Dragonheart
This book is lovingly dedicated to Steve and Natalie.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
For Readers New to Pern
Dramatis Personae
Map
Chapter 1 Fort Weyr, AL 507.11.17, Second Interval
Chapter 2 Fort Weyr, The Next Day
Chapter 3 Fort Weyr, AL 507.12.20
Chapter 4 Fort Weyr, AL 507.13.12
Chapter 5 Fort Weyr, Next Morning, AL 507.13.15
Chapter 6 Fort Weyr, Seven Days Later, AL 507.13.22
Chapter 7 Fort Hold, Morning, AL 507.13.23
Chapter 8 Fort Weyr, Afternoon, AL 507.13.25
Chapter 9 Fort Weyr, Morning, AL 507.13.26
Chapter 10 Fort Weyr, Morning, AL 508.1.13
Chapter 11 Fort Hold, Morning, AL 508.1.19
Chapter 12 Igen Weyr, Morning, AL 498.7.2
Chapter 13 Igen Weyr, Early Morning, AL 498.7.3
Chapter 14 Igen Weyr, Morning, AL 498.7.8
Chapter 15 Igen Weyr, Morning, AL 498.8.12
Chapter 16 Igen Weyr, Morning, AL 498.8.14
Chapter 17 Igen Weyr, Late Evening, AL 498.9.8
Chapter 18 Igen Weyr, Early Morning, AL 499.13.11
Chapter 19 Wherhold, Late Evening, AL 500.8.18
Chapter 20 Igen Weyr, Evening, AL 501.3.18
Epilogue: Fort Weyr, AL 508.2.2
Acknowledgments
About the Author
By Todd McCaffrey
Copyright
FOR READERS NEW TO PERN
Thousands of years after man first developed interstellar travel, colonists from Earth, Tau Ceti III, and
many other worlds settled upon Pern, the third planet of the star Rukbat in the Sagittarius sector.
They found Pern idyllic for their purposes: a pastoral world far off the standard trade routes and
perfect for those recovering from the horrors of the Nathi Wars.
Led by hero Admiral Paul Benden and Governor Emily Boll of war-torn Tau Ceti, the colonists
quickly abandoned their advanced technology in favor of a simpler life. For eight years—“Turns” as they
called them on Pern—the settlers spread and multiplied on Pern’s lush Southern Continent, unaware that
a menace was fast approaching: the Red Star.
The Red Star was actually a wandering planetoid that had been captured by Rukbat millennia before.
It had a highly elliptical, cometary orbit, passing through the fringes of the system’s Oort Cloud before
hurtling back inward toward the warmth of the sun, a cycle that took two hundred and fifty Turns.
For fifty of those Turns, the Red Star was visible in the night sky of Pern. Visible and deadly, for when
the Red Star was close enough, as it was for those fifty long Turns, a space-traveling spore could cross
the void from it to Pern. Once the spore entered the thin, tenuous upper atmosphere, it would thin out
into a long, thin, streamer shape and float down to the ground below, as seemingly harmless “Threads.”
Like all living things, however, Thread needed sustenance, and it ate anything organic: wood or flesh, it
was all the same to Thread. The first deadly Fall of Thread caught the colonists completely unawares.
They barely survived. In the aftermath they came up with a desperate plan: having abandoned their high
technology, they turned to their knowledge of genetic engineering to modify fire-lizards—six-limbed,
winged life-forms indigenous to Pern—into huge, rideable, fire-breathing dragons. These dragons,
telepathically linked at birth to their riders, formed the mainstay of the protection of Pern. Other solutions
were tried, as well, but none proved to be as effective as dragons.
The approach of the Red Star caused further difficulties in the form of violent tectonic activity
throughout the Southern Continent. Overwhelmed by the sudden proliferation of volcanic eruptions and
earthquakes, the colonists abandoned their original settlements in favor of the smaller, stabler, northern
continent. In their haste, much was lost and much was forgotten.
Huddled in one settlement, called Fort Hold, the colonists soon found themselves overcrowded,
particularly with the growing dragon population. The dragons—with their riders—moved into their own
high mountain space, called Fort Weyr. As time progressed and the population spread across Pern, more
Holds were formed and more Weyrs were created by the dragonriders.
Given their great losses, particularly in able-bodied older folk, the people of Fort and the other Holds
soon found themselves resorting to an authoritarian system where one Lord Holder became the ultimate
authority of each Hold. The Weyrs developed differently. Unable to both provide for themselves and
protect the planet, the dragonriders relied upon a tithe from the Holds for their maintenance. Instead of a
Lord Holder, they had a Weyrleader—the rider of whichever dragon flew the Weyr’s senior queen
dragon.
And so the two populations grew separate, distant, and too often intolerant of each other.
As the Red Star moved away again, Thread stopped falling. Then, after a two-hundred-Turn
“Interval,” it returned to rain death and destruction from the skies for another fifty-Turn “Pass.” Again,
Pern relied on the dragons and their riders to keep it Thread free. And, again, the Pass ended, and a
second Interval began.
Twelve Turns before the start of the Third Pass, a strange plague spread across Pern, decimating the
holder population.
Even now, as the Red Star heralds the return of Thread and the beginning of the Third Pass, some
smaller holds still lie fallow and deserted. The farmers of Pern struggle to provide enough food for the
holders and weyrfolk. Miners work long hours to make up for fewer bodies, and few young holders are
sent to the Harper Hall or Healer Hall to learn the ancient crafts.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
AT FORT WEYR, AL 507
K’lior, Weyrleader, bronze Rineth
Cisca, Weyrwoman, gold Melirth
Tannaz, Weyrwoman, gold Kelsanth
H’nez, wingleader, bronze Ginirth
T’mar, wingleader, bronze Zirenth
Melanwy, aged headwoman
Xhinna, a girl of the weyr
Terin, a girl of the weyr
TRADERS
Azeez, Master Trader
Mother Karina
Tenniz
AT FORT HOLD
Bemin, Lord Holder, bronze fire-lizard, Jokester
Fiona, his daughter, gold fire-lizard, Fire
AT THE WHERHOLD
Aleesa, WherMaster, gold Aleesk
Arella, Aleesa’s daughter
Jaythen, wherman
AT BENDEN WEYR
M’tal, Weyrleader of Benden Weyr, bronze dragon Gaminth
Salina, Weyrwoman, gold dragon Breth
Lorana, Weyrwoman, gold Arith
Kindan, journeyman harper, bronze fire-lizard, Valla
DRAGONHEART
ONE
Heart, give voice to sing
Of life on dragonwings!
Fort Weyr, AL 507.11.17, Second Interval
“. . . and you wouldn’t believe how many holders they’ve saved over the last ten Turns,” Benden
Weyrleader M’tal said, continuing to press his case for the watch-whers.
The three remaining Weyrleaders had adjourned to Fort Weyr’s Council Room to await the Hatching
and confer.
C’rion of Ista Weyr snorted and shook his head. “I’m sorry, M’tal, but the time’s all wrong,” he said.
“Threads will be falling all too soon and here you are with this radical notion of training dragons and
watch-whers to fly Threads together at night.”
M’tal took a slow, calming breath to stifle the hot retort he wanted to make. He looked expectantly to
K’lior.
The youngest Weyrleader of Pern shifted uneasily under the gray-haired man’s gaze. Well aware that
M’tal had been a Weyrleader since before K’lior was born, he found it hard to refute such a length of
experience. Of course, C’rion was even older still and had made his feelings well-known.
“Look,” M’tal began again, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture, “just think—”
He broke off as his ears detected the unmistakable hum of dragons at Hatching. He smiled and
gestured at K’lior. “Weyrleader?”
K’lior was already on his feet and heading for the doorway that led to the Hatching Grounds.
Kindan and Kentai, Fort Weyr’s harper, were waiting on the stairs to the viewing stands in the
Hatching Grounds, ready to escort the more feeble or overly-excited holders up to a good perch. Kindan
nodded to M’tal as the Weyrleader passed by, still engrossed in fervent conversation with the Istan and
Fort Weyrleaders.
“I see D’gan has departed,” Kentai murmured to Kindan as the Weyrleaders climbed out of earshot.
Kindan shrugged. He knew that M’tal had not been counting on D’gan’s support anyway. He was less
pleased at the looks he’d seen on C’rion’s and K’lior’s faces—neither looked very thrilled with what
M’tal was saying to them. Kindan, who was familiar with M’tal’s plan, shook his head. Couldn’t the
other Weyrleaders see that watch-whers, with their night-seeing eyes, were supposed to fly the night
Threadfalls?
“Lord Itaral, Lady Nelyssa,” Kentai called as he spotted the Lord and Lady Holders of Ruatha Hold.
He smiled as he spotted the third person in their party. “I see that you’ve convinced Lady Ilyssa to join
you this time.” He nodded to their young daughter and raised an elbow invitingly. “May I escort you to
your seats?”
Ilyssa blushed, but, overcoming her embarrassed smile, curtsied most elegantly and took his arm.
“This is Kindan,” Kentai said with a nod toward the other harper. “He’s come with Lord M’tal from
Benden Weyr.”
Lady Nelyssa started at his name and peered at him more closely. “Aren’t you the one—” She caught
herself and rapidly switched her comment. “—I mean, aren’t you the young man who gave up his
watch-wher to Nuella, the WherMaster?”
“Among other things, I am known for that,” Kindan agreed, inclining his head politely and giving her a
slight smile. He knew what she’d started to say, and wondered if he would ever live down the stigma of
the fire in the Harper Hall’s Archive rooms. He hadn’t been solely responsible, after all, and he’d fought
the hardest to put the blaze out, preserving countless other Records . . .
“Kindan!”
Before he could even react to the sound of his name, the speaker pummeled into him, clutching him
tightly about the waist and trying her best to squeeze the breath out of him. Brilliant sea-blue eyes looked
out from behind a lock of rebellious honey-blond hair as the youngster turned her head and called back
accusingly to the well-dressed Lord Holder behind her, “You didn’t tell me he’d be here!”
Bemin of Fort Hold smiled indulgently at his daughter. “There are such things as surprises, Fiona,” he
said with a wink.
“Oh, Kindan, it’s so good to see you!” Fiona exclaimed, burying her face once more in Kindan’s
chest.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Kindan replied. He held out a hand to Fort Hold’s Lord Holder. The
older man, face lined with age and sad memories, took it in his own and gripped it tightly.
“Good to see you again, lad,” Bemin said. He looked up the stairs. “I think we’d better get up there or
the dragons will all have hatched.”
Fiona turned toward the steps, firmly locking her arms around Kindan’s elbow. “Harper Kindan,” she
said, sounding every inch a Lord Holder’s daughter, “would you do me the honor of escorting me?”
“It would be my pleasure, Lady Fiona,” Kindan replied with equal aplomb. A bronze fire-lizard darted
down from the heights, alighted for a moment on Kindan’s shoulder, chirped happily to him, then rose
again in the air.
Lord Bemin chuckled. “I see that Valla followed you.”
“I can’t keep him away from a Hatching,” Kindan confessed. He craned his neck up and scanned the
swarm of fire-lizards overhead. “Where are Jokester and Fire?”
“We left them behind,” Bemin said. “I doubt either of them is as well-trained as yours.”
“Well, they’ve barely two Turns out of the shell,” Kindan allowed. “Give them time.”
“Like all youngsters, they are impetuous and brash,” Bemin agreed with a twinkle in his eyes. “Why,
you would not believe where I found my daughter—”
“Father!” Fiona protested, a warm blush highlighting her freckles. Bemin laughed.
“Chasing tunnel snakes again?” Kindan asked her in a voice pitched for her ears alone.
He was not successful, as Bemin snorted, saying, “I cannot teach her any decorum at all!” He
continued, “She was hours in the bath and I’m sure there’s still dirt on her.”
Kindan felt Fiona grab him tighter and heard her groan, but when he glanced down he saw the smile in
her eyes.
“He’s sounding much happier,” he said quietly.
“He deserves it,” Fiona replied.
Kindan nodded in agreement. Lord Holder Bemin had kept his Hold together twelve Turns before
when the Plague had struck and killed nearly one in four of his Holders, including his wife and all his
children, save for the youngest, Fiona.
Kindan, sent from the Harper Hall to Fort Hold in disgrace after the fire, had helped Fort’s old Healer,
Kilti, to do everything possible for the sick and dying. In the end, Kilti had succumbed to the Plague
himself, leaving Kindan, at fourteen, in charge.
Fiona cocked her head at a change in the sound and then leapt up the steps, dragging Kindan along.
“Come on, they’re hatching!”
Indeed they were. Kindan, Fiona, and Bemin found seats saved for them next to Lord Itaral and his
family.
“Just some greens,” Ilyssa assured Fiona as she patted the empty seat she’d saved for her friend.
Fiona relinquished her grip on Kindan with an apologetic look and happily took her place beside Ilyssa.
The two leaned toward each other and began to speak in low voices.
The hot sands rapidly filled with white-robed candidates, flown in by Fort Weyr’s bronze dragons.
The rest of Fort’s dragons, perched high above, hummed in welcome, the sound growing louder as the
eggs began to rock and crack.
Suddenly there was a hush as the first egg cracked open. A brown dragonet flopped out, awkward
and creeling. A group of candidates darted anxiously around it—some moving toward it, some away.
And then—one candidate reached out to the baby dragon and Impressed. The dragons hummed
approvingly.
Another dragonet burst forth from its egg, and another, and another. From the stands, it seemed as
though of tide of white-robed candidates flowed and ebbed around the blue, green, brown, and bronze
dragonets until, finally, one white-robed figure stood protectively beside each dragonet as the miracle of
Impression was repeated.
“Look there!” Fiona called, pointing toward one of the larger eggs. “Is that a queen?”
“It could be,” Kindan said. A great rent appeared in the shell, followed moments later by a golden
head. “It is!”
The little queen made quick work of extricating herself from her egg while all around the bronzes
crooned excitedly. Freed at last, the little gold queen walked around, looking from one candidate to
another.
“What would happen if there wasn’t a suitable candidate?” Fiona muttered to Kindan, who shrugged
in response. The girls were trying; one bold girl just barely dodged the dragonet’s awkward movements,
pulled aside at the last moment by a shorter, younger, dark-haired girl.
Kentai had overheard the exchange. “There are Records,” he said, looking uncomfortable.
“Well, she’s coming this way,” Ilyssa noted with excitement.
“We’re near the exit to the Bowl,” Kentai remarked. “Maybe she’s looking for someone out there.”
She wasn’t. Still ignoring the girls clustered around her, even the bold dark-haired one that Fiona
would have thought she’d like, the dragonet lurched over to the visitor stands. She looked up into the
stands and creeled desperately. Kindan and Bemin exchanged alarmed looks as the little gold gazed
toward Fiona. Fiona’s eyes grew wide with shock and she glanced worriedly at Lord Bemin. Bemin
seemed to wilt in despair—Fiona was his last surviving child—but he recovered and nodded weakly.
“What’s her name?” he asked his daughter, gesturing to the gold below and forcing his lips into a
smile.
The dragonet creeled again piteously and Fiona turned back to her, her face glowing in pure joy as she
declared, “She says her name is Talenth!”
Kindan picked out K’lior and Cisca climbing down the stairs toward them. It was obvious from the
look on her face that Cisca had taken in the full import of the event. She would handle things from here.
Kindan, who, after all, was beholden to Benden not Fort Weyr, turned away for a last look at the now
empty Hatching Grounds.
For a moment, a very brief moment, before the egg had proved to be a gold, Kindan had imagined
what might have happened if he had Impressed. A chirp from above distracted him as his fire-lizard,
Valla, swooped down from his perch above, pleased with himself for locating Kindan and thrilled to have
seen the Hatching.
Kindan shook himself from his reverie. He had been a miner, had bonded with a watch-wher, the
dragons’ kin, and now he was a harper who had Impressed a fire-lizard. The Red Star was approaching,
bringing the deadly Threads, and everything would change when the dragons began the fifty-Turn battle
to save Pern from extinction. Vaguely Kindan wondered if he would live to see the end of the Pass and
the return of the less trying times he had been born into.
The beating of a drum, the call to dinner, and a personal plea from Kentai for help in entertaining the
revelers spurred Kindan up and out of the Hatching Grounds. At the entrance, he turned back once
more, unable to contain his longing.
Kindan couldn’t remember who waved him toward the sleeping quarters or quite how he got himself
into bed. The evening had been a raucous celebration at which he had sung much, danced much, and
drank much—far more than his usual. He had no idea why he’d drunk so much, nor why he’d worked so
hard that evening . . . until he woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.
The Weyr was silent, but the silence seemed more oppressive than comforting. The sound of his
labored breathing came harshly to his ears and he sat up in his cot, glancing around nervously to check if
his nightmare had disturbed anyone else to whom he’d have to make a quick apology.
He heard no one.
In the distance a dragonet creeled uneasily. Then silence.
Kindan sighed and swung his legs over the side of the cot.
It wasn’t as if he was the only one who had nightmares of the Plague, but he hadn’t had many in the
past several Turns, so he was surprised that he’d had one now. Something about the day before must
have reminded him subconsciously, so that he sang so hard and drank so much to keep away the pain.
Not that it had worked, obviously.
The Plague that had swept across Pern and then—just as quickly—disappeared, had struck when he
had only fourteen Turns, leaving him solely in charge of Fort Hold’s sick when the aged healer had
himself succumbed to the disease. So many had died.
So many, including Koriana, Lord Bemin’s daughter and Fiona’s older sister.
“Koriana,” Kindan whispered. The sound of her name brought both joy and pain, like a rose: pretty
smell, prickly thorns. He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
I tried, he thought. But he wondered, as he always wondered: Did I try hard enough?
Resolutely, Kindan lay back in the cot and closed his eyes. Presently, his breathing eased and he
relaxed, but he did not sleep. And in that space between sleeping and waking, he heard the sound of a
dragon departing between.
Talenth’s creel woke Fiona instantly.
What is it? she asked, jumping out of her bed and rushing to the young queen’s lair.
He hurts, Talenth whimpered. Fiona knelt and pulled the young queen’s head into her lap.
I’m sorry, she thought to her dragon, gently caressing the leathery hide.
He hurts and you feel it, Talenth said. How is it that you feel it?
Fiona furrowed her brow in surprise. At first she thought that Talenth was referring to her father, but
then she forced herself to be honest. She had wheedled and whined her very best to convince her father
to bring her to this Hatching, all because she knew that Kindan would be here.
I don’t know, she confessed. I just do. I’m sorry that it hurts you, too.
Can you help him?
Fiona bent to cradle Talenth’s head with her whole body. I’m not sure, she said. But deep inside her,
Fiona knew that was a lie. As she considered it, she heard a noise—a dragon going between.
We’ve been here long enough, let’s go, the rider thought to the dragon under her.
As you wish, the dragon responded. With a great heave of its hind legs, the dragon leapt into the air
and went between.
TWO
Skin stretch
Flake, peel.
Oil, scratch,
Feed, creel.
Fort Weyr, The Next Day
“I’ll be just fine, Father,” Fiona assured Lord Holder Bemin as he took his leave of her the next morning.
“You can send Jokester to check on me—” Catching herself, she gestured lovingly down to the gold
queen beside her. “—us, whenever you need.”
“It’s just that—”
“You must get back to the Hold, Father,” Fiona told him firmly. “I’ll be fine—” She paused, raising her
hand to stifle a yawn. “—here.”
“You look exhausted,” Bemin said, glancing to the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman for support.
“A late night and a stressful day,” Fiona assured him, again stifling a yawn. She smiled ruefully down at
Talenth. “We’ll be fine.”
Lord Bemin gave his daughter one final, worried look. “I’ll send Jokester to check on you.” The
bronze fire-lizard perched on his shoulder made a cheerful noise of agreement.
“T’mar will see you back to your Hold, my Lord,” Weyrwoman Cisca said, gesturing to a sturdy rider
and his bronze dragon waiting nearby. She glanced at Fiona, adding, “He’ll be able to guide your
fire-lizard back on his return.”
“Thank you,” Fiona said, much relieved. She couldn’t wait to see Fire’s reaction to the larger gold
queen.
“Wingleader,” Bemin nodded absently, gesturing for the rider to precede him.
With T’mar’s help, he mounted the great dragon easily enough and had time to look down once more
at Fiona and her dragon. Despite another yawn, she waved merrily as the bronze leapt into the air, rose
above the Weyr, and winked out between.
For Fiona, the next few sevendays passed in a frenzy of feeding, oiling, scratching, and tending the
baby gold dragon whose only activities were eating, sleeping, and complaining.
Her fire-lizard, Fire, after hours in a state of mixed surprise, delight, and jealousy, found herself helping
joyfully, often finding the itchiest spots and scratching them with her own claws.
You know, Fiona had admitted to the dragonet early on, I’m only doing this because it’s you.
And you love me, Talenth had agreed, turning over so that Fiona could reach another offending itch.
With a laugh, Fiona obliged, sweat running down her nose as she scratched the flaking skin and poured
more oil on it.
As Talenth grew, the job of scratching and oiling her grew as well, until Fiona began to wonder if
she’d ever done anything else. Occasionally she saw others in the Weyr. She knew she ate, but her
memories of both food and sleep were truncated and foggy at best.
In fact, “foggy” was a great description of her time so far at the Weyr. She had only a foggy map of
the Weyr: She had traveled only once from the Hatching Grounds into the Weyr Bowl and up the short
ramp into her Weyrwoman’s quarters, and had made only a few trips to the Kitchen Cavern before
before figuring out how to use the Weyr’s amazing conveyor system to order food for her quarters. Fiona
could never remember feeling so at odds and disjointed. She envied the weyrbred riders who already
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