Chap. 411 The Moribund Blue
Landing’s dragons were approaching their meadow after their biweekly drill. Despite riding a brown dragon, P’jar was acting as wing leader.
It feels so strange, he thought, to be ordering two bronze riders who also happen to be former Weyrleaders AND are now Councilmen-but we all agreed on our taking turns being wing leader, no matter how low ranking we may be. I doubt any of us will ever need to lead a wing again. But it is still good exercise.
I like drill, it makes me work, Falconth said, but I don’t like it when Motanith is wing leader.
P’jar laughed, silently. Why?
She goes so fast. She does it to make us males feel small, like we’re still weyrlings. The only one who can almost keep up with her is Raventh and even he says afterwards that he’s tired.
P’jar DID laugh, out loud.
Females will do that. Of course she goes fast, she’s a green.
She doesn’t want to wait for the rest of us when we’re home bound.
I know. She’ll always beat us to the meadow. It’s okay. Francie always breaks ranks at the end of a drill because she says it’s because she has to pee.
?????
P’jar just laughed. Explaining women’s bladders was even beyond him.
It’s sort of sad, he thought, I loved being a wingleader at Western Weyr. There’s no need for us to drill anymore, especially here at Landing, but I’m glad we do. I wonder what future generations of dragonriders will do. Already the few younger riders I’ve talked to seem to think drill is a waste of time.
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It is strange to feel like this. I worked hard but still it feels good Raventh said.
I understand. When you say ‘hard’ do you mean it’s taking all your strength to do it?
In a way. It is hard to describe it. My muscles say I am getting tired and my brain says just a little more. And then afterwards I feel good.
Yes! The word we use is ‘exercise’.
Exercise.
Yes. It means doing work like you did, flying as fast as you could for a long time. Now you will go and get a bath in the dragon pond, I’ll oil you up and then you relax.
I will. Motanith was racing. I tried my best but she is faster. But I am faster than the bronzes and even Falconth!
You are, and she’s a green!
The bronzes can’t keep up.
But Siskin can. And did.
Raventh gave the dragon’s equivalent of a snicker.
They soared over Landing’s dragon meadow. K’ndar saw a brown dragon, with a green and blue beside him. Motanith had landed opposite from them on the far side of the dragon meadow. He saw the three people looking at something in the treeline.
I bet they’re the riders of the dragons, but why are they on the far side of the meadow, right next to Motanith? And why hasn’t Francie dismounted?
As Raventh got closer to the meadow, he saw Motanith back away from the treeline and turn around. That’s odd, he thought, but now I have to pay attention to landing.
“On the ground! Heads up, dragons inbound!” P’jar bellowed, out of long habit. The bronzes need extra room to land, he knew. Once he saw that there was room, he called, “K’ndar, land, please?” P’jar called.
“Aye, sir, landing now.”
Raventh began to backwing when, without warning, he fell over sideways and dived to his right, his wingtips perfectly vertical.
K’ndar, held aboard by his harness, yelped in surprise, then yelped again as Motanith rocketed straight up, pumping hard to gain altitude as fast as possible. Siskin squawked, as he’d been tossed off of Raventh’s neck.
“Hoka hey! Hoka hey!!” Francie shouted at the same time as she passed on his left.
“Francie! What’s going on?” K’ndar shouted as she flew past him.
“I’m going to Cove Hold RIGHT NOW to get the dragon healer. Look at that blue by the tree line!!” she shouted.
With that, Motanith, with three fire lizards swirling around her, gained altitude, then disappeared.
Blue? Blue dragon? I see one next to the green and the brown, but they’re not near the tree line? he wondered.
“K’ndar! Land, please? You’ve got me and the bronzes stacking up,” P’jar called, confused at Francie’s sudden departure.
“Sorry, sir,” he called, realizing Raventh had automatically gained altitude and was circling while trying to decide what was going on. Raventh leveled out, then flew to the tree line in a steep descent.
Where’s Siskin?
I see him. Siskin is over the blue.
It’s the blue dragon next to a green and a brown?
No. They’re weyrlings with their Weyrlingmaster. Don’t you see the other blue? He’s alone. He’s half underneath one of the trees, the humans are looking at him.
No, I still don’t see him, K’ndar almost snapped, irritated that for some reason he wasn’t seeing what his dragon was.
Instead of replying, Raventh told Siskin to send an image of the dragon.
Siskin had perched above the blue dragon and sent an image of it, laying down, half underneath the tree’s limbs.
Oh NO he said, suddenly seeing the blue. Or what appeared to be a dragon.
Raventh made an uncharacteristically hard landing in his haste.
Sorry
P’jar, as drill leader, called on Corvuth and then Mondevuth to land.
K’ndar scrambled off Raventh and approached the people next to the tree line. Siskin chittered from his perch above the supine blue.
The dragon lay with his neck outstretched, eyes closed. His wings were partially extended, looking as if he’d fallen instead of landed. They could see holes in the wings. He was more white than blue, and his harness looked to be two sizes too big for him.
K’ndar’s thoughts went in circles, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
Is he dead? he asked Raventh.
No, Raventh said, but Motanith told us all she thinks he is dying and went for the dragon healer.
He turned to the Weyrlingmaster. “What happened here? Did he fall?”
“I don’t know. We just got here,” the Master said.
“Oh, forgive me, Weyrlingmaster, I’m K’ndar, rider of brown Raventh and staff here at Landing,” he said to the three, using the formal and age old polite introduction to strangers.
The three visitors responded in kind. They were from Telgar Weyr.
“This blue, is he with you?”
“NO,” the Weyrlingmaster said, incensed, “Do you think I’d allow anyone in my weyr to let a dragon get like this? Even an Oldtimer?”
“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to figure out what happened to this poor thing.”
They all regarded the dragon, trying to sort out the meaning of its dismaying condition.
“We landed a few minutes before the green rider did. Our dragons saw him right away and called him but he didn’t respond,” the Weyrlingmaster said.
The two Councilmen came running, having bailed off their dragons. P’jar landed last, but caught up with them.
The lords and P’jar gaped in astonishment at the blue.
The Weyrlingmaster was the first to rouse, realizing, just Who he was standing next to. “I beg your pardon, my lords,” he said, and he and his weyrlings all bowed deeply while introducing themselves. The weyrling boy stammered as he realized he was in the presence of not one but two Lord Councilmen.
“What in the world has happened here?” D’nis asked.
“Is he dead?” P’jar asked.
“Not yet,” the Weyrlingmaster said, his voice husky with emotion, “he’s breathing, at least.”
“He’s skin and bones,” T’balt finally found his voice.
“He’s not blue, he’s almost white.” K’ndar said. He must be an Oldtimer, he thought, but there’s something about him that belies that.
Siskin landed in front of the dragon. He chittered, plaintively.
There was no response for a long moment.
“He must be dying,” P’jar said, “he won’t respond to my dragon.”
Then the blue’s eyes opened, focusing on the fire lizard.
Everyone’s dragons began talking to the blue.
“Hey, bluey, are you alright?” K’ndar heard himself say.
The dragon raised his head, and turned to face them, slowly, like a cold blooded creature half frozen from an unexpected cold snap.
“Oh, my stars,” the green rider groaned in horror, “his eyes! His eyes, oh no, they’re black!”
“And empty,” D’nis said, “As if there’s no spark left in his mind.”
“Never in my life have I seen a dragon look like this,” the Weyrlingmaster said.
“Has he said anything to your dragons?”
“Nay, my lord.”
“Corvuth has reached him,” D’nis said. I bet he pounded this one, he thought. “But he’s not responding.”
Raventh said He says to us dragons, stop shouting at me. Only one at a time. He says he will only talk to me.
He only will talk to Raventh Corvuth said to D’nis, as well as to the other dragons.
The other dragonriders looked at him.
“K’ndar, do you know this dragon?” T’balt growled, his anger making his tone accusatory. K’ndar’s not to blame, he thought, checking himself, but this dragon is on death’s doorstep.
K’ndar shook his head, shaken by the tone, but knowing why. “No, my lord. I don’t know who he is, I’ve never seen a dragon so old, and I’ve dealt with Oldtimers. He’s so far gone I am astonished he can even lift his head.”
“Why will he only talk to Raventh?”
He says he has been here before. His name is Sorath. But I don’t remember him.
“I don’t know that, either. He says he’s met Raventh, but Raventh says he doesn’t remember meeting him.”
“Maybe he’s confused with all the dragons are shouting at him,” the girl said. “Maybe it’s just too many voices at once.”
Yes the blue said to the other dragons. What the human said.
He looked at D’nis. “My lord, I remember when B’rost showed up after nomading for months, and Rath was so thin. But this dragon, he’s not thin, he’s skeletal.”
“Ask him if he’s hungry. We need to get something in him, right now,” T’balt ordered.
He says he is hungry but he is too tired to hunt. He is telling the other dragons this.
The dragons all sent the same message to their riders.
Motanith says he told her the same thing. She is leaving Cove Hold now with the healer. She is bringing a fish for the blue Raventh said.
“Trust Francie to think of everything,” K’ndar said, fondly.
“Who is Francie?” the Weyrlingmaster said.
“She’s the green rider who launched in such a big hurry,” D’nis said, “and was probably the best green rider I ever had in my Weyr.”
“Our dragons saw him under the tree limbs,” the Weyrlingmaster said, “We had just dismounted when she came in. Three fire lizards were all over him, and she landed next to this poor beast, then launched, right in to your Raventh’s flight path. That was a quick move on your dragon’s part, K’ndar. Weyrlings, do you know what K’ndar did? And why?”
The boy shrugged, suddenly realizing that his lack of attention sometime in the last few weeks was about to cost him.
The girl clasped her hands and closed her eyes. “When in danger of a mid-air collision, wing over and bear hard right,” she recited. She opened them and looked at the boy. Smugly.
“Yes, lassie. Absolutely correct, like your Weyrlingmaster has undoubtedly repeated at least THREE TIMES?” T’balt said, pinning the boy’s eyes. The other dragonriders turned their heads to hide their grins.
The girl stood as tall as she could. The Lord Councilman said I was right! Take THAT! She bowed. “Thank you, my lord, my Weyrlingmaster is the best trainer!”
“And you, young lad, will need a little remedial training, I think,” T’balt said, not releasing the pressure on the boy, “On your own time, mind you.”
“That can be arranged, my lord,” the Weyrlingmaster said, a bit embarrassed. But boys are like that. The girls, whether green or gold, are always better students, he thought. He looked at the boy with a ‘well?” expression.
The boy deflated. “Yes, my lord.”
They went silent, dragged back to the reality of what appeared to be a dying dragon.
“I’ve never in my life seen a dragon so..so close to death,” D’nis said, “But I’ve never seen a dragon die, really. They always go between. Maybe I’m wrong about him? I hope the healer can diagnose what’s wrong with him.”
“I bet he can’t fly, which is why he’s not gone between,” the Weyrlingmaster said.
The blue dragon closed his eyes and lay his head down with an audible thump. Even that effort had cost him.
P’jar knelt down and gently touched the dragon’s side. “By the egg, he’s cold,” he said, ‘and I can feel his heartbeat, even through the ribcage.” He unconsciously wiped his hand on his riding jacket. “His skin feels dead.”
“Where is he from and Where the SHAFF is his rider?” T’balt snarled.
The blue heard.
Raventh reported and K’ndar translated: “He says all over and his rider is in a cave. He means inside one of the buildings. He says they move all the time.”
Something began to tingle in K’ndar’s mind. As usual, all the thought did was annoy him, refusing to come out of hiding.
“That harness,” the Weyrlingmaster said, “it’s dry rotted. And it looks Northern made.”
“Aye,” T’balt said, being a Northerner, “But I’ve never seen a design quite like that.”
“His skin, look at his skin!” the green rider said, aghast. “It looks like he’s not been groomed, not ever. And his talons, they’re all broken. Like he’s been digging.”
“And he stinks,” the boy said, and then put his hand to his mouth. “I’m sorry, dragon,” he apologized.
The blue didn’t respond.
“’Ware below! Incoming, please? Incoming!” K’ndar heard a familiar voice calling from the sky. Motanith had appeared. A woman was riding behind Francie, wearing a large backpack.
Motanith was carrying a large, freshly caught fish.