He’d taken the trouble to go to Hegmon’s Benden vineyard, with the clear intention of buying cases of the vintage. But Hegmon had refused to see him. Oh, his eldest son had been apologetic - something about a critical time in the process requiring Hegmon’s presence in the caverns - but the upshot was that Chalkin couldn’t even get his name put down on the purchase list for the sparkling wine. Since Benden Weyr was likely to get the lion’s share of it, Chalkin had to keep in good with the Benden Weyrleaders so that, at the Hatching which was due to occur in another few weeks, he’d be invited and could drink as much of their allotment of wines as he could.
More than one way to skin a wherry!
He paused to twirl one of the bottles in its ice nest. Almost perfectly chilled. Riders must have brought the ice in from the High Reaches for Paulin. Whenever he needed some, he couldn’t find a rider willing to do him, Bitra’s Lord Holder, such a simple service. Humph!
But of course, certain Bloodlines always got preferential treatment.
Rank didn’t mean as much as it should, that was certain!
He was surreptitiously inspecting the label of a bottle when there was a sudden, startled intake of fearful breaths from the watchers, instantly followed by a wild cheer. Looking up, he saw he had just missed some sort of dangerous maneuver Ah, yes, they’d done another mid-air rescue. He saw a bronze dragon veering from under a blue who was miming a wounded wing: both riders now safely aboard the bronze’s neck. Quite likely that Telgar Weyrleader who was such a dare-devil.
Cheers were now punctuated with applause and some banging of drums from the bandsmen on their podium down on the wide courtyard that spread out from the steps to the Hold down to the two right-angled annexes. Once again, both the infirmary and the teachers’ college were being enlarged, if the scaffolding was a reliable indication. Chalkin snorted, for the buildings were being extended outward, wide open to any Thread which was purportedly supposed to start falling again. They really ought to be consistent! Of course, tunneling into the cliff would take more time than building outside. But too many folks preached one thing and practiced another.
Chalkin grunted to himself, wondering acidly if the architects had got Weyrleader approval for the design. Thread! He snorted again and wished that Paulin, chatting so cozily with the two Benden Holders as he and his wife escorted them back to the head table, would hurry up.
He was dying to sample the bubbly white.
Rattling his fingers on the table, he awaited the return of his host and the opening of the tempting bottles in the cooler.
K’vin, bronze Charanth’s rider, put his lips close to the ear of the young blue rider sitting in front of him.
“Next time wait for my signal!” he said.
P’tero only grinned, giving him a backward glance, his bright blue eyes merry.
“Knew you’d catch me”, he bellowed back. “Too many people watching to let me swing and give Weyr secrets away!” Then P’tero waved encouragingly at Ormonth, who was now flying anxiously at Charanth’s wingtip. Though unseen from the ground, the safety-tethers still linked the blue rider to his dragon. P’tero unbuckled his end of the straps and they dangled free.
“Lucky you that I was looking up just then!” K’vin said so harshly that the brash lad flushed to his ear tips. “Look at the fright you’ve given Ormonth!” And he gestured towards the blue, his hide flushing in mottled spots from his recent scare.
P’tero yelled something else which K’vin didn’t catch so he leaned forward, putting his right ear nearer the blue rider’s mouth.
“I was in no danger,” P’tero repeated. “I used brand-new straps and he watched me braid ’em”.
“Hah!” As every rider knew, dragons had gaps in their ability to correlate cause and effect. So Ormonth would scarcely have connected the new straps with his rider’s perfect safety.
“Oh, thanks,” the rider added as K’vin snapped one of his own straps to P’tero’s belt. Not that they would be doing more than landing, but K’vin wished to make a point of safety to P’tero.
While K’vin approved of courage, he did not appreciate recklessness, especially if it endangered a dragon this close to the beginning of Threadfall. Careful supervision had kept his Weyr from losing any dragon partners and he intended to maintain that record.
Spilling off his blue before K’vin had passed the word was taking a totally unnecessary risk. Fortunately, K’vin had seen P’tero dive.
His heart had lurched in his chest, even if he knew P’tero was equipped with the especially heavy and long harness as a fail-safe. Even if he and Charanth had not accurately judged the mid-air rescue, those long straps would have saved the blue rider from falling to his death.
Today’s maneuver had been precipitous instead of well-executed.
And, if Charanth had not been as adept on the wing, P’tero might be nursing broken ankles or severe bruising as a result of his folly.
No matter how broad, those safety straps really jerked a man about in mid-air.
P’tero still showed no remorse. K’vin only hoped that the stunt produced the effect the love-struck P’tero wished. His mate would have been watching, heart in mouth, no doubt, and P’tero would reap the harvest of such fear some time this evening. K’vin wished that more girls were available to Impress green dragons. It made that facet of Weyrleadership considerably easier to deal with. There were still a few, of course, but with parents keenly interested in applying for more land by setting up cot holds for married children, fewer and fewer girls were encouraged to stand on the Hatching Grounds. While being a dragon rider didn’t prevent a girl from having children, if that’s what she wanted, it did prevent them from owning land. Still, grandchildren, even the Weyrborn, could claim land. Though, in actual fact, more Weyrborn preferred to stay in the Weyr even if they didn’t Impress.
The dragons who had taken part in the mass fly-by were now landing their riders in the wide road beyond the court.
Then they leaped up again to find a spot in which to enjoy the last of the warm autumnal sun. Many made for the adjoining cliffs as space on Fort’s heights filled up on either side of the solar panels.
Dragons could be trusted not to tread on what remained of the priceless installations. Fort’s were the oldest, of course, and two banks had been lost last winter to the unseasonably fierce storms. Fort, being the largest as well as the oldest northern installation, needed all its arrays in full working order to supply heat for its warren of corridors, power for air circulation units and what equipment still worked. Fortunately a huge stockpile of panels had been made during the first big wave of constructing new Weyrs and Holds. There would be enough for generations.
Weyrleaders sought their tables on the upper level with Lord Holders and Professionals, while riders joined whatever company they preferred at tables set up on the huge expanse of the outer apron. Not a sprout of vegetation anywhere on that plaza surface, K’vin noticed with approval. S’nan, Fort’s Weyrleader, had always been fussy and rightly so.
The musicians had struck up sprightly music and couples were already dancing on the wooden floor set over the cobbles. Beyond the dance square were the stalls, tents and tables where goods were being sold or exchanged. There’d been brisk business all day, especially for items needed during the winter months when there would be fewer big Gathers.
The various Craftsmen would be pleased, and there’d be less for the dragons to haul back.
Charanth was now circling over the annexes which had been started to increase living space for both Pern’s main infirmary research facility and teacher training. The dormitories were also going to house volunteers who were assiduously trying to save the records, damaged during last spring when water had leaked down the walls of the vast storage caverns under Fort. Riders had offered to spend as much time as possible from their training schedules to help in the project.