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RECAP:
"I don't think that water, even the time he spent adrift in it, could work such damage," Zadrical replied, deep in thought. "No, it's likely that he had some sort of previous trauma; that'd explain the sizeable bruise on the back of his head. That's probably what caused him to fall in the first place."
"I wonder what a lone dragonrider was doing in the skies of Tillek..." F'bran trailed off.
--Chapter VI--
There was silence for several minutes. In the background, the whispers of the rider to his dragon were nearly incessant.
"We're dimglows!" F'bran suddenly exclaimed loudly, causing the other two to jump and then glare at him. "We need to get all the Weyrleaders here! One of them has to know this man."
F'delten's eyes lit up. "I call myself a Wingleader!" he said, thumping F'bran on the back. "You may do the honor of contacting them. Tell them it's urgent."
Caprioth, F'bran once again roused his dragon, who had been sleepily regarding the whole scenario from a temporary wallow by the edge of the clearing. We need your help.
Anything.
Please contact the queens at Telgar, Benden, Ista, Igen, and High Reaches Weyrs. Tell them we require the presence of the Weyrleader in Tillek--simply give them the image of this place.
Weyrwomen too?
If they wish.
A lengthy pause, then, They know and are coming. Teyath and Orieth weren't pleased at the call.
F'bran chuckled, knowing that the queens of Benden and Telgar Weyrs had likely been sleeping. It's okay, Capri. It's late already at their Weyrs and they're bound to be grumpy. You did marvelously.
He turned to F'delten, and said proudly, "They're on their way."
"Sharding good," F'delten said. Zadrical had moved to kneel by the rider, yet again offering him another skin and demanding that he get some food in his body before he collapsed.
"We don't know how long you were in that water and you've already gone three days without nourishment. How you even have the strength to stand is beyond my comprehension," he was lecturing sharply, pulling the man back on his rear and then forcibly wrapping a fur around his body. He then made the man drink the contents of the skin, which turned out to be a lukewarm broth.
"Klaranth is hungry," the man said, in a slightly more melodious voice now that his throat had been lubricated. "He needs food. Will someone hunt for him? He's too weak to lift his wings." He stroked the blue's eye ridges with what little strength he had.
Funny, thought F'bran. The man didn't seem the least bit concerned about his lack of memories but was going to worry himself into bits over his dragon. True, the blue was in great need of care, but the best remedy that had yet been given him was the touch of his rider. Already, Klaranth could raise his head.
Drianth and Sakarith were still wedged firmly against the invalid beast's body. Their eyes whirled yellow as Klaranth hissed softly, bound by his illness.
F'delten had just finished sending A'wer and Sarth off to fetch food for the blue from Fort when the air was suddenly full of bellows. Xornth and Caprioth raised their heads to bugle welcomes, which were answered deafeningly by five massive bronzes and three golden queens that had erupted into the fading sky. Each circled lower thrice before backwinging and landing deftly in the clearing, lowering shoulders to discharge their riders, Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen of Pern.
S'riat and his Weyrwoman Renda of Benden were the first to reach their little group, overseen by the three blues.
"What is going on here, F'delten," S'riat asked calmly of the Wingleader, "that we were called from our furs at such an hour?"
"Yes, I'd like to know, as well," called J'mis of Telgar as he strode to join them, unaccompanied by his Weyrwoman.
Not far behind the fast-footed two were W'rizz of High Reaches Weyr and his Weyrwoman Zerai, P'tru of Igen, and L'dan of Ista with his Weyrwoman, Keletha. Each swiftly repeated the inquiries of Benden and Telgar, giving F'delten no chance to reply and several hard stares from eyes dull with sleep.
So, F'delten and F'bran waited patiently for the greetings amongst the arrivals to die down, and then Fort Wingleader began, with the young bronzerider standing humbly to one side.
"Thank you for answering our summons so swiftly, Weyrpeople of Pern," F'delten said to the group, catching F'bran's eye as he spoke his improvised title and grinning. "There is an important issue here on the grounds of Tillek, in the form of this rider and his blue." He stepped back to allow the Weyrleaders to view the unnamed dragonman, curled in a fur against his dragon's neck. "Fort riders found this man drifting in the water off the coast three days ago. He's only just regained consciousness, but he doesn't seem to remember his name, or, as much as we can figure out, anything else aside from his dragon's name, Klaranth. We ask, do any of you recognize this dragonrider?"
The silence that followed as the "Weyrpeople" scrutinized the poor man was not heartening. Zadrical leaned to whisper to F'bran, "You'd think they would recall if one of their riders had gone missing."
Finally, S'riat extracted himself from the small group and went to kneel by the man, nodding to Klaranth as he did so. F'bran sighed and gazed at the sky as he realized that the Benden Weyrleader was going to try the same interrogation technique that had failed them minutes before.
"Dragonrider," S'riat began into the observant silence. "You don't recall your name?"
"No."
"What is my name?"
"I don't know."
"What is my position?"
"A Weyrleader."
"What are the five colors of dragons?"
The rider--he really needed a name, F'bran thought--hesitated. "Blue, green, brown, bronze, and...gold."
"How did you end up in the water off Tillek?"
"I don't know."
What Weyr did you belong to?"
"I don't know. I don't remember."
"Let me list them for you. High Reaches? Igen? Ista? Benden? Telgar? Fort?"
"Fort..." the man echoed. "There was something...about...Fort..."
S'riat looked sharply at F'delten, who was wide-eyed. "He was identified as not of Fort Weyr the moment we found him, Weyrleader," he said. "If you wish, we could call Q'mil here to make certain."
J'mis called, "Do it at once!" There was general assent from the rest.
So, Xornth bespoke Fylanth and requested the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman's presence in a small clearing off the coast of Tillek in the late evening.
During that time, Sarth burst back into the air with A'wer on his neck and a dead wherry dangling grotesquely from his foreclaws. A'wer was startled by their new company, but bowed respectfully to the leaders before he and Sarth began tearing into the wherry, creating meaty shreds for Klaranth to eat.
Q'mil and Kliana were rapid in their arrival, their dragons landing briskly on the cold ground. When proper greetings had been made, F'delten explained the oddity to Q'mil.
"This is the convalescent rider and dragon found off Tillek, Weyrleader..."
"Yes..." Q'mil frowned.
"He has something called amnesia, where he can't remember any events or people in his life from before the moment he awakened. He doesn't recall his name, his Weyr, anything but his dragon. But he seems to have some association with Fort. Are we certain that he isn't of our Weyr, Weyrleader?"
Q'mil looked closely at the dragonrider. "No, I'm quite sure that this man is not a rider of Fort." He stopped; then continued somewhat pleadingly. "And his dragon remembers nothing, either?"
Everyone shook their heads.
"May we return to our Weyrs?" asked L'dan of Ista, somewhat bitterly.
"Certainly, you may go. Thank you for your assistance," Kliana told them demurely, and the leaders of the other five Weyrs departed.
"He'll come to weyr at Fort, then," Q'mil announced, his mind made up.
F'bran wasn't surprised. He had observed all the happenings carefully from the side, and had seen Q'mil's slight embarrassment at the rider seeming to know Fort and his own lack of recognition.
"You'll also need a name, man," Q'mil said loudly. The weak rider was feverishly watching the two blueriders of Drianth and Sakarith piling meat for Klaranth to swallow gratefully.
"L'orre," Q'mil stated simply. "Is that a suitable name?"
Newly-dubbed L'orre shrugged.
"Well, L'orre, you'll be riding with F'bran on Caprioth back to Fort." Once again, a shadow of tight confusion passed over L'orre's face, but he nodded.
"And Klaranth?" he rasped.
"Will be lifted as carefully as possible by Xornth and Sarth; he's still as weak as you are. You and your dragon will take up residence in Fort until something can be done about your condition. Do you remember how to fight Thread?"
Klaranth perked up at that, L'orre's face was taken with the briefest smile F'bran had ever seen. "Yes, I remember how to do that," the bluerider said slowly.
Zadrical helped the shaky man to his feet, where they hobbled together with F'bran back toward where Caprioth had risen to his haunches and was stretching great wings as if to brush the velvety-black sky. The bronze then crouched affably low, dipping a shoulder almost to the ground as L'orre, already looking pale and sweaty, was lifted to sit between neck ridges. F'bran hoisted himself up in front of him and instructed the man to hold tight to his waist.
Caprioth launched himself into the star-studded night sky of Tillek, watched by the iridescent green eyes of the dragons still on the ground. F'bran silently wondered at what a fiasco he and his dragon's unexpected find had expanded into. No doubt the Weyr would be in an uproar, and poor L'orre would probably be plagued with visitors from all Pern claiming to have remedies for his amnesia when all he really needed was sleep and a lot of food.
The trip bewteen was a relatively short one, and when they burst into the air over the bowl of Fort Weyr, the green watchdragon's query sounded oddly muffled in the deep night air.
Q'mil had given him instructions to house L'orre in a vacant weyr fairly near the base of the bowl, so it would be little more than a fluttering jump down for Klaranth if he wished to bathe or stretch his wings. F'bran directed Caprioth to land on the scarred ledge of the weyr, and then the rider quickly helped the other, who was fading fast, down and to a thick pile of discarded sleeping furs.
Thanks, Capri. Will you wait while I get L'orre here something to eat and drink? F'bran asked of his dragon.
Of course, the Caprioth replied sleepily. But I have missed our weyr, and my own bed.
So have I, my friend. Those nights sleeping under the open sky were enough for a lifetime. But, we must wait a few more minutes. You might want to make room for Xornth and Sarth to land with Klaranth.
Caprioth ducked his head and moved neatly into the weyr, leaving the ledge open for the three dragons.
F'bran collected a skin of mulled wine and some meatrolls from kitchens, ignoring the drudges' puzzled looks and heading back with single-minded determination to the weyr.
By that time, F'delten and A'wer had arrived with a very tired and sated Klaranth, his belly bulging roundly from consumed meat. The blue crooned anxiously at his rider before managing to drag himself to the wallow and fall instantly into a deep sleep.
F'bran offered L'orre the food and wine, who took them gratefully and downed them with starved ferocity.
"My duty to you." F'bran dipped his head to the man and left quickly on Caprioth. Something about L'orre's heavy and troubled stare unnerved him.
Back in their weyr, both dragon and rider fell into their beds and slept, weary from the day.