Dragon's Fire (49 page)

Pellar nodded and began to pull armloads of the rocks away.

“You think he’s there?” Halla asked as soon as she’d recovered. She stepped up opposite him and began to throw stones away. She stopped when she caught sight of something shiny among the coarse, red rock. Thinking it was odd, she quickly pocketed it, then returned to her work.

A little while later, Pellar encountered hair. He rapped two rocks together to get Halla’s attention and pointed. Wordlessly she came around to where he was and began to help.

In moments they uncovered a head.

“I
know
him!” Halla cried. “That’s Cristov.”

Pellar nodded and bent over the face, clearing the smallest dirt away. He pressed his ear close to Cristov’s mouth and then looked up at Halla, alarmed. Then, to her surprise, he leaned over again and parted Cristov’s lips, put his own mouth over Cristov’s and blew a death breath.

“Pellar!” Halla exclaimed disgustedly. “Eww.”

Pellar paid her no attention, looking instead at Cristov. He repeated the movement. This time Cristov coughed and sputtered.

“Stay still!” Halla ordered. “You’re in a landslide.”

Quickly Pellar and Halla dug Cristov’s chest out from under the loose rock. It took more effort and more care to extract his legs.

Finally, Pellar motioned for Halla to stand back and gestured that he would pull Cristov out.

“No, I won’t,” she declared firmly, eyeing the rocks above them. “We’ll do this together.”

Pellar pursed his lips angrily in response, and Halla stuck her hands on her hips and glared in return. Pellar gave her one last angry look, sighed, shook his head regretfully, and gestured for her to come help.

Together, slowly, they pulled Cristov out from the landslide. When he was far enough out, Halla moved to his legs and picked them up. Cristov groaned painfully.

“I’m sorry,” Halla told him, “but we’ve got to get you away from here.”

“My rock,” Cristov cried through clenched teeth.

“Shh,” Halla told him soothingly. “We can find you plenty of rocks.”

Cristov was in too much pain to argue. They went about twenty meters before Pellar gestured to Halla to set the boy back down.

“I’ll get some water,” Halla said, moving quickly to the campsite.

Pellar was kneeling beside Cristov when she returned.

“Am I dead?” Cristov asked Halla.

“No,” Halla replied testily.

“But
he’s
dead,” Cristov said, pointing to Pellar.

Halla shook her head and opened the flask. “Here, drink this.” When Cristov complied, spluttering a bit on the water, she looked at him and said, “There, do you think dead people cough when drinking?”

Cristov thought for a moment and shook his head. He winced at the movement. Pellar laid a hand on his head and glanced up to Halla, shaking his own head.

“Pellar says that you shouldn’t move your head,” Halla told him, her tone implying that she expected that Cristov had already figured that out himself.

“You can talk to him?” Cristov asked in wonder.

Halla shook her head. “No, but it’s easy to guess what he means.”

Pellar shot her a penetrating look and broke into a huge grin.

“My rock,” Cristov said. “We must find it.”

“There are plenty of rocks,” Halla repeated soothingly. “We can look when you’re better.”

“No, we’ve got to find it,” Cristov responded, his face twisted in irritation. “If not, we’ll have to go back to the Southern Continent to get another.”

“What sort of rock is it?” Halla asked in surprise. “And what were you doing in the Southern Continent?”

“Looking for firestone,” Cristov explained.

“But you’ve found it already,” Halla said. Her brows drew close. “You weren’t hoping to find it in that sandstone, were you?”

“Yes,” Cristov said. “That’s where we found it before.”

“Sandstone?” Halla repeated dubiously. “But firestone explodes in water.”

“Not this firestone,” Cristov replied. “It doesn’t burn in water. It’s what the fire-lizards eat, and they find it on the shore in the Southern Continent.” He frowned. “I’ve got to find that sample.”

“What’s it look like?” Halla asked.

“It’s a blue-green crystal,” Cristov told her. “There’s usually some sandstone around it.”

Halla fished in her pocket. “Like this?”

“That’s it!” Cristov cried, reaching for it. Halla gave it to him readily.

“But there’s loads up there,” she said, waving her hand back up toward the landslide. “That was just the smallest piece.”

Cristov’s eyes widened and he looked at Pellar for confirmation. The young harper nodded. A mixture of joy, relief, and impatience crossed Cristov’s face.

“We’ve got to tell the Weyr,” he exclaimed. Of Halla he demanded, “How much was there? How quickly can we get it?”

Pellar shook his head and pointed at Cristov’s legs. Halla guessed his meaning and said, “We’ve got to take care of you first.”

“No,” Cristov cried, “we’ve got to tell the Weyrs! Until we prove this is the right firestone and there’s enough, they’ll still try to mine the old firestone.”

Pellar and Halla exchanged worried looks.

“All we have to do is find the blue-green rock?” Halla asked, an idea forming in her mind.

“Yes,” Cristov agreed.

Halla gave Pellar a questioning look; he nodded.

“We’ll do it,” Halla said.

“Any luck?” B’ralar called as D’vin strode into the Kitchen Caverns.

D’vin pulled a face, shaking his head while filling a mug with
klah
from the kettle left on the warming stove. “Nothing in Tillek,” he said. “I tried Hold Balen as well, but found no likely lads there, either.”

“We’ve twenty-three eggs and only nineteen solid candidates,” B’ralar said, frowning.

“Perhaps B’neil will have better luck,” D’vin suggested.

B’ralar made a sour face. “His Danenth is nowhere near as good as Hurth at spotting candidates,” he said. “I don’t think there will be more than two sevendays before the Hatching.”

“I can go out again, if you’d like,” D’vin suggested. He started to say more but stopped, clearly listening to his dragon. When he spoke again, he was already moving, dropping the mug of
klah
on the nearest table. “Pellar’s found Cristov. Cristov’s injured.”

“Go,” B’ralar said, waving him off. “I’ll let Sonia know.”

D’vin waved acknowledgment as Hurth descended from his perch to retrieve his rider.

“No broken bones this time, either,” Sonia said to Cristov when he woke the next morning to find himself tucked once again in the High Reaches Weyr infirmary. She smiled at him. “I think you do this just to spend time with me.”

Sonia’s hand descended on his chest as soon as Cristov tried to sit up. “And again, you’re trying to move too early,” she added with a sigh. She shook her head at him. “You’re going to rest for a while.”

“How long?” Cristov demanded petulantly. “I found the firestone—we’ve got to mine it.”

“I know,” Sonia replied, smiling. “Everyone’s talking about it. Alarra was furious that you’d found it before she could get back out again.”

“I still am,” Alarra snarled from a bed just out of Cristov’s sight in another alcove of the infirmary.

“You’ll be on your feet soon enough,” Sonia assured her. “And, if you’re good, we’ll give you crutches in another sevenday.” Cristov looked startled, so Sonia explained, “We had to take her crutches away because she was doing too much on her feet.” She shook her head wonderingly. “What is it about you miners? It’s not as though you don’t have time.”

“But we don’t,” Cristov protested, his words cutting across a similar protest from Alarra. “A Weyr needs forty tonnes of firestone a week when fighting Thread.”

Sonia shrugged.

“This new firestone isn’t as dangerous as the old firestone,” Cristov continued in response. “We could mine it now and build a stockpile.”

“And have it ready before Threadfall?” Sonia asked.

“Maybe even have some in reserve,” Alarra called.

“But we need to start
now,
” Cristov groaned, leaning back in his bed.

“I think you’re going to be a worse patient than you were the last time,” Sonia muttered ruefully.

As the days passed, Sonia discovered that her prediction was more than accurate. S’son, her father and the Weyr’s Healer, would steel himself every day to enter the infirmary and deal with the two impatient miners.

“
You
can go tomorrow,” S’son told Cristov the evening of his third day at the Weyr, “provided you agree to do no work.”

“What’s the point then?” Cristov demanded.

“You can supervise,” Sonia told him.

“There’s no one to supervise,” Cristov snapped.

Sonia merely smiled and rose from her place beside him. “In that case, you can wait until you’re healed,” she said. As she stood in the doorway, she called over her shoulder, “What should I say to D’vin?”

Cristov schooled the sour look from his face. “Please tell him that I’d like to go back at first light.”

“Are you sure?” Sonia asked. “There’s a Hatching soon. You don’t want to miss that.”

“What’s the use of a dragon if it can’t flame?” Cristov demanded, shaking his head irritably. “I’ll do my duty and mine firestone.”

Sonia turned back to face Cristov, eyeing him cryptically and saying, “There are other ways to serve Pern, you know.”

Cristov grimaced. “This is the one I know.” He remembered his father’s sour comment from Turns back. “It’s what I’m fit for.”

The look Sonia gave him was pitying. “If you say so.”

“There’ve been some changes since you were last here,” D’vin warned as they descended through the morning mist.

Cristov couldn’t imagine that Pellar and Halla could have done all that much in the four days he’d been gone, however hardworking and dedicated the two seemed to be.

The mist thickened into fog as they settled into the valley. Cristov was surprised that Hurth could find the ground, let alone a safe place to land, but the dragon landed without even a bump.

“I can’t stay,” D’vin apologized. “We’ve more eggs on the Hatching Grounds than candidates, so I’m still on Search.”

“Good luck,” Cristov said. D’vin gave him an odd look and started to say something, but shook his head and said instead, “Good luck to you, as well.”

Cristov was alone in the foggy valley, the sun a dim dot just above the horizon. He stopped to catch his bearings, then started in surprise as he heard noises in the distance. The creak of a loaded cart on rails, the distant sound of bellows, the even fainter but unmistakable noise of picks against rock—the whole valley was filled with the noise of work.

“Cristov?” a voice called from the fog. A small figure resolved from the shadows. It was Halla. She smiled when she saw him. “Pellar says you’re not to work,” she warned him. “But we need you—”

“I’m sure I can do something,” Cristov told her.

“Not to work,” Halla said, shaking her head. “We need your advice.”

Cristov cocked his head in inquiry. Halla sighed and grabbed his hand, dragging him after her and saying over her shoulder, “It’s best if we show you. Come on up to the mines.”

“Mine,” Cristov corrected. “Unless you’ve got more than one, it’s just a mine.”