Dragonquest (Dragonriders of Pern 2)

Two warm lizard bodies pressed urgently against her neck and face, affection and worry so palpable in their thoughts it was like a physical touch.

“Brekke!” The terror, the yearning, the desperation in F’nor’s cry were louder than the inner roaring and pushed it back, dispersed its threat.

“Never leave me! Never leave me alone. I can’t stand being alone even for a second,” Brekke cried.

I am here, said Canth, as F’nor’s arms folded hard around her. The two lizards echoed the brown’s words, the sound of their thoughts strengthening as their resolve grew. Brekke clung to the surprise of their maturity as a weapon against that other terrible pain.

“Why, Grall and Berd care,” she said.

“Of course they care.” F’nor seemed almost angry that she’d doubt it.

“No, I mean, they say they care.”

F’nor looked into her eyes, his embrace less fiercely possessive. “Yes, they’re learning because they love.”

“Oh, F’nor, if I hadn’t Impressed Berd that day, what would have happened to me?”

F’nor didn’t answer. He held her against him in loving silence until Mirrim, her lizards flying in joyous circles around her, came briskly into the weyr, carrying a well-laden tray.

“Manora had to attend to the seasoning, Brekke,” the girl said in a didactic tone. “You know how fussy she is. But you are to eat every bit of this broth, and you’ve a potion to drink for sleeping. A good night’s rest and you’ll be feeling more yourself.”

Brekke stared at the young girl, watching in a sort of bemusement while Mirrim deftly pushed F’nor out of her way, settled pillows behind her patient, a napkin at her throat, and began to spoon the rich wherry broth to Brekke’s unprotesting lips.

“You can stop staring at me, F’nor of Benden,” Mirrim said, “and start eating the food I brought you before it gets cold. I carved you a portion of spiced wherry from the breast, so don’t waste prime servings.”

F’nor rose obediently, a smile on his face, recognizing the child’s mannerisms as a blend of Manora and Brekke.

To her own surprise, Brekke found the broth delicious, warming her aching stomach and somehow satisfying a craving she hadn’t recognized until now. Obediently she drank the sleeping potion, though the fellis juice did not entirely mask the bitter aftertaste.

“Now, F’nor, are you going to let poor Canth waste away to a watch-wher?” Mirrim asked as she began to settle Brekke for the night. “He’s a sorry shade for a brown.”

“He did eat—” F’nor began contritely.

“Ha!” Mirrim sounded like Lessa now.

I’ll have to take that child in hand, Brekke thought idly, but an enervating lassitude had spread throughout her body and movement was impossible.

“You get that lazy lump of brown bones out of his couch and down to the Feeding Ground, F’nor. Hurry it up. They’ll be out to feast soon and you know what a feeding dragon does to commoner appetites. C’mon now. You, Canth, get out of your weyr.”

The last thing Brekke saw as F’nor obediently followed Mirrim out of the sleeping room was Canth’s surprised look as she bore down on him, reached for his ear and began to tug.

They were leaving her, Brekke thought with sudden terror. Leaving her alone . . .

I am with you, was Canth’s instant reassurance.

The two lizards, one on each side of her head, pressed lovingly against her.

And I, said Ramoth. I, too, said Mnementh and, mingled with those strong voices, were others, soft but present.

“There,” said Mirrim with great satisfaction as she reentered the sleeping room. “They’ll eat and come right back.” She moved quietly around the room, turning the shields on the glow baskets so that the room was dark enough for sleeping. “F’nor says you don’t like to be left alone so I’ll wait until he comes back.”

But I’m not alone, Brekke wanted to tell her. Instead, her eyes closed and she fell into a deep sleep.

As Lessa looked around the Bowl, at the tables of celebrants lingering long past the end of the banquet, she experienced a wistful yearning to be as uninhibited as they. The laughter of the hold and craftbred parents of the new riders, the weyrlings themselves fondling their hatchlings, even the weyrfolk, was untinged by bitterness or sorrow. Yet she was aware of a nagging sadness, which she couldn’t shake, and had no reason to feel.

Brekke was herself, weak but no longer lost to reason; F’nor had actually left the girl long enough to eat with the guests; F’lar was recovering his strength and had come to realize that he must delegate some of his new responsibilities. And Lytol, the most distressing problem since Jaxom had Impressed that little white dragon—how could that have happened?—had managed to get roaring drunk, thanks to the tender offices of Robinton who had matched him drink for drink.

The two were singing some utterly reprehensible song that only a Harper could know. The Lord Warder of Ruatha Hold kept falling out of tune, though the man had a surprisingly pleasant tenor voice. Somehow, she’d have thought him a bass; he had a gloomy nature and bass voices are dark.

She toyed with the remains of the sweet cake on her platter. Manora’s women had outdone themselves; the fowls had been stuffed with fermented fruits and breads, and the result was a remission of the “gamy” taste that wherry often had. River grains had been steamed so that each individual morsel was separate and tender. The fresh herbs must have come from Southern. Lessa made a mental note to speak to Manora about sneaking down there. It simply wouldn’t do to have an incident with T’kul. Maybe N’ton had gathered them when he went on his “grubbing” expeditions. She’d always liked the young bronze rider. Now that she’d got to know him better . . .

She wondered what he and F’lar were doing. They’d left the table and gone to the Rooms. They were always there these days, she thought irritably. They must be cleaning the grubs’ orifices. Could she, too, slip away? No, she’d better stay here. It wasn’t courteous for both Weyrleaders to absent themselves on such an auspicious occasion. And people ought to be leaving soon.

What were they going to do about young Jaxom? She looked around, locating Jaxom easily by the white hide of his dragon in the group of weyrlings watering their beasts by the lakeside. The beast had charm, true, but had he a future? And why Jaxom? She was glad that Lytol could get drunk tonight, but that wouldn’t make tomorrow easier for the ex-dragonrider to endure. Maybe they ought to keep that pair here, until the beast died. The consensus was that Ruth would not mature.

At the other end of the long “high” table were Larad, Lord of Telgar, Sifer of Bitra, Raid of Benden Hold, and Asgenar of Lemos with Lady Famira (she really did blush all the time). The Lemos Hold pair had brought their fire lizards—fortunately a brown and a green—which had been the object of much overt interest by Lord Larad, who had a pair hardening on his hearth, and covert inspection by old Raid and Sifer of Bitra, who also had eggs from F’nor’s last find. Neither older Lord Holder was entirely sure of the experiment with fire lizards but they had watched the Lemos pair all evening. Sifer had finally unfrosted enough to ask how to care for one. Would this influence their minds in the matter of Jaxom and his Ruth?

By the Egg, they couldn’t want to disrupt the territorial balance because Jaxom had Impressed a sport dragon that hadn’t a chance in Threadfall of surviving! How could you make an honorific out of Jaxom? J’om, J’xom? Most weyrwomen chose names for their sons that could be contracted decently. Then Lessa was amused to be worrying over how to shorten a name, a trivial detail in this dilemma. No, Jaxom must remain at Ruatha Hold. She’d relinquished her Bloodright on Ruatha Hold to him, Gemma’s son, because he was Gemma’s son and had at least some minute quantity of Ruathan Blood. She certainly would contest the Hold going to any other Bloodline. Too bad Lytol had no sons. No, Jaxom must remain as Lord Holder at Ruatha.. Just like men to make a piece of work over something so simple. The little beast would not survive. He was too small, his color—who ever heard of a

white dragon?—indicated other abnormalities. Manora’d mentioned that white-skinned, pink-eyed child from Nerat Hold who hadn’t been able to endure daylight. A nocturnal dragon?

Obviously Ruth would never grow to full size; new-hatched, he was more like a large fire lizard.

Ramoth rumbled from the heights, disturbed by her rider’s thoughts, and Lessa sent a hundred apologies to her.

“It’s no reflection on you, darling,” Lessa told her. “Why, you’ve spawned more queens that any other three. And the largest of their broods is no better than the smallest of yours, love.”