Authors: Anne McCaffrey
Tagetarl concentrated on committing the first face to memory. Rather pugnacious all totaled, the Printer thought: the sort that would worry a crack in a cliff until it became a cave.
The next one Pinch finished was of a man who looked vaguely familiar. Younger than the first man, he was taller and well-fleshed, with a darker but not weathered skin and short fair hair. A pinched mouth suggested selfishness and obstinacy, and the eyes had a sly cast to them. His expression was both amused and supercilious.
A woman was the third: her stance—her left hand holding her right elbow—was awkward, her eyes wide and avid as if listening to instructions that she would strive to carry out. She, too, was clad as a hill woman, but the clothes did not fit either her body or her manner.
“These three were visitors, received with much fuss and fawned over. Stayed several days and talked most earnestly in low voices. Plotting probably. What, I couldn’t hear, though I
tried. I’d like these to get to Sebell as soon as possible. D’you think Ola would oblige? Bista’s exhausted.”
“Of course,” Tagetarl said with gratification. Menolly had helped Rosheen train her queen. This wouldn’t be the first time Ola had flown discreet errands.
“I’ll do the others when I’ve had a rest,” Pinch said. He popped more bread and cheese into his mouth as he rose to his feet. His abrupt movement startled a chirp out of sleeping Bista. Absently, his left hand stroked her. “Can I indulge in a bath? I have to keep to these clothes.” He held a fold away from his body with repugnance. “But I’d enjoy sleeping one night—or rather a full day—smelling clean.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll see no one goes banging about under you,” Tagetarl said with a reassuring grin.
Pinch often made use of the loft above the outbuildings where paper and other supplies were stored. When the Print Hall expanded, as Tagetarl earnestly hoped it would, apprentices would sleep up there, but right now, it made a handy lair when Pinch wished to make inconspicuous visits.
“That would be appreciated.” Pinch took another wedge of cheese and the last of the bread and left.
Tagetarl prepared a message cylinder for Ola, saw her off, and went to his own room. Rosheen sighed when he lay down beside her and, sleepily, she turned toward him for comfort.
With the other Wingleaders, F’lessan attended a pre-Fall meeting in one corner of the Lower Caverns.
“It’s the Ten pattern, so we meet it over the Eastern Sea and Igen joins us for the last hour over south Lemos,” F’lar said, his eyes making a quick keen appraisal of each of the eighteen Wingleaders sitting around him. “Weather’s cold and dull, but the visibility is good.”
Out of the corner of his eye, F’lessan noticed that everyone was trying to look as alert as possible. The entire Weyr had been
turned out to search for the four men involved in wrecking Benden’s Healer Hall. The details the injured journeyman recalled about his attackers would have described half the male population of any hold; the only thing he was certain about was that they were not from Benden. Runners had agreed to spread word of the attack and ask isolated holds to report strangers. G’bol had scrupulously followed up one report, but the men had been honest traders.
Two of the oldest Wingleaders had not been called to fly this Fall, and F’lessan wished that F’lar would take a Fall or two off now and then. While he was more apt to listen to G’bol than anyone else, F’lar ignored the merest hint of letting anyone else lead his Weyr. No one would fault him, but the Weyrleader made no exceptions for himself, bar the very few occasions each Turn when Mnementh had taken a score or strained a wing.
F’lar assigned the levels and F’lessan jerked his attention back to the business at hand. His wing was high again: a measure of F’lar’s trust in his leadership.
“Warn your younger riders that dull conditions can blur Thread in the higher reaches,” F’lar continued. “Measure the wind as soon as you can. We’ll know how the Thread falls, when it falls. We gather on the Rim in ten minutes. Good flying!”
As they filed out, closing their jackets, settling their helmets, and pulling on their gloves, F’lessan felt the air of anticipation that always gripped him, speeding his pulse, deepening his breath.
On the ledges of their weyrs, green and blue riders were already mounted, firestone sacks on either side of dragon necks; some brown and bronze riders were still collecting sacks, launching from the Bowl to the Weyr Rim. Wingleader bronzes were drifting down to meet their riders in an orderly confusion. Golanth hovered above the ground to his left. F’lessan, judging the distance neatly, ran and vaulted to his back.
Golanth pumped his wings skillfully and circled, dropping down to his position on the Rim, between the wingseconds and in front of the twenty-two strong wing.
The green reserves are ready and will bring us sacks when you call them
, Golanth reported.
As he fastened his safety straps and pulled up the fur-lined tops of his boots—his knees were always cold by the end of a Fall—F’lessan thought of Tai, wondering what it would be like to have her in his wing.
Zaranth is bigger than any of the others
, his dragon remarked, turning his head slightly so that the left many-faceted eye reflected a view of his rider in the mid-planes.
Firestone, please!
He twisted his head to his rider’s leg and dutifully F’lessan supplied him from the bulging sack.
Deftly Golanth tipped his head back, positioning the rock on his thick grinders. Then, exercising great care not to bite the edge of his tongue, he began to chew—as did every other dragon on the Rim. Five pieces F’lessan fed his bronze, sufficient for Golanth to work up a proper flame.
From the bowl rose the four Benden queens. As they circled up, all eyes on the Rim turned to the Weyrleader and Mnementh. F’lar’s arm was raised; F’lessan held his high. The queens completed their last circle up, above the Rim, heading north-northeast.
You know where to go?
F’lessan formally asked his dragon.
We all know!
Golanth answered.
Mnementh roared and sprang forward just as F’lar’s arm came down in the command to take wing. As one, dragons leaped upward. Then, as every one of the four hundred and eighty-four Benden dragons was a-wing, they went
between
.
T
hey came out again in an air almost as cold as
between
. It hadn’t been bright at Benden, but here, above the Eastern Sea, the sky was grayer: a shade that would make the silvery strands of falling Thread more difficult to see. Benden Weyr faced the probable entry of Thread, glad to have the wind behind them as the wings sorted themselves to their assigned levels. Far below, F’lessan could make out the queens’ wings, small dots against the gray of snowy land and pewter sea. Ahead of him, almost motionless, was F’lar, he and Mnementh as ever leading them by several dragon-lengths.
This was the worst part of a Fall, F’lessan felt, and, with a
glove-thickened finger, he pushed the thick new scarf against his goggles. He tucked his left boot top against his inner leg, and then checked the firestone sacks dangling down Golanth’s withers before peering at the sky for any trace of Thread. Sometimes blinking helped.
It comes!
Golanth told him and stroked his wings forward.
Mnementh’s flame spouted brilliant orange and accurately seared the first Thread to fall.
There was nothing wrong with the Weyrleader’s eyesight, F’lessan thought as he squinted to see the first Threads slanting down. He felt a primitive surge of elation as he and his dragon once more attacked their ancient adversary.
Sunlight woke Tai—hot sunlight. She kept her eyes closed as her mind roused to awareness. If the sun was on her face, it was almost noon. She was in her hammock between two big frond trees whose great draping leaves usually shielded her very well. The sun must now be close to its zenith. As usual, her face was turned toward the wallow that Zaranth used as a weyr. The green dragon was in full sun—just as she liked it, head between her forelegs, wings slightly drooping from her backbone so that their folds would absorb the heat. Many dragonriders had pondered the question: did dragons store heat in their bodies for their forays into
between
? Zaranth had one eyelid open. By the gleam of the slit, she was watching something very carefully.
One of the disadvantages of living in the open was the insect population, in myriad forms: some scratched, even burrowed in flesh if possible; some merely moved in straight lines, like the trundlebugs that were the object of Zaranth’s current inspection. A straight line for a trundlebug could also be perpendicular to the ground. They had been observed maneuvering up to the crown of a frond tree and down the other side. Right now, a very large trundlebug—the creatures could become quite large if no natural hazard ended their existence—was under intense draconic surveillance. This one had no fewer than five young still attached
behind it, in various stages of maturation in the trundlebug’s peculiar reproductive process. Their bodies collected pollen from low-growing shrubs and vines—also the occasional tree—and shed it in their progress to whatever unknowable goal trundlebugs had. What other purpose they served Tai did not know, but they were less of a nuisance than some crawlies and rather curious to watch. Single-mindedness was exemplified in the trundlebug. It had been suggested there was only a female of the species.
Trundlebugs were a good reason to sleep in a hammock. Humans used sticky-goo tapes around the trunks of hammock trees and the base of any living accommodation. Most buildings were on stilts as another deterrent to invading creepy-crawlies; in lowlying coastal areas, stilts also kept dwellings above high tide floods. Tai’s little house was just beyond her hammock: all its shutters were open to let in what wind there was, the fine-net screens preventing the entry of airborne insects. The afternoon breeze generally wafted away those clinging to the material. The diurnal ones departed at dusk; the nocturnal ones were noisier but photosensitive. A tall spire of solar panel provided Tai with what power she needed: for lights, the warmer plate, the cold box, and for the occasional hot air during the worst of the cold weather—which, to her, was never as cold as it had once been in Keroon’s foothills.
In the Southern hemisphere, some dragonriders preferred to live in companionable clusters or with their mates, but Tai loved seclusion. She had handcrafted such furnishings as she had, shelves, bedstead, worktop, hooks, and the chest where she kept her clothing.
Zaranth knew Tai was awake, but the green dragon was watching the trundlebug. Abruptly the inexorable path of the trundlebug—which would take it into Zaranth’s left nostril—ended. Tai blinked. Had Zaranth exhaled from the victim nostril, tumbling the trundlebug and her offspring away from her? Movement out of the corner of her eye showed her that the trundlebug was now marching in an easterly direction, an exact forty-five degrees from its original course and at least a full dragon-length from its previous path.
How’d you do that?
Tai asked, not sure she had seen what she had seen.
I did not care for it to crawl into my nose. I moved it
.
Just like that?
Just like that
.
Do you do it often?
Now and then. That
… and Zaranth moved her chin slightly toward the redirected trundlebug,
does not belong where it was going
. The dragon lost her pose of indolence; her eyes were wide open, and she was magically on her feet.
Felines! We’re needed!
Tai scrambled from the hammock, leaping into her quarters, pulling on trousers, stomping into boots, shrugging into her riding jacket—and bother a sleeved shirt—and carrying the dangling safety straps out to slip the harness over Zaranth’s eager head. It was as dangerous to hunt felines as to fly Thread. Zaranth shrugged the leathers to the base of her broad neck and lifted her leg for Tai to clip them together.
Who sent for help?
Cardiff. Fire-lizard message. T’gellan’s called half the wing
.
Tai vaulted between the last two neck ridges, and clipped the safety harness onto her broad belt.
I know where
, the green dragon said and took off so quickly Tai’s head snapped. They were barely above the trees when Zaranth went
between
.
They were back in the moist southern air, a half dozen other dragons erupting nearby.
Cardiff herder spotted the pride. A big one
.
They had come out low above the rolling highland plateau where the ancients had turned loose their grazers and ruminators, unable to transport more than breeding stock to the north. The herds had multiplied over the centuries and mutated slightly from their northern relatives, affording them some protection against the local parasites and poisonous plants. The Master-Herder had found the alterations “fascinating.” Right now, a huge herd of mixed varieties was stampeding from the edge of the jungle where the predators lurked to ambush the unwary.
As a relatively new southern Hold, Cardiff did its best to
oversee its grasslands, but the hundred or so herders could not always protect the far-ranging stock. Watched by no more than three or four men or women, the beasts covered wide tracts in their search for edible grasses. Thunder, lightning, or the occasional jungle fire could send them into terror-stricken stampedes, which occasionally ended with masses of them falling over cliff edges or into ravines. Now they had been spooked by felines. The southern continent had a lot of problems with the big predators, the product of an ill-advised zoological experiment by one of the Charterers. Like the abandoned herdbeasts, they had flourished, too, and ranged freely through the jungles, grasslands, and up into the southern foothills. Humans avoided the felines whenever possible; dragons were thrilled by the challenge of hunting them.
Zaranth was gliding silently and speedily toward the nearest herdbeasts, which had obviously been split off from the main herd by the canny felines. The predators were as apt to injure beasts, rendering them lame enough to attack later, as to kill outright. Tai had seen the result of such tactics, a wide pasture dotted with bleating, moaning animals, awaiting the pleasure of the cubs that the felines hunted for.