The White Dragon p-4

by Anne McCaffrey

  «Jaxom!» Brekke noticed him. The two riders waved a greeting and swung up on their beasts.

  Jaxom checked Ruth to be sure he had enough stone in his gullet, caressing his friend and applauding his willingness to fly Thread though riderless.

  I remember all the drills we were taught at Fort Weyr. I have F'nor and Canth, and D'ram and Tiroth to help. Brekke always watches me, too. I have never listened to a woman before. But Brekke is good! She is also sad but Canth says it is good for her to hear us. She knows that she is never alone.

  They were all facing east where the Red Star pulsed, round and brightly orange red. A film seemed to float across it and F'nor, raising his hand, called Ruth to take wing. Canth and Tiroth leapt strongly into the air, their wings beating in powerful strokes to assist their rising. Ruth was well aloft before them and straining ahead. Beside him four fire lizards appeared, as dwarfed by him as he was by Canth and Tiroth.

  «Don't meet Thread alone, Ruth!» Jaxom cried.

  «He won't,» Brekke said, her eyes twinkling. «He is young enough to want to be first. At that, he saves the older dragons a lot of effort. But we must go in.»

  As one, the three paused for a last look at their defenders and then moved quickly inside the shelter.

  «You can't see much,» Sharra told Jaxom, who had gone to stand by the open doorway.

  «I'd see if Thread got into this greenery.»

  «It won't. We've clever riders.»

  Jaxom felt the skin on his back begin to crawl and he gave a massive shudder.

  «Don't you dare catch a cold,» Sharra said. She collected a shirt from his room which she threw at him.

  «I'm not cold. I'm just thinking of Thread and this forest.»

  Sharra made a disparaging sound. «I forget. You're Northern Hold bred! Thread can't do any more than tear or hole leaves which heal in Southern forests. It's all grubbed. And, in case you're interested, that's the first thing F'nor and D'ram did check to be sure the land here is well grubbed. It is!»

  We have met Thread, Ruth told him, sounding elated. I am flaming well. I am to do V sweeps while Canth and Tiroth pass east and west. We are high. The fire lizards flame well, too. Over there! Berd. You are closest! Meer, get it to your offside. Talla! Help him. I come, I come. Down. I come. I flame! I protect my friend!

  Brekke caught Jaxom's eyes, smiling at him. «He delivers a running comment so we all know how well he fights!» Her eyes lost their focus on him and then she blinked. «Sometimes I see the Fall through three sets of dragon eyes. I don't know where I'm looking! It goes well!»

  Later, Jaxom could not have said what he ate or drank. When Ruth's monologue resumed, Jaxom paid strict attention to what his dragon said, looking now and again at Brekke whose face reflected the intense concentration of listening to three dragons and four fire lizards. Suddenly Ruth's commentary stopped and Jaxom gasped.

  «It's all right. They don't pursue Thread through the Fall,» Brekke said. «Just enough to insure our safety. Benden flies Thread tomorrow evening over Nerat. F'nor and Canth ought not overtire themselves today.»

  Jaxom rose so abruptly that his bench clattered to the floor. He mumbled an apology, righted it and then strode out the door in the direction of the beach. As he reached the sands, he kept peering westward and barely discerned the distant film of Thread. Another shudder gripped him and he had to smooth the hair down on the back of his neck. The cove before him, generally calm with leisurely waves, was roiled with the activity of fish diving, lifting their bodies above the surface and crashing awkwardly down again as if in the throes of pain.

  «What's the matter with them?» he asked Sharra, who had joined him.

  «The fish are having a good feed off Thread. They generally manage to clean up the cove in time for our dragons to bathe when they return. There! There they all are! Just popped back!»

  It was a good Fall! Ruth was jubilant, then rebellious. But we are not to follow it. Canth and Tiroth said that once across the big river there is nothing but stony waste and it is stupid to waste flame above what cannot be hurt by Thread. Ooooh!

  Sharra and Jaxom laughed as the little white dragon emitted a trail of flame, almost singeing his muzzle because he was at the wrong flight angle. He corrected instantly, continuing his downward glide on the correct plane.

  Even as the big dragons landed, the waters had calmed. Ruth was full of boast that he'd not needed to replenish his fire once, that he now knew how much to take to last the Fall. Canth turned his head toward the little white in an attitude of amused tolerance.

  Tiroth snorted and, relieved of his firesack, nodded once toward D'ram then waded into the water. Abruptly the air was full of fire lizards, hovering eagerly above Tiroth. The old bronze threw his head skyward, snorted again and, with a loud sigh, rolled over in the water. The fire lizards descended, dropping mouthsful of sand on him before attacking his hide with all four feet. Tiroth's eyes, lidded once against the water, gleamed just beneath the surface in an eerie submarine rainbow.

  Canth bellowed and half the fair left Tiroth to minister to him as he splashed about. Ruth watched this pre emption of his friends, blinked, gave himself a bit of a shake and meekly took to the water at some distance from the bronze and brown. Four fire lizards, the banded ones, detached themselves from the big dragons and began to scrub the little white.

  «Here, I'll help you, Jaxom,» Sharra said.

  Scrubbing a dragon's hide free of firestone stink is a tiring job under any circumstances and, although he only had to do one side of Ruth, Jaxom had to grit his teeth to finish.

  «I told you not to overdo, Jaxom,» Sharra said, her voice sharp as she straightened from scrubbing the fork of Ruth's tail and noticed Jaxom leaning against the dragon's rump. She gestured imperiously toward the beach. «Get out! I'll bring you some food. You're whiter than he is!»

  «I'm never going to get myself fit if I don't try!»

  «Stop muttering at me under your breath…»

  «And don't tell me you're doing it for my own good…»

  «No, for mine! I don't want to have to nurse you through a relapse!»

  She glared at him so fiercely that he gathered himself erect and stalked out of the water. Though it wasn't far to his informal bed under the trees, his legs were leaden as he dragged them through the water. He lay down, heaving a sigh of relief, and closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again someone was shaking him, and he discovered Brekke peering at him quizzically. «How do you feel now?»

  «I was dreaming?»

  «Hmmm. Bad ones again?»

  «No, curious ones. Only nothing was in focus.» Jaxom shook his head to clear the miasma of nightmare. He realized that it was midday. Ruth was asleep snoring, at his left. On the far right, he could see D'ram resting against Tiroth's front legs. There was no sign of F'nor or Canth.

  «You're probably hungry,» Brekke said, holding out the plate of food and the mug she'd brought.

  «How long did I sleep?» Jaxom was disgusted with himself. He stretched his shoulders, feeling muscles stiff from the exercise of scrubbing a dragon.

  «Several hours. Did you good.»

  «I dream an awful lot lately. Aftereffect of the fire head?»

  Brekke blinked, then frowned thoughtfully. «Come to think of it, I've been dreaming rather more than usual myself. Too much sun perhaps.»

  At that point, Tiroth woke, bellowed, struggled to his feet, sprinkled his rider with sand. Brekke gasped and rose quickly, her eyes on the old bronze as he shook his body free of sand and extended his wings.

  «Brekke, I must go!» D'ram shouted. «Did you hear?»

  «Yes, I heard. Do go quickly!» she called back, raising her hand in farewell.

  Whatever had roused Tiroth excited the fire lizards who began wheeling, diving, chittering raucously. Ruth raised his head, looked at them sleepily, then laid his head back on the sand, unmoved by the excitement. Brekke turned to regard the white dragon, with a curious frown.


  «What's wrong, Brekke?»

  «The bronzes at Ista Weyr are blooding their kills.»

  «Oh, Shards and Shells!» Jaxom's initial surprise melded into disappointed disgust with his weakness. He'd hoped to be allowed to attend that mating flight. He'd wanted to cheer G'dened and Barnath on.

  «I'll know,» Brekke said soothingly. «Canth will be there as well as Tiroth. They'll tell me all. Now, you eat!»

  As Jaxom obeyed, still cursing his unfortunate condition, he noticed that Brekke was staring at Ruth again.

  «What's the matter with Ruth?»

  «Ruth? Nothing. Poor dear, he was so proud to fly Thread for you, and he's too tired to care about any thing else right now.»

  She rose and as she left him Berd and Grail landed on her shoulders, murmuring softly as she disappeared into the shady forest.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Early Morning at Harpercraft Hall, Midmorning at Ista Weyr, Midafternoon at Jaxom's Cove, 15.8.28

  IN THE DARK of the early morning Robinton was awakened by Silvina.

  «Master Robinton, word has come from Ista Weyr. The bronzes are blooding their kill. Caylith will fly soon. You're wanted there.»

  «Oh, yes, thank you, Silvina.» He blinked against the light from the glow baskets she was unshielding. «You didn't by any chance bring me…» He saw the steaming mug by his bed. «Oh, good woman! My undying thanks!»

  «That's what you always say,» Silvina replied, chuckling as she left him to proceed with his wake up routine.

  He dressed quickly to avoid the predawn chill. Zair took his accustomed shoulder perch, squeaking softly as Robinton paced down the corridor.

  With a glow torch to cast some light in the dark lower hall, Silvina awaited him at the massive iron doors. She whirled the release wheel and the great bar lifted from ceiling and floor. He gave the yank required to open the huge door and wondered at the sudden stitch in his side. Then Silvina passed him his gitar, stoutly encased against the bitter cold of between.

  «I do hope Barnath flies Caylith,» she said. «Look, here's Drenth now.»

  The Harper saw the brown dragon backwinging to land and he ran down the hall steps. Drenth was excited, his eyes gleaming orange and red in the night. Robinton greeted the dragon's rider, paused to sling his gitar across his back and then, reaching for D'fio's hand, climbed to the brown's back.

  «How does the wagering stand?» he asked the rider.

  «Ah, now Harper; Barnath is a fine beast. He'll fly Caylith. Although,» a certain element of doubt tinged the man's voice, «the four bronzes N'ton is permitting to try are good strong young beasts, and mighty eager for the chance. It could be an upset. Put your mark where you will, it'll give you good value.»

  «I wish I could bet, but it's not the sort of thing I ought to do…»

  «Now, if you were to pass me the marks. Master Robinton, I'd swear on the Shell of Drenth here that they were mine!»

  «After the flight as well as before?» Robinton asked, amusement warring with his unprofessional desire to gamble.

  «I'm a dragonrider, Master Robinton,» D'fio said gruffly, «not one of those faithless Southerners.»

  «And I'm Master Harper of Pern,» said Robinton. But he leaned into the man's back, pressing a two mark piece into his hand. «Barnath, of course, and please let none be the wiser.»

  «As you wish. Master Robinton,» D'fio sounded pleased.

  They rose above the black shadow of the Fort Hold cliffs, the lighter darkness of night sky, moonless at this hour and season, just barely discernible. He felt the tension in D'fio's back, drew his own breath in sharply as they transferred between, and abruptly emerged with Drenth calling out his name to the Ista Weyr watchdragon.

  Robinton shielded his eyes from the brilliance of the sun slanting off the water. As he glanced below, he saw the dramatic half peak of Ista Weyr, the black stone like giant jagged fingers pointing to the bright blue skies. Ista was the smallest of the Weyrs, some of its complement of dragons making weyrs in the forest that surrounded the base. But the broad plateau beyond the cone was crowded with bronze beasts, their riders forming a cluster close to the golden queen who was crouched over her kill, sucking the blood from its body. At a farther and safe distance from this spectacle a large group of people looked on.

  Toward this area, Drenth glided.

  Zair took wing from Robinton's shoulder, to join other fire lizards in an aerial display of excitement. Robinton noticed that the little creatures kept a distance from the dragons. At least the fire lizards were appearing at Weyrs again.

  D'fio dismounted, too, and sent his brown for a swim in the warm waters of the bay below the Weyr plateau. Other dragons, uninvolved in this flight, were already taking advantage of the bathing at Ista Island.

  Caylith vaulted from the ground toward the herd of beasts in the Weyr's corral. Cosira half followed, keeping a firm control on her young queen so that she wouldn't gorge the meat and be too heavy for this all important mating flight. Robinton counted twenty six bronzes ringing the killing ground, gleaming in the harsh sunlight, their eyes wheeling red in rut agitation, their wings halt furled, their bodies at a crouch that would send them skyward the instant the queen ascended. They were all young, as F'lar had recommended, almost equal in size as they waited, never taking their glistening eyes from the object of their interest.

  Caylith growled deep in her throat as she sucked the blood from the buck carcass. She raised her head to snarl contemptuously back at the bronze ring.

  Suddenly the watch dragon roared a challenge and even Caylith turned to look. Arrowing in from the south, over the sea, came two bronzes.

  Just as Robinton realized that the beasts must have flown in at sea level to get this close to the Weyr undetected, he also realized that these were older beasts, muzzles graying, necks thickened. Southerners. Two of the Oldtmers' bronzes. That had to be T'kul with Salth, and probably B'zon with Ranilth. Robinton began to run toward the killing ground, toward the queen's prospective mates, for that was the obvious goal of the two bronzes sweeping in from the south.

  Their timing had been perfect, Robinton thought then saw two others making for the landing bronzes the stocky figure of D'ram and F'lar's lean body. T'kul and B'zon jumped off their beasts. The dragons took one final leap to range themselves with the other bronzes who hissed and growled at the newcomers. Robinton prayed under his breath that none of the bronze riders would act first, think later. Most of them were so young they'd not recognize T'kul or B'zon. But D'ram and F'lar certainly had.

  Robinton felt his heart pounding in his chest and a totally unfamiliar ache that caused him to grimace and slow his trot momentarily. B'zon was facing him, a set smile on his face. The Oldtimer touched T'kul's arm and the former High Reaches Weyrleader spared the Harper a quick glance. T'kul considered him no threat and turned back toward the two Weyrleaders.

  D'ram reached T'kul first. «You fool, this is for young beasts. You'll kill Salth.»

  «What option have you left us?» B'zon demanded just as F'lar and Robinton skidded to either side of the two Southerners. There was a hysterical note in the man's voice. «Our queens are too old to rise: there are no greens to give the males relief. We must…»

  Caylith bugled as she left the blood sucked corpse of the buck and half flew, half ran to scatter the herd, one sweeping forepaw impaling another victim on its flank and dragging it back to her.

  «D'ram, you declared this flight open, didn't you?»

  T'kul asked in a harsh voice, his features fine drawn despite the tan of Southern suns. He looked from D'ram to F'lar.

  «I did, but your bronzes are too old, T'kul.» He gestured toward the eager young dragons. The difference between them and the two older ones was pathetically obvious.

  «Salth's dying anyway. Let him go out flying. I made that choice, D'ram, when I brought him here.» T'kul stared hard at F'lar, the bitterness and hatred so vivid that Robinton sucked in his breath. «Why did you take back the egg? How did you fi
nd it?» Desperation broke briefly through T'kul's cold pride and arrogance.

  «Had you come to us, we would have helped you,» F'lar said quietly.

  «Or I,» D'ram said, miserable before the plight of his one time acquaintance.

  Ignoring F'lar altogether, Tkul gave the Istan Weyrleader a long scornful glance then, straightening his shoulders, jerked his head at B'zon to move forward. F'lar was in his direct path to the other bronze riders. The Benden Weyrleader opened his mouth to speak, shook his head in regret and stepped to one side. The Southern riders moved the few paces forward just in time. Caylith, raising her bloody muzzle, seemed to pulse more golden than ever. Her eyes were whirling opalescence. With a fierce scream, she launched herself upward. Barnath was the first dragon off the ground after her, and, to Robinton's surprise, T'kul's Salth was not far behind the Istan bronze.

  T'kul swung back to F'lar, the triumph on his face an insult. Then he strode to Cosira's side. The Weyrwoman was swaying with the effort of staying in mental contact with her queen. She didn't notice that it was G'dened and T'kul who were leading her back to her quarters to await the outcome of the flight.

  «He'll kill Salth,» D'ram was muttering, his face stricken.

  That odd pressure against his chest kept Robinton from reassuring the worried man.

  «And B'zon, too!» D'ram grabbed F'lar's arm. «Is there nothing we can do to stop it? Two dragons?»