Jurille woke before dawn, and wondered what roused her.
You asked me to. Graesth murmured in her mind, her shadowed bulk on the weyr ledge, Wubath having spent the night on the Hatching Sands, a novel experience for the bronze.
So I did. Jurille yawned softly, so as to not rouse B'ton, who had returned late the night before, slipped out of his bed, tucking the sleeping furs around him. She smiled fondly down at him, lingering for a moment, then dressed and climbed on Graesth's neck. "Ista, please, dear heart."
Shall we arrive in time for breakfast? Graesth asked slyly, transferring between before Jurille could tell her no.
Dawn in Ista was warm, even at altitude, causing Jurille to loosen her riding jacket as Graesth landed. On the floor of the Bowl the weyrlings were already hard at work, filling bags with firestone. Belatedly Jurille remembered that during the hot season Istans often rose during the cool of the night to work by the light of the two moons until the morning sun became too hot to work in. By that virtue the cotton clad Weyrfolk would soon be sitting down for a second breakfast. Jurille smiled a little self-deprecatorily, and slid off Graesth, who asked coyly if she might go and sun herself. Knowing Graesth wanted to show off in front of the Istan bronzes Jurille laughed and told her to have fun.
"You're punctual" Brinda said by way of greeting, coming out of the Lower Cavern's entrance, a babe in her arms.
"Ooo, who's the little one?" Jurille asked, taking the moment to indulge in her maternal response to the child's presence. Her children, all three were grown and with children (and a couple dragons) of their own.
"One of Benden's. Her aunt smuggled her out of the Hold, and her mother had told her mate that she had died. " Brinda's expression spoke volumes about what she thought of the whole business.
"At least she survived. So many others haven't been so lucky," Jurille replied sadly.
"You've encountered that too? Pity. So, what should we call her?" Brinda asked, arching an eyebrow at her. Jurille looked surprised. "Not even a name...?" She shook her head. "Well, she's the daughter of the Weyr now, why not Isden?"
"Hmm... honors both the adoptive home and the father's Weyr... I like it. Isden it is." Brinda cradled the baby in one arm and waved her with her free hand. "Couragth tells me you haven't broken fast yet. Come, dine with me." Brinda led her out of the Bowl and into the cool of the Lower Caverns. In the corner closest to the klah pitchers four other silver-haired queenriders sat, chatting and laughing. Seeing Brinda's guest there was a round of greetings, as the core of the Magnificent Eight made Jurille feel welcome. One of the weyrlings brought her a plate of sliced fruit, flat bread and cold cuts, with a sourfruit dipping sauce.
"So what brings you to see a group of greyheads?" Brinda asked, settling down to feed Isden.
"I have a problem." As succinctly as she could, Jurille explained Ofsee's story and her plea. The queenriders thought about it for a moment, sipping their klah.
"I think the answers simple. You must remove those greenriders." Kenbib, formerly of High Reaches said. The other queenriders nodded in agreement.
"Shouldn't the request come from Kimi?" Jurille asked, fretting about overstepping her authority.
"Ideally, yes, but nothing about this situation is ideal." Diretta, originally of Igen explained. "Any queenrider, regardless of rank, can request a transfer of dragonpairs for the good of the Weyr." She shrugged. "In the past we've done so to keep from inbreeding, but we have also moved dragonpairs that would suffer under current Weyrlearship."
"You mean like D'nae?" Jurille asked carefully.
"Yes, bad business, that. I was certain C'seld wouldn't be Weyrleader after that stunt." Garkis, of Benden remarked with a sour look. "I had warned Th'cry about him. Pity he had to catch Thread like that."
"Th'cry was one of Lothu's sons." Kenbib murmured sorrowfully.
"Is that the end of her bloodline? I can't remember." Tiny Ryla asked.
"No, her other son lives." Brinda looked at Jurille. "How is L'stur these days?"
"Quite well. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say he's enjoying his semi-retirement. Who's Lothu?" Jurille replied. The other queenriders grew silent.
"Lothu is why Pern is Threadfree today." Ryla said quietly.
"Harpers sing of the Magnificent Eight when they should sing of nine." Brinda further explained. "You know part of this story. How we were all Searched together, and how all of us Impressed within four Turns? Well, Lothu Impressed first, at Telgar."
"My Timith was her Bravth's daughter." Ryla added with a small smile.
"She kept us together, and treated us like sisters." Diretta added. "You were but a babe at the time, you couldn't possibly remember the state Pern was in on the eve of the Pass, but Pern was bitterly divided. A goodly half of the Lord Holders didn't believe that Thread was returning, and all sides were vying to put one of their own Bloodlines into the vacant Lord Holder position in Fort. People were actually being murdered for who they supported for Hold leadership. To make matters worse, Craft leadership was poisoned and deathly ill following a Congress, and the Masterharper and Masterhealer kidnapped. The Holds responded by building up their Watches from a few dozen men to troops numbering in the hundreds, many of them pulled from smaller holdings. Pern was marching towards the unthinkable, war." Diretta fell silent, sipping her klah as Jurille absorbed that information.
"The dragons knew better, of course." Rheumatic Verney wheezed, joining them at the table. Another chair was brought over and the queenrider eased into her seat, waving off the offer for breakfast.
"Came to see our guest, not eat," she told the Istan headwoman testily, shooing the younger woman away. "Always trying to fatten me up, heh," she grumbled, and the other queenriders smiled at the threadbare refrain. Verney tapped her cane. "The dragons knew though, and within four Turns we were all riding gold." She frowned for a moment thinking back. "Lothu more than treated us as sisters, she saved our lives. We all knew our lives were forfeit if we left the Weyr. No one was neutral in the ascension of Lord Demar to Fort Hold, not even the Weyrs, although they strove their hardest..." She accepted with ill grace the cup of klah the headwoman placed in front of her.
"My family's cothold was burned to the ground." Asvi said softly. "Lothu insisted the survivors stay in the Lower Caverns, until I impressed. " She flashed a small smile at Jurille.
"Lothu was originally of Nerat, her mother was Store Mistress, her father the Hold's blacksmith. She recognized better than any of us what was going on, and early enough to save us from those who sought to deprive our queens of riders." Ryla added.
"Lothu taught us to think and act as one, something queens had not done in... oh, centuries. When the eastern alliance marched on the west, we flew as a Wing to stop them." Brinda continued.
"Easily the most foolish thing we ever did, landing our queens between two mercenary armies." Verney grumbled.
"But it worked." Countered Garkis, as a brown fire lizard landed on the table and looked around hopefully. Jurille was about to move her plate away when Verney pat her lap. The brown walked across the table and hopped into her lap, crooning softly as she pet him.
"Aye, Lothu would have led the charge herself, had she still been with us then." Brinda said, putting the empty bottle down on the table and placing Isden to her shoulder, to burp her.
"She was dead by then?" Jurille asked. Several queenriders nodded.
"Two Turns gone by then. Died in childbirth. Indeed, we thought we were going to lose little Lostur for a while. We were lucky, one of the women in the Lower Caverns was just weaning her daughter, none of us knew what to do with a motherless babe, and Healer Hall was still refusing us." Ryla explained solemnly.
"About that, how did that come about?" Jurille asked, feeling somewhat lacking in her Weyr history.
"Are you familiar with the ballad The Masterharper's Last Stand?" Jurille nodded, for the ballad was the original score that the Randy Rider and Lusty Ladyholder was based on.
"Well, aside from changing the hero's dragon from an egg-laden queen to bronze, things played out as the ballad goes. The Masterharper managed to get a message out to where he and the Masterhealer were being held, Lord Kestle mounted the rescue party, Telgarsk and the bronze watchwher fought, and when the enemy archer shot at the rescuing dragon, the Masterharper deliberately stepped between the fatal arrow and Lothu." Garkis concluded, refilling her mug.
"Lothu? She risked her queen to a rescue attempt?" Jurille was floored by the audacity, and yet admiring too.
"Yes. And the Masterhealer she saved? She was the Masterharper's mate, and blamed the Weyrs for his death, recalling all her people, until she was recalled from her Mastery by a petition of all the healers on Pern, following Lothu's death." Brinda explained as little Isden let out a tremendous burp.
"Even her death served to unite Pern." Kenbib sighed, and the other queenriders nodded.
"A toast to fallen friends," Asvi suggested, and they all raised their mugs.
Charel woke at dawn, as was her habit, and after reassuring herself that Vaeth was deeply asleep, rose and dressed. The Bowl was misty, not too badly but enough to obscure things at a distance. The kitchen was quiet, but the night hearth still glowed red, and the slow simmering stew made for a hearty breakfast. Charel ate quickly, for after a lifetime of shared meals the silence was a little lonely. With nothing more to do, Charel opted for a bath. Trotting back to the Barracks for her bathing kit, she cut across the Hatching Grounds, only to surprise herself and Wubath by almost running into the bronze.
"Oh, apologies." She bowed like she might meeting the Lord Holder, and Wubath's eyes, shining blue whirled a little faster.
Nothing to apologize for, bluerider.
Charel wasn't entirely certain, but she suspected there was humor in his tone. "Ah, well then, good morning." She shifted a little on the hot sands. "May I inquire as to how you slept?"
Rather comfortably. He rose, back arched and wings extended. Charel watched him admiringly, then noticed the faint latticework of scar tissue patterned over his hind quarters.
They do not hurt, bluerider. Wubath informed her, peering down at her as he settled back on the Sands. Although they sometimes itch. He emphasized his point by scratching.
"Do they itch right now? I can get some oil." Charel was halfway across the Bowl before she heard him reply. That would be very nice. Charel nipped over to the common Stores, and retrieved an oil pot, trotting back to the waiting bronze. He sat perfectly still as she cracked the wax seal, checking to make sure the oil hadn't turned, and applied it with careful diligence to the ropey scars. Wubath let out such a gusty sigh that she giggled.
Thank you, bluerider. Wubath rumbled, very gently touching his snout to her forehead, just like Telgarsk had.
"You're very welcome... ah, as happy as I am to be Vaeth's rider, I don't mind if you use my name."
You've decided on one then? Wubath asked, and Charel blinked, unaware that anyone knew of her dilemma.
It confused Vaeth, so he asked us about it. Wubath explained as Charel rubbed the back of her neck.
"Ah. Might I ask you for your advice too?"
Certainly.
"Do you remember the names of the first greenriders?"
No. But the Weyrwoman keeps a book that has that information.
"Huh. I'll have to ask her about that the next time I see her." Charel reflected. "But the practice is to shorten one's name when they Impress, right?"
Yes. Some riders change their names entirely, if the shortened name is too similar to another in the Weyr.
"Really? I didn't know that." Charel considered that tidbit for a moment. "My folks call me Charrie, although my full name is Charel."
You are not interested in either of those. Wubath observed.
"Not really. Charrie's a kid's name, but if I shorten Charel the traditional way, Ch'rel, it might confuse non-Weyrfolk into thinking I'm a boy." She explained.
Is that a bad thing?
"It might be. I know there's going to be problems with folk accepting a girl on a fighting color." She sighed sadly.
Queens fight.
"Yes, but they breed too. And Vaeth, as much as I love him, is never going to clutch." Charel grinned at the bronze whose eyes whirled even faster with mirth. "But I was thinking I wanted to honor the naming tradition, and adopt a one syllable name." She frowned faintly. "I just can't decide if I should go with Char or Rel."
What does Vaeth think?
Charel grimaced, then smiled sheepishly up at the massive bronze.
"He does this." And mentally sent him a burst of affection. Wubath rumbled aloud this time, a draconic chuckle of sorts.
He is still a baby, bluerider-with-too-many-names. He teased her, and Charel ducked her head, grinning as Zandur emerged from the mists, heading towards the senior Queen's weyr. Wubath looked over at the Weyrhealer, then back at Charel.
Go to the Weyrhealer, bluerider. He will want assistance shortly, and you are the only other person awake.
"Oh, yes sir." Charel turned to leave, still holding the oil pot.
Leave the pot. Wubath added. I will see that it is taken care of.
"Thank you." Charel placed the pot on the ground next to the bronze, and hurried over to the Weyrhealer.
If you see any spelling or grammatical errors, please inform me.
Anne once mentioned in an interview with Science Fiction Magazine that Dragons could talk to anyone they wished to, they simply didn't wish to very often. That said, there's no reason Wubath wouldn't decide to converse with the only other sentient awake in the Weyr. And no, Charel can't hear all dragons.