Namul limped into the Watch meeting with a assistance of two canes and Fulsa at his side. Fulmar nodded his greeting to the stragglers, not surprised to see them as much as he was gratified. Several guards moved, allowing the injured wherhandler to sit in the center of the of the group. The stitches in Fulmar's arm came out only two days before and the new scar itched from time to time.
Conclave was to begin in the morning, to settle the lordship of Hold. Much to everyone's surprise Bethkes, Kestle's eldest by his first mate, had refused the position. The fifty-turn overseer claimed not to wish the headache of the position, and given that he had a mate and children of his own already established in a minehold nestled deep in the mountains, some of the oldsters opined that it shouldn't have come as such a surprise as it did. Kestle's next eldest was a senior journeywoman in the WeaverCraft and thus not eligible. So it fell to Minket's issue and the lordling Kestet, who strut about like a preening wherry. Fulmar kept his face bland in the youth's presence, although the Masterharper had been told of the arrogant youth's behavior both in his treatment of drudges - borderline abusive - and his obvious disinterest in the finer points of running a Hold. To say nothing of his continued 'testing' of the watchwhers.
"As you know, the Lord Holders will arrive tomorrow. While we do not expect them to stay for more than a few days, we must plan for the possibility that Conclave might run into a week." The guards nodded and listened, for none of this was new information. Fulmar sighed internally, knowing that was about to change.
"We will not be allowing admission to anyone, nor will anyone leave the Hold other than the dragonriders while until after a lord is chosen." Startled looks at that announcement but it had actually been suggested by Igen's Lord, and B'ton had agreed. With the last Threadfall of the season behind them it would be no hardship on the farmers, and crafthalls had already been made aware of the upcoming closure.
"Because of this, there will be different assignments than usual." Fulmar pulled out a list and rattled off shifts and positions. Namul raised an eyebrow when his name was called, but as his job consisted of sitting in the wher enclosure he merely nodded, sensing the wisdom in reassuring his green with all the new people in the Hold.
Jurille glanced up from her accounting, her books spread out over the table in the Lower Caverns. B'ton had asked her to sit in on his briefing of the Wingleaders as they met him before dinner, with weyrlings and firelizards zipping about as the bronzeriders made themselves comfortable around the table.
"Thank you for coming." B'ton flashed a quick smile at his follow bronzeriders. "Ista and Igen are requesting a wing each to ease Winterover, Z'dis and G'fled have both volunteered to fly the first half. If you're interested in flying the second half, you know where my weyr is." Winterover was a practice where Weyrs with longer winters spent part of their 'downtime' in the tropics where Thread fell all turn long, allowing the warmer climate Weyrs a respite of their own.
"Now, the other reason I asked you here, starting tomorrow Conclave will be held at the Hold and I'd appreciate if you would remain available to ferry the Lord Holders about."
"Will we need to collect the Lord Holders in the morning?" T'nif, one of the newest Wingleaders, asked. B'ton shook his head. "Other than those of you already tapped, no. The other Weyrs are going to provide transport-"
"Benden isn't." Reema interrupted, her cheeks ruddy with her anger as she marched up to the group. "I just got word, Kimi is refusing the Lord Holders because of their refusal to Search." A groan went up from the Wingleaders. Jurille sighed and stood commanding the group's attention.
"Friends, make sure you wear your colors openly, and when you interact with the Holders, you are to act as paragons of virtue. Benden's actions are despicable, but they are not outside their rights."
"Our gracious Weyrwoman is right, no flying off with bad coordinates." B'ton added, at the grumbling Jurille's comment provoked. "We've come a long way repairing the damage Benden has done, but now it's our turn, as bronzeriders, to remind the Holder that their tithe is going to good use." He smiled easily and the general tension bled out of the group. Jurille made eye contact with Reema, a subtle reminder to put a damper on her emotions, least she upset her dragon enough to send some hothead to fly off and challenge C'seld. Reema rubbed the back of her neck, ducking her head. Contented, Jurille sat back down as B'ton discussed the whos and whens with his Wingleaders.
The Wherqueen Handler agreed to meet the Harpers, and came on the back of a green dragon courtesy of Ista. P'lis, originally WherHold bred was a pleasant man well advanced into his sixties. When failing eyesight threatened to ground him permanently he acquired a blue firelizard whom he had trained to sit on his shoulders and act as his eyes. This had worked out so well the Weyr permitted him to continue to fly firestone duty during Falls. Teggram, the wherqueen handler, thanked all three, dragon, lizard and man, for the lift and signaled clear airspace once clear of the green's wingspace. She then sent a passing apprentice to announce her arrival. Degal found her checking over Fortsk, the brown watchwher thrumming loudly as she rubbed his headknobs, and chatted amicably with Lady Hydafil, who was making the rounds with her wher. Degal had not known the previous Fortsk well, but when Hydafil impressed her brown she started to bring the youngling watchwher to Harper and Healer Hall as well as as the Hold proper to socialize the brown. Degal privately thought that had been a stroke of brilliance on her part, for not only did it cut down on incidents of harassing the watchwhwer, it removed a lot of the fearful mystic of wherhandling for the apprentices. Indeed, several lads who had proven less apt to harpering than they had hoped had gone on to successful careers as wherhandlers.
"Friend of yours?" Degal asked drolly, bemused by the large wher's coquettish manner with the woman. Tegrram turned and in the glowlight of the baskets that lined the walls and reflected off the thin layer of new fallen snow he saw she was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, mousy brown hair and a tan which identified her as an inhabitant of Pern's tropics. She was, he thought, feeling uncharacteristically uncharitable, wholly forgettable, except for her eyes, which glimmered with that curiously self possessive quality he had only seen in queenriders. Her gaze flickered from his face to his knotdevice, then the tension in her shoulders eased.
"Fortsk is a clutchmate of my Tegrramsk." She explained as the brown twined around her like an oversized hold feline. Degal noted the behavior and wondered if it had more to do with the rumor that Tegrram could speak to any watchwher than it did with whom his clutchmates were.
"So," She continued, giving Fortsk one last pat, "how might I be of service, MasterHarper?" Lady Hydafil nodded at Degal, leading the cheerfully burbling brown wher in the direction of the Healer barracks.
"Inside, inside, it's much too chill to discuss out here," Catkin chided both of them, coming out with a tray of steaming mugs. The Hall's headwoman had brought them mulled wine, he realized, as he and Tegrram each took one of the offered mugs. Catkin then marched on to offer the remaining mug to Lady Hydafil, who had paused to let Fortsk jump into a pile of snow swept up earlier in the day.
Tegrram chuckled. "They really never do think we've grown up, do they, our headwomen?"
"Particularly not those that have to deal with stubborn harpers," Degal agreed, smiling. "But let us retreat inside before she returns to chastise us more, hmm?"
He lead her into his warmer quarters, a fire laid out and chairs set up for the harpers and their guest. Only Lindin and Glenbe were able to join them at this time, with the Hall as busy as it was with preparations for Turnover.
"So, what would you like to know about whers? Your letter was sufficiently vague." Tegrram asked, selecting a seat closer to the fire. Lindin and Glenbe, having already introduced themselves followed her lead, Lindin flipping through a small pile of papers, lists of questions the other masters had sent along with the Archivist. Glenbe leaned forward slightly "Can more than one wher impress a person at the same time?"
"At the same time? No. Whers are extremely territorial - some even object to their handlers taking on firelizards after they've impressed." She shook her head.
"How fast do watchwhers sexually mature?" Lindin asked looking up from her lists.
"In a Pass or an Interval?" Tegrram responded.
"There is a difference?" Degal queried. Tegrram nodded.
"Oh yes. Much like dragons, there's a long period of time for sexual maturation during an Interval. During a Pass a whers rise earlier, between their second and third Turn, then once every two Turns until the Pass ends. During an Interval it can be up to eight Turns before their first flight, although more commonly around their fifth, and easily ten Turns between mating flights, although sterile greens will rise several times a Turn indifferent to Pass or Interval." Glenbe opened his mouth, but Tegrram beat him to the punch, "No, I don't know why that is, but it's the same for dragons, so it might just be the effect of inhibiting the natural egg laying cycle that leaves the greens in a perpetual state of being close to rising."
"I suddenly feel that much worst for teasing Dr'mak" Lindin murmured - her foster brother had impressed a green dragon at Igen, Degal had met the likeable man when he attended winter courses at the Hall, he had a fine hand for the careful woodworking required to make string instruments.
"He doubtlessly got it a lot worst than you ever teased him at the Weyr proper." Tegrram replied sympathetically.
"Oh?" Lindin glanced up. Tegrram smiled back impishly.
"Wyerlingmasters have a stern reputation for a reason." She intoned solemnly. "Greens reach physical stature quickest, having the least amount of growing to do. Most greenriders are settled in their own weyrs before any of the other colors, so the weyrlingmasters tend to be hardest on them, given that they have the shortest amount of time to sort them out." She sipped her wine.
"That's a relief. Still... I think I owe him an apology when I see him at Turnover." Lindin mused.
Glenbe cleared his throat. "Apologies, but we're here to discuss watchwhers, not dragons."
Degal nodded. "Glenbe is right, we're getting off topic, and for that I apologize. I hadn't realized watchwhers and dragons were so closely linked."
"No offense taken. And it shouldn't really surprise you, both were bred from firelizards." Glenbe's blue napping in a ball in his lap, cracked an eyelid, feeling four sets of eyes on him all of the sudden. Absently Glenbe stroked him, and with a near inaudible croon he returned to sleep.
"Forgive me for asking, but two Turns ago the old WherHold suffered an attack. Do you know the colors of the two unrecovered eggs?" Degal asked delicately. Tegrram grimaced, but wasn't surprised by the question.
"We lost the entire clutch." The harpers stared at her in surprise.
"Weren't the eggs recovered...?"
"They were, but they had gotten chilled - 31 dead eggs were recovered by the time all was said and done." She explained with a weary sigh. "Vutho was was livid, said it would have been better if we hadn't pursued the Holdless rather than lose thirty-three whers, and a queen egg at that."
There was a pained moment of silence from the harpers.
"There was a queen egg among the recovered...?" Glenbe wasn't sure what to call the dead clutch.
"No." Tegrram shook her head. "The queen and the abnormally large egg were both unrecovered." The wherqueen handler sipped her wine for a moment. "I have heard that the Red Butcher of Ruatha has returned and has a giant bronze wher that looks to him. I hope you will forgive me for saying so, but I'm glad at least one egg from the clutch survived."
"Maybe more than one." Lindin remarked. "Our harpers found eggshells in one of the secret holdings." Tegrram looked up sharply.
"Do you still have those? I can tell you if they are from a green or gold wher."
"You can do that?" Degal blinked.
"Oh yes. Since the start of the last Interval we've complied statistics on all wher eggs. You forget, after the last Pass there was a large population of wild and feral whers - they were so plentiful they actually became a danger to farmers and herdsmen. Part of our duties, as wherqueen handlers, has been to teach hunters how to find and humanly put down wild whers. " Tegrram tilted her head. " I can even tell you the colors of the hatched whers from their shells, with an 83% certainty."
"We'll get those shells to you posthaste. Would you object to teaching one of my harpers how you do that?" Degal asked, suddenly feeling hopeful.
"Certainly not, but it'll cost you."
"I'm sure we could pay you-" Lindin started to say, as Tegrram held up a hand.
"I want songs. Comission your songwriters to pen Teaching songs about whers and we'll call it a fair trade."
Degal relaxed and felt a shade foolish for not having seen that request coming.
"That seems more than fair," he said with a smile, "I get the feeling we've been remiss in songs involving whatwhers."
"To my knowledge there are only three that were actually written specifically about whers, and nothing the younglings learning their instruments can practice with. And the WherHold children want wher songs." She elucidated with a smile.
"I believe the Teaching songs are long overdue for a review as it is. You'll get those songs, WherLady."
"Then I will teach our techniques to your harpers, and be glad of it." Tegrram replied with a pleased nod.
Shelt and Reelon waved as Mirrth took off. It was likely a wasted gesture, since Gwedli had her eyes tightly shut, clinging to C'bay, little Liree sandwiched between the two of them, bundled tight against the cold in his trundlebug sling.
"Well," Shelt said as they vanished between, "looks like it's you and me again." He grinned at his long time friend.
"And a cot full of students?" Reelon shot back with a grin of his own. The harper's cheerfulness was infectious, for all that he already missed his mate. Together they walked together back through the trampled down snow to the cozy cot. The twins and the apprentice bustled about the kitchen, the mouth watering scent of the herdbeast stew permeating the entire cothall. In the main room a group of youngsters and Tibitha sat around the table, as the eldest read aloud about different types of tunnel snakes. Some of the youngsters had already shown an aptitude for the BeastCraft, and Reelon kept idle hands busy learning the ins and outs of the craft. Even the students who didn't show interest in pursing a career in the craft liked working with the animals.
"Durzi, Relecca, surely dinner is ready?" His voice boomed into the kitchen and sending Flit aflight. Two days before the green had suddenly vanished and Shelt had hastily excused himself from the cothold, returning an hour later with a sheepish expression for Reelon, who merely snorted his laughter. Flit took longer, returning around dinner looking rather smug. That had provoked a comment from Gwedli, after the youngsters all were in bed.
"Does your Flit need a place to clutch, Shelt?"
The harper hesitated, then nodded. "Possibly. She usually tries to clutch back at my natal hold, but if the fire pits have been swept clean she'll clutch wherever I am."
"She prefers ash pits?" Reelon asked. Shelt nodded, rubbing the back of his head.
"I can put an ash pit in the kitchen." Gwedli suggested, "I need to make more lye anyhow."
"And I can get a load of cooking wood from the next Train that comes through." Reelon murmured thoughtfully, as their lowland location meant that the Traders would swing by shortly before Turnover. Fast growing taq, a bushy Pernese native was much prized for it's woody ball root. Unlike hickory or mesquite a field of taq was ready for harvest in three Turns, and would yield a dragonweight per acre. While useless for woodcraft outside of turned flatware or shallow mugs, it burned long and fragrant, and the spicy smelling leaves not only imparted their heady scent when placed between the linens, they also kept moths out of the woolens.
"I'll let you know when she's close to clutching then." Shelt nodded.
"Three months, right?"
"Closer to two." Shelt winked. "She's not a dragon."
"Ma!" Char hobbled over to where Mirrth landed neatly near the Healer's weyr, every present Vaeth trotting to keep up with his rider as she swung wide on her crutches.
"Slow down!" Both Gwedli and Zandur bellowed as her as she barely missed barreling into the green, who watched the rather erratic locomotion with fast whirling eyes. Reaching her mother she dropped her crutches and hugged her and little Liree tight.
"Ma, you won't believe what happened! Nene dropped a pot and scared Vaeth into hovering! Vaeth hovered! For ten whole seconds! None of the other dragonets have even managed to glide yet!" She was positively bursting with pride.
"Really? Well done Vaeth~" Gwedli rubbed the blue's head.
It was easier than I expected once I had done it. The little blue admitted, eyes bright blue with shy pride. Mirrth nudged the dragonet, and distantly C'bay heard the green congratulate the youngster on getting the jump on his clutchmates.
"So, Charrie, this is your brother." Gwedli peeled one arm off her waist, showing the sleepy baby to her.
"Oh~ hi l'il brother." Char cooed softly. "Welcome to Telgar Weyr~"
'fly off with bad coordinates' = Pernese idiom meaning 'to run around half cocked'
Trundlebug sling = a koala pouch style baby sling, hung in the front rather than the back, although it can be hung from the back as the situation dictates. Multiple slings can be worn by the same person, front and back, making the wearer look a little like a trundlebug with it's young.
An extra long chapter for you long suffering fans. Thank you as always. And as always, please let me know if you see any misspellings, grammatical errors or errors in general. Also please any thoughts or critiques on your part would be greatly appreciated, even unfavorable ones.