instantly identified.
The sun gleamed on healthy dragon hides and intensified the golden queen
dragons who flew at the lowest level, sometimes seeming to touch the
tops of the nearby mountains as they circled Fort. It was a sight to
behold, and always brought a thrill of pride to those who watched the
display: with one or two exceptions.
Well, that’s done for now,’ said Chalkin, Lord Holder of Bitra, the
first to lower his eyes, though the fly-past was not yet over.
He rotated his neck and smoothed the skin where the decorative
embroidered border of his best tunic had scratched the skin. Actually,
he had had a few heart-stopping moments during some of the manoeuvres,
but he would never mention that aloud. The dragon riders were far too
full of themselves as it was, without pandering to their egos and an
inflated sense of importance: constantly appearing at his Hold and
handing him lists of what hadn’t been done and must be done before
Threadfall. Chalkin snorted. Just how many people were taken in with
all this twaddle? The storms last year had been unusually hard, but
then that wasn’t in itself unexpectable, so why were hard storms
supposed to be a prelude to a Pass?
Winter meant storms.
And this preoccupation with the volcanoes going off. They did
periodically anyway, sort of a natural phenomenon, if he remembered his
science orientation correctly. So what if three or four were active
right now? That did not necessarily have to do with the proximity of a
spatial neighbour! And he was not going to require guards to freeze
themselves keeping an easterly watch for the damned planet. Especially
as every other Hold was also on the alert. So what if it orbited near
Pern? That didn’t necessarily mean it was close enough to be dangerous,
no matter how the ancients had gone on about cyclical incursions.
The dragons were just one more of the settlers’ weird experiments,
altering an avian species to take the place of the aircraft they had
once had. He’d seen the air sled which the Telgar Foundry treasured as
an exhibit: a vehicle much more convenient to fly in than aboard a
dragon where one had to endure the black-cold of teleportation. He
shuddered. He had no liking for that sort of ultimate cold, even if it
avoided the fatigue of overland travel. Surely in all those records the
College was mustering folks to copy, there were other materials that
could be substituted for whatever the ancients had used to power the
vehicles? Why hadn’t some bright lad found the answer before the last
of the air sleds deteriorated completely? Why didn’t the brainy ones
develop a new type of air-worthy vessel? A vessel that didn’t expect to
be thanked for doing its duty!
He glanced down at the wide roadway where the gather tables and stalls
were set up. His were empty; even his gamesters were watching the
sight. He’d have a word with them later. They should have been able to
keep some customers at the various games of chance even with the
dragon rider display. Surely everyone had seen that by now.
Still, the races had gone well and, with every one of the wager-takers
his operators, he’d have made a tidy profit from his percentage of the
bets.
As he made his way back to his seat, he saw that wine chillers had been
placed at every table. He rubbed his be ringed fingers together in
anticipation, the black Istan diamonds flashing as they caught sunlight.
The wine was the only reason he had been willing to come to this
Gathering: and he’d half suspected Hegmon of some prevarication in the
matter. An effervescent wine, like the champagne one heard about from
old Earth, was to have its debut. And, of course, the food would be
marvellous too, even if the wine should not live up to its advance
notice. Paulin, Fort Hold’s Lord, had lured one of the best chefs on
the continent to his kitchens and the evening meal was sure to be good:
if it didn’t turn sour in his stomach while he sat through the
obligatory meeting afterwards. Chalkin had bid for the man’s services,