“He’s a troublemaker from way back,” Tashvi said, absently shifting his feet on the hot sands.
Zulaya gestured for them all to leave the Hatching Ground.
Despite the extra lining she’d put in her boots this morning, she was uncomfortable standing there, and Tashvi was wearing light pull-ons.
“And it’s not that he doesn’t have other daughters,” said Salda, taking her husband’s arm to speed up his progress.
“He’s got upwards of a dozen children and had two wives already. At the rate he’s been making these arrangements of his, he’ll have himself sufficient land among his relatives to start his own Hold. Not that anyone in their right mind would want him as a Lord Holder.”
They paused outside the Ground now. Adroitly, Zulaya and K’vin chose a position so that they could also keep a weather eye on the newly-hatched, who, with the help of their riders, were rapidly devouring the piles of cut meat prepared for their initial feeding.
Debera’s situation was unusual. Most families were glad enough to have a child chosen on Search, because of the advantages of having a dragon rider in the family: the combination of the prestige accrued to the Bloodline as well as the availability of transport.
Listening to the vitriol in Lavel’s criticism of Weyr life upset both Weyrleaders and Lord Holders. It was true that certain customs and habits had been developed in the Weyrs to suit dragon needs, but promiscuity was certainly not encouraged.
In fact, there was a very strictly observed code of conduct within the Weyr. There might not be formal union contracts but no rider reneged on his word to a woman, nor failed to make provision for any children of the pairing. And few Weyrbred children, reaching puberty, left the Weyr for the grand parental holds even if they failed to Impress.
Right now, the festivities had already started in the Main Cavern, with the instrumentalists playing a happy tune, one that reflected the triumph of a successful Hatching. Although the new riders were still feeding their dragons or settling them into the weyrling barracks, once the sated dragonets fell asleep the new dragon men and women would join their relatives.
Zulaya wondered if she should remind Lavel that the female riders were housed separately from the males. He obviously had no idea at all how much care a new dragonet required from its human. Most days the weyrlings fell into bed too exhausted to do anything BUT sleep. And had to be rousted out of their bunks by the Weyrlingmaster when they failed to respond to their hungry dragons’ summons.
The young lad, Ganmar, sulked, looking decidedly uncomfortable in his present situation. Zulaya doubted that his heart was the least bit broken by this turn of events. Of course, if he had to work with that father of his building a new hold, maybe a pretty girl to bed at night would have been a major compensation.
“What I should like to know,” Salda was saying, “is why Debera arrived here so late, on her own and with you evidently in hot pursuit.”
“You realize, of course,” and the stern expression in Salda’s eyes was one Zulaya knew well, “that we - Lord Tashvi and I - would not be at all pleased to find that Debera has been denied her holder rights.”
“Holder?” Lavel snorted and then moaned as the injudicious movement caused him pain. “She’ll not be a holder now, will she? She’ll be lost to us for ever, she will.”
“And any chance of bagging her legal land allotment,” Salda said with mock remorse. Lavel growled and tried to turn away from the Lady Holder.
“You’ve claimed more than most as it is. I trust Gisa is in good health? Or have you got yet another child on her? You’ll wear her out the same as you did Milla, you know. But I suppose there are women stupid enough to fall for your ever-increasing land masses. Ssshish,” and Salda turned from him in disgust. “Get him out of my sight. He offends me. And sullies the spirit of this occasion.”
“He’s not so wounded he can’t travel,” the medic said helpfully.
“Travel?” Boris exclaimed, pretending dismay as he had glanced in the direction of the Lower Cavern where the roasts were being served.
“I could find him a place overnight,” Maranis began hesitantly.
Just then four young weyrfolk led up the visitors’ horses which they had recaptured.
“Ah, here are your mounts, Boris,” Zulaya said. Let us not keep you from a safe journey home. You should easily make it back before dark. Maranis, give Lavel enough fell juice to see him to his hold.
“Lads, help him mount. Come, K’vin, we’re overlong congratulating the happy parents.”
She linked her right arm in K’vin’s and her left with Lady Salda and hauled them along across the Bowl.
“A very good Hatching, I’d say,” she began, without a backward look at the three dismissed holders. Nineteen greens, fifteen blues, ten browns and seven bronzes. Good distribution, too. Good size to the bronzes as well. I do believe every clutch produces dragons just slightly larger than the last.”
“Dragons haven’t yet reached their design size,” K’vin said, answering her lead. “I doubt we’ll see that in our lifetime.”
“Surely they’re big enough already?” asked Salda, her eyes wide.
Zulaya laughed. “Larger by several hands than the first ones who fought Thread, which will make it all that much easier for us this time round.”
“You know what to expect, too,” Tashvi said, nodding approval.
Zulaya and K’vin exchanged brief glances. Hopefully, what they could expect did not include unwelcome surprises.
“Indeed we have the advantage of our ancestors in that,” K’vin said stoutly.
Zulaya gave his arm a little squeeze before she released him and strode to the first table where the families of two new brown riders were sitting. K’vin continued in with Salda and saw her and Tashvi settled at the head table, where he and Zulaya would join them after they’d done their obligatory rounds of the tables. Then, making a private bet with himself, he started at the opposite end of the wide Cavern.
By the fourth stop, he had won his bet: news of the unusual Impression of the last green dragon was already circulating.
“Is it true,” the holder mother of a bronze rider asked, “that that girl had to run away from her hold?” She, and the others at this table, were clearly appalled at such a circumstance.
“She got here in time, that’s what’s important,” K’vin said, glossing over that query.
“What if she hadn’t come?” asked one of the adolescents, her expression avid. “Would the dragon have…”
She stopped abruptly - as if she’d been kicked under the table, K’vin thought, suppressing a grin.
“Ah,” he said, bridging the brief pause, “but I’m sure you saw that other lads crowded round, ready and willing. The dragonet would have chosen one of them.”
That was not exactly true. Which was why every Weyr had more than sufficient candidates on the Ground during a Hatching. Early on, the records mentioned five occasions when a dragonet had not found a compatible personality. Its subsequent death had upset the Weyr to the point where every effort was then made to eliminate a second occurrence, including accepting the dragonet’s choice from among spectators.
There were also cases where an egg did not hatch. In the early days, when the technology had still been available, necropsies had been performed to establish cause. In most of the recorded instances, there had been obvious yolk problems, or the creature had been misformed and would not have survived Hatching. Three times, however, the cause of death could not be established as the foetus had been perfect, with no apparent deficiency or disability. The message was handed down to dispose of such unhatched eggs between immediately: a duty performed on such rare occasions by the Weyrleader and his bronze.