It's been three Turns since the events of the last chapter. Sorry about yet another time-skip.
Pern belongs to a genius, and I sure as hell don't fit into that category.
"Thanks for all your help today, D'ron," said Callame gratefully. "We couldn't have got the Hold back up without you and your wing. I can't think what would have made it collapse like that. The holder's family has lived here for generations, and nothing like this has ever happened before."
Breakfast at Hanrahan Weyr had been interrupted that morning by a distressed fire lizard appearing to deliver a message to Drianne. Drianne had called D'ron over and told him that the Hold where her friend Callame was stationed had collapsed during the night. D'ron immediately called together his wing and they had all gone to help.
When they arrived, people were trying to dig through the rubble, and D'ron was told that the holder's second son was missing. He ordered the people out of the way, then got Jarrath to dig. The boy was recovered safely, and a rider was sent to the Healer Hall to fetch healers for those who had been injured. The weyrfolk and the holders worked hard all day, but were well rewarded when the end of the day came and the Hold stood as strong and proud as the day it was first built.
"I'm just glad we could help out, Callame," D'ron said graciously, and limping slightly more than usual, made his way to Jarrath.
Are you all right, D'ron? he asked anxiously, stretching his neck down to meet his rider.
Just exhausted, D'ron replied. You know I limp more when I'm tired.
"How is everyone at Hanrahan?" Callame asked, pouring him a mug of klah. "I heard that Drianne had a baby; is that true?"
D'ron smiled. "Yes. She and B'kennor have a three Turn old boy named Kennoran, and a new daughter named Riannor, who's only six sevendays old."
"Well, she's been busy!" he laughed. "Has M'kai turned up yet?"
D'ron's face fell. "Not yet," he said quietly. "No one's heard anything from him in three Turns. He's never even seen his son."
"That's so sad, isn't it," Callame said sadly. "I hope little Kirkai gets to meet his father one day."
"So do I, Callame. So do I," D'ron agreed, and handing him back the cup, vaulted to Jarrath's neck. "Thanks for the klah!" he called. "Goodbye!"
"Goodbye!" Callame called, waving, as D'ron gave the signal to lift off and the whole wing sprang aloft and flicked between.
x
"Uncle 'Ron! Uncle 'Ron!"
D'ron smiled when he heard his young nephew calling his name as he spiralled in on Jarrath. Kirkai hadn't mastered the use of rider's names yet, though otherwise he spoke quite clearly. M'kai would have been proud of him, D'ron thought a trifle sadly, scanning the ground for the boy.
As Jarrath backwinged and landed, a small boy came tearing out of the surrounding undergrowth. "Uncle 'Ron!" he shouted happily.
"Kirkai!" D'ron called back, and waved. He threw his leg over Jarrath's neck and slid to the ground, grimacing as his landing jarred his sore leg.
"Are you OK, Uncle 'Ron?" he asked, his green eyes, so much like M'kai's that they tore at D'ron's heart, opening wide. "You don't look like you can walk proper."
"Properly," D'ron corrected, wincing as he tried to put weight on his leg. The short flight had seized up the muscles and made it immovable. "Can you please ask your mother for Uncle 'Ron's walking stick and bring it here for me?"
"OK!" he yelled, and turning tail, fled down the path to the weyr the three of them shared. D'ron leaned against Jarrath and massaged his stiff leg as he waited for Kirkai to return. When he did, Kirsty came with him, a faint shadow of anxiety creasing her brows. Since M'kai had left, she had become very fragile, both physically and emotionally. She looked like the sun could shine through her, and would burst into tears if a leaf fell.
"Are you all right, D'ron?" she asked anxiously, hurrying up and checking him.
"Just my leg playing up again," he said with a quick smile to reassure her. "I worked a little too much today, and it's seized up."
Her frown lessened, but didn't completely disappear. "You shouldn't push yourself so hard," she scolded, giving him his walking stick. "I'll help you down to the weyr, then you can put some numbweed on it."
"Thanks, Kirsty," he said warmly, and gladly took the shoulder she offered. Jarrath crooned at him, and he sent a silent reassurance to the big bronze as he slowly made his way home.
x
"Are Callame and the rest of the Hold all right?" Drianne asked, pouring D'ron a cup of klah.
He took a sip and sighed in contentment, then answered her. "They were all fine when I left. Most of them were bruised or had minor cuts, but there was nothing serious except the holder's son, who broke an arm, but the healer took care of that."
"And how is Callame?" she asked, settling back into the couch. "I haven't seen him since I left the Harper Hall."
"He looked great, considering the fact that the Hold had just collapsed. He recently got espoused, and I met her while I was there," said D'ron, taking another sip. "She seems nice."
Drianne gave him a slightly exasperated look. "And when are you going to find someone nice?" she asked. "You deserve to have a nice girl."
"I'll find someone," he replied, smiling slightly. "Sooner or later." Drianne had trying to set him up with various girls for more than a Turn, but he hadn't met any that he'd really liked.
"Kirkai deserves an aunt to spoil him," she said slyly.
D'ron put the cup down, his face expressionless. "Kirkai also deserves a father," he said flatly, and standing, limped from the room. Drianne bit her lip and wished she hadn't said anything.
x
"Have you read the latest reports, D'ron?" B'kennor asked, waving a sheaf of papers in his direction. "Some holders down on the east coast are complaining that a dragon sank one of their fishing sloops!"
"How could that have happened?" asked D'ron, striding over to take the papers and flick through them.
"They say that a dragon deliberately hit them and caused their ship to capsize," said B'kennor wearily. "I don't know how it could have happened. None of our riders would do anything like that. Nor anyone else's."
"With your permission, I might head over there and see what I can find," said D'ron thoughtfully. "See if any of them can give me a description or something."
"Go ahead," B'kennor said, waving a hand. "There's nothing happening here at the moment. Actually, I might come with you. It's been a while since I found the time for a decent flight, apart from sweepriding. Drianne can handle anything that comes up."
D'ron smiled. "Let's go then!"
x
"So, you're the captain of the ship that sank?" B'kennor asked.
The heavyset man clasped his head and said, "Aye, I'm he. Never heard of a dragon doing anything like that before. Do you know who it was?"
"We're trying to find out, but we need a description of either the dragon or rider," D'ron explained. "Can you help us?"
"Well, I couldn't see the rider too well, 'cause it was getting dark and me eyes don't see as well as they used to, but the dragon was a big bronze, with Thread scars all over his shoulder. Looks like he got hit pretty badly, once upon a time," the captain replied. "Now, my spouse is expecting me for dinner, so I'll take me leave. Hope you find that bilge rat soon."
B'kennor thanked the captain, who nodded and headed back to his hut by the sea, then turned to D'ron. To his surprise, D'ron appeared to be frozen in place. "D'ron?" B'kennor asked, and waved a hand in front of his face. "You OK?"
"Do you realise who that dragon sounded like?" D'ron whispered.
"Who?" B'kennor asked.
"It sounded like Tyrith!" D'ron said in anguish.
"D'ron, it may not be him. Plenty of bronze dragons have been scored on the shoulder. Let's check it out before you jump to the wrong conclusion," B'kennor suggested, squeezing his upper arm in an effort to comfort him.
D'ron sagged. "You're right, B'kennor," he mumbled. "It may not have been him."
x
"It had to have been him," D'ron said, squeezing his eyes shut in despair. "We've checked every Weyr for a Thread-scarred bronze, and no other dragon matches that description."
"The captain said that it was getting dark and that his eyes aren't as good any more," said B'kennor comfortingly. "Maybe he didn't see a bronze at all."
"But the only other three dragons with Thread-scarred shoulders are two greens and a blue, and even in dim light, it would be hard to mistake one of them for a bronze," D'ron said heavily. "If only I could talk to M'kai. Ask him if he knows anything about it."
"Have you asked Jarrath if he can contact Tyrith?" B'kennor asked.
D'ron sighed. "Every day," he replied quietly. "And every day the answer is the same. He can sense Tyrith is alive, but he can't tell me where he is."
B'kennor opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was died on his tongue as a terrified scream ripped through the tropical night. His face ashen, D'ron jumped up from his chair. "That was Kirsty!" he said hoarsely, and quickly limped out through the door. B'kennor, his face grim, followed him into a world of fire.
"Kirsty?" D'ron called, trying to peer through the smoke. "Kirsty, where are you?"
"I'm over here, D'ron!" they heard her cry. "By the drumtower!"
D'ron hurried to the drumtower M'kai had set up when the Weyr was first built, and was going so fast he nearly crashed into Kirsty before he saw her. A silent Kirkai was wrapped in a blanket in her arms, his eyes wide with fright.
"Are you both all right? What's happening?" D'ron asked, raising his voice to be heard over the panicked yells now coming from nearby weyrs.
"I woke up and smelt smoke, so I came out to see what was happening," she choked, tears streaming down her face. "I looked back towards our weyr, and saw a dragon in the sky flaming it! I screamed and ran back in for Kirkai, then you arrived."
D'ron put his arms around her and looked up into the sky above their weyr. In the flickering light provided by the flames that were eating away at his home, he clearly saw a Thread-scarred bronze with a rider with long black hair going between, and cried out in dismay.
"What's wrong?" Kirsty asked, immediately alarmed. She twisted in his arms to see what had startled him, but of course, the dragon was gone. "What is it?"
"Nothing," he murmured, shaking his head. He didn't want her to know that her beloved M'kai had been the one to burn down her home and endanger her life and that of her son. The knowledge would probably break her.
I know it sounds completely out of character for M'kai, but it will be explained in future chapters. Promise!