Dragonforce

Dragonrider, mind your ways,

keep your honor bright.

Curb your passions, tend your beast,

fight the noble fight.

9th Pass - Year 20 -- August 10

(Somewhere on the Southern Continent)

The sun was high in the sky, or at least as high as it would get this time of year in the northern half of the great southern continent. The forests below showed deep green, shimmering with that strange combination of moisture, cold and brilliant sunlight which marked mid-winter. Even in his heavy wher-hide riding clothes, T'marek should have been cold. But he wasn't. In fact, he was uncomfortably warm.

As crystalline as the air to his left, so foul was the air to his right. A hazy yellow cloud reached lazily skyward, drifting eastward in the light afternoon breeze. The faint odor of sulfur could be detected. The smoking mountain below bore watching, if only to see if something more serious than gas clouds might be forthcoming.

T'marek sneezed again. He was being careful not to fly directly through the billowing cloud, but still his nostrils, throat and lungs felt tight and uncomfortable. Of all the fool things for a wing-second to be doing, particularly when Thread fell from the skies, nursing a dormant volcano was among the worst. He would have to be more discriminating in his choice of liaisons, or at least more discreet. Still, it had been quite an evening. T'gellan hadn't thought so, and the Holder was probably still irate, but they had eaten well. And, there had been other rewards.

An unexpected thermal brought the rider back from his daydream. The warm updraft lifted the brown dragon he was perched on high above the crater. His eyes filled with tears as the more concentrated fumes engulfed them. Even as Kelth began a slow, turning descent, carrying them clear of the suffocating gasses, the brown-rider convulsed in a violent coughing spasm.

'That wasn't too smart, was it, my friend?' he asked, stroking the soft brown neck.

The huge head turned back so that the dragon could see his rider, great eyes whirling soft red with concern. 'We must be more careful,' the anxious thoughts asserted. 'Are you alright?'

T'marek grinned at his companion. Kelth could be a bit of a worrier, especially as his rider tended toward the uninhibited side. On more than one occasion, the brown had kept him from getting into or bailed him out of either difficult or embarrassing situations. Just what he needed, a thirty-five-foot nanny.

'I'm fine, mommy. Let's get back to work.'

'I am not your mother.'

T'marek laughed aloud at the irritation in his dragon's thoughts. He delighted in teasing the brown, but only because the bond between them was so strong that neither felt any hurt or insult in the good-natured jibes.

Another harsh cough wracked the rider. He grimaced at the strange taste in his mouth, a familiar sensation that he could not place. That cloud of gas might be more dangerous than they had anticipated. It certainly merited a better look. 'Let's get in close. I want to see what's going on in there.'

Kelth swung lower, heading for the lip of the crater. The air grew hotter and more oppressive, the fumes more concentrated as they approached the volcano. The yellow cloud here was mixed with flecks of grey, black and occasional red. It held a most sinister appearance. The dragon felt a sense of deep foreboding. 'I don't like this. We must be careful.'

T'marek nodded, his eyes again filling with water. Another cough brought the strange taste into his mouth again. This time, he recognized it; blood. If he was coughing that hard, this was no place to be sight-seeing. 'Let's get this done and get out of here. What in the shell are we doing here anyway?'

'You knew this could happen. The Weyrleader warned us. It's not the first time. At least we got away before the Holder's sons caught you.'

'Uh huh. That's one of the few times I've been glad you interrupted something.'

Dragon and rider swooped low over the maw of the volcano. As they crossed the edge, a surge of heat hit them like a blast furnace. Kelth was lifted high by the strong updraft. Concentrated gasses swirled about them, making breathing difficult and seeing nearly impossible. T'marek stared down at the bowl of the mountain. The leaden surface looked alive, as though dancing to some primeval rhythm. It seemed to surge and bubble, like a great cauldron of boiling klah. The motion was almost hypnotic, drawing his attention downward. His head was spinning, lost in the turbulence of air, clouds and liquid earth.

'I don't feel well,' warned Kelth, his thoughts heavy with concern. 'We should leave now.'

T'marek sneezed. The brown was probably right, but he wanted a better look at that fascinating motion below. The heavy riding glove was pulled from his right hand. He wiped at his eyes, trying to clear the water flowing from them, trying to stop the stinging.

'One more low pass, then we get out of here.' He could sense the dragon's reluctance, but the brown obediently lowered his left wing, arcing down and back into the crater. Both felt the violent air currents, forcing them higher and holding them within the confines of the crater. The choking fumes burned their mouths, lungs and nostrils. One more pass would be about all either could take.

Below and to the left, T'marek thought he saw a streak of red in the boiling mud. He asked his dragon to look.

'I see it, but I don't know what it is.'

A deafening roar from the crater floor engulfed them. They could see the mountain reaching up, streamers of black, red and orange grasping at them.

'Kelth,' T'marek called, 'get us out of here!'

There was no time. Before the dragon could act, the great stone was upon them. Kelth's head snapped back savagely as the burning rock struck his jaw, deflecting backward to impact his rider's shoulder. Only the strong fighting straps held T'marek in place. The pair tumbled wildly, carried out over the rim of the volcano.

As the powerful surge of air subsided, the brown extended his wings, roaring in pain. He turned his head dazedly to the left, seeing the wing refuse to open fully. His rider lay limp on his neck, not answering the dragon's urgent calls.

Kelth glided as far as his battered body would allow, not knowing the direction, only that it was away from the danger behind. He was tired, in pain, and losing altitude. His only thought was to protect T'marek. He had to get him back to the Weyr. Confused thoughts would not allow him to clearly picture it and, without a clear image, they could not go between. The world seemed to be spinning, darkening, totally unfamiliar to him. He had called for help, reaching out for his Eastern friends. Where were they? Why couldn't he hear them? He needed them. His rider needed them. Why didn't they answer?

Kelth felt something scrape his sagging tail. He looked down. The trees were too close.

Darian tightened the binding, knotting it across the small twig. A shiver ran through his body, although he wasn't sure if it was caused by the cold or by the grisly wounds he was treating. The sickening dizziness had left him but the bone-deep chill was still there. Strange, he thought. The air was cool but it didn't feel terribly cold. Perhaps this was left over from the awful freezing sensation they had all experienced during that short period of total darkness.

He had no idea of where they were. The surrounding forests were deep, verdant and beautiful, but nothing that he was familiar with. Only moments ago, he had been flying over the rolling hills of Timor. Now, well...

There had been little chance to ponder the problem. No sooner had he regained his senses than he found the badly injured human. This he could cope with. The massive beast lying just beyond was another matter.

A nervous chittering to his side made him turn. Loki looked up at him, still crouching, still shivering. The silver and brown streaked stalker was a bundle of nerves, from bottle-brushed tail to curving claws and tufted ears. Darian gently scratched the inclined head, deftly catching the low spot behind the ear. His efforts brought a soft, rolling purr.

'Relax, little one.' he reassured the stalker. 'We're all right, for now. At least, we're a lot better off than these two.'

Trained fingers probed along the length of the human's arm, feeling gently but firmly beneath the skin. The bone was in place but there was a lot of tissue damage. No one could lose this much blood and live long. If he couldn't shift from the tourniquet to pressure bandages soon, the arm was history. And the shoulder...

'He needs more help than we can give him here. Any ideas?' He didn't really expect an answer, but it helped to include the others. He glanced down as Akira slid to a stop beside him.

'Send the big one to find help. If he is here, there must be others. It is getting cold and dark.'

Darian agreed, noting the stiffening wind. The twilight was deepening and the rainbow stretched across the sky was appealing to the eye but hardly reassuring. He pulled his wings forward to shield his neck. Looking upward, he wondered if the big one would be willing to go. He wasn't always cooperative in the best of times. This was not the best of times.

Astaroth crouched on his haunches, silently fuming. He had no idea of where he was, how he had gotten here or where to go. To make matters worse, his stomach was rumbling. Finding help for an injured human and the deformed creature nearby was hardly high on his list of priorities. He snorted his reply to the avion's unspoken question. 'Leave them here, wherever here is.'

'We can't do that,' Darian answered, shaking his head. 'Whoever or whatever they are, they need help.'

'You can't do that,' Astaroth replied, swiveling his massive head toward the others. 'I can.'

'Alright,' Darian conceded, 'you can, we can't. That still doesn't solve the problem.' He was careful to voice his thoughts as a statement of fact, not as an accusation. It would serve no purpose to antagonize the unpredictable dragon. They were going to need his help.

Loki had gotten to his feet, sniffing at the great brown animal lying among the torn and broken trees. There had been quite an impact, from the look of the brush in the area. The animal's left foreleg was twisted grotesquely under the massive torso, the right hidden from view. The tail twitched spasmodically. The beast was more than twice as large as Astaroth, who stretched fifteen meters from head to tail. 'It smells like a dragon,' Loki announced uncertainly.

Astaroth snorted derisively. 'That thing is no dragon!'

Darian chuckled. The black's vanity could be amusing. He agreed with Loki. The thing did look like a dragon of some sort, though nothing he had ever seen. Even the vegetation was strange to him. And that red moon pulsing on the horizon, he'd never seen it either. Two things were becoming clear. They had to find out where they were and they had to get help for these two. He wasn't sure they could do either without doing both. Standing here debating wouldn't accomplish anything.

'Very well. I'm going to look east. Loki, head north, Akira, south. Darian, check west. We will need shelter. These two can't take this cold much longer. If anyone finds anything, call the others in.'

Darian watched Loki and Akira plunge into the brush. He stood silently while the great black stared back at him.

'I'm getting hungry,' Astaroth advised him.

'So am I,' Darian retorted, 'and there isn't anything here to eat. And none of us are carrion eaters. We'll need food as soon as we take care of these two.'

'It might be smart to hunt as we search.' The dragon launched himself into the air. Two sweeps of wings and tail propelled him out of sight to the east.

The avion stood quietly, staring at the injured beings. The great brown animal shuddered, dragging his mangled wing through the brush. His snort of pain reminded Darian that, unless he and his friends hurried, whoever or whatever they were, they wouldn't be much longer. "I'll be back," he said quietly, knowing neither could hear him. His own wings bore him aloft. He turned westward, toward the sun now dropping into the mountains on the horizon. As he started a searching glide, a weak, pain-etched thought invaded his mind...

'Thank you.'

Eastern Weyr

(Midnight)

Driving rain accented a bitter wind, making the night air disturbingly cold for Eastern. This was no time to have two wings out searching for a missing dragon and rider.

The Weyrleader pulled his riding jacket closed. Across the grounds, everywhere he could see, frenzied fire-lizards were performing wild aerobatics, darting and diving through the midnight sky. Trills and chitters battered his ears, upsetting even the dragons perched in their weyrs and on the ledges.

His own bronze, Monarth, sat on their weyr ledge, watching and listening. The thoughts and images he received from the dragonets were frightened and confused, a whirling panorama of shapes and colors dominated by a gigantic animal and a man. They would not calm down enough to listen to him, frustrating his efforts to get a clearer image.

'What are they saying?' the Weyrleader inquired. The tiny beasts could be a major nuisance at times, but they were also a useful source of information and excellent messengers. Unfortunately, they were prone to panic, making them far from reliable in a crisis.

'They say It is coming. It has him,' Monarth replied. He was dissatisfied with the response, knowing it was incomplete and only gave his rider more questions. He anticipated the next two.

'I don't know who he is, nor what It is. The image isn't clear enough to tell me if they have seen the wingsecond.' Monarth hesitated for a moment, then added, 'I don't think It is Kelth. They wouldn't be afraid of Kelth.'

The bronze-rider nodded. It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but it made sense. Something had the lizards in a state of intense agitation, and they all knew Kelth. It was strange that none of the dragons could find the brown.

'I don't hear him.' Again, the bronze responded before the question had been asked. His knack for doing so often amused his rider but, at times like these, it was a major advantage.

'Try to reach Serath and Zarth. See if they've found anything.' The Weyrleader's thoughts turned to the two bronze dragons and their riders, searching in this miserable weather. One was a senior wingleader, the other his most junior. It would be hard, slow work, flying straight at treetop level, trying to find one dragon and one man in full dark and heavy rain. Even for sixty dragons, he couldn't expect immediate results.

'They haven't found anything,' the bronze reported. 'Zarth says the mountain looks different. He isn't sure. It's too dark.'

No doubt, the rider agreed. It had been nearly dark when they first realized something was wrong, that Kelth couldn't be heard. Even gaining an hour of light by going between to start their search patterns, it had been twilight before the wings were in position. The information about the mountain was intriguing. What did Zarth mean? How could a mountain look different? It was probably just the shadows and the rain. Then again, Zarth was sharp-eyed and dependable.

Other riders were appearing on the Weyr grounds, staring at the frantic lizards and attending to unsettled dragons. Cavern workers stood in the tunnel openings, wondering at the late-night cacophony and the heightened alertness of the dragon folk when most would normally be asleep. A graceful, female figure walked from the main entrance of the lower caverns. She stopped momentarily, looking about. Seeing his uplifted arm, she resumed her approach. Betrella, the Weyr's headwoman, would be very useful this evening, the bronze rider thought. It looked like a long night.

"Is there any word yet?" Betrella asked, stepping up to the Weyrleader. She was an attractive woman, dark-haired, dark-eyed, in her early thirties. In fact, he mused, she was probably the youngest of all the headwomen. That was only appropriate, as Eastern Weyr had the youngest contingent of dragons, riders and weyrfolk in the entire planet. They were, after all, the newest Weyr, so why not the youngest?

"No," he admitted, turning with a respectful nod to the woman, "no word yet. Betrella, would you have your kitchen staff prepare a night meal? We have two wings out, and I may have to send two more."

The headwoman chuckled at the request. The kitchen staff was always complaining about the unusual demands dragonmen placed on them, how little respect and appreciation they got. It was quiet complaining. Few people living in the Weyrs ever wanted to leave. Life in the holds and crafthalls was considerably more taxing than handling the peculiar needs of the great winged beasts and the hearty appetites of their riders. "Of course. It's been too routine here, anyhow. Will do some good to stir things up a bit."

The bronzerider gave her an amused smirk as she turned away. Betrella could be difficult, even quarrelsome at her worst, but she was an excellent headwoman. The Weyr lacked for nothing, the weyrfolk ate well, and no one questioned her orders or her authority to give them. The only thing he questioned was the sanity of the Lord Holder who had released her to tend Eastern. She had been T'gellan's weyrmate prior to Mirrim's transfer from Benden. Even now they shared the occasional rendezvous. Even in this crisis, he spared a moment for an appreciative look at her backside.

A slight slacking in the rain and a passing shadow caused him to look up. A large blue dragon, the assigned watch-dragon, was passing overhead. This, too, was somewhat unusual, since the watch-dragon normally remained perched on the eastern edge of the lip to the Weyr bowl, near the eye-rock. Why would Moth be flying toward the west?

'He has seen something,' Monarth answered. 'I'm coming.'

The Weyrleader looked up to see his massive bronze leap into the air, scattering fire-lizards in every direction. The dragon glided quickly to a graceful landing just in front of him. He offered a bent foreleg. A single step and a deft jump placed the rider between the first and second neck ridges, where he gathered the fighting straps. As the pair prepared to take to the air, the watch-dragon screamed a brassy challenge. Instantly, the air was still as the fire-lizards disappeared. Monarth sprang into the night sky, pursuing the blue disappearing beyond the rim of the Weyr.

Two browns took to the air below him, followed by a smaller animal. The concern and loyalty of his wingriders pleased the Weyrleader, but the last thing he needed was a confusion of dragons in the sky.

'Tell them to stay down. We'll call if we need help.'

Even as he heard Monarth relay the message, his eyes were straining to see the blue. In the night sky, with the rain to contend with, that was no easy chore. He could barely see the outline of the watch-dragon ahead of and below him.

As they crossed the edge of the Weyr, Moth's repeated challenge floated back to them. Monarth answered with his own brassy roar. In the gloom ahead, a third roar answered, but in a voice unlike any dragon's the Weyrleader had ever heard.

The tone was deep and resonant, lacking the brassy, bugling quality which he was used to. It was an angry, defiant sound. In the near total darkness, the disembodied voice was eerie and disturbing.

'I see it,' announced the bronze, 'ahead and below. It flies very slowly.'

Following his dragon's gaze, the bronzerider looked down to his left. Moth's outline was barely visible. The blue was moving slowly, watching to his left. He had changed directions, now moving directly toward the Weyr. Despite his reduced rate of advance, Monarth's speed closed the distance between them rapidly. To Moth's left was another shadow, that of a slightly larger beast, probably a medium-sized brown. Something about the second dragon didn't look quite right. The wings seemed too wide and too short, the tail too heavy and not long enough.