By the Golden Egg of Faranth
By the Weyrwoman, wise and true,
Breed a flight of bronze and brown wings,
Breed a flight of green and blue.
Breed riders, strong and daring,
Dragon-loving, born as hatched
Flight of hundreds soaring skyward,
Man and dragon fully matched.
--- Anne McCaffrey, Dragonflight
Chapter 1 - Search
Sixth Month, 34th Turn of the Present Pass
Dragons were not an unusual sight at the Harperhall - they brought visitors to the Masterharper and the Masterhealer on a regular basis - so Billee gave no thought to the brown and blue that landed in the forecourt beyond wondering what news they brought for Masterharper Tirone.
He kept one eye on them as he edged around the courtyard to the dining hall. He knew from his lessons that a blue was considered a small dragon, but it certainly seemed enormous to him as he walked past. It was four times his height, even when crouching, and many times as long. The brown was bigger again, but at least it had simply landed and then left, probably to settle on the gather grounds. The blue, on the other hand, had stayed, and was observing all the comings and goings with a keen interest. It lifted its head to regard the young apprentice harper solemnly out out of one huge, multi-faceted eye. Billee was glad that he had enough presence of mind to remember his manners, and bowed as he walked past. He didn't really believe any of the tales he'd been told about dragons eating naughty children (or even naughty apprentices), but it didn't pay to take any chances where the large carnivores were concerned.
One of the dragonriders was standing just inside the entrance to the dining hall, chatting in a desultory fashion to Master Flint - the coloured cords knotted around his shoulder showed that he was the rider of the blue, and came from Fort Weyr. The rider turned to look at him as he walked past, and Flint followed his gaze, murmuring something to the rider. Billee ducked his head and scurried over to his table. He couldn't remember having done anything wrong recently, but it was never a good idea for an apprentice to attract Master Flint's attention, as he was all too fond of handing out scribing tasks as punishment for real or imagined infractions.
At the noonday meal he learned more from the other apprentices. The dragons were on Search, visiting all the principal Holds in Fort Weyr's domain to look for young men who had the potential to become dragonriders. Orlith, the new junior queen who had transferred in from Ista Weyr a couple of winters ago, had laid an unusually large clutch of 31 eggs, and both her rider, Moreta, and the Weyrwoman, Leri, were determined that the dragonets would have a good range of candidates to choose from.
"I hope I get chosen," said Fergonal, as he dropped down into his seat. "I'd love to be up there fighting Thread on dragonback."
"I don't," said Simmon stolidly. "I like spending Threadfall underneath thick rock and metal, not out there where I'm as likely to get flamed as scored."
"Coward."
"Just sensible."
"Well, I want to be a dragonrider. Don't you, Billee?" Fergonal's tone was wistful.
Bille smiled. "I did, when I was younger - who doesn't?" He applied himself to the meat on his plate. "But now I'm going to be a harper."
"You can still be Searched."
Billee shrugged. "I was lucky enough to get permission to attend the Harperhall. I don't look for any more than that."
"They couldn't refuse to let you stand, could they? Your people, I mean."
"I don't know. I'm supposed to go back to High Reaches when I've walked the tables to help with the teaching." He grinned, slyly. "You southern-bred harpers are too delicate to cope with the Holds up there. They need natives."
There was a general outcry at that, which Billee expected, but if he had been hoping to divert the topic of conversation, he was disappointed. The presence of two dragons at the harperhall was too attractive a subject to be deferred for long, and conversation sooon returned to the clutch hardening at Fort Weyr, and to the possibility that any one of them might be selected as a Candidate. Billee listened, but tried to put it out of his mind. He was a bit old to be a Candidate anyway - he was 19 Turns already, and with any luck he'd be promoted to journeyman sometime in the next year, and then he'd be back home at High Reaches Hold, helping Harper Ollis to teach the young ones and playing for the Hold in the evenings.
He would be glad to return, for he missed his family. He'd only seen his mother three times in the five years he'd been at the Harperhall, and there were nephews and nieces he had yet to see at all. He sent letters, when he could scrounge a bit of scrap parchment and when he knew there was someone heading in that direction, but there wasn't much contact between High Reaches Hold and Fort Hold, so news was rare.
It was a little surprising, therefore, when he was called out of his afternoon gitar class with Master Tondil to attend the Masterharper's office. He swallowed and wiped his hands on his trousers. He didn't remember having done anything particularly bad lately, so it was unlikely to be a punishment. Then he wondered if something had happened to his family - he tried desperately to work out when Thread would have fallen last at High Reaches - but surely the Masterharper wouldn't call him for that? It would be Journeyman Sistel who would give him that sort of news.
Nervously he stood outside the Masterharper's room and coughed gently. Journeyman Sistel came to the door and greeted him a little guardedly.
"Come in, Billee," he said, gesturing into the room.
Masterharper Tirone was seated at a scribing desk, the sand tables pushed back against the wall to make room for a pile of scrolls. The blue rider was there too, sitting to one side, nursing a goblet of something. Even he looked a little uncomfortable to be sitting in the presence of the Masterharper.
"You sent for me, masterharper?"
"Yes, Billee. Come in, sit down." He smiled. "You haven't done anything wrong, I assure you."
Billee sat gingerly on the low stool and tried to calm his nerves. He looked down at his hands and forced himself to be still.
"Well, then," began Tirone, "have you ever thought about being a dragonrider?"
Billee's head shot up. "What? Me?"
"Yes, you. Surely you've thought about it?"
"Well, yes, as a boy I did. But surely I'm too old now?" He glanced apprehensively at the rider. "I'll be twenty later this year, and I've nearly finished my apprenticehip - or so said Master Tondil, anyway," he added, hoping that he hadn't sounded immodest. "He thought I'd be ready to go back to High Reaches soon."
"Ah, yes, High Reaches." Tirone nodded slowly and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. "I think we can leave High Reaches in Ollis's capable hands for the moment - he's doing quite well there, quite well indeed. And it isn't always wise to send a harper straight back to his own hold. A little more experience is often necessary to prevent ... well, to reinforce the notion that he answers to the Harperhall first and the lord holder second. Even the most reasonable holders can sometimes be mistaken on that point."
Billee bit his lip, not sure if he was supposed to comment or not. Probably not, since apprentices weren't supposed to know anything about the friction between crafts and holds, even if it was common knowledge. What concerned him more was the sinking feeling that returning to High Reaches in the near future was not going to happen, regardless of the outcome of this interview.
After a moment, Tirone continued. "But to come back to the subject of dragons ... would you be willing to stand as a candidate?"
"Am I suitable?"
"Salteth thinks you are," said the rider from his corner, "and he's never wrong."
"Thank you, F'ron," Tirone smiled. "You see, Billee, Salteth is one of the most experienced Search dragons at Fort Weyr. If he says you're suitable, then I, for one, am not going to argue. Even if it means losing a very valuable and promising apprentice."
Billee swallowed and tried to stop himself blushing. Master Tirone thought he was valuable? He'd had no idea that Tirone even knew who he was!
"But," continued the Masterharper, "I would never send anyone to the Weyr against his choice. If you are set against it, then I shall not make you go."
Billee thought about that for a moment. "Would I be able to come back here if I don't impress?"
"Of course."
Billee thought about it. Dragonriders were highly respected - they went anywhere, spoke to Lords Holder and MasterCraftsmen as equals, and always seemed to be glamorous, even when disshevelled and exhausted from fighting Thread. And who could not want to ride a dragon? Who would not want to fly, to see their dragon shoot flame far ahead, to keep the planet safe from the fearsome scourge of Thread? Certainly, there was the risk of being scored by Thread or burnt by flame, but what was that against the prospect of flying?
He thought for a minute longer, then nodded. "I'll do it. I'll take my chance at it."
"Good lad!"
"Do I have to get permission from Lord Kavin?"
"You're not of the blood, are you?"
"Not really. My father's a cousin, but he's studied shipbuilding all his life, not Holding. And I have four elder brothers still at High Reaches."
"In that case, I shall send your father and Lord Kavin a courtesy message to say that you have gone to Fort Weyr on Search, on the understanding that you will return to the Harperhall to continue your training should you not impress. That ought to placate them."
"Thank you."
Tirone pushed a goblet of wine into his hand, and Billee stared at it. Apprentices didn't drink wine, except at festival, when it was well-watered. But there it was, and Tirone and F'ron were raising their glasses, so he smiled and took a sip. It was stronger and much less sweet than he'd expected, but he drank it anyway, feeling the heat of it down his gullet.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. The eggs weren't due to hatch for another Sevenday or so, but F'ron was anxious to get Billee and Farillon, another Candidate from Fort Hold, up to the Weyr so that they could start to learn their way around and meet the weyrlingmaster and the rest of the Candidates. Billee expected to be sent up to the Weyr on a runnerbeast, but it appeared that Candidates were expected to arrive in style: a dragon would call for them at noon the next day.
He made a circuit of the Hall that afternoon, first collecting the gitar he'd made the previous Turn (which had been passed as "satisfactory" by Master Tondil, a rare honour), and saying goodbye to his teachers and classmates. He was careful to say that he was only a Candidate, and that he would be back there within the month if he didn't impress, but even those he didn't get on with were positive that he would succeed. He packed his things into a large carry-sack that he grabbed fom the Assistant Headwoman, and went down to his last dinner in a somewhat apprehensive mood.
As he had suspected, the results of Salteth's Search were announced at the meal, and Billee found himself the centre of attention. He tried to sink down in his seat, but Fergonal told him to sit up and acknowledge the honour done to the Harperhall by his selection.
"You'll do us proud, Billee, I know you will," he said.
"I'll try my best. But it's the dragon who chooses."
"Ah, and who wouldn't choose you?" teased Fergonal. "Those pretty green eyes, that handsome face, that lovely voice - any dragon with an eye for beauty would pick you any day."
"Oh, Fergonal, that's nonsense."
"And not just the dragons - I think Billee will be popular among the riders, too."
"Oh, of course, you'll be meeting queenriders," gasped Timmony, a youngster who'd only been in the Harperhall since winter solstice.
Fergonal snorted. "That wasn't quite what I meant."
"But -"
"Shut it, Fergonal," said Journeyman Sistel in a stern voice. "There are youngsters present." He smiled at Timmony and said, kindly, "Billee will be meeting all sorts of people at the Weyr. And if we're very good he might even deign to visit his old companions one day."
"I'll visit when I can," confirmed Billee, "but the training is hard and long - if I get to impress at all."
"You will."
Billee shrugged and made the effort to eat well on his last night among the friends he'd made over the last five years.
After the meal he accompanied the other apprentices back to the dormitory, and did what he could to help Fergonal with the gitar piece he would have to take over from Billee.
"I've changed my mind," said Fergonal, wearily, after an hour's practice. "I don't want you to go to the Weyr at all. I want you to stay here and play gitar so I don't have to do this."
"I told you you should have learned it a month ago."
"I know, but you're so much better at it, and you're never ill, so there wasn't any point. Tondil was never going to want me for the part as long as you were here."
"And now I'm not here - or I won't be, from tomorrow - and you have an awful lot to learn in a hurry." He twitched his lips in amusement. "Still, I'm sure that Master Tondil will be generous with his free time in tutoring you until you've learned the part."
Fergonal groaned. Tondil in class was bad enough; Tondil in a one-to-one tutorial would be impossible.
* * *
The next day Billee woke at dawn and listened to the sound of the Hall stirring. His last day in the Hall ... maybe his last day as a harper. For some reason, this seemed to be a more momentous change than the day he'd come south to become an apprentice. Hold to Hall, after all, was just a change of location. From Hold to Weyr, though - that was something else entirely. Weyrfolk were different.
He had already packed his things, so had little to do between breakfast and noon except to wander around the Harperhall, saying a silent farewell to the home he'd had for the last five Turns. He'd enjoyed his time here, and while he had been looking forward to going home, he had always assumed that he would return for more advanced training in the fullness of time. He'd had ambitions of taking his mastery in gitar and becoming Master Tondil's assistant, perhaps his successor. As a dragonrider, however, if he returned at all it would be as a visitor - an outsider, not an initiate.
He looked across the dining hall, where he'd had so many meals and heard so many brilliant musicians play, and was torn between the two futures that lay before him. On the one hand there was the prospect of becoming a dragonrider - and whatever he'd said to the other boys the day before, he'd never really lost the desire to ride a dragon - and on the other there was the knowledge that Impression would cut him off from his music and his old life more completely than anything else in the entire world. Would the life-long telepathic link with a dragon be enough to make up for the loss of his music?
He sat with his head in his hands for several minutes, until the drudges came in to set up for the noonday meal, then ran down to the kitchen to say a fond goodbye to Scallin, the head cook. Scallin, a large, jovial man, insisted that he take a large meatroll with him, since (as he said) everyone knew that Weyrs had no idea how to feed their folk. Billee laughed, but he took the roll anyway, and ate it as he made his way to the hall gate, where Journeyman Sistel stood ready to escort him to the gather meadow.
The dragon waiting for them was a young green. Her rider - who introduced himself as T'ristin - was younger than Billee, and told them that he'd Impressed Candith only the previous Turn. He was still a weyrling, not yet integrated into the fighting wings, and he and his classmates were on transport duty in the period leading up to the Hatching.
Farillon and another man - a farmer, by the look of him - walked over from the main Hold complex, both of them carrying large bags. Farillon obviously expected to be staying at Fort Weyr for a long time. Billee looked down at his own meagre belongings and wondered if he should have begged extra clothing from Kirra before leaving. Then he caught sight of T'ristin's expression as he saw all the bags, and was glad he'd limited his baggage to one carry-sack and his gitar.
Sistel helped him to load his gear into the carrying nets arranged on Candith's sides. They made their farewells, and then T'ristin showed them how to climb up the riding straps to the neck ridge, where they would be sitting directly behind the dragonrider.
"It's such a beautiful day I'm almost tempted to fly straight," said the youngster, "but there's a lot to do, so we'll go between as planned. Have either of you gone between before? No? Well, it'll be very dark and cold and sort of ... blank ... It can be quite scary, but it's such a short trip that we'll be back in the sky before you know it. All ready? Right, then, let's go."
Candith launched herself and took them high into the air in just a few rapid wingbeats. She banked, turning back over Fort Hold and Billee looked down, his jaw dropping as he saw the entire Hold,with the Harperhall off to one side, spread out beneath him.
"Isn't that a sight?" laughed T'ristin.
"It's fantastic!" Billee shouted, hoping he could be heard over the sound of the dragon's wings. He'd had no idea that Fort Hold was so large - it sprawled out from the cliff and over the surrounding foothills. He could make out the Harperhall and the windows of the Healerhall, and the Gather Ground they'd just left, and the Hold itself, extending up inside the cliff. Even the drum heights were clearly visible.
They climbed a little further and then, without warning, there was nothing except cold. Billee almost cried out in shock, but he couldn't draw breath. He couldn't feel the dragon underneath him, or Farillon behond him or even the air around him. As T'ristin had warned him, between was simply nothing, and that was more terrifying than anything - any real thing - that he'd ever experienced in his short life.
In the next moment, just as he felt panic overwhelming him, they were in the air over Fort Weyr, and he could breathe again.
The Weyr was enormous - at least four times the size of Fort Hold. It was a giant oval bowl, aligned north-east to south-west, enclosed within steep ridges that were dotted with openings - dragonweyrs, Billee realised, and his heart leapt to think that he might inhabit one of them soon. The base of the bowl was fairly flat, with a small lake at the southern end. There were a few people down there, some of whom looked up to watch the green dragon descend.
Candith landed in the bowl of the Weyr and Billee fumbled at the straps that tethered him to T'ristin. Once freed, he made his way slowly and carefully down the riding straps - going down was definitely more difficult than climbing up had been. Farillon followed even more slowly.
T'ristin scrambled over the rigging, releasing the carrying nets that contained not only the passengers' bags, but also scrolls for the harper and assorted messages, and then jumped down himself.
It was obvious that they were expected, as a couple of youngsters came forward and greeted the dragon, then turned to the newcomers.
"You're the Fort Hold candidates?" asked one of them, a thickset redhead.
"Yes, we are," replied Billee.
"Fantastic. I'm Sett, this is Goneril." He indicated his companion, a short wiry boy with black curls. "We'll take you to the barracks and get you settled in." He reached for their bags, but Billee quickly grabbed his gitar. He'd laboured long and hard on it, and he wasn't about to have it damaged by a clumsy weyrbrat.
Sett chattered all the way to the barracks, which were along the north-western portion of the bowl. Billee couldn't suppress a gasp of amazement as he looked around the large cavern. It was vaguely rectangular in shape, and extended far back into the rock. Billee couldn't even begin to guess how long it was - twenty full dragonlengths? more? - but there were also openings that must lead to subsidiary caves.
"All the Candidates will be accommodated here in the western barracks,' explained Sett. "Luckily the weyrlings from last year's Hatching just moved up into their own weyrs, so there's plenty of room, since it's a big clutch. Choose a bunk, dump your gear, and get yourselves settled."
There were bunks projecting from the walls, widely spaced, clustered into bays of about five or six by the natural outcroppings in the rock. Many of them were occupied already, judging from the personal bags and effects strewn over them, but there were still plenty available. Billee and Farillon moved to an area on the side where two bunks were empty, and placed their bags on the bedding. Billee set his gitar carefully at the head of the bed, hoping that it would remain safe. There was a chest at the foot of each bunk, which was probably to keep their things tidy, but he wasn't sure there'd be room for the gitar as well.
Sett and Goneril dropped the rest of the bags. "We have to get back to welcome the next lot," explained Sett, "but we'll no doubt see you around."
"Hi, Sett," came a voice from behind them, and they all turned.
The next bunk over was taken by a boy of about Farillon's age, a little younger than Billee but about the same height, with light brown curly hair and grey eyes. His features were too irregular to be truly handsome, but he appeared very attractive, all the same, expecially when he smiled, as he did now.
"Domin!" exclaimed Sett, and hurried to exchange a hug. "When did you get back?"
"This morning. I've been catching up with Tamina. I told you they couldn't keep me away forever."
"It seemed like forever."
"I know." He heaved a sigh. "But I'm back now."
"For how long?"
Domin shrugged. "Depends. If I don't impress this time I have to stay there until I gain my journeyman's knots." He grimaced at the thought, then grinned. "But that's not going to happen. I'll impress this time, I know I will."
"You'd better."
Goneril pulled at Sett's sleeve, and he looked back to the cavern's entrance. "Oh, shards, I really need to get back. I'll catch you later, Domin."
"Sure," said Domin, and watched them go with a fond smile. Then he turned to Billee and Farillon. "So, I'm Domin. Where are you from? And what are your names?"
"I'm Billee, and this is Farillon. We're from Fort Hold."
"Hmm. A harper and a herdsman," he pronounced, looking at the shoulder knots that indicated their craft and rank. Then he looked inquiringly at Billee, saying, "But you sound like you're from the north."
"I was born at High Reaches Hold."
Domin's eyes widened. "It's a long way from there to Fort Weyr."
Billee shrugged. "It's not that far. It's just the mountain range that makes it difficult."
"Not for a dragon. If we impress, we'll be able to go anywhere on Pern in the blink of an eye."
Billee smiled. That would be worthwhile, he thought. He'd be able to see his parents and sisters whenever he could get the time off. It wouldn't hurt his sisters' marriage prospects, either, to know that there was a dragonrider in the family.
He reached for his bag and started to undo the knots.
"Don't unpack too much," cautioned Domin. "One way or another, we'll be moving after the hatching."
"Oh?"
Domin gestured around the cavern. "See how the spaces are a lot bigger on this side? That's for browns and bronzes. Blues and greens are smaller, so they get the smaller spaces over there. The day after the hatching, F'neldril will sort us all into groups and we'll move our things. Luckily we'll be the only class in the barracks, so we'll have plenty of space to spread out."
Billee looked around. The spaces still seemed enormous to him, but he tried to imagine them filled with twenty or thirty yearling dragons. He shook his head. "I'll take your word for it, but the place is so large I can't ever imagine it being crowded."
Domin laughed. "Wait until next year, then you'll see. Say, have you seen the Hatching Grounds yet?" he asked, a hint of mischief in his eyes.
"Only as we flew in."
"Oh? Who brought you?"
"Green rider T'ristin."
"T'ristin," repeated Domin slowly. "I don't know the name. Was he old or young?"
"Very young."
"He must have Impressed at Holth's last clutch then." He frowned. "I wasn't here, and lost track of the weyrlings. I'll have a bit of catching up to do now I'm back."
"Where were you?"
"Southern Boll," he answered shortly. "Come on. I'll show you around."
Domin took them across the bowl and led them on a tour of the main areas of the weyr - the infirmary, dining hall, the bathing pools, the corridor that led to the main storerooms, guarded by the doughty Headwoman Nesso, and the stairs that led to the Council room and the chambers of the senior riders - the golds and the wingleaders.
"Keep out of there," he cautioned - the seniors don't like weyrlings hanging around and they're likely to give you some job to do if they see you."
Billee laughed. "I'll remember that."
"Hmm. Where shall we go next? Ah - do you want to see the eggs?"
"Don't we get to see them anyway?"
"We'll get a quick look at the grounds as part of the pre-Impression training, but not close. Not as close as I can get you. Besides, this is more fun."
"We shouldn't," said Farillon, disapprovingly. "Animals don't like to be disturbed when they've got eggs or young with them."
Domin looked offended. "Dragons aren't animals. And we won't disturb them - we'll just be looking at them."
Farillon shook his head. "I thnk it's a bad idea."
"Well, you go back to the cavern then. Billee, are you up for it?"
Billee watched Farillon walk back the way they'd just come. On the one hand, he really wanted to see a dragon's egg up close, especially if it could be done without several hundred people looking on - it might help him to be a bit less nervous at the Hatching. On the other hand, he thought Farillon was right - it wasn't a good idea to disturb a broody dragon. But on the other hand (Shells! How many hands did he have?), he didn't want Domin to think him a coward. He had taken a liking to the chatty lad and wanted Domin to like him back. After just a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "Aye, let's do it."
"Hah! I knew you were a right one when I saw you," crowed Domin, and set off at a brisk pace. Billee followed him along the corridors that led deep into the weyr rock. They were poorly lit and quite warm, and he hoped that Domin knew what he was doing - and where he was going.
"That Farillon - is he a friend of yours?"
"No. I only met him this morning."
"Figures."
"How so?"
"Well, I didn't see you being friends with someone as ... as solid as he is. He looks like he's never broken a rule in his life."
"Maybe he hasn't," answered Billee with a grin.
"I have an awful feeling he's going to impress a bronze, you know. They seem to be a very serious lot."
"I didn't think you could tell which colour you'll impress."
"You can't - well, except for the golds, of course. But most of the bronze riders seem to be terribly serious and responsible. Not all of them, thank heavens, but an awful lot of them. It's almost enough to make me want a brown instead."
"You want a bronze?"
Domin cocked his head. "I guess. They're the ones whose riders become the Weyrleaders and wingleaders. My father's a wingsecond - he rides brown Carnath - and I suppose I want to do better than he did. My brother impressed a bronze, and father was so proud of him." He stopped, suddenly, as if he'd been going to say something more, but changed his mind. The he shrugged. "I wished so hard for a bronze the last time. I really wanted a bronze, like D'col ..." his voice trailed off, then he pulled himself together. "But if this is my last Impression, then I'll be happy with anything - even a green."
Billee was about to ask why a green was such a poor option when the corridor narrowed and dimmed. They had to walk in single file for about a hundred paces, and Billee began to feel a little claustrophobic. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, though, he could see a glimmer of light up ahead, and concentrated on that.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" he whispered.
"Yes. I've been down here plenty of times in the past. Trust me."
Trust him? He'd only just met him! Billee started to wonder if perhaps it might have been better to have listened to Farillon.
Domin stopped suddenly and Billee ran into him. "Watch it!" hissed Domin. "We don't want to get caught here."
"Well, don't stop so suddenly."
"Shh!"
Domin peered cautiously around a corner, then beckoned to Billee to get in front of him. Through a narrow crack in the rockface, Billee could see the eggs on the sand, Orlith's body curled around them protectively.
"They're so big!" he whispered. They were huge, in fact - at least half his height, maybe more, he guessed.
"Well, a dragon's a bit bigger than a wherry, you know."
"Yes, but ..." his voice trailed off as Orlith lifted her head and looked in their direction. He jumped back, hoping that she hadn't seen them.
"What it is?" asked Domin.
"The queen! I think she saw me."
Domin took a quick peek around the rock, then jumped back himself. "Shards! We'd better get out of here before she sends someone to look for us. Come on!"
He grabbed Billee by the hand and they retraced their steps as fast as possible. They reached the relative safety of the store rooms just in time to hide behind some barrels as someone hurried past, holding a basket of glows in front of them.
"Phew, that was close," breathed Domin as soon as the cave was quiet again. "Let's get back to the barracks. It'll be dinner time soon anyway."
"Does everyone eat together?"
"Hardly! There are fifteen hundred people here, you know. Nursery has its own kitchen, of course, but everyone else eats in shifts. That's why we can't be late."
Well, Billee knew all about that from his days at High Reaches Hold, and he hurried along behind Domin.
When they reached the weyrling barracks, they found that several newcomers had arrived. Billee was introduced to Barret, a tall and handsome youth who was a younger son of Holder Nillader of Ruatha River Hold, and Harellan, who seemed absurdly young at 13, though Domin told him that it was the usual age for weyr-bred boys to present as Candidates. Domin pounced on a stocky boy of medium height with soft blond hair, whom he introduced as Seegan. They had been friends since their nursery days, but Domin's sojourn in the South had separated them for two Turns, and they spent some time catching up on Weyr events, which gave Billee a very useful introduction to the people and personalities he might be dealing with in the next few Turns.
The bell sounded for the evening meal, and Domin, Seegan and Harellan guided the other Candidates to the dining hall. It was enormous, seating five or six hundred, but it still appeared crowded to Billee's eyes. There was a head table for the senior people, Domin explained, but the rest of the tables weren't reserved. The first sitting was for lower caverns staff, the elderly and the youngsters who were no longer in the nursery, including weyrlings and the Candidates. The second sitting was for the riders, craftsmen and a few senior lower caverns staff. Drudges and cooks ate in the kitchen itself.
Billee looked around. The hall, like every indoor space on Pern, was lit with glowbaskets hanging from hooks that jutted out from the walls. Between the hooks there were tapestries, shifting slightly as the air moved around them. They depicted scenes from previous Passes, including several Threadfalls, and Billee wondered if perhaps someday he would feature in one.
The meal was basic - herdbeast in a vegetable stew - but tasty, accompanied by slices of bread and jugs of water. Billee found that he was very hungry after all the exploring he'd done, but when he reached for a second helping, he found that Domin held his arm back.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Food is rationed here. We depend on tithes from the Holds, which means that we can't be seen to be greedy. It'll be a little better in the Autumn, when the harvest tithes come in, but summer is always one helping only. Sorry."
Billee let his arm drop, embarrassed at his gaffe. He'd never been rationed before. Holds always had enough food, though it tended to get a little monotonous if the traders were delayed by Thread. He'd seen the tithing trains leave for High Reaches Weyr many a time, but outside his rote-learning of the Teaching Ballads he'd never really thought about what it meant to the Weyrfolk, to depend for every mouthful on the generosity of others.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, feeling his face reddening.
"Don't worry," Domin reassured him. "Just make sure you take a bigger serve next time."
After the meal, they were hurried out of the hall so that the drudges could clear the tables in time for the second sitting. They strolled back to the Weyrling Barracks chattering and laughing among themselves.
As he got into his bunk that night, Billee listened to the sounds of fifty or sixty boys around him, and wondered who would impress, and who would go home. He hoped that Domin would be one of the ones who impressed. He liked the lad, and found him easy to get on with. He might even go so far as to say he had made a friend - not bad for his first day in a Weyr.