Someone had meddled, thinking to avenge age-old wrongs. Instead, the ensuing war would bring bloody deaths to thousands on both sides. Could the son of Kiroth's most bitter enemies restore the natural balance to Pern?

Chapter One

The air was full of the acrid smell of brimstone, coloured grey by the falling ash from the vicious battle raging around them. The dragons, their massive shadows streaking across the ground below them, were wreaking revenge. Bloodlust gleamed in the Queen's eyes as she marshalled her clan, snapping an order to her general.

Jased, take a flight of the bronzes to the southern face of the Weyr. Krikan will take the other flight, and the rest will fly under my wings. The look in her eyes was grim. These humans will pay for the blood of my offspring. She caught the faint impression from Jased's mind that there wasn't a single dragon in the history of wild dragon lore not of her line, and though faintly amused, she reprimanded him sharply. This isn't the time for cheeking your dam, she reminded him sharply, and the mature bronze wheeled gracefully to do her bidding with only a passing statement flashing through her mind.

Yes, Kiroth.

She snorted in irritation, and bellowed out to her clan, swooping in golden splendour down on the amassing crowds below. Pathetic creatures, she thought derisively, sending a magnificent blaze of angry fire straight into the buildings. The stone halls erupted from the inside, tongues of flame leaping out to lick hungrily at the unforgiving rock as though it could be devoured. Kiroth approved of their intensity, a look of steel in her gaze. Children and adults alike would die. There's no room for pity, she told herself sharply as a pang of that exact sentiment resounded loudly in her dragon heart, not when they will simply grow to be murderers exactly like their sires.

She well remembered the panic she had smelled from the entire arena at her hatching, all those long Turns ago, when she and all the others from her clutch had simply snatched the meat from the sandy floor and bulleted into flight, unnaturally strong for their age. Oh yes. She truly remembered their fear of something they hadn't experienced before, and then, the Turns of hiding before she reached her maturity, hiding because of the danger from the humans - the ones who sought to kill her. She was the only one left.

Something had given her unnaturally long life. Those who had hatched along with her had fallen to the ravages of age, growing old, and she had remained vibrant, energetic - seemingly young - yet growing larger and stronger with every passing year. She had recognised her purpose quickly - and now knew, with some satisfaction, that the entirety of dragon kind was of her line. Her mate had died only the previous Turn, a victim of the humans' cruel whim when he sought to protect a young clan of dragons who were only three Turns old - and had been slain with them. She grieved him still. He alone had been the last link with her past, having hatched only moments before her. The other queens had died long ago, but he - Hasath - had been her mate, her one lifelong love.

And she had lost him. She threw herself into the battle with renewed vigour, expertly dodging the deadly weapons thrown at her, and heard in satisfaction the murmurs as the condemned weyrlings realised whom they were battling with. She knew what they whispered about her. She was just glad that, in their final, pathetic moments, they recognised their angel of death.

Dragon Mother. A demon clad in golden hide.

"Hasan!" Jamila shrieked, choking on the thick black smoke. "Hasan!" Her weyrmate vaulted through the acrid screen, clutching a sturdy child to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, soothing her with his presence, before hurriedly depositing their son into her arms. The message was clear in his eyes - Run. She heard rather than saw the black shadow swoop over her as Hasan threw himself to the ground, his body a protective shield amongst the wreckage.

Intense heat. Flames broiling around her body, licking her bare skin into shudders of agony as she pressed herself and the boy into the earth to the near point of suffocation. The pain drew a long, despairing scream from her as it threatened to consume her, but she understood, though barely, when the red inferno was gone, that it was time to get away from here. Jamila glanced but once at the blackened corpse of her spouse, whose last action had been a desperate act of protection, and broke into a stumbling run, despite the horrific burns that had stripped her of hair and clothes, and live skin.

She ran, not caring that sharp splinters of wood added to the throbbing pain in her body, which was slowly decreasing, slowly stopping. There was only one thought that echoed in the woman's mind as she tripped through the wreckage towards the lake, gripping her son to her body.

Run.

Kiroth felt a weary triumph as the flames from the ruined buildings subsided into blackened ashes, spiralling smoke sending a message of victory into the sky. The one hundred and seventy-two inhabitants of the small village on the hillside were dead. Life for life, Kiroth thought sadly. We chose this village because that is how many of my sons and daughters were killed and roasted on your fires. Her eyes hooded in disgust. We do not eat you, O shameless spawn of Pern. We choose for our prey things that will sate our appetites - but you, scrawny kind that you are, would only give us bellyache. Her claws, blackened from the grime of battle and smeared with blood, were a grim sight indeed. She looked up, away from the wreckage. Those among the dead were not just men - there were also the corpses of dragons, still and graceful even in death. A great exhale of breath escaped through the mighty Queen's jaws.

Aí, and I would give you a better fate than this, my children, she mourned softly. But I can do no more than seek revenge for the crimes against us. She called her general, Jased, and told him to see that the clan got back to the caves safely. I would be alone - for a while. His respectful neck-baring - showing the soft, vulnerable folds of skin under his jaw - comforted her somewhat. She spread her awe-inspiring wingspan and lifted effortlessly into the air, seeking water. Water, to wash away the guilt of slaying children.

Even if they were the spawn of evil men.

She felt the angry roll of fire in her belly begin to subside, leaving her with the emptiness that a battle always did. She laughed at herself. I still find it disorienting, even after all these Turns. A sharp, clean smell came to her as the breeze lifted, and she felt a sudden lift in her chest. Water - a collecting of it, quite a large one, was lying nearby. Quite large enough for the Dragon Mother to have a bath in. She could have flown back to the valley, but she needed to be alone. Kiroth spotted a thick line of low-lying trees on the horizon, and headed towards it, already revelling in the thought of fresh, cool water on her hide.

The mirror-like surface of the lake was disturbed as the Queen plunged in, diving deep into the murky depths until she felt the need for the air that had been battered out of her in her wild, headlong fall. Kiroth used her golden wings to push strongly up into the day, and then settled in the shallows, shaking herself with an abandon she would not have used had she not been alone. The water dripped from her head as she raised her muzzle to the setting star, which shattered the fat drops into rainbow beads. She blinked, slowly and contentedly, letting each of the several eyelids close before opening them to reveal slowly whirling blue and green eyes.

Which latched onto a currently awe-struck toddler who stood at the side of the lake. Kiroth was so taken aback at this unexpected image that she stumbled backwards, landing in the depths of the water in a comical tangle of wings and claws. A childish chuckle erupted, rolling pleasurably into the dragon's ears, and her massive head whipped with surprising speed towards the sight of a dirty, tear-stained face that was glowing with the belief that this show was for his enjoyment alone.

She snorted, yellow-tinted eyes showing her concern. What should she do? Her fire was definitely not completely gone - indeed, a spark had lit in her cavernous chest, much too willing to be freed in a glorious, liquid spout - but why was he here? Her curiosity could not be ignored. Here was a child - completely unafraid - who was laughing at a creature more than thirty-three times his pathetic count of Turns, and who possessed the ability to render the Dragon Mother helpless to do anything other than - watch.

Think objectively! she roared inside, angry at her lack of judgement. A sudden pain emanated from somewhere close, and Kiroth, bewildered, heard the human child utter a hurt-filled cry, his features crumpling as a babe is wont to do when he has heard a loud noise. But, the Queen wondered, how could he hear me? A sudden recollection came to her - voices outside her egg, speaking of a woman who could hear dragons - a human. Still puzzled, she lumbered close to the boy, and stooped low to look into his large brown eyes. Can you hear me? she thought slowly, projecting her mind-speak towards him. A look of almost pathetic relief shone in his eyes, before a torrent of thoughts, all tangled and unordered, rushed towards her like the flow of a river.

Come to take care of me? Mati said - but Mati can't move, why can't she move? She's all sleepy and hurt - can't hear me when I talk to her - too hot, my arm hurts - why can't Mati move? Where's Pati? Too much noise - why has everyone gone away? - flying - like you? His eyes widened in surprise and shock, and he stumbled to the ground, confusion in his small mind. So much fire - Jemil is gone - Kiroth caught an impression of a huge, bearlike hound, with fur good to pull on - why isn't anyone here? Mati can't talk - Mati! The dragon saw an image, distorted through human sight, of a woman with caring hands and a soft voice - made harsh by fire and smoke. She was taken aback by the image of the still woman on the ground, her hurt body finally cold in death.

Dead?

Kiroth cursed, irritated. The word had been picked up by the injured, dirty little boy in front of her head, but he was confused - had no concept of its meaning. The Queen was at a loss for what to do. The child - she was positive, even with her limited experience of men, that he could barely be three Turns old - would not survive past the sevenday without a dam to take care of him. Possibly even shorter. It was one thing to kill a child during battle, but quite another to leave it to the mercy of nature, which certainly wouldn't be kind.

She felt a sudden pressure against her claw, and looked down, snorting. The twin puffs of cold, grey smoke enveloped the child who had suddenly curled up against the gargantuan arm, which he could liken more to a tree trunk than anything else, and was gradually subsiding into comfortable slumber, despite the burned arm he sported. He was a - a picture of innocence, she realised, looking at the sooty eyelashes, probably coloured by the grime of the day, which curled against his soft cheek. Something that she hadn't encountered in many, many Turns. Her foreclaw slowly, hesitantly curled around the sleeping child, and as tenderly as she could she brought him to her chest.

Perhaps if we look after him until we find him some humans to take care of him. Satisfied with that notion, and masterfully ignoring the unhelpful, slightly sadistic thought that she was becoming soft, Kiroth spread her wings and lifted into the air as gently as she could, to not disturb her sleeping charge. The Queen was unaware that she was bringing much more back with her than an object of pity.

I suppose we must have a name for him, she thought ironically. But she was not experienced with naming, as her offspring hatched from the egg knowing their own name. It seems much more simple when they tell you what to call them, she mused. Otherwise the chore of naming twenty dragonets a Hatching would have stretched my imagination to the limits.

As if he had heard her, the tiny boy clutched to her chest shifted, and murmured sleepily, with a slight scowl in his dark eyes, M'name's Ronan. Oo won't forget, will you? Thus instructed, Kiroth found a tiny slither of amusement in her heart.

I don't know that I would dare to, boy. Her eyes narrowed, not entirely in fun. However, I am the Queen Kiroth, Dragon Mother of Pern. Supremely unconcerned, Ronan curled his small fist and inserted his dirty thumb into his red mouth.

Must be nice, being a queen, his sleepy mind muttered. His thoughts trailed off, and he was slumbering in her mighty claws. Heading towards the clan valley, Kiroth allowed her bemused emotions to surface in her mind. Huge eyes glinted at the stars, which winked back at her, as though they held the answer that she sought after. If she could have, the Dragon Mother would have pursed her lips.

I suppose I shall have to stay ignorant, then? she posed to the cold gems above her scaly head. She received no answer, as she had expected. But as she determinedly pointed her great muzzle home, the feeling that the Red Star, which seemed cold and distant at night, was laughing at her grew too much to ignore.

So, being a highly respected Queen, known for her supreme wisdom in matters such as these, she opened her jaws in a grim smile.

And laughed back.

Despite the fact that it's been a long time since I posted this chapter, I still appreciate reviews on it. Enjoy the next update!