Glanees woke suddenly, feeling Redell slide out of bed. "Where are you going?" She asked, inexplicably afraid.
"Glanees I... forgive me." Redell stood. "I was completely out of line, my actions-"
"Were prefectly normal for dragonfolk." She snapped sitting up, suddenly understanding what he was doing. "Whers are not overly large firelizards, they are on par with dragons in all things- including their influence on their riders! Don't you dare apologize for being Redelsk rider."
"You... are not mad at me?" Redell asked quietly in the darkness. Glanees let out a wet sort of laugh. "No, of course not." She felt him sit down on the edge of the bed. "Truth be told, I have loved you for some time." She admitted slowly. "But I was afraid you would send me away, if I told you."
Redell was silent for a long moment, then Glanees felt his hand caress her cheek. "You would have been correct." He replied, almost sadly. "I didn't think... I didn't trust myself, after Shaeshel betrayed me. I didn't think I could trust love."
Glanees covered his hand with her own, turning her face into the work roughened palm. "I don't know that name, my Lord."
"Shaeshel was my betrothed. When my uncle accused me of the deaths at Heights BeastHold, he arranged for Shaeshel to keep me occupied until his men arrived." There was no anger now, simply sad acceptance. "I spent three months wondering how someone who claimed to love me more than the moons above could turn me over to Farkin. When I saw her at the trial, as the mate to his son, I realized I had been played in more ways than one." In the darkness Glanees could sense his anger turning to despair. "I will never clear my name enough to rule Ruatha, and truth be told, I am too broken a man to be a good Lord. But I will stop all of those who worked against me from ever falsely punishing another. And... since it seems there are still people in Pern who look to me, I cannot be quit of my responsibilities to them." In the darkness he reached over and pulled Glanees into his arms, cradling her against him. "You have stood beside me all these Turns, and done everything I have asked of you. I have not forgotten my promise to you, 'Nees. Will you help me, once my revenge is secured, to make a safe place for those foolish enough to look to me?"
"Of course, my Lord." They said nothing more, for what more did she want? Eventually they fell asleep like that, in each other's arms.
"What do you mean, you can't find him?" Ketke asked the steward with a baffled expression. "He was locked in his chambers, where would he have gone?" Telgar Hold was comfortably settled into the winter routine of cleaning out accumulated snow and the 'winter' crafts, last year's wool to be cleaned and carded, then spun by the talented folk of the Weavery, while those in the Guard worked with the tanned leather to make new uniforms or repair the old. Oldsters with free time on their hands would join the youngest members of the Hold in their Harper's lessons, a time honored tradition at Telgar, playing music or assisting the youngsters in learning their lessons, or just telling their stories, and passing on that knowledge from one generation to the next. In the kitchens the drudges were helping with the annual rotation of the goods, the oldest items being brought to the front of the shelf, so all the food and medical herbs might be used in a timely manner with minimal waste. Those will skill at carpentry would turn their hands to the endless small repairs the Hold needed, and masons inspected the deep structure and discussed expansions. It was during this time that Ketke had decided to call on his brother, and see if he might not be willing to be a contributing member to the Hold.
"He had lock himself in, brother." Stlemin explained, looking sheepish. "He never responded when we brought food and drink, but the empty dishes would be outside later." Ketke stood from his fireside desk, the assorted leaves and slates temporarily going ignored. "Please, ask Fulmar to join me in Kestket's chambers." He finally asked.
The Master of the Guard met his Lord Holder in the absent holder's chambers, finding him looking through the drawers of the lordling's dresser. "How might I be of service?"
"Kestket's gone." Ketke looked up from his search. "The bag of Marks he pretended not to have is gone, as are his carving knives." Kestket, in addition to being a pompous ass, also had a fine eye for wood. While many of his earlier cravings still littered the room, Ketke recognized that many of his smaller pieces, more intricate and inlaid with slivers of mother of pearl were also missing. "So are his riding leathers, and winter furs."
"Are you missing anything?" Fulmar asked, causing the young Lord to give him a quizzical look. "There are two runners missing, along with all their tact, and extra saddlebags. I'm having Marlos check the armory, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if we find a couple blades missing too."
"Where would he have gone?" Ketke asked, as Stlemin slipped out to check the Stores.
"South would be my guess. Depending on what else he took, he could easily reach Delta in seven or eight days. The real question is how long he has been missing." Fulmar grimaced, Kestket was proving to be as big a headache missing as he was when present. "I would suggest speaking with all your stewards, and finding out what is missing before jumping to any conclusions."
"I- I should warn the Weyr, so they know to keep an eye out for him." Ketke said, sighing. Fulmar nodded. "That would be wise."
As it turned out, it was not Jurille, but Urlyra who was most grieved by Verney's passing. The two queenriders had spent much of latter half the Queen's Meet discussing Weyr history. As she was leaving the older queenrider promised to send the many journals kept by past riders in her collection to the Telgar queenrider, lamenting that no one in Ista cared to read about personal history, when there were so many grey hairs around to simply ask. Urlyra regretted both the lose of the older rider, with her acerbic wit and ready, if wheezy laugh, and the promise of those journals, since, in fairness, she couldn't just stroll in and demand them.
The other queenriders did what they could, to help Urlyra, but it was the arrival of a brown Weyrling with two nets full of leather bound journals that roused her from the fugue she found herself sliding into.
"Urlyra?" The young man asked, doffing his riding cap, his tan deep. "Asvi said Verney asked that these be sent to you. Along with this." He handed her a letter tube, and she opened it. Inside was a note in the loopy penmanship Verney favored.
Lyra,
I have taken the liberty of including a number of journals from women blue and green riders, you might find them helpful, if slightly faded. Feel free to keep these, as I think you will want to reference them frequently in the Turns to come. Looking forward to our next meeting, V
"Wh-when is her funeral?" Urlyra asked softly, blinking back tears.
"In two days. No Thread is scheduled, and Nerat has asked for the privilege." It was not uncommon for birth Holds to ask for such considerations. Verney's body would be buried besides that of her dragon's (as they had both passed in their sleep) in a Threadbare field that would be allowed to remain fallow for three Turns, before being planted with clover. The tradition had been established following the Second Pass, by dragonriders who had decided to make one last gift to Pern, and the planet's recovery. Urlyra nodded, and thanked the youth, before overseeing the journals being brought into the Council Room.
Bukset grunted and cleared the lip of the cliff. Regeaj offered him a hand, helping him up. The harper took a moment to look around, at the parched land from this upper vantage, then back at the trail. Again telltale spots of blood darkened the bare rock.
"He wasn't attacked here, was he?"
"No." Regeaj replied, as both her lizards swooped down whistling agitatedly. She held out her arm and the larger of the two landed, eyes whirling orange. Sopra also flew above, in tight angry circles, projecting the image of feeding tunnel snakes.
"It might not be wisest choice, " Regeaj mutters with a shake of her head, "but we need to look, darlings." The lizards argue with her, but ultimately follow as she tracked the bloodtrail back, finally stopping at a large rock, which she very carefully peered over. Bukset also looked over, confirming Sopra's report of four tunnel snakes, the largest of which was easily as thick as his own trunk. The sheep carcass was already pretty well stripped, little more than bones, as the smallest snake coiled up in the creature's ribcage. Regeaj beckoned to Bukset and they carefully retreated back to where they climbed up. "I think it is safe to say that sheep, and our lad didn't run afoul of any wher." She frowned, as the lizards caught a thermal and rose in loose circles. "But tunnelsnakes don't drag their kills up over bare rock any more than whers do. It's too open for them, and scavenging wherries will try to steal their kills."
"So what are you suggesting?" Bukset asked.
"I'm suggesting you use any contacts you have with the Weyrs, Harper. You're looking for a human killer, and I want no part of it." She told him flatly.