Dragonheart

For signs of promise and demise.

Thread will fall across the ground

Unless brave dragons do abound.

FortHold , Morning, AL 507.13.23

The alarm klaxon from the guard tower startled Lord Bemin and he broke into a run, anxious to leave the Great Hall and discover the cause of the disturbance.

The moment he was outside, several huge shadows fell over him and he instantly knew the cause — dragons! A full wing by all rights, he noted quickly as he peered upward, half-hoping to see a small gold above him. But that was not to be, for he knew that Fiona’s Talenth was still too young to go between.  And then a dreadful thought crossed his mind and his face drained of color. He knew that some dragons had died from this new, unknown illness — could this wing of dragons be an honor guard bearing bad news?

He increased his pace, rushing toward where the largest dragon — a bronze — descended. The rider leapt off quickly but the dragon did not depart; clearly a brief visit was intended.

“My Lord — ” Lord Bemin began as soon as he was in earshot, halting as he tried to remember the name of this bronze rider.

“I am H’nez,” the rider drawled in response, glancing at Bemin as though he were a mere drudge, “rider of Ginirth.” He paused for a moment as he examined Bemin and feigned ignorance. “And you are?”

“It has been a long time, Lord H’nez,” Bemin replied stiffly, adding with an equally stiff but not very deep bow, “since you have graced this Hold with your presence. If my memory serves, the last time we met you were not yet a wingleader.”

“I wouldn’t know,” H’nez said, “as I have no idea to whom I’m speaking.”

Bemin’s eyes narrowed in anger; he was wearing his hold colors and his rank was obvious. The dragonrider was being rude — but two could play that game.

“I had heard that dragonriders in the main have excellent eyesight,” Bemin commented with another part- bow. “I did not realize that your eyes have gone so aged as mine that you cannot distinguish the colors of Fort Hold .” He paused just for a moment and added with an obsequious expression, “That is where you wished to be, is it not?”

H’nez snapped to his full height, his eyes flashing. Beside him, his dragon rumbled ominously.

From within her lair, Fort Hold ’s watch-wher, usually asleep during the day, bugled a response.

“It is all right, Forsk,” Bemin called to her. “We are honored by dragonriders from the Weyr.”

Forsk made a sound that was not quite satisfied, feeling enough of Bemin’s emotions to know that her bondmate was unhappy.

“So, you are the wherhandler here?” H’nez glanced from the Lord Holder to Forsk’s lair and back again.

“Lord Holder Bemin, at your service,” Bemin answered, extending a hand in greeting. His irritation with the dragonrider’s haughty ways had evaporated as he had realized that no bearer of ill-tidings would have behaved so poorly. That H’nez paused for a long moment before extending his hand in response was not lost upon Bemin but did not detract from his joy at knowing that his daughter’s dragon was still safe.

“To what do we owe the honor, dragonrider?” he asked, then added, “And may I offer the hospitality of my Hold to you and your riders?”

“You may,” H’nez replied, adding with a sniff, “such as it is.”

Bemin chose to ignore the remark, and gestured toward the Great Hall. “If you’d like, we could talk at the table in the Great Hall while we take refreshments.”

“As much as that would please me,” H’nez replied in a tone that indicated no such thing, “my duties require me to mount a watch on this Hold and all its outlying holds minor.”

Bemin did not fail to notice H’nez’s emphasis on the word duties,  with the unspoken implication that Bemin himself had no such pressing worries.

“Perhaps when you’ve finished setting the watch, you’d accompany me to the Harper Hall,” Bemin offered, managing with effort to keep the irritation out of his voice. “I’m sure that Masterharper Zist would be obliged for any news of Fort Weyr .”

“I doubt I’ll have time,” H’nez replied curtly.

Bemin’s eyes narrowed at the other’s discourtesy, but, with a steadying breath, he tried again to be civil. “Will you need lodging for your riders?”

“Of course,” H’nez said, as though it were obvious. “I shall stay here at your Hold. My riders will find lodgings where they are posted.”

“Very well,” Bemin replied. “If there is any other way in which I may be of assistance — ”

“I’ll be sure to let you know,” H’nez answered dismissively.

“What are you doing here?” Kelsa asked Bemin in surprise as she made her way to the master’s table at the Harper Hall the next morning.

“I spent the night here,” Bemin replied. He gestured vaguely toward the journeyman’s quarters. “In one of the empty rooms.”

Kelsa looked from him to Masterharper Zist and back again, a challenging look in her eyes. “Why?”

“I wanted to show some flexibility,” Bemin replied. “Masterharper Zist and I had a long talk — ”

“You didn’t tell him?” Kelsa broke in angrily, looking betrayed.

“I’ve been a harper long enough to know the signs,” Zist growled at her, waving her anger away and gesturing at the large bowls of breakfast cereals piled in front of her. “As it is, anyone in this Hall who doesn’t  know you’re expecting had better have a very good reason,” he added, raising his voice enough to carry to every corner of the dining hall.

“I told you,” Verilan murmured from his end of the table before immersing himself once again in an old Record.

“It wasn’t the sort of thing you can hide, you know,” Nonala added with a grin for Bemin. “I must thank you, Lord Holder.”

Bemin raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“I won the bet,” Nonala said, stretching out her hand toward Verilan.

“What bet?” Kelsa demanded airily. “How come you didn’t bet me?”

“Because the bet was about how Bemin would react,” Nonala explained. She gave Master Archivist Verilan a reproving look. “A noble man, as I said.”

“I never doubted that,” Verilan said quickly, looking up from his Record again while dipping into his pocket for a two-mark piece, which he passed over to Nonala’s outstretched hand. He gave Bemin an apologetic look as he explained, “The bet was how long it would take before you . . . accepted Kelsa’s requirements.”

“Verilan thought you might hold out longer,” Nonala explained. She gave the archivist the same sort of sisterly look she’d bestowed on him since they’d first met, him having all of ten Turns at the time. She grinned as she continued, “But I  figured you’d waste no time.”

“What are you talking about?” Kelsa demanded. She looked first to the Masterharper, then to Bemin for an explanation.

“I believe that your fellow master is telling you that Lord Holder Bemin will do whatever is necessary for the well-being of you and your child,” Zist said finally.

“Oh,” Kelsa said, looking toward Bemin. Her expression softened as she asked, “You will?”

“Yes,” Bemin swore. “I love you.”

Verilan rapped the table and stretched out his hand to Nonala, who ruefully returned the two-mark piece.

Kelsa’s eyes slid to the pair of them and they halted the transaction with guilty looks on their faces until Nonala sheepishly confessed, “He bet me that Bemin would say he loved you the first morning he was at the Harper Hall.”

“That’s usually what happens,” Verilan explained. “You’d know that if you read the Records more often.”

Kelsa and Nonala shared a look of exasperated affection, shaking their heads nearly in unison.

“So you don’t mind if she’s raised here?” Kelsa asked Bemin when the moment passed.