Chapter 4 - Ground Drills
Summer to Autumn, 34th Turn of the Present Pass
The dragonets had been spreading their wings out and making vague flapping motions since the day after they were hatched, but as they grew their movements became stronger and more purposeful, and they spent an increasing amount of time with their wings in motion, even when not moving around the bowl. The more experienced riders nodded with approval, telling the weyrlings that this was how they strengthened the mighty chest and back muscles they would need for sustained flight.
Within two months the first dragonet had actually managed to get all four feet off the ground ... for a split second, before falling flat on her face. The weyrlings managed not to laugh.
It wasn't long after that, though, that the fledgling dragons started to make short, wing-assisted hops and jumps. Walking across the bowl became a hazardous duty that the smarter drudges and weyrfolk avoided if at all possible. The weyrlings, of course, had no such option, and learned to keep a sharp eye out for a sprawling wing or stray claw.
Their own training was becoming more intensive and more focussed. There was still a lot of rote learning in the training cavern, but the emphasis was shifting from history to more current topics, like why the wings flew in various formations, and how each type of dragon contributed to the overall strength.
B'lee already knew that the bronzes and browns were the largest, of course, while the blues and greens were more agile, but he had never given any thought to how that would affect their ability to fight Thread. The bronzes, he learned, could throw flame the furthest and for longer periods - they were of most use when Thread fell in large clumps, as it did on still or slightly cloudy days. However, they and the browns weren't as agile as the smaller dragons, and were at risk of getting scored if there was much wind, or if the Thread was falling in widely-dispersed, feathery drifts. The blues were able to help out by taking care of small clumps and were particularly useful against drifts, but they had to get closer to do it. The greens were the fastest and most agile, and would dive and turn in the air to catch any stray thread, protecting their wingmates as much as the ground beneath them. Their smaller frames tired easily, though, so they were rotated through the fall to avoid costly mistakes through fatigue. Even so, their short flame and close proximity to Thread meant that the greens bore the largest burden of injuries.
It was no wonder that the riders were expected to be able to treat Threadscore and other injuries. It was not uncommon for up to a fifth of a fighting wing to be out of action at any one time, and Fort Weyr was nowhere near full strength at the moment. They needed every able-bodied dragon they could get, and that meant minimising injuries and healing them quickly. The weyrlings were shown how to look for and spread ichor, that strange dark-green substance that served the dragons for blood and could be used to dress all but the most severe of open wounds. They were taught about numbweed, fellis and redwort, and many other lesser pharmaceuticals that they would need. They even went on field trips to ensure that they could recognise and prepare them in the wild, though B'lee sincerely hoped that he would never be required to do that, since he had the greatest difficulty in telling one green leaf from another.
* * *
It was late summer, towards the end of the ninth month, when B'lee turned 20. He hadn't told anyone that it was his birthday, and the day passed, usual, in dragon care and classes. He was overjoyed to get a letter from his mother at High Reaches Hold the following day, telling him that his oldest sister had hand-fasted to one of his father's assistants and was soon to give birth. She also told him that his brothers were doing well, and that his father was now reconciled to the fact that his youngest son was a dragonrider and not a harper. It was a cheery and chatty letter, and he read it over and over again. He could almost smell the cold, salty northern air, and it made him acutely homesick.
D'min, being D'min, prodded him in the shoulder and asked what was wrong.
"Nothing. I just got a letter from my mother. I'm a little homesick."
"Ah." He paused, and looked at the letter longingly. "Must be nice. I never got a letter in my life," he confided.
B'lee looked puzzled. "Never?"
"Never. Not even when I was at the Weaverhall."
B'lee felt devastated. He certainly hadn't meant to make D'min feel bad. He folded up the letter quickly and put it to one side. "Did your family never visit you?" he asked.
"My father landed a few times after Threadfall and asked after me. I got to see him a couple of times then. And once he came for a gather and we spent the whole day together. He even gave me a mark to spend. That was great." He had a soft smile on his face as he reminisced.
B'lee relaxed. He had thought for a moment that he had stumbled on a tragedy, but it was merely the difference between Weyr and Hold ways. Holdfolk rarely travelled, so they wrote letters. Weyrfolk visited, so they didn't need letters.
"If we're ever separated and can't visit, I'll send you letters," he promised, solemnly.
"Really?" D'min's face lit up. "I'd love to get a letter one day. It's almost enough to make me want to transfer to another Weyr."
"Is that possible?" asked B'lee, a tendril of unease creeping into this heart at the thought of D'min moving away. "I thought that we were here for life."
"Well, it's not common. Except for queen riders. They do tend to be moved around so as to minimise the in-breeding. Not that I've ever seen a deformed dragon, but still ... Anyway, occasionally a rider can request to transfer. It's usually a blue or green rider, when they've developed a long-term pairing with someone from another weyr. Occasionally a bronze rider if he flies another Weyr's queen."
"I've never heard of it before, except for the queens, as you say."
"Well, no one talks much about blues and greens, do they? We're not exactly important in the great scheme of things. We never get a mention in the Ballads, do we? They all talk about golds and bronzes - have you noticed that? Even the browns are ignored. Anyone would think that the bronzes fight off Thread all by themselves."
He sounded a little bitter, but B'lee could understand. He, too, had noticed that, apart from one or two Teaching Ballads, all the songs were about the largest dragons. Not a single one mentioned blues or greens, except in passing. Not a single blue or green dragon was named, and neither were any of their riders. "Maybe we'll have to find something heroic to do so that we can have a ballad of our very own," he said, jokingly, only to see D'min perk up immediately.
"Of course! We'll do something terrifically dangerous and difficult and do it brilliantly and then Master Tirone will write us a ballad -"
"Hoy there! If there's any ballad to be written, I'll do it myself, lad."
"Even better! The Ballad of D'min and B'lee, written by B'lee himself."
"Idiot. It'll be The Ballad of Margroth and Aurieth."
"A tale of undying love and devotion," snickered D'min.
B'lee pushed him off the bed, then hauled him up again, still laughing. "In your dreams, mate. In your dreams."
* * *
The last weeks of summer were spent on ground drill, learning the various flying formations used by each Weyr and wing. It was tricky work, and F'neldril took several of their classes himself. He promised that there would many more hours of drill once they were allowed to fly, but that the more they learned now, the easier it would be later on. Each formation had different strengths and weaknesses, and no one method was suitable for all Falls. For hours on end they marched and turned and re-formed into shape after shape until B'lee swore he was walking patterns in his sleep.
At least once each sevenday they spent several hours filling sacks with chunks of firestone. Hundreds of sacks were needed for each Threadfall, and the weyrlings soon learned the most economical and least-tiring ways of filling them so as to save their aching backs. By the end of the day, the sulphurous smell pervaded all their clothes, and the only good thing that one could say about it was that it wasn't quite as bad as the smell of burnt firestone after Threadfall.
The friendships among the weyrlings had settled now. B'lee found himself spending most of his time with S'gan and D'min. R'vil had found D'min's manner a little abrasive, and instead had made friends with another blue rider. D'min had laughed, and explained that blue riders had a reputation for being a little prim.
"I'm not prim!" exclaimed B'lee.
D'min laughed even more and hugged B'lee tightly. "No, of course you're not. You're the good sort of blue. A B'lee blue." He giggled over the alliteration.
"Idiot.
"But you love me anyway."
It was a throwaway line, one that neither took too seriously, so B'lee smiled and said, "Of course. Who else makes me laugh like you do?"
* * *
The Harvest Gather, the biggest gather of the season, was held at Fort Hold a few days later, on the first day of the tenth month. B'lee had performed at several gathers in previous Turns while at the Harperhall, and he was dismayed to learn that none of the weyrlings would be allowed to attend. Of course, the Hold was a full day's ride down the mountain on runnerbeast from the Weyr, and their dragons couldn’t fly there yet, so he accepted that it would have been difficult to make the journey, but he'd been looking forward to seeing his old friends, though, and felt the disappointment acutely. For the first time, he almost resented being uprooted from his former life and deposited in a Weyr, where things were so different.
You are angry, rumbled Margroth. B'lee could feel the dragon's concern, and hastened to reassure him.
Not with you, dearest, he said. I just wanted to go back to the Harperhall and see my old friends, and I'm not allowed to.
You have friends here.
B'lee gave a small nod. I know. But I miss my other friends.
Since there was no Threadfall that day, it was declared a holiday at the Weyr, and D'min began making plans. His current lover, a blue rider in 4 Wing, was on ferry duty for the gather, which made him unavailable for D'min's entertainment, a fact that had made him distinctly unhappy even though S'been had promised to bring him a present from Fort Hold.
"We'll just have to think of something else to do," said B'lee. "At least the weather's nice. We could take a picnic and climb up to the fireheights. We'd be able to see all the dragons wheeling in over the Hold."
D'min made a face. "Too much effort."
"Well, think of something else, then."
"We could find a nice quiet chamber in the back corridors, and you can play your gitar for me."
"And what will you be doing while I'm playing gitar?" asked B'lee suspiciously.
D'min gave a wicked smile. "Anything you want. Preferably something that involves my hands roaming all over your body."
B'lee tried to be angry, but it was difficult when D'min was smiling at him in just that way. "And what would S'been say?"
"Oh, he'd want to know all the details. He's a kinky bugger, you know. Must be why I like him so much."
B'lee gave a delicate shudder. He always felt acutely uncomfortable whenever D'min talked about his lovers. It still felt vaguely wrong to B'lee, for a man to love another man. Although love was probably too strong a word - in fact, now he thought of it, he'd never heard D'min use that term in relation to any of the men he lay with. Perhaps it was just sexual curiosity. But did that make it better or worse?
"I think we need a better plan," he said, attempting to divert D'min's thoughts.
"Can't think of any."
"We could visit Tamina." B'lee had taken a liking to D'min's mother, and often went to see her on rest days.
"She'll be at the gather, I think. She said she was after some more yarns."
"Oh, of course."
D'min sighed. "I guess the fireheights would be all right. It's a nice day for it, anyway, and I'll be able to see when S'been gets back."
B'lee nodded happily and wandered across to the kitchen where he managed to charm one of the girls into letting him have a couple of meatrolls and some spicy fruit buns, as well as a flask of watered wine with redberry juice, which was the closest that any of the weyrlings managed to get to proper wine.
They climbed the hundreds of stairs that led to the fireheights, stopping several times to get their breath back.
"I can't wait until we can fly our dragons," puffed D'min. "It's unnatural, having to climb all these steps.
B'lee laughed. "There's not a single holder who'd agree with you. To most people on Pern it's the dragons that are unnatural."
"Well, I feel sorry for them then. This is far too much effort. I told you that."
"You can have a nice rest at the top."
"I'll need it."
They started off again, and managed to reach the rim without bursting a lung.
The view from the heights, when they got there, was magnificent. Although to the north the view was partially obscured by the Star Stones and the Tooth Crag, they could see all around Fort Weyr. To the west and south there was the mountain range that ran down the whole of the Boll peninsula, while to the east the ground sloped down to the coast. Far away, they could indeed see small dark specks in the air - dragons wheeling above the crag that housed Fort Hold.
Though the sun was bright, the wind up on the heights was fierce, and B'lee wished he'd brought a jacket. He wrapped his arms around his chest, wondering if this had been such a good idea.
"Here, sit down," D'min told him. "The rocks are warm, and you'll be out of the wind." He was already rummaging in the carry-sack for food.
B'lee sat down, noting that D'min was right. Well, that was hardly surprising - the boy had grown up here, after all, and had probably been up here hundreds of times. B'lee realised, belatedly, that what had seemed like an adventure to him was probably commonplace to D'min.
"Sorry," he said.
"What for?"
"Dragging you up here. You must have come up here plenty of times before."
D'min cocked his head to one side. "Not that many," he said. "And, besides, it's your first time, so that makes it different." He smiled and handed B'lee a meatroll.
They spent the afternoon lying on the sun-warmed rock while they talked about everything and nothing. Food and drink were soon consumed, and B'lee was getting hungry again when D'min spotted the first dragons approaching.
"Looks like the first lot are coming back," he announced, gesturing to the pair of dragons that were slowly spiralling down from above the Tooth Crag. "We'd better start heading back if we want to make it to the dining hall."
They packed up the debris quickly and headed back down the treacherous stairs. It certainly didn't take as long as climb up did, but B'lee knees were protesting when they finally got to the corridor that led to the main lower caverns.
D'min spotted S'been as they entered the dining hall, and after giving B'lee a swift, half-apologetic glance, he ran off towards his lover, leaving B'lee holding the bag of empty flasks.
B'lee stifled the odd, wistful feeling in his chest as D'min moved away from him, and joined his classmates at the weyrling table.
* * *
Harvest passed, and the weather grew cooler. The weyrlings were given a respite from ground drill and conscripted to help unload the tithing trains that rolled in from Fort Weyr's dependent Holds. B'lee was astonished at the sheer volume of material that was arriving - grains and fruits and fat herdbeasts, wood and blackrock and metals, hides and slates and parchment. He was even more astonished to learn that this was less than half of what was delivered throughout the year.
"We get fleeces, fabrics and yarns in spring, and wines towards summer," D'min told him. "Fish is tithed all year around - that has to come a-dragonback unless it's salted. Same goes for vegetables and soft fruits."
"So much ..."
"Not enough," pronounced D'min. "There are so many of us to feed, especially the dragons. We'll still have to be careful we don't lose anything to tunnel snakes."
"I can see that." B'lee tried to suppress a shudder at the thought of the long-bodied, short-legged snakes that crept and slithered through the darkest recesses of the storage caverns and tunnels, eating grains and meats and any small creatures couldn't move fast enough to escape their claws. The weyrlings had been recruited to help the drudges clean out the storage caverns in readiness for the new season's tithes. The remnants of past battles had been plentiful and nauseating, and B'lee hated to think how bad things might get if the tunnel snakes were allowed to roam unchecked.
* * *
It was dark before dinner, now, and the weyrlings kept as far inside the cavern as they could to avoid the cold draughts that blew in from the Weyr bowl. Their dragons made wonderful windbreaks, and never seemed to mind their riders snuggling up on the coldest nights. The heat that perfused the Weyr through some magic of the ancients kept them from freezing, of course, but nothing could be done about the wind.
They played a lot of cards, and B'lee became quite good at it, largely because he was able to control his expression a little more than the younger boys. Sometimes they played for marks, but not often, since most of them had very little money, and there was no way of earning more until they were able to fly between and run errands for Holders. Instead, they played for points, or for desserts, or for possessions.
D'min was still sneaking out of the barracks every couple of nights to meet some man or other. He had moved on from S'been before the end of summer, seeing a couple of green riders during the autumn (they didn't last long) and then D'von, another blue rider. He was almost always back in his bunk by the time they had to get up, and the few occasions when he'd been late he'd managed to give the other weyrlings a convincing tale of bathing early, or going down to see to Aurieth.
Inevitably, though, his nocturnal venturings became so commonplace that he got careless, and he left before they were all asleep, or returned just in time for dragon care or lessons. By the end of the eleventh month most of the weyrlings knew he was sneaking out, so it was hardly surprising when the Weyrlingmaster called him aside one afternoon for a private word.
D'min emerged from that absolutely fuming, and S'gan and B'lee hurried to intercept him and drag him off to a deserted chamber in a back corridor before he could land himself in even more trouble.
"He told me I'm not allowed out of the barracks!"
"Well, you're not. He told us that on the first day," answered S'gan uncompromisingly.
"But I have to see D'von!"
"No, you don't."
"I do!"
"D'min, listen. I know you think the world revolves around you and you alone, but the first priority of this Weyr is to fight Thread. If your night-time games are interfering with that, then the Weyrlingmaster has the right to discipline you."
"But I'm not-"
"D'min!" B'lee interrupted. "You know as well as I do that D'von has been looking exhausted the last couple of weeks. I don't know what you're doing to him - I don't want to know - but you're obviously making him tired, and he's been having difficulty concentrating. If he gets Threadscored - or if Tisanth gets scored - it will be your fault."
D'min looked appalled. "I'd never risk a dragon!"
S'gan cuffed him on the ear. "D'min, do you hear what I'm saying? Every time you sneak into D'von's bed at midnight, you're putting him and Tisanth at risk. It's not that we want to stop you seeing him, but you have to realise that you can't keep sneaking out at night."
"Well, I can hardly go to his weyr during the day, can I?"
S'gan sighed. "Can't you make some arrangement for free days? It's not the sex we're worried about, it's the sleep."
D'min scuffed his boot along the sand. "That's what F'neldril said."
"And you didn't believe him?"
"I was angry."
"So don't be angry. No one thinks clearly when they're angry."
"Easier said than done."
"Here, I'll help." S'gan started to rub a hand over D'min's back, and smiled as his friend started to relax a little.
"That's good. Don't stop."
"D'min, you are the most touch-hungry person I've ever met in my life."
"I was deprived as a nurseling."
"Obviously. Here, B'lee, give me a hand."
B'lee approached them, a little tentatively, but there was nothing threatening in the way that D'min was sitting with his eyes closed, and he reached out a hand to D'min's back, rubbing small circles over the shoulder blades as S'gan moved to knead the knots out of D'min's neck. D'min's skin was warm, even through his tunic, and he smelled vaguely of the sweetsand they used to bathe.
"Mmm," D'min sighed as S'gan and B'lee continued to rub his back. "I don't suppose I could talk you two into a threesome?"
"Sorry, friend, you're not my type. I like them big and burly."
"And I like girls," added B'lee quickly, rather worried that D'min might look at him, and he wasn't sure how his insides would react to that.
"Spoilsports," muttered D'min, but without rancour. He allowed S'gan to soothe away the tension in his shoulders for a while longer, then pulled away, saying, "Ah well, let's get back to the barracks. It’s bloody stifling in here."
B'lee reached down and gave D'min a hand up, not at all surprised when D'min took the opportunity to give him a hug. "Thanks," he whispered into B'lee's ear, causing him to shiver.
* * *
By the time they were half a Turn old, just before the Winter Solstice, the dragonets could be considered to be really flying rather than hopping with intent. Almost all of them had managed to fly out of the Weyr bowl by that stage and were learning how to hunt wherry and small herdbeasts for themselves in the fenced-off feeding ground in the bowl. They weren't permitted to carry any additional weight - that wouldn't happen until they were much stronger - and that meant that the weyrlings were still accommodated in the barracks.
B'lee was waiting for Margroth to return from feeding one foggy morning when he felt a flare of distress and immediately turned in the direction of the feeding ground, even though the thickness of the fog coming off the lake meant that he couldn't see him clearly.
What happened? he asked anxiously.
Noth went for the same wherry that I wanted and scratched me.
Are you all right?
It hurts.
Come back here, then, and I'll have a look at it.
D'min had obviously realised that something was wrong and had asked his own dragon for information. "Aurieth says it doesn't look too bad," he told B'lee. "Long but shallow."
Margroth appeared through the fog and glided down to land a few metres away from them. B'lee could see the wound on his right leg, where the green ichor was oozing out already.
"Hmm, I'll go and get some redwort," said D'min, and strode off towards the Healer's rooms.
B'lee took Margroth down to the caldera lake and made sure that the wound was cleaned of grime from Noth's claws. When D'min returned, they applied the redwort liberally over the wound.
That stings! complained Margroth.
"Sorry, love, but you have to have this put on to stop it getting infected. You don't want a horrible thick twisted scar, do you?"
No. But I don’t want this stinging either.
"It will fade in a few minutes, then we can go and lie down again."
I'm still hungry. Noth made me drop the wherry.
"I'll see if Aurieth might be able to get you something to eat then." B'lee turned to D'min, but his friend's eyes were already glazed as he conversed with his own dragon. A moment later D'min smiled and said, "Aurieth is bringing Margroth a lovely fat wherry to replace the one he lost to Noth."
Aurieth appeared a few moments later and placed a plump wherry carcass close to Margroth's snout.
"There," said D'min. "Don't say we're not nice to you."
This is tasty, said Margroth, as he disposed of the wherry in a few bites. Crunchy, too.
I hope you thanked Aurieth, cautioned B'lee.
I did. She is thoughtful, for a green.
B'lee smiled. Margroth viewed all greens, Aurieth especially, as easy on the eye but slightly dim-witted, and was always surprised when they did something right. He turned to D'min, and said, "Margroth said thank you, and that Aurieth is thoughtful."
"You're welcome. I'm sure you'd do the same for us."
Given that it was a feeding day, they checked the dragons' skin and applied oil to the few dry patches that they found. The rate of growth was slowing down a little, but they still required frequent inspections and oiling to prevent skin damage, and R'lan still punished them for any flaky patches he found.
D'min linked his arm through B'lee's as they walked back towards the barracks. B'lee was used to this sort of thing now and accepted that D'min was simply very affectionate and demonstrative (much like his dragon). He rarely protested unless D'min tried to take it any further, which happened about once a month, and then he firmly repeated that he liked girls and asked D'min to remove his hand from whatever part of B'lee it was caressing at the time. D'min never seemed to mind, though he pouted rather fetchingly once or twice.
* * *
One aspect of their training that B'lee hadn't anticipated was fire-crew drill. He'd been too young for it in the Hold, and no one trusted Harperhall apprentices with anything more dangerous than wood glue, but here all the weyrlings - even the ones whose voices hadn't yet broken - were expected to learn how to use a flamethrower safely, effectively and efficiently. "And in that order," cautioned R'lan. B'lee supposed it made sense - in another year or so they would all be out in the fighting wings (except the very youngest, who might be kept back another year), and they would have to be confident in their use and direction of flame.
It was fascinating to see the flame being projected from the nozzle. They were told never to aim the nozzle at anyone - ever - and to keep their fingers away from the trigger until they were about to flame Thread or errant greenery. Even so, R'lan conducted the lesson on the lakeshore and recruited several older riders to keep a sharp eye on the weyrlings. His caution was justified, sadly, when young H'rellan managed to set D'min's jacket on fire. Two burly riders picked D'min up and dumped him in the water before the flames had a chance to burn through the thick leather. H'rellan found himself fronting the Weyrleader that evening, and had to spend the next five free days cleaning out the fireheights.
D'min wasn't hurt, but he was angrier than B'lee had ever seen in his life. He fumed and swore he'd get revenge, until S'gan pointed out that D'min had never liked that particular jacket anyway, and now he had a perfectly legitimate excuse to get a new one from Marta, the Assistant Headwoman who saw to the weyrling's needs. That cheered D'min up immensely, and he immediately began formulating plans to get the best, thickest and softest jacket possible out of the store.
"I can tell her it's my birthday next week, too."
"Is it?"
"On the 15th. I'll be 17."
B'lee shook his head. "So old," he chided, sadly.
"Not as old as you, greylocks."
B'lee laughed. "There's not a grey hair on my head - and if there is, you put it there."
In spite of the bantering, B'lee remembered D'min's remark about his birthday, and wondered if he ought to get him a small present. There were no gathers at this season, though, and it was too late to make him anything - even if he had the raw materials, which he hadn't.
He settled for giving D'min a comradely thump on the shoulder and made sure that he had an extra-large helping of pudding, which was doubly appreciated, since it was redberry crumble, one of D'min's favourites.