Free Dragonriders of Pern 6 - Dragondrums by Anne McCaffrey Page B

muscles move as he chuckled.

    “That’s what I mean!” said Menolly. “N’ton says it’s only air currents, pushing the dragons up or letting them down.”

    “Oh, is that all?” Piemur managed to get the words out in a rush, but his voice betrayed him. “All” came out in a two-octave crack.

    Menolly didn’t laugh, and he felt more kindly toward her than at any other time in their association. “It always scares me,” she said in a comforting shout by his left ear.

    He was just getting accustomed to this additional hazard of flying dragonback when Lioth seemed to be diving straight for the Igen River bed. He was pressed back against Menolly and didn’t know whether to clutch more fiercely at Sebell’s belt or relax into the pressure.

    “Don’t forget to breathe!” Menolly was shouting and, at that, he barely heard her words as the wind ripped sound away.

    Then Lioth leveled and began to circle at a gentler rate of descent toward the now-visible rectangle of a Gather. To the left was the river, a broad, muddy stream between red sandstone banks. Small sailing craft skimmed the surface on a current that must be swifter than the turgid surface suggested. To the right was the broad, clean-swept rock shelf that led up to Igen Hold, a safe distance above the highest flood marks left by the river on the sandstone banks. Behind Igen Hold rose curious, wind-fashioned cliffs, some of which made additional holds for Igen’s people, for there were no rows of cotholds adjoining the main Hold here. Igen Hold also had no fire-heights, not needing any since there was nothing but sand and stone around the Hold proper, to which Thread could do no harm. The lands that supplied Igen Hold were around the next bend of the river, where the waters had been led inland by canals to supply watergrain fields.

    Piemur wasn’t sure that he would like living in such a barren-looking Hold, even if no Thread could ever attack it. And it was hot!

    Red dust puffed up as Lioth landed, and suddenly Piemur was unbearably warm. He began to unbelt his wherhide jacket before he released the riding strap and noticed that Menolly was as quick to strip helmet, gloves and jacket.

    “I always forget how hot it is at Igen,” she said, fluffing out her hair.

    “The dragons love it,” said N’ton, pointing beyond the Hold to where the rough shapes that Piemur had assumed were rock now became recognizable as dragons, stretched out to bake in the sun.

    It was as he was sliding down Lioth’s shoulder that Piemur noticed the curious construction of the Gather rectangle. There didn’t seem to be any walkway. The only open space was the customary central square for dancing. Though who’d have the energy to dance in this heat he didn’t know.

    Then Piemur ducked while Lioth showered them all with sand as he vaulted into the air and winged to join the other sunbathing dragons. The fire lizards—N’ton’s Tris, Sebell’s Kimi and Menolly’s nine—swirled up and away and were met, midair, by other fire lizards, the augmented fair swirling higher and higher in the joy of meeting.

    “That’ll occupy them for a while,” said Menolly, then she turned to Piemur. “Give me your flying gear and I’ll leave it at the Hold till you need it again.”

    “We must pay our respects to Lord Laudey and the others,” said Sebell, bringing out a handful of marks from his pocket. He presented Piemur with an eighth piece and two thirty-seconds. “I’m not being stingy, Piemur, but you’d be questioned if you had too many marks about you. And I don’t think Igen Hold runs to bubbly pies.”

    “Too hot to eat ’em anyway.” Piemur mopped his sweaty forehead with one hand as he gratefully slid the marks into his pouch.

    “But they do make a confection of fruits that you might like,” said Sebell. “Anyway, move around and listen. Don’t get caught being nosy and come up to the Hold for the evening meal. Ask for Harper Bantur if you have any