Post by Zen on Jun 2, 2020 2:55:22 GMT -5
One week before Culture Shock
“You want me to… spy on Mavros?” Kisoraz glanced between his mother and father, confused.
“We want you to gather information for us, dear heart,” his mother responded, repeating what he’d just been told, “Unfortunately the blue and green riders we’ve sent occasionally as part of our agreement with Mavros have been completely unreliable, though it is of little surprise I suppose. But you… I know we can trust you, my dear, rely on you.”
“And for all our queens and all the clutches you’ve stood for, you’re still without your bronze,” his father spoke then, his tone lacking the warmth of his mother’s voice and making him flinch, “As much as I hate to admit it, perhaps your bronze will not be found on Mirran’s sands. But, that does not mean he will not be of Mirran’s blood. The Weyrleader at Mavros rides a bronze of Mirran lineage. He has sired clutches, including two golds, who will clutch plenty more.”
Isorel stepped forward to lay a hand on her son’s shoulder, “I even cast the dragon bones for you. They pointed to Mavros. Distance or a journey, the sea, sisterhood, destiny, were all represented in the cast.”
“Though I am loath to consider Mavros a ‘sister’ to Mirran,” O’zel interjected with some displeasure, “It is the only other Weyrhold on Pern. Such as it is.”
“My boy,” Isorel ran her fingers through her son’s hair affectionately, “I have no doubt you will find your dragon at Mavros. You are in a perfect position to do as we need. And once your bronze finds you, I know you will rise quickly. With the alliance of Mirran you will be able to raise Mavros out of their struggle and into greatness. But the time to seize the opportunity is growing short. Already Mavros schemes with the Southern Holds.”
“Schemes? What are they planning?” Kisoraz glanced between his parents again, brow furrowed in concern.
“They are attempting to override the decision of the Council of Weyrleaders that was made after Oria’s unfortunate death,” O’zel responded, “By making promises to the Holds so that they try to manipulate their Weyrs into voting Mavros back into the fold. But they rejected Lord Holder rule, as you know, as was part of the agreement for continued assistance. They rejected Yakkidris. And now they offer Lordship to any other Southern son. We cannot allow them to defy the Council.” He stepped closer then, and Isorel stepped aside so Kisoraz could meet his father’s eyes, “So we need someone we can trust to report back to us, so that we can take action to ensure their plans do not come to fruition. Can we trust you, Kisoraz?”
The very idea of his father’s doubt stung, “Of course, father.” The Council hadn’t stated that the new Lord of Mavros needed to be of Mirrish descent, and so it seemed to Kisoraz that choosing to accept a Lord of some other lineage would still fulfill their part of the agreement, but there was more to what they were doing than that. It clearly was not exactly public knowledge or it would be all over Mirran by now, and would certainly be taken as insult after they rejected Mirran’s own Blooded son, who had so graciously offered to take up the mantle at Mavros so soon after disaster had struck the fledgling Weyrhold. Yakkidris would have been walking into a complete mess, but they had spurned him to continue struggling along on their own. There was more to this plan Mavros had, as his father had said, manipulating the other Weyrs through their Holds. “Anything for Mirran.”
His father smiled at him, which wasn’t something he had done a lot of lately. His mother drew him into a hug, “I knew we could count on you, my love. You’ll be leaving at sevenday’s end with several other candidates, part of our trade agreement with Mavros for the shipments of redwood. I know you will make us both proud.”
As she stepped away again, O’zel came forward to draw his son into an embrace as well, which surprised him. But his father’s mouth was at his ear, his voice soft and cold, “If you wish to redeem yourself to me, Kisoraz, you will give me Mavros, one way or another.” He took a step back, his tone more cheerful when he spoke again, “I look forward to hearing from you, my son. I know you’ll put your eye for detail to good use when reporting back to us. No matter what you discover, do not take any action. Leave that to us. You must remain in good standing at Mavros and not allow yourself any chance to be implicated in anything. You must make allies and inspire followers for when your bronze finds you at last. You will need friends and support if you are to rise, and rise quickly. Your only duty is to record your findings and see they reach us.”
Implicated? He had no idea just what his father thought he might do, but it certainly spoke of what the man might be planning, preparing for. Kisoraz didn’t particularly like how it sounded.
“I will send Talen to you on the first day of each month to fetch your report,” his mother spoke up, referring to her brown firelizard, “So have it ready for him then.”
“Yes, mother,” he spoke softly, still considering his father’s words. He had told him to give him Mavros, one way or another, and then in the same breath told him not to take action that could implicate him. Just what did O’zel expect from him, exactly?
“Go then. Prepare and say your goodbyes, decide what you are taking with you,” his father ordered, “And remember that you do this in service to Mirran. You may Impress at Mavros, but you will always be Mirrish.”
It was the most encouraging thing his father had said to him in some time. Whatever his father expected or wanted from him, he couldn't fail. For Mirran.
