F'lessan found himself awake at Benden's usual dawn hour though night lingered at Honshu.
Ramoth says we must come back to Benden, Golanth told him. The brown riders will visit your seaholders. They are Monaco's people, not Benden's.
F'lessan quietly gathered his clothing, hoping to have a chance to bathe and change, and left his room without waking the others. He took a quick shower; there'd be many people wanting one. He was glad he'd fixed the cisterns. As he padded down the stairs, past many sleepers, the pungent and irresistible odor of fresh klah told him someone else was awake. He heard voices, arguing quietly but intensely. Well, that was their problem, whoever it was. He needed klah.
He slid open the panel into the kitchen and nearly ducked out again when he saw that it was Mirrim and Tai who were bickering. Or rather, Mirrim was ranting at Tai, who kept saying "No, I didn't," "No, the children came first," and "I don't know how."
Zaranth says, Golanth told him, that Mirrim thinks Tai deserted the Weyr's children to save her skins.
Skins?
Her pelts from the Cardiff felines.
She saved the children. I sent you with her.
Zaranth says she got the skins.
How could she? F'lessan looked from Mirrim's angry face to Tai's pale one. You were with her. She came and went with you.
"Golanth says Zaranth was with him all the time, transporting children," F'lessan said and strode across the counter to the huge urn of klah. He'd have a cup no matter what the argument was.
Mirrim whirled toward him. "She didn't have the skins when she got to the Weyr. She did have them when she left."
"I didn't get them."
She's telling the truth, Golanth said.
"Golanth says Tai's telling the truth, Mirrim, so leave her alone."
"Then how did she get them?" Mirrim demanded.
"I didn't!" Tai was taut with anger and frustration. "If I'd had time to get to my place, I'd've saved my books and notes. Not sharding pelts."
"Pelts like that would have given you enough credit to buy new books," Mirrim countered.
"Ahha, but not her notes, Mirrim. Golanth says she's telling the truth. Now leave it!" F'lessan rarely spoke in such a tone. Mirrim gulped, and swallowed whatever she had been about to say. F'lessan used her silence to drink as much hot klah as he could. "Thanks, whoever brewed the klah." He looked toward the pale, tense Tai and smiled, indicating he was certain she'd made the klah.
"I couldn't sleep," she murmured.
"And, if that doesn't-" Mirrim began.
"I told you to leave it, Mirrim!" F'lessan took a menacing step toward Mirrim who unexpectedly gave ground. He saw the meatrolls on the counter behind Tai and, stepping around her, grabbed a handful. "Thanks, Tai. Besides which, Mirrim, I didn't see the pelts on Zaranth's saddle until Landing."
As he hurriedly slid the door open to leave, he heard Mirrim sputtering behind him. He bumped into T'gellan who looked thin and haggard despite a night's sleep.
"No matter what Mirrim says, Gell, Golanth says Tai's not lying. Good flying today."
He raced down the stairs and out the wide door to the main terrace before he sat down to put on boots and jacket, allowing Golanth time to arrive from wherever he had weyred that night. Slits of blue and green dragon eyes on the terraces above watched him mount but closed again before Golanth tilted off the ledge and made his first wingstroke. Far to the east was the brightening of the sky on a new day.
And what does it have in store for us? F'lessan wondered.
Tai was telling the truth.
I know.
Zaranth saved the pelts.
I suppose, F'lessan said facetiously, because she didn't know which books and notes to save.
Quite likely. Ramoth calls me.
With that, the bronze went between.
Considering what filled the day, it was not at all surprising F'lessan did not dwell on that exchange. He and Golanth conveyed people and necessities to various Benden coastal holdings, reporting on how the flooded areas were draining, occasionally using dragon strength to shift wave-driven debris, and everywhere he had to explain that the dragons could not have stopped the Fireball from hitting nor held back the tsunami. He was repeatedly asked why Thread was still falling now that the Red Star was supposed to be gone. Few understood that the Red Star had only shepherded Thread close to Pern and what was falling now was what the Red Star had dragged in behind it.
At first he'd used diagrams on the sand, in the dirt, or on a piece of paper: a big circle for the Sun, a much smaller one for Pern, tiny ones for the two moons. He'd draw the orbit of the Red Star, and show how it swooped down and around Pern, then out, carrying with it the cloud of Thread.
"Why does it take so long?" he was asked.
"Thread's been on its way and it takes between forty-five and fifty of our Turns to get past it again."
Then he'd be asked why the Fireball had dropped. He answered that by saying it had been a leftover fragment from the Turnover Ghosts, lost trying to follow the others. (That might not be exactly the truth; Masters Wansor, Idarolan, and the newly promoted Master Erragon still had to deliver an official verdict, but at least most people had seen Ghosts and could accept the little fiction.) He'd drop another stone-the Fireball-into the water and show them how the tsunami was like the ripples. It was, he knew, an explanation, not an answer. He didn't know what the answer was, especially for those who'd lost a lot to "ripples."
Back at Benden Weyr, no one had the energy or the wish to settle on a better explanation. Or an answer. The next day Benden was flying Thread so, after eating quickly and checking on S'lan to be sure the lad was holding up well, he retired to his weyr, checking his safety harness and wondering if he could afford new leather pants to replace the ones the last few days had split, torn, and scraped. F'lessan remembered Tai's fine pelts. Well, there were plenty of felines to be hunted near Honshu. He could probably trade such pelts for wherhide pants from the Weyr's tanner. It'd be fun to hunt with Tai and Zaranth. Golanth agreed. So F'lessan gave the drowsing bronze an affectionate rub and went out to the ledge of his weyr. He clasped his arms with his hands against the chill. During those earlier lessons with Aivas, he had made himself familiar with the names of the brightest stars to be seen in Benden's wintry skies. Canopus was low on the horizon, Girtab outshining her.
He really ought to get to work now; to make Honshu a viable part of what dragonriders could "do" to protect the planet. That was at least obvious to him. He had no idea how a dragon, or all the dragons of Pern, could stop another fireball-they didn't have any more antimatter engines to drop on them, he thought wryly-but it made a lot of good sense to find out if anything else was likely to impact any time soon. From some scrap of those nearly disregarded astronomy lessons, he remembered that hazardous impacts were infrequent. There were a few documented, like the Circle Runner Station and the most recent meteorite that had rammed into the prison yard at Crom Minehold.
Wansor, old Lytol, and D'ram were certainly working all out on updating orbits with Erragon down at Cove Hold. The skies currently above Pern had altered within Rukbat's system since the colonists had first surveyed it twenty-five hundred and fifty-three Turns ago. Asteroids had collided, broken up into different pieces, spinning into new orbits. Perhaps one of them had been the Fireball. Others, like the erratic wanderer inaccurately called the Red Star had entered the system as comets or fragments. In the spare moments F'lessan had had, he'd reviewed his old astronomy notes from his classes with Aivas. A long-forgotten lesson reminded him that the Yoko got its information from what the Ancients had called "a southern array of satellites." Aivas had once mentioned the absence of a northern array, which would have given a much clearer picture of minor planets, comets, and other orbiting bodies. He remembered that there were more telescopes stored in the Catherine Caves, which probably would have been set up in observatories to keep track of such objects. Old Earth certainly had known exactly what was in its solar system. But no one had anticipated the Red Star and Thread falling on Pern.
Thread must have sharded a lot of the colonists' plans, F'lessan thought to himself.
To identify what now circled in Pern's spatially near vicinity would need more than however many apprentices and journeymen currently worked at Cove Hold. The telescope in the ingenious observatory that old Kenjo had contrived was the type that required a computer and a screen to display what it saw. The l0x50mm binoculars he had wheedled out of Jancis worked well enough. With these he had been able to spot what were marked in the Aivas charts as minor planets and the larger objects in the asteroid belt. But to have an instrument that would produce images that one could study in detail! That would help enormously in charting the skies. He grinned, rubbing his cold arms. And maybe he'd get Tai to help him. Ah!
When the entire furor over the Flood had eased down, he was sure he could now get authorization from Master Wansor to withdraw the appropriate boards and crystals out of storage at Admin to be able to focus the primary mirror. Aivas had taught him how to assemble a computer. Benelek, another of his old friends and now Master of the Computer Hall, could probably be talked into helping him. Screens were harder to come by, but he might just cajole Stinar into giving him a spare one, if he promised regular reports of what the ancient Schmidt-type telescope detected.
Enough stargazing. He had a tiring day ahead of him. He hadn't had a chance to show Tai where he kept the binoculars or the stand. Much less the glory of the Honshu observatory. As he turned on his heels and walked quickly back into his weyr, out of the cold, he smiled to himself: she'd like that!
"Not the first time things have fallen on Pern that weren't Thread!" Chesmic, Circle's garrulous Stationmaster, said to the two men who had asked for a night's shelter. Since it was extremely cold and there was enough in the stew pot for two more, Chesmic allowed them in. Besides, he could use a new audience. Every other Runner gathered for a warm meal before continuing their runs had already heard his usual tale.
"Why d'you think we call this place Circle?" he went on, glancing first at one and then the other.
"Do tell us," the younger man said, his tone so close to downright rudeness that Chesmic almost didn't continue.
"Do tell us." The older man with the scarred face spoke more courteously, in a deep, oddly muffled voice. When he broke off a piece of bread from the big loaf in the center of the table, Chesmic noticed that he was minus the top joint of the first finger on his left hand.
"Not because it's built round." As he took up his tale again, Chesmic's penetrating glare included everyone at his table and their quiet conversations stopped. "Which it ain't. But, 'cos o' that great hole out there!" He pointed in the appropriate direction. "Twenty good paces from the front door and twice as deep as the tallest man ever growed. 'Cos that's where that-" and now he pointed to the twisted black fragment displayed in a niche in the stone wall,"-landed!"
Of the two guests, only the older man looked at it. His companion assumed a supercilious smile as he continued to spoon stew into his face. At least, Chesmic thought, they won't complain they hadn't been well fed at Circle.
"Nothing compared to what the Fireball did," the younger man said, openly contemptuous. "Never should have messed with the Red Star."
"That-" Chesmic waggled his hand toward the crater, "fell over a thousand Turns ago before Aivas had the dragon-riders push the Red Star out of harm's way." He rushed on before the arrogant young man could do more than open his mouth. "So it stands to reason there ain't no connection twixt it and the thing what plowed through Crom Minehold. Both of them are meteorites." He pronounced each syllable. "Ain't the first that have fallen. Fireball was a different thing altogether. Right?" he asked the Runners.
They murmured agreement with him.
"Does Crom Minehold display its meteorite as you do?" asked the older man in his odd speech.
Chesmic couldn't quite place the man's accent. He was certainly not from Keroon; Keroonians drawled-that is, when they spoke at all. Nor was he from the eastern coast. Runners bred there spoke in crisp tones. West coasters did, too, though they accented some words differently. That was it. The man had no accent, no tone to his words: he just spoke them and sometimes blurred the t's and d's and n's.
"Naw, sold it to the SmithCraftHall for more marks than the mines've earned in Turns." Chesmic did not wholly approve of that sale but it had been their meteorite. Not that he couldn't have sold his to the Smithcrafthall, if he felt like it, but you couldn't sell something that had been in his family so long. Wouldn't be right!
"I heard that they think it's part of the Red Star," the young man said, a sly gleam in his eyes.
"That's a bundle of snake wallop," Chesmic replied contemptuously. He pointed skyward. "Iffen the Red Star had broke up-which Masters Erragon and Stinar and Wansor has seen through Cove Hold that it hasn't-we'd have rocks falling down all over the planet. And we don't."
"That Fireball made enough trouble for us," one of the Runners said.
"It was wrong to move the Red Star," the older man said, his face somber and his voice forbidding. "It has circled Pern for centuries and to alter its course is a bad deed."
"Oh, it's still to circle Pern," Chesmic agreed. "Just not close enough to drop Thread on us again."
"Thread, and the dragonriders flaming it out of our skies, is tradition. So many have been broken. So much has Aivas corrupted our way of life, our traditions."
There was something about the man's toneless voice that caught you up in his words but Chesmic knew about traditions. Runners followed ones that belonged to the first Craft-hall to be formed at Fort Hold.
"There isn't a Runner on any trace on Pern, north or south, that does not follow tradition. And since you've both finished eating, you'd best make use of the beds that tradition-" Chesmic paused to be sure these strangers understood what he meant."-requires us to offer travelers during winter." He rose and gestured toward the loft steps.
The older one rose and bowed. So did the younger man, but his expression was sullen as they both made their way to the sleeping loft.
Mulling over the unease he had felt about that pair, Chesmic recalled the description that Prilla had given of the man who'd stopped her on the trace to carry a message onward. Definitely it had been the older fellow, for Prilla had mentioned his odd deep voice. He'd've been wearing a hat, possibly, so the scar wouldn't've been so noticeable. Of course he'd paid his mark piece for the service or Prilla wouldn't have carried it a stride farther. But why'd a fellow waylay a Runner when he could have easily brought it to the Station and had it logged on and all in the proper manner?
Well into the next month, as the flooded coasts drained and, in most cases, resumed their previous contours, food and materials were sent by almost every inland hold, minor or major on both continents, to sustain and rebuild drowned holds. Messages bulged Runner pouches and fire-lizards carried more, finding out who needed what and where. Shipmasters volunteered free cargo space and, on the days between Threadfalls, riders offered the services of their dragons and themselves. In the atmosphere of renewed friendships and mutual assistance, the unfortunate occurrences at Turn's End faded in the press of other priorities. The general movement of materiel and people included some of those in whom Pinch had an interest. He did know that messages were sent, but not to whom or their content. None of the people he watched so assiduously had fire-lizards, which proved that fire-lizards wouldn't come to just anyone who fed them. He could never quite get close enough to hear their discreet conferences. He'd come back to Harper Hall to report, get some new clothes and marks.
He found Sebell in his office, piles of odd-sized papers on his desk, held down by rocks.
"Well, come to do your share of petitions?" Sebell asked, gesturing to the mess.
Pinch groaned and looked away. "Bad timing on my part."
Traditionally all petitions presented at Turnover were forwarded to the Harper Hall and read by a special group of journeymen and masters who determined which were urgent enough to be submitted to the Council at Telgar on the first of the Third month. Some of the petitions should have been handled at Hold level. However, if there were sufficient complaints brought against major or minor Holders, the Council was the best place to decide if the matter should be investigated further. Pinch was often assigned to get specific information.
"I'll do my share. I always do. I'll look at any in Keroon, Igen, or Bitra-I know most of the troublemakers there anyhow."
Sebell gave a little smile. "Not much from Bitra so far. Sousmal seems to be taking such good hold that everyone's happy with him."
Pinch widened his eyes, moved one pile of papers to hitch his hip up onto the desk. "For now! How about those sketches I sent you? Any of that trio known?"
"Woman's from Tillek, rather a sour contentious sort, apprenticed to local healer hall but released prior to her third term as unsuitable to the Craft. Petitioned Lord Ranrel to be given her father's hold in preference to the younger brother who had been named by their father, evidently with a specific instruction that she was not to be considered. She and the brother had a huge dispute and she left. Hasn't been seen since Tillek's autumn Gather last Turn."
"So she's holdless?"
Sebell shrugged, searching briefly in the wide drawer under his desk and finding the three sketches. "One of the Traders through here-a Lilcamp-recognized this fellow." He tapped the one with the missing index finger. "Travels a lot. Does his share when asked, can put his hand to a lot of jobs, has a habit of asking questions. Funny sort of voice, too." He paused. "Young Sev mentioned the questions were-how do I put it-provocative."
"Provocative? And he asked Traders?" Pinch was mildly surprised by such gall.
"They see a lot of people and are smart enough to know what's going on where and how folks are reacting. Better than Runners who can't stay long anywhere."
"They're helping though," Pinch said. "Chesmic up at Circle Hold says he's had strangers in, sending messages, and others leaving them at a Runner Halt, a half mark left to pay carriage."
Sebell raised his eyebrows. "Overpaying? Bribing?"
"Not when Chesmic tells me."
"Does he know you're Harper?"
"Doesn't ask." Pinch's eyes danced with amusement. "By the bye," he added, his grin turning malicious, "did you know that the window glass that broke during the shock wave was all made by Master Norist? None of Master Morilton's shattered! Another point for our new technology." Then he cocked his head. "Do we know, officially or unofficially, if the-ah-exiles survived the Flood?"
Sebell pursed his lips and regarded his companion. "Has there been a question about that?"
"Not in so many words but it might be handy to know."
"And you're curious?"
"Part of it." Pinch's shrug was noncommittal.
"As I understand it, one of the natural attributes of a proper exile is that no one, searching in a ship for dissidents, would find a beach to land on. Many of such islands are sheer-faced cliffs. The relevant ones were drenched but not drowned. What's the other part of it?"
"A snippet of conversation I overheard-misinformation, actually-that I'd like to honestly-" He put his hand over his heart. "-genuinely, sincerely, trustworthily repudiate. As I was saying, I suspect our plotters, and perhaps the ingenious scum who assembled the pamphlets, that so distressed Master Crivellan, lurk in the foothills of Keroon where dwell many with insufficient teachering to argue, and no interest in what happens to the rest of the planet. Did you identify that third chap?"
"He looks slightly familiar but I can't place him."
"Nor can I. He resembles half a dozen men I know, same age, same height, same general features, but he seems to have no morals or ethics. He does have some responsibilities that he has to attend to from time to time or a person he makes reports to. He may be a younger Holder son, not likely to succeed; he holds his nose a lot. You've seen the type, though he adapts to his surroundings better than Third and Fifth do."
"Third and Fifth?"
Pinch made a face. "They go by the numbers. The one woman's referred to as Fourth. I think the original second is dead. I got the distinct impression that they're glad he is since he objected to some of their plans. Third's the big one, Fourth the female. Seven in all or at least seven who come to the hill retreat from time to time. I'd suspected Sixth was from Tillek, with that flat nasal twang. Third's traveled-as we know-and Fourth's been in so many places I can't tell where she came from. Definitely Third is in it for money and sport. I think Third is genuinely concerned about too much technology. Fourth uses Tradition as a reason to exist. Her thinking's skewed. She wants to lead and she hasn't got the personality for it. She's too concerned about doing things the old way, the right way, the way she was taught that ought to be the way everyone does it." Pinch paused. "Too hidebound to know the color of her pelt."
"Are they planning something?" Sebell asked.
"They act like it, all this leaving of messages at Runner Halts so the sender can't be identified."
"How do they collect messages, then?"
"I suspect one of their docile hill folk do. I asked at Wide Bay-Stationmaster Arminet knows me-and he remarked, casual like, that a lot of hill folk were getting messages."
Sebell rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "They must know that now most healer halls lock away their stores-and use Master Morilton's glass." He gave Pinch a telling look. "The Glass Halls have shifted healer-hall work to more secure places, the SmithCraftHalls have started using digital lock systems ... "
"And Aivas scores another posthumous victory over vandalism," Pinch said with customary impertinence, raising his hand in triumphant gesture. "Never know what we'll need next because of them."
"Benelek's delighted. The units are easy to build and attach to alarms. I've sent some handy apprentices down for a few weeks' training with him."
"You're not worried about them breaking in here, are you?" Pinch was genuinely alarmed.
Sebell laughed, lightening his generally serious manner. "Not with the Fort Hold watch dragon!"
"Who didn't hear the vandals in the Healer Hall ... "
"Because they entered quietly and wearing healer green. Then there're all the fire-lizards that live here-not just Menolly's." Sebell pointed a finger at the roving Harper. "You hear anything of their plans, even a whisper ... "
"My hearing's excellent and Bista's is better."
"Send word." Sebell frowned a little, thinking. "Odd, isn't it, that those who dislike the advantages Aivas gave us should force us to use his technology to thwart them!"
"Ironic, too." Pinch rose from his perch on the desk corner. "I've read enough in Aivas's historical files to feel that Pern will never be in danger of becoming over-technical. Takes too long to develop the skills needed, except in special instances like the digital locks, and we certainly don't have the production systems the Ancients had. As a population, we have been conditioned to this slower, more methodical rhythm of living and only a very small portion will ever feel the urge to aspire to Aivasian heights."
"A Pinch of philosophy, too, huh?" Sebell said, grinning. "I wonder would such reassurance suffice to content the dissenters."
"We all have a choice," Pinch said and rubbed his hands together with an air of anticipation. "What petitions d'you want me to go over? I'm here overnight at least."
Just as Sebell was deciding which pile, the latch of the Master's office door was being pulled down. Both men heard a child's delighted laughter and then the door was pushed inward.
"Da, I learnt 'nothertune. Perfect!"
The child-and Pinch had no difficulty in identifying him by his tangle of dark curly hair as Menolly's oldest son, Robse-swung in on the door handle, waving his wooden recorder over his head. "Ooops, sorry. Dint know anyone was here."
"No, come in, come in," Pinch said, wondering if he could escape being lumbered with petitions.
"Is by Aivas!" Robse announced as if the source made all the difference.
"By Aivas, is it?" Pinch could not resist echoing the phrase.
"By Aivas!" Robse affirmed with a nod that made the curls on his head bounce and his expression turn very stern indeed.
"If it's by Aivas, then it's all right," Pinch said.
"These, Master Mekelroy, are for your perusal," Sebell said, bowing as he held out one of the larger piles to Pinch.
"Thank you, Master Sebell, thank you. You are always so generous to me. I can't thank you enough for giving me something to busy myself with while I'm here," and with such effusions, and a wink at the mystified Robse, Pinch backed out of the room. "A perfect tune really must be heard as soon as it's learnt," and he closed the door on that remark.
He'd given Sebell the most important news, though he still had to discuss the problem of far too many people wanting to know "What were the dragonriders going to do about things that fell from the sky?"
The watch dragon trilled the note that Weyrleaders were flying into Benden and Mnementh and Ramoth on their ledges rose to bugle a welcome, which informed Lessa and F'lar of important, if unscheduled, visitors.
Tileth and Segrith, Ramoth said, raising her head from her front legs.
"Really?" Lessa was as surprised as F'lar. "Did you forget they were coming?"
"I wouldn't forget something as unusual as that," he chided her as he quickly slipped off the soft, fleece-lined ankle-boots he was wearing and pulled on leather ones warming near the heating unit, shrugged off the wool vest, and rose to his feet, straightening his collar and settling the deep cuffs of his wool shirt.
With an air of not noticing his rearrangements, she wrapped her long braid into a more formal coronet and smoothed the creases out of her woolen trouser-skirt.
"We have wines, don't we? And perhaps Manora will send someone with fresh klah and whatever is freshly baked," she said. "I wonder why they're here!" she added.
"No doubt they'll inform us!" he said as he opened the thick curtain that kept cold air from leaking into their comfortable quarters. He frowned as he looked out. "They should have checked our weather first. It's turned into a miserable day."
Did they ask, Ramoth?
No, or I would have told you. I, too, do not forget any thing. Ramoth turned lightly, whirling reproachful eyes on her rider.
"Of course not."
She heard voices on the ledge and stepped around the curve of the wall to see Pilgra slipping, putting one hand firmly out to the stone to get her balance.
"My dear Pilgra, you should have checked the weather," she said solicitously. Pilgra was not her favorite of the Old-timer Weyrwomen but anyone venturing out today would receive her concern. "Come to the heat. Let me take your coat. Ah, you've one of the new long ones! Is it warmer, d'you think?"
"On a better day, it might be enough but I didn't expect it to be so miserable here. It's cold enough in High Reaches, but at least the sun's out."
Holding the wet coat, Lessa noticed that Pilgra's wool trousers were baggy at the knees and unattractively creased at the thigh.
"Oh, how warm you've made your weyr," the older woman said, her eyes taking in the heating units. "Good day to you, Ramoth," she added, nodding formally to the queen who was observing the visitor with tranquil green eyes. Then she walked rapidly to the nearest source of warmth, giving a mock shiver. "How marvelous! We have heat now, too, but nothing seems to penetrate the cold in High Reaches."
Suddenly Lessa had an idea why the two Weyrleaders had come.
The sun may shine on High Reaches, but it never warms, Ramoth remarked. I have told Tileth and Segrith to warm themselves on our Hatching Sands. It would be better than waiting on the ledge in this weather. How thoughtful! Lessa responded. Then she turned to greet M'rand and saw the pinched look on his face. Yes, definitely, they were here about stepping down. Not that they had to discuss such a decision with Benden since the Weyrs were autonomous, but M'rand was punctilious about such fine points.
"Wine? Or some of Master Oldive's liqueur?" she asked him.
"That'd do fine, Lessa," M'rand said, and a spasm of coughing shook him.
Why hadn't she noticed that M'rand was aging? When was the last time the Weyrleaders had seen each other? The queens exchanged messages from time to time but the riders had not visited. The mental image she had of the High Reaches leader, hearty, vigorous, straight, underwent a distressing revision: he was slightly stooped in the shoulder; his solid features-once handsome-were thinned and dry, his cheeks a network of red lines; the tip of his nose was mottled and the flesh sagged slightly under his chin and neck. Pilgra's dark hair showed no glint of white but the density of the color suggested to Lessa that the woman made use of some of the personal products that had become available from Aivas's files. There'd always been a red dye available from Pernese roots but the result was not as natural-looking as the new ones that had many shades to choose from.
F'lar served the liqueur to all, and Lessa asked after friends in the Weyr and Lord Bargen who, she was informed, was still annoyed that three of his sons had abandoned him to find holdings in the south.
"Hosbon's done quite well," Pilgra said. "Has a pier, a drum tower, and a sloop at Seminole."
"He got that much out of Toric?" Lessa said, exchanging surprised looks with F'lar who chuckled.
"Must be a chip off the old block if he can wheedle amenities out of Toric," he said.
M'rand nodded enthusiastic agreement. "Well, Bargen brought 'em all up to work hard so that he'd have a choice when it comes time for him to quit holding."
"Which is why we're here, Lessa, F'lar," Pilgra said, sitting forward on the edge of her seat. "We want to step down."
"Four good Wingleaders who know every bit as much as I do about Threadfall," M'rand added in a rush. "Weyr'll follow any one of them. Three good strong queens and a young one not yet old enough to mate. So we want to go south. Found a place down there in Cathay, when we were helping after the Flood. Small bay, protected east and west, not a big holding but don't want a big one. Got four to five weyrfolk want to warm their bones along with us. Wanted to ask you, can we?"
"Can you?" F'lar regarded him with surprise. "Of course you can. You and Pilgra have done more than your share of flying, in this Turn and the old one."
"You don't think we're deserting?" Pilgra directed her question to Lessa, her face screwed with anxiety.
"By the Egg, no." Lessa leaned across the space between them and patted Pilgra's hand, noticing the brown spots and the puffiness of her fingers holding the glass.
"Segrith hasn't had any of the old urgings to fly," Pilgra went on, adding, "though she's clutched every two Turns since we got here."
"With at least fifteen eggs and all living to fly. I wonder you've any space left in the Weyr."
"Well, it's space another queen can fill from now on," Pilgra said with a touch of asperity. "M'rand wants to see the Pass out but ... " and she raised one hand in a helpless gesture.
M'rand cleared his throat, leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Did hope to, F'lar, not many get the chance, you know." His grin was a brief echo of his former vitality and charm. "But, after seeing the place in Cathay, what with R'mart stepping down, I thought maybe, with three queens available and I've got some fine bronze riders, we might ... well ... go south and get warm!"
"You don't have to ask our permission, you know," Lessa said gently, smiling with genuine gratitude. "You didn't have to come Forward from your own time to help F'lar and me during this Pass."
" 'That was twice decided,' " M'rand murmured softly, quoting the old Question Song. "We came because that was what we'd done, had to do, did."
"And, for thirty-one Turns, we've been grateful for your splendid generosity," Lessa said.
M'rand demurred with a chuckle. "Wasn't having as much fun in the Interval. I was young enough to accept the challenge. Now I'm old enough to think R'mart was right. We got you started and now we can retire in good faith. Of course, he still wants to be in a Weyr. Ourselves, we've been in one too long and Pilgra and I'd like to be by ourselves. Not," and he held up a hasty hand, "that you can't call on us and our dragons whenever you need to!"
"Now, if you're trying to get us to argue you into staying in that cold Weyr of yours, you've come to the wrong ledge," F'lar said, with an amused tilt to his mouth. He flicked one hand at M'rand. "Go, rider, and enjoy a well-deserved rest. May it take you into the next Interval."
"You mean that?" Pilgra turned to Lessa, eyes wide.
"Who thinks this is wrong?" Lessa wanted to know. And when both exchanged uncertain glances, she went on. "Let me guess: G'dened."
"Well, he's the oldest of us," Pilgra said.
M'rand cleared his throat. "Stubborn, too, won't let go at Ista because he's been at that Weyr-" He paused to guffaw. "-a half a hundred Turns and he knows all there is to know about leadership and Fall."
"One can appreciate such a sense of loyalty," Lessa said after a moment, and smiled. "Tenacity, too, and dedication, sense of purpose, perfectionism."
F'lar dropped his head, looking away from Lessa who was being outrageous and sounding so sincere.
Pilgra caught it first, blinking with astonishment as Lessa found a few more similar adjectives. Then M'rand roared with laughter, which turned into the hacking cough.
"Go before you die of the cough and get done out of your ease," Lessa said sternly.
"But-but-"
"Four good bronze Wingleaders? Let each one lead in turn during the next Falls until a queen rises," F'lar said pragmatically. "You'll be available for any problems. In fact, it'll take you time to step down even after you have. Now where's this splendid cove in Cathay? Did you think to get-ah, you did," he went on as M'rand withdrew a folded paper.
"Got Master Idarolan to do the map work for me. He's good at that." M'rand offered it to F'lar, once again the decisive leader, and a very relieved man. "I don't know which is better to have, map readings or your dragon knowing where to go."
Lessa had had a woodsmith make a cabinet with long, deep drawers where they could store the documents and charts that displayed chosen sites in the southern continent. The fact that the Weyrleaders controlled such dispositions rankled with many but, after heated debate in the Council, that had been agreed. What had also been stipulated was that each new holding had to be self-sufficient and had to have instructions about the dangers, as well as the advantages, of life in the south.
F'lar found the chart, flipped it to the worktop, angled M'rand's map, and found the coordinates.
"You're not asking for very much."
"Don't need much, and it's one in the eye for Toric," M'rand said.
Pilgra and Lessa came over as F'lar was outlining the new hold with a silver marker, reserved for dragonriders.
"A hundred square meters?" Lessa exclaimed. "A patch!"
"The nicest patch you could imagine," Pilgra assured her stolidly and started to describe the amenities. "There might even have been an Original Settlement there. Stones piled, like they finally fell, and just where you'd get a marvelous view of the sea below. All kinds of frees and it was so warm for First Month."
"There really aren't that many holdings allotted there yet, are there?" M'rand said, surprised.
"More than there were," Lessa said, "and far fewer than there will be when certain folk can make up their minds." She favored her mate with a dour look.
"More than I expected," Pilgra said with a sweeping glance of the chart. "That isn't all of Southern there is."
"No, it's not," F'lar said, tapping the drawer. "That's just the Cathay area, eight degrees to ten degrees longitude, fifty to twenty latitude. From the aerial photos on the Aivas scale, so they're big enough to delineate holds. I'll send the official register down to Admin." He opened another drawer and took out the register documents, which he tossed back inside. Opened a third, smaller one and took out a form. "This'll be your Deed." He riffled the side to show there were several pages. "I'll just fill it in, Lessa and I will sign it, and get it witnessed by the Weyr harper and perhaps Manora or G'bol and the holding's yours."
M'rand blinked. "Just like that?"
F'lar grinned. "You're Weyrleaders. You're entitled to your choice and require no further Council authorization." He leaned over the worktop, filling in the form, printing quickly but legibly, M'rand watching him.
"But it takes other people so much longer?" Pilgra asked, cocking her head to one side, her expression concerned.
"Other people take only as long as fulfilling the requirements of emigrating do," Lessa said. "Proof of being reliable people from hold or hall, with sufficient skills to survive in what can be hazardous terrain-where predators are bigger than the largest tunnel snakes they'd encounter here in the north-and a definite area where they will establish a new hall or hold. It's no more than was required by the original Charter, and that's another reason why it's important that everyone knows what's in the Charter."
"I did remind you of that, Pilgra," M'rand said, regarding his weyrmate with a jaundiced look. "People can get some ridiculous notions, listening to drunken Gather talk."
F'lar accorded that a grumble, checking from map to form to be sure he had the longitude and latitude correct to minutes and seconds. "That's why the harpers keep-you'll excuse the pun-harping on the subject of reading and understanding the Charter."
M'rand started to chuckle; it turned into a hard coughing spasm. Anxiously Pilgra handed him the rest of his liqueur and Lessa rushed into her room, coming back with a dark brown bottle and a spoon.
"Here! Take a dose of this. It's reinforced with something Oldive found in the Aivas files to reduce just the sort of hacking cough you have." She measured and gave him the dose. "Not that getting into the sun won't correct it in short order."
F'lar finished the official Deed, separated the copies, and shoved one with M'rand's original little map into a plastic sleeve. While M'rand was recovering his breath, the Benden Weyrleader presented the Deed to Pilgra with a bow. "Take him there today."
"Today?" Pilgra was as breathless as M'rand, Deed clutched in her hand.
"Certainly. What else were you going to do on such a miserable day? Get your weyrfolk to pack up what you need for a few days: plan there, 'in the warm,' " and Lessa pointed southward, "what else you'll need."
"Go? Today?"
"Think what a pleasant surprise it'll be to your Wing-leaders and the junior queens," Lessa said, eyes bright and wide and far too innocent. When Pilgra looked unhappy, she added more solicitously, "Oh, they'll miss you because you're both good-hearted and fair. But who would fault you?" She shook her as Pilgra took-a breath. "And don't say old leather-face G'dened. Cosira has her work cut out soothing his injured feelings. D'Fam's not likely to gripe. Living in Cove Hold has put Turns on his life. You're both popular leaders but I cannot imagine anyone faulting you for going, and making the break quick."
F'lar says if we go with them, Mnementh told Lessa, it will
The Skies oj Pern stifle any complaints G'dened might make. He adds, don't think you 'II get him to retire so easily.
Not when he's twenty Turns younger than M'rand and G'dened. I expect your rider to finish the Pass with me! Lessa replied stoutly.
And me! Ramoth said.
"We'll come with you," Lessa said out loud, brightly, as if she had just thought of it.
"That's a better way to spend a miserable evening than anything you've come up with, Lessa," F'lar remarked, knowing perfectly well he would pay her a forfeit later for such a remark.
Taking into consideration the difference of time between western High Reaches and eastern Ruatha, the Benden Weyr-leaders had plenty of time to assist M'rand and Pilgra in their hurried departure south and get back to Benden for a late supper. In the interval, they had supported M'rand and Pilgra in his explanations to their Wingleaders and queen riders, organized the men and women who were to accompany them south, and allowed M'rand a hurried conference with his Wingleaders, some of whom had trouble concealing relief and anticipation. Pilgra, too, spoke to her queen riders (the youngest one obviously upset and the older three eyeing each other speculatively, since the first one to fly to mate would be the new Weyrwoman). For Lessa, that was great fun and for F'lar a chance to assess the bronze riders.
M'rand is right. F'lar agrees that there are four well-experienced men who can take over immediately, Mnementh told Lessa.
Which queen? she asked the bronze.
Yasith, Ramoth said so firmly that if Mnementh had a different candidate, he did not now mention her.
Lessa kept her opinion to herself. Yasith's rider was Neldama, weyrborn in High Reaches twenty-five Turns before, and twelve Turns younger than the oldest of the queenriders. So she was of this Pass, which, in Lessa's estimation, meant fewer problems. Not exactly a pretty girl-attractive enough to rate a long look from F'lar-with green eyes that looked right at a speaker and a considerate, sensible manner as she set about collecting the items that Pilgra said she'd want to pack.
M'rand fretted over how to inform three main Lord Holders and the most prominent minor ones of his sudden departure.
"It would be courteous, but it's only a formality. 'Due to continued ill health, in the best interests of the Weyr and the Holds that look to High Reaches for protection from Thread-fall during a Pass.' " F'lar rattled off the phrases. "A change of Weyrleadership is our-" he rocked his hand to indicate the four of them,"-business."
"It's not as if the whole Weyr is retiring," Lessa said just as Neldama and Curella, the oldest queen rider, brought in mulled wine and small hot savories to be served in the Weyrwoman's quarters. "And it's not as if you haven't traveled between both continents before. Be easy, Pilgra, M'rand. This time you're doing what's best for you!"
Of the other two Oldtimer Weyrleaders remaining in control, G'narish of Igen was flexible enough in his mind to accept suggestions while G'dened of Ista was nearly as contrary as R'gul had been. All the Weyrs needed to look ahead to After. G'dened gave her the impression that he didn't even consider After. He certainly wasn't suggesting to any of his riders that they would have to look to their own support once this Threadfall was over and the traditional tithing of Hold and Hall no longer appeared on a regular basis
"If one more person asks me 'what are dragonriders going to do about things that fall out of the sky on us' or 'how we're going to keep the sky from falling on them,' " F'lessan said with a great deal of bitterness to Tai, "I'll-I'll tell Golanth to drop him, or her, between."
He stood up, stretching to ease his back muscles from bending over to plant saplings around Benini's cothold. The dwelling, a sprawling extended family site, had lost its roofs from the tsunami winds. Mud, sand, and debris had been dug out of hold and beasthold; the structures had been soundly built twelve Turns before and could be repaired. The large family-by craft, herders, Benini himself a Journeyman-were out early and late, hunting strays that had been scattered inland ahead of the wave. Redfruit trees and the giant fronds, which had amazing vitality and could be trimmed to provide windbreak, had once shaded the hold. Paradise River had offered new starts of both, as well as young fellis saplings.
Planting was not work most riders would volunteer to do but, when F'lessan saw Tai's was the only name on that list, he added his. He had done very well getting on work teams with Tai, mostly jobs as backbreaking and thankless as this, waiting until he saw where she was going to spend her spare hours before he signed up. She was willing enough-even eager-to discuss their mutual interest in astronomy. They were sometimes the only dragonriders on such sites. She seemed to know many of the more isolated cotholders and was welcomed warmly. The two dragonriders had been shown where to find tools, where fresh water could now be obtained, and what was available for their lunch. All the Benini holders had ridden out on their runnerbeasts for another long hot search.
When the two dragonriders had collected the plants at sunrise, rootballs wrapped and secured on wooden flats, Jayge had greeted F'lessan with surprise and gravely shook hands with Tai, remarking on what a fine green she rode.
"Didn't think to see you again so soon, F'lessan," the Paradise River Holder said, grinning at the bronze rider.
"And will do as long as Paradise River is intent on reforesting Monaco," F'lessan responded. He waggled his finger at Jayge. "You and Aramina have been exceedingly generous. T'gellan told me."
"The least we can be," Jayge said. "We were very lucky here, protected from the tsunami by the Kahrain cape." He gestured first over his shoulder and then down the river. "We can find as many young trees and bushes as are needed. You two look tired. Have you eaten?"
F'lessan dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "Yes, yes, thank you. We can get untired when things are more or less back in order." He examined the thick lift knot on the flat, the net that secured the young saplings to it, and the corner ropes. All the dragons were now deft at lifting such carriers. One trick was to keep the ropes taut and lift vertically very slowly to keep the load from swaying; dragons were perfecting the maneuver. The other step was going between very close to the ground, again to prevent swaying. After being root-pruned several days before, the young bushes and saplings were wrapped in balls early on the morning they were to be replanted. Dragon transport meant they could be in the ground, watered, and staked within hours.
It also meant that the transplanters could finish before the sun started baking gardeners and plants. F'lessan checked the angle of the shadows; his watch was in his jacket. It was just midmorning and they were nearly finished. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up this pace, even if they had both stripped down to sleeveless tops and shorts.
"You're getting pretty good at this," Tai said, pushing her hands up to her knees until she was upright, too. She removed the sweatband from her forehead, mopped her brow, and retied the kerchief.
"I like restoring things," he said, looking at the zigzag line they had been working on, a windbreak on the eastern edge. The holding was actually on a rise, which had saved it from more damage. Redfruit on the inside, handy to the hold, a curving line of fellis, and then the fronds. Some untagged saplings, which didn't resemble either redfruit or fellis, they decided to plant in the rich loam here and there. Someone had started a garden patch. Luckily this was midsummer and they'd have fresh vegetables in a few weeks. With just a little husbandry, there'd be good growth in the windbreak plants before winter's winds.
"Like Honshu?" she asked, leaning down for the canteen. Benini's spouse had left cool juice to slake their thirst.
"Yes, like Honshu." F'lessan grinned, sweeping sweaty hair back from his forehead. He gave her a quirky grin. "Place fascinates me. There're still levels of it I haven't had a chance to show you."
They had spent several evenings on the upper terrace, sharing the use of his binoculars, held steady on the stand. He'd let her have more time using them because he liked watching the intent expression on her face as she observed, jotting down time and references. She was quite circumspect, taking down notes-but then she'd been training with Erragon-marking degrees carefully, asking him to verify the objects she viewed. He even teased her-she had to know that he was teasing her or she got quite upset-about minutes and seconds in the degree readings of the fifth planet out from Rukbat, currently visible at right ascension 19 hours, 32 minutes, 53.7 seconds; declination 27 degrees, 16 minutes, 25 seconds, just below Acrux. She said it was a habit she'd got into, sky-watching at Cove Hold, to keep a record. Erragon was collecting such information from other sky-watchers. F'lessan had wanted to take her high on Honshu's eastern face for a panoramic view of the forest and foothills below where sometimes he'd used the binoculars to spot felines, hunting at dawn, but the long spiral staircase was not a climb he could face with equanimity and she was as tired as he was.
"I would really like to see this mysterious observatory of yours, F'lessan," she said shyly as she passed him the canteen.
"Oh, I'll take you, never fear-one night when we aren't dragging tired. It's a steep climb."
"Well, whenever," she agreed amiably as she reached for the next plant from the nearly empty flat. "We're about done here. Let's just put these untagged ones near the garden," she added with a sigh and glanced over at their dragons, lounging on the ridge behind the hold, in the thick ground cover that not even the tsunami had been able to scrape away.
F'lessan took note, but did not mention, that the dragons were, unusually for dragons, so close they were touching. He'd had a few ideas of his own but with a personality as reserved as Tai's, he deliberately kept his manner as casual as possible. The excuse of sky-watching had reduced tensions and given both F'lessan and Tai a respite. Not that he had been able to join her every evening. F'lessan was only too willing to give Tai the chance to replace the notes that had been swept away. He had several reasons for rediscovering an interest in astronomy.
Most of the weyrfolk had left whatever temporary accommodations they'd been in; riders had cleared space for their dragons and built personal shelters. A new Monaco Center was being constructed on a height, well back from the shoreline. Today, certainly tomorrow, the very last displaced riders would be gone to new quarters. As far as he knew, Tai had not found any. She might have, when he was at Benden; he hadn't wanted to appear to be keeping a watch on her. And Zaranth.
He watched now as Tai gravely considered where to dig holes for the unidentifiable plants. He picked up an armload and carried them over to her. Out of the corner of his right eye, he caught movement in the thick grass cover just beyond Zaranth. He looked more closely and muttered in surprise.
"Trundlebugs," he said. He deposited the plants within her reach. "I'd thought most of them got swept out to sea."
"They can, and have, tread water," Tai said, grinning at him as she pushed the spade into the ground.
"Really?" F'lessan regarded their relentless progress. "How long?"
"I don't know. But I have watched them cross streams." She dug deeper.
"Hmmm."
She handed him the spade and knelt to take the wrapping off the balled plant, deftly spreading its roots before she put it in the prepared hole.
"Big mother," F'lessan said, commenting on the size of the lead bug. "Four offspring. If she's not careful, she'll lose the biggest."
Tai shot a glance at the trundlebugs, then quickly knuckled loam around the plant, tamping it down well. For some reason, she was smiling.
"Coming right at Zaranth. Shall I ... " He hefted the spade and took a step forward to intercept the trundlers. One had to swat the wretched mother bug out of her line of march but, at the same time, be careful not to break off her largest offspring at the end of the reproductive line, lest she retaliate with some of the stink-spray to defend her offspring.
"No, no! Wait."
"They're heading right for her. I don't know about Zaranth but Golanth hates 'em crawling on him. If he wakes, he'll squash them." F'lessan did not add that Golanth was showing more and more of a proprietary interest in the green's well-being, one of the subtler reasons why he was glad Tai preferred to work away from projects with other dragonriders. He wasn't ready for others to notice the growing relationship between Golanth and Zaranth.
"Watch," she said, her eyes sparkling green as she rose from her knees.
F'lessan dropped to the ground, narrowing his eyes in the bright sun to check the angle of the trundlebug approach.
Tai held up her hand, grinning. "Just a moment!"
"They're heading right for her nose. Doesn't she sense them? Golanth usually does."
"Wait!" Putting up her hand to stay his attack, Tai grinned widely, her look almost mischievous.
The trundlebug parade marched relentlessly in its unswerving path, oblivious to what was in its way. Zaranth's nose twitched but she didn't open so much as a slit of one eye. The parade was abruptly at right angles to its original path, heading back into the scrubland.
"There!" Tai beamed at her dragon.
"She blew them away?" F'lessan exclaimed.
"No. She didn't. They can only get so close to her and they go off in another direction, any direction so long as it is away from her."
She reclaimed her spade from him and began to dig another hole. "There're two spades, you know."
"Yes, yes, of course, my dear green," he said, making a play of diligence, going for the second one. Anything to keep her from noticing the brilliant green of the sleeping Zaranth, lounging so gracefully in the sun by the sleeping bronze. How long would Golanth continue to fake sleep? F'lessan wondered.
"Tai, a question," he began, digging busily. "I was watching and Zaranth didn't move. She only twitched her nose. How could she make a trundlebug detour doing that?"
Tai dabbed at a drop of sweat rolling down her nose and, picking up the next to last plant, removed the wrapping and dropped it in place.
"I don't know. But, if they get close to her, they are suddenly perpendicular to the original line of progress. You know trundlebugs: they never deviate from their chosen path."
"Amazing!" He blotted the sweat from his face, then unwrapped the last plant, placed it firmly in the ground, and tamped dirt around it. "That's that. We're supposed to water them now, aren't we?"
Probably the first thing Benini had done after the flooding receded was to sink a new well and provide a long watering trough from which they could easily fill buckets for that last garden chore.
"Didn't Benini say they'd rigged a shower over by the beasthold?" he asked, when they had finished.
"Yes, with a big enough cistern above to wash all of them," she said, looking eagerly around to point to the freshly painted enclosure. "Or so his spouse said. We'll get clean much quicker showering than having to wash in a bucket," she added, dropping hers on the shadowed side of the well.
"Leave enough warm water for me," he said, waving her to go first. "I'll return the tools." He gathered them up and started for the shed, calling after her. "I plan to hunt Golanth this afternoon at Honshu. How's Zaranth's appetite?" Well, he thought privately, "appetite" was one word for it.
Tai cast a look over her shoulder at her sleeping dragon. "She isn't the least bit off-color."
F'lessan blinked and then, with an engaging grin that Mirrim would have identified as "devious," added, "We could hunt felines. Saw some a little closer than they should be to the Honshu herds. Get us some good pelts."
Since the Flood, most green riders had been giving all their customary courier services free of charge. But there'd be a Gather in Telgar in two sevendays, when the Council met, and that was time enough to cure hides for sale and give her book-money.
"Fine by me!" Tai called back. He caught just a glimpse of her back and long tanned legs as she entered the shower enclosure.
He gathered their riding gear and packs and walked slowly up to the shower, giving her time for a good wash and rinse.
"Hey, leave me some," he said, speaking above the sound of vigorous splashings. He slipped off his muddy sandals. Well, cleaning them could wait till he got back to Honshu, but he smacked them against the side of the wall to remove as much mud as he could.
"You'll find it warm enough," she assured him. "Can you hand me my towel?"
He opened her pack and dragged it, and her fresh clothes, out.
"Where is it?" she asked.
He saw her bare arm extending from the shower wall and accurately lobbed the towel to her searching fingers. There were shiny new hooks screwed to the wall and he hung her fresh clothes on one, his own on another. Riders were not as bothered by nudity as holders or crafthall folk so he stripped down, glad to be out of the sweaty, dirty shorts. As she emerged, toweling her body dry, she gave him a fleeting glimpse. He stepped courteously past her, into the shower, and looked around for sweetsand.
When he had had a good scrub, especially his feet, he rinsed off well and, vigorously drying himself, sauntered across the changing area to his clean clothes. Dressed in her leathers, with her jacket still open, she leaned against the wall, in what shade there was, looking out at the scene of their morning's hard work, feeling pleased.
Summoning their dragons, they took off before heat brought fresh sweat.
As they came out of between above Honshu, F'lessan first noted that there were no dragons lounging on the summit or the main terrace.
Will you hunt today, Golanth?
I will hunt well today, Golanth replied, watching Zaranth as she glided past him to land on Honshu's main terrace.
Startled by the odd note in his dragon's tone, for a moment F'lessan worried that he hadn't been as sensitive to Golanth's needs as he should be. When was the last time he'd hunted Golanth?
I will hunt very well today!
The bronze was coming in slowly-almost stealthily-to land so that Zaranth was directly in front of them, her rider stripping the safety harness, which was never used when dragons went after a meal. F'lessan could not miss Zaranth's condition. She was gleaming with more than health. Why hadn't Tai noticed that the green was coming into heat? He tried to think which dragons had been at Honshu early this morning. Most had gone well before dawn, as they had, to begin whatever work was slated for that day in the reconstruction of Monaco's Weyr building. In a traditional Weyr, with dragons basking on their ledges, her readiness would have been noticed long before the green herself might be aware of her form. Honshu had been guesting dragons since the Flood. True, both riders and dragons arrived tired: riders eating quickly and seeking their beds, dragons finding a spot on sun-warmed terraces and rousing only when their riders called them the next morning. He and Tai had gone directly to Paradise River and from there to Benini Hold, their dragons sprawling in full sun; several hours in the sun. Heat was known to trigger a dragon's mating instinct. He swore, wondering if any of the other dragons had been awake to the nearness of Zaranth's cycle? Riders were known to remember when greens were likely to come into heat. Most of those staying at Honshu were Monaco Weyr riders. Would they come storming in from all over now Zaranth was active? Was this a delayed reaction in Zaranth? Overdue? But he was a Wingleader and he shouldn't have missed the signs. Well, Tai had!
I didn't.
For once, Golanth jolted gracelessly onto the terrace, throwing his rider forward in an unexpected assist in dismounting. F'lessan was lucky to keep on his feet, running a few steps to restore his balance. Did Golanth sense other male dragons near enough to challenge him? Certainly the bronze demonstrated his eagerness by arching his neck, tucking his head into his chest, proudly male. Sweeping the skies for the appearance of more dragons, F'lessan quickly stripped off safety straps, shucking the pile to the nearest bench, as he began to shed his flying gear. Golanth moved carefully toward Zaranth, his eyes beginning to whirl in anticipation.
Tai was standing there, the harness folded over her arms, gazing fatuously at her dragon.
"Good to see her looking so well. She'd gone quite dull there for a while after the Flood," she remarked as F'lessan strode up to her. "How near are the felines?"
"Looking so well?" F'lessan paused, astonished by her choice of words. Then he pointed dramatically at Zaranth. "By the Egg, look at her, Tai!"
Her eyes gleaming orangey-red, Zaranth angled her head coquettishly back at Golanth who was displaying, moving cautiously nearer, his faceted eyes sparking more redly.
Tai gasped, eyes widening with an expression of such fear and intense loathing that F'lessan wondered just what had happened during Zaranth's other mating flights.
"But there's just us!" she cried defensively, the harness slipping off her arms as she spread them wide in a gesture of panic and confusion.
How had she thought there was safety in that? Of course there had been other dragons and riders around, in and out of Honshu. Until right now! But, with a green in heat, there was no safety in numbers. Her hands turned, palms toward him in flat rejection. And, of course, he thought in fury, when Zaranth had gone proddy before, every blue, brown, and needy bronze had appeared: their riders had corralled her rider, waiting to see which dragon would win the green. He closed his eyes; he knew very well how intense the mood would be. But the green rider would choose!
"Tai, did you never choose?" he cried, outraged for her as he started to close the distance between them. And halted. He mustn't crowd her. The others had. How much time could he give her? How could he soothe her?
She was trembling violently, her eyes wide-not in an answer to her dragon's sensuality, but in sheer terror. She seemed to draw into herself, denying what was about to happen. Crossing her arms in a defensive position! Shards! Had previous riders raped her as their dragons twined? He tried to remember which blues and browns weyred at Monaco.
Tai continued backing away from him, looking about wildly for some refuge.
"They were all the same," she muttered. "There's no escape from them. From their ... " She swallowed, trying to lick dry lips, white-faced with revulsion: her green eyes stark.
"Tai, were you forced?" With those words Tai shot F'lessan a look of such fear laced with guilt that he felt his belly fall flat. "You didn't choose?" He spoke very gently, appalled. This should be the most wonderful experience: a doubled ecstasy as both dragon and rider exalted in the union. He'd thought he'd made it so for those he'd partnered. The queen riders had always known: they had chosen him. With the state she was in, there was no way Tai had ever chosen. "It shouldn't be a violation. It should be a celebration for you and your dragon. The most glorious union!"
"Union?" She snarled the word, the panic in her eyes telling him that mating had been far from that.
How many times had Zaranth mated? How many times had she been ... he struggled to find the appropriate word ... violated? He knew hold and hall girls often were; it was one reason so many sought sanctuary in a Weyr. Dragonriders, except at this one time in their dragon's cycle, were known to be considerate, and ardent, lovers. Without conceit, he knew that he enjoyed a certain reputation. Is that why Tai had been so chary of his company? He'd thought she was just naturally reticent. Now he realized she had been motivated more by fear than reserve. He'd have a few well-chosen words for Mirrim after this-if he could only reach the girl now, when it was vital to soothe her.
With the stunning warble of a lustful green, Zaranth issued her challenge to Golanth and launched herself, straight up. Unlike the queens who needed to blood a kill to give them extra strength for longer mating flights, greens required little preparation beyond the onset of their cycle. Golanth did not hesitate for a moment, the bugle of his acceptance echoing back to their riders.
Tai screamed in anguish, reaching out futilely as if she could have stopped her green.
"Tai, listen to me," he said, keeping his voice light. "Let me explain how it should be." Carefully, slowly, he held out one hand but she backed away along the terrace.
Eyeing his hand as if even his touch would sully her, she cowered away, her green eyes frantic.
"Oh, Tai, my friend, if I could, I'd stop Golanth," and he would have given anything to have been able to prepare her more. If he hadn't been so callous as to ignore what he'd thought was a natural reserve rather than sexual fear. "I can't, not now when Zaranth wants him so badly."
"How can she want him? I don't want you! Not that way!"
That admission was at least something in his favor, F'lessan thought, struggling to find a way through companionship to solving the intensely immediate problem of their situation. All too soon the rider would be consumed by the dragon in a bonding neither could escape. He had to reach Tai, the human being, before her mind was locked into her mating dragon.
"But you see, she does. She just challenged him," he said softly, infusing as much gentle persuasion into his voice as he could. "He answered. He has been admiring her in so many ways. Just as I admire you, Tai."
She blinked, confused.
That was good, F'lessan thought, somewhat frantic himself. If he couldn't reach her, she'd never realize that it needn't be rape. He knew he could control his human self, no matter how he might wish to revel in orgasm with his Golanth.
"Haven't you learned anything of me?" he cried in soft desperation. "Have I offended you? Slighted you as friend, Tai?" She blinked again, shaking her head, more confused than ever as the hold of her dragon increased. "In this let me be your friend-and lover, too. Challenge me, Tai, as your dragon challenged mine. Challenge me to make love to you, to you, Tai, not to Tai-rider. Choose me!" He spread his hands across his chest. "Choose me, Tai!"
"I have no choice," she said, whimpering. She collapsed inwardly.
"Oh, Tai, love," he pleaded, holding out his hands but careful not to crowd her. She was so near the edge of the terrace. She was suddenly so dear to him, he was surprised to realize. This was not all Golanth's yearning: F'lessan the man was yearning, too. "Please, Tai, please choose me!"
Whether it was Tai who reached slowly out to her friend for support, or the dazed rider, he wasn't then sure but she did reach. Was there enough of the human there to have made a choice?
"Please, Tai, come with me now," he said, taking her hand in a light grasp and gently turning her back, toward the nearest door. "My friend, we must go in."
He tried not to startle her, slowly guiding her steps-she couldn't see the arm he held behind her, just in case she might still bolt. Her eyes were glazing: she wouldn't know how close the edge of the terrace was if she should suddenly feel trapped and try to escape.
Murmuring encouragement, he got her inside the weyr-hold. With equal care, he closed the door behind them, grateful that the hinges were oiled and hoping she didn't hear the slight noise as it shut. Her fingers were slack on his, her gaze distant: she was half in rider trance. He wanted to settle her before she was completely submerged by Zaranth's sensuality. That would have been frightening enough the first time it happened if no one had explained it in full detail. Tai's reserve should have warned him; he cursed himself for insensitivity. How long had he been a rider?
Abruptly Tai tensed. He glanced at her eyes, pupils enlarged against the dark in the hallway. He kept his hand relaxed while hers tightened convulsively. He put his other hand on the small of her back, lightly, offering no threat, just guidance.
"I'm honored you chose me, Tai," he said. She must believe that. "I didn't believe you would, you know. I admired you for how calmly you got the children out at Monaco." He'd better be careful what he said now. "Be calm now, Tai. Be calm and let me help you now."
As deftly as he could, he turned her into the nearest sleeping room. He could feel Golanth's desire mounting. He had to control his. He had to remain human as long as he could. And that was becoming an effort. He couldn't just push her on the bed-that would frighten her-but he also didn't want to turn dragon and have her endure rougher handling.
Gently, he put his arms around her. "You have chosen me, F'lessan, and I will love you well!"
He kissed her forehead and slowly tightened his arms about her. If she weren't completely thralled by Zaranth ... but had she ever been lovingly kissed? He bent his head, his mouth tender on hers. Let her still be human enough to feel this! He had not expected the flare of passion that passed between them in a kiss he had intended to be delicate. She trembled violently. Instinctively he tightened his embrace.
"You chose me, Tai. You chose me," he cried but her body went stiff in his arms. Rocking her, he kissed her face, her cheeks, her mouth, her neck. "Choose me, Tai!" he begged as he felt the rigidity that was dragon-frenzy, not human.
And he was abruptly Golanth.
She had launched herself well, and then ducked sideways, streaming away from him with unusually strong sweeps of her wings. She was big for a green and he liked that in her. He did prefer greens to golds. The golds always felt as if they were conferring great honor on a bronze by permitting them to mate. But greens could be grateful. They were certainly lustier than queens. Perhaps because they mated more often. She dodged to the right and he followed lazily. Let her wear herself out a while. He could wait. He would wait. This one was worth it. He had been so careful, not being too possessive of her company but he had let the others know that he intended this green to be his. He had been marshaling his strength whenever possible, knowing how tired other dragons were. But he was Golanth! Of Benden Weyr! Sired by Mnementh! Hatched of Ramoth. Worthy of that noble pairing!
She tucked her wings along her back, diving obliquely. He followed quickly. Did she realize how close she was to the ground? Oh, she did and swooped up again, proudly, head reaching for the low clouds that scudded over the foothills.
She'd play that game, would she? With one quick glance around him to see if any challengers had entered the chase, he swept after her. Sun sparkled off her brilliant skin between clouds and he pursued her, wondering if she knew that he could see her so clearly.
She turned on one wing tip and, knowing these skies better than she did, he did the same and soared through the narrow pass. If she thought he'd fall for that wily trick, she hadn't his measure. Soon she would.
She rose above the filmy cloudbank, heading toward the thinner air, then almost tumbled back down. He followed this maneuver effortlessly. She raced forward, rolling slowly as if caressed by the chill air. He nearly overshot her but didn't, so she failed with that ploy. She ducked, dodged, and fell surface-ward again, pulling up with the most graceful and powerful of movements he had yet seen in a green. Oh, she was a prize, this one! How he loved her! And she had chosen him!
Clouds again and he shadowed her progress through them by the glow of her reddened eyes. Then, just as she let him get very close, to evade him at the last moment, he gave his wings a sudden massive stroke and reached for her, making the catch, pulling her to him, connecting. Wings entwined and beating together, they flew suspended and, because he was a bronze and cleverer than she had thought him, their flight was horizontal to the ground and he could extend this passion for a long, long time. He did, sweeping them both carefully over the great inland sea where the thermals caressed their gleaming hides.
F'lessan was back in his body and Tai's was his. They were both panting from the exertion of a marvelously extended flight. He felt both triumphant and drained. He hadn't felt such repletion in a long while. She lay limply beneath him, eyes closed, head to one side, curls of sweaty hair concealing her face. He hadn't the strength-nor, to be candid, the wish-to release her, to leave her body. Considerate of her, he shifted. For all the pleasure he had enjoyed with other women, this encounter really was different. He couldn't think of anything appropriate to say and he had prided himself on knowing exactly the right words to use in any situation.
"Oh, Tai, you did choose me," he murmured, propping himself on his elbows, looking down at her with a feeling close to awe. "You did!"
His words took him as much by surprise as they did her. She turned her head slightly, her eyes wide and human again. Her lips were swollen from kisses he had been unable to control, and her eyes filled with tears.
"Please say you did?" The human in him needed to be reassured but he was also aware that their meeting had been incredibly intense, even for a dragon-generated mating. That could only be achieved with the enthusiastic cooperation of both partners. He couldn't be feeling the way he did right now if rape had been involved.
"I didn't know it was supposed to be-like that!" she admitted softly and she turned her head, embarrassed.
"My very dear green," he said tenderly, stroking her face with his thumbs, feeling slightly superior because he was no stranger to the "that." "It is assuredly the most intense emotional and sexual experience. We know exactly what our dragons are feeling, and they mirror ours. It can be stunning enough when humans love, but magnified by our emotional bond with our dragons ... " He spread his hands, unable to quantify it and smiled tenderly at her. "Well, it-" he hesitated, "should have happened to you before, Tai." He couldn't help making fists and driving them into the rumpled furs of the bed. "I'm appalled and concerned that you were so abused. That's not the way dragonriders should behave even when the dragon's in control. I'm ... "
"Sssh," she said, reaching up to lay her palm against his cheek, her face calm, the hint of a smile on her kiss-roughened lips.
He wished he could see her eyes but there was so little light filtering through from the hall.
"I'm glad it was you I could choose," she said.
"I-" He started to protest, stunned that, despite his best efforts, she had somehow sensed his wile.
"I know me well enough, F'lessan," she said, putting both hands on his face now. "I am so very grateful to you."
"Gratitude in a snake's arse," he said, incensed. He wrapped his arms around her, wanting very much to take her again, and with human lust. "It's not bloody gratitude I want from you, my dear Tai!" He loosened his hold when he felt her resist with a hint of the panic she had shown on the terrace. He made his body relax beside hers, looked down into her eyes, wishing he could see the expression in them, the color they were right now. "I liked you when we first met. In the Archives. I know you knew who I was, that Mirrim had probably prejudiced you against me. Had probably said I was-reckless. I'm not. I'm a good Wingleader. Riders trust me. So do their dragons. I want you to choose me, of your own free will, Tai. I'd like to-choose you, too, as a person I want to know better, not just because your green went into heat and Golanth was the only dragon available."
She looked up at him for a long time and then, tentatively, curled one hand around his bare shoulder.
"How did you manage it?" Her voice was low, even.
"How did I manage-?" His voice broke in surprise. She meant Zaranth challenging Golanth. "Believe me, it is not something even I could manage!" A laugh burst from him. "Your dragon wanting mine!"
And then he wondered. Dragons could be very cunning.
"Wasn't there one dragon in Monaco Zaranth liked?" he asked quickly. "Didn't Mirrim tell you to decide which rider you preferred and latch on to him?"
Her eyes slid from his and she swallowed hard. "Don't go after Mirrim, F'lessan. She said-something like that. But I didn't-didn't prefer any of them."
"He didn't have to be Monacan, you know."
"You're angry with me again." Her body was stiff beneath him.
"With you? Again? When have I been angry with you, Tai?"
"When you got back from Fort."
He blinked.
"When you found me swimming after-after-"
"When you were injured," and he stressed that word, "trying to stop those sharding vandals." He got angry just thinking about that attack.
"You're angry with me again."
"No, I'm-" He closed his lips on "not" and saw that, unaccountably, she was smiling a little; that her body had relaxed, that both her hands were lying loosely on his back. He took a deep breath and made taut muscles loosen. "I'm not angry with you, my dear Tai, I'm angry for you."
"I'll have to get accustomed to the difference."
"Will you, my very dear green?" he asked very gently.
"Will I what?"
"Want to get accustomed to the difference? To me?" He searched her face, rubbing his thumbs gently from her temples to her cheeks. "I do so very much want to know you better." He kissed her lightly at the corner of her mouth, felt her lips twitch under his. Then, carefully, he moved to one side of her long body and pulled her against him, pressing her head against his chest.
"They're lying just like this, you know," she murmured.
He smoothed her hair back and settled his cheek against it. "Hmm. I know. On the ledge. But they're almost asleep."
"Aren't we?"
"We." He liked the sound of that and especially the idea of sleep. Of sleeping with her in his arms.
I told you I would hunt well, he thought he heard his dragon say. Had Golanth been planning a very subtle courtship after all? Just as his rider had?
"You wanted to see me?"
Sebell gave a start. Pinch closed the door that he had opened so quietly that his Masterharper had not even heard it. He grinned.
"Losing the old skills, are you, Sebell?"
"So long as you don't," Sebell said and flipped a piece of paper across the table, nodding for Pinch to read it. "From Crom's harper."
"Serubil? Sensible man. Knows endless verses to that dreadful 'Down the Shafts.' " Pinch gave a revolted shudder as he stepped forward to take the note. His eyes brightened as he scanned it. "So if the body was never found, even if the trackers were delayed looking, Serubil says the man must have escaped. Possibly taken the river down to the plains."
"Read on. There's bad news, too."
"Oh. The prisoner did have a missing finger joint. No facial scar though." Pinch sighed. "Well, he could have got the scar on one of those early forays the Abominators made. Or even during or after his escape, you know," and Pinch eased his butt to the edge of Sebell's desk, not quite disturbing the piles of papers as he continued to read. "Didn't we send every harper a copy of the sketch I made?"
"Thought we had."
"Ah!" Pinch's somewhat sleepy expression brightened as he read further. "The prisoner-did the man have no name at all?-was sentenced for life to the Crom mines with several others for attacking Aivas."
"While I was waiting for you to arrive," and Sebell adroitly teased Pinch though, indeed, Master Mekelroy must have hurried to the Masterharper's door before pausing to slip inside in a stealthy fashion. That was often how Pinch entered this office, in stealth and at night or other inconvenient hours. "I had time to review Master Robinton's report of that incident."
Sebell stroked the blue leather cover of the journal and opened it with gentle fingers to the place where he had left a slip of paper. "Aivas thwarted the attack with what he called a 'sonic barrage'-a noise so fierce and penetrating that it rendered the intruders unconscious. Aivas said that some aural damage might be permanent. When we expressed amazement that he would retaliate, he remarked that, and I quote him, 'These units are programmed with industrially and politically valuable information. Unauthorized access and/or destructive actions must, therefore, be actively discouraged, and this has always been a minor function of an Aivas facility.' "
Sebell looked up from the open pages to regard Pinch.
"Well, yes." Pinch scratched the back of his head. " 'Some aural damage might be permanent.' According to Serubil-" and Pinch rattled the message in his hand, "-this prisoner was deaf. Maybe he recovered his hearing? Convenient and useful to pretend not to hear if someone wanted to escape."
"Yes, in the next paragraph, Serubil says this wasn't the man's first attempt. However-" Sebell held up a finger, "neither this one or the others ever gave their names."
"If they were deaf, how would they hear even that question?" Pinch asked.
Sebell grimaced. "Usually there are ways to get across as simple a question as that. Me," and he punched his chest with his thumb, "Sebell. You?" He widened his eyes, assumed an interrogatory expression, and pointed at Pinch.
"Having failed to crash or crush Aivas, the last thing I would want to tell was my name."
"Good point, but-" And Sebell looked down the closely written, beautifully inscribed handwriting to the paragraph he wanted, planting his finger on the margin. "-while the men carried no identification whatever in their clothes, one of them had been a glassblower, judging by the pipe calluses on his hands and burn scars on his arms." He regarded Pinch with an anticipatory expression.
"And Master Norist was one of the most outspoken adversaries of Aivas and his new techniques. He was also exiled for his part in the abduction of our Master Robinton." Pinch's face went as bleak as Sebell's at that reminder of the man both had respected, admired, and loved.
"Three of Master Norist's sons were journeymen in the Glasscrafthall. All were very much under their father's control."
Pinch considered this. "Mind you, after thirteen Turns in a mine, pipe calluses might not last but burn scars made by hot glass do not fade." He cocked his head at his Craftmaster. "So I should take a sketch of our good friend up to Serubil and maybe question some of the prison guards about those burn scars. Someone must have noticed them in thirteen Turns."
"And if he regained his hearing."
Pinch gave a snort. "He'd have to be able to talk if he's been plotting raids and selective booty."
"Find out, too, will you, Pinch, in your delightfully subtle way, how long it was before they went after the escaped prisoner? I'd heard tell the Smithcraft gave them twenty marks for that meteorite."
Pinch gave an appreciative whistle. "No wonder the latest ones have made such a stir."
Sebell shifted uneasily, his mouth pursed with annoyance.
"No matter how much they're worth, they're causing more trouble than they could possibly be worth to the Smithcraft."
"Oh?"
Sebell gave him a sharp look. "The one on the Keroon plains has the hillmen certain they'll have a fireball next and aren't the dragonriders going to blast it out of the sky before it falls on them and burns up all the fodder."
"I thought the one in Paradise River Hold only fell through a roof?"
"It harmed nothing and Jayge got fifteen Smith marks for it. He also said," and the expression on Sebell's face suggested to Pinch that the Masterharper wished that Jayge had not been so garrulous, "that the dolphins had seen several 'hissy hot' objects sink into the sea and they'd be happy to dive for them."
Pinch gave an indifferent shrug. "From what 1 remember, meteorites are more often apt to come down at sea than on land since we have so much more water on Pern."
"That's not the problem. Even people who should know better are demanding that the Weyrs send out more sweep-riders to prevent more objects falling out of the sky."
Pinch gave a bark of laughter. "Dragons can move fast but not as fast as a meteorite. And meteorites are so hot when they hit the atmosphere that however hot dragon flame is, it couldn't stop a meteorite-even if a dragon could match its speed."
"I know, I know." Sebell sighed gustily.
"Now-" Pinch rattled Serubil's message. "Why don't I do something useful, like go to Crom Minehold?"
"I've asked N'ton to have you conveyed. You've about time to get your sketch of that Abominator and change into riding gear."
"Good. Bista loves going a-dragonback." Pinch neatly folded Serubil's message and put it in a thigh pocket. "I shan't be long."
"I hope not."
He was back by late evening. This time he knocked discreetly at Sebell's office door and entered, carrying a tray with a klah pot, cups, and a plate of sweet biscuits.
"1 do not come empty-handed," he said and strode to set the tray down on Sebell's desk. He gave the piles of papers a quick appraisal: Sebell seemed to have made little headway with the stacks. "Did you do nothing today about all those petitions?"
"I put them in different piles. What's your news?"
Pinch poured klah for them both before he made himself comfortable on the edge of the desk again.
"The prisoner did not have a scar on his face when he left. He lost the top joint of the first finger on his left hand in a mining accident. He had tried to escape before but was easily caught. The trackers were sure he couldn't hear them coming. That's one reason they delayed going after Rim."
"When were those attempts made?"
Pinch consulted notes he had made in the margin of Serubil's message. "In the first couple of Turns he was there-" His eyes widened and he pointed at the MasterHarper just as Sebell reached the same conclusion.
"So he got enough hearing back to try again!" They spoke in unison and then both grinned.
"And he waited for the right time-" Sebell said.
"What better time than when a meteorite has knocked out holes to escape through!" Pinch jumped to his feet again. "Right. The prison bathroom has partitions in its stalls so no one there remembers any scars on his arms."
"And no name?"
"They called him Glass because of the pipe calluses."
"So he could be Norist's journeyman?" Sebell asked.
"That's likely."
"So he'd have plenty of reason to hate Aivas. Norist thought of Aivas as the Abomination. There's enough circumstantial evidence to believe that the escaped prisoner is the new leader."
"My man, Fifth," Pinch put in. With a sigh, he sat back down on the edge of the desk. "Now all we have to do is find him and see if he can hear our questions clearly enough to answer them."
"I suggest we set our minds first to finding out what he and his fellow Abominators plan to do next," Sebell said gloomily.
Pinch watched his Master for a long thoughtful moment. Then, with an artificially bright expression, he asked, "Did you hear that M'rand and Pilgra are retiring to Cathay?"
"Yes," Sebell said. "And I'm glad. For their sakes-they've fought Thread long enough-and because the new Weyrleaders are young and will balance old G'dened who's so conservative you wonder where he got the courage to make the trip Forward thirty-odd Turns ago."