Dragon’s Time: Dragonriders of Pern

by Anne; Todd J. Mccaffrey Mccaffrey

  “Why is that surprising?” T’mar demanded.

  “Well, think about it,” Kindan said with a shrug. “A dragon’s about—what?—forty or fifty times the size of a rider.”

  “More for bronzes,” Fiona said. T’mar shrugged, still not certain of their point.

  “Well, all things being equal, the dragon’s a much bigger target than a rider, so there should be more scored dragons to match the proportions,” Kindan said.

  “I think the riders are more worried about protecting their dragons,” T’mar said. “And so we worry more about them than us.”

  “Which is why there aren’t forty or more scored dragons for every rider,” Fiona agreed. “Though, honestly, I’d rather there were none.”

  “Someday there will be,” T’mar said. Fiona gave him a questioning look. “When this Pass is over.”

  “By the First Egg, let it be so!”

  Talenth burst out of the skies over Fort Hold and the Harper Hall with a triumphant bugle, announcing to all that a queen had arrived.

  Accompanied by Bekka’s cries of joy, the queen banked sharply, dipping on her wingtip, and spiraled down to the ground, landing softly.

  “Well done, Talenth!” Bekka called, slapping Talenth affectionately on the neck.

  Thank you, Talenth said. I did land well, didn’t I?

  “You did indeed,” Bekka said, even as Seban started unbuckling the three of them from the riding straps.

  The air was warm with summer heat, full of the smells of fields full of crops, though none too near any of the settlements.

  “Fiona!” a man’s voice called from the direction of Fort Hold. “What are you—” the voice cut off as the man got close enough to distinguish the shapes. “Well, healer Bekka, this is a surprise!”

  “My lord,” Bekka said, bowing to Fort’s Lord Holder—Fiona’s father.

  “She’s not ill, is she?” Bemin asked suddenly, moving close enough to peer into Bekka’s eyes while at the same time dismissing her acknowledgment with a wave. He saw Birentir and Seban and his eyes widened.

  “She’s well, my lord,” Bekka said hastily. “Pregnant, worried as we all are, but well.”

  “Pregnant?” Bemin’s eyes rose to his brows even as his shoulders slumped in surprise.

  “With twins,” Bekka added. “We’ve come to consult with the Masterhealer.”

  Behind her, Seban and Birentir nodded in confirmation.

  “Twins?” Bemin repeated incredulously. He snorted a laugh and added, “She was never one to do things by halves!”

  “Indeed, my lord,” Birentir agreed. “We were just on our way to report to the Master, if you’d care to join us?”

  “Certainly,” Bemin said, joining them. He glanced up at Talenth and then back to Bekka. “She let you ride her?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Bekka said, just barely containing her excitement. “Talenth says I was very good, too.”

  Bemin accepted that with a nod and glanced over the small girl’s head to the accompanying men, who both added looks in agreement.

  Silently the four made their way under the arches of the Harper Hall where they were met by the growing sounds of harpers in various states of motion: some rushing to classes, others playing games, still others playing instruments in groups.

  “Perhaps we should have gone around,” Birentir said as they made their way through the throng, leaving behind knots of curious harpers whispering amongst themselves about their arrival.

  “Nonsense,” Bemin said, “Master Zist would have descended upon you—”

  “He would have shouted,” Bekka agreed in an uncharacteristically demure voice.

  “Who would have shouted?” a voice roared from a window above, filling the courtyard and creating an instant silence.

  “You would, Master,” Bekka said, breaking into a huge smile. “So Fiona has unleashed you back on us again, has she?” Zist bellowed in a bass voice. “And sent her father to make amends, no doubt.”

  “No doubt,” Bemin said with a chuckle, waving up to the Masterharper. “Should we join you?” With a wry look, he added, “We’d hate to interrupt any important undertaking.”

  Zist snorted at the jibe. “Most would call it a nap, Lord Bemin,” Zist replied. “And it was hard enough”—and here his voice hardened—“to get rest with all the racket in the courtyard.” The hush deepened, but Birentir noticed grins on most faces; clearly this discourse from the Masterharper was not uncommon. “Particularly those who insisted upon singing out of tune.”

  “No one was out of tune,” Kelsa called out from the archway leading down to the dining hall. “Or I would have heard.”

  “Nonsense,” Zist roared back loudly. “New mothers are always tone deaf.”

  Kelsa snorted at that and raced up the steps, bearing a tray in one hand and a small sleepy baby in the other.

  “Kemin!” Bekka shouted, racing off after her. “Oh, please, let me hold him!”

  “I thought she didn’t like babies,” Birentir murmured to no one in particular.

  “Not this one,” Bemin said with pride. Kemin was his son. “Is he over the colic, then?” Seban asked.

  “No, more’s the pity, but he will be soon enough,” Bemin said, shaking his head. “In fact, I was on my way down here for night duty when I spotted Talenth.”

  “We’d better catch up or she’ll hand him off to us the moment he gets stinky,” Seban said, stretching his legs for a longer stride.

  He was not wrong and not at all surprised when Bekka pushed baby Kemin into his arms. “Father, would you please?” she begged with her best wide-eyed innocence. “I need to talk with the Masterharper.”

  “The Masterharper can wait, young lady, the child cannot,” Zist intoned.

  Bekka sighed heavily at the injustice of it all, but took Kemin back and made her way out of the Masterharper’s quarters, muttering to herself.

  “How is she doing, then?” Zist asked, the moment he was certain she was out of earshot.

  “She should walk the tables,” Birentir said firmly. “She knows more than most journeymen.” He pointed a finger toward Seban, adding, “So should he.” He gave the ex-dragonrider a respectful nod, adding, “With more training, you could be a Master.”

  “I think I’d like that,” Seban said.

  “If Betrony could rate you Master, Bekka could be your journeyman,” Zist mused.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Bemin spoke up. Zist glanced at him. “She’s a good child, but before long she’ll be hitting her more rebellious phase and having her father as her Master will help neither.”

  “Yes, I see,” Zist said. He glanced at Birentir. “And you? Would you be her Master?”

  “I haven’t learned enough, as I’m sure Master Betrony will agree,” Birentir said.

  Slow footsteps climbing the stairs announced the Masterhealer’s arrival. Zist nodded for Birentir to get the door and the healer opened it before the Masterhealer had started to knock, bowing respectfully.

  “Birentir, how are you?” Betrony asked cheerfully. He saw Seban beyond him and his smile widened. “And you, too!” He glanced around the room, eyes twinkling. “Have my spies deceived me? I’d heard that my favorite student was here as well.”

  “Your spies are accurate as always,” Zist said. “Just as they’ve probably made you aware that we’ve sent the young one away with the baby.”

  “A babe in babe’s arms,” Betrony said, delighting in the irony. “They tell me that Fiona is pregnant,” Bemin added. “Pregnant?” Zist asked alertly. “Kindan or T’mar?” Bemin added a questioning look of his own to the two healers from Telgar.

  “She hasn’t said,” Seban replied coolly. Zist gestured for him to go on and the ex-dragonrider added, “Honestly, I can’t say. It could be either.”

  “Or both,” Bekka added as she pushed open the door with one arm, dangling a burbling Kemin under the other. She passed the baby back to Kelsa. “There, all clean!”

 
Kelsa took the baby back with a grateful smile and tucked him easily against her side. Bemin reached to grab the boy from her, but the Songmaster shook her head with an easy smile, content for now to have the baby with her.

  “I suppose, with that child anything is possible,” Lord Bemin, her father, admitted with a sigh.

  “We really shouldn’t have told you, my lord,” Bekka said, suddenly serious. Bemin’s eyebrows went up. “It’s early and you know …”

  “I see.” Bemin nodded somberly. “So you were hoping to learn some family history from me and consult with the Masterhealer.”

  “And there were some techniques that we thought you might want to see, Masterhealer,” Birentir added respectfully.

  “I suppose that the best place to see them would be at Telgar Weyr, would it?” Betrony asked, his eyes darting toward the old Masterharper.

  Seban glanced between the two of them and then to Kelsa, who shook her head warningly.

  “I suppose if I want to see anything of my journeyman, I should come as well,” Zist said with a sigh.

  “They’re fighting Thread tonight,” Seban warned.

  “Which makes it a good time, then,” Betrony said. He glanced at his three healers, as he added, “It would give me a chance to see how you are under pressure.”

  Bekka’s eyes danced at the notion. “Of course, Master.”

  “I’m not sure that Talenth is able to carry five,” Seban said.

  “How about four?” Betrony asked.

  “She’d have no problem with four,” Bekka swore. She was about to say more, but the Masterhealer laid a hand on her shoulder and clenched it warningly.

  “Then I suppose Birentir can remain here while we venture forth,” Zist said, passing some unspoken agreement to Betrony with his eyes.

  “We’d be delighted to have Birentir stay with us,” Kelsa spoke up as if on cue.

  “And if it would help you, Master Zist,” Bemin put in smoothly, “I’m sure I could arrange for him to stay here.”

  “I promise I won’t let him sing,” Kelsa said, reaching over to grab the graying Lord Holder’s arm.

  “Journeyman Birentir?” Betrony asked, inclining his head toward the other man. “Do you feel up to a night manning the Healer Hall?”

  Bekka gave him a firm go-ahead gesture.

  The older healer snorted and said, “I think, Master, I could use the rest.”

  Betrony mouthed the word “rest” to himself and then his eyes settled on Bekka and he nodded in understanding.

  “Well then, give me a few minutes to brief Birentir on the state of things in my Hall, and I’ll be ready to see the marvels of Telgar,” Betrony pronounced.

  Half an hour later they were airborne, with Birentir, Bemin, Kelsa, and a gaggle of excited harpers and healers waving as Talenth swept upward with her great wings. In an instant, they were between and three short coughs later, they emerged into the midday light of Telgar, Talenth warbling happily and telling Fiona excitedly, We’re back, we’re back! And we brought Masters!

  “Talenth says that she’s brought Masters,” Fiona called as she rushed into the Kitchen Cavern and frantically sought out Shaneese.

  “I’ll get the wine,” Mekiar said, rising from his pottery wheel and racing back toward the cold caverns.

  “We’ve something on, as always,” Shaneese said, gesturing urgently to a group of cooks. “I’ll get the table set.”

  “I’m not sure they’ll be hungry,” Fiona called over her shoulder, already rushing out to find T’mar and greet the guests.

  Talenth timed her approach more slowly, having divined Fiona’s mood, and did not touch the ground until Fiona, T’mar, L’tor, and the rest of the wingleaders were assembled behind her, as were Kindan and the weyrlings.

  “Masterharper Zist,” Fiona said as the elderly harper was helped down by Kindan, Seban, and several riders. She tried to keep any nervousness out of her voice, but she’d had Turns enough in the old Harper’s bad books to harbor some residual misgivings, partly from several still-undiscovered episodes in her childhood.

  “Catching tunnel snakes, my lady?” Zist asked, moving forward jauntily and catching her outstretched hand in his. His eyes turned back to Kindan as he continued, “Or merely discombobulating more of my harpers?”

  “And Weyrleaders,” T’mar put in smoothly, his eyes dancing as he caught Fiona’s distraught look. “Don’t forget that, Master.”

  “That’s old news,” Zist said with a wave of his hand. “As are the rather ribald Records that—”

  “Oh, no!” Fiona cried, pulling from Zist’s grip and burying her head in her hands.

  “—Verilan assures me were not actually written by the Lady Holders to whom they were ascribed,” Zist finished, his voice rumbling with humor.

  “They were being mean to me!” Fiona said in her defense.

  “They most certainly must have been, for you to have created such—interesting—depositions,” Zist agreed drolly. He glanced at Kindan. “You really must read them sometime, they are works of art.”

  “Honing another talent, Fiona?” T’mar teased shamelessly. Fiona lifted her head and fumed quietly. “It was Turns ago.”

  “Not all that many,” Zist corrected.

  “Turns for me,” Fiona declared. “You may recall that we spent three Turns back in Igen.”

  “And her behavior was much corrected,” T’mar agreed, the twinkle of his eyes belying his words.

  “Oh!” Fiona said, stamping her foot in frustration. With a deep sigh, she turned once more to the Masterharper. “We’ve some wine and food, if you’d desire, Master.”

  “I would,” Zist allowed, gesturing toward Betrony.

  “Weyrwoman,” Betrony said, with a polite bow. “I hear you’ve been graced with good news.”

  “Does all Pern know about this?” Fiona cried in exasperation.

  “Not yet,” Kindan said, “but if Master Zist tarries the night, I’ll be sure to send him back to the Hall with a decent song.”

  “That is enough to tempt me,” Zist said. “Although I understand you’ll have Threadfall soon.”

  “Kindan, as weyrlingmaster, has duties to attend to,” Fiona said. She raised a hand and waved toward Xhinna. “I think we can find a deputy for the moment.”

  Xhinna came forward with an easy air that fooled Fiona not one bit.

  “Masterharper, Masterhealer, this is my friend, Xhinna, rider of blue Tazith,” Fiona said, gesturing to the younger woman with all due formality.

  “Dragonrider,” Zist said, extending his hand and nodding courteously.

  Xhinna paused just an instant before extending her hand in response.

  “Did I hear the Weyrwoman aright,” Betrony asked as he extended his hand in turn, “you ride a blue?”

  “Five women Impressed in the last two Hatchings,” Fiona said. “Only Xhinna Impressed a blue.”

  “Could you imagine the look on old D’gan’s face if he’d seen that?” Betrony chortled in surprise, shaking his head.

  Zist nodded in fierce agreement. “I could imagine him bellowing about Tradition until he was blue in the face.”

  “We’ve done what we could without him,” T’mar said dryly.

  “Although now, we’d sorely love all those dragons,” Xhinna said. “He had over three hundred with him.”

  “Even if it meant his displeasure on seeing you?” Zist asked.

  “Master,” Fiona spoke up, her eyes gleaming, “I don’t think D’gan would stand a chance in either a battle of wills or wits with our blue rider here.” She caught Xhinna’s surprised look, felt the girl’s warm appreciation at her words. “Xhinna, the Masterharper wants to let Kindan bend his ear for a while, I was wondering if you could take over for him with the weyrlings.”

  “It might be better to let X’lerin or W’vin have the duty, my lady,” Xhinna said demurely.

  “True, but I didn’t ask them,” Fiona said. “Next time.”

  Xhinna nodded unhappily and
departed.

  “You aren’t making her position any easier,” Kindan murmured in Fiona’s ear while they walked toward the Kitchen Cavern.

  “She’ll never be happy following,” Fiona said. “Blue or no, she wants to lead.”

  “She could lead a wing,” T’mar agreed, “if she could get them to follow her.”

  “Blues don’t lead wings,” H’nez said, glancing apologetically toward Fiona. “They haven’t the endurance.”

  “Pardon, wingleader, but I have to question that,” Seban spoke up diffidently. “My Serth had no problem keeping up with your wing.”

  H’nez frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. He glanced toward Fiona. “There is a danger of pushing too hard, too fast.”

  “Yes,” Fiona agreed, eyeing the wiry wingleader with respect. She said to T’mar, “H’nez has a point. We need to be wary of trampling on Tradition just for the joy of it.”

  “I don’t trample on Tradition,” T’mar said.

  Fiona grinned and walked silently on.

  Shaneese and the weyrfolk greeted the two Masters with a mixture of pride and awe. It was unheard of, T’mar realized, for two craft Masters to appear at the same Weyr on the same day. They would frequent the Holder Conclaves, but never a single Weyr, not in his memory.

  Zist and Betrony were excellent guests, insisting upon meeting all the people in the hall, shaking their hands and exchanging quick words. Betrony spent several minutes in quiet conversation with Mekiar and the ex-dragonrider looked very pleased with himself at the end of it.

  Shaneese was set at ease by Zist’s compliments on the wine and Betrony’s compliments on the food. T’mar could see how worried she was that everything be right not just for the honor of the Weyr but also from her desire not to let him—or Fiona—down.

  Kindan sent for instruments and Taria arrived, to T’mar’s surprise, with a group of the better young vocalists. In short order Kindan and the weyr children were providing light, lyrical, soft music to accompany the meal.

  “Bekka tells me it’s twins,” Betrony said to T’mar conversationally. “So I’ve heard,” T’mar agreed easily. “If all goes well, it will be good for the Weyr.”