All the Weyrs of Pern (32 page)

Golanth’s sharp eyes spotted unnatural outlines on a slight prominence, not far from where a wide river had worn a deep gorge from the outer sea to the inner one. F’lessan wasn’t sure about ruins, but he had to accept that wide steps had been cut in the palisade face. Someone had wanted an easy access to the lakeshore. Golanth landed neatly beside his alleged ruins. Looking around, F’lessan at first thought the dragon had been mistaken in seeing any shape whatsoever beneath the heavy vegetation.

This is not natural,
Golanth insisted, tapping a vertical thicket of twisted vines and moss. Extending his wing, he hooked a wingfinger claw on a twisted branch and pulled away the obscuring greenery. As myriad creatures scuttled away from exposure to the sun, F’lessan found himself looking at a tall chimney of worked stone. So the rest of the ruin had to be the remains of the walls of a dwelling.

F’lessan shook his head for those foolish enough to build with so much vegetation all around them, making them twice as vulnerable to Thread. Taking a meatroll from his pouch, he ate as he walked around the hold walls, using his belt knife to scrape down to long-hidden dressed stone. It would have been a large dwelling. Golanth had shouldered his way into the thick forest and was calling his rider to inspect more ruins.

“Sizable place all right enough,” F’lessan said, kicking at some rubble. “Xanadu, huh!” He turned back to the main building, snagging a ripe redfruit from a hanging limb as he walked. Chewing the juicy fruit, he contemplated the prospect of sea and distant shore that the original inhabitants must surely have enjoyed. Magnificent! If there hadn’t been Thread to worry about, it would have been an endlessly beautiful vista. “We’ve another place to investigate, Golanth,” he said abruptly, throwing off a sense of regret on behalf of those long-dead holders.

He asked Golanth to wheel over the site so that he could imprint the details in his mind for future visits. If—no, F’lessan corrected himself defiantly,
when
Pernese skies were Threadfree, this would be an admirable situation for an open-air weyr.

Golanth caught an updraft that put them quickly back into the westerly current. They had a long way still to go. Shielding his eyes, F’lessan glanced at the lowering sun and then, berating himself for his forgetfulness, looked at his wristwatch. Four more hours until dusk. Not that flying at night bothered Golanth, nor would it be the first night F’lessan had curled up in a bed made by his dragon’s forepaws, but if they didn’t hurry, F’lessan wouldn’t see what he had flown all this way to lay his eyes on.

They flew onward, Golanth’s wings tirelessly carrying them, until the great Southern barrier range developed from a pale lavender smudge to vast purplish blue massifs, dominating the horizon.

Bi-i-ig—
F’lessan drawled the adjective—
mountains! Higher than anything we have in the North until you reach the Icy Wastes.

The air would be very thin up there,
Golanth observed.
Will we have to cross them?

I don’t think so.
F’lessan rummaged in his jacket pocket for the map Aivas had printed out for him. It flapped so badly in the wind of their passage that he had trouble reading it.
No, this Honshu holding is in the foothills below the real range. We’re just not close enough to distinguish them.

The last of the brilliant sunset illuminated the general area of their destination. Only because sharp-eyed Golanth saw a line of herdbeasts ambling through a wide doorway in the foot of the cliff did they locate Honshu.

Are you sure you saw what you said you saw?
F’lessan asked in surprise.
Surely they would have taken their beasts with them when they left.

Maybe wild ones found the way into a place of safety,
Golanth suggested. Speeding up his wing strokes, he reached the foot of the sheer cliff just as the last of sunset drained from western skies.

There was no mistaking the wide track worn smooth by usage that led to the cliff face and through a wide entrance angled into the cliff. Peering inside, F’lessan coughed at the stench of the place. High in the walls, window slits did not give him light enough to see much—and the smell alone was enough to discourage investigation. The herdbeasts bawled in surprise at his entrance and milled anxiously deeper into what he guessed was an immense cavern. Choking and with eyes streaming from the intense ammoniac smell, F’lessan backed out. Leaning against the cliff, he breathed deeply of the fresh evening air.

“Looks like you found me Honshu, Golanth,” he said, running his hand up the beasthold entrance. “This was cut as neatly as a hot knife in cheese. Just like Fort Hold and the Weyr—when the ancients still had power for their stonecutters. So this has to be Honshu.” His fingers also located a door, neatly retracted into the wall. “They left the door wide open, after all. Well, Golanth, let’s find us a place to camp for the night. A fire would be right cheerful on a black night like this. I don’t know if those big felines Sharra and Piemur talked about range this far south, but . . .”

No feline would challenge me!

“Not one who wishes to see tomorrow,” F’lessan said with a laugh as he peered into the dark for someplace to settle down.

Follow me,
Golanth said, and ambled to the left of the cliff face.

“You’re better than a torch.” F’lessan followed, taking care not to tread on his dragon’s tail.

Dead wood was easy enough to find, and rocks to contain a fire, so very shortly F’lessan was comfortably settled against Golanth’s shoulder, munching on his travel rations and sipping some Benden wine he had talked Manora into putting in his bottle. Then, because there was little else to do, F’lessan unrolled the fur that padded Golanth’s neck ridge, nestled himself snugly between Golanth’s forelimbs, and went to sleep.

He woke up just as the eastern skies were brightening. Enough embers remained from his fire to be coaxed back into sufficient warmth to allow him to heat his morning klah and break his fast with a warm meatroll. Golanth ambled down to the river and drank deeply.

This will be a good place to swim—once the sun is up,
he said with the air of an expert.
And the cliff a good place to warm after a swim. The sun will catch the stone and radiate heat.

F’lessan grinned as he sipped his hot klah.
You
have
been learning a thing or two from listening.

Only the things that make sense to me.

Then F’lessan heard the low bleating and moaning of the animals sheltering in the hold.

Stay there, Golanth, or the animals won’t come out, and I want to investigate this place.

I don’t mind if I do,
Golanth replied equably,
but they have nothing to fear for I am not hungry yet.

Somehow I doubt they’d believe you, dear heart.
F’lessan made a second cup of klah and then kicked dirt and gravel over his little fire lest the smell of burning wood alarm the beasts.

He did not have long to wait. Once the sunlight hit the entrance, the animals—which proved to be of more than one species of herdbeast—began to file out, ready for a day’s browsing or grazing. Most of those had younglings at foot. Not stirring a muscle, F’lessan watched the exodus. Only when all had made their way down the track, spreading out on their separate ways, did the bronze rider approach the opening.

“Faugh!” The reek still discouraged F’lessan from entering—the dung had accumulated to the level of midthigh in some places. Holding his breath, he stuck his head in. The cavern was huge, as far as he could tell in the patches of early-morning light that filtered in through the high windows. It was then that he noticed a flight of steps to his right.

Golanth! I’m going in. There’re steps here.
Drawing his collar across his nose and mouth, F’lessan darted toward the steps and ran up to the first landing, where he stopped. There, to his right, was a large door that had once been secured by a lock, now a rusted shell that fell into dust at his touch. He pushed open the door and stood on another landing, from which steps led down to a large, high-ceilinged room. Window slits let in barely enough light to make out a bulky object, half a dragon length in size, which appeared to be covered.

I’ve found some sort of an ancient artifact!
he told Golanth as he took the steps two at a time in his excitement.

The covering was of ancient manufacture, soapy and slick to the touch once he brushed aside the film of dust that had turned a bright green fabric to gray. Flipping a corner up, F’lessan peered at the unmistakable prow of a vehicle. Struggling to uncover more of the incredible object, F’lessan recognized it from some of the tapes Aivas had shown them as a sled, one of the larger sort.

Just wait till Master Fandarel and Benelek see this thing, Golanth! They’ll go spare!
F’lessan crowed with delight and anticipation at the stir this beauty would cause. He rolled more of the cover back, noticing how carefully the craft had been stored by its owners and wondering why they had left it behind.
No more fuel to fly it, probably.

It’s a cumbersome-looking thing,
Golanth remarked.

Don’t worry, love, I’d never trade you in for one of these. Cranky things from what the records tell us. Always needing to be serviced and have parts replaced. Don’t have that worry with a dragon.
F’lessan laughed heartily at the thought of the Smithcrafters swarming over the sled—for all the good it would do them. Still, it was quite a relic to find lovingly stored away. So few of the settlers’ everyday implements had been discovered. Then he noticed the racks of dust-shrouded tools on the wall, a pile of empty plastic sacks such as the settlers had used to store all manner of items, and, under layers of fine dust, plastic containers in the settlers’ favorite bright colors.

Well, when I tell Aivas what we’ve found, he won’t be so upset,
F’lessan added.
So I’d better survey the whole place for a complete report. Aivas respects complete reports.

Then he bounded up the steps to the landing and proceeded on upward. He noticed that there were piles of dung on some of the steps and muddy hoof marks that, fortunately, ended at another closed door.

This one slid back into the wall—not without some grunting and shoving on F’lessan’s part. Having achieved a wide-enough gap to squeeze through, he stepped onto yet another landing, with stairs leading down to a huge cavern—a workroom, to judge by the variety of tables and cabinets. Slightly amazed, he identified both a forge and a huge kiln, as well as workbenches. And there he saw his first signs of a hurried departure, for some cabinet drawers were half out of their slides and there were odd cartons, not quite lidded shut, on three work surfaces. He didn’t go down to investigate further, for yet another flight of stairs led up to a higher level.

I’m moving up in the world, Golanth, with more marvels to report to Aivas. Oooowhee, but this place is a treasure trove. The people may have left, but for once they didn’t take much with them. Robinton and Lytol are going to be fascinated!

Golanth’s response was a deep grunt that echoed in F’lessan’s ears; laughing at his dragon’s lack of enthusiasm, the bronze rider galloped eagerly up the steps.

Nor was F’lessan disappointed. The door on this level opened onto what had to be the main entry to the hold. Through a graceful archway, he could see into what must have been the central living area. For the first time, he felt like an intruder as he stepped into the immense room, and he stopped in the doorway. He heard the slither of tunnel snakes, retreating from his presence. Peering into the room, he could distinguish little beyond shrouded forms in the darkness, but he could see the thin lines of light around window apertures.

Retracing his steps to the hall, he threw open the wide double leaves of the main door, blinking at the brilliance of the early-morning sun. The hold faced northeast, as a southern hold should, and an early breeze ruffled the thick cushion of dust on the floor. With that light to help him, he found the windows, which were set far above his head; he also found the long pole that opened them. He had opened five of the ten large windows before his eyes fell on the space above them.

Golanth! You should see this! It’s amazing!

See what? Where are you now? Is there room for me?

“I—th—think so.” F’lessan heard his own stammer echo back from the vaulted ceiling, a ceiling that had been decorated in brilliantly colored murals that had lost nothing of their brightness. And he now knew part of the story they depicted. “This ought to shut up the doubters—an independent verification of what Aivas told us!” he murmured, more to himself than to Golanth, as he gave the walls a fleeting glance before beginning a more studied perusal. So involved did he become with the mural scenes that it took him a moment to realize that the scrabbling noise he heard was Golanth’s claws on stone.

This door is not wide enough for me,
Golanth said, sounding distinctly annoyed. F’lessan glanced around and stifled a guffaw. Golanth had got head and neck through the opening, but not his massive shoulders.

“You’re not stuck, are you?” the bronze rider asked solicitously.

They could have made the door a little bit higher and wider, since they made it as big as they did.

“I don’t really think they had dragons of your size in mind when they built it, Golanth. But can you see the murals? There’s even a scene about dragons—right overhead. Oh, you can’t quite see it, but these murals are amazing. There are panels for every major event—” F’lessan pointed out the appropriate panels as he explained. “The actual landing in the shuttle craft; the ones in Ship Meadow; and yes, there are sleds just like the one down below; and the building of holds, and people working the land, and then Thread. They did that panel too graphically. Turns my stomach just to look at it. They’ve got lots of sleds, and smaller craft, and flamethrowers and—ah, high up in the ceiling, they’ve even got Rukbat and all its planets. If only we’d found this place a long time ago . . .” F’lessan was silent a long moment, his eyes moving from one beautifully painted panel to the next. “They’ll all want to see this place,” he said at length with infinite satisfaction. “We did good, Golanth, dear heart. And we were first here!”