Dragonforce

Eastern Weyr

(Next day, August 19th)

Carefully, he secured the binding around the base of the bandage. He wanted it snug enough to hold, but not so tight as to restrict circulation. The wrapping extended from mid-thigh to just below the knee. It looked more serious than the wound it concealed. Kelth's dew claw had been the villain, raking the healer as she fought to control him. The laceration was long but superficial, little more than an impressive scratch.

The attending physician tested the upper binding then slid his finger the length of the dressing. At the bottom, he simply kept going, running a feather-light touch all the way to the bottom of the ankle.

"That will do nicely," Selana stated, reaching down to remove the wandering hand. "Besides, the merchandise is damaged." Despite the mild rejection, she was smiling at him.

Darian stood up, grinning at her. He flexed his left arm, most of which was covered by the numbweed paste the Pernese healer had recently placed on it. The avion was thankful that the lake water had been so cold. Without it, the Threadscore could have been far more serious. He grimaced at the memory of the hungry spore wrapping around his forearm and burrowing. It was fortunate the lake had been so close and so deep. His headfirst plunge could have been most discouraging had the pool been a shallow one.

A groan interrupted his contemplation. The only seriously injured rider from the previous day's Fall was stirring. The young bluerider had taken a nasty Threading across the base of the neck and over the left shoulder. The wounds hadn't reached tendon or ligament, but they were deep and painful. Sedation had been elected rather than numbweed. Hence, he was still in the infirmary.

The youngster opened his eyes and looked around. Several minutes passed while he slowly regained his senses. Predictably, his first question was about his dragon. Darian didn't answer but walked over to look at the worried face. The eyes were alert, color good, although the strain of the injury and the use of fellis had left dark circles below the lower lids. The rider tried moving to a sitting position, to be firmly restrained by the healer.

"Not yet," Darian told him. "How does your shoulder feel?"

"Fine," the blue-rider rejoined. 'Minoth, where are you?'

'On the ledge. Are you alright? I was worried.'

'I'm fine. We'll be out of here soon.'

The avion smiled. Cautiously, he slid his arm around the rider's waist, easing it up to the middle of the rib cage. The other grasped the youngster by the right shoulder. "Alright now, slowly."

Pivoting on his hip, the rider eased to a sitting position. He felt a wave of nausea which quickly receded. A strange light-headedness was affecting him, an after-effect of the sedative. Seated, he was a bit wobbly. Darian kept his grip.

A second pair of eyes regarded the young man, appearing to the avion's left. "Af'fanoon, S'dom," the man said through a badly distorted grin.

The bluerider's eyes brightened at the sound of the voice. He looked up and grinned at the speaker. "T'marek, how are you? You look great!"

"Thad," the brownrider slurred, "idth a flamig lie! Am' you know id!" He tried to laugh then winced as the motion pulled hard at the sutures in his jaw. A worried croon arose in response to his discomfort. "Thad dwagon idth dwivig me nudth!" he complained.

S'don laughed for him, offering his hand across the healer's obstructing shoulder and wing. T'marek grasped the wrist gingerly.

"Well, you don't look too worried, and Kelth sounds well enough," the bluerider insisted. "Have you seen Minoth?"

"He'th awwide. A mia wig thcaw. Do big deaw."

S'don furrowed his forehead, looking carefully at the stitches in the brownrider's face. When he got a good look, he understood why his friend's voice was so garbled. "You sound wonderful," he chuckled.

"Yeah," T'marek agreed, "am' may Mioth made wid a wadth-weyh!"

A feminine giggle announced the arrival of the second healer. Gently, she detached the riders' wristlock, steering the wingsecond to a seat beside S'don. She reminded them that Darian had an examination to complete.

The avion waited for the bluerider to look at him. He removed his hands, letting the youngster sit without support. There was no sign of wavering. The eyes were clear, the slight flush gone. "Good," the avion said quietly. "Now, raise your left arm."

S'don lifted the arm quickly. It was just below shoulder height when the rider squeezed his eyes shut and dropped the arm back to his side, teeth clenched. An outraged roar echoed from the far end of the Weyr.

"Take it easy. That shoulder is going to need some time."

Taking a deep breath, the rider reopened his eyes. The glaze of moisture in them subsided, and he looked expectantly at the healer. "Can I go back to my weyr now?"

Darian regarded him sourly, lips contorted in a scowl. Typical hatchling, he considered, all guts and no brain. "Would you stay here if I said no?" he asked.

"No," S'don admitted.

Selana stifled a laugh, lifting her eyebrows innocently when Darian glared at her.

"I thought as much," he growled. "Oh, well, go ahead, but don't strain that shoulder."

"Ca I go doo?" T'marek requested, trying his luck.

"No!" both healers snapped in unison.

A smiling S'don reached for his riding jacket, lying on the cot behind him. He considered donning the garment then simply draped it over his good shoulder. "Can I get you anything?" he inquired of his friend.

"Yeah," the brownrider snapped, "eahpwugth."

'It's not noisy in here,' answered a curious dragon.

'Twy id fwom my edd,' the rider retorted.

Selana helped the bluerider prepare to leave, gathering his riding clothes. As they walked to the infirmary ledge, she told him firmly, "Minoth needs rest, and so do you. If you must fly, light flying only. And no going between for at least a few days. Your scores are deep. If you try too soon, you'll wish you hadn't."

"Okay," he agreed, not really listening. His eyes were focused on the light blue beast waiting for him on the ledge. Minoth bugled a joyful greeting. Without hesitating, S'don leapt to the lowered neck and the pair was gone.

The healer watched them fly off, pursing her lips. If they weren't careful, they'd be back. She waited until dragon and rider disappeared into an upper weyr on the north wall then turned to reenter the infirmary.

T'marek and Darian were standing by the brown. It was clear that the healer was again describing the dragon's injuries, the enthralled rider drinking in every word. The Cygnan had discovered the only way to keep the brownrider quiet; talk about Kelth.

As Selana approached, she became aware of the avion's expressed concern over yesterday's frantic escapade.

"... further damage or reinjury. That's why it was so important you kept him from taking off."

The wingsecond nodded solemnly, paying close attention. "How wog?" he mumbled.

"Weeks, maybe months," Darian answered. The reply was obviously not what the rider wanted to hear, but both men knew it was the only correct one. T'marek sighed.

"Your injuries are just as serious," the physician continued. "Trying to fly too soon could do major permanent damage, and where does that leave Kelth?"

The comment had the desired effect. A bit of the swagger ebbed from the rider's stance. His shoulders sagged noticeably, and he leaned against the brown.

'We'll be fine,' the dragon told him. 'I'll wait for you, you'll wait for me. There is time.'

T'marek patted the soft flank, saying nothing. Beside him, the healer turned his attention to the brown.

"Kelth, would you extend your wing a bit, please?" He waited for the brown to open the damaged limb, signaling for Selana to join him. Nothing happened. "Kelth," he repeated, looking up at the brown, "please open your wing."

The dragon's head tilted slightly, regarding the Cygnan with a curious gaze. His neck extended slowly, until the muzzle made slight contact, but the wing remained motionless.

It took only a moment for Selana to realize what had happened. A smile of deep satisfaction crossed her face. "T'marek," she asked, "please ask Kelth to extend his wing."

In seconds, the brown opened the folded limb, stretching it to the limit of his comfort. Darian reached up to restrain the appendage, indicating the movement was sufficient. He shot a disappointed glance at the female.

T'marek ducked under the wing, coming up beside the avion. All three examined the delicate structure meticulously, not knowing exactly what to expect, but watching for anything different.

Darian pursed his lips, cursing under his breath. He reached out with his right hand, pointing. "Here, here and here," he said, indicating the junction of stabilizer and mainsail membrane. "The sutures are stretched. This one has torn free." He folded his arms, eyes flashing angrily. "We're going to have to do this over."

The rider grimaced, seeing the stretched stitches and torn fabric. If Kelth had done this much damage just stretching the wing, what would have happened had he succeeded in getting airborne? The thought sent a visible shudder through him. His distress alarmed the brown, who gently nuzzled him, crooning dragonish concern. T'marek reached backward, scratching the eye ridge. 'It's alright, big guy. We'll be fine.'

"Yes, you will," Darian agreed, "but you have to be careful. No more heroics like yesterday, understood?"

The rider smiled thinly, relaying the message to his beast. Kelth snorted a defiant response. The brownrider's eyes narrowed momentarily, and he faced his dragon. Nodding understanding, he addressed the healers, "You awe wamded im da coumthel woom."

Darian looked at him blankly. He didn't think he'd upset the rider enough to be chased off, at least with so transparent a tactic. The concerned scowl on his face deepened.

"Momath jutht bethpoke Kewph," he explained, reading the confusion in the avion's features. "D'gewwam wams you boph im da coumthel woom."

Selana reached out to take her counterpart's arm. He looked at her questioningly. "We'd better go," she urged. "If the Weyrleader wants us badly enough to send for us, we can't keep him waiting."

The Cygnan frowned his acceptance, reluctant to leave the big brown. He spoke to T'marek before turning away. "Get some rest and get something to eat."

The rider frowned at him, reaching up to gingerly finger his jaw. "Yeah, wide."

The healers walked to the inner infirmary entrance. Just before leaving, Selana glanced back to see T'marek sitting against the brown's side. Kelth curled his tail protectively around the rider, resting his massive head on the tapering extremity. The wingsecond disappeared from sight. She smiled happily at the reunited weyrmates then strode out into the tunnel.

Silently, they walked through the Weyr complex toward the Weyrleader's quarters. Darian let her take the lead, both to observe the slight limp from her laceration and to enjoy the view. Their omnipresent companion padded noiselessly beside them.

The Cygnan's thoughts returned to the injured dragon and the prospect of rebuilding the wing, while his Pernese counterpart pondered being summoned to the Weyrleader's council chamber. Upon their arrival, Selana stopped so abruptly that the avion walked into her.

The council chamber sat to the side of the Weyrleader's complex, just short of the entrance into Monarth's weyr. It was an impressive room, nearly ten meters square. An oval table dominated the furnishings, surrounded by carefully crafted wooden chairs. Twenty people would have completely filled the chamber, and it was more than half full now.

"Oh, my!" breathed the female healer, backing involuntarily into the avion.

He took her by the shoulders to steady her, letting his eyes wander about the assemblage. At the far end of the table, he saw T'gellan, Eastern's senior queen-rider seated next to him. The Masterhealer was present, three places to the Weyrleader's left. He was flanked by a tall, slender blond and a burly, red-faced man who towered above everyone present in sheer physical size. From their clothing, it was clear that many of the men were dragonriders. Two figures held his attention; a tall, dark man with hints of grey in his hair, positioned to T'gellan's right, and the tiny woman beside him. Darian stepped up to Selana's right, his arm protectively encircling her shoulders, his right hand held down to the alert, poised stalker.

The Weyrleader stood, signaling for the pair to take the seats nearest them, opposite from him. "Good afternoon, Darian, Selana. Thank you for coming." His tone was cordial, though formal and correct. He smiled and added, "And to you, Loki."

The rider seated next to him looked up with a curious grimace. T'gellan caught the look. As the healers seated themselves, he began the meeting.

"Darian, I've asked these masters and my fellow Weyrleaders to join us today so that we can discuss your situation. I think the best way to start is to introduce everyone, and then let you tell us what you can about your arrival here."

The Weyrleader stopped, allowing the Cygnan time to absorb the statement. The avion stared back thoughtfully for a moment then nodded.

"You've met Trelka," the bronzerider began, indicating the woman seated at his left. The auburn-tressed girl smiled at the healers in greeting.

"Sebell, Masterharper of Pern. You already know Master Oldive. Mastersmith Fandarel, and K'van, Weyrleader at Southern."

Three empty seats separated Darian from the Southern Weyrleader. Selana sat at his left, with Loki sitting comfortably between them. Beyond her were two more vacant chairs, then the ring of dignitaries continued.

"This is K'zel, senior wingleader, representing T'bor of High Reaches. G'dened of Ista, N'ton of Fort, G'narish of Igen, R'mart of Telgar... "

The Cygnan followed the introductions politely, but his interest remained on the dark rider and his slender female companion. He knew them, but from where? Just as T'gellan was about to give their names, it struck him. Not from his own memory, but from Selana's reaction when she had seen them. Indeed, he knew who they were.

"And this," the Weyrleader was saying when Darian spoke up, interrupting him.

"Is Lessa. F'lar and Lessa of Benden." Darian rose from his seat and bowed deeply. "I am honored, Lord F'lar, Lady Lessa." He resumed an erect posture then returned to his seat. Beside him, Selana discreetly reached under the table, taking his hand.

A variety of reactions were evident in the room, from Lessa's slight blush to N'ton's curious grin. The only sound was the subdued chuckle of the Masterharper. T'gellan's raised eyebrow mirrored the most common result, a mixture of surprise and bemusement.

"It seems," the Masterharper intoned, "that the fame of Benden extends even beyond Pern." He nodded in the direction of the Benden Weyrleaders, adding to the momentary discomfort of their Eastern host.

F'lar cleared his throat. His mouth stretched into an embarrassed smile as he turned on his host. T'gellan sat down gingerly, wanting as little attention as possible at the moment. "Perhaps," the Benden leader allowed, "or perhaps someone has been polishing his shell a bit?" He lifted his eyebrow questioningly, regarding his Eastern counterpart from the corner of his eye.

"Each dragonman flies in his own way," Lessa commented cryptically, glancing at her weyrmate. A soft laugh escaped Trelka, who shared a knowing smile with the Benden Weyrwoman.

"Uh, yes," T'gellan stammered, a bit non-plussed by the unexpected opening to the meeting. Oh, well, he thought, at least the shell is broken. He coughed lightly before continuing. "This all started because of a rather ill-conceived rendezvous on the part of one of my wingseconds. As a result, the young man and his dragon were flying a minor reconnaissance when we lost touch with them."

The levity in the room abated, all eyes and ears now focused on the task at hand. T'gellan had a spellbound audience as he described the events of that most unusual evening. "We had two wings flying search patterns when our firelizards got threadier than usual. You all know the wild images of a huge black dragon they were relating." A series of nods and murmurs of assent rounded the table.

"We couldn't understand them either, and our dragons were getting restless. Moth was the watch-dragon that night, and suddenly he was flying off toward the west, roaring as loud as he could. He had seen or sensed something flying towards the Weyr. Monarth and I followed, and that's when we met Darian and Astaroth. They had found the injured rider and were flying him back to the Weyr. They were also able to tell us where we could find Kelth." He winced, knowing he had just made an error.

"Ah," F'lar sighed, "T'marek again."

A series of chuckles circuited the table. Darian looked at Selana, who simply shrugged and smiled. "Is there something about this T'marek I should know?" he asked quietly.

Selana looked at him innocently. "Not that I know of," she replied. Somehow, he was less than convinced.

"What happened to them?" the man called R'mart inquired.

T'gellan shook his head. "We still don't know. They were flying near a volcano that's been smoking for a while. T'marek says he remembers a loud noise and being thrown clear of the crater area. Kelth says about the same. Neither of them is really sure."

"If they had been caught in a minor eruption," the Istan Weyrleader interjected, "shouldn't they have been burned?"

"No," Master Oldive responded. "If something hit them hard enough to cause the kind of injuries we treated, and to throw them, how far?" he looked at T'gellan.

"Almost two miles," Eastern replied. Oldive grimaced in acknowledgement.

"That kind of impact wouldn't allow sufficient duration of contact to cause a burn."

A murmur of conversation ensued before N'ton asked, "How badly were they hurt?"

The Masterhealer gestured toward the avion. "I think Darian should answer that. He found them."

Several eyes narrowed in surprise. Having the Masterhealer turn a medical report over to a complete stranger was somewhat disconcerting. Darian's self-assured response added to their confusion.

"The rider was bleeding badly. His jaw was fractured and the cheek badly lacerated. The right shoulder was pretty well shattered and there was a compound fracture of the proximal terminus of the right clavicle."

Selana coughed lightly. The Cygnan looked up to see an amused smile on her face. He glanced around the room. Several Weyrleaders were staring at him in bewilderment. F'lar and Lessa wore sober, attentive expressions, while Master Oldive bore the sour grimace which dominated his features most of the time. His eyes, however, sparkled.

"Darian," the Masterhealer explained, "has proven to be quite a healer. He was of major assistance in treating the injured dragon and rider."

F'lar regarded the Craftmaster thoughtfully then turned back to Darian. "Please continue, healer."

"Well, the dragon's left foreleg had multiple fractures and his left wing was mangled. Both of them had numerous abrasions and contusions, some severe. We did what we could in the way of initial treatment, then tried to find help. Astaroth was the one who located the Weyr, so he recalled everyone. We couldn't carry Kelth, so we brought T'marek in and your people went back for the dragon. That's about it."

Several of the listeners were shifting in their seats, anxiously waiting for the chance to ask questions. However, all eyes turned to Benden, waiting for the Weyrleader to speak.

F'lar tugged at his lip with his thumb. His eyes moved continually between the three healers and the Eastern Weyrleader. After a short moment of silence, he asked, "When you say 'we', who are you referring to?"