Dragonseye by Anne McCaffrey Page B

the last of the breakfast cheese or even an apple or two to tide her over on the way.
    It wasn’t until Debera reached the final leg of the journey up to the Telgar Weyr that she was aware of pursuit, Or at least spied three horsemen on the road. They could well be visitors, coming for the Hatching, but it was prudent to suspect the worst. Her father could be one, and possibly Boris and Ganmar the other two. She had to get to the safety of the Weyr before they caught up to her. How had they made such good time in pursuit of her? Had someone seen her, after all, and run to alert Lavel?
    A long tunnel had been carved in the thinnest wall of the Telgar Crater as access for surface traffic. It was lit with glow baskets. Bilwil was tired from the last long steep climb on top of yesterday’s work. She thought she heard male voices yelling at her and kicked Bilwil into a weary trot. No matter how she used her heels on his ribs, he wouldn’t extend his stride. Then she heard the humming—as if it emanated from the walls around her. She knew what that meant. She gave a cry of despair.
    After all this, she’d be too late and there wouldn’t be a dragon left for her to Impress . . . even if she had been Searched. How could she possibly go back? She wouldn’t. She knew her rights. She’d been Searched. She could stay at the Weyr until the next clutch. Anything was preferable to going back to what she’d just left. The union with Ganmar would not have been any real improvement, although she had been determined to establish a proper relationship with the young miner. He looked impressible. Her own mother had told her that there were ways of handling a man so he didn’t even know he was being managed. But Milla had died before she could impart those ways to her daughter. And Gisa, who had probably given up all thought of a second union if she had been desperate enough to partner her father, was a natural victim who enjoyed being dominated.
    More hoofsteps sounded in the tunnel and, desperate to reach her objective, Debera kicked Bilwil on. The gallant animal fell into a heavy canter that jarred every bone in her body, but they made it into the Bowl.
    Debera could see that not only was the Hatching Ground full of people, but also new, staggering dragonets. But as she got close enough she saw there were still a few eggs. Her pursuers were catching up. She had no need to halt Bilwil at the entrance. He stopped moving forward the moment she stopped kicking him. She slid off and raced toward the Hatching Ground just as her father, Boris, and Ganmar caught up, yelling at her to stop, to come to her senses . . . She wrenched herself free of grasping hands . . . just in time to reach Morath. And finally came into her own.
    Now, as she made her way back to the weyrling barracks, she was as tired as she had ever been in her life, and far happier! As she rattled the door in her nervousness to open it, T’dam poked his head out of the boys’ barracks next door.
    “Back, are you? Well, she hasn’t moved so much as a muscle. And I don’t think you will, either, will you?”
    She shook her head, too tired to speak. She opened one side of a door wide enough to accommodate wing-trailing dragonets and slipped inside, turning to close it after her, but T’dam came in as well, reaching up to turn the glowbasket open. It was well he did because Debera would have knocked into the first of the dragonet beds.
    These were basically simple wooden platforms, raised half a meter above the ground, ample for dragons until they were old enough to be transferred to a permanent weyr apartment. The rider’s bed was a trundle affair to one side of the dragon’s, with storage space underneath and a deep chest at the foot.
    She skirted the bed, relieved she had not awakened the occupant, and got to Morath’s, the next one in. And hers. There were several items of clothing on the chest.
    “Tisha sent in some other things since you weren’t able to