/ Author's Comments:
Before I start the story, I've got a little bit to say. The first and most familiar of my "comments" is the disclaimer. I do not own the idea or have rights to the world of Pern and its associated novels. They are the intellectual property of Anne McCaffery and/or associated publishers/authors.
Next, a little that you, as the reader, should know. I've only read a small number of the novels McCaffery has written about Pern. More exactly, I have read Dragonflight, Dragonquest, The White Dragon, and all of the short stories in "A Gift of Dragons" ("The Smallest Dragonboy", "The Girl Who Heard Dragons", "Runner of Pern, and "Ever the Twain"). I've starting reading "The Renegades of Pern", but I'm not very far. I'm drawing almost all of knowledge of Pern from these. I know that quite a bit happens in the following novels, include the discovery of an AI left over from the colonists, but I've no idea what happens otherwise in these books.
I have also only figured out what to do with the first few chapters of the fiction. I've got the main characters and their personalities well mapped out, but I haven't got a plot to cover the entirety of the story. If you, as the reviewer would care to make suggestions, they would be much appreciated.
I am unreliable and will update sporadically at best.
Chapter Information:
Drafting Began: 2:50:31 AM (GMT), July 6, 2006
Drafting Ended: 2:21:40 AM (GMT), July 8, 2006
Uploaded: 4:36:45 AM (GMT), July 8, 2006/
The Rogue of Pern
Prologue
Salt's Clearing, Northwest of Bitra Hold
Present Pass, 16.1.14
D'sen felt the familiar, but nonetheless intense cold of between as he and B'fol proceeded to one of their last stops on the Search. His wing had already visited Bitra Hold and found eight candidates (the Lord Holder had been pleasantly surprised by the number, but Ramoth had lain a clutch of 46). The wing had then dissolved into smaller groups (as was standard) and had begun to search the surrounding smaller holdings. Now, he and B'fol were on the last legs of their journey. They had passed beyond the actual lands that qualified as the holding of any Lord Holder or Holder, and now made for a small settlement (gathering place, rather) in the mountains north of Bitra (and north Benden, for that matter). They had started incorporating this small settlement (in reality, it was not a settlement, but a gathering point; there were few permanent structures and no protection from thread), far too small to be called a hold, during a search two turns ago, when they had discovered a candidate – a trapper's son by the name of Denat. He had Impressed a blue and become D'nat. Although prospects of actually finding another worthy candidate here were slim, Benden had to give the hatchlings as wide a range as possible to choose from (46 eggs was one of the largest clutches on the record).
D'sen, lost in his own thoughts, had hardly noticed when he had emerged from between. The early months in the north were almost as cold! Still, he was jolted back to reality when Sayth, his blue, started to descend. The spiraling path downward offered a grand view of the plains surrounding them. The snow-capped mountains to the north were certainly majestic, and the forest encircling the clearing gave the impression that the land was almost untouched by the people who lived there. As D'sen looked down on it from adragonback, he realized that this clearing would be a beautiful place to live, but pretty scenery did little to outweigh the remoteness of the location and danger from mountain beasts and threadfall. As Sayth hit the ground, D'sen decided to retract his mental statement about the potential candidates; it took a certain kind of person to live on the frontier, and many of those people would have made good dragonriders. Their children would hopefully retain many of their parents' best traits.
D'sen dismounted and was almost shocked to see B'fol and his green already next to him. He must resolve to stay more alert! He emerged from between just before we did. Sayth informed him. D'sen mentally cursed himself for his lapse, but then recovered and started to look around. It was a very small clearing, more of scattered mass of buildings than a settlement, but on the list of destinations to Search nonetheless. A number of residents had now paused to look at the two dragonriders, children among them, but none approached them. "Who do you think we should talk to?" B'fol hissed in his ear. "I don't think this village has a Lord Holder, B'fol." D'sen muttered back. Normally, when dragonriders Searched, the Lord Holder emerged to greet them, and the Lord Holder called for the children to assemble. However, with no Lord Holder, B'fol was understandably confused.
"What is the name of this settlement? I have forgotten."
"Salt's Clearing, D'sen."
"Ah, yes. How could I have forgotten? My apologies, B'fol."
"There's no shame in forgetting minor, details. But what should we do?"
"We just speak to the populace in general, B'fol. We landed in the town square. Watch."
D'sen turned away from the other rider, and looked around him and addressed the crowd at large."We come on Search for Benden Wyer!" he announced. "I am D'sen, rider of the blue Sayth, and my compatriot is B'fol, rider of the green Gereth."The effects of his words were instantaneous. The eyes of every youngster in the crowd grew wide. Hopeful children and parents alike began to express their hopes to their friends, most dreaming of the glamorous life of a dragonrider over that of a hunter or trapper. The crowd grew, the chatter became louder, and D'sen looked around the crowd. He realized that if the was the entire village, there were scarcely a thousand people, perhaps one hundred of their number children.
After a few moments of waiting for the noise to die down, which it didn't, D'sen held up his hands for quiet. The chatter died away. "We are only looking for teenagers of the age of twelve turns or older. If all of the children between the ages of twelve and seventeen would come forth..." Several of the younger children dejected began to sulk back to their parents. B'fol chuckled. "Don't worry! We'll be back in a few turns when you're older." None of them seemed to cheer up at this however, and a number of moans. D'sen even heard one child complain, "I'm never old enough for anything. I'll show 'em all one day..." B'fol glanced at D'sen, grinning.
The children of Salt's Clearing slowly began making their way to the front of the crowd, and the adults, however anxious, stepped back. Sayth and Gereth approached the waiting cluster of young men and women and carefully perused each in turn. As they inspected the teenagers, D'sen looked at the waiting adults with interest. It was so rare that a dragonrider got to leave the weyr and actually get a good look at outside life that he was fascinated. There were the anxious parents, indifferent but excited onlookers, hunters, trappers, traders, herdsmen... the list went on. Pioneers each of them, and it took bravery and spirit to be out here on the frontier. They were holdless in name only – holdless but not honorless.
A few minutes slipped by, as Sayth and Gereth continued the Search, D'sen amused himself watching the surrounding crowd of adults. As the two dragons proceeded down the line, someone let out a muffled shriek. D'sen whirled to see who had made the sound, and found the source in a nervous mother eating her own knuckles with anxiety. He suppressed a grin, remembering his own mother during the Search he had been picked from, and was about to turn away, when something – or rather someone – drew his gaze. A young man was standing behind the crowd, in the shadow of a building, one booted foot against the wall. Had it not been for his keen eyesight, D'sen might have missed the boy entirely, especially because he was clad in the leather armor of an adult hunter. He was tall, taller than D'sen, from the looks of him, heavy set, and dark. A lock of black hair partially obscured the left side of his face, but D'sen could see that he was undeniably a older teenager. Why hadn't he joined the others? Why was he hiding – well, not quite hiding –, but why had he separated himself from the rest of the teenagers, staying back and cloaking himself in shadows and the clothes of an adult?
As if sensing his questioning gaze, the young man raised his head and met the gaze of the dragonrider, his expression totally blank, yet at the same time hard. D'sen returned the boy's stare for a few moments, before returning his gaze to the two searching dragons. Sayth and Gereth were craning their heads and were focused on one boy, young, tall, dark, and strong, twelve or thirteen turns old. D'sen got the sense that Sayth had a good feeling about this one.
"Have you found one, Sayth?" D'sen asked mentally.
I believe we have, responded the blue. Acknowledging the new candidate, D'sen nodded to B'fol and approached the young boy. The two dragons retracted their tremendous heads, allowing D'sen to talk to the boy. "Hello, son," said D'sen. "What's your name?"
"Gyron, sir" replied the boy, smiling with the thought of what he knew would come next.
"The dragons have chosen you, Gyron." There was immediate chatter among the young men there assembled, and D'sen caught whiffs of conversation. "Him? Why he's not even..." "That runt! He's not fit to be a dragonman!" "...I'm two heads taller than he is..." D'sen stepped back and took a good look at the boy. He was not yet five feet tall, overdue for a growth spurt, more plain than handsome, plain-faced, strong, and now positively beaming. B'fol helped D'sen to lead the boy out of the crowd, the children still chattering behind him. Now that he had been lead away from the others, he looked distressed.
"If I may ask, sirs, why me? There are plenty of boys faster, smarter, and taller than me. Why me?"
D'sen smiled. His question might be a sign of humility, which might be the answer to the question itself. "The dragons always know, Gyron. You've got virtues about you that the dragons can see."
Gyron's face broke out into another smile. "I understand, sir. Thank you."
"Oh, don't thank me, son." replied D'sen. "Its you who has what it takes. Now, it's tradition that I speak with you parents. Where is...?"
Gyron pointed to the women who D'sen immediately recognized as the nervous women who had shrieked with anxiety. "That's my mother," commented Gyron. "My father is out of town."
D'sen approached the women, a friendly smile on his face.
"Are you Gyron's mother, Ma'am?"
"Indeed I am. Oh!" she gasped. "Have they really chosen him! He's always wanted to be dragonman, but I never thought..."
"Yes, Ma'am. The dragons have indeed made their choice. Now, it is customary to ask permission from at least one parent..."
"Oh course he can go! Oh! I can't believe it! My Gyron – a dragonman! Oh my!" D'sen turned to Gyron past his mother's exclamations. "Now, pack whatever you need."
Gyron's dazed mother started lead him away, but Gyron's face fell once again and he turned to the two dragonriders.
"Lord D'sen," he started respectfully, "Will I be allowed to see my friends and family again?"
D'sen kneeled and clasped one hand on the boys shoulder, looking him straight in the eye. "Gyron, when you are a dragonrider, you'll be able to go wherever you want whenever you want. You can see you friends anytime. And your family too. Not to mention that your family will probably there at hatching."
At the mention of hatching, a smile broke out on Gyron's face again. As he walked away mother, D'sen heard him say, "Do you really think I'll Impress? Do you think I'll get a dragon?" D'sen shot a grin at B'fol. I'd be surprised if he doesn't, Sayth informed him. B'fol, as if he had heard the same thing, grinned and nodded. "We should Search the remaining youngsters," D'sen told Sayth. The dragons sent him a mental nodd, and returned to their task. D'sen as he returned to the lines of youngsters, he shot a quick glance over his shoulder, and his smile faded. The dark, elder youth was still standing in the shadow of the building, in exactly the same stance, with exactly the same expression on his face. D'sen turned back to the hopeful teens, and tried to regain his complexion. There was something about that man that shook him to the bones. Even though he had never even heard the teen speak, never seen him even move, there was something about him... He has great potential, remarked Sayth. D'sen acknowledged Sayth, but said nothing.
A few more minutes passed by, the anxious children squirming beneath the scrutiny of the two dragons, towering majestically so far over their heads. However, for all their desperate hopes, for all of their overbearing pride, and for all of their naïve overconfidence, Sayth and Gereth chose no other from among the candidates for candidate-hood. Not a one better than little Gyron. Although he showed nothing externally, D'sen smiled internally, but faltered for a moment. How many dreams ruined today? How many? I understand your feelings. But none of these men, however much as they want it, have a good chance of Impressing. D'sen once again reluctantly acknowledged Sayth's mental statement.
"What of that one?" D'sen mentally directed Sayth to the dark youth, still standing in the shadow of the same building, one boot against the wall, despite the dispersing crowd. The youth was still staring, unblinking, straight at D'sen. He has potential, I can tell. Do you think we should take a closer look? "Indeed. Tell Gereth to tell B'fol."
As one, the two dragonriders and their cherished companions made their way through the remnants of chattering crowd. Why, D'sen wondered as they approached the boy, Is he standing in just that way? Is it coincidence? Is he trying to be melodramatic? A little of both? D'sen's feeling about the boy hadn't faded.
As the two riders drew closer, the youth removed his foot from wall. He looked over D'sen and B'fol, D'sen realized, as if he was sizing them up. D'sen got a better look at him. He had black hair – or very dark brown –, well cropped, his eyes were brown, and he was tanned, although there wasn't much sun this far north. He was indeed dressed as a hunter, with two apparent belt knives (although one was undoubtedly for skinning, not combat), and a bow and quiver hanging on his back. There was a pack on the ground behind him, resting against the building, although it might not have been his. His gloves and boots were wehrhide, he had no cloak, and he did indeed have the thick leather armor of a hunter – a hunter of dangerous game. D'sen and B'fol drew to a stop in front of him, their dragons close behind. The boy's eyes flicked from D'sen's face to B'fol's face, and then back to D'sen. Then, to D'sen's suprise, he bowed low to the pair. "Good morning, Master D'sen – rider of the blue Sayth – and Master B'fol – who rides the green Gereth. How may I be of service?" His voice was deep and strong.
D'sen let a smile show on face. He mentally signalled to Sayth – who told Gereth – that they could take a look at him. "You have a good memory, son. What is your name?" The youth shot a glance at the two dragons, towering above him, now craning their heads to see him. Then his solid gaze was back on D'sen, looking the rider straight in the eye. "Unfortunately, Master D'sen, that is the first of – so I predict – several requests that I will not fulfill." D'sen frowned and shot a quizzical look at B'fol, who shrugged. B'fol has told Gereth to tell me to tell you that he doesn't know what to do either. And that perhaps the boy knows he will be Searched, but does not want to come. "Have you come to decision about him?" D'sen asked mentally. Gereth and I are definitely agreed: He has great potential. D'sen poked the youth with his nose. The teen gave the dragon a fierce glare. I think I can hear him, but I don't think he wants me too. In any event, we should take him. D'sen looked again at B'fol, and B'fol nodded, having heard from Gereth what D'sen himself had heard from Sayth.
"How old are you, son?" D'sen asked reasonably.
"Sixteen turns next month."
"And where are your parents?"
"They're dead," he replied, his voice not quavering.
"Oh. My apologies."
"No offense was taken, dragonrider."
Members of the crowd stopped walking away, and turned, interested in this new pick of the riders. They were clustering around the three men and two dragons. D'sen knew what they wondered. Were they merely making sure every teen was adequately inspected? Or did they mean to make a dragonman of this youth? D'sen knew, of course, the answer as well.
"Well, young man, the dragons have picked you. Gather your things. We'll be leaving soon."
He raised an eyebrow. "And if I refuse?" There was a startled intake of breath from all around him. D'sen stared at the teen, and then turned to B'fol, shocked. B'fol stared back at him, as confused as D'sen. D'sen turned back to the youth. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, Master Dragonrider, that I have no desire to be a dragonrider. Quite the contrary, in fact – I'd much rather stay here."
"You don't want a dragon?" asked D'sen in disbelief. There were few boys on Pern who hadn't had that very daydream.
The youth's face broke into a smile. "No, Master D'sen, I'm afraid not. I'll have to turn down your offer to become a candidate. However, there are any number of young men and women here who have considerably more ambition than I do, and would love nothing better than to have a dragon beside them. Why don't you give my candidacy to one of them?"
"That's not the way it works. The dragons have picked you, not one of them. Why would you want to stay here?"
"Once again, I will tell you that, Master Dragonrider. In any event, if you refuse to not try to wrong me, I will not come with you."
D'sen glanced at B'fol again, who seemed as just ask shocked as he himself was. It was absolute tradition – set in stone – that those lads and ladys who were picked on Search became candidates, no matter who they were, be they Holder's women or sons, whatever the objections of their family – asking parental permission was merely formality – and whatever their personal preference. All, if they had objected originally, became thankful and repentant if and when they Impressed.
"Well, you have to come with us, lad. You don't really have a choice. And you have to tell us your name, while you're at it."
The lad shook his head. "I will not. You will consider nothing else?"
D'sen glanced at B'fol who shook his head. "No. We will not."
The youth sighed and looked at the noonday sky. Then he looked at the ground, his head shaking from side to side. "It shouldn't have come to this," he said. In one fluent motion, almost too fast to see, one of his belt knives was in his right hand. "If you wish to drag me away, then you'll have fight for me! Dragonrider D'sen, rider of the blue Sayth, of Benden Wyer, I challenge you to a duel!"
The crowd erupted into chatter and yells all around the three men. D'sen couldn't even begin to imagine what compelled this boy to challenge a dragonrider. Bravado? Belligerence? Did he merely want to test his mettle again a dragonman? No, then he wouldn't have offered such reasonable alternatives. Whatever the motivation, he grounds to challenge D'sen. And D'sen, for the honor of Benden Wyer, would have to accept the challenge. There were just a few things that bothered him.
1) The youth had both height and reach advantage over him, not to mention strength.
2) His opponent was using a combat knife – several inches longer than D'sen's own belt knife.
3) Dragonriders rarely dueled using knives. Disputes among riders were settled in strictly regulated unarmed bouts.
4) His opponent, being a hunter (or D'sen assumed), had probably used his combat knife a great deal.
D'sen glanced at B'fol again, who stared helplessly back. D'sen had to accept the duel. "Very well. Steel yourself! I accept your challenge!" D'sen drew his own belt knife, painfully reminded all of the times that he had neglected to service and sharpen it, never thinking that he might use it for a duel.
The crowd began to back up, giving the duelists room to manuever. Sayth and Gereth lept into the air. B'fol gave D'sen an encouraging pat on the shoulder and backed up. The young man standing opposite D'sen calmly slid his quiver and bow off of his back and carefully set them on the ground. Then, he drew his second belt knife – which D'sen knew to be a skinning knife – and dropped it onto the rocky ground. D'sen silently wished that he felt as calm as the youth looked.
The youth, shaking his head, gave D'sen one last look in the eyes – mournful but resolved – before he sunk into a fighting stance. How had it come to this?
The two began to circle each other. The duel was on. They slowly spiraled closer and closer to each other. D'sen remembered his training. Never be tempted to strike at the extremities. Aim for the center of mass, where it's harder to dodge. Aim for the chest. With the other just withing his striking range, D'sen lashed out with his dagger.
Almost as soon as he started the strike, he knew it was a mistake. The youth caught his hand, pulled himself inward, and expertly slashed through D'sen's riding tunic. D'sen gritted his teeth and wrenched his arm free, to counter-strike... But it was too late. His opponent had pulled away. The youth knew how to fight. D'sen couldn't afford to be so reckless again.
The wound was shallow – barely a flesh wound – but Shells it hurt! Concentrating on the pain, D'sen barely had time to jump out the way of the youth's next strike, a downward slash at his chest. Was this boy aiming to kill?
D'sen took advantage of his open stance following his strike to lash out at his breastbone. The boy ducked. Shells! He had been expecting it. But D'sen felt his knife cut something, and saw it rake across the boy's cheek. But it was a scratch! Barely a cut at all! Barely even bleeding! As he cursed himself silently, D'sen saw the flash of a knife in front of his face. There was pain, and D'sen staggered.
The youth's counter stroke was much more decisive than D'sen's. He had brought the butt, not the blade (as D'sen had feared), of his dagger up and struck D'sen across the forehead with it. The blunt trauma disoriented the rider, and he reeled backwards. However, D'sen knew the battle was over when he felt his feet kicked out from under him. His opponent had tripped him successfully, and D'sen hit the ground, his head spinning. He tried bring his knife up to defend, but one booted foot came down on his hand. He dropped the knife. D'sen cried out in pain, his hand frantically clutching on nothingness, and desperately tried to pull his arm free.
Suddenly, D'sen felt a blow to his back, followed by another to his head. His head flopped to the ground. D'sen knew that he was spent. His vision was swimming, although he seemed to be looking straight into dirt. He could hear the blood pulsing in his ears. He wasn't unconscious, but he was too tired to continue the fight. He faintly heard a dragon's roar, as though from afar. D'sen suddenly realized he couldn't hear the crowd. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, and he felt something warm trickling down his lips.
D'sen stayed on his back, trying to ignore the pain. He couldn't hear himself breathing, although he knew was doing so. How fast the youth had disabled him! By the First Shell! He propped himself up on one arm. The crowd was cheering, but he couldn't hear them. No one was paying him any attention. B'fol was shouting something to the youth that D'sen that he couldn't hear. The youth roared back, but the battlecry was seemed like a whipser to D'sen. The two charged at each other and locked knives. The youth sidestepped and hurled himself into B'fol and pinned him to the wall of a nearby building. B'fol, his knife-hand still free, slashed at his opponent's arm, but the cut he managed to make was only skin-deep. The youth twisted B'fol's wrist, and B'fol dropped the knife.
Suddenly, as if someone had turned his hearing back on, sound came flooding back to D'sen. He could hear the incredible noise of the crowd, and B'fol's shriek of pain. The sickening thud as the youth headbutted B'fol. And as he headbutted the rider again. And again. And again. The youth brought up his knife, and hit the dragonman twice with the handle. He released B'fol. The noise of the crowd was enormous! B'fol sunk to the ground, apparently unconscious. Sayth and Gereth roared deafeningly from a mere dragonlength above their heads.
Shells! D'sen twisted around. He frantically contacted Sayth. "Contact the rest of the wing! Tell them what has happened!" Sayth's merely acknowledged him, understanding the urgency of the situation. The youth was now turning from his fallen opponent, his weapon raised in triumph. D'sen turned his head. Something was gleaming in the rocky dirt. His knife! He had no chance... But by the First Shell, he had to try! For Benden! D'sen reached, trying to grasp the weapon. His fingers curled around the handle as the crowd went ominously silent. As he grasped it, he heard the crunching of dirt against boots. D'sen looked up. The youth was standing there, and D'sen, with a start, suddenly recognized the expression on his face.
A booted foot came into contact with D'sen's skull, and darkness began to cloud the rider's vision. As he slipped into merciful unconsciousness, he pondered what it was that he had seen. He had guessed at the man's motive (one had beaten two dragonriders was no boy in D'sen's mind). What he had seen was not mere belligerence, not superiority, but a touch of remorse mixed with raw unbridled hatred. His last thought before the void engulfed him entirely was one of regret. He, D'sen, could have prevented the events that had transpired here today. It was his fault that he had stirred this boy's rage. Stirred it and cultivated it. Then all he knew was blackness.
/ So that's the prologue. This is my first fic that I've published on for a while, so I'd really appreciate reviews. Also, please remember, I'm open to plot ideas! This obviously takes place during the 16th turn (of the last pass), about a turn or so before the discovery of AIVAS.
Until next time, The ACS Dude /
