Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman 
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Post by Azhdarchid on Feb 18, 2012 12:05:54 GMT -5
He and L'kie had decided together that this affair was beneath O'sho. The choice of which Junior Weyrleader to dump it on was left to Q'sis alone, but it was not much of a choice. L'am was a brat, around Q'sis' age in fact, though somehow the Holdless doubted his experience. R'len was twenty Turns their senior, give or take. The only knock against the man was his false king, but Q'sis could not fault the dragon that had sired Unath. Not exactly, anyway. Shame the Tideturners' own specimens were bonded to either the cowardly or the unexceptional.
The Tanweyrling pinned his flight goggles into place, and Unath crawled to the ledge under her own impetus, though once she kicked airborne he took over. He posted his dark subqueen at the center of the Bowl, a flap from the Rim, and craned her thick head downward. He did not expect to hunt down Weyrleaders from the air, but he wanted to swing down to any part of the Weyr caverns immediately upon receiving approval for a face-to-face contact.
A season and more of firestone carrying behind him had finessed his sense for pointing Unath's mind where he needed it to speak. Unath, as always, offered no friction, giving up all her remaining notes of individuality to her rider, to dictate as he liked. Sure that might have been whittling at her independence, but only Q'sis would ever recall enough of her to regret the loss.
R'len, I would speak with you, the rider said with his dragon's voice, trusting the intimate nature of which to inform the recipient of his identity. All dragons had a flavor to them. Unath's was both blank and dissonant, and depending on who was really speaking, it could be warm- or not. Right now there was not a drop of lively heat in her, just concentration. The words were forcibly clear. If traitorous Weyrlings are in your purview. As Q'sis would when speaking aloud, Unath put emphasis on the traitor, which had more connotations than most riders might surmise. I will come to you. Tell me where. And when.
Q'sis thought he had cleaned out his sense of demand, save what his sentence structure itself indicated. That's all, he offered in acknowledgment to Kaezeth, who was the actual recipient of the message no matter whose name Q'sis-Unath spoke. And, since it was a Weyrleader's dragon, and it would make Unath happy: Thank you.
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Reky
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Post by Reky on Feb 18, 2012 17:55:03 GMT -5
Through his dragon came a concerning note. Word-for-word, Kaezeth conveyed the message, tagging the sender's name onto the end. Unath's, the iron said. Q'sis. R'len set down his pen and idly tapped the edges of his stack of hides and papers together. An obsessively neat pile for a man with an obsessively neat mind. The word 'traitor' now swam through his professional perfectionism like one of the lack monsters. It dashed any work-related thoughts to smithereens.
It could not be an accusation with much basis, he told himself. If there was hard evidence and an undeniable truth to it, it would have gone to O'sho or Fajra. (Considering this was Q'sis, then it would have been O'sho.) Perhaps, then, it was just something the tanrider heard. Some hunch. It would become R'len's job to investigate further - or to decide not to. Whatever the case, he was hooked and needed to hear more. Recordkeeping could wait.
Tell Q'sis to join me in my weyr, he said to Kaezeth, standing to organize his desk and re-purpose the second chair for Q'sis' use rather than for a bookcase. His office was small but neat; the curtain to his bedroom drawn shut.
Come now, then, to our weyr, the king relayed to the young subqueen. When they did arrive, the metallic dragon was of impressive posture, neck arched and wings smoothed against his muscular body. There was a deep rumble and the slightest tip of his angular head to acknowledge their entrance. Beyond that, he calmly surveyed the scene of the busy Dalibor outside. R'len was not quite as cool and collected as his dragon, but he did try.
"Take a seat," he offered, leaning back in his own across the meticulous desk. "I trust you're well, Q'sis, aside from thoughts of, well, traitorous weyrlings." He rested his arms on the rests of his chair, palms forcibly slack around the smoothed ends. "Do tell." [/blockquote] |
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
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Post by Azhdarchid on Feb 19, 2012 19:25:43 GMT -5
Very well. Unath twisted toward the north wall, the faint red points of her talons settling on Kaezeth's ledge a moment later. Her cream-sock forepaws spread over the flat of rock, fixing her remaining momentum. Her shoulder rolled low, and a last set of feet, clad in wherhide boots, planted upon the ledge. Q'sis stowed his gloves in the pocket of his jacket, opening the front as he strode into the weyr.
"Kaezeth," he said, looking up to the Iron's tucked neck and blunted face. That was courtesy, but the run his eyes made along the king's stubby tail was not. Unath, freed to her own devices, was clicking her head toward things that interested her in the Bowl, but at the lingering of Q'sis' gaze she turned to Kaezeth, a slight stay occupying the green whirl of her eyes. She ducked her head to follow Q'sis' disappearance into the Weyrleader's office, then pulled back to regard the resident king. Her nostrils made investigative flexations, then she turned her broad chest and raised neck on Kaezeth. Her toes twitched and she put her weight on the tips for the couple extra inches of height doing so afforded her.
She turned again, sharp as a startled runner, showing her side to the other dragon and then vaulting her forebody up against the rock ringing his legs. Her forepaws scrabbled at the rock and left white scars to mark her height, then she sank down and tilted away from the Iron till it seemed she would topple sideways off the ledge. Visible swirls of rock dust cascaded down from the wounded wall, pouring off her clamped wings and drawing into her nose.
Unath coughed.
It was a soft, nasal sound, suitable to the magnitude of the irritation. But she quivered at the interruption, and after one more glance at Kaezeth, sprang open her wings and flitted away from the ledge. Golden dust motes spiraled in the wake of her wingbeats, then fell away on the next good breeze.
Q'sis made a transparent inspection of the office as he stepped in, hand only seeking the back of the arranged chair after R'len offered it. He looked down at the Junior Weyrleader as he seated himself, then blinked as the chair accepted him with a minimum of creaking, and his legs found ample room to rest. R'len was in the spectrum of height where his furniture might also suit the Tanweyrling, so Q'sis should have expected this, but it was still a rare pleasure. He smiled slightly, and after fingering the wood of the armrest, and the corner of the table, he looked back to his host.
"I am." His onceover of the Weyrleader was as straightforward as his examination of the room, but after that his eyes stayed on R'len's at last. "Tigreath. It's her boy Xiro'el that's the trouble. He is the only one, so far. And he informed me himself of his intentions: to abandon this Weyr upon graduation. To suck up as much of Dalibor's resources away as he can, for his safety, then to go where he pleases. To run from Thread instead of flaming it from the skies of Pern."
The salesman in Q'sis would have liked to continue playing up the depth of the transgression, but he refrained. "He may depart the very day of our release from our current limitations. He is a fool that buys flash before caution. But any time in that first month of Winter will be ideal for him. The season is too cold for Thread most days in the West, but I am still seeking to find if it is the same in the North."
His short right forefinger tapped soundlessly on the end of his armrest. "It was long ago that he bragged of his plans to me. Long too since he made his first journey beyond the rules that govern us Weyrlings, enthralled by none other than the...herder, Sebolaren. That was at a time when Tigreath was only a hatchling. I reported to the Candidatemaster-- K'var --and he was less than enthused about pursuing appropriate reprimand." Through his black beard already seasoned thick for the cold showed a deeper grimace. "Of course our Weyrlingmasters have never been steady on, getting themselves blown up in fires and so forth. They provide no recourse. That man should not be allowed near any of my class anymore. Not near any Weyrling. That is only a feeling of mine." And with it released, Q'sis lost the toothy hate from his face.
He rotated his bulky shoulders, the working brown wherhide of his current jacket drawn briefly tight. "I am sure you could get the details from K'var, including what he ignored from my report. It is possible Xiro has learned from Sebolaren's idiocy, but I doubt it. He was a traitor even before he was Searched. He will not change." The ex-trader paused at last, watching R'len.
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Reky
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Post by Reky on Mar 10, 2012 13:42:39 GMT -5
It was, predictably, a fair amount to mull over. R'len watched Q'sis' face and mannerisms as he spoke. A strong man sat across from him: one that was a brand of dragonrider separate from many of the thinner and more subservient riders that were borne of weyrlinghood as of late. As such, the posture he held was more akin to one of equality than superiority, and he was willing to take the tanrider's words into consideration.
He realized, though, that his distance from the weyrlings had put an obstacle in the way of his getting to the bottom of this. He knew Xiro'el and Tigreath by name alone and could put them, perhaps, to the shade of the dragon but not to the face. He definitely did not know the boy and his dragon well enough to make any assumptions about the validity of Q'sis' claims. The benefit of the doubt, then, was given graciously.
This Xiro'el's association with the dragonless Sebolaren, however, worried R'len. The whole Weyr knew the truths, rumours, and tragedy of black Sicriath's death, and R'len was not immune to his own opinions. He, like Fajra, would not trust the dragonless with the chance to Stand again, and he was even wary of presenting him with a wher, but that was under Audren's jurisdiction. If the potential traitor was close with a suspiciously dragonless man, then perhaps there was reason for true concern. There was a source of alternate beliefs; of questionable morals.
"I will consult K'var, then," R'len said decisively. "A traitor among us is foul news - we've already integrated the renegade party from before, and none of us want to do it again. If your suspicions are true and Xiro'el of Tigreath does leave Dalibor, I feel, at least, that he would not last long without proper supplies or the sympathy of another Weyr. If he steals from us, though, the other Weyrs will be warned." He felt a pit of sickness in his stomach at the thought. Stealing from your supposed family - from a Weyr that protected you and all of Pern was despicable. Intolerable.
"We can't, however, force him to stay. In all honesty, if he wishes so badly to leave, we're better off without him. Dissent and disobedience in the ranks, especially during the Pass, is dangerous. The best we can do, I'm afraid, is react accordingly if he does leave - and if he doesn't quite yet, throw in a little more about loyalty and responsibility in lessons and speeches. Encourage those with concerns to speak to someone who can address them and hope he has a change of heart, but approaching him personally is bad form, and I'm sure you know that. 'Oh, hey, someone told us you were going to run away, maybe you shouldn't.'" He quirked a fleeting smile and leaned back in his chair.
"I'll give it my attention when I can. I'd like to say I'm not busy but I am. Thank you, though, for bringing this to our attention, Q'sis. If you find out anything more, please let me know." He stood and reached across the table to shake the tanweyrling's hand in appreciation. [/blockquote] |
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Mar 10, 2012 21:49:49 GMT -5
The tanrider exhaled slowly as the Weyrleader accepted his report rather than denying it. R'len's immediate address of the next step, the thing Q'sis himself would have done in the same situation, earned the steady look of a man listening to every word. He blinked at the notion of Xiro'el and Tigreath simply wasting off in their self-imposed exile, thoughts puzzling together quickly as he followed R'len's response.
Xiro'el would steal. One betrayal was as worthless as another when one had already crossed the Weyr in the most fundamental way. But Q'sis felt no urge to reiterate as much to the ironrider. He could hear the same feeling under the steady stream of cause and effect R'len outlined. In fact he had heard it the second he walked into the weyr, disguised in a casual greeting. And in the immediate response to his hail in the first place.
Another kind of sentiment turned over in him at the notion of leaving Xiro'el to his flight. Maybe it was disagreement, but stymied by the reevaluation of his own objective--preserving the dragon at all costs--as idealistic. Q'sis swallowed a self-directed laugh: all this time in the stone had allowed him to weigh the non-practical. There was something else to it too, a half-premonitory, half-retrospective dizziness about dissent and exiles that left him subdued, if attentive to the remainder of the precautions.
"You are well-prepared for this," he said as R'len stood, voice hardening around the fact. There was a full second before Q'sis followed suit, and rose from his seat, exposing his full height. While not too far above R'len, Q'sis knew how too quick a presentation of himself could be construed as disrespectful. He met R'len's hand, gave it a token squeeze, but he did not need it to tell him what had already been demonstrated. "You will do what is necessary." His large hand slipped smoothly out of its grip with the Weyrleader's. "I am glad to bring you what I can." Q'sis smiled. "For the Weyr."
Unath had been dancing around on the Bowl thermals like an agitated wherry, but her flight smoothed out as Q'sis left the Weyrleader. She came in for a second landing and touched down delicately on all four paws just as he emerged from the weyr's shadow. He hiked up the supplied slant of her slender leg, saddled in, and departed without hesitation.
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