Dragonseye (Red Star Rising)

Bitra Hold and Telgar Weyr

Except for the fact that the watchwher did not succumb to the choice bits of meat brought to lure it from its duty and M’shall had to have Craigath speak sharply to it, entry was obtained.

Whoever should have heard the watchwher’s one bellow did not.

Issony had no trouble entering by the unlocked window and opening the kitchen door to that contingent. Those who were assigned to watch the various other exits from the Hold were by then in place. Iantine sped through the kitchen and up into the main reception rooms where he opened the front entrance and the rest of the group entered.

Meanwhile, Issony had found the hidden door in the kitchen. Although the stairway was lit by dying glows, there was enough illumination for Paulin and the arresting Lords, Ladies and Leaders.

Paulin opened the access door at the top and entered Chalkin’s private apartments first. Behind him came eight Lords and Ladies Holder and M’shall, who insisted on representing the Weyrs. To their surprise, the room was brightly lit, glows shining from wall sconces so that the sleeping figures in the massive fur-covered bed were quite visible. All three of them… Chalkin’s portly frame bulked the largest under the sleeping furs, though his head was covered by a fold of the fine white bedsheet.

One of the girls woke first. She opened her mouth to scream, but did not when she saw Paulin’s abrupt gesture for silence. Instead, she slithered across the mattress, sheet held up to her chin, to the edge of the bed and grabbed a discarded dress from the pile on the floor.

Paulin indicated that she could clothe herself. As smoothly as she moved, or perhaps because she had the sheet up to her chin and let in cold air, the other girl was awakened. She did scream.

“As loud as a green in season,” M’shall said later chuckling at the memory. At that, Chalkin didn’t rouse.

His guards had been alerted though and charged into the room, to be flabbergasted by the sight of so many armed folk in Chalkin’s most private apartment.

“Chalkin has been impeached for failure to prepare this Hold for Threadfall, for abuse of his privilege as Lord Holder and for denying his holders their Charter-given rights,” Paulin said in a loud voice, sword drawn. “Unless you wish to join him in his exile, put up your weapons.”

To a man, they did just that as the reinforcements, led by Iantine, burst in from the hall. That was what finally roused Chalkin from a drunken sleep.

Later Paulin remarked that he’d been disappointed at such an anti-climactic outcome of their dawn invasion.

“S’nan will be reassured,” K’vin said. I think he was certain we intended to humiliate Chalkin.”

“We have,” Tashvi said with a chuckle.

Lady Nadona, though she took a strong case of hysterics Irene took some pleasure in applying the slaps that cut her histrionics short decided that she could not leave her darling children to the mercies of unfeeling men and women, and would sacrifice herself to remain behind while Chalkin went into exile. She was exceedingly well acquainted with her own rights as granted by the Charter, down to the Clause and relevant sub-paragraphs.

Chalkin showed every fiber of his cowardice, trying to bribe one Lord Holder after another, with hints of unusual treasure if they assisted him. If anyone had been in the least bit tempted, their resolve was strengthened when the broken, shivering wrecks were released from ‘cold storage’.

“The place was full,” Issony said, looking shattered by what he had seen on that level. “Border guards, most of them, but they didn’t deserve that from Chalkin!” Even the hardiest of them would bear the marks of their incarceration for the rest of their lives.

“Iantine? Did you bring… ah, you did. Do a quick sketch of them, will you?” Issony asked, pointing to the two so close to death: the two who had been castrated for rape. All that could be done for them was to ease their passing with fellis juice. “To show S’nan. In case he has lingering doubts as to the justice of what was done here today.”

“Any sign of Vergerin?” Paulin asked when all the cells had been emptied.

“No,” M’shall said grimly. That shouldn’t reassure you any.” He jerked his thumb at some of the stretcher-bearers who had previously been the ‘cold storage’ guards. They said there were four dead ones who were slipped into the lime pits day before yesterday. We may have moved too late for Vergerin.” Paulin cursed under his breath.

“Did you ask if any had heard the name?”

M’shall grunted. “No-one down there had a name.”

Paulin winced. “We’d best send for the Holder team.”

“I have dispatched riders to collect the deputies already. They should be here.”

There was a commotion in the Hall, with cheering and shouts of welcome.

“They can’t have got here this soon,” M’shall said, surprised.

Both men went to investigate.

A tall man was shrugging out of thin and dirty furs and smiling at the riders clapping him on the back or whatever part of him they could touch.

“Guess who just walked in?” B’nurrin of Igen cried, seeing Paulin and M’shall.

“Vergerin?” Paulin asked.

“Optimist,” M’shall muttered, and then, taking a second hard look at the face no longer hidden by a big furred hat, exclaimed, “It is!”

“It is?” Paulin hastened across the broad Hall.

“Has the family eyebrows,” M’shall said with a chuckle.

“Where’ve you been hiding, Vergerin?” M’shall?” Vergerin peered around, a hopeful smile breaking across his weather-beaten face. He did bear a facial resemblance to Chalkin; as if Chalkin’s features had been elongated and refined. “You don’t know how glad I was to see all those dragons on the heights. I figured you had to come to your senses and get rid of him.” He jerked his thumb ceiling-ward You’ve no idea.”

“Where did you hide? When did you hide?” Paulin asked, clasping Vergerin’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically.

Vergerin’s grin turned wry. “I figured the safest place was under Chalkin’s nose.” He gestured in the general direction of the cot holds

“He houses his beasts better than his folk, so the smell of me is at least clean horse manure. I’ve been earning my keep at the beast hold.”

“But your holding has been empty.”

“By my design, I assure you,” Vergerin said, running a grubby hand through greasy hair and smiling apologetically.

“I’ve a strong survival streak, my Lords Holder, and when I realized my nephew really was not going to do a single thing about the imminence of Thread, I thought I had better disappear before he thought of possible retaliation - - and me as his only too obvious replacement.” He had unwound the layers that clothed him and stood with a quiet dignity in the midst of the warmly-dressed riders and Lord Holders. It was that innate dignity which impressed Paulin. Nor was he alone in noticing it.

“Admittedly, my Blood claim to the Hold was squandered foolishly but then, I should have known that Chalkin was likely to cheat that night, if ever, with such stakes. It took me quite some while to figure out how he managed it, for I’m not without knowing a few tricks myself, and most of those that can be played on the unwary.”

He gave a self-deprecating little smile. “I forgot just how hungry Chalkin was for a Lord Holder’s power.”

“But you kept your promises,” Paulin said, nodding approval.

“The least I could do to restore self-esteem,” and Vergerin executed a little bow to Paulin and the others.

“Dare I hope that you wish to keep this Bloodline in Bitra Hold?” He cocked one of his heavy dark eyebrows, his glance candid and accepting.

Paulin did a quick check of the expressions on the faces of the other four Lord Holders who had arrived on the scene.

“You will certainly be considered by the Conclave when it meets at Turn’s End,” Paulin said, nodding. The others murmured agreement.

Loud protestations of innocence suddenly broke up the tableau as Chalkin, bracketed by Bastom and Bridgely, was walked down the main stairs. The tears of his wife and the frightened shrieks of his children added to the tumult.

At the last landing, Chalkin halted, wrenching his arms free from the two Lords as he flung himself down the stairs at Vergerin.

“You! YOU! You betrayed me! You broke your word! You did it. You did it all!” Bastom and Bridgely, moving with creditable speed, managed to recapture Chalkin and restrained him from physically attacking Vergerin, who did not so much as recoil from his nephew.

“You did it to me. You did it all,” Chalkin said and shrieked louder than his children when Vergerin, with an expressionless face, slowly pivoted away from him.

Then Lady Nadona saw Vergerin and her cries turned raucous with hatred. “You’ve taken my husband and now you stand there to take my Hold, my children’s inheritance - - Oh, Franco, how can you let them do this to your sister?” She fell against the Neratian’s chest.

Franco’s expression was far from repentant as he quickly unwound her plump arms from his neck with the help of Zulaya and the Istan Laura. Nadona was still in her nightdress, with a robe half-closed over the thin garment. Richud had the two boys by the arm, and his spouse the two weeping little girls who certainly didn’t understand what was happening but were hysterical because their mother was.

Paulin took Vergerin by the arm and led him towards the nearest door, which turned out to be Chalkin’s office.

Decanters and glasses were part of the appointments and Paulin hurriedly poured two glasses. Vergerin took his and drank it down, the draught restoring some color to his face.

He exhaled deeply.

Paulin, impressed by the man’s control in a difficult situation, clapped his shoulder and gripped it firmly.

“It can’t have been easy,” he said.

Vergerin murmured, then straightened himself. “What was hardest,” and his smile was wry, “was knowing what a consummate idiot I had been.”

“One can forgive almost anything except one’s own stupidities.” Despite the thick stone walls the screams and bellows continued, the sound altering slightly as Chalkin was hauled out of the Hold and down the courtyard steps.

Lady Nadona’s shrieks became earsplitting and then abruptly ceased, at which Paulin let out a sigh of relief. Irene might have knocked her out but she’d probably fainted. Either way the silence was welcome.

More shouting and confused orders! With an exasperated sigh, Paulin went to the shuttered window and threw it open on the most extraordinary scene: five men struggling to lift Chalkin to Craigath’s back while the dragon, eyes whirling violently with red and orange, craned his neck about to see what was happening. Abruptly Chalkin’s body relaxed and was shoved into position on Craigath’s neck. M’shall leaped to his back and waited while two other Weyrmen roped Chalkin to M’shall and then added the collection of sacks and bags which would accompany the former Lord Holder into exile.

Craigath took off with a mighty bound and brought his wide wings down only once before he disappeared between.

“An island exile?” Vergerin asked, pouring himself another glass of wine.

“Yes, but not the same one we sent the guards to. Fortunately, there’s a whole string of them.”

“Young Island would be the safest one,” Vergerin said dryly, sipping the wine. Then he made a face, looking down at the glass. “Wherever does he get his wines?”

Paulin smothered a laugh. “He’s got no palate at all. Or did you like the idea of your nephew on an active volcanic island?”

“He’s quick-witted enough to survive even that. Does Nadona stay on?”

“Her children are young, but you would be perfectly within your rights to relegate her to a secluded apartment and take over the education and discipline of the children.” Vergerin gave a shudder of revulsion.

“Oh, there might be something worth saving in them, you know,” Paulin said magnanimously.

“In Chalkin and Nadona’s get? Unlikely.” Then Vergerin walked to the cabinet where Hold records should be kept and, on the point of opening the doors, turned back to Paulin.

“Should I start right in? Or wait for the Conclave’s decision?”

“Since we didn’t know whether or not you had escaped Chalkin’s grasp, we decided to let competent younger sons and daughters see what order they could contrive. However, since you would know a lot more about this Hold than they could, would you take overall charge?”

Vergerin now exhaled and a smile of intense relief lit his features. “Considering what I know of the state of this Hold and the demoralization of its holders, I’ll need every bit of assistance I can muster.” He shook his head. “I don’t say my late brother was the best Holder in Pern, but he would never have countenanced the neglect much less Chalkin’s ridiculous notion that Thread couldn’t return because it would reduce the gaming he could do.”

There was a polite rap on the door and when Paulin answered, Irene poked her head in.

“We managed to get the kitchen staff to prepare some food. I can’t vouch for more than that the klah is hot and the bread fresh made.”

Vergerin looked down at himself. “I couldn’t possibly eat anything until I’ve washed.”

Irene grinned. “I thought of that and had a room, and a bath, prepared for you. Even some clean clothing.”

“Fresh bread and good hot klah will go down a treat,” said Paulin, gesturing for Vergerin to precede him out of the room.

“No, my Lord Holder, after you,” Vergerin said with a courtly gesture.

“Ah, but my soon-to-be Lord Holder, after you.”

“I didn’t realize I smelled that bad,” Vergerin said ruefully and led the way out.

He was looking about him now, Paulin noticed, as if assessing the condition of the place. He stopped so short that Paulin nearly bounced off him. Pointing to the inner wall where Chalkin’s portrait by Iantine was ostentatiously illuminated, he pivoted, eyes wide, his expression incredulous.

“My nephew never looked like that,” he said, laughter rippling through his tone.

Paulin chuckled, too, having his first good look at the representation. “I believe it took the artist some time to paint a… satisfactory portrait of your nephew.”

“With so little to work on… but I can’t have that hanging there,” Vergerin exclaimed. “It’s… it’s…”

“Ludicrous!” Paulin suggested. “Poor Iantine, to have had to prostitute his abilities to create that!”

“That will do for starters.” Paulin leaned close to Vergerin, trying not to inhale because the warmth of the Hall was increasing the pong of manure emanating from Vergerin’s clothing.

“I don’t think you’ll hurt the artist’s feelings by removing it from such a prominent place.”

“Would he consider repainting it to a closer likeness to the model?” Vergerin asked. “That would remind me of my youthful follies as well as how not to manage a Hold.”

“Iantine’s here - helped us get in, in fact. You can ask him yourself.”

“After I’ve had that bath,” Vergerin said and continued on his way to the stairs and cleanliness.

Younger sons and daughters were conveyed in from every major Hold, dressed and prepared to work hard. If some were disappointed that Vergerin had been found, they hid it well which did them no disservice.

By the time a substantial breakfast had been served, Vergerin had had a chance to speak to each of the eight young folk and decide what areas of responsibility they should assume.

Irene put a wing of Benden riders at Vergerin’s disposition to use in contacting the larger holdings in Bitra and announcing Chalkin’s impeachment and exile.

By then M’shall had returned. “I dumped him… and his packages, on Island 32. You’ll need to know that for the records. It’s rather a nice place. Too bad he gets it.”

“Did you have any trouble with him?” Paulin asked.

M’shall looked amused as he unbuckled his flight gear.

“With the wallop Bastom gave him? He was still unconscious when I left him. Near a stream.” M’shall made a face. “I should have dumped him in it. Serve him right for what he did to those he had in cold storage.”

By mid-morning matters seemed to be in Vergerin’s complete control and the Council members felt able to leave Bitra Hold.

Iantine begged a ride from K’vin for himself and Chalkin’s portrait.

“When are you coming to Benden Hold?” Bridgely wanted to know, catching the young portraitist coming down the courtyard steps.

“Lord Bridgely, I am sorry not to be ready quite yet,” Iantine said.

Bridgely jabbed his finger at the painting. “You’re not letting that take precedent, are you?” And he scowled.

“No, never,” Iantine said, recoiling slightly. Then his grin fled.

“Not that it will take me long to change the face on it. But it’s last on my list. I’ve to finish K’vin’s portrait, and a few more of the Telgar riders, and then I’ll come. I can probably make it after Turn’s End.”

“Well, I’ll give you until then, young man, but no longer,” Bridgely said, sounding aggrieved. Then he smiled to Iantine’s obvious anxiety. “Don’t worry about it, lad. I just want to know where my lady and I fit into your appointment calendar.”

With that he walked away.

K’vin was hiding his grin behind his gloved hand. “One can be too successful, you know,” he said. Then he gestured for Iantine to mount Charanth, while he held the painting which he passed up to the artist when he was settled. “I’m glad you’re going to fix this.”

“Lord Holder Vergerin specifically requested me to. And I must say, I’m glad to do the sitter - justice.”

“Justice?” K’vin laughed as he landed neatly between the bronze neck ridges. “I think that’s possibly a dirty word to Chalkin now!” Iantine grunted as the dragon suddenly launched himself.

Not only was Iantine going to be able to set right that inaccurate portrait - he felt he had demeaned himself and Hall Domaize by succumbing to Chalkin’s coercion, in spite of having no viable alternative - but he had given himself more time at Telgar Weyr. And Turn’s End was nearing: Turn’s End and the festivities that the mid-winter holiday always incurred. Maybe then he could come to some agreement with Debera.

Dragonriders could and often did take mates from non riders It would have been easier if his profession was one that he could offer the Weyr in return for staying on in Telgar.

But, once Morath was able to fly, Debera could fly him wherever his commissions took him.

That is, if she felt anywhere near the same about him as he did about her. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he’d be in a Weyr at all. He could almost have thanked Chalkin for being the catalyst on that score: almost. Until he remembered the stark horror of what Chalkin had done at the borders and in the cold storage cells.

He shuddered.

“Thought you’d be used to this by now,” K’vin said, leaning back to speak into Iantine’s ear.

“It isn’t this,” Iantine said, shaking his head and grinning.

He thoroughly enjoyed flying and, after the first experience with the utter cold and nothingness of between, had not been nervous about that transfer. He took a firmer grip on the strings about the painting. Charanth was now high enough above Bitra Hold to go between.

Meranath, bearing Tashvi and Salda as well as Zulaya, zoomed up beside his right wing: the dragon’s golden body gleaming in the bright morning sun as her riders waved at him.

As he waved back, Iantine was surprised to think it was still morning. The invasion of Bitra Hold had begun in such early hours that the day was not that old. So much happened these days!

BLACKNESS! Iantine couldn’t feel the cord on the painting, his butt on Charanth’s neck, and then they were out in the sun, hanging over Telgar’s familiar cone.

Far below, above the prow of Telgar Hold, a sparkle showed that Meranath had arrived. The big bronze now turned gracefully on one wing and headed down towards the Weyr.

For Iantine, this happened all too swiftly, for he saw so much more from this vantage point than he did from the ground: the dragons sleeping in the sun on their weyr ledges, the younger riders practicing catch and throw with firestone sacks, even the weyrlings getting their morning scrub around the lake. Debera would be among them. He tried to see if he could identify her, and Morath, but at that height details were lost. Two dragons, browns both, were eating their kill further down the valley. Another rider burst into the air above a watch rider who gestured broadly for him to land. Then Charanth had spiraled close enough to be identified, too, and welcomed back. Iantine could feel a rumble in the bronze’s body. Did dragons speak out loud to each other? He had to tighten his hold on the painting or have the wind of their descent pull it free.

As they dropped, K’vin turned his head. “At the Cavern?”

“Please,” and Iantine nodded, struggling to keep a grip on the painting. Not that losing it would bother him, but then he’d have to waste another board.

He swung his leg over and slid down Charanth’s shoulder as quickly as he could.

“My thanks, K’vin,” he said, grinning up, having to shield his eyes from the sun.

“Not needed. You more than earned it with today’s doings.” Charanth rumbled again, his gently whirling blue eyes focused on Iantine who saluted him in gratitude. Then the bronze leaped up, flapped his wings twice and was landing on the ledge of the Weyrwoman’s quarters.

“You’re back, you’re back, and safe,” and Leopol came racing out of the Lower Cavern, leaping towards Iantine who put out a restraining hand so the boy wouldn’t carom off the edge of the painting.

“What have you done now?” Leopol demanded, taking care not to batter it.

“It’s to be redone,” Iantine said, knowing the uselessness of avoiding Leopol’s interest.

“Oh, the Chalkin portrait?” Leopol reached for it and Iantine pivoted, putting his body between it and the lad’s acquisitive hands.

You’re clever, aren’t you?”

“Yup,” and Leopol’s grin bore not a single trace of remorse.

“So? What happened when you deposed him?” Iantine stopped in his tracks and stared at him.

“Deposed whom?” Leopol planted his fists on his belt, cocked his head and gave Iantine a long and disgusted look, finally shaking his head.

“One, you rode away on a Fort Weyr dragon. Two, you’ve been gone overnight so something was up. Especially when the Weyrleaders are gone, too. Three, we all know that Chalkin’s for the chop, and four, you come back with a portrait and it isn’t one you’ve done here.” Leopol spread his hands. “It’s obvious. The Lords and Leaders have got rid of Chalkin. Impeached, deposed and exiled him. Right?” He grinned at the summation, cocking his head over the other shoulder.

“Right?” he repeated.

Iantine sighed. “It’s not my place to confirm or deny,” he said tactfully, and started again for his quarters.

Leopol dodged in front, halting him again. “But I’m right about Chalkin, aren’t I? He won’t get ready for Threadfall, he’s been far too hard on his people and half the Lord Holders owe him huge sacks of marks in gambling debts.”

Iantine stopped. “Gambling debts?” He brushed past, determined to get to the dubious safety of his room without giving anything away to such a gossip as Leopol.

“Ah, Iantine.” Tisha caught sight of him and moved her bulk through the tables with surprising speed and agility to intercept him.

“Did they catch Chalkin all right? Did he struggle? Did that spouse of his go with him, which frankly would surprise me? Did they find Vergerin alive? Will he take Hold, or does he have to wait till the Conclave at Turn’s End?” Leopol bent double with laughter at Iantine’s expression.

“Yes, no, no, yes and I don’t know,” he answered in reply to her rapid-fire questions.

“You see? I’m not the only one,” Leopol said, hanging on to a chair with one hand to keep his balance while he brushed laugh tears from his eyes with the other, thoroughly delighted with himself and Iantine’s reaction.

“I’d like to hear all, Iantine,” Tisha said and deposited the klah mugs and the plate of freshly baked cookies on the table nearest him.

“Do sit. You’ve had a hard day already and it’s not noon yet.”

“I’ll take it and put it very carefully in your room,” Leopol said, grabbing hold of the wrapped painting and then snatching it out of Iantine’s unconsciously relaxed grip. “And I won’t look until you tell me I can.”

“No, wait, Leo,” said Tisha. “I want to see what Chalkin considered ‘satisfactory’”

“Do I have no privacy around here?” Iantine demanded, raising his hands in helplessness.” Is there no way to keep secrets?”

“Not in a well-run Weyr, there isn’t,” said Tisha. “Eat. Drink. And, Leo, take the basket I made ready for K’vin up to his weyr. I didn’t see Zulaya and Meranath, so she may have stopped over at Telgar Hold.”

His knees weakened, as did his resolve, and Iantine collapsed into the chair Tisha had invitingly pulled out for him.

“Shall I?” Leopol asked in his best wheedling tone, one hand on the cord knot.

“I’m not sure I could stop you,” Iantine said, and caught the pad he had stuffed inside the wrapping as Leopol made short work of opening.

Iantine put the pad to one side. He didn’t really want to show the latest drawings he’d done. The two castrati had died shortly after he had finished the sketches. He intensely regretted how pleased he had been with their sentences. Had they had any idea of what additional torment Chalkin would inflict on them when they asked to be returned to their Hold?

No, or they wouldn’t have gone. Then Iantine caught Tisha’s sharp eye on his face and wondered if she had read his expression which he had tried to keep blank. Fortunately, the much-glamorized Chalkin stared out of the painting at them and Tisha’s first good look sent her into gales of laughter, with Leopol whooping nearly as loud.

The head woman had an infectious laugh under any condition: a mere chuckle from her would have anyone in her vicinity grinning in response. Iantine was in sore need of a good laugh and, if his inner anxieties kept him from joining in wholeheartedly, at least he was made to grin.

Tisha’s amusement alerted the rest of the weyrfolk to Iantine’s return, and the table was shortly surrounded by people having a good laugh over what Chalkin had considered to be a ‘satisfactory portrait’ of himself. He sated their curiosity by giving a brief report of what had happened.

Everyone was much relieved that Chalkin was not only no longer Bitra’s Lord, but also that he had been exiled far away from the Mainland.

“Too good for him, really,” someone said.

“Ah, but he’s lord of all he surveys, ain’t he? Suit him!”

“No-one was hurt?”

“Who’s going to take Hold there now, with so much to do close to Fall?” Iantine answered as circumspectly as he could, though he was amazed at how accurately the weyrfolk had guessed what had happened. They also seemed to know a great deal about a Hold that was not beholden to Telgar Weyr. He didn’t think he’d talked much about his uncomfortable stay at Bitra, so they must have had their information from other sources.

Weyrfolk did get to travel more than holders, so perhaps their level of information was more comprehensive.

Riders drifted in, early for the noontime meal but just as interested in what had happened at Bitra Hold. Some of the older ones remembered the wager that had cost Vergerin the Holding, and other details about that Bloodline that certainly showed them well informed.

Iantine was grateful for the klah and cookies Tisha had brought and equally pleased to have Leopol bring him bread, cheese and the sliced wherry meat that was being served for lunch. He did have a moment’s anxiety when he saw K’vin, at the edge of the crowd, gesturing for his attention. Maybe he shouldn’t have said a thing.

He told Leopol to take the notorious portrait to his quarters, bundled his pad under his arm - because he knew nothing would keep Leopol from looking all through it - and then made his way to K’vin.

Since he had obviously told all he was going to tell, he was allowed to pass, with good-natured mauling on his way.

“I’m sorry, Weyrleader, if I was speaking out of turn.”

K’vin regarded him with widened eyes. “Speaking out of turn? Ha, they had probably figured out everything on their own. What could you possibly tell them that they didn’t know?”

“How many people Chalkin had in those appalling cells,” Iantine said, blurting out the words before he realized what he was saying.

K’vin put a sympathetic arm around his shoulders. “I think I’ll have a few bad dreams over that myself,” and he gave a deep shudder.

“Perhaps you’d best get some rest.”

“No, I’d rather not, if you’d something else for me to do,” Iantine said truthfully. He didn’t even need to stop off at his own quarters as his tubes of oil and brushes were already in the Weyrleaders’ quarters.

K’vin’s solicitous expression brightened. “I’ve some time now, and you’ve the painting to finish of me… unless you’d rather redo Chalkin… but Bridgely made it very plain to me that he’d like you at Benden to do his commissions by Turn’s End. You’re much sought after, you know.”

Iantine made a disparaging noise in his throat, embarrassed by his notoriety. K’vin, grinning at his reaction, slapped him lightly on his back in affection.

“So what’s it to be?” the Weyrleader asked.

“You, of course. Did you…” and he hesitated, not wanting to be thought pushy, “did you like Zulaya’s portrait?” K’vin gave a low laugh and turned his face away. “You’ve done her proud, Iantine. Proud.”

“She’s easy. She’s beautiful,” Iantine said.

“Yes, isn’t she?” Something about the tone of his voice made Iantine wonder at such a response. They were Weyrleaders, together, weren’t they? They always made such a stance of a good partnership.

But Iantine was getting as good at hearing things that weren’t expressed as he was at seeing all that could be seen. Not his place to comment, though, despite a growing admiration for K’vin as Weyrleader.

Zulaya was a bit reserved, he knew from having spent so much time painting her, but she was much older than Iantine. And older than K’vin, too, for that matter.

“That gown was perfect for her,” Iantine remarked to break an awkward silence.

“Yes, she had it made for the last Hatching,” K’vin said and the smile he turned towards Iantine was easy, relaxed.

Iantine wondered if all he’d seen that morning hadn’t skewed his judgment. They were at the weyr stairs now and climbed up. At the top of the steep flight, Iantine was glad he wasn’t even out of breath.

“You’re in good shape,” K’vin said, with another friendly slap to his back to push him on into the high-ceilinged entrance to the weyr.

“I’d need to be, wouldn’t I?” Iantine replied with a droll laugh.

He paused briefly, his eyes seeking the weyrlings at the lake. Yes, Debera was there, oiling Morath. He’d have a chance to talk to her later: maybe even take dinner with her and show her Chalkin’s portrait before he made the changes.

Could he, he wondered as he watched K’vin change into the Gather clothes he wore for his portrait, add to that face what went on in that man’s miserable soul? Was he good enough to attempt such a portrayal?

Amid all the frantic preparations for Turn’s End, Clisser braved S’nan’s displeasure to request transport to the Telgar Engineering Hall to discuss the feasibility of the Stonehenge installation for Pern’s purposes. Well, Clisser kept his request to a need to discuss something vital with Kalvi since S’nan felt such bells, whistles and signals should be unnecessary if the Weyrs were kept on their toes during Intervals.

Jemmy had meticulously drawn a replica of the prehistoric stone circle, plus another of a reconstruction of what it had originally looked like, and such description as might be valuable to Kalvi and his team.

Kalvi took one quick, almost derisive glance at the drawings, and then a second, more respectful one.

“Eye Rock? Finger Rock? Solstice?” He gave Clisser a broad smile. “I do believe it will suffice and rather neatly.”

Then he frowned. “Couldn’t you have given me a little more time? Solstice is only two weeks off.

“I…” Clisser began.

“Sorry, friend,” Kalvi said with a self-deprecating smile, “you’d be busy with rehearsing and all that. Hmmm. Just leave it with me. I think we can contrive something.” and he riffled through Jemmy’s sketches. “Hmmm, yes, the lad has real talent.”

“Don’t you dare seduce him away from the College,” Clisser said, assembling as fierce a frown on his face as he gave to wayward students.

Kalvi grinned, pretending to recoil in terror but his eyes were on the drawings. “We’ll manage.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “It’s what we’re good at.” Clisser left, reassured that he would not fail the Conclave on this matter.