Wyan was furious. How dare these dragon men enter his hold, eat his food, demand his hospitality, and seek to take his women away from him! Not half an hour after arriving, the arrogant leader had had all of the Hold's women of the proper age lined up for his perusal, while his men ate and drank at their pleasure in the Great Hall. He was seething with fury, and ready to pick a fight with a dragon, and only his grandfather kept him from attacking the nearest dragon rider.
"Stay calm, Wyan. They will leave soon enough when they find no prospects for their precious queen. And the best way to show your hatred for their kind is to shun their beloved tradition. That is why we wait for them to come to us, and that is why we hide our most valuable women. Stay by, and watch." The old man's advice was well heeded by Wyan, and so the two sat at the head of the feast table, silent and biding, watching as G'lant made his Search.
And what lowly prospects, the wing leader thought, almost disgusted. These women were either too old, too young, or too stupid to make an honest Weyrwoman. And an honest Weyrwoman they needed after Felina's manipulative ways and her bedding of any dragon man that would have her. Her daughter was proving to be no better, and because of her heritage, had to be a candidate for the new queen for political reasons. Now, on the last leg of this Search, with the eggs ready to hatch soon, he had found a depressingly low number of hopefuls. There was one girl back in Tilgen Hold, but her family was much too reluctant to give her up, and she wasn't quite strong-willed enough for a Weyrwoman. Were there no strong women left in all of Pern?
There is one, Rawineth reminded him. Yes, G'lant mused. The powerful mind they had felt in the fields… But all they had found was a wily young lad. A good bronze he would make, the dragon man thought, but no candidate for queen. And he had not seen him since.
"The word has come that all the other wing leaders have returned to Benden, G'lant," his second told him. "You must make a choice here today!"
"Of this poor lot? We need a strong Weyrwoman to make a strong queen, and none of these women, lovely as they may be, have the brains to make even a decent housewife. Tybir mocks us," he fumed, knowing there wasn't much he could do. Tybir had made no direct insult, and if G'lant charged him with anything, he would look the wrongdoer.
"My lords," came the soft voice of Keira. "My lords, do you require anything more of me? I have many Hold affairs to attend to and must part your company…" she said carefully. Path was waiting in the stables, and she didn't trust the stablehands to give him the proper care.
"No, m'lady, you have done more than your share to see to our comfort. Go on your way," G'lant replied gently, lost in his thoughts. Keira bowed gracefully before taking her leave. She was halfway to the door when she heard the sound of a chair being pushed back roughly. She froze in her place, still as stone, waiting for the words she knew would come.
"You have made your Search lord G'lant!" came Wyan's haughty voice. Keira turned slowly, fear and anger mixing in her as she watched the scene unfold.
"For years now the Hold has made its tribute to the dragon riders," he continued, the words like poison in the air, "and for years no Thread has fallen! What good, then, is your kind but for taking from the Holds what you do not need!" he demanded.
"You know as well as any educated man, Wyan. The Red Star is a wandering thing. Thread is not always predictable. It has happened before that the Wanderer did not swing close enough to Pern to leave its deadly cargo. Do you wish to risk the lives of your Hold for the chance that Thread will not fall this season?" G'lant responded easily.
"It's been twenty years! To some Thread is only a story!" Wyan shot back.
"And to others, scarred by its lethal touch, it is only a nightmare!" the wing leader answered, only a trickle of anger touching his words. "Other holds prepare for the inevitability, but your Hold is sadly defenseless! And you mock the tradition of Search!"
"And why should I not?" the younger man insisted. "Our women are as valuable to us as you, so why should I not keep our best from your greedy eyes?" At his words, a gasp swept through the hall. Wyan had openly admitted to insulting the dragon riders.
"Mind your tongue, boy!" Tybir hissed, his hands white where they gripped the table, his face pale.
"The dragon riders have passed out of usefulness!" Wyan continued, oblivious to what his words meant. "Theirs is an old time, and the Holds should no longer pay tribute to their sloth!"
The anger in Keira was boiling now, but it was mixed with a searing triumph; Wyan would never be named Lord Holder after this outburst. Her mind racing, she raised her voice.
"And you do not remember, do you, Wyan?" she asked, her voice rising above the murmuring crowd of hold folk. They became hushed at her words, curious, anxious, expecting.
"Remember what, dear sister?" he demanded.
"You do not remember how your father died." At her statement, his haughty expression faltered briefly, and Tybir covered his face with a wizened hand.
"He died in a raid. It was an accident," he replied, uncertain.
"He died in a raid, aye. But your father was greater than you know! When he died he was a dragon rider, and you were too young to remember. He died in a raid not by human criminals, but by deadly Thread!" The Hall was suddenly alive with conversation, but her next words brought more silence.
"Your father believed, Wyan! You were but a babe when the last Thread fell, but fall it did, and it took your father's life! Would you have that for the rest of the Hold?" she demanded, her eyes blazing.
"You lie!" he cried out, clutching his ears as if to pull the words from his mind.
"Lord Holder, I ask you now, would you name this man as your successor, even with all your loathing of dragonkind, and let the Hold perish when Thread returns?" she asked, turning her attention to Tybir.
"Yes!" he shouted. His reply was met with cries of dissent from the high born in the room; they did not want their Hold falling to waste for an old man's grudge.
"And return Thread will!" shouted G'lant, drawing attention and again silencing the room. Rawineth bugled outside, adding power to his words. He was certain that the Lady Keira was the powerful mind Rawineth had felt, and he would now defend her cause and the Hold.
"Every dawn the Red Star draws closer and closer to the Eye Rock! And educated as you are, you know what this means, Tybir! Thread is imminent!" he said, emphasizing each word.
"And Wyan does not have the strength to protect the Hold!" Dax added, knowing he must become part of the fight if he were to be chosen.
"I would die before I choose a sympathizer like you!" the old man hissed.
"I will not see my Hold go to waste!" This cry came from one of the senior council members, Jared. He was answered by a majority of the room, including most of the other council members.
"Your time is almost done, Tybir!" Keira pleaded. "Would you be remembered as the man who led his Hold to ruin?"
"I will be Lord Holder!" Wyan cried, "even if I have to kill to do it!" Steel suddenly glittered in his hand and Keira screamed.
Everything happened in the blink of an eye; Keira heard Rawineth emit a snarling roar even as G'lant leapt into action, but he was just a fraction too late. By the time he had Wyan pinned to the table, the incensed man had stabbed Tybir through the heart. A roar of anger went through the crowd as Keira ran forward to attend her uncle.
"Tybir!" she gasped, tearing off a chunk of her skirt to press against the gaping wound. She felt tears on her cheeks even as she met the old man's eyes with hers.
"I see now... how evil he was…," Tybir murmured. "I name Dax, Lord Holder of…Southern," he said slowly.
"And witnessed by dragon kind, it shall be so!" G'lant cried, handing the fighting Wyan over to his second and the rest of his wing for imprisonment. Rawineth bugled outside.
"Uncle…" Keira whispered, gripping his hand in hers. Dax was suddenly by her side, concern written on his face.
"It should have been you," he murmured, gently stroking her face with a bloody hand. "Thank you, Keira…" And those words were his last. Struck, unable to move, Keira could only watch as the life faded from his eyes.