Sky Dragons: Dragonriders of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  Xhinna frowned. She steadied herself and slowly leaned over, her hands palm out toward the ground. She got no farther than mid-thigh before the pain stopped her.

  She straightened once more, fighting to keep the pain from showing on her face. It didn’t matter. Jirana moved behind her and, pulling her tunic from her trousers, inspected Xhinna’s scar.

  “No bleeding,” she reported, lowering Xhinna’s tunic.

  “Good,” Mirressa said.

  “Well, I’d be surprised if there were. We took the stitches out a fortnight back, she should be all healed,” Bekka said. “But if she stretches too much, too fast, she might tear the scar.”

  “So we take it slowly,” Jirana said in a voice that hid a warning.

  “We take it slowly,” Xhinna agreed. She looked around. The Weyr was empty: The weyrlings had been carried to the beach for drill and a swim; the older dragons were out hunting or searching for suitable Hatching Grounds.

  Given V’lex’s continued influence on T’rennor, Xhinna decided that she could use Kisorth’s imminent clutching as a reason to talk with the older green rider both about the depredations on their stock and her concenrn about finding a safe location for Kisorth to clutch. V’lex, when Xhinna inquired, seemed not the least concerned. The interview had been awkward and his attitude had been just short of insulting. Still, she was convinced that the green rider was in contact with J’keran.

  Since they had last talked about the issue, the depredations had slackened to one herdbeast every two days and then, after a fortnight, they’d suddenly stopped altogether with one final, grisly assault on a herdbeast, its clawed remains scattered throughout the holding pen, rendering it unusable. R’ney had found a new location and, with Colfet and—surprisingly—Jepara, who had proved as fair a hand with an axe as with a bow, had put a new pen together in a day.

  An itch twitched along Xhinna’s scar, recalling her from her reverie, reminding her not to overexert herself. She smiled at Mirressa. The green rider had matured so much since Impressing her Valcanth. She was still too eager to please, too meek for Xhinna’s tastes, but she was starting to develop an inner conviction, a strength that would grow all the stronger as her green grew to maturity. She might still say “yes” far more often than was good for her, but she’d at least started to say “no.”

  Xhinna grimaced, then asked Mirressa, “How many?”

  “How many times do you have to touch ground?” Mirressa asked, confused. “Just once.”

  “It’s hardly ground,” Xhinna said, indicating the canvas-covered tops of the broom trees they stood on. “But I meant, how many times should I try this now?”

  “Oh, you mean to stretch?” Xhinna nodded and Mirressa pursed her lips in a way that made the young green rider look cute enough to kiss. “Try three more times, and then you should give it a rest.”

  “Three more times,” Xhinna repeated with a gleam in her eye. She bent down and found it no easier, but the stretching, while painful, felt good, right. Jirana wanted to check her scar once more, but Xhinna shooed her away testily. “Wait until I’m done!”

  Twice more she bent over, slowly, straining the scar, feeling it give, and bending lower before the pain and the stretching forced her to stop.

  “Okay, now I’m looking,” Jirana declared, sliding Xhinna’s tunic back up and, with a hiss, gesturing for Mirressa to look. Bekka took a quick glance, then gave Mirressa a challenging look, requiring opinion.

  “No,” the green rider said, “that’s all right. It should be a little red.” The green rider’s fingers traced the scar lightly, pressing here and there in what was just barely more than a tickle. Xhinna, who was used to such inspections, managed not to twitch in reaction.

  “And now, Wingleader, that you’ve completed your calisthenics and been vetted,” R’ney said drolly, “perhaps you’d care to engage in the management of your wing?”

  Xhinna managed not to glower at him, conveying instead an authoritative nod in his direction.

  “Very well,” R’ney continued, drawing a breath to begin. “Bekka reports”—he nodded in the direction of the healer—“that our stocks of bandages have been depleted.” He gave her a telling glance. “I have no idea why they’ve been used so profligately …”

  Xhinna ignored the taunt and let his words roll over her, even as she smelled the fresh blossoms of the broom trees and the other scents of spring. There would be more showers soon, and then, as R’ney had excitedly declared, the mud would flow. The barren hill that lay beneath the burnt plateau was rainfall by rainfall creeping more into view and the appearance of bare rock could so excite only a smither—or those worried for the future of Pern.

  The new pen was working well and there’d been no more Mrreow incursions, further convincing Xhinna that the prior assaults had been planned. She fumed at that, but revenge would have to wait.

  “Are you listening?” R’ney asked softly. Xhinna shot him a glare and nodded. “Just checking,” he said, continuing. “Meeya has reported some luck in turning wherry feathers into pillows, but Colfet reports that we’re running low on canvas.”

  “Any luck with the gold?” Xhinna asked.

  R’ney and X’lerin exchanged looks. Ah! Xhinna thought, so that’s why they’re looking so complacent.

  “Shouldn’t we get Javissa here with Aressil to talk about our trade options?” Xhinna asked, cocking her head at them inquiringly.

  “Wouldn’t that be counting your eggs before they clutched?” R’ney asked.

  “Not if I’m any judge of character,” Xhinna said, grinning as bronze and brown rider exchanged exasperated looks. “So, R’ney, how much did you find? And am I to gather that because Aressil isn’t here, she’s busy chortling over your new hoard?”

  “She is, in fact, down at the flume now with Danirry, cataloging our findings,” R’ney admitted.

  “How many grams?” Xhinna prompted, wanting to cut to the heart of the matter without any of the word dancing that the brown rider loved—and with which, apparently, he had also infected X’lerin.

  “About two thousand,” R’ney said, smirking at Xhinna’s reaction.

  “We thought you’d be pleased,” X’lerin said. Xhinna cut a look over to K’dan, but the harper shrugged and said, “I’ve been working with the weyrlings—this is as much news to me as it is to you.”

  Xhinna was not entirely surprised at this admission, but it was a shock to realize that for all K’dan’s age and wisdom, it would not have occurred to him to keep a closer eye on R’ney and X’lerin in this matter, particularly when they started acting so smug. She would have. But then, she was naturally inquisitive and … she’d had months of practice. Before that, she’d had even more time with children, and as she was coming to realize more and more, children were great teachers of human nature.

  “We’re going to need to worry about Candidates soon enough,” she said, musing aloud. “We could probably bring the gold with us for trade.”

  “Gold for people?” R’ney asked dubiously.

  “No, gold for trade,” Xhinna said. “Gold could help make life here easier, more enticing.” R’ney looked relieved.

  “True,” K’dan said, glancing down at the thick leaves and branches supporting him. “Life here does seem a bit insubstantial.”

  “Airy,” R’ney agreed.

  “It would be nice to have a proper Weyr,” X’lerin said.

  “So what would we buy with our gold?” Xhinna asked, bringing the conversation back to solid ground.

  “Bandages and medical supplies,” K’dan said immediately. “Bekka’s made a list.”

  “Clothing,” R’ney said. “Fabric and needles.” Aressil had proved to be a dab hand with tanning, and she and R’ney had quickly turned Cliova, Aliyal, Hannah, and J’sarte into competent tanners—although the older weyrlings preferred their healer lessons to the smelly, hot work of tanning leather.

  “We’d do better hunting if we could get proper bows and arrows,” X’lerin
added. “P’nallo’s done very well with what we have, but he swears that steel-tipped barbs would give us twice as many kills.”

  “We’re having to fly farther and farther to find game,” R’ney added.

  “We can talk about that later,” Xhinna said. “When will we get our first grams of gold?”

  “I have a kilo of dust bagged and ready,” R’ney told her, smiling happily at her surprise.

  X’lerin chuckled loudly, pointing at Xhinna’s face. “And you wonder why I made you a wingleader!”

  “What?” Xhinna said.

  “A kilo!” X’lerin repeated, shaking his head at R’ney and chuckling again at Xhinna’s look. “Who else would have a wingsecond like that?”

  “Blue rider,” V’lex said, nodding respectfully as he sat down opposite Xhinna. When X’lerin had told her that he was sending the green rider to talk with her, she’d been surprised and just a bit skeptical.

  But now J’keran’s favorite was in front of her, a respectful, apologetic look on his face.

  “I know who’s been taking our stuff,” he said in a rush.

  “I do, too,” Xhinna replied.

  “And?”

  “I don’t like thieves,” she said. Seeing him about to protest, she raised a hand as she added, “But I won’t let dragonriders—or their dragons—starve.” She paused, watching his reaction, then asked, “Have you seen them recently?”

  V’lex shook his head. “J’keran’s changed, Wingleader. He’s a different man.”

  “Sober?”

  “He’s given up the rotgut,” V’lex temporized. He paused for a moment, looking this way and that, not meeting her eyes before he said, “T’rennor’s Kisorth will clutch soon.” He slid his eyes up to meet hers. “X’lerin says that he’s put you in charge of the Hatching.”

  So, Xhinna thought in surprise, you’ve grown a spine while J’keran’s been gone. The V’lex of old would never have dared criticize the brown rider. And his interest in Kisorth’s clutch—Xhinna made a note to keep an eye on the two green riders; it seemed that V’lex had taken a stronger interest in T’rennor than she would have thought possible, which might have important consequences for the whole weyr.

  Green and blue riders, she was discovering, were hard to keep in one category. With browns it was even more so. Only the bronzes and queens were steadfast in their preferences. The rider of a female green could be the dominant partner in a relationship, although that role was more prevalent among blue riders. And while the male riders of greens were more likely to prefer male partners, it wasn’t always the case. Based on her experience of the past four Turns, the only thing that seemed certain to Xhinna was that when dragons rose to mate, passions flowed freely, with the controlling passion being that of the dragon’s over the rider. At all other times, riders were free to follow their own hearts.

  “We need every dragon on Pern,” Xhinna said. “Bronze, brown, gold, but particularly green and blue.”

  “Green and blue?”

  “Green rider, you and I both know which dragons make up the bulk of the Weyrs,” Xhinna said. “Which ones fly the most Falls, take the most injuries, work the hardest without fail?”

  “Blues and greens,” V’lex replied, a light shining in his eyes. “The browns and bronzes do their bit, but they’re always bigger, they find everything easier.”

  “Well,” Xhinna said with a slight smile, “they’d rather have to, being so big and clumsy.” She shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong! We need the browns and the bronzes, we need their stamina, their strength, but—” She raised a hand and opened it, gesturing questioningly. “—how do you think they’d fare if they flew Thread alone?”

  “Not well,” V’lex admitted. “Why my Sarinth and I have been through more Falls than—” He broke off, reddening and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Wingleader,” he said. “It’s not your fault that you were too young and your dragon too new to fight a Threadfall.”

  “But I will,” Xhinna said. “And when I do—when we do, Tazith and I, we’ll be counting on you older riders to guide us while we newer riders will be doing all we can to support you.” She paused, then added, “Just as you’ve been doing with T’rennor.”

  V’lex nodded. He glanced up at her, really looked in her eyes, and she saw something new, something different in him. V’lex might never be the sort that Xhinna could like personally, but his half Turn of flying Thread had made him someone she would respect.

  “J’keran said you were a coward in that fight,” V’lex said, eyeing her carefully.

  “I was,” Xhinna said. “I was wearing only a tunic and I was trying to convince him that I wasn’t his enemy. I didn’t want to fight and, in the end, I didn’t fight—I was trying to show him that the eggs were hollow, that the tunnel snakes had gotten to them.”

  “That’s what I said,” V’lex told her. She didn’t think the green rider had told J’keran that from the start, though. She imagined that this admission was from a more recent conversation. “But, you know, he said that the eggs weren’t hollow, that the one you tried to knife was full.”

  “If it was, it didn’t hatch,” Xhinna said. “Only five eggs were good.”

  “But he said that egg was full,” V’lex repeated, shaking his head. “He told T’rennor that—” He broke off suddenly, realizing he’d said too much, and dropped his gaze to the ground.

  “But T’rennor’s not listening to him anymore, is he?” Xhinna asked softly. V’lex looked up at her and nodded. “He’s listening to you.” The green rider said nothing. “And so what matters is what you’re going to tell him.”

  “It shouldn’t be this hard,” V’lex said grumpily. “A rider should rise and flame, throw firestone, burn Thread, and rest.” He frowned again. “And greens aren’t supposed to fall in love with other greens.”

  “Perhaps that was the tradition,” Xhinna said, and he looked up at her questioningly. “Traditions are good when the times are the same.” She made a gesture, throwing the question to him.

  “But times aren’t the same,” he said, finding some new hope in that realization. “If they were, we wouldn’t have the greens clutching.” He licked his lips and continued hastily, “If my Sarinth were still young, hadn’t chewed firestone, then she’d be clutching, too.”

  Xhinna nodded, not quite certain what point the green rider was trying to make, but supporting him in his effort.

  “And my green would have hatchlings,” V’lex said in a voice that stirred strong emotions in Xhinna’s gut. Oh, yes, she knew this emotion, she understood this man suddenly with a feeling of great clarity. V’lex wanted children. More than that, he wanted children for his beloved green. And if she couldn’t have them, then he wanted them for those who could, like Kisorth.

  There were depths in this man, Xhinna realized, that Fiona, with her blunt enthusiasm, would never have seen, never even have known were there, desperate for nurture. In far too many troubling ways, this man was like Taria in male form: one of the natural parents and caregivers that nurture all those around them. She could see how V’lex, surrounded by desperate males, all lonely and far away from their home and even their own time, would have been willing, eager even, to provide all the comfort he could. It was part of his nature: He would give without question if it provided ease to others.

  Fiona had once remarked that she couldn’t understand why he was so popular. Xhinna could understand that now. The Weyrwoman operated by demanding and receiving adoration and admiration; she loved everyone and expected love in return, thrived on it. It just wasn’t in her nature to yield to the demands of others—she simply wasn’t made that way.

  And because she wasn’t made that way, and also, Xhinna admitted, because Fiona had been so young and uncertain in herself, she couldn’t have seen where V’lex should have behaved differently. Fiona probably did not even realize what he had done to this day, merely assuming that the green rider was happy because he was in such high demand, just as she was happy in the
same situation.

  V’lex was also somewhat like Mirressa: a person who simply could not say “no” even if it was in her best interest. And so his time in Igen had cemented him in the role of the butt of jokes, the first to come running and the last to leave. When the old Igen riders had joined the Weyr, they had naturally attracted those most like them. It must have been a huge relief for V’lex to have someone else—T’rennor, for example—suffer as he had, glad of the attention, miserable with the shame.

  If it hadn’t been for J’keran’s attentions to Taria, Xhinna would not have noticed, leaving the fighting dragons to X’lerin. X’lerin wouldn’t have noticed because, untrained, he had to accept J’keran’s authority within his wing. Without malice or anger, she wondered idly if V’lex might have indirectly launched the brown rider in Taria’s direction. Not that it mattered—J’keran, so drained by the repeated Falls and the losses, would have gravitated toward Taria, someone much like V’lex in nature, someone who would satisfy his desire to mold and dominate. As much as J’keran and the others had created V’lex’s behavior, the green rider’s behavior had affirmed J’keran’s; the two were like poles of a magnet, tilting the one always away from what attracted the other.

  However, with J’keran gone, V’lex began to chart his own course, the course that led him closer and closer to T’rennor and the green that would clutch at the same time as Coranth. In some ways, the old friends—V’lex and J’keran—had become rivals.

  V’lex was breaking with tradition.

  “Have you started scouting for Hatching Grounds?” Xhinna asked, leaping to the next logical conclusion. V’lex straightened in surprise. “It’s what I would have done,” she told him calmly, glad to see that she’d guessed rightly that he was looking on the sly. “It’s what I did—until Coranth took the option out of my hands.”

  “I haven’t found any place better than Coranth’s,” V’lex admitted. He glanced into Xhinna’s eyes and held her gaze. “It’s not very good, is it?”

  “And that’s why you were wondering about that egg?” she guessed, referring to the egg that she and J’keran had battled over. The green rider nodded.