Emergency Services (1/4)

Writers: Aaron, Estelle
Date Posted: 30th March 2019

Characters: Brennault, Lorican
Description: Brennault discovers an injured man on a run
Location: Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 9, day 21 of Turn 9

Brennault

***

Brennault jogged down the road from the weyr toward the waystation,
enjoying the rush of endorphins and the wind in his hair. There was that
one solitary tree with the low-hanging branch. That one clump of brush
that looked like a wherry with its head under water...

Things were starting to become ordinary on this route. It always
happened one way or another. And it was usually at that point that most
runners went on a long cross-country route. But Brennault found that he
did not care for the idea of being gone from the weyr for months.

You know, he thought to himself, you won't be an apprentice forever.
Someday soon, they're going to start expecting you to help with
coordinating route schedules and logs and tracking payments, and you'll
have even less time to run for months at a time with nowhere else to be.

That day was far off, really. He had only just gotten the weyr home base
assignment. But then again, his father was the nearest stationmaster,
and Cerault expected more from him.

Well, he would just have to –

"Whoa!"

Brennault leaped as he nearly tripped over an arm laying on the road.

An *arm*!?

He stopped running in a circle to slow down, pacing to let his heart
slow. There. The arm was attached to someone lying in the tall grass.
Doing his best to keep his head above his heart, Brennault knelt down
and shook the someone by the shoulder and said, "Are you alright?"

The owner of the arm let out a low, dazed groan at his touch. He was
lying face down, but the edge of a nasty bruise and some dried blood
were just visible on the side of the forehead, half-hidden by dark hair
that escaped from under a cap. He was dressed simply, for travelling,
but didn't appear to have any belongings with him other than a belt
pouch, and there was a bare patch on the shoulder where knots would
usually be worn.

Brennault stood again – not too quickly – and glanced about for anyone
who might be lying in wait to do the same to him.

Then he looked back to the poor man lying in the grass.

"Can you speak?" he asked, not wanting to move him if he had a neck
injury. "What happened?" It was probably a good idea to keep him awake
if he could, too.

The man murmured something inaudible and raised his head slightly,
blinking the road dust out of his eyes. "Don't...remember..." He tried
to shift onto his side and hissed in pain.

Brennault hissed a curse barely soft enough to be considered under his
breath. He looked about again, not wanting to take his eyes off of the
surroundings for long enough for someone to sneak up on him.

And now he knew he was going to get himself a firelizard the moment he
could afford one. The universe was practically screaming at him that he
needed one at this point.

"Alright, listen. We're about twenty minutes away from the waystation.
Maybe fifteen if I really pick up the pace. But I don't want to just
leave you here if there are highwaymen about. If I throw you over my
shoulder, is it going to hurt too much to work?"

Brennault was not actually sure he would be able to carry the man that
far, but he had to try. From the looks of him, whoever did this already
took whatever they wanted, but again, he was not taking chances.

"I think...maybe..." With an effort, the injured traveller managed to
push himself to a sitting position. The whole side of his face was dark
with bruising, the left eye almost swollen shut, and by the stiffness of
his movements the damage extended to the rest of him as well. "If you
help me, I could stand."

Brennault was visibly relieved.

"Good. Alright." He knelt down beside the man and gently tried to help
lift his arm over his head. "Is this going to work, so far so good?" he
asked.

"I'm Brennault, by the way," he introduced himself, hoping to set the
man at ease.

"Lorican. Journeyman in the Smithcraft." The smith tensed, then with
Brennault's help, pushed himself to his feet. He gasped in pain and
leaned heavily on the runner's shoulder, but managed to stay standing.
"Sorry..."

"This isn't your fault," Brennault assured him. "Don't worry," he said,
giving Lorican as much support as he needed. "It might be a little
tough, but we're going to get you help, alright? Ready? Here we go."

"Wait..." Lorican hesitated. "I remember, I had a runnerbeast with me. I
was leading her, and she was carrying my supplies and my tools." He
looked around him with increasing agitation, patting his empty belt
pouch. "Where are my tools?"

A packbeast would be a very useful thing to have just then, but
Brennault could not imagine a world in which the thief had not taken it,
too, along with the tools.

"The brigand didn't beat you senseless just for the thrill of it, I'm
sure," said Brennault. "It's all probably gone, but if we can get the
word out soon with a report of everything you had with you, we might be
able to track some of it down. The beast, at least."

Unless the thief ate it, he supposed.

"Brigand?" The man turned a sickly pale under the bruising as it dawned
on him that he'd been robbed. "My tools! I need them, to practice my
craft. And I had some commissions, too." He closed his eyes and took a
shuddering breath. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to...well. I'm still
breathing. That's something."

"Was there a brigand?" Brennault asked. Lorican probably had a head
injury if there had, indeed, and he could not remember. Or else perhaps
his packbeast spooked and trampled him before running off.

The smith shook his head in frustration as he looked around him for
signs of his possessions. There was little to see. The road was dry and
dusty and held only faint tracks and wheel ruts. "I remember setting out
this morning, with my beast and packs, but then...nothing."

"Well. I'm no healer, but I think that means that bump on your head
there is worse than just a bump," said Brennault. It looked rather
nasty. If the man was out that long, Brennault wondered whether he might
be lucky to be alive. "So that probably means we should keep going and
try not to stop if we can."

He touched the side of his head gingerly and winced. "Yes, you're right.
I feel like I've been hammered out on my own anvil." Leaning on
Brennault for support, he slowly and painfully began to limp along the
road towards the waystation. "You know, if it was brigands, and they
come back...you should leave me. Run for your station and don't look
back. You seem like you could outpace them."

"I'm not going to leave you. But I don't think you have to worry.
They've got what they were after," said Brennault. "I doubt they'll come
back to steal a satchel full of letters."

"So, where is your anvil, anyway?" he asked, trying to keep the man
talking. "Not that I'd expect you to have it with you, I mean." He
chuckled. "What I meant was, where is your forge? Where do you work?"

"I'm based at Rocky Bay Hold. It's a fisher hold about a sevenday's
travel from here, towards Topaz Sea Hold's territory. But I'm on the
road about half the Turn, visiting the small holdings to see if they
need any work done," Lorican explained, his speech halting as he braced
himself for the jolt of each step. "Some of it I can do on site -
shoeing runners, mending pots and pans, that sort of thing. Anything
that needs the forge, I take with me to the Hold and bring it back next
time I visit. I was hoping to get as far as the Weyr this time," he
sighed. "I'd like to see the place, and I have...had...some small pieces
the dragonriders might like. Belt knives, buckles, some jewellery. You
must have been there?"

"The weyr?" asked Brennault. He had been to Rocky Bay, actually, before
he accepted – acquired – the posting at Dolphin Cove. "Yes, I've been
there. I live there, more or less now," he said. "And I've run out to
Topaz before, too, and stopped at Rocky Bay." The long runs, he had only
done a handful of times each. But he had done them. Out as far as
Emerald Falls, even. But nobody had to go so far from their home base
unless they wanted to. Nobody from Brennault's home, anyhow. It was a
months-long commitment.

"We'll get you to the weyr. And your things back if we can manage it."

"I don't know about my things, but if I could get to the Weyr, the trip
wouldn't be a complete failure," the smith said. "I've heard all kinds
of stories, and we get dragonriders visiting at Rocky Bay sometimes, but
I've never talked to one." He tilted his head, curiosity distracting him
from his injuries for the moment. "What's it like to live there? Are
they friendly?"

"I haven't managed to step too hard on anyone's toes yet," said
Brennault. "The folks are kind, and the dragons are lovely. At least,
the ones I'm friends with. It's easier to talk to them if their riders
are around to translate, but they know what you're saying, and there's
always body language," he went on.

"And they like it when you scratch them right here." Brennault
demonstrated with his free hand on his own face in the approximately
analogous location. "Don't worry. We'll get you there."

"You've talked to them - and...scratched them?" Lorican asked, amazed.
"Wouldn't that be a story to tell, back at the Hold. I'm not sure I'd
know what to say to a dragon." He was eager to hear more stories, and
not just because they were a distraction from the pain.

"I mostly just say the same sorts of things I would say to a human,"
said Brennault. "I'm sure they're not all as sweet as the ones I've met,
but so far, I've been very lucky to have them for my friends. One of
them even sang for me once!" he added. "I haven't ever scratched a
human's nose, though, so that's different. I mean. I would if they asked
nicely. But no one's ever asked."

The smith laughed, trying not to do so too heartily as it hurt his
aching ribs. "Tell me some stories about your dragon friends?" He was
aware, too, of the danger a head injury might pose if he drifted off,
and though he wasn't sure why, he knew he should stay awake until he
could get to a healer. If only so the poor runner didn't have to carry him.

"Of course," said Brennault, launching into a story about Marlath taking
him to the fire heights – leaving out the embarrassing bits – and then
of flying with Tsogath, and...

Last updated on the April 4th 2019

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Emergency Services (1/4)