Энн Маккефри: The Second Weyr

A team arrived from Tarvi Telgar to set up the hypocaust system in the Hatching Ground, so the campers moved their belongings across the Bowl to what would be the living quarters. The first hearth and its chimney were built against an outside wall. Ozzie and Svenda Bonneau plumbed for and found a thermal vent, and Fulmar Stone supplied the pump and instructed his apprentices in setting the pipes that would supply the individual weyrs as well as the main living accommodations.

More cattle and other types of herd beasts that had managed to survive Threadfall in the South were added to the herd that occupied the lake end of the craters. The chickens laid, and it became a regular early-morning exercise to find where, in the sands, the eggs had been secreted. Some were left to the broody hens, but others supplied the cooks. Julie, the fourth queen rider for Benden Weyr, arrived from Big Island on her Rementh, who had finally recovered from wing scoring. Julie, who was still in a gelicast for the broken leg she’d incurred trying to dismount in a hurry to tend to her queen, announced that she’d act as domestic manager.

Then Captain Kaarvan and the Pernese Venturer dropped anchor at the mouth of Benden River, and the promised assistance from Ierne broke trail to be the first to make use of the access tunnel. The workers they supplied included masons and carpenters, and soon individual caves became proper weyrs, with partitions between dragon and rider accommodations, and even private bathrooms.

Work was also done on what would be the quarters of the two Weyrleaders, the large room that would be used for private conferences, and one below that which could be an office for the Weyrleaders.

No one minded the hard work and the long hours, because they were building for their own comfort as well as that of generations to come. So they built well and carefully.

When the Benden Weyrfolk decided that sufficient provision for them had been made, they and their dragons flew down to the Hold, which was progressing more slowly, and, used the skills they had learned to help the holders settle into their new accommodation.

The only break the Benden riders took was to attend the Hatching at Fort. That was always a glad occasion for dragonriders and could not be missed, especially when most of the sixteen hatchlings had been assigned to Benden Weyr. That provoked a complaint from F’mar, in the name of Telgar Weyr, although work on that facility had not even started.

“The next clutch will go to you, F’mar, especially as you’ve no place to put them yet but here at Fort,” Sean said dismissively.

“Young Fulmar better stop hassling Sean,” Jean murmured to the other Benden queen riders. “Especially if he keeps on acting like he’s already Weyrleader. That’s a long way from being decided.”

“But someone has to be in charge, sort of, don’t they?” Torene asked. “I mean, David. . .”

“David Caterel has the right,” Jean said firmly. “You’ve no complaints, have you?” She eyed Torene speculatively.

“Me? No. He listens to any objections, anyway,” she said, once again made conscious of the fact that although no one said anything to the point of her being Benden’s Weyrwoman, everyone knew, and tended to turn to her for decisions and opinions.

Working shoulder to shoulder, day after day, with the bronze and brown riders had given Torene a good chance to get to know them all. She liked most of them, so she supposed Alaranth would have the final say. Of the younger riders, N’klas, L’ren, T’mas, and D’vid kept as much in her company as possible. David Caterel was always courteous to her, but he treated all the women riders the same way, even Julie, whom his Polenth had last flown. Mihall had a knack of appearing when she was in trouble-like when the cutter jammed, or when she was trying to roll a heavy boulder out of the way. It got so she almost expected him to be there when she needed a hand. Some-what to her chagrin, he never lingered, but returned to whatever task he had interrupted to help her. Meanwhile, the Weyrleaders’ quarters remained unoccupied.

It was Mihall who cried “Get the queens away!” while people were finishing their midday meal. He came pounding into the lower cavern, straight up to Torene. He caught her hand and, pulling her to her feet, urged her to action. “Get your queens out of here, Jean, Llloa. Where’s Julie gone?”

Licking the fingers of her right hand, which were sticky from peeling red fruit, Torene did not resist Mihall’s urgent tugging.

“How could she go into heat without me noticing?” she cried. She had been keeping such a close watch on Alaranth-or so she had thought.

“Today, because she’s been lounging in the sun,” Mihall said, and turned her by the hand he held so that she was facing the right way. He pointed. “She’s more than just gold right now.”

Torene inhaled sharply: Alaranth, stretching legs and wings in a manner that Torene instantly identified as sensual, was gleaming a bright gold that had nothing to do with clean skin and sunlight. Mihall jerked round as Jean, Uloa, and Julie came pelting out of the lower cavern in flying jackets too large for them and helmets that were just as obviously borrowed. No time to get their own riding gear. Throwing anxious glances over their shoulders at the luminous Alaranth, the three riders scrambled aboard their own dragons.

“Look!” Mihall swiveled Torene about again so that she could see the male dragons beginning to gather on the Rim, their eyes taking on the avid orange of arousal. Their riders were converging on Mihall and Torene, and suddenly she was the focus of their awakened sensuality. Despite herself, she recoiled, tearing her hand free of Mihall’s grip. His eyes had turned an intense blue. “Remember,” Mihall said then, “don’t let her-”

“I know, I know, I know!” she cried, resenting each and every one of them for the way they were looking at her. No one had told her about this part of a queen’s mating-especially this flight, when the reward of Weyrleadership went to the winner. She backed up until she was leaning against the stone of the Weyr, her mouth gone dry, even as sweat began to ooze from her pores and a strange sensation enveloped her guts.

At her final shout, Alaranth woke completely and Torene made the mental linkage. The rock wall supported her. Not even the calm explicit recital Sorka had given her covered the depth or intensity of the emotions the dragon was feeling, much less Torene’s reluctant but inexorable response to the lust. A blood lust, first, with Alaranth aware of an insatiable hunger.

Glittering in the summer sunshine, Alaranth extended her wings and bellowed a challenge. Aware that the male dragons were watching, she turned to display her proud strong body, throwing her head back and stretching out her long neck. She retracted in the blink of an eye, arching herself, and with a graceful, powerful motion, leaped into the air. Three long sweeps of her gleaming wings, and then she was gliding down to the lake, scattering the beasts-her prey-with her hungry cries.

Blood it, Alaranth. Blood it! Don’t eat! The instructions Torene had been drilled in jumped to mind as Alaranth landed on the bullock. Blood it only! Torene kept her voice firm, stern, putting every ounce of authority into her tone.

Alaranth snarled back at the distant tense circle of humans before she tore the throat and sucked greedily at the blood.

Blood it! Hear me now! Alaranth! Torene could not give her any leeway in this. Blooding gave the mating queen the quick energy she needed: flesh would only weigh her down and she would not achieve the height required in a truly successful mating flight. Height meant safety, for dragons locked in conjugation could plummet to the ground before finishing if insufficient altitude had not been attained.