Dragongirl

TWELVE

With M’tal’s approval and encouragement, H’nez arranged his forty dragons into two light wings, with F’jian flying with him and T’mar leading the other. D’vin of High Reaches had asked the Telgar riders to fly above the High Reaches flights until they had taken over the Fall from Benden. However, H’nez had seen how poorly the tired Benden riders were faring against the Fall and committed his two wings early.

This Thread falls strangely, Ginirth remarked minutes into the Fall. H’nez agreed but was too strained, swiveling his head in all directions to respond. The Thread did indeed fall strangely, roiled by currents of warm air rising from the tops of the mountains.

A Telgar dragon, threadscored, cried in pain before going between.

Zirenth, Ginirth told him. T’mar was scored badly on the leg.

Have F’jian take over the other wing, H’nez said, turning around in his seat to spot F’jian and make a broad arm gesture to the same effect. The young rider pumped an arm in acknowledgment and his bronze Ladirth wheeled sharply out of formation to race toward the other, now leaderless wing.

Thread was falling strangely.

Lorana’s sharp intake of breath alerted Fiona just an instant before a cold prickle of dread coursed down her own spine.

“Come on!” she said, racing out of the Dining Cavern and into the Weyr Bowl.

On the far side of the Bowl, at her station near the Hatching Grounds, Terin looked up at Fiona’s form, shouting, “What is it? It’s too early!”

As if in answer, Talenth bugled loudly in warning and a bronze shape winked into existence.

“It’s T’mar!” Fiona cried, racing toward the injured pair even as she heard Lorana and Kindan following fast behind her.

“It doesn’t look too bad on this side,” Lorana called after Fiona.

“It’s his leg!” Terin called from her vantage point on his right side.

As though in response, T’mar raised his left hand to wave Fiona off—and that’s when his riding straps broke. He plunged off Zirenth’s right side.

With a cry of pure terror, Fiona put on an extra burst of speed. Terin, who was closer, was slower into motion, startled by the sudden turn of events.

Zirenth did what he could and sideslipped toward the Weyr walls in hopes of scooping up his fallen rider with his foreclaws.

The effort was well-intentioned but ill-timed. Instead of catching him, his foreclaw threw T’mar hard against the rock wall. The bronze rider went limp, bouncing off the stone to tumble toward the ground. Zirenth gave a heart-stopping cry.

Time seemed to stop for Fiona as she cried, Don’t let him go between!

She reached with all her energy toward the panic-stricken bronze dragon even as she stretched her legs and arms in frantic motion, making a desperate attempt to get under T’mar. Somewhere in her mind she knew there was no way she could possibly catch him—she was too far away, he was too large for her, she could never take his weight—but nothing seemed to matter but getting under him and cushioning his fall.

Zirenth sideslipped away from the wall, his wings clawing for air as he tried to gain enough altitude to go between, unable to sense life in T’mar’s body.

No! a voice cried. I won’t lose you!

Later, Fiona couldn’t say whose voice it was. She fervently added her strength to the cry even as she ran.

And then, as she saw T’mar’s legs pass her outstretched arms, she felt a hand touch her shoulder and she knew that she would catch him, alive or not. Energy coursed through the hand and into her; it redoubled again even as a voice shouted, Hold him! Don’t let him get away!

Fiona glanced upward and gripped Zirenth in her thoughts. The bronze dragon roared in agony and writhed in the air as though fighting off an entanglement, then gave another defiant bellow and angled his flight back down to the ground.

Time returned to normal as the weight of T’mar’s body fell full onto Fiona’s outstretched arms and, with a grunt of pain, she collapsed on the ground under him, his head and arms cradled on her lap.

“Don’t move,” Lorana ordered hoarsely.

“Are you all right?” Terin asked, her voice near hysterical.

Kindan! Fiona was surprised that she heard Lorana’s call, and then the harper arrived beside her and knelt over T’mar’s head. He examined it carefully, his eyes taking in everything before he moved his hands.

“We’ve got to get his headgear off,” Kindan said. Blood was on his hands and Fiona realized with a start that T’mar’s scalp was bleeding. She made to wipe it away but was halted by Kindan’s harsh, “Don’t move!”

Kindan turned to Terin. “Get scissors!”

Terin paused mid-stride, then turned and ran back to her station.

How is he?

“He’s breathing,” Kindan said, pointing to T’mar’s chest. “So he’s still alive.”

“Look at his leg!” It was Bekka. Fiona followed the youngster’s finger and was horrified to see that T’mar’s right leg was not only broken from the fall but also chewed up by Thread. She could see bone near the knee.

“Bekka, get your gear,” Fiona said. The girl nodded once and tore off to her station.

“I’m worried about his head and his neck,” Kindan said aloud. He glanced toward Fiona. “If his neck is broken, one wrong move will kill him.”

Fiona nodded, then checked the movement, afraid of jostling T’mar.

“Zirenth thought he was dead,” Lorana said, her words coming with great effort.

“Not yet,” Fiona said. She glanced toward Lorana. “How did you hold on to him?”

“I didn’t,” Lorana said in surprise. “I thought it was you.”

“I thought it was you,” Kindan said to Lorana. “You did much the same when you pulled Caranth back.”

“I felt like I was pulled this time,” Lorana said, glancing at Fiona.

“I didn’t think it was me,” Fiona repeated. “I thought it was you.”

Terin arrived with the scissors, and a moment later, Bekka returned with her aid bag.

“Terin, Lorana, hold his head steady while I do this,” Kindan said.

“What about his leg?” Bekka asked.

“Wait until I get his helmet off,” Kindan said. Gently, he cut along the top seam of the wher-hide helmet, peeling it slowly away from T’mar’s head. Fiona gasped when she saw what lay beneath it. “His skull’s been smashed.”

“Will he live?” Fiona could see the white of his skull amid the freely-flowing blood, could see thin lines where the bone had cracked, but otherwise, the wound did not look as bad as others she had seen. She had never dealt with a head wound like this. If it had been his leg, she’d have given him a month before trying him on crutches.

Kindan pursed his lips. “It will depend upon him. He’s been concussed; he might be in a coma.”

“That would explain Zirenth’s behavior,” Lorana said. “He couldn’t hear T’mar, so he assumed the worst.”

“If Zirenth had gone between, T’mar wouldn’t have survived,” Kindan said.

“So what do we do?” Fiona asked.

“All we can do is wrap the wound and keep an eye on him.”

“We should get him to the Healer Hall,” Fiona said.

“I don’t think he’d survive the trip between.”

“Then we should get a healer here,” Fiona said. She gave Bekka an apologetic look as she added, “Someone who could help Bekka in her learning.”

“Perhaps Ketan would come?” Lorana suggested to Kindan. The harper pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“Perhaps.”

“Get a stretcher and let’s get him to the infirmary,” Lorana said.

“No, put him in the empty queen’s weyr,” Fiona said. The other two looked at her. “Zirenth will want to be near him and the stretcher-bearers can negotiate the queens’ ledge easily enough.”

“I’ll get a stretcher,” Lorana said, standing up, pausing only long enough to say to Fiona, “when I come back, I want you to take a cold bath—you strained all the muscles in your arms and back.”

“I’ll show you where the stretchers are,” Bekka said, trotting along after her.

It was only when Lorana mentioned it that Fiona thought to take stock of her own injuries and she realized that the other woman was absolutely right. Ruefully, she asked herself, “Does she boss weyrwomen around all the time?”

“Usually,” Kindan said with a grin. Fiona’s eyes widened in surprise.

Lorana was back moments later with Bekka, two sturdy weyrfolk, and a stretcher. Between her, them, Kindan, and Fiona, they managed to gently place T’mar in the stretcher, his neck braced, leg straight.

Zirenth, we’re putting T’mar in the other queen’s weyr, Fiona called. Ahead of her, Lorana snorted, turned her head and said, “I told him already.”

“You heard me talking to him, too?” Fiona asked in surprise.

“Of course.”

“I thought you just heard dragons.”

“Usually I do,” Lorana said with a bemused look.

They reached the start of the ledge and conversation stopped as they carefully negotiated it and their way through the empty lair to the quarters beyond. T’mar was delicately moved from the stretcher onto the empty bed.

“Thank you,” Fiona said to the weyrfolk, who nodded and, with a worried look toward the comatose bronze rider, left with their stretcher, heading back to the aid area.

Bekka leaned over T’mar and gently rested the back of her hand on his head for a moment, testing his temperature. When she was done, she moved her hand lower so that it hovered over his nostrils and she could feel his breath. Satisfied, she straightened up and moved back to tell Fiona, “He’s not too hot, and resting gently.”

“We should get back,” Fiona said, turning toward the entrance even as she looked back at the stricken rider.

“I could stay with him,” Lorana said. A rustle of wings and the sound of Zirenth’s claws alerted them to the arrival of the bronze dragon, who quickly entered the weyr, circled once around, and poked his head through the gap between the weyr and the quarters to eye T’mar worriedly.

“I’ll stay with you,” Kindan told Lorana, pulling two chairs closer to the bed and gesturing for her to take one.

Fiona turned her head back to the entrance, then back once more toward T’mar, Lorana, and Kindan, giving them a quick nod before gesturing for Bekka to come with her.

As she stepped back down into the Weyr Bowl, Fiona saw Sonia with Lyrinth nearby.

“I must get back,” Sonia said as she started to climb up on the gold’s foreleg. She nodded toward the recently occupied queen’s weyr. “There’ll be injured at High Reaches soon, too.”

“Do you need help?” Fiona asked, glancing around for Jeila. She spotted the swarthy weyrwoman striding toward them from the aid tables, dressed in riding gear, and waved to her. As Jeila got closer, she said, “We think alike, if you’re thinking of helping at High Reaches.”

Jeila smiled and nodded. “With Kindan and Lorana, I think you’ve got enough helping hands.”

“They’re with T’mar,” Fiona said. She gestured toward Bekka. “But I’m sure Bekka and I can manage.”

Jeila smiled at the younger girl, who smiled shyly in return, awed to be under the approving gaze of no less than three Weyrwomen.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” Jeila said, as her Tolarth landed close by.

“Stay there and rest, if you need it.”

“Don’t worry,” Sonia said, “I won’t let her fly if she’s too tired.”

The two queens were soon airborne, their departure cheerfully acknowledged by Talenth from her place back on the watch heights.

“Come on,” Fiona said to Bekka as the two queens winked out between, “we should rest while we can.”

She led the young girl back to the aid tables. They spotted Seban and in no time Bekka had squirmed into his lap, closed her eyes, and curled up tight against his chest.

“She’s not sleeping, is she?” Fiona whispered to the ex-dragonrider in surprise.

“This is about all the sleep she ever gets,” Seban said with an answering grin and an affectionate glance for his youngest. “She takes little naps, worse than a baby fire-lizard, and then she’s up again, and just as much trouble.”

Bekka got to nap for little more than twenty minutes before the next injured dragon arrived. Fiona had no more than finished dowsing the injured rider with numbweed before another dragon arrived and another.

Somewhere during the tumult, Talenth and the other dragons sounded the keen that indicated that a dragon had been lost, and then another, and another.

At the end of it all, H’nez, F’jian, and M’tal returned leading only twenty-six dragons and riders.

Eight others, beside T’mar, had returned beforehand. Two were severely injured and would take many months to heal, six were more lightly injured, but not so lightly that they would be able to fly for many Falls to come.

“High Reaches had it worse,” M’tal said as he and the others regrouped in the Dining Cavern. He glanced around the room. “Where are Kindan and Lorana?”

H’nez heard the question and looked around, adding, “Where’s T’mar?”

“He’s in a coma,” Fiona said. “Lorana and Kindan are keeping watch on him.” She explained how he’d fallen, victim of a threadscored riding strap, how she’d caught him, but not before he’d banged his head on the rock of the weyr wall so badly that his skull had been fractured.

“It’s a wonder you didn’t lose Zirenth,” M’tal said. “With an injury like that, the dragon wouldn’t hear the rider and might think the worst.”

“We nearly did,” Fiona said. “I think Lorana convinced him to stay.”

“Like she did with Caranth?” M’tal mused. No one who had a dragon could forget that day when Lorana had pulled all their power for her desperate failed grab for the dragons of Telgar Weyr and her subsequent successful grab of Caranth from between.

“Something like that.”

“I should go check on him,” H’nez said, forcing himself wearily to his feet.

“That’s my job, wingleader,” Fiona said, waving him back into his seat. “You should rest.”

“You should all rest,” Shaneese said, approaching the table and glancing around the nearly empty cavern. She glanced toward M’tal. “If you’d like, we can put you and your brilliant Gaminth in a weyr for the evening.”

“I put T’mar in the empty queen’s weyr,” Fiona said apologetically, “or I’d let you have it.”

M’tal rose and gave her a gracious half-bow. “I think that Gaminth will have no trouble giving me a lift to our weyr.”

Fiona rose as well, pausing as H’nez rose more slowly from his chair. “Do you need a hand?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Fiona said, grabbing his arm at the elbow. “You can barely stand, much less walk.”

H’nez tried to move away from her, but M’tal blocked the wingleader’s movement with a deftly timed lurch of his own.

“If anyone’s watching, they’ll just think that the Weyrwoman is conferring with the Weyr’s senior rider,” Fiona assured him.

“I need to check on the riders,” H’nez protested.

“They’ve been seen to, my lord,” Shaneese said, coming up behind them and deftly propping H’nez’s other elbow. “Telgar takes care of its own.”

Realizing himself overborne by both Weyrwoman and headwoman, H’nez permitted them to escort him back to his quarters.

“I’ll walk you back to your quarters, too,” Shaneese said as Fiona started across the Weyr Bowl.

“Thanks, but I don’t—”

“You won’t be as stubborn as he is, will you?” Shaneese asked, jerking her head back toward H’nez’s weyr.

“No, of course not,” Fiona said with a long relenting sigh.

“Wise.”

Fiona waited only long enough to be certain that Shaneese wouldn’t see her before she left her weyr to check on T’mar.

Zirenth roused at the sound of her feet outside his lair and regarded her quietly for a moment, his multifaceted eyes whirling a slowly green, before returning to his slumber.

Zirenth’s actions alerted Kindan and Lorana. They looked up expectantly from their seats placed beside T’mar’s bed.

“How is he?”

Kindan frowned. “His breathing is steady.”

That description didn’t sound very reassuring to her. She moved closer to the bed, standing behind Kindan’s chair, to peer down on the sleeping bronze rider.

“He looks peaceful,” Fiona said. She turned to Kindan. “Does he have a fever?”

Kindan shook his head; halfway through, the motion dissolved into a wide yawn. Fiona frowned toward Lorana who, as expected, followed the harper a moment later with her own yawn. With a look of exasperation, Fiona joined them a moment later.

“Where are you going to sleep?” Fiona asked, trying to imagine where to set a bed. She saw the way Kindan set his jaw and gathered that the harper and Lorana had discussed this earlier and had decided to sleep in their chairs. “Oh, no you’re not.”

Talenth, Fiona called, would you be a love and ask Seban if he and Bekka can watch T’mar tonight?

I was sleeping, Talenth responded petulantly.

Just be a dear and ask.

There was a pause before Talenth responded: They come.

Fiona shivered in the cooling night air. “It’s too cold.”

She went into the bathroom and came back out with a bundle of blankets. Kindan reached for one but Fiona pulled it away from him. “These are for Seban and Bekka.”

The sound of approaching footsteps alerted them to the ex-dragonrider’s approach. He was carrying his daughter cradled in his arms.

“Oh!” Fiona cried in surprise. “I didn’t mean to wake you!”

Seban smiled and shook his head. “I was still awake when Talenth called.” He glanced down tenderly at Bekka and added, “And she’ll want to check on T’mar.”

“I can kit you out with blankets,” Fiona said, gesturing with a firm nod of her head for Kindan to relinquish his chair. “I’m going to take Kindan and Lorana to my weyr, that way they’ll be close by and rested if there’s any need.”

“That sounds wise,” Seban said. He waited until Fiona was satisfied with her arrangement of blankets before taking his seat and was immediately wrapped with another set of blankets over him.

“Warm enough?” Fiona asked, wondering if they might need more blankets.

“We’re fine, Weyrwoman,” Seban told her with a smile.

“Then we’ll take our leave of you and wish you a good rest,” Fiona said, gesturing for Lorana and Kindan to precede her.

“We could sleep somewhere else,” Kindan said, glancing toward Lorana for confirmation.

“What? And have me freeze?” Fiona retorted, stepping forward and linking her arms with the other two. “I’ll sleep at the outside, so that I can be closest to Talenth,” she added winningly. “The bed’s so large, you two probably won’t even notice me at all.”

“I doubt that!” Kindan said. He glanced toward Lorana. “When she was still a child, her favorite trick was to figure out a way to get me to stay the night at Fort Hold, then crawl into bed with me.” With a snort, he added, “By morning, she’d have me either on the floor or stuck in a corner.”

“I’ve gotten older,” Fiona said with a sniff. “I’m much better at sharing.” She shivered again, pulling the other two closer to her and asking with wide-eyed woefulness, “Besides, you don’t want me to freeze?”

“No, not after all your kindness,” Lorana said. She glanced at Kindan. He frowned but said nothing.

Talenth did not stir at all as they passed her, stepping quietly into Fiona’s quarters. Lorana glanced back at the golden queen, her expression unreadable. Fiona followed her gaze and was surprised to see Talenth twitching in her sleep, as though flying away in a dream.

“She’ll quiet down, I’m sure,” Fiona assured them as they passed into her quarters. Fiona urged the other two into bed before her and climbed in quickly after them. Settled, she turned the glows at the head of the bed and the room got dark. It wasn’t long before all three were warm, and not much longer before they were asleep.

Fiona woke abruptly, alarmed. She sat up quickly, tilting her head to identify the source of the sound. A girl’s voice, high, nervous, followed by a man’s voice, soothing but feigning confidence.

“Zirenth, it’s all right!” the man called. Seban. The girl was Bekka.

There was a roar from Zirenth followed by the sound of him launching himself skyward.

“No!” Fiona yelled, reaching across Kindan for Lorana. The other woman was instantly awake.

More bugles were heard in the Bowl outside, deep, loud, threatening. Bronzes.

“See to Talenth!” Lorana ordered, pushing Fiona out of bed in front of her. As she rolled over Kindan, she snapped to the drowsy harper, “Get up! Talenth is rising!”

Rising? Fiona thought in horrified surprise.

“Stay with her, don’t let her gorge,” Kindan said as he suddenly erupted into motion, joining Lorana in pushing her out of the bed.

“We have to see to Zirenth,” Lorana said to him as the two stood on the cold stone floor, grimaced, and quickly found their slippers.

Kindan sprinted ahead, shouting, “We’re coming!” And Fiona found herself left behind, still in shock. Lorana turned back to her at the entrance to Talenth’s weyr. She mustered a soothing smile. “You’ll do fine.”

Fine?

Another dragon bellowed in the morning air. Talenth twitched in her sleep, turned her head toward the Bowl in puzzlement.

Fiona reached her thoughts to her queen lovingly. She jerked when her mind met a roil of emotions, of intense desires.

Echoing back from the far end of the Bowl, Fiona could dimly make out the sounds of herdbeasts crying out in surprise and fear before being silenced by the rapacious bronzes.

Talenth’s eyes snapped open, whirling a brilliant, dangerous red.

Talenth!

The gold dragon turned her head toward Fiona for a moment, her whirling eyes slowing and then, with a bellow, she leaped out of her weyr, into the sky, and down toward the waiting herd.

“You mustn’t let her gorge!” a voice called to her urgently. Fiona looked up in surprise. It was Kindan. He grabbed her arm and dragged her out onto the ledge. “Reach out to her, control her!”

Fiona reached—and found her jaws locked on the neck of a felled herdbeast, the hot blood enraging her. She hissed at Kindan and twitched away from him. She would eat this beast whole!

No, a voice called to her. The voice was strangely familiar. Lorana? Don’t let the dragon control you. Control her!

The blood tasted so good, so hot. She could smell the fear of the dead beast, hear the rising panic of the others and she wanted more. She wanted to rend, to tear, to rip—

“No!” Fiona cried out loud. With a grunt, she lashed back at Talenth, who recoiled in surprise, then resisted as Fiona exerted herself. Only the blood!

No! Talenth roared, her thoughts emphasized with a bellow that filled the whole Weyr and echoed on.

Yes, Fiona thought back, tightening her grip on her bond with her dragon. Drop it now. There’s another nearby. Drink the blood. Hot blood! You want it!

With a cry mixed equally with anger and anticipation, Talenth launched herself up high and dove on her next victim. Fiona reveled with her in her flight, in her pounce, and felt the hot, warm blood course into her veins.

Fire, she was fire. She was wind, she was heat. She was queen!

More! A voice cried and Talenth leaped again before Fiona could even wonder if the voice was hers or her dragon’s. Was there any difference?

Again Talenth pounced, again she resisted, again she relented to Fiona’s will.

A rush of feet punctuated the morning air and Fiona had a brief flash of anxious faces gathering around her, their excitement both arousing and threatening.

More! Talenth cried, pouncing on her fourth buck, the largest by far. She tore its throat out with a quick deft movement and drained the dying beast’s blood into her waiting jaws.

Sated, she lifted her head up and cried in delight and challenge, then turned back to her kill only to startle all the waiting bronzes by launching herself in the air.

Fiona gasped as Talenth bounded into the air, her wings clawing, pulling her higher and even higher with each muscle-straining beat, up through the thick cold air of morning and into the thinner warmer air above.

With a cry of pure delight, Talenth dove and rose again, higher, and higher until even the Telgar mountains seemed only tiny dots below.

Yes! Fiona cried in exultation. Higher, higher!

Below them, Talenth could make out the bronzes, dots striving piteously to match her prowess.

With a bellow of anger, Talenth noted that there were only four—just four!—dragons following her. It was an insult. She was half-tempted to fly to Fort Weyr or High Reaches in search of greater honors but something held her back.

She craned her neck down again, examining her escort. There was Gaminth—a noble and wise dragon, able to lead a Weyr. And Ladirth: young, virile, able. There, leading the pack was—it was Ginirth!

Talenth let out a bellow and dove, down, down, down, scattering the group of bronzes before soaring back into the air, the strain on her wings pulling at her muscles and causing her chest to heave with the extra exertion of her climb and the thin air.

Another bellow below her. Zirenth.

There was an interesting choice.

Talenth remembered something odd about Zirenth and glanced back at the bronze once more. The dragon seemed colored differently, lighter—tired?

No, that wasn’t it. Talenth flipped a quick circle on her wingtip, reversing her course and allowed herself a squawk in pleasure when the bronzes only noticed moments later.

She dove again, this time directing herself toward Zirenth, curious.

Ginirth bellowed a challenge, climbed up toward her, and reached for her with his claws, but she folded her wings and slipped by him easily.

Nearby Gaminth roared in delight and turned sharply to give chase.

Ladirth was last, flagging.

Zirenth was ahead of her and, to her surprise and consternation, the bronze beat away from her, pulling farther away.

With a roar of outrage, Talenth put on a burst of speed and clawed her way up beside him.

Just as she looked toward him again, to issue a challenge and a triumph, the bronze flipped himself on his side, his claws reaching out for her and grasping her tightly.

Talenth screamed in surprise at the maneuver and then—

They were falling, rolling over and over, Zirenth on top, then on bottom, Talenth on top in his stead. As they plummeted, Zirenth would beat his wings when he was on top, his bugle challenging her to emulate him.

Intrigued, Talenth tried and discovered that their plummet became a dance in the air. She bellowed in delight and then—

Zirenth’s neck twined around hers, his tail about hers and—

They were one.

And more.

Fiona felt the explosion of pleasure, the primal lust sated, and found herself clinging tightly, passionately, lost in the moment that reflected the joining of the dragons thousands of lengths above. Just as Talenth was locked with Zirenth, she was locked with—

Who?

“It is time to bring them home,” a voice spoke low in her ear, respectful, soothing, loving. Lorana.

The man whose body was wrapped around hers was too short to be T’mar. Fiona recovered her senses enough to realize that T’mar was still in bed, eyes slitted open but otherwise motionless.

Who?

An arm touched her shoulder, soft, warm, not the man holding her. Fiona felt the love of that touch. Even as she started to recover from the frenetic events that had so completely controlled her, Fiona recognized the depth of that love. And as she did, with a mental gasp, she knew without doubt whose body was twined around hers.

Kindan.

Don’t, a voice touched her softly, stilling her incipient alarm. The voice sounded something like the strange voice Fiona had heard so many times before, but she realized, just then, that it was only Lorana’s voice; it had none of the echo she had come to associate with that other voice.

Kindan must have felt her stiffen, for he suddenly surged backward, away from her.

“No,” Lorana spoke aloud. Fiona felt the arm that had touched her shoulder slide around her side and felt the tension as Lorana moved her body closer to them, holding them together in her arms. “This is my moment, too.”

We must bring them home now, Lorana continued in thought. Fiona reached out to Talenth and felt, to her surprise, not just Zirenth but the presence of Lorana and Kindan, and the fainter presence of T’mar all bonded with the bronze and, through him, with her.

We must come back now, Fiona said to Talenth. She felt her gold’s languorous response, Zirenth’s delicate, loving agreement, and then the two broke their grasp, spun upright, and started a glide back toward the Weyr.

Fiona opened her eyes quickly to see Kindan’s blue eyes focused intently on her. She settled her clothes. Kindan blew a rueful snort but followed her actions. When she glanced up again, he was looking at her once more, his eyes dancing.

“You arranged this, didn’t you?”

“Kindan!” Lorana said. “When dragons rise, passion flies.”

“You felt it,” Fiona said to Lorana. “You felt it all.”

“I did,” Lorana agreed. She looked to Kindan. “And you felt Zirenth’s passion. You responded as a dragonrider.”

“But T’mar—”

They all turned guiltily toward the still form of the bronze rider.

“I saw his eyes open earlier,” Fiona said.

Kindan frowned.

“I felt him,” Lorana said. She turned to Kindan. “I think the mating flight roused him.”

“One would hope,” Kindan replied feelingly.

Outside, the air darkened and Zirenth landed on the ledge. They drew aside to allow the bronze dragon entrance to his weyr. He blew a quick breath of thanks in their direction, peered into T’mar’s quarters, and made a soft, wistful sound at his still form, then curled up swiftly into a deep sleep.

A bugle from nearby alerted them that Talenth had also returned, and at a motion from Fiona, they moved outside to watch the gold land and scamper into her weyr.

“You were marvelous!” Fiona called as they entered after her. Talenth turned to greet them, her eyes whirling with the green of contentment, her body radiating a newfound strength and maturity.

I’m tired.

“Get some rest, love, you earned it.”

“We should get someone to check on T’mar—” Kindan began, only to be interrupted by the sound of feet approaching from Fiona’s quarters.

“The flight went well?” Seban asked, his arm draped over his daughter’s shoulders. Close behind were M’tal and H’nez, who had left the room when their dragons had lost their chase of Talenth.

“Zirenth flew her,” Kindan said in answer to the ex-dragonrider’s unspoken question.

Seban’s eyes widened. “Zirenth? And T’mar?”

“Please check on him,” Fiona said. Seban nodded quickly, his expression full of curiosity. Fiona took pity on him, blushing lightly as she said, “Zirenth flew Talenth with aid from Kindan and Lorana.”

“A good mating flight,” M’tal’s voice boomed out. He nodded toward Fiona respectfully.

“But it solves nothing,” H’nez said, brooding. “Zirenth flew Talenth: Does that make T’mar Weyrleader?”

“So it would seem,” M’tal agreed.

“But he is not capable,” H’nez protested. He gestured irritably toward Fiona, Kindan, and Lorana. “So incapable that we don’t see him where he should be.”

“He was there,” Fiona said softly. “And what he could not do himself, he ceded to Kindan for him.”

“He’s not even a dragonrider—how can we call him Weyrleader?”

“This discussion needs to come later,” M’tal declared, pointing H’nez toward the door. “Now it is time for the dragons to return to the weyrs, and for their riders to rest.”

“Hmmph!” H’nez snorted, but he preceded the other bronze riders to the exit.

“Kindan?” Seban repeated, glancing toward the harper in surprise.

“Lorana can talk with any dragon,” Kindan said, his own face flushing with embarrassment, “and formed a link with Zirenth into which I was drawn.”

Seban glanced at Fiona, then back to the harper. A smile blossomed on his face. “Then congratulations are due to all!”

“T’mar stirred, I think, during the flight,” Fiona said. “Would you please check on him and keep him company?”

“Of course.”

What now? Fiona asked herself as she eased into the warm tub. What do I do now? I didn’t mean for this to happen.

Lorana and Kindan had a bond; she had no right imposing herself on it. And yet … if it hadn’t been for Lorana, T’mar’s Zirenth would have gone between forever, and just as surely as the dragon died, the rider would have been lost with him.

She couldn’t lose T’mar. She cared for him too much. And the Weyr needed him, needed him as Weyrleader. H’nez was too rigid, too much like the old leadership.

But … Lorana. What about her? Surely she deserved better than—

Don’t.

Talenth? Fiona thought, reaching out to her queen only to find the slow, steady sleepy feeling in return. The gold was asleep. Lorana?

Lorana had given her a gift beyond measure when she’d arrived with the cure to the dragon sickness: She’d saved her beloved Talenth. And now, she’d given another priceless gift again. Was that what Tenniz meant with:

A dragon gold is only the first price …?

Was this part of the price Lorana must pay? Fiona’s brows furrowed in anger at the thought. No, she would not let it be. She was no thief of hearts, and she would do everything to avoid hurting this woman, who had paid so much already.

With determination, she scrubbed herself down, rinsed, and rose from the bath, dressing quickly. She needed to be seen by the rest of Weyr and to check with Shaneese in the Dining Cavern. Besides, she was sure that Kindan and Lorana would be grateful for some time to themselves.

She went through Talenth’s weyr to check on the sleeping queen, who looked well-pleased with herself even as she snored, deep in slumber.

“Good flight, Weyrwoman!” J’gerd called as he spied her entering the Dining Cavern.

“Thank you!”

It was the first of many such accolades Fiona accepted, maintaining a graceful air even while entertaining the notion sardonically that she had had very little to do with the outcome.

As if in answer, the ex-dragonrider, Mekiar, sat gruffly next to her, nodded brusquely in her direction, saying, “Seen many mating flights. You did well, didn’t let her gorge, let her fly high, made it look easy.”

Fiona found her cheeks heating at the potter’s compliment.

“You did well,” M’tal chimed in agreement as he pulled up the chair opposite Mekiar and sat.

“I’d be surprised at any less than thirty eggs, and a queen among ’em,” Shaneese added from behind Fiona’s shoulder, startling Fiona with her quiet approach. The headwoman reached around Fiona and set a plate of fresh scrambled eggs in front of her and another plate of fresh, hot rolls to the side. As a garnish, she plopped down a small bowl of sliced red peppers.

“Try them if you need more waking,” Shaneese challenged.

“Fresh klah should be enough,” Fiona said, eyeing the red hot peppers warily.

“How many mating flights have you seen?” Shaneese snorted disrepectfully.

Fiona shook her head in acknowledgment but reached instead for the black pepper and sprinkled some on her eggs.

“If this isn’t enough, I’ll try the other,” Fiona promised. She took a mouthful and savored it, closing her eyes in relish. When she opened them again to reach for another bite, she noticed M’tal eyeing her thoughtfully.

“How long have you been tired?” he asked, his voice soft but not concealing some intense urgency.

“Ever since I Impressed Talenth,” Fiona said with a shrug. “I thought it was from timing it back to Igen.”

“Do you get edgy, irritable?”

“Sleepy, muzzy-headed,” Fiona said. “Some days worse than others.” She couldn’t suppress a grin. “Today, I feel more awake than not.”

M’tal shared her grin with one of his own.

“T’mar felt the same, and many of the weyrlings,” Fiona said, wondering what had caused the bronze rider to consider this particular issue interesting.

“Headaches?”

“Yes,” Fiona said, her eyes narrowing. “Do you know something?”

“Tullea had similar symptoms,” M’tal said, stirring in his chair, a frown on his face. “She had been acting odd pretty much since she’d Impressed her Minith—three Turns back.”

“And?” Fiona asked, raising a hand and motioning peremptorily for the ex-weyrleader to continue.

M’tal’s eyes flashed briefly with amusement before he continued, “Sometimes, Weyrwoman, you have flashes of her behavior.”

“I take it you don’t approve.”

“Only when it’s uncalled for,” M’tal said. He waited for her response, but she merely smiled at the gibe and pleaded with her eyes for him to continue. M’tal relented, pursing his lips for a moment as he recovered his thoughts, before saying, “Now I wonder if some of your behaviors aren’t related in another way.”

“Timing?”

“Tullea went back three Turns in our time to High Reaches Weyr,” M’tal said. “It seems that being in the same time caused her bad temper in both times.”

“But we went back in time—” Fiona began in protest.

“So far,” M’tal agreed.

“You think that perhaps some time soon we will go back in time again? Now?” A moment later, Fiona expanded, “I mean to this now?

Why?”

“I have no idea.”

Fiona distracted herself with another bite of food. She chewed carefully and took a drink of her klah before continuing, “What effect would timing have on Talenth?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a frown. “I assume that you’re referring to her eggs.”

Fiona nodded and then sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t see myself leaving Talenth with a clutch on the Hatching Grounds.”

“Perhaps you will take her someplace else,” Mekiar said, looking from Weyrwoman to bronze rider and back.

“But where?” Fiona asked. “It can’t be Igen—there are riders recovering all through the last ten Turns.”

“Perhaps it is something else,” M’tal said, his expression troubled.

“Else?” Fiona said. “Worse?”

“It’s never wise to borrow trouble,” Mekiar reminded them.

Fiona snorted acidly. “No, certainly when we’ve enough of our own already!”

A noise from the entrance attracted her attention and she turned in time to see Kindan and Lorana saunter through the entrance. Something in Lorana’s walk made Fiona curious and she sent a thought toward Talenth, only to find her queen still deep in slumber. Thwarted, Fiona tried an experiment and focused her attention on Lorana.

The dark-haired woman glanced up toward her, her eyes dancing, cheeks flushed.

Caranth flew Minith!

Fiona whipped her head back around to catch M’tal’s eyes, but the bronze rider showed no signs of having heard the news.

“Caranth flew Minith,” Fiona told him. “Did you know?”

M’tal looked abstracted for a moment, then shook his head. “No, Gaminth is still sleeping.” He quirked his eyebrows up at her. “How did you know?”

Fiona turned her head toward the approaching pair and M’tal followed her gaze.

“You guessed?” he said. “Just because they’re late?”

“Lorana can talk to any dragon,” Fiona said by way of broaching her new notion.

“Yes.”

“That’s rare, very rare,” Mekiar said, glancing toward the approaching couple. “The last one who could was Torene of Benden, wasn’t she?”

“I believe so,” M’tal said with a note of home pride in his voice. “But, as far as I know from the Records, Torene could only hear and talk to the dragons.” He paused, forcing a quick grimace from his face. “It appears that Lorana can also feel the dragons.”

“It’s not all bad,” Lorana said as she and Kindan drew within earshot. Kindan gestured for her to take the seat near M’tal while he strode quickly to sit opposite her beside Mekiar.

“Did you say that Caranth flew Minith?” Fiona asked, even as Shaneese efficiently bustled about with two more place settings and fresh mugs.

Lorana grinned, her eyes dancing. “You heard! I thought maybe you did, but I wasn’t sure!”

I heard, Fiona thought, glancing at Lorana and smiling when she noticed the woman’s reaction. She turned to M’tal. “If a person can talk to all dragons, is there any reason that they might not also be able to talk to people the same way?”

M’tal turned to Lorana, then back to Fiona. “She told you?”

Before Fiona could respond, Lorana gave a large gasp and turned to M’tal. “Quickly, Jeila comes! The bronzes—”

M’tal jerked in unison to a loud, raucous bellow, which was instantly reinforced by several others.

“The bronzes are blooding their kills!” J’gerd shouted from near the doorway.

“T’mar!” Fiona cried, rushing out of her chair.

“No, stay here!” Lorana called to her, jumping to her feet. “Kindan, come with me.” She assured Fiona, “We’ll go to him.”

Fiona nodded once quickly in agreement and waited until they had turned the corner out of the Cavern’s entrance and out of her sight before sitting back down with a heavy sigh.

“I’ve never heard of so many mating flights in one day,” Mekiar said, his eyes rheumy with pain. He rose from his seat slowly and raised a hand invitingly to Fiona. “Perhaps you’d care to join me in some clay?”

It took Fiona a moment to recognize that the ex-dragonrider was offering her a chance to throw some pots on a potter’s wheel. The thought of sensuously occupying her hands and mind was deeply appealing to her. She smiled and reached for his hand.

They were seated and deeply engrossed in their work when Jeila’s Tolarth bellowed near the Star Stones, her tone lustful.

Tell them to meet in Zirenth’s weyr, Fiona thought hastily to Lorana, anxious about the one time when she, as Weyrwoman, couldn’t perform her duties as Weyrwoman.

Fiona was relieved to hear Tolarth glide toward the queen’s wing before tearing off to bellow challengingly in the pasture at the far end of the Weyr. She caught a fleeting snatch of thought from Lorana, partly accepting, mostly amused, and snorted as she realized that the older woman would probably have selected that course of action without Fiona’s prodding, and had gathered the bronze riders in Zirenth’s weyr.

Her concentration faltered and she twitched in her seat, feeling the urge to rise, to be there, to help Jeila who was not much older than herself, to know that T’mar and Zirenth were all right—

“Stay here, Weyrwoman,” Mekiar’s voice came to her, calmly, firmly. She glanced at the ex-rider.

“Your dragon is only sleeping now,” Mekiar reminded her. “This is Tolarth’s time. You don’t need me telling you the dangers of fighting queens.”

Fiona forced herself to sit back down, nodding slowly. She sent a quiet, fleeting tendril of thought toward Talenth and was glad to note that the gold was still slumbering, although her dreams were clearly becoming influenced by the sounds and emotions rising around her. Fiona realized that she, too, was feeling those emotions and found her breath quickening when she heard Tolarth’s challenging bugle warble as the queen soared into the sky above.

“If you put your mind to it, the clay can be your lover,” Mekiar told her softly. “Done right, you can make the most beautiful works.”

“How?” Fiona asked, aware of the rising emotions all around her, filling the Weyr as the bronze dragons—including one from High Reaches and another from Benden—bellowed and leaped into the air after the challenging queen.

“Close your eyes, still your breathing, put your mind in your fingers, shape the clay with your thoughts,” Mekiar told her calmly. She drew a breath to ask for more guidance but he forestalled her. “Hush now! Quiet, close your eyes. This is a time of silence.”

Fiona closed her eyes and—found herself soaring through the air. Startled, she opened them again. Zirenth, she had been with Zirenth. She reached out to Lorana, felt a welcoming echo tinged with concern and forced herself, regretfully, to withdraw once more.

“Lorana and Kindan are flying with Zirenth,” Fiona said quietly.

“It would have to be, if T’mar is still unconscious,” Mekiar replied, his tone not wholly devoid of emotion but also not overwhelmed by it. “Ride with them if you wish.”

Fiona caught some hint of disapproval—no, it was less than that—in the older man’s tone. Caution.

Fiona thought she understood even as she felt the passions grow. She forced her feelings back to her fingers, felt the clay, reached for some cool, wet water with which to slick up the shape she was working and felt her fingers flow once more over the shape as her leg pumped the wheel round and round.

Even as her fingers reported their sensations, Fiona felt a counter pull from high above her as wings beat, hearts pounded, lungs pumped, all joyfully, purposely. Tension grew, threatened to pull her apart until—finally—

Fiona felt the maleness of Kindan come to her through her connection with Lorana. She felt T’mar’s steady, calm breathing, felt the passion of his breath on her cheek, felt the roar of the wind high in the sky above, felt Lorana’s heat as she stood next to Kindan, felt Zirenth’s growing elation—mixed with approval—felt herself at the potter’s wheel, felt—

Suddenly she gasped and opened her eyes. The clay was a misshapen mess, all mashed together.

“Sometimes that happens, too,” Mekiar said softly from beside her, his words sounding somewhat forced. She looked up at him and he smiled calmly, then she saw his work.

He must have stopped spinning his wheel early on. For on his wheel stood a mix of wings and limbs, as though dragons and riders were each clutched in the same mating embrace.

He frowned at it. “I’m not sure if that’ll fire well.”

“It’s beautiful all the same,” Fiona said, even as her breathing returned to normal.

“I’m afraid we can’t keep it,” Mekair said sadly, folding the wings inward and slowly lumping the shape back into a ball. “Some beauty is only for an instant, to be admired just in the moment.”

Fiona nodded in understanding. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“My pleasure as well, in your company,” the ex-dragonrider said.

From on high, a loud contented bellow filled the sky.

“Ginirth,” Fiona said.

“About as I would have expected,” Mekiar said. Fiona raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. “There was a way the lass looked at the lad, and she came back here on purpose.”

Fiona nodded once more in understanding. Then a thought struck her. “And me? Could you tell?”

Mekiar smiled. “You, Weyrwoman, love everyone.”

Fiona looked at him in confusion.

“It’s your way,” he told her gently. “And it would be foolish to deny it.” He saw the pained look in her eyes and added, “If your heart is big enough, there is nothing better than to love as many as you can.”

“And is my heart big enough?”

“Only you know the answer to that.”