Dragonseye (Red Star Rising)

Turn 5 End at Fort Hold and Telgar Weyr

Traditionally the Lords Holder and the Weyrleaders and the invited heads of the various Professions - met in Conclave the day before Turn’s End - the Winter Solstice - to discuss what matters should be brought to those who would assemble for the festivities. Should a referendum figure on the agenda, its details would have been previously circulated. It would also be read out that evening in every main Hold and Hall. If voting was required, votes were cast the morning of the First Day of Turn’s End, the results counted and returned to the second traditional sitting of the Conclave on the day after Turn’s End, when the New Year started.

The tradition was even more important in this 258^th year after Landing with the Pass so imminent. Although Vergerin had been in charge but twenty days before the Conclave, it was obvious that he was taking a firm, but just Hold on Bitra.

He was also working his assistants hard but fairly. None of them had any complaint to register when adroitly queried by their fathers or mothers. Vergerin’s first official act had been to send riders to every single known holding and announce Chalkin’s removal and that as many as could attend Turn’s End at Bitra Hold would be made welcome. Vergerin paid for additional supplies out of his own funds.

(No-one had found Chalkin’s treasury; nor had he taken it with him into exile. Nadona had denied any knowledge of its whereabouts and moaned that he had left her without a mark to her name.) Altering a previously made decision, the Teachers’ College planned now to supply a Turn’s End concert to Bitra. They would bring the copies of the Charter which Vergerin had requested, to be given to each small holder. That would deplete to a few dozen the printed copies left in the College Library, but Clisser felt it to be in a very good cause.

The Turn’s End music featured Sheledon’s ambitious ‘Landing Suite’ - which made mention of the Charter - the audience would have a better understanding of what the music, and indeed, the printed Charter, was all about. Bitran holders would no longer be kept in abysmal ignorance of their Charter-given rights.

Consequently when the Conclave sat, the first order of business was to confirm Vergerin as Lord Holder of Bitra. He was not abjured to train his young relatives, Chalkin’s sons - to succession although he was in conscience bound to see them well taken care of, educated and prepared to make their own living as adults. He was relieved of his promise to forego having legitimate heirs and promptly installed at Bitra a nine-year-old son and a five-year-old daughter. No-one ever knew who their mother had been. Vergerin made it plain that he was interested in acquiring a spouse suitable to hold as his Lady.

Clisser was called on to report on the matter of an indestructible and unambiguous method of confirming a Pass, and said that Kalvi and he had agreed on the mechanism and it would be installed on the eastern face of every Weyr. Kalvi looked suitably smug and nodded wisely, so Paulin allowed himself to be reassured. He wanted no more problems like Chalkin to arise again! Ever! And now was the moment to prevent them.

The matter of a new hold being established and named CROM came up, and there was considerable discussion.

“Look, they are entitled to use their Charter-granted acres, and that amounts to a fair whack of land,” Bastom said, unexpectedly coming down on the side of the applicants. “Let ’em call it a hold.”

“Yes, but they want autonomy and besides, they’re too far from any other Hold up there in the hills,” Azury put in.

“It’ll have to prove it’s self-sufficient,” Tashvi said, looking reluctant to admit that much. Which was understandable since Telgar was also a mining Hold.

“They have to follow the rules, same as everyone else,” Paulin said in a neutral manner. “And supply basic needs to Contract workers.”

“They’re in good shape to do so,” Azury remarked dryly, “what with the profit they can expect from supplying high grade ore at the start of a Pass.”

“Consider them on probation,” was Bridgely’s suggestion, and that was the motion which was carried.

There were a few more minor details to be discussed but these were carried as well. This year there was no referendum to be presented to the population.

“However, I want every one of you to give a fitly report of the trials and Chalkin’s impeachment to the assembled,” Paulin reminded the Lord Holders. “We want the truth circulated and believed: not a mess of rumors.”

“Like the cannibalism!” Bridgely had been highly indignant over that one. “Sadistic Chalkin was, but let’s squash that one now!”

“How under the sun did such a rumor ever get started?” Paulin asked, appalled. S’nan looked in a state of shock, staring incredulous at the Benden Lord Holder.

“The ‘cold storage’, I suspect,” Bridgely said, disgusted.

“We didn’t coin the term,” said Azury with a shrug.

“Well, we don’t want it circulated,” M’shall said angrily. “Bad enough having to live with the facts without having to debunk the fantasies.”

“We do want the swift justice meeted out to the rapists and the murderers to be well publicized, though,” Richud put in.

“That, yes! Speculation, no,” Paulin said. He rose, and tapped the gavel on its block. “I declare this session of the Conclave dismissed. Enjoy Turn’s End and we’ll meet in three days’ time.”

He intended to enjoy every moment of it for the year he’d put in.

He noticed a similar determination on other faces, especially young Gallian’s. Apart from the Chalkin affair, Jamson had no need to fault his son’s management of High Reaches. Though maybe that bit about cannibalism could be whispered in Jamson’s presence. That would certainly alter his opinion about impeachment. Somehow Thea was still ‘ailing’ and had persuaded her spouse to stay on in Ista for Turn’s End. That gave more opportunity for the Chalkin affair to die a natural death.

Turn’s End was a holiday for everyone except for those involved in the ambitious ‘Landing Suite’ debut at all the Weyrs and the major Holds. Clisser was run ragged with rehearsals and last-minute assignments, and understudies for those with winter colds. Then he had the extra burden of preparing for the precise calculations needed to set up the fail-safe mechanism to predict a Pass. Torn between the musical rehearsals and observing the installation of a permanent Thread-Fall warning device, he opted for the latter. Of course, his role was supervisory, as the more precise location had to be conducted by teams of astronomers, engineers and Weyrleaders on the eastern rim of all six establishments. He, Jemmy and Kalvi were to set the mechanism at Benden, the first Weyr to see the phenomenon, then skedaddle on dragon back to each of the other five Weyrs to be sure all went smoothly.

It was imperative that the first installation, at Benden, had to be spot on in case there might be a distortion at any other.

Though Clisser doubted it, not with Kalvi fussing and fussing over the components. Clisser had been over and over the requisite steps to pinpoint the rise of the Red Star. Once that ‘circular eye’ was set on the Rim, they could install the pointer, the finger. But the ‘eye’ had to be spot on! The teams had been in place for the past week, with pre-dawn checks on the Red Planet’s position at dawn. All that was necessary now was a clear morning, and that seemed to be possible across the continent which had enjoyed some bright clear, if wintry, skies. Fine weather was critically important at Benden, for the other Weyrs could take adjusted measurements from that reading if necessary.

Kalvi was still fiddling with the design of what he was calling the Eye Rock, which would bracket the Red Planet at dawn on Winter Solstice. His main problem was adjusting the pointer… the position at a distance from the Eye itself at which the viewer would stand to see the planet. The pointer had to accommodate different physical heights. Old diagrams of Stonehenge and other prehistoric rings had surfaced.

Actually Bethany’s students had found them after an intensive search of long-unused documents. Fortunately for Clisser’s peace, Sallisha had gone to Nerat for the Turn’s End celebration, ready to start her next year’s teaching Contract. He was spared any reminder from her of how important it was to keep such ancient knowledge viable.

He had rehearsed arguments, in case he had a letter from her, about the fact that, in the crunch, someone had remembered.

He was quite excited - if freezing - to be on Benden Weyr’s Rim with the others, telescopes set up, aimed in the appropriate direction while Kalvi and Jemmy fiddled with their components. Kalvi had put up a cone for the pointer; the notion being that a person resting their chin on the cone’s tip would see the Red Planet bracketed just as it cleared the horizon. They’d have to try it with folks of various statures to be sure that the device worked, but technically, Clisser thought it would. Kalvi was the shortest, he was tallest, M’shall was a half-head shorter, and Jemmy between the Weyrleader and Kalvi. If all could see the Red Planet in the Eye, the device would be proven.

Well, it would really be proven in another two hundred and fifty years or so with the Third Pass!

But this moment was exciting. He slapped his body with his arms, trying to warm himself. His feet, despite the extra lining, were frozen; he could barely feel his toes, and his breath was so visible he worried that it might cloud his chance to see the phenomenon.

“Here it comes,” said Kalvi, though Clisser could see nothing in the crepuscular dawn light. Kalvi was looking at his instrument, not the sky.

A tip of red appeared just over the bottom of the Eye a breath or two later. A redness that seemed to pulsate. It wasn’t a very large planet - from this distance, it wouldn’t be, Clisser thought, though they had the measurements of it from the Yokohama observations. It was approximately the same size as Earth’s old sister, Venus. And about as hospitable.

Somehow, Clisser thought - and told himself to breathe as he watched, the wanderer managed to look baleful in its redness. “Hadn’t one of the other Sol satellites been called the red planet”?

“Oh, yes, Mars. Suitable, too, since it had been named after a war god.”

“And equally a suitable color for a planet that was about to wreak havoc on us. How could such an avaricious organism develop on a planet that spent most of its orbit too far away from Rubkat’s warmth to generate any life form?” Of course, he was aware that very odd Life forms had been found by the early space explorers. Who had blundered into the Nathi, to name another vicious species?

But the reports on this mycorrhizoid gave it no intelligence whatsoever. A menace without malice. Clisser sighed. Well, that was some consolation: it didn’t really mean to eat everything in sight, people, animals, plants, trees; but that was all it could do.

Which was more than enough, Clissser thought grimly, remembering the visuals of recorded incidents. That’s another thing he ought to have done - a graphic record - even a still picture would make vividly plain how devastating Thread could be. Iantine’s sketches done at the Bitran borders had impressed the Teacher immensely. Though it was a shame to waste Iantine’s talents on a copy job. Anyone could copy; few could originate.

Meanwhile, the red edge crept up over the Rim of Benden Weyr. “THAT’S IT!” Kalvi cried. He was lying on his stomach, the iron circle in his hands. “I got it. Cement it in place now. Quickly. You there at the Finger Rock. Eyeball the phenomenon. All of you should see it bracketed by this circle.” The viewers had lined themselves up and each took a turn even as Kalvi raced back to grab a look from this vantage point.

“Yup, that’ll do it. You got that solidly in place? Good,” and the energetic engineer turned to M’shall. “As you love your dragon, don’t let anyone or anything touch that iron rim. I’ve used a fast-drying cement, but even a fraction out of alignment and we’ve lost it.”

“No-one’ll be up here after we leave,” M’shall promised, eyeing the metal circle nervously. For all he knew that the ring was iron, it looked fragile sitting there, the Red Planet slowly rising above it.

“But that’s going to be replaced, isn’t it? With stone?”

“It is, and don’t worry about us messing up the alignment later. We won’t,” Kaivi said, blithely confident, rubbing his hands together and grinning with success. “Now, we’ve got some more dawns to meet.”

“Yes, surely, but take time for breakfast.”

“Ha! No time to pamper ourselves. But I was indeed grateful for the klah.” Kalvi was gathering up his equipment, including five more iron circles, and gesturing to his crew to hurry up. “Not with five more stops to make this morning. The things I talk myself into!” He looked around now in the semi-dark of false dawn.

“Where’s our ride?”

“That way,” M’shall said, pointing to the brown dragons and riders waiting around on the Rim.

“Oh, good. Thanks, M’shall” And rings clanging dully where they rode on his shoulder, Kalvi gathered up his packs and half-ran, his crew trailing behind. Clisser sighed and followed.

Well, he thought, he’d be well inured to the cold of between.

They’d have an hour and a half between Benden and Igen, but then only half an hour from Igen to Ista to Telgar, where they’d have a little over an hour and time for something hot to eat before going on to Fort. High Reaches was actually the last Weyr to be done, which really didn’t salve S’nan’s pride all that much, but sunrise came forty-five minutes later in the northernmost Weyr due to the longitudinal difference. However, S’nan couldn’t argue the point that Benden had to have its equipment installed first since it was the most easterly.

Clisser had heard the talk about S’nan’s continued distress over Chalkin’s impeachment. The Fort Weyrleader was not the oldest of the six: G’don was, but no-one worried about his competence to lead the Weyr. S’nan had always been inflexible, literal, didactic, but that wouldn’t necessarily signify poor leadership during the Pass. Clisser sighed. That was a Weyr problem, not his. Thank goodness! He had enough of them.

He’d catch some rest when they finished at Fort Weyr so he’d be fresh for the final rehearsal at the Hall. If Sheledon had altered the score again during his absence, he’d take him to task. No-one would know what to play with all the changes.

Get this performance over with and then refine the work. It was, Clisser felt, quite possibly Sheledon’s masterpiece.

“You’re riding with me, Teacher,” a voice said. “Don’t want you walking off the Rim!”

Clisser shook himself to attention and smiled up at the brown rider. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Here’s my hand,” and Clisser reached up to it.

“Oh, thank you,” he added to the dragon who had not only turned his head but helpfully lifted his forearm to make an easier step up.

Then he was astride the big dragon, settling himself, snapping on the safety strap.

“I’m ready.” Clisser did catch his breath though when the dragon seemed to just fall off the Rim into the blackness of Benden’s Bowl.

He grabbed at the security of the safety strap and then almost cracked his chin on his chest as the dragon’s wings caught the air and he soared upward.

They were facing east, and the malevolence of the Red Star was dimmed by the glow of Rukbat rising, altering the rogue planet’s aspect to one of almost negligible visibility, almost anonymity, in the brightening sky.

Amazing! thought Clisser. I must remember to jot that down.

But he knew he never would. And Pernese literature was thus saved another diarist, he amended. Clisser saw that the rider, too, had his eyes fastened on the magnificent spectacle. He must savor this ride.

The dragon veered northward, pivoting slowly on his left wing-tip. The dragons would soon have more important journeys to make. Clisser did observe the majestic snow capped mountains of the Great Northern Range, tinted delicate shades of orange by the rising sun. What Iantine could make of such a scene! Then abruptly all he could see was the black nothingness of between.

“What happens if you wear your fingers out?” Leopol asked Iantine.

The artist hadn’t even been aware of the lad’s presence but the comment - because Iantine was sketching the scene of the dragonets so fast that his elbow was actually aching - caused him to burst out laughing, even though he didn’t pause for a moment.

“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of it happening, though, if that’s any consolation.”

“Not to me, but for you,” Leopol said, cocking his head in his characteristically impudent fashion.

“I’ll miss you, you know,” Iantine told him, grinning down at the sharp expression on Leopol’s face.

“I should hope so, when I’ve been your hands, feet and mouth for months now,” was the irrepressible answer. “You could take me with you. I’d be useful,” and Leopol’s expression was earnest, his grey eyes clouded. “I know how you like your paints mixed, your brushes cleaned, and even how to prepare wood or canvas for portraits.” His pathetic stance could have persuaded almost anyone.

Iantine chuckled and ruffled the boy’s thick black hair. “And what would your father do?”

“Him? He’s winding himself up for Threadfall.” A discreet question to Tisha had produced the information that a bronze rider, C’lim, was the boy’s father; the mother had died shortly after Leopol’s birth. But he, like every other child of the Weyr. had become everyone’s child, loved and disciplined as the need arose. “He doesn’t half pay attention to me any more.”

Which was fair, Iantine thought, since Leopol had become his shadow. “Tisha?”

“Her? She’ll find someone else to mother.”

“Well, I will ask, but I doubt you’d be allowed. The other riders think you’ll Impress a bronze when you’re old enough.”

Leopol tossed off that future with a shrug. What he could do now was more important than what might be three or four years in the future. “D’you have to go?”

“Yes, I have to go. I’m in grave danger of overstaying my welcome here.”

“No, you’re not,” and Leopol looked significantly towards the lake where the weyrlings were having their customary bath. “And you haven’t drawn all the riders yet.”

“Be that as it may, Leo, I’m due at Benden to do the Holders, and that’s a commission I’ve been owing since I started my training at Hall Domaize.”

“When you do those, will you come straight back? You haven’t done Chalkin’s face like he really is, you know, and it isn’t as if you were doing anyone else out of a place to sleep.” Leopol’s face was completely contorted now by his dismay. “Debera really wants you to stay, you know.” Iantine shot him an almost angry look.

“Leopol?” he said warningly.

“Aw,” and the boy screwed his boot toe into the dirt, everyone knows you fancy her, and the girls say that she’s gone on you. It’s only Morath who’s the problem. And she doesn’t have to be. Soon as she can fly, she’ll have a weyr and you’ll have some privacy.”

“Privacy?” Iantine knew that Leopol was precocious but…

Leopol cocked his head and had the grace not to grin.

“Weyrs’re like that. Everyone knows everyone else’s secrets.” Iantine hung amid irritation to relief in the information about Debera and amusement that his carefully hidden interest was so transparent.

He had never thought about loving someone so much that their absence could cause physical discomfort. He never thought he would spend sleepless hours reviewing even the briefest of conversations; identify a certain voice in a crowded cavern; have to rub out sketches of imagined meetings and poses which his fingers did of their own accord.

He kept close guard on his sketch-pads because there were far too many of Debera - and the ever-present Morath. Morath liked him, too. He knew that because she’d told him she did.

That, actually, had been the first encouraging sign he’d had.

He had tried, adroitly, to figure out how significant that might be, as far as Debera’s awareness of him was concerned. He’d ask while he was sketching a rider, as if he was only politely enquiring about what was closest to his model’s heart anyway.

It appeared that a dragon could talk to an yon she/he wished to.

They did so for reasons of their own, which sometimes they did not discuss with their riders. Or they did. None of the other weyrlings, even the greens with whom Iantine was now quite familiar, spoke to him.

It was Morath who counted.

Not that the green dragon - who was the largest of that color from that clutch - ever explained herself. Nor did Iantine ask.

He merely treasured the immense compliment of her conversation.

She did ask to see his sketch-pad once. He noticed the phenomenon of the pad reflected in every one of the many facets of her eyes.

They’d been bluey-green at the time, their normal shade, and whirling slowly.

“Do you see anything?”

Yes. Shapes. You put the shapes on the pad with the thing in your hand?

“I do.” How much could a dragon see with that kind of optical equipment? Still, Iantine supposed it would be useful when Thread was falling from all directions. As the dragon eye protruded out from the head, it obtained overhead images, too. Good design. But then, dragons had been designed, though no-one nowadays knew who could have managed the genetic engineering. It was one thing to breed animals for specific traits, but to begin from the first cell to create a totally new creature? Do you like this one of Debera oiling you?” He tapped his pencil on the one he’d done that morning.

It looks like Debera. It looks like me? and there was plaintive surprise in Morath’s contralto voice. That was when Iantine realized that Morath sounded very much like her rider.

But then, that was only logical since they were inseparable.

Inseparable! That’s what bothered him most. He knew that his love for Debera would be constant, but any love left over from Morath for him could scarcely match his commitment.

Did it have to? After all, he was totally committed to his work.

Could he fault her for being equally single-minded? There was, however, a considerable difference between loving a dragon and loving to paint. Or was there?

Maybe it was as well, Iantine thought, tucking his pencil behind his ear and closing his pad, that he was going to Benden after Turn’s End. Maybe if Debera… and Morath were out of sight, they might also go out of mind and his attachment would ease off.

“You got your Turn’s End clothes ready? Need ironing, er, anything?” Leopol asked, his expression wistful.

“You did ’em yesterday, and I haven’t worn ’em yet,” he said, but he ruffled the boy’s thick hair again and, looping his arm over the thin shoulders, steered him to the kitchen. Let’s eat.”

“Ah, there’s not much to eat,” Leopol said in disgust. “Everyone’s getting ready for tonight.”

“They’ve been getting ready all week,” Iantine said. “But there’s bread and cold meats set out.”

“Huh!” Iantine noticed that Leopol had no trouble making himself several sandwiches of what was available, and had two cups of soup and two apples. He noted that he had no trouble eating, either, though some of the smells emanating from the ovens - and all were in use were more appetizing than lunch.

He intended to enjoy himself this evening.

Then Leopol, eyes wide with excitement, leaped from the table.

“Look, look, the musicians are here!” Glancing outward, Iantine saw them dismounting from half a dozen dragons. They were laughing and shouting as instruments were carefully handed down from dragon backs and carisaks were passed around. Tisha sailed out, her assistants with her, and shortly everyone was in the Lower Cavern and being served a lunch considerably more complicated than soup and sandwiches. Leopol was in the thick of it, too, the rascal, and the recipient of a huge wedge of iced cake. Iantine selected a good spot against the wall, sharpened his pencil with his knife and opened his pad. This was a good scene to preserve. If he got them down on paper now, maybe he could listen to the music this evening without itchy fingers.

As he worked, he realized that Telgar had rated some of the best musicians, called back from wherever their contracts had taken them, for Turn’s End celebrations. He’d finish in time for the concert, and that would be that for the day!

It wasn’t, of course. But then, he found it hard not to sketch exciting moments and scenes. Especially as he didn’t want to leave this pad anywhere that it could be casually opened.

And he could listen to the music just as well while drawing.

Sketching also kept his hands where they should be and not itching to go round Debera’s shoulder, or hold her hand.

Sketching did allow him some license, for he could always apologize that he didn’t realize his leg was against hers, or that their shoulders were touching or that he was bending his body close to hers. After all, he was so busy sketching, he wouldn’t be noticing externals.

If Debera had found the contact unpleasant or annoying, she could have moved her leg away from his, or moved about on the bench. But she didn’t seem to mind him overlapping her from time to time in the zeal to get this or that pose.

Truth was he was totally conscious of her proximity, the floral fragrance that she used which didn’t quite hide the new smell of the lovely pale green dress she was wearing. Green was her color and she must know that: a gentle green, like new leaves, which made her complexion glow. Angie had told him the color of Debera’s Turn’s End gown, so he’d bought a shirt of a much deeper green so that they’d go together. He liked the way she’d made a coronet of her long hair, with pale green ribbons laced in and dangling down her back. Even her slippers were green. He wondered if there’d be dancing music, too, but there usually was at Turn’s End. Although maybe not, what with the ‘Landing Suite’ first. He bent to ask her to reserve dances for him, but she shushed him.

“Listen, too, Ian,” she said in a soft whisper, gesturing to his pad. “The words are as beautiful as the music.” Iantine glanced forward again, only now realizing that there were singers, too. Had he been that rapt in being next to Debera without Morath?

I’m here. I listen, too and Morath’s voice startled him, coming into his head so unexpectedly.

He gulped. Would the dragon always be able to read his mind?

He asked the question again, more loudly, in his own head.

There was no reply. Because there was no reply? Or because there was none needed to such an obvious question?

But Morath hadn’t sounded upset that he was luxuriating in Debera’s proximity. She had sounded pleased to be there and listening.

Dragons liked music.

He glanced over his shoulder to the Bowl and could see along the eastern wall the many pairs of dragon eyes, like so many round blue-green lanterns up and down the wall of the Weyr where dragons made part of the audience.

He began then, obediently, to listen to the words, and found himself drawn in to the drama unfolding, even if he’d known the story from childhood. The musicians called it the ‘Landing Suite’ and this verse was about leaving the great colony ships for the last time. A poignant moment, and the tenor voice rose in a grateful farewell to them where they would orbit over Landing for ever, their corridors empty, the bridge deserted, the bays echoing vaults. The tenor, with creditable breath control, let his final note die away as if lost in the vast distance between the ships and the planet.

A respectful pause followed and then the ovation which his solo had indeed merited burst forth. Quickly Iantine sketched him, taking his bows, before he stepped back into the ensemble.

“Oh, good, Ian. He was just marvelous,” Debera said, craning her head to see what he was doing. She kept right on clapping, her eyes shining. “He’ll be delighted you did him, too.” Iantine doubted that, and managed a smile that did not echo the stab of jealousy he felt because Debera’s interest had been distracted from him.

She likes you, Ian, said Morath as if from a great distance, though she was ranged with the other still flightless dragonets on the Bowl floor.

Ian? he echoed in surprise. Other riders had told him that, while dragons would talk to people other than their own rider, they weren’t so good at remembering human names. Morath knows my name?

Why shouldn’t I? I hear it often enough. And Morath sounded sort of tetchy.

Morath may never know just how much that remark means to me, Iantine thought, taking in a deep breath that swelled his chest out.

Now, if he could just get her by herself alone. But she’s never alone, now that she’s my rider.

Iantine stifled a groan which he wanted neither dragon nor rider to hear and compressed his thoughts as far down in his head as he could. Would it all be worth it? he wondered. And tried to divorce himself from Debera for the rest of the concert.

He didn’t pay such close attention to the second and third parts of the ‘Landing Suite’, which brought events up to the present. A cynical section of his mind noticed that Chalkin’s impeachment was not mentioned, but then it was a very recent incident which the composer and lyricist would not have known about. He wondered would it ever make history? Chalkin would love it. Which might well be why no-one would include him. That’d be the final punishment anonymity.

Dinner was announced at the conclusion of the Suite, and the big Lower Cavern was efficiently reorganized for dining.

In the scurry and fuss of setting up tables and chairs, he got separated from Debera. The panic which that caused him made it extremely clear that he could not divorce his emotions from the girl.

When they found each other again, her hand went out to him as quickly as his to her, and they remained clasped while they waited in line to collect their food.

Iantine and Debera finally found seats at one of the long trestle tables where everyone was discussing the music, the singers, the orchestration, how lucky they were to be in a Weyr which got preferential treatment. There was, of course, a tradition of music on Pern, brought by their ancestors and encouraged by not only the Teaching Hall but also Weyr and Hold. Everyone was taught how to read music from an early age and encouraged to learn to play at least one instrument, if not two or three. It was a poor hold indeed that could not produce a guitar or at least pipes and a drum to liven winter nights and special occasions.

The meal was very good - though Iantine had to concentrate on tasting it. Most of his senses were involved in sitting thigh to thigh with Debera. She was quite volatile, talking to everyone, with a great many things to say about the various performances and the melodic lines that she particularly liked. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes very bright. He’d never seen her so elated. But then, he knew he was feeling high with an almost breathless anticipation of the dancing.

He’d have her in his arms, then, even closer than they were now. He could barely wait.

But he had to, for of course on First Day, ice-cream, the special and traditional sweet, was available and no-one would want to miss that. It was a fruit flavor this year, creamy, rich, tangy with lots of tiny fruit pieces, and he was torn between eating slowly - which meant the confection might turn sloppy since the Lower Cavern was warm indeed - or gulping it down firm and cold. He noticed that Debera ate quickly, so he did the same.

As soon as the diners finished, they dismantled the tables and pushed back the chairs so that there’d be space for the dancing. The musicians, re-assembling in smaller units so that the dance music would be continuous, were tuning up their instruments again.

When all was ready, K’vin led Zulaya - resplendent in the red brocade dress of her portrait - on to the floor for their traditional opening of the dance. Iantine caught himself wanting to sketch the distinguished-looking couple, but he’d hidden his pad in the pile of tables and had to content himself with storing the details in his mind.

He’d never seen Zulaya flirt so with K’vin and the Weyrleader was responding gallantly. He did notice some riders talking among themselves, their eyes on the two Leaders, but he couldn’t hear what was said, and while the glances were speculative it wasn’t his business.

Next the wing leaders handed their partners out on the floor for three turns before the wing seconds joined them.

Then Tisha - partnered by N’ran, the Weyr medic - whirled very gracefully in among the dancers. The first dance ended, but now the floor was open to everyone. The next number was a brisk two-step.

“Will you dance with me, Debera?” Iantine asked, with a formal bow.

Eyes gleaming, head held high and smiling as if her face would split apart, Debera responded with a deep dip. “Why, I was hoping you’d ask, Iantine!”

“I get the next one,” Leopol cried, appearing unexpectedly beside them and looking up at Debera, his eyes exceedingly bright.

“Did you sneak some wine tonight?” Iantine asked, suspicious.

“Who’d give me any?” Leopol replied morosely.

“No-one would give you anything you couldn’t take another way, Leo,” Debera said. “But I’ll keep you a dance. Later on.”

And she stepped towards the floor, Iantine whisking her away from the boy as fast as he could.

“Even for a Weyr lad, he’s precocious,” Debera said, and she held up her arms as she moved into his.

“He is at that,” Iantine replied, but he didn’t want to talk about Leopol at all as he swung her lithe body among the dancers, and eased them away to the opposite side of the floor from Leopol.

“He’ll follow, you know, until he gets his dance,” she said, grinning up at him.

“We’ll see about that,” and he tightened his arms possessively around her strong, slender body.

Will I dance when I’m older? Iantine clearly heard the green dragon ask.

Startled, he looked down at Debera and saw by the laughter in her eyes that the dragon had spoken to them both.

“Dragons don’t dance,” Debera said in her fond dragon tone

Iantine had noticed that she had a special one for Morath.

“They sing,” Iantine said, wondering how he was ever going to eliminate Morath from the conversation long enough to speak about them.

She’ll listen to anything you say, Morath’s voice, so much like Debera’s, sounded in his head.

Iantine grimaced, wondering how under the sun he could manage any sort of a private conversation with his beloved.

I won’t listen then. Morath sounded contrite.

“How long do you think you’ll be at Benden, Ian?” Debera asked.

He wondered if Morath had spoken to her, too, but decided against asking, though he didn’t want to discuss his departure at all.

Certainly not with Debera, the reason he desperately wanted to stay at Telgar.

“Oh,” he said as casually as he could, “I’d want to do my best for Lord Bridgely and his Lady. They’ve been my sponsors, you see, and I owe them a lot.”

“Do you know them well?”

“What? Me? No, my family’s mountain holders.”

“So were mine.”

“Were?”

Debera gave a wry laugh. “Don’t let’s talk about families.”

“I’d far rather talk about us,” he said, and then mentally kicked himself for such a trite response.

Debera’s face clouded.

“Now what did I say wrong?” He tightened his arms on her reassuringly. Her expression was so woeful.

She’s been upset about something Tisha told the weyrlings yesterday. I know I said I wouldn’t interfere, but sometimes it’s needed.

“You didn’t,” Debera said at the same time so he wasn’t sure who had said what, since the voices were so alike.

“But something is troubling you?” She didn’t answer immediately, but her hands tightened where they gripped him.

“C’mon, now, Deb,” and he tried to jolly her a bit. “I’ll listen to anything you have to say.”

She gave him an odd glance. “That’s just it.”

“What is?”

“You wanting to talk to me, dance with only me and Ooooh,” and suddenly Iantine had a hunch. “Tisha gave all the riders that don’t-do-anything-you’ll-be-sorry-for at Turn’s End lecture?”

She gave him a startled look, and he grinned back at her. “I’ve been read that one a time or two myself, you know.”

“But you don’t know,” she said, “that it’s different for dragon riders.”

“For green riders with very immature dragons.”

Then she gave him a horrified look as if she hadn’t meant to be so candid.

“Oh!” He pulled her closer to him, even when she resisted, and chuckled. All those casual questions he’d asked dragon riders explained all that she didn’t say.

“Green dragons are. how do I put it, kindly? Eager, loving, willing, too friendly for their own good.”

She stared up at him, a blush suffusing her cheeks, her eyes angry and her body stiffening against the rhythm of the dance.

They were about to pass an opening, one of the corridors that led back to the storage areas of the Weyr. He whirled them in that direction despite her resistance, speaking in a persuasively understanding tone.

“You’re the rider of a young green and she’s much too young for any sexual stimulation. But I don’t think a kiss will do her any damage, and I’ve got to kiss you once before I have to go to Benden.” And he did so. The moment their lips touched, although she tried to resist, the attraction that they each had for the other made the contact electric. She could not have resisted responding - even to preserve Morath’s innocence.

Finally, breathless, they separated, but not by more than enough centimeters to let air into their lungs. Her body hung almost limply against his, and only because he was leaning against the wall did he have the strength to support them both.

That’s very nice, you know.

“Morath!” Debera jerked her body upright, though her hands clenched tightly on his neck and shoulder. “Morath dear, what have I done?”

“Not as much to her as you have to me,” Iantine said in a shaky voice. “She doesn’t sound upset or anything.”

Debera pushed away to stare up at him - he thought she had never looked so lovely. “You heard Morath?”

“Hmmm, yes.”

“You mean, that wasn’t the first time?” She was even more startled.

“Hmmm. She knows my name, too,” he said, plunging in with a bit of information that he knew might really distress her, but now was the time to be candid.

Debera’s eyes widened even more and her face had paled in the glow light of the corridor. She leaned weakly against him.

“Oh, what do I do now?” He stroked her hair, relieved that she hadn’t just stormed off, leaving all his hopes in crumbs.

“I don’t think we upset Morath with that little kiss,” he said softly.

“Little kiss?” Her expression went blank. “I’ve never been kissed like that before in my life.” Iantine laughed. “Me neither. Even if you didn’t want to kiss me back.” He hugged her, knowing that the critical moment had passed. “I have to say this, Debera, I love you. I can’t get you out of my mind. Your face… and…” and he added tactfully because it was also true, “Morath’s decorate the margin of every sketch I draw. I’m going to miss you like… like you’d miss Morath.” She caught in her breath at even the mention of such a possibility.

“Iantine, what can I say to that? I’m a dragon rider. You know that Morath is always first with me,” she said gently, touching his face.

He nodded. “That’s as it should be,” he said, although he heartily wished he could be her sole and only concern.

“I’m glad you do know that but I don’t know what I feel about you, Ian, except that I did like your kiss.” Her eyes were tender and she glanced shyly away from him. “I’m even glad you did kiss me. I’ve sort of wanted to know - - -“ she said with a ripple in her voice, but still shy.

“So I can kiss you again?”

She put her hand on his chest. “Not quite so fast, Iantine! Not quite so fast. For my sake as well as Morath’s. Because,” and then she blurted out the next sentence, “I know I’m going to miss you… almost… as much as I’d miss Morath. I didn’t know a rider could be so involved with another human.

“Not like this. And,” she increased her pressure on the hand that held them apart because he wanted so to kiss her for that, “I can’t be honestly sure if it’s not because Morath rather likes you, too, and is influencing me.”

I am not, said Morath firmly, almost indignantly.

“She says…” Debera began as Iantine said, “I heard that.”

They both laughed and the sensual tension between them eased. He made quick use of the opportunity to kiss her, lightly, to prove that he could and that he did understand about Morath. He had also actually asked as many questions about rider liaisons as discretion permitted.

What he’d learned had been both reassuring and unsettling. There were more ramifications to human affairs than he had ever previously suspected. Dragonrider-human ones could get very complicated and the green dragons, being so highly-strung and sexually oriented, were the most complex.

“I guess I’m lucky she talks to me at all,” Iantine said. “Look, love, I’ve said what I’ve wanted to say. I’ve heard what Morath has to say, and we can leave it there for now. I’ve got to go to Benden Hold and Morath has to… mature.” He gently tightened his arms around his beloved. “If I’m welcome to come back… to the Weyr, I will return. Am I welcome?”

“Yes, you are,” Debera said as Morath also confirmed it.

“Well, then,” and he kissed her lightly, managing to break it off before the emotion that could so easily start up again could fire, “let us dance, and dance and dance. That should cause no problems, should it?”

“Of course,” the words were no sooner out of his mouth than he knew that having her so close to him all evening was going to be a trial of his self-control.

His lips tingled as he led her back, her fingers trustingly twined into his. The dance was ending as he put his arms around her, so they managed just one brief spin. Since he now felt far more secure, he did let Leopol partner Debera for one fast dance, or he’d never hear the last of it from the boy.

Other than that surrender, he and Debera danced together all night, cementing the bond that had begun: danced until the musicians called it a night.

He was going to hate to be parted from her, more now because they did have an understanding - of sorts - but there was no help for it.

He had the duty to Benden Hold.