The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [238]
The bronze fire lizard, Berd, found F’nor preparing to join the wings at the western meadows of Telgar Hold. The brown rider was so astonished at first to see the little bronze in Benden so far from his mistress that he didn’t immediately grasp the frenzied creature’s thoughts.
But Canth did.
Wirenth has risen!
All other considerations forgotten, F’nor ran with Canth to the ledge. Grall grabbed at her perch on his shoulder, wrapping her tail so tightly around F’nor’s neck that he had to loosen it forcibly. Then could not be brought to roost and precious moments were lost while Canth managed to calm the little bronze sufficiently to accept instruction. As Berd finally settled, Canth let out so mighty a bugle that Mnementh challenged from the ledge and Ramoth roared back from the Hatching Ground.
With no thought of the effect of their precipitous exit or Canth’s exceptional behavior, F’nor urged his dragon upward. The small pulse of reason that remained untouched by emotion was trying to estimate how long it had taken the little bronze to reach him, how long Wirenth would blood before rising, which bronzes were at High Reaches. He was thankful that F’lar had not had time to throw mating flights open. There were some beasts against whom Canth stood no chance.
When they broke into the air again over High Reaches Weyr, F’nor’s worst fears were realized. The Feeding Ground was a bloody sight and no queen fed there. Nor was there a bronze among the dragons who ringed the Weyr heights.
Without order, Canth wheeled sharply down at dizzying speed.
Berd knows where Wirenth is. He takes me.
The little bronze hopped down to Canth’s neck, his little talons gripping the ridge tightly. F’nor slid from Canth’s shoulder to the ground, staggering out of the way so the brown could spring back aloft
Prideth also rises! The thought and the brown’s scream of fear were simultaneous. From the heights the other dragons answered, extending their wings in alarm.
“Rouse Ramoth!” F’nor shouted, mind and voice, his body paralyzed with shock. “Rouse Ramoth! Bronze riders! Prideth also rises!”
Weyrfolk rushed from the Lower Cavern, riders appeared on their ledges around the Weyr face.
“Kylara! T’bor! Where’s Pilgra? Kylara! Varena!” Shouting with a panic that threatened to choke him. F’nor raced for Brekke’s weyr, shoving aside the people who crowded him, demanding explanations.
Prideth rising! How could that happen? Even the stupidest Weyrwoman knew you didn’t keep a queen near her weyr during a mating flight—unless they were broody. How could Kylara . . . ?
“T’bor!”
F’nor raced up the short flight of steps, pounded down the corridor in strides that jolted his half-healed arm. But the pain cleared his head of panic. Just as he burst into the weyr cavern, Brekke’s angry cry halted him. The bronze riders grouped around her were beginning to show the effects of the interrupted mating flight
“What’s she doing here? How dare she?” Brekke was shrieking in a voice shrill with lust as well as fury. “These are my dragons! How dare she! I’ll kill her!” The litany broke into a piercing scream of agony as Brekke doubled up, right shoulder hunching as if to protect her head.
“My eye! My eye! My eye!” Brekke was covering her right eye, her body writhing in an uncontrollable, unconscious mimicry of the aerial battle to which she was tuned.
“Kill! I’ll kill her! No! No! She cannot escape. Go away!” Suddenly Brekke’s face turned crafty and her whole body writhed sensuously.
The bronze riders were changing now, no longer completely in the thrall of the strange mental rapport with their beasts. Fear, doubt, indecision, hopelessness registered on their faces. Some portion of the human awareness was returning, fighting with the dragon responsiveness and the interrupted mating flight. When T’bor reached