Dragonsblood

by Todd McCaffrey

“I will be sure to send someone for you, my lady,” Janir finished. He bit his lip reflectively. “I hope you are not too concerned about the memory loss. It is concentrated in your short-term and recent memories.” Wind Blossom turned back to face him as he continued, “Your knowledge of genetics is as good as it ever was and should remain so.”

  “Yes,” Wind Blossom replied, turning back to the door, “but I am trying to learn reconstructive facial surgery, Janir.”

  She left before the embarrassed healer could form any reply.

  Tieran leaned into his stroke as he beat out the all clear. He had filled out and muscled up from the awkward sixteen-year-old he’d been when he first joined the tower. Now, at eighteen, his body was lean and tightly muscled from daily work.

  He grinned as he heard his drumbeats echoing back along the cliff wall that housed Fort Hold. The echo didn’t mask the responses from the higher-pitched walking drummers in the surrounding minor holds and fields.

  Jendel had been right to argue for siting the Drum Tower built between Fort Hold and the College. The shape of the cliffs made a natural reflector that concentrated the sound of his drum.

  Because the location left the Large Drum exposed to all elements and particularly susceptible to Thread, it was secured in one of the rooms beside the Drum Tower during Threadfall. Jendel had made a habit of drilling his drummers in disassembling and reassembling the Large Drum. Tieran and Rodar, working as a team, had set the best time.

  Tieran had come to the Drum Tower at a propitious time. The tower had only been completed a month before, and Jendel had still been experimenting with the best way to use the drums. Tieran had quickly learned the original code, mastered it, and developed a second, superior set of drum codes that Jendel and the rest of the drummers had enthusiastically adopted.

  When Tieran had first escaped to the Drum Tower, he had expected to be unceremoniously hauled back to Wind Blossom. It had been half a year before he had allowed himself to believe that he had been left to fend for himself. It had taken him much longer to recognize that his place within the College was secure.

  Tieran took advantage of his lofty and panoramic position to drink in the sights and sounds below him. When he was up here, two stories high and several dragonlengths from both the College and the Hold, no one could really see his face. From the heights of the Drum Tower, Tieran felt master of all he surveyed.

  He saw Lord Holder Mendin on his way to the College—so soon after a Fall? Shifting his gaze, he saw Mendin’s eldest son, Leros, hot and weary, trudging in from the fields surrounded by flamethrower crews, apparently doing the job that his father should have been doing. Studying the two, he failed to notice Jendel’s jaunty step until the head drummer was halfway up the stairs to the tower.

  “Tieran!” Jendel called out as he crested the stairs. Without pausing for breath, he continued, “You’re needed back at the College. See Dean Emorra.”

  Tieran raised his eyebrows momentarily in surprise, then placed the huge drumsticks back on their hooks and reached for his shirt.

  “Bring lunch for us when you come back,” Jendel added as Tieran started down the stairs. “And Kassa—you two will relieve us.”

  “All right,” Tieran called back unheard over his shoulder with an acknowledging wave of his hand. There were always two on the Drum Tower.

  Classes, Tieran guessed to himself as he crossed under the archway into the College. He made his way to the small classroom reserved for the drummers.

  Emorra was waiting for him outside the door. “I want you to teach some of the youngsters drum code.”

  Tieran cocked an eyebrow at her. When he had first been asked to teach, just after he had proved the value of his new codes to Jendel, he had been afraid of standing in front of a group of people with his scarred face and gangly body. But the first group had all been older students in their twenties, and they had all been intent on one thing: learning the new codes. Once he realized that, Tieran had thrown himself with enthusiasm and creativity into the job of imparting the new codes to them.

  After several classes, Tieran had realized that some of the drummers weren’t learning the codes to work in the Drum Tower or in Mendin’s outlying minor holds. Some of the older students had left the College, taking their knowledge of the drum codes with them.

  Others had been even more enterprising. They had taken their knowledge of the drum codes and brought them back to the music that many considered to be the life and the soul of the College. Emorra had told him that his codes had not developed into a new form of music. Rather, the drumming had allowed musicians to create new works both of jazz and of traditional old-Earth Celtic music. Tieran had been surprised, then pleased, and, finally, an enthusiastic participant in the music that had resulted.

  Emorra recognized Tieran’s raised eyebrow with a nod. “I was wondering if working with drums and the drum codes might be a good way to teach musical beat.”

  Tieran nodded, trying to hide his hesitation, but Emorra noticed it.

  “They’re a good group; I just had them,” she told him, handing him a small drum.

  Tieran’s heart sank as Emorra left. He hefted the drum, placed it under one arm, and absently beat out a quick tattoo—“trouble.” Inspiration struck, and he quickly amplified the beat and modified it.

  He entered the room still drumming and took his place at the front of the class. There were eleven students in the class. All of them were young—the eldest hardly looked eleven and the youngest was close to seven years old. This was the youngest class he’d ever seen.

  He switched the beat, changed the rhythm, and started a new message, still while watching his students. Two or three were unconsciously trying to imitate his beat on their drums and all of them were attentive.

  With a flourish, Tieran finished his message and set the drum down on the teacher’s table. He looked at the youngsters. “Now that I’ve said all that, are there any questions?”

  The eyes of the youngsters widened and there was silence in the classroom until one of the older girls raised her hand. Tieran grinned and nodded at her.

  “What did you say?” she asked.

  “I told you my name and welcomed you to the class on drumming, and asked you why you were here,” he answered. “Would you like to learn how?”

  Every head in the class nodded, eyes wide. Tieran kept his smile to himself and started teaching the basics of drum beat and rhythm.

  He was pleased to finish the lesson on a high note, having the class drum out the message “It’s lunchtime” just in time with the sounding of the hour.

  “And with that, class, I take my leave,” he told them. The youngsters were very polite. Most of them came up to him and thanked him for the class and told him that they hoped he’d be teaching them again.

  Emorra was waiting outside the class. She fell in with him as he walked toward the kitchen. “I take it you survived, then?”

  Tieran nodded. “Nice kids.”

  “Would you be willing to teach them again?”

  “Sure.”

  With a frustrated groan, Emorra whirled around in front of him, forcing him to stop. “And?”

  Startled, Tieran’s first thought was to realize suddenly that he was taller than Emorra—and that he liked that. “What?”

  Emorra gritted her teeth, then sighed to regain her temper. “Every class is a lesson for the teacher.”

  Tieran nodded. “I’ve heard you say that before. I guess it makes sense.”

  “So,” she asked with a tone of strained patience in her voice, “what did you learn today?”

  “I guess that I might be able to teach younger students,” Tieran said.

  Emorra’s eyes flashed. Tieran had seen that look before, and always when she was frustrated, usually in debates when she was about to make a telling point.

  He raised his hands in surrender. “What do you think I would have learned?”

  Emorra shook her head, dismissing his question. Ever since Tieran
had hidden up in the Drum Tower he had become something of a project for her. The young man’s rebellion against her mother had sparked Emorra’s interest in him. Her interest had increased when she had learned that Tieran had developed the improved drum codes. When she had discovered how much his teenaged feelings of not belonging had been reinforced by reactions to his scarred face, she had tried to find ways to help.

  Tieran’s stomach grumbled. With an apologetic shrug, he stepped around Emorra and gestured for her to follow as he resumed his way to the kitchen.

  “You’re worried about me,” he said after a moment’s silence.

  Emorra nodded. “I worry about everyone.”

  Tieran snorted. “Then you worry too much.”

  “It’s my job! Like everything else on Pern, the College has to earn its keep. So the students pay tuition and the teachers are paid for their research. And any profits are put into new projects.”

  “Like the Drum Tower—I know,” Tieran said.

  They reached the kitchen. “I’ve got to get food for Jendel and the others and bring it to the tower.”

  “I’ll help,” Emorra offered.

  “Thanks,” Tieran said, surprised that the dean of the College would offer to do such a menial task.

  Happily, Alandro and Moira were working in the kitchen that day. Alandro had been a fixture in the College’s kitchen since the Fever Year, when he had arrived as a sick orphan. As soon as he recovered, he gravitated toward the kitchen, willing to do any job cheerfully. Now in his fourth decade, he was no less cheerful and not much slower in the kitchen than he had been when he first arrived.

  Moira was a more recent arrival. She had started with the College as a fosterling but had refused to leave when she reached her majority two years ago. She said that nowhere could she find as good a kitchen as at the College and she refused to work with second best, even though every major holder had tried to lure her away.

  “I need four lunches for the Drum Tower,” Tieran told them as he stepped into the kitchen.

  Moira’s scowl—she was a fierce guardian of her domain—cleared when she identified him. “And in return, you’ll . . .”

  Tieran grinned and bowed low. “I shall sing your praises to each and every one of my fellow drummers.”

  Moira quirked an eyebrow at him and pursed her lips humorously. “Best not sing, Tieran. I still don’t think your voice has settled.”

  “It has,” Tieran corrected sadly. “It’s just that’s all there is to it.”

  She gave him a judicious look. “In that case—an hour’s sculling after dinner.”

  Tieran considered the counteroffer for a moment before nodding. “Done! But only if you’ll let me make meringues.”

  Moira’s face brightened at the prospect. “Deal!” She turned to her kitchen partner. “Did you hear that, Alandro? Tieran’s doing the yucky dishes this evening!”

  The large helper looked down thoughtfully at the small cook, then over at Tieran, who waved, and asked, “Meringues, too?”

  “Yes,” Moira agreed, “he’ll make meringues.” She found a soup ladle and waved it at Tieran threateningly. “Only no rose extract this time—costs a fortune and you haven’t learned restraint.”

  Emorra smiled as she took in the byplay. She liked the way Moira went to the trouble of actually finding something to wave threateningly at Tieran. She was also relieved to see that Tieran was so warmly welcomed in the kitchen.

  Of course, he’d be a fool to get on the bad side of the College’s best cook—and it was becoming clear to Emorra that Tieran was no fool.

  “Wait a minute,” she said aloud. “Those are your meringues?”

  Tieran nodded.

  “They’re good.” Emorra gave him a longer, more appraising look. “You can cook, clean, teach—”

  “No more hot boxes,” Alandro interrupted her, pointing to two trays.

  “Yes, the last of the thermal units cracked yesterday,” Moira agreed sadly. “That’s why I’ve put your soup in small bowls and made sandwiches. If you lot want hot food from now on, you’ll have to eat in the hall.”

  “Are there any of the thermos flasks left?” Tieran asked. “It gets very cold on the top of the Drum Tower at night.”

  “I imagine it does,” Moira agreed. “There are two, but they’re both reserved.” She smiled at Emorra. “One’s for you, Dean, and the other’s for your mother.”

  Tieran nodded as he picked up a tray. Emorra picked up the second one.

  “Maybe you could rig up a fire,” Emorra suggested as they made their way out of the College toward the Drum Tower.

  “There’s no place for it,” Tieran replied. “Besides, I think it would be a fair bit of work to haul wood up every evening.”

  “Lazy!” Emorra teased. “Well, it’s your bones that’ll freeze.”

  The tower grew in Emorra’s eyes as they approached it; she was always used to seeing it from the distance of the College. They walked and climbed in companionable silence until they were halfway up the steps wrapped around the outside of the tower and Emorra paused, gasping for breath.

  “And this is why I’ll keep my bones cold, thank you,” Tieran said, pointing at the stairway and grinning as he waited for her to recover her breath.

  “Yes, I can see that it would be a chore,” Emorra agreed at last. Much more slowly they completed their ascent.

  “Rodar, Jendel, we’re here!” Tieran called as he crested the stairs.

  “You’re late!” Jendel retorted. “I just hope the food’s good.”

  “It’s cold,” Emorra said as she set the tray down on the only table available.

  “That’s nothing new,” Rodar said, jumping up to help her.

  “Where’s Kassa?” Jendel asked.

  Tieran groaned and slapped his forehead. “I knew I was forgetting something!”

  “It’s my fault, I distracted him,” Emorra said.

  “Never mind—at least you brought food!” Rodar exclaimed.

  “Poor Rodar’s been up here since first watch,” Tieran told Emorra.

  “What’s the soup?” Rodar asked, lifting a bowl and sniffing it.

  “The last of the hot boxes failed, so it’s all cold,” Tieran warned.

  Rodar had already dipped a finger into his bowl of the whitish soup and licked it. “Potato leek! Excellent.”

  Further investigation revealed a number of cold cuts, plenty of fresh-sliced bread, honey, mustard, and Alandro’s own special invention, a sage vinaigrette that doubled as a dressing for the greens and as a condiment for the sandwiches.

  There were no chairs at the top of the Drum Tower, but the lower parts of the crenellations were wide enough to offer comfortable, if sometimes windy, seating.

  “Alandro’s dressing is superb, as always,” Rodar said to no one in particular.

  “We’re lucky to have it,” Emorra agreed. Jendel raised an eyebrow at her, so she expanded her comment. “The botanists had a very hard time getting the sage to take.”

  “Why was that?” Rodar asked.

  Emorra shrugged. “Mother said something about the boron uptake rates. In the end they finally got it to go by grafting it onto a native plant. Mother says it doesn’t taste quite the same as the original.”

  “She’s one of the few left who’d know,” Jendel said.

  “I like the flavor,” Tieran declared.

  “What’s the difference?” Rodar asked Emorra.

  Emorra shrugged. “I never asked her.”

  “The dean of the College not asking?” Rodar was amazed.

  Emorra shook her head. “I was a student of my mother’s at the time.”

  “Oh,” Tieran said. He and Emorra exchanged looks of understanding.

  “Did they adapt all the Earth fauna, or what?” Rodar wondered. He looked at Emorra. “Would you know?”

  “Most of the adaptations were done before Crossing,” Emorra answered. “But I believe that the botanists and Kitti Ping had to drop a few adaptations.
Some of it was a question of resources.”

  “And some of it?” Rodar prompted.

  Emorra grinned. “Some of it was by choice. Apparently there was something called okra that was dropped by mutual consent.”

  “I’m surprised they didn’t drop spinach, then,” Jendel noted sourly, pushing a few spinach leaves about his otherwise empty salad bowl.

  “Ah, but that’s good for you!” Tieran said.

  “They were pretty selective about their animals, too,” Rodar noted sourly.

  “They had complete gene banks at Landing,” Emorra said, adding dryly, “I think the original growth plans were interrupted.”

  “Did they have elephants in the gene banks?” Rodar persisted.

  “Not that again,” Jendel groaned. Tieran shook his head and smiled.

  “Yes, they had elephants,” Emorra said.

  “We sure could use them,” Rodar complained.

  “As beasts of burden they are not as good as horses,” Emorra said, ignoring Tieran’s alarmed look and Jendel’s agitated shushing gestures.

  “Who wants beasts of burden?” Rodar replied. “Their feet were very sensitive to subsurface vibrations—”

  “They could hear noise over thirty kilometers,” Jendel and Tieran joined in chorus with Rodar.

  “Oh,” Emorra said, suddenly enlightened. “That would make them good for picking up your drum sounds, wouldn’t it?”

  “If you could train them!” Jendel said.

  “They were very smart!” Rodar said.

  “But how would they have got them from Landing to here?” Emorra wondered.

  “On a ship,” Rodar answered.

  “How could you get an elephant on a ship?” Jendel asked.

  “Once you got it on, how could you get it off?” Tieran added.

  “And what would you do if it actually liked ships?” Jendel continued.

  “I suppose you’d have to take it on a cruise around the world,” Tieran finished with a laugh, which Jendel joined in, much to Rodar’s disgust.

  Tieran leaned to Emorra and confided, “We tried to warn you. Rodar’s always going on about elephants.”

  “Anyway,” Emorra continued, back on the original topic, “they couldn’t take over the Pernese ecosystem completely—”