Dragon's Time

FIVE

Terin and F’jian had both gone to sleep early that night. Fiona had sent her away early to spend time with the bronze rider, just as T’mar had released all the dragonriders for a day’s rest prior to the Threadfall.

Terin was sore from the exercises she’d had with the weyrlings and probably even more sore because she’d been too shy to join Fiona and Jeriz in an after-drill bath. Jeriz might seem small and young to Fiona, but to Terin he was little more than three Turns her junior and she was still young enough to be body-conscious.

Fiona had let her go good-naturedly, even though Terin was sure that she would have preferred her company and, truth be told, Terin somewhat regretted her impulsive rejection of the offer. Maybe it was time to get over such things. Maybe F’jian would be just the teensiest bit jealous when he heard.

So she replayed the conversation with the Weyrwoman and the green-eyed boy over and over as she tried to settle her mind for sleep. A part of her knew that she was avoiding sleep just as she was avoiding the thoughts that would scare her—Threadfall over Crom.

Tomorrow’s Fall would be short, only a third of the total six-hour Pass would be over Crom territory; the rest would be flown by High Reaches as the Threadfall passed into Nabol and Tillek, but Terin couldn’t control her fears.

She pretended, though, to be sleeping, keeping her breath purposely slow, listening for each new breath from F’jian, trying to burn her brain with the memories lest they be the last.

Stop it, she told herself. He’ll be fine. A moment later, she added chidingly, and you’re not helping with your worries.

She wondered how Fiona was sleeping. Perhaps she was awake, worried. Perhaps Terin should speak to Kurinth and ask her to talk to Talenth, to see if Fiona was—no, Terin thought as she reached out and found her queen fast asleep.

Tomorrow Kurinth would be itching and creeling with hunger. Terin hid a smile at the thought. It was hard not to be forgiving of her beautiful queen and, after all, it was only normal—and good—that she was hungry and growing new skin daily. New skin needed oiling, and there was always new skin.

At least I’ve ready hands to help with the oiling, she thought. The little boys were always eager to please, as were the young girls. Released from their chores to help the weyrwoman, they ran screaming across the Bowl only to walk, silently and cautiously, up the queens’ ledge, fearful of being rude, hopeful of getting a chance to help. Terin was glad to let them—not only for the ease it gave her but also because she genuinely liked the small ones and loved their wide-eyed prattling.

She decided that, perhaps, she was being just a bit silly not to bathe with Fiona just because Jeriz was about.

A noise startled her. Footsteps. Fiona?

No, not Fiona, Terin decided. All the same, she felt that she knew that walk and that it was a woman’s.

F’jian must have been listening, too, for all that he seemed asleep because he slipped the sheets off him and slid quietly out of the bed, grabbing gear and shoes as he went.

“Where are you going?” Terin asked, turning on her side, propping her head with an arm. “And when were you going to tell me?”

“I won’t be gone long,” F’jian said with a voice torn with sorrow. “I’ll be back before first light, I’m certain.”

“Who are you going with?”

“I can’t tell you,” F’jian said.

Terin started toward the edge of the bed. “I’ll come with you.”

“No!” F’jian said desperately. “You can’t come, Terin. Trust me.”

“Why can’t I come?” Terin asked. “How can I trust you?” Her voice turned bitter. “You’re going with some other woman.” Tears sprang from her eyes unwanted. “If you didn’t want me, you had only to say so.”

“No,” F’jian said, glancing to the weyr and back to Terin. “No, you don’t understand.”

“What’s to understand?” Terin asked. “You couldn’t wait, so you found someone else.”

“No,” F’jian raced back to her, reaching for her cheek, but she flinched away. “No, never anyone but you, Terin, never!”

“Until now!”

“No, never!” F’jian said, his voice raw with pain. “Never, by the Egg of Faranth. I promise you, Terin, only you! For all my days, only you.”

Terin said nothing. She couldn’t believe him. In the distance she heard movement. F’jian hesitated, then turned toward his weyr, calling back to her, “I’ll be back.”

Terin shook her head, too angry, too hurt, too wretched to say anything. She heard his footsteps fading, heard Ladirth move out of his weyr, heard the sounds of wings fluttering into the sky, then nothing.

Fiona woke the instant she heard the steps and elbowed Kindan gently. The harper snorted once, glanced her way, then heard the steps and got quickly out of bed. She heard him murmur something, heard Terin’s voice whimper in response and then Terin was in bed beside her, her head buried tight against Fiona’s chest, her tears burning hot through her nightdress. Quietly, Kindan sidled into the overcrowded bed.

“Shh, shh,” Fiona said soothingly to Terin, cuddling her up tight against her, stroking her hair and sending soothing thoughts toward the distraught young weyrwoman.

Slowly, Terin’s sobs ebbed, her tears stopped, and slowly her breathing eased into the depths of sleep.

Fiona felt Jeriz’s gaze bore into her back, but the boy said nothing. A moment later, Jeriz said apologetically, “I’ve got to get out.”

Kindan must have heard, for, with a sigh, the harper reached over Fiona and bodily pulled the boy over her and Terin both, setting him on the ground with a whispered, “Go! Hurry back!”

Fiona could hear the amusement in Kindan’s voice and reached beyond Terin to stroke his arm in thanks. Kindan grasped her hand with his for a moment and released it, settling back into a waiting doze until Jeriz returned and Kindan, much to the boy’s surprise, chagrin, and delight, repeated the maneuver.

“Fiona,” Jeriz whispered into her ear a moment later, “there was someone out there.”

Fiona nodded absently, reached behind herself to rub his arm comfortingly and slipped back to sleep.

But not for long. It seemed only an instant before she heard voices again. Kindan and another male and then the piping voice of Jeriz, who had somehow crawled over her and Terin without waking them.

“Go to bed, you can talk to her in the morning,” Kindan said.

Fiona opened her eyes. It was F’jian.

“I just need to tell her—”

“It can wait for the morning, trust me, bronze rider,” Kindan said.

F’jian gave him a final imploring look and, weary and defeated, turned away. A moment later, a rustling sound was followed by the shadowy outline of a dim glow, and Jeriz called quietly, “I’ll light your way.”

“Thank you,” F’jian said, still sounding miserable.

Fiona waited until Jeriz returned much later, hid the glow, and crawled back into bed, this time too tired to do more than snuggle against Kindan who held him close and whispered, “You did well.”

Fiona heard the boy’s pleased sigh at the words even as he drifted off to sleep.

F’jian was back at first light, bearing a tray with a pitcher of warm klah and a basket of fresh rolls.

“Make him go away,” Terin said miserably as soon as she heard his voice.

Fiona rose and pulled on her robe even as Kindan greeted the bronze rider with marked reserve.

“You need to go, F’jian,” Fiona said before he could say anything.

“Please,” he begged, “can I talk to you, Weyrwoman?”

“Come with me, then,” Fiona told him sharply, nodding toward Talenth’s weyr.

In the morning light reflecting into Talenth’s weyr, Fiona could see the misery in F’jian’s face. His eyes were red-rimmed, his hair unkempt, and he looked absolutely exhausted.

“She has to know I love her,” F’jian began without preamble, his hands raised by his side, clenched for emphasis.

“Actions will tell her that,” Fiona said. She sent a thought to Talenth, who passed the message on to Zirenth. “What happened last night?”

“I cannot say,” F’jian said, sounding forlorn.

“I can’t help you much if I don’t know what’s happening,” Fiona told him reasonably, all the while thinking of the warm klah, her still warmer bed, and how little she liked standing in a nightdress with only her nightrobe for warmth. “Who was the woman, F’jian?”

“I can’t say,” he repeated miserably. He looked into her eyes adding softly, “You cannot break time.”

“Break time?” Fiona repeated, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve been timing it?”

“I cannot say more,” F’jian told her. “I wish I could, believe me, but I cannot.”

“You’ve been timing it?” T’mar appeared behind F’jian in response to Fiona’s summons. “This near a Fall?”

“I—I had to, Weyrleader,” F’jian said, turning to include T’mar in his view.

“You’ve been dead on your feet for the past sevenday, man, and now you tell me you’ve been timing it!” T’mar shook his head savagely. “You don’t fly tonight. You may kill yourself, but I can’t risk you killing others.”

“I think you should return to your quarters, F’jian,” Fiona told him sternly.

“But—” F’jian looked from Weyrleader to Weyrwoman and back. Finally, he dropped his head and slumped away.

“Has anyone else been timing it?” Fiona asked as she watched him make his way across the Weyr Bowl. She caught T’mar’s expression and gave him an apologetic look. “I should have kept a better eye on them.”

“Affairs of the heart aren’t usually conducted in broad daylight, Weyrwoman,” T’mar told her gently. “As far as I know, only you operate that way.”

“So I should have known better,” Fiona repeated.

“Yes,” T’mar agreed. “Beyond saving Pern, beyond looking out for strays, beyond your queen and your Weyr, beyond all that you do, you should have known better.”

“But she’s my friend!” Fiona protested. With a wan look at F’jian’s retreating form, she added, “And I thought I knew him.”

“You probably did,” T’mar said.

“Come in, there’s warm klah,” Fiona said, nodding toward her quarters invitingly. T’mar frowned in thought for a moment, and gestured for her to precede him.

“This is not the best start to a day,” Kindan said as he marshaled Terin and Jeriz around the table. There weren’t enough chairs with T’mar present, so the boy insisted on standing and serving the others. He conducted his self-appointed duties with skill and aplomb, receiving praise from the four older folk and beaming in response.

“And now we’re a dragon short,” Fiona added with a grimace.

T’mar nodded, then looked over at Kindan. “I don’t suppose you’d—”

“No!” Fiona cut him off harshly. The Weyrleader looked at her expectantly. “If F’jian’s been timing it this much, Ladirth is no better than he. They’re both too tired.”

T’mar reflected on this for a moment and nodded. Sighing, he said, “Well, then we’re another dragon short this Fall.” His eyes turned to Terin and he gave her a troubled smile. “I’m sorry, weyrwoman, that you’ve been through so much.”

“I trusted him,” Terin said with a half-sob. She struggled to get herself under control. “All this time …”

Fiona groped for something to say, but could only shake her head wordlessly, sending a beseeching look to Kindan.

“Sometimes,” the harper said slowly, “when we’re very afraid of losing that which we desire most, we make terrible mistakes.”

Terin eyed him bleakly, her tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes mute testimony to the pain she’d experienced.

Fiona regarded the exchange thoughtfully. She reached over to her friend and grabbed her shoulder comfortingly. Terin covered Fiona’s hand with her own and lay her head on the pair. Fiona made a noise and stood up, circling around behind the redhead and resting both hands on her shoulders, moving them in to massage Terin’s tense neck. After a moment, Terin sighed and closed her eyes gratefully.

“Terin, love,” Fiona told her softly as she sensed the youngster relax, “you’re going to have to forgive him.”

Terin tensed under her hands and leaned forward out of her grasp. She turned her torso so that she could stare at Fiona. “Forgive him!”

“Yes,” Fiona said, nodding grimly. “Forgive him.” Terin snorted her opinion of that. “If you don’t forgive him, you’ll never move on from this—and you’ll never forgive yourself.”

“She’s right,” Kindan said, glancing at T’mar for agreement, but the Weyrleader was watching Fiona in amazement. Kindan smiled to himself, realizing that some of his lessons had rubbed off on the impish Weyrwoman. Sensing T’mar’s rapid thoughts, Kindan continued, catching Terin’s eyes with his own as he said, “It took me a long while to recover from Koriana’s loss.” Fiona gasped at the mention of her sister. Kindan nodded to her. “I blamed myself for not being quicker, I blamed Lord Bemin for—for anything I could think of.” His eyes fell to Fiona. “I blamed you for living and trying so hard to take her place.”

“I could never take her place!” Fiona declared. “She was my sister, Kindan.”

“You never knew her,” the harper told her quietly. His lips twitched upward for a moment as he added, “But she would have been so proud of you!”

Tears started in Fiona’s eyes.

“And rightly so,” Kindan said, lowering his eyes to Terin once more. “You’ve made great friends and you keep loyal to them.” Terin absorbed his words and leaned back once more in her chair in silent apology to Fiona, who held her shoulders once more and grasped them gently in acceptance. “And you’re not afraid to tell the truth as you see it, no matter how hard it is on you.”

“They say I’m stubborn,” Fiona agreed. Kindan smiled at her, joined a moment later by T’mar and Terin. She leaned over Terin to speak in her ear once more. “Which is why I’m telling you: You have to forgive him.” She paused to let her words sink in. “You rise above the pain when you do, trust me.”

“Who did you forgive, Fiona?” Kindan asked her softly.

“You,” she told him, raising her eyes to meet his unflinchingly. “When I saw you with Lorana and, even before, when I’d heard you were with her.” She smiled sadly and turned her head down toward Terin. “And it was then, when I could forgive myself for loving him, forgive myself for being jealous of Lorana, that I discovered that I could love them both.”

“So if I forgive him, then I can love him?” Terin asked, arching her head back to catch Fiona’s eyes. “I don’t want to, Fiona. There’s too much pain.”

“Pain’s part of love, sweetie,” Fiona said, leaning down and kissing Terin affectionately on the nose. “You know that.”

“Pain’s part of living,” Jeriz piped up. All the others turned to him in surprise. “ ‘Love is extra, pain’s a given.’ ” He flushed as they stared at him. “That’s a saying we traders have.”

“Well, that’s a saying we weyrfolk will keep,” Fiona said, including him with a wave of her hand. She looked back down to Terin. “Love is extra, pain’s a given.”

Terin’s lips puffed out in a pout and she lowered her head, shaking it slightly. “So I have to forgive him?”

“Forgive him,” Kindan said. “It’s not for him, your forgiveness, it’s for yourself.”

“Because until you do, you lock yourself up in your anger, you can’t move on,” T’mar agreed.

“All I want to do is crawl back into bed,” Terin said miserably.

“Then do so,” Fiona told her. “We’ll take our breakfast in the Cavern.”

The matter was easier said than done, but Fiona, T’mar, and Kindan were soon ready to leave.

“If you would, weyrwoman,” Jeriz said solemnly to Terin, “I’ll stay here in case you need anything.” He gestured nervously to the unused cot in the distance. “I can rest over there, I won’t disturb you.”

Terin smiled and nodded in acceptance of the offer. “But if I get cold, you’ve got to snuggle with me.”

Jeriz’s eyes went wide, but he nodded solemnly. Fiona gave him an encouraging smile before she left, and his eyes lit with pleasure, rising to a blaze with Kindan’s curt nod and T’mar’s respectful half-salute before they departed.

“How many others are like F’jian—disconsolate?” Fiona asked as she, Kindan, and T’mar trouped across the Weyr Bowl to the Kitchen Cavern.

“Pretty much all of them,” Kindan guessed. T’mar nodded mutely.

“You, too?” Fiona said, turning to the bronze rider.

“I want to hope,” T’mar said. “But the numbers are bad.”

“High Reaches has only seven more dragonpairs than us, Fort only ten,” Kindan said. “The best is Benden, with slightly more than a full Flight.”

“And likely less after the Fall tonight,” T’mar added grimly. “Likely,” Kindan agreed.

“We’ve pulled through before, we’ll do it again,” Fiona said.

“Kindan and Lorana found the cure,” T’mar said, leaving unspoken the thought that it was too little, too late.

“Worry about today, T’mar,” Fiona said, skipping ahead to catch his hand in hers. “You let me worry about tomorrow.”

T’mar smiled at her suggestion. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer it if you could worry a little faster.”

“Or better,” Kindan agreed.

“Of course,” Fiona said, keeping her tone light even as her heart skipped in dread. If Kindan and T’mar were this gloomy, how could she hope for better from the riders?

After breakfast, T’mar sought out J’gerd, who’d been assigned as F’jian’s second. “You’re to lead the wing,” he told him. “F’jian’s not well enough.”

“Weyrleader?” J’gerd said, surprised and off guard. He saw the implacable look in T’mar’s eyes and stiffened. “Certainly.”

The weyrlings were released from drill to help prepare the firestone for the evening. Fiona noticed the nervous glances of the weyrfolk, hastily averted when she looked, but they could not hide their worry and concern.

They had all seen the older Telgar riders vanish in a single Fall. Now they wondered if they’d see any of the current riders return. And there’d been too many lost, lost timing it, lost fighting Thread.

News of F’jian’s relief and the reasons for it spread throughout the Weyr, even though Fiona was certain that no one who was present had spoken about it. Probably, she thought from her experience at Fort Hold, the weyrfolk had noted who was present, who was absent, and had drawn their own—correct—conclusions.

Lorana had been gone for six days and already the morale of the Weyr had plummeted. Fiona felt fears creeping in, humor unraveling, tensions mounting, and she was powerless to do anything about it.

She remained at the high table as T’mar and the others went out to the Weyr Bowl to plan and check their gear.

A man cleared his throat softly from behind her. “I haven’t seen it this bad before.”

It was Mekiar.

“It was bad back at Fort Weyr when we’d banished the fire-lizards and the dragons were still getting sick,” Fiona replied, her voice low. “It was this bad when we came here and Talenth caught the sickness.”

“I suppose it was,” Mekiar allowed. Fiona raised a hand, inviting him to sit with her. The old ex-dragonrider moved deliberately and sat with a sigh and a nod of gratitude.

“Old bones are hard to move,” Mekiar said.

“Hah!” Fiona snorted. “Try pregnant bodies!”

“If you’re moaning now when you scarcely show …” Mekiar said, shaking his head. Then he stopped and eyed her intently.

“What?” Fiona demanded, wondering if she had to defend her honor.

“I was just thinking,” Mekiar said. “I don’t recall you to be the sort to complain.”

“I don’t see how it can help, most times,” Fiona admitted.

“So, if you’re not complaining over much, you have to wonder why is it you’re feeling so poorly this early?”

“It’s my first time,” Fiona said. “I’ve never done this before. I thought that was reason enough.”

“Perhaps,” Mekiar agreed blandly.

“Or?” Fiona prompted.

“Multiple pregancies are noticeable earlier than single pregnancies.”

“Multiple?” Fiona repeated, eyes going wide. “Twins?”

“Triplets are very rare,” Mekiar agreed, his eyes sparkling. “Although I recall a holder who had four at once.”

“Four?” Fiona repeated, aghast. She looked down at her stomach. “Two will be enough, if it comes to that.”

Talenth, ask Bekka to meet me in the Kitchen Cavern.

She asks if it can wait, Talenth responded a moment later.

Say to her: twins, Fiona replied.

She’s coming, Talenth said a moment later. What are twins?

It’s when a person has two babies at once, Fiona informed her.

Babies aren’t like eggs, Talenth said, sounding slighly confused.

No, eggs are clutched, then hatch, Fiona told her. Babies clutch and hatch at the once.

Awkward, Talenth declared.

Fiona snorted at her queen’s observation, then replied, But it keeps the wait shorter.

Talenth made no reply, but Fiona got the distinct feeling that the queen preferred her way. Fiona wondered if she might agree with her before too long.

“We’re still not sure!” Bekka called from the entrance of the Kitchen Cavern, bustling toward Fiona with Birentir trundling behind her. “And you were going to tell me when?”

“I thought we had,” Bekka said. “I mean, I recall telling you to eat more …”

“You said the same to Jeila.”

“She’s too thin, hardly putting on any weight,” Bekka replied immediately. She eyed Fiona. “You won’t have that problem.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Fiona demanded.

“It’s really too early,” Bekka said. “You know that things can go wrong in the first twelve weeks—” Fiona nodded irritably. Bekka frowned. “Well, they can go worse with two.”

“They can?” Fiona felt her throat go dry with fear.

“It’s possible to lose one and not the other,” Bekka said, suddenly solemn and not at all happy with her news. “I didn’t want to say anything, in case.”

“I see,” Fiona said, forcing herself to breathe slowly. “How would I know, if I lost one?”

“We won’t really know if you’ve got two until they’re old enough that we can hear their heartbeats,” Bekka temporized. “And even then it’s often hard to be sure.”

“So what makes you think I’ve got twins?”

“The way you’ve been complaining,” Bekka said. Fiona didn’t need to turn to feel Mekiar beside her, nodding. “You’re more sore than you should be at this time. And—” Bekka had the grace to flush “—you’ve been peeing more than usual.”

“It could be a bladder infection,” Birentir reminded the youngster.

“That’s why we’ve had her drink more fruit juice, just to be sure,” Bekka replied waving a hand dismissingly. “I’d say, judging by her behavior, that’s not it.” She eyed Fiona judiciously and nodded. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s twins.”

“And I could lose one?”

“You could lose both,” Bekka said. “Carrying a child is never certain.” She frowned when she saw Fiona’s distraught look. “I don’t think you will or I’d have the Masterhealer here this instant.”

“Or his wife,” Birentir suggested, “she’s better with pregnancies.”

“I’d have both of them and you know it,” Bekka said. She gave Fiona a frank look and leaned closer. “I’m more worried about Jeila, to be honest.”

“Jeila?”

Bekka nodded. “She’s thin and small-boned. Even if everything goes well, it may be difficult for her.” She puckered her lips. “She’s built small like me and my mother, who lost two before she carried one to term.” She nodded to Fiona. “I spoke with Kindan, your mother had four children, all full-term and healthy.” She smiled at her friend. “There’s no reason to think you’ll be any different.”

“Four,” Fiona said quietly, thinking of the four special mounds in Fort Hold’s garden, one for each of her brothers, one for her sister, and one for her mother. She glanced up at Bekka. “How would I know?”

“Know what?”

“If I lost one,” Fiona said.

“You might feel cramps,” Bekka said. “And you might have bleeding more than usual.”

“Bleeding?”

“More than usual,” Bekka assured her. “You’ll tell me or Talenth will tell me if there’s anything to worry about.”

“Talenth?”

“We talk,” Bekka said with a shrug. “Ever since you said we could.”

“She’s keeping an eye on you,” Fiona admitted.

“And you, too, Weyrwoman,” Birentir added humorously. “Apparently your queen is a bit of a tattle.”

“She just likes people,” Fiona said. She cocked an eye at Bekka. “Anything special I should do?”

“Yes,” Bekka told her emphatically. Fiona raised an eyebrow demandingly. “Don’t worry.”

“Worry?”

“Worry,” Bekka repeated. “Worrying can cause distress and that can affect the pregnancy.”

“It’s rather hard to avoid worrying these days,” Mekiar observed.

“Don’t worry about the babies, Fiona,” Bekka said. She pointed a finger at herself, adding, “That’s my job.”

“And mine?”

“Everything else,” Bekka told her. “You grow the babies, feed them, keep Pern from doing whatever it would do without you, and I’ll see to it that you have two healthy babies when the time comes.” She paused, then frowned. “If I can.”

“If it’s any help, my lady,” Birentir put in diffidently, “she’s quite good at her job.”

“For a girl?” Fiona asked him tauntingly.

“For anyone,” Birentir replied staunchly, his hand going to Bekka’s shoulder and resting there. “Her father has every right to be proud.”

“Where is he?” Fiona asked, suddenly realizing that Seban was nowhere to be seen.

“With Jeila, finishing our rounds,” Bekka said in a slightly testy tone.

“He’s keeping an eye on her?”

“Two,” Birentir said with a wink.

“And don’t you tell her, Fiona,” Bekka said, shaking a finger at her Weyrwoman. “She’s the sort to fret, and fretting would be certain to cause her to lose the pregnancy.”

“I’ll worry for her then,” Fiona decided.

“No you won’t!” Bekka told her firmly. “If you do, that’s just the same as worrying about your own—only with even less control and you’d be certain to lose them, and then she’d probably lose hers in sympathy.” Bekka spluttered. “Fiona, you’ve got to know what you can and cannot do.”

“And I can’t worry about my babies or Jeila’s babies,” Fiona said questioningly.

“Not with everything else you worry about,” Birentir said, his hand shaking Bekka’s shoulder affectionately. “She’s right, Weyrwoman. In this, you have to put your trust in us.”

Fiona looked at the healer, surprised in the change in him since he’d first arrived full of arrogance and self-importance. More than anything, she realized, it was Bekka’s unassuming performance of her duties that had changed him.

“Is she learning enough here?” Fiona asked him. “Or should we send her to the Healer Hall?”

Birentir snorted. “My lady, you should know better! You have a way of attracting strong wills in small packages.” He grinned down at Bekka, whose eyes flared in mock anger. “And this is one of the smallest.” With a sigh, he continued, “Still, I’m not a Master and she needs one before she can walk the tables.”

“Then have Master Betrony come and certify her,” Fiona said.

“I don’t know if—”

“With two weyrwomen pregnant, I suspect he’ll be willing to make a visit,” Fiona said.

“And there are some patients here he’d probably like to see,” Birentir ruminated, raising a finger to his lips in thought.

“You, Seban, Bekka, and the others have come up with some novel treatments that should be recorded back at the Healer Hall,” Birentir said after a moment. “And, I think, the Masterhealer should take more of an interest in the healing of dragons, as well.”

“Dragons?” Fiona repeated, surprised. “I would have thought he’d leave that to the Masterherder.”

“Who, as we both know, has no interest whatsoever in dragons,” Birentir said, shaking his head sadly. “No, I think that those healers who can expect to be assigned to the Weyrs should have an opportunity to learn at least part of that craft in their own Hall.”

“That would probably be better than learning it the hard way,” Fiona agreed, her lips twitching at the various memories of ichor-soaked nights spent desperately trying to sew Thread-torn wings.

“Precisely my thinking,” Birentir agreed.

Fiona sighed. “Well, it will have to wait until after this Fall, as we’ve no one spare to send.”

“What about F’jian?” Bekka asked.

“He’s too tired,” Fiona said, surprised at her suggestion.

“We could take Talenth,” Bekka said, eyes suddenly aglow. “We’ve done it before.”

“I haven’t been out of the Weyr for a while,” Fiona said, musingly.

“No, you should stay here,” Bekka said. “You’re needed. Father could come with us.”

“There’s no certainty that the Masterhealer will be available,” Birentir reminded Bekka.

“But you’ve just got to see me with Talenth!” Bekka said, suddenly excited.

Fiona started to shake her head and squash the notion, but she felt a foot rub against hers and looked up to see Mekiar eye her intently. She caught his look and turned to face Bekka squarely, seeing the joy in the youngster’s face overshadowing the fear, sorrow, and pain.

“Let me see if she’s up for it,” Fiona said. Talenth, would you take Bekka and some others to the Healer Hall? She needs some cheering up.

What about you?

If you’ll be okay, I’ll stay here. Fiona replied, half-hoping that Talenth would object, but honest enough to let her feelings and concern for Bekka slip through to her queen.

She would be happier riding me without you? Talenth thought about that. We’ve never tried this before, it could be fun.

Yes, it could. Fiona agreed. Would you like to try?

Yes. Talenth’s response made it clear that she’d be just as happy to have her rider along, but also that the novelty intrigued her.

“She said yes,” Fiona spoke out loud, and was rewarded with Bekka’s whoop of delight. The small youngster sped away, only to return and grab Birentir’s hand, forcibly dragging him out of the Cavern in much the same manner as she’d once dragged Talenth off to eat.

“A strong will in a small package, indeed!” Mekiar chortled as they watched them leave. In an approving tone, he added, “You did well, Weyrwoman.”

“Well, at least there are two who are not despondent,” Fiona agreed.

“Three,” Mekiar said, pointing to himself. “I put my faith in my Weyrwoman as she is wise enough to put her trust in others. Even her dragon.”

“Well, she is a very wise dragon.”

Kindan gave Fiona an approving look when he heard of her decision. T’mar nodded in agreement.

“The more we show we’re not jealous,” T’mar said, “the easier it’ll be when the need comes.”

“The need for what?” Fiona demanded. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not thinking of mounting fit riders on other dragons again, are you?”

“If it comes to that,” T’mar said. He pursed his lips in a sour look. “As it is now, we’ve more dragons injured than riders.”

“Dragons are bigger, they’re more likely to get scored,” Kindan said.

“It’s surprising, really, that any riders get scored,” Fiona added in agreement. “As it is, the amount is nearly one rider for every ten dragons.”

“Why is that surprising?” T’mar demanded.

“Well, think about it,” Kindan said with a shrug. “A dragon’s about—what?—forty or fifty times the size of a rider.”

“More for bronzes,” Fiona said. T’mar shrugged, still not certain of their point.

“Well, all things being equal, the dragon’s a much bigger target than a rider, so there should be more scored dragons to match the proportions,” Kindan said.

“I think the riders are more worried about protecting their dragons,” T’mar said. “And so we worry more about them than us.”

“Which is why there aren’t forty or more scored dragons for every rider,” Fiona agreed. “Though, honestly, I’d rather there were none.”

“Someday there will be,” T’mar said. Fiona gave him a questioning look. “When this Pass is over.”

“By the First Egg, let it be so!”

Talenth burst out of the skies over Fort Hold and the Harper Hall with a triumphant bugle, announcing to all that a queen had arrived.

Accompanied by Bekka’s cries of joy, the queen banked sharply, dipping on her wingtip, and spiraled down to the ground, landing softly.

“Well done, Talenth!” Bekka called, slapping Talenth affectionately on the neck.

Thank you, Talenth said. I did land well, didn’t I?

“You did indeed,” Bekka said, even as Seban started unbuckling the three of them from the riding straps.

The air was warm with summer heat, full of the smells of fields full of crops, though none too near any of the settlements.

“Fiona!” a man’s voice called from the direction of Fort Hold. “What are you—” the voice cut off as the man got close enough to distinguish the shapes. “Well, healer Bekka, this is a surprise!”

“My lord,” Bekka said, bowing to Fort’s Lord Holder—Fiona’s father.

“She’s not ill, is she?” Bemin asked suddenly, moving close enough to peer into Bekka’s eyes while at the same time dismissing her acknowledgment with a wave. He saw Birentir and Seban and his eyes widened.

“She’s well, my lord,” Bekka said hastily. “Pregnant, worried as we all are, but well.”

“Pregnant?” Bemin’s eyes rose to his brows even as his shoulders slumped in surprise.

“With twins,” Bekka added. “We’ve come to consult with the Masterhealer.”

Behind her, Seban and Birentir nodded in confirmation.

“Twins?” Bemin repeated incredulously. He snorted a laugh and added, “She was never one to do things by halves!”

“Indeed, my lord,” Birentir agreed. “We were just on our way to report to the Master, if you’d care to join us?”

“Certainly,” Bemin said, joining them. He glanced up at Talenth and then back to Bekka. “She let you ride her?”

“Yes, my lord,” Bekka said, just barely containing her excitement. “Talenth says I was very good, too.”

Bemin accepted that with a nod and glanced over the small girl’s head to the accompanying men, who both added looks in agreement.

Silently the four made their way under the arches of the Harper Hall where they were met by the growing sounds of harpers in various states of motion: some rushing to classes, others playing games, still others playing instruments in groups.

“Perhaps we should have gone around,” Birentir said as they made their way through the throng, leaving behind knots of curious harpers whispering amongst themselves about their arrival.

“Nonsense,” Bemin said, “Master Zist would have descended upon you—”

“He would have shouted,” Bekka agreed in an uncharacteristically demure voice.

“Who would have shouted?” a voice roared from a window above, filling the courtyard and creating an instant silence.

“You would, Master,” Bekka said, breaking into a huge smile. “So Fiona has unleashed you back on us again, has she?” Zist bellowed in a bass voice. “And sent her father to make amends, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” Bemin said with a chuckle, waving up to the Masterharper. “Should we join you?” With a wry look, he added, “We’d hate to interrupt any important undertaking.”

Zist snorted at the jibe. “Most would call it a nap, Lord Bemin,” Zist replied. “And it was hard enough”—and here his voice hardened—“to get rest with all the racket in the courtyard.” The hush deepened, but Birentir noticed grins on most faces; clearly this discourse from the Masterharper was not uncommon. “Particularly those who insisted upon singing out of tune.”

“No one was out of tune,” Kelsa called out from the archway leading down to the dining hall. “Or I would have heard.”

“Nonsense,” Zist roared back loudly. “New mothers are always tone deaf.”

Kelsa snorted at that and raced up the steps, bearing a tray in one hand and a small sleepy baby in the other.

“Kemin!” Bekka shouted, racing off after her. “Oh, please, let me hold him!”

“I thought she didn’t like babies,” Birentir murmured to no one in particular.

“Not this one,” Bemin said with pride. Kemin was his son. “Is he over the colic, then?” Seban asked.

“No, more’s the pity, but he will be soon enough,” Bemin said, shaking his head. “In fact, I was on my way down here for night duty when I spotted Talenth.”

“We’d better catch up or she’ll hand him off to us the moment he gets stinky,” Seban said, stretching his legs for a longer stride.

He was not wrong and not at all surprised when Bekka pushed baby Kemin into his arms. “Father, would you please?” she begged with her best wide-eyed innocence. “I need to talk with the Masterharper.”

“The Masterharper can wait, young lady, the child cannot,” Zist intoned.

Bekka sighed heavily at the injustice of it all, but took Kemin back and made her way out of the Masterharper’s quarters, muttering to herself.

“How is she doing, then?” Zist asked, the moment he was certain she was out of earshot.

“She should walk the tables,” Birentir said firmly. “She knows more than most journeymen.” He pointed a finger toward Seban, adding, “So should he.” He gave the ex-dragonrider a respectful nod, adding, “With more training, you could be a Master.”

“I think I’d like that,” Seban said.

“If Betrony could rate you Master, Bekka could be your journeyman,” Zist mused.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Bemin spoke up. Zist glanced at him. “She’s a good child, but before long she’ll be hitting her more rebellious phase and having her father as her Master will help neither.”

“Yes, I see,” Zist said. He glanced at Birentir. “And you? Would you be her Master?”

“I haven’t learned enough, as I’m sure Master Betrony will agree,” Birentir said.

Slow footsteps climbing the stairs announced the Masterhealer’s arrival. Zist nodded for Birentir to get the door and the healer opened it before the Masterhealer had started to knock, bowing respectfully.

“Birentir, how are you?” Betrony asked cheerfully. He saw Seban beyond him and his smile widened. “And you, too!” He glanced around the room, eyes twinkling. “Have my spies deceived me? I’d heard that my favorite student was here as well.”

“Your spies are accurate as always,” Zist said. “Just as they’ve probably made you aware that we’ve sent the young one away with the baby.”

“A babe in babe’s arms,” Betrony said, delighting in the irony. “They tell me that Fiona is pregnant,” Bemin added. “Pregnant?” Zist asked alertly. “Kindan or T’mar?” Bemin added a questioning look of his own to the two healers from Telgar.

“She hasn’t said,” Seban replied coolly. Zist gestured for him to go on and the ex-dragonrider added, “Honestly, I can’t say. It could be either.”

“Or both,” Bekka added as she pushed open the door with one arm, dangling a burbling Kemin under the other. She passed the baby back to Kelsa. “There, all clean!”

Kelsa took the baby back with a grateful smile and tucked him easily against her side. Bemin reached to grab the boy from her, but the Songmaster shook her head with an easy smile, content for now to have the baby with her.

“I suppose, with that child anything is possible,” Lord Bemin, her father, admitted with a sigh.

“We really shouldn’t have told you, my lord,” Bekka said, suddenly serious. Bemin’s eyebrows went up. “It’s early and you know …”

“I see.” Bemin nodded somberly. “So you were hoping to learn some family history from me and consult with the Masterhealer.”

“And there were some techniques that we thought you might want to see, Masterhealer,” Birentir added respectfully.

“I suppose that the best place to see them would be at Telgar Weyr, would it?” Betrony asked, his eyes darting toward the old Masterharper.

Seban glanced between the two of them and then to Kelsa, who shook her head warningly.

“I suppose if I want to see anything of my journeyman, I should come as well,” Zist said with a sigh.

“They’re fighting Thread tonight,” Seban warned.

“Which makes it a good time, then,” Betrony said. He glanced at his three healers, as he added, “It would give me a chance to see how you are under pressure.”

Bekka’s eyes danced at the notion. “Of course, Master.”

“I’m not sure that Talenth is able to carry five,” Seban said.

“How about four?” Betrony asked.

“She’d have no problem with four,” Bekka swore. She was about to say more, but the Masterhealer laid a hand on her shoulder and clenched it warningly.

“Then I suppose Birentir can remain here while we venture forth,” Zist said, passing some unspoken agreement to Betrony with his eyes.

“We’d be delighted to have Birentir stay with us,” Kelsa spoke up as if on cue.

“And if it would help you, Master Zist,” Bemin put in smoothly, “I’m sure I could arrange for him to stay here.”

“I promise I won’t let him sing,” Kelsa said, reaching over to grab the graying Lord Holder’s arm.

“Journeyman Birentir?” Betrony asked, inclining his head toward the other man. “Do you feel up to a night manning the Healer Hall?”

Bekka gave him a firm go-ahead gesture.

The older healer snorted and said, “I think, Master, I could use the rest.”

Betrony mouthed the word “rest” to himself and then his eyes settled on Bekka and he nodded in understanding.

“Well then, give me a few minutes to brief Birentir on the state of things in my Hall, and I’ll be ready to see the marvels of Telgar,” Betrony pronounced.

Half an hour later they were airborne, with Birentir, Bemin, Kelsa, and a gaggle of excited harpers and healers waving as Talenth swept upward with her great wings. In an instant, they were between and three short coughs later, they emerged into the midday light of Telgar, Talenth warbling happily and telling Fiona excitedly, We’re back, we’re back! And we brought Masters!

“Talenth says that she’s brought Masters,” Fiona called as she rushed into the Kitchen Cavern and frantically sought out Shaneese.

“I’ll get the wine,” Mekiar said, rising from his pottery wheel and racing back toward the cold caverns.

“We’ve something on, as always,” Shaneese said, gesturing urgently to a group of cooks. “I’ll get the table set.”

“I’m not sure they’ll be hungry,” Fiona called over her shoulder, already rushing out to find T’mar and greet the guests.

Talenth timed her approach more slowly, having divined Fiona’s mood, and did not touch the ground until Fiona, T’mar, L’tor, and the rest of the wingleaders were assembled behind her, as were Kindan and the weyrlings.

“Masterharper Zist,” Fiona said as the elderly harper was helped down by Kindan, Seban, and several riders. She tried to keep any nervousness out of her voice, but she’d had Turns enough in the old Harper’s bad books to harbor some residual misgivings, partly from several still-undiscovered episodes in her childhood.

“Catching tunnel snakes, my lady?” Zist asked, moving forward jauntily and catching her outstretched hand in his. His eyes turned back to Kindan as he continued, “Or merely discombobulating more of my harpers?”

“And Weyrleaders,” T’mar put in smoothly, his eyes dancing as he caught Fiona’s distraught look. “Don’t forget that, Master.”

“That’s old news,” Zist said with a wave of his hand. “As are the rather ribald Records that—”

“Oh, no!” Fiona cried, pulling from Zist’s grip and burying her head in her hands.

“—Verilan assures me were not actually written by the Lady Holders to whom they were ascribed,” Zist finished, his voice rumbling with humor.

“They were being mean to me!” Fiona said in her defense.

“They most certainly must have been, for you to have created such—interesting—depositions,” Zist agreed drolly. He glanced at Kindan. “You really must read them sometime, they are works of art.”

“Honing another talent, Fiona?” T’mar teased shamelessly. Fiona lifted her head and fumed quietly. “It was Turns ago.”

“Not all that many,” Zist corrected.

“Turns for me,” Fiona declared. “You may recall that we spent three Turns back in Igen.”

“And her behavior was much corrected,” T’mar agreed, the twinkle of his eyes belying his words.

“Oh!” Fiona said, stamping her foot in frustration. With a deep sigh, she turned once more to the Masterharper. “We’ve some wine and food, if you’d desire, Master.”

“I would,” Zist allowed, gesturing toward Betrony.

“Weyrwoman,” Betrony said, with a polite bow. “I hear you’ve been graced with good news.”

“Does all Pern know about this?” Fiona cried in exasperation.

“Not yet,” Kindan said, “but if Master Zist tarries the night, I’ll be sure to send him back to the Hall with a decent song.”

“That is enough to tempt me,” Zist said. “Although I understand you’ll have Threadfall soon.”

“Kindan, as weyrlingmaster, has duties to attend to,” Fiona said. She raised a hand and waved toward Xhinna. “I think we can find a deputy for the moment.”

Xhinna came forward with an easy air that fooled Fiona not one bit.

“Masterharper, Masterhealer, this is my friend, Xhinna, rider of blue Tazith,” Fiona said, gesturing to the younger woman with all due formality.

“Dragonrider,” Zist said, extending his hand and nodding courteously.

Xhinna paused just an instant before extending her hand in response.

“Did I hear the Weyrwoman aright,” Betrony asked as he extended his hand in turn, “you ride a blue?”

“Five women Impressed in the last two Hatchings,” Fiona said. “Only Xhinna Impressed a blue.”

“Could you imagine the look on old D’gan’s face if he’d seen that?” Betrony chortled in surprise, shaking his head.

Zist nodded in fierce agreement. “I could imagine him bellowing about Tradition until he was blue in the face.”

“We’ve done what we could without him,” T’mar said dryly.

“Although now, we’d sorely love all those dragons,” Xhinna said. “He had over three hundred with him.”

“Even if it meant his displeasure on seeing you?” Zist asked.

“Master,” Fiona spoke up, her eyes gleaming, “I don’t think D’gan would stand a chance in either a battle of wills or wits with our blue rider here.” She caught Xhinna’s surprised look, felt the girl’s warm appreciation at her words. “Xhinna, the Masterharper wants to let Kindan bend his ear for a while, I was wondering if you could take over for him with the weyrlings.”

“It might be better to let X’lerin or W’vin have the duty, my lady,” Xhinna said demurely.

“True, but I didn’t ask them,” Fiona said. “Next time.”

Xhinna nodded unhappily and departed.

“You aren’t making her position any easier,” Kindan murmured in Fiona’s ear while they walked toward the Kitchen Cavern.

“She’ll never be happy following,” Fiona said. “Blue or no, she wants to lead.”

“She could lead a wing,” T’mar agreed, “if she could get them to follow her.”

“Blues don’t lead wings,” H’nez said, glancing apologetically toward Fiona. “They haven’t the endurance.”

“Pardon, wingleader, but I have to question that,” Seban spoke up diffidently. “My Serth had no problem keeping up with your wing.”

H’nez frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. He glanced toward Fiona. “There is a danger of pushing too hard, too fast.”

“Yes,” Fiona agreed, eyeing the wiry wingleader with respect. She said to T’mar, “H’nez has a point. We need to be wary of trampling on Tradition just for the joy of it.”

“I don’t trample on Tradition,” T’mar said.

Fiona grinned and walked silently on.

Shaneese and the weyrfolk greeted the two Masters with a mixture of pride and awe. It was unheard of, T’mar realized, for two craft Masters to appear at the same Weyr on the same day. They would frequent the Holder Conclaves, but never a single Weyr, not in his memory.

Zist and Betrony were excellent guests, insisting upon meeting all the people in the hall, shaking their hands and exchanging quick words. Betrony spent several minutes in quiet conversation with Mekiar and the ex-dragonrider looked very pleased with himself at the end of it.

Shaneese was set at ease by Zist’s compliments on the wine and Betrony’s compliments on the food. T’mar could see how worried she was that everything be right not just for the honor of the Weyr but also from her desire not to let him—or Fiona—down.

Kindan sent for instruments and Taria arrived, to T’mar’s surprise, with a group of the better young vocalists. In short order Kindan and the weyr children were providing light, lyrical, soft music to accompany the meal.

“Bekka tells me it’s twins,” Betrony said to T’mar conversationally. “So I’ve heard,” T’mar agreed easily. “If all goes well, it will be good for the Weyr.”

“Indeed,” Betrony agreed.

“If you’re done, Master,” Bekka piped up, “we’d like to take you on a tour of the injured.”

“Dragons and riders?” Betrony asked.

“Dragons and riders,” Bekka agreed. She glanced at Fiona, adding, “Usually the Weyrwoman accompanies us, but she has other duties.”

“Be sure, though, that you let Jeila know,” Fiona said. H’nez glanced at her and looked distant for a moment and then said, “She’s on the fourth level, she’ll meet them there.”

Fiona smiled at the lanky rider. H’nez surprised her with a nod in acknowledgment.

“See if you can get her to consent to an examination, while you’re at it,” Fiona said, looking at Bekka and noticing the relieved look on the youngster’s face.

“Is there a problem?” H’nez asked, his expression guarded and tense.

Fiona shook her head. “She’s smaller than I am and we want to be careful, that’s all.”

“Perhaps I should come along,” H’nez said, rising from his chair.

Fiona grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Bekka’s lectured me already, H’nez,” she told him. “She told me that she’s in charge of worrying about my twins and Jeila’s pregnancy.”

H’nez’s eyes trailed after the departing healers and settled with a frown on the slight blond in the lead.

“Masterhealer Betrony is here at her request to advise her,” Fiona said. “She’s not taking any risks with Jeila.” She paused and held his eyes. “And if I felt for a moment that she was, I’d have someone else here before you could cough between.”

“She’ll need me,” H’nez said imploringly, worried about the petite weyrwoman.

“She needs us,” Fiona said with emphasis, “not to show worry about her pregnancy.”

“Then there’s reason for worry?”

“With every small person, there’s reason,” Fiona said. “More so with a first pregnancy than with later ones, I’m told.”

“She could lose the child?”

“If you worry about it and she picks up on it, she’ll start to worry and that will certainly cause problems,” Fiona told him.

“It’s just like with your dragon, H’nez,” T’mar said. The bronze rider gave the Weyrleader a startled look, surprised that he’d been listening in and confused by the example. “If you worry that Ginirth might get Thread-scored, don’t you increase the risk?”

“Yes,” H’nez admitted sullenly. “I see your point, Weyrleader, Weyrwoman.” He focused on Fiona. “But what if something does happen?”

“Then we’ll be there for her, with our love and comfort just as we’d be there for Ginirth if he were injured.”

“Sometimes it’s all we can do,” T’mar said, his eyes darting toward Fiona, “to hope that those we love survive.”

“Bekka knows what to do, H’nez,” Fiona assured him soothingly. “She’s shown that by bringing the Masterhealer here.”

H’nez nodded.

“And I trust that her sense is right about this, too: that we can’t worry overmuch, we need to leave that with her.”

“Is that not a rather large load for such a small person?” H’nez asked.

“Wouldn’t you say that just as easily of Jeila?” Fiona countered.

“I do,” H’nez replied, “often.” His lips twitched upward as he added, “I’ve heard it said that you surround yourself with powerful people.”

“The small ones are the most impressive,” Fiona agreed. She stroked H’nez’s arm. “Don’t fear, bronze rider, we’ll keep an eye on her.”

“And while you’re doing that,” Shaneese chimed in, “we’ll keep an eye on you!”

With the two Masters in Bekka’s good hands, Fiona made her way to her weyr to check on Talenth. She wasn’t surprised to note that her bed was empty. Kurinth was young and for all her unhappiness, Terin couldn’t ignore the pleadings of a hungry dragonet.

I’m hungry, Talenth said as if prompted by Fiona’s thoughts.

And no wonder with all that you’ve been doing, Fiona agreed. It had been nearly a week since the queen had last eaten, so it was about time. She escorted her queen to the beast pens and watched, calling out encouragement as Talenth took down a fair-sized meal and ravenously tore it apart. Fiona felt her blood grow hot with the passion of the gold over her meal. She wondered idly if T’mar were free or Kindan, then shook her head, dispelling the notion firmly. Dragon passions were strong, but she would not let them be her master.

Even as she thought that, her stomach rumbled, not pleased with the smells her nose was reporting, and Fiona moved upwind of her queen’s feasting.

Once Talenth was sated, Fiona walked her back to their weyr and saw her settled, finding one patch of dry skin and carefully oiling it even as Talenth’s inner lids started to close for a well-earned nap.

Fiona scratched the gold’s great eye ridges with one hand until she saw that Talenth was fully asleep and, with one final caress, left her.

She did not go far, ducking into Kurinth’s lair after a few quick steps.

The little dragonet seemed tiny in comparison with Talenth, but nearly full-scale when compared with Jeriz standing beside her, watching anxiously as he encouraged Terin in her feeding.

“Terin,” Fiona said softly as she approached her friend. Terin said nothing, fishing out another morsel and handing it to Kurinth, who took it delicately, her eyes whirling in a hungry red.

“Do you need help oiling her?” Fiona offered.

Terin shook her head, but Jeriz caught her eyes and nodded imperceptibly.

“She’s getting bigger,” Fiona said, eyeing the gold critically.

“Every day,” Terin agreed softly, reaching for another morsel from the bucket. Finally, the queen was sated and Terin pushed the bucket away. She reached for the oil pail only to have Jeriz bring it to her and offer her a rag. She smiled in thanks and proceeded to gently stretch Kurinth’s wings, oiling lightly. Fiona, crooning soft encouragements, took another oil rag and started on Kurinth’s other wing.

“You’re the most beautiful baby dragon on all Pern,” Fiona said in a baby voice to the dragonet. “Yes, you are.”

Kurinth creeled happily in response.

After watching the others for a moment, Jeriz found another rag and began oiling Kurinth’s belly, careful not to get in Terin’s way.

“There’s something very satisfying about a well-oiled dragon,” Fiona said as she soaked her rag in the oil and returned to work diligently on her wing.

“That’s not what you used to say,” Terin quipped with a ghost of her former humor. Jeriz gave her an inquiring look and Terin told him, “She used to moan every day.”

“I was tired,” Fiona said in her defense.

“And now that you’re pregnant, shouldn’t you be even more tired?”

“I suppose I should,” Fiona admitted, surprised. “But I’m not so much, it’s as if the pregnancy is giving me more energy.” This statement was punctuated with a long yawn that caused Fiona to frown and Terin and Jeriz to follow suit, as yawns always do. She glanced at Terin. “Did you know I am having twins?”

Terin frowned then nodded. “Not so much ‘know’ as guessed,” Terin said. Fiona arched an eyebrow demandingly. “Well, I asked Bekka and she told me.”

Sheepishly, she added, “Bekka said she’d keep an eye on you.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Fiona asked, still feeling a little out of sorts over the whole affair.

“I was … distracted,” Terin said with a shrug. “I suppose I can do better now.”

“You can’t hold a grudge forever, Terin,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “It’s not in your nature.”

“Well, I can certainly hold a grudge for now,” Terin told her firmly, ducking down to work on Kurinth’s hind leg.

“Certainly,” Fiona agreed, finishing her wing and ducking down to start on the other hind leg. “I think you could easily go a whole Turn, if you tried.”

“No,” Terin said, shaking her head. “At this rate, we’ll all be dead before Turn’s end.”

Fiona heard Jeriz gasp but she merely shook her head. “I hope you’re wrong.”

“Fiona, why would he lie to me?” Terin asked, looking across under Kurinth’s belly to meet with the Weyrwoman’s eyes in misery.

“I don’t know,” Fiona told her softly. Her voice strengthened as she continued, “And because I don’t know, I have to wonder if he did lie.”

“But I heard her!”

“You heard someone, true,” Fiona said. “He’s been timing it, he said that much.” She shook her head. “That’s all we know.”

“Could it have been you?” Jeriz piped up, surprising them. “Could he have been timing it to you?”

“What, going back in time to Igen?” Terin asked, shaking her head. “Or when I was a child at Fort?”

“ ‘Talking angry is better than angry silence,’ ” Jeriz quoted another trader saying.

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Fiona added in agreement.

Terin snorted. “He can wait, he’s not going anywhere.”

“I hope he’s sleeping,” Fiona said. “He looked nearly Threaded with exhaustion.”

“I want you two to come back with us tonight,” Betrony said after they’d finished the rounds and returned to the Kitchen Cavern. “Bekka, would you be willing to give a lecture?”

“Tonight?” Bekka said. “There’s Threadfall, we’ll be needed.”

“Birentir can hold your place,” Betrony said, adding with a stern look, “unless you don’t think he’s ready.”

“We’d only be a dragon’s flight away,” Seban reminded her. “Three coughs, no more.”

“The Weyrwoman—”

“The Weyrwoman has no objection,” Fiona cut across Bekka’s objection smoothly as she, Kindan, T’mar, and Master Zist finished their private conversation. “Unless, of course, you don’t want another chance to ride Talenth?”

Bekka’s eyes went wide with excitement and then grew thoughtful. She gestured for Fiona to come closer and whispered accusingly, “What are you planning?”

“You’ll find out,” Fiona said, grinning. “I think you’ll like it.”

“So, it’s settled then,” Zist said. “Kindan, Bekka, and Seban will return with us.”

“Kindan?” Fiona asked, turning to the Masterharper in surprise. “I didn’t forget that song he promised,” Zist said, wagging a finger at her.

Fiona slumped, saying dejectedly, “I did.” She glanced at Kindan. “The weyrlings will be able to manage without you?”

“X’lerin will be in charge,” Kinda assured her, adding, “Although, I’d appreciate it if you could keep an eye on them.”

“I could put Terin in charge,” Fiona said musingly. She nodded firmly. “Give her something to do.”

“Then you’ve no objection?” T’mar asked. Fiona shook her head, “No, I suppose not.”

She gave Bekka a huge grin, which alarmed the younger woman greatly. “Sometimes, it’s hard to recall that you’ve over thirteen Turns.”

“I’m small for my age,” Bekka agreed, glancing toward her father. “I get that from Mother.”

Seban smiled and nodded. “We should arrange to visit her soon.”

Bekka nodded firmly, eyes shining in agreement.

“Maybe I’ll take you,” Fiona said. “After all, if you ride Talenth anymore by yourself she might forget who Impressed her.”

“Never!” Bekka said. “I won’t let her.”

“Besides, you’ll have your own queen soon enough,” Fiona predicted.

“I’ve got enough work to—”

“I think I’ve heard enough of that excuse,” Fiona interjected. “If I can do it, you can.”

Bekka, wisely, said nothing.

“Well, if all’s settled,” Zist said, glancing toward T’mar and Fiona, “and you’ll excuse us, Weyrleader, Weyrwoman, we’ll take our leave. The sooner we get them to the Halls, the sooner we can return them to you.”

Talenth circled once above the Star Stones and winked out, between to Fort Hold.

T’mar glanced over to Fiona admiringly. “I don’t know how you can do that so easily.”

“Twins,” Fiona said, lowering a hand toward her belly. “That, and I know what Zist has got in store for them.”

“Well, yes,” T’mar agreed, his eyes lighting. “It will make this evening’s work more enjoyable.”

“It certainly will,” Fiona agreed. “And we’ll have a Master to tell the tale.”

“You do realize what Master Zist is hoping, don’t you?” T’mar asked, his eyes taking on a worried look.

“To promote Kindan to Master, and maybe groom him as his replacement.” She shook her head, adding, “I think he might find himself surprised. Although, even if he isn’t, Fort is only a between away.” T’mar snorted humorously at her words.

“Well,” Fiona said with a dismissive shake of her head, “we’ve lots to do and I’d best be started.” She roused herself. “I’ve been practically indolent this past sevenday.”

“Indeed,” T’mar agreed in facetious deadpan.

Fiona ignored him, setting her course for Terin’s weyr. She heard Talenth cheerfully announce their arrival and wished her queen good choice in ledges, picturing one in particular just above Fort Hold itself where Talenth could keep watch on her father. The queen agreed, glad to oblige her rider, and quickly settled herself in the suggested spot even though some of the Fort guards seemed unduly concerned by the prospect of a gold dragon perched above them.

“Terin!” Fiona called as she entered Kurinth’s weyr. “Enough sulking, we’ve got work to do!”

Terin, after an initial burst of anger, had settled down quickly to join Fiona and Jeila in organizing the Weyr for the evening’s Fall. She and Fiona, after one quick consulting glance, had ensured that Jeila’s assignment required the least exertion or moving about. That left Jeila with a lighter load, but not so much that she was not being asked to do her share.

Terin and Fiona exchanged looks when H’nez happened by and the two lovers exchanged heartfelt caresses punctuated by a long, steamy kiss. For all H’nez’s stuffiness and bristly exterior, it was clear to the both of them that his love for the diminutive weyrwoman was strong.

Finally, all was ready. Fiona forced a cheerful look on her face even as she compared the scant Flight of dragons to the full one hundred and eighty-five fighting dragons that had arrayed before her not more than half a Turn before. Even as her heart shrank in fear, she schooled her expression and forced herself to project confidence and ease for the dragonriders about to start their Fall in the growing gloom of the evening.

T’mar came to her and she hugged him fiercely. “Come back to us,” she said, letting him go and pulling Shaneese over to take her place.

She sought out and hugged C’tov and H’nez in turn, then surprised gruff L’tor by hugging him as well. “Fly safe.”

“Always, Weyrwoman,” L’tor assured her with a tone that fooled her not one bit. She eyed him and leaned up to whisper in his ear, “Don’t try to fool me, just come back safe or Weyrwoman Tullea will have my ears for losing another of her dragons.”

That brought a sharp chuckle from the old rider, who added drolly, “Under those circumstances, I am doubly inspired.”

At last the wings rose into the air, circled the Star Stones, and winked out, between.

Fiona gathered the weyrfolk assigned to the aid stations and broke them into groups, sent a third to rest, another third to eat, and remained on watch with the final third.

J’gerd and the reserve wing arrayed themselves near the weyrlings, who eyed the older riders with awe, instantly ready to meet their every wish.

Of F’jian, Fiona noted with narrowed eyes, there was no sign. She thought that odd, even given his shame, for he was usually well-liked and his absence would be noted. She didn’t say anything to Terin, but Jeila caught her look and nodded understandingly.

“Terin,” Fiona said suddenly, “can you keep an eye on things here? Jeila and I will have a little sit-down.” Terin nodded blankly and Fiona gestured Jeila toward a pair of chairs set far enough from Terin that the younger weyrwoman wouldn’t be able to hear them as Fiona quickly brought Jeila current on the events regarding F’jian and Terin.

“I don’t think he was lying,” Jeila said thoughtfully when Fiona had finished. “He’s always seemed truthful and devoted to Terin.”

“That’s what I thought,” Fiona said. “But why did he time it? He had to know that it was exhausting him, that T’mar couldn’t allow it.”

“From what you say, he did his best to hide it,” Jeila pointed out. “But I don’t think you’re wrong, T’mar would have noticed. Or H’nez.”

“Or C’tov,” Fiona agreed. “In fact, T’mar did notice it. He remarked on it to me, even.”

“And now we fly a dragon light,” Jeila said with anger in her voice. “What could have been so important?”

“All he said was that he could not tell me, he’d promised.”

“Which again leads me to believe that he was honest with Terin,” Jeila replied.

“Either that or he’s become a gibbering coward,” Fiona said.

“That’s not without possibility,” Jeila agreed. She glancd at Terin, who was engrossed in a conversation with one of the weyrfolk. “But what about her?”

“I’ve got Jeriz watching her,” Fiona said. She explained about her need for a minder and how Shaneese had supplied her with Jeriz.

“He’s Tenniz’s son?” Jeila asked, eyes wide. “Does he have the Sight?”

“He says no, that it will go to his sister,” Fiona said, shaking her head.

“That must be hard on him,” Jeila said. “Losing his father and growing up in the shadow of his sister.”

“Well, we’ll have to see to it that his life has a different course,” Fiona said.

“You can’t simply expect to supply everyone with dragons, Weyrwoman,” Jeila upbraided her in a tolerant voice. “As I recall, the dragons do have a choice.”

“True,” Fiona agreed. “But they seem to find trader stock most appealing.”

“That’s because they have excellent taste,” Jeila agreed with a laugh. “And I suppose, being Tenniz’s son, he might be particularly acceptable.”

“That was my thinking,” Fiona agreed. Jeila eyed her thoughtfully. “Didn’t Azeez say you must have had trader stock yourself?”

“I haven’t heard of many blond traders,” Fiona replied.

“There have been some, particularly in far Keroon,” Jeila said. “We’re not all dark-haired and dark-eyed.”

“And incredibly gorgeous,” Fiona agreed. “Although Jeriz—”

“Weyrwoman?” Jeriz called out upon hearing his name. Fiona recovered quickly, gesturing for him to join them.

“Have you met weyrwoman Jeila?” Fiona asked. Jeriz shook his head and extended his hand, bowing courteously. “Weyrwoman, my pleasure.”

“You’re from the desert?”

“You’re from the north?” Jeriz asked, taking in her features and that special look that seemed to mark most traders.

“I am,” Jeila said smiling. “I was Searched three Turns back, but before that I was daughter to those hauling goods to the Fire Hold.”

“Herdbeast or ship?” Jeriz asked, sinking into trade talk.

“Both, actually,” Jeila said. Her eyes lit with memory. “There were summers we spent with cargo from Tillek to Southern Boll.”

“Fish down, spices up?”

“Indeed,” Jeila said. “I see you were well trained.”

“Many came to see my father,” Jeriz said, his tone going flat. “After, not so many to see my mother.”

“I see,” Jeila said. “And how came you to be here?”

“My mother sent me to the one who spit in Father’s soup,” Jeriz said. “She said that she might teach me manners.”

“She still has some way to go, I see,” Jeila replied, her tone going colder.

“Jeriz, keep an eye on Terin, please,” Fiona said. Jeriz nodded in response, dipped his eyes to Jeila, and sped off.

“So who spat in his soup?” Jeila asked quietly as she watched the small figure dart toward the cluster around Terin. “And doesn’t he have the most amazing green eyes?”

“Shaneese spat in his soup,” Fiona said, delighting in Jeila’s surprised look. “And, yes, he has the most amazing green eyes.”

“Shaneese?” Jeila repeated in surprise. “Why?”

“Because Tenniz predicted that she’d be second wife and like it,” Fiona told her, eyes dancing.

“Oh!” Jeila said understandingly. “She must have been very young.”

“And very angry,” Fiona agreed. “Although perhaps not so young; she had sixteen Turns at the time.”

“For a trader woman, what he said was a deep insult.”

“And, as it is, the complete truth.”

“Around you, Weyrwoman, the truth takes the strangest directions.” Fiona laughed.

It was not the best time to fly Thread, T’mar mused as the wings formed up in front of him, two Telgar and one Benden. The sun had not yet set, edging toward the horizon with its last rays blinding the riders. While the Thread that fell between the sun and the dragonriders would be highlighted, Thread that fell from the east could easily be lost in the shadows behind the riders.

T’mar’s plan was to avert that problem, with himself set well behind the fighting wings. J’gerd and the reserve force were there to provide additional eyes. T’mar swore bitterly at F’jian for his foolishness; not only was the wing deprived of his leadership when it was most needed, but his fatigue had made him slow and thoughtless in their drill so that the reserve wing was only half as effective as it should have been. T’mar cursed himself for not taking action sooner. Beneath him, Zirenth rumbled reprovingly.

You thought you were doing best, the bronze told him with uncharacteristic forcefulness.

I should have known, T’mar said.

Like Fiona?

T’mar’s lips edged upward at the comment and he slapped the bronze’s neck affectionately in acknowldgment of the jibe.

What’s done is done, T’mar agreed. Now it’s up to us to deal with here and now.

Zirenth agreed firmly, swiveling his head from one side to the other while T’mar turned around to peer behind them. He had half of the reserve wing doing the same, the other half scanning the backs of the leading dragons.

It was not yet dark enough for the watch-whers, nor cold enough for Thread to freeze.

Not the best time. T’mar had placed H’nez in the center, C’tov on the right, and L’tor on the left. All three wings had drilled in all three different positions: left, right, center. T’mar had made the assignment based on H’nez’s pride and skill and C’tov’s marked proficiency flying on the right.

The winds were light, but apt to whip up as the sun continued to set; a dangerous combination.

T’mar spotted an ominous streak of white in the sky to the right and behind him. Zirenth quickly turned and beat his way upward to let them get a better look before T’mar realized he was seeing only the wisps of the high cirrus clouds, lit by the sun’s last rays.

He had just returned to the flight level when a dragon bellowed behind him and, in an instant, a third of the reserve wing went between, dodging Thread.

Thread behind! T’mar warned, even as he and Zirenth wheeled, flaming, toward the danger.

Fiona winced as Talenth relayed the first clash of the fighting dragons to her. Three at once! Fortunately, they were all back immediately, their injuries light. But she could imagine the disarray of the fighting wings, learning that the Thread was behind them.

Jeila had the same information from Talorth and the two weyrwomen exchanged nervous glances over the head of Terin.

“What?” the youngest weyrwoman demanded, looking from one to the other.

“Thread from behind,” Fiona said. “Fortunately, they ducked between and are safe.”

“Oh,” Terin said glumly. She seemed to shrink in on herself, scanning the horizon near the Star Stones as if hoping to see the battle.

We may need you, Fiona told her dragon.

I have told Bekka, Talenth replied. She says she’s ready if needed.

In fact, Talenth’s warning was all the excuse Bekka needed to demand that she be allowed to fly back to Telgar now, even though Birentir had already returned on a Fort Weyr dragon.

“You’ve just finished your talk,” Betrony told her soothingly, “take a meal with us first.”

“You are behind time,” Zist agreed, “you won’t get a decent meal when you get back and you might need your energy.”

He glanced at Kindan who shook his head at the Masterharper, a wry look on his face. Zist winked at him and touched a finger to his nose, daring the younger man to keep the secret.

Bekka started another objection, but Zist caught her hand in one of his. “Humor an old man,” Zist implored. “We’ve missed your company.”

“The apprentices would like to have you seated with them again,” Betrony added, glancing at Seban, “both of you.”

Seban’s eyes widened just for an instant before he turned to his daughter. “We should sit with them; who knows when next we’ll get the chance.”

“Lindorm and Cerra are here, too,” Betrony added. “They made journeyman.”

“Good for them!” Bekka said. “I’d like to congratulate them.”

“Then, it’s settled,” Zist said. “We’ll have a proper feast in your honor and get you back before you’re needed in Telgar.”

“Let me check with Fiona,” Bekka said solicitously. A moment later she had her answer. “The Weyrwoman says that Birentir is doing fine and Talenth won’t be needed for a while.”

“Excellent!” Zist agreed. He nodded to Betrony, eyeing Bekka’s garb. “You know, though, if she’s going to eat with the apprentices, she should have proper attire.” Zist cocked an eye at Seban. “And you, too.”

“I think we can find something suitable,” Betrony said, gesturing for the two healers to follow him.

“Dinner will be ready shortly, don’t be late,” Zist called as they left his quarters. After the door closed, Kindan turned to the old Master, a smile on his lips. “Is it too much to suppose, perhaps, that there is spare journeyman garb for me?”

“I recall Nonala remarking on that a while back,” Zist said with feigned indifference. “I think she and Kelsa arranged to get some of your older garments cleaned.”

“So I should find Kelsa?”

“No, probably Nonala or Verilan,” Zist said.

“Then I’ll take my leave,” Kindan said with a polite nod to the old Masterharper. Zist nodded, seating himself at his table, pretending to write in his sandtable. At the door, Kindan turned back and poked his head inside. “Don’t think I’m fooled, Master.”

“Fooled by what?” Zist asked, looking up and managing an irritated look.

“Fooled by you,” Kindan said, his eyes crinkling in delight. “It’s a good plan, but it won’t work, I’m bound to Telgar.”

“A wise harper has more than one set of strings,” Zist intoned grandly.

“Hmph!”

“Get going, you’ll be late,” Zist said, making a shooing motion toward the journeyman harper.

“It is an honor that you would think so of me,” Kindan said as he closed the door.

“Who said I was thinking about you?” Zist said, raising his voice enough to carry through the thick door to Kindan’s ears as he made the way down toward Verilan’s quarters.

“Well, it’s about time,” Verilan said as he and Nonala helped garb Kindan in a very neat, extremely new harper’s outfit. It was certainly one that Kindan had never seen before, even if perhaps its measurements were taken from one of his cast-offs. “Now he won’t carp on at me all the time.”

“Or me,” Nonala added.

“Or Kelsa; think what that would do to the Lord Holder Conclave,” Verilan added, bringing a clenched fist to his chest while miming florid anger.

“We’d lose half from apoplexy,” Kindan agreed. “Although with Nerra firm at Crom, and the strength of the traders—”

“Not to mention Pellar and Halla in Fire Hold,” Verilan added.

“Indeed not,” Kindan agreed, continuing, “with all those, perhaps the Holders might be willing to see a woman as Masterharper.”

“Gadran would sooner die,” Verilan said with a snort, referring to Bitra’s irritable Lord Holder while gesturing for Kindan to bend down when the Master Archivist fixed his collar. A moment later he motioned for Kindan to stand once more and cocked an eye toward his mate. “Suitable?”

“Fit for the tables,” Nonala agreed from behind. She grabbed Kindan’s shoulders and spun him around, hugging him tightly. “This should have happened Turns back.”

Kindan wisely said nothing, choosing to smile at the warm loyalty of his friends.

“Come on, Journeyman, walk with us to dinner,” Verilan said, managing to sound fierce and formal.

“You’ve had a lot of practice with that, haven’t you?”

“Mostly with the children,” Nonala said with a chuckle.

“He’s good with them?” Kindan asked, arching a brow.

“If they don’t behave, I make them write out lines in fair neat hand,” Verilan said in a menacing voice.

“The eldest has—what?—three Turns now?”

“And writes most beautifully,” Nonala said with a laugh. She poked Kindan in the back. “Now hush up and move on, or Zist will bark at you.”

Kindan, far too used to the Masterharper’s barks, still could not stop himself from lengthening his stride.

Bekka was just as glad to get dressed in the fine blue garb with the healer’s mark as she was to acknowledge the compliments she received from journeymen and masters on her talk that evening. Seban beamed at her and nodded at others, but kept silent, preferring to let Bekka do the talking.

“This looks like a special meal,” Bekka said as she sat down next to the oldest apprentice. Over her head, Seban shook his head warningly at the apprentice whose eyes lit with delight as he played along, saying, “Oh, it’s nothing special. Just the cook’s way of giving thanks for your talk.”

“It’s not often healers talk about birthing,” a younger apprentice agreed, even as she helped herself to a savory platter of roast meat.

“It certainly shows that we should be talking to midwives about first aid as well,” another chimed in.

“They know more than just first aid,” Bekka began, diving into the conversation eagerly.

She didn’t notice when Kindan entered and was seated at the journeymen’s table, but Seban saw him and nodded once, gravely. Kindan shot him a quick smile and then turned his attention to the journeymen, most many Turns his junior, and joined easily in their conversation.

Fiona was torn between her interest in the festivities at the Harper Hall and the battle raging in the skies above Crom. Talenth’s vantage atop Fort Hold was no good for information; she had to rely on the scraps that the queen passed on from Bekka, which were tantalizing at best. Her lips quirked upward, though, when Talenth relayed Bekka’s request to stay for dinner, and some of Bekka’s surprise at the clothes offered her were reflected by the queen. Wait until dessert, Fiona thought with a grin.

Her information on the Threadfall was no better; Jeila relayed what her Tolarth told her. The news wasn’t good.

The dragonriders had recovered from their initial shock, but she could feel their worry and the disarray of their wings only grew.

Dark had slipped over the Weyr and the weyrfolk at the aid stations had turned the glows up for light, with large patches of shadow spread between.

In this gloom Fiona suddenly noticed a pair of bright eyes peering down from above: a dragon’s whirling multifaceted eyes reflecting the light of the glows.

“Terin,” F’jian’s voice called from beside the dragon.

“F’jian, what are you doing here?” Fiona called, instantly on her feet, alert—and afraid.

“I need to speak with Terin,” F’jian said, moving past the Weyrwoman as if she didn’t exist.

“Stay there, I can hear you,” Terin spoke up coldly from where she sat.

F’jian sought her out in the dark, guessed her position, and threw himself to his knees in front of her.

“I have to go now,” he said, his voice sounding heavy, full of dread.

“Go?”

“They need me,” F’jian said. “It’s my time.”

“Your time?” Terin said, standing up and reaching out for him where he knelt, partly silhouetted by Ladirth’s eyes. “No,” Terin said, firmly, her hand reaching his shoulder. “No, you need to be with me.”

“I will,” F’jian told her. “I’ve got to go.” He stood up, cupping her hand to his chest.

“No, you need to stay with me,” Terin said again, moving forward and wrapping her other arm around his waist even as Fiona and Jeila found their way to her side. “Stay here, now.”

“I can’t,” F’jian said, shaking his head. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Promise me that you’ll be with me always,” Terin said, her voice harsh with emotion.

“I promise you that when you need me, I’ll be there,” F’jian said, pulling away from her. “By the shell of Ladirth, I so swear.”

Behind him, Ladirth bellowed in agreement.

“I must go now.”

“Bronze rider,” Fiona spoke, commandingly, sternly. “Stand down, return to your weyr.”

“Weyrwoman, I cannot,” F’jian said with a sob.

Fiona moved to him, close, and spoke for his ears alone, “Why?”

“I cannot break time.”

“Will you break your vow?”

“No,” F’jian said. “I have not.” And with that he pulled away from them all, vaulted to Ladirth’s back and the bronze leaped into the night air. A wave of cold air filled the Bowl as dragon and rider slipped into the cold between.

The meal was every bit as good as, but different from, the best of meals prepared at Telgar Weyr, and Bekka found herself enjoying the company. She avoided the wine proffered her way, delighting in saying that she was flying Fiona’s queen and seeing the astonished looks of the younger apprentices who had never heard of such a thing.

Dessert was served, everyone was relaxing, and Bekka was thinking, with mixed emotions, of her return to Telgar; how she’d love to fly Talenth between once more, how she’d regret leaving this good company behind.

Silence descended around her before she noticed and she looked up guiltily to see Masterharper Zist and Masterhealer Betrony standing at the Masters’ table for silence. As the last word died, the other Masters rose.

“It is our custom,” Betrony said into the silence, “to take apprentices for many Turns, ensuring that their knowledge is up to the heavy burden of a healer.”

“And Turns after, those that prove themselves return to the Healer Hall to take their ranks as journeymen,” Zist added.

“That custom ends tonight,” Betrony said. The room was stunned.

“The Plague wrought many changes,” Zist said. “And tonight is yet another of them.”

“We cannot always choose where our best learning will take place,” Betrony said in agreement. “Nor,” and his eyes fell on Bekka, “can we choose by age or gender.”

“Bekka of Telgar,” Zist called forth in a voice that resonated in every corner of the room, “rise!”

Bekka could not move. She was both alarmed at her frozen limbs and forever grateful to those beside her, positioned on purpose she later realized, who helped her up.

All the journeymen, healer and harper, trouped over to stand behind her. She was glad to realize that Kindan was on her right.

“It’s time to walk, Bekka,” Kindan told her kindly, resting his hand on her upper arm and guiding her away from the table.

“Daddy?” Bekka asked, looking down at her father’s beaming expression.

“Walk,” Seban said with a firm nod.

“Head high, Telgar,” Kindan told her encouragingly.

Head held high, eyes gleaming with tears, Bekka of Telgar walked the tables to join the journeymen healers of Pern.

“I think we need the set,” Zist said as the applause died down and the other journeymen had all clapped Bekka on the back in warm congratulations.

“I agree,” Betrony said. “Seban.”

The journeymen were quicker to get to the ex-dragonrider, who rose with aplomb and a grateful nod. To Seban’s surprise, they took him on a longer walk, insisting upon circling the Masters’ table before bringing him to sit with them, opposite his daughter.

“This is the first time in our history that a father and daughter have walked the tables on the same night,” Verilan declared in a carrying voice. He raised his glass high.

“I give you Journeyman Bekka, Journeyman Seban!”

“Bekka, Seban!” the room roared back, feet stamping on the hard floor as all rose in toast.

T’mar never knew what hit him until it was over. One instant he was watching over his shoulder to clear the threat of further Thread behind, the next instant he and Zirenth were reeling in the sky, thrown down by the blast of a dragon and rider coming from between just above them.

As T’mar craned his neck up to swear at the brazen rider, he saw the scintillating flashes of light as Thread landed, gorged, and grew on the form above him. Before he could even cry in alarm, rider and dragon, seared beyond hope, were gone.

They saved my life, T’mar thought.

Ladirth is no more, Zirenth told him.

T’mar had no chance to recover before the air in front of him erupted with dragons. Above them he caught sight of smaller beasts: watch-whers. It was dark enough for them to fly. High Reaches had taken over the Fall.

D’vin’s compliments and they have the Fall, Zirenth told him.

My compliments to High Reaches and good flying, T’mar said, completing the handoff. Wearily, he turned to scan for the remaining Telgar and Benden dragons. Zirenth, tell them to go back to the Weyr. Have H’nez lead.

Zirenth relayed the order and H’nez’s acceptance. Let’s go, T’mar said wearily, giving his bronze the image and willing him between.

Bekka was just overcoming her shock when the room went silent once more. She glanced at the Masters’ table and saw that Zist had risen, alone.

“What is it?” Bekka whispered to Kindan.

“Wait,” the harper replied.

“F’jian?” Terin cried as a dragon streaked in from the night and landed near the aid station. “Is that you?”

Fiona felt the tension ratchet higher; she moved closer to Terin and felt Jeila do the same.

The figure of a rider emerged from the darkness.

“T’mar!” Fiona exclaimed, giving him a welcoming grin.

T’mar ignored her, moving toward Terin. In an eerie reenactment, he went to one knee before Terin.

“Terin,” he began softly, his voice full of sorrow.

“No!” Terin said, shaking her head. “No! He promised! He swore! No, it can’t be so!”

Fiona raced to her side and embraced her. The younger woman collapsed into her arms, sobbing. Fiona pulled her head tight against her, stroking it with her hand while Terin bawled into her chest. She looked over Terin’s head to T’mar.

“There was a clump,” T’mar said. “He came out right into it, he pushed me aside.” He drew in a long, shaky breath. “He saved my life.”

Terin turned in Fiona’s arms to face T’mar. “But he promised me! He swore on Ladirth that he would be here when I need him.”

She looked widely around and called desolately into the night air: “I need you now! F’jian, I need you now!”

She turned once more in Fiona’s arms. “He broke his vow, he’s not here. He’ll never be here.”

“Shh, shh,” Fiona said soothingly. Her eyes sought out Jeila’s and the older weyrwoman joined her.

“Let me take her,” Jeila said to Fiona, leading Terin into her arms.

“I’ll help,” Jeriz’s voice called from the night.

“Go with them,” Fiona agreed, waving in thanks to Jeila. “I can handle things here.”

“We lost two,” T’mar said when they were out of earshot.

“Who?” Fiona asked, bracing herself.

“Z’mos, one of C’tov’s,” T’mar said. “His Linuth was engulfed at the same time as F’jian, probably by the same freak fall.”

“Winds are tricky at that time of night,” Fiona said, trying to ease his pain. T’mar nodded. “And the injured?”

“Three badly, two less so,” T’mar said. He glanced across the Bowl toward the queen’s ledge. “H’nez was one.”

A bugle from above announced the return of the rest of the Telgar riders.

“Three mauled, two wounded,” Fiona called to Birentir and the weyrfolk as the dragons started to land. “Birentir, you take one of the mauled dragons, I’ll take the other.”

As Fiona raced toward the dragon landing shakily near her, she heard Birentir say jokingly, “Bet it’s nicer at the Hall!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure!” Fiona said and then was lost to all banter as she took in, by glow-light, the damage to Winurth’s left wing.

“Get him some fellis and get me some numbweed,” Fiona called out heedless of who obeyed her orders, only intent on the injuries and the need to calm J’gerd, who looked ready to collapse at the loss of his friend and the pain to his dragon. “I’ll need a number three kit over here!”

“On the way, Weyrwoman!” a voice called back in acknowledgment. The first-aid kit was thrust into her hands, needle end first, suture set trailing over her shoulder just as she and Bekka had instructed. She held up her other hand and had a small pin thrust in it with which she quickly pinned the tatters of Winurth’s wing, reaching back for another and another until the damage was pinned up and she could sew stitches into the damaged membrane.

“Another kit!” Fiona called as she reached the end of the first string, wiped an ichor-soaked hand on her trousers and moved toward the near section of the long tear. It would be many months before Winurth healed.

Sixty-seven. As of this moment, all Telgar Weyr had was scant more than two wings of fighting dragons. Another four would return to the fight in two days’ time.

Fiona thrust the thought brutally from her mind and forced herself to focus on the injury even as she tuned out J’gerd’s worried imprecations.

Finally, she was done. She stood up, stretched her aching back, cracked her aching knuckles, and moved over to J’gerd.

“He’ll recover,” Fiona told the brown rider calmly, reaching out to touch him gently on the shoulder. “The damage is heavy, but he’ll fly again.”

J’gerd looked at her, his head shaking slowly, his eyes distant. He said nothing.

Fiona was still groping for some way to bring the man out of his pain and worry when she heard a shout from the queen’s ledge. She turned even as she saw a small form pitch forward, arms wind-milling for balance and failing, falling forward off the ledge and onto the ground below.

“H’nez!” Jeila cried as she fell.

Fiona raced across the open ground even as she screamed in her mind, Talenth, we need Bekka now!

“As is fitting with our new custom,” Zist intoned slowly, “we must apply it not just to healers but to harpers as well—”

“No!” Bekka’s shout cut across everything as she bolted to her feet.

“Jeila!”

Kindan and Seban were on her heels and the three were out of the dining hall and in the Harper Hall’s courtyard before anyone could react.

Zist managed to make his way through the throng and far enough into the courtyard to yell, “What is it?”

“Jeila’s fallen!” Kindan yelled back. “The baby!”

Even before Fiona reached the fallen form of her friend, she heard Talenth’s bellow as the queen appeared just above the ground and skidded to a halt just in front of the queens’ ledge.

Bekka and Kindan tumbled off just as Fiona stopped in front of Jeila’s umoving form. From above, Jeriz called out, “She just ran off!”

“Don’t move her!” Bekka shouted as she rushed up beside Fiona. “Father, get a stretcher!”

“Get some glows!” Fiona shouted, her voice echoing around the Weyr.

“I’ve got some here,” Jeriz said, handing down a basket from above.

“Don’t get too close to the edge,” Fiona warned, looking up at the sound of stones landing nearby. She knelt down, moving to one side to let Bekka and Seban in to examine the fallen weyrwoman.

“How is she?” Fiona asked, just before her eyes fell to Jeila’s crotch. “Is that blood?”

“Out of the way, out of the way!” H’nez bellowed, accompanied by the sounds of bodies being pushed away.

“Kindan, stop him,” Fiona ordered. The harper rose quickly and turned to block the wild-eyed bronze rider.

“Wait man, let them help her,” Kindan said, physically blocking and then grappling the tall, wiry rider. H’nez tried to plow through him, but T’mar had arrived and added his weight.

“You can’t help her, let them do their work,” T’mar urged.

“But she’s just a girl!” H’nez cried, waving a hand toward Bekka.

“She’s a journeyman!” Fiona called back, standing up and moving to confront H’nez. “And she knows about this, she’s Jeila’s best hope.”

Some of the wildness went out of H’nez’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t let anyone but the best treat her, H’nez,” Fiona told him softly. She glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes bright with tears, and turned back again, “And she’s the best.”

“Journeyman?” H’nez repeated blankly.

“Just tonight,” Fiona assured him, reaching a hand to his arm soothingly. “You need to get back to Ginirth, he needs you, too.”

“You’ll do everything?” H’nez repeated, his voice pleading.

“Everything in my power,” Fiona swore.

H’nez nodded and allowed T’mar and Kindan to lead him back to his dragon.

With a sigh, Fiona turned back to the group around the fallen weyrwoman.

“How is she?” Fiona asked as she came to squat next to Bekka.

“I think she lost the baby.”