Dragonsong (15 page)

She found the greens well above the tidewater, where the stream was fed by tiny trickles from the flat marshy lands through which it looped. She was greedily stuffing a handful of greens into her mouth before she really took in her surroundings. In the distance, low on the horizon, were lightning flashes against a gray sky.

Thread! Fear rooted her to the ground; she nearly choked on the half-chewed mouthful of greens. She tried to talk herself out of terror by counting the flashes of dragon fire that made a pattern across the sky: a wide, long pattern. If the dragonriders were already at work, the
Thread
wouldn’t get as far as here. She was a long way from it.

But how far away was safe? She’d just made it to the cave before that other Fall. She was too far away, run as fast as ever she could, to reach the cave’s safety now. She’d the sea behind her. Water! She’d the stream beside her. Thread drowned in water. But how deep did it fall before it drowned?

She told herself firmly that now was not the time to panic. She forced herself to swallow the last of the cress juices. Then she had no control over her legs; they took off with her and she was running, towards the sea and towards the rock safety of her cave.

Beauty appeared above her head, swooping and chittering as she caught Menolly’s fear. Rocky and Diver arrived with Mimic popping in a half-breath later. They experienced her alarm, circling around her head as she ran, calling out with the piercingly sweet tenor bugle of challenge. Then they all disappeared. Which made the running easier for Menolly. She could concentrate on where she was putting her feet.

She made diagonally for the beaches, wondering briefly if it wouldn’t be smarter to go along the shore line. She’d be that much nearer the dubious safety of the water. She hurdled a ditch; managed to keep her balance as her
left
foot twisted on landing; staggered a few paces before she found her stride again. No, there’d be more rocks on the shore, cutting down her speed and increasing the danger of a badly twisted ankle.

Two queens gleamed golden in the air above her, and Rocky and Diver were back, with Lazybones, Mimic and Brownie. The two queens chittered angrily, and the males, to Menolly’s surprise, flew ahead of her now, and high enough not to be a nuisance. She ran on.

She came to a height, and the incline robbed her of breath so that she staggered to the summit and had to drop to a walk, clutching her right side against the nagging stitch, but somehow moving forward. Ahead of her the Dragon Stones were more than knobs but too distant to reassure. One look over her shoulder at the sky bursts of dragon fire told her that the Thread was gaining on her.

She broke into a run again, the two queens gliding right over her head, and she felt oddly protected. She had her second wind now, and her stride, and felt as if she could run forever. If she could only run fast enough to stay beyond the reach of Thread … She kept her eyes on the Dragon Stones, refusing to look over her shoulder: that unnerving sight caught the breath she needed for running.

She ran as close to the bluff edge as she dared. She’d slithered down one cliff without desperate damage to herself: she’d risk it again to get into the water if she had to.

She ran, one eye on the Dragon Stones, one for the ground ahead of her feet.

She heard the whoosh, heard the fire lizards’ startled chirrups, saw the shadow and fell to the ground covering her head instinctively with her hands, her body taut for the first feel of flesh-scoring Thread. She smelt fire-stone, and felt the air heavy against her body.

‘Get on your feet, you silly fool! And hurry. Leading edge is nearly on us!’

Incredulous, Menolly looked up, right into the whirling eyes of a brown dragon. He cocked his head and hummed urgently.

‘Get up!’ said his rider.

Menolly wasted no time after a frantic look at the fire blossoms and the sight of a line of dragons swooping and disappearing. She scrambled to her feet, dove for the brown rider’s extended hand and one of the fighting strap ends, and got herself firmly astride the brown’s neck behind his rider.

‘Hang on to me tightly. And don’t be afraid. I’m to take you
between
to Benden. It’ll be cold and dark, but I’ll be with you.’

The relief of being rescued when she was
fearing
injury or death was too overwhelming for speech. The brown dragon half-ran to the bluff edge, dropped down briefly to get wing room, and then surged up. Menolly felt herself pressed against the soft warm flesh and burrowed into the hide-clad back of her rescuer, struggling for a lungful of air to ease her tight chest. She had one brief glimpse of her little fire lizards trying vainly to follow when the dragon winked into
between
.

Sweat froze on her forehead and cheeks, down her back, on her calves, her wet and ragged boots and her sore feet. There was no air to breathe and she felt she would suffocate. She tightened her hands convulsively on the dragonrider, but she couldn’t feel him or the dragon she knew she was riding.

Now, she thought with that part of her mind that wasn’t frozen in panic, she fully understood that Teaching Song. In terror, she fully understood it.

Abruptly, sight, sound, feeling, and breath returned. They were spiralling down at a dizzying height above Benden Weyr. As big as Half-Circle was, this place of dragons and dragonmen was bigger by half again as much. Why, the immense harbor of Half-Circle would have fitted with dragon lengths to spare in the Bowl of the Weyr.

As the dragon circled, she saw the giant Star Stones, and the Eye Rock, which told when the Red Star would make its fateful Passes. She saw the watch dragon beside the Stones, heard him trumpet a greeting to the brown she rode. Between her legs she felt the rumble of response in the brown’s throat. As they glided down, she saw several dragons on the Bowl floor, with people gathered about them; saw the steps leading to the queen’s weyr, and the yawning maw of the Hatching Ground. Benden was vaster than she’d imagined.

The brown landed near the other dragons, and Menolly now realized that the dragons had been Threadscored and were being treated. The brown dragon half-folded his wings, craning his neck around to the two on his back.

‘You can relax your death hold, lad,’ said the brown rider with tolerant amusement as he unfastened the fighting straps from his belt.

Menolly jerked her hands free with a muttered apology. ‘I can’t thank you enough for finding me. I thought Thread would get me.’

‘Whoever let you out of your Hold so near to Threadfall?’

‘I was catching spiderclaws. Went out early.’

He accepted that hurried explanation, but now Menolly wondered how she could make
it
plausible. She couldn’t remember the name of the nearest Hold on the Nerat side of Half-Circle.

‘Down you go, lad, I’ve got to rejoin my wing to mop up.’

That was the second time he’d called her ‘lad’.

‘You’ve a fine pace on you. Ever think of going for a hold runner?’

The brown rider swung her forward so she could slide down the brown’s shoulders. The moment her feet touched the ground, she thought she’d faint with the pain. She grabbed frantically at the brown’s foreleg. He nuzzled her sympathetically, humming to his rider.

‘Branth says you’re hurt?’ The man slid down quickly beside her.

‘My feet!’ She’d run the boots to uppers without knowing it, and her lacerated feet were bloody from toe to heel.

‘I’ll tell the world. Here we go!’

He grabbed her by the wrist, gave a practiced yank and laid her over his shoulder. As he made for the entrance to the lower caverns, he called out for someone to bring a pot of numbweed.

She was uprighted into a chair, the blood singing in her ears. Someone was propping her damaged feet on to a stool while women converged on her from several sides.

‘Hey, Manora, Felena,’ yelled the brown rider urgently.

‘Just look at his feet! He’s run them raw!’

‘T’gran, wherever …’

‘Saw him trying to outrun Thread down Nerat way. Bloody near did!’

‘Bloody’s quite accurate. Manora, could you spare a moment, please?’

‘Should we wash the feet first or …’

‘No, a cup of weed first,’ was T’gran’s suggestion. ‘You’ll have to cut the boots off …’

Someone was holding a cup against her lips, bidding her drink it all down. On a stomach empty of anything but a few blades of cress, the fellis juice acted so quickly that the circle of faces about her became a confused blur.

‘Good heavens, the holders have gone mad, going out in Threadfall.’ Menolly thought the speaker sounded like Manora. ‘This is the second one we’ve rescued today.’

After that, voices became indistinguishable mumbles. Menolly was unable to focus her eyes. She seemed to be floating a few handspans off the ground. Which suited her because she didn’t want to use her feet anyway.

Seated at a table on the other side of the kitchen cavern, Elgion at first thought the boy had fainted with relief at being rescued. He could appreciate the feeling certainly, having
been
sighted by a dragonrider as he was pelting back towards Half-Circle, fully winded and despairing of life. Now, with his stomach full of good weyr stew, his wits and breath restored, he was forced to face his folly in going outside the Hold so close to a Fall. And, more daunting to contemplate, the reception on his return to Half-Circle. Talk about disgracing the Sea Hold! And his explanation that he was searching for fire lizard eggs would not go down well with Yanus. Even Alemi, what would he think? Elgion sighed and watched as several weyrwomen carried the boy off towards the living caverns. He half-rose, wondering if he should have volunteered to help. Then he saw his first fire lizard and forgot everything else.

It was a little golden queen, swooping into the cavern, calling piteously. She seemed to hover motionless in midair, then wink out of sight. A moment later, she was diving into the kitchen cavern again, less agitated but looking for something or someone.

A girl emerged from the living cavern, saw the fire lizard and held up her arm. The little queen delicately landed, stroking the girl’s face with her tiny head while the girl evidently reassured her. The two walked out into the Bowl.

‘You’ve never seen one, Harper?’ asked an amused voice, and Elgion came out of his trance to attend the weyrwoman who’d been serving him food.

‘No, I hadn’t.’

She laughed at the wistfulness in his voice. ‘That’s Grail, F’nor’s little queen,’ Felena told him. Then abruptly she asked Elgion if he’d like more stew.

He politely declined because he’d already had two platefuls: food being the weyr’s way of reassuring those they rescued.

‘I really should be finding out if I can get back to Half-Circle Sea Hold. They’ll have discovered my absence and …’

‘Don’t worry on that account, Harper, for word was passed back through the fighting wings. They’ll let Half-Circle know you’re safely here.’

Elgion expressed proper gratitude, but he couldn’t help fretting over Yanus’s displeasure. He would simply have to make it clear that he’d been following Weyr orders, and Yanus was nothing if not obedient to his Weyr. Nonetheless, Elgion did not relish his return to the Sea Hold. He also couldn’t politely insist on going when he chose because the dragons were tired as they returned to their Weyr, Thread successfully obliterated on this Fall.

Some of the young Harper’s worst apprehensions were relieved by T’gellan, the bronze wingleader in charge of that Fall.

‘I myself told them you were safe, and a good thing, too. They were all ready to mount a search. Which, for old Yanus, is a remarkable concession.’

Elgion grimaced. ‘I suppose it wouldn’t look well to lose two Harpers in a short time.’

‘Nonsense. Already Yanus prizes you above fish! Or so Alemi said.’

‘Was he angry?’

‘Who? Yanus?’

‘No, Alemi.’

‘Why? I’d say he was better pleased than Yanus to hear you were safe and scoreless at Benden. More important,
did
you see any signs of fire lizard clutches?’

‘No.’

T’gellan sighed, stripping off his wide riding belt and opening the heavy wherhide jacket. ‘How we need the silly creatures.’

‘Are they that useful?’

T’gellan gave him a long look. ‘Possibly not. Lessa thinks them a real nuisance; but they look, and act, like dragons. And they give those narrow-minded, hide-bound, insensitive Lord Holders just that necessary glimpse of what it is to ride a dragon.
That
is going to make life …
and
progress … easier for us in the Weyrs.’

Elgion rather hoped that this had been made plain to Yanus; and he was going to tactfully suggest that he was ready to go back to the Sea Hold when the bronze rider was called away to check a dragon’s wing injury.

Elgion found the additional delay instructive. He decided he would put his observations to good use in getting back into Yanus’s favor – for he had an opportunity to see Weyr life as unsung in Saga and Ballad. An injured dragon cried as piteously as a child until his wounds were salved with numbweed. A dragon also cried distressingly if his rider was injured. Elgion watched the touching sight of a green dragon, crooning anxiously at her rider as he leaned against her forearm, while the weyrwomen dressed his Threadscored arm. Elgion saw the weyrlings bathing and oiling their young beasts, the Weyr’s several fire lizards assisting. He saw the youngsters of the Weyr refilling firestone sacks for the next Fall, and couldn’t fail to notice that they made less work of the onerous chore than Sea Hold lads would have done. He even ventured to peer into the Hatching Ground where golden Ramoth lay curled protectively around her eggs. He ducked out of sight, hoping she hadn’t seen him.

Time passed so quickly that Elgion was surprised to hear the kitchen women calling everyone in to eat. He hovered at the entrance, wondering what to do when T’gellan grabbed him by the arm and propelled him to an empty table.

‘G’sel, come over here with that bronze nuisance of yours. I want the Half-Circle Harper to see him. G’sel has one of the original clutch F’nor discovered in Southern,’ T’gellan said in an undertone as they watched the stocky young man weaving his way through the tables towards them, balancing a bronze fire lizard on his forearm.