Chapter fifty-five: T’kamen
Conventional wisdom tell us that you shouldnât show your hand unless the play requires you to do so.
This isnât always true. If you show an opponent whoâs folded to your bluff your cards, you torment him with the knowledge that he made a mistake.
Show him the hand that would have beaten his anyway, and perhaps heâll fold sooner next time.
But never show any of your cards until the hand is over, however much you may want to bait your rival.
â Excerpt from Dragon Poker: Stratagems
âBetween.â It wasnât the first time Râlonyâs gruff voice had broken on the word. The shake he gave his head, and the agitated sweep his hand took through his hair, were motions he had repeated more than once, too. His stare shifted from Tâkamenâs face to the middle distance and back again. âBetween,â he said, yet again, and appended, at last, âFaranthâs mercy, Tâkamen. It was your blighted fire-lizard did it?â
Tâkamen smoothed his hand over Fetchâs head. Fetch nuzzled happily into the contact, though his contentment had as much to do with the candied nuts filling his belly as with Tâkamen and Epherinethâs approval. âHe saw the way,â he said. âLed Epherineth through like a harbour pilot guiding a clipper.â
âItâs been under our Thread-struck noses the whole sharding time,â said Châfil. He was leaning up against the fireplace in Râlonyâs office, his arm stretched along the mantel. âFor a hundred and Faranth-knows how many Turns.â
âAnd the boy,â Râlony said. âMâric. He and Trebruth can do it, too? Itâs not just some residual ability of Epherinethâs from being bred in the Interval?â
Tâkamen hesitated. Once he and Epherineth had made their first jump, with Fetchâs help, to Harperâs Rock, returning to Fiver Hold the same way had been less daunting. Being prepared for the extended stay between reduced the visceral terror of knowing that they were reliant entirely on the fragile guidance of a juvenile fire-lizard. Mâric had been frantic to try it out for himself, and Tâkamen feared that he already knew enough to attempt it by himself were he to refuse him. So he talked him through the steps, more than once, until Mâric was bored and annoyed with it, and Epherineth coached Trebruth, and Fetch chattered at Agusta â though whether their lizardy interaction mirrored what riders and dragons shared, he didnât know â until at last Tâkamen was satisfied Mâric was ready to try.
It didnât go well. Once airborne, Trebruth wheeled in a holding pattern for far longer than necessary, apparently struggling to overcome the deep-seated aversion to between that their training had instilled in them. Tâkamen had begun to wonder if he and Epherineth should take the young pair between with them first, to give them confidence, when Trebruth finally vanished. But heâd been gone barely half a heartbeat when Epherineth lifted his head sharply, reporting with alarm that Trebruth was panicking in the grasping blackness of between.
Tâkamen didnât know exactly what Epherineth did. He felt him reach, somehow, towards Trebruth. He sensed how Fetch was enfolded in that sending, perhaps to link with Agusta. And he caught a glimpse of a reference, of themselves against the backdrop of Fiverâs stone pillars, forced into Trebruthâs consciousness to replace the visual of Harperâs Rock that had frayed from his frightened focus. Moments that felt like hours passed before Trebruth erupted back into the air above them, his eyes ashen with terror, and his hide not a much healthier shade.
Mâric didnât completely disgrace himself, but he did throw up once he and his dragon were safely down on the ground. His description, in a shaking voice, of how the featureless oblivion had stretched away in every direction matched Tâkamenâs own experience. But Mâric, lacking Tâkamenâs Interval training, had panicked, and in panicking, distracted Trebruth from his supreme effort of will and concentration. Only Epherinethâs sudden intervention, Mâric said, had saved them, pulling them backwards out of between, shaken and dishevelled..
Tâkamen didnât think it had happened quite as Mâric had perceived it. Epherineth hadnât pulled Trebruth backwards. Between, even in Tâkamenâs limited human understanding, didnât work that way. Epherineth had only steadied Trebruth in his fright and supplied a clean visual to replace the one of Harperâs Rock he had lost. But Epherineth had done something that Tâkamen had not known he could do. He had reached between with his mind, from outside, to touch a dragon there. Dragons were usually unreachable while between; Tâkamen had only ever heard of queens being capable of bespeaking dragons in transit. He didnât know if it was the fire-lizards that had enabled Epherineth to reach Trebruth, or if there was some deeper connection between bronze and brown that even he couldnât grasp. But he didnât tell Mâric any of that. Heâd had a bad enough scare without knowing that his life, and his dragonâs, had been preserved by a skill Tâkamen hadnât even known that Epherineth possessed. And if Tâkamen had feared that Mâric would treat the ability to go between with too little regard for his own safety, then at least, for now, he had no worries on that account.
âThey will be able to,â Tâkamen said at last, in answer to Râlonyâs question, and then added, âbut not easily. They need to be trained to use between safely.â
âAnd youâve cut Mâric loose?â Râlony demanded, his heavy brows rising incredulously. âWith that knowledge, with that power?â
âHe wonât use it,â Tâkamen said, flatly certain. âMâricâs not stupid ââ
âHeâs a teenager,â Râlony growled. âHeâll boast of it to anybody whoâll listen.â
The insult to Mâric made Tâkamen stiffen. Râlonyâs wilful ignorance of the young manâs complicated character irritated him. âHe will not,â he said, reining hard back on his ire. âI made it clear to him that he couldnât tell anyone.â
âYou made it clear?â Râlony snorted. âThe boy outranks you, Tâkamen. You have no power to command him.â
Châfil interjected brusquely. âIf Tâkamen told him to keep his mouth shut, Râlony, Iâve no qualms he will.â He met Tâkamenâs eyes. âRank be blighted, thereâs no doubting that boyâs loyalty to you.â
Tâkamen nodded to the remark, grateful for Châfilâs intervention. âIâm well aware of the significance of what Epherineth achieved today. Thatâs why I brought this straight to you.â
Even as he said it, he recognised his mistake. He had reported directly to Châfil on their straight flight return from Redyen Hold, and Châfil had decided the matter should go to Râlony. Almost, Tâkamen expected the Marshal to make some withering remark about the nature of his loyalty, but while Râlonyâs eyes tightened enough to make clear that he had not missed the implication, he didnât dwell upon it. âIâm not sure you do,â Râlony said. He looked briefly conflicted, his brow descending again over his deep-set eyes, and then he said, âAnd Iâm not prepared to risk either of you unleashing this on the Weyr, by design or by mistake.â
Tâkamen felt Epherinethâs surprise and then chagrin as the influence of a more senior dragon came down upon him. He didnât need to ask to know what it was. âYouâre having Donauth lean on him?â
The compressed line of Râlonyâs lips spoke as eloquently of his unwillingness as his words. âWould that I could keep Strategic affairs to Strategic branch, but heâs not to go between again without permission.â
Râlonyâs tacit admission that Epherineth could not be quelled by any dragon less than a queen did at least give Tâkamen an instantâs satisfaction. âWhat do you mean, Strategic affairs?â he asked. âI know we canât spring this knowledge on the Weyr without warning, but dragons can go between again. Thatâs not a matter to be kept to Strategic.â
âThen youâd bring Sâleondes into this confidence?â Râlony asked, shaking his head. âDoesnât he have enough of an advantage already? Do you want to grant him greater adulation and acclaim for his deliverance of dragonriders than heâs already gathered?â
âI donât like him much more than you do, Râlony,â said Tâkamen, âbut that doesnât make it right to keep this from the man who represents six-sevenths of Madellonâs dragonriders.â
âAnd what about the one-sixth he doesnât? What about whatâs right for them? Faranth, man!â Râlony flung his arms up in frustration. âYouâve been here long enough now to know how weâre treated. You know what a demoralising, downtrodden life it is to ride a bronze or brown dragon.â He took a breath, and his eyes beneath his shelf of a brow glimmered with the distant prospect of hope. âBut if the Seventhâs dragons could go between â if browns and bronzes could teleport â if Strategic could prove its worth in that way â maybe weâd win back some honour. Maybe weâd be worthy of respect again. Maybe Sâleondes would have to admit that we deserve our place on Pern.â
âAnd if blues and greens could go between maybe fewer of them would die before their riders were twenty Turns old,â said Tâkamen. âBetween doesnât belong to Strategic division, Râlony.â
Râlony rounded on him. âBut you do.â His pale blue eyes had gone cold again. âYou belong to Strategic. And Strategic is mine.â
Tâkamen felt the muscles of his face strain against the desire to glower. âNo,â he said, softly. âI wonât be a chess piece in this game you and Sâleondes play. This is too important â between is too important â to be a prize for you to gloat over and hoard to yourself just to spite him.â
âYou have the gall to accuse me of hoarding it to myself? When you stand there in all your self-righteousness and declare you wonât use it to help your fellow riders? You Thread-blighted hypocrite!â
âYouâre the hypocrite, Râlony,â Tâkamen said, low and steady. âDo you even feel it when a fighting dragon dies? Do you care at all?â
âDo I feel it?â Râlony near bit off his tongue with the curt snap of his words. âBy the First, Tâkamen, if you werenât half a shaffing cripple already…â He stood there, radiating fury, his chest heaving with it. âIâd love to feel it. Iâd love that luxury. But I canât. Itâs been twenty-three Turns since I was in a position to feel it every time a dragon got hit by Thread and died. Twenty-three Turns since I was reduced to this.â He gestured angrily at the charts and maps, the mundane and necessary tools of his mundane and necessary work. âThey arenât dragons any more, Tâkamen. Do you understand me? Theyâre tallies and registers. Rosters and assignments. Casualties and losses. Do you know why every dragonpair is assigned a number? Because itâs easier to put a line through a number than it is through the name of a dragonet your own dragon sired less than two Turns ago. If I felt it a tenth as much as Iâd like to, I couldnât do this job at all. So no, Tâkamen. I donât feel it. But if you accuse me of not caring again, just because I donât wail like a woman every time another fleeting green or blue life comes to an end, I swear, cripple or not, Iâll smash your shaffing face for you.â
For a time, neither of them spoke. Tâkamen escaped, for a moment, the instant of regret he felt at his accusation by wondering if Râlony had ever allowed himself such an outburst before. Still, he felt he was right. He wouldnât yield to Râlonyâs self-serving argument. If restoring between to the dragonriders of Pern was the reason he and Epherineth had come to the Pass, he would restore it to all riders, not just a select few. Râlonyâs ancient rivalry with Sâleondes clouded his motivations far too much for Tâkamen to trust him. He took a breath, preparing to resume the argument.
Râlony beat him to it, though his tone had turned petulant. âI donât know why Iâm even wasting my time trying to convince you. Seems to me that now we know fire-lizards are the key, youâre hardly necessary.â
âShard it, Râlony!â Tâkamen said. âDo you have any idea what an irresponsible notion that is?â
âThe very first dragonriders must have had to figure out between for themselves,â Râlony pointed out stubbornly. âI donât see why we couldnât do the same.â
âThe first dragonriders didnât have to weave a connection between rider, dragon, and fire-lizard,â Tâkamen said. âAnd who knows how many of them were lost before they got it right. Faranth.â The thought of how Lâstev would have reacted to a weyrling who declared he could go between untutored gave him a reflexive shudder of dread. âEven Mâric wasnât rash enough to think he could work it out for himself.â
Râlony dismissed that. âMâricâs not ten minutes out of the barracks. If thereâs one thing Cârastro does right with the weyrlings, itâs scare them off even thinking about between. Of course heâd look to you to hold his hand.â His obdurate stare made it plain that he felt no such need for guidance.
Tâkamen was gripped with the desire to shake sense into him. He settled for a glare. âYouâre an idiot, Râlony.â
âYouâre both idiots.â Châfilâs quiet words sliced across their dispute. They both turned to him, equally stung, but Châfil went on before either of them could speak. âYouâre blind to what should be obvious. Youâre not going to be going between, Râlony, with or without Tâkamenâs help.â His shrewd gaze settled on Râlony. âGeninthâs too old.â
Râlony went quite still, and a stricken look entered his eyes. âBut itâs different, now,â he said. âA fire-lizard ââ
âCan guide a dragon,â Châfil said, looking to Tâkamen for confirmation. Tâkamen nodded slowly, realising himself, with a sick jolt in his stomach, the implications of Châfilâs calm reasoning. âAnd only guide it. A helmsmanâs no good to a boat thatâs been beached for twenty-five Turns.â
Râlony sat down bonelessly in his chair, as if the comprehension of Châfilâs words had taken all the starch out of him. âFaranth,â he muttered. âFaranth, I thoughtâŚâ He didnât complete the sentence. He looked pole-axed.
Châfil didnât. Tâkamen realised he must have followed the thought through long before today, perhaps as long ago as the first time Tâkamen had mentioned his hypothesis that fire-lizards were the key, because the known limitation that would prevent Geninth from ever going between applied to Stratomath, too. Both browns were far past the age at which the ability to go between atrophied for lack of use. Tâkamen kept his tone carefully neutral. âHow many of Madellonâs dragons are young enough?â
âThree bronzes,â Châfil replied when Râlony, still dumbstruck in his disappointment, didnât. âBularth, Stenseth, Monbeth. Vralsanthâs nearly nine; heâd be borderline. Weâve had, what, thirty-some browns Hatched in the last ten Turns? Râlony?â
At Châfilâs prompt, Râlony gave a start from his misery. âWhat? Browns?â He pulled a record hide from a cabinet beside his desk, and ran his finger down it. He looked relieved to have something to do. âThere are twenty-nine under ten. Twenty-four under eight.â He raised his chin to look unblinkingly at Tâkamen, stubbornness characterising his jaw once again. âTwenty-seven dragons young enough in the Seventh.â
âAnd four or five hundred in the Fighting Wings,â Tâkamen pointed out.
âAh, Faranth, the pair of you are like whers with a bone!â Châfil said. âStop snarling at each other and sharding well think.â He glared at them both, his deep-graven scars adding severity to his expression. âRâlony, Tâkamenâs right about the dangers of between. You know that as well as I do. He and Epherineth are the only dragonpair on Pern who know anything about it, and weâd be idiotic to think we donât need them.â Then, giving neither of them a chance to respond, Châfil continued, âBut Tâkamen, youâre just being naĂŻve. You donât want to be Râlonyâs pawn. No man does. But youâre a piece here, not a player. You have no influence in this time and this Madellon. Maybe thatâll change. Maybe it has to. But for now, while you possess the spark of between, youâre the most important dragonrider alive, and until that spark can be coaxed into a flame, you need to be protected.â
âProtected?â Tâkamen demanded. âFrom what?â
âFrom yourself, at the first,â Châfil said. There was a little of disgust, a little of admiration in his voice. âYouâve spent your own health and your dragonâs in pursuit of between. Coming here could have killed you. Alanne nearly did. You risked yourself and Mâric between without leaving any indication of what you were trying to do. What if youâd killed yourself, and denied Pern any chance of regaining the use of between?â
Tâkamen didnât like to admit how close it had nearly come to that. âIt was my risk to take.â
âOh, aye, and look how well thatâs been going for you! No oneâs going to write you a shaffing Ballad for getting yourself killed before you do something useful!â He snorted with disgust. âYou need protection, Tâkamen, but you also need patronage. All youâve gained from breaking your own trail is a bad leg and an ugly dragon.â
Tâkamen wouldnât have taken that remark from almost any other dragonrider. Even coming from Châfil it made him bristle. He realised that Râlony had gone silent and still, as if he knew that Tâkamen was more likely to heed Châfilâs counsel than his own. âI donât deny that I need help,â he said doggedly. âOr I wouldnât have come to you.â He looked at Râlony. âBut between shouldnât be used as a weapon in your war with Sâleondes.â
âAnd you think it wouldnât be if he knew about it?â Châfil asked. âIâll tell you what would happen if you brought Sâleondes in on this secret now. You wouldnât even be a pawn. Youâd be a tunnel-snake caught between two hatchlings; Râlony one end, Sâleondes the other. And the greater good has never been the priority of either one of them.â Châfilâs words were jagged edged, softened not at all by any concern for what Râlony might think of him for saying them. Tâkamen glimpsed the taut anger in his face. But Châfil went on, heedless of the damage he did to his own standing with Râlony. âYou have the only spark in a world thatâs been without fire for a hundred Turns. If a fight breaks out over it, itâll get snuffed out. So you let Râlony â and me â help you to build it up. Let it become something that can be shared with everyone â every colour, every Weyr â in shelter and safety.â
âAmongst Strategic,â Tâkamen said. He tasted the sourness of his own words.
âAye, at first,â Châfil said. âWith riders we can trust to keep their mouths shut. And in privacy, without the eyes of the world trained on us while we feel our way.â He cast a look in Râlonyâs direction. âAnd when we know what it is that we have, then we bring Sâleondes into it.â
Râlony had been right to let Châfil do the talking, Tâkamen thought. Châfilâs bluntness was more persuasive than anything Râlony could have said. He still didnât like the feeling that he was being recruited into Râlonyâs war against Sâleondes, but reluctantly, he conceded that Châfil was right. He had little power of his own, and while there were a few riders he thought he could honestly call his friends, they were too new for him to trust implicitly. âIâll choose the riders to be trained,â he said.
âThere are only twenty-seven,â Râlony objected.
Tâkamen shook his head. âIâll keep it to the Seventh, but Iâm no Weyrlingmaster. I canât train that many riders at once.â And then he laughed, recognising what theyâd all overlooked. âNot to mention, where on Pern are we going to find another twenty-seven fire-lizard eggs?â
They were all silent a moment to contemplate that, but only a moment. âAlanneâs due a delivery tomorrow,â Râlony said. âYouâll go, Châfil. Seems youâre more persuasive than me.â
âWhat about Blue Shale? That was where you went for fire-lizards in the Interval.â The thought, connected as it was to Sarenya, caused Tâkamen a fleeting lance of pain. âThe Beastcraft at Blue Shale.â
âNot for a long time.â Châfil sounded tired. âYou have to remember Tâkamen, weâŚwell. Youâve seen Little Madellon.â He looked at Fetch. âYouâve seen what fire-lizards do there.â
âNo better than wild wherries,â Râlony said. He, too, was looking at Tâkamenâs fire-lizard, with distaste. âStinking carrion-eaters.â
Tâkamen wondered how many riders would balk at the idea of deliberating Impressing a fire-lizard. âIf theyâve been vilified for this long, it canât only be because of Alanneâs fair.â
The two brown riders avoided his gaze, and each otherâs, for a minute. Then Châfil said, âThey used to take the bodies out to sea.â His scars deepened. âThen they started washing up.â
He didnât need to be any more descriptive than that. When dead creatures washed up on a beach â shipfish, the larger types of eel, and the occasional deep-water monster â it never took long for the local wildlife to find them. Fire-lizards might not risk competing with wherries for an eight-foot shipfish carcass, but the massive corpse of a dragon would provide plenty for all. Well could Tâkamen imagine the revulsion dragonriders had felt at the rotting, water-bloated corpses littering the beaches, not only as food for scavenging lizard fairs, but as graphic evidence of dragonsâ mortality to the coastal people of Pern. âThey didnât just fall out of favour,â he said. âYou wiped them out.â
âNot me personally,â Râlony said, in a growl. âIt all happened long before my time.â
Tâkamen wondered how it had been done. Poison, he supposed; easy enough to put out laced meat for the local fairs to devour. He found himself resting a hand protectively on Fetchâs back. âThere must be beaches along the unpopulated coast with lizards still.â
âNot much of that left,â said Châfil. âUnpopulated coast. When your average field has no more than an even chance of going a Turn without smoking holes in it, the sea starts looking like a good place to rely on for food.â
âMâricâs queen,â said Râlony. âWhen will it be old enough to mate?â
Tâkamen didnât know. âI donât have much knowledge of fire-lizards,â he admitted. âMyâŚâ He groped for the right epithet for Sarenya, then gave up. âI knew a Beastcrafter with fire-lizards, but they were both males.â
âFound or bred, it doesnât matter,â said Châfil. âFact is, we wonât be training anyone to go between overnight, let alone all the dragons of Pern.â
âIâll need to keep working with Mâric.â Tâkamen met Râlonyâs disapproving frown levelly. âScowl all you like, Râlony. Heâs a danger to himself untrained. And to the secret of it, with him flying under Sâleondes. Donauthâs command or not, if Trebruth were to try dodging a ThreadâŚâ
âYou should never have got him involved,â Râlony said censoriously.
âNonetheless,â Tâkamen said. âI did, and he is.â
âThis thawâs going to make it harder for Mâric to find time away from his duties,â said Châfil. âBest hope for another cold spell before the winterâs out. And that he keeps himself safe in Fall.â
The foreknowledge Tâkamen couldnât share with them in no way lessened his quiet pride when he said, âHeâs more than capable of that.â
âStill,â said Râlony. âNeither of you are to go between without permission. Iâll find time in your roster for you to work on it, but youâll do so under Donauthâs scrutiny. And circumspectly.â
With that, Râlony dismissed him. Châfil remained, perhaps to finalise the Seventhâs preparations for tomorrowâs Fall; perhaps to discuss, in Tâkamenâs absence, the full implications of the news he and Epherineth had brought them. That notion didnât sit entirely right with Tâkamen. He was still uncertain of the wisdom of keeping between confined to Strategic, even temporarily. He didnât trust Râlony. But he did trust Châfil, and in the end, he supposed that would have to be enough. If nothing else, he thought, as he made his halting, stiff-legged way back to Epherinethâs weyr, Châfil had been right about the damage heâd caused them both. Perhaps Râlonyâs support would smooth the way now.
Still, the chessboard in Tâkamenâs weyr was an uncomfortable reminder of the role he had consented to play. Elâyan must have been there, for the chessmen were arranged in a different configuration from how Tâkamen had left them, most of them cleared to the side. He studied the remaining pieces, trying to see not only the route to a checkmate, but the underlying lesson Elâyan sought to teach him. It struck him, as it had before, that the rules of dragon chess, at least, had resisted the upheaval of the Weyrâs hierarchy. The Weyrleader was still the most powerful and far-ranging piece, and the game could still only be won by mating the Weyrwoman. The thought made wryness quirk Tâkamenâs mouth.
Elâyanâs lesson eluded him, and he realised he was more tired than heâd thought. Epherineth was already asleep, wearied as much from his mental efforts as from the long straight laden flight back from Redyen. Tâkamen went to bed.
The morning came with brightness and warmth enough to wipe Madellon clean of the last of the slush. There were grumbles in the dining hall, when Tâkamen broke his fast, that the afternoonâs Thread would fall lethally true, unhindered by cold or rain. He looked for Mâric but did not see him, though Epherineth touched minds with Trebruth and reported that he seemed recovered from his fright.
It was strange to prepare Epherineth for Fall, with all that had changed. Thread was scheduled to fall over a slice of Madellonâs territory no more than an hourâs flight away, and even the Seventh would not have to depart the Weyr until after noon; still, it seemed faintly absurd that they should have to fly straight to meet it. Not, perhaps, in the same scant few heartbeats that a journey between had taken when Epherineth had been able to find his own way, but no more than twice that span of time.
He wondered how long it would take between to return to the Interval.
The thought came swift and unbidden, and swiftly after it came the giddy rush of possibilities. They could go back. Back to Madellon as they knew it. Back to the office heâd deserted, the queen Epherineth had abandoned, the weyrlings theyâd left to fend for themselves. And they wouldnât go empty-handed. They had won back the secret of between. There were fire-lizards in the Interval, lots of fire-lizards, enough fire-lizards for every dragonpair on Pern. Dragons would not have to do without between. The internal grievances that ate at Pass Madellonâs dragons like a canker would no longer be the inevitable consequence of betweenâs loss. Everything would be set right, past, present and future. Everything.
You know that it is not possible. Epherinethâs voice, gentle, but unyieldingly firm, intruded on his spiralling vision, stopping it cold.
Tâkamen leaned hard against his neck, careless of the oil that he had been working into the soft hide, the unceremonious destruction of the fragile fantasy he yearned after crushing him. He couldnât speak, but he knew he bled bright pain into their shared awareness.
Epherineth spoke for him. You know this as well as I do. We are here. We cannot change the yesterday that shaped today. We have not. You know this. You have always known this.
And it was true. They couldnât change the events that had led them to the Pass, nor the circumstances in which they had found themselves. Yet comprehending a thing was not the same as accepting it. The slenderest crack of hope had remained in Tâkamenâs heart, and their trip between yesterday had shouldered it wider. Through that vulnerability, his longing for everything they had lost had escaped. It hurt. It hurt, and he did not have to tell Epherineth. He hurt with him. Dragon-memory or not, Epherinethâs heart pined as brokenly for Shimpath as Tâkamenâs did for Sarenya.
Tâkamen raised his head. His brow was sticky with oil. âBut we can shape tomorrow.â
We must. Simply by being. Epherineth turned his scarred muzzle upwards. And neither of us needs be so alone.
His tone was determined. Tâkamen followed his gaze. Several of Madellonâs greens were preening up in the wintry sunshine. It took him a moment to identify Suatreth among them. âYou want to go after her?â he asked Epherineth. âNow?â
I canât very well when she isnât about to rise.
âBut now?â If Epherineth had meant to divert him from his sadness, heâd succeeded. âDo we even have time before Fall?â
Epherineth radiated amusement. Sheâs a green. How long do you think it will take me?
âYou havenât caught a green in more than a Turn.â
Then it wonât take you long, either.
It was so rare for Epherineth to actually make a jest that Tâkamen was taken aback. âDo I at least have time for a bath first?â he asked, torn between annoyance at the lack of warning and relief at the distraction.
Epherineth nosed Tâkamenâs cane towards him from where it was leaning against the wall. No.
So Tâkamen was still dirty from seeing to Epherineth when he limped over to the weyr where a gang of male riders waited, darting glances up towards Suatreth, in a loose circle around the green dragonâs rider. He made it twelve before several more joined and he lost his count: all blue riders. It crossed his mind fleetingly that Suatrethâs rider must not have invited any other Seventh riders to her dragonâs flights. She turned slowly where she stood, assessing her suitors, and then her eyes fell on Tâkamen. For a moment he wondered, with a slump back into his earlier bleakness, what she must see: the lame, dirty, disgraced rider of a scarred and over-large Seventh Flight bronze. For a moment he feared to meet her gaze, afraid of what he would find there. But then he did. Her snapping dark eyes sparkled with pleasure, and her cheeks dimpled as she grinned at him. And then she was gone.
Afterwards, Tâkamen reflected wryly that Epherineth had been right. It hadnât taken either of them long. Suatrethâs rider didnât seem to mind, by the way she pillowed her head on his shoulder with a sleepy murmur of contentment, while the flashes of a little green dragon, snugged and smug in Epherinethâs grasp, that overlaid Tâkamenâs vision from time to time suggested that Suatreth was not displeased, either.
He realised with a start that fingers were exploring his face. The green riderâs fingertips smeared in the oil and sweat mingled on his brow. âSuatreth says your dragon is all oily, too.â
Tâkamen wiped his forehead with his sleeve. His shirt was still half on, his trousers more than half off. âIâm sorry,â he offered. âEpherineth didnât give me much warning.â
The green rider gave a gentle snort. âItâs a marvel he noticed her at all, for all the times sheâs waved her tail in his face.â Her breath was warm against Tâkamenâs neck as she laughed soundlessly. âIâm glad he did. And not just because Suâs been randy for your bronze.â Her fingers had reached the short scruff of his beard. âYou were handsomer before you grew this.â
Suddenly disconcerted, Tâkamen reached up and seized the young womanâs hand. He felt her muscles tense, and softened his grasp on her fingers. âIâm sorry,â he said again, and then groped for the green riderâs name. âItâs Leda, isnât it?â
Her body went even more taut; too late Tâkamen realised his mistake. âFaranth,â she said, and sat up, shaking his hand free of hers. The rumpled bedfurs fell away from her. She was more properly dressed than Tâkamen, which was to say that she was properly undressed. âYou didnât even know â Faranth!â
âLeda,â Tâkamen said, as she snatched the bedfur around herself. âIâm ââ He caught himself before he apologised yet again. âThat was crass of me. I didnât have but a momentâs notice that Epherineth was going to chase. Iâd have washed up first at the least, otherwise.â
The last came out with dismay and Leda paused, sitting on the edge of the bed, the fur clasped above her breasts. âWell,â she said, sounding slightly mollified, but only slightly. âIâll take that as an apology, I suppose.â
Tâkamen tried not to sigh. This, he recalled, was why heâd never been a rider to encourage his dragon into chasing greens. He had a rare knack for offending his flight partners in the post-coital awkwardness. âI ââ he began, but Leda was already talking.
âItâs just that itâs not as if Iâm Aurel or Stevanti,â she said. âOr Gâmend, for that matter, though I suppose you wouldnât have liked to chase Ullerth anyway.â She frowned at the perplexed expression Tâkamen supposed he must be wearing. âAurel. Stevanti. They asked you to join their dragonsâ flights. Oh, donât tell me youâre one of those men who only remembers a dragonâs name and not her riders?â She shook her head crossly. âRhosanth and Tennatathâs riders. Well, I suppose you wouldnât know, if you havenât flown them. And you havenât flown them, because theyâd have said if you had!â
Tâkamen was lost. Do you have any idea?
None. Epherineth didnât sound very interested.
âAnd you shouldnât,â Leda went on, before Tâkamen could draw breath. âFly them, that is. I mean, go ahead if you want to, itâs no hide off my tail, but Aurel only offered because Rhosanth likes big dragons, and Stevanti because she wanted to make a trophy of your underfurs.â She paused. âFiguratively, that is. I donât think she actually collects underfurs. Faranth knows sheâd have a mountain if she did. And as for Gâmend, who even knows what goes on in that little creeperâs head. What Iâm trying to say is, itâs not as if you have that many options, as far as green riders who actually want to bed with you. Except me. Because I do. I mean, I did. Want to bed with you. That is.â
She said the last part in a rush. Tâkamen blinked. âThank you,â he said, and stopped himself short of adding, I think.
âOh, âthank youâ, he says,â said Leda, with another snort. âWell, you should be thankful. And why did you grow that beard? It makes you look like all the rest of the crusty old Seventh riders. How old are you, anyway?â
Tâkamen touched his beard self-consciously. âI cut myself if I shave, where the scarâs still proud,â he said. âAnd Iâm thirty-two. Thirty-three now, I suppose.â
âThirty-three,â Leda said. âFaranth. Cassah said itâd be like sleeping with my grandfather. Sheâs not far off.â She narrowed her eyes at him. âYouâre not my grandfather, are you? I mean, you being from a thousand Turns agoâŚâ
âA hundred and twenty-five,â Tâkamen corrected her wearily, and then added, âAnd itâs not likely.â
âNo one there wanted to bed with you, either?â Leda asked, and then grinned.
Tâkamen grasped that she was teasing him. It was unsettling, to have this young woman, virtually a stranger to him, joshing with him as if they were old acquaintances. âI did all right,â he said, more grumpily that he meant.
Ledaâs chagrined look pained him. âI didnât mean ââ she started. âThat is, I meanâŚI was just joking.â She put out a hand to him. The fur slipped down. âI do think youâre sexy. Even with the scars and the grey hair and the stupid beard.â
It was the most genuine compliment, and the most brutal criticism, Tâkamen had ever received in the same sentence. âYouâre a very beautiful young woman,â he said dutifully.
âWell, I know that,â said Leda. âFifteen blues is not a bad turn-out. Though most of them wonât bother next time if thereâs even a sniff of a chance that your bronze will be chasing again. No one likes losing to a Seventh dragon.â
The memory, fading already, of how Epherineth had swept dismissively through the pack of dragons to claim Suatreth made Tâkamen wince. He wondered if any of those blue riders would bleat about his conduct. Tâkamen discovered he didnât care if they did. He and Epherineth had taken few satisfactions since arriving in the Pass. Epherinethâs imperious demonstration of superiority, even against a gang of runty blues, was balm to his ragged pride. So, too, was the implication that they would be welcome at Suatrethâs next flight. And the fact that Leda was still sitting there, the bedfurs slipping casually off her body in a way that Tâkamen suddenly realised wasnât accidental.
He knew a moment of ambivalence. A flight was one thing, but Leda was a very young woman. He doubted her twentieth Turn was far behind her. He was, in every sense, much older than her. Her casual catalogue of his flaws made it clear how aware she was of that. He was a bronze rider, still under sentence for crimes known to all. He was no prize.
Yet she still wanted him.
That knowledge stopped his sober analysis dead. His obvious unsuitability for her faded as a reason for him to abstain in the face of her frank desire. It halted his careful deliberation before he had even begun to question his own reasons for desiring her. She was a woman and she was young and she was willing. He was a man, and he was weak.
âLeda,â he said. He put his hand out to her, not touching her. If he scrupled no further, he would at least have her explicit consent.
Her eyes opened wider with pleasure. She took his hand. Her fingers were soft; her breast, even softer, when she placed his hand upon it. âTâkamenâŚâ She sighed out his name, and doubt prickled him at the sound of it, but not enough to make him stop. He fumbled after Epherinethâs opinion, but Epherineth was as beguiled by Suatrethâs candid admiration as Tâkamen was by Ledaâs. By her softness, and her warmth, and her willingness. And nothing else. It wasnât enough for either of them. But it was enough for now.
Perhaps it was lucky that Tâkamen didnât have the stamina of a twenty-Turn-old. It meant that when Châfil came clattering into the flight weyr, cursing and swearing over the dim light and the clothes scattered on the floor that almost tripped him up, he found them at rest. It was a rude enough interruption nonetheless. âTâkamen, you dirty bastard, you in there?â
Tâkamen had enough time to roll out of bed and fling the bedfur over Leda before Châfil abruptly opened the glow-basket, flooding the weyr with light. âFaranth, Châfil,â he complained, shielding his eyes. âSome notice?â
âIf your blighted dragon wasnât all loved up youâdâve had some.â Châfil shot a glance at Leda, watching from beneath the bedfur, and then grabbed Tâkamenâs arm. âA word!â
Tâkamen didnât even have time to grab up the trousers heâd discarded. Fortunately the flight weyrâs entrance was hidden from the Weyr at large by a chance kink in the passage leading to it, and Châfil dragged him only that far. âWhat is it?â he asked, aware of and unhappy with the sulky tone in his own voice at being disturbed.
âTell me youâre not a man who holds grudges,â Châfil said. He sounded shaken. âTell me youâd not do a terrible thing in vengeance for past wrongs.â
Tâkamen looked at him blankly. âI donât know what you mean.â
âThat!â Châfil gestured at Tâkamenâs leg. âYour face! Epherinethâs! You didnât seek revenge for them?â
âHow could I?â Tâkamen asked. He was too sated and stupid from his energetics with Leda to puzzle out Châfilâs meaning.
Châfilâs eyes raked his face, and then some of the tension went out of him. âIt wasnât you, was it?â he said. Relief, tinged with remorse, overlaid his tone. âYou have no idea what Iâm talking about.â
âNot the first.â
âFaranth.â Châfil took a deep breath, then braced his shoulders. âIâve just been to Little Madellon.â
Tâkamen recalled their conversation of the previous night. It felt like days ago. âDid you get any eggs?â
âNo. Didnât find any eggs. Didnât find any fire-lizards.â Châfil met Tâkamenâs confused gaze, and at last he recognised the horror there. âJust Alanne. Dead. Alanneâs dead.â
Continue to Chapter fifty-six: Carleah
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Dragonchoice 3 news
- Dragonchoice re-read and commentary at AO3 posted 22 December 2017
- The end is nigh posted 8 February 2017
- Happy (nearly) birthday, Dragonchoice 3! posted 5 October 2016
- Venn diagram posted 25 February 2016
- Don’t let me Rosebud; or, why your feedback matters posted 17 February 2016