Dragon's Fire

by Anne McCaffrey

Halla gave Pellar a questioning look; he nodded.

  “We’ll do it,” Halla said.

  “Any luck?” B’ralar called as D’vin strode into the Kitchen Caverns.

  D’vin pulled a face, shaking his head while filling a mug with klah from the kettle left on the warming stove. “Nothing in Tillek,” he said. “I tried Hold Balen as well, but found no likely lads there, either.”

  “We’ve twenty-three eggs and only nineteen solid candidates,” B’ralar said, frowning.

  “Perhaps B’neil will have better luck,” D’vin suggested.

  B’ralar made a sour face. “His Danenth is nowhere near as good as Hurth at spotting candidates,” he said. “I don’t think there will be more than two sevendays before the Hatching.”

  “I can go out again, if you’d like,” D’vin suggested. He started to say more but stopped, clearly listening to his dragon. When he spoke again, he was already moving, dropping the mug of klah on the nearest table. “Pellar’s found Cristov. Cristov’s injured.”

  “Go,” B’ralar said, waving him off. “I’ll let Sonia know.”

  D’vin waved acknowledgment as Hurth descended from his perch to retrieve his rider.

  “No broken bones this time, either,” Sonia said to Cristov when he woke the next morning to find himself tucked once again in the High Reaches Weyr infirmary. She smiled at him. “I think you do this just to spend time with me.”

  Sonia’s hand descended on his chest as soon as Cristov tried to sit up. “And again, you’re trying to move too early,” she added with a sigh. She shook her head at him. “You’re going to rest for a while.”

  “How long?” Cristov demanded petulantly. “I found the firestone—we’ve got to mine it.”

  “I know,” Sonia replied, smiling. “Everyone’s talking about it. Alarra was furious that you’d found it before she could get back out again.”

  “I still am,” Alarra snarled from a bed just out of Cristov’s sight in another alcove of the infirmary.

  “You’ll be on your feet soon enough,” Sonia assured her. “And, if you’re good, we’ll give you crutches in another sevenday.” Cristov looked startled, so Sonia explained, “We had to take her crutches away because she was doing too much on her feet.” She shook her head wonderingly. “What is it about you miners? It’s not as though you don’t have time.”

  “But we don’t,” Cristov protested, his words cutting across a similar protest from Alarra. “A Weyr needs forty tonnes of firestone a week when fighting Thread.”

  Sonia shrugged.

  “This new firestone isn’t as dangerous as the old firestone,” Cristov continued in response. “We could mine it now and build a stockpile.”

  “And have it ready before Threadfall?” Sonia asked.

  “Maybe even have some in reserve,” Alarra called.

  “But we need to start now,” Cristov groaned, leaning back in his bed.

  “I think you’re going to be a worse patient than you were the last time,” Sonia muttered ruefully.

  As the days passed, Sonia discovered that her prediction was more than accurate. S’son, her father and the Weyr’s Healer, would steel himself every day to enter the infirmary and deal with the two impatient miners.

  “You can go tomorrow,” S’son told Cristov the evening of his third day at the Weyr, “provided you agree to do no work.”

  “What’s the point then?” Cristov demanded.

  “You can supervise,” Sonia told him.

  “There’s no one to supervise,” Cristov snapped.

  Sonia merely smiled and rose from her place beside him. “In that case, you can wait until you’re healed,” she said. As she stood in the doorway, she called over her shoulder, “What should I say to D’vin?”

  Cristov schooled the sour look from his face. “Please tell him that I’d like to go back at first light.”

  “Are you sure?” Sonia asked. “There’s a Hatching soon. You don’t want to miss that.”

  “What’s the use of a dragon if it can’t flame?” Cristov demanded, shaking his head irritably. “I’ll do my duty and mine firestone.”

  Sonia turned back to face Cristov, eyeing him cryptically and saying, “There are other ways to serve Pern, you know.”

  Cristov grimaced. “This is the one I know.” He remembered his father’s sour comment from Turns back. “It’s what I’m fit for.”

  The look Sonia gave him was pitying. “If you say so.”

  “There’ve been some changes since you were last here,” D’vin warned as they descended through the morning mist.

  Cristov couldn’t imagine that Pellar and Halla could have done all that much in the four days he’d been gone, however hardworking and dedicated the two seemed to be.

  The mist thickened into fog as they settled into the valley. Cristov was surprised that Hurth could find the ground, let alone a safe place to land, but the dragon landed without even a bump.

  “I can’t stay,” D’vin apologized. “We’ve more eggs on the Hatching Grounds than candidates, so I’m still on Search.”

  “Good luck,” Cristov said. D’vin gave him an odd look and started to say something, but shook his head and said instead, “Good luck to you, as well.”

  Cristov was alone in the foggy valley, the sun a dim dot just above the horizon. He stopped to catch his bearings, then started in surprise as he heard noises in the distance. The creak of a loaded cart on rails, the distant sound of bellows, the even fainter but unmistakable noise of picks against rock—the whole valley was filled with the noise of work.

  “Cristov?” a voice called from the fog. A small figure resolved from the shadows. It was Halla. She smiled when she saw him. “Pellar says you’re not to work,” she warned him. “But we need you—”

  “I’m sure I can do something,” Cristov told her.

  “Not to work,” Halla said, shaking her head. “We need your advice.”

  Cristov cocked his head in inquiry. Halla sighed and grabbed his hand, dragging him after her and saying over her shoulder, “It’s best if we show you. Come on up to the mines.”

  “Mine,” Cristov corrected. “Unless you’ve got more than one, it’s just a mine.”

  “Mines,” Halla replied testily. “And we’ve got three.”

  Cristov was dumbstruck. “Three? Why did you start three?”

  “Well, it seemed pointless not to put everyone to work,” Halla told him.

  “Everyone?” Cristov repeated blankly. He squinted, trying to see through the fog. He could see Halla clearly now and make out the color of her clothes. They were new and looked freshly washed. He wondered how she’d found the time to wash her clothes. Everyone? “How many people are here?”

  “I don’t know,” Halla said. “Ask Pellar. I think he’s trying to keep count.”

  “Trying?”

  “Well, the numbers keep changing,” Halla explained. “I think another wagon came in during the night. And we’ve got some farmers further up the valley. They’re really thrilled with the soil—they say it’ll be great for crops.”

  “Crops?” Cristov repeated dully. Farmers?

  “Pellar!” Halla shouted. “Pellar, Cristov’s here!” She turned back to Cristov. “Mind your head.”

  Cristov caught a glimpse of a dark space in front of him and instinctively ducked. They were in a mine.

  “Watch out for the rails,” Halla cautioned. “There should be some glows here,” she muttered. “I’ll have to talk to Spennal.” She raised her voice again to shout, “Spennal! Spennal, where are the glows, you dimwit?”

  A glow approached them, illuminating an older man.

  “Sorry, Halla, I was just down with Pellar,” the old man, Spennal, said. “I’ll get more glows now,” he said, handing her his glow basket.

  “It’s all right, just bring us to Pellar,” Halla said.

  “Certainly,” Spennal replied. He glanced at Cristov and his eyes widened. “Is this him?”

  “This is Cristov,” Hal
la said. She turned to Cristov and whispered, “Everyone’s excited that you’re here.”

  “Why?” Cristov whispered back.

  Halla’s response was a bit embarrassed. “Well, Pellar and I might have bragged about you a bit,” she confessed. “But you’re the one who found firestone that doesn’t burn.”

  “So?”

  “You saved them,” Halla explained, still in a whisper. “When word got out, they came from all over.”

  “Miners?”

  “No,” Halla said, “the Shunned.” She took in Cristov’s stunned expression. “They can work here without shame and without fear. This is their hold.”

  “Their hold?” Cristov repeated in surprise. A hold for the Shunned—how was that possible?

  “If they work,” Halla said. “If they don’t, they can leave. We feed their children, but if the adults don’t work, they don’t eat and they don’t stay.”

  “Three mines?” Cristov said, repeating Halla’s earlier statement.

  “Yes,” Halla replied, looking at Cristov as though wondering if he were all right. She glanced ahead. “Here’s Pellar.”

  The mute harper waved and smiled at Cristov, beckoning him forward to look at a drawing he’d made on a huge slate.

  “What is it?” Cristov asked, splitting his question between Pellar and Halla.

  “It’s a map of the mines,” Halla explained. Somehow Pellar had found several colors. She pointed out the various sections. “Red is where we’ve found the greatest concentrations; white is where we’re planning on going. Pellar wants to know if you have any suggestions.”

  Cristov bent over the map, wishing the light were brighter. Halla must have sensed it, for she lifted her glows higher and closer to the map. He peered at the map for a long while, confessing, “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” He glanced up at Pellar, who looked nervous until Cristov told him, “It’s perfect.”

  He pointed to several areas, particularly the red spots. “It looks like there’s a vein running through the mountains and all three mines pierce it,” he said after a moment. He frowned over Pellar’s white lines and looked around for something to write with. Pellar handed him some white chalk and a bit of cloth for an eraser. Cristov declined the use of the eraser. “I don’t want to change anything just yet,” he said, drawing a number of dotted lines. “I’m thinking,” he explained as he drew, “that perhaps the vein runs north-south through the mountains. If that’s so, you could mine here and here to meet the center mine.”

  “Pellar was afraid of cave-ins,” Halla said.

  Cristov glanced up and inspected the beams and woodwork over them. “Not if your people keep shoring the roof up like that,” he said, grinning. He said to Pellar, “You’re right to be worried about the sandstone—it’s very soft and not good at holding weight. Shore up everything and you’ll do fine.” He looked around. “Just how big is the vein, anyway?”

  Halla smiled. “It’s as big as this shaft. We’re getting over a tonne a shift from each mine.”

  Cristov whistled in surprise.

  “You said we need forty tonnes every sevenday for one Weyr,” Halla said, looking grim. “We can only get about twenty-one tonnes right now.”

  “But now we know what to look for,” Cristov replied. “We can find more mines, maybe one for each Weyr.”

  A disturbance from the mine entrance distracted them. Spennal called out, “D’vin is here.”

  “What does he want?” Halla asked in wonder. Pellar shrugged, carefully took the large slate now marked with Cristov’s dotted suggestions, and hung it back up on the wall before gesturing that the others should precede him.

  “Some of the Shunned were telling me that holder children don’t start working until they’ve twelve Turns or more,” Halla remarked as they walked toward the shaft entrance.

  “That’s silly,” Cristov said. “What would they do with all their free time?”

  “I don’t know,” Halla said. “The youngsters here all work.” She gestured toward the camp outside. “They want to learn a craft before they marry and, by twelve, they’re already courting.”

  Pellar handed Halla a slate he’d been writing on and she read, “Harpers don’t marry until they’re older.” She glanced back at Pellar. “What’s older?”

  “Sixteen?” Cristov guessed, glancing to Pellar for confirmation. Pellar made a “go higher” gesture with his free hand. “Eighteen?” When Pellar nodded, Cristov exclaimed in surprise, “Miners are lucky to live thirty Turns. We usually mate much earlier.”

  They came to the mine’s entrance and squinted: The sun had broken through and was bathing the valley in bright morning sunlight. A gentle breeze had moved the last of the morning’s mist away, wafting fragrant smells through the valley.

  Cristov grunted in surprise at the vista exposed before him. There were tents, wagons, and some small houses sprouting up all over the valley. Three paved roads led up to the hills, one running right up to this mine, the other two to the other mine entrances.

  “All this in four days?” he asked in amazement.

  “They were hungry,” Halla said. At Cristov’s look, she explained, “They had to work to get fed. And Moran brought in a whole group when he came in two days ago.”

  “Halla, there’s another wagon coming in,” a woman called up to them.

  “You know what to do, Lorra,” Halla called back. “See what they can do, find out why they’re here, and what they’ll do. Make sure that Harper Moran knows about them, too.”

  “Where should I put them?” Lorra called back.

  “Find out what’s up and then decide,” Halla called back, glancing at Pellar for confirmation. Pellar smiled and nodded at her decision.

  Cristov looked at Halla with renewed interest. It seemed that everyone in the camp looked to her for guidance. He guessed that some of that was due to her nature, some of it due to her position as Pellar’s “voice,” but he couldn’t quite imagine what else would be required to get adults to accept directions from a girl who was just coming into womanhood.

  “It wouldn’t have worked out this way if it hadn’t been for Pellar’s ability to talk with dragons,” Halla explained. Cristov’s confusion must have been evident for she explained, “Even the Shunned are wary of the dragons. Having a wing show up whenever Pellar needed it was enough to convince even the hardest heads to listen to reason. And Harper Moran sent them all here.” She made a face and then grinned. “We keep an eye on his drink, and he teaches the little ones their Ballads—respect for dragonriders and dragonkind.”

  The reference to dragons reminded Cristov that they had left the mine to see D’vin. He scanned the valley below and picked out the bronze dragon easily. D’vin was much closer to them, moving purposefully.

  A group of miners noticed the dragonrider and then noticed Cristov, Pellar, and Halla. The miners paused on their way to the mines, curiously, some pointing at Cristov, others at D’vin.

  “Pellar,” D’vin called when he was close enough to be heard. “There’s a Hatching.”

  “A Hatching?” Halla cried delightedly. “Pellar, did you arrange for us to—” The look on his face cut her off. “What’s wrong?”

  “Not going,” Pellar wrote quickly, holding it up to her and then to D’vin as he joined the group.

  “You can talk to dragons,” D’vin said. “We’re short just one candidate.”

  Pellar shook his head again and pointed firmly to the ground.

  “But if there’s not enough candidates for the hatchlings,” D’vin said, his voice full of despair, “then—”

  “What will happen?” Cristov asked. Halla glanced between them, her face betraying a wide range of emotions. Pellar gave Halla a horrified look, and she knew.

  “The hatchling will die,” she said.

  “It will go between forever,” D’vin confirmed.

  Pellar frowned, torn. D’vin caught the way he looked around: at the valley, at Halla, at the mines, at Halla, at Crist
ov, at Halla, and finally at some distant vision only he could see. When he caught D’vin’s eyes again, the wingleader knew Pellar’s decision. For whatever reasons, and Halla was bound at the center of them, Pellar felt obligated to stay.

  “Who else could go?” Halla asked D’vin, flicking her eyes toward Cristov.

  Cristov caught the look and held up his hands, protesting, “Not me, I don’t deserve the honor.”

  “Why don’t you let the hatchlings decide?” D’vin suggested.

  “But there’s work to do here,” Cristov protested.

  “We’ll do it,” Halla assured him, jerking her head toward Pellar, who nodded emphatically in agreement. “You’ve shown us how.”

  “But—”

  “Go on,” Halla said, jerking her head toward the dragon in the distance.

  Cristov’s eyes widened. He looked longingly toward the dragon and then back to Halla.

  “Are you afraid, then?” she taunted. She grabbed him and turned him toward the dragon. “There’s your future. Go on, Impress! Impress a bronze for us all and show them at High Reaches. Show them what to expect from Fire Hold.”

  She gave him one final push and turned away, walking back to the waiting crowd of miners.

  Head held high, Cristov walked to his future.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  ANNE MCCAFFREY, the Hugo Award–winning author of the bestselling Dragonriders of Pern novels, is one of science fiction’s most popular authors. She recently coauthored (with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough) Changelings, Book One of The Twins of Petaybee. McCaffrey lives in a house of her own design, Dragonhold-Underhill, in County Wicklow, Ireland. Visit the author’s website at www.annemccaffrey.net

  TODD MCCAFFREY is the bestselling author of the Pern novel Dragonsblood, as well as Dragon’s Kin, which he co-wrote with his mother. A computer engineer, he currently lives in Los Angeles. Having grown up in Ireland with the Dragonriders of Pern, he is bursting with ideas for new stories of that world, its people, and its dragons.

  BY ANNE MCCAFFREY