“C’mon, bilwil, let’s get out of here,” she’d murmured and kicked him sharply into a trot, heading him right at the fence, a point not far from one of the tracks through the forest.
It was a good thing Bilwil liked to jump anyhow, because she’d given him only enough room to gather himself up. But he was nimbly over and had planted his left front foot, swinging left at it in response to her pull on his mouth and her right heel as he brought his other feet down. In moments they were among the trees and quickly reached the track.
Bilwil tried once to pull to the left, to go back to the hold, but she kicked him sharply and he went right. They were far enough from the hold so that his hoof heats wouldn’t be audible - not unless someone had their ear to the ground, which was unlikely. Noses would be to the grindstones, where hers no longer was. The thought made her grin, though she was not as yet safe from discovery.
As soon as the track widened, she set Bilwil to a canter, enjoying the one activity in which she took any pleasure.
She stopped several times, to rest her own backside as well as Bilwil’s and found late berries to eat. She really ought to have snatched up the last of the breakfast cheese or even an apple or two to tide her on the way.
It wasn’t until she reached the final leg of the journey up to the Telgar Weyr that she was aware of pursuit. Or at least spied three horsemen on the road. They could well be visitors, coming for the Hatching, but it was prudent to suspect the worst. Her father could be one, and possibly Boris and Ganmar the other two. Either way, she had to get to the safety of the Weyr before they caught her up. How had they made so much time in pursuit of her? Had someone seen her after all and run to alert Lavel?
A long tunnel had been carved in the thinnest wall of the Telgar Crater as access for surface traffic. It was lit with glow baskets.
Bilwil was tired from the last long, steep climb on top of yesterday’s work. She thought she heard male voices yelling at her and kicked Bilwil into a weary trot. No matter how she used her heels on his ribs, he wouldn’t extend his stride. Then she heard the humming - as if it emanated from the walls around her. She knew what that meant and she gave a cry of despair.
After all this, she’d be too late and there wouldn’t be a dragon left for her to Impress. Even if she had been Searched. How could she possibly go back? She wouldn’t.
She knew her rights. She’d been Searched. She could stay at the Weyr until the next clutch. Anything was preferable to going back to what she’d just left. The union with Ganmar would not have been any real improvement, although she had been determined to establish a proper relationship with the young miner. He looked impressible. Her own mother had told her that there were ways of handling a man so he didn’t even know he was being managed. But Milla had died before she could impart those ways to her daughter. And Gisa, who had probably given up all thought of a second union if she had been desperate enough to partner her father, was a natural victim who enjoyed being dominated.
More hoof steps sounded in the tunnel and, desperate to reach her objective, Debera kicked Bilwil on. The gallant animal fell into a heavy canter that jarred every bone in her body but they made it into the Bowl.
Debera could see that not only was the Hatching Ground full of people, but also new, staggering dragonets But, as she got close enough, she saw there were still a few eggs. Her pursuers were catching up. She had no need to halt Bilwil at the entrance; he stopped moving forward the moment she stopped kicking him. She slid off and raced towards the Hatching Ground just as her father, Boris and Ganmar caught up, yelling at her to stop. To come to her senses…
She wrenched herself free of grasping hands just in time to reach Morath. And finally came into her own.
Now, as she made her way back to the weyrling barracks, she was as tired as she had ever been in her life and far happier! As she rattled the door in her nervousness to open it, T’dam poked his head out of the boys’ barracks next door.
“Back, are you? Well, she hasn’t moved so much as a muscle. And I don’t think you will either, will you?” She shook her head, too tired to speak. She opened one side of a door wide enough to accommodate wing-trailing dragonets and slipped inside, turning to close it after her but T’dam came in as well, reaching up to turn the glow basket open. As well he did, because Debera would have knocked into the first of the dragonet beds.
These were basically simple wooden platforms, raised half a meter above the ground, ample enough for dragons until they were old enough to be transferred to a permanent weyr apartment. The rider’s bed was a trundle affair to one side of the dragon’s, with storage space underneath and a deep chest at the foot.
She skirted the bed, relieved she had not awakened the occupant, and got to Morath’s, the next one in. And hers.
There were several items of clothing on the chest.
“Tisha sent in some other things since you weren’t able to bring any changes with you,” T’dam said. “And a nightdress, I believe. Open the glow above the bed and then I’ll shut this one.”
When she had done so, he closed the larger one and then the door behind him. Immediately he had, she examined Morath, curled tightly on her platform, wings over her eyes.
Was that how dragonets slept? Wondering at the good fortune that had happened to her this day, Debera watched the sleeping dragonet as dearly as any mother observed a newborn, much wanted child. Morath’s belly still bulged with uneven lumps from all the meat she had eaten.
T’dam had laughed when Debera worried that the dragonet would make herself sick with such greed.
“They repeat the process six or seven times a day the first month,” he’d warned her. “You’ll end up thinking you’ve spent all your life chopping gobbets until she settles to the usual three meals a day.
“But don’t worry. By the end of her first year, she’ll be eating only twice a week - and catching her own at that.”
Debera smiled, remembering that conversation and thinking that T’dam had no idea what a relief it would be to have such an easy job, the doing of which would be a labor of love and so gratefully received. She held her hand over her beloved Morath, wanting to caress this so-beloved creature but not wishing to disturb her - especially when Debera was all but asleep herself. She lingered though, despite weariness, just watching Morath’s ribs rise and fall in sleeping rhythm.
Then she could no longer resist fatigue.
She was the lone human in the weyrling barn… no, barracks.
Well, the others had their families to celebrate with.
Who’d have thought that Debera of Balan Hold would be sleeping with dragons this night? She certainly hadn’t. She slipped out of the fine dress now, smoothed the soft fabric of the green gown one last time as she folded it. It had felt so good on her body and was such a becoming color: quite the loveliest thing she had ever worn. Gisa had got all her mother’s dresses which ought by custom to have come to her.
Debera shrugged into the nightgown, aware of the subtle bouquet of the herbs in which it had been stored. Once she’d had time to gather the fragrant flowers and leaves for sachets with her mother.
She pulled back the thick woolen blanket, fingering its softness, and not regretting in the slightest the over washed and thin ones she had shared with her step-sisters. The pillow was thick under her cheek, too, as she put her head down, and soft and redolent of yet more fragrances. That was all she had time to think.
Back at the College, Sheledon, Bethany and Sydra arrived a-dragon back full of the ardent reception they’d had at Telgar Weyr.
“I don’t know why we didn’t think of Teaching Ballads before now,” said Sydra, slightly hoarse from all the singing she’d done the night before.