Dragon's Fire by Anne McCaffrey Read Free Book Online Page B

put flowers on the grave before joining the rest of the troop as they headed north toward Camp Natalon.
    If he moved quickly, Pellar thought, he could trail the group right to their camp. Pellar was certain that they were Shunned. Tightening his jaw in determination, Pellar hiked his pack farther up his shoulders. But he had not gone forty paces when he spotted the broken stems of flowers snatched along the pathway. They were taken in ones and twos from a clump, so that only someone looking would have seen them. Pellar wondered for a moment if the child who had picked them had done that deliberately or had merely been picking the nicest flowers he or she could find. He looked down at the clump and stopped, his face clouded.
    He unshouldered his pack, pulled out a small shovel, and carefully dug up a small outcropping of the flowers.
    Carrying them in his hands, he returned to the grave site and firmly planted them on it, going so far as to pour a bit of his precious water over them. Images of Carissa were mingled in his mind with those of another child, older and faceless but another innocent lost because of the Shunned and those who Shunned them.
    Nodding to the dead child’s ghost, Pellar stood back up from his planting, dusted himself off, and turned back resolutely to his tracking. How long, he wondered, could a child who wore bark shoes survive in the northern cold?
    He turned back to face the direction of the tracks and peered into the distance, spotting landmarks and guessing at their general destination. Satisfied that he could pick up the trail again, Pellar turned back the way he came. If he went back to the road, he thought, he could make better time and get in front of the slow-moving band.

    Pellar arrived at Camp Natalon in the middle of the night, silently moving through the trees on the plain to the west before breaking out into the camp’s clearing and striding boldly, as if he belonged, to the small stone cot that Zist occupied.
    The entire camp was sleeping; not even a night shift was working the mine, for that evening there had been a great celebration. Pellar had observed it all from across the lake. When the last of the festivities had died down, he had started his roundabout journey, going west around the far side of the lake, crossing the stream that fed it, and picking his way through the forest.
    By the time Pellar reached Master Zist’s doorstep, the evening had turned so cold that Pellar could be seen clearly even in the dim light of the lesser of Pern’s two moons. As he knocked on the door, his stomach grumbled loudly.
    The door opened quickly and Zist stood back, blinking away sleep, to let Pellar in to the warmth.
    “Your lips are blue,” Zist told him. Pellar could only nod in agreement. Zist grabbed him by the shoulder, turned him, and gave him a gentle shove. “The fire’s over there.”
    Pellar scented succulent smells in the air. “I saved you some food from the feast,” Zist said, and Pellar picked up his pace.
    He was surprised and grateful when Master Zist thrust a cup of warm
klah
into his frozen hands and pushed him into a chair, making it clear that Pellar was to eat before discussing their business.
    As Pellar avidly ate and drank, Zist sat and leaned back in his chair, eyeing the youngster worriedly. Pellar caught the look and interpreted it correctly. He reached under his cloak and pulled out his slate, sliding it over to Master Zist before returning to the excellent food on his plate.
    Zist frowned until he saw that the slate was covered with a stiff piece of cloth. He folded the cloth aside and saw that Pellar had written a long missive in carefully precise, tiny letters.
    As Zist read, his eyebrows went up.
    “You found their camp?” he said in surprise, looking up to Pellar for confirmation. The young harper nodded, grinned, and waved for his Master to continue reading. Zist grunted in assent and bent over the slate once more. He did not read for long before he