“See here?” Fiona said, pointing to the map she’d unrolled on the table beneath them. “Those marks are for metals and minerals.” She pointed to one in particular in the legend and then to where she knew the wherhold would be established. “See how large it is there, right at the river’s bend?”
“Gold is heavy; it would tend to accumulate in bends,” Zenor said judiciously. He looked up from the map, his eyes full of longing. “I’d like to see this site.”
“According to this,” K’rall said, gesturing to a dotted line on the map, “the land is bound to Keroon.” He circled a spot not too far away on the map, saying, “That’s Plains Hold there.”
He glanced at Fiona. “What would your father say if Fort Weyr were to annex part of his Hold to some newcomers?”
“Actually, he’d want to know which part and who the newcomers were,” Fiona replied. “A lot of holds lie empty and he’d be glad of the extra tithe.”
Zenor nodded understandingly. “As a miner, I’m used to tithing to the Hold.”
“There’s plenty of good land there,” K’rall said judiciously. “I’ve flown over it when . . .” He trailed off as he exchanged an understanding look with Fiona. He’d flown over it when the wherhold had been established. The thought of what his knowledge might mean for Zenor and the new holders both excited and alarmed her—was it right to tell them?
“I see more and more why timing it is dangerous,” K’rall said with a heavy sigh. He glanced at Zenor. “What we know about the future could help you or hinder you—and we’ve no way of determining which!”
“I prefer going into a tunnel that’s well-shored,” Zenor replied. “If I know what to expect, then I can make plans.”
“You can also come to grief expecting support where there is none,” Nuella added from behind him. They all turned to see that she and T’mar had arrived. She searched out Zenor and grabbed his hand, saying, “After I checked on Nuellask, I decided that I wasn’t too tired after all, and T’mar offered to bring me here.”
“K’rall is concerned about telling us too much of our future,” Zenor told her.
“I trust the dragonriders here,” Nuella said, emphasizing the word “here.” “They’ll tell us what we need to know.”
“So it’s up to us to decide, is it?” Fiona asked sourly. She heard K’rall’s and T’mar’s gasps at her tone but ignored them, turning to Zenor. “Ask what you want; I’ll tell you if I want.”
“Will we survive?”
“At least until my time you’ll not only survive, you’ll thrive,” Fiona told him. Oddly, she discovered that that revelation perked up her own spirits—probably it meant that their endeavor here at Igen Weyr would succeed.
“Will we have trouble with the holders?” Nuella asked.
“I don’t know,” Fiona said. “But if you do, you overcame—will overcome—them.”
“How many of the wherpeople join us?” Zenor asked.
“I don’t know,” Fiona admitted. She thought of saying more and decided that this question-and-answer session was best.
“Will I mine gold?” Zenor asked.
“I don’t know,” Fiona admitted. She’d only ever heard of all the gold jewelry he’d made, never of his actually mining it.
“Will we find gold?”
“Oh, yes!” Fiona agreed avidly. “Your wherhold will be known throughout Pern for it.”
“Can we ask more questions later?” Nuella said, tugging on Zenor’s arm. “I think we’ve heard enough for the moment.”
“Of course you can,” T’mar assented with an approving look toward Fiona. “Anytime.”
“Will the dragonriders support us?” Nuella asked as they started up the stairs, Zenor carefully bracing her.
“We will,” K’rall declared stoutly. T’mar and Fiona looked at him with surprise, so he explained, “There isn’t a rider here who doesn’t owe his life or his mate’s life to the efforts of the watch-whers. Why, when you fought that night—”
“I think that’s more than they wanted, K’rall,” Fiona interrupted him calmly.
The bronze rider started in embarrassment and nodded his head. “I might have said too much.”
“No,” Nuella told him staunchly, “I think you said just the right amount.”
K’rall gave her a brisk nod of acknowledgment: the one reserved for equals among dragonriders. Zenor noticed and stiffened in response, afraid to ask further and glancing nervously toward Nuella.
Nuella laughed; she had caught enough of his emotions through the movements of his hands and the stiffness of his body. To Zenor she said apologetically, “It sounds like I’ll continue to give you worry, love.”
“I won’t complain,” Zenor vowed.
“Much,” Nuella corrected him with another laugh. Zenor joined in loudly.
“I think we should visit the Smithcrafthall tomorrow,” Fiona said as they entered her quarters. “While it’s light.”
T’mar groaned and Zenor looked at him questioningly. “The heat in daytime can be excruciating,” T’mar explained.
“I hear it gets better in winter,” Fiona said, not wanting them to be too alarmed.
“I like the heat,” Nuella said. “And you say you keep watch-wher hours? Work in the dark and sleep in the light? I can see how that would work.”
Zenor absorbed her remark with a thoughtful look, which was quickly replaced by one of excitement as he asked, “Do we know if Terregar or Silstra survived the Plague?”
“I don’t,” Nuella said.
“I don’t know who they are,” Fiona said with a shrug.
“I thought you were an expert on all things Kindan,” Nuella teased her. “She’s Kindan’s oldest sister.”
“I still remember their wedding,” Zenor said wistfully. “It was nighttime and Dask flew over holding a basket of glows, looking like a flying star.”
“A flying star,” Nuella repeated. “Something to think about for our wedding.”
“Our wedding?” Zenor echoed faintly, his face going white.
“I think it would be a good to have one before we have children, don’t you?” Nuella continued, enjoying the strangled noises that he made in response.
“Actually,” K’rall interposed uncomfortably, “you might want to reconsider weddings. At least with dragonriders, because of the mating flight, riders tend to partner impermanently.”
Zenor’s objection was a loud and immediate, “No!”
“No?” Nuella repeated.
“I mean, no, I am not going to accept anything less than a permanent pairing,” Zenor told her. “That is, if you want.”
“Are you proposing?” Nuella asked, her face blossoming with a glowing look.
“No.”
“What?” Nuella’s exclamation was both outraged and unyielding.
“I will propose,” Zenor said, temporizing, “but I want to do it at the right moment.”
“And when,” Nuella asked coldly, “would that be?”
Zenor stopped and turned to grab Nuella by the shoulders. “When I have something worthy to offer you.”
“You are worthy,” Nuella assured him, gently removing his hands from her shoulders and gesturing for him to continue walking. “But if you must wait, don’t wait too long.”
“Certainly!” Zenor agreed emphatically. A moment later, however, when he was certain that Nuella wouldn’t notice, he shot an appealing glance to T’mar and K’rall, who responded with nods which affirmed that they would help him however they could. Zenor let out a sigh of relief, which he covered by feigning a yawn. “We should rest; we’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”
SIXTEEN
Good earth,
Fresh soil,
Hardy ground,
Less toil.
Igen Weyr, Morning, AL 498.8.14
“It’ll be hot,” T’mar cautioned as Zenor mulishly repeated his demand that they visit the wherhold site before setting off for the Smithcrafthall.
“I understand,”
Zenor said. “But I want to see what’s there.”
“You might not find anything in a short search,” K’rall said.
“But if we had a sample to bring with us, we’d have a much stronger argument,” Zenor said.
The two wingleaders nodded reluctantly. T’mar asked K’rall, “Will you take him, or do you want to lead the ice party?”
“I’ll take him,” K’rall decided. “I’ll take S’gan and D’teril—they’ve recovered well enough to fly and their dragons need to stretch their wings.”
“Take some of the older weyrlings, too,” T’mar suggested.
K’rall gave the bronze rider a thoughtful look. “Who would you suggest?”
“Y’gos or T’del,” T’mar replied instantly. “They’re both steady riders and their browns should be up to the heat.”
“Hmm,” K’rall murmured. “Should I be concerned about Harith and the heat?”
D’teril’s Harith had scored a wingtip in the Fall over Ruatha.
“Fiona says he’s fully recovered,” T’mar replied, adding, “I checked them out the other day and they seem more than anxious to get back in the air.”
K’rall smiled sympathetically. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on him,” he decided. “Wouldn’t be the first time a blue flew too early!”
“No, it wouldn’t,” T’mar agreed with a grin. Blue riders were eager fliers, and often their dragons became so overcome by their riders’ enthusiasm that they overexerted themselves and strained their muscles.
“Fiona and Nuella have decided that they’ll go to the old wherhold this evening,” Zenor said, glancing out from the shade of the Dining Cavern to the roiling heat in the Weyr Bowl, “so it would be good to have some news to send with them.”
Four dragons—two blues and two browns—launched themselves from their weyrs into the hot air over the Weyr, reveling in the currents that swiftly lifted them up over the Star Stones. K’rall’s Seyorth landed nimbly in front of K’rall, who gestured to Zenor. “We’re ready.”
Zenor smiled in delight as K’rall helped him climb up the bronze dragon’s huge front leg to a riding position on Seyorth’s neck. K’rall followed a moment later and, sketching a salute to T’mar, urged his great bronze skyward.
T’mar had a moment to enjoy the view of the small wing of five dragons before they veered away from the Star Stones and winked between.
He heard footsteps behind him and turned in time to see the envious look on Terin’s face as she gazed at the space where the dragons had been.
“There’s a group of weyrlings going to cut those reeds for you later,” T’mar said. “Perhaps you’d like to go with them.”
Terin nodded eagerly.
As the chill of between enveloped him, Zenor tensed, gasping for air that wasn’t there. Before his panic could overwhelm him, daylight burst around him and air entered his lungs once more.
“I’m sorry,” K’rall said, “I should have warned you.”
Zenor couldn’t speak, but shook his head in a feeble denial. Seyorth wheeled and dove suddenly, causing Zenor to tense in panic once more. And then—
—he let out his breath and looked at the ground rising below him. He was riding a dragon!
He hadn’t had any time when they came to Igen Weyr from Mine Natalon to really appreciate the experience—and he’d been too concerned with Nuella’s well-being to notice anything around him, even the cold of between. But now . . .
“There!” he called excitedly over his shoulder. “Land there!” He turned red with embarrassment as he realized he had just ordered a bronze rider, but it faded when he heard K’rall’s enthusiastic, “Hold on!” from behind him. Seyorth flicked his wings, spilling air, and they plunged even more steeply downward, giving Zenor a near vertical view of the river’s bend rapidly rising up to meet them.
Just when Zenor started to feel the first tinges of panic returning to him, Seyorth leveled up, circled once, and deftly landed less than a dragonlength from Zenor’s chosen point.
“Wow!” Zenor exclaimed. “That was fantastic.”
“I never grow tired of it,” K’rall admitted, patting Seyorth affectionately before handing Zenor down.
The air churned as the other four dragons landed and their riders jumped off.
“What are we looking for?” S’gan called as he strode over to join K’rall. He nodded affably to Zenor.
“We’re looking for two things,” Zenor said. “A good site for a wherhold—they like caves and hate the sun—and traces of gold.”
“Gold?” S’gan repeated, his brows rising in surprise. He spun around, eyeing the ground carefully. “Where would we find that?”
“The river’s bend is probably the best spot to look,” Zenor said, nodding in the indicated direction. He allowed himself a moment to take in the surrounding scrub, greener near the river but certainly not desert. He could imagine growing crops or grazing cattle here.
“Let’s go!” S’gan replied enthusiastically, taking off in a lope.
As Zenor made to follow, K’rall laid a hand on his arm. “Let’s not go too quickly; this is likely to be a long search, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Zenor agreed with a smile, matching his pace to that of the older dragonrider. He noticed that D’teril, the other blue rider, was racing after S’gan, but that the two younger brown riders were taking their cue from K’rall. “Are they always like that?”
“Blues are quick, agile,” K’rall explained. “They tend to Impress those with similar traits.”
T’del, one of the brown riders, cocked a questioning look toward K’rall.
“Not all blues are the same,” K’rall said in response. “But if you were to place a bet in a race, bet that the fastest rider is a blue.”
“Blues start quick, browns finish,” T’del said, grinning.
“True.”
Zenor slowed as they reached the river bank, and carefully began to pick a path to the river’s edge.
“I don’t see anything,” S’gan called from his spot on the shore. “
It’ll be in the water, under the dirt,” Zenor replied absently as he took a cautious step into the water and squatted down to grab a handful of muck from the river bottom. He examined it carefully and grunted with pleasure when he noted that it was grainy, not fine. Gold was less likely to sink far down in grainy soil. He eyed the overhang on the far side of the river, then turned to K’rall. “Can we get over there?”
“Certainly,” K’rall said, slogging down into the river and carefully picking his way to the far side. When he got there, he gestured to Zenor, who was watching at him in surprise. “You were thinking we’d fly?”
Zenor snorted and shook his head in acknowledgment of the twitting, then made his way across, following K’rall’s course. Once there, he began to pull up clumps of sand, letting the water wash them away and examining the results. K’rall watched him dubiously.
“I’m hoping to get lucky,” Zenor admitted. “Really, I’d expect to find little glimmers of gold—just dust but . . .” He shrugged and grinned, and then, suddenly, his expression changed to one of complete shock.
“What is it?”
“Gold,” Zenor said shakily, raising up his hand to show a large nugget. He pocketed the piece and redoubled his efforts. In an instant the others had clambered over to join him.
“Show us how to do it,” S’gan begged. Once Zenor had shown them, the four younger riders churned up the river until the water downstream was yellow with sand.
K’rall eyed them all tolerantly, satisfying himself with a couple of attempts before giving up to watch the others.
“Have you seen enough?” he asked half an hour later as Zenor, thoroughly drenched, stood up and stretched his sore muscles.
“Yes,” Zenor said, smiling at the dragonriders, who looked ready to drain the entire river in their attempts to find more gold. “I think we’ve got something to show.”
“Then perhaps we should see if there is a potential holding
site nearby,” K’rall suggested, splashing back across the river.
“Come on,” he shouted over his shoulders to the other riders. With a chorus of groans, they reluctantly followed.
Once out of the water, Zenor realized how much sandy grit his trousers had retained and regretted it, except for the heavy bulge in his pocket. He eyed the ground and headed off toward a low rise not far away.
“You could dig that out, probably,” K’rall observed. “Or you could quarry some rock and build.”
“Maybe both,” Zenor mused. “Quarry for the hold, use the caves for the whers.”
K’rall grunted agreement.
“How long would it take?” D’teril asked as he came, panting, up beside them.
“It depends on the soil,” Zenor said, digging a toe into the earth. He turned to K’rall. “Can we take some samples?”
K’rall shrugged. “We didn’t think to bring tools.”
“A sturdy stick will do,” Zenor said. He grabbed a branch from a nearby tree and broke it off, then strode around, poking the stick in the ground and occasionally stooping to dig a sample. Finally, he threw the stick away and turned to K’rall. “I’ve seen enough.”
“Will it do, then?” the bronze dragonrider asked with a smile.
“There’s good topsoil in places, particularly near the river,” Zenor replied. “And the hills have good solid rock in them.” He nodded. “I think we can make a holding of it.”
Armed with good news and several nuggets of gold, Zenor and the riders returned to the Weyr.
“It’ll be cooler at Telgar,” T’mar said enticingly to Fiona as they stood outside the Dining Cavern under the burning hot Igen sun at noon.
“But I’m on crutches!” Fiona said. She’d been glad just to spend the morning with Talenth, idly oiling her and listening to the gold dragon commiserating with her over her injury. She felt dizzy and useless.
K’rall gave T’mar a warning look, then chimed in, “Well, if you’re not up to it, Weyrwoman, I suppose—”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t go!” Fiona snapped, her pride piqued. “I just said that I’m on crutches.”
“We’ll be sure that there’s something nice and cool for you when you return,” Terin offered. At K’rall’s gesture, she pulled out two jackets. “And I found these. I think you and T’mar should wear them.”
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