Dont move, Canth cautioned him. Youll lose her.
But if theyre hatching … they can be Impressed … Canth, rouse the Weyr! Speak to Prideth. Speak to Wirenth. Tell them to come. Tell them to bring food. Tell them to hurry. Quickly or itll be too late.
He stared hard at the purple blotch on the horizon that was the Weyr, as if he himself could somehow bridge the gap with his thoughts. But the frenzy on the beach was attracting attention from another source. Wild wherries, the carrion eaters of Pern, instinctively flocked to the shore, their wings making an ominous line of Vs in the southern sky. The vanguard was already beating to a height, preparing to dive at the unprotected weak fledglings. Every nerve in Fnors body yearned to go to their rescue, but Canth repeated his warning. Fnor would jeopardize his fragile rapport with the little queen if he moved. Or, Fnor realized, if he communicated his agitation to her. He closed his eyes. He couldnt watch.
The first shriek of pain vibrated through his body as well as the little lizards. She darted into the folds of his arm sling, trembling against his ribs. Despite himself, Fnor opened his eyes. But the wherries had not stooped yet though they circled lower and lower with rapacious speed. The fledglings were voraciously attacking each other. He shuddered and the little queen rattled her pinions, uttering a delicate fluting sound of distress.
Youre safe with me. Far safer with me. Nothing can harm you with me, Fnor told her repeatedly, and Canth crooned reassurance in harmony with that litany.
The strident shriek of the wherries as they plunged suddenly changed to their piercing wail of terror. Fnor glanced up, away from the carnage on the beach, to see a green dragon in the sky, belching flame, scattering the avian hunters. The green hovered, several lengths above the beach, her head extended downward. She was riderless.
Just then, Fnor saw three figures, charging. sliding, slipping down the high sand dune, heading as straight as possible toward the many-winged mass of cannibals. Although they looked as if theyd carom right into the middle, they somehow managed to stop.
Brekke said she has alerted as many as she could, Canth told him.
Brekke? Whyd you call her? Shes got enough to do.
She is the best one, Canth replied, ignoring Fnors reprimand.
Are they too late? Fnor glanced anxiously at the sky and at the dune, willing more men to arrive.
Brekke was wading toward the struggling hatchlings now, her hands extended. The other two were following her example. Who had she brought? Why hadnt she got more riders? Theyd know instantly how to approach the beasts.
Two more dragons appeared in the sky, circled and landed with dizzying speed right on the beach their riders racing in to help. The skyborne green flamed off the insistent wherries, bugling to her fellows to help her.
Brekke has one. And the girl. So does the boy but the beast is hurt. Brekke says that many are dead.
Why, wondered Fnor suddenly, if he had only just seen the truth of the legend of fire lizards, did he ache for their deaths? Surely the creatures had been hatching on lonely beaches for centuries, been eaten by wherries and their own peers, unseen and unmourned. The strong survive, said Canth, undismayed.
They saved seven, two badly hurt. The young girl, Mirrim, Brekkes fosterling, attached three; two greens and a brown seriously injured by gouges on his soft belly. Brekke had a bronze with no mark on him, the greens rider had a bronze, and the other two riders had blues, one with a wrenched wing which Brekke feared might never heal properly for flight.
Seven out of over fifty, said Brekke sadly after they had disposed of the broken bodies with agenothree. A precaution which Brekke suggested as a frustration for the carrion eaters and to prevent other fire lizards from avoiding the beach as dangerous to their kind. I wonder how many would have survived if you hadnt called us.
She was already far from the others when she discovered us, Fnor remarked. Probably the first to hatch, or on top of the others.