F’nor dutifully sympathized as he lay back on the silky furs of his bed. The scar on his arm itched a little and he rubbed it.
Oil is for itching skin, said Canth. Imperfect hide cracks in between.
“Be quiet, you. I’ve got skin, not hide.”
Grall appeared in his room, hovering over his chest, her wings wafting cool air across his face. She was curious, a curiosity with slight overtones of alarm.
He smiled, generating reassurance and affection. The gyrations of her lovely jewel-faceted eyes slowed and she made a graceful survey of his quarters, humming when she discovered the bathing room. He could hear her splashing about in the water. He closed his eyes. He would need to rest. He did not look forward to the afternoon’s endeavor.
If the grubs did live to eat Thread, and if F’lar could maneuver the scared Lords and Craftsmen into accepting this solution, what then? They weren’t fools, those men. They’d see that Pern would no longer be dependent on Dragonriders. Of course, that’s what they wanted. And what under the sun did out-of-work Dragonriders do? The Lords Holders Groghe, Sangel, Nessel, Meron and Vincet would immediately dispense with tithes. F’nor wouldn’t object to learning another trade, but F’lar had relinquished their tentative hold on the southern continent to the Oldtimers, so where would dragonmen farm? What commodity would they barter for the products of the Crafthalls?
F’lar couldn’t be under the impression that he could mend that breach with T’kul, could he? Or maybe – well, they didn’t know how large the southern continent was. Past the deserts to the west or the unexplored sea to the east, maybe there were other, hospitable lands. Did F’lar know more than he said? Grall chirruped piteously in his ear. She was clinging to the fur rug by his shoulder, her supple hide gleaming golden from her bath. He stroked her, wondering if she needed oil. She was growing, but not at the tremendous rate dragons did in the first few weeks after Hatching.
Well, his thoughts were disturbing her as well as himself. “Canth?”
The dragon was asleep. The fact was oddly consoling.
F’nor found a comfortable position and closed his eyes, determined to rest. Grall’s soft stirrings ended and he felt her body resting against his neck, in the curve of his shoulder. He wondered how Brekke was doing at the High Reaches. And if her small bronze was as unsettled by Weyrlife in a cliff as Grall. A memory of Brekke’s face crossed his mind. Not as he had last seen her, anxious, worried, rapidly mobilizing her wits to cope with moving so precipitously after T’kul had swooped down on the unsuspecting settlement. But as loving had made her, soft, gentled. He’d have her soon to himself all to himself, for he’d see that she didn’t over extend herself fighting everyone’s battles except her own. She’d be asleep now, he realized, for it was still night at High Reaches . . .
Brekke was not asleep. She had awakened suddenly, as she was accustomed to doing in the morning, except that the dark stillness around her was not simply that of an inner room in the weyr cliff, but was full of the soft solitude of night. The fire lizard, Berd, roused too, his brilliant eyes the only light in the room. He crooned apprehensively. Brekke stroked him, listening for Wirenth, but the queen was sound asleep in her stony couch.
Brekke tried to compose herself back into sleep, but even as she made her body relax, she realized it was a useless attempt. It might be late watch here at High Reaches, but it was dawn in Southern, and that’s the rhythm her body was still tuned to. With a sigh, she rose, reassuring Berd who rustled around anxiously. But he joined her in the pool – bath, splashing with small vehemence in the warm water, utilizing the superfluous suds from her cleansing sands to bathe himself. He preened on the bench, uttering those soft voluptuous croons that amused her. In a way, it was good to be up and about with no one to interrupt her for there was so much to be done to settle the weyrfolk in their new habitation. She’d have to plan around some of the most obvious problems. There was little fresh food. T’kul had gratuitously left behind the oldest, scrawniest bucks, the worst furnishings, had made off with most of the supplies of cloth, cured woods, leathers, all the wine, and managed to prevent the Southern folk from taking enough from their stores to make up the deficits. Oh, if she’d had even two hours, or any warning . . .
She sighed. Obviously Merika had been a worse Weyrwoman than Kylara, for High Reaches was in a bad state of disrepair. Those Holds which tithed to High Reaches Weyr would be in no mood to make up the differences now. Maybe a discreet word to F’nor would remedy the worst of the lacks. . . No, that would suggest incompetency. First, she’d inventory what they did have, discover the most pressing needs, see what they could manufacture themselves . . . Brekke stopped. She’d have to adjust her thinking to an entirely new way of life, a life dependent on the generosity of the Holds. In Southern, you had so much to work with. In her father’s Crafthall, you always made what you could from things to hand – but there were always raw materials – or you grew it – or did without.
“One thing certain, Kylara will not do without!” Brekke muttered. She had dressed in riding gear which was warmer and less hampering if she was to delve into storage caves.
She didn’t like the pinched-faced Meron Lord of Nabol Hold. To be indebted to him would be abhorrent. There must be an alternative.
Wirenth was twitching as Brekke passed her and the dragon’s hide gleamed in the darkness. She was so deeply asleep that Brekke did not even stroke her muzzle in passing. The dragon had worked hard yesterday. Could it really have been only yesterday?
Berd chirped so smugly as he glided past the queen that Brekke smiled. He was a dear nuisance, as transparent as pool water – and she must check and see if Rannelly was right about the Weyr lake. The old woman had complained bitterly last evening that the water was fouled – deliberately; maliciously fouled by T’kul.
It was startling to come out into crisply cold air with the pinch of late frost in the early hour chill. Brekke glanced up at the watchrider by the Star stones and then hurried down the short flight of steps to the Lower Caverns. The fires had been banked but the water kettle was comfortingly hot. She made klah, found bread and fruit for herself and some meat for Berd. He was beginning to eat with less of the barbarous voracity, and no longer gorged himself into somnolence.
Taking a fresh basket of glows, Brekke went into the storage section to begin her investigations. Berd cheerfully accompanied her, perching where he could watch her industry.
By the time the Weyr began to stir, four hours later, Brekke was full of contempt for past domestic management and considerably relieved about the resources on hand. In fact, she suspected that the best fabrics and leathers, not to mention wines, had not gone south with the dissenters.
But the lake water was indisputably fouled by household garbage and would have to be dredged. It wouldn’t be usable for several days at least. And there was nothing in which water could be transported in any quantity from the nearby mountain streams. It seemed silly to send a dragon out for a couple of bucketsful, she reported to T’bor and Kylara.
“I’ll get kegs from Nabol,” Kylara announced, once she had recovered from ranting about T’kul’s pettiness.
While it was obvious to Brekke that T’bor was not pleased to hear her solution, he had too much else to occupy his time to protest. At least, Brekke thought, Kylara was taking an interest in the Weyr and some of the responsibility.
So Kylara circled out of the Bowl, Prideth shining golden in the early morning sun. And T’bor took off with several wings for low-altitude sweeps, to get familiar with the terrain and set up appropriate watch fires and patrol check points. Brekke and Vanira, with the help of Pilgra, the only High Reaches Weyrwoman to stay behind, settled who would supervise which necessary duties. They set the weyrlings to dragging the lake, sent others for immediate supplies of fresh water.