Dragon's Fire (19 page)

“Besides,” she sobbed against his chest, “you left me. I loved you and you left me.”

Pellar let go of her hand and wrapped his free hand around her back, hugging her tight against him. He patted her soothingly. He knew he loved her, too, and he tightened his arm, but even as he did so he closed his eyes and saw a small mound with a thin bundle of yellow flowers.

Tears rolled down his face, dropped onto Arella’s cheeks, mingled with her tears, and rolled with them onto his stained blue tunic.

With Hurth’s wings, D’vin’s assistance, and Arella’s support, Pellar managed to find candidates for all the twelve other eggs that Aleesa said Aleesk had clutched.

“She’ll outlive me,” Aleesa had confessed to Arella when they were ready to leave. “And then what happens? Will you bond with the last watch-wher on Pern or let her go
between,
the last of her kind with no queen to follow?”

Arella pursed her lips tightly and shook her head indecisively.

Aleesa decided not to press the issue and turned her attention to Pellar. She gave him a piercing look, like the first look she’d ever given him but weaker, a pale imitation of the one mere months before. For the first time Pellar realized how frail the thin Whermaster was and how tired she was of her old body, how worn out and sore she felt.

“Make sure you get some joint-ail medicine, Harper,” she told him firmly, as though guessing his thoughts. “I don’t move like I used to.”

Pellar nodded and then surprised himself, leaning forward and hugging her with his good arm. Awkwardly Aleesa patted him back and then pushed him away, spreading her gaze between him and Arella.

“Go now, or it’ll be too late.”

They returned three days later. Hurth bellowed a warning that Chitter repeated in quieter counterpoint. From within the watch-whers’ cavern came an echoing response.

“You’ve reason to be proud, you know,” Arella murmured in Pellar’s ear as they spiraled down toward the ground. She was perched behind him, while D’vin was in front. She reached forward and squeezed his thigh for emphasis. Pellar nodded and covered her hand with his.

“Some of them are already here,” D’vin noted as they circled down for their landing. Above him, a dragon bugled; he peered back over his shoulder. “Those are
Benden
colors. The Weyrleader!”

Hurth suddenly lurched sideways, clearing a path for the great bronze dragon bearing Benden’s Weyrleader. As the bronze descended, Pellar caught a glimpse of three passengers: Natalon with his eyes scrunched firmly tight, Zist, and Kindan. The youngest son of Camp Natalon’s last watch-wher handler looked a little green with fear, but his eyes were wide with excitement.

“I need to get down,” Arella muttered from behind. “I need to help Mother.”

As if in response, Hurth tucked into a steep dive, backwinging only a dagger’s length above the ground and landing firmly. Arella was in motion immediately, nimbly scrambling down the dragon’s front leg. She patted him absently before darting into the crowd gathered in the hollow.

D’vin turned in his seat and said, “Pellar, I think it might be a good idea to keep you out of sight. As long as those down there don’t know that you’re here, they won’t know if you know the location of the watch-wher’s lair.”

Pellar nodded. He and Arella had bargained well for the watch-wher’s eggs, and the Whermaster and the rest of the camp would find their lives easier for Turns to come, but news of their riches would certainly spread to the Shunned, who would have the double incentive of those goods and the watch-wher eggs that could be traded for more.

“I, on the other hand,” D’vin continued, “have to mingle amongst our guests. They don’t know where this camp is, all having come a-dragonback, but Zist is hoping they’ll draw the obvious conclusion.”

Pellar quirked an eyebrow at the bronze rider. D’vin smiled and waved a finger at him. “You’re a harper—surely you’ve noticed the only Weyr not represented here?”

Pellar looked around at the other dragons, some aloft on watch, some perched on top the hill below. He found the riders and their markings—Fort, Ista, Benden, and High Reaches. Suddenly he found himself holding his sides in silent laughter. Only Telgar was not present. Any devious mind would quickly conclude that Master Aleesa’s camp was still on Telgar lands!

“So where
are
they?” Tenim shouted, angrily pounding his fist on the table. A sudden hush filled the tavern. Hold Balan had grown up as natural stopping point for barges and drays on their journey between Miner’s Hold and Campbell’s Field. The holders earned much of their trade providing the bargemen and draymen with lodgings and meals, so they were used to a raucous, constantly changing crowd. Even so, patrons turned nervously toward him. Some tossed back the last of their drinks and made their exit with indecorous haste.

Moran made calming gestures with his hands. “They’re checking.”

“Checking?
Checking?
” Tenim roared, the veins in his neck standing out like ropes. He pounded the table again, ignoring the worried expressions of the few remaining patrons and the cowed look of the owner with whom he’d already shared harsh words and short jabs, concentrating instead on Moran’s worried face. Oh, he thinks he hides it, Tenim thought, but I know. I know who’s in charge here, and it’s not this fat old fool.

“Checking,” Moran repeated firmly. “Halla’s report is from Crom; we’ve still Telgar to hear from, and Miner’s Hold to the east—who knows?”

“
We
don’t,” Tenim growled. “There’s a fortune changing hands and we don’t even know where.” He gave the harper a cunning look. “Think of the children you could help with
that
sort of money.”

Tenim smiled to himself as he saw his remark hit home. Oh yes, I know your loyalties, he thought, wondering how he could have ever thought of the older man as anything but a weakling.

Sure, it was true that Moran had found him, fed him, nursed him back to health when no others would so much as raise a hand for the son of a Shunned father and no one had the time for his spineless mother. He never wondered anymore what had happened to her; the last he’d seen of her was the night she’d turned on his father and he’d struck her down. Tenim had learned not to argue with his father at an early age; in fact, at the same time that Tenim had learned that even if she’d had a will, his mother would have never used it in his defense.

“If you hadn’t sold all the coal we’d stolen for your brats, we’d have enough now to pay for decent information,” Tenim added. “I told you to hold on to it.”

“Who would we sell the egg to?” Moran asked. He wondered again how he had come to this pass, how the boy he’d succored so long ago had turned into this sour young man, and again he remembered the many petty compromises, lies, wheedles, and thefts that the harper had made to provide the next day’s food, to feed just one more helpless mouth, make one more small difference, only to find himself repeating the effort the next day, this time to feed even more mouths with even more theft and lies.

“Anybody,” Tenim replied sourly. “Think of what we could get. They say that Tarik’s camp promised a whole winter’s supply of coal for their
chance
at an egg. What would they pay for the real thing in their hands, no questions asked?”

“Somebody would ask questions,” Moran protested. “There aren’t that many watch-whers—”

Tenim cut him off. “What makes you so certain? Why would they care where it came from?”

“I suppose they might not,” Moran said, unwilling to press the point. “Not that it matters—we don’t know where they are. The eggs might have been distributed already.”

Tenim snorted. “If they had, then Tarik would have told us.” He took a sip of his ale. “You didn’t hear how much he complained about the waste.” He frowned thoughtfully and took another long pull on his drink, then threw it back altogether, draining the mug and slamming it on the table. He rose and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Moran asked. “We have to wait for the rest of the children.”

Tenim snorted. “You wait if you want. I know where one egg will be, and I know what’ll be paid for it. I’ll get that for certain.”

“There’s an egg left,” Aleesa announced as the last of the party left.

“Is there anyone else who wanted to trade?” D’vin asked Pellar. Pellar thought for a long moment before shaking his head. He stifled a yawn, gave everyone a sheepish look—which grew deeper as others yawned in succession—and then shook his head again firmly to be certain he was understood.

“Aleesk won’t move until the last egg’s gone,” Aleesa told the others.

“If she doesn’t move, there’s a good chance you may be found out by some of the Shunned,” D’vin replied.

“So now we’ll see the worth of a dragonrider’s word,” Jaythen responded, eyeing the bronze rider challengingly.

For a moment it looked as though the young dragonrider would respond to Jaythen’s barb, then D’vin relaxed and smiled. “Yes, you will.”

Aleesa slapped Jaythen on the arm. “You apologize, Jaythen. They’ve kept their word and more.”

Jaythen’s jaw clenched as he locked eyes with the dragonrider. Then he drew himself up to his full height and gave D’vin a low bow. “Aleesa’s right, dragonrider. You’ve done everything you’ve said you would; I had no call to doubt you.”

D’vin waved the apology away. “We’ve all been working hard, we’re tired.”

“It’s not just that,” Jaythen replied as he stood up. “We—” He waved a hand to include Aleesa, Arella, and the rest of the wherholders. “—have had to be wary for so long that it’s hard to trust anyone.”

“No problem, I understand,” D’vin told the man, his eyes full of warmth at Jaythen’s candor and integrity.

“I think it
is
a problem, bronze rider,” Jaythen disagreed mildly. “We have fewer friends when we treat them like enemies.”

“Hmm, I imagine that’s so,” D’vin replied. He held out his hand to Jaythen. “Will you be friends with a rider from High Reaches?”

Jaythen nodded and took the hand, shaking it firmly.

“There’s still an egg left,” Arella reminded them. “If we’re to trade, we’ll need to act fast.”

Aleesa shook her head. She looked over to Pellar. “That boy, Kindan, he was a worthy lad,” she said. “If his egg doesn’t hatch, we’ll give him this one.”

“And what if his egg hatches, Mother?” Arella demanded.

Aleesa sighed. “Then the hatchling will decide what’s necessary.”

Arella and Jaythen both paled, and Pellar looked inquiringly at them.

“It’ll go
between,
” Arella explained.

“Forever?” D’vin asked, aghast.

Arella nodded.

Aleesa looked Pellar straight in the eyes and said, “You go, be sure that egg hatches, and come back to help us move and keep your part of the bargain.”

Pellar nodded. D’vin gestured for the harper to follow him. In moments Pellar was airborne, and an instant later,
between.