(Morning, Falagand Warren)

     T'rell had just poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot that had been
simmering on the little charcoal grill in his apartment when the summons came
through from Teraichen, Falagand's senior queen dragon.  <My rider wishes to
see you in her office, T'rell.>

     Well, he'd known this little interview was coming, and frankly welcomed
getting it over with.  The timing could have been better, though, and he
decided to take his coffee with him.  This was expensive stuff, and he wasn't
inclined to waste it.  He poured it into the stoneware container that he took
with him on his patrol flights and screwed the top on while he replied to the
queen.

     *You may tell the Warrenlady that I'll be there directly,* he told her.  

     He stood up and stretched, stopping by his mirror to make sure he looked
presentable.  Then he walked out into Flerrion's sleeping chamber - an aptly
named place if ever there was one, since the crimson dragon did little else
there on slow days like this one.

     *Flerrion?  Wake up, buddy!*

     The dragon snorted, then curled up even tighter than he had been before.
T'rell frowned, and used both hands to shove against the dragon's shoulder.
*Come on, pal!  You wouldn't want me to be late to my own execution, would
you?*

     Flerrion let out a deep sigh.  <G'way,> he rumbled sleepily.

     T'rell shook him harder.  *You are, without a doubt, the laziest dragon
in all of Falagand!* he said, becoming exasperated.

     <Mmmm not,> came the slurred reply.  <All dragons'r lazy...>

     T'rell rolled his eyes.  *Truer words were never spoken.  All right,
Flerrion, WAKE UP!!*

    <Huh...what?  OW!> yelped Flerrion, raising his head so abruptly that he
banged it on the shelf where T'rell kept his oil bottles.  One of these,
jarred by the sudden impact, toppled and bounced off the dragon's nose.  He
blinked cross-eyed at his rider.  <What does a dragon have to do to get some
rest around here?>

     *Do some work to make his rider thinks he's earned some rest, for
starters!*  laughed T'rell, taking down the dragon saddle from where it hung
on a nearby peg.  Though he always kidded Flerrion about his indolent ways,
T'rell knew that his dragon wasn't really lazy - he just tended to become
bored easily when there was nothing happening to require his attention.  But
when there was work to be done, the big crimson beast was as industrious as
any dragon T'rell had ever seen.  And few dragons could boast that they had
flamed more wraiths than he had.

     <So where are we going?> Flerrion asked as T'rell fastened the straps of
his saddle.

     *If you'd been awake, you'd know,* he replied.  *I'm going to meet with
our fearless leader!*

     <Oh,> the dragon replied disdainfully.  <Well, perhaps she's going to
tell you that she's approved your request to transfer.  Uh...exactly where
*did* we request to go, by the way?>

     *We didn't,* T'rell reminded him.  *As I recall, I told her that there
was probably no place in all the DragonLands that would get me far enough away
from her!*

     Flerrion sighed.  <Well, *that* sounds encouraging!  My rider, you really
should try to be more careful about what you say.>

     *Yeah, I know, I know,* T'rell grumbled, as he finished affixing the
saddle to the crimson dragon's neck.  *But you know how I am.  I say what I
mean, and...*

     <...and mean what you say, I know!> Flerrion finished for him, knowing
his rider's oft-repeated litany by heart. <And as a result, she's probably
found a way to transfer us to some band of rogue dragonriders somewhere!
Hmmm...I wonder if rogue bands have females with them?>

     T'rell patted his dragon's nose fondly.  Flerrion considered himself the
best "cuddler" at Falagand.  Unfortunately for T'rell, who felt that his
dragon should be a bit less smug about such things, many of Falagand's female
dragons agreed with Flerrion's assessment of himself.  

     He went back into his sleeping chamber, and a moment later emerged
dragging a large canvas sack behind him.  In it were all the things he simply
couldn't leave behind.  Hopefully, if it turned out he was going to be leaving
Falagand, he'd have time to collect all his possessions.  But if not...well,
it was good to be prepared for the unexpected - especially where B'nair was
involved.

     *Let's go, buddy!* T'rell said, climbing up onto Flerrion's saddle and
fastening the riding straps.  Flerrion spread his wings and launched himself
into the air.

     <Do I have time to eat?> the dragon asked, as he soared down towards the
green.

     *Hmm..better hold off on that until I find out what's going on," T'rell
told him, as Flerrion settled to the ground.  *Go back to our apartment and
wait for me.  Somehow, I have a hunch that I may need you in a hurry.*

     After watching Flerrion take off again, T'rell took a moment to look
around him at the rocky walls of Falagand Warren.  So much of his life was
tied up in this place...ten years, it had been, since that day he and his
family had come here to witness a hatching.  An apprentice healer, the young
Terell had leaped out onto the sands to help a young boy who had accidently
been injured by one of the hatchling dragons.  He never got to help the boy,
though, because en route he'd been intercepted by a beautiful little crimson
hatchling who'd peremptorily announced that he, Flerrion, had just chosen
Terell as his rider...

     Of his ten years as a dragonrider here, the last five had been spent as
the trainer of new riders for Beta Wing and the last three of those as junior
wingsecond.  Despite some rocky times, mostly due to his shaky relations with
the Warrenlady B'nair, he'd been very happy here overall.  Now, if things
worked out as he was expecting them to, that time was ending.  He and Flerrion
would be leaving for who-knew-where.  It was necessary, but sad nonetheless.

     Well, no point in putting it off.  Squaring his broad shoulders, he
headed inside for his appointment with B'nair.  Much as he loved Falagand, he
knew that his relations with the Warenlady had made it impossible for him to
function here any longer.  He had no doubt that she also wanted him gone; but
knowing B'nair, he suspected that she would try to turn this to her benefit at
the same time.  He would have to be very, very careful.  

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

     B'nair was lounging in the deep chair behind her desk when T'rell entered
her office.  She looked up and smiled - no, not a smile, he saw, but more of a
smirk.  This did not bode well.

     "Prompt as usual," B'nair commented.  "Well, I suppose even *you* have
some good qualities, eh?"

     T'rell ignored the jibe, standing stiffly at attention.  "You sent for
me, Warrenlady?" 

     "Of course I did, dear boy!" she chuckled.  "Would you be here if I
hadn't?"
She leaned forward across the desk, idly twisting one of the heavy rings she
wore.  "I'll come right to the point, since you don't seem in a very social
mood this morning."

     Without waiting to be asked, T'rell eased himself down into the chair
facing her desk, unscrewing the top off his coffee mug and taking a swallow.
B'nair frowned at him, but made no comment about it.  "You requested a
transfer, as I recall.  I am prepared to approve your request."

     T'rell nodded noncommitally.  He'd been hoping to hear just those words,
but wasn't prepared to show it.  If he knew B'nair half as well as he thought
he did, there'd be a price involved somewhere - and it's size would depend on
how much she thought he wanted to leave Falagand.  So he said nothing and
waited for her to continue.

     "Of course, my approval is only half of what's needed," she went on.
"One of the other warrenladies would have to agree to take you on...not
exactly a sure thing, of course, considering your record."

     T'rell raised an eyebrow.  "My record?" he asked, feigning ignorance even
though he knew exactly what she was referring to.

     B'nair laughed.  "Well, you must admit that your losing a third of Beta
Wing in that wraith attack last week doesn't exactly make for a good
reference!  Frankly, I was quite surprised that *any* of them would be willing
to let you come to their warrens."

     He could have retorted that he'd *saved* the remaining two-thirds of Beta
Wing, but knew that it would be pointless - just as it would have been
pointless to correct her arithmatic.  She was counting injuries, including
minor ones, along with the fatalities.  The losses were grevious enough,
though, and had resulted in destroying the thin veneer of amicability that had
existed between T'rell and the Warrenlady.  She had publicly accused him of
exceeding his authority in taking command of the wing at a crucial moment;
T'rell had just as publically accused B'nair of abandoning Beta Wing to its
fate, against ten-to-one odds, by her refusal to commit Alpha Wing at that
same crucial moment.  Opinion in the warren was generally on T'rell's side,
but he knew that this made little difference to B'nair.

     "Of course, knowing that you'd be of little further use here, I of course
began checking with the other warrens.  And, surprise of surprises, one of
them has agreed to take you.  Daere, of all places.  I'm sure you'll fit in
very well there!"

     Not for the first time, T'rell wished that his telepathic talent allowed
him to read minds.  He'd bet that Daere was the first place B'nair checked!
She'd always disliked old Velara with a passion, and it would fit the
Warrenlady's sense of poetic justice to foist her resident thorn-in-the-side
off on her old nemesis.  The fact that Velara had been gone for some time
would be strictly incidental, in B'nair's way of looking at things.

     "So," he drawled slowly, stroking his sandy beard, "shall I start
packing?"

     "Perhaps," she said, smiling nastily.  "The transfer isn't official
without my final signature, of course.  I'm willing to sign it, but only as
part of a package deal."

     Here it comes, he thought.

     "There's someone else who has expressed an interest in leaving Falagand,
thought I can't imagine why," she told him.  "Dreela, my niece."

     T'rell had to suppress a groan.  He suddenly knew where this was leading.
Dreela was, in many ways, a younger version of B'nair.  The Warrenlady had
once hoped to set Dreela up as her successor at Falagand, but this particular
hope had been dashed by the younger girl's failure to join with *any* dragon,
much less a queen - and, recently, by T'lar's accession to the post of junior
queenrider.  A piece of bad luck for Dreela, but good luck for Falagand.  Now
her relations with B'nair had soured, and B'nair wanted nothing more of her
niece than to be rid of her.

     "So," he said, unscrewing the lid off of his coffee cup and taking
another drink, "you want me to take Dreela along - as my mate."

     B'nair clapped her hands together.  "Ah, you're as quick on the uptake as
ever, I see!"  She leaned back in her chair and once again fixed him with her
raptor's gaze.  "You've hit the nail on the head, T'rell.  Either both of you
go to Daere - or you both stay right here.  Which will it be?"

     T'rell also leaned back, looking as though he was thinking it over.
Actually, he was talking to his dragon.  *Flerrion, we're looking at a quick
getaway here.  Get ready!*  Then, to B'nair, he said, "Forget it.  I'd sooner
have your dragon for a mate!"

     B'nair's smile dipped just a fraction.  "Are you sure?" she asked,
holding up the transfer papers which already carried the signature of the
Warrenlady Jayleigh of  Daere and lacked only B'nair's own.  "You might find
the situation here rather...unpleasant, should you refuse my generous offer
and decide to stay."

     He shrugged, knowing that the course of his life could well be decided by
his words and actions in these next few minutes.  "The same goes for you," he
pointed out.  You have a chance to get rid of me once and for all.  Why waste
it by going overboard with this?  If you want to be rid of Dreela, why not
just marry her off to some tradesman from one of the villages, or banish her
to the kitchens?"

     "Well, one *does* have some family responsibilities in matters such as
this," said the Warrenlady.   "You have my conditions, T'rell.  What's your
answer?"

     "No," said T'rell flatly.  "I'll stay here, if it's all the same to you."

     B'nair scowled at him, then picked up the transfer order and held it out
toward the small fire burning in the grate behind her.  "It is not the same to
me, and you're about to find yourself warrenless.  Or did you forget that I
could still do that to you?"

     T'rell shrugged again.  "You can, but only after a public hearing, in
which you'll have to state your reasons for passing such a judgement.  And
which, of course, I can also appeal to the Dragonlady!"  His face took on a
thoughtful expression, as though he were suddenly thinking very hard about
something.  "Say, maybe there's a way we can work this out without having to
go through all that.  Are you a gambling woman, B'nair?"

     Her eyes widened a bit in surprise.  "Gambling?" she asked.

     T'rell nodded.  "Yes, a small wager.  If I win, you sign that order and I
go to Daere free and clear."

     B'nair laughed.  "My boy, to gamble you have to have something to gamble
with!  You have nothing to bet, so I have nothing to gain if I win!"

     T'rell grinned.  "If I lose, I'll take Dreela as my mate and go quietly
to Daere - instead of staying here to annoy you, or forcing you to go through
the embarrassment of a public hearing!"

     B'nair absently tapped her chin with a finger, thinking over his words.
"And if I agreed, what game would we play to settle this little wager?"

     It was all T'rell could do to keep from grinning; with B'nair, it was
more or less name-your-vice.  He'd figured she wouldn't be able to resist!  He
leaned forward and picked up the pair of matched cups that sat on one side of
her desk, turning them over.  "Would you hand me that other cup behind you?
The one that looks just like these two?"

     Bemused, B'nair complied.  T'rell arranged the cups in a row, and then
reached into a pocket and brought out a small ball of colored glass.  He
lifted the middle cup and placed the ball under it.  "Something I once saw at
a gather," he told her.  "It was called, I believe, the 'old shell game.'  If
you can keep track of where the ball is and pick the right cup, after I
rearrange them, you win!  If not, you lose."

     B'nair laughed.  "This is too much to pass up!  All right, I accept your
wager - with one additional proviso - if you lose, you're out of Beta Wing -
and at my personal disposal for an indefinite period!"

     T'rell nodded.  "Done - that is, once you sign the order.  If I lose, of
course, you can just throw it in the fire."

     Chuckling, B'nair signed the order.  "All right.  Go for it!"

     T'rell placed his hands on the two end cups.  As fast as he could, he
began shifting them around.  After he'd switched their order several times, he
brought the middle cup into play as well.  Soon all three were a blur of
movement.  T'rell knew that she'd have her dragon watching the action through
her eyes as well, and would be counting on that to tip the odds in her favor.
Well, they'd see in just a moment.

     Abruptly he stopped and spread his hands.  "All right, B'nair.  Point out
the one with the ball under it."

     B'nair smiled broadly, certain that she knew the answer.  "That one," she
said confidently, pointing to the cup on her right.

     T'rell's grin was even broader.  "Nope," he said, lifting the center cup
to reveal the ball beneath it.  "What a shame!  Well, it's been nice!  I'll be
sure to write you from Daere!"  As B'nair stared in disbelief at the cups in
front of her, he plucked the transfer order from her hand and strolled
casually out the door.

     As soon as he had closed it behind him, he broke into a dead run.
*Flerrion!!  Meet me on the landing platform!  Now!!"

     <Coming!> the dragon replied.  <I've got your stuff!>

     "Arrrrghhh!"  B'nair's angry shout carried clearly to T'rell's ears,
despite the closed door and the intervening distance that separated them.

     <What was that?> Flerrion asked.

     *Offhand, I'd say our Warrenlady has just discovered that there were
balls under two of those cups instead of one!* he told the dragon.  *I slipped
the first one in while she was getting that third cup off the table behind
her!  The ball I showed her really was under the cup she picked!*

     <I'd better double-time it, I think,> Flerrion said worriedly.

     *That would be good,* T'rell agreed, skidding around a corner just as a
piercing shriek emanated from B'nair's office.  *What was that?*

     <Hang on, I'll ask...oh, my,> said the dragon.  <Teraichen says that her
rider was so mad that she swept everything off her desk - including that cup
of hot coffee you left sitting there!>

     *Damn!* T'rell swore, knowing that his specially made cup would be hard
to replace.  *Uh...where did the coffee end up?*

     <Right in her lap!>  said Flerrion, as rider and dragon arrived at the
same time on the landing platform.  With a practiced leap, T'rell bounded from
Flerrion's hastily extended foreleg and up onto his saddle.  He saw with
satisfaction that the bundle containing his possessions was clutched in
Flerrion's jaws.

     *Go!!* T'rell shouted mentally, not waiting to fasten the straps.
*Before she sends somebody after us!*  Already he could hear the sound of
running feet echoing through the corridor he'd just left.  Flerrion spread his
wings and launched himself skyward just as half a dozen hastily-summoned
riders raced out onto the platform.

    The dragon pumped his wings furiously, climbing rapidly.  Looking behind
him, T'rell saw the vast bowl of Falagand recede farther and farther with each
passing moment.  He would liked to have circled the old place one last time,
but knew he couldn't afford the luxury.  B'nair would be madder than a wet hen
- literally - and would not hesitate to send out a pursuit.  They had to
teleport out of here, and quickly.

     <Where to?> Flerrion asked, picking up his rider's thought.  <We can't go
directly to Daere, you know.  We've never been there.>

     T'rell considered this.  *Teleport to Cleft,* he decided.  *They've got a
lot of ex-Daere riders and dragons there, I understand.  Maybe we can get
directions!*

    He gave Flerrion the image, and the two of them teleported to a new life
at a new warren.


NRPG:

Barb - sorry for the delay in getting this out!  But I'd forgotten our talk
about the coffee, and I just *had* to go back and include it!

Paula - thanks for sending me the mailing list!  T'rell could never find his
way to Daere without it!

Submitted by

John

T'rell & Flerrion, Daere Warren
  (formerly of Falagand, but I don't think they'll be going back!)