Chameleon
A/N
A remarkable dragon hatches, and proceeds to confuse almost everyone around him. This little story takes place shortly after "All the Weyrs of Pern." Rated T for a few adult themes; the language is all K.
The two brothers had been rivals ever since the younger one was born. Now that both of them were standing on the Hatching Sands of Benden Weyr, that rivalry was as fierce as ever.
"I'll bet you a mark that I Impress a better dragon than you do," boasted Borlupkis, the older of the two. He looked across the dozens of huge eggs that were beginning to rock back and forth, and wondered which one was about to choose him.
"I should take your bet," shrugged Marlaven with a smile. "I just happen to know that you lost your last marks in a card game against some green riders last night. You still owe me for that bet about both of us being Searched, and –"
"Those green riders cheated!" Borlupkis protested. "I just know one of their dragons was looking over my shoulder at my cards and passing them to her rider in her mind!"
Marlaven shook his head firmly. "The dragon riders don't let their dragons near them when they're gambling, for that very reason. If you think you're about to become one of them, then you'd better start learning their ways. We aren't in Keroon Hold anymore."
"No one is happier about that than me, not even you," his brother retorted. "Okay, I'll be sporting. I'll bet you a mark that my dragon turns out better than yours, and another mark that you won't Impress at all!"
"Hold it, hold it," Marlaven thought out loud. "If neither of us Impresses, then you win one. If you Impress and I don't, then you win two. If I Impress and you don't, then I win two. If we both Impress and your dragon is better, then we both win one and we're even. If we both Impress and my dragon is better, then I win two. If we both Impress the same color, then I win one. It sounds like my odds are better than yours. What's the catch?"
"I'm just trying to make this more interesting," Borlupkis shrugged. Then they heard a sharp crack as the first egg began to hatch. "Make a decision, brother! Do we have a bet? Make up your mind now, before the first one hatches!"
"Yes to the better-dragon bet," Marlaven said quickly. "No to the won't-impress bet. Keep it simple, keep the odds even. Let the dragons choose the winner!" They quickly shook hands without looking at each other and returned to focusing on the dragons.
Ramoth's last clutch had included neither queens nor bronzes, which was unusual for her. There was no queen egg in this clutch, either. Therefore, she was overdue for at least two bronzes, maybe three. At least, that's what the odds-makers were saying. The brothers' one-mark bet was big for them, but it was small change compared to the wagers that the Lord Holders and the Craftmasters were making. The results of this clutch were being followed more avidly than any other clutch in the past five Turns.
The first egg hatched, shattering into tiny fragments. It was a bronze! A shout of "Oh!" went up across the stone benches full of spectators. A few seconds later, another egg hatched and a handsome brown emerged. The bronze turned in a full circle, then settled on a Healer journeyman's son from Tillek. The brown faced no indecision. He toddled on weak legs, tripping twice over his own feet, straight to Borlupkis.
"His name is Shlepth!" the young man exclaimed, his rivalry and his wager forgotten for a moment. All he could see was those wonderful whirling blue eyes. Still, Impressing a brown dragon gave him a better-than-average chance of winning his bet.
Now three dragons hatched nearly at the same time, two greens and a blue, and they all spread out in search of their chosen human. None of them showed any interest in Marlaven. Neither did any of the others, until only four eggs were left. The first one hatched a green; the second, a blue; the third, another green; and the fourth, a brown. Marlaven silently hoped that the brown would choose him. He wouldn't win his bet, but he wouldn't lose, either.
The blue made its way unerringly across the sands and stopped in front of him.
My name is Basherth.
"Oh!" Marlaven exclaimed. He fell to his knees so he could look the little dragon in the eye. "Basherth, you're beautiful!" Just like his brother, their wager was completely forgotten in the joy of Impression. Basherth was, indeed, beautiful. He was a slightly deeper shade of blue than usual, and he was very well-proportioned, even for a hatchling.
You are wonderful and amazing, intelligent and kind. I am the luckiest dragon ever, because I found you.
"He looks like a fine one," came a voice over his shoulder. It was one of Benden's blue riders, tasked with the important job of moving newly-hatched dragons and their riders off the Hatching Sands and down to where the food and the oil waited. The young dragon was certain to want plenty of both, and he'd want it immediately. "Why don't you two follow me?"
Will he take me to some food? I am very, very hungry.
"Of course he will!" Marlaven assured him. Then he turned to the older man. "You're going to take us to the food, right? He says he's hungry."
"Absolutely," the man nodded with a smile. "Come this way." He gestured toward the ramp that led down to the base of the bowl. They had barely reached the bottom when Basherth changed his priorities; his itchy hide bothered him more than his empty stomach. The blue rider pointed to rows of small buckets and wooden paddles. Marlaven eased his dragon's discomfort, then led him a short distance away to where the buckets of chopped meat awaited. He was hungry too – the Hatching had begun just before lunch time – but he didn't even think of getting anything for himself until he knew that Basherth was satisfied.
His parents were quick to congratulate him, as was his younger sister. He was dreading his encounter with Borlupkis, though. Which would come first, the gloating or the demand to pay up? Neither was likely to be pleasant. He actually considered avoiding his brother for the evening. It wouldn't be hard in this great crowd. But it would be unspeakably rude. Marlaven decided to hunt his brother down and get it over with.
He found him and Shlepth among the green riders, laughing and joking with them as though he'd known them for many Turns. "Oh, look who's here!" he exclaimed when he saw Marlaven and Basherth.
"More competition for your invincible brown when one of our greens rises?" one of the green riders asked indulgently.
"No, it's my unlucky little brother, Marlaven," Borlupkis gloated. "I'll spare him the embarrassment of admitting defeat in front of witnesses. Step over this way, brother." They stepped away from the crowd about a dragonlength.
Borlupkis tried to avoid looking too triumphant, but he couldn't keep a grin off his face. "I guess your name is M'aven now, right, blue rider?"
M'aven nodded noncommittally. "And you must be B'upkis."
"That's B'upkis, rider of brown Shlepth," his brother said firmly. "As I recall, we made a bet about who would get the better dragon, and it looks like you lost, blue rider. Do you want to pay up now? Or do you want me to follow you around, calling you a deal-breaker in front of everyone, until you do pay me?"
M'aven glanced at his beautiful blue, who was sitting at his feet. He thought to his dragon, "I love you just the way you are, but it's a shame you couldn't be a bronze."
I can do that for you.
To both their amazement, Basherth's hide began to ripple in color. Bronze-colored patches appeared all over him; they grew, spread, and joined together. In about ten seconds, Basherth had turned completely bronze.
Is that better?
B'upkis stared, open-mouthed, for some time after the color change had finished. At last, he stammered, "How... how did he do that?"
"I... I don't know," M'aven stammered back. He mentally asked Basherth, "How did you do that?"
I just did it. It is like going between or breathing out fire. We dragons know how to do these things.
"But no dragon ever did that before!" his rider protested.
Oh? Then I must be special. I like that.
M'aven turned back to his brother. "He says he just knows how to do it. Now, about that wager? It looks like I have the better dragon after all. One mark, please. I'm sure you can borrow it from one of your new friends."
"But... but..." B'upkis was beside himself. "This isn't right! Father said you Impressed a blue! He was blue a minute ago! You must have cheated somehow!"
M'aven pulled himself to his full height, which almost matched his brother. "I did not cheat! Just because I Impressed the most amazing dragon on Pern and you didn't, that's no reason to accuse me falsely!"
"What's going on here?" came a rough male voice. It was K'vell, the Weyrlingmaster. He had heard young men's voices rising in anger and wandered over to find the source of the problem.
"We're brothers," M'aven began, "and we made a simple bet with each other. Whoever Impressed the better dragon would be the winner. He's got a brown, I've got a bronze, and he's accusing me of cheating somehow!"
"But I heard that when he Impressed, his dragon was a blue!" B'upkis protested. "He was blue a second ago – I saw him – but he just changed into a bronze, so that doesn't count, right?"
"He what?" K'vell demanded. "Dragons don't change color. You're talking nonsense, B'upkis. This is a bronze dragon, nothing more, nothing less. Now let me think." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "A few Turns ago, a young man Impressed a green, and he knew that this would disappoint his parents, who were hoping for a bronze rider. So he paid one of the new bronze riders to borrow his bronze until his parents went home. Could that have happened here? Could M'aven have switched dragons with someone just to win the bet?"
"No, this is my dragon," M'aven said firmly.
K'vell's face went blank for a few seconds. M'aven guessed that he was talking to his own dragon. Then the Weyrlingmaster turned back to both of them. "My Metsiath says that this is definitely M'aven's dragon, and I can see with my own two eyes that he's a bronze... although I don't remember seeing this particular bronze hatch. Anyway, your wagers and your family disputes are your own business, but you will not get into a fight over them! I don't want my new riders getting hurt, and I don't want you stressing out the new dragons. Settle your bet like adults, then avoid each other for a while. I think your dragons are on their last legs; maybe it's time for the both of you to get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." He strode off toward the food tables.
M'aven held out his open palm. "Well?"
B'upkis scowled. "I'll have to owe you. But when I find out how you did this, you will pay me back, one way or another!"
M'aven smiled. "Even my dragon doesn't know how he did it. How are you going to find out? Face it, Borlupkis – I mean B'upkis. Just for once, you can't lord it over me." Basherth yawned hugely, and M'aven knew it was time to take the Weyrlingmaster's advice. "I'm going to find a sleeping place near the other bronze riders. Try not to get too close to us." He led his amazing dragon away to where some of the other weyrlings and their dragons were already fast asleep. It took no time at all for him and Basherth to join them.
The next morning, as they rose and wiped the sleep from their eyes, the Weyrleader and the Weyrwoman came down to check out the newest class of dragons. This Pass was drawing to a close, but it still had five Turns to run, and these dragons would be old enough to fight Thread before it fell for the last time. Some of them might well grow up to fly in F'lar's wing. The pair nodded in approval as the weyrlings rushed about for oil and paddles, putting their dragons ahead of their own comfort.
"Ramoth did well again, as she always does," F'lar commented to his mate. "Three bronzes in the same clutch! I'll bet none of those Oldtimer queens ever achieved such a feat."
"They won't talk about it, so we'll never know," Lessa answered. Then her brow furrowed. "You counted three bronzes?"
"Yes, of course," F'lar replied, puzzled. "Everyone was counting the bronzes. A lot of marks changed hands when the third one hatched."
Lessa waved her hand. "Then why do I see four brand-new bronze dragons? Where did that fourth one come from?"
F'lar did a quick count. "I don't know. I can't see how we miscounted."
"Maybe Ramoth will know." Lessa half-closed her eyes and mentally asked, "Ramoth, how many bronzes hatched from this clutch?"
Three, of course. They are all fine, healthy dragons.
"We see four bronzes down here."
I know that three bronzes hatched. I was watching very carefully. Perhaps the fourth one wandered in from the clutch of another Benden queen? We do have several queens here.
"He looks like a newly-hatched dragon to me," Lessa answered.
There were three. I know my own eggs. That would be Ramoth's final word on the subject. Lessa shrugged. "I can't figure it out," she said to F'lar. "Somehow, every person and every dragon in the Weyr miscounted the bronzes."
"What was that about miscounting the bronzes?" L'chaim, a passing brown rider, had overheard her comment and was suddenly very interested.
"It turns out there were four bronzes hatched yesterday, not three," F'lar explained.
L'chaim pumped his fist. "Yes! I made a bet with good odds that there would be four! Thank you for telling me this, Weyrleader, Weyrwoman. Now I need to see some people about some money." He speed-walked away, rubbing his hands with glee.
"This is going to cause some confusion," Lessa observed, "and not just because of the betting. The Weyrlingmaster needs to know about this. Bronzes tend to become Wingleaders, and if K'vell is going to train four leaders at once, then he may have to adjust his plans."
"I'll see to that," F'lar nodded, and they resumed watching the new hatchlings and the newly-minted riders. It bothered them that they could have made so elemental a mistake as to miss the hatching of a bronze, but that didn't really matter. The new dragons' future was what mattered.
K'vell put in an appearance and began trying to bring order to the weyrlings, a process not unlike trying to herd wild fire lizards. At last, he did what he always wound up doing with a new class – he put his hands to his mouth and bellowed. "All of you, line up by the lake! Line up in dragon order, bronzes on the left, greens on the right! Yes, I know your dragons are hungry, and the sooner you cooperate, the sooner you can feed them!" In a few minutes, he had a semblance of a line, forty-four riders long, each with a small dragon next to him.
"Okay!" he shouted. "Quiet down! There's enough meat for all of your dragons, and there's breakfast for you as well, but not until this distracting chatter ends." He paused until the background noise faded. "That's better. Bronze riders, go feed your dragons, then go to breakfast." M'aven and the other three bronze riders quickly made their way to the buckets of meat and began popping chunks into their dragons' yawning gullets as fast as they could.
"I'm glad you turned into a bronze," M'aven thought to Basherth. "Bronzes and their riders get to go first at everything."
I am glad that you are happy. Another bite, please.
When the bronzes were done eating, they lay down in the sun to rest while their riders sat at tables for breakfast. It was the brown riders' turn. M'aven could see his brother giving him a dirty look now and then. M'aven knew B'upkis very well, and it looked like his brother was building up a barely-concealed rage that might explode at the worst possible moment. Would it be possible to avoid setting him off?
No, not a chance. As soon as bronze rider M'aven was put in place as a leader-in-training, he would be expected to give orders to all the others, including his older brother. B'upkis was too proud to submit to that. They would have a major blow-up, probably the first of many. This arrangement would never, ever work.
"Basherth," he asked mentally, "can you do that color-change thing whenever you want to?"
Yes. I will do anything to make you happy.
"You make a beautiful bronze, but I think it might be better if you turned back into a blue dragon."
All right. I will do that for you. His bronze hide shifted and darkened. In the space of about four breaths, he had turned back into the lovely shade of dark blue he'd worn when he hatched.
"Maybe you're not as high-ranking a dragon now," M'aven smiled, "but I think I like you better as a blue."
"Weyrlings!" K'vell's bellow startled them all. "Finish up in five minutes and line up by the lake again! Dragon order, bronzes on the left!" They wolfed down the remains of their breakfasts and took their dragons back to the lake. The Weyrlingmaster surveyed them casually.
"Congratulations and welcome to Benden Weyr," he began. "You have started a lifelong journey that most people can only dream of. You are dragonriders now! You will be Pern's first line of defense against Thread, and you will..." He stopped and looked puzzled. "There should be four bronzes. Where's M'aven?"
"I'm here, sir," M'aven called from among the blue riders.
"Well, get yourself down here with the other... wait a second. Where's your dragon?"
"My dragon is sitting right here beside me," M'aven said, and glanced down fondly at Basherth.
"That's a blue dragon," K'vell snapped.
"Yes, sir, he certainly is," M'aven replied.
"Where's your bronze?"
"My dragon is a blue dragon, sir," the young man answered. Some of the other riders began to wonder if the Weyrlingmaster had gone colorblind. B'upkis was trying to see what was going on, but there were too many other riders and dragons in the way.
"Well, I'm not going to resolve this in the next two minutes, so we'll let it slide for now." K'vell shook his head and resumed his welcoming speech, composed of equal parts promises, threats, and hints of future glories. Then he sent the riders for a jog around the lake while the young dragons watched.
B'upkis made a point of dropping back in the pack until he was running next to his brother. "So you admit that your dragon is a blue, eh?"
M'aven sent a quick mental command to Basherth. Then he replied, "There must be some mistake. My dragon is a bronze."
"But you just told everyone that he's a blue!"
"When we get back to our dragons, you can look and see for yourself." As each rider finished his lap, his dragon ran up to him and greeted him joyously. M'aven was greeted by... a bronze.
"I don't get it," B'upkis said, shaking his head and walking away.
M'aven couldn't help smiling. "This is great! We can do this to him for a sevenday or more, and he'll have no idea how we're doing it!"
He rides a nice dragon. I do not want to hurt him.
"I don't want to hurt him, either!" M'aven exclaimed in his mind. "He's my brother! I don't want anything bad to happen to him. But, after fourteen Turns of him bossing me around and getting the first share of everything, it's nice to put him in his place, just for a while. We won't do it forever."
"Weyrlings, line up again!" came the Weyrlingmaster's voice. M'aven glanced down at his bronze-colored dragon friend. "It's time for you to turn blue again, please."
Very well. After a few seconds, M'aven was a blue rider again. He took his place with the other blue riders and sat through the first of many lectures he would have to endure as a weyrling. This one was about Weyr organization, and as a Holdbred boy, it was all new to him. Most of it was very dry facts, but he wondered if it might be useful someday, and he strongly suspected that they would be quizzed on it. Sure enough, at the end of the lecture, K'vell went down the line and asked each boy a question about what he'd heard. Anyone who didn't know the correct answer was sent on another jog around the lake. The others were turned loose until lunch time. K'vell called M'aven and his dragon aside.
"Last night," he began, "I intervened in a situation with your brother. At that time, you definitely had a bronze dragon. This morning, when you all woke up, he was still bronze. But now he's blue. Everyone says that three, and only three, bronzes hatched yesterday, but I counted four bronzes this morning, including yours. Now there are three again." He glared down at the boy. "I demand that you tell me the truth. What's going on with you and your dragon? Do you have a blue or a bronze? Or am I losing my mind?"
M'aven swallowed and took a deep breath. "The truth, sir, is that Basherth hatched as a blue dragon. When my brother was leaning on me about our bet, I told Basherth that it would be nice if he was a bronze. Just like that... he changed."
"A blue changed into a bronze?" K'vell repeated. "That's impossible! Dragons don't change color."
"That's what I thought, sir," the boy went on, "but he did it. He can change any time he wants. All I have to do is ask him."
The Weyrlingmaster glanced down at the dark blue dragon sitting at M'aven's feet. "All right. Ask him to change into a bronze now." M'aven did so. Ten seconds later, Basherth was a bronze again.
K'vell shook his head. "I've never heard of such a thing. If I didn't just see it, then I wouldn't believe it. Okay, now I have to ask you this. Which color is his real color? I have to know so I can train you properly. Are you a bronze rider, or are you a blue rider?"
"He seems very comfortable with both colors," M'aven answered, "but he hatched as a blue, so I think his 'real' color is blue."
K'vell took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm going to have to think about this. In the meantime, I'm asking you to keep your dragon blue. There must never be any question in any dragon's mind who the leaders are. If you keep changing back and forth, it will cause confusion, and I can't have that." He paused. "Your Basherth's... ability... may have some useful implications, but it also may cause serious problems. You'll be wise if you don't let others know about this until we're ready to handle all the pluses and minuses. If you're worried about your bet with your brother, I'll take care of that. Just keeps this under wraps for a while, okay?"
"Yes, sir," M'aven nodded.
Unfortunately, while they were focused on each other, many of the other weyrlings were watching from a distance to see why the Weyrlingmaster had singled out M'aven for a one-on-one conversation. They all saw Basherth change from a blue to a bronze. Within minutes, the whole Weyr knew M'aven's secret. It didn't take long for K'vell to receive a summons via his dragon: M'aven and Basherth were to report to the Weyrleader immediately, along with the Weyrlingmaster.
As they trudged toward the ramp, B'upkis met them with a smile. He held out his hand, which contained a one-mark coin. "Brother, our bet is settled," he grinned.
Maven was surprised as he took the coin. "You aren't going to give me a hard time about not really being a bronze rider?"
"Shards, no!" B'upkis replied. "If your freakish dragon has gotten you in trouble with the Weyrleader, that's worth a lot more than one mark to me. Rest assured, I'll be listening to all the reports that come out of this meeting. Have a good time! I've heard that the Weyrwoman eats young dragonriders for lunch." He waved gaily as the others made their way to the upper levels. K'vell chose not to comment.
Waiting for them in the meeting room were F'lar, Lessa, and Oharan, the Weyr Harper. F'lar rose from his seat as they arrived. "First off, let me take a good look at this fellow," he said, and gave Basherth a thorough visual inspection. "M'aven, you've got a good-looking blue... if, in fact, a blue is what he is."
"Sir, are we in trouble?" M'aven asked nervously.
"Only if you have lied to any of us," Lessa answered coldly. "Tell us the whole story." M'aven did so, from the conversation and the bet he made with his brother to his recent confrontation with K'vell.
They looked at Basherth again; the dragon looked back at them curiously. Is something wrong, M'aven?
"I don't think so, but I'm not sure," he answered mentally.
"Can you show us this color change?" Oharan wondered.
"Yes, of course," M'aven answered. He made his request of his dragon, and they watched, spellbound, as the young blue turned into a young bronze before their eyes.
"All right, that explains my confusion this morning," Lessa said at last. "Can he turn into other colors?"
"I don't know," M'aven replied. "Blue and bronze are the only colors we've tried." He turned to Basherth. "Can you change color so you look like a brown dragon?"
That is not hard. Again the dragon's color rippled and changed. A few seconds later, he looked very much like B'upkis' brown Shlepth.
"Incredible," F'lar said quietly. "Oharan, you're sure that nothing like this has ever happened before?"
"It's not mentioned in any song or Teaching ballad that I've ever heard," the Harper answered, "and I've made songs about dragons to be my specialty. If it was mentioned in any old Records, then it's in a Record that I've never seen. Maybe we should ask the Oldtimers if they've ever heard of a dragon who could change color."
"That's the last thing we want to do," Lessa said firmly. "If they found out that we have a non-traditional dragon, they'll hit the roof. Even if they have heard of such a thing, the trouble we'd cause would not be worth it."
"They're bound to find out about it someday," F'lar noted. "When two or more Weyrs fight Thread together, the riders always exchange gossip afterward. Someone from Benden is bound to mention the dragon who can change colors. This dragon is a secret that we won't be able to keep."
"There isn't much we can do about that," Oharan decided, "but I've got another question. Can Basherth change colors to look like a green?"
"Green dragons are female," M'aven replied firmly, "and my dragon is definitely male."
"I was only asking if he could do the color change," the Harper said mildly. F'lar nodded.
"I'll ask him," M'aven said. "Basherth, can you turn yourself green?"
Why would I want to? I am not a female dragon.
"The Weyrleaders want to know if you can do it."
Then I will try. He wriggled all over, as though testing how well his skin fit him; then his hide went blotchy with a ghastly green color. As the blotches spread, they darkened, until he looked like a typical green dragon when the process was done.
I had to work on the color to get it right. Green is not a natural color for me.
"Very impressive," Oharan nodded. "There's only one color left."
"No!" Lessa burst out. "You can't let him impersonate a gold dragon! That's just wrong! Gold dragons are special!"
"Lessa, he could never impersonate a gold dragon," F'lar said placatingly. "He's much too small, and his personality lacks the gravitas of a queen, even a young queen. This is just a color test. We need to know what this dragon can do, so we can deal with him properly. I promise we won't make a habit of this."
"I hate to watch," Lessa sighed, "but I suppose you're right. M'aven, ask Basherth to turn gold."
The dragon looked doubtful. For a few moments, nothing happened. Then his entire hide began to lighten from green to ochre, and from there to a rich gold. When he was done, he looked like the smallest queen dragon any of them had ever seen, smaller than a newly-hatched gold. They all stared at him in something close to amazement. Basherth visibly squirmed.
There. I did it. Now can I please go back to a male's color? Being gold makes me uncomfortable.
"Yes, go back to being blue," M'aven told him. In a few seconds, he changed back to blue and relaxed.
"What about other colors?" F'lar suddenly wondered. "Can he turn pink?"
Why would I want to? There is no such thing as a pink dragon.
"Can you try?" M'aven urged him. Basherth seemed to strain, but his color didn't change.
"I guess he can only change into real dragons' colors," M'aven told the others.
"What about white?" Lessa asked. "Can he turn white like Ruth?"
No, I cannot. There is only one Ruth.
"He isn't willing to try it, Weyrwoman," M'aven said apologetically.
"Okay, let's sit down and talk about this," F'lar directed. They did so. "We've got a dragon who can look just like any other dragon on Pern, with one exception. His disguise won't be effective if there's a size difference, so he'll never be able to pass himself off as a queen. If he's really a blue under the skin, then he won't be big enough to impersonate a bronze or a brown, either."
"As long as the hatchlings are still small," K'vell added, "he can look like any of them and fool anybody. That has great potential for chaos and confusion, as we've already seen. A class of weyrlings and young dragons already has all the chaos and confusion you can imagine; I don't think I can handle a double portion."
"You make a valid point," F'lar nodded. "M'aven, I'm going to have to ask you to make your dragon stay blue until further notice. If you want to practice changing colors for some reason, you'll have to do it in private, with no one watching, not even if a wager is at stake. We can't have any confusion as to who you are or where you land in the chain of authority. Do I make myself clear?"
"You do, sir," M'aven nodded soberly.
F'lar went on, "There may come a day when your dragon's ability will become extremely useful. On that day, we'll turn you loose and see what you can do. Until that day, however, you are going to be a blue rider and nothing else."
M'aven nodded again, and the meeting was over. But before they could leave, two agitated riders burst into the room. One was L'chaim, the brown rider; the other was Oy'vay, a green rider from R'gul's wing. L'chaim went straight to Lessa, stopped at a respectful distance, and said, "Weyrwoman, please settle this once and for all. How many bronzes hatched out of Ramoth's most recent clutch?"
"Three," she said without hesitation.
L'chaim did a double take. "Did you say three? You meant four, didn't you?"
"We all counted three," F'lar said evenly.
L'chaim was beside himself. "But, this morning, you said there were four!"
"There was an error," Lessa said. "The correct number is three. You shall not count to four, but only to three. Five is right out!"
"I told you," Oy'vay snapped. "Now give me my money back!"
"Can it wait until tomorrow?" the brown rider begged.
"I need at least half of it tonight," the green rider retorted.
"Fine," L'chaim grumbled. "Maybe my weyrmate has a few marks hidden away somewhere." They both left the room.
Oharan watched them go. "That, M'aven, is just one example of the confusion that your dragon can cause... and you've only been here for two days! We don't need confusion in Benden Weyr. Please obey the Weyrleader's order and make sure your dragon stays true-blue."
"I will," he promised.
After he left, F'lar turned to Oharan. "You mentioned Records a while ago. That reminds me. Did we ever get our loaned Records back from Lord Corman?"
"No," the Harper sighed. "He isn't responding to any of our requests. I think he's pretending that they were his all along. I don't see much hope of recovering them."
"That stubborn old fool," Lessa scowled. "He's obsessed with doing everything the way his ancestors did things. I guess that includes robbing Benden Weyr."
"Those Records were important," F'lar said. "But I won't send dragons against him on a firestone strike, and I can't think of any other way to get them back. Please let me know if you think of a way."
M'aven kept his word. Basherth remained blue, as he was told to do. Their training for the next few Turns was mostly uneventful. The dragon grew to his full size, and the rider reached his adult height. They learned about flight and about firestone; they learned formation flying and evasive tactics; they studied Pern's history and the locations of the Holds, Halls, Weyrs, and major landmarks. They learned to go between and to fly to any place on Pern and back. M'aven made friends among the other blue riders, and also among the riders of browns and greens. He still had occasional run-ins with his brother B'upkis, but they consisted of a few words exchanged and nothing more. B'upkis had managed to acquire a pretty girlfriend, a cook in the Lower Caverns named Esster. M'aven had no such luck; the young women of Benden Weyr liked him as a friend, but that was all. He was so busy learning how to be a dragonrider that he didn't have time for a girlfriend anyway. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.
He was frequently asked by his classmates to show off his dragon's ability to change colors. He always declined. "We can't. We're under the Weyrleader's orders," he told them. Eventually, they stopped asking him about it.
His training was mostly uneventful, but not completely so. There was the time when K'vell wanted to show the weyrlings a new three-wing formation, and one of his student wingleaders was sick with a fever. He gave the leadership of that wing to one of the browns, but the dragons weren't following the brown's lead; they were accustomed to following a bronze. K'vell considered his options and made a decision.
"M'aven," he said quietly, "I need one more bronze for this exercise to work. I want your Basherth to be a bronze for today. This will probably be your one and only chance to be a wingleader. I think you can handle it. If F'lar questions you about it, I'll cover for you."
"All right," said M'aven. He wasn't nervous about Basherth's ability to look like a bronze, but he was quite nervous about taking charge of a student wing for the first time. Basherth stepped behind a rock, shifted colors, and came out looking like a small but beautiful bronze.
"Training Wing Three, listen up!" the Weyrlingmaster bellowed. "M'aven and Basherth will be your wingleader for the rest of the day. Obey them the same way you'd obey any other bronze, or else I'll have something to say about it! Now, form up and we'll try it again." For the most part, K'vell's experiment worked. The browns were hesitant because they weren't used to obeying a dragon who was smaller than they were. The blues and greens had no issues, and since they formed the majority of the wing, that meant the wing as a whole went where it was supposed to go and did what it was supposed to do. When they were done for the day, Basherth turned back into a blue dragon. Several of the riders complimented M'aven on how well he'd done.
Then there was the time when one of the greens came into season and took her first mating flight. All the young blues and browns chased her into the sky, of course. She nimbly dodged them all, and watched one after another give up and glide, exhausted, back to land. Soon, only a handful of dragons were still pursuing her. One of them was Basherth.
The young blue gained some height, flew in front of her, and (purely on his own initiative) turned himself green. The proddy green spotted him, screamed in rage that another green would dare to intrude on her mating flight, and charged to attack the newcomer. But before she'd closed half the distance, Basherth shifted back to blue. The green instantly lost interest in harming him, but she couldn't stop her headlong collision course, and he caught her easily.
The rush of their passion overwhelmed many of the riders on the ground, and M'aven felt it more strongly than most of the others. He didn't remember much of what happened next, but he woke up an hour later in a bed in the Lower Caverns with a disheveled but pretty girl by his side.
It was Esster.
"Oh, no!" he exclaimed in a panic. "B'upkis is going to kill me for this!"
"Why should he care?" she asked, puzzled.
"He's your boyfriend, and he's also my big brother!" he reminded her.
She smiled mischievously and whispered, "He's not that big." Then she added, "He broke up with me a sevenday ago without any warning. I don't much care what he thinks anymore. You, on the other hand, are a nice guy; everyone thinks so. I've heard from my friends what a dragon rider is like when his dragon's passion controls him. You were pretty gentle about it, by comparison." She thought for a moment, then smiled again. "Maybe you'd like to stay with me?"
M'aven didn't have to think too hard about that. All of a sudden, he had a girlfriend, and a very kind-hearted one at that. B'upkis was displeased, to say the least, when he learned that his younger brother had taken his place so quickly. But he was the one who had initiated the breakup, and there was no reasonable way he could blame M'aven for what had happened. So he grumbled and complained to anyone who would listen, but didn't do anything.
The other young blue riders, on the other hand, did more than just complain. They approached M'aven as a group and demanded that his dragon never pull that stunt again. "That was so unfair, it was like cheating!" The green riders backed them up, noting that, if Basherth had changed from green back to blue too slowly, the green would have attacked him in the air and could have seriously injured him. "When our dragons are in the heat of passion," one of them said, "that's not the time for them to question whether the green they're chasing is really a green or not!" M'aven had to admit that they were correct, and firmly told Basherth not to change colors during mating flights again.
But why? It made both of us very happy.
"Yes, but it made everyone else unhappy."
Everyone else except for Esster, you mean.
"Well, that's true, she didn't complain, but the Weyrleader told you to stay blue. He didn't make any exceptions. We have to obey him. That will also make me happy."
Oh. All right. It was fun, though.
Those two color-changing episodes, along with a handful of others with lesser repercussions, kept reminding everyone that Basherth was not a normal dragon. He kept his place as a blue dragon in the weyrling class, but whenever there was any kind of leadership gap in their training exercises, everyone would look at him, expecting him to shift colors and step into the gap. K'vell emphatically didn't want to get into that habit, and he never asked Basherth to do it again. Still, it caused hesitation and doubt among the other weyrlings. M'aven still had some friends, but there were other riders who kept their distance, not sure how they ought to treat him. Was he really a blue rider, or was he something different?
There were others who were concerned about Basherth as well. As F'lar had predicted, someone told someone else about the dragon who could change colors, and it got back to the Oldtimer Weyrleaders. R'mart of Telgar and G'dened of Ista flew to Benden to personally confront F'lar over this Pern-shattering issue.
"Is it true," R'mart began, "that Benden has once again inflicted a freakish, unnatural dragon on us?"
"Once again?" F'lar echoed him. "If you're referring to Ruth, then I remind you that Ruth has proved to be a great asset to Ruatha Hold, the Weyrs, and Pern in general. Unusual dragons are not something that we ought to be worrying about."
"But why does it keep happening here?" G'dened demanded. "We have six Weyrs – seven now – and, for thousands of Turns, all we've had is the five kinds of dragons that our ancestors intended. There have been exactly two dragons who broke the mold, and where did they both come from? Benden Weyr in the Ninth Pass!"
"What are you doing here that the rest of us aren't doing?" R'mart added.
F'lar sat down and gestured for them to do the same. "For over four hundred Turns, Benden Weyr was the only Weyr on Pern. Our dragons were the only dragons in existence. Their bloodline was isolated, with no new blood from other Weyrs to keep the line fresh. We believe that this is why Benden's dragons grew so much larger than yours. In a sense, every dragon in Benden is a 'freakish, unnatural dragon.' In terms of unusual colors, I find it remarkable that there have been only two."
"But what are you going to do about it?" G'dened asked.
"M'aven is under my orders to keep his dragon in his natural blue state, and he has obeyed that order faithfully," F'lar replied. "I have no worries that he will continue to do so in the future."
"One of my men heard a story that the blue dragon turned green during a mating flight so he could catch the green," G'dened mused.
"Yes, that's true," F'lar admitted.
G'dened's eyes blazed. "Then what's going to stop him from turning bronze so he can catch a queen? What if he tricked one of our queens, caught her in the sky, and polluted her bloodline with his... his blueness?"
F'lar smiled and relaxed. "For one thing, if a Benden blue caught a Benden green by trickery, what difference does that make to you? Have you forgotten about Weyr autonomy?" He let that sink in for a second, then went on. "For another thing, Basherth can assume the color of any other normal dragon, but he keeps the size and the physical traits of a blue. I've seen him when he turns bronze, and he's the smallest bronze you ever saw. Are you suggesting that a blue might be able to catch a queen just by changing colors? Ha! No matter what color he is, he doesn't have the stamina or the power to succeed in a mating flight with a gold. He couldn't even come close! No, gentlemen, I think your queens are safe."
They scowled at his implication that a Benden blue might actually have a chance against one of their queens, but didn't respond.
"I still don't like the idea of a dragon who won't keep his own color," R'mart finally said.
"What do you want me to do about it? Paint him?" F'lar demanded. "He obeys his rider, and his rider obeys his Weyrleader. If you can think of some other rational thing I can do about it, I'm open to suggestions, but I honestly don't see the problem."
"It's unnatural!" G'dened burst out.
"No, G'dened, it is not unnatural. For that dragon, changing colors is as natural as flying and going between. Staying the same color all the time is what's unnatural... for him. Gentlemen, I appreciate your concern and your high regard for tradition, but Benden has a non-traditional dragon, and we are using very traditional methods to keep the situation under control. We got through the crisis of hatching Ruth, and we will weather this crisis as well. Unless Basherth actually causes a problem that affects any of you, then I think your time would be better spent in attending to your own Weyr's issues, of which I'm sure there are many. Was there anything else that you wanted to talk about today?"
They scowled, finished their klah, and left, unsatisfied but unable to do anything about it.
Time went by. The dragons were in their fourth Turn, and the class of weyrlings had learned just about everything they could learn in a classroom setting. It was time to see how they actually fared against Thread. The usual way to do this was to form them into student wings and place them below the experienced dragons, so they could get a taste of Thread-fighting without facing the worst of the space-borne onslaught. This time, F'lar wanted to try something different. He ordered one-third of the riders in his wing to take some long-overdue rest during the next few Threadfalls, and replaced them with a matching number of new dragon riders. Thus, each young rider had an experienced rider on either side of him to steady him, and the wing wasn't too full of inexperienced young dragons. His wing wasn't big enough to take in the entire class of weyrlings at once, and the other wings of Benden did not care to join his experiment, so most of the young dragons had to await their turn. M'aven and Basherth got their chance the second time F'lar's mixed wing took flight.
The sensations of flight with his dragon were still new and thrilling to M'aven, even though they'd been flying together for over two Turns now. The rush of chill air in his face, the sight of the ground falling away beneath them, the pulsing muscles as his dragon strained to gain height as quickly as possible... these things could never seem commonplace! He found his place in the wing, about halfway out from the Wingleader on the left side, with a veteran brown on his right side and a middle-aged green on his left. His dragon's job as a blue was to fly straight, not to swerve from side to side (that was a green's job), but to use his speed to lunge ahead and catch any Thread that was just out of reach of the bigger dragons. Then he was to immediately slow down and regain his place in the line. Getting too far in front of the wing was a common fault among excited young blues, but not a forgivable one. M'aven knew that F'lar's eye would be on him.
The sky ahead was that awful lead color that meant they were about to face their nemesis. The first strands of Thread came into view, and the dragons quickly demanded one last bite of firestone. M'aven could feel Basherth quivering with anticipation, and he reminded him again to stay with the wing and not get out in front.
The air in front of Mnementh burst into flame for a moment, and black ash fluttered down. A dragon on the other side of the wing let out a longer burst of flame, and soon they were all involved. They heard Canth call in their dragons' minds, Watch out for a handful of solo strands falling late. We are passing under them. Stay in formation. S'lel's wing will get them.
M'aven glanced up and saw the solo strands drifting down above them. "Basherth, speed up just a little, to be sure those strands don't come down on your tail." The blue obliged him, then slowed down once they were clear of the danger. He noticed that the dragons on either side of him had made the same move. It galled him that the first Threads he'd seen had fallen behind him so his dragon couldn't flame them. But S'lel's riders had been doing this for many Turns; they wouldn't let the Thread reach ground.
He looked ahead and saw something half-transparent, half-terrifying tumbling out of the sky. Mnementh spoke. That clump belongs to Basherth. Let us see what he can do.
"Did you hear that, my friend?" M'aven grinned. "Show them what you've got!" The blue slowed down slightly so he didn't underfly the slow-falling clump, took careful aim, and set the clump alight with a long blast from the bottom to the top. There was nothing left but ash for them to fly through.
M'aven glanced toward Mnementh and saw F'lar flash them the well-done signal. At the same time, Mnementh added, Good work for your first try. Next time, try to do it with less flame, so your fire will last longer.
Now they were all busy, each dragon fixated on the space above and in front of himself. Flecks of fire could be seen all over the sky as all the wings became engaged in the struggle. Every few minutes, a dragon would scream and flash between, then reappear a few seconds later. Some stayed in formation; others informed the Weyrleader that they or their rider were seriously hurt and had to return to the Weyr. The wings began to spread out to fill the gaps. Halfway through the fight, F'lar found that one side of his wing had gotten hurt worse than the other side. Mnementh called for Basherth to slide over to the other side of the formation and fill a gap left by one of the brown weyrlings, who had to retreat after the rider got Thread on his boot and didn't notice until it had reached the skin. It was a long, tiring day, and both dragon and rider were much relieved when F'lar finally signaled "All clear."
After they landed, he unstrapped Basherth, who urgently wanted to rinse himself off in the lake. Then he watched the older, more powerful dragons glide in and land. He felt no envy toward the bronze and brown riders; after all, he could become a bronze or a brown rider just by asking his dragon to shift colors. Not even F'lar could do that!
Then he looked around at the action on the Bowl floor. Mildly-injured dragons and riders were getting numbweed for their injuries; wingseconds were reporting their observations to their wingleaders; girlfriends and boyfriends were reuniting as the riders dismounted. His own girlfriend, Esster, couldn't meet him now because she was helping to prepare supper for the entire Weyr, which took precedence over greeting her boyfriend. She would greet him properly later. Then he noticed a young rider looking sad and learning how to walk with crutches.
"B'upkis?"
His older brother looked up, surprised. "Oh, hi, M'aven." He gestured at his bandaged foot. "The Healer says I'll be walking without the crutches in a sevenday, and I can fly Thread again three days after that. It was just bad luck, I guess. At least my dragon didn't get scored."
"Yeah, that would have really stank." Then M'aven had a thought. "Were you flying in F'lar's wing today, on the right side?"
"Yes, I was. Did you see me up there?"
"No," M'aven replied. "I was on the left side, and the big dragons blocked my view of the right side. But I heard that a young brown got Thread on his boot, and the Weyrleader's dragon told me to slide over and cover for him. I guess that was you."
"That figures," B'upkis muttered sourly. "You took my place with my ex-girlfriend, and today you took my place in the formation. Is there anything I can do where you won't take my place?"
M'aven made a show of looking thoughtful. "Well, you'll always be older than me, you'll always be a little bit taller, and you'll always have the bigger dragon. I'm never going to become a Wingsecond, but it could happen to you. There are lots of ways where I'll never surpass you. Hey, do you want to have one of our eating contests, like we used to do back home?"
B'upkis looked doubtful. "Do you want to wager on who will win?"
M'aven shook his head. "No wager. Bragging rights only. What do you say?"
The older boy smiled wickedly. "You're on! I think they're cooking one of my favorite meals tonight, and I skipped lunch while I was flying Thread, so I am hungry!"
M'aven grinned. "I skipped lunch, too, so you can't just coast to an easy win." At the supper table, it turned out to be a close contest before M'aven finally pushed away from the table weakly and admitted, "I can't eat anymore." Actually, he could have eaten more, but he deliberately lost the contest so his brother would feel better about things.
That evening, F'lar met with Lessa, F'nor, and Oharan. "I've reached my limit of being able to predict the fall of Thread," he began. "I need those Records back from Lord Corman! I've sent several messengers asking for them, and they all report being well-fed, given the polite runaround, and sent home empty-handed. If any of you has any suggestions, I'm ready to listen."
Oharan looked sly. "I've been thinking about that," he said, "and I have an idea for you. It's unconventional, but that never scared you before. Here's what I'm thinking..."
Five days later, a small bronze dragon appeared in the air over the east side of Keroon Hold. Keroon's green watchdragon quickly challenged the new arrival. The bronze replied that his name was Groyseth from Benden, and he was bearing Oharan, the Weyr Harper for Benden Weyr, to visit with Keroon Hold's principal Harper, Freylok. They have Harper business. Does the Lord Holder want to see Oharan before he meets with his colleague?
No, said the watchdragon, Lord Corman is busy; the usual social pleasantries can wait for another day. Just see to it that Oharan doesn't try to grab any Records, claiming that they belong to Benden. The Records Room is guarded against any kind of tomfoolery. Aside from that, Oharan has the freedom of the entire Hold.
Oharan's business does involve Records, Groyseth replied. But he will take nothing that does not belong to him. He simply wants to compare his own copies of some ancient Records against Keroon's copies to check them for accuracy. The Records Room guard is welcome to watch the process.
That is acceptable, said the watchdragon after his rider checked with Keroon Hold's steward. The bronze spiraled down and landed in the courtyard, where his distinguished passenger dismounted and went inside in search of Keroon's Harper.
"May we offer you hospitality, bronze rider?" a door guard suggested.
"Thank you, but no," the rider answered. "I have already eaten. Is there a place where my dragon and I can relax together, preferably in the sun? This courtyard is somewhat cramped for a large dragon."
To the average Pernese, any dragon was a large dragon; the guard was unaware that this one was much smaller than a typical bronze. "Would you rather rest up on the walls?" he suggested, and pointed to the battlements. Those were a common place for dragons to rest when they arrived for Gathers and other functions.
"I'd prefer the top of that watch tower if we could." He indicated a corner tower.
"What if that tower has a pointed roof?" the guard asked.
"It has a very flat roof. We've been here before," said the rider. The bronze sprang easily into the air and half-flapped, half-glided to the tower. There, he lay down and curled up, and the rider sat and leaned against him.
"Now we wait," he told his dragon.
Inside the Hold, Oharan asked around and was sent to Harper Freylok's chambers. He found the Harper practicing some of Menolly's newest songs on his gitar. Oharan explained his errand.
"That's a reasonable request," replied Freylok, and grinned. "But if you were verifying old Records, then you and I both know that Fort is the place to go, not Keroon. Tell me why you're really here."
Oharan closed the heavy wooden door and quietly explained his actual purpose. Freylok grinned even more broadly. "Can I help?"
Oharan shook his head. "I shouldn't need much help. Guards like that usually can't read, so they won't know what they're looking at. Just guide me to your Records Room and play along."
Freylok nodded and led Oharan up a flight of stairs, down a dusty corridor, up an even narrower flight of stairs, and up a narrow hallway that ended in a single door. A man carrying a mace stood stiffly at the door. "State your business," the man said.
"Harper business," Freylok said crisply. "My associate from Benden, here, needs to compare some of his old Records against Keroon's copies to make sure that his versions were copied correctly. You're welcome to watch us do it if you want to."
"No one can take anything out of this room without Lord Corman's orders," the man retorted.
"I will take nothing except what I bring in," Oharan explained. He opened his shoulder bag. "You can see that I have eleven Records here. I will have exactly eleven Records when I leave. Count them, please, so no one can accuse me of stealing."
The man counted them slowly, then counted them again. He pulled one of them out at random and verified that it had writing on it. "All right," he nodded sourly. "My orders are to stay at the door and guard it. You can go in. But don't try anything. If I think anything funny is going on in there, I'll blow my whistle and rouse the whole Hold against you!"
"That won't be necessary," Oharan assured him. "I'll just verify these Records and then ride home on my bronze dragon. I won't cause you any problems." The guard pulled a key out of his belt pouch and opened the heavy wooden door behind him. It opened with a slow creak. The Harpers uncovered their glows and stepped inside.
The room was hot and stifling, and was filled from floor to ceiling with row upon row of wooden racks filled with Records. Freylok shook his head. "There's so much knowledge in here, and most people have no idea what to do with it."
"I think most of it is dry details about crop harvests, trade deals, and births and deaths within the Hold," Oharan said. "The really useful stuff isn't easy to find. What I want is some Records that look old, but aren't covered in dust." They searched. After about ten minutes, he exclaimed, "Here's what I'm looking for." F'lar had briefed him on the information he was seeking.
Freylok positioned himself so he blocked the guard's view of Benden's Harper through the doorway. Oharan proceeded to locate the eleven Records that belonged to Benden, and replaced them with the eleven dummy Records that he had made up and treated to make them look old. They had writing on them, it was true, but most of the words were children's Teaching ballads, mingled with some lofty poetic descriptions of Lord Corman's habit of holding his nose to blow his ears out. He slipped the Records into his bag, and they left the storage room.
"Thank you, sir," Freylok said to the guard. "We'll be on our way."
"Wait," ordered the guard. "Let me see what's in your bag."
"Certainly," smiled Oharan. He opened the bag, confident that this man couldn't tell the difference between a genuine Record and a fake one. But although this man couldn't read, he was cleverer than many.
"Hey!" he shouted. "These Records are on dry, hard leather! The ones you had before were on soft leather! What are you –"
Oharan's answer was to point into the storage room and yell, "Fire!" That got an immediate, visceral reaction. The guard dashed into the room, looking all over in panic for the flames that might consume all the Records and then spread to the rest of the Hold. By the time he realized that he'd been duped, Oharan was halfway down the hall and running like the wind. Freylok stood aside and tried to look shocked.
The guard realized that the intruder had too much of a head start to be caught on foot. he. Instead, he ran to the nearest window, stuck his head out, and blew his whistle. "Thief!" he roared. "Robbery! Don't let that Benden bronze dragon take off!"
Guards were instantly on the alert, shouting to one another and spreading out around the Hold. All they had to do was hang onto the offending dragon's riding straps, and it would refuse to take off, out of fear of hurting them. But they saw no bronze dragon here. There was a blue on the watch tower, but no bronze. As they watched, someone with Harper shoulder knots stepped out onto the ramparts, strolled past the guards, and climbed onto the blue dragon's back. Before the guard at the Record room could explain the true situation to anyone, the blue had taken off, and by the time the other guards realized what was happening, the dragon flashed between and was gone.
Back in Benden Weyr, F'lar carefully spread out the old Records on a table. "Yes, these are the ones," he said with satisfaction. "Now we can make some better-than-average guesses about when and where Thread will fall next. Oharan, you did well."
"Thank you, Weyrleader," the Harper said with a nod.
"Lord Corman is going to complain about this," Lessa commented.
"Let him complain," F'lar said offhandedly. "If he tries to make an issue out of it, we'll point out that we only took what was rightfully ours, and which we'd tried to recover by more... shall we say... conventional means on multiple occasions. Furthermore, what did he need with information about Threadfall patterns, and if he needed it so badly, why was it hidden away in a storage room next to his ancestors' grain-harvest tallies from the Sixth Interval?"
"A good point," she agreed.
F'lar turned to the young man who waited by the door. "You also did well, M'aven. I never thought that your dragon's special kind of confusion could ever be useful... but, today, you were just what we needed." He chuckled. "I wish I could have seen them looking for a bronze when the blue they wanted was right under their noses!"
"Thank you, Weyrleader," M'aven said respectfully. "Basherth very much enjoyed today's flight. He says it was fun."
"I'm sure he did," Lessa nodded. She looked intently at the young blue rider. "You showed a lot of presence of mind today, M'aven. It's not an easy thing to look inconspicuous when you're trying to get away with something in broad daylight. Some riders would have panicked, or paced back and forth looking nervous, or given away the game in some other way. You kept your wits about you, and that helped us succeed today. You've got a good head on your shoulders. It's a shame you weren't a bronze or a brown rider; you would probably rise to a place of leadership."
"Well, Weyrwoman," he smiled, "I could arrange that."
"No!" she and F'lar chorused. Lessa went on, "We don't need that kind of confusion in Benden Weyr. Let's save it for those who oppose us! M'aven, we won't ask you to become a leader. We've got lots of leaders, but we have only one color-changing dragon. You'll be a lot more useful to the Weyr as our special operative, bringing people into and out of places where other dragons couldn't get away with it. You'll still fight Thread when it falls, of course, but you'll have a special role to play when tough situations come up and we have to be sneakier than usual. You and Basherth can really make a difference in the great affairs of Pern!"
"Wow," he gasped. "Uhh... thank you."
"You'll have to keep quiet about this, for obvious reasons," F'lar cautioned him. "No one can know about your special role except for the people in this room... and I suppose I ought to let F'nor know about it as well. You can't even tell your girlfriend. Can you keep secrets, young man?"
M'aven smiled. "Even my own brother doesn't know half of the stuff I got away with at his expense when we were younger. If you want a rider who can keep his mouth shut, then I'm your man!"
"Good," Lessa nodded. "Are you still having rivalry problems with that brother of yours?"
"Sometimes," M'aven admitted. "Maybe it's a good thing that my new role has to be a secret. If he found out about it, he'd turn green with envy!"
Oharan looked droll. "As long as it's your brother turning green, and not your dragon, then I think we'll be fine." They all laughed in agreement.
The End
A/N
I came up with the concept for this story in the usual way (it hit me out of nowhere). That was all I had when I began writing – no plot, no characters, no beginning or ending, nothing but a concept about a dragon who could change colors. I just started writing, and when I needed a character, I invented one on the spot. The next thing I knew, the word count was over 6000 and I had a good idea where the story was going. I had to go back and fix very little to make it line up with the ideas that came to me later. I never wrote that way before, and I don't recommend it, but this time, it worked.
For some reason, I decided to base my characters' names on Yiddish words. I can't imagine why; I'm as goyisha as they come. For those who didn't recognize them, these are the words:
Bashert – something predetermined; a soul mate (Basherth)
Bupkis – something worthless; nothing (B'upkis)
Esther – a common girl's name (Esster)
Freylokh – happy (Freylok)
Groyse – large (Groyseth)
Kvell – to take pride in someone else's achievements (K'vell)
L'chaim – a toast "to life" (L'chaim)
Maven – someone who is very good at something (M'aven)
Metsia – a bargain (Metsiath)
Oy veh – an expression of dismay (Oy'vay)
Schlep – to carry or drag (Shlepth)
