Talis Weyr Final Frenzy

Rakkal / R'kal

If he was going to be part of this absurd plot against Lord Holder Wesk, he had to look the part. He was young then, well, younger since he wasn't exactly 'old' yet either. But Rakkal was tall and lean, dark and moody. Wesk looked for traitors among his cronies, but he'd never suspect that there were fewer friends than foes there. Of course, that was like him. Ignorant, arrogant man.

Rakkal had gotten involved by accident at first. He was just traveling with his uncle and aunt from one Hold to another to settle business arrangements. But he was young and bored, at thirteen he was not young enough to be completely innocent of the politics of any given place, but too young to know how to avoid them.

Wesk was not a good man. He was generous - but only because he knew that the people he paid off would then feel obliged to do things for him later. He was gregarious, always appearing in public and with a charming smile to boot. And that, Rekkal could see immediately, was because he was terrified of being alone with anyone lest he be murdered. No one in their right mind would try killing him in public, right?

That was four years ago. The situation had gotten worse with Wesk essentially having bodyguards around him at all times. And so now, it was time for Rekkal to subvert even that privacy. He'd already told the group he worked with that he would not murder the man, and he would not be present for it either. He recognized how dangerous this all was, and they would all be implicated if word got out it was them. But he did have a smart head on his narrow shoulders. If half the Hold was implicated for the plot against Wesk, no one of them could possibly be pointed at to be made an example of.

At least, that was how he thought of it. So Rekkal put on a blank look, and set up a meeting with the men who led Wesk's bodyguard services. He gave all the right answers to their questions, showed proficiency at the spear and crossbow, and was quite excellent at hand to hand battle as well. Thus... Rekkal was let onto the body guarding team. He had to very carefully send information to the workers who were leading this little rebellion, where they'd be and when. How many guards there were in all, that sort of thing.

He enjoyed most of the work, because simply put he had nothing better to do. His aunt and uncle had long since finished up their business over the years, and he was old enough to take care of himself anyway. They never asked where he'd gone, though he was pretty sure that if they knew they might cheer him on.

This went on for two months, before the rebels decided they'd gotten enough information. Wesk would be attending yet another social function, a gather which had runner races ending their seasonal circuit. His preference for a particular wine would also play into this - information gathered from one of the young women he'd chosen to bed while his wife was off visiting a cousin somewhere. They would bring this wine to him, make sure that he drank from at least one of the bottles - mostly to lull him into believing that it was safe - and then put the rest into his cellar with a poison that would kill him over the next few weeks.

Rekkal actually thought it was a clever plot. He wasn't certain how many others might get hurt in the process, since plenty of people milled about in his home - once more padding the probabilities.

Rekkal knew which bottles were laced with poison, and which were safe. He and another of the bodyguards went to help put it away, and while the other man went back upstairs, Rekkal summoned the one drudge that was on their roster. They established a way of moving the bottles around with their labels facing a certain way, so she knew which glasses would be tainted. For a week no effects could be seen, but after that... No one else was having vomiting fits after dinner, no one but Wesk.

By that time of course, Wesk had apparently forgotten where he'd gotten any given cask or bottle, and he didn't drink this wine exclusively. He accused his hunter of poisoning him, which was ironic since that man was one of the few left loyal to him. When it was clear that there was no turning back, no amount of purging could save him, yet he continued to drink and dine almost as though nothing was wrong, Rekkal decided it was time to leave things be and get out. He had someone pen a letter urging him to come back to his home Hold to celebrate the wedding of one of his relatives, and thus... his stint with these people was done.

Safely out of the Hold for the time being, since he couldn't be risked being seen - he was very distinctive, after all - Rekkal took his things and went wandering. He did keep an ear open for word about Wesk - which came another two weeks later. He'd finally died, all but skeletal since he could keep no food down no matter how much he ate. Not many grieved, Rekkal heard as well. But Rekkal didn't really feel like heading back into the Hold, liking being under the stars and free to roam. His role in the death of a sad, angry man had been played well, though he felt a tinge of guilt at having been involved at all.

Not much though.

He wouldn't want to do it again, though - no thank you. The first days of infiltration were nervous, and it was a good thing that he could attribute that to new-job jitters. He did kind of like the chameleon aspect of himself, he was able to put on a show and pretend even above and beyond that nervousness. He didn't forget his role, ever. He just had to be careful and pick his loyalties carefully. That much, he knew.

Rekkal had learned much in the time that he'd spent in and around that Hold. Mostly about what sort of people lived in them, what they liked in general, when things got rolling and when they were sedate. Gathers were far more fun when you didn't have to keep looking out for enemies! And it was at a gather that Rekkal was approached by a round faced man who bore riding gear and a high rank marker.

His stomach dropped, and he almost turned to run - surely this rider was here to arrest him... He was one of the few recognizable people who'd suddenly vanished just before Wesk had died! They had to have connected the two...

"Hey there, my dragon says you've got a good smell - do you mind if I ask you to come to see him? He'd like to meet you."

"Your dragon... wants to meet me?" That was the weirdest arrest line he'd ever heard. He couldn't just up and run, that would look even worse than if he cooperated. So he went, looking as surprised as he felt.

Even more so when the bronze dragon the man rode turned his long face toward him and gave a warm snort of air at him.

"Hahah, he says he was right, you're the one we're looking for!" H'aeny said, and though he was smiling cheerfully Rekkal was positive that was it - he was doomed to prison or worse. "You've got what it takes to stand for a dragon! You're searched, sir, congratulations!"

All the blood drained from Rekkal's face. It returned a moment later, causing him to sway a bit. "W...what?" He barely grunted out. That was ... not at all what he expected.

"You've been searched. I'm an official search rider for Dragonhope," H'aeny flipped his riding jacket's insignia, sure enough that was the mark of a searcher... Not of a justice, not a harper, or a bounty hunter...

Rekkal leaned back on the pillar nearest him, which supported a tall pole strung with lights. He began to laugh, a relieved chuckle at first and then a hearty guffaw. "Well then... that's ... good! That's great! So I'm to stand ..." he chuckled at it again, it was madness, "I'm to stand for a dragon!"

"That is usually what it means, yes," H'aeny said patiently. He had been doing this a while, now, and was used to a wide variety of responses. "Do you have any family to notify?"

"No, no. Everything I have is on my runner there, you can barely see him with the white face there." H'aeny looked and spotted it, sturdy beast, and nodded.

"Well I'm going to be here until evening. We'll be leaving back to the Weyr at sundown, from here. The dragon flats will be where we and anyone else that's been searched will meet up."

Rekkal nodded, enthusiastically shook the man's hand, and stood in dumbfounded awe. He'd been searched. Him. Master of subversion and plotting, what dragon in the world would want him?

Well, there was only one way to find out. He knew that not everyone who was Searched eventually impressed. Perhaps it was just a mistake to lull him into distraction.

Now there - he was thinking like Wesk. He hadn't been the one to even give him a drink. Yes, yes, he'd set things up - but... Wesk was not a good man by anyone's judgement, and it was only a matter of time before someone killed him. He hoped that he shared an equal part of guilt spread around numerous people. He never wanted to think that he had no role in it. That would be foolish too. He was neither extreme, he was an accomplice and nothing more, nothing less.

An accomplice to murder, who'd plotted for four years with rebels, a spy, an enabler to poison... Sure. Whatever dragon there was that needed him was going to get some baggage as well.

Before sundown, Rekkal decided that he'd just sell the runner, keeping the marks for later if he needed to buy a new one somewhere. If he didn't impress, and he was growing more certain he would not, he'd need to have transportation. But he guessed rightly that a runner would not be having the best of times being held in the paws of a dragon on a trip up into the northern icy peaks!

He lugged his saddle pack and other bags to the dragon flats, and felt as though the dragons all had their eyes fixed on him. There were three, the bronze that H'aeny rode, and two blues.

Your guilt will not interfere with any impression bespoke the bronze, and startled Rekkal. You are conflicted, it would be bad if you felt proud, or felt nothing at all. I would not have searched you out, if you were anything less than you are.

Rekkal's mind reeled. The dragon could sense his thoughts? And more, pass some kind of judgement on them? But ... before he blurted out something stupid, Rekkal realized that the dragon spoke only truth. Rekkal wasn't a murderer, no, and he probably wound up doing the world at least a little bit of good in the process.

It had turned out that Wesk had been stealing tithing money - mostly to buy people off and hire bodyguards. It was all a circle, Rekkal thought, as they headed into the skies. He clung on to H'aeny's hips, riding a dragon wasn't quite the same as a runner, but he got used to it quickly. Perhaps some day he would tell someone about his role, perhaps not.

Maybe his dragon would do it for him, if they seemed half as wise and chatty as this one...

Every few days, Rekkal would get a fit of paranoia. But they didn't last long, he kept reminding himself that it was that kind of thinking that led to Wesk's death anyway. Imagined attacks, unseen foes... It was ridiculous. No one had ever even tried to attack him until they succeeded! So Rekkal tried to concentrate on his studies. He liked the hard work of balancing and picking up firestone sacks, the regimented formation marching to get used to where each member of a wing would be.

Rekkal thoroughly enjoyed the presence of some of the weyrling trainers, they seemed to put him at ease. They knew that discipline was key to concentration, and concentration was key to managing a dragon of any size.

But Rekkal continued to be plagued, if not constantly, by his guilt.

This lasted until he was sent to stand at Talis Weyr, which for all intents and purposes was shutting down right when they had a tremendous number of eggs on their sands! Rekkal pushed things out of his mind, concentrated only on the heat of the sands, the smell of the ... well, he guessed it was egg goo - and laughed at how awful he thought it smelled.

A beautiful bronze stood among his siblings, shaking off sand and eggshell before begining to fan his wings dry. It looked like he was already muscular, but he was careful stepping through the mess of shells and other dragons. He was wobbly, but that wasn't because he was unsure of where he needed to step - it was because he'd never stepped before.

Come to me, then, come to me and tell me why you feel bad about yourself, and I will tell you why you are not bad. If you were... I would not come to you, my one.

The voice was so much clearer than H'aeny's dragon, piercing, strong, but peaceful to a strange extent. Hungry, hot, a bit addled. Rekkal moved one of the other candidates aside gently, and put out his hand toward this bronze. "Eudinth," he said, "I know what I need to do... first we have to get you fed."

And then, he thought, I need to get this off my chest.

They trained for a time at Talis, but shortly they really did need to shuffle the new riders and dragons out. Dragonhope would be his home for the future, and it was there that R'kal made his decision to talk to the Weyrleader about his past. He didn't think that starting smaller - say with H'aeny even though he Searched him, or G'ir one of the trainers... because it would just add to the trail of people who might start saying things about him behind his back. Better to put it to the top and let that man decide what happened next.

He easily got an audience, after all the newest bronze riders would likely be training with his - or more, competing with him for breeding rights later in their lives. With immense respect and care, R'kal sat before the Weyrleader, and couldn't think of how to start to say what he needed to.

S'xon leaned his head down, blinked his green-yellow eyes at the younger man and said, "do you even have any idea how many people I've killed?"

Which took R'kal aback. Literally, he sat back and blinked furiously until he could think straight. "... Sir?"

"You heard me. I've been in charge of this Weyr for decades. Do you think that this has been unchallenged? I've had idiot riders, lords and craft masters all try and get me and my wife out of this place so they could put their own puppets in instead." S'xon stood up, he was so very tall, R'kal felt suddenly like a child beside him. "My wife and I ... won't give up our Weyr."

He nodded toward the tall, inset window in the chamber's wall. It overlooked not just the lower part of the Weyr, but the greater hold below that was in turn just over the water of a chilly bay. R'kal stood tall as he could, but noticed with a strange feeling in his gut, that he barely came to S'xon's shoulder. The elder rider's black hair had yellow tips, as his wife's was blond with black tips. He wondered absently if that was some bizarre sign of ... what, togetherness or just a freak match? S'xon spoke again, and once more startled him by saying, "that's not even counting the number of people who've died flying for me, boy," he said carefully, "but I've killed dozens, with my own hands. Your plot and subterfuge is of no notice to the dragons, so it's of no notice to me or anyone else here. So clear it from your head. You'll need that space for worrying about your fellow wing men, right?"

R'kal nodded, gulped, blinked and generally stammered a bit. "Yes, yes sir. But... I haven't even said anything, how--"

"R'kal, like many of my family, before and after me, I have gifts that are not even of this world." S'xon said. "You might find me chatting with a tall blue fellow, not a dragon, boy, a blue man. Or a woman with fur and stripes like a tiger; or a white-haired pale skinned man on an equally pale silver-white dragon; or an even taller and darker version of a man that looks surprisingly like me. None of them are of this world, yet ... we are, we had been anyway. I'm the only one who stayed." S'xon drew in a breath, leaned on the wall and gazed solidly out at the horizon. "I am not what I have seemed to be, nor has my wife, for many years. We both have special gifts, gifts that allow us to understand the ways of this and many other universes. Our children bear these things out - master crafters and healers, riders and all. We go between and we feel the dead souls resting there... Speak to them, even."

R'kal thought for a moment, "And so... you ... can read my mind, then?"

"I didn't say that exactly, but yes," S'xon said. It dawned on R'kal that he meant, he'd gone between and spoke to Wesk?

"Why tell me that, why not... I don't know, let me pour my heart out? I ... I thought that's what I needed to do."

"You did," S'xon. "You've been doing so for months. Your heart has been aching, and believe me, I know that ache - but I cannot let it bother me, and as I said, I've physically put to death quite some many people in my years as a rider and before." S'xon angled his head a little and caught R'kal's eye. "Don't you think I've needed to pour my own heart out?"

R'kal hadn't really even given that a thought until it was said. Between them, they both felt a bit better. R'kal vowed to do his best, and S'xon put him at least temporarily on his own wing, Tariqa Raja, to make sure that his confidence grew stronger, instead of weaker.