McCaffrey, Anne – DragonQuest. Chapter 7, 8

“Berd. Wirenth and I decided. She likes him,” Brekke replied, smiling tenderly on the sleeping pair. “Although it’s very confusing. Why do I have a bronze, you a queen and Mirrim three?”

F’nor shrugged and grinned at her. “Why not? Of course, once we tell them that’s not how it’s done, they may conform to time-honored couplings.”

“What I meant was, if the fire lizards — who seem to be miniature dragons — can be Impressed by anyone who approaches them at the crucial moment, then fighting dragons — not just queens who don’t chew firestone anyhow — could be Impressed by women, too.”

“Fighting Thread is hard work. Leave it to men.”

“You think managing a Weyr isn’t hard work?” Brekke kept her voice even but her eyes darkened angrily. “Or plowing fields and hollowing cliffs for Holds? And …”

F’nor whistled. “Why, Brekke, such revolutionary thoughts from a craftbred girl? Where women know there’s only one place for them … Oh, you’ve got Mirrim in mind as a rider?”

“Yes. She’d be as good or better than some of the male weyrlings I know,” and there was such asperity in Brekke’s voice that F’nor wondered just which boys she found so lacking. “Her ability to Impress three fire lizards indicates …”

“Hey — backwing a bit, girl. We’ve enough trouble with the Oldtimers as it is without trying to get them to accept a girl riding a fighting dragon! C’mon, Brekke. I know your fondness for the child and she seems a good intelligent girl, but you must be realistic.”

“I am,” Brekke replied, so emphatically that F’nor looked at her in surprise. Some riders should have been crafters or farmers — or — nothing, but they were acceptable to dragons on Hatching. Others are real riders, heart and soul and mind. Dragons are the beginning and end of their ambition. Mirrim …”

A dragon broke into the air above the Weyr, trumpeting.

“F’lar!” With such a wingspan, it could be no other.

F’nor broke into a run, motioning Brekke to follow him to the Weyr landing field.

“No. You go. Wirenth’s waking. I’ll wait.”

F’nor was relieved that she preferred to stay. He didn’t want her to come out with that drastic theory in front of F’lar, particularly when he wanted his half-brother to shift N’ton and B’dor here for her sake. Anything to spare Brekke the kind of scene Kylara would throw if T’bor’s Orth flew Wirenth.

“Where is everyone?” was F’lar’s curt greeting as his brother joined him. “Where’s Kylara? Mnementh can’t find Prideth. She’s not to be haring off on her own.”

“Everyone’s out trying to trap fire lizards.”

“With Thread falling out of pattern? Of all the stupidities … This continent is by no means immune! Where in the image of all shells is T’bor? That’d be all we need — Threads ravaging the southern continent!”

The outburst was so uncharacteristic that F’nor stared at the Weyrleader. F’lar passed his hand over his eyes, rubbing his temples. The cold of between had started his headache again. The talk at the Crafthall had been unsettling. He gripped his half-brother’s arm in apology.

“That was inexcusable of me, F’nor. I beg your pardon.”

“Accepted, of course. That’s Orth wheeling in right now.” F’nor decided to wait before asking F’lar what was really bothering him. He could just imagine what Raid of Benden Hold or Sifer of Bitra Hold had had to say about new levies of manpower. Probably felt that the change of Threadfall was a personal insult, dreamed up by Benden Weyr to annoy the faithful Holds of Pern.

T’bor landed and strode toward the waiting men.

Perhaps Brekke was not so far off in her heretical doctrine, F’nor thought. T’bor had made Southern Weyr self-sufficient and productive, no small task. He’d obviously have made a good Holder.

“Orth said you were here, F’lar. What brings you to Southern? You heard our news about the fire lizards?” T’bor called, brushing the sand from his clothes as he walked.

“Yes, I did,” replied F’lar in so formal a tone that T’bor’s welcoming smile faded. “And I thought you’d heard ours, that Thread is dropping out of pattern.”