F.L.I.T. Part Four

N'varr crawled out of bed. It had been a long evening and he was not particularly in the mood to do his job, but this day was Thread free and he had plans.

After pulling on his dark wherhide trousers and a cream coloured shirt, N'varr crept silently out to Kevlarth's couch. The bronze was, he noticed gleefully, still asleep. N'varr could get him again! Calling the ever faithful Zip, N'varr outlined the plan to the excited bronze. Zip flew over to Kevlarth's head and hovered.

"Land!" N'varr hissed, waving his hand at the bronze dragon's head. Zip started downwards, the suddenly vanished.

"What the...!" N'varr stared at the space over his dragon's head where Zip had disappeared. A second later...

"OW!"

N'varr clapped a hand to his backside where Zip's sharp teeth had nipped him hard.

Kevlarth's head shot up and his rumbling chuckle echoed through the weyr.

Gotcha, he said, his mental tone smug. My point, N'varr.

"Oh, fine," N'varr grumbled, rubbing his bottom. "I'm probably bleeding."

Zip didn't even hurt your pants, Kevlarth scoffed. N'varr finally grinned.

"That was a good one," he admitted.

Cailleath suggested it, the bronze replied. She liked hearing about my tricks.

"Oh, ho!" N'varr teased. "Are you thinking of catching Cailleath on her next flight?"

Maybe, Kevlarth replied, stretching luxuriously. Magreth has caught her twice, but there is no strong bond between them.

"Well, aren't you just full of news this morning!"

You were too busy drinking to hear any, Kevlarth retorted as he walked out to the ramp at the entrance of their ground level weyr, his rider following.

"You're right!" N'varr cheerfully agreed. "I was successfully getting drunk last night. Good thing you were sober, so one of us got the latest gossip."

I don't drink anything but water, Kevlarth reminded his weyrmate. I could never not be sober.

"True enough," N'varr nodded, squinting up at the sun. "Looks to be about elevenish, wouldn't you say?"

It's before noon, Kevlarth agreed. I'm going for my morning drink.

"I'm off for breakfast," N'varr thumped Kevlarth affectionately and they went their separate ways.

An hour later, his stomach content with a bowl of vegetable soup he had cadged from the lunch cooks, N'varr called up to where Kevlarth was sunning, high on a ledge. The bronze winged down and N'varr climbed up onto his neck.

"Gwyn pointed the direction of Hillside Cothold," N'varr told his weyrmate. "We'll have to fly straight. She's never been there. One of the recent murder sites is on the way, though. I'd like to stop."

Kevlarth rumbled agreeably and they took off.

Forty five minutes later, Kevlarth banked and landed gently on the ground.

"Nice landing."

Naturally.

The meadow was green with the beginning of spring and N'varr looked appreciatively on the early purple and yellow flowers that had burst exuberantly from the only recently solidly frozen ground.

Sarine might like some, he thought, then smacked himself to get his mind back on the business at hand.

The actual place where the trader caravan had found the pitifully slashed body of a man was at one side of the meadow under the thick trunk of a tree. When N'varr had investigated soon after the discovery, the meadow had held indications of a struggle, but after all this time, nature had erased the mistake and there was little to indicate what horror had occurred there.

N'varr scouted around the area, hoping that he might find something he had missed before, but there was nothing. N'varr sighed. He hadn't really expected to find anything, but he had held out hope. Kevlarth, whiffling at a clump of purple flowers, looked up as N'varr approached.

Nothing? he inquired.

"Nothing," N'varr agreed. "Let's go talk to Galand, then. Maybe we'll have better luck with that."

Kevlarth took off once his rider was settled and two hours later, they landed in an empty field near the small cothold called Hillside.

A boy of about six or seven turns came running out of one of the larger stone buildings and as he drew closer, N'varr could see the resemblance to H'ley and Tory. This, then, was their younger brother.

Swift thinking.

Quiet, you.

"Are you on Search?" the boy demanded as he came to a breathless stop next to Kevlarth's foreleg, upon which, N'varr was standing. "Have you come for me?"

N'varr smiled as he jumped down to the ground.

"Sorry, son," he apologized. "I'm not on Search, I'm just here to see your daddy."

"Oh," the boy was patently disappointed. "That's a big bronze," he stated, looking up at Kevlarth. "Are you from Mackenzie Weyr? My brother Harley is there and he Impressed a brown dragon called Yabelith and now he's a dragon rider and everyone's s'posed to call him H'ley but I forget sometimes and my sister Tory is there too but she didn't Impress 'cause no dragon wanted her that time but H'ley said that she might Impress another time and what Wing are you in?"

The boy had obviously run out of breath and N'varr, his head spinning slightly, hastened to speak.

"Yes, I'm from Mackenzie, I'm not in a Wing right now and I really need to see your daddy. Will you take me to him?"

The boy looked at him for a moment.

"Can I have a ride?" he asked.

N'varr sighed.

"If you take me to see your daddy, you can have a ride," he agreed.

"Ride first," the boy bargained.

"Daddy first."

"RIDE FIRST!"

N'varr winced at the shriek and lifted the boy up to Kevlarth's forearm. Jumping up beside him, the bronze rider clambered up the dragon's neck then reached down a hand to haul the small boy up in front of him. Fastening the safety straps, N'varr gave Kevlarth the go ahead.

They circled Hillside for five minutes, then Kevlarth neatly landed. N'varr grasped the boy around his waist and slid down to the ground.

"Now, I want to see your daddy," he said firmly. The boy, his eyes shining from his ride, grabbed N'varr's hand and tugged him to the building he had come out of. Down a short hallway, the boy stopped at a door and went in. N'varr followed.

"This is where everyone sees my daddy," the boy announced. And sure enough, the man was there, stretched out on table, eyes closed. Dead.

"Your daddy is dead?" N'varr blurted out, his even nature momentarily deserting him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, he's not dead, he's just sleeping really hard, the way he sometimes does," the boy asserted. "Of course, Mama says he won't wake up this time, but I think he will."

N'varr sighed, his lead cut off abruptly. Letting go of the boy's hand, N'varr stepped closer to the dead Galand.

He had been injured, that was obvious. Although he was covered to his neck with a white sheet, the face showed signs of a brutal attack. With a knife.

Another murder victim.

Back at the Weyr, N'varr, in a decidedly unhappy mood, paced the stone floor while Kevlarth watched patiently from his couch.

Talk it out, N'varr, Kevlarth suggested. It worked before.

N'varr looked over at the bronze and shrugged. Not stopping his pacing, he began to vocalize his running thoughts.

"We know that all four murders happened within a six hour ride from here," N'varr stated, his thoughts churning, his eyes focussed inwards. "Anyone from Mackenzie Weyr could have started out in the morning, had a murder for lunch and been home in time for dinner."

Murder for lunch?

"Shush, I'm thinking."

A moment's thought.

"Tory could easily have accomplished this," N'varr continued. "And we know that she hated her stepfather."

Enough to kill him?

"Maybe," N'varr nodded. "But why would she have killed those other men? What's the connection?"

Check the Records, Kevlarth advised. Maybe who they are will be a clue.

"Call Meena and Raye, love," N'varr nodded decisively. "I'll send them to the two people who are holding records of the events."

In a flash, N'varr's two golden fire lizards appeared, chittering excitedly. N'varr fastened the notes he had hastily scrawled and sent them off. Maybe his luck would change with the return of the lizards and the Records.

He'd have to wait... and hope.