All the Weyrs of Pern (42 page)

Jaxom shook his head slightly, trying to understand the accusation. So few knew that he and Ruth had recovered the abducted queen egg from Benden Weyr. How had G’lanar learned?

“So it was you who cut the riding straps?” Jaxom demanded.

“Yes, yes, I did, and I’d’ve got you. I’d’ve kept trying till I did. Nor wept if your woman’d died that morning. Save Pern from more like you and that abortion!”

“And you, a dragonrider, would seek the death of another?” D’ram’s scorn and horror made G’lanar flinch—but only briefly.

“Yes, yes, yes!” His voice climbed in fury and frustration. “Yes! Unnatural man, unnatural dragon! Abominations as vile as that Aivas thing you worship.” G’lanar’s eyes glittered; his features were contorted.

“That’s enough of that,” F’lar said, stepping forward purposefully.

“It is! Enough!” Before either Jaxom, who had stepped back from the man, or F’lar, who was moving toward him, could act, G’lanar plunged his dagger into his own breast.

His action shocked everyone to immobility.

“Oh, no!” Jaxom breathed, dropping to the man’s side and feeling for the throat pulse. With the rider dead, the dragon would suicide. Had G’lanar’s thrust been true? His heart quailed, waiting for the keen all dragonriders dreaded to hear.

Ruth had pulled his head from the window, and Jaxom could see him, rearing back on his haunches and stretching to his full height, wings spread to balance him. The sound he uttered was muted, an oddly strangled noise. There were other sounds in the night, and then Ramoth and Mnementh landed outside the room, deepening the shadows.

Lamoth dies. In shame.
Ruth sank back to the ground, wings limp against his back, his head low.
They were mistaken to steal Ramoth’s egg. We only set matters right. I am not an abomination or unnatural. And you are a very natural man, Jaxom. How can Aivas be wrong when he does everything to help us?

Lessa moved to Jaxom and lifted him up from the dead man; her eyes watered with tears and her expression was dreadful, but her hands were gentle. Sharra, wrapping the sheet around herself, ran to him and put her arms around him, draping a corner of the sheet over his nudity.

“I don’t understand this,” D’ram said, running trembling fingers through his thick, gray hair. “How could he so corrupt the truth? How could he seek the life of another dragonrider?”

“There have been moments,” Lessa said in a broken voice, “when I wonder what good I did bringing the five Weyrs forward.”

“No, Lessa.” D’ram recovered from regret to touch her shoulder supportively. “You did what was necessary. So did Jaxom, though I never realized it was he who saved that situation.” He shot an approving look at the young Lord Holder.

“Why did no one realize that G’lanar harbored such a grievance?” F’lar demanded.

“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” Lessa said resolutely. “I’d thought the Weyrs were united in this project! Surely even Oldtimers are! They’ve fought two lives’ worth of Thread . . .”

D’ram was scrubbing at his face, shaking his head, his shoulders hunched against the night’s treachery. “Every Oldtimer I’ve spoken to—and there are few enough of us old ones now—and all the younger riders are definitely in accord with Benden. Everyone sees the help, the training, the promise Aivas holds out as the culmination of the Weyr objective since the first egg hatched. The project has given us all hope at this critical point in a Pass.”

“Ramoth has started speaking to the other queens,” Lessa said, her voice strained. “We’ll know by morning if there are any other disaffected riders in any Weyr.”

“I’ll take care of this,” F’lar said, gesturing to Piemur and Jaxom to help him with G’lanar’s body.

“No, I will,” D’ram said, stepping over the corpse to heave it over his shoulders. His face was devoid of expression, but his cheeks were tearstained. “He was a good rider before he went South with Mardra and T’ton.”

The others stepped back so he could pass with his sad burden. Sharra handed Jaxom his long-tailed riding shirt, and as he slipped into it gratefully, she hurriedly pulled on a tunic. The night breeze was chilly. She went past Jaxom to the door.

“A cup of hot wine is indicated,” she said, and Jancis followed her to the kitchen.

Sharra had added something to the wine, Jaxom decided when he woke and found morning well started. She was still asleep beside him, so he assumed that she had taken her own medicine. A boon for him, since he had no intention of delaying that day’s plan. He eased out of the bed, scooped up his clothing, and went to dress in the head. When he entered the main room, he found Lessa cradling a cup of klah in her hands while F’lar, a set expression on his face, was spooning cereal into his mouth. Without a word, the Weyrwoman rose and filled a cup and a bowl for Jaxom.

“Is everyone else still asleep?”

Lessa shook her head. “Piemur and Jancis have gone to Landing with D’ram and Lytol. Robinton’s to sleep himself out.” She took another sip of klah. “Ramoth says the queens report no other traitors in our midst.” Her tone was as bleak as her eyes. “She says that Southern’s queen is inexperienced and Adrea too young to understand G’lanar’s grievances. However, apparently old G’lanar had begun to get quite testy, going off a lot on his own after Tillek. When S’rond was due to join the fighting wings at Southern Weyr, G’lanar begged for the duty at Ruatha. That would have made me suspicious!”

“Why?” F’lar asked. “Ruatha’s the duty everyone wants.” He gave Jaxom an encouraging smile and spooned more sweetener over the remains of his porridge.

Noticing that, Lessa opened her mouth to scold and then shut it, looking away in her disgruntlement. F’lar winked at Jaxom, pretending relief.

“No, the Oldtimers who chose to go south with Mardra and T’ton were already antagonistic to Benden’s aims,” the Weyrleader said, “as much because Benden suggested them. G’lanar would’ve brooded long enough, ripe for any scheme to support his grievances. And we already know there’s a fair number who see Aivas as an Abomination.”

“There may be more after today,” Lessa muttered.

F’lar dropped his spoon with a clatter. “No one’s going to know about today . . .”

She shook her head, surprised at his remark. “I didn’t mean what we plan to do,” she said with some exasperation. “I meant, G’lanar’s death. Well, the Weyrs know the old fellow died but certainly not why. We can at least keep the attack quiet.”

F’lar shot an anxious look at Jaxom, who shrugged acquiescence. He certainly didn’t wish to have the story bruited about.

“That’s what D’ram’s going to insure: that everyone thinks old G’lanar suffered a brainstorm.”

“That’s lame. The dragons’ll know . . .”

“Ramoth says not. Lamoth had gone to sleep in the clearing, totally unaware of what G’lanar was doing here. Of course, he knew when G’lanar died, and he floundered
between
somehow. To be doubly cautious, D’ram means to speak to each of the remaining Oldtimers. Tiroth may not be a queen, but no dragon could hide his heart from that bronze.”

“How,”
Jaxom asked, “did G’lanar realize that Ruth and I rescued Ramoth’s egg?”

“Have you been timing it much lately?” Lessa asked bluntly.

Jaxom tried to shrug the question away. “Not often.”

Lessa raised her eyebrows in resignation. “I keep telling you that timing it is dangerous. It was bloody sure dangerous for you. Lamoth would have known. He would have told G’lanar. G’lanar was misguided but not stupid. I know that all the Oldtimers at Southern have puzzled over who rescued the egg. In spite of our precautions, they all know Ruth’s abilities and might have suspicions.”

“G’lanar’s the only bronze rider left from that group,” Jaxom said, after a quick mental review.

“We have a more important task to perform today than to fret over this incident,” F’lar said, rising to clear the table of his bowl and cup. “That is, if you feel up to it, Jaxom . . .”

Jaxom regarded F’lar scornfully. “I’ve been waiting on you. Let’s do it.”

“From here, or the
Yokohama
?” Lessa asked.

“The
Yokohama
,” Jaxom said, grabbing his riding gear from the bench beside him. “We don’t have the space suits down here.”

“You’re sure there’s one to fit me?” Lessa asked, shrugging into her leather jacket.

Jaxom grinned. “There’re two small ones. One ought to fit, even if we have to truss you up some.” As he came out onto the porch, Meer chirped at him. “Lessa, to preserve my image in my wife’s eyes, would you ask Ramoth to keep Meer from following me today? Ask her to tell him I’m safe with you two.”

Lessa quirked her eyebrow, grinning up at him. “You’re sure of that?”

Tucks had to be taken in the arms and legs and waist of the smallest of the suits, which caused some amusement to F’lar and Jaxom but none to Lessa. They contacted Aivas when they were ready to proceed. He brought up their objective, the immense long scar on the Red Star, on the screen in the cargo bay.

F’lar frowned at it again, not so much in order to imprint the scene firmly into his mind as to rationalize what he was seeing.

“When F’nor made his flight to the Red Star, he said there were roiling clouds . . .”

“There probably were,” Aivas replied easily. “In orbiting so close to Rukbat, the planet’s surface would have become heated, hot enough to melt rock and certainly causing steam from the ice that coats Thread ovoids. It can be posited that the planet itself is coated with the debris of the Oort Cloud. Steam or dust clouds of considerable density are entirely possible. That is undoubtedly what F’nor saw, not the actual surface. His memories of the event, even the abrasive injuries he and Canth sustained, bear out the supposition. At this point in its orbit, the surface has cooled, that phenomenon has subsided, and you see a sterile planet, its surface slowly freezing again.”

“Well, let’s do it!” F’lar vaulted to Mnementh’s shoulder, grabbing the riding straps to swing himself to his customary position between neck ridges.

Despite free-fall, Lessa moved more clumsily.

“How anyone can be expected to move anywhere in this sort of gear . . .” she muttered, finally settling herself in place. She had a bit of trouble snapping the riding straps onto rings lost in the folds about her middle. “Can’t see what I’m doing, trussed up like a wherry for the spit, and this helmet obscuring my sight . . .”

Jaxom grinned at her and looked toward F’lar. “Are you leading this expedition?”

Something like a growl came over Jaxom’s helmet com and he chuckled.

“Do our dragons know where we’re going?” Lessa asked. She held her suited arm up high above her head, looking first to the left at F’lar and then to the right at Jaxom; all three were concentrating on the image of that tremendous fault. “Very well, then, let’s go!” And she dropped her arm.

Jaxom counted as Ruth shifted them
between
. He remembered to continue breathing, an exercise he frequently suspended on such trips. He didn’t think of the blackness or the frightening cold of the familiar oblivion: he thought only of where they were going . . .

I know where we’re going,
Ruth assured him patiently.

. . . and how long it was taking them. Jaxom had counted twenty-seven slow seconds, seconds that seemed an eternity. He wondered if Lessa had counted when she had gone back four hundred Turns to—

And then the three dragons emerged simultaneously over a chasm that made Ruth extend his wings uselessly in an attempt to slow his entry in the light gravity and thin atmosphere.

“Aivas?” Jaxom cried, though in the next second he knew that they were too far from Aivas for any contact.

“Shards! Jaxom, we can handle this without his supervision!” F’lar roared. He moderated his tone as he went on. “There are times when I think we’ve gotten too dependent on Aivas. Slow your descent, Jaxom! We want to land on the edge, not in that bloody rift.”

Just beyond Ruth, the rift widened into a crater more immense than the Ice Lake. Jaxom’s body gave a massive shudder, and he had the most incredible feeling that he had expected to see that crater all along, though the detail had not been on the visuals. To center his wandering attention, he concentrated on the rim below him, and in the next breath, Ruth obediently glided to the hard-packed surface of the planet, his wings fully extended. Mnementh and Ramoth, necks stretched out and eyes whirling in a brilliant rainbow expressing their consternation, landed gracefully beside him.

“Quickly, now, mark those boulders . . .” F’lar pointed to the huge stone shafts that made a rim, like so many immense jagged teeth, across the mouth of the huge aperture.

“That crater’s a fine landmark,” Jaxom commented.

This place is strangely familiar
, Ruth said, walking forward to peer over the edge.

Watch it!
Jaxom warned his dragon as Ruth’s feet sank into what appeared to be a mass of oval shapes. “Look, F’lar! Thread ovoids.”

F’lar peered over Mnementh’s shoulder while the big bronze dropped his head to examine the surface under his feet. He didn’t appear particularly concerned.

“I don’t like this place,” Lessa commented. Ramoth seemed to share her distaste, placing her feet with extreme care as if she were walking through putrid mud.

“And watch that edge, too, Jaxom,” F’lar added.

Ramoth was looking straight ahead, trying to see to the other side of the gorge. Jaxom could not see the far side in the dim light available. When he looked over his shoulder toward Rukbat, he had no trouble looking directly at the dim sun, but it did give sufficient light for him to pick out details of the terrain beyond the canyon. Not that there was much to see. The surface of the Red Star was pocked and slagged, minor fissures and fractures spreading out from the immense fault across what looked more like bare rock than sand. The black chasm stretched in both directions into the tenebrous distance. Jaxom looked behind him. There were some jagged projections, from small terraces to great sheets that would have taken up most of Benden’s Bowl. An appallingly sterile landscape. Jaxom could almost feel sorry for the battered planet.