Tragic Hero

Sep 27, 2011 12:37

In which J'ula, being an expy of Julian without his Mael, tries to explain how someone so wildly unqualified came into power while simultaneously attempting not to downplay the tragedy that has befallen his small domain.


When the news reached them, J'ula hadn't believed it. Some mad hallucination brought on by stress. Or someone teasing the Blue Weyrleader, perhaps, though given the sobreity of most Istans these past few days, that seemed unlikely.

"Twenty Dragons, sir. They say they're from Ista, but not this Ista. The Ista of the Eighth Pass."

"Right. Okay. I'll go see them. Then."

It was much more likely that the dragons were Benden refugees- for whom there was, finally, food enough to share since Tithes had returned to full strength after the first few threadfalls. Or perhaps just completely frazzled, confused locals who had gone and convinced themselves of something mad. It was not, generally speaking, believable when people claimed to be from two hundred or so Turns in the past.

He didn't immediately recognize any of the dragons, but given the fact that he rarely interacted with any but the Leaders of various Weyrs, that wasn't much of a measure. Still, they weren't Istan. He'd been too busy trying to figure out what he was going to do with twenty riders- which wings, which weyrs, what feeding schedule?- to actually ask for names. But, as the riders- far smaller than their beasts- came into view, Tolomarath provided them for him.

[i]The bronze is Xirioth. His rider is K'ye. Their second is green Kerizeth and her Sin'daras. You know, they are of Ista's sands. I can tell. Most dragons can.[/i]

In recent months, J'ula had learned to accept Tolomarath's odd declarations to that effect as legitimate. He had been wrong a few times, but whatever sixth sense enabled him to judge people's honesty, or their worth as candidates for that matter, was usually accurate. But, it couldn't possibly be correct, this time.

There was only one bronze, so that was easy. As for which green was the wingsecond, he'd concern himself with that later. But, a brief, subtle survey of the riders as he approached confused him. There was a young woman, only a Turn or two older than himself. That was hardly worrying, after all, women riders were common enough. Probably half the wing was female. But her shoulderknots were those of a Wingleader, with cords in the same burnished shade as the looming bronze.

There were no female bronzeriders. None. There hadn't been for centuries.

But, being Weyrleader through the last three months- through almost a dozen increasingly disastrous threadfalls- had taught him more about concealing his thoughts and how to properly modulate expression and tone to convey what needed conveyance than his turns in the Harper Hall had ever managed.

He bowed, but only shallowly, to the woman. Whether she was a liar, an imposter, or somehow a well kept secret by some other Weyr, he felt no need to upset her with informality. Likewise, though, he'd had it drilled into him by rote that, until Daraleath rose again, he held the highest rank in the Weyr. He must respect those whose dragons were larger than his own, but need not defer to them. It was a delicate line.

"Lady Rider. I am told you came here by invitation? I am sorry to say, I do not know of this invitation. But Ista Weyr will always extend itself to those who come to us. I am Weyrleader J'ula, of blue Tolomarath." He had flinched, the first three or fours times he'd introduced himself as such. But no more. "And we welcome you to our Weyr."

julian davies

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