Read Online The Skies of Pern by Anne McCaffrey - Free Book Online

urging them to join him, Tai got to her feet and, pausing only to take her wineglass with her—the white Benden was too good to be abandoned—she slipped into the shadows and away.
    She heard him welcoming the bronze and green riders.
    “T’gellan, Mirrim, you’ll never guess who I met at the—”
    His voice broke off as he realized that she had gone. She halted in the darkness, waiting for him to identify her. She’d never hear the last of it from Mirrim.
    “Geger,” he called after a beat. “D’you have more white Benden?”
    Tai hurried away.
    That was silly
, Zaranth said.
    You know how Mirrim can be
.
    Why would she object?
    You know Mirrim
, Tai replied.
    You’re silly
. Then Zaranth asked wistfully.
Do we have to go now?
    No, love. I want to listen to the music. I can do that from any part of the Square
.
    You’ll have to stand. Everyone who can be is at Landing’s Turnover
.
    Don’t tell Golanth where I am
, Tai said, remembering the proximity of the two dragons on the heights.
    Why not?
    Just don’t
.
    Oh! As you wish
. Zaranth sounded confused.
    It’s all right
.
    Tai found herself a place to stand at the edge of the throng and listened to the splendid music. She made her glass of Benden white last through the concert. It really was the best wine she’d ever tasted.
    It was when she was making her way back to the heights that she heard the crashing. Glass? Rather a lot of glass, by the sound of it. An accident? She ought to see what was happening. That was much too much noise for a simple mishap.
Benden Weyr—1.1.31
    Lessa, Ramoth’s rider and Benden’s Weyrwoman, emerged into the winter night air, shivering as the crisp cold struck. At least the blizzard blanking out High Reaches and a good bit of Tillek Hold had not marred this last night of Benden’s Turnover. She wrapped the long fur-lined coat about her and wished she’d put her gloves on, too, though the basket of hot pastries, which Manora had pressed on her as they left, kept her right hand warm. When F’lar finished closing the panel on the rousing chorus of the latest Harper ballad, she slipped her left hand between his elbow andthe rough hide of his jacket. He slung the wineskin over his left shoulder and pressed her hand tighter to his side.
    Out of habit they both glanced across the Bowl, which was eerily silent. Opposite them, on the ledges to the Weyrwoman’s quarters, they could see their dragons in the moonlight. Blue-green, two pairs of dragon eyes winked open and followed the progress of their partners across the flat, frosted Bowl.
    Belior, its brightness better than a glowbasket, lit the eastern arc of the huge double crater, throwing the entrances to the individual weyrs into darkness. The moon illuminated the watchdragon and his rider, striding up and down the Rim to keep warm.
    “Don’t dally, girl,” F’lar murmured, shrugging into the warmth of his jacket and lengthening his stride.
    “If I had a Harper mark for every time I’ve crossed the Bowl,” Lessa said.
    “Add those to mine and we’d be as rich as Toric.”
    Lessa gave a snort and, her breath misting before her, quickened her steps. Maybe they should have gone south, where Turnover could be conducted on sun-warmed beaches and the more temperate southern night. But Benden Weyr had been home to her for thirty-five Turns now, and F’lar’s for all of his sixtythree. Although they had made their traditional appearances at Benden Hold on Turnover First Night and heard marvelous music at Ruatha on the second, they preferred to end the celebration here. She was glad enough to be able to enjoy some quiet time after the frenetic pace of this Turnover Past.
    She wondered if, at the end of this Pass—“After,” as people referred to it—he would want to leave Benden. Or maybe, if he could not bear to leave the splendor of the Weyr, at least spend the worst of the cold months in the south. Maybe not
in
Honshu, which F’lessan had repeatedly invited them to