Dragon's Fire

by Anne McCaffrey

  “That’s for coal,” Cristov corrected.

  “Rock’s rock,” Kindan replied, standing his ground. “There’s only so much a person can mine in a day.”

  “The weyrfolk helped,” Cristov responded.

  “But will they be able when Thread falls?” Zist wondered. He glanced at B’ralar, who returned his glance with a troubled look.

  “We could use the Shunned,” Mikal suggested. In response to the others’ muted reactions, he added, “Offer them an amnesty for a Turn’s worth of work.”

  Murenny shook his head regretfully. “A good suggestion, but Telgar’s been putting the Shunned to work in the mines for Turns—they know it’s death to work firestone.”

  “Someone would have to tell them otherwise, then,” Mikal suggested. “If they knew the firestone wouldn’t explode, I’d bet they’d come in droves.”

  Zist gave him a thoughtful look and then said to Murenny, “It might be the solution to our problem.”

  Murenny nodded and, in response to B’ralar’s questioning look, explained, “Master Zist and I have been concerned with the issue of the Shunned and what will happen with them during the Fall.”

  “They’d be protected like anyone else on Pern,” B’ralar said immediately.

  “But they’ve no holds, no place to grow crops,” Zist pointed out. “Such people will be desperate.”

  “We sent Journeyman Moran out to make contact with them, Turns ago,” the Masterharper added, shaking his head sadly.

  “Perhaps Moran would be willing to continue his mission,” Zist suggested to Murenny. He looked up at the Weyrleader. “Would it be possible for me to get to Crom on Harper business?”

  “P’lel could take you,” D’vin offered. “I’m sure his Telenth would oblige.”

  Halla tracked Pellar down at last, ready to pummel him for departing their hidden camp without leaving her the slightest message. It had taken her over an hour to find the first sign of his trail and another two to find him. She was hungry, hot, irritated, and—she hated to admit it—relieved at finding him.

  Her relief gave way to surprise as she took in his position. He was kneeling. Was he sick? It had taken all her strength to pull him away to safety that day, so many sevendays ago. When she had found enough energy to go back for the other boy, she discovered that he was gone, as was Tenim’s body.

  “Dragonriders,” Pellar had later written in explanation. But by then days had passed, and Halla had spent sleepless nights wondering if the blast had made Pellar addled. It had taken several more days before she recognized his strange gestures as attempts to write, and then she’d spent a fruitless day searching for something he could use, only to find, on her return to their camp, that Pellar had cleared a patch of ground and had used a stick to write, “I’m not addled. Remember, I can’t speak.”

  Halla’s relief had been so great that she had cried for the first time since she’d been with Lord Fenner of Crom. She was surprised and grateful when Pellar wrapped his arms around her and held her tight while she cried out all the fears and horrors of the past weeks. But she also felt a bit uneasy; with Lord Fenner, Halla had felt that she’d been with someone like the father she’d never known, but with Pellar she felt more like she’d come home—and it scared her.

  They’d had to change camps and hide when they discovered that the firestone mine had attracted several groups of the Shunned, who looted the wrecked mine and outbuildings for whatever they could find. Halla had refused to allow Pellar to contact the dragonriders, protesting, “They’ll capture them and put them to work on firestone mines!”

  Nothing Pellar wrote could persuade her otherwise, and they spent several days angrily apart, not communicating beyond the barest necessary for survival.

  The Shunned had fled when the dragons returned. But the dragonriders had stayed only briefly and were gone before Halla and Pellar could resolve yet another argument over whether to contact them.

  And now the last of the food Halla had was gone; they would have to move camp soon, as the local game was now too wary of their traps, and Pellar was here kneeling in the grass.

  He turned at the sound of her approach—which irritated Halla no end as she could have sworn that no one could hear her—and grinned, holding up something cupped in his hands.

  It was yellow. No, they were yellow.

  “Yellowtops!” Halla exclaimed in surprise. Then she remembered her worried hours of searching and shouted at him, “You went looking for yellowtops?”

  Pellar nodded, his grin slipping into a smaller smile. He stood up and handed her one, gesturing for her to follow him. Halla raised an eyebrow at him but shrugged and waited for him to lead the way.

  They walked in silence, which grew more companionable with every step. Pellar was clearly excited about something, and his excitement was infectious. What was he going to do with yellowtops?

  The question had just turned over in Halla’s mind when they topped a rise and she knew what he was going to do. She lengthened her stride and caught up with him, pulling him to a stop. Pellar’s eyes met hers just as Halla leaned up and kissed him.

  “It was you!” she said. “You were the one.”

  Pellar nodded. She kissed him again and grabbed his hand, dragging him after her as they made their way down the rise to the neat graves set in the dale below.

  Wordlessly they stopped and knelt in front of the mounds. After a moment they leaned forward and carefully placed the small yellowtops on each grave.

  One was Toldur’s, one was Tenim’s, but Halla could not tell which was which. Nor did she care; in her mind, the dead were clear of all debts.

  Zist was surprised at the sight of Moran. His memories of the man were over a dozen Turns old, but he hadn’t expected to find the young man he’d sent on a perilous journey changed into such an old, worried person.

  “Master Zist, I’m sorry,” Moran said, bowing deeply. “I’ve failed you and the Masterharper.”

  Zist waved his apology aside. “Not your fault, boy. The job was bigger than you.”

  “Then why have you let Lord Fenner send a mere girl on the same mission?” Moran demanded hotly, meeting Zist’s eyes squarely.

  Zist raised an eyebrow and turned an inquiring look to Lord Fenner, who had the grace to look embarrassed. Behind him, however, a girl who bore a remarkable resemblance to Crom’s Lord merely snorted in annoyance.

  “Father was absolutely right to send Halla,” the girl declared. “She’s a girl, after all.”

  “Nerra, hush!” Fenner said quellingly. Nerra took an involuntary step backward before she caught herself, huffed, and defiantly regained her previous position.

  “I will not,” she said. “You were right to send Halla—she was a much better choice to deal with the Shunned.”

  “She was so small,” Moran objected.

  “Exactly!” Nerra said, pouncing upon his words. “No threat to anyone and quick on her feet, as well as her wits.”

  “So where is she?” Moran demanded.

  Nerra’s exultant look collapsed, and she was reduced to murmuring, “They didn’t find her body at the firestone mine.”

  “The dragonriders could search for her,” Zist suggested.

  “Not Telgar,” Nerra declared. “They’d take her to the mines.” She pointed at Moran. “They were all ready to take him to the mines except that Father refused.” She sniffed. “At least D’gan still recognizes the rights of the Lord Holder, if nothing else.”

  “Nerra, that’s no way to talk about our Weyrleader,” Fenner said, but it was clear to Zist that his heart wasn’t in it. Nor could the harper blame him; he’d seen enough of D’gan’s imperiousness firsthand. Dragonrider or not, the man bore his rank and responsibilities poorly.

  “What did you ask this girl to do?” Zist asked Fenner.

  “I asked her to track down the Shunned in hopes of opening communications with them,” Fenner said.

  “That’s what Master Zist asked of me!” Moran excl
aimed.

  Nerra looked ready to say something acerbic, but was quelled by a look from her father.

  “The traders had taken her under their protection,” Fenner explained. “They agreed to lend her aid and support.”

  “And if she’d contacted the Shunned, what then?” Zist asked, curious to see if Crom’s Lord Holder had come up with a solution to the knotty problem of Pern’s dispossessed.

  “Arrangements could be made,” Fenner said. He met Zist’s eyes squarely. “Some of those are doubtless people I’ve Shunned myself. But the Red Star grows larger and Thread will return. And when it does, what then will people with nothing to lose not do in order to survive?”

  Zist nodded. “That was a question the Masterharper and I considered many Turns ago.” He glanced at Moran. “Our plan miscarried, however.”

  “The only plan that seems to be working is D’gan’s,” Fenner admitted ruefully. “Round them up and force them to mine firestone.”

  “Perhaps not force,” Zist said, “but encourage.” To Lord Fenner he explained, “We’ve just discovered Records that indicate there might be two types of firestone.” He went on to describe the meeting at High Reaches Weyr and the conclusions that Mikal, Kindan, and Cristov had reached.

  “So they are going to the Southern Continent?” Fenner asked in surprise.

  “Only the shore,” Zist said in reassurance. “To see if they can find any of this fire-lizard firestone.”

  “A firestone that doesn’t explode in water,” Moran muttered to himself. He looked up at Zist. “What do the Shunned have to do with this?”

  “This new firestone wouldn’t be deadly to mine,” Zist explained. “And all Pern will need it soon. If they could be convinced to mine it, their place and their protection would be assured directly by the Weyrs.”

  “That could work,” Moran agreed, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He looked up again to Master Zist. “Master, I’d like to offer my services. I will make contact with the Shunned.”

  “And find Halla while you’re at it,” Nerra demanded.

  “And find Halla,” Moran agreed, turning to sketch a short bow in the girl’s direction.

  “Perhaps P’lel will drop you somewhere along our way,” Zist said, turning to the green rider who had silently watched the entire exchange.

  “For a firestone that doesn’t explode, I will do anything,” P’lel agreed fervently.

  The Southern Continent!

  Cristov couldn’t believe his luck as he sat perched atop Hurth’s huge neck and peered cautiously down at the headland below. Beside them, blue Talith struggled to keep up with the huge bronze dragon’s easy turn of speed.

  It had startled Cristov for a moment to think that dragonriders couldn’t just go to the Southern Continent.

  “We need someone who’s been there before,” D’vin had explained when they first set out. “Perhaps someone in Ista will know.”

  Weyrleader C’rion greeted them courteously enough when they arrived in Ista Weyr’s Bowl.

  “What do you want with the Southern Continent, D’vin?” he asked when D’vin presented their request.

  “Firestone,” D’vin said immediately. He recounted the meeting at High Reaches and the conclusion reached by Kindan, Cristov, and Mikal.

  C’rion looked skeptical until D’vin added, “Mikal was a dragonrider many turns back.”

  “Firestone accident?” C’rion asked.

  D’vin nodded.

  “There have been so many of those,” C’rion said. He looked at Cristov. “And you say there’s a firestone that doesn’t burn in water?”

  “The fire-lizards got their name for some reason,” Cristov pointed out.

  “And B’ralar approves this?” C’rion asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, he’s a cautious one. If he says so, then I’m up for it.”

  “Do you know someone who could guide us?” D’vin asked.

  C’rion heaved a sigh before replying. “You know that the Southern Continent is banned,” he said. When D’vin nodded in agreement, he continued, “There’s good reason for it, I’m sure. But I’ve one blue rider who won’t listen to reason and just flies off by himself now and again. When he comes back, he’s always got these most amazing fruits of the largest size.”

  “He goes to Southern?” D’vin asked.

  “I’ve never asked,” C’rion replied drolly, his eyes lit with amusement. “But perhaps he can guide you.”

  And so, without actually saying it aloud, D’vin managed to get J’trel to agree to give him the coordinates, provided he could come along.

  “I suspect he wants an official reason to know where the Southern Continent is,” D’vin confided with a grin to Cristov as they rose out of Ista Bowl and took station beside the wiry blue dragon.

  And now here they were.

  D’vin gestured to the beaches beyond the headland, indicating that they should land there.

  The sun was warm and the sand hot as they jumped down and looked around.

  At some unspoken word from Hurth, D’vin laughed and told his dragon, “Yes, go play! But be ready when I call.”

  With a huge cooling breeze from his wings, Hurth leapt into the air. Soon he and J’trel’s Talith were cavorting in and out of the warm southern water.

  “Any sign of your rocks, Cristov?” J’trel asked as he strode up to them.

  Cristov looked dismayed to hear the fire-lizards’ firestone referred to as “your rocks.” He wondered how the dragonriders would react if none were found.

  “Are there any fire-lizards around?” he asked hopefully. “Maybe we could find the rocks they like.”

  After an hour, D’vin suggested they try further south. The dragons returned from their water play quickly enough, though neither Cristov nor D’vin were quite happy to be riding a wet dragon.

  “We won’t go between,” D’vin said reassuringly to Cristov, “but fly straight. Call out if you see anything.”

  They checked out two more beaches, but there was no sign of any rocks worthy of consideration.

  “Let’s rest a bit, and continue later,” D’vin suggested as they trudged in the hot sand.

  “Good idea,” J’trel agreed readily. “I know where to get some fruit—” His face fell as D’vin smiled knowingly at him, but he recovered quickly, adding, “It’s the best fruit you’ll ever taste.”

  “I’m sure of it,” D’vin said. He waved J’trel off and called Hurth in from the sea. The dragon curled up comfortably in the sand, tired from his exertions.

  J’trel returned shortly, his sack full of large, orange-mottled fruits, which he shared with the other two. Cristov waited until D’vin had bitten into one—manners, he would have said if challenged—but when the Weyrleader’s face lit with appreciation, Cristov’s restraint vanished.

  “They’re great!” he exclaimed as soon as he swallowed his first bite. He’d never tasted anything like it. He could completely understand why J’trel had ignored all prohibitions to search out this fruit.

  Silence descended as the three ate heartily. The silence continued as the sun reached its highest point and bore down on them relentlessly. Fortunately, Hurth agreeably stretched a wing out over D’vin and Cristov, providing them with shade. J’trel sought the company and protection of his smaller Talith.

  Soon all three humans and two dragons were asleep, lulled by their full stomachs, exertions, and the hot noon sun.

  Cristov woke with a start, angry with himself for nodding off. He tried to get up but discovered he was trapped by D’vin’s arm across his chest. D’vin silenced him with a look, and then, deliberately, turned his head slowly forward, away from Cristov. Cristov followed his gaze…

  Fire-lizards.

  He tracked them with his eyes, picking out prominent landmarks so that he would know exactly where they had been. There was a little queen and several bronzes. A mating flight? No, there were blues, greens, and browns, as well.

  Idly, Cristov wondered whether a fire-l
izard could help in the mines.

  One of the bronzes had noticed them. It flew toward them and then, with a chirp of surprise, blinked between. Immediately, the rest of the fire-lizards vanished.

  D’vin chuckled. “Hurth tells me that the bronze couldn’t believe he was looking at a relative that was so big.”

  D’vin released Cristov and the two got up. J’trel joined them, his eyes alight. “Such antics! Did you get a good fix on their location?”

  “Not far from that promontory,” Cristov replied, pointing. “Maybe five or six hundred meters away.”

  “It’s a pity they weren’t flaming,” J’trel said.

  “It’s possible that they won’t be looking for firestone until the first Threadfall,” D’vin remarked, with a sideways glance at Cristov.

  Cristov groaned and his shoulders slumped. “I hadn’t thought of that!”

  “Nor had anyone else,” D’vin told him reassuringly. “Still, we can look.” He cocked an eyebrow at J’trel. “Is your Talith up to chewing strange rocks?”

  “Certainly,” the blue rider replied after a moment’s silent communication with his dragon.

  “It’s a pity we forgot to bring a shovel,” D’vin remarked as they started toward the promontory. Behind him, Hurth grumbled and leapt into the air, arriving at the site before them. A shower of flying sand flew into the air as the great dragon began to dig. “Sorry, Hurth, I’d forgotten we didn’t need one,” D’vin apologized with a smile.

  “For a fire-lizard, the stones would have to be about this big, wouldn’t they?” J’trel asked Cristov, making a shape about half the size of his fist.

  “I suppose,” Cristov agreed judiciously. He looked around. “And they wouldn’t bother with the larger rocks, so if we found any place where there were lots of larger rocks of the same type and no smaller ones—”

  “Like these?” D’vin asked, holding up a rock the size of his fist.

  Cristov beckoned, and D’vin tossed the rock to him. The young miner examined it for a moment; started to toss it aside, then changed his mind and tossed it to J’trel. “That’s too heavy for firestone; it should be lighter.”