Dragonseye (Red Star Rising)

High Reaches, Boll Holds, Ista, Benden Weyrs, Ista Hold, High Reaches, Fort and Telgar Holds

“Now really, M’shall, Bridgely,” said Jamson, fussing with his robes as he shifted uneasily in his chair.

High Reaches was invariably a cold place and today, in Jamson’s private office, was no exception. The Benden Holder was glad he had riding furs on and made no attempt to open his jacket nor unglove his left hand after the usual handshake with Jamson. He noted M’shall did the same. “I cannot believe that a Lord Holder would treat the very people he depends on in such a way. Not in midwinter.”

“With my own eyes I saw it, Lord Jamson,” M’shall said in an unequivocal tone. “And I thought it wise to ask several of the guards to stay in the Weyr so you may learn what their orders were.”

“But here, Chalkin complains that you have not accorded him the courtesy of conveyance.” Jamson frowned.

“If you had seen what I have, Lord Jamson, you might find it hard to oblige him,” M’shall said, his face stark.

“Really, Jamson, don’t be such a prick,” Bridgely said, under no similar restraint of courtesy with his peer. “Nerat and Telgar are taking in refugees as well as Benden. You can speak to any you wish to, to determine the extent of Chalkin’s perfidy.”

“I’ll gladly convey you where you wish to go.” M’shall offered.

“I’ve my own Weyr,” Jamson said stiffly, “if I need transport. But it’s not the weather to be travelling about in unnecessarily at all.” Which was true enough, since the High Reaches Hold was cloaked in snow crusted as hard as ice on the ground.

“Agreed,” said Bridgely, trying hard not to shiver and wondering at Jamson’s parsimony with fires, or if the heating system in the Hold was another victim to technological obsolescence. “So you will grant that only a dire need would bring me out, asking you to change your mind about taking immediate action against Chalkin. People would have frozen to death on Bitra’s borders last night!” And he pointed vigorously eastward.

“He doesn’t mention that in this,” Jamson said, peering at the letter on the table.

“Doubtless he’ll circulate a longer letter on that score,” said Bridgely with deep irony. “But what I saw required me to give aid without any delay to meditate.”

“As you know, Lord Jamson,” M’shall put in, “Weyrs are also autonomous and may withhold services with sufficient justification. I feel perfectly justified in refusing him basic courtesies. Come, Bridgely. We’re wasting Lord Jamson’s valuable time. Good day to you.”

Before the astonished High Reaches Holder could respond to such peremptory behaviour, the two men had left the room.

“My word! And I always considered M’shall to be a sensible man. Thank goodness, G’don is a solid, predictable Weyrleader - One simply does not impeach a Lord Holder overnight! Not this close to Threadfall.” Jamson buried his hands more deeply into the sleeves of his fur-lined jerkin.

Azury was so shocked he did not even comment on M’shall’s dereliction of services.

“I’d no idea, really,” he said.

In direct contrast to High Reaches, Southern Boll’s weather was hot enough for Bridgely to wish he’d worn a lighter shirt.

Although they were well shaded from the morning sun on a porch decorated by a blooming plant with fragrant pink blossoms tangling in clusters, he had to open his collar and roll up his sleeves to be comfortable. Azury had ordered a fruit drink and by the time it came, Bridgely’s throat was dry enough to appreciate the cool tang.

“I know Chalkin’s not exactly… reliable, and Azury then grinned wryly. And I’ve lost sufficient marks in his little games of chance to wonder about his basic honesty. But…” and he shook his head. “A Holder simply doesn’t keep his folk in the dark about something as critical to their survival as Thread. Does he really think it won’t come? That we’re all foolish or stupid?”

“He is both foolish and stupid,” Bridgely said. “Why else did our ancestors bio-engineer the dragons? And develop a totally unique society to nurture and succor the species, if not for future need?” He glanced at M’shall who merely raised his eyebrows. “It isn’t as if we didn’t have graphic proof of the existence of Thread, which was part of our education. Nor tons of records annotating the problem. It’s not something we thought up to inconvenience Chalkin of Bitra!”

“Preaching to the converted, Bridge,” Azury said. “He’s ten times the fool if he thinks to brace the rest of the planet on this score. But,” and he leaned forward on his wicker wood chair which creaked slightly, “Holders can spin great lies.”

“And I can spot a whinge and a bitcher as fast as you can, Azury,” said Bridgely, moving to the edge of his chair which also reacted noisily to the weight shift. “Like this chair. You can interview any of those we’ve taken in… and the sooner the better, so you can judge the condition they were in before we rescued them.”

“I think I’d better have an eyes-on at that,” Azury told him.

He raised one hand quickly. “Not that I doubt you, but impeaching another Lord Holder is nervous-making.”

“That’s as may be, but having a Hold that is totally unprepared for the onslaught of Thread - one that’s adjacent to me,” and Bridgely jabbed a thumb in his chest, “is far more nervous-making.”

“You’ve a point there,” Azury admitted. He looked over his shoulder and beckoned one of the attendants, asking him to bring his riding gear. “You said that Jamson’s reluctant? Doesn’t impeachment require a unanimous verdict?”

“It does,” Bridgely agreed, and set his lips in an implacable line.

Azury grinned, thanking the attendant who had quickly returned with his gear. “Then you also need me to add weight to a second delegation to High Reaches?”

“If you feel you can turn Jamson’s opinion?” Azury stamped into his boots. “That one’s just perverse enough to hold out, but we’ll see. Tashvi, Bastom and Franco are involved, and I know Paulin is agitated… Who does that leave?

“Richud of Ista? Well, he will go along with a majority.” He rose.

“Now, let’s leave before I swim in my own sweat.”

Azury interviewed each of the fourteen refugees still housed in Benden Weyr as unfit to be transferred elsewhere. He then had a chat with three of the guards.

Not that they were in a chatting mood, he said, his light blue eyes vivid with anger in his tanned face, but they may soon have second thoughts on how much their loyalty is worth to Lord Chalkin.

“They do claim,” and, as he grinned, his teeth were very white against his skin, “that they were outnumbered by the influx of so many ranting, raving maniacs and had to use force to restrain them until they could receive orders from the Hold.”

“That conflicts with what the ranting, raving maniacs say, doesn’t it?” M’shall replied.

“Oh, indeed,” Azury agreed, grinning without humor. “And I do wonder that the guards came out of the ranting and raving mass unscathed while all of the maniacs seem to have a variety of injuries. Clearly the truth is being pulled in many directions.”

“But it lies there, limpid as usual, to the eye that sees and the ear that hears.”

“Well said,” Bridgely nodded.

“So let’s speak with Richud.”

It was harder to find the Lord Holder of Ista because he had taken the afternoon off to fish - his favorite occupation.

The harbor master was unable to give any specific direction for a search.

The dolphins went with him. Circle your dragon, and see can he spot them? Small sloop with a red sail but a lot of dolphins. Richud claims they understand him. He may be right,” and the elderly man scratched his head, grinning with amusement at the notion.

“They do - according to the records,” Azury said. “My fishers always watch out for them in the Currents.”

“Well, as you wish,” the Harbormaster said and went back to his tedious accounting of creel weights lifted ashore the previous seven days.

Craigath flew his passengers in a high-altitude circle, spiraling outwards from Ista Harbor. It was he who spotted the craft and, with mighty use of his pinions, dived for it.

Despite the broad safety band securing him to his position, Azury grabbed frantically at Bridgely who was sitting in front of him and Bridgely worried lest his own grip bruise the dragon rider

M’shall merely turned his head to grin back at them. The words he spoke - for his mouth moved - were lost in the speed of their descent.

Bridgely watched the sea coming nearer and nearer and arched himself slightly backwards.

He’d ridden often enough not to be alarmed by dragon antics, but never at such an angle or speed. He tightened his hold on his safety straps and argued himself out of closing his cowardly eyes. Just as it seemed as if Craigath would impale himself on the mast of the sloop which wasn’t all that small to Bridgely’s mind - the bronze went into hover, startling the two crew who were watching Richud struggle with a pole bent almost double by his efforts to land the fish he’d hooked.

“Any time you’re free, Lord Richud,” shouted M’shall between his cupped hands.

Richud glanced once over his shoulder, then again, and lost control of pole and fish - the reel spinning wildly as pressure ended.

“Don’t creep up on me like that! Lookit what you made me do! Fraggit! Can’t I ever get an afternoon off? Oh well, what catastrophe’s hit us now? Must be something bad to bring the three of you this far south.”

He handed his pole to a crewman and came to the starboard side.

There was still some distance between him and his visitors.

“I’d ask you aboard, but the bronze would sink us,” he said.

“No problem,” M’shall said and his eyes unfocused as he spoke to his dragon. Can you get us a little closer, Craigath?

Craigath, eyes gleaming bluely and whirling with some speed, set himself down in the water, wings neatly furled to his backbone while with his left forearm he took hold of the safety rail, pulling himself and his passengers closer to the hull of the ship. The sloop began to heel over at the strength of the dragon’s hold.

The wind left the sail and the boom started to whip round when, just as abruptly, the sail caught wind again and the ship resumed her forward motion and speed.

M’shall laughed, thumping Craigath on the neck in appreciation of the completed maneuver.

“What’d he do? How’d he do that? What under the sun?” Richud was looking at the dragon, back at the ship, and then at M’shall in confusion.

“He’s paddling to keep up so you won’t lose headway,” the Benden Weyrleader explained.

This is fun. I like it, Craigath informed his rider.

“He’s enjoying himself,” said M’shall.

“He won’t snap the rail, will he?” Richud asked, staring with some apprehension at the huge forepaw clutching the metal upright.

The dragon shook his head. It is fragile so I don’t hold it hard.

M’shall paused a moment. Good lad. “He says he’s well aware of its fragility.”

“He didn’t say that,” Richud replied, shaking his head in denial.

“Fragility? His very word. Craigath’s got quite a vocabulary. You know how Irene speaks… Well, he has to keep up with Maruth, doesn’t he?” The dragon nodded.

“Well, I never, Never seen Ronelth or Jemath swim like this either,” Richud murmured. “So, what urgent matter brings you here?”

“Chalkin must be impeached as soon as possible. A Hold is autonomous until it exceeds its rights,” Bridgely said, and went on to give the Istan Lord Holder details of Chalkin’s heinous behavior.

“I’d no idea he’d evict so many. Surely it’s winter up there and they’d be in danger of freezing?”

“They would be and have been,” M’shall said.

“Their condition was appalling, Richud,” Azury told him. “I went to Benden myself to see. And the guards…” He dismissed them with a wide gesture. “You know the sort Chalkin hires.”

“Yes, tough necks layabouts, ruffians and scoundrels like those Gather artists of his.” Richud paused in thought. “Has that impeachment clause ever been used?”

“No, but it was put there as a safeguard. And there are a lot of people in Bitra who need their safety guarded especially this close to Fall.”

“Agreed. I’ll go along with you. Only,” and his tone turned entreating, “not when I have an afternoon off to fish?” Craigath let go of the rail and the two groups drifted apart.

Suddenly the bronze shuddered from pate to tail.

I like that. Do it again.

Who are you talking to, Craigath? M’shall demanded, having had to clutch the neck ridge and lift his legs high above sudden waves sloshing Craigath’s sides. His passengers had reacted as well to keep from a wetting.

Doll fins rubbed me.

Playful, are they? Well, another time, my friend. We still have work to do. “Sorry about that. The dolphins were tickling Craigath.”

“Dragons are ticklish?” Bridgely asked, startled.

“Their bellies, yes.”

Dolphins flowed from under the dragon now, leaping up in the air and diving neatly back into the water as they sped off after the sloop.

“So what do we do now? Beard Jamson again?” asked M’shall, stroking the bronze’s neck affectionately. He was amused to see that Richud had retrieved his pole and was evidently baiting his hook.

“We’d probably have to drag Jamson down to Benden so he can see for himself, as you had to, Azury,” Bridgely said, shivering as he thought of having to return to the frigid High Reaches.

Take the pictures, suggested Craigath, to his rider’s astonishment. Dragons did not often offer unsolicited opinions, but then M’shall considered Craigath very intelligent.

“What pictures?” he asked.

“Pictures?” echoed Bridgely. “What pictures?”

Maruth says there are pictures. At Telgar.

“At Telgar?”

“Oh, that young painter,” M’shall and Bridgely said in unison.

“What painter?” Azury wanted to know.

Bridgely explained.

“Very good idea, if Jamson will accept the proof as genuine,” the Southern Boll Holder said, skeptically.

Which was exactly what happened.

“How can you be sure these are accurate?” asked the High Reaches Lord Holder when he had leafed through the vivid and detailed drawings on Iantine’s pad. “I think the whole matter has been exaggerated out of all proportion.” He closed the pad halfway on the stark sketch of the hanging men.

“And you won’t even accept my word, Jamson?” Azury said. “I’ve just been there and spoken to these people…” He riffled through the pages and came to one of a holder he’d interviewed.

“That fellow, for instance. I spoke to him myself, and I’ve no trouble accepting the truth of his story. He was four nights in an animal pen with no food and only the moisture he could get from snow, with his wife and elderly parents. Incidentally, they died of exposure despite all that Benden Weyr could do to try to revive them.”

“I do not see why, Azury,” Jamson said at his most pompous, “you do not content yourself with running your own Hold. Leave Chalkin to run his. He has the right.”

“But not the right to inflict atrocities on any of his people.” Azury’s reply was heated.

Jamson regarded him coldly. “A few lazy holders.”

“A FEW?” Bridgely exploded in frustration which, even as he did so, he knew defeated his purpose. “A few hundred is more like it, Jamson. And for that many we should all stir ourselves!”

“Well, I for one shall not, Bridgely. And that’s final.” He folded his arms across his chest and sat there, glaring at his visitors.

“Jamson,” Azury said in a very controlled, calm voice as he pushed Bridgely to one side and leaned across the desk towards Jamson huddled in his furs. “I, too, was skeptical when Bridgely came to me, unwilling to believe his report, much less his solution to the problem. One does not lightly impugn the honor of a peer. and I could not understand why Bridgely was so agitated over a few insignificant holders. Then, too, Bitra is too far to affect anything in my Hold.

“Though I quite took his point that Thread must not be allowed to burrow unchecked anywhere on the northern continent. So I conceived that it was my duty, my responsibility, to personally investigate the allegations.

“I have the witness of my own eyes and ears now. As well as the disparity between what the guards told me and the evidence of my own eyes. The Bitran situation is dire and must be rectified. We cannot, as intelligent, responsible leaders, allow such a situation to fester and spread. It affects the very roots of our society, the strength of the Charter, the fundamentals on which this whole society is based. We cannot ignore it as the internal problem of an autonomous Holding.

“You as an honorable Lord Holder owe it to yourself to investigate the situation. Then you can come to a considered judgment. At least, set your own doubts to rest by going, as I did, to Benden and gather first-hand information.”

“I have no doubts,” Jamson said. “The Charter clearly states that a Lord Holder has autonomy within his borders.

“What he does is his business, and that’s that. I should certainly protest against anyone poking his nose in my business. So I suggest you take your meddling noses and spurious charges out of here, right now!” This time he rang a hand bell and, when his oldest son opened the door in response, he said, “They’re leaving. See them out.” Bridgely took in a deep breath, but a sudden short blow to his midriff by Azury robbed him of wind to speak and he was helpless as the Southern Boll Holder dragged him out of the room.

“No matter what you said, he’s not in a mood to listen,” Azury told him, straightening Bridgely’s jacket in a tacit apology.

“Lord Azury’s right, I’m afraid,” M’shall agreed.

“You came about Bitra?” the son asked, leaning against the heavy office door to be sure it was tightly closed. “I’m Gallian, his eldest and acting steward.”

“You’ve heard?”

“Hmmm, the door was a bit ajar,” said Gallian, not at all penitent about eavesdropping, “and during your last visit too.”

“Father’s memory’s slipping a bit, so one of us tries to be nearby for important visits. He sometimes gets details muddled.”

“Any chance you can unmuddle this visit to get his cooperation?”

“May I see the sketches?” He held out one hand.

“Certainly,” Bridgely said and put the pad in his hand.

“Awful,” Gallian said, shaking his head as he viewed the distressing scenes and peering briefly with intent gaze at one or two.

“And these are accurate?” he asked Azury.

“Yes, inasmuch as I verified the condition of some of these people now at Benden Weyr,” Azury replied.

The bell jangled. Gallian thrust the pad at Azury.

“I’ll do what I can. And not because I already consider Chalkin a thief and a cheat. I must go. See yourselves out, can you?”

“We can and will.”

“What could the boy do?” M’shall wanted to know as they ran quickly down the steps to the front door and out into the icy air.

“One can never tell,” Azury admitted. “Shards, but it’s colder than between here. Get me back to my sun as fast as possible.”

“Would a stop at Fort Hold be too much to expect from you?” asked Bridgely, grinning at the southerner’s chattering teeth.

“No, and I expect it’s a tactical necessity in this struggle with Chalkin.”

M’shall nodded approvingly and, vaulting to Craigath’s back, lent a hand to the other two to mount.

The ambient temperature at Fort Hold was not warm but a decided improvement over High Reaches. Warmer still was the greeting Paulin gave them, insisting on a hot mulled wine when he heard of their adventures.

“I don’t expect Jamson will change his mind, especially now he has been specifically asked to do so,” Paulin said when his guests were settled near the good fire he had on his office hearth. “Jamson’s always been perverse.”

“Then the son is unlikely to be able to alter him?” Bridgely suggested humor. K’vin knew that Zulaya found it amusing to sit for a portrait at all, and was twitting him about what he should wear to be immortalized. K’vin also knew about Iantine’s project to do miniatures of all the riders. Ambitious, considering there were close to six hundred in the Weyr at the moment. On the one hand, K’vin was grateful these would be the gallery, while on the other hand, he dreaded those who would become casualties.

“Will it make it any easier not to have pictures?” Zulaya had asked the other night when she had required him to tell her why he was so preoccupied. “We have nothing to remind us of the first occupants of this Weyr. I think I would have liked that. Gives a continuity to life and living.”

K’vin had supposed it did, and decided that he had to have a more positive attitude.

“It’s not as if we knew who will not be here this time next year,” she added. “But it’d be nice to know that they were here.”

“How much longer, Iantine?” Zulaya asked plaintively. The fingers of the hand she had resting on her thigh twitched. “I can’t feel my feet or my left hand any more.”

Iantine gave an exaggerated sigh and laid down the palette, scratching his head with the now free hand as he swished the fine brush in the jar on the table. “Soon, Zulaya. You should by rights have had a break some time ago. But the light’s perfect and I didn’t want to stop.”

“Oh, help me up, K’vin,” Zulaya said, holding out a hand.

“I don’t usually get a chance to sit still so long.”

K’vin was glad to assist her and she was stiff enough so that her first steps were awkward. Then she recovered her mobility and walked firmly to the easel.

“My word, you did do yards today, didn’t you? Filled in that whole panel of the dress and… have you got my eyes crossed?”

Iantine laughed. “No, step a little to this side. Now back again. Do the eyes seem to follow you?”

Zulaya gave a little shake, widening her eyes. “They do. How do you contrive that? I must say, I’m not so sure I like me watching everything I do.

K’vin chuckled. “You won’t, but your presence hanging in the Lower Cavern may spur the lazy to complete their tasks more quickly.”

“I’m not sure I like that idea any more than having me leering at me up here.” She turned to the table, mostly covered by Iantine’s paraphernalia. “I had klah sent up not too long ago,” and she cast an accusing eye on Iantine. “It should still be hot.”

She unscrewed the lid and steam obediently rose. “It is. Shall I pour for all of us?” Which she was doing even as she spoke.

“Maybe I should leave now?” Iantine suggested, looking from one to the other.

“No,” she said quickly.

“I wanted to be sure your sketches were safely in your possession,” said K’vin, taking a chair.

“And, did they solve the problem?” Zulaya asked, spooning sweetener in the cups and passing him his. “Come, sit, Iantine. You must be more tired than I am. I’ve been sitting the whole time.”

Iantine grinned as if, K’vin noted with a twinge of jealousy, totally at his ease with the Weyrwoman. Few were, except Tisha who treated everyone like an errant child or Leopol who was impudent with everyone.

“So? What’s the result?” She indicated with a wave of her hand that he should speak out in the portraitist’s presence.

“M’shall’s disgusted. They still don’t have a unanimous decision about impeachment. Jamson’s the hold-out.”

“He’s not always dealing with a full deck,” Zulaya said succinctly, “at least so Mari of High Reaches Weyr told me.”

“And he’s getting worse. Thea takes charge when she can, and that older lad of his.”

“Gallian’s my age,” K’vin exclaimed. “Can’t they get around that?”

“Short of making Jamson abdicate, no. At least according to my understanding of the Charter. And it just got refreshed.” She gave K’vin a droll smile. “As well I listened in to what T’lan was reading.”

“I’d forgotten the half of it myself. Have you reread it recently?”