The White Dragon

by Anne McCaffrey

  “What’s that?” Jaxom, Sharra and Piemur clustered close about the brown rider as he made a show of unfolding the sheet.

  “This . . . is a hall for the Masterharper, to be built in this cove!”

  “Here?” the three demanded in chorus.

  “How’ll he get here?” Jaxom asked. “He surely wouldn’t be allowed to fly between.” He couldn’t help the edge of resentment in his voice. F’nor cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “Master Idarolan has put his fastest, largest vessel at the Masterharper’s disposal. Menolly and Brekke are accompanying him. On a sea voyage there is nothing that can disturb or worry the Harper.”

  “He gets seasick,” remarked Jaxom.

  “Only in small boats.” F’nor looked at them with a very solemn expression. “So. We’ll set to work at once. I’ve brought tools and extra help,” and he gestured toward the three weyrlings who had joined them. “We’ll enlarge that shelter to a proper small hold,” he said as he glanced down at the leaf. “I’ll want every bit of that underbrush cleared off . . .”

  “Then you’ll fry the Harper in the sun which is unpleasant,” Sharra pointed out.

  “I beg your pardon . . .”

  Sharra took the leaf from him, frowning critically at it. “Small hold? This is a bloody hall,” she said, “and not the least bit suitable to this continent. Furthermore,” and she dropped to the sand, picking up a long shell fragment with which she began another sketch. “First, I wouldn’t build where the old shelter is—too close to the cove in rough seas and they have them here. There’s a rise . . . with mature fruit trees screening it, over there . . .” She pointed to the east of the shelter.

  “Mature trees? For Thread to eat?”

  “Oh, you dragonriders! This is Southern, not the North. It’s all been grubbed. Thread sears a leaf every sevenday or so, but the plant heals itself. Meanwhile, you’re coming into the hot season and, believe me, you’ll want as much green about you as possible to keep cool. You want to build off the ground, on pilings. There’s plenty of reef rock for foundations. You want wide windows, not these tiny slits, to catch every breeze. All right, you can shutter them if you want to but I’ve lived south all my life, so I know how you should build here. You want windows, and corridors straight through the interior for breezeways . . .” As she spoke, she was delineating the revised hold with strokes that were strong enough to stay in the hot dry sand. “And you want an outdoor hearth for so many. Brekke and I did most of our baking here in stone pits,” she pointed to the spot on the cove, “and you don’t really need a bathing room with the cove a few steps from the door.”

  “You don’t object to piped water, do you?”

  “No, that would be handier than lugging it from the stream. Only put another tap in the cooking area as well as one in the house. Perhaps even a tank by the hearth so we can have heated water, too . . .”

  “Anything else, Masterbuilder?” F’nor was more amused and admiring than sarcastic.

  “I’ll let you know when the thought occurs to me,” she replied with dignity.

  F’nor grinned at her and then frowned down at her drawing. “I’m not really certain how the Harper will like having so much greenery near him. You are, I know, used to being out during Threadfall . . .”

  “So’s Master Robinton,” Piemur said. “Sharra’s right about the heat and the building down here. We can always cut forest down, F’nor, but you can’t build it back up so easily.”

  “A point. Now you three, B’reffi, K’van and M’tok, loose your dragons. They can swim and sun with Ruth and Canth. They won’t be needed until we’ve cut some wood. K’van, let me have your sack. You’ve got the axes, haven’t you?” F’nor passed out the tools, ignoring Piemur’s mutterings about slogging through days of forests only to end up cutting one down. “Sharra, take us to your preferred site. We’ll clear some of those trees and use ’em for supports.”

  “They’re stout enough,” Sharra agreed and led the way. Sharra was correct about the trees: F’nor marked off the proposed site of the hall and the trees to be cut. This was a lot easier said than done. The axes didn’t seem to bite the wood, rather bounced off. F’nor was surprised, muttering about dull axes and brought out his sharpening stone. Having achieved a suitably sharp edge at the expense of a slit finger, he tried again with slightly more success.

  “I don’t understand it,” he said, peering at the cuts in the trunk. “This wood shouldn’t be that tough. It’s a fruitwood, not a northern hardwood. Well, we’ve got to clear the site, boys!”

  The only one who didn’t have a fine set of blisters by midday was Piemur, who was used to hacking. More discouraging was the lack of progress—only six trees were down.

  “Not for lack of trying, is it?” F’nor said, mopping the sweat from his forehead. “Well, let’s see what Sharra’s got for us to eat. Something smells good.”

  They had time for a swim before Sharra’s meal was ready, the salt water stinging in their blisters which Sharra slathered with numbweed. When they’d eaten the broiled fish and baked roots, F’nor set them to sharpening their axes. They spent the rest of the afternoon lopping off branches before they asked the dragons to haul the timbers to one side. Sharra cleared underbrush and, with Ruth’s help, brought black reef rock to mark out the piles of the foundation.

  As soon as F’nor took his recruits back to the Weyr for the night, Jaxom and Piemur collapsed on the sand, rousing only long enough to eat the dinner Sharra served them.

  “I’d sooner tramp around the Big Bay,” Piemur muttered, wincing as he stretched his shoulders this way and that.

  “It’s for Master Robinton,” Sharra said.

  Jaxom regarded his blisters thoughtfully. “At the rate we’re going it’d better take him months to get here!”

  Sharra took pity on their aching muscles and rubbed salve that smelled aromatic and burned pleasantly into the soreness. Jaxom liked to think that she spent more time massaging his back than Piemur’s. He’d been glad to see the young Harper and was fascinated by the Records and the charts he was drawing from his travels, but he did wish that Piemur had taken a day or two longer before he’d reached the camp. There was no way he could consolidate his hold on her attentions with a third party about.

  There was even less opportunity by the following morning. Sharra woke them to announce that F’nor had arrived, with more helpers.

  Jaxom should have been more suspicious of her bland expression, and the calls and orders that he heard outside the shelter. But he was totally unprepared for the sight that met his eyes when he and Piemur, moving stiffly, emerged from the shelter.

  The cove, the clearing, the sky—all were full of dragons and men. As soon as a dragon was unloaded, he took off to allow another to land. The waters of the cove were full of splashing, playing dragons. Ruth was standing on the eastern tip of the cove, head turned skyward, bugling welcome after welcome. A full fair of fire-lizards chattered at one another on the roof of the shelter.

  “Sear and scorch it, will you look at that?” Piemur called at Jaxom’s side. Then he chuckled and rubbed his hands. “One thing for sure, no chopping today!”

  “Jaxom! Piemur!” The two swung round at F’nor’s cheerful greeting and saw the brown rider striding toward them. Following close on his heels were the Mastersmith Fandarel, Masterwoodsman Bendarek, N’ton and, from his shoulder knots, a wingleader from Benden. Jaxom thought he was T’gellan.

  “Did I give you the two drawings last night, Jaxom? I can’t find them . . . Ah, here they are!” F’nor pointed to the sheets on the small table—Brekke’s original drawing and the alterations suggested by Sharra. The brown rider retrieved the sheets and showed them to the Craftmasters. “Now, here, Fandarel, Bendarek, this is our idea . . .”

  Acting as one, the two men lifted the sheets from F’nor’s hands and scrutinized first one then the other. Both shook their heads slowly from side to side in disapproval.

  “Not very efficient, F’nor, b
ut well meant,” the huge Smith said.

  “Weyrleader R’mart allowed me sufficient riders to bring in well-seasoned hardwoods for the frame,” Bendarek told the Smith.

  “I have piping for water and other conveniences, metals for a proper hearth and fitments, kitchen implements, windows . . .”

  “Lord Asgenar insisted that I bring stonesmiths. Proper foundations and floorings must be well laid . . .”

  “First we must correct this design, Master Bendarek . . .”

  “I quite agree. This is a nice enough little cot but not at all suitable accommodation for the Masterharper of Pern.”

  The two Craftmasters became so involved in amplifying the rough sketches that, oblivious to the other occupants of the room, they moved as one toward the table Jaxom had contrived for his charts. Piemur leaped forward and rescued his pouch of notes and sketches. The Masterwoodsman, ignoring any such interruptions to his thoughts, took a clean sheet, slipped a writing tool from a pocket and began, with neat lines, to draw what he had in mind. The Smith, taking a sheet of his own, began to delineate his ideas.

  “Honest, Jaxom,” F’nor said, his eyes crinkling with amusement, “all I did was ask F’lar and Lessa if I could draft a few more helpers. Lessa gave me a stern look; F’lar said I was to recruit as many free riders as I needed and, at dawn, the rim of the Weyr was packed solid with dragons and half the Craftmasters of Pern! Lessa must have bespoken Ramoth, who evidently told everyone in Pern . . .”

  “You gave them the excuse they needed, F’nor,” Piemur said, surveying the traffic on the once-quiet beach, the throngs of riders and Craftsmen piling dragonloads on the already crowded perimeters.

  “Yes, I know, but I hadn’t expected such a response. And how could I tell ’em they couldn’t come?”

  “I think,” said Sharra, who had joined them, “that this is quite a tribute to the Masterharper.” Her eyes caught Jaxom’s and he knew that she was aware of his ambivalent feelings about this invasion of their private, peaceful cove.

  Then Jaxom saw F’nor watching him and managed a weak smile. “Yesterday’s blisters will have a chance to heal, I guess. Right, Piemur?”

  Piemur nodded, his jaw muscles working as he observed the activity on the beach. “I’d better find Stupid. All this confusion has probably scared him deep into the forest. Farli!” He held up his arm for his fire-lizard, who swooped down from the roof. “Find Stupid, Farli. Lead me to him!”

  The fire-lizard looked over her left shoulder and chirped, and Piemur strode off in that direction without a backward glance.

  “That young man’s been alone too long,” F’nor said.

  “Yes!”

  “You know how he feels?” F’nor asked, grinning at Jaxom’s terse reply. He clapped him on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t let it get to me, if I were you, Jaxom. With the amount of help we’ve got, the hold will be up in next to no time. You’ll have your peace and quiet back.”

  “Idiots!” Sharra exclaimed suddenly.

  Jaxom, avoiding F’nor’s quizzical expression, looked at her. She’d been half-listening to the conversation between the two Masters.

  “Now I have to have it out with them!” Her fists were clenched with exasperation as she strode purposefully up to the two Craftsmen. “Masters, I must point out something you have clearly overlooked. This is hot country. You’re both used to cold winters and freezing rains, if you build this hold on those lines, people will stifle in the full heat of summer which is almost upon us. Now, where I live in Southern Hold, we build thick walls to keep the heat out and the cool in. We build off the ground so air circulates under the floor and keeps that cool. We build lots of windows—wide ones—and you’ve brought enough metal shutters, Master Fandarel, to outfit a dozen holds. Yes, I know, but Thread doesn’t fall every day and the heat does. Now . . .”

  F’nor made a clicking noise against his teeth. “She sounds like Brekke. And if she acts at all like my weyrmate when she’s in that sort of mood, I’d rather be elsewhere. You,” F’nor poked Jaxom in the chest, “can show us where to hunt. Food was brought along but since you’re in effect the resident Lord Holder, it’s up to you to play host with some roasting meat . . .”

  “I’ll just get my flying gear,” Jaxom said with such a tone of relief that the three dragonriders laughed.

  Jaxom quickly slipped long trousers over the short pants he’d been wearing for sunning and swimming, threw his jacket over his shoulder and joined the three riders by the doorway.

  “I think we can mount on the left-hand arm of the cove, near Ruth,” said F’nor.

  Something whizzed by Jaxom’s ear and instinctively ducking, he looked back as Meer came to a hover, clutching a piece of black reef rock in his front paws. Jaxom heard Sharra thanking her fire-lizard for his prompt return.

  He hastily left before she could think of any errands for him. F’nor had hunting ropes for each of them which they checked and coiled over their shoulders. As they made their way past piles of assorted woods in various lengths and widths, past metal shutters and unlabeled bales, men hailed the riders and inquired how Jaxom was feeling.

  Before they completed the short walk to the cove tip, Jaxom had identified men from every Weyr except Telgar—which was expecting Thread that day—and representatives of every craft in Pern, mostly journeyman rank and higher. Isolated as he’d been for so many sevendays, it hadn’t occurred to Jaxom that his illness might have been a subject of widespread interest through Weyr, Craft, and Hold. He was embarrassed as well as gratified, but that did not ease his sense of being overwhelmed, or his violation, however well-intentioned, of the privacy and peace of his cove.

  What had F’nor called him? Resident Lord Holder? He gave himself a shake just as Ruth, dripping wet, landed lightly beside him.

  So many people. So many dragons! This is fun! Ruth’s eyes were whirling with excitement and pleasure.

  The white dragon, now dwarfed by two huge bronzes and a nearly as large brown dragon, was so delighted with all this excitement that Jaxom could not remain disgruntled.

  Laughing, he thumped Ruth affectionately on the shoulder and sprang to his neck. The other riders were also mounted so, raising his arm, fist closed, he pumped it to indicate ascent. Still laughing, he braced himself as Ruth launched straight upward, leaving the heavier beasts sandbound while he was in free air. Politely Ruth circled while the others became airborne and then, heading southeast, he led the way.

  He headed toward the farthest of the river meadows that he and Sharra had found. Wherries and runner beasts generally made their way there about midmorning, to wallow in the water and the cool mud. There would also be sufficient open space for the bigger dragons to maneuver and permit their riders good casts.

  Sure enough, herd and flock were wandering about the river meadows, where the land sloped from the trees to the flood edges of the river in a series of banks where successive rainy seasons had made it impossible for trees to root. Grass abounded now, about to turn sere as the hotter weather burned it relentlessly to hay.

  We are to hunt singly. F’nor asks that we get a large wherry. They will try for a buck apiece. That should be enough for today.

  “If it isn’t,” Jaxom replied, “we can always go after one of the big fish.”

  In fact, Jaxom quite looked forward to the opportunity. He had never had occasion to use a spear-headed rope but . . . He spotted a wherry, a fine big one, fanning its tail spines as it stalked majestically after the wherry-fens. Jaxom tightened his legs on Ruth’s neck, tested the weighted loop end of the rope in his hands. He pictured the wherry-male to Ruth, who turned his head obediently to point. Then Ruth dove, his wings back to give Jaxom room to throw, his tucked-up legs nearly touching the meadow grass. Jaxom leaned forward over Ruth’s near side and threw the loop deftly about the wherry’s big ugly head. The creature reared back, helpfully tightening the noose. As Jaxom dug his heels into Ruth, the dragon soared upward. With a deft yank, Jaxom neatly broke the wherry’s nec
k.

  It was a heavy bird, Jaxom realized as the dead weight pulled his arms almost from the sockets. Ruth took some of the strain as he caught the rope with his forepaw.

  F’nor says good catch. He hopes he can do as well!

  Jaxom guided Ruth to the edge of the meadow farthest from the other hunters. Then, letting the carcass down lightly, Ruth landed and Jaxom began to secure the snatch across Ruth’s back. They were airborne again in time to see T’gellan valiantly pursuing the buck he’d missed on his first throw. F’nor and N’ton had their beasts neatly dangling. F’nor pumped his arm in triumph as he and N’ton circled back to the cove. As Ruth followed, Jaxom saw T’gellan succeed in his second throw; none too soon for they’d had to soar to miss the edge of the forest and nearly entangled the depending buck in the trees. A good quick hunt, though, which meant the quarry would forget quickly the small excitement. Undoubtedly they’d have to hunt again tomorrow. Jaxom couldn’t see even that enormous work force finishing the Harper’s new hold in a day! Maybe tomorrow they could go after the big fish.

  They had not been gone long, although their return trip took slightly more time, burdened as they were. A massive clearing had been made in the center of the grove. Just as Jaxom wondered how on earth even that many men had been able to fell the necessary trees, he saw a dragon lift one out of the ground by the roots, and carry it to the beach of the next cove east where the tree was neatly stacked on others. As Ruth and he neared the site, Jaxom saw that pillars of black reef rock were in place and several crossbeams of the treated, seasoned hardwoods Master Bendarek had brought were being secured in position. A wide avenue in a graceful curve had also been cleared and sand dumped from firestone sacks transported on dragonback. Other workmen on the edges of the clearing were involved in a variety of tasks— sawing, planing, nailing, fitting—while another file of men carried black reef rock from piles on the cove edge.

  On the eastern tip, Jaxom could see that pits had been dug for roasting, metal spits erected and fires started. Tables had been placed in the shade on which Jaxom could see the piled mounds of red, orange and green fruits.