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Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 26th June 2019

Characters: R'fal, Lorican, Hallad
Description: R'fal comes across the burned out smithy on a sweepride
Location: Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 11, day 4 of Turn 9
Notes: Where: SWE (Rocky Bay Hold)
Mentioned: Lusilk (not by name)

The brown dragon soared high over the ocean, catching one of the air
currents that lifted them up above the steep coastal cliffs east of the
Weyr. R'fal leaned in close, feeling his stomach drop as Marlath
slightly misjudged the wind and descended, beating his wings rapidly to
regain height.

}:Sorry!:{

**It's all right. Better it happens now than in drills, eh?** Or Fall,
R'fal thought. It was the first time they'd been assigned this coastal
route on their own, and the tricky currents were good practice for the
young pair.

He glanced up, narrowing his eyes to slits as he tried to judge the
angle of the sun. They had been flying for several hours out from the
Weyr. It wouldn't be long before they reached the limit of their
sweepride and turned inland for the return journey. R'fal recalled the
map, now rolled up inside his jacket. **There's a large holding ahead
here, Rocky Bay, then we go on another few miles and turn around at the
big headland.**

}:There is a bay coming up.:{ Up ahead, the small white dots of sails
could be seen against the blue-green waves. Fishing craft; there would
be a harbour not far off. Marlath's wings pumped, gaining height as they
passed over the high cliffs and the sea hold became visible, nestled in
the cove.

**Look at that!** R'fal peered down at the settlement below them,
pushing up his goggles to get a better view. Though the main building
and the harbour seemed ordinary enough, one of the outbuildings was a
smoking ruin of charred timber and tumbled stones. He could just about
make out small figures poking through the debris, perhaps searching for
anything they could salvage. Even if they hadn't put out the message
flag, it would have been his duty to land anyway, to find out what had
happened there and if they needed assistance.

Marlath circled, dropping speed and height, and saw a clear place to
land on the beach not far from the water's edge. Once his rider had
dismounted, he waded into the surf with a gusty sigh of relief.

**Don't get your straps wet,** R'fal warned him. **We have a long flight
back.**

}:I just want to bathe my feet.:{

**All right, but be careful.** He smiled, sharing in the dragon's
pleasure at the feel of the cool water and the wet sand between his
claws, and started to walk up the beach to the stone ramp leading to the
docks.

When he got closer to the burned-out building, he realised what it had
been - a smithy. The anvil still stood undamaged in the midst of the
debris, and he could see two young lads with apprentice knots sorting
through the rubble while an old man with thinning white hair examined
the twisted remnant of a metal implement. The scent of charred wood, hot
metal and stone dust mingled with the sharp salt of the sea breeze, and
fine, white ashy flakes swirled in the air.

"Good day, Master," he said politely, recognising the older man's knots.
"Marlath and I saw the damage here from the sky."

"Aye, there was a fire last night, and a flamethrower tank caught
light," the smith replied wearily, putting the metal tongs he'd been
holding aside and picking up a hammer with a blackened handle. "The
explosion near blew the roof off. I've worked in this smithy for
forty-three Turns. Built the forge with my own hands, 'longside my old
Master. Now look at it. All my Records, decades of work gone up in smoke."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. Perhaps you can show your apprentices how
to build a new forge in its place."

"I'm too old for that," the man grumbled, but he did glance over at the
two young men with a speculative look.

"Do you know how it started?" R'fal asked. "Was anyone hurt?"

"My journeyman. He was inside at the time. He's alive, but he was burned
and he has..." The master hesitated. "Other injuries. From what I've
heard, anyway. I'm not going to go telling on what I haven't seen.
Perhaps you'd better talk to the healer. He was saying he was going to
ask the Weyr for assistance."

"I see." He recalled the message flag. "Well, I'll report it to my
wingleader, and if there's anything you need, just send word."

"It'll be a while before we even know what needs doing," the smith said
gloomily. "But thank you."

R'fal gave the man his best sympathetic grimace and turned to head on up
to the main hold. Marlath's landing must have been seen, because a man
with journeyman healer's knots had already emerged from the building and
came to meet him halfway.

"Thank you for stopping, brownrider."

"R'fal, of brown Marlath." He couldn't quite suppress the hint of pride
in his voice at being able to introduce himself that way, though he
tried to keep his tone casual. "How can we help?"

"Hallad, journeyman healer at Rocky Bay. I've got an injured man - well,
you saw the smithy," the healer explained as they walked back to the
hold. "His back is burned and he's got bruising and a - ah, cuts, which
I can treat, but I'm worried about his throat and lungs. There were
agenothree fumes in the air and he breathed them in." He stopped to hold
open the door for R'fal. "I thought perhaps the Weyr might be able to
help. The healers there will have experience with agenothree injuries,
I'd imagine."

"Of course. I can go back to the Weyr, bring a healer." R'fal hesitated
in the doorway. "It'd only be a few minutes."

"Well." Hallad glanced around and beckoned him inside. "It's a little
more complicated than that. You see," he went on, lowering his voice,
"the Sea Holder is rather irate. Though we do have supplies of nails and
hooks and such in our stores, it'll set us back not to have a working
smithy. He's not happy with my patient, though I don't think the fire
was his fault. Not entirely..."

R'fal blinked. "What do you mean?"

"There are his other injuries. He has two knife wounds, one shallow, one
deep. And an older one on his arm that he didn't choose to tell me about."

"Did he say what happened?"

"From what I can make out, he says it was chance. A thief broke in to
the smithy, thinking it was empty, and attacked him, then started the
fire." Hallad sighed. "Journeyman Lorican's a fine man. Hard working,
never been in any trouble that I've heard. But I think it would be good
for him to get away from the Sea Hold for now."

"You mean you want me to take him back to the Weyr?" R'fal frowned,
thinking. "Well, I can rig the riding straps to carry a stretcher, if
you've got one. But it's a long flight back without going /between/, and
if he's got a deep wound..."

"Yes, I don't think he should go /between/ if we can help it. I know
it's not ideal." Hallad chewed his lip. "But I'd just...I've got a
feeling I'm a little out of my depth. Medically and otherwise."

"Oh." The young rider's eyes widened slightly. He wondered whether he'd
be doing the right thing by bringing the smith to the Weyr if there was
some mystery around his predicament, and for a moment he wished he had
an older wingmate to advise him. But it was his duty to offer aid to
holders in trouble, and he'd heard of sweepriders bringing in injured
folk before. "If you think it's best, Journeyman, then Marlath and I
will be happy to help."

***

R'fal tugged on the extra straps, checking once again that they were
secure. He'd last practised this months ago in weyrling training, and
the last thing he wanted was to lose his passenger mid-flight.

"We'll attach it here, under Marlath's neck," he explained to the two
apprentices carrying the stretcher, the healer and the dark-haired man
who lay in it, looking up at the dragon with an expression that might
have been pain or a determinedly brave face. "He'll support it in flight
with his forelimbs. If you're sure, Journeyman..."

"I'm sure," Lorican replied, his voice throaty with the smoke. His
cheeks were slightly flushed with the heat. The healer had dug out some
slightly musty furs to protect him against the chill of the long flight
and tucked them close around him, and his back had been slathered with
fresh numbweed salve. The herbal scent of it was making him feel a
little light-headed. "Thank you, again..."

"Have you flown on a dragon before?" R'fal asked as he clipped on the
straps, rechecking each one as he did so.

"Yes, I have. A few months ago." Lorican forebore to mention that it had
been a few minutes' gentle gliding and he'd thrown up afterwards. That,
he hoped, had been the head injury and not an innate aversion to
dragonflight.

"Good. We'll take the shortest line, straight out over the sea rather
than following the coast, but I still think it'll be an hour at least,
perhaps two." The brownrider smiled encouragingly. "Don't worry. Marlath
will take good care of you."

"Lorican, I can give you a drop of fellis in water, if you'd like,"
Hallad offered. He didn't envy the smith the prospect of the long flight
ahead of him. "It'll relax you, at least. Most likely you'll sleep."

Lorican was tempted, but he shook his head. He had a feeling that once
he got to the Weyr, he'd need his wits about him. "Thank you, though."

"Well. Sooner we get going, sooner we're there." R'fal tugged at the
last strap once again. "Shout if you need help. Marlath will hear you."
Though that could be tricky if they were over open water. He could
always jump /between/ in an emergency, though.

Hallad raised a hand in farewell and backed away as R'fal mounted. The
stretcher swayed as the brown rose to his hind legs, and Lorican
suddenly wished with all his heart that he'd stayed in bed in the sea
hold. Whatever the danger, at least he'd been on firm ground. The
dragonrider had seemed awfully young, not much more than a boy.

But it was too late to object now. The forelimbs came up to cradle the
stretcher, gleaming talons encircling him with surprising gentleness.
Then, with a lurch, the dragon leapt into the air, and he squeezed his
eyes shut, his heart pounding in his chest. Wind whipped at his hair and
stung the small burns on his cheeks, chilly even through the furs. He
could almost feel the yawning, empty air below him.

**I'm safe. He won't let me fall,** he repeated to himself. **Only a few
hours. Back to the Weyr. Then I'll be safe. She won't find me. Once I
get there. He won't let me fall...**

Last updated on the August 13th 2019

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