Dragon's Fire

by Anne McCaffrey

  Pellar grabbed her hand and squeezed it in thanks, rose, and bowed slightly, then sprinted off after Arella.

  He found her outside of the main compound, up near a stand of trees.

  “I’m not staying,” Arella told him as he approached. He arched an eyebrow at her. Whether she saw it in the dark or guessed at it didn’t matter. She was crouched on the ground, cradling her knees with her arms, her chin rested on one knee. “I’ll be here when you get back, but I’m not staying.”

  Pellar sat down beside her. She sidled up next to him and laid her head on his shoulder.

  “One of those coming for an egg will want help, I’m sure,” she said. “I’ll go with him. There’s more than watch-whers, worry, and empty bellies in this world, and I want it.”

  Arella pulled away from him and stood up. Pellar stood up beside her. She looked at him half-defiant, half-hopeful. He shook his head slowly—no, he did not love her.

  “I knew that,” Arella said. But Pellar could hear the lie in her voice.

  He tugged at her, gesturing toward the cave. Arella followed reluctantly. Her resistance grew when he turned toward their sleeping quarters, but he waved aside her objections with a hand and begged her with his eyes to wait. Suspiciously, Arella followed him.

  From under his sleeping furs, he pulled out a small, perfect drum and presented it to her solemnly.

  “For me?” Arella asked, carefully turning the drum over in her hands.

  Pellar nodded and wrote quickly. “‘Arella. Emergency.’ I come.”

  He had taught her how to drum her name and the emergency signal several sevendays before.

  “If I need you, I can call for you?” Arella asked, her eyes gleaming again.

  Pellar nodded firmly.

  Arella smiled and drew him toward her for a kiss. Not the kiss of lovers, but the kiss of friends who once had been.

  Pellar took the most difficult route out of Aleesa’s wherhold: He went straight over the mountains. It took him a full day to get to the far side. He pressed on at first light the next morning and was glad to find himself within sight of Keogh, a minor hold of Crom, before the sun set that evening. He found a good camp but did not wait to set up before unlimbering his drum, checking the bindings of the wildboar hide, and rolling out the quick beat of “Attention.”

  A huge grin split his face as he heard no less than three drums return the “Ready” signal.

  His grin slipped a little as he sought to compose his message. He finally settled on: “For Zist. Aleesa will trade.”

  He would send Chitter on with a longer explanation.

  As the drums pounded back their acknowledgment, Pellar spread out his sleeping roll and gestured for Chitter. His note to Master Zist was terse but explained the most of the details.

  Chitter waited patiently for Pellar to roll the small piece of paper and tie it onto his harness, but Pellar could tell that the fire-lizard was increasingly eager at the thought of the tidbits he’d find at Master Zist’s table—just as Pellar had hoped.

  With a final chirp, the fire-lizard bade Pellar farewell, leaped into the air, and blinked between before he was more than head high above Pellar.

  Greedy guts, Pellar thought with a grin as he pulled off his boots and socks and settled in for a well-earned rest.

  Chitter was back the next morning with a small breadroll, a note from Zist, and a belly that had clearly been stuffed to the gills.

  Pellar merely smiled and shook his head; he intended to keep Chitter working for his food. The fire-lizard caught his mood and did a quick twirl in the air, standing almost on his tail, before returning to Pellar’s shoulder with a satisfied chirp.

  At Keogh, Pellar earned his meal and a place to sleep with his pipes and his slowly told tales of watch-whers and watch-wher eggs. He left before first light, certain that on his return he would not only get another night’s food and board, but also at least two holders committed to trade for the privilege of a watch-wher egg.

  But Keogh wasn’t his primary goal. He had in mind, instead, the herders he’d met near Campbell’s Field, and some of the wiser traders he’d met along the way.

  The herders’ need for watch-whers was obvious, and Pellar felt a small twinge of satisfaction at the notion of arranging things so that D’gan would have no choice but to accept the creatures—he couldn’t argue that they were useless if they were set to protect the very herdbeasts his dragons dined on.

  He traveled fast, prepared to get rides where he could and ready to steal them where he couldn’t. Aleesa had told him that Aleesk had already clutched and that it would be only four sevendays before the watch-wher eggs hatched. He planned to be back at least a sevenday beforehand, ready to acknowledge those with whom he’d set up trades and fight off those with whom he hadn’t.

  What he hadn’t counted on was the dragonrider. He was three days out of Keogh and worried that he was falling behind on his schedule when he noticed a strange shadow on the ground before him. Chitter squawked and flew up out of sight. As Pellar craned his neck up to follow the fire-lizard, he found his eye distracted by the sight of a large bronze dragon, wheeling downward on its wingtip, circling right above him.

  Pellar froze, unable to react. The dragon was huge. Its eyes whirled the blue of contentment. Did that mean that the dragon was happy to find him, or glad to have caught an intruder?

  Pellar was not at all sure how a dragonrider of Telgar Weyr would react if they knew his mission.

  He forced himself to relax—the dragonriders wouldn’t know his mission unless someone had told them. And the only people who knew were Aleesa’s people and Master Zist.

  Pellar waved. The dragon was low enough now that Pellar could make out the dragon’s rider and he waved back.

  Shortly the dragon landed and Pellar realized once again how huge bronze dragons could be. The dragon’s head was nearly twice as tall as Pellar and its body could easily have circled three, maybe four, of the traders’ large workdrays.

  Pellar bowed low, first to the dragon, and then to the rider who quickly dismounted and pulled off his headgear.

  “Are you Pellar?” the rider called out, striding quickly toward him.

  Pellar nodded.

  “Master Zist sent me for you,” the rider said. “I’m D’vin of High Reaches.” He gestured back to his dragon. “This is Hurth.”

  He saw Chitter hovering near the dragon’s left eye and added with a laugh, “I see that your fire-lizard has introduced himself already.”

  D’vin eyed Pellar carefully. “Master Zist asked me to bring you back.”

  Pellar gave him a questioning look.

  “Isn’t it true that the watch-whers are living on land that looks to High Reaches?” D’vin asked.

  Could High Reaches want the watch-whers to leave? Pellar wondered in horror.

  D’vin must have guessed his thoughts. “Master Zist asked Weyrleader B’ralar to extend the protection of the Weyr to Master Aleesa and the watch-whers.

  “He said that you’d told him about Master Aleesa being driven out of Telgar lands by D’gan,” the bronze rider added, in an odd tone, one that strived not to be disapproving.

  Pellar nodded.

  “Let me bring you to Zist,” D’vin said. Pellar looked startled—what about his mission?

  “Afterward, I’ll help you on your way.”

  Pellar bowed in thanks and then looked back at the dragon, trying to keep his eyes from going wide. He had never ridden a dragon before.

  The dragon, Hurth, swiveled his long sinewy neck so that both eyes peered down at Pellar. For a moment, Pellar was lost in those huge, whirling eyes that were nearly as large as he was tall. He felt the same keenness of attention that he got from Chitter, only more so. He had a sense that something about him amused and intrigued the dragon.

  Hurth inclined his head slightly and Pellar heard a voice in his head tell him with a laughing lilt, You think that you can’t talk to people. You do it all the time.

 
Could the dragon hear his thoughts? Pellar wondered, eyes wide in amazement.

  Yes, came the reply. Pellar noticed the crispness of the voice, strangely devoid of tone yet still full of inflection and meaning. So can your little one.

  Chitter chirped and flew a quick circuit between Pellar and the huge dragon.

  He can? Pellar asked, both awed and thrilled. He had always thought that he had a special relationship with the fire-lizard, he’d felt and hoped that Chitter understood him but—to have a dragon confirm it! Pellar looked at his small friend and thought hard. Chitter flipped in the air and flew straight into Pellar’s arms, made a satisfied noise, and stroked Pellar’s chin with his face.

  He is very lucky, your little one, Hurth said. Pellar felt that he both knew and didn’t know what the dragon meant by the remark, but before he could reply, he got the distinct impression that the dragon was occupied elsewhere, listening to a voice Pellar could not hear.

  D’vin—the name was spoken with a warmth that awed Pellar—says that we should go. He is glad you can hear me. He asks if you can give me the image for Master Zist and Camp Natalon.

  Image? Pellar asked himself, bewildered. Then he remembered that dragons were like fire-lizards, and that they needed to visualize their destination first. Pellar had never ridden a-dragonback. Image, he thought. He scanned the sky for the sun and then visualized as clearly as he could the fork of the road leading into Camp Natalon, Zist’s stone cothold, the larger stone hold of Natalon, the shed where Danil’s watch-wher had lived, the other road curving right and uphill toward the coal dump.

  You give good coordinates, Hurth complimented. Very clear, very clean.

  “You’ll want to put these on,” D’vin said, pulling a pack off his back and removing something blue. He shook it out and handed it across to Pellar.

  Pellar shook his head and waved the offer aside, appalled that the dragonrider would offer him the clothes of a full apprentice harper.

  “They’ll fit,” D’vin said, extending his hand again. “Master Murenny swore on it.”

  Pellar gave the dragonrider a questioning look.

  “He said that they’re yours,” D’vin told him in reply. For a moment the confident rider looked uncomfortable as he asked, “You’re not upset that there’s no proper ceremony, are you? Master Murenny seemed assured that you’d take these from a dragonrider.”

  Harper clothes? Apprentice? A full apprentice? Proper? Pellar dodged past the clothes and grabbed the rider in a fierce hug, clapping him firmly on the back.

  Even though Master Murenny and Zist had said he could be an apprentice, he had always been half-afraid that they didn’t mean it, that maybe they were just humoring him—until now. Proper clothes! He really was a harper!

  I have told D’vin that you are honored, Hurth said, adding a low rumble to Chitter’s high, happy warbling.

  Pellar stepped back and bowed apologetically to D’vin.

  The bronze rider smiled, drew himself up to his full height, steadied his expression, held out the blue garments in both hands to Pellar and said formally, “Pellar, I have been requested by Murenny, Masterharper of Pern, to present you the formal garb of a harper apprentice. Do you accept?”

  With equal formality, Pellar nodded and gave the dragonrider the same half-bow he’d seen other apprentices give on their induction into the Harper Hall. Then he took formal delivery of the precious blue garments.

  D’vin excused himself to inspect Hurth’s riding harness while Pellar changed into his harper blue. He was sorry that he couldn’t clean himself up better; it had been days since his last bath. Inside the new blue-stained wherhide boots Pellar was quite pleased to find clean socks.

  He was surprised to notice that his trousers and tunic both contained several large pockets—not standard.

  D’vin, alerted by Hurth, turned and told him, “Master Murenny told me that you’d wonder about the pockets. He said to tell you that he expects you to carry more burdens than most.”

  Pellar looked surprised.

  “He also said that he was sure you’d be up to them,” the dragonrider added. “From the little I’ve seen of you, I’d say he underestimates you.”

  D’vin gestured to Hurth’s shoulders. “This time, however, Hurth stands ready to carry you.”

  The bronze dragon snorted and nodded in agreement.

  A dragon. Pellar looked again at the huge beast. He felt uneasy.

  You’re not afraid of me, are you? Hurth asked, sounding slightly hurt.

  No, Pellar responded immediately. But you are rather big.

  I am as big as I need to be, Hurth replied. If I were smaller, how would I be able to carry you and D’vin?

  Pellar smiled at Hurth’s logic. His smile was echoed by D’vin’s laugh.

  “Come, Harper,” D’vin declared, holding out his hand. “Let me get you up on the big one before he decides he really is too small for both of us!”

  D’vin sat in front. When he was settled, he turned back to Pellar, both hands in fists with the thumbs up. Pellar returned the thumbs-up gesture with a nervous grin. He was actually on a dragon! He was actually going to fly! No, he was flying! He looked down for a moment as the ground shrank slowly away from him. A moment’s dizzying sense of perspective sent a thrill of fear through him and then Pellar realized that this was the most amazing moment of his life.

  Thank you, Pellar thought to Hurth.

  My pleasure, Hurth responded. There was that pause again as the dragon spoke with his rider and then Hurth continued, Remember, between only takes as long as it takes to cough three times.

  Only? Pellar thought to himself. And then he was engulfed in blackness. He couldn’t feel the dragon beneath, D’vin in front of him, or anything around him. His heart beat loudly in his body, he felt his blood coursing through his veins—nothing else. He realized that he was holding his breath and never remembered doing so. He wondered how long he could hold it. He felt cold, a bone-numbing cold, so cold, so very cold, worse than the coldest night in winter. Would his skin freeze?

  And then they were in the sunlight again, Pellar’s breath came in a rush, and the cold became a swiftly fading memory.

  Pellar looked around. They were at Camp Natalon.

  You give good coordinates, Hurth said again. Very clean. D’vin wonders why you were never Searched.

  Searched? Pellar mused. Him? For Impression? To be a dragonrider? But dragonriders have to talk, to be heard.

  I hear you quite well, Hurth told him.

  Me, a dragonrider? Pellar thought. Chitter burst out in the sky beside them, gave a satisfied warble, and banked tightly to close in to Pellar’s side.

  Good for you, Chitter, Pellar thought fondly. You followed us just fine.

  Chitter chirped smugly.

  Zist does not want me seen, Hurth said. Is there a place I can drop you?

  Pellar thought that a bronze dragon was pretty hard to disguise, but then he realized that Hurth had come in close to the east mountain and flown back behind it almost instantly.

  There’s a plateau, he responded, remembering the small grave site. He had a sudden wish to see how it had survived through the spring thaw—and an echoing curiosity about the other mounds he’d seen when tracking Tenim and Tarik.

  I see it, Hurth replied, veering toward it. I can land there. The dragon started a precipitous descent. What makes you so concerned about little mounds?

  Pellar found himself overwhelmed by the question and its answer, his mind awash with many different memories—of Cayla and Carissa, of little Halla hanging upside down, of the yellow flowers.

  Dragons go between to die, Hurth responded. He sounded sad and somewhat confused. I suppose earth is like going between for people.

  Pellar was startled by the comparison and stunned by Hurth’s astute observation. He didn’t have much time to consider it, as D’vin was already helping him down onto Hurth’s huge leg.

  Once Pellar had scrambled to the ground, D’vin told him,
“Let Hurth know when you want to be picked up.”

  Pellar nodded, and waved in acknowledgment.

  Step away, Hurth cautioned. Pellar moved a dragonlength away. With a great bound of his hind legs, Hurth leapt in the air, his huge wings beating mightily to gain altitude, and then dragon and rider winked out of sight, between.

  Pellar was surprised to see only a faint bubble of mist where the dragon and rider had been moment before. He stared for a moment longer, then shook himself from his musings and started off over the hill and down to Camp Natalon.

  He was surprised to find Master Zist waiting for him at the bottom of the hill.

  “We haven’t much time,” Zist said brusquely. “I’ve already heard that the Shunned know about the sale of the watch-wher eggs.”

  Pellar nodded grimly. He had guessed that something as rare and valuable as watch-wher eggs would attract the attention of anyone desperate enough to become Shunned.

  “Murenny has asked B’ralar, the High Reaches Weyrleader, to provide protection for Aleesa and her watch-whers,” Zist continued. He put a hand on Pellar’s shoulder and shook him gently. “I need you to convince Aleesa to accept the protection and arrange some signal that either you or the watch-whers can send to the dragons if the need arises.”

  Pellar shook his head, drew out his slate, and hastily wrote, “When.”

  “When the need arises,” Zist agreed solemnly. Pellar raised a hand palm up to stop Zist from saying anything more, cleaned off his slate, and wrote, “Must move.”

  Zist read the note and nodded. “You’re saying that they’ll have to move after the eggs are distributed?”

  Pellar nodded, wiped his slate clean, and wrote, “Want harper.”

  “They want a harper?” Zist guessed. Pellar nodded. Zist stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then looked back up speculatively at Pellar.

  Pellar shook his head, pointed to himself, and followed that gesture immediately by waving both hands in front of himself—his way of saying “no” since he was a baby.

  “Not you,” Zist gathered. He cocked an eyebrow at his adopted son. “Is that your choice or theirs?”