Chap. 303 The Price of a Blow

Chap. 303 The Price of a Blow

He was thinking fast as Rath soared into the sky. What am I doing? How do I play this?

Once they cleared the ridge on the western shore of the river, Rath leveled out, searching for the men on the beach.

Firoth, T’ovar’s dragon, saw Rath and bugled a welcome.

Okay, he’s seen me, now what do I do? Maybe I should have waited?

Then they were over the men on the beach. B’rost leaned over, making sure his datalink caught a good view of them.

One of the men gave an unintelligible shout and waved.

Into the jaws, he thought. Can’t turn back now.

Land, please?

Next to the brown?

No. Land so that we can launch in a hurry.

You don’t trust these humans.

Not a bit.

Rath lowered, backwinged, and landed gently. He then immediately turned around so that he could launch over the river, rather than into the wall of trees that lined the beach.

“Hello, hello!” B’rost called to the men. They made no move to come closer. There was something odd about their body language, he noticed. They were all looking at the dragonrider, as if for advice. Or orders?

Raventh says K’ndar is furious, what are you doing?

Tell him, I am on the beach with the men and T’ovar.

The Southern Weyr riders are in the meadow with Careth and Raventh

“Hello? Are you folks in trouble?” he called. I think I’ll stay aboard, he thought.

Be ready to launch at once.

One of them, obviously the dragonrider, headed towards him. He had a dagger on his belt, like everyone wore, but no other weapon.

The four men followed him at a distance.

“And WHO might you be, blue rider?”

“I’m B’rost, rider of blue Rath, from Healer Hall. And you are?”

Rath turned his head towards the man. The blue dragon’s eyes were whirling a warning orange.

The man stopped a safe distance from Rath and put his hands on his hips.

“That’s none of your business.”

B’rost was shocked at the arrogance.

“I beg your pardon? That’s not very civil of you. Are you lost?”

“Lost? Blast you, you moron, do I look lost? You’re the lost one. You have no business here. This is Lord Toric’s Hold and he doesn’t appreciate strange dragonriders on his lands.”

B’rost looked down at his datalink. Yes. It was recording. He returned T’ovar’s glare.

“Now, that’s odd. I’m not a moron, I’m a Healer, and as far as I know, this side of the Black River is Lord DORN’s Holdlands. You still haven’t told me who you are and where you’re from. Are you not observing the global dragonrider’s boycott of Lord Toric?”

“E’s working for Lord Toric, dragonrider,” one of the four men shouted.

T’ovar whirled. “Shut your mouth, fool!”

“Fool? Just two minutes ago we was your bestest mates, aye? Business partners, weren’t that what you said? Now we’re fools?”

“Hey!” another protested, “He said he’s a healer, and Tombaugh, he needs help!”

B’rost grabbed it. “Someone needs a healer?”

“B’rost is it? Get out of here. Leave. Now.” T’ovar said.

“I still don’t know your name, brown rider, but you don’t tell me what to do. Now, Tombaugh? Come over here, tell me what’s going on.”

“Cut me hand with a skinning knife,” the man said, passing T’ovar to approach Rath. T’ovar whirled and clouted the man.

The other three men shouted and jumped on T’ovar.

“We’ve had enough of you, T’ovar,” one shouted, punching the rider.

Firoth bugled. Everyone froze. Overhead, six dragons circled in formation.

Rath called a welcome. Then he waddled up the beach to give them room to land.

The dragons landed and riders dismounted. B’rost got down and looked at K’ndar.

K’ndar looked at B’rost for a moment, eyebrows in his hairline.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself,” B’rost apologized. Then he grinned.

K’ndar rolled his eyes and shook his head. Then, activating his datalink, he said, “Yep. No doubt about it. That’s T’ovar for certain.”

“The bastard. I’ve half a mind to go join those men beating him,” D’mitran said, joining them. The Southern Weyr riders came up behind him.

The boatmen resumed pummeling T’ovar.

“Halt! Stand fast, you! Let that man up!” called the Weyrleader.

The four men let T’ovar up. He bolted for Firoth.

“HOLD!” the bronze rider shouted. T’ovar kept running. He made it to Firoth and leaped aboard the dragon.

“You! Stop!”

T’ovar laughed derisively.

LAUNCH! he said to Firoth.

I cannot.

I SAID LAUNCH!

No. The gold says I must stay here.

You bloody worm! Furious, he hammered Firoth between the ears.

!!!!! Firoth staggered at the blow.

Every dragon roared. Firoth shook his head, his eyes roiling red. He flooded T’ovar’s mind with shock, betrayal, and pain.

Do not hit me again Firoth said, as if from the top of a mountain.

I need to escape!

Suddenly, T’ovar felt a dizzying suction in his mind, as if his brain was being stretched. Firoth was withdrawing from every corner of his being.

I’m sorry. But you need to launch. Now.

Firoth was silent. And motionless.

“Can I believe my eyes? Did he actually HIT his dragon?” the green rider cried, astonished.

“That’s what I saw,” B’rost said.

“That’s a mean bastard. How can a dragon impress someone like that?”

The dragonriders approached Firoth. The boatmen, tugging their forelocks in respect, fell in beside them.

“By your leave, dragonriders, we’re not with him. E’s no friend o’ ours,” one of the boatmen said.

“I guessed as much,” the bronze rider said.

They stopped when they were close to Firoth. T’ovar’s head was still spinning from Firoth’s rejection.

“Get down, T’ovar.”

T’ovar dragged his attention to the bronze rider.

“No. I’m not T’ovar. I’m C’aleb, brown rider from um, um Kahrain Weyr.”

“No, you most definitely are not, you lying piece of shit!” K’ndar yelled.

T’ovar looked up and recognized K’ndar. His mind cleared.

“You!”

K’ndar laughed. “Aye. Me. And you are T’ovar. You’re Toric’s dog, aren’t you.”

“Bugger off, K’ndar. I’m my own man.”

“Firoth tells my queen you are T’ovar. Unlike you, dragons can’t lie. Get down. Your marauding days are over,” the Weyrwoman said.

You’ll talk to the queen but not me? he touched Firoth.

“E’s T’ovar, sure as sunrise, ma’am, ‘e is,” Tombaugh shouted.

With a lightning move, T’ovar threw his dagger at the man.

But daggers aren’t balanced for throwing. The dagger whiffed pass the man’s knee and plunged into the sand just behind him. He turned and plucked it from the sand and brandished it at T’ovar.

“Try that again, coward!” the boatman yelled. “On’y, this time, on your feet like a man, ‘stead o’ bein’ atop a dragon.”

T’ovar sneered.

Firoth! Answer me!

“Handy of you to disarm yourself. Now dismount, T’ovar, or we’ll drag you off,” the Weyrleader said.

“We’ll help, bronze rider, e’s the rogue dragonrider everone’s been talking about. This here’s Lord Dorn’s Holdlands and ‘e knows it. E’s wanting us boatmen to smuggle in building material for ‘im, all illegal, on Lord Dorn’s lands.”

“Aye, and whilst we ain’t the most innocent of folks, we ain’t criminals, neither.”

“Specially when he don’t pay us what he promised!”

“Aye, and he tisn’t above flaming one’s boats if we don’t. He’s a criminal, sir.”

“He did that, he did. My sister’s man lost his boat to this dunghead.”

“Shut your yobs, you louts,” T’ovar snapped. But he was sweating.

Firoth. Talk to me. Please.

“Looks to me, T’ovar, as if ‘yon louts’ are more than willing to attest to your activities, both on Lord Toric’s lands and now on Lord Dorn’s. You’re at bay, T’ovar. Firoth isn’t going to launch. Get off. Now,” the Weyrleader said.

Surrounded by eleven angry people, aboard a suddenly recalcitrant dragon, T’ovar shrugged.

He dropped to the ground. He patted Firoth, hoping it would make amends, but the dragon kept his eyes firmly on the Weyrwoman’s queen.

“On your knees, T’ovar. Hands behind your back.”

“What? What? No!” He backed up.

The boatmen crowded around. Two of them grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him to his knees with more force than K’ndar thought necessary. A third grabbed T’ovar’s arms and pulled them behind his back.

“You buggers, let me go. You’re hurting my arms,” T’ovar growled.

“Do you boatmen have any chains, or at least rope?” the Weyrleader said.

One sputtered in glee. “Do we have rope? Does a boatman have rope? Hehehehehe!” He ran to his boat and returned with several stout cords.

“Tie him, up, please? Hands AND feet.”

“I’d be glad to, sor. Iffen I attach an anchor to ‘is feet, sor, I can make it so’s ‘e’ll never get back on a dragon ever again. Anchors is cheap.”

“And certain,” one of the dragonriders said, laughing.

“I can hears it now: kerplunk!” Tombaugh said.

One man swiftly and tightly bound T’ovar’s wrists. Then he pushed T’ovar over to tie his feet.

“What are you doing? Hey! this isn’t dignified, I’m a dragonrider!” T’ovar protested.

“Dignity? What is dignity to a brigand? You’ve tarnished the reputation of every dragonrider on Pern, especially those of my Weyr,” the Weyrwoman sneered. Her boot was very close to his face. She resisted the urge to kick it.

T’ovar rolled his eyes. But there was fear in them.

“There y’are, sor. Trussed up like the pig for Turnover roastin’,” the boatman said, laughing.

“Thank you. Stand him up, please.”

They picked him up. T’ovar wobbled, finding it hard to balance on feet so closely tied together. He leaned back against Firoth for support.

The brown dragon moved aside. T’ovar almost fell over.

Firoth?

The Weyrleader cleared his throat. “Dragonriders? Boatmen? If you will bear witness, please?”

“Aye, sor!” “I’m your man!”

K’ndar and B’rost both aimed their datalinks.

“Attention.This is for record. Brown rider T’ovar, originally of High Reaches Weyr and now who knows who you look to, I, Weyrleader D’rsay of Southern Weyr do arrest you for numerous crimes. I am taking you to my Weyr where you will be jailed. You will eventually face the Council of Six who will determine your punishment. I seriously doubt you will ever be allowed to fly again.”

“Or even see the light o’ day,” shouted one of the boatmen. He was instantly shushed.

“What about Firoth?” T’ovar said.

“You mean the dragon you hit?” the green rider shouted, still furious.

“He will be cared for as if he were my own,” D’rsay said. “He is as much a victim of your crimes as any person.”

And he still won’t respond, T’ovar thought. The aching, awful silence in his mind was like an icy wind in a Stygian cavern.

The Weyrleader turned to the boatmen.

“Would two of you men please tie this piece of excrement atop my dragon? It’s a dirty trick to pull on him, but he understands. Stow the baggage tightly, please. I’d hate to have it fall off in between.”

“I wouldn’t sor, I think it’s probly the best thing for ‘im.”

“Aye, it’d save a lot of time, it would.”

“Yes,” said the Weyrwoman, “but his dragon would then die, and that’s not fair to Firoth.”