Dragon's Fire

by Anne McCaffrey

  D’vin could see the gleaming eyes of dragons arrayed all around him. Behind him, Hurth craned his neck around to watch the proceedings.

  “You’re as ready as we can make you,” B’ralar told him quietly. With a smile, D’vin acknowledged his Weyrleader’s hidden taunt. B’ralar was in the middle of his sixth decade, forty Turns of which he’d been a dragonrider. Of those forty Turns, he’d been Weyrleader for more than twenty, whereas D’vin had only been a wingleader for two Turns and had Impressed Hurth only five Turns ago.

  “I wish we’d had more firestone to practice with,” the Weyrleader continued, “but with the wet weather, it’s been hard to keep hold of our stocks.” Dampness was a danger with firestone, which would explode on contact with water.

  D’vin nodded but said nothing; he had already aired his concerns about their allocation of firestone in the Council Room with the other wingleaders. Here, in front of his riders and the rest of the Weyr, he would not.

  “We’ll do our best,” D’vin said.

  “I know you will,” B’ralar said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You and your Wing have earned the right.”

  “Thank you.”

  B’ralar shook his head. “I only set the standards; you exceeded them.” He mounted his dragon. “The queens have gathered. Now it’s time for the opening ceremonies,” he said. “I’ll have Kalanth tell Hurth when we’re ready for you.”

  Kalanth kicked off from the Weyr Bowl and beat his wings strongly to climb out of the Bowl before going between.

  “You heard the Weyrleader,” D’vin called to his wing. “Mount up. We’ll gather by the Star Stones. The exercise will warm us up for the Games.”

  D’linner and P’lel, the wing’s two youngest riders, cheered exuberantly, while the others looked on with the amusement of veterans.

  The wing did not have long to wait at the Star Stones before the signal from the Weyrleader came.

  Let’s go to Crom Hold, D’vin told his dragon, barely able to control his excitement.

  As one, thirty dragons and their riders winked out of existence over High Reaches Weyr and reappeared over Crom Hold.

  “The first event is a single rider competition,” Lord Fenner explained to Cristov. “Each Weyr picks two riders to represent them. The queens throw the rope Thread down, simulating a normal fall, and the riders flame it.”

  Cristov listened attentively. He knew that the rules for the Games were changed each Turn, and this event was new to him.

  “How do they determine the winner?” Toldur asked.

  “Each rider has one pass at the Threadfall, and the one who chars the most Thread without letting any Thread get past wins,” Fenner replied.

  Fenner turned to Kindan. “Harper, can you wave the Fort Weyr flag?”

  Kindan nodded and took the Fort Weyr flag, waved it high, and placed it in the center stand to indicate that Fort Weyr was to fly Thread.

  “Look up, lad,” Masterminer Britell told Cristov in a kindly tone. “You’ll never see the like of this again, I’ll wager.”

  Cristov needed no urging; he looked up first to the queens hovering high above and then toward the cluster of Fort Weyr riders.

  Presently, one dragon—a blue—separated from the formation and flew low over the Lord Holder’s stand, waggling its wings in acknowledgment before pulling up higher to take station at the starting point. The blue breathed a burst of flame to signal its readiness.

  A hush came over the field as all those at the Gather looked up in anticipation of the forthcoming “Threadfall.” Cristov, along with the entire crowd, gasped as the air beneath the high flying queens suddenly turned silver with squiggling rope Threads.

  “Can they really get all that?” Toldur asked in astonishment.

  “The queens are throwing more Thread than one dragon would fly in a real Threadfall,” Kindan informed them all. “My understanding is that the Weyrs always try for harder Falls than they expect.”

  “A good precaution,” Britell said approvingly.

  All the same, Cristov was awed at the speed at which the blue flew through the wide swath of falling Thread, flaming continuously and seemingly everywhere as it battled the Fall.

  It seemed mere moments before all the Thread was gone. It took the crowd some time to register this fact, and then the air was filled with a great roar of cheering.

  “That was magnificent,” Lord Fenner murmured.

  “Fancy a wager?” Masterminer Britell asked, with a gleam in his eyes.

  “I’d wager that D’gan is furious,” Fenner said drolly. “But, as a bounden Holder, I’d not bet against my Weyr.”

  “It’s not your Weyr, just the best rider,” Masterminer Britell responded in cajoling tones.

  Lord Fenner waved the correction aside. “I’ll bet that Telgar wins the Games.”

  Britell grimaced. “I’d not bet against that.”

  Kindan, meanwhile, had removed the Fort Weyr pennant and, with a look to the Lord Holder, had placed the Benden Weyr pennant in the starting position.

  A large brown dragon descended over the stand, waggled his wings, and took station. Again, a blizzard of Thread was unleashed by the queens high above, and again Cristov and the crowd were amazed at the speed with which the brown dragon turned all of it into harmless ash.

  “What if one of the ropes is still burning when it hits the ground?” Toldur asked.

  “I’ve ground crews standing by to put it out,” Lord Fenner told him. “The same ground crews that would fight Thread burrows in a real Fall.”

  “Burrows?” Cristov repeated, wondering how they’d be dealt with in the Games.

  “Oh, we’re not testing the dragonriders on burrows,” Lord Fenner said with a chuckle.

  “That’d be for the ground crews,” Britell agreed. “Is there a separate event?”

  “No,” said Fenner. “But I might suggest it to the Conclave of Holders. Usually, though, each Lord Holder is responsible for the effectiveness of his ground crews.” He told Kindan, “We’re ready for High Reaches, now, lad.”

  A blue dragon represented the northern high mountain Weyr first. It flew through the Threads faster than the other two dragons and drew a great cheer, which changed into a puzzled noise as more and more people noticed one uncharred Thread slithering to the ground.

  “Oh, missed one!” Fenner exclaimed. “Well, there’s still the second candidate.”

  “He’s disqualified?” Cristov asked, thinking that it was a shame, since the dragon had been fastest of the three.

  “Indeed he is,” Fenner agreed.

  “Speed’s not the point when it comes to Thread, lad,” the Lord Holder expounded. “Except, perhaps, for the speed with which the ground crews dispatch such a burrow.” He peered over to where the Thread had fallen and grunted when he saw a black flag being waved.

  “Harper, put a black flag over High Reaches’s pennant,” Fenner said to Kindan. To the rest of the group, he explained, “The black flag shows that the rider was disqualified.”

  Tell D’linner he did his best, D’vin thought to Hurth.

  He and Delth are both very disappointed, Hurth responded after relaying D’vin’s message.

  Well, there’s still P’lel and Telenth, D’vin said. Beneath him, Hurth rumbled in agreement. Together the two watched Telgar’s first entrant, a green, dive through the next Threadfall. The green’s speed was greater than Delth’s but her accuracy was even worse. Pity.

  In the distance D’vin could see Telgar’s Weyrleader screaming at the hapless dragon and rider. D’vin schooled his expression, aware that several of his riders were gauging his reaction. He didn’t want to give either them or the Telgar Weyrleader a chance to disparage his behavior.

  The next dragon, an Istan green, was ridden by one of the older riders, but neither rider nor dragon could be faulted for speed or accuracy.

  And then it was time for Fort’s second entrant, a brown. D’vin was surprised at the choice of a brown—the larger dragons
were usually better at endurance than speed—but the brown proved itself up to the Fall thrown down by the queen riders and advanced to the next round. Benden’s second entrant was a more conventional blue who performed quite creditably.

  D’vin mused to himself that while the purpose of the All-Weyr Games was mostly to assure the Holders of the abilities of the Weyrs to fight the Threadfall that would come with the next Pass of the Red Star, it also allowed the five Weyrs to become comfortable with each other’s abilities.

  Tell P’lel good flying, D’vin said to Hurth as it came turn for High Reaches’s second entrant. D’vin saw P’lel wave at him before he and Telenth dove over the Lord Holder’s stand and rose up again to take their position.

  D’vin could feel the tension in his wing as they waited for the queen’s wing to drop the Thread. In a moment he spotted it. The pattern, whether by design or the churning of the air from all the flaming before, was oddly clumped. It would be a hard fall for a bronze to fly, let alone a small green. Still, D’vin grinned as P’lel and Telenth dived toward the first clump and flamed it easily into blackened char. The pair continued their run, but it was becoming obvious to D’vin that they were both getting tired as they neared the end, with three clumps still to char. Suddenly Telenth disappeared, only to reappear, wheeling on a wingtip, just below the center of all three clumps. It was a wild tactic and one D’vin wasn’t sure he’d approve for a real Threadfall, but the green’s agility on wing and length of flame just managed to char all three clumps at once. Far below, D’vin could hear the crowd cheering more loudly than they’d ever cheered before.

  Overcome with joy, P’lel and Telenth rolled quickly upside down and right side up again, to the renewed cheers of the crowd.

  Tell Telenth well done, D’vin said. And tell P’lel, no more fool stunts!

  The chagrined green rider rejoined his wing, but his discomfort quickly evaporated in the congratulations shouted by the rest of the wing.

  Telgar’s second entrant performed adequately, if a trifle slowly, as if reluctant to repeat his weyrmate’s mistake.

  Ista’s rider, a grizzled veteran on a blue, seared the Threads out of the sky so quickly that it took a moment before the crowd reacted.

  That’s how it’s done, D’vin told his dragon. Hurth rumbled in agreement while D’vin tried to fix in his mind what it was about the blue dragon that had made it so effective. It almost seemed as if dragon and rider had anticipated the fall of the Thread and arrived before the Thread itself. Years of training, D’vin thought to himself in awe.

  And then they were into the second round. The queens spread out somewhat and prepared to drop even more rope Threads for the next Pass. The first Fort and the first Istan entrants were disqualified in this round. In the third round, the queens practically doubled their original distance and the Fall was something truly frightening to behold.

  In the third round, Benden’s first entrant was disqualified, then Fort’s second entrant, and finally, with a gasp from the crowd, Telgar’s last blue was disqualified.

  But that still left three dragons, from Benden, Ista, and his own High Reaches, for the fourth round. As the queens spread out yet more and prepared to drop a veritable rain of Thread down, D’vin was convinced that the victory would go to High Reaches’s larger green Telenth. He could not imagine either of the two blues even completing the course, much less without error.

  But they did, with Ista’s blue clearly putting in the most amazing performance. D’vin could find no fault with P’lel’s flying or with Telenth’s work, but it was obvious to him that the Istan blue dragon was simply the master of the situation.

  From above he heard the queens’ bugle, announcing a tie. He looked down to the Lord Holder’s stand, wondering how Crom’s Lord Holder would decide.

  “Ah,” Lord Fenner said as the sound of the queens far above floated down to them, “I was afraid of that.”

  Cristov and the others looked at him expectantly.

  “In the event of a tie, the Lord Holder must judge,” Fenner explained to them. He smiled deviously. “And, as Lord Holder, I have decided to enlist you all in my decision making.”

  “My lord?” Toldur said.

  “Indeed,” Fenner replied. “I think a show of hands amongst all of us, for first, second, and third place should do it.”

  Toldur caught Cristov’s look of surprise and whispered down to him, “I’ll bet you didn’t expect to be judging dragonriders today, did you?”

  Cristov gulped.

  “Just do your best,” Kindan told him. “It’s not as though they’ll find out.”

  “And be grateful that our own Weyr dropped out of the running, or our decision would be more difficult,” Masterminer Britell added.

  Cristov sidled over to Kindan and asked softly, “Have you ever done this before?”

  Kindan shook his head, a nervous smile plastered on his face.

  “For first place, all those for Ista?” Lord Fenner asked. He counted easily, as all hands were up. “As I expected, then,” he said contentedly. “And all those for High Reaches for second place?” Again, all hands went up. “That would leave Benden in third place,” he said. “Harper, if you would so arrange it. Be sure to wave each flag high over the stand before you put it in its placeholder.”

  Kindan nodded and removed the Ista Weyr pennant from its stand and waved it high from side to side.

  As the crowd roared its approval, Lord Fenner said, “See, we’ve chosen wisely.” He waved back at the crowd before turning once more to Kindan. “And now, Harper, if you’d be so kind to wave the Crom Hold pennant, that will let the dragonriders know to come down.”

  Kindan gave the Lord Holder a surprised look, and Fenner laughed. “I’ve not lost my senses! They’re only coming down for a break, young harper. The Games will start up again in a half hour. That’ll give the riders a chance to slake their thirst and fill their stomachs before the next event.”

  D’vin waited until the Fort and Benden Weyr riders dismounted in front of the Lord Holder’s stand before ordering his riders down. After he dismounted, he bowed to the Lord Holder.

  “Greetings from High Reaches Weyr,” D’vin called.

  “Greetings to you, bronze rider,” the Lord Holder called back with a jaunty wave. “There are refreshments in the stalls. Please invite your riders to take what they need for their comfort.”

  “I will, thank you,” D’vin replied. As he turned, he caught sight of two youngsters in the stands and turned back again, surprised. “Are these your heirs, my lord?”

  Lord Fenner laughed. “No, indeed! These two scallywags hail from Camp Natalon. Kindan’s the harper, and Cristov is the miner.”

  “Do you mine firestone?” D’vin asked. He had hoped to strike up an acquaintance with one of the firestone miners.

  “No, my lord,” Cristov said, blushing in embarrassment. “We mine coal at Camp Natalon.”

  “He’s being modest, my lord,” Fenner said, clapping Cristov on the back. “Camp Natalon has the best coal in all Crom.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” D’vin said. He nodded to Cristov. “Good to meet you, miner.” He turned away and then back once more. “My Lord Holder, could you point me to a vendor of bubbly pies?”

  Lord Fenner looked surprised by the question, so D’vin explained sheepishly, “I’ve not had one in a long time and just caught a whiff as I landed.”

  Lord Fenner shook his head and was about to reply when Cristov’s hand shot up, pointing. “My lord,” he said, “I think if you ask that girl there, she’ll lead you right.” He waved and shouted to the girl, the one upon whom he’d bestowed his half-mark earlier. “Could you lead my Lord D’vin to the bubbly pies, Halla?”

  Halla’s stomach had rumbled in anticipation as she followed her nose to the bubbly pies. A miner half-mark entitled her to four, so she paid for two and got a quarter-mark back. She ate one pie immediately despite its burning warmth, and then turned to scan the crowd for her benef
actor and quarry.

  She was surprised to see him on the Lord Holder’s stand. What did Moran want with this one? she wondered. Still, orders were orders, especially from Moran, so she worked her way close to the stand, careful not to be obvious and also not to jostle her second pie.

  The Lord Holder’s stand was constructed on a high knoll, giving it not only a great view of the Games but also of the whole Gather spread below. Halla had to work carefully to keep herself close enough to the stands to hear what they were saying but far enough in the crowd to avoid being spotted.

  So she jumped when Cristov called her name. She couldn’t help shivering in fear. Had she been discovered? Had Moran been apprehended? Had he turned her in to save his own skin?

  She was ready to run, almost ready to drop her precious bubbly pie, when the full extent of his words registered with her.

  “Bubbly pies?” she repeated blankly, drawing closer to Cristov and the stand, like a moth to a flame.

  “Yes, Lord D’vin would like some. Could you lead him to the baker?” Cristov repeated, frowning at the young girl. She was terrified. To assuage her fear, he offered, “Would you like me to come with you?”

  Dumbstruck, Halla nodded. Cristov muttered excuses to the others and climbed down the stands. He gestured for the dragonrider to precede him, but D’vin politely demurred.

  The crowd parted for them and they approached Halla. “My lord, this is Halla,” Cristov said.

  “Halla,” D’vin said, with a nod. Halla could only nod in reply. “Can you show us the way?”

  Halla nodded again, and turned. She strode off, glancing over her shoulder to see if they were still following her.

  How could this happen? she asked herself. Now I’ve got a dragonrider following me!

  In fact, she realized as she glanced around again, the dragonrider had caught up with her and was walking at her side.

  “Do you come from Crom Hold, Halla?” D’vin inquired.