Anne Mccaffrey_ Dragonriders of Pern 20 (19 page)

“It would seem that Benden has gotten your message,” Murenny said, nodding to Kindan.

The Fort Hold guards, having bunched up close to their lord, now sidled discreetly around him so as to put him between them and the bronze dragon that settled in the meadow beyond the Harper Hall, his hide gleaming bright in the full morning sun.

Not a moment after M’tal alighted from Gaminth did the sky darken again. Kindan craned his neck up to see a lithe blue dragon with three riders descend to land beside the Benden Weyr dragon. Kindan spotted the rider’s Ista Weyr colors and instantly recognized the rider as J’trel.

“What’s Ista doing here?” Bemin asked as the blue dragon landed.

“That would be Talith,” Murenny responded. “J’trel is his rider. He’s been here to the Healer Hall a number of times with—”

“Ki’da’!” a young boy cried, rushing across the field.

“Druri!” Kindan called back enthusiastically. He waved toward the blue rider and nodded at the woman who trailed along behind. “J’trel, Jalenna!”

When J’trel waved back, Kindan felt that something was wrong; the older rider was usually much more enthusiastic in his greeting. Jalenna, Kindan saw, was carrying a small bundle in a sling. The bundle squirmed awkwardly; it was not usual for Jalenna to bring young Jassi with her. Kindan felt dread and urgency emanating from both adults as they approached.

“Kindan, stand away, please,” M’tal called urgently as Druri approached.

Murenny moved to intercept the young man, diverting him from Kindan, Koriana, and Vaxoram.

“Is the plague in Ista?” M’tal said to J’trel.

“Not yet,” J’trel replied. “It may be only a matter of days, however.” He turned to the Masterharper. “I’ve come to beg a favor, Murenny.”

“What’s going on?” Bemin demanded, surprised and nervous at the sudden change in the situation.

“I’ve come for Kindan,” M’tal said. “His Valla requested that he come to Benden.” M’tal glanced down at Kindan as he added, “Though I’ve no idea why.”

“We were hoping to examine your Records,” Kindan explained with a nod toward M’tal. Bemin’s reaction made it clear to everyone that he thought Kindan was being overly familiar with the Benden Weyrleader.

“Of course,” M’tal said willingly. “If it weren’t for you, our dragons would still be chewing that hot firestone and we’d never know anything about the abilities of watch-whers.”

Bemin’s expression changed; he glanced at Kindan with a look of appraisal on his face.

“I’ve come to ask sanctuary for Druri, Jalenna, and Jassi,” J’trel said to Murenny.

“I see,” Murenny replied noncommittally, still keeping a hand on the restless Druri.

The story of Druri’s debility was well known at the Harper Hall, where the dim but kindly lad had been a regular visitor for several Turns, working with the Healers as they strove to retrain a brain tragically damaged in a near-drowning nearly five Turns ago.

The rumors in the apprentice dormitory—always rampant if not always accurate—were that J’trel had been performing aerobatics when Druri and some other boys had been out of Ista Harbor sailing in a small skiff. Their amazement with blue Talith’s antics had caused them to neglect their navigation and the skiff hit a reef, the mast fell on Druri, cracking his skull and many precious minutes were lost before he was brought out of the water, drowned and dead. At Jalenna’s request, J’trel had taken quick action to revive the boy, but it had been too late to prevent Druri’s brain from being severely damaged. Rumors went on, wildly, to assert that J’trel had had a romantic liaison with Jalenna resulting in Jassi. Kindan tended to discount such rumors as everyone knew that blue riders preferred to partner with green riders, and that both riders were usually male.

“We should leave now,” M’tal said to Kindan, nodding apologetically to J’trel as he added, “I don’t want to risk the chance of Kindan catching the illness.”

“There’s a risk of the illness from these?” Bemin demanded, waving at the three Ista holders and the blue rider.

“I don’t think so,” J’trel replied, “or I wouldn’t have brought them here.”

“But you don’t know,” Bemin persisted.

“No, Lord Holder,” J’trel answered, his voice going stiff.

“I can’t permit it,” Bemin said. “I can’t let my Hold—”

“I make this request of the Healer Hall, not Fort Hold,” J’trel interjected.

“All the same,” Bemin retorted hotly. “I won’t let—”

“Lord Holder, I don’t know if you really have a choice,” Murenny interrupted in a soft voice.

Bemin shot him an angry look and Murenny contined quickly, “How many ships have docked at Fort Sea Hold since we received the first word of the illness?”

“But—”

“And how many have offloaded fish?” J’trel asked, guessing the train of Murenny’s reasoning. “And how many fished off Ista or Keroon? How many set in to one of those Holds or minor Holds or merely put a boat ashore to gather water?”

“But—but—we don’t know—” Bemin spluttered.

“You are absolutely correct, my Lord Holder,” Murenny agreed with a nod of his head. “We don’t know.” He frowned. “In fact, with that last drum message we don’t know if the emergency was in Igen, Telgar, or even Southern Boll Holds.” He glanced toward M’tal. “We need more information.”

The Benden Weyrleader nodded in understanding.

“We think the last plague started on the east coast,” Kindan said, inserting himself into the conversation despite the knot in his stomach. “That’s why I’ve asked to review the Records at Benden Weyr.”

“But what about the Harper Hall Records?” Bemin demanded.

“Fragments, scattered reports, nothing to give us a decent picture of what to expect,” Koriana said, meeting her father’s angry eyes with her concerned ones. “Let me go with him, Father,” she pleaded. “For our Hold, for our people.”

“Why do you have to go?” Bemin asked, his tone less belligerent than worried.

“Because I know what to look for,” Koriana replied. “And because we need to know as soon as we can.” She gestured to Kindan, Vaxoram, and herself. “We three are best at that.” She gave Vaxoram a sympathetic look before she continued, “Vaxoram has a hard time reading, Father. It takes him twice as long as it does me. If I don’t go, it will take nearly twice as long to get our answers—and what will happen in the meantime?”

“Your mother—”

“Mother would say, ‘Go, do what you must,’” Koriana predicted.

Bemin let out a long fuming sigh and nodded reluctantly. Then he turned to Kindan. “And you, have you been honorable?”

“No, my lord,” Kindan admitted. “I have not.”

M’tal gave him a startled look, a look which Kindan would have given anything never to have earned.

“We slept in the same bed,” Koriana said. “We kissed but nothing more.” She reached out toward Kindan as she told her father, “I love him.”

Bemin turned furiously toward Murenny. “No,” he said hoarsely. “This cannot be. I will not permit it.”

Before anyone could respond, another drum message rumbled through the valley.

“Emergency,” Kindan and Koriana translated in unison, their eyes locking in a rush of fear and dread. “Emergency. Emergency. Telgar Hold. Send help. Please.”

Even before the words had registered, the drums started again.

“Plague in Nabol, please help,” Kindan translated, his heart pounding heavily in his chest.

“Plague in Crom,” Koriana added, turning to her father pleadingly.

Bemin looked at her for one moment more before nodding decisively. “Go!” he told her. He turned to M’tal and gestured to Kindan, “You will guard her honor?”

“My word as a dragonrider,” M’tal responded in leaden tones.

“You have my word, also, Lord Holder,” Kindan added in a small voice.

“Your word has no value to me,” Bemin responded harshly. He gestured to Vaxoram. “He’ll go with you, too, won’t he?” Kindan nodded and Bemin told Vaxoram, “You will sleep in the same room with him; never leave without him.”

“My lord,” Vaxoram agreed with a stiff bow.

“Go then,” Bemin said, waving his hand angrily. He turned to Murenny. “You and I will discuss these other matters now.”

“Come on,” M’tal said gruffly to Kindan and the others, turning on his heel and speeding his way back to his bronze dragon. He arranged for Koriana to be sandwiched between himself and Vaxoram, with Kindan seated behind the older apprentice.

Gaminth rose into the air with an urgency that seemed almost angry to Kindan, as though the dragon were reflecting the rider’s mood. As they went
between,
Kindan reached a hand forward to touch Koriana but dropped it as he remembered his promise.

He felt as doomed as all Pern.

CHAPTER 8

Harper to your word be true
Holder, crafter you also hew
To honesty, integrity, and respect
All others without regard to intellect.

B
ENDEN
W
EYR

T
he cold of
between
remained in Kindan’s bones as they burst out into the waning daylight of a Benden Weyr experiencing a midwinter freeze. The crest of the Weyr was snow-covered as were all the mountains in the distance.

The cold of
between
was also in the air they brought with them from the Harper Hall, the moisture frozen out into a rainbow of ice crystals that surrounded Gaminth and his riders until they dropped through it when the bronze dragon dove steeply into the Weyr Bowl.

Gaminth landed deftly, but Kindan was still so numb physically and emotionally that he nearly fell from his perch on the dragon, slamming awkwardly against Vaxoram and managing to stay on the dragon’s back only with the help of Vaxoram’s steadying hand.

Mortified, he swiftly clambered off the dragon. After he helped Vaxoram down, he stood in to help Koriana only to be elbowed aside by the older harper.

“My job’s to serve you, and you’re likely to drop her,” Vaxoram told him curtly.

Hurt, Kindan stood back and watched enviously as Vaxoram gently caught Koriana in his strong arms and lowered her to the Weyr Bowl.

“Come on, I’ll show you the Records room,” M’tal called as soon as he hopped down from his dragon. He led a brisk pace up two flights of stone stairs and turned right, leading through the first doorway.

The room was stacked full of Records, with many more stacked awkwardly in dark alcoves. Dim morning light from the Bowl shone in from a window cut in the far side of the room.

“Kindan,” M’tal ordered, “come with me and we’ll get some
klah
and glows.”

Out of breath, Kindan turned immediately and started to follow M’tal only to be stopped by Vaxoram, who said to the Weyrleader, “I am under vow to be with him at all times.”

M’tal pursed his lips, then nodded quickly. “Very well, you may come.” He glanced toward Koriana. “Will you get started?”

“Of course,” Koriana replied, her gaze reaching out to Kindan for a moment before she turned her head quickly away and began to search through the first stack of Records.

“By the Shell of Faranth!” M’tal swore to Kindan as they trotted down the stairs toward the Weyr Bowl. “What ever could you have been thinking of, Kindan?”

“I—”

“And you,” M’tal rounded on Vaxoram. “Didn’t you duel him for much the same reason?” Before Vaxoram could respond, he continued, “Don’t you know you can re-challenge him and win your honor?”

“He did nothing dishonorable,” Vaxoram declared hotly. “They were never out of my sight.”

Kindan looked at Vaxoram in surprise and then realized that the older harper had spoken the truth.

“Then why—?” Kindan began questioningly only to be cut off by M’tal who spoke with dawning comprehension, “Forsworn, you could not provide witness to Lord Bemin.”

“Yes, my lord,” Vaxoram agreed, glancing apologetically to Kindan.

“Thanks,” Kindan told Vaxoram feelingly.

“What for?” M’tal demanded. “With your honor in question, there’s no hope of having you come
here.
”

No hope? Kindan thought to himself. He had no chance of being posted to the Weyr? His heart could sink no further; he felt like it had frozen, stuck forever
between.

They entered the Weyr’s large Kitchen Cavern. M’tal pointed peremptorily in one direction and moved in another, toward the hearth. “Kindan, get the glows while Vaxoram and I get a tray of food and a pitcher of
klah.
”

A number of dragonriders and weyrfolk looked up excitedly as the Weyrleader strode by, but he waved them back to their work.

A kindly weyrboy piled him up with fresh glows and Kindan moved much more slowly to catch up with the Benden Weyrleader and Vaxoram, who was carrying a tray of food, while M’tal carried a large pitcher of
klah
and several mugs.

The two harpers arrived out of breath outside the Records Room.

“Set up the glows,” M’tal instructed Kindan as he gestured to Vaxoram to place the tray on a free table to which he added the
klah
and mugs. He turned his attention to Koriana.

“You’ll sleep in our quarters just beyond the stairs if you need to,” M’tal told her. “You can use the necessary there, too.” He looked at the two boys. “You’ll sleep in the weyrling quarters, they’re empty now, and you can use the necessary there—that’s across the Bowl, so don’t wait if you need it.”

Vaxoram and Kindan nodded glumly, daunted at the prospect of crossing the Weyr Bowl so late at night, and when they were so tired. M’tal slapped his hands together briskly and stood up. “Very well, is there anything else you need?”

The three youths shook their heads.

“Then I’ll get on with my duties,” he told them. “I’ll be back soon.”

Koriana had already pulled several large stacks of Records and arranged them in front of chairs. Silently, she, Kindan, and Vaxoram took their places in front of the stacks.

“Three eighty-nine, right?” Koriana murmured as she turned over a Record.

“And three ninety,” Kindan agreed. “The third month.”

Koriana shook her head. “The Records I’ve pulled go back to the first month, just in case.”

“That’s a lot of reading,” Vaxoram grumbled.

“So let’s get to work,” Kindan replied, nudging him on the arm. Vaxoram gave him a look that, while obedient, reminded Kindan exactly how much “work” reading Records was for the older lad. But before Kindan could respond, Vaxoram bent over his Record, bringing a thin glow as close as he could.

Silence fell and stretched, disturbed only by the occasional rustle of a turned Record, or a disappointed grunt or irritated grumble.

“I thought that Weyr Records would be better than Hold Records,” Koriana murmured at one point. “But, except for notes about dragons and flaming, they’re not all that much different.”

“Here’s one about an exploding bag of firestone,” Vaxoram said, casting a glance at Kindan. “A weyrling and his rider went
between.
Another rider was badly burnt but survived.”

“Sounds like C’tov,” Kindan muttered to himself.

“Who?” Koriana asked, glancing up from her reading.

“C’tov,” Kindan said, looking back at her and shifting nervously in his chair. “He was the one who found the proper firestone.”

“He Impressed a dragon?” Vaxoram asked, giving Kindan a hurt look for not spreading such juicy gossip sooner. “Thanks for sharing.”

“I thought everyone knew,” Kindan said. “It happened such a long time ago.”

Vaxoram grunted and looked back down at his Record. Koriana gave Kindan a sympathetic smile which he returned in full. They held their gaze for a few moments more before, by mutual consent, they turned back to their work and silence descended once more.

The silence stretched on endlessly, became a companionable thing punctuated by the turning of musty Records and the creaks as they moved in their chairs or changed the way they rested their elbows on the table. At some point the silence became seductive, warm and enveloping, begging for rest and sleep.

A noise startled Kindan and he looked up to see Koriana’s head resting on the table, her blond hair covering her face. One of her hands had slid off the table, sliding a stack of Records with it. It was their rustling fall that Kindan had heard. He looked over to Vaxoram to find the older apprentice regarding him through sleep-lidded eyes.

“What do we do?” he asked Kindan.

“We can’t leave her here,” Kindan said. “We’ve got nothing to put over her to keep her warm.” He looked toward the Holder girl and called softly, “Koriana.” She made no motion. Louder he called, “Koriana.” She stirred, then settled once more. “Koriana!”

“Huh?” Koriana lifted her head blearily, then leaned back in her chair, a chagrined look on her face. “I’m all right, I must have dozed—”

“You should go to sleep,” Kindan told her.

“But the Records!” Koriana protested, bending down bleary-eyed in a feeble attempt to read.

“They’ll keep until the morning,” a voice called from the door. Koriana, Kindan, and Vaxoram whipped their heads around in surprise to see a woman in a nightgown standing in the doorway. She gestured toward Koriana. “I’m Salina. M’tal sent me to bring you to bed.”

Kindan rose instantly, and gesturing for Vaxoram to follow suit, bowed respectfully. “Weyrwoman,” he said hastily, “I had no idea—”

Salina cut him off with a smile and a shake of her head. “It’s far too late in the night for formalities, harper.” She gestured again to Koriana. “Come along, dear, you must be exhausted. “It’s nearly dawn.”

“Dawn?” Koriana repeated in surprise. “It doesn’t feel like it, my lady.”

“That’s because your body is still thinking it’s back at Fort Hold where the hour is only midnight,” Salina said. “Though that’s still late enough for all of you.”

As Koriana joined her, Salina told the other two, “Be careful going down the stairs and across the Bowl. It’s darkest before the dawn here, with the Bowl still in shadow.”

Kindan nodded.

“There are glows laid out in the weyrling quarters,” she told them. “Fresh-made beds, too.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Kindan replied, bowing once more. Salina smiled at him and, clasping Koriana by the hand, led the holder girl off to bed.

Kindan and Vaxoram followed them out of the Records Room and headed down the stairs, moving slowly with the aches from sitting too long in the same position. The air was cold in the Weyr Bowl and, as much as Kindan wanted to see more, he felt too tired to do more than muzzily register the notion.

“Weyrling quarters,” Vaxoram murmured to himself as they spotted the faint glow in the distance. “What would it be like to live there?”

Kindan could only shake his head in response.

Kindan woke early, when the weyrling barracks were just receiving the first rays of morning. He was still tired, but the new and different sounds of the Weyr had disturbed his sleep and piqued his curiosity. In the bunk nearest him, he could see the gleam of Vaxoram’s eyes, showing that he was also awake.

Valla was nestled up against Kindan’s back but rose into the air eagerly when he moved. With an inquisitive chirp, the fire-lizard flew out of the barracks. Off in search of food, Kindan guessed. As if in sympathy with the fire-lizard, Kindan’s stomach grumbled.

Across the way, Vaxoram rose from his bunk. They found the necessary and had quick showers, grateful that towels had been laid out for them in the otherwise empty weyrling quarters. They were even more surprised to see that clothes—slightly oversized—were hanging on hangers just below the towels. Kindan, for one, was glad that he wouldn’t be wearing the same clothes two days in a row. He was also glad to find some sweetgrass, which he rubbed on as antiperspirant.

Vaxoram, with a smug look, shaved.

They were quick enough, all the same, to exit the weyrling quarters with the sun only just a little further in the sky. As they crossed the Bowl to the Kitchen Cavern, Kindan spotted a strange shadow high up on the west side of the Bowl and turned to the east to determine its source.