The Skies of Pern (33 page)

M’rand nodded enthusiastic agreement. “Well, Bargen brought ’em all up to work hard so that he’d have a choice when it comes time for him to quit holding.”

“Which is why we’re here, Lessa, F’lar,” Pilgra said, sitting forward on the edge of her seat. “We want to step down.”

“Four good Wingleaders who know every bit as much as I do about Threadfall,” M’rand added in a rush. “Weyr’ll follow any one of them. Three good strong queens and a young one not yet old enough to mate. So we want to go south. Found a place down there in Cathay, when we were helping after the Flood. Small bay, protected east and west, not a big holding but don’t want a big one. Got four to five weyrfolk want to warm their bones along with us. Wanted to ask you, can we?”

“Can you?” F’lar regarded him with surprise. “Of course you can. You and Pilgra have done more than your share of flying, in this Turn and the old one.”

“You don’t think we’re deserting?” Pilgra directed her question to Lessa, her face screwed with anxiety.

“By the Egg, no.” Lessa leaned across the space between them and patted Pilgra’s hand, noticing the brown spots and the puffiness of her fingers holding the glass.

“Segrith hasn’t had any of the old urgings to fly,” Pilgra went on, adding, “though she’s clutched every two Turns since we got here.”

“With at least fifteen eggs and all living to fly. I wonder you’ve any space left in the Weyr.”

“Well, it’s space another queen can fill from now on,” Pilgra said with a touch of asperity. “M’rand wants to see the Pass out but …” and she raised one hand in a helpless gesture.

M’rand cleared his throat, leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Did hope to, F’lar, not many get the chance, you know.” His grin was a brief echo of his former vitality and charm. “But, after seeing the place in Cathay, what with R’mart stepping down, I thought maybe, with three queens available and I’ve got some fine bronze riders, we might … well … go south and get warm!”

“You don’t have to ask our permission, you know,” Lessa said gently, smiling with genuine gratitude. “You didn’t have to come Forward from your own time to help F’lar and me during this Pass.”

“ ‘That was twice decided,’ ” M’rand murmured softly, quoting the old Question Song. “We came because that was what we’d done, had to do, did.”

“And, for thirty-one Turns, we’ve been grateful for your splendid generosity,” Lessa said.

M’rand demurred with a chuckle. “Wasn’t having as much fun in the Interval. I was young enough to accept the challenge. Now I’m old enough to think R’mart was right. We got you started and now we can retire in good faith. Of course, he still wants to be
in
a Weyr. Ourselves, we’ve been in one too long and Pilgra and I’d like to be by ourselves. Not,” and he held up a hasty hand, “that you can’t call on us and our dragons whenever you need to!”

“Now, if you’re trying to get us to argue you into staying in that cold Weyr of yours, you’ve come to the wrong ledge,” F’lar said, with an amused tilt to his mouth. He flicked one hand at M’rand. “Go, rider, and enjoy a well-deserved rest. May it take you into the next Interval.”

“You mean that?” Pilgra turned to Lessa, eyes wide.

“Who thinks this is wrong?” Lessa wanted to know. And when both exchanged uncertain glances, she went on. “Let me guess: G’dened.”

“Well, he’s the oldest of us,” Pilgra said.

M’rand cleared his throat. “Stubborn, too, won’t let go at Ista because he’s been at that Weyr—” He paused to guffaw. “—a half a hundred Turns and he knows all there is to know about leadership and Fall.”

“One can appreciate such a sense of loyalty,” Lessa said after a moment, and smiled. “Tenacity, too, and dedication, sense of purpose, perfectionism.”

F’lar dropped his head, looking away from Lessa who was being outrageous and sounding so sincere.

Pilgra caught it first, blinking with astonishment as Lessa found a few more similar adjectives. Then M’rand roared with laughter, which turned into the hacking cough.

“Go before you die of the cough and get done out of your ease,” Lessa said sternly.

“But—but—”

“Four good bronze Wingleaders? Let each one lead in turn during the next Falls until a queen rises,” F’lar said pragmatically. “You’ll be available for any problems. In fact, it’ll take you time to step down even after you have. Now where’s this splendid cove in Cathay? Did you think to get—ah, you did,” he went on as M’rand withdrew a folded paper.

“Got Master Idarolan to do the map work for me. He’s good at that.” M’rand offered it to F’lar, once again the decisive leader, and a very relieved man. “I don’t know which is better to have, map readings or your dragon knowing where to go.”

Lessa had had a woodsmith make a cabinet with long, deep drawers where they could store the documents and charts that displayed chosen sites in the southern continent. The fact that the Weyrleaders controlled such dispositions rankled with many but, after heated debate in the Council, that had been agreed. What had also been stipulated was that each new holding had to be self-sufficient and had to have instructions about the dangers, as well as the advantages, of life in the south.

F’lar found the chart, flipped it to the worktop, angled M’rand’s map, and found the coordinates.

“You’re not asking for very much.”

“Don’t need much, and it’s one in the eye for Toric,” M’rand said.

Pilgra and Lessa came over as F’lar was outlining the new hold with a silver marker, reserved for dragonriders.

“A hundred square meters?” Lessa exclaimed. “A patch!”

“The nicest patch you could imagine,” Pilgra assured her stolidly and started to describe the amenities. “There might even have been an Original Settlement there. Stones piled, like they finally fell, and just where you’d get a marvelous view of the sea below. All kinds of trees and it was so warm for First Month.”

“There really aren’t that many holdings allotted there yet, are there?” M’rand said, surprised.

“More than there were,” Lessa said, “and far fewer than there will be when certain folk can make up their minds.” She favored her mate with a dour look.

“More than I expected,” Pilgra said with a sweeping glance of the chart. “That isn’t all of Southern there is.”

“No, it’s not,” F’lar said, tapping the drawer. “That’s just the Cathay area, eight degrees to ten degrees longitude, fifty to twenty latitude. From the aerial photos on the Aivas scale, so they’re big enough to delineate holds. I’ll send the official register down to Admin.” He opened another drawer and took out the register documents, which he tossed back inside. Opened a third, smaller one and took out a form. “This’ll be your Deed.” He riffled the side to show there were several pages. “I’ll just fill it in, Lessa and I will sign it, and get it witnessed by the Weyr harper and perhaps Manora or G’bol and the holding’s yours.”

M’rand blinked. “Just like that?”

F’lar grinned. “You’re Weyrleaders. You’re entitled to your choice and require no further Council authorization.” He leaned over the worktop, filling in the form, printing quickly but legibly, M’rand watching him.

“But it takes other people so much longer?” Pilgra asked, cocking her head to one side, her expression concerned.

“Other people take only as long as fulfilling the requirements of emigrating do,” Lessa said. “Proof of being reliable people from hold or hall, with sufficient skills to survive in what can be hazardous terrain—where predators are bigger than the largest tunnel snakes they’d encounter here in the north—and a definite area where they will establish a new hall or hold. It’s no more
than was required by the original Charter, and that’s another reason why it’s important that everyone
knows
what’s in the Charter.”

“I did remind you of that, Pilgra,” M’rand said, regarding his weyrmate with a jaundiced look. “People can get some ridiculous notions, listening to drunken Gather talk.”

F’lar accorded that a grumble, checking from map to form to be sure he had the longitude and latitude correct to minutes and seconds. “That’s why the harpers keep—you’ll excuse the pun—harping on the subject of reading and understanding the Charter.”

M’rand started to chuckle; it turned into a hard coughing spasm. Anxiously Pilgra handed him the rest of his liqueur and Lessa rushed into her room, coming back with a dark brown bottle and a spoon.

“Here! Take a dose of this. It’s reinforced with something Oldive found in the Aivas files to reduce just the sort of hacking cough you have.” She measured and gave him the dose. “Not that getting into the sun won’t correct it in short order.”

F’lar finished the official Deed, separated the copies, and shoved one with M’rand’s original little map into a plastic sleeve. While M’rand was recovering his breath, the Benden Weyrleader presented the Deed to Pilgra with a bow. “Take him there today.”

“Today?” Pilgra was as breathless as M’rand, Deed clutched in her hand.

“Certainly. What else were you going to do on such a miserable day? Get your weyrfolk to pack up what you need for a few days: plan there, ‘in the warm,’ ” and Lessa pointed southward, “what else you’ll need.”

“Go? Today?”

“Think what a pleasant surprise it’ll be to your Wingleaders and the junior queens,” Lessa said, eyes bright and wide and far too innocent. When Pilgra looked unhappy, she added more solicitously, “Oh, they’ll miss you because you’re both good-hearted and fair. But who would fault you?” She shook her as Pilgra took a breath. “And don’t say old leather-face G’dened. Cosira has her work cut out soothing his injured feelings. D’ram’s not likely to gripe. Living in Cove Hold has put Turns on his life. You’re both
popular leaders but I cannot imagine anyone faulting you for going, and making the break quick.”

F’lar says if we go with them
, Mnementh told Lessa,
it will stifle any complaints G’dened might make. He adds, don’t think you’ll get him to retire so easily
.

Not when he’s twenty Turns younger than M’rand and G’dened. I expect your rider to finish the Pass with me!
Lessa replied stoutly.

And me!
Ramoth said.

“We’ll come with you,” Lessa said out loud, brightly, as if she had just thought of it.

“That’s a better way to spend a miserable evening than anything you’ve come up with, Lessa,” F’lar remarked, knowing perfectly well he would pay her a forfeit later for such a remark.

T
aking into consideration the difference of time between western High Reaches and eastern Ruatha, the Benden Weyrleaders had plenty of time to assist M’rand and Pilgra in their hurried departure south and get back to Benden for a late supper. In the interval, they had supported M’rand and Pilgra in his explanations to their Wingleaders and queen riders, organized the men and women who were to accompany them south, and allowed M’rand a hurried conference with his Wingleaders, some of whom had trouble concealing relief and anticipation. Pilgra, too, spoke to her queen riders (the youngest one obviously upset and the older three eyeing each other speculatively, since the first one to fly to mate would be the new Weyrwoman). For Lessa, that was great fun and for F’lar a chance to assess the bronze riders.

M’rand is right. F’lar agrees that there are four well-experienced men who can take over immediately
, Mnementh told Lessa.

Which queen?
she asked the bronze.

Yasith
, Ramoth said so firmly that if Mnementh had a different candidate, he did not now mention her.

Lessa kept her opinion to herself. Yasith’s rider was Neldama, weyrborn in High Reaches twenty-five Turns before, and twelve Turns younger than the oldest of the queenriders. So she was of this Pass, which, in Lessa’s estimation, meant fewer problems.
Not exactly a pretty girl—attractive enough to rate a long look from F’lar—with green eyes that looked right at a speaker and a considerate, sensible manner as she set about collecting the items that Pilgra said she’d want to pack.

M’rand fretted over how to inform three main Lord Holders and the most prominent minor ones of his sudden departure.

“It would be courteous, but it’s only a formality. ‘Due to continued ill health, in the best interests of the Weyr and the Holds that look to High Reaches for protection from Threadfall during a Pass.’ ” F’lar rattled off the phrases. “A change of Weyrleadership is
our
—” he rocked his hand to indicate the four of them, “—business.”

“It’s not as if the whole Weyr is retiring,” Lessa said just as Neldama and Curella, the oldest queen rider, brought in mulled wine and small hot savories to be served in the Weyrwoman’s quarters. “And it’s not as if you haven’t traveled between both continents before. Be easy, Pilgra, M’rand. This time you’re doing what’s best for you!”

Of the other two Oldtimer Weyrleaders remaining in control, G’narish of Igen was flexible enough in his mind to accept suggestions while G’dened of Ista was nearly as contrary as R’gul had been. All the Weyrs needed to look ahead to After. G’dened gave her the impression that he didn’t even consider After. He certainly wasn’t suggesting to any of his riders that they would have to look to their own support once this Threadfall was over and the traditional tithing of Hold and Hall no longer appeared on a regular basis.

“If one more person asks me ‘what are dragonriders going to do about things that fall out of the sky on us or how we’re going to keep the sky from falling on them,’ ” F’lessan said with a great deal of bitterness to Tai, “I’ll—I’ll tell Golanth to drop him,
or
her,
between
.”

He stood up, stretching to ease his back muscles from bending over to plant saplings around Benini’s cothold. The dwelling, a
sprawling extended family site, had lost its roofs from the tsunami winds. Mud, sand, and debris had been dug out of hold and beasthold; the structures had been soundly built twelve Turns before and could be repaired. The large family—by craft, herders, Benini himself a Journeyman—were out early and late, hunting strays that had been scattered inland ahead of the wave. Redfruit trees and the giant fronds, which had amazing vitality and could be trimmed to provide windbreak, had once shaded the hold. Paradise River had offered new starts of both, as well as young fellis saplings.