/Author's Comments:
Firstly, I am required by law and by the rules of to renew my disclaimer from the first chapter. I do not own Pern, and I do not own the Dragonriders of Pern series. Please consult the original disclaimer in the preceding chapter for slightly more information.
Secondly, a very merry (if extremely belated) Christmas and a wondeful to new year to everyone. In celebration, I've published the second chapter of my second fanfiction: the Color of Blood. Please note that this chapter is not, once again, not as intense as the first chapter, and can be read with impunity.
Also, the time system works in the fashion: Years. Months. Days in my writing. (Ie: 15.1.12 is the fifteenth turn, first month, twelvth day of that month.)
Notes on Pronunciation: the name "Coron" is pronounced like the English name "Corin".
Chapter Information:
Drafting Began: 11:37:30 PM (GMT), December 24, 2006
Drafting Ended: 5:30:52 PM (GMT), February 3, 2007
Uploaded: 5:47:32 PM (GMT), February 3, 2007
First Speaker Raven's Definition of Search, A Treatise on Meaning
Search means to look for or seek, with the object or purpose of the search defined as a particular object, entity, or being, or any object, entity, or being that falls within a certain set of parameters. Often, the latter meaning is used in conjunction with the word "search" when any number of objects, entities, or beings will do, but the line between the objects of the search can blur. If the former definition is used, but another object that lies within the corporeal bounds of the search matches the sought object so closely as to be indistinguishable from the true object, then, in reality, it is exceeding likely that the first definition could merge with the second, as either object would no doubt serve the purpose for which it was searched out.
Another, less frequently used definition of 'search" is an offshoot of the conventional one, where an organization or other entity will try to locate the singular object, entity, or beings that best fits a certain set of parameters, as defined by the organization and as judged by a panel of experts, public opinion, or other system of evaluation. Though the judging need not be impartial, all such searches may be one-time or repeated, and, the organization or entity may, especially in the context of a search for a being, transform their search into a proper noun, using the capital form of the word: "Search".
The Color of Blood
Chapter 1: Gray
High Reaches Hold
Seventh Pass, 15.1.12
Late Morning (High Reaches Time)
Two and a Half Turns Later
"It's cold today, Arando."
"Cold. And hard."
"The sea is calm."
"Yes, but the wind chills to the bone. Are you sure that you'd not like a heavier coat, sir?"
"No, I'm quite alright, Captain. Thank you for asking."
Lord Holder Triten had risen late today, his heart heavy, his head throbbing with a hangover. He had been enjoying his morning meal, not quite full clothed, when a frantic messenger had charged into his quarters with an urgent message from Guard Captain Arando. Dragons were in the sky. Many dragons. Triten, who held dominion over all the High Reaches, had struggled from his breakfast table and pulled a wool sweater over his tunic to meet the approaching dragonmen. He had heard that a clutch was hardening on the Hatching Ground sands, but he hadn't been expecting Searchers so soon. It was well-known that the revered dragonmen of High Reaches Weyr preferred their own offspring to hold and craftbred men and women. Normally, this would have been a very happy occasion, that High Reaches Hold had been honored by a Search, but Triten's mood fell considerably short of jubilant. And he knew exactly why.
Yesterday, the eleventh day after Turnover, was his, Lord Holder Triten's birthday. He had turned sixty yesterday, the day he had planned to retire and officially nominate Razan as his successor. Razan, Razan... Two and a half turns ago, the dear boy had turned up dead in a back alley by the kitchen. And that throbbing pain in Triten's chest had started. That throbbing, whining pain that never quite died. That pain that had been renewed, in full force, yesterday. Triten fancied that he was feeling the sword that had pierced Razan's heart. Little consolation that the strike had killed his son near-instantly. The boy had been a natural leader, the perfect man to succeed Triten himself, and now was dead. No matter who or what someone was in life, they were just a corpse when they died. Razan was a corpse now, and he wasn't coming back. So, yesterday, what should have been the greatest day of Razan's life, Triten had gotten quitely drunk, listening to the passing birthday congratulations of friends and small holders.
"Sir?"
"Yes, Arando?"
"Is something wrong, sir? You look troubled."
"Nothing, Arando." Lord Triten placed his hand over his heart and half-smiled, half-grimaced. "Just an old wound."
Arando looked at Triten as though he understood the hidden meaning. "I'm sorry for you, Lord Holder, and I know the pain of old wounds, but I must ask you to bear the hurt for a while longer. We have honored guests to greet."
Triten nodded. Arando, now approaching fourty himself, had a clear head. And, as always, his advice was wise. Above them were a dozen dragons, a lone brown at the wing's fore. The last time dragonmen had appeared in the sky above High Reaches for reasons other than Thread had been a turn ago, to return Triten and Arando after prolonged peace talks at Riverbend Hold . The Riverbend Armistice now kept the peace with Nabol hold, because though neither side had wanted to end the conflict, the Weyrleaders of Fort and High Reaches had jointly threatened to stop flying Thread over the lands of the warring factions. Triten, for one, had been very reluctant indeed. Though ever scrap of evidence seemed to say otherwise, the Lord Holder still held the belief that Razan had been killed by a Nabol assassin.
Dragons were truly breathtaking. Only a few select times in Triten's life had a full wing visited the hold, but the sight of the flying mounts swooping down was one that every man kept with him for the rest of his life. In one fluid motion, the entire wing simultaneously switched from a controlled glide downwards into a landing backwing, meeting the ground before them in refined and practiced grace. Triten marveled at how easily the majestic creatures had stayed in formation, even through the landing.
He could now see the faces of the legendary dragonmen. All seemed to be exceedingly tall and handsome, as stereotype dictated, glory magnified a hundred times against the hides of their dragons. Triten had perhaps been the only in the High Reaches who hadn't at one time wished to be a dragonrider (for he had been destined for a greater honor), but every friend and cohort he had had, at one time or another, entertained the notion. And now, those boys would get the chance. Triten personally fancied Hennel, his youngest son, as a dragonrider. He might not have shared his brother Razan's fierce spirit, but he was a cool-headed and stable youth, gentle and intelligent.
The wingleader, a broad-shouldered, dark man made a hand signal, and every rider began to dismount. Simultaneously, Weapons Master Arando bellowed, "PRESENT ARMS!" The honor guard, stationed on either side of the Lord Holder and the Captain, instantly formed two rows, and, with a series of perfectly timed twirls, planted their swords in the ground in front of them, both hands on the hilt, parallel to their bodies. Triten was reminded of what an asset was to the High Reaches; no other major hold could boast such well trained guards.
The dragonmen began to walk down the center of the lines of soldiers, still partially clad in wher-hide riding gear. As they drew closer, Triten could see the lone bar on either shoulder of the brown-rider's jacket, signifying a wingsecond. The rider came to dead stop a few hands before Triten, and his wing stopped behind him.
"I appreciate the honor, Lord Holder, but it is unnecessary to have the majority of your watch here saluting us."
Triten gestured to Arando, who barked, with considerably less volume than his original order, "Stand to! Dismissed! Back to you posts!" The soldiers scattered. The Lord Holder respectfully introduced himself to the just-arrived brownrider.
"Good morning, dragonman. You are welcome in the High Reaches, and we are all at your service and that of your wing. I am, as I'm sure you know, Lord Holder Triten, and this is my Guard Captain, Master-at-Arms Arando."
"I'm pleased and honored to meet both of you. I am wingsecond K'mir, rider of brown Vendrith, of the High Reaches Weyr. Unfortunately, our Wingleader, bronze-rider Ga'len, is injured and unable to join us. We ride in Search, and request your permission for myself and my riders to access the Hold and crafthalls for the duration of our stay."
While it was slight breach in protocol, Triten knew, for the rider to jump straight to that request, it was extremely tactful. Traditionally, the next request would have been for K'mir to ask to convey his duty to Triten's lady or ladies, and Triten's wife had been dead for over five turns.
"Of course, Wingsecond. It is a great honor for your Weyr to have picked High Reaches as a location for a Search. I'll personally see to anything you might need. I'm sure Master Arando would also be more than pleased to help you in any way he can."
With that, K'mir and his wing trailed into the Hold, Triten and K'mir exchanging polite remarks.
Two hours ago, the dragonriders had begun systematically weaving through the High Reaches Hold, looking for not only likely boys, but also girls, between the ages of twelve and eighteen. There was, as Triten understood, a queen egg hardening on the Hatching Ground sands. K'mir and his men had noted several possible candidates, but, as of yet, had not definitively selected anyone.
K'mir was saying to one of his comrades:
"Well, the Tanner's wife might have been a prospect had she been younger. What about the Journeyman Weaver's daughter?"
"Not in my opinion, K'mir. Not in my opinion."
"Fine. What about males? We can't forget that while there is a queen egg, there is only one queen egg, and dozens of other hatchlings that will need partners. Even if High Reaches desperately needs more golds, we can't forget the fighting dragons."
"There was the young man from the farmhold."
"Who are you speaking of?"
"The brown-haired, heavy set boy. Sturdy, stout. You remember him, surely."
"He was just a bully. We need real dedication for the... do you hear that?"
"Hear wha... oh, the music."
Lord Triten might have been going deaf in his old age, but he could, for whatever reason, still hear the drifting, remorseful tune coming from Master Harper Kial's classroom. He hadn't noticed it earlier because it was so common these days. That was Holder Legault's son, Coron, playing his violin. The boy really was unique: he was capable of producing such sound with no preparation or note sheets, but it was always sad. Oddly enough, it was Master Arando, not Master Harper Kial, who had theorized to Lord Triten that Coron's music came from the soul. Arando had elaborated by explaining that while Coron was a skilled and innovative swordsman, far surpassing any other young man in the class, only rarely did his spirit seep into his wrist. This seemed to be because something was bothering the boy, and that this was expressed in his music. Harper Kial, who taught music, seemed to agree with this idea, and so Lord Triten accepted it as fact.
K'mir turned to Lord Triten. "I've never heard a sound quite like that. What is it?"
"It's a violin," replied Triten. "It's a rarely used or heard-of instrument that Master Harper Kial found in his craft records. It's quite a bit like a gitar, actually, except that it is used with a kind of a bow instead of a pick or free fingers."
"Fascinating. I'd very much like to listen to this song. It seems... mournful."
"It is. Coron, the boy who uses the violin, always plays in that manner and tone."
"Really..." K'mir began to walk towards the large teaching room, where Coron was playing his instrument. The Lord Holder and the other dragonman followed the wingsecond for about a half-length, when they reached the doorway. Noiselessly, the three slipped inside, listening to the tune.
Coron sat in his wooden chair, now centered in the room, facing the exit, but his eyes were closed, chin resting on the butt of the violin as he played. Master Harper Kial, who sat beside Coron, noticed their entrance and started as he recognized them, but did not make a sound otherwise. The other dozen or so children (all young, the older boys didn't attend such concerts), were seating in a semicircle around Coron, captivated by the noises his playing produced.
The boy had grown in the past few turns, and while not tall or broad shouldered, he was of a respectable, perhaps slightly above-average height. His hair was still dark as ever, and he had a light tan from working outside with his father. He wasn't handsome, nor intimidating, but Triten has always fancied that there was something about, something in his eyes, that gave him an awesome presence. Something about him, something you'd couldn't see or touch or smell, made Coron stand out among his peers.
They must have stood there for ten minutes, listening to the shifting sound, gentle and sad, of the violin, before Coron finally stopped playing and opened his eyes. The young children burst into applause, and Lord Holder Triten was surprised to find himself applauding as well. Master Harper Kial stood and rushed over to greet his guests as soon as the music stopped, but Coron simply stared lifelessly at them, as though he was blind.
As Kial issued hurried welcomes and apologies. Coron stood and bowed once, then retook his seat. K'mir was saying: "No, no my good Harper. It's I who should be sorry for interrupting the recital. I'll be back later on Search business, but I just wanted to listen."
"I'm honored that you'd listen to my poor music, dragonman."
Triten turned to see Coron, who had somehow already packed his violin, gotten back to his feet, and walked over towards the exit.
"You're an extremely good player, young Coron. And I've never seen an instrument quite like that."
"Thank you, sir. Unfortunately, I've got something to attend to. I'll be off."
There was momentary silence, save the young children chatting excited amongst themselves at the arrival of dragonmen. However, Coron had no sooner stepped outside when his voice again rung out through the room.
"Sir!"
A chuckle and a familiar "Stand to!" followed.
K'mir quickly exited the room, Triten following, and the two saw the Weapons Master standing before Coron, an amused smile on his face. Coron, for his part, had managed to salute Arando, despite the notable handicap of having to handle a large, wooden violin case.
Arando was saying, "I suppose you'll always salute me, and there's nothing I can do to change that, is there?" The giant's smile grew. "I'll see you during sparring class this afternoon."
At that point, K'mir jumped into the conversation, as if he'd had an epiphany. "You have a sparring class? And doubtless, all the able-bodied young men will attend."
"Indeed I do. And yes, many of them do. Ah, I see. You intend to Search during my class?"
"Yes, with your leave, Weapons Master. I and few others will drop in sometime."
"You've my permission. I suppose I'll see you then, as well."
"They sound like they've got a sparring match going on in there."
Triten and K'mir, along with another four wingriders, were standing outside the training room, ready for their visit, listening to the sounds coming from within. The clash of metal was unmistakable.
"Odd."remarked Lord Triten. "They usually use wooden weapons. Clashing steel? Only the higher-level students would use blunted metal weapons."
"Well," said K'mir, "Let's stop discussing it and find out." With that, the dragonman pushed open the door to the sparring arena. Inside, none other than Weapons Master Arando and Coron, facing each other, each holding naked blades, though both were visibly blunted, as if never sharpened.
Arando was saying, "An excellent display of the defensive technique, Coron. Now, I'm going to show you something new. All of you older boys, watch carefully, I'll be making execute this maneuver in a few minutes. As for you younger fellows, well, you'll be able to do this in about a turn. Just watch." Arando saw and understood something in Coron that everyone could feel, but no one could pinpoint. It was only when Arando coached him that Triten could swear that there was fire in Coron's eyes.
Unlike at the concert, when no one had so much as looked at the entering Lord Holder and dragonmen, every head in the room seemed to turn to look at the trio. Arando's eyes flickered briefly towards them, but were in an instant back on his opponent. Coron didn't even flinch. As Arando and Coron both set their swords level, ready to tap the two instruments and begin the battle, a chatter rose up among the twenty-odd young men with regards to the Searchers. "ATTENTION!" demanded Arando. The room went instantly silent.
A metallic clang rang out in the room. The two weapons had touched. The bout was underway. Coron immediately went on the offensive, at a distance attacking the Weapons Master with a series of combination feints and real strokes. Oddly, instead of attempting to riposte on an attack, Arando simply kept his ground and countered every stroke that came within his zone of defense. After a few odd moments of pure blocking, Arando began to advance on his opponent, closing ground. In what seemed an irrational maneuver, Coron then jumped back, set his blade perpendicular to the ground, ran two fingers of his left hand along the tip, and charged forward. What happened next was too fast for Triten to follow, but a split-second later, the tip of Coron's weapon was resting on Arando's chest, and Arando's blade had come down on Coron's shoulder. Arando backed away.
"That's what I wanted to show you. Can anyone tell me what I did? Yes, Hennel?"
"I believe, sir, that your blade is shorter than Coron's."
"Very astute of you, Hennel. Yes, this sword is a hand and a half shorter than the standard length. The reasoning is simple: a shorter blade is lighter. As long as you don't cut it down to the point of uselessness, shorter swords are excellent at defense, as you can move then so much faster than a full-length one. Coron seemed to recognize this earlier on, as he did the only thing he could, a straight, guided charge. Now, I believe that, in a real battle, he would have killed me and he would have been merely wounded, but his technique is very refined, and I'm a rather large target. Offensively, you can use a short blade to keep closing ground between you and your opponent, staying untouched behind it, until you start hacking away at his wrists."
As he sheathed his blade, Arando said, "Later we'll go more into depth about varying length of blades and changing strategy. Longswords in a few hours." Triten almost chuckled as he thought about Arando using the short blade. Though agile, Arando had almost no use for the weapon, as it couldn't shield the entirety of his massive form. Compared to the gigantic double-edged battleaxe the man occasionally bore, the weapon looked like a dagger.
The good Weapons Master continued his speech, uninterrupted by Triten's private thougthts. "Until then, it looks like we're going to take a brief break in today's lesson." Arando then gestured courteously to K'mir, who stepped forward, his typical dragonrider garb giving away the purpose of his visit.
"Hello. I am Wingsecond K'mir, rider of the brown Vendrith. I'm here on Search."
The
effect was instantaneous. Every boy in the room, except Corin (who
had yet to sit down), began excitedly chattering. Triten cast his eye
over the crowd of boys and easily picked out blonde Hennel, who
seemed to be listening to the ambitions of another boy next to him.
It would be perfect if Hennel were searched. That way, Talc, his
remaining elder brother, would become Lord Holder and not have to
worry about what to do with Triten's youngest son.
K'mir gestured
for silence, and, after a few moments, the room had quieted to the
point where he could make himself heard. "We're only looking for
young men under the age of eighteen turns, and older than twelve
turns. If you are too young or too old, please step back." He
paused. No one stepped back. "Everyone in here is between twelve
and eighteen?" he asked Arando. The Master nodded.
"Alright then."
What followed was a few moments of anarchy followed by absolute order. In mere seconds, the youths had organized themselves into reasonably orderly rows. Triten noticed an older farmholder's son, whose name he couldn't quite remember, thrusting his chest forward, practically jumping up and down. That brought a smile to the Lord Holder's face, but it quickly faded as he remembered that most of these young men would be deemed unacceptable.
Arando advanced to the front of the sparring ring, and then joined the men standing by the door. K'mir's wingmen advanced, and began to examine the candidates there aligned. Arando immediately questioned K'mir about this action, his voice softened to a volume that Triten had thought impossible from the loud, booming titan.
"Shouldn't you be joining them?"
"Unfortunately, no." K'mir looked rather sheepish. "Vendrith isn't known for his Searching ability. The other dragons in my wing are far better at detecting promise or talent."
"Why then don't take the boys out to your dragons?"
"That would be a little better, but rider and dragon are bonded in such a way that the dragon can sense potential through the rider, if that makes sense."
"It sounds fairly incredible."
As the two men's exchange drifted into small-talk, Triten turned his attention to the Searchers. The three dragonmen were weaving through the rows, not exactly systematically, looking here and there. Lord Holder Triten's heart practically stopped as one of the men cast his eye on Hennel. The boy simply sat there, returning the gaze, until the rider moved on. Triten felt disappointment well up, but consoled himself in the idea that this might not be a rejection. They hadn't exactly picked any of the other boys yet.
Arando and K'mir's chattering became white noise to Triten as he watched the ritual take place. These young men were the cream of High Reaches' crop, as it were. After the Riverbend Armistice, these boys had been hardy, brave, or dedicated enough to stay on learning the fine art of warfare and conquest. Yes, the younger children were only taught defense, as Arando had once pointed out, but the older boys were truly educated in swordplay, and, later, in the use of other weaponry. The Nabol-High Reaches war had claimed the lives of a hundred combined guards and militia from the High Reaches territories and holds. Knowing how to fight wasn't an option any more. It was a necessity.
The movement of the third, and seemingly most deliberate of the men, caught Triten's eye. He had advanced past the back row, towards where Coron was now standing alone, in the sparring ring. The dragonrider spent about five seconds looking at the young boy before turning and practically bolting towards Triten. No, the Lord Holder realized. Towards K'mir. Suddenly, as he realized what was likely occurring, what K'mir was saying became all-important.
"So, Master-at-Arms, do you always carry a shortsword?"
"Hm? I'm not carrying such a weapon."
"I'm afraid you're mistaken. There's one on your belt." K'mir pointed to a long, sinister-looking weapon, carried in a half-sheath on Arando's belt.
"That's my belt-knife, actually." K'mir narrowly stifled a surprised profanity.
"That is longer than a wherry-skewer. I wouldn't have believed-"
"Wingsecond!" The man had trotted across the room, fast as he could go through the mass of people.
"Yes?"
The other rider's voice dropped to a loud whisper, causing Triten to have to strain to hear him."I may have a candidate, sir."
"Who?"
"The young man the good Guard Captain was sparring with."
"Ah, you mean Coron? I already know Vendrith approves, but that's no indication. Cross-check with your fellow wingmen. He certainly seems like a prime pick."
Triten's gaze fixed on the man as he galloped back over to his peers. He drew them away from their own Searching and whispered excitedly to them. Another infinitely long moment of examination passed before the three came over to K'mir, seemingly eager to report.
"I approve totally of him, K'mir."
"Very well. And you?"
"Fenwrath has a problem with the boy, actually."
"Which is?"
"He seems like a likely choice, but Fenwrath thinks that he is disturbed at heart."
"Vendrith has been continuously expressing his approval ever since we met him. He may not be renowned for his certainty during Search, but I've rarely heard Vendrith this certain of anything. We'll bring him as a candidate for Impression. Then, the hatchlings can decide for themselves, as they don't seem to make mistakes."
All three men seemed to consent to this.
"Keep Searching through the other boys. Hopefully we'll bring more than one candidate from the High Reaches today." Though K'mir did not directly say that the men were dismissed, they acted on the implicit command and returned to their scrupulous, if disorderly, Search.
Triten thought that K'mir would immediately go and inform Coron of his candidacy, but instead turned to face Arando. Once again, the weyrman's voice was a mere whisper.
"What do you think?"
"Of Coron?" Arando was equally silent, and Triten again marveled at how low the massive man could keep his voice.
"Yes."
"He's the most level-headed and honest lad I know, but he's dark and broody too. I think your wingman was right when he said that the boy was disturbed at heart. Even so, he's my star pupil and I'd really hate to see him go. I had him marked for Weapons Master of the Hold some day."
"I take it that means that he's brave? Brave enough to ride a fighting dragon?"
"I don't know if brave is the right word. He's apathetic to danger. He rarely shows real emotion when he's pushed into a corner..." For some reason, Arando winced at his choice of words and quickly corrected himself. "When he's in a dangerous situation, he's steady as a mountain. Why, I couldn't tell you. But he is. I can't say he'd make a good dragonman, though."
"Why not?"
"It's just a feeling, I suppose. He's not a social person; he's not handsome, or strong, or tall."
"But he's got determination."
"You could call it that."
"Then he's good enough for me."
"May I ask you something?"
"Hm?"
"Why didn't you have a conference telepathically rather than meeting together like that?"
"Oh, it's rather complicated between more than two people and tends to not work well. Besides, I wanted you to hear. I'm going to go... inform young Coron of the honor that has been bestowed upon him. Lord Holder Triten, if you'd join me?"
"By all means," responded Triten, and, together, the two approached the young man. How strange, thought Triten, Coron looks. From a different angle, he might have stood out among the boys, but, observed from the front of the room, he was more or less concealed behind his peers. He stood quietly, and Triten could have sworn that the there was that something in his eyes again, that gave him a certain aura of power and dignity, that made people respect him. He wasn't intimidating, standing almost two full hands below his rather large father, Holder Legault, who Triten knew well.
Heads among the boys turned as they made their way to the back of the rows, trying to determine who the riders had picked out for candidacy. A small chatter arose from among the boys as they approached Coron, who only slightly moved his eyes and head to acknowledge their presence.
Lord Holder Triten smiled. "Coron... a great honor has been bestowed upon you today."
K'mir broke in at this point. "Young man, you've been chosen as a candidate."
Coron inclined his head deeply. "It is a great honor, Wingsecond K'mir."
Arando, who had appeared from the other side of the room as though he had had a brief jaunt between, began to speak. "You'll need to gather your things. Here, I'll escort you home. I know Holder Legault well, and he'll be overwhelmed by the news, I'm sure. Come on."
Coron saluted, as though following orders, and followed the Weapons Master out of the room.
An hour passed, the dragonmen double and triple-checked each boy, as though to be absolutely certain of the choices they made. The dragonmen held one more conference at the end of their search, exchanging notes on certain boys, who Lord Holder Triten helped to name. (His heart jumped as one mentioned Hennel.) However, the dragonriders could not reach a mutual consensus on any one additional boy to take on the Search, and so, no others were taken.
The conference circle of five men, Triten included, broke, and the Lord Holder was certain that K'mir would now announce the end of the Search, or at least dismiss the boys assembled here. However, the wingsecond surprised Triten again as he turned to speak to Triten privately.
"I notice you keep looking at the blonde boy in the center. Hennel, I think you said his name is?"
"Yes, it is. He's my youngest son."
"Would you like us to take him on Search?"
"Please, don't on my account. Take him if he's worthy of the honor, not as a favor."
"Well, this is a little awkward, but the reason why we're Searching at all is because we don't have enough Weyrbred boys to provide a partner for each hatching dragon. In fact, each wing has orders to pick at least two candidates from the major hold it visits. So, in reality, we need another candidate from the High Reaches Hold. I think Hennel would be just fine."
"In that case, that would work out perfectly. Coron and Hennel are good friends, and this way, we won't be separating them."
"Excellent. I'll consult a few of my fellow riders..."
K'mir went and talked to each man separately, one for considerably longer than the other two, but at length came back to Triten.
"Hennel seems to be an acceptable choice. Shall we?"
"Yes, let's." And, on the day after everything had gone wrong, everything had gone right. And Lord Holder Triten smiled.
/To contrast with the first chapter, I wrote this in two months as opposed to two days. I originally thought that I'd get it done in time for Christmas Day: pull another two-dayer. Then I thought I'd have it out by New Years... and now it's February. Anyway, I'm relatively satisfied with this chapter. Oh, and in the beginning, if you were wondering who The Raven is, he's not really relevant to the story. I also think I overdid it a little with the violin.
Until next time, The ACS Dude /
