Dragonforce

The meeting continued for another hour. Mastersmith Fandarel explained that the technical archives had shown them a way to travel back to Cygnus but that the technology involved was hopelessly beyond current Pernese capabilities. By the time the conference ended, two conclusions had been reached. First, even G'narish was convinced that the avion and his companions were from another planet. Secondly, for at least the immediate future, they were staying on Pern.

Darian seemed not as much concerned by the distance involved as by the loss of two centuries. He requested and received a detailed briefing on the Pernese dragons' ability to move between times, including being entertained by Masterharper Sebell's vivid rendition of Lessa's four hundred turn odyssey to retrieve the old-timers.

Little had been settled, but at least they now knew what they were dealing with. Several more immediate concerns were voiced, not the least of which was Igen's request that the black dragon be restricted to flying over the Southern Continent. T'gellan and Darian had been sympathetic, but the Eastern Weyrleader drew a round of laughter by pointing out the futility of trying to get Gyarmath, or any of the other bronzes, to do anything they didn't want to do. Even G'narish had gotten a hearty chuckle from that thought. The most important aspect of the evening was that it had ended far more cordially than it began.

Wine goblets had been replaced by mugs of klah. Only six of the nearly twenty conferees remained at the table. Their conversation ranged across a variety of subjects but now dealt with the immediate future. Specifically, how could they assimilate the four Cygnans into Pernese society.

"I don't see that as a problem for us," T'gellan indicated. "They're valuable members of Eastern's fighting complement. My only worry is Astaroth getting homesick or something."

"Not likely," Darian shrugged. "Nasty likes it here. About all he has to do is eat, sleep and fight. On Cygnus, we had a lot of nuisance duties. He doesn't miss those."

"How about you?" the Weyrleader queried.

"I didn't have any ties back there."

"No family, no mates, for either of you?"

"None. I never knew my parents. Remember, I'm a crossbreed, even if a few generations removed. I can fly, so I was fairly well accepted, but I never made any commitments. My team is my family, and we're all here."

"What about Astaroth?"

"Same thing. Dragons are on their own from the moment they hatch. They don't take permanent mates, and he's always been kind of a troublemaker. Once the agency replaces our patrol team, I don't think any of us will be missed."

"I see," Sebell sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Darian smiled. "It's a lot easier for all of us this way. Even Loki and Akira are unattached, so far as I know."

"Could have fooled me," T'marek contradicted. A series of interested glances moved in his direction. Hurriedly, he added, "The way that feline follows Selana around, you'd think they were impressed."

"That does bring a question to mind," Eastern asserted. "What was that little display about, with Loki and Akira around Selana?"

Now Darian laughed, if only grudgingly. "We're a team. All of us. Loki is very fond of Selana. When he thought she was being threatened, he reacted. When he went on defensive alert, the rest of us reacted to him."

"Oh. All three of you?"

"All four of us," Darian revealed. "Astaroth was just outside your weyr, fully alert. If we had needed him, he would have found a way in here."

"That might have been interesting," Sebell noted. "I'm glad you didn't need him."

F'lar released his breath in a light hiss. "I'm not sure it would have been so interesting, Masterharper. More like a disaster in progress."

"It would have been a disaster, Weyrleader," the Cygnan agreed. "But we wouldn't have needed Astaroth. The three of us would have been more than enough."

"We can 't have that," T'gellan stated. "Selana is very fond of Loki and Betrella likes having Akira around. Says she hasn't had a tunnelsnake problem since he showed up."

"Well, I'm glad somebody is making a contribution."

"So are you," F'lar cut in somewhat sharply. "Anyone and anything who fights against Thread is welcome and needed on Pern. From what T'gellan tells me, you and Astaroth are excellent Thread fighters. That makes you valuable."

"Yeah, thanks."

"Selana tells me you're also an excellent healer," T'gellan added. "You're earning your keep, Darian. We need you here."

The Masterharper listened carefully, detecting a strange dichotomy of emotion in the Cygnan. He wondered if there was yet another aspect of this situation to be considered. "Forgive me for asking, Darian, but I sense some indecision in you about this matter. If we should find the method, do you really want to return to Cygnus?"

The avion sat speechless, staring at Sebell. The question wasn't one he'd thought openly about, but it had crossed his mind. To be presented with it so starkly, however... "I really don't know, Masterharper," he finally admitted. "I think I can handle it here. Pern is more rugged, less scenic that Cygnus, but it has its own kind of beauty. Loki and Akira have already adjusted. The problem is Astaroth."

T'gellan was puzzled. Despite the black's bellicose nature, he'd fit in well. The other dragons respected him, as did their riders. Did the avion know or suspect something he didn't? "Astaroth's been no major trouble."

"I know," the Cygnan defined. "You've gone out of your way to help him fit in, and I'm grateful. But Eastern is different. Anytime we're around the other Weyrs, I sense a kind of resentment. It's like they're afraid of him or don't trust him. He feels it, too. I don't think the others want us around any longer than is absolutely necessary."

"Kelth likes him," T'marek offered.

"So does Monarth," the bronzerider assured him, "although he does have some reservations. Considering how different he is and how little time you've been here, that's normal, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," Darian sighed. "It's just that I'm afraid that sooner or later one of us is going to cause you serious trouble."

T'gellan laughed, drawing a surprised glance from the others. The last thing anyone expected was a lighthearted reaction. "It wouldn't be the first time I've done something to upset traditionalists," Eastern chuckled. "I've had a good teacher in that respect." He flashed a bemused grin at F'lar, who smiled back in agreement. "We can find plenty of work for Astaroth, even beyond fighting Thread. Some of his talents are totally unique. The others don't know him like we do. They'll learn to appreciate him in time."

"Should Eastern tire of your fighting skills, Darian," Sebell suggested, "there will always be a place for you in the Harper Hall."

"Not so fast, Harper," Oldive insisted. "The man is a skilled healer. He has a great deal of knowledge we can use in the Healer Hall. If the Weyr lets him go, we have first claim. You want him, but we need him."

"Ah, but do you have the technology to use his knowledge? We have the instruments to employ his skills. The choice should be his."

"Perhaps," Oldive admitted, "but he can be of greater service and value to Pern as a healer than as a harper."

"Are you denigrating the value of Harpers?" Sebell questioned.

"Not at all," the healer assured him, "but medicine is invaluable to life. Entertainment is not." Laughter interrupted the discussion. Both Masters turned to see the Benden Weyrleader grinning at them.

"Good Masters, please," the Weyrleader pleaded, "let's not divide the spoils until we're sure they wish to be divided."

"My thanks, Lord F'lar," Darian snickered. He turned an amused but grateful regard on the craftmasters, then spoke to T'gellan. "If it's all the same to everyone, I'll stay with the Weyr for a while. Fighting Thread lets us burn off some of our frustration."

He received a sharp clout on the shoulder, spinning to see a brownrider grinning at him.

T'marek spoke out cheerfully. "Well spoken, dragonman. Stay with the Weyr, where all dragonmen belong!"

The Cygnan turned back to T'gellan, who had a devious smile on his features. "So glad you approve, Weyrleader," the bronzerider snickered. "We will, of course, accede to your wishes."

F'lar and the craftmasters started laughing, to be quickly joined by the remainder of the small group. Benden rose and asked his host's leave to depart. "It's been a long night, and I've got work to do at Benden."

"Of course, F'lar. Thank you for coming."

Sebell accepted a dragon ride back to the Harper Hall, while Oldive elected to stay for the night. As the Weyrleaders started for the bowl, Darian and T'marek headed up the tunnel toward the infirmary.

"I still think Kelth could get you home. He could get a good image from me if I study that atlas thing."

Darian shook his head. "No. It's too dangerous. We're talking a ridiculous distance and two hundred cycles. I don't want him taking that kind of chance. Those pictures didn't look right to me, so I don't think I could give him a good image."

"Distance has nothing to do with it when you travel between. Across the continent or across space, it's the same thing."

"That may be, but I'm not his rider. If he gets an uncertain or a distorted image because some little detail in the machine is wrong, we'd all be lost between. I can risk that for myself, but not for Akira, Loki or Astaroth, and certainly not for Kelth. I won't ask any of your dragons to take that risk."

"I still think he could do it."

"Look, he's not even ready for straight flight yet, let alone traveling between. Let it rest. We can worry about it when he's fully recovered."

"How much longer will that be?"

"Maybe two or three weeks, if the wing keeps healing at the present rate," Darian predicted. "But that's for flying, not fighting. Your shoulder is still going to need a lot of time to heal properly."

"Oh," the brownrider said sullenly. "Oh, well, flying's better than nothing. You going to drop in on Kelth at the infirmary?"

"No," the avion replied, "I don't think so. I don't want to impose on you and Selana."

The rider turned a curious eye on his companion. A suggestive chuckle escaped him. "Impose? How do you mean?"

Darian looked back somberly, a restrained distaste in his expression. "I'm not one for intruding on a man and his weyrmate, particularly at night. I can come back in the morning."

T'marek's laugh was both delighted and derisive. He turned on the Cygnan with a mixture of disbelief and amusement in his eyes. "Selana? Weyrmate? Don't I wish! Me and every other rider in the Weyr except T'gellan maybe, and I think his egg was scrambled!"

Darian stared at the brownrider. He had been certain Selana was involved with him. Her intense interest in the rider and the dragon, the tremendous pains she took caring for them, the way in which she had made her preference for T'marek's company known, all had led to his conclusion. "Then why does she spend all of her time with you and Kelth?"

"Because we need her and right now, she needs to feel needed. That's why she's such an excellent healer. She cares. Shells, man, if she was my weyrmate you'd never see me."

"But why is she avoiding me?"

T'marek laughed again, reaching out to shake the avion's shoulder. His good spirits were almost infuriating to Darian. "She loves you, you bird brain! She's avoiding you because she's afraid you're going to leave. For someone with super eyes, you're blinder than a trundlebug!" He grinned infectiously at the confused avion, adding, "Come to the infirmary with me. I bet she'd like to see you."

'She is not here,' an invading thought informed him.

"Oops," T'marek quipped, "guess I was wrong. Kelth says she's not in the infirmary. Better try her quarters."

"Yeah," Darian mumbled, staring at his patient. "I think I will. Thanks."

"Anytime, dragonman!" T'marek grinned, striding away toward his dragon. He continued to laugh as he disappeared up the tunnel.

Darian walked slowly to the lower cavern, where the young healer's quarters were located. He didn't hear her at first, nor did she answer his call, but a soft chirrup told him the chambers were occupied. Loki trotted around the corner of the inner room to offer his ears for scratching.

The avion dropped to one knee, gently digging behind the ears and above the eyes of the purring feline. He ran his free hand along the softly matted fur, smiling gently as the stalker butted his chin with its forehead. 'She is inside,' Loki told him. 'Why have you waited so long?'

'I thought she had a mate, Loki. I didn't want to interfere.'

'No one ever comes here. She is alone most of the time.'

'No one?'

'No one.'

A rustling at the curtain diverted their attention. Loki jumped up and padded over to rub against the healer. She reached down to pat his head, staring at the avion. "What do you want?" she asked.

Reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks met Darian's inquisitive regard. His eyes narrowed with concern at her appearance. "What's wrong, Selana? Are you alright?"

The healer turned away, walking back through the curtain. Her voice floated back thinly, "Nothing's wrong. Go away."

A heavy stillness settled over the chamber. Darian watched the dividing curtain sway slowly, its motion lessening with each short sweep. He stood immobile, uncertain of what to do. The healer's tone didn't imply that his presence was welcomed. Dejectedly, he turned to leave. A nearly inaudible sobbing sound stopped him. 'Loki,' he called, reaching for the feline's mind, 'is she alright?'

'She cries,' the stalker reported. 'Don't leave. Come to her.'

Darian pivoted, walking through the chamber and past the curtain. The inner room was bathed in the soft light of glow baskets. It was sparsely decorated, showing an odd mixture of the professional trappings of a healer and the feminine touches of a young woman. Records and charts were posted on the walls. A carefully carved bedstead occupied one corner, and a modest table with two benches stood in the center.

Selana sat on one of the benches, her head resting in her hands, elbows on the tabletop. Her shoulders shook lightly and steadily. Darian circled the table and settled at her side. His arm slid around her and gently pulled her against his shoulder. She didn't resist, laying her head on his chest and sliding her arms under his wings and around his back. The gentle weeping deteriorated into wracking sobs.

He leaned his head forward, pressing his cheek against her hair, gently rocking back and forth. "It's alright, little one, it's alright," he whispered. "Let it out."

Gradually, the intensity of her despair eased. He felt the shuddering subside, her breathing lighten. More tenderly than he realized, he tilted her chin up so that she was looking at him. When he kissed her, she stiffened, then relaxed in his embrace. Their lips lingered for a moment, then he drew back. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

She looked down, unwilling to meet his eyes, not wanting him to see hers. "I don't know," she breathed.

He turned her face back to his. A gentle smile softened his stern voice. "Yes, you do and I want to know. Why?"

The healer tried to pull away but he refused to release her. Suddenly, she turned against him, clinging to him with all of her might. The soft crying began again but she spoke through it. "Now they know, and you know, and you're going to leave. I know you're going to leave. I don't want to be alone again."

A long, tired sigh escaped him. He held her tightly, feeling both her warmth and her desperation. His thoughts whirled, disrupted by the increasing effects of the long day. "What are you worried about, little one? You were at the meeting. They have no idea of how to get us home. We're two hundred turns in the future."

Selana shook her head, crying bitterly. "You don't understand," she sobbed. "F'lar can do anything. He's never been stopped. He always finds the answer. T'gellan's the same. They'll find a way and you'll be gone. And I'll be alone."

Darian smiled in spite of himself. This gentle, trusting girl was showing a part of herself he doubted many had seen. He sensed a belonging and need he hadn't before experienced. Still, she was Pernese and he was Cygnan. That was significant. "Open your eyes, little one," he scolded mildly. "You have no reason to be alone. Your brownrider cares for you. He'd take you tonight if you'd let him. And there are many others here... "

"No," she cried, "you don't understand! T'marek is sweet but he has so many other girls. I could never make him happy, never keep him. He's a dragonman. I'm just a healer. I don't fit in with him. I don't fit in with any of them."

"You haven't tried to, have you? How do you know what dragonmen are like if you've never let them get near you?"

She stiffened violently, pulling away from him. Her eyes flashed up at him, filled with hate and fury. "I've been around dragonmen and I've let them get near me. I wasn't raised here. I grew up at Fort!"

Darian froze. The way she said 'Fort' told him the northern Weyr wasn't a pleasant memory. Whatever had happened there had left a deep scar. Then he remembered. "K'trin?" he asked, still holding her lightly.

Her anger evaporated in an anguished groan. She nodded weakly.

"What happened?"

She shook her head, burrowing against his shoulder. Her body became limp, her voice lifeless. "I was just a girl," she related, "studying in the healer hall. He was a dragonman, strong and brave and flying everywhere on that wonderful dragon. I was so thrilled when he offered to let me fly with him." She shivered violently. "I didn't want to but I couldn't stop him. I was just a girl and he was so strong. And now he's back and you're leaving... " She broke off with a choking cry, holding weakly to Darian.

"Don't cry, little one," he soothed, rubbing his cheek against her forehead. A gentle hand wiped the hair from her eyes. He gave her a soft kiss, holding her to him. Soundlessly his wings folded around her. "Don't cry, little one," he whispered again. "I'm not going anywhere."

Selana stiffened momentarily when his hand slid down her arm and across her breast, coming to rest at the small of her back. Then she relaxed, burrowing into his arms and wings.

Loki watched quietly, pleased to see his friends together. It was good to see his teamleader help the young human. The other visitor hadn't come past the curtain, so the stalker didn't interrupt Darian. Now the man was leaving. That was too bad. Loki liked the Weyrleader.

T'gellan left quietly. He walked back to his weyr, hoping for a few hours of peace to sort out this insanity. A cup of klah and some time alone with Monarth and Mirrim would do nicely, as long as Mirrim wasn't in one of her moods.

The greenrider was waiting for him when he arrived. She looked both upset and excited. A pitcher of klah was on the table, two mugs already poured. Her eyes gleamed with worry as she looked up at him. "I'm sorry, T'gellan. Don't be mad at me."

That greeting didn't bode well for a relaxing night. With a defeated shrug he asked her, "Don't be mad about what?"

"I can't fight any more for a while. Selana said I have to rest."

The Weyrleader smiled weakly, picking up a mug. "That's okay, weyrling, don't worry about it. We're alright for a while. Just take the time to get better."

"I was afraid you'd be upset."

"The only thing upsetting me was your taking so long to find out what was wrong."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

The bronzerider nodded, sipping at his cup. He looked up and smiled at his weyrmate. "So, just what is wrong?"

Mirrim cuddled against his arm, pleased that he was so understanding. She smiled at him sweetly, then asked, "Do you want a boy or a girl?"