Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr
At the heart of this oblong cavern is its meeting table: a long hardwood oval with a mirror's dark shine, High Reaches' sigil picked out in lapis and onyx at its center. Twenty chairs surround it, each softened by an embroidered cushion that's just a little too stiff for complete comfort -- meetings need to be kept short, after all -- with the chair at the table's head, facing the ledge, being somewhat larger than the rest.
Interspersed between glowsconces upon the smooth walls, ancient tapestries depict the territories High Reaches protects in a particularly pastoral fashion, all fluffy clouds and fluffier llamas, or else fishing crafts sailing merrily out to sea. Among them is also a natural alcove, its several wooden shelves primarily stocking fine wines and liquors as well as the glasses to serve them, though the lower shelves also hold whatever hidework requires particularly frequent attention.
A narrow wooden door leads to the Records room, while the tunnel that extends to the weyrleaders' ledge is wide enough for three men to walk abreast, with just enough kink in it to block the wind.
It's Y'rel who's asked for the meeting, and it's Y'rel who's here first, pacing the room, brow knit, lips occasionally miming some word or other as he rehearses all the arguments he's prepared for the acting weyrleader. Kavith is less concerned by this whole affair, happily stretched out after the morning's unscheduled sweeps, feeling the afternoon sun that is almost foretelling spring.
There have been no drills for Taiga, today, and K'del has not been assigned a sweep - but Cadejoth shares his enjoyment of the afternoon sun as he hurtles over the rim, back into the bowl, his chains rattling in the breeze that has swept free his cobwebs. For Kavith, he has a wordless apology: they'll be there soon. The skies were just... it was... well. And so it is that K'del arrives, a few minutes late and with wind-chapped cheeks, his hair tousled. "Y'rel," he greets, stripping off his riding jacket. "Sorry. We needed to get out. What's up?"
Kavith completely understands. He was well pleased for an unexpected trip, and although he won't leave his resting place just now, he might not even have objected to staying out longer, in the moment. « There is sun, Cadejoth. » An invitation to settle with him, once the riders are squared away. "K'del," Y'rel answers, without even a twitch of a smile. Maybe he didn't notice the way their names sound alike. "I'm glad you're here." Now goes unsaid, if heavily implied. "I believe we need to discuss Nabol."
« Sun, » repeats Cadejoth, approvingly. Sun-means-spring-and-spring-means-warm; it's enough to send even a usually-active dragon out towards the other dragon, to stretch himself out and soak it in. « Thank you, Kavith. » "Nabol," repeats K'del, with a sigh. "Reckon I need a drink for that. Something for you?" He's already headed to the trolley, pouring himself a measure of amber liquor.
« I wish I could make sun, » sounds like it's connected to the conversation. For Kavith, it probably is. "No." The other bronzerider's offer shot down, Y'rel does at least head toward the table, to stand, and make a show of waiting, behind the chair he intends to take. He waits for K'del to be on his way back to say, "We did a fly-over again today."
That refusal does not go unnoticed, but K'del's careful to keep his expression neutral as he sets the bottle back down and then returns to the table, his drink in hand. He sits, tidying up some of the papers left on the table as he does so, his head tilted carefully to the side as he considers the other rider. "And? Say what it is you want to say, Y'rel. I'm listening." « I wish I could make sun and wind and all the best things, » decides Cadejoth. « I would make it always right. »
Listening seems to be what the man was waiting for. Y'rel pulls the chair out, sits in it, and leans forward. "The snows are already beginning to melt, K'del. Rone has had these men sitting out all winter. Do you expect he will leave them sitting come spring? Because we do not. My wing," sounds official, "does not." « That's better than always making it rain. »
"No," says K'del. "No, that's not what I expect. If you've a suggestion, I'm all ears. One way or another..." Something has to give. Has to happen. His expression is serious: he may not have taken action, yet, but it's obvious that the Acting Weyrleader is concerned about that army, sitting out there in the middle of Nabolese territory, ready to do... who knows what. « Why would I make it rain? Unless I wanted to fly in the rain. For the challenge. »
Y'rel leans back in his chair, flicking his fingertips at some perceived dust on the table, and then inspecting his fingernails, all while pretending to think. "Scatter them. Seize their leader." Dark eyes flick up to the acting weyrleader. "We have dragons. I doubt they have anything to match that. And I'm sure we'd have support of the other Holds. The ones who don't have a fighting force at their fingertips." Flick. « I'm glad you wouldn't. » That was a real concern for a minute.
In lieu of immediate answer, K'del lifts his glass to his lips, tasting the amber liquid and letting it slide around his mouth for several seconds before he swallows. "Releasing a hoard of underfed young men, eager for action, into the area. Can well imagine those who haven't already fled will be well pleased with that." And, a moment later: "Not to say that it shouldn't be dealt with. But smacking down a camp of conscripts does not actually solve the issue of Rone." « I am not silly. I would not use my power for ill. »
"It does if we can find him." Y'rel leans forward, and lays both hands, palms down, on the table. The right one lifts and smacks down first. Emphasis. "Busy his guard and get hold of him." Then, the left. "Use some of our air power to round up those who might otherwise cause trouble." And now, his hands come together, and fingers steeple. "Once we've got him, I can think of many ways that we might solve that issue. And we can control the rest, more so if we've help." Kavith tries to tilt his head, but barely can, he's so comfortable. Cadejoth just gets a sidelong look then. « Good. Otherwise I'd have to take it away. »
"And if Rone is not actually in the camp when we make this move?" K'del asks the question slowly, though there's enough of a nod to his head to suggest he's not dismissing the idea altogether. "Suppose it's more difficult for him to do anything, if his army is in disarray. Are you advocating assassination of the claimant?" That does leave K'del sounding dubious - or is it just cautious? He's frowning, just faintly. « You would take power from me? » K'del isn't the only one that is dubious. « I don't think so. » This Weyr? This is Cadejoth's Weyr. All powers belong to him.
Y'rel shrugs, steeple falling, and then it's just his hands clasped on the table. "I think there's a lot a man can't answer for once he's dead. And there's a lot of people who are going to be wanting his answers. Now, after all that..." The bronzerider's head tilts, almost apathetic to the outcome. "And there are ways of knowing where a man is at. We wouldn't have to go in tomorrow. But letting them march might not prove our point so well. What is it we'd be objecting to then?" « Only if your head got too big, » Kavith promises. « Not if you were making sun. But too much rain... Pop. »
K'del's mouth thins, a hard line that says a lot about his thoughts: he's not altogether comfortable with this. "I would prefer," he says, "for the man to be captured. Let the Holder Conclave decide his fate. It is... politically preferable for us not to have had a hand in his death, though it is just that we protect our borders by preventing his army from moving." It's a decision - firm, and abruptly more certain. "How many wings do you think?" If Cadejoth's conscious of the rather dreary subjects being discussed inside, he shows no sign of it. « Pop, » he considers. « Well. If you had such a power, » which he doubts very much, « I suppose that would be reasonable. But you don't. »
« I do too, » Kavith answers, his voice dreamlike. Suuuun. « It's just resting. » Y'rel sits quiet for a time, pondering. "It would take less than one, to set them stampeding, if done properly. But if a dragon is what frightens you, can a dragon then bring you in? Or will we need to rely on external assistance? If we can read the terrain, at least guess where they'd go..." There's something livelier to his face as he talks. Action. Finally. "I'd want our own men for finding Rone, of course."
« Mmm, » says Cadejoth, which isn't really agreement. It's... well. He's resting, too. Even his tailtip has stopped twitching, and that almost never happens. "We could put dragonriders on the ground," supposes K'del, thinking out loud. "Surrounding the area, as it were. Your wing in the air, and others to corral from the ground." He's not pleased, but there's nonetheless something faintly approving for Y'rel's liveliness-- if cautiously so. "Of course. It would be your operation."
"Good." And there Y'rel has said exactly what he means. "Although that does leave the question of Rone. If Alpine's scattering, who goes after him? If we're trusting his guards to react to the chaos, then it would be better to do it when he's out with his men. One of my wing might do best. We know each other, and I have riders I'd trust with both tasks." The bronzerider forces calm into his words as he goes, and by the end, is watching K'del attentively.
K'del opens his mouth: he's obviously thinking hard, even as he's trying to put words together. "If you've people you trust," he says, finally. "Just... be careful. I'd like to see final plans before anything goes ahead. If that's reasonable?"
"Of course," Y'rel assures, with a certain military crispness, even if he's not called K'del 'sir' or anything. What was attentiveness turns to consideration, the darker man's eyes narrowing. "You're planning to stay out of this, then? Or are you going to take a part?"
Dropping his gaze towards his glass, K'del considers, very carefully. "I'm in a difficult position, of course," he says. "Politically. Getting involved in these things. Which is not to say that I'd want to wash my hands of the whole thing and pretend I didn't know. It's an authorised operation. Also don't want to step on your toes."
Y'rel gives him all the time he needs to do so. And watches him all throughout. "Authorised and uninvolved," he sums up, his mouth twisting to one side, and his head tilting that same way. "Huh." On the ledge, Kavith lifts an eyelid that had fallen. « Can you make fog, Cadejoth? »
That 'huh' makes the corner of K'del's mouth twitch, as though he finds that terribly amusing for some reason. "That about sums it up," he confirms. "Of course, we will be available as backup, should it become necessary. On standby, if you like, pending F'manis' approval. If that's acceptable?" Cadejoth's stillness almost suggests outright sleep, but then he rattles a lazy chain; little more than a twitch. « Why should I want to? » No.
« Just thought it might come in handy, » Kavith answers, and closes his eye again. "I'm not going to argue, if that's how you want it. You're acting weyrleader, K'del." Y'rel awards him a broad grin, and pushes his chair back. "We've got a decent idea of Rone's movements. I'll be in touch."
"So I am," says K'del, as if it's news to him, though he's clearly not serious. "Well. We'll proceed upon that basis for now." His head inclines forward: a short, sharp nod. "I'll await your further plans. It'll have to be soon." If it worries him, he's not showing it - for now. « Nah, » decides Cadejoth. « Fog is boring. »
And just before his rider steps out onto the ledge, Kavith agrees, « Yeah. But you can hide in it. »
Cadejoth's wide-mouthed yawn is the only answer to that.
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