Dragon's Fire (40 page)

D’gan nodded back and waved D’vin away.

The High Reaches folk were slow to leave their charges, their concern visible on their faces, but in short order they were arrayed once more behind the dragonriders who had brought them. The dragons leapt aloft, formed the wing, and vanished
between.

Halla was already heading away from the valley by the time the High Reaches weyrfolk departed. She’d learned what she needed to know. As she turned north and west, scanning for the heavily loaded workdray’s tracks, she reflected that she could leave Tenim to the dragonriders, that this was not what Lord Fenner had asked her to do, and that Tenim was much larger and more dangerous than she. But she would find him. A cry from one of the injured behind her strengthened her resolve. She lengthened her stride.

CHAPTER 8

H
IGH
R
EACHES
W
EYR

S
o D’gan’s mine was destroyed,” B’ralar said, looking up from his position at the head of the Council Room. “And he complained when you arrived with aid?”

“Yes,” D’vin said. He was still surprised at the speed of events since the destruction of firestone mine #9.

The Weyrleader chuckled. “And all the while he’d been telling us he had no more firestone.”

D’vin smiled. “We haven’t been too frank with him, either.”

B’ralar grinned and nodded. “It seems just as well now,” he said. “And it seemed a better idea when we didn’t know how your miners would perform.”

“Not as well as D’gan’s men,” D’vin observed. “We’ll need a lot more trained men before we start to see a tonne a day.”

“They got that much?” B’ralar asked, sounding impressed.

“As near as I can tell,” D’vin replied. “I talked with Toldur and Cristov about it.”

B’ralar gave D’vin an inquisitive look.

“They said that it was possible to mine that much in a day, but they were concerned that it would require a lot of risks.”

“Hmm,” B’ralar said. He looked at his wingleaders. “So High Reaches is now the only Weyr that has a firestone mine on its lands.” He snorted. “Imagine how D’gan’ll feel when he finds out.”

The wingleaders grinned.

“I’m worried about this Tenim,” D’vin said. “He seems a dangerous character, and he’s willing to use firestone in a way we’ve never considered.”

“We should catch him as soon as possible,” B’ralar agreed.

“What do we do then?” D’vin asked, his voice tinged by the memories of the burned and injured miners. Worse, more than half of the miners had perished—including Tarik.

B’ralar pursed his lips in thought for a moment. “Let’s capture him first, then we’ll decide.”

The others nodded in assent, and B’ralar assigned his patrols. The meeting broke up, and the wingleaders marched out briskly to issue their orders.

“D’vin, wait a moment,” B’ralar called as D’vin rose to leave.

D’vin turned back and looked at the elderly Weyrleader expectantly.

“It’s not enough,” B’ralar said slowly, “for a Weyrleader to fight against Thread. A Weyrleader needs to chart a course Turns ahead, yet be prepared for any eventuality.”

“For which I am glad that I’m not a Weyrleader,” D’vin replied with a grin.

“One thing a good Weyrleader does is keep a close eye on all potential Weyrleaders,” B’ralar said. “For the good of the Weyr.”

D’vin shook his head. “Weyrleader, I wish you a long and happy life.”

B’ralar laughed. “I accept and will certainly aim for it.” He grew more somber. “But my days are numbered just as any other man’s.” He caught D’vin’s eyes and held them. “Don’t forget what I said, and don’t do anything you might come to regret later.”

D’vin bowed his head in acknowledgment. Then, with an inquiring look, he asked if he could leave. B’ralar waved him away, shaking his head at the waywardness of youth.

Toldur and Cristov were surprised when D’vin arrived at their camp, and grim when he explained his purpose.

“Well, we’re safe enough here,” Toldur declared after a moment’s thought. “We’ve well water, and our firestone is stored in a well-built stone shed.”

“He could still destroy the mine,” Cristov objected. The news of his father’s real death after all the months he’d spent thinking that Tarik was already dead was something he hadn’t yet fully absorbed, and he was determined to bury himself in his work to avoid the issue for as long as he could.

“Only if there’s no one guarding it,” Toldur said.

“We should consider starting another mine,” Cristov said. “Maybe training some others to do the work so we can mine more firestone.”

Toldur shook his head. “I can’t imagine who would volunteer, especially after news of Tarik’s mine gets out.”

“But how will the dragonriders train?” Cristov demanded, gesturing to D’vin and his riders. “And if they don’t train, what will happen when the Red Star returns?”

“Oh,” D’vin said demurely, “I think the dragons might enjoy a short break from firestone.” Behind him, Hurth rumbled approvingly. He turned back to the mine. “How are you doing?”

“Well enough,” Toldur said. “But Cristov’s right: Two people can only mine so much in a day, even with all the help your weyrfolk are providing.”

Cristov looked chagrined and mumbled something about “sorry.”

“You’ve no need to apologize,” D’vin replied fiercely. “You and Toldur have done excellent work. If more miners would—”

Cristov coughed and Toldur gave the dragonrider a pained look.

“What?” D’vin asked.

Toldur squared his shoulders before replying, “We sent messages to Masterminer Britell asking for more miners.”

“Did you? That’s excellent.”

Toldur shook his head. “The Masterminer said that there were no takers.”

“And that was
before
this news about the other mine,” Cristov added.

“And,” Toldur said, “before you ask, dragonrider, none of your weyrfolk have volunteered either.”

D’vin nodded and propped his chin in his hand, resting one arm on top of the other across his chest.

“We’ll think of something,” he declared finally.

“They can start at mine number ten,” D’gan declared. “If that doesn’t work, they can start at old mine number nine.”

“Weyrleader, none of the survivors who’ve remained are fit to stand, let alone work,” healer K’rem told him.

D’gan shot a venomous look at L’rat, the wingleader charged with guarding the camp. “Have you found any of them yet?”

Miserably, L’rat shook his head. “No, Weyrleader. Our riders have spread out all over and have had no luck so far.”

D’gan fumed. “If we hadn’t spent so much effort on the injured, we could have guarded the able well enough to keep them from running away.”

“I don’t think they would have worked even under pain of firestoning,” L’rat said, spreading his hands in surrender.

“Well, you let them get away so we’ll never know, will we?” D’gan retorted scathingly. He waved a hand at L’rat. “You lost them, you’ll find their replacements. We’ll need two dozen to start with.”

“But my lord, the holders say that there are no Shunned left in any hold,” L’rat protested.

“Find some,” D’gan ordered. “
Make
some. Goodness knows those useless holders are always up to something.”

L’rat drew breath to protest but D’gan startled him into silence, shouting, “Well, what are you standing about for? Go get more workers!”

L’rat nodded reluctantly, cast a pleading glance at the Weyr healer, who refused to meet his eyes and departed after sketching a quick bow to D’gan.

“We
have
to have firestone,” D’gan said to himself. He looked up at K’rem for support. “Without it, all Pern is doomed.”

“Yes, my lord,” K’rem agreed, “but I can’t help wondering if there isn’t an easier way to get it.”

The pounding that woke Sidar up was more welcome than the figure he found standing in his doorway.

“Are you insane?” he hissed angrily. “All Pern is looking for you!”

Tenim smiled and forced his way past the other man, heading to the hearth to warm his hands. “And how much of Pern is looking for firestone?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Firestone?” Sidar exclaimed incredulously. “They’re getting enough from the mine at High Reaches.”

Tenim was glad he had his back to Sidar, for he could feel his face drain of all color. “High Reaches?”

“Yes, you fool,” Sidar snapped back. “Tarik’s brat has been mining up there ever since that last Gather.”

“Really?” Tenim asked, turning to face Sidar, his features once more composed and calm.

“Really,” Sidar said. He grabbed Tenim by the collar and pulled him off his stool, shoving him toward the door. “Now get out, you’re no longer welcome here.”

Tenim turned back to face the older man. “Not welcome?” he asked, looking crestfallen. “After all we’ve done?”

“Come back and my heavies will deal with you,” Sidar promised.

“I wouldn’t want that,” Tenim said agreeably. He slung his pack off his shoulder and fished in it for something. “Seeing as you’ve been such a good friend, I’ve got something for you. Call it a going-away gift.” He looked around and spotted a jug. “In return all I want is some water.”

Sidar eyed him warily and backed away until he saw what Tenim had pulled out—a rock.

“It’s just a rock,” Sidar said. “Why should I trade water for that?”

Tenim threw the rock at him and the older man caught it reflexively. Tenim stepped over to the jug and filled a mug.

“No ordinary rock,” Tenim responded smoothly. “That’s firestone.”

Sidar eyed him warily and then the rock speculatively. “It’s not worth my water,” he growled. “You’d best leave.”

“It’s quite valuable,” Tenim continued in the same smooth tone.

Sidar snorted derisively.

“You don’t like my gift?” Tenim asked, sounding sad.