"Gods, I hate them." Syrj'raenen turned his back upon the closed door, winced in surprise at the way that the echoes deepened and loudened his voice. It wouldn't do to give the Council yet another reason to reject him...

Then it hit him - he hadn't been so loud! someone else - and he spun just in time to see the scaled creature become a tall, slim dark elf... apparently.

Ts'yanos - the word flew unbidden through his mind, and he nodded, recalling the name of the mageling. "I wouldn't shift here, Ts'yan. You're new to the city, but everyone else knows how strict the Council's gotten on shape-changers."

Ts'yanos nodded slowly, but whether in thanks or simply agreement, Syrj couldn't guess. "I know. I hate them. And that gods-cursed diama-morph. Her fault."

"Ttrae'an, yes..." Syrj broke off, shaking his head. "Wait, how'd you know?"

The mage's eyes narrowed. "It's not your place to ask questions, serf."

Syrj frowned, his usual complacence disturbed. "I'm no peasant - my father was Etua'siir-an under the City-Prince. And I'll be a mageling like you... if they ever let me." Not the most imposing of conclusions, he realized - too late.

Ts'yanos shrugged arrogantly, dismissively. "It does not matter. You are not your father, and I still rank you." He seemed, if anything, more intense and concentrated. "I know of Ttrae'an Diama because it serves me to know whatever might help me. I suppose you're going to report me to your much-esteemed Council, now. Perhaps they'd provide training for a kiss-up." His tone was contemptuous; Syrj drew from a strength he hadn't known he had, and stood his ground.

"I'm not traitor to anyone, Ts'yanos Mage-koulor."

Ts'yanos nodded; Syrj guessed this would be all the 'apology' he would receive from the fiercely independent elf. Dark eyes did not flicker, and no expression crossed his face, but Ts'yanos nodded, perhaps approving. "You have chosen well. I could have killed you a dozen different ways before you reached the elders." It could have been hyperbole, but the mageling's voice held no tone of boasting, only fact. Syrj decided that he had best be respected from a distance.

"Come." Ts'yanos strode confidently off, turning back in annoyance when Syrj did not follow. "Tell me, was your mother also incapable of following directions? I doubt it comes from your father."

Syrj chose to ignore the insult. "Go where?"

The other's eyes turned skyward; he sighed heavily in exasperation. "Come. With. Me. You, too, clearly have some reason to dislike the Council of Elders, and I must learn it. And you know something about me that's more important than you could imagine. Now..."

Syrj followed, silently, out of the City.

"Now." Syrj could feel Ts'yanos' eyes locked on him, over the fire he had built. "Tell me why you hate the elders."

Syrj nodded, having learned by now that complience was the best way of dealing with Ts'yanos. "They're hidebound and stubborn. They wouldn't let me become a student of the mages, just because I'm not a third-generation user of magic." He smiled wrily. "I'm sure they would have said the same thing to my grandfather.

"But I hate them because they have pointless prejudices - and because I know they would have accepted me had my parents been more wealthy." He gave Ts'yanos a curious glance; the elf's dark brows were creased with worry or perhaps annoyance. "May I ask more about you?"

Ts'yanos' eyes glinted with fierce amusement. "You may ask. Asking and receiving an answer are two different things."

Syrj bit his lip; he'd fallen right into that. "I see. Will you tell me... about what's so important about your shifting?"

It wasn't what he had meant to say, at all, and he realized at once that it was certainly not wise. Ts'yanos would likely decide he wasn't worthy of an answer, perhaps even... He shuddered, and decided not to think about it.

For once, Ts'yanos seemed not to have noticed Syrj's reaction; he stared into the fire, eyes unwinking. "You have a talent for asking the most direct, the most important questions, elf. If you act this way among your enemies, you could be killed."

Syrj frowned, tired of the fairly steady stream of insults, some subtle, some less so. "Perhaps I'm no diplomat, but..."

Ts'yanos ignored him, and continued speaking. "You asked, and the first thing you need to know to understand my answer is... I'm not elven, not a true shifter. Ttrae'an remains unique."

Syrj's eyes widened with surprise. "Then how..."

"Behold my true form." Ts'yanos' voice was low, rasping, with an odd inflection, as if Mage-speak was not his first language. Indeed, it could not have been, considering the long, scaled body, spiked tail, draconine head and stubby digits of the creature who stood before Syrj.

The young elf rubbed his eyes; Ts'yanos' form did not alter. "And that's your true shape?"

"It is. I'm a hybrid, elven and dragon. Let me say only that my mother had some odd tastes." Ts'yanos did not seem upset or disturbed by his being, his true shape; but then, Syrj couldn't imagine the arrogant, self-possessed... being that was Ts'yanos ever being disturbed by the opinions of others.

A thought struck him, and he blurted out: "If you can conceal or change your form, is your true name also different?"

The dragon-being gave him a considering glance. "Astute of you, Syrj. Ts'yanos is not my true name, but you may call me by it. The dragon-kin may be commanded by their true names; it is our weakness, and a very close-kept secret." Golden eyes locked on Syrj, and he gulped, realizing what Ts'yanos implied. He vowed silently never to do anything that might make the dragon's child his enemy.

Ts'yanos' intense gaze remained upon him. "Do you understand the importance of my parentage, Syrj'raenen?"

He shook his head; he'd never had the chance to learn as much about magic as he would have liked, and couldn't think what powers a hybrid would have. Probably something insanely powerful...

Yes, Syrj. And telepathy is only the beginning. Think, think what else comes with it... Ts'yanos' voice was a knife cutting through his mind; the contact almost hurt. Many of the more sentient animals had the gift of mind-speech, and an occasional mage could even speak back to one of the magical creatures. But... not from an elf...

Oh, but Syrj, I'm so much more than elven. Ts'yanos' amusement grated across his thoughts and he winced briefly. Either the dragon-child did not notice, or simply did not care.

So much more... That would mean... telekinesis.

Yes. But the elders use simple kinesis. Imagine manipulation of things you cannot see. For instance... moving one's very molecules into new patterns.

So that was how Ts'yanos shifted...

And not only alteration, but creation, making something from nothing instead of mere thievery of what already exists... the reptilian hiss continued.

Syrj shook his head slowly, denying it. "You shouldn't have that... According to the Council, not even the oldest of the dragons can..."

According to the Council, I should never have been born. Next stupid stereotype? Ts'yanos' smile was more disconcerting than friendly; Syrj realized that this was probably his intent.

"What do you want?" Syrj demanded, throat dry but still making a point of speaking, though he knew that Ts'yanos' had no need for words. It was, perhaps, one of the few ways he had of expressing freedom from his incredible companion.

Justice, Ts'yanos' hissed silently. Gods, you don't understand. They'd kill me if they knew I existed, just for living. And I'm not the first of my kind - just the wisest. The others are dead. But that won't happen to me. I can over-throw the Council, and with the dragons... bring justice to Kaertel'yn.

Syrj refrained from mentioning that justice had to involve freedom for everyone, and that if all the children of the dragons had been as obsessive, as vengeful, as ruthless as Ts'yanos, perhaps the elven mages had reason to fear them.

And yet... he couldn't oppose Ts'yanos. There was something about the dragon-kin that fascinated him as much as he feared it... perhaps it was that total control, unshakeable confidence that Ts'yanos possessed.

Ts'yanos chuckled dangerously. "You are wise beyond your years, elf. I think that I'll let you stay with me. Perhaps you're good at something."

And so the tension faded; not to complete disappearance, but enough that Syrj could sleep.

Such mundane things had to happen, even when one's companion was Ts'yanos...

Over the weeks, Syrj learned a lot about the 'crimes' of the elven mages... but more about himself. He'd never really thought that he was cut out for adventure, but since meeting Ts'yanos, he'd learned that a lot of life was conform-or-die.

Luckily, he was quite good at conforming. He'd even learned to stick up for himself - for really, though Ts'yanos threatened, he'd yet to hurt Syrj... seriously. Syrj prided himself on this, hoping that it meant that Ts'yanos found him important to his plans.

And the plans themselves? According to Ts'yanos, the dragons would have to be called to help them. Syrj went along with it, mostly because he didn't think even Ts'yanos was telepath enough to contact anybeing so far away.

'It is not wise to doubt," Ts'yanos told him, back in elven form but apparently still able to read his thoughts. "I have called a dragon, and he will come. He must."

Syrj arched an eyebrow. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"You speak too soon," Ts'yanos told him cooly. "Look."

He gestured skywards, and on cue, a blue dragon appeared.

Syrj's jaw dropped, and the dragon-kin laughed, and motioned the hovering dragon to land.

It did so, and observant Syrj quickly noticed the one thing Ts'yanos had not planned; the man, glaring, seated upon the dragon's back.

Ts'yanos, too, had seen, but he only blinked before that unperturbable facade was raised once more. Still, it was comforting to know that Ts'yanos was not infallible.

Laugh later, Ts'yanos hissed viciously into his mind. We will use this blue anyway. And for the sake of the gods, don't ruin in. Dragons can use telepathy, remember!

We certainly can, O one of hidden name, a mental voice - the dragon's - chuckled, audible to both of them. The ridged head lowered to Ts'yanos' level. You need to learn stealth as well as power, dragon-child. If you 'shout' like that, I'm surprised the whole realm can't hear you.

Ts'yanos' eyes narrowed, but he did not turn towards Syrj; the young elf kept silent hoping that Ts'yanos would not realize he too could hear the conversation with the dragon.

More tactful than your friend, I see. Don't worry - for Syrj almost jumped at being addressed - I speak for your hearing alone, Syrj'raenen.

He sighed in relief. Perhaps, but don't let Ts'yanos hear you.

The dragon considered. And why not? There is room for both of you, and your skills. The one you call Ts'yanos needs to get over himself.

Syrj grinned, having by now decided that he liked the blue dragon, who was nothing like the fearsome creature he'd imagined as Ts'yanos' kin. He won't. Somehow, thinking to the blue didn't seem as wrong as telepathy with Ts'yanos.

You are right, Syrj. The voice intensified; it wasn't too hard to guess that the dragon spoke to both of them. I'm not of your Kaertel'yn, but of another, nexus world, a world of dragons. And I've come not to aid your mission of destruction... Ts'yanos - yes, you heard me correctly - but to ask you to stand at the hatching of my mate, to...

"No!" The man who rode the blue dragon stood up in his harness, entering the discussion for the first time. "Scith, you're not going to choose an elf and a... half-blood!" He awarded Syrj and Ts'yanos a glare born of hatred, perhaps fear of them... why?

Calm yourself, J'lenn. I already have. Scith continued, quiet but smug. My Dusky deserves as wide a choice as possible for our - our! - clutch... Perhaps she will like them. 

Ts'yanos regarded the rider coldly. You're worse than the mages, human. Hypocrite, to say that you despise all who are different, when you love her, the vixen Red... His words were little more than a whisper, but cruelly clear; he seemed to take pleasure in each. Either intentionally or instinctively, he was returning to the blood-red scaled skin that was truly his.

"Stop!" Syrj was no telepath, but he could feel the tension, the hatred all around them, and knew that no matter the reason, what Ts'yanos was voicing was cutting J'lenn. "Kkhahrse, stop! He can't help being what he is, you're cruel, you're evil..." He trailed off, the emotions that had possessed him fading as quickly as they had first surged hotly upon him.

Even the air seemed to have been shocked silent.

You can't. Ts'yanos' voice bore no emotion. Gods, you couldn't... How did you know? How did you know! The pitch rose to a level that was painful to Syrj, but he stood his ground, said nothing.

My name, myself, hidden, sacred... He rounded on the silent elf, eyes slitted vertically in distress.

And for once, no threats followed, only a heavy, heated silence of the dragon-child Kkhahrse's desperation.

Syrj didn't remember what had finally broken that tableau, or how, or why Scith had taken them, or what J'lenn had done. In fact, he didn't remember much, from the time that he had spoken Ts'yanos' name, to their arrival at this dragon-nexus, Ryslen.

He did know, however, that a huge black dragoness, Duskannyranwalatath, had lain a clutch of twelve upon the sands of the hatching ground, and that, if she agreed, he and Ts'yanos would stand at the hatching of the clutch, perhaps to find a soul-mate, a bond in one of the dragons, like J'lenn's connection to Scith.

He still felt too numb to care much; while a part of him was vaguely happy at the prospect, another, more logical part whispered that he'd have to stay. Neither he nor Ts'yanos had any future on Kaertel'yn; he'd unwittingly determined that.

He hadn't spoken with Ts'yanos, much, but then, it wasn't necessary. What was there to speak of?

And so, Syrj'raenen could only wait.
 

Syrj' let the wave of people sweep him along to the sands at Dusky's call. He didn't see Ts'yanos until the fifteen candidates stood upon the sands, and for this he was glad. The dragon's child did not look at him, but he could feel Ts'yanos' anger.

But then, Ts'yanos was not the only one who seemed upset; J'lenn seemed no less angry with the clutch, with his dragon, or with the candidates. In particular, a six-winged, finned dragon seemed to annoy him; but by now, J'lenn's dislike for non-traditional people, dragons, or anything else was notorious.

But today... Ts'yanos would not ruin this, nor anyone else.

He turned towards the clutch, noting with surprise that there were thirteen eggs, not twelve. Still... fifteen Candidates.

The first egg hatched a strong brown; Syrj noted with some interest that J'lenn looked proud - that is, before he realized that the dragon's hindquarters and tail were a bright silver. He shouted something angry and somewhat insulting at Scith, before being hushed by Tiyanni, former Weyrwoman, now grandmother to the Weyr.

Seemingly unaware of the commotion he was causing, the brown and silver dragon chose his rider; a winged griff.

The second egg hatched quietly; its inhabitant backed out, displaying similar silver coloring... that lightened to a pale silver on her chest and head. She turned to the planet hopper, Twille, and they named each other.

And next: A cream-silver, cream-purple, another cream-silver who chose the six winged dragon, followed by a red-silver.

The next hatching was another duo-toned silver, but stronger, larger than his sister. He passed by a man who watched him, and came to Syrj'raenen. I am Kelqasuth.

"I know, Kel." Syrj knelt by the silver's side, embracing the almost-white head. He could feel Ts'yanos' anger at his Impression; indeed, the familiar hiss began, even now, in his mind.

How can you deserve this? You, my betrayer... you do not deserve him!

Kelqasuth turned a cool gaze on the antagonist. Let my rider alone, Kkhahrse.

Syrj's eyes went wide for a moment's time; then, he hugged his bond more tightly. Things would change, now.

They remained on the sands; Kelqasuth defiant, Syrj intrigued.

Two purple-silvers, a silver-silver dragoness, and a red-silver dragonet hatched and chose their bonds... And the last two eggs collided, spilling snarling silvery-red hatchlings onto the sands. One of the pair seemed less inclined to fight; he chose first.

Ts'yanos glared, and exploded, "You could have taken him, Athlukeith!"

It is not the time, and he is not my enemy! Athlukeith roared, and perversely, Ts'yanos began to smile. 

The dragon-kin belong together...

Call it what you will, Athlukeith told him, dismissively. I am your dragon, and you are my rider. More importantly, we are one.

For once, Ts'yanos did not argue.

Ts'yanos was not the most obediant of the weyrling riders, Syrj noted, quietly amused. Kelqasuth, at his side, followed his rider's gaze towards the dragon-kin and his equally obstinate red who stood defiantly apart from the others; elven-formed Ts'yanos with arms crossed and brows lowered angrily, Athlukeith's eyes whirling a brighter red than his hide.

You put it mildly, Syrj, Kelqasuth commented, his tenor voice just below his rider's own. I wonder that the Weyr has not given up on them.

Syrj's lips quirked in a wry smile as he turned to look up at the silver. No, Twilight silver, he corrected himself; J'lenn had named Dusky's offspring thus, and it was appropriate. Their coloring was in between the extremes of Night and Light, and as J'lenn had noted, it rhymed. Besides, their dam was Dusky.

I think that that might have happened without us, without you, dear heart.

Kelqasuth gave him a long glance. It is not fair that you should spend your life as the dragon-child's keeper. He would not refer to Ts'yanos by the name that was familiar to Syrj; he had known the means to control Ts'yanos at hatching, and never let either rider forget what and who the dragon-kin was.

Maybe, Kel. But you would not release him upon the Weyr, upon Pern, either.

The Twilight silver was silent, brooding.

The same could not be said for Athlukeith. Influenced by his bond, he stoof aloof and angry, wings fully extended and fanning violently. He could fly, and fly well, though few, and likely not D'lrik, knew.

Ts'yanos leaned against the Twilight red's side, in complete accord. They hold us back, Athlukeith.

But we could break free, the red whispered into his rider's mind. There's no reason to stay here; I can fly, and I know how to go between.

Ts'yanos' lips curved into a smile. We think alike. He twisted at something that flickered and glimmered, and tossed a fold of... air... over himself. A tug on the edges, and it extended to shield Athlukeith from sight.

Let us go.

A quiet breeze slipped out of the Weyrbowl, unnoticed.

Ts'yanos lay, elven-formed, along his bond's back, invisible to the unsuspecting weyrfolk, but very real to Athlukeith.

He drew a slim, long-fingered hand through the air, and was rewarded with the weight of leather and steel in his palm. So all the magics worked, even here. And yet all the people, too dense to realize the power that lay all around...

He buckled the harness onto Athlukeith's shoulders, and the red stood still, aiding the operation. A final click, and he turned a whirling eye upon his rider. To where do we go?

And Ts'yanos replied quickly: Kaertel'yn.

The word had meaning for two other riders in Ryslen, and both heard it. Syrj's eyes went wide; he spun, searching for Ts'yanos. Kelqasuth bugled, his cool facade down; and flaired his wings, defensive of his rider.

In another part of the weyr, a brown dragon repeated Kelqasuth's call; his rider vaulted swiftly to his side and they took off.

Athlukeith smirked, and spread his wings, ready for flight. As you wish. Kaertel'yn.

Stop! A roar cut through their conversation, and Athlukeith whirled upon his hind legs. The magic cloaking them came down, and the young red stilled, staring up at the Night brown dragon who had halted them.

Ts'yanos frowned, angry that a mere rider had dared to stop them... And yet... a human would not suspect, if he remained elven. "Let us go. You could not understand our business."

The brown's rider's shrugged, face covered by a riding mask and unreadable. "Perhaps. But I think that I, as a child of Kaertel'yn, would understand better than many."

Athlukeith hissed, but fell silent at Ts'yanos' command. "Who are you, brownrider, that you know of my planet?"

In reply, the rider tore away the mask, and Ts'yanos found himself regarding a tawny-haired elven... woman, perhaps some five years older than Syrj. She laughed at his expression, and draped an arm affectionately around the Night brown's shoulder. "Didn't you know that women could ride browns?"

Her dragon rumbled something, and she nodded slowly. "You may well be right, Yedouraith. And, Ts'yanos, if you're still uncertain of my identity, they call me -"

"Ttrae'an," he completed, bitterly. "And you ruined my life, you know."

She shrugged. "I'm sure you could have done it on your own. Besides, it's not my fault that Syrj'raenen caught you."

He stared at her, but she seemed certain in what she said. "How do you know all this?"

Ttrae'an raised an eyebrow. "And you think I wouldn't be curious about the first people to come from my planet since my Impression? It's been just Damari and I for quite a while."

"Damari?"

"He Impressed clouded Light green Elcayleth some Turns before my arrival on Pern. He currently rides for Abri, as do I."

"And would he..."

"Help you? I doubt it. He's Weyrhealer, and Elcayleth would never fight. But Yedouraith and I will."

They may not be on our side, Athlukeith reminded him, and Ts'yanos nodded, aware.

But she has the power, and...

And you hated her for years, the red dragon pointed out.

"And you would rather sulk here than reclaim our world?" Ttrae'an asked bluntly. He glared at her, and she smiled slightly. "You think too loudly, redrider."

It does not matter. These Weyrfolk do not matter. She knew too much already; this breach of his disguise would make no difference. Besides, he was far more comfortable in his true form. Without looking at Athlukeith, he slipped down and resumed his own shape; a forelegged creature with wings, short tail and blood-red scales.

He intended to impose, but Ttrae'an did not appear fazed. She too jumped down from her larger dragon's back. "Ts'yanos, I've learned a lot: about you, about what's happening in Kaertel'yn. I cannot agree with your means, but the rebellion is right. It is time for a new age." She looked directly into his slitted eyes. "And Ts'yanos, I do not know your name. I wish to be collegue, not enemy." She extended a slim brown hand.

After a long, long moment, shorter clawed digits covered it.

"Now. We'll need someone to help, and I know just the one." Ttrae'an turned from Ts'yanos to speak with her brown, and Ts'yanos immediately sent a thought-tendril into her mind.

The result was astounding. Yedouraith screamed angrily, rearing from his placid state onto his hind feet. Athlukeith responded in kind, forelegs beating at air. Ttrae'an watched for a moment, smiling slightly, and put a hand on her bond, causing the Night brown to return to all fours.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Ts'yanos. If we're a team, you need to trust me... or you'll end up killing me." She regarded him, green eyes quiet but intense.

Athlukeith rumbled rebelliously. We do not need her, and we do not need her to bring others who will interfere!

The older dragon gave the Twilight weyrling a quelling gaze. You may not think you need us, but you cannot deny Ttrae'an an I the right to fight. Your rider is concerned with himself and his goals; he forgets that the people of Kaertel'yn may be just as eager to take up the fight. And we will stand for them. We need not fight against you, if we fight for the same thing.

"Thank you, Ye'," Ttrae'an commented quietly, then turned back to Ts'yanos. "The one I spoke of would greatly help us. He would not care for our cause; he and his bronze were born to battle."

"A mercenary, then."

She smiled wrily. "You could say that. But you, if you seek dominion over Kaertel'yn, are hardly in a position to call names."

I speak as I wish, diama, and no one has dared to stop me, Ts'yanos reminded. But if this warrior would aid the cause, until I can sway the people of Kaertel'yn...

I have spoken with his bond, Yedouraith informed him quietly. Daekoran and Va'ara come.

"He's gone." Syrj slumped against his silver's side, feeling weak, and angry at himself because he had not stopped Ts'yanos.

Yes. But Kelqasuth did not sound reproachful. You could have done nothing, Syrj; do not blame yourself.

"He's on Kaertel'yn now, I'm sure. We could have followed." Syrj spoke almost to himself.

No, we could not! Kelqasuth whipped around with uncharacteristic anger. I will not risk you between before we are ready, simply because that red was foolish enough to do so!

Syrj sighed, his grey eyes clouded with worry. I know you're right, Kel, but...

There is no 'but', the Twilight silver told him firmly. Athlukeith is not as skilled as he thinks himself. We will wait until the Weyrlingmaster pronounces us ready... and then, then we shall find them. He listened to something inaudible to his rider; then turned back, opalescent eyes greeny blue with amusement. Besides... you recall Ttrae'an?

Syrj frowned, confused. What's she got to do with it?

Kelqasuth chuckled. She Impressed here, some years ago, to the Night brown Yedouraith. Apparently, the Kaertelese bond well with the dragons of Ryslen. But she and Yedouraith are with him... and they're on our side.

"So you're unwelcome on your world, too. And you battle." Edging up to the point was not Ts'yanos' style. Now, he leaned, a tall, dark-haired elf, against Athlukeith's side, his arms folded and gaze challenging.

The being he watched, with red-black, white-scared skin and dragon wings, nodded slowly. "You could say that. Va'ara and I would have been thrown off my world... for fighting too well." He did not seem to care one way or another, but the little ruby flitter - his tchirr, Kovaora - tightened her grip on his arm, hissing in pleased remembrance. Above them, the huge bronze-black licked his lips with a forked tongue.

And Satan's Calling, my companion, is silent death. The black, winged ligon queen stretched languidly in acknowledgement of Va'ara's introduction, but steel-silver claws as long as Ts'yanos' palm were unsheathed, needle-like. She paced restlessly, red gaze turning from Daekoran, to his bronze beast, to Ttrae'an and her Yedouraith. To Ts'yanos.

They shall fight well, Athlukeith commented unexpectedly. Ttrae'an was right. Perhaps we can trust her.

Kovaora trilled in contemptuous laughter, though Dae's face was stoic, as ever. ~Condenscending-Arrogant-Self-important~ she reported, and he nodded once again. You are right, Kao. But all he wants is a mercenary... and we can do that. He turned towards Ts'yanos. "Are we satisfactory?"

Ts'yanos bared his teeth in what could have been menace, could have been a smile. "Yes... I think that you'll do."

Daekoran gave him an intense look. "I'm honored, my lord."

Now, if Ttrae'an hadn't said he was Dyusundel, I'd think that was sarcasm. But Athlukeith too looked reflective. I like them. He's like... us.

That, my red, remains to be seen.

Ryslen