[SRP] Victims of Natural Selection (K’ienn/A’myl/drgs)

[Teiha]

[TL;DR: K’ienn and A’myl have a history that almost actually brought out good in K’ienn but then things turned sour. Some expansion on major events in their history such as K’ienn’s father K’voran’s dragon being grounded and A’myl’s reasoning for returning to High Reaches even though he hated it there. K’ienn’s dad is revealed to be the biggest jerkwad ever to live and some details on how this effected K’ienn. Includes a PSA warning that one should never insult Olliah in K’ienn’s presence. Also includes a good display of A’myl’s temper. Shout-out to Weyrlingmaster V’mel.]


A’myl and Viyanakerth
[The present: 3574, age 24]

This certainly wasn’t a task at the top of A’myl’s favorite-things-to-do list, but it was something he’d not be able to avoid for very long. He’d been charged with delivering an envelope of documents to the Trespassers’ Wingleader. Quite an easy thing, but for the fact that—

He froze mid-step at the sounds of a scuffle and then the distinct whap of someone being punched just around the bend. To interfere, or to walk away? He preferred to pick his battles, so it would depend on who, exactly, was scuffling. He took a peek around the corner just in time to see the Wingleader he’d been looking for striding purposefully into the center of the fight and roughly pulling the offenders apart. They were two boys in their teens, and both riders. Green and brown, if A’myl recalled correctly. Those boys always had a bit of an attitude problem, even as newly-minted Wingriders, and in the same wing at that!

The boys backed off as soon as he let go of them, one white as a linen sheet and the other red as a ripe fruit. They’d recognized the man instantly. “S-Sorry,” the red one stammered.

“Idiots. You’re lucky that it wasn’t your own Wingleader who caught you.” K’ienn glared at them both with disgust. “Get out of here, before someone else comes along and sees what crackdusted gasbags High Reaches lets into its fighting wings.”

A little color came back into the pale one’s face. “Does that mean you’re going to let us off with a warning?”

An audible scoff escaped A’myl’s lips. Not likely, he thought.

“Actually, you’ll be held accountable for your asinine behavior. However, I don’t have time to speak with your leader in person at the moment. You have one hour to prepare yourself before the memo reaches his hands.” With that, K’ienn walked out from between them, back on course to his original destination. He rounded the corner and came chest to face with A’myl, pausing with a definite curl in his lip to stare down at the much shorter man. “What are you looking at, A’myl? Peeping at me again?”

The white rider nearly sighed aloud, wishing that just for once he could say what he wanted to say. But, like it or not, he was incontestably outranked. At least he didn’t have to pretend to make nice with Wingleader K’ienn. They’d known each other a long time…


[The past: 3565, age 15]

The small boy had grown much stronger over the past five months, for he often had to carry his dragon everywhere. Vee, on the other hand, had not grown so well. He was underweight and gawky-looking, all straight lines and sharp edges. His little white face was sunken, a heartbreaking semblance of a dried-out runnerbeast skull. Yet the eyes that seemed to pop out of their sockets like those of a fish were always a predominant deep blue.

“Sorry, Vee, I have to put you down for a while,” he said, carefully bending so that the white could place all four feet on the ground before he let go. The dragon was very light for his length, but he was heavy enough, and his tail and wings long enough now to make it near impossible to balance while walking. A’myl couldn’t take him very far without needing a rest these days.

I can walk, Viyanakerth assured him. The kitchen isn’t far.

The boy was relieved, but he still feared overexerting his dragon. “Can you eat meat today?”

I would very much like to eat meat today. The white was already moving on down the passage, taking slow, careful steps. Herdbeast. Small, soft, fragrant bites of herdbeast. A tiny trail of glistening wet marked the ground behind the little dragon as he trudged forth. Vee was drooling at the thought of eating solid food. A’myl wanted to shout and dance and cry all at once. But he did none of those things, not wanting to draw any attention. He wanted no interruptions, to get Vee to the kitchen as quickly as possible.


K’ienn and Yisketh
[The past: 3565, age 26]

He wasn’t running, but shards, did he want to. Yisketh’s feelings of bewilderment and desolation buffeted him all around, and he tried to comfort the bronze, but his bonded was just too distressed. Or perhaps it was K’ienn who was too distressed to do any actual comforting. He’d already shaken off his cronies to be alone to deal with this. His strides were coming long and fast, trying to evade the last presence, one he could almost feel closing in behind.

“K’ienn!”

The sound of his own name almost drove him into a sprint, but he clenched his teeth and continued on at the same speed, refusing to make himself a coward. A hand slammed down on his shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh and striking a nerve somewhere inside the joint. He drew in a sharp breath at the sudden pain and ripped the hand away, turning as he shoved it back at its owner.

It was Wingleader K’voran standing there, of course. He didn’t take the hint that his oh-so-friendly touching wasn’t welcome, and reached out to grab K’ienn’s shirt collar with both hands. His face was lit with something that, deep down, made the younger man’s blood run cold. K’voran’s eyes were intense and wide-open, teeth flashing like those of an enraged wher as he spoke. “You just cost yourself a Flight, you strutting wherry c**k!”

“It wasn’t my choice to end it,” he spat back. “And the rank was never a guarantee, anyway.”

“It would have been, if you’d properly dominated that dutiful little goldrider as I told you to.” K’voran snorted, looking K’ienn up and down as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “It should have been effortless. You couldn’t have found a more docile target in the bovine shed. Or is that where you found her in the first place?”

How dare he talk of her like that? Yisketh snarled through their bond. But K’ienn barely heard. His world had turned red in that instant, and he threw himself at his father.


A’myl and Viyanakerth
[The past: 3565, age 15]

The whitepair came upon the scene just as Wingleader K’voran lifted the younger bronze rider and bodily slammed him into the stone wall of the passageway. K’ienn’s eyes rolled back and he slumped, head lolling. K’voran just dropped him, staring down in disgust at his son. “When I take Weyrleader the next time our senior queen rises, don’t expect any favors. You’ll lick my boots along with all those fetid, overreaching holders.”

Having frozen in place at the sight, A’myl abruptly came to life and pulled Viyanakerth back into the passage they’d come from as quickly and quietly as he could. K’voran turned a moment later, but thank the Egg, he hadn’t noticed them, and went off down another path. When the coast was clear, boy and dragon scurried over to the fallen man, both acknowledging what unpleasant things they’d heard of him but agreeing that it was better to do the right thing than nothing at all. K’ienn was in a stupor when A’myl pulled him up from his slouch to sit back against the wall. “I’m ffffffff… fine, Yisk,” the bronzer mumbled.

A’myl could sense Vee cautiously reassuring Yisketh that his rider was indeed fine, if a little dazed. He knelt and attempted to examine the man for injuries. There was no blood, no obvious ridges in his skull that might mean a fracture. That was really all the boy knew to look for. “Hello? K’ienn, right? That’s your name?”

The sound of the boy’s voice seemed to draw the attention of the bronzer, who stared at him silently for a moment. “White rider,” he said.

A’myl glanced at Viyanakerth, whose eyes whirled yellow back at him. Perhaps it would be better to leave sooner than later. But if the bronze rider was badly hurt, they most certainly would be held responsible for deserting him. “Vee, can you get someone from the infirmary to come?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin as K’ienn’s hand shot out and grabbed his forearm. “Don’t,” he said. His grip was weak enough that the boy easily pulled free just by standing up. K’ienn’s eyes followed him, still slightly unfocused, but improving. “What did you hear?”

“N-Nothing.”

The man’s dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me ask you again, A’myl.”

Viyanakerth’s facets flashed white with warning, and the boy suddenly recalled every awful thing he and Vee had suffered at the hands of bullies his own age. It stood to reason that a full-grown bronze rider whose father was a Wingleader would have much more power to hurt them—especially one with such a reputation for intolerance as this.


K’ienn and Yisketh
[The past: 3565, age 26]

K’ienn’s stomach turned as, ears flushed red, the infant white rider stared down at his own feet and repeated back what K’voran had said about Weyrleaders and boot licking holders, word for word. If the boy were to recite it so well before anyone else, the Wingleader could easily be done for. Not that K’ienn cared what happened to K’voran. Whatever loyalty he’d had for his father was long gone. What concerned him was the fact that, heard by the wrong people, K’voran’s words might imply that K’ienn was part of some oppressive scheme.

K’voran had often spoken of his dislike for holders for a long time, but had only seemed to be joking about it until today, when his son did something that was not part of the plan. K’ienn was well aware of Pern’s laws of separation of Weyr and Hold, and the need to keep it that way. He’d certainly enjoyed every opportunity to lean on a holder who was less willing to tithe appropriately, but to literally take control of a hold? High Reaches had enough to worry about without having to fight the rest of the world to keep ill-gotten gain. As such, it was very likely that everything K’voran had said to him minutes before was just words spoken in anger at losing a supporter in his bid for Weyrleader. But words that had been spoken, meant seriously or not, had power to build, or to destroy. And from the mouth of a child who wouldn’t understand the difference, K’voran’s words would certainly destroy.

K’ienn looked at the boy, feeling an unusual twinge of pity for him. A’myl was very young and physically small. He wasn’t a weyrbrat, but was born to a hold, ignorant and innocent of much of the culture he was now a part of. His dragon was all wrong, a sickly white bag of bones born to suffering. It was unfit for this harsh world, and would have been better off left in the shell, to spare everyone else from having to watch it linger so long only to die and tear out the soul of its rider along with it in the end.

But that couldn’t be helped now.

He took the boy by the shoulder and pulled him close. So close that their foreheads were almost touching.

“A’myl… If you ever speak of this incident again… to anyone… I will make you regret it.”  

[Teiha]

K’ienn and Yisketh
[The present: 3574, age 36]

K’ienn hated A’myl’s eyes. Their natural narrowness and sharp corners always made it seem that he was glaring pointedly. But, knowing how exasperatingly sanctimonious the white rider was, he probably was glaring after all.

“I don’t ‘peep,’” the sanctimonious one replied, handing him an envelope. “And if I did, you would be the last person I would care to spy on… Sir.”

The Wingleader held back a snort. There was a time when that statement would have been a blatant lie. He never quite understood the reason for it—maybe a misplaced sense of gratitude or honor of a nonexistent debt—but until just a few turns ago, A’myl had all but idolized him. He’d never defended the infant against the often brutal hazing he got for riding white, nor had he ever encouraged him in any way. In fact, he’d tried to ignore the boy and his dragon right up until they left High Reaches after graduating V’mel’s classes. But children were odd little creatures, interpreting things said and done as they wanted to.

A’myl and Viyanakerth returned to High Reaches some three turns ago with those childish impressions still in tow, and woefully outdated on the events that had taken place during their absence…


[The past: 3571, age 33]

Axantath’s screams and howls still rang in K’ienn’s head. He had been with Yisketh during that moment, urging him on in chasing Fianth, when his father’s bronze shattered in midair, wingbones snapping, sails stretching to their limits and bursting to shreds with the force of his movements. Worse yet than the dragon’s cries were those of his father; inhuman bellowing, no words, just animalistic articulations of ultimate terror. K’voran had been in a frenzy, believing that Axantath was falling to his death. It was fortunate that other dragons were spectating nearby and were able to catch him, but it had been a very, very close save.

K’voran was ruined, in more ways than one, by the grounding of his dragon. And his own son was among those who rejoiced.

---

In the silence that followed the calamity of Axantath’s grounding, K’ienn was loathe to leave Yisketh’s side, or even to break physical contact with him. Like many other riders that day, he was suddenly acutely aware and thankful beyond all else that he still had his dragon, and that Yisketh was whole. At the same time, both mourned the lost opportunity to reconnect with their former mates. Yisketh had done well, but failed to catch Fianth in the end. K’ienn knew that even if he had succeeded, nothing would have come of it, except perhaps a few stolen moments with Olliah, swept up in their dragons’ emotions.

An utterly empty prize that would only be won in vain. He pressed his forehead against Yisketh’s shoulder and sighed, letting his own shoulders sag. The one good thing left in his world, and she was out of reach.

They might have stayed that way forever but for the flapping of wings and the rustling of claws and tail as an uninvited dragon touched down on their ledge. As it was, the bronze rider barely had the wherewithal to even look to see who had intruded upon them.


A’myl and Viyanakerth
[The past: 3571, age 21]

Their arrival had been largely unnoticed. Everyone was so quiet, even their new Wingleader seemed unwilling to talk beyond the necessary interview questions. They’d gotten the news from A’myl’s bronze-riding brother shortly after handing off their transfer papers. Ay’ril was hesitant to speak of what had happened, as if doing so would cause another victim to be claimed. Flights happened nearly every day; Axantath’s and K’voran’s misfortune could happen to anyone.

K’ienn wasn’t the first person A’myl wanted to check up on after seeing his brother, but he still ranked fairly high on the list. He knew the bronzer would be taking this hard. K’voran wasn’t a kind man by any stretch of the imagination, but he was still K’ienn’s father. The white rider had just spent the last several turns at home with his own father, a Healer; how would he feel if his father suddenly lost the use of his hands? It would be just as terrible, maybe even worse, for a Wingleader who lost his wings.

Vee’s pale talons lightly scraped upon the ledge where Yisketh lay, his dark-haired rider sitting on the bronze’s forearm and leaning against his shoulder. At the sound, K’ienn turned just enough to see who had come. His brow furrowed at the sight of the white dragon and his rider. It seemed he, like everyone else, had not expected they would ever show their faces at High Reaches again.


K’ienn and Yisketh
[The past: 3571, age 33]

The infant had become a man in those turns spent away. A compact, well-dressed man whose keen eyes reflected a supercilious sort of dignity that instantly galled the bronzer. And his dragon, defying expectation, was a long, sleek little tunnelsnake of a white, actually capable of carrying his rider now. They’d barely been able to get airborne last he’d seen them, fleeing the stone spires of High Reaches as if their arses were on fire almost the same instant V’mel finally let them graduate.

The white rider approached, bending slightly with his hands on his knees like some attentive wetnurse. “K’ienn, how are you? Do you need anything? Or Yisketh?”

What he needed was to be left alone. K’ienn resisted the urge to snap off the peevish response, irritated by the patronizing way A’myl leaned over him. He settled for a silent glare, trying to work out what, exactly, the other man’s angle was. A person didn’t just return to a place he hated, and that wholeheartedly hated him back, without some kind of angle. And yet the white rider appeared to be in earnest, as the bright-eyed little wherrychild he’d been not so long ago.

“Can I get you anything?” he said, as if he thought K’ienn hadn’t heard the first time.

It seemed to the bronze rider that a little test was in order to see just how earnest the infant was. Under the right circumstances, a pocket patsy white rider could be useful. “A cup of klah.”

“All right.”

To his surprise, A’myl instantly went back to his dragon and took off for the kitchen.


A’myl and Viyanakerth
[The past: 3571, age 21]

K’ienn hadn’t been happy to see him. Of that much A’myl was certain. But he had intruded upon what seemed to be a private time of mourning. Perhaps the bronzer was being kind and humoring him by sending him for klah. Except K’ienn wasn’t the type to be kind. Not really, anyway.

Why the white rider felt any sort of kin to the man was a bit of a mystery, even to A’myl. He already had an older bronze-riding brother. He had a loving father. He had… whatever V’mel was. Something like an uncle who spoke bluntly and worked only through tough love. Something in the vicinity of love. Something that lived several houses down and occasionally looked at love with a grunt and a shake of the head.

He had known, even when he was that boy with the sickly white dragon, that K’ienn was biased toward high-ranking dragons and that he said and did some hurtful things to many riders of lesser colors, either personally or through his followers. But, for some reason, though they suffered much torment through other sources, A’myl and Viyanakerth had gone untouched by K’ienn’s hand, and were apparently off-limits to any of his lackeys.

He thought about it as they flew across the bowl, as he collected the hot klah, and as he carried it on foot back through the inner corridors of the Weyr. Yes, there was gratitude for the immunity, but also something more. Had they somehow breached an invisible line, one that would allow them to change the bigoted bronze rider? How many green and blue riders might they spare his particular brand of bullying, if they could get through to him? Could the changes go even further, spreading to others? Would more white riders come to High Reaches if people were more willing to accept them as functional members of the Weyr? He’d already had his own reasons for returning to High Reaches, but suddenly a sense of duty on a wholly different level began creeping in through the threads of speculation.

We should do it, Vee said. I always wanted to remain here, where I was shelled. No one should ever be forced to leave their own hatching grounds just to feel safe to live day to day.

A’myl smiled at his dragon’s vehement observation. He, too, had been forced from his “hatching grounds” at Fort Hold when he unexpectedly Impressed Vee. He’d been a visitor to the Weyr, only meant to be there a few days. Those days turned into two turns of painful trials, until he was released to go back home, taking his white dragon with him. But “home” was different for Viyanakerth. Even without Thread to burn, dragons’ instincts to be part of a fighting wing were strong. A’myl understood that now, and that knowledge had been a large part of their decision to return to High Reaches, now that the man’s need to see his Harper apprenticeship to completion was satisfied.

Their minds were made up as A’myl passed through K’ienn’s weyr, returning to the ledge where he’d left the man and his bronze just minutes before.


K’ienn and Yisketh
[The past: 3571, age 33]

A’myl came back by way of the tunnels, carefully carrying a steaming mug of klah. His white returned by air a few moments later, landing near Yisketh’s head and settling down with a cordial disposition. Yisketh didn’t exactly welcome him, but K’ienn could feel the bronze’s relief at having a friendly face nearby. He almost wished it were that easy for himself. He took the klah as it was offered, but neglected any sort of thanks, as well as eye contact. A’myl seemed to wait for a beat, like all good little boys did, for approval. When he realized it wasn’t forthcoming, the whiterider gave K’ienn a long look, then stepped back.

That’s right, white rider. Know your place.

Yisketh tilted his head, a questioning thought gently prodding at his rider’s mind. Must we be harsh with these ones?

Yes, Yisketh. We can’t afford exceptions. High Reaches becomes a little more like Western with each compromise that is made.

The dragon was saddened by his response, but did understand, to a degree. A bronze through and through, Yisketh naturally knew his proper place among the ranks, though he didn’t enjoy the posturing and occasionally forcing others back to order. What he truly wanted was to protect and lead the lesser dragons as a benevolent shepherd, and receive their affection in return.

But the state of High Reaches’ political underbelly, and his rider’s involvement in it, did not allow for such sanguine fantasies.  

[Teiha]

A’myl and Viyanakerth
[The present: 3574, age 24]

“Well, what is this?” The Trespassers’ Wingleader held up the envelope, flapping it to capture the other’s attention. “Is it urgent? Speak up, white rider. You’re wasting my time.”

Yours and mine both, A’myl thought bitterly. “Threadfall reports,” he said aloud. “The winds have shifted. We’re expecting heavy gusts during Fall tomorrow. All Wingleaders were to be supplied with the details immediately.”

“Is that so? In that case, I’d wager you were born under the Red Star, A’myl.” At the white rider’s questioning look, K’ienn barked out a derisive laugh. “In my experience, bad things always seem to come hand in hand with your presence. You’re my own personal black feline, walking back and forth across my path.”

“Any road traveled is traveled both ways.”

“Cute. Very cute, A’myl.” K’ienn crossed his arms and raised both eyebrows in a disdainful look. “Name one incident where I have personally harmed you, and I will freely and extravagantly apologize to you before our Weyrwoman and Weyrleader.”

Many sour memories came to mind in the face of that promise, and A’myl was suddenly very eager to cash in on it. But the eagerness quickly gave way to frustration as he mentally rifled through their past interactions. K’ienn had threatened him, yes. He’d indirectly blocked his progress, yes. But genuine harm? For the first time, A’myl actually found himself wishing he had pushed the arrogant bronzer past his limits that day…


[The past: 3571, age 21]

A’myl stood idly by while K’ienn sipped his klah, offering companionable silence. That silence went on long enough for him to begin to wonder if he’d missed some sort of dismissal. Once the thought occurred to him, he wondered if he should leave, but he stubbornly remained planted there until K’ienn finally spoke.

“You can stop feeling sorry for me. I don’t care that my father is permanently grounded.”

“You don’t?” The words came out before A’myl could stop them, he was so surprised.

“I don’t.” Staring distantly at nothing in particular, he raised a palm and ran it down the hide of Yisketh’s leg. “To him, I wasn’t a son. I was just another loyal cur waiting under his table for scraps. A cur who happened to be more useful than others because he rode bronze.”

“But Axantath… he’ll never fly again.”

“Do you hear any keening? He lives, and that’s more than K’voran deserves. He brought this on himself.”

“K’ienn, he’s your father.”

The bronzer’s look was sharp and immediate. “And what are you, my mother? Blood means nothing here, holdspawn. I had no parents, unless you want to count the nameless wetnurse who fed me as a babe in the creche, or the slime-encased tunnelsnake who fostered me for a few turns before I realized he was just using me. Fortunately I was old enough then to separate myself from him.” K’ienn was quiet for a moment, then snorted and shook his head at a sudden realization. “…Only to go on to be used by K’voran instead.”

This was certainly a bit more than A’myl had expected to get out of K’ienn. It made him feel a bit embarrassed, as if he’d accidentally walked in on someone using the necessary. But it was a little too late to back out, now. “I’m sorry,” felt stupid and inadequate, even as the phrase left his lips. Yet he meant it. He couldn’t imagine what an empty world it would be without his own family.

“Stop apologizing, deadglow.” K’ienn rolled his eyes. “He was never a father to me. Maybe he was my hero at one time, but once I knew better, I wasn’t satisfied playing second fiddle to his designs. I decided I would serve my home Weyr as best I could, by my own strength, and Yisketh’s. We decided together that one day we would make Weyrleader. And that’s when I became a threat to K’voran.”


K’ienn and Yisketh
[The past: 3571, age 33]

It was strange how, once he’d started talking, K’ienn found it hard to stop. There was a lot that he had never candidly spoken of to another. Judging by the sudden sensation of weightlessness on his shoulders, it seemed to be doing him some good to get it out. But why, on the whole of Pern, it had to be this irritating white rider he aired his dirty laundry to… well, that answer eluded him. Perhaps it was because A’myl genuinely seemed to care. But that was so like something out of a hackneyed harper’s tale. More likely, he thought, was the fact that a white rider posed little to no danger in the grand scheme of things.

“So…” A’myl began in a cautious tone. “Since it’s pretty much a moot point now that he’s grounded, it can’t hurt to ask: What, exactly, was K’voran trying to do? I know he wanted to be Weyrleader, but what was so important about today’s flight?”

Well, that ruined it. K’ienn had been feeling rather generous toward the white rider and might have given him a straight answer—that is, right up until he mentioned Fianth’s flight. “You just said yourself that it was moot, so clearly there’s no reason to waste words on it.” He gave A’myl a sideward glance, one that was beginning to border on contemptuous. “I wouldn’t expect an ignorant holdchild to understand the minutiae of Weyr leadership, anyway.”

The whiterider’s ears flushed an indignant pink, but, fortunately for him, he held back his initial response. With measured calm, he said, “You can feel free to think I’m a bit hidebound because of my birthplace, but don’t assume I’m ignorant. I got double the weyrling training most riders here did. That’s twice the amount of classroom instruction on High Reaches history and politics. I also did my own research on the Weyr while I was at home.” He paused for breath, self-consciously cupping one reddened ear. The bronze rider didn’t care to respond, so A’myl took it upon himself to continue. “K’voran was planning something. Why else would he push his dragon so hard during the flight? It had to be something very important to him for him to risk—“

And K’ienn’s hand clamped firmly about his neck, startling him to silence, but not cutting off his air. The bronzer stared him down, a bright, dangerous light in his dark eyes.

Viyanakerth’s wings unfurled with a snap, and he looked back and forth between A’myl and Yisketh with worried yellow-orange glances. Yisketh was equally upset, both at the topic and at the way his rider was reacting. I don’t think he meant any harm, he hastily rumbled. He doesn’t know what K’voran did today.

K’ienn’s insides wrenched with the memory of it: K’voran had been truly incensed by his loss of the Weyrleadership flight a few turns before, and by K’ienn’s independence and determination to beat him to the prize. So, naturally, his continuing plan of action was one that would include hurting his son as much as possible on the way to his goal.

”Fianth is rising, and I will be the one to take the Weyrwoman Second tonight.” K’voran sneered as Axantath roared and took wing, joining the mob that rose after the golden dragon. “I will make good use of what you lost, K’ienn. I will make her eat from my hand like the obliging little bovine she is until the day I lead her to surpass her senior, and I take leadership of this Weyr!”

K’ienn’s fingers flexed against A’myl’s skin, giving emphasis to the words he spoke. “You get one warning, white rider. Speak another word about today’s flight, and you’ll be eating your own teeth.” And this time, he meant to follow through on his threat. A’myl no longer had the amnesty he’d been granted before because of his tender age and sick dragon. There would be no guilt in making him lament his decision to return to High Reaches, where a white rider would always be insignificant.


A’myl and Viyanakerth
[The past: 3571, age 21]

The angry red in A’myl’s ears had spread across his face, but he stayed remarkably composed, even with K’ienn’s hand wrapped around his throat. He had learned well, in the two turns he’d trained at High Reaches, that the best defense against unpleasant attention was to remain passive. “All right. I won’t, then.”

K’ienn stared at him a moment more, then shoved him away, turning back to his dragon. “Yisketh, tell the runt to take his rider and get off of my ledge.”

Eyes whirling full yellow, Yisketh turned to Viyanakerth. Take him and go.

The beat before the bronze complied with his rider’s command was slight, but Vee was certain he’d hesitated. The white tried to sense what Yisketh really thought of all this, but the much larger dragon had closed the door to his mind. He reached out to A’myl, not wanting to give up just yet. I don’t believe we are done here. They still need us.

But A’myl’s temper was wrestling full bore against its restraints, reluctant to accept the gentle, soothing strokes of the white dragon’s thoughts. He looked up at the sky, one side of his mouth opening up into what almost could have been a lopsided smile, if it hadn’t occurred jointly with the rolling of his eyes. “You know what? You are really something, K’ienn. I’ve always respected you. I’ve never spoken out against your actions and have done everything you ever told me to do. And today, I came all the way up here—by choice—to support you while you dealt with your problems.” He turned his exasperated, red-faced gaze upon the bronze rider. “What makes you so high and mighty? Your dragon? He’s meant to be a leader. But you? You just sit on his back from time to time. You’re no different than any other rider.”

The keen light returned to K’ienn’s eyes as A’myl spoke. Slowly, with the deliberate movements of a stalking feline, he rose from his seat on Yisketh’s forearm and moved to stand in front of the white rider, looming over him.

As they stared at each other in silence, A’myl became aware of the whistling of wind through the stone tunnels, and the breeze tugging at their clothes and hair. And he wondered if perhaps he’d gone too far.

“Dragons follow the rules nature has set before them,” K’ienn said, his tone deceptively light. “The strong are above the weak, simply because they are strong.” He gestured with one hand toward the two dragons that raptly watched them. “A bronze will always be stronger than a white.” He then laid that hand upon his own chest. “I am a bronze, and you, A’myl, are a white. You should get used to delivering klah to everyone else around here, because that is all you will ever be good for.”

A’myl hated the taunting smile on the bronze rider’s face. K’ienn was daring him to disagree, or to swing a fist. And how he wished he could. Instead, he stepped back, taking a deep breath and forcibly tearing his thoughts away from such foolish reactions.

“Viyanakerth and I will take a cue from you, O most glorious bronze rider.” A’myl spread his arms and dipped his torso in a mocking bow. “We will prove ourselves, and show everyone that we are just as worthy of our rider’s knot, if not moreso, than men who get automatic praise for the color of someone else’s skin.”


K’ienn and Yisketh
[The present: 3574, age 36]

The corner of K’ienn’s lips tightened in a faint sneer. Such a sanctimonious little man, making grandiose vows that had no basis in harsh reality. Oh, they’d certainly worked hard the past few turns as promised, but High Reaches Weyr was no hold-classroom where children were rewarded for effort without any actual accomplishment. In the end, A’myl and his white had gone on to do merely as well as a middling greenpair during Threadfall. What worth did that give them? What did they change?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The white was still an inferior little runt, and, judging by the envelope K’ienn held in his hand, his rider was still nothing but a delivery boy.


Pathetic.