Read Online The Renegades of Pern by Anne McCaffrey - Free Book Online Page B

on the progress of her third pair of boots and listening for any news or helpful information.
    What she heard was better than a harper’s tale. A lot had happened since Thread had started falling on Pern again. Benden Weyr had tried desperately to cope with the Falls. Then, in an act of heroism unparalleled even for Pern’s legendary heroes, Lessa, rider of Ramoth, Benden’s only queen, had risked her own life and the life of her dragon in order to bring the five lost Weyrs of Pern forward, going back 400 Turns to a past time when there had been six full Weyrs and persuading them to assist the seemingly doomed present.
    Thella found the mechanics of the feat hard to believe, but the fact was clearly demonstrated by the appearance of swaggering dragonriders wearing the colors of Telgar, Ista, and Igen Weyrs, as well as Benden. And all too clearly, Hold and Hall deferred to them in everything.
    On a later circuit, when she saw the apprentice in an ingratiating pose with an Ista dragonrider, she gave him a stern glare. The young man blanched, apologized, and returned to stitching her half-finished boot. The very idea of his deferring work for a Telgar. . . . Reluctantly Thella realized that she no longer had that Blood advantage and stalked away in a savage mood.
    Those dragonriders! Acting as if the Gather had been put on just for their benefit. She saw girls surrounding most of these dragonriders, and juveniles hanging on the words of the others! Insidious group! And yet, despite her disenchantment, Thella noticed a definite difference between riders from Benden and those of the other three Weyrs. The—what was the term she had heard? Oldtimers?—the Oldtimers walked with the unmistakable swagger of those totally assured of their eminence, while equally obvious was a certain eager, almost apologetic deference in the Bendenriders. Thella approved of neither stance. Without the Lord Holders’ support, the Weyr—Weyrs, she corrected herself, though she still found it difficult to believe in the restoration—could not have continued to exist.
    It was becoming stuffy in the tented square, but by the time she had eaten her nooning under the canopies that had been raised near the firepits, her boots were receiving a final polish. The Mastertanner stamped his approval on the finished product, and she paid over the second half. Her boots were handed to her, neatly encased in a rough cloth bag that she hung with the other packages.
    During her circuit of the Gatherstalls, Thella had purchased seed for late-maturing root vegetables, guaranteed by the Masterfarmer in attendance to give a good yield. She also purchased spices; a few small sacks would not weigh down her runners and would be very welcome to season wild wherry meat. The noon sun was pouring down on the tents, making the air within uncomfortably hot. People were beginning to look for places in the lounge areas to wait out the worst of the heat. Though she had not yet hired any workers for her hold, Thella had half a mind to leave, but it was an impossible time to travel. So she found a space in the western course of the Gathertent and, despite some long moments brooding about possibilities, made herself as comfortable as possible, her new boots forming a pillow. Then reassured by the sight of guards patrolling to protect the nappers, she fell asleep.
    A sense of movement near her outstretched hand awoke her. She had become sensitive to the slightest sound, even the near-silent approach of tunnel snakes, in the past Turn or so. Opening her eyes, she saw a small figure bending over a sleeping man just beyond her, a dirty hand reaching with a knife to cut the bulging pouch. Stupid of him not to conceal such a temptation, she reflected. Her knife was instantly in her hand, jabbing at the bent back. She shoved the blade deftly into the fleshy part of a thigh, heard a stifled intake of breath, and the figure bolted, slipping under the tent flap. She looked back at the