| Sme & Arbegarth |
| Bluerider Sme eyed the Bowl with a jaundiced eye. Still damp from her sojourn into the ocean that day—and why she now was forced to -=between=- when she’d been able to fly before was a mystery—the Rider was in a remarkably good mood. <<We showed th’ merchant ketches who was boss, did we not, matey?>> “Aye to that, Arbegarth,” she replied with a smile. “Your wings catch more wind then their square-rigged souls could even understand. We’ll bring the fear of the Weyr into them, Skipper.” <<Th’ loot wasn’t bad either, mate,>> he reminded her, and her hand went to her neck, where a pierced mark dangled for every ship they’d molested. A second, thicker chain clung close to the curve of her throat, and from its twisted links hung a heavy gold pendant, a quartered circle, with a dark ruby in its center. “True enough,” she answered huskily. “Mark ye the landsmen! And women. They’re all a-twitter about the strangeness of this place. Disoriented, and easy marks. A pity that transport-duty pays so little… Ach, but see that one, another lady with a blue captain. /She’s/ no lubber. Why don’t you hail ‘em and inquire as to their names and port of call?” <<Cap’n Liosliath and his mate, th’ lady Killaria. A ship captain ere they met, true enough, me hearty. They call Ryslen Weyr their base o’ operations.>> “And th’ landlubber lad with the sad eyes?” <<Green Gebrochenth’s rider, Fi’elt. He’d be a likely mark—he was Heir to a Hold once, matey. But that’s a sweet little bit he’s got as a lifemate, and /I/ say we wait ‘til after she flies.>> “What of the dark lad with a dragon that surely hails from here, and the little lass with the white?” <<Not worth a marred mark, Lady Sme. Shibboleth of th’ Den chose a drudge, M'han, fer a rider—daft, I call it!—an’ white Rutanth’s Kythe is th’ next thing t’ bankrupt. Not a sixty-fourth t’ their name, rider mine.>> Sme sighed and straightened her eyepatch, smoothing the multiple braids of a seawoman over the scarlet band. “One more that I see, Skipper. What of the funny-lookin’ lass with th’ eyes and the white-flecked brown?” <<Califath’s Korim,>> Arbegarth hissed, his hooked tail lashing dangerously. <<They’re tough as wherhide, mate, we don’ wan’ t’ mess wi’ them. I’d ‘ave no a’vantage, and th’ girl’s a drummer. Strong arms on that ‘un, an’ Califath’s a narrow-min’ed, s’spicious wherry if I ever saw ‘un. E’s twice my size, too.>> The broad-winged blue seemed irritated at that. “Ah, well, that’s all right, cap’n. We’ll see if you can catch some of these lissome ladies, and that’ll be loot enough,” Sme soothed, and Arbegarth smiled toothily back at her. |
 |