The Dragonriders of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  A tender, adoring expression flooded her face as she gazed into Ramoth’s gleaming opalescent eyes. F’lar clenched his teeth, envious, by the Egg, of a rider’s affection for her dragon.

  In his mind he heard Mnementh’s dragon equivalent of laughter.

  “She’s hungry,” Lessa informed F’lar, an echo of her love for Ramoth lingering in the soft line of her mouth, in the kindness in her gray eyes.

  “She’s always hungry,” he observed and followed them out of the weyr.

  Mnementh hovered courteously just beyond the ledge until Lessa and Ramoth had taken off. They glided down the Weyr Bowl, over the misty bathing lake, toward the feeding ground at the opposite end of the long oval that comprised the floor of Benden Weyr. The striated, precipitous walls were pierced with the black mouths of single weyr entrances, deserted at this time of day by the few dragons who might otherwise doze on their ledges in the wintry sun.

  As F’lar vaulted to Mnementh’s smooth bronze neck, he hoped that Ramoth’s clutch would be spectacular, erasing the ignominy of the paltry dozen Nemorth had laid in each of her last few clutches.

  He had no serious doubts of the improvement after Ramoth’s remarkable mating flight with his Mnementh. The bronze dragon smugly echoed his rider’s certainty, and both looked on the queen possessively as she curved her wings to land. She was twice Nemorth’s size, for one thing; her wings were half-a-wing again longer than Mnementh’s, who was the biggest of the seven male bronzes. F’lar looked to Ramoth to repopulate the five empty Weyrs, even as he looked to himself and Lessa to rejuvenate the pride and faith of dragonriders and of Pern itself. He only hoped time enough remained to him to do what was necessary. The Red Star had been bracketed by the Eye Rock. The Threads would soon be falling. Somewhere, in one of the other Weyrs’ Records, must be the information he needed to ascertain when, exactly, Threads would fall.

  Mnementh landed. F’lar jumped down from the curving neck to stand beside Lessa. The three watched as Ramoth, a buck grasped in each of her forefeet, rose to a feeding ledge.

  “Will her appetite never taper off?” Lessa asked with affectionate dismay.

  As a dragonet, Ramoth had been eating to grow. Her full stature attained, she was, of course, now eating for her young, and she applied herself conscientiously.

  F’lar chuckled and squatted, hunter fashion. He picked up shale-flakes, skating them across the flat dry ground, counting the dust puffs boyishly.

  “The time will come when she won’t eat everything in sight,” he assured Lessa. “But she’s young . . .”

  “. . . and needs her strength,” Lessa interrupted, her voice a fair imitation of R’gul’s pedantic tones.

  F’lar looked up at her, squinting against the wintry sun that slanted down at them.

  “She’s a finely grown beast, especially compared to Nemorth.” He gave a contemptuous snort. “In fact, there is no comparison. However, look here,” he ordered peremptorily.

  He tapped the smoothed sand in front of him, and she saw that his apparently idle gestures had been to a purpose. With a sliver of stone, he drew a design in quick strokes.

  “In order to fly a dragon between, he has to know where to go. And so do you.” He grinned at the astonished and infuriated look of comprehension on her face. “Ah, but there are certain consequences to an ill-considered jump. Badly visualized reference points often result in staying between.” His voice dropped ominously. Her face cleared of its resentment. “So there are certain reference or recognition points arbitrarily taught all weyrlings. That,”—he pointed first to his facsimile and then to the actual Star Stone with its Finger and Eye Rock companions, on Benden Peak—“is the first recognition point a weyrling learns. When I take you aloft, you will reach an altitude just above the Star Stone, near enough for you to be able to see the hole in the Eye Rock clearly. Fix that picture sharply in your mind’s eye, relay it to Ramoth. That will always get you home.”

  “Understood. But how do I learn recognition points of places I’ve never seen?”

  He grinned up at her. “You’re drilled in them. First by your instructor,” and he pointed the sliver at his chest, “and then by going there, having directed your dragon to get the visualization from her instructor,” and he indicated Mnementh. The bronze dragon lowered his wedge-shaped head until one eye was focused on his rider and his mate’s rider. He made a pleased noise deep in his chest.

  Lessa laughed up at the gleaming eye and, with unexpected affection, patted the soft nose.

  F’lar cleared his throat in surprise. He had been aware that Mnementh showed an unusual affection for the Weyrwoman, but he had had no idea Lessa was fond of the bronze. Perversely, he was irritated.

  “However,” he said, and his voice sounded unnatural to himself, “we take the young riders constantly to and from the main reference points all across Pern, to all the Holds so that they have eyewitness impressions on which to rely. As a rider becomes adept in picking out landmarks, he gets additional references from other riders. Therefore, to go between, there is actually only one requirement: a clear picture of where you want to go. And a dragon!” He grinned at her. “Also, you should always plan to arrive above your reference point in clear air.”

  Lessa frowned.

  “It is better to arrive in open air”—F’lar waved a hand above his head—“rather than underground,” and he slapped his open hand onto the dirt. A puff of dust rose warningly.

  “But the wings took off within the Bowl itself the day the Lords of the Hold arrived,” Lessa reminded him.

  F’lar chuckled at her uptake. “True, but only the most seasoned riders. Once we came across a dragon and a rider entombed together in solid rock. They . . . were . . . very young.” His eyes were bleak.

  “I take the point,” she assured him gravely. “That’s her fifth,” she added, pointing toward Ramoth, who was carrying her latest kill up to the bloody ledge.

  “She’ll work them off today, I assure you,” F’lar remarked. He rose, brushing off his knees with sharp slaps of his riding gloves. “Test her temper.”

  Lessa did so with a silent, Had enough? She grimaced at Ramoth’s indignant rejection of the thought.

  The queen went swooping down for a huge fowl, rising in a flurry of gray, brown and white feathers.

  “She’s not as hungry as she’s making you think, the deceitful creature,” F’lar chuckled and saw that Lessa had reached the same conclusion. Her eyes were snapping with vexation.

  “When you’ve finished the bird, Ramoth, do let us learn how to fly between,” Lessa said aloud for F’lar’s benefit, “before our good Weyrleader changes his mind.”

  Ramoth looked up from her gorging, turned her head toward the two riders at the edge of the feeding ground. Her eyes gleamed. She bent her head again to her kill, but Lessa could sense the dragon would obey.

  It was cold aloft. Lessa was glad of the fur lining in her riding gear, and the warmth of the great golden neck which she bestrode. She decided not to think of the absolute cold of between which she had experienced only once. She glanced below on her right where bronze Mnementh hovered, and she caught his amused thought.

  F’lar tells me to tell Ramoth to tell you to fix the alignment of the Star Stone firmly in your mind as a homing. Then, Mnementh went on amiably, we shall fly down to the lake. You will return from between to this exact point. Do you understand?

  Lessa found herself grinning foolishly with anticipation and nodded vigorously. How much time was saved because she could speak directly to the dragons! Ramoth made a disgruntled noise deep in her throat. Lessa patted her reassuringly.

  “Have you got the picture in your mind, dear one?” she asked, and Ramoth again rumbled, less annoyed, because she was catching Lessa’s excitement.

  Mnementh stroked the cold air with his wings, greenish-brown in the sunlight, and curved down gracefully toward the lake on the plateau below Benden Weyr. His flight line took him very low over the rim of the Weyr. From Lessa’
s angle, it looked like a collision course. Ramoth followed closely in his wake. Lessa caught her breath at the sight of the jagged boulders just below Ramoth’s wing tips.

  It was exhilarating, Lessa crowed to herself, doubly stimulated by the elation that flowed back to her from Ramoth.

  Mnementh halted above the farthest shore of the lake, and there, too, Ramoth came to hover.

  Mnementh flashed the thought to Lessa that she was to place the picture of where she wished to go firmly in her mind and direct Ramoth to get there.

  Lessa complied. The next instant the awesome, bone-penetrating cold of black between enveloped them. Before either she or Ramoth was aware of more than that biting touch of cold and impregnable darkness, they were above the Star Stone.

  Lessa let out a cry of pure triumph.

  It is extremely simple. Ramoth seemed disappointed.

  Mnementh reappeared beside and slightly below them.

  You are to return by the same route to the Lake, he ordered, and before the thought had finished, Ramoth took off.

  Mnementh was beside them above the lake, fuming with his own and F’lar’s anger. You did not visualize before transferring. Don’t think a first successful trip makes you perfect. You have no conception of the dangers inherent in between. Never fail to picture your arrival point again.

  Lessa glanced down at F’lar. Even two wingspans apart, she could see the vivid anger on his face, almost feel the fury flashing from his eyes. And laced through the wrath, a terrible sinking fearfulness for her safety that was a more effective reprimand than his wrath. Lessa’s safety, she wondered bitterly, or Ramoth’s?

  You are to follow us, Mnementh was saying in a calmer tone, rehearsing in your mind the two reference points you have already learned. We shall jump to and from them this morning gradually learning other points around Benden.

  They did. Flying as far away as Benden Hold itself, nestled against the foothills above Benden Valley, the Weyr Peak a far point against the noonday sky, Lessa did not neglect to visualize a clearly detailed impression each time.

  This was as marvelously exciting as she had hoped it would be, Lessa confided to Ramoth. Ramoth replied: yes, it was certainly preferable to the time-consuming methods others had to use, but she didn’t think it was exciting at all to jump between from Benden Weyr to Benden Hold and back to Benden Weyr again. It was dull.

  They had met with Mnementh above the Star Stone again. The bronze dragon sent Lessa the message that this was a very satisfactory initial session. They would practice some distant jumping tomorrow.

  Tomorrow, thought Lessa glumly, some emergency will occur or our hard-working Weyrleader will decide today’s session constitutes keeping his promise and that will be that.

  There was one jump she could make between, from anywhere on Pern, and not miss her mark.

  She visualized Ruatha for Ramoth as seen from the heights above the Hold . . . to satisfy that requirement. To be scrupulously clear, Lessa projected the pattern of the firepits. Before Fax invaded and she had had to manipulate its decline, Ruatha had been such a lovely, prosperous valley. She told Ramoth to jump between.

  The cold was intense and seemed to last for many heartbeats. Just as Lessa began to fear that she had somehow lost them between, they exploded into the air above the Hold. Elation filled her. That for F’lar and his excessive caution! With Ramoth she could jump anywhere! For there was the distinctive pattern of Ruatha’s fire-guttered heights. It was just before dawn, the Breast Pass between Crom and Ruatha, black cones against the lightening gray sky. Fleetingly she noticed the absence of the Red Star that now blazed in the dawn sky. And fleetingly she noticed a difference in the air. Chill, yes, but not wintry . . . the air held that moist coolness of early spring.

  Startled, she glanced downward, wondering if she could have, for all her assurance, erred in some fashion. But no, this was Ruath Hold. The Tower, the inner Court, the aspect of the broad avenue leading down to the crafthold were just as they should be. Wisps of smoke from distant chimneys indicated people were making ready for the day.

  Ramoth caught the tenor of her insecurity and began to press for an explanation.

  This is Ruatha, Lessa replied stoutly. It can be no other. Circle the heights. See, there are the firepit lines I gave you. . . .

  Lessa gasped, the coldness in her stomach freezing her muscles.

  Below her in the slowly lifting predawn gloom, she saw the figures of many men toiling over the breast of the cliff from the hills beyond Ruatha, men moving with quiet stealth like criminals.

  She ordered Ramoth to keep as still as possible in the air so as not to direct their attention upward. The dragon was curious but obedient.

  Who would be attacking Ruatha? It seemed incredible. Lytol was, after all, a former dragonman and had savagely repelled one attack already. Could there possibly be a thought of aggression among the Holds now that F’lar was Weyrleader? And what Hold Lord would be foolish enough to mount a territorial war in the winter?

  No, not winter. The air was definitely springlike.

  The men crept on, over the firepits to the edge of the heights. Suddenly Lessa realized they were lowering rope ladders over the face of the cliff, down toward the open shutters of the Inner Hold.

  Wildly she clutched at Ramoth’s neck, certain of what she saw.

  This was the invader Fax, now dead nearly three Turns—Fax and his men as they began their attack on Ruatha nearly thirteen Turns ago.

  Yes, there was the Tower guard, his face a white blot turned toward the Cliff itself, watching. He had been paid his bribe to stand silent this morning.

  But the watch-wher, trained to give alarm for any intrusion—why was it not trumpeting its warning? Why was it silent?

  Because, Ramoth informed her rider with calm logic, it senses your presence as well as mine, so how could the Hold be in danger?

  No, No! Lessa moaned. What can I do now? How can I wake them? Where is the girl I was? I was asleep, and then I woke. I remember. I dashed from my room. I was so scared. I went down the steps and nearly fell. I knew I had to get to the watch-wher’s kennel. . . . I knew. . . .

  Lessa clutched at Ramoth’s neck for support as past acts and mysteries became devastatingly clear.

  She herself had warned herself, just as it was her presence on the queen dragon that had kept the watch-wher from giving alarm. For as she watched, stunned and speechless, she saw the small, gray-robed figure that could only be herself as a youngster, burst from the Hold Hall door, race uncertainly down the cold stone steps into the Court, and disappear into the watch-wher’s stinking den. Faintly she heard it crying in piteous confusion.

  Just as Lessa-the-girl reached that doubtful sanctuary, Fax’s invaders swooped into the open window embrasures and began the slaughter of her sleeping family.

  “Back—back to the Star Stone!” Lessa cried. In her wide and staring eyes she held the image of the guiding rocks like a rudder for her sanity as well as Ramoth’s direction.

  The intense cold acted as a restorative. And then they were above the quiet, peaceful wintry Weyr as if they had never paradoxically visited Ruatha.

  F’lar and Mnementh were nowhere to be seen.

  Ramoth, however, was unshaken by the experience. She had only gone where she had been told to go and had not quite understood that going where she had been told to go had shocked Lessa. She suggested to her rider that Mnementh had probably followed them to Ruatha so if Lessa would give her the proper references, she’d take her there. Ramoth’s sensible attitude was comforting.

  Lessa carefully drew for Ramoth not the child’s memory of a long-vanished, idyllic Ruatha but her more recent recollection of the Hold, gray, sullen, at dawning, with a Red Star pulsing on the horizon.

  And there they were again, hovering over the Valley, the Hold below them on the right. The grasses grew untended on the heights, dogging firepit and brickwork; the scene showed all the deterioration she had encouraged in her effort to thwart Fax of
any profit from conquering Ruath Hold

  But, as she watched, vaguely disturbed, she saw a figure emerge from the kitchen, saw the watch-wher creep from its lair and follow the raggedly dressed figure as far across the Court as the chain permitted. She saw the figure ascend the Tower, gaze first eastward, then northeastward. This was still not Ruatha of today and now! Lessa’s mind reeled, disoriented. This time she had come back to visit herself of three Turns ago, to see the filthy drudge plotting revenge on Fax.

  She felt the absolute cold of between as Ramoth snatched them back, emerging once more above the Star Stone. Lessa was shuddering, her eyes frantically taking in the reassuring sight of the Weyr Bowl, hoping she had not somehow shifted backward in time yet again. Mnementh suddenly erupted into the air a few lengths below and beyond Ramoth. Lessa greeted him with a cry of intense relief.

  Back to your weyr! There was no disguising the white fury in Mnementh’s tone. Lessa was too unnerved to respond in any way other than instant compliance. Ramoth glided swiftly to their ledge, quickly clearing the perch for Mnementh to land.

  The rage on F’lar’s face as he leaped from Mnementh and advanced on Lessa brought her wits back abruptly. She made no move to evade him as he grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently.

  “How dare you risk yourself and Ramoth? Why must you defy me at every opportunity? Do you realize what would happen to all Pern if we lost Ramoth? Where did you go?” He was spitting with anger, punctuating each question that tumbled from his lips by giving her a head-wrenching shake.

  “Ruatha,” she managed to say, trying to keep herself erect. She reached out to catch at his arms, but he shook her again.

  “Ruatha? We were there. You weren’t. Where did you go?”

  “Ruatha!” Lessa cried louder, clutching at him distractedly because he kept jerking her off balance. She couldn’t organize her thoughts with him jolting her around.

  She was at Ruatha, Mnementh said firmly.

  We were there twice, Ramoth added.

  As the dragons’ calmer words penetrated F’lar’s fury, he stopped shaking Lessa. She hung limply in his grasp, her hands weakly plucking at his arms, her eyes closed, her face gray. He picked her up and strode rapidly into the queen’s Weyr, the dragons following. He placed her upon the couch, wrapping her tightly in the fur cover. He called down the service shaft for the duty cook to send up hot klah.