CHAPTER I0

WHERHOLD

If I don’t get those herbs, she’ll die,” Moran repeated, glaring at Jaythen and Arella. Since his arrival, their acceptance of him had been conditional at best, hostile at worst. But they could not hope to match his skills as harper and healer. Now Aleesa lay before them, burning with fever.

Moran quickly determined that the self-styled Whermaster was more than a little crazed by a long life of trauma, not eased any by her association with watch-whers. But somehow he and Aleesa had found and kindled a strange sort of respect, bordering on friendship.

Perhaps he recognized a kindred spirit, tormented by past decisions and indecisions, torn between high ideals and petty indulgences. Or perhaps it was Aleesk, with her strange looks and quiet presence. He learned quickly enough that Aleesk was the last gold watch-wher, and that Master Zist and even the dragonriders found the creatures valuable. After so many Turns spent fruitlessly striving to find an answer for the Shunned, or hope for their children, Moran found the issue of the watch-whers and their handlers to be a much easier burden, and he was in need of a rest.

“I don’t trust you, ‘harper,’” Jaythen said. “How do I know you won’t betray us?”

“How do I know you’ll return in time?” Arella asked, her face tear-stained from worry and haggard from hours of caring for her ailing mother.

“You don’t,” Moran said in reply to both of them. “But I can guarantee that the longer before I return, the less likely she’ll live.”

Arella looked away and bowed her head. Jaythen held Moran’s eyes for moments more before dropping his arms and growling, “Go then.” He took a deep breath. “But if you don’t come back, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

Moran laughed. “You and Tenim both,” he said. He gestured beyond them to the crevice where the watch-wher was sleeping restlessly and said to Arella, “If I don’t come back in time, can you save Aleesk?”

Arella shook her head. “Not with a watch-wher of my own,” she told him. “If you don’t save my mother, we’ll lose the last gold watch-wher on Pern.”

Moran winced as he rose to his feet. “Then I’d best hurry,” he said, striding quickly toward the light of the brightening day.

“How long will you be?” Jaythen called after him.

“Three days if I’m lucky,” Moran called back.

“Be quick,” Arella called after him.

“Be lucky,” Jaythen growled ominously.

Moran shouldered his pack at the cave’s entrance and strode quickly away.

He made good time the first day, better than he’d hoped. He knew that a lot of that was due to his new environment; the short rations of the wherhold and the work that Jaythen and Aleesa had demanded of him had forced him to grow stronger and leaner.

He woke early the next day, sore. It took him longer than he would have liked to get moving and he found it hard to keep the same pace he’d set the day before.

The ground between the wherhold and Keogh was rough and barren. Moran chose his path with care; any fall here might well be fatal, even if he only broke a leg.

His concentration on his path was his undoing. He didn’t notice the dragon above him until its shadow fell over him.

For a moment he froze in panic. What if D’gan found out about Aleesa? What could he do? He thought frantically, desperate for a plan. Finally, a slow grin spread across his face.

He looked up and waved at the descending dragon and rider. His waving grew more frantic and he smiled and bellowed, “Over here! Over here!”

When the dragonrider dismounted, Moran ran over to him. “By the First Egg, I’m glad you found me,” Moran declared. “I was afraid I was dead for certain.”

“What are you doing out here?” the dragonrider demanded, glancing around the barren terrain.

“I ran away,” Moran said, waving behind him. “The Shunned were after me and I ran away. They caught me sleeping and it was all I could do to get away with my pack.”

“Shunned, you say?” the dragonrider repeated. “How do you know they were Shunned?”

“Who else would be out here attacking the unwary in the middle of the night?”

“What were you doing out here?”

“I was heading to Keogh,” Moran replied. “I need to get some medicines.”

“Medicines?”

“Yes, I’ve left a sick mother behind at a cothold a ways back,” Moran said, gesturing generally far north of Aleesa’s camp, “and I need to get her feverfew or she’ll die.”

“Feverfew,” the dragonrider murmured, then looked intently at Moran. “How do you know medicines?”

“I am a harper,” Moran said, bowing low. “Moran, journeyman to Master Zist.”

“K’lur,” the dragonrider replied shortly. “I thought that Jofri was Zist’s journeyman.”

“A harper may have more than one journeyman,” Moran temporized quickly, hoping that his surprise at K’lur’s news hadn’t shown on his face.

“Well,” K’lur gestured impatiently toward his green dragon, “come along. I can get you where you’re going faster than your legs.”

“Thank you, green rider,” Moran responded gratefully.

K’lur’s response was a rough grunt that left Moran feeling uneasy until they were airborne and the dragon went between.

Moran’s unease exploded into surprised outrage when they burst out from between. “This is Crom Hold!”

“Yes,” K’lur agreed. “Lord Fenner must judge you. If, as I suspect, he knows nothing of you or worse, then you’ll be Shunned and sent to the mines.”

Moran was too stunned by this change in plan even to speak as they descended to the entrance to Crom Hold. Even if he could get the feverfew, he was now more than five days’ journey from Aleesa. She would die—and then what would happen to the last queen watch-wher of Pern?

At K’lur’s commanding gesture, Crom Hold guards formed up on Moran’s flanks to prevent his escape and his walk assumed the nature of a march—a march of doom.

The great Hold doors opened and Moran found himself admitted to the Hold’s Great Hall.

Moran had seen Lord Fenner several times from a safe distance but he’d never been introduced. He could hope that no one he’d cheated out of their marks had reported a good likeness of him to the Lord Holder. He did not want to be Shunned and turned over to K’lur and the firestone mines.

As he marched up the length of the Great Hall to the dais on which Lord Fenner sat, Moran noticed several people—even children—watching from tables placed alongside the walls. One of the children pointed at him with wide, surprised eyes. Moran paused, stunned. “Fethir?” Another child appeared familiar. “Marta?”

Rage, sudden and immense, filled Moran. He shook off his guards and raced to the end of the hall. “What are you doing with them?” He demanded at the top of his lungs. “Are you sending children into the mines?”

He looked around feverishly, recognizing the children he’d left with—“Where’s Halla? What have you done with her?”

The guards caught up with him and wrestled him to the ground before he could assault Lord Fenner. Moran fought back as hard as he could, only to have more guards descend upon him. Even so he fought. Must save them!

K’lur stunned him with a two-handed blow to the back of the neck. Moran slumped over, and his lips split against the hard stone floor.

“What justice is this?” he asked through bloody lips, lifting his face up enough to catch a glimpse of the Lord Holder’s boots. “What justice is it to send children to the mines?”

“Not mine,” Lord Fenner answered from above Moran. At a gesture, the guards stepped back but retained wary holds upon the battered harper.

Moran straightened enough to meet Fenner’s eyes. “Where’s Halla then? I left these children in her care.”

“She went off after Tenim,” Fenner said, meeting Moran’s gaze squarely.

“Are you mad? He’ll kill her!”

Fenner shook his head. “It was not my idea,” he said, glancing for just a moment at K’lur. “I’d sent her on a different task. But the traders told me that she changed her course.”

Moran realized that he was missing something and gathered that Fenner was guarding his tongue, but he couldn’t understand why.

“You must send someone to get her,” Moran said desperately. “She’s not safe with him out there.”

“Who is Tenim?” K’lur demanded from behind him.

“He was my ward, until he turned thief and worse,” Moran said, not quite telling all the truth.

“Thief and murderer,” Fenner said. Moran tried to cover his surprise—and his fear. “He was implicated in the death of one Sidar of Keogh.”

“Someone used firestone,” K’lur growled from behind Moran.

“He was burned?” Moran asked queasily.

“No,” K’lur said. “Sometimes firestone gas won’t burn; breathing it alone kills.”

“What were you doing with the Shunned?” Fenner asked.

“Isn’t it enough that he was consorting with them?” K’lur said. He failed to notice the irritated look on the face of Crom’s Lord Holder as he continued, “D’gan will want him in the mines. The dragons need firestone.”

“I was ordered,” Moran replied to Fenner.

“By whom?”

“My master, Harper Zist,” Moran said.

Fenner was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, it was to K’lur. “Dragonrider, I will have to investigate this,” Fenner told him solemnly. “It will take no more than a day to get word to the Harper Hall.”

“When you do, please send word that Master Aleesa needs feverfew and a healer,” Moran begged.

Fenner gazed for a long moment at the green rider before asking frostily, “You took this man from the sick?”

“He was wandering alone,” K’lur said. “He claimed he was going to Keogh, but I didn’t believe him.”

“Dragonrider,” Fenner began and paused, putting a smile on his face, “I thank you for your kindnesses and for bringing this man to my intention. I will, of course, deal with any punishments necessary in my capacity as Lord Holder.”

K’lur recognized Fenner’s words as a dismissal. “But D’gan wants more workers,” he protested, easily imagining his Weyrleader’s fury when he returned empty-handed.

“So he has repeatedly told me,” Fenner replied. “But there are only so many holders whose behavior warrants being Shunned.”

K’lur looked like he wanted to argue the point but could think of nothing to say. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and strode out of the Great Hall.

“That wasn’t courteous, was it?” a young voice asked curiously as the great doors slammed shut.

At a gesture from Fenner, the guards stood completely away from Moran.

“Grab him a chair, child,” Fenner replied. “And no, it wasn’t.” To Moran he said, “The dragonriders of Telgar seem short of courtesy since they integrated with the Igen riders.”

The young girl, whom Moran didn’t recognize, pushed a padded stool noisily to him. Moran stumbled upright enough to sit on it gratefully.

“Thank you,” he said absently.

“You’re welcome,” the girl replied. “Marta, get a washcloth and some water, please.”

Moran heard but didn’t see the patter of Marta’s feet as she raced off on her errand. Painfully he raised his head so that his eyes met Lord Fenner’s.

“Please, my lord, could you send that message now?” Moran asked softly. “More than one life depends upon it.”

“I can,” Fenner said, “but I wonder if you recall that the Harper Hall is farther from Keogh than we are.”

Moran nodded wearily. “Help will have to come a-dragonback if it’s to be in time.”

“You’ll get no help from Telgar,” the young girl snorted derisively.

“Nerra, that’s no way to talk,” Fenner said reprovingly. “We are beholden to Telgar Weyr.”

“Yes, Father,” Nerra said in a tone that showed she accepted the fact but didn’t necessarily like it.

“The Harper Hall could ask for help from Fort Weyr or Benden,” Moran said. He examined Fenner’s face carefully, seeking to determine the nature of his character. He had heard that Fenner was a shrewd, cautious man who was not above sharp dealing. This man didn’t seem to match the description. Moran’s own judgment was suspect, he knew, for he had clearly misjudged Tenim. Still…

“The other life is a watch-wher,” Moran said, watching Fenner’s eyes for any reaction. Lord Fenner nodded and leaned forward in his chair. “She is the last gold watch-wher on Pern.”

“I see,” Fenner said, nodding. He glanced up and waved imperiously to his daughter. His words were clipped and fast, urgent. “Nerra, run to the drum tower. Do you know what to say?”

“Of course,” Nerra replied, racing away. “Shall I use the emergency signal two or three times?”

“Three,” Fenner called after her. Without pausing, Nerra acknowledged him with a wave of her hand and was gone.

“Thank you,” Moran said with feeling. The emergency signal was repeated three times only in a Pern-wide emergency.

“We’ll see if you still feel that way later,” Fenner said. He gave Moran a sour look. “Your name came up not too long ago, as I recall.”

Moran raised an eyebrow. “My lord?”

“Yes, a poor man named Nikal swore a complaint on you,” Fenner said. “Said he’d paid you for a month’s Cromcoal and never got it.” Fenner paused, watching Moran’s face carefully. “When he told me that you’d claimed to be one of my harpers, I felt obliged to fill his lack.”

“I had hoped—” Moran began but Fenner cut him off with a raised hand.

“The issue will be between you and the Masterharper,” Fenner told him. “For which you should be grateful; I’ve Shunned men for stealing.”

“It was for the children,” Moran explained.

“You should have come to me,” Fenner replied.

Moran shook his head, confused, and momentarily lost for words. He licked his lips and winced. “They were Shunned.”

Marta came back at that moment with a wet washcloth. Fenner smiled at the child and directed her toward Moran. She handed him the washcloth and darted away, an action that spoke of no great affection for the harper. Fenner’s frown was unseen by Moran, who was busy wiping the blood off his face.

When Moran had finished cleaning himself up, Lord Fenner said, “I think there will be some time before we get a response. Why don’t you rest for a while?”

“Thank you, lord,” Moran said, rising slowly to his feet. Upright, he was surprised to find himself swaying with shock and fatigue. “I could use it.”

“Kindan, Kindan,” a voice shouted urgently in his ear. “They’re calling for you.”

Blearily Kindan opened his eyes to find Kelsa hovering over him, shaking him into wakefulness.

“Didn’t you hear the drums?” Kelsa continued.

Kindan shook his head. He had been up through the night and well into the next day before he and Kelsa had been dismissed by an ecstatic Zist to catch what sleep they could. Judging by the light from Kelsa’s glow, it was still dark out.

“News from Crom,” Kelsa told him. “A triple emergency, help for Master Aleesa.”

Kindan was on his feet so fast that Kelsa had to jerk her head back.

“Master Aleesa?” he cried. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s ill.”

“They’ll want me,” Kindan said, fumbling for the door.

On his second attempt, Kelsa pushed him aside. “Let me,” she said. As he stumbled out the door, she grabbed him, saying, “Maybe I’d better come along.”

Kindan nodded a quick thanks. It was moments before the thought struck him that Kelsa usually did everything she could to avoid the attention of the Masterharper.

When they arrived at the Masterharper’s quarters, Kelsa reverted to form and thrust Kindan inside before she could be noticed.

Kindan was not surprised to see that Master Zist was already there, but he was surprised to see another older person in the room.

If Zist was old, and Murenny older, this man was ancient.

His hair was completely white and thinning. Bright, light blue eyes stared out of a face that was lined with creases: crow’s feet at the edges of the eyes, and pain lines around the mouth.

“Mikal?” Kindan guessed, surprised that the Harper Hall’s famous recluse had deigned to emerge from his crystal cave. Mikal, once dragonrider M’kal, had made a place for himself in a cavern, shunning the more boisterous atmosphere of the Harper Hall itself. The ex-dragonrider had devoted himself to the study of healing and had become a master in his own right, developing his own brand of healing arts, which relied mostly on crystals, physical exercises, and meditation. His techniques were unique to the Harper Hall. Many otherwise incurable injuries had been overcome with his practices.

“Yes.”

“You’re late,” Master Zist said, motioning for Kindan to grab a seat. “I was expecting you minutes ago.”

Kindan took the indicated seat and apologized. “I was tired.”

“Hmph! Tired while we old men keep longer hours than you?” Murenny snorted.

“He knows this Aleesa?” Mikal asked, gesturing to Kindan.

“Not well, my lord,” Kindan answered quickly. “I met her once, Turns back, when I got my watch-wher egg.”

“I have just been informed about the watch-whers,” Mikal said, shaking his head. A strange, pained look flashed across his face as he added, “I hadn’t really thought about them much.”

“According to Moran’s message, Aleesa’s queen is the last of the gold watch-whers,” Zist said. His tone suggested that he was continuing a discussion that had begun before Kindan’s arrival. “If she dies—”

Mikal ignored him, turning to Kindan. “Zist tells me that you broke bonds with your watch-wher.”

Kindan took a moment to process the ex-dragonrider’s words before he nodded. “It was an emergency. Unless she let Nuella bond with her, the miners would have died.”

Mikal nodded as he absorbed Kindan’s response. “So, wouldn’t it be possible for the queen to bond with someone else?”

Kindan shrugged. “Maybe.”

“So you’re saying you won’t go?” Murenny pressed. “Because the queen might re-bond?”

“No, I’ll go,” Mikal replied. He nodded to Kindan, “He comes, too.”

It took the cold of between to rouse Kindan out of his fatigue-induced haze, but what really woke him up was the dragon’s dizzying descent in full darkness.

“I’ll wait here,” the dragonrider told them after they alighted. Kindan guessed that the rider’s behavior was more in deference to Mikal than for any concern for the wherholders. “The watch-wher knows you’re coming,” he added with a hint of humor in his voice.

“Why the laugh?” Mikal asked.

“The watch-wher was surprised that a dragon could make a night flight,” the rider replied, chuckling.

“They see in the dark,” Kindan said.

“So do dragons,” the rider replied with pride in his voice.

“Well, I don’t see well,” Mikal said, grabbing Kindan’s shoulder. “I hope you see better, miner’s son.”

“The last time I was here was in daylight,” Kindan said defensively.

He need not have worried, for his night vision was good and he quickly found a way into the wherhold.

“Which one of you is the healer?” The woman’s voice startled them.

“I have some understanding of the art,” Mikal replied. “The lad carries supplies.”

A man’s voice spoke out from a different location—behind them. “Where’s Moran?”

“Crom,” Kindan replied. “He was intercepted by a Telgar rider and brought before Lord Fenner for judgment.”

“He sent word to the Harper Hall,” Mikal added, “and Master Murenny asked me to come.”

“What about the boy?” the man asked suspiciously.

“I was once bonded to a watch-wher,” Kindan said.

“Once?” the woman snorted derisively. “How’d you lose it?”

“Kisk bonded with Nuella and is now Nuelsk,” Kindan replied, surprised at the anger in his response.

No words were spoken but Kindan felt the atmosphere change from dangerous suspicion to cautious respect.

“If you don’t want us here, we’ll leave,” Mikal said, turning around.

“Wait!” the woman called desperately. A dim light suddenly emerged in front of them. “Follow the glow.”

In short order they found themselves being led through a set of canvas doors into a room lit dimly by red coals. The woman holding the glows handed them off to another woman.

“I’m Arella,” the woman said. “Aleesa is my mother.”

The rustle of canvas behind them caused them to turn; a hard-faced man entered, his hand on the pommel of his dirk. Mikal stared at him for a long moment before the man removed his hand from his weapon and, instead, held it out in greeting. “I’m Jaythen.”

Mikal shook it quickly, then turned back to Arella. “Where’s your mother?” he asked, gesturing with a hand for Kindan to give him the pack of supplies.

“In there,” Arella said. Her eyes roved over the older man’s face seeking some sign of his skill. “You arrived quickly enough,” she said. “Moran said she’d be all right for a number of days.”

“He might be right,” Mikal said noncommittally. Gesturing politely for Arella to proceed him, he followed her into another chamber, muttering, “This is nice rock; I can feel the crystals in it.”

Kindan, relieved of his pack, turned slowly around the room, spotted a familiar crevice, and asked Jaythen, “Is that where Aleesk lives?”

Jaythen’s eyes narrowed in an instant of surprise, which he covered immediately with a derisive snort. “You don’t know much about watch-whers if you don’t know she’s out hunting; it’s night.”

“My watch-wher was a green; one of Aleesk’s,” Kindan said. He made a cheerful sound of greeting toward the crevice, so reminiscent of the noise he’d made over four Turns ago that he felt a moment of regretful memories.

Aleesk’s response from the crevice was no shock to Kindan, who merely turned back to Jaythen, saying, “I’d like to see her—she sounds worried.”

Jaythen looked at the young man with renewed interest mingled with respect. Kindan turned back toward the crevice. Jaythen’s hand on his shoulder startled him. The man spoke softly in his ear, saying, “Do you know what will happen if Aleesa dies?”

Kindan turned his head back to meet Jaythen’s eyes. “I do,” he said. “It’s hoped that I could bond with her.”

Jaythen nodded slowly. “Maybe you could,” he said after a moment. His expression softened and he added, “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“So do I,” Kindan agreed fervently. “This is something I think Nuella would be much better at.”

He turned his head back, squared his shoulders, and walked into the watch-wher’s lair.

Much later, Kindan was awoken by steps and a voice calling in awe, “She’s a real queen.”

It was Mikal. Kindan looked up from where he lay near the queen watch-wher and felt tentatively with his thoughts—had Aleesa passed on in the night? Was Aleesk now bonded to him?

“She is all right,” Mikal assured Kindan. “Moran was right to send for feverfew and wiser to ask for help. He didn’t understand some of the subtler issues.”

Kindan nodded. Until the other day, he’d known nothing of Zist’s missing journeyman but he knew much of Mikal and the ex-dragonrider’s renowned abilities as a healer.

Mikal looked around the dimly lit chamber with interest, turning this way and that, reverently feeling the rock walls.

“There is good rock here,” he announced. He turned back to Kindan. “I will stay here. The rock is good, and the watch-whers are pleasant company.”

Kindan was startled; he’d thought that Mikal would always be a fixture of the Harper Hall. But Mikal was lured by rocks and crystals and—

“Do you know of a different firestone?” he blurted suddenly.

“A different firestone?” Mikal repeated blankly. “Why do you think there is a different firestone?”

“Because the records speak of fire-lizards chewing it on the shore of the Southern Continent,” Kindan told him. He wondered why neither he, nor Master Zist, nor even the Masterharper himself hadn’t thought of asking the ex-dragonrider.

In an instant he knew why.

Mikal sank against the floor, his legs suddenly weak. Kindan moved to help but the old man waved him away. Feebly, he explained, “My dragon died from a firestone explosion.” He searched Kindan’s face. “Are you saying that there is a safer firestone?”

“Maybe it was all used up,” Kindan said in a vain effort to ease the pain so evident in Mikal’s eyes. He had heard of the bond between dragon and rider, but he’d never thought it was so strong that tens of Turns later the loss would still cause so great a pain. This was nothing like the feeling he’d had when his watch-wher had bonded with Nuella.

Mikal’s look demanded more.

“The Records said that fire-lizards ate firestone on the shore,” Kindan said again.

Mikal shook his head in disbelief. “The sea air alone would destroy the firestone, to say nothing of sea spray and the tide.”

“That was my thought,” Kindan said. “But why were they called fire-lizards? They won’t eat firestone.”

“They won’t?” Mikal repeated faintly in surprise. His brow knotted in thought. “If there was a different firestone, then you’d know because a fire-lizard would eat it. Look for the stones that fire-lizards eat.”

“Fire-lizards are hard to find,” Kindan said. “There are a few at the Harper Hall. Fort’s Lord has a new clutch.”

“Pellar had a fire-lizard,” Mikal said. “Send for him.”

“Pellar?” Kindan said. He shook his head. “We don’t know where he is.”

Mikal shook his head. “Finding fire-lizards is easy enough, it’s finding this firestone of yours that will be hard, if it exists.”

“Maybe they couldn’t find it in the north,” Kindan suggested.

“Maybe,” Mikal agreed dubiously. Then he brightened. “But you know where it was, so you could go there.”

“Go to the Southern Continent?” Kindan asked warily. Everyone knew that the Southern Continent was unsafe: That was why the colonists had moved to the northern continent nearly five hundred Turns ago. He mulled over the thought. “Perhaps we could go just to find a sample.”

“Wouldn’t the Masterminer be able to tell you where to find this firestone here, once you had a sample for him?” Mikal asked.

“I don’t know,” Kindan said, then shrugged in apology for contradicting the old man. “It’s just that the records seem to show that firestone mining has been dangerous for several hundred Turns. If there was a safer firestone, we’d be mining it.”

“Unless the only ones who could tell had died,” Mikal said.

“It would have been an accident, most likely,” Kindan said. “Perhaps they discovered a vein of our firestone and it blew up before they realized their mistake.”

Mikal mulled the suggestion over. “Perhaps.”

Kindan was intrigued with the notion. “If they didn’t know about our type of firestone, they’d never know their peril.”

“And if the fire-lizards’ firestone was impervious to water, they might have dowsed the new firestone with water without realizing the danger,” Mikal said.

Kindan had a horrific image of miners using water to clean a wall of rock only to have it explode in a sheet of flame, extinguishing them in a terrifying instant.

“But why wouldn’t the next miners have simply gotten a new sample from one of the Weyrs?” Kindan wondered.

Mikal shook his head. “We’ll never know.

“And we’ll never know if there is such a firestone until someone gets a sample from the Southern Continent.” He pushed himself upright and turned determinedly toward the entrance. “We must talk with the dragonrider.”