Энн Маккефри: The Second Weyr

For her part, she treated them all alike, and no one knew if she’d any experience at all. She didn’t because she was romantic enough, though she knew that would surprise many, to want her first time to be very special. She wanted to really like the man. She was being too picky perhaps; then, too, she knew all the most likely men too well now to see any of them in a sexual way. Except possibly Mihall, but only because she didn’t know him at all and knew far too much about his reputation. She’d become skillful in evading answers and importunities. Sometimes, to tease, she’d mention one or another of the apprentices at Telgar Hold whenever she’d been to visit her parents and sibs.

Actually, she liked F’mar best of them all, with his good humor and pleasant good looks, though she’d never give him any encouragement. He might just try joining her in her tight squeeze of a weyr. It was just as well that she was in such an uncomfortable weyr, she reflected. Everyone knew she slept right beside her queen-warmer that way, anyhow. Two human bodies wouldn’t fit, and she wasn’t about to be seen leaving a male rider’s weyr-or caught hiding if she chose to be in one.

When they reached the kitchen cavern, Tarrie and Yashma Zulieta were supervising the carving up of the carcasses. It was much too late in the day to have spit-roasted the whole sides, which was the usual way of preparing meat in quantity. Torene knew they’d have several meals from all this mess. Good big meaty animals. Well, the grass at Longwood had produced many a fine meal for the Weyr when Fort’s supplies ran short.

It was indeed a fine meal. While comestibles like flour, dried beans and legumes, and dairy produce were provided by Fort now, the dragonriders could add to the bare necessities by going between to the southern continent and returning with fruits, fresh vegetables, and herd animals. Slowly but surely, the task of provisioning the Weyr was being handled by the Holds so, one way or another, the dragonriders often ate far better than holders. That, and the glamor of being a dragonrider, were reasons why so many young people were ready to take their chances on the Hatching Ground even though their parents might have had other careers in mind for their children. In the early days, Sean and Sorka had been forced to act rather autocratically in demanding enough boys and girls to stand on the Hatching Ground, especially older boys, who would be mature enough to fly in Fall as soon as their dragons were old enough. Gradually, however, to have a son or daughter become a dragonrider became a mark of prestige for a family. Although birthrates had been high the first six years at Fort Hold, there were only so many available to stand as candidates now. Lately they’d had to include preadolescents, to be able to present enough of a choice to the hatchlings.

With eggs hardening on the Ground and Hatching quite near, the Weyr was presently hosting candidates. They were, Torene noted, the ones that came back for seconds and thirds of the juicy steaks. Not that she blamed them. She remembered her stomach rumbling far too often in the days when she had lived at home. There were not that many days when food was scarce-for a dragonrider.

And, if one happened to find a fire-lizard’s clutch in the southern sands, a rider could barter eggs for anything he or she desired. That was one unhappy aspect of living north: there were fewer and fewer of the lovely creatures·looking to humans. They didn’t seem to like the colder climate. Early on, hundreds had augmented dragon fire during Threadfall. Now that number had dwindled to a couple of pairs.

That was how Ierne Island had managed to hold out so long against coming north. The shores of Longwood, Lockahatchee, Uppsala, and Orkney were fire-lizard havens, and every man, woman, and child had dozens to help protect them during Fall. At least the proposed site for Longwood and Orkney personnel would be warmer than the double crater: they’d keep their fire-lizard friends that much longer.

When Torene’s kitchen duties finally allowed her to rejoin her friends, they talked more about the fine eating than about their afternoon activities. Torene didn’t mention her encounter with Sean, but she did notice the Weyrleader glancing over in her direction from time to time. The second time she observed his casual glance, she spoke to Alaranth; she concentrated that little bit harder, but Carenath was fast asleep.

He didn’t ask him anything all night, volunteered Alaranth also sleepily.

Probably because he remembers that I can hear.

No, Sean asked Carenath his opinion of some of the candidates. It would be good for Dagmath’s rider to have some of his own persuasion.

Torene considered that. The blue rider preferred boys to girls. And Sean would prefer to have fewer of the speedy little green dragons out of action because their riders were taking maternity leave.

Are there any prospects in that line? Torene asked.

Three.

Torene grinned. Now that was certain to please the Weyrleader.

“Who’s the grin for?” F’mar asked. He was sitting beside her and now leaned heavily against her shoulder.

“For me to know and you to guess,” she replied in a singsong voice.

“You’re not giving anything away, are you?” He sounded irked. “You did go to the craters today, didn’t you?”

“Sure, but that conversation had been gnawed to the bone by the time I got here,” she replied. “It would really make such a splendid Weyr. . .” She gave a wistful sigh.

“I think,” F’mar whispered in her ear, his breath tickling, “that Sean’s about to do something about establishing a new one.”

“You do?” She pulled back to look at him with an eager surprise which was genuine enough.

F’mar bent close again. “Sean wasn’t hunting all the time he was gone.”

“He wasn’t?” Torene used that as an excuse to widen the distance between them, to foil yet another of F’mar’s heavy-handed ploys.

“I think,” F’mar said, putting one hand to the side of his face and lowering his voice so that only she could hear, “that he’s busy making some deal with the Langsams and the Mercers at Ierne.”

“Oh, so they’d be happy with the lower site and leave the higher one for us?”

He nodded.

“You could be right,” she replied, imbuing her tone with hope. “Oh, good, music! The perfect end for such a meal!”

She used that opportunity to slip away from F’mar completely, hauling the penny whistle from a thigh pocket as she joined the other players.

Torene always woke early on a Fall day, even if Fall wasn’t until afternoon, as it was today over Fort and parts of Boll.

Rumors had been flying yesterday. The dragons were as bad as the people, repeating their riders’ stories, adding supporting details based on the occasional odd statement by Sean or Sorka, or even what one of the bronzes who had gone south had to say about suspected meetings with the Longwood and Orkney stakeholders. Torene listened and wondered if she ought to report some of the more implausible theories to the Weyrleaders. Then she decided against it. There was no need to tell tales out of turn. And the prospect of a new Weyr raised spints often full of jitters before any Fall, especially one over occupied lands.

As was his custom, Sean sent riders ahead to watch for the leading Edge and check the composition of today’s Fall. It would begin halfway across Big Bay, coming in over the port area-where the dolphins would swarm for the good eating and to provide what help they could. Then the Fall would sweep southwesterly across Fort and Boll lands and down the other side of the mountain range. Over the last year the Weyr had, at Pierre’s request, extended its protection to that area, too, for Boll folk were spreading out, making small holds under the jurisdiction of the larger.