."

T'gellan was getting irritated. His friends meant too much to each other and to him to allow them to give up. Perhaps Darian needed to be shocked out of his complacency and self-pity. "What do you mean, not necessary? Tr'lon cared enough to die for a woman he'd never had, could never hope to have. How can you give up on a woman you're already married to?"

"Sel and Scylenth broke formation during today's Fall. Because of it, Elysina and Valkryth were scored. You just saw what happened to me. After I told her what her mistake had caused, she asked about Valkryth's condition. She didn't ask about Elysina at all. I just pointed out that El would be okay. She never did ask about me. I don't know if she even knows I was scored. I don't think she cares."

The younger bronzerider sighed, a concerned frown forming on his lips. He shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, D," he responded. "That must hurt. Still, she will come around when Scylenth's a little older. You can't just give up."

The avion peered at the wingleader. It was true. He no longer wanted to deal with the problem. If Selana no longer loved him, why bother? It was easier ignoring it, hoping Scylenth would somehow go away. If the queen took Selana with her, he didn't have to know what was happening. He could handle that. Still, T'gellan was right. He loved the vulnerable goldrider more than anything in his life. If there was any hope of keeping her, he had to pursue it.

"That still leaves me with a Benden bronze, if I impress. Ista has too many now. G'dened wouldn't agree to a transfer. With Scylenth at Ista and me here I'd never have her again. How does that help?"

"As you're so fond of pointing out, masterhealer," F'lar chuckled, "that's under normal circumstances. We're not discussing normal circumstances."

"Why not? We're talking about impressing a bronze."

"If you were an ordinary candidate, yes. You aren't. I'm not referring to your being Cygnan. The ace in the hole is your rank." The Bendenite looked at his Eastern colleague. "Have you ever heard of a craftmaster impressing a dragon?"

T'gellan pursed his lips. "No. I don't think it's ever happened. Anyone who made master would be too old to be a candidate."

"Exactly. If a candidate impresses, they're assigned to the Weyr at which they presented. A master crafter is already assigned, by the crafthall. You're assigned to Ista. If you should impress a dragon, accidentally maybe, we couldn't take you away from your crafthall. We certainly couldn't take your dragon from you. The dragon would have to be assigned with you. He might be a Benden bronze, but you're Ista Weyr's masterhealer."

Darian released a sardonic chuckle. He looked at F'lar with amused uncertainty, an unconvinced half smile on his face. "You realize you're stepping all over your own traditions."

Two bronzeriders locked eyes, grinning at each other. "It wouldn't be the first time!" they laughed in unison.

From behind them, a curious female voice inquired, "What's so funny?"

F'lar grinned at his mate, noting that she carried a bowl of thick white paste. "We were just parceling out part of Ramoth's next clutch, dearest."

"Not without my permission and Ramoth's. Certainly not before she's even risen." The Weyrwoman glanced at her mate. "What makes you think you'll have a say in the matter?"

"I won't," the Weyrleader agreed. "Mnementh will."

Lessa gave the Easterner a secretive smile. "Thirty turns and he still hasn't changed."

"You wouldn't want him to," T'gellan smirked.

"I suppose not. Very well. You can have ten greens and two blues."

F'lar laughed aloud, sliding an arm around her waist. "That's very generous, love, but we only want one. We'll settle for a bronze."

The Weyrwoman frowned down at him. She looked from the Benden bronzerider to the Eastern bronzerider. Finally, her regard fell on the masterhealer. "Oh! They finally talked some sense into you. Well, masterhealer, if you're going to be a bronzerider, we want you in one piece. Let me see that score."

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

Ista Weyr

(Next evening, April 4th)

It was full dark when the wings again filled the Istan sky. Dragons swooped toward the lake, the feeding pens or their own weyrs. A few stopped at the infirmary.

Darian noticed that they had unexpected assistance. Master, journeyman and new "apprentice" made quick work of the few casualties. The Weyr had again flown Thread at minimal cost. His shoulder was throbbing when he finished dressing the final score.

Selana had gone back to the queen's weyr to look after Scylenth. She hadn't been much help this evening. She seemed distracted, lost in her own thoughts. He would need to ask her about that.

Only two people remained in the ward. He flexed his shoulder, selecting a new numbweed applicator.

"How does your throat feel?"

"Fine, thanks to you. Such expert care really should be rewarded."

He caught the suggestive lilt in her giggle. "Elysina, you're incorrigible. I told you, I have a wife to think about." Nonetheless, he was grinning when he stepped up to the examination table. She had stretched out, pulling her hair back to reveal the livid welt.

"Then why did you fly with Valkryth instead of Scylenth?"

"That's a bit of a story."

"I have time."

"I don't. Now be quiet and hold still." Taking the time to be thorough, he recoated the score, first with redwort, then with numbweed. She shivered when his fingers parted the top of her tunic, giving him access to the lower end of the wound, at the very top of her cleavage. She noticed that he pulled the tunic just a bit wider than was needed and that his fingers traced a path just a bit wider than the score.

"Take it easy. I'm almost finished." With two long brush strokes, the job was completed. He set the paste aside. "I don't understand this score," he admitted. "How did the thread get inside your jacket?"

Elysina sat up. "I don't know. Maybe we were turning, and it caught the stays." Sliding from the table, she assisted with the clean-up. They were standing at the wash counter when she asked, "Are you happy with Selana's choice of bronzeriders?"

"Which one?" the avion replied absently.

"V'line, of course. G'dened approved Clarinath this morning. Cosira seemed very happy about it. He said no to Golanth."

"That doesn't surprise me. Sel wasn't very sure about F'lessan."

Clarinath? The thought hadn't occurred to Darian. The bronze had been requested months ago. Of course, now he was at Ista instead of High Reaches. Not that he would be much help. V'line had a lot of recovering to do. If the rider was at less than peak health the dragon might not fly to his full capacity. Still, Clarinath was a Benden bronze. He was big and fast. Not as fast as Quarelth, but the biggest bronze at Ista.

"I suppose I approve," the masterhealer prevaricated. "Clarinath's a good dragon and V'line's a nice enough kid. He was fairly close to Selana when they were at Eastern."

"So I've heard. From what's been going on around here lately, I'd say they're fairly close again."

"What do you mean?" the avion requested.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Scylenth and Clarinath are all but inseparable. Sel's been taking awfully good care of V'line."

"She's a good healer. He needs a lot of care."

"That's true. Oh well, it's good to see her loosen up a bit. I'm glad you approve."

They were drying their hands when the tiny rider looked up at him. He saw a devilish glint in her eyes that hadn't been there for weeks. She flipped her towel across the back of his neck, pulling his head down to hers. The weakness in his shoulder made it too much trouble to resist. At the first taste of her delightful kiss, he didn't care. Deftly avoiding the injuries, Elysina pressed seductively against him. When she finally slid her lips off his, he held her tightly. Much too tightly. He slowly became aware of what he was doing.

Darian moved his hands to her arms, then gently pushed her away. A reluctant, haunted expression filled his eyes. "Why are you doing this? I told you I can't... "

"I'm lonely, Darian. Your wife got her High Reaches stud and his dragon assigned here. I don't begrudge her that. He is kind of cute. But I need some company, too."

The Cygnan shook his head, frowning down at her. "Why me? You can have any rider in this Weyr or any other. Take Valkryth and go wherever you want."

Elysina smiled slyly, stroking his arms with her fingertips. "That isn't what I want." She saw the disapproval in his eyes, stopping his retort before it started. "I'm not going to rape you, blackrider. I can wait. When the time comes that you need me or just want me, I'll be there." With a cryptic half-smile, she added, "And it will come. I'm going to get you." She slid inside his grip, giving him a last, gentle kiss, then left the infirmary.

Darian stared after her. The little rider was becoming a problem. With his relationship to Selana strained he didn't need her distraction. His avion heritage should have made the entire issue meaningless. However, more than six turns on Pern were revealing that he had more human blood than he cared for. An unguarded moment with Elysina would make all the effort, all the struggle since Scylenth's impression meaningless. What validity would anyone attach to his moral objections if he had a blatant affair? Worse yet, an affair with another Istan queenrider. It was bad enough listening to Astaroth fawn over Valkryth and denigrate the younger queen. Darian agreed with him. If her rider started pursuing him aggressively... He'd have to tread lightly around the diminutive vixen.