Dragonseye (29 page)

“Oh, and don’t I know it. I’ll not be caught that way twice.”

“It grew a mighty fine hide,” she said, her eyes dancing with challenge.

“Catch your own, Zu. Now, let’s see . . . should we check and see if any of the other Weyrs want to come? Make this a joint exercise?”

“Why?” she countered with a shrug. “The whole idea is to get our wings away for a bit for something besides Fall readiness. Meranath,” and she turned to her queen, who was lounging indolently on her couch, her head turned in their direction and her eyes open, “would you be good enough to spread the word that the Weyr’s going off on an exercise,” and she grinned at K’vin, “tomorrow, first light? That should startle a few.”

“Undoubtedly,” and glancing at Zulaya for permission, K’vin made a second request of Meranath, “And ask J’dar and T’dam to step up here, please?”

The sun will be much warmer in the south,
Meranath said,
and we will all like that, K’vin.

“Glad you approve,” he said, giving the gold queen a little bow. He was also considerably gratified that she was using his name more. Could that mean that Zulaya was thinking of him more often? He kept that question tight in his mind, where even Charanth wouldn’t hear it. Did she really approve of his leadership? Zulaya never gave him any clues despite her courtesies to him in public: though he certainly appreciated that much. He didn’t seem any closer to a real intimacy with her, and he wanted one badly. Would he ever figure out how to achieve that? Could that be why she had suggested this excursion?

“How long has it been since there was an update on the grubs?”

She shrugged. “That’s not the point. We need a diversion and this makes a good one. Also, someone should do it for the Agric records. And we’ll probably have to go down during Fall to see if the grubs really do what they’re supposed to do.”

“Do you want to put us out of business?” he asked.

Zulaya shook her head. “As long as Thread falls from Pernese skies, we won’t be out of business. Psychologically, it’s imperative that we keep as much of the stuff as possible
off
the surface of the planet. The grubs are just an extra added precaution, not the total answer.”

The two Weyrleaders had forgotten to caution their dragons against mentioning the destination, and it was all over the Weyr by dinnertime. They were besieged by requests from Weyrfolk to be taken along. Even Tisha was not shy about requesting a lift.

“Some of the bronzes would need to carry two passengers,” K’vin said, doing some quick calculations.

“The weyrlings would have to stay,” Zulaya said, that necessity causing a brief hitch to the euphoria. But she shrugged. “We’ll make an occasion for T’dam to take them down once they are flighted, but they’re Weyrbound this time.”

“That wouldn’t be until after Thread has started,” K’vin said, looking doubtful.

“Sure, we know when it falls, north or south, and a day off for the auxiliaries is no big thing. Plan it for a rainy day, here,” Zulaya said, “and they won’t mind having the sun down south.”

So that issue was settled.

The entire Weyr assembled, loading passengers and supplies for an outing that was now scheduled for three days. K’vin allowed they would need that long to make a diligent survey of grub penetration. He brought with him maps and writing materials so he could make accurate records.

The morning had its moment of humor: getting Tisha aboard brown Branuth had been a struggle, involving not only Branuth’s rider, T’lel (who laughed so hard he had hiccups), but four other riders, the strongest and tallest.

Branuth, an extremely quizzical expression on his long face, craned his head around to watch and got a bad cramp in his neck muscles doing so. T’lel and Z’ran had to massage him.

“Stop that and get up here, T’lel,” Tisha was yelling, her thick legs stuck out at angles from her perch between the neck ridges. “I’ll be split. And if I’m split, you’ll suffer. I never should have said I’d come. I should know better than to leave my caverns for any reason whatsoever. This is
very
uncomfortable. Stop that guffawing, T’lel. Stop it right now. It isn’t funny where I’m sitting. Get up here and let’s go!”

Getting Tisha aboard Branuth had taken so much time that everyone else was in place and ready to go by the time T’lel did manage to get in front of Tisha.

“Not only am I being split, I’m also being bisected by these ridges. Did you sharpen them on purpose, T’lel? No wonder riders are so skinny. They’d have to be. Don’t dragons grow ridges for large people? I should have had K’vin take me up. Charanth is a much bigger dragon . . . Why couldn’t you have put me up on your bronze, K’vin?” Tisha shouted across the intervening space.

K’vin was trying to preserve his dignity as Weyrleader by not laughing at the sight of her, but he didn’t dare look in her direction again. Instead he swiveled his torso so he could scan everyone, pleased to see all eyes on him—rider, passenger, and dragon. He peered upward to the rim, where more dragons awaited their departure, poised well clear of the newly positioned Eye and Finger rocks. Now he raised his arm.

Charrie, they are to asswne their wing positions in the air

They know.
Charanth sounded petulant, for this was a frequent drill. K’vin slapped his neck affectionately with one hand while he gave his upheld right arm the pump.

All the dragons in the bowl lifted, swirling up dust and grit from the Bowl floor with such a battery of wings, and then those on the rim rose, sorting themselves out in the air to form their respective wings. Zulaya and the other queens positioned above the others.

And information in jig time, too. Let’s go, Charrie.

With a great leap, Charanth was airborne. One sweep of his wings and he was level with the wings, another and he was in front of the queens. Heads turned upward and Charanth dutifully angled himself earthward so that all could see the Weyrleader.

Inform the Weyr that our destination is the Sea of Azov.

I have!

K’vin pumped his arm in the continuous gesture to signal
Go between!
The entire Weyr blinked out simultaneously.

Steady,
he cautioned Charanth, pleased with that disciplined departure.
Now we go!

Three seconds he counted and then the warm air above the brilliantly blue Sea of Azov was like the smack of a hot towel in his face. Charanth rumbled in pleasure.

K’vin was far more interested in discovering that the ranks of the dragons, wing by wing, had arrived still in formation. He grinned.

Please inform the wingleaders to take their riders to their separate destinations.

One by one the wings disappeared, with the exception of T’lel’s, which had picked the sea area for their excursion site. The queens started to glide toward the shore, too, for they carried quite a few of the supplies that Tisha would need to set up her hearths for the evening meal.

Let’s wait and let them all get safely to the surface,
K’vin told Charanth, although part of him wanted to see how Tisha managed to dismount Branuth. He was therefore somewhat surprised, and at first a little concerned, when he saw a brown dragon detach itself from the main wing and glide in a landing, on the water, just short of the shore. Charanth had his head down and was observing the effort.

Branuth says she ordered it. She’s swimming free of his back.
Charanth sounded amused, too, and K’vin chuckled.

That was much more dignified.

Branuth says it was easier on him, too, but he doesn’t think he should do the same back at Tel gar.

Not with the water that cold this time of year.

We can now land? Branuth says the sun is warm.

I thought you wanted to hunt.

Later NOW I want to get warm all over.

Charanth’s preference was almost unanimous as the dragons spread out over both the pebbled beach and the shoreline, which was covered with a shrub that, when bruised by large dragon bodies, gave off a rich pungent odor, not at all unpleasant.

Tisha had some of the Weyrfolk off finding kindling and stones to make campfires, and to see what fruits might be ripe, and another group to fish where boulders had tumbled down into the sea like a breakwater.

“I’m going for a long swim,” Zulaya called out to him as he and Charanth glided to a landing. She was already stripping off her jacket. “Meranath wants one, too.” She touched down long enough to strip off the rest of her clothing, which she left in a neat pile on a boulder before making her way to the water.

“What about the grubs?”

“They’ll wait,” she yelled over her shoulder, wading out until the water was deep enough for swimming.

We don’t have to go find grubs now, do we?
asked Charanth plaintively, and the eyes he turned up to his rider whirled with a yellow anxiety.

“No, we don’t,” K’vin said. “Grubs were an excuse to leave the Weyr for a few days.”

He shucked his clothes, and dragon and rider joined the others in the warm Azovian waters.

It might not have pleased K’vin to learn that almost every rider procrastinated over the stated objective of the journey south: grubs were, in fact, probably the last thing on anyone’s mind. Sunning, swimming in the pleasant waters, hunting for dragons, and food-gathering for humans took precedence—and space and time for absolute privacy.

P’tero and M’leng asked permission of V’last, their wingleader, to take their dragons hunting.

“Remember what K’vin told you about the sport creatures down here,” V’last said, serving the same warning to the other riders wishing to hunt their dragons.

P’tero and M’leng nodded obediently but, as soon as they left the clearing where their wing had landed on the Malay River, they laughed at the very notion that any creature could be dangerous to
their
dragons.

“It’s really hot here,” M’leng said, glancing back at the river.

“We’ll be hotter after we’ve hunted the dragons,” P’tero said. “But once that’s done we really don’t have to do another thing until dinner.”

“So let’s not come back here until just before,” M’leng said, laughing recklessly. “Or we’ll end up having to hunt or fish or gather it.”

“There’re enough Weyrfolk with us to do all that. And enjoy,” P’tero said, rather condescendingly. “Let’s get out of here.”

He made a running jump and neatly vaulted onto Ormonth’s blue back. M’leng simultaneously boarded green Sith.

“What game shall we go after?” M’leng asked. “Whatever we see first,” P’tero replied, and pumped his arm to send them both aloft. M’leng preferred him to be leader.

They didn’t have far to go to see grazing herds of runner beasts, smaller than the ones they were accustomed to seeing in the holds. But when they also saw other dragons in the sky, gliding in to hunt, P’tero signaled M’leng to fly on, in a southwesterly direction. They hadn’t gone very far before both found it necessary to strip off their flying jackets, and then their shirts, which were winter weight anyhow. P’tero admired M’leng’s compact body. The green rider was small-boned, which had always delighted P’tero, with a surprisingly strong and agile wiry frame. He was also winter-white, right to his collar. P’tero giggled. He looked so funny, as if he had two different skins.

Then the blue rider became fascinated with the tropical terrain around them, subtly different from the North’s warmer holds. Nerat was rain forests and vast tracks of almost impenetrable jungle except along the western side, whereas Ista was sharp hills and deep valleys, also densely vegetated. But here, a vast grassland, similar in some respects to the plains of Keroon, spread out in all directions, dotted by upthrusts of bare yellow rock, occasional copses of angular trees with fronds spilling from the crests, and large, wide-branched trees like islands. The dragons’ flight over some of these caused flocks of wherries and other avian forms to debouch in frantic escape.

Can I eat them?
Ormonth inquired of his rider, speeding up in case he was allowed to give chase.

What? Those tough mouthfuls?
P’tero asked scornfully. Then he cupped his hands and shouted at M’leng. “Ormonth’s hungry enough to eat wherries!”

“Sith wanted to, as well. We’d better feed them,” M’leng yelled back. “Over there!” and he pointed to one of the rock piles. One of the spreading trees had grown right up against the pile, shading the long incline to the top.

P’tero thought the formation looked like the prow of a ship, with midships plunging into the sea of ground. And the tree a muchly misplaced mast.

M’leng nodded vigorously in approval and pumped his arm, kicking Sith into a wide curve so that they came up to the prow to land. A fine breeze blew against them from the south, cooling the perspiration on their bare torsos.

As soon as they landed, the two young men stripped off their heavy flight pants and boots. They had to put their socks back on for the rock was far too hot for bare feet.

M’leng, who had good distance vision, covered his eyes with one hand, peering to the west, where a long dark line seemed to be moving.

“Oh, good, herd beasts.” He hauled Sith’s head around and then pushed it in the right direction. “See? You can eat those. Much better than wherries. Off you go now!” And he gave Sith a thump of dismissal.

“Follow Sith, Ormonth,” and P’tero shoved the blue’s head to the right. “Hunt with him, and you can’t get into any trouble that way. We’ll watch from here.”

Ormonth shifted weight from one diagonal to the other, his eyes whirling with a trace of anxious yellow.

“What’s the matter with you?” P’tero demanded, wanting both dragons to be away so he and M’leng could have some real privacy. And if the pair were busy enough hunting and eating, they’d pay no attention at all to what their riders were doing.

Smell something!

“M’leng, does Sith smell anything?” P’tero was annoyed but you didn’t ignore your dragon.

“Different smells down here, that’s all.” M’leng shrugged, his eager expression indicating that he wanted the dragons away as much as P’tero did.