The Chronicles of Pern: First Fall (16 page)

“River’s a bit high, isn’t it, Dad?” Brian said, a little anxiously. “Could the cairn have come down?”

“I hope not. You did cement it, didn’t you, when you returned the sleds?”

“Sure did, and put my initials on it, but there’s growth now along the bank on that side. Maybe it’s hidden.” Brian started to urge Cloudy forward.

“Well, we’re just wasting time,” Red said, and kneed King forward, pressuring him just slightly to get him to yield left to the exact center of where Red knew the ford was. “Guess we’ll just have to lead the blind into the kingdom of the sighted.”

As he entered the water, he heard Brian’s chuckle, and a surreptitious glance over his shoulder showed that his escort had fanned out in a phalanx as wide as the ford. The water was not quite to King’s knees as the big horse pranced across, all too eager to make a show of his stallion self.

“I found it!” one of Paul’s party cried, planting his foot on the top of the cairn.

“Hiding your precious landmarks, are you?” Paul roared. “The arrogance of you, walking on the water like that!” He stood, hands on his hips, grinning with sardonic good humor as the welcoming party splashed up to him.

Leaning down, Red reached for Paul’s hand and gripped it firmly. “Well, the river’s running muddier’n usual, or you’d have seen the shale that makes fording possible right here,” he said. He motioned for Brian to go check the cairn and the pole.

“You could at least have painted it,” Paul suggested as his mount, One of Caesar Galliani’s lean-legged, ribby walking horses, was led forward by one of Caesar’s girls. She was giving King the once-over, too, and grinned up at Red.

“I’ll add it to my list of chores,” Red said, grinning, “and maybe build the cairn higher so no one can miss it.”

The Galliani girl, whose name escaped Red, gave Paul a leg up, checking the girth and deftly slipping the stirrup on the admiral’s foot when she was finished.

“You got here so fast, you can’t be far away?” Paul’s remark had a tinge of hope in it.

“Not at the rate I usually ride,” Red said with a slightly malicious grin. “But even at a steady pace, we’re not more than an hour and a bit away. Had a comfortable ride?”

It was clear to Red that Paul was not really riding into his saddle as one accustomed to the exercise. As the bay gelding stepped out into the very smooth flowing pace that was his natural stride, the admiral winced slightly and eased his butt. Riding would never be more than a necessary evil for Benden. Still, he had come, so Red made no disparaging remarks. Zi Ongola looked more comfortable on horseback, and so did Ju Adjai Benden. In fact, she looked downright pleased, glancing about her, taking in the lay of the land.

Cecilia Rado had come along to see how Red had translated her architectural drawings. Balding and slightly tubby Arkady Stunt and the lean and grizzled Francesco Vasseloe were also in the party, and Red decided he knew who was joining Zi Ongola in settling the western peninsula. Three of the numerous Duff offspring and two more young Schultzes made up the rest of the expedition.

Even at a gentler return pace, the imposing facade of the Hold was soon in sight, its stone blending from an orange to an orangy red. Indeed, Red had planned the sweep of the road with just that view in mind and listened with real pride to the complimentary remarks from all sides about the distinctive orangy red of the cliff face.

Then the Galliani girl drew up beside him, sitting well on a rather fractious little chestnut mare.

“Dad sent me along as a spy,” she said. “I’m Terry, in case you need to know.”

“You’re welcome, Terry, and spy all you like,” Red said, grinning amiably down at her.

“That stallion’s one of Sean’s Cricket’s produce, isn’t he?” she asked, her eyes feasting on the superb conformation and easy forward movement that came effortlessly from King’s shoulder.

“He is.”

“This
weed is all Dad would let me have,” she said with disgust. “He’s such a pain sometimes.”

“He’s your father,” Red said a little severely, though he sympathized with the girl, noting the mare’s jarring trot.

“That is all too true,” she said, unrebuked, “but, if a person’s got a few ideas of her own to try, isn’t this planet big enough for differences?” Her tone was plaintive.

“Going with Zi Ongola?”

She nodded. “I’d like to. He’ll need a tougher horse than we breed.” Once again she admired King and the others that had been ridden out from the Hold. “You may well have a customer in Zi.” She gave him another grin and circled around to fall back beside Cecilia.

“Baths can wait, Mairi,” Paul Benden repeated firmly when Mairi again tried to insist that he ease his sore muscles immediately. “I’d rather do the lot after we’ve seen that damned door in place. The klah’ll do me till then.” So he sipped from his mug and was even persuaded to eat some of the freshly baked sweets that the fosterlings were passing around.

Tables had already been set up outside with klah and a variety of snack and finger foods, chilled and hot. The roasting meats were a good advertisement for the feasting to come.

“Mairi, now we’ve all got travel dust out of our mouths,” Cecilia said, “why don’t you give me and Ju the five-credit tour while the muscles do their mite?”

“We’ll give a shout before we shut you in,” Red said jovially as he was showing Paul, Zi, and Fran Vasseloe the preparations that had been made, and how cleverly Peter Chernoff had set the lock frame into the stone of the portal. Once he glanced toward the position of the sun and Paul sent him a querying look.

“Sorka and Sean said they’d be here to watch the Dooring and join us in the feast. And . . .” Red paused, looking from Ongola to Benden. “Once we get producing, I plan to send the Weyr a tithe of all we grow and make. They’ve enough to do without having to forage for food, as well.”

“Ah, yes.” Paul rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting anyone’s glance. “As it is now, they often bring
us
fresh meat and fruit when they’ve had to go south to feed the dragons. I don’t know how much longer the Ierne Islanders can hold out, but”—Paul grinned wryly—”as you all know, it’s meant the difference.”

“Tell me, Paul,” Red said, leaning over conspiratorially, his eyes twinkling, “is it Ierne Island produce they get, or some of the stock the Logorides and Gallianis had to let loose?”

“Well, now, you know, I’ve never asked,” Paul replied, regarding Red with a very bland expression.

“Still and all, they shouldn’t have to scrounge for provisions,” Red said. “The Hold should supply the Weyr that protects it.”

“I shall tithe from my holding, as well,” Ongola said, his deep voice making his words a solemn vow.

“Alianne’s death has certainly made all in Font aware that we’re asking a great deal from these young men and women,” Paul went on, “and they’ve met the challenge magnificently. I had a chance to discuss support personnel with Sean, and he’s suggested that we send him some of the older fosterlings to take over maintenance and domestic chores. They’d be available, too, as candidates for the new eggs. I got Joel to spring loose enough supplies so additional personnel won’t be a burden on the Weyr’s resources. They’ve got space, we’ve got. too many warm bodies . . .” He gave a wry smile. “Alianne’s mother is staying on, to help rear the grandchildren. She’s widowed and says the place needs a firm hand in its domestic management. The queen riders really don’t have enough time, especially if they’ve a broody queen.”

“Seems to me one queen or another’s broody all the time,” Red said with a chuckle.

“Which also means the dragon population is growing large enough to protect four Holds,” Paul said, with justifiable pride. “Maybe more, if the ‘premises’ are feasible. Telgar says he’d like to be closer to the ore lodes in the eastern mountain range. He’s done as much as he can to improve the warrens of the Fort.” He kept his voice level and added a smile at his use of the word “warrens.”

Red wondered if his leaving, and Ongola’s projected Hold, was causing more, or less, dissension in Fort.

“I think you and Ongola have given hope and inspiration. Despite Joel’s concern oven dwindling supplies, a lot of his inventory are items that will not be in demand again,” Paul said with a wry grin. “We’re stepping down to a lower level of technology, based on what is available to us here, not what we once had. That was, after all, the purpose of this colony. You’ve made it, so did Pierre, on a minimum of basics, and look what you’ve achieved.” Paul gestured to the imposing facade behind him. “No, it’s definitely time to stop huddling in Fort and move out. I’d like to see more evidence of courage in our people after the trauma of Threadfall and the dreadful loss of lives in the Fever Year.”

“I think there’re more than just Sean and Sorka coming,” Ongola said, shielding his eyes with one big hand as he looked upward.

Everyone had to crane their necks to see dragons, gold, bronze, brown, blue, and green, settling themselves on the top of the Hold cliff—careful, Red hoped, to avoid the solar-panel installation.

“The more the merrier,” Red said, laughing. “They make a brave sight there, don’t they?”

“But they’ve no riders,” Zi remarked.

“Didn’t want to scare your beasts again, Red,” said Sean, emerging from the Hold, Sorka beside him, one arm crooked about her latest son. Behind them sauntered more riders. “We wanted to do you honor, and half a wing seemed an appropriate escort.”

Mairi and those she had taken inside the Hold were the last to emerge.

“They took the stairs down,” she said in a distracted fashion, determined to wrest her grandson from his mother’s arm, “so now I know why you insisted on carving steps all the way up, Red. It wasn’t just to service the solar panels.” She turned to Cecilia. “But we’d just got the stories cleaned up when he cut those steps and dust sifted all over again. Oh, isn’t he a love, Sorka? What have you named him?”

“Ezremil,” Sean said, slightly accenting the first vowel. It took a moment for people to register the fact that he had joined the names of two of the colony’s heroes.

Tears came to Mairi’s eyes. “Oh, what a splendid notion!”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” Ju Benden choked on a sob before she managed a laugh. “Much better than encumbering the poor lad with Ezra or Keroon or even Emile. We ought to use more such truly Pernese-style names.”

Paul put an arm about his wife’s shoulders, smiling fondly down at her. “We could really dispense with surnames altogether. Ezremil of Fort Weyr! Ryan of—” Paul turned on Red. “What
are
you naming this place?”

Red shrugged. “It’ll come to us. The right name will come to us. Now, can we get this door into position?”

With the dragons safely out of the sight of any animals, Red sent Brian to get the bullocks whose mighty thews would haul the airlock door up to the opening. That was the signal for everyone to gather in front of the Hold. Red could see Mairi keeping an eye on the young toddlers, one of Brian’s being the sort that got into everything
first
and, when scolded, would reply that no one had said he couldn’t.

Authoritative cracks of the bullwhips started four yokes of oxen moving forward, with men at each wide head, to steady them up. Slowly, the heavy metal door rose from the sled. When it hung free, the men whom Peter Chernoff had chosen to help turned, it sideways so that the hinges could be aligned. A very audible clunk indicated contact.

“Hold!”
Peter Chernoff said, raising both hands, and the oxen were halted in their tracks. The open clamps of the hinges were then, shut, each with its own separate metallic clink.
“Ease up!”

The oxen were backed, first one step, then another, taking the weight slowly off the hoist chains.

A loud hurray burst from the breathless onlookers.

“Hold that, too,” Peter shouted. “We gotta be sure it”—and as he spoke, he leaned against the great door—”closes.” Obediently the former airlock swung in with such ease that one man had to jump out of its way. Simultaneously Peter grabbed the beveled edge with a restraining hand and was dragged forward one step. Bracing himself, he stopped the door from closing completely.

A second cheer went up. Peter, wiping sweat from his forehead, turned with an engaging grin and a sweeping bow to Red.

“My lord of the Hold, will you complete the ceremonial closing?”

Grabbing Mairi by the hand, and waiting only until she had time to pass Ezremil back to his mother, Red strode up the ramp to the imposing metal door. Then they both inspected Peter’s handiwork. He had done well, adapting the thick airlock door to domestic purposes. Keeping Thread out was now as important a function as keeping atmosphere in had once been. Red nodded to Mairi, who put her hand over his on the interior wheel, and they both pulled the door to. With a powerful spin, Red turned the wheel and heard the bars thud home in their floor and ceiling sockets. The Hold was now closed!

“Wouldn’t they be surprised if we didn’t open it?” Red asked, embracing Mairi’s still slender form against him.

“Yes, and I’d be furious, because I wouldn’t get any of that succulent meat we’ve been roasting since midnight!” Mairi stood on tiptoe and kissed her husband.

“A very good point . . .” He gave an equally powerful reverse swing on the locking wheel and the bars slid free. Red gave the door a push. “Well, at least that devil of a grandson won’t be able to open this door.” He gave a heftier shove, and the door swung silently open.

He and Mairi strode forward to applause. He was briefly startled when the dragons on the heights added their deep voices to human cheers.

“Admiral, Commander, Weyrleaders, one and all, be welcome to—” He stopped short, a grin suddenly broadening across his face as inspiration seized him. “Be welcome to the Hold of Red’s Ford. In the old language, Rua Atha.”

“Ruatha!” Mairi called out in her clear voice, her eyes looking up to his for his approval of that elision. “Oh, that’s a splendid name, Rua Hanrahan!”

“To Ruatha Hold!” he shouted.

“To Ruatha Hold!”
was the roar of acceptance. And, for the first time on the heights of Ruatha Hold, the dragons of Pern lifted their heads and bugled in rejoicing!