The Renegades of Pern (dragon riders of pern) Read online

  “Then timber, Cren, slanted against the wagon…” Readis suggested, his mount sliding about the track and narrowly missing the edge overhanging the river.

  “Thread eats wood, too; that’d be no use. Stone, metal…water!” Crenden stood in his stirrups, pointing down to the river that frothed along its rocky bed.

  “That?” Readis responded. “Not deep enough, and far too fast!”

  “But there’s a pool, a big one, near the first cascade. If we could make that…Jayge, scoot along. See how far away that pool is. Challer, whip up that team and follow Jayge as fast as you can. Readis, unhitch the beasts from that timber wagon. We can’t save it, but we’ll need the beasts. Move out! Whip ‘em up!”

  Jayge dug his heels into Fairex’s side. Why did they have to be caught on this part of the track? On the one day’s trek through forest and hill that could provide no real shelter? He knew the pool his father meant—it was a good fishing spot, and it would be deep with all the winter rains shedding from the hills. But a pool? That was no real shelter from Threadfall. Jayge knew the Teaching songs as well as any kid of Pern, and it was stone walls and stout metal shutters that one needed during Threadfall. As the track rose to the crest of a hill, the deep basin came into view, its waters sparkling invitingly. Thread could devour flesh. How deep did one have to be under water to be safe?

  Jayge lifted Fairex into a hard gallop, counting in rhythm with the little beast’s strides so that he could judge the time it would take to reach the pool. He kept watching the banks and the track, hoping that he might notice a rock ledge or even a burrow. They could put the babies in the burrows. How long did a Fall last? Jayge was so agitated that he could not bring the Traditional Duty ballads to mind.

  It would have to be the pool then, he thought as he and Fairex plunged down the incline. Fifteen minutes even for the biggest, heaviest wagon. And there was a line of big boulders that formed a natural dam—he could see the current flowing smoothly over the lip. He kicked Fairex on into the water to test its depth. The gallant little mare was swimming in moments, and Jayge plunged off her back, shuddering at the chill in the water and bobbing under as his feet found no purchase. Deep enough! Everyone but the wee babies could swim. But swim where? Jayge yanked on Fairex’s rein, and obediently she circled to face the river’s edge. When he saw her hit the bottom, he swung himself up into the saddle and started her back the way they had just come.

  He could hear the sounds of the train echoing loudly down the valley: the thunder of hooves and wagon wheels, the urgency of strident calls. Jayge thanked the Dawn Sisters that all the wagons had been scrupulously checked before they had left Kimmage Hold. Now was not the time for a wheel to spin off or an axle to break. He only hoped the burden beasts could be forced out of their usual plodding pace.

  Jayge kept his eyes on the cloud as he raced back. What were those gouts of flame? It looked like thousands of flameflies, the nocturnal creatures he and his friends had tried to capture in Nerat’s lush jungles. And then he realized what he was seeing. Dragons! Benden Weyr’s dragonriders were flying Thread! As dragonriders should! As dragonriders always had and now were again, protecting Pern from Threadfall. Jayge felt a surge of relief that was instantly overwhelmed by confusion. If the dragonriders were already flaming Thread from the skies, why would the traders need the river pool?

  “Worlds are lost or worlds are saved, by those dangers dragon-braved?” The verse sprang to Jayge’s mind, but it was not the one he wanted. “Lord of the hold, your charge is sure, in thick walls, metal doors, and no verdure.” But Lilcamp folk were holdless.

  Then his father came galloping around the bend, Challer’s rig nearly at his heels.

  “The pool’s just down this hill…” Jayge began.

  “I can see it myself. Tell the others!” Crenden waved his son back down the line.

  The other wagons were strung out, their canvas tops swaying dangerously from side to side. Already bundles had toppled—or been tossed out—on the roadside, and Jayge started to pull Fairex up in order to retrieve something.

  “Don’t stop!” his father ordered.

  Habit warred with that order: Lilcamp folk never littered their path with discards. Jayge made his way back to the next wagon, halting Fairex only long enough to shout to Auntie Temma, always a clever driver, who actually had her two yokes clumping along at an awkward canter. He had to jump Fairex up into the woods to avoid being caught up in the stampede of the loose runners and stock. He saw the deserted timber wagon, rocks propped under its wheels, and, lumbering along behind the loose animals, the eight yoke of burden beasts that had pulled the Lilcamp payload. Borel, his oldest uncle, had all his kids prodding the bawling creatures, who bucked and kicked against the sticks instead of moving forward until the two drovers began to flick weighted lashes at the knobby rumps.

  Jayge cantered on down the line, passing Auntie Nik and her husband, who were riding burden beasts and hauling others by their nose rings. The last wagon had been switched to runner teams and was picking up speed. Jayge swung in behind it, making Fairex sidle as he punched at crates perilously close to falling out. He did pick up some lost baggage, scooping it up and lobbing it into the back of the nearest wagon. He also tried to keep in mind just where the strewn belongings had landed, so that after all the fuss was over he would know where to retrieve them. Traders learned to be very good at marking places. Once Jayge had been somewhere new, he could always return, the way was so clearly printed in his head.

  By the time the Lilcamps were all in the pool, the gray mass of Thread was nearly upon them. The pool was full of floating debris from the wagons that had been driven into the deepest part. Crenden and the uncles were trying to make certain that the animals would not drown themselves, for the burden beasts were bawling and the runners were neighing in panic. Some of the yoked beasts were trying to climb up onto the far bank.

  Jayge had swum Fairex to the dam side of the pool, where some boulders loomed above the water. The mare’s eyes were wide with fright, her nostrils distended. Only his stubborn hold on her reins kept her from swimming off. He was treading water, one hand locked desperately around a rocky knob.

  The scene before him would be forever etched in his mind: people thrashing in the water, their yells and shrieks no less terrified than those of the animals; bundles floating free and going over the dam; mothers holding young children onto the tops of submerged wagons; Crenden, in the shallows, rushing from one side of the ford to the other, enforcing orders with his lash, yelling that they were only safe under the water, that when Thread fell they all must hold their breath under the water! Forever Jayge always would remember the scene framed by the sight of the inexorable approach of Thread—and the dragonriders flaming it.

  Then, not wanting to believe his eyes, Jayge had his first glimpse of Thread. Three long spears of the stuff slapped into the tall standing trees on the bank. Their trunks flared briefly and then began to vanish. So did the brush and trees on either side. Jayge blinked, and there was a bald patch and something disgustingly pulsing, rolling—and with every turn more of the thick mulch disappeared and more trees fell. Suddenly a fountain of flame washed across the spot. He saw the long twisting thing in the center of the flame turn black and burn quickly, adding an oily yellow smoke to the clean fire. Jayge almost missed seeing the dragon at all, he was so caught by the terror of the Thread burrow. But the dragon hovered briefly, to be sure of the destruction, so Jayge caught the sight of the huge golden body as the dragon—gold was for queens, wasn’t it?—beat strongly upward and flamed again, farther up the hill. There was another dragon farther down the river valley, another gold. But someone had told him that gold dragons did not fly. And there was only the one queen in Benden Weyr.

  Before he could puzzle that, he heard hissing, the sound of something hot entering the pool. Fairex thrashed, shrilling in terror, and Jayge saw the thick rope of Thread coming down almost on top of them. Diving for Fairex’s head, he ducked them both u
nder the water, working his arms violently to ward the stuff away from him.

  Something hit Jayge on the back of his head, and his warding hand came into contact with a pot, floating free from some wagon. Flailing to the surface, he found himself in the midst of cooking wares. Fairex had her head above water again, snorting to clear her nostrils. The current pulled at Jayge, and he grabbed at a floating saddle tie and yanked himself to the mare. He guided her away from the break, water pressure pushing them against the boulders. The pot, and a big lid, clanked against the stones beside him.

  The screaming about him took on a new note, shrill with fear and pain, both human and animal. He looked over his shoulder and saw Thread falling across the pool, falling on everything. Where were the dragonriders? He craned his head up and saw the wriggling, falling things. Then there was a dreadful hiss and a terrified bawl from Fairex beside him told him that a thick tendril of Thread was attacking. Jayge grabbed the pot and scooped up the hideous thing, then plunged pot and its contents under water. The lid bounced against him, and Jayge grabbed it and held it as a shield over his head and that of his frantic mare. When he felt something hit it, he yelled and gave a frantic push to dislodge the Thread, propelling himself backward and kicking water over Fairex’s head in case that would do some good.

  He had no sooner done so than he caught sight of flame and was aware of a tremendous whooshing noise, followed by a shout that his ears heard as “You bleeding fools!” Then there were more licks of fire while Jayge huddled under his pot lid, one arm around his mare’s neck. Blood ran from her rump and turned the water pink. He also saw, disbelieving, the blackened head of a runner, turning idly and then disappearing as the current caught it and took it over the dam. Then he was far too occupied with fending Thread off himself and his mare, trying to keep any of the drowning stuff from touching him. His leather pants were reduced to shreds, and his boots, he found when he was able to examine them, were Threadscored.

  Much later, Jayge learned that it took about ten to fifteen minutes for the full Threadfall to overpass a stationary point, and that the dragonriders did not always overpass rivers and lakes because Thread drowned in water—and that the Oldtimers, who came from an earlier time when Thread had been a constant menace, were resentful of having to protect so much forestry.

  That terrible noon, when Jayge finally led an exhausted Fairex out of the water, the pool was filled with lifeless bobbing bodies, animal and human, and the pitiful remnants of the prosperous trader train.

  “Jayge, we’ll need a fire,” his father said in a dull voice as he followed his son out of the water, dragging the sodden gear he had removed from the body of his rangy runner.

  Jayge looked up the bank to the forested slope, amazed to see that fine stand of trees reduced to smoldering trunks and charred circles, black and oily smoke rising ominously. The rich, dense woods had been changed to barren smoking poles, branchless and charred.

  The hillside hid from view the continuation of Fall and dragonfire, and once again the sun blazed down. Jayge shivered. He paused long enough to take the saddle off Fairex who stood, all four legs Threadscored, head down and uncertain, too tired to shake water or blood from her body.

  “Move it, lad,” his father muttered, starting back to the pool to help Temma, who was carrying a still form out of the cold water.

  Muted sobbing and louder cries of grief followed Jayge up the slope. It took him a long time to find enough unconsumed wood to start any sort of a fire. He walked very cautiously, terrified that a tendril of Thread might have survived the dragonfire. When he got back to the river, he kept his eyes on the fire he was starting, unwilling to look at the still forms lying on the stony verge. He was immensely relieved to see that his mother was there, bandaging someone’s head. He saw Aunt Temma, too, but he had to turn away from the sight of the hideous raw marks, like something cut by the claws of the biggest wherry ever, on Readis’s back. Aunt Bedda was rocking back and forth, and Jayge could not bear to find out if his baby cousin was injured or dead. Not just yet.

  As soon as he got the fire going, he took the rope from his saddle and brought Fairex with him to bring more wood down to the shore. On his way back, he made himself see the extent of the tragedy. Beyond the new piles of soaking bundles and wet crates, there were seven small bundles, three very small and three larger ones. No, the babies would not have made it. They would not have known to hold their breath under water. Nor would his younger sister, or his youngest cousins.

  Tears streamed down Jayge’s face as he piled the wood by the stones that surrounded the fire. Two dented kettles were heating water, and, astonishingly, a soup pot had been recovered. Saddles had been placed in a ring around the fire to dry. Someone was splashing in the pool, and he saw there, for the first time, the metal bands that had once spread the canvas wagontops, like the ribs of some great water snake. Aunt Temma burst to the surface and began to tug on a rope. He saw his father struggling with something still under the rope. Borel and Readis, despite their wounds, were desperately pulling at yet another submerged article.

  Jayge had just turned to untie the Wood piled on Fairex’ back when abruptly she wheeled and dashed back up the slope, racing away from the camp as if a wherry had attacked her. Then dirt and sand flew around him, over the fire and into the soup pot. Startled, Jayge looked up, unable to imagine what new hazard faced them.

  A huge brown dragon was settling to the top of the track above the pool. “You there, boy! Who’s in charge of this ground crew? How many burrows have you found? These woods are disastrous!”

  At first Jayge could not understand the words rattled at him. There was an odd inflection in the man’s voice that startled him. The harpers kept the language from altering too much, his mother had once told him when he had first encountered the slower speech of the southerners. But the voice of the dragonrider, so small up there perched between the neck ridges of the big beast, sounded strange to Jayge’s ears. And the man did not really look like any man Jayge had ever seen. He seemed to have huge eyes, and no hair, and leather all over. Were dragomen different from the rest of Pern’s people? Realizing that his mouth had dropped open, Jayge clamped his jaws shut.

  “You can’t be ground crew. You’re much too small to be any use! Who’s in charge here?” The rider sounded offended, annoyed. “This isn’t what I’m used to, I assure you. You’ll have to do better than this!”

  “Will we just?” Crenden strode forward, Borel right behind him along with Temma and Gledia.

  “Lads and women! Only two men! You can’t have efficient ground crews if this is all you can provide us,” the rider continued. Suddenly he took off a close-fitting cap, revealing a face that was quite human, if creased with a deep scowl and accentuated by the soot marks on his cheeks.

  Jayge stared, aware of many details that he would recall later and with cynical accuracy: except that the rider wore his hair cropped close to his scalp, he was really like any other man. Under other circumstances and with later knowledge, Jayge might have forgiven him his irascibility, and even some of his scathing disapproval. But not that day.

  However, it was the dragon that fascinated Jayge. He noted the dark streaks of soot on the dragon’s brown hide; the two damaged ridges; the rough scars on its forequarters—long thin scars, darker brown, many of them along its barrel and back—and the thickening of tissue along several wing vanes. But it was the ineffable weariness in the dragon’s eyes, whirling slightly and coloring from a purple to a blue-green, that Jayge noted particularly. Those eyes whirled in Jayge’s dreams for many nights thereafter—but his strongest impression was of the weariness, a fatigue that he himself certainly felt down to his very bones.

  Although it was the dragon who dominated that first moment, the rider soon took center stage with his strong words and the contemptuous tone in which he delivered them. He spoke to Crenden as if the trader were a drudge, an unperson of no importance but to serve the dragonrider’s orders. For his father, and for hims
elf, and for the shattered remainder of their kin, Jayge resented that tone, that dragonrider, and all he stood for. And he hated the dragonrider for all he had not done to protect them.

  “We aren’t ground crew, dragonrider. We’re what’s left of the Lilcamp train,” Crenden said in a hoarse voice. Those behind stared wearily up with unspoken resentment.

  “A train?” The dragonrider was contemptuous. “A train—out during Threadfall? Man, you’re insane.”

  “We knew of no Threadfall when we left Kimmage Hold.”

  Jayge drew in his breath. He had never heard his father utter a falsehood—yet that was not a true lie. They had not heard of Threadfall at the time they had set out from Kimmage Hold. And it was right for his father to shame the dragonrider.

  “You should have known!” The dragonrider would not accept responsibility. “Word was sent out to all holds.”

  “It didn’t reach Kimmage Hold before we left.” Crenden was equally determined to set the blame.

  “Well, we can’t protect every stupid trader and isolated spot, you know. And I’m beginning to wonder why we bothered to come here at all, if this is all the gratitude we receive! Which lord are you beholden to? Take it up with him. It was up to him to be sure you were warned. And if there’re no ground crews from Kimmage, this entire area could be at risk. C’mon, Rimbeth. Now we’ve got to check the whole bloody area!” He glared at Crenden. “It’ll be your fault if there’re burrows here. You hear me?”

  With that, the dragonrider replaced his helmet and took a firm grip on the straps that fastened him into position. In the brief moment, Jayge was certain that the dragon was looking directly at him as he stood there by the fire. Then the big beast turned his head, spread his wings, and launched himself into the sky.

  “Rimbeth’s rider, I’ll know you again! I’ll seek you out if it’s the last thing I do!” Crenden’s words were a fierce shout as he raised his fist skyward.