Chapter 1 - The Mad Weyrleader
"Wingleader! Wake up!" a boy's voice cried out somewhere near, too loud and too early.
Wingleader. What a disgraceful reminder of his failure. Even after an evening of wine, the memories of that incredible mating flight were crystal clear. Dinuth drinking up the small wherries, challengingly roaring at all five bronzes in the bowl. The queen then rising up and being followed by her five- no, six challengers! The gazes quickly flew from the winning bronze- his Hirenth, to the giant outsider. How arrogant could a dragon like him be to even challenge a queen? Let alone spit in the bronzes' face while trailing behind them!
The giant Dinuth was safely from the reach of Hirenth and all others. Because of this, she seemed to have slowed down, letting them catch up. Just as Hirenth was about to catch her, she turned around in the air and flew right back, through the flock of bronzes, all attempting to usurp her and then getting out of her way as she threatened with a collision.
I did all I could. She refused me. Hirenth whispered apologetically, sensing his rider's anger. It was true, he outflew the others even after Dinuth turned around. She did not want any of the bronzes, for she had already chosen her mate. Tirazith caught her with ease when she practically flew in his embrace.
They say that the queen chooses for the good of the Weyr. What good will come of a blue Weyrleader?
"Wake up, sir! The Weyrleader has called a meeting!" the boy persisted. L'cet grunted, opening his eyes and sitting up in bed. Of course he's called a meeting. L'cet hasn't remembered (granted, he was drunk most of the evening) T'rax celebrating his outrageous position as the first blue rider to be a Weyrleader in history. After he laid claim to Rulame, T'rax has gone directly to the records room where he's spent the rest of the day while the Weyr recovered from the mating flight's unthinkable outcome.
All bronze riders had drunken themselves to sleep in the great hall that night, although some found more comfort in the young weyrgirls rather than wine. Not L'cet though, he tried to find Rulame and speak with her, find out what prompted her queen to do this, but she seemed to be in much the same shock as all others were, and rushed off to her weyr right after T'rax had her.
"What time is it?" he asked the boy as he put on a white shirt. "Six hours in the morning, sir! Most of the Weyr is still asleep."
"So much I can imagine. Go, wake up the other wingleaders, let's not keep the Weyrleader waiting."
"But… They are all already awake, sir!" the little boy's voice was full of anxiety. L'cet even deepened that feeling with his gaze. "Go on."
"The Weyrleader ordered me to wake you up the last." he answered quietly. Of course. T'rax wasn't someone to feel the beauty of a mating flight. One could bet he was heels on the ground the whole time, watching how Hirenth was always the closest to catching Dinuth. What better way of humiliating his biggest rival than to force him to come late? Well, he would show T'rax not to mess with a bronze rider.
"Alright. Go tell the Weyrleader I'm on my way." he told the boy as nicely as he could. But on his way to the meeting chamber, he would take a few stops. First one by the wardrobe, putting on his best looking clothes, not forgetting the badge of an Istan Wingleader, then by the mirror, where he forced himself to make his short, brown, messy hair look good. To his astonishment, L'cet looked like he's aged ten turns in the last two days. Maybe it was the lack of sleep and the shock, but he certainly didn't seem like the thirty turns he had.
You are a day older than you were yesterday, and so am I. The bronze's sleepy voice wasn't calm the way L'cet wanted it to be.
It should have been you.
Yes, it should have been me. Hirenth agreed. I wanted it, but she hadn't. The queen chooses for the good of the Weyr. We are her servants, we abide to her wishes and orders. If Tirazith was who she chose out of all others, I am sure it was no mere mistake.
I bet the clutch will be small, too. L'cet's disgust persisted.
Perhaps. Most likely. But maybe that is what Pern needs. We no longer fight thread, why should there be so many of us?
Hirenth's rider grunted, walking past the bronze's lair with even worse of a mood than before. He decided to walk down to the dining hall to check how bad the Weyr looked. The masses of bodies piled up on the tables, sleeping, and the high table, messed up with wine and thrown up food, spoke for itself. "Get up! Get up you lot, clean this!" he clapped his hands and made his voice boom throughout the giant cavern. Just as he wanted it, the drunken bodies started to rise and growl in frustration.
L'cet guessed they'd manage by themselves after this, so he finally made his way back up the stairs and into the meeting room that was right beside the Weyrleader's and Weyrwoman's quarters. Absolute silence from those chambers told him that Rulame was either not present or still asleep. Having no plans on investigating further, so he made his way to the meeting room.
T'rax's rasp voice could be heard from far away, and it only worsened L'cet's headache the closer he got. From the looks of the other wingleaders upon his entrance, they seemed to be suffering the same. They stood around a map of Pern, and all four bronze riders looked terrible. Their clothes were dirty and stained by wine, their hair messy and eyes deep from tiredness. He hadn't regretted his choice of taking time. L'cet showed by this that he was not to be messed with, and that he wouldn't accept this unorthodox leadership until it would be proven that Dinuth hadn't made a mistake. But now, as he measured T'rax, and the Weyrleader's hateful eyes burned into his soul, L'cet started to doubt his decision. He hasn't spoken with the blue rider ever before, but from what he heard, T'rax was only known to be a quiet and introverted man, always looking like he's plotting something.
That definitely didn't sound like the man that was just now standing before him. This T'rax was loud, determined, and intolerant of rebellism. Though the Weyrleader was shorter than him, and had three turns less, there was something off about him that made L'cet shiver.
"I was worried that you got so drunk even Hirenth forgot to jump between when you died." T'rax finally growled. "Apologies, Weyrleader. We were all merely surprised at the turn of yesterday's events." L'cet tried to sound neutral. He waved his hand at the other wingleaders, who all kept their heads down in shame. "I advise you to keep your amazement under control, we don't need any dragons jumping between after an unfortunate heart attack, let alone bronzes." L'cet forced himself to surpress the anger building up within him. "You called us here in this morning hour why, Weyrleader?" a voice that tried to sound calm came out of his lips.
"Pitty you haven't come before. I already explained some of the plan to the others. Do you need me to repeat it for you?"
"Oh, please, Weyrleader. Go on."
"Thread hasn't fallen for two hundred and fifty turns. The insolent holders think we no longer deserve their tithes. I think I don't have to remind you of any of that. After all, our supplies have grown dangerously thin. And, after yesterday, I believe our provisions of wine are officially depleted. Now, any of you have ideas how to fix that?" T'rax threw his arms in the air at the five wingleaders, expecting a response. The four, with a heavy hangover, remained silent and haven't even moved. L'cet decided he would have to be the voice of reason here.
"We could strike a deal with the Lord Holders. A mutual trade, perhaps." he said. T'rax's gaze pierced him looking stunned. "Tr.. Trade. Deal! Trade! You want to trade with those maggots! We are dragonriders! We deserve no less than their obedience all gifts for saving their petty lives!"
"We haven't saved any lives for over two hundred and fifty turns, you've said it yourself!" L'cet yelled out. "Do you want to turn them all against us completely?"
"What could they do? Their lesser kind should serve us! And they will!"
"Have you gone mad? How do you even plan on achieving that? Declaring a war on a Hold? You would break every law that a dragonrider is sworn to abide to! Never harm a human, keep Holds, Weyrs and Crafthalls separate! I will not let Pern fall into chaos because of a madman!" the bronze rider cried out. T'rax jumped up with a knife in his hand, shooting right to L'cet's neck. Outside, Hirenth roared in rage, just to be silenced by Dinuth from her weyr. The Weyrleader leaned up to L'cet, hate burning in his eyes. "I would rather not waste a life of the strongest bronze dragon in this Weyr. We will need the capable ones in the times to come. Make sure you do not force me to end poor Hirenth. I think that would make up two things you would've never forgiven yourself."
L'cet slowly lowered his hands in defeat. This was wrong. Not only that a blue rider was a Weyrleader, but also that he was a lunatic. He finally took his dagger away and turned around, walking back to the front of the map table.
"Wake up the Weyr. Fire up the smiths, forge swords and spears. Start the drills. In a sevenday, we take Ista Hold."
