Dragongirl

FOURTEEN

Birentir’s ministrations to T’mar the following morning proved Mekiar’s point: The healer was courteous, attentive, and efficient. T’mar, however, was querulous, difficult, and restless.

“You be careful, bronze rider, Talenth is certain that she’ll rise before the Turn’s out, and she might choose a different dragon next time,” Fiona chided him.

“Was it the dragon or the rider?” T’mar asked, giving her a knowing look. “Or will you arrange it that there’s another comatose bronze rider to suit your whim?”

“I might at that,” Fiona answered calmly, her anger tempered by a warning glance from the healer. “Although, seeing as I’ve gotten rather good at catching you when you fall, I might just stick with Zirenth.”

With a sour look, T’mar subsided. Birentir finished his inspection and rebandaged the bronze rider’s leg in silence.

“I’m sorry, I’m not much of a patient,” T’mar told the healer grumpily as he left.

“A head wound is debilitating and can leave a person feeling out of sorts, my lord,” Birentir said. He glanced at Fiona, adding, “The Weyrwoman assures me that your normal behavior is much more agreeable.”

T’mar smiled at that.

“And how soon can we expect normal behavior?” Fiona asked quietly as she and Birentir slipped by Zirenth onto the queens’ ledge and into the Weyr Bowl proper.

“If he doesn’t improve in a sevenday, I’ll ask you to bring the Masterhealer here,” Birentir said. Fiona bit her lip anxiously until he added, “I haven’t seen too many cases but, if my memory serves, he’s progressing pretty much on schedule.” He paused. “But stress always delays recovery and he’s not sleeping as much as I’d like.”

“We’ve Threadfall here in four days and not even a full flight to fly against it,” Fiona said. She turned her head back to T’mar’s weyr. “It’s a wonder he sleeps at all.” She frowned as she added, “And the meeting today won’t help, either.”

“He’s not to be moved or move himself beyond trips to the necessary and back,” Birentir warned.

“Which is why we’re bringing the Weyrleaders here.”

The healer nodded unhappily. He had reluctantly consented to Fiona’s suggestion only when she’d included the Masterhealer among the attendees. She was glad that he’d agreed: The man had visibly mellowed in the past two days, but he still had trouble thinking of her as anything else than a tall lass of thirteen Turns with her father’s lordly airs.

“Telgar was the logical choice anyway,” Fiona continued, more to herself than Birentir. “We’re in the middle time zone, which makes it convenient to everyone.”

“Including the Istan Weyrleader,” Birentir remarked drolly.

“Including the Istan Weyrleader,” Fiona agreed, her eyes dancing.

Lorana had surprised everyone two days before when, just after their return from the Healer Hall, she announced that High Reaches’ queen, Lyrinth, was rising. No sooner had she made her announcement, than she’d added that Ista’s Bidenth was also rising.

“I’d better go, they’ll need help at Ista; they’ve too few bronzes,” M’tal had said immediately on hearing the news, calling silently to Gaminth, who darted in to land beside him in the Weyr Bowl.

“Come back when you can, we’ve more to discuss,” Fiona had told him. M’tal had waved an acknowledgment before clambering up his bronze and departing between.

What Fiona hadn’t realized with her blithe dismissal was that the ex-Weyrleader would not be able to return until this day and then only as Weyrleader of Ista.

“I thought he loved Salina!” Kindan had exclaimed angrily when Lorana told them that M’tal’s Gaminth had flown Istan Dalia’s Bidenth, making him the Weyrleader of the southernmost Weyr. Salina had been M’tal’s mate for Turns; her queen was the first to die of the sickness.

“He does,” Lorana assured him with a puzzled look at his outburst.

“‘How big is your heart,’” Fiona breathed to herself. She realized that M’tal, in giving her advice, may also have been advising himself.

Lorana had insisted on going to Benden on Zirenth to ferry Salina to Ista. Kindan had gone with her.

When they returned, they had several carefully wrapped parcels and Kindan wore the expression of someone keeping an important secret.

Knowing Kindan, Fiona had asked Lorana about the contents of the parcels.

“They’re ancient artefacts,” Lorana had told her simply. “We used them to make the cure for the sickness.”

“And you want to use them here?” Fiona asked, her eyes going wide. “Is there more work to do?”

Lorana shook her head. “Not with these, at least,” she’d replied. “Emorra’s last request was that we honor her mother’s promise and return them to the sea at Tillek.” She hefted a smaller parcel, adding, “The instructions are here.”

“Shouldn’t we keep them? Just in case we need them again?”

Lorana shook her head. “I don’t think we’d know what to do with them. Our training was very specific, directed toward this one problem.”

“Can I come with you? Do you need any help?”

Lorana shook her head again, smiling sadly. “I don’t think we’ll need any help, but you’re welcome to come with us.”

She glanced quickly at Kindan, who was hunched inward on himself. “We could use the company.”

And so it was arranged.

They left midday the next day, after Fiona had assured herself that T’mar had settled in for the day and that Shaneese and Terin, between them, had all the Weyr matters well in hand.

Because High Reaches was to the west, the sun rose four hours later than it did at Telgar, allowing them to make a leisurely noon departure and arrive at first light. With Talenth leading and Fiona carrying all the precious artefacts, and with Lorana and Kindan on Zirenth, they rose to the watch heights, circled once, and went between.

When they emerged from between, Fiona could easily see the outline of Tillek Hold in the growing light of the sun. They had no trouble finding their landing—Zirenth landed so lightly that it was only when Lorana started to move that Kindan realized they were once again earthbound.

A hoarse bugle greeted them, to be echoed more loudly by the dragons.

Tillesk, Talenth said to both Fiona and Lorana.

“They’ve got a watch-wher!” Kindan exclaimed, a look of delight blossoming on his face.

“Disaller at your service,” a richly clad man said as they passed through the large gates of Tillek Hold.

“Lord Disaller,” Fiona said, nodding slightly.

Disaller nodded politely back, but his attention was fixed on Lorana. He strode up to her quickly, grasped her free hand, and bowed. He was a great bear of a man, one fully built for the needs of the premier sea hold.

“News of your deeds, and your sacrifice, were heard throughout Pern,” he told her, his eyes full of sympathy. “It is an honor to have you here.”

He glanced at Kindan and pumped his hand firmly. “You, too, harper,” he said. His wagged his great bushy eyebrows at Kindan and his bearded mouth twitched up in a smile. “Perhaps we’ll get a proper song of the events from you, soon?”

“There is no better song than Wind Blossom’s,” Kindan told the holder honestly.

“But he is composing another,” Fiona said, her lips curved and her eyes twinkling. “Aren’t you?”

“I’ve only just started,” Kindan said, giving her an exasperated look.

“Pern is grateful to the both of you,” Disaller said, turning and waving toward his Hold. “And we’d be happy to let you take your ease with us for as long as you desire.”

“Not too long, my Lord,” Kindan said with a shake of his head.

“We’ve a promise to keep and then we must return,” Lorana added, gesturing at her carisak.

Disaller directed them away from the gates. “My watch-wher relayed your message,” he said. “Although I’m not sure I completely understand it.”

“A rope, a bell, a raft, and a beach with low surf is all we need,” Kindan said.

“Ah.” Disaller sounded relieved. “That is what we have. Although I took the liberty of laying in wet-weather clothing as well.”

“Thank you,” Lorana said.

“And some soup for the fog and chill of between,” Disaller added as he guided them through a narrow cut in the hills surrounding the hold.

They walked less than a kilometer before they heard the roar of the surf and caught the smell of the sea.

“In good weather, the children come here to swim,” Disaller told them as he indicated a stone outbuilding set well back from the shore.

It was no more than three walls and a roof, with an opening facing on to the sea. Inside there were the supplies Lorana had requested and, on a trestle table, a large container of soup covered with a warming mitt.

Disaller handed them all bowls and poured the warm soup into each, handing them large spoons after he finished.

They ate standing and the soup was quickly gone.

Disaller eyed the sea critically. “Not the best day for the beach.”

“Not the worst, either,” Lorana said, shuddering in memory of her last moments on the Wind Rider.

“True,” Disaller said. “I forgot you were aboard the Wind Rider.” He glanced at her thoughtfully, then added, “Was she a good ship?”

“Yes, she was,” Lorana said. “And fast.”

Disaller grinned at that, satisfied. “I’ve got Tanner building me another at that Half-Circle Sea Hold, in their deep docking caverns. He’s almost a better builder than a ship’s captain.”

“How will you get it up here?” Lorana asked.

“I might not,” Disaller said with a shrug. “But as long as she’s hauling goods, she’ll turn a profit.”

“She will,” Lorana said. She glanced at him curiously. “What will you name her?”

“I was thinking, if I might—” Disaller broke off. Then, somewhat abashedly, he asked, “Would you mind if I called her Lorana?” Quickly he added, “It’s not much of a tribute, I know.”

“I’d be honored,” Lorana said, smiling.

Disaller beamed at her. “Thank you,” he told her. “We’ll take good care of her, you can be certain.”

“You needn’t fear, she’ll take a lot of punishment and she’ll be a good ship, with Tanner building her,” Lorana told him.

“I wouldn’t mind if you treated her gently,” Fiona told the Lord Holder. “Then we’d have at least one Lorana who wasn’t overworked.”

Beside him, Kindan muttered a hearty approval.

“We should get to work,” Lorana said, ignoring them. She moved outside of the hut, eyeing the gear Disaller had brought.

“I presume you’re hoping to set the bell up on the raft,” Disaller said as he approached. “Who are you hoping to attract?”

Fiona and Kindan exchanged glances, wondering how Lorana would answer.

“Dolphins,” she told the Lord Holder directly.

Disaller nodded to himself. “Good,” he said. “If you were hoping to attract one of the Deep Ones, I’d say you wouldn’t have a chance.”

“‘Deep Ones’?” Fiona repeated questioningly.

“Surely you’ve heard the stories of the huge dwellers of the deep?” Disaller said, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “They go to depths well beyond the range of our trawlers.”

“Have you ever caught one?”

“Caught one?” Disaller repeated, sounding outraged. He shook his head fiercely. “We’d no more catch one than we’d harm a dolphin.

“They help us; sometimes I think they herd the fish like the dolphins.” He nodded toward Kindan. “Harpers tell us they came on the Great Crossing.”

“Really?” Fiona asked in surprise. She turned to Kindan. “I’d never heard anything about them.”

“Nor had I,” Kindan said. He had a faraway look in his eyes, which Fiona recognized as a desire to dive into Records; a look rare for Kindan.

“My instructions say the dolphins,” Lorana said, gesturing to the raft. “We’re to get their attention and then return their gifts.”

“Gifts?” Disaller asked, eyeing Lorana’s carisak carefully. “Gifts from the sea?”

Lorana nodded.

Disaller’s beard twitched again in a smile. “I checked our Records,” he said with a nod toward Kindan. “I don’t suppose it would surprise anyone to learn that Wind Blossom had visited here.”

“I’m surprised your Records survived,” Kindan said, eyeing the corrosive sea mist critically.

“These did,” Disaller said. “They were carefully preserved, written by Lord Holder Malon himself.” His eyes twinkled. “He seemed to think it important.” He cocked his head to the distant hills. “Something to do with the dragons?”

“Lord Malon was very perceptive,” Kindan said.

“Wind Blossom said we had to return them,” Lorana said, her tone verging on anxious.

“The tools used to save the dragons?” Disaller guessed. “What would the dolphins do with them?”

“I don’t know,” Lorana said. “But Wind Blossom’s daughter made it clear that it was important that they were returned.”

“Very well,” Disaller said, gesturing to Kindan to help him as he took one end of the raft. The two men hauled it to the surf and Disaller, wearing oiled waders, pushed it behind the surf with a stiff pole while Lorana and Fiona held firmly on to the mooring rope.

Satisfied, Disaller returned to them and tugged on another rope that lay nearby. “This’ll raise a sail,” Disaller said, tugging on the rope. “The wind’s in the right quarter.”

A small sail appeared above the raft several dragonlengths in the distance. They could hear the faint sound of the bell ringing out on the water.

“There,” Disaller said, satisfied by the raft’s position. He jerked his small rope again and the sail disappeared. “Now what?”

“We wait for the dolphins,” Lorana said.

“And when they come?”

Lorana hefted her carisak. “We give them these.”

Kindan rolled closer to Lorana to shelter her from the wind and keep her warm. In the next hour, the others also huddled around her, keeping themselves nearly as warm as she was.

The sun rose higher and the mist cleared. Lorana was dozing, half-awake when a noise startled her.

The bell. It was ringing loudly. Disaller jumped up, peering into the distance.

“I see fins,” he called back. “Dolphins.”

“Pull the raft back,” Lorana said. “We’ll load it up.”

They pulled the raft back and loaded the contents of the carisak on it. Disaller eyed the strange enclosures carefully.

“I’ve never seen the like,” he said. “How do you open them? Are they watertight?”

“Yes,” Kindan said. “We tested them.”

Disaller pulled off a glove and ran his finger over the surface of the matte material. “It feels slick; do you know what it’s made of?”

Kindan shook his head. “There are some Records written on something similar, but we don’t know what it is or how to make it.”

“Pity,” Disaller said, putting his glove back on. He glanced at the handiwork of the others as they placed the enclosures on the raft. “They’ll not stay, you’ll want to tie them on.”

“No,” Lorana told him. “This is the right way.”

“Very well,” Disaller grumbled, shaking his head. He pushed the raft back out past the surf and raised the sail once more, sending the raft skidding out farther before lowering the sail yet again.

The bell rang once more, then started pealing rapidly.

“Something’s jostling the raft!” Disaller said. Before he could react, the raft had overturned. Fins raced around it for a moment and then were gone. Disaller turned to Lorana, worry and surprise on his face. “We could run back to the Hold and maybe launch a ship!”

“Why?”

“To recover your artefacts,” Disaller said, glancing from Lorana, to Kindan, and finally to Fiona in surprise.

“No, they’re fine,” Lorana said, her eyes closed. She had a slightly quizzical look on her face.

Kindan stepped closer to her, his arms held out protectively. “Lorana?”

Lorana shook her head. “I’m fine,” she told him, glancing up and nodding encouragingly. “It’s just that—”

“Look!” Fiona said, pointing off to the distance. The others followed her finger and saw a spout of water burst into the air, followed by another, and another.

“The Deep Ones,” Disaller said, his eyes wide with awe. As they watched, something huge and stately broached the surface of the water where the last spout had appeared and then dove below the water once more. Disaller could spot dolphin fins racing toward it.

Lorana smiled. “They’re beautiful!”

“They don’t often come this close to land,” Disaller said, glancing at Lorana incredulously. “How did you know …?”

Lorana shook her head. “I didn’t,” she told him. “They did.”

“Lorana?” Fiona asked.

“I can almost hear them,” Lorana said. She turned to Kindan. “They’re like the dragons, only different.”

“Telepathic?” Kindan asked in surprise.

“Almost,” Lorana said. “Or just different.” She shrugged. “They thanked us. I got the impression that there was more but I couldn’t understand it.”

“Sea dragons?” Disaller asked wonderingly.

“No,” Lorana said. “Not dragons.” She stared back out to sea, hoping for one final glimpse of the Deep Ones. “More like dolphins, only bigger, much bigger. And different.”

“How different?” Fiona asked.

“Like I doubt I could ever understand them,” Lorana said. She turned to Disaller. “You’ll want to recover that raft, for the bell.”

“The bell?” Disaller asked, giving her an inscrutable look.

“Yes,” Lorana said. “They like the bell.”

Disaller’s brows narrowed in surprise. “How did you know—”

Lorana turned back to the sea and that was answer enough for the Lord Holder.

“They told you,” he breathed in awe, pulling gently on the mooring line. To the others he said, “That bell was the same one used by Wind Blossom.”

They stopped at High Reaches Weyr on the way back. Weyrwoman Sonia was happy to see them, as evidenced by Lyrinth’s proud bugling when she spotted Fiona’s queen.

“Congratulations on your flight!” Fiona said to Sonia and D’vin when they met.

“And you on yours,” D’vin returned.

“On your two flights,” Sonia added. “I take it that I’ve lost my queen to Telgar.” She raised an eyebrow questioningly as she added, “Unless you’re here to request a transfer?”

Fiona smiled and shook her head. “No, Kindan and Lorana were at Tillek returning borrowed gear and insisted on stopping here.”

“They did, did they?” Sonia said, eyeing the pair speculatively.

“If we could, we’d like to check in your Records Room,” Lorana said, hefting a carisak onto her shoulder.

“Let me send for some klah and we’ll join you,” D’vin said.

“Actually, my lord, we’d prefer to do this ourselves,” Kindan responded smoothly, gesturing to Lorana and himself. Fiona hid her surprise and hurt at the exclusion, giving Sonia a look of resignation as if to indicate that one had to make allowances for harpers.

“Well, then, we’ll meet you in the kitchen,” Sonia said, waving them away and motioning for Fiona to precede her.

When Kindan and Lorana rejoined them half an hour later, Fiona saw the way that Sonia’s eyes darted to Lorana’s now empty carisak and the Weyrwoman’s thoughtful expression.

D’vin waved them toward chairs and continued saying, “I understand that we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sonia gave Kindan a triumphant look as if to say “Take that!” but the harper merely nodded, saying, “So you’ll be at Telgar tomorrow noon?”

“A bit later than noon,” Sonia said in response. “I’ll need some sleep.”

Recalling the conversation now, with the arrival of all the Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen of Pern imminent, Fiona wondered if perhaps Sonia wasn’t also obliquely giving Telgar more time to prepare.

Certainly Shaneese had worked wonders, although, to judge from the fatigue-smudged eyes of the Cavern staff, she’d kept most of the weyrfolk up through the night.

“I’ll not have it said that Telgar doesn’t know how to entertain!” Shaneese had said as soon as she’d recovered from the shock of Fiona’s news.

And, indeed, the Weyr looked cleaner than Fiona had ever seen a Weyr look before. Even the dirt on the Weyr Bowl floor looked freshly washed and raked.

H’nez, for his part as senior wingleader, had ensured that all riders and their dragons were turned out smartly in their finest. The watch dragon was a bronze—Fiona had offered Talenth’s services, but had quickly demurred under the weight of H’nez’s affronted look and Shaneese’s gasp of indignity.

“If you’ve no further need for me, Weyrwoman,” Birentir said as they neared the entrance to the Dining Cavern, “I should make my rounds.”

Fiona waved him away with a smile, entering the Cavern alone. She was not surprised to see Xhinna and Taria hustling their young charges through their breakfast.

“Will we be able to see the Weyrleaders?” Aryar asked hopefully as she pranced alongside her older carers.

“I think they’re going to be busy,” Taria said.

“But will they hear our singing? With harper Norik?” little Rhemy asked, eyes wide with hope.

“I’m sure, if there’s time, we will be delighted,” Fiona told her.

The group halted and whirled around, breaking away from their minders to rush over and crush Fiona in a hug and a chorus of giggles.

“The Weyrwoman’s busy! You need to let her go!” Shaneese called crossly from across the kitchen.

Fiona gently shooed the youngsters from her side, telling them, “And you’ll need to practice very hard if you’re going to sing for us!”

“We will!” Aryar said, shoving the others back to Taria and grabbing the older girl’s hand in hers, tugging her toward the exit into the back corridors. “Come on, Taria! We’ve got to practice!”

Fiona waved farewell and turned her attention back to the area prepared for the Weyrleaders’ council. When they’d first planned for it, Fiona had naturally assumed that they’d just use the Council Room of the Senior Queen’s quarters. But once she’d checked out the size of that room and tallied up the number of attendees, she decided that the room would be far too small to accommodate everyone—not only were there to be Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen, but also many of their healers, wingseconds, and junior queen riders, as well as harpers from the Harper Hall, smiths from the Smithcrafthall, and a smattering of interested Lord Holders.

Fiona had despaired of housing them all, but Shaneese had strung thick canvas curtains in the Cavern to separate the designated section from the rest of the room. Fiona looked inside and was pleased to see that the chairs were also festooned with canvas covers, grouped in pairs on opposite sides of the long table, the backs and tops marked with Weyr symbols for Fort, High Reaches, Telgar, Ista, and Benden.

In addition there were chairs for the Masterharper, the Masterhealer, the Mastersmith, Lord Bemin of Fort Hold, Lady Nerra of Crom Hold, and Lord Gadran of Bitra Hold.

“That old wherry!” Kindan had snorted when they’d learned that he’d been invited by B’nik of Benden Weyr. “I suspect B’nik’s hoping for pointers on how to deal with the old goat.”

“My father is a Lord Holder,” Fiona reminded him. “I’d expect more deference from a journeyman harper.”

“Ah, so you’ve not met him!” Kindan said.

Fiona nodded in agreement, adding reluctantly, “And Father made it a point to introduce me to all his favorite Lord Holders.”

Kindan smiled. “That’s when he was planning to install you as the next Lord Holder of Fort, so he was currying favor,” he told her. Shaking his head, he added, “Gadran has too many sons to ever consider such an outrageous idea.”

“So how ever did he approve of Lady Nerra?” Lorana asked.

“It doesn’t take a majority to seat a Lord Holder,” Fiona told her.

“Lord Gadran was the leader and sole member of the vocal minority,” Kindan noted.

“So this meeting will be interesting on many levels,” Fiona said.

A rustle of wings and the bugling challenge of the watch dragon alerted them to the arrival of the first of their guests.

“M’tal and Daria from Ista,” Lorana told them as they left the enclosure. She cocked an eye at Kindan. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” With a flourish and a bow toward Fiona, he said, “By your leave, Weyrwoman, my lady and I will start conveying the Lord Holders to this meeting.”

“Who first?” Fiona wondered, feeling oddly stung at Kindan’s reference to Lorana as his lady. “Please, not Gadran!”

Kindan snorted. “You haven’t been so ill-behaved recently as to deserve that fate.”

“Thank the First Egg!”

“I think, with your permission, it will be your father—”

“And his lady,” Lorana added.

“I’d hardly think that Kelsa would accept being anyone’s lady!” Kindan said with a laugh.

“Yet you claim me,” Lorana retorted in a low voice.

Kindan looked surprised and groped for words, saying, “I—I only thought—”

“You didn’t think, I’d say,” Fiona cut him off. She waved a hand toward Zirenth. “You’d best go.”

Sort it out later. Fiona wasn’t sure if that was Talenth, Lorana agreeing with her, or her own voice talking to Lorana. From the surprised look on Lorana’s face, it was clear that the older woman was just as unsure.

“Later,” Kindan agreed, turning with alacrity toward the bronze dragon’s lair.

Lorana spared a smile for Fiona before joining him.

“Now,” Fiona said to herself, “what other trouble can I get into today?”

“Trouble comes without asking for it,” a sour voice spoke up beside her. Fiona spun and saw Norik. The older man grinned a strained smile. Fiona fought down the sudden tension in her gut.

“It’s true,” Fiona agreed. “But I’ve often found that diving right into it puts it off guard.”

“Indeed?”

“It at least has the virtue of being novel,” Fiona told him. “And what trouble were you bringing me today?” She glanced around. “I thought you were instructing the youngsters in their singing.”

“I was,” Norik said. “I took a break when I learned you were here.”

Fiona gave him an attentive look.

“I don’t know, with all that has transpired, if you remember my request for a new assignment.”

“No,” Fiona assured him with a relieved smile, “I haven’t forgotten. In fact, I thought that you would be able to appeal directly to Master Zist when he arrives.”

Norik pursed his lips and nodded. “So I’d hoped.”

Fiona nodded, waiting attentively to see if their conversation was over. It was not.

“I think, if I might, I’d like to be posted to Benden Weyr.”

“Yes, you’d mentioned that. But I have to ask, why another Weyr?” Fiona said, surprised. And why, from what she’d heard, would anyone choose to be posted into the care of the prickly Weyrwoman Tullea? Of course, given Norik’s taciturn nature, perhaps the two would be a good match, Fiona thought impishly to herself.

“I’ve not heard of any open holds,” Norik said. He met her eyes squarely as he added, “And, truth be told, I like the freedom of the Weyrs.”

“As a former holder lass, I can’t argue with you!”

“I appreciate that, my lady,” Norik said. His normally flat eyes seemed to have found some sparkle as he continued, “And now, if you’ll forgive me, I must get back to the lessons.”

“Of course,” Fiona said, turning to the two dragons gliding down to the ground before her. She heard the sound of footsteps racing up beside her and was not surprised to hear H’nez say, “They’re early, aren’t they?”

“I suspect M’tal wants a word with us beforehand,” Fiona said.

Bronze and gold settled on the ground, greeted warmly by Talenth and Jeila’s Tolarth, who bugled in greeting.

Bidenth is a great queen, Talenth declared.

Another sound distracted Fiona and she turned to see Zirenth exit his weyr and Lorana and Kindan climb quickly aboard.

“It’s traditional for the Weyrleader to greet guests,” H’nez said from the corner of his mouth as they approached the new Istan Weyrleader, putting up a cautioning hand and moving ahead of Fiona.

“Bronze rider,” Fiona said tartly, her hand grabbing his and pulling him back, “in case you haven’t yet noticed, I make my own traditions.”

“As you will,” H’nez said with a resigned sigh.

“M’tal!” Fiona cried, rushing toward the older man uninhibitedly and throwing herself into his arms. “It’s good to see you!”

M’tal crushed her against him in a quick hug, then pushed her back again. “I’ve not been gone that long, Weyrwoman!” he said. Then, with a worried look, he added, “Has something else happened?”

“No,” she assured him with a grin, “I haven’t destroyed anything yet today.”

“The day is young,” M’tal said, entering into the spirit of things.

“You, on the other hand,” Fiona said, “have been quite busy.” She glanced over toward Bidenth and was surprised to see not one but two women dismounting. Her expression cleared instantly and she turned to him with a look of contrition and pride. “Have you found how big your heart is?”

“Let us say that I’ve discovered that it is bigger than I thought,” M’tal replied, his voice soft and sounding troubled in the admission.

“And,” he added, “for all my Turns, I’ve discovered that you and I have much in common.” His eyes twinkled as he declared, “I should have told you that in my youth, I was considered something of a rebel.”

Fiona snorted with amusement. The two women approached and M’tal introduced them. “This is Dalia, Weyrwoman of Ista.”

Dalia’s face was lined, the corners of her eyes marked with crow’s feet and her cheeks with laugh lines. Her eyes were brown and her hair a fading red. Freckles speckled all over her face.

Fiona nodded and extended her hand, feeling her lack of years in the presence of the older woman.

“Congratulations, Weyrwoman,” Fiona said as she released her hand. “I hope you had an excellent mating flight.”

“Well, it was interesting, to say the least,” Dalia said drolly. “But perhaps not quite as interesting as the tale of yours.” Dalia glanced around. “Where are Kindan and Lorana?”

“They just left on Zirenth,” Fiona said. “They are going to ferry the Holders and Crafters.” She gave the older woman a grin as she added, “I’m not sure if it was Kindan’s idea—to get more time a-dragonback—or Lorana’s—to permit me to greet you first.”

“Probably a little of both,” said the other woman in the party. Salina seemed near the same age as Dalia but was much taller and had an elegant, thin-boned form. Her hair had lost almost all its color but her eyes were still bright blue.

“You must be Salina,” Fiona said, extending her hand again, adding solemnly, “I grieve for your loss.”

“Mine is nothing compared to Lorana’s,” Salina said dismissively, “and from what M’tal’s said, you’ve done more than most to make good her loss.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said. She wasn’t sure that she agreed with Salina; she cast a glance toward Dalia and wondered if the Weyrwoman had the same misgivings about her queen’s mating flight with M’tal’s Gaminth as she had with her Talenth’s mating flight with Zirenth. For all that Lorana denied it, Fiona was still not certain that the ex–queen rider was unhurt by Fiona’s mating-flight relationship with Kindan. And, deeper inside herself, Fiona was still not sure if her own heart was big enough to share a love.

Fiona realized that Salina was eyeing her intently and raised her head to meet the older woman’s gaze. Salina nodded silently as if to herself and raised a hand to break the moment.

“M’tal’s also told me about your work back at Igen,” Salina told her quietly. “That accomplishment is yours alone.”

“You’ve acquired a following in Ista,” Dalia added, her lips curving upward. “My daughter was quite impressed with M’tal’s reports, as was I.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said, her cheeks going hot. She sought to change the subject. “As you know, T’mar is still recovering from his fall. H’nez is our senior wingleader and will take his place in the Council.” She glanced around and waved a hand toward H’nez, who strode forward and made his introductions.

“I understand you’re to be congratulated as well!” Dalia said with a grin, adding, “And I’ve heard that Sonia was none too pleased to lose her only other queen to such a handsome man.”

“My Ginirth was lucky to catch her.”

“In my experience, which bronze catches a queen is one thing,” Salina corrected him, “what the riders choose later is another.”

“Jeila has asked me to grace her quarters,” H’nez replied, his stiff mask of control slipping for a moment to reveal a nearly boyish glee. Fiona found the expression as charming as it was unexpected. H’nez seemed to notice her reaction and, with a twitch of his eyebrows in acknowledgment, resumed his normally stiff look.

“I think I see why she’d make such an offer,” Dalia said approvingly.

M’tal glanced toward the three weyrwomen’s quarters near the entrance to the Hatching Grounds and said, “How is T’mar? May I see him?”

“He’s querulous, tetchy, irritable, and snappish,” Fiona replied. “But our healer, Birentir—”

“Birentir?” Dalia interrupted. “From Ista?”

Fiona agreed, explaining how she’d borrowed Tintoval from Fort Weyr to examine T’mar and had arranged with Masterhealer Betrony to bring his three journeymen along for observation—and trial.

“Birentir was a very sad and bitter man,” Dalia said when Fiona had finished. “I’m glad that he’s found peace.”

“I’ve been told that I surround myself with difficult people,” Fiona said, careful to keep her gaze from straying in H’nez’s direction.

“The traders call you the desert flower,” M’tal told her with a smile. He nodded toward T’mar’s quarters. “Would it be possible to pay respects to the Weyrleader?”

Fiona frowned, not wanting to overwhelm T’mar with a crowd of visitors. Before she said anything, Dalia spoke up, saying, “I’d like to visit with Birentir, for myself.”

“I’d be happy to escort you,” H’nez said, offering up a hand while glancing at Fiona for agreement.

“We’ll have to keep the visit brief,” Fiona said warningly, nodding permission to H’nez, who directed Dalia on a new course toward the healer’s quarters.

T’mar was awake, lying stretched out on his bed when they came in.

“I’m checking Lorana’s coordinates,” T’mar told them with a strange expression on his face. “She’s on the way here with Verilan, Master Zist, and Betrony.” He made a wry face as he added, “Apparently there was a … discussion with the blue rider sent from Fort Weyr over who would have the honor of bearing the Masters.”

“I’ll bet that was short,” M’tal said.

“The blue bears Bemin and Kelsa,” T’mar said in agreement. He glanced toward M’tal. “Congratulations on your flight, Weyrleader.”

M’tal nodded, saying, “It wasn’t quite what I’d intended.”

“Often things don’t turn out the way we intended,” T’mar said, glancing toward Fiona.

“See,” Fiona said, throwing up a hand in mock disgust, “just as I said, he’s tetchy and irritable.”

The others chuckled.

“Seriously,” T’mar continued, glancing toward Fiona who forced herself not to stick out her tongue in pique, “the Weyrwoman and I have talked, and I’ve talked with Kindan and Lorana about today’s meeting.”

“And now you’ll rest and leave it in our hands,” Fiona told him pointedly.

“I will,” T’mar said. “But as I’ve a chance to stretch the ear of the Istan Weyrleader, I thought I’d mention our worries about the number of fighting dragons once more.”

“There’s been no change since our last conversation, T’mar,” M’tal said. “During that, I agreed that we need to have a meeting of all the Weyrleaders to plan a combined course of action.” He patted the younger man’s shoulder and stood back. “Rest easy, bronze rider, we’ll do our best.”

They left him immediately afterward, Fiona leading the way to the Dining Cavern.

“We would have set up a pavilion in the Weyr Bowl but,” she gestured to the damp ground and shivered at the freezing air, “we decided it would be more difficult than setting aside a meeting place in the Cavern itself.”

“Assuming that the losses I’ve read about in the Records are a reliable standard, at our current rate, the strength of the Weyrs will fall below one Flight each—ninety dragons—in less than half a Turn,” Verilan concluded grimly, glancing at each of the Weyrleaders in turn.

“So, even though we’ve found a cure, we have no hope,” Tullea said, turning to the Master Archivist for confirmation.

“If the casualties follow the historical numbers,” Verilan cautioned.

“So the solution is to fight wiser than our ancestors,” H’nez said. He asked Verilan, “What casualty rate is required for us to survive?”

“At the risk of sounding overly pedantic, wingleader, I must ask you what do you mean by survive?” Verilan asked.

“Have enough dragons to fight Thread,” the bronze rider said, glowering at the Master.

“Again, meaning no disrespect, what is enough?” Verilan asked, glancing around the room to include the other Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen present. “The Records tell me that ninety dragons is the bare minimum deemed suitable to fight a Fall, yet even the Records imply that more—two Flights or even the full strength of a Weyr—is preferred.

“Would a mere ninety dragons be enough for all the Falls on Pern? And for how long could they be expected to hold out?” Verilan mused. “Those are questions that the Records do not answer.”

“Because they were never asked,” D’vin said gloomily.

“All the queens—save Darial’s Somarth—have mated recently and will mate again in half a Turn according to the Records,” H’nez said, glaring again at Verilan who met his gaze steadily. “So it would seem to me that all we have to do is wait for these weyrlings to hatch.”

“And how long before they are strong enough to fly Thread?” Tullea asked. She gestured to B’nik, Benden’s Weyrleader, for an answer.

“At Benden,” B’nik told the group, “we prefer to wait three Turns if possible.”

“Eighteen months was the minimum time I found in the Records,” Verilan said. “Although, from what I can read, those riders and dragons fared worse fighting Thread than those who’d trained longer.”

“You’re telling us nothing new in that,” H’nez snorted. “The more time to train and grow, the better the fighting dragon.”

“But we don’t have time,” K’lior, Fort’s Weyrleader, reminded them. He glanced at Verilan. “So, eighteen months and we’ll have how many more dragons?”

“Queens clutch as few as a dozen and as many as three dozen eggs,” Verilan said, thinking aloud. “The first mating flight usually produces fewer eggs than later flights. If we were to take an average number for the eight queens, we could hope for an additional two hundred and forty dragons—somewhat less than three Flights of dragons.” He nodded at K’lior and Cisca, adding, “But the eggs have yet to clutch—let alone hatch—and that adds another four to five months to the number.”

“Nearly two full Turns, then,” M’tal said.

Fiona exchanged a bleak look with Lorana.

“I did not take my calculations out two Turns,” Verilan told the council miserably.

“Why not?” H’nez asked. Fiona kicked him under the table but the bronze rider ignored it. “Given what we know, can’t you tell us how many dragons we’ll have when these hatchlings are ready to fight Thread?”

“Given what I know, bronze rider,” Verilan said quietly, “there will be no dragons left when those hatchlings are ready to fight Thread.”

“None?” Salina gasped.

“My lady, we stopped when we reached fifty-nine fighting dragons,” Verilan said, glancing at his group of apprentices and helpers, who were waiting outside the pavilion.

“And when was that?” D’vin asked.

“Forty-seven weeks from now,” Verilan replied, glancing down at his slate with a sour look.

“And when do your calculations say the total strength will be down to just one Flight of ninety dragons?” H’nez asked.

“Thirty-eight weeks from now,” a voice outside the canvas called in response. Fiona recognized Bekka. She’d seen the girl when she’d arrived with the Master Archivist and assumed that she’d been sent to help Birentir.

“Who dares listen in on this council?” H’nez demanded angrily, rising from his seat.

Bekka poked her head in through the entrance. “I do,” she told him simply, adding, with a shrug, “And pretty much everyone else. After all, this concerns us, too.”

“As indeed it does,” Fiona agreed, raising a hand to pull H’nez back to his seat, “but we already have enough voices in this discussion.” She gestured for Bekka to leave. “Listen if you must, but speak only if absolutely necessary.”

“Something,” Verilan added menacingly, “that I’d already mentioned to you.”

Bekka paled at the Archivist’s words and slunk out of the enclosure.

Fiona turned to him with frank surprise at Bekka’s immediate and fearful obedience of the Master Archivist. “How did you do that?”

Verilan shrugged. “I’ve been dealing with apprentices since not long after you were born, my lady.”

“Which still does nothing for the issue at hand,” Weyrwoman Sonia said.

“No,” Masterharper Zist agreed sadly, “it does not.”

“Have you figured how much better we’d have to fight to survive long enough for the hatchlings to mature to fighting age?” K’lior asked Verilan.

“We’re working on it!” Bekka’s voice called from outside the pavilion. Fiona glanced sharply toward the entrance before giving Verilan a droll expression.

“She is, perhaps, one of the more challenging apprentices,” Verilan allowed.

“Nothing we wouldn’t have expected,” Zist added, “given the source.”

Fiona ducked her head in appreciation of the gibe, then turned her head toward H’nez. “I presume we’ve got Terin helping with the calculations?”

“Bekka suggested her,” Verilan said. He gave Fiona a hopeful look, as he added, “She’s quite good with numbers. If she were to come to the Harper Hall …”

“I’ll put it to her,” Fiona replied.

“I’m not sure that F’jian would approve,” H’nez said.

“As long as dragons have wings, F’jian won’t be far from her,” Fiona said. “He’s no fool, nor she—I can’t believe either would want her talents to go to waste.” Her expression made it clear that she thought H’nez wouldn’t want Terin’s talents to go to waste, either.

“At another time,” Zist said, “we really should discuss how to identify and encourage such talents.”

Fiona nodded in agreement.

“What I don’t understand is why are we in so much danger,” D’vin said. “Did they not survive the same sort of problems in the last Pass?”

“From all that I’ve seen, we have no Weyr Records from the time two hundred and fifty Turns back,” Kindan said. He glanced toward Fiona. “Unless some survived at Igen?”

“They did. But I don’t recall any problem like ours.”

“They must have survived worse problems in the First Pass,” K’lior said. “Back then they started with no dragons and still survived!”

“Ah, but they had the aid of their amazing machines,” Mastersmith Zellany responded. “I’m afraid we can offer not much more than the agenothree throwers inspired by Weyrwoman Fiona.”

“That’s not much help from the past,” Weyrwoman Tullea said. Beside her, Benden’s Weyrleader gave her a pained look, but Tullea persisted. “We had help from the First Pass before, why not ask for more now?”

“Are you willing to sacrifice your dragon to send the message?” Sonia asked. Tullea gave her an irritated look.

“I doubt that they can help any more,” Lorana said. As the others glanced her way, she continued, “Wind Blossom is dead, and, from what Emorra said in her audios, her special knowledge died with her.”

“What about all those ancient artefacts you were so desperate to sink at Tillek?” Tullea asked.

“Their usefulness to us was over when the last of the materials were used in the cure,” Kindan said.

“I,” H’nez began, “for one, am of the opinion that we here can solve this problem.” He glanced at Tullea. “I think we don’t need more hand-holding from the past.”

“You say that with less than a wing of fighting dragons?” Tullea asked scornfully.

“Speaking now for Ista, some of us have seen worse days,” M’tal said. “And yet we recovered.” He looked around the table as he added, “Ista has three hundred and seven fighting dragons.” He paused, glancing at Dalia and Salina before continuing, “I’m willing to redistribute that strength to bring the other Weyrs up to decent fighting numbers.”

“Really?” Tullea asked acerbically. “What, you’ll give away a wing?”

“To Benden, yes,” M’tal replied. With a wink for Fiona, he added, “I think we can send another ninety-seven here, to Telgar.” Over the gasps of the others he added, “Telgar is central to Pern and could well be expected to be taxed more than most.”

“We were thinking along the same lines,” D’vin said, turning toward K’lior. “Sonia and I would like to bring your strength up to two Flights, if you’re willing.”

“We’d appreciate it,” K’lior replied, grinning.

“And we’ll send two wings here, to Telgar,” Sonia added, smiling at Fiona. “A queen’s due, as it were.”

“For our part, we promise to share any queens with Weyrs that need them,” Fiona said in response, glancing at Cisca, who nodded in thanks.

“This still won’t solve our problem,” D’vin said.

“No, but it will make it easier to bear,” B’nik said.

“And we’ll fly to your aid, when needed,” H’nez declared solemnly.

“Only if you’re not fighting Thread yourselves,” M’tal said.

“For the Crafts,” Zellany said, “we and the Holders might be able to provide better ground cover.”

“As soon as we get enough of those new flamethrowers,” Lord Holder Gadran of Bitra Hold growled.

“And training,” Lady Nerra of Crom Hold added.

“To be honest,” Lord Holder Bemin spoke up reluctantly, “we really don’t know how much better these new flamethrowers will perform until we’ve used them more.”

“I’m certain, my Lord, that they’ll do better than the old ones,” the Mastersmith said. “If only because your crews won’t have to worry about them exploding.”

“That would be a relief,” Gadran said.

“What else can we do?” H’nez asked. “It seems that we need to provide the time—”

“That’s it!” Tullea exclaimed. “Go back in time, raise the new weyrlings back in time.”

“Where?” Fiona asked after the first rush of excitement had flowed over her. Tullea looked at her dumbfounded, so she continued, “I mean, Weyrwoman Tullea, we’ve already used all the time we had at Igen Weyr.”

“Used all the time?” Tullea repeated, brows furrowed thunderously. “How can you use time?”

“Every Turn back all the way through ten Turns has been used already,” Kindan said. “If we’d sent more weyrlings back in time, we’d already know about it.”

“You can’t break time,” B’nik told his mate quietly.

“And we don’t know quite when the sickness started,” Lorana said, “so we can’t go back further in time.”

“Not only that, but before then I don’t think the holds had recovered sufficiently from the Plague to provide supplies,” Fiona said.

“We can bring supplies,” H’nez said.

“From where?” Sonia asked.

“From wherever we’ll get them to feed our new weyrlings, I suspect,” K’lior said.

“It still won’t work,” Fiona said. The others looked at her. “If it had happened in the past, there would have been signs at Igen.”

“But you said yourself that someone had worked the firestone mine nearby,” Kindan reminded her. “And it was the new firestone, not the flamestone we’d been using.”

“Perhaps we could use timing itself,” M’tal said while Fiona absorbed Kindan’s comment with a thoughtful frown.

“How?” D’vin asked.

“Dragons could go back to a Fall to aid in the fight,” M’tal said.

“How would they know to go back?” K’lior asked.

“Because they would have seen themselves come back,” M’tal said.

“So … when we do it, we’ll do it?” Sonia said.

“That seems to be the common case with timing,” M’tal replied dryly.

“Who has the most experience with timing?” D’vin asked, looking around the room, his eyes settling on M’tal.

The older rider chuckled. “Guilty.”

“Well, then, it makes sense to go with the advice of the most experienced in this matter,” D’vin said. “I’ve only done it once, myself.”

“I’ve done it once as well,” Tullea griped, “for three bloody Turns!”

“Yes, dear,” Sonia said in a tone that was both calming and dampening, “we remember.”

“My experience isn’t all that much different from Tullea’s, except that I never stayed back in time as long as she has,” M’tal said, nodding diplomatically toward Tullea, who gave him a mollified look in return. “But I think that journeying between time is more fatiguing than going between places.”

“I’d agree,” Fiona said.

“So what that will mean for the riders is that they should be well-rested before going between times and have time to recover before another Threadfall,” D’vin surmised. He turned to M’tal. “Is that right?”

“I’d say so.”

“According to what I’ve learned from Kindan and the other Weyr harpers,” Verilan said, careful to note his sources, “the pattern of Threadfalls repeats every fifty days.”

M’tal pursed his lips thoughtfully and nodded, turning to D’vin and B’nik, who each made gestures of agreement.

“According to my sources, then,” Verilan said, “it seems that as things stand, Benden flies in seven Falls, Telgar in six, Ista in five, while the High Reaches and Fort Weyrs fly four Falls.”

“Then Benden should have more dragons,” Tullea said.

“I’d prefer to see how things work out, first,” B’nik said, glancing reprovingly at his Weyrwoman. “There was a reason our ancestors established six Weyrs.”

“Six Weyrs,” Tullea said, “and Benden’s had to take a higher proportion of the Falls that used to be flown by Igen.”

“I don’t think we can hope to reestablish Igen until we’ve solved the current problem,” Sonia said with a nod toward Tullea. “But if you run into troubles, we’ll provide you with aid.”

“Benden will fly its own Falls, thank you.”

“That’s really for me to decide,” B’nik told her. He glanced around the room. “Still, I think for coordination, it’s always best to assume that the assigned Weyr will handle a Fall unless prior arrangements are made.”

The dragonriders all nodded in agreement.

“We’ve got an answer for you,” Bekka called from outside the pavilion.

“By all means, please tell us,” Verilan said, his voice a mix of somber gravity and resignation.

“From what I can figure,” Terin’s voice piped up from outside the canvas, “and Bekka has checked me, the Weyrs must lose less than two dragons every Fall if they’re to maintain their strength for two Turns.”

“There hasn’t been a Fall yet where a Weyr hasn’t lost at least three,” Verilan said. He cocked his head toward the outside group, demanding, “Is that losses or casualties?”

“Casualties,” Terin responded after several tense moments of whispered conversation between her and the others.

“The injured come back,” Bekka said.

“That doesn’t help if every dragon and rider is injured,” Fiona pointed out.

“Oh!” Bekka said in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Can you work out how long the Weyrs have until they have less than a Flight of fighting dragons?” Sonia asked.

“We’ll work on it, Weyrwoman,” Verilan said, rising from his chair and adding, “I think it best if I go supervise.”

The Weyrwoman waved a hand in agreement.

“I don’t see how we have any other choice but to do better,” D’vin said in the silence that followed.

“Perhaps timing will help,” M’tal said hopefully. He pursed his lips tightly for a long thoughtful moment, then rose from his chair, bowing toward Fiona and nodding at H’nez.

“Weyrwoman,” he said, “I think it best if we take our leave of you. I have many preparations to make and”—he nodded toward H’nez again—“I’m certain that you will want as much training time as possible between now and your next Fall.”

The others rose, too, and the meeting adjourned.

As M’tal peered down from his perch on Gaminth, he sketched a quick salute to Kindan, calling out, “As you seem to be something of the acting Weyrleader, I thought you might like to know that I’ll be sending J’lantir and his wing to you.” He smiled drolly as he added, “Try not to lose them, will you?”

From the ground, Kindan smiled and waved an acknowledging salute, calling back, “We’ll do all we can!”

Gaminth leaped into the air, beat his wings twice, and was gone between even before he’d cleared the watch heights.

“Show off!” Sonia swore affectionately as she sat astride her Lyrinth alongside D’vin on his bronze Hurth.

“I’d prefer it if he were less flashy,” D’vin said with a frown. M’tal was now the oldest Weyrleader left and the High Reaches Weyrleader could not help feeling a sense of foreboding.

Across the distance of dragonlengths, Sonia shot him a probing look and nodded in silent agreement, her expression shifting to match his.

“Fly well!” Fiona called up to them.

“Don’t be strangers!” Jeila added in agreement, her arm wrapped possessively around H’nez’s lanky waist.

The High Reaches Weyrleaders waved back and then they, too, were gone, between.

“They should have flown to the watch heights first,” H’nez commented sourly.

“They know what they’re doing,” Jeila said in their defense.

“They’re tired, and tired people should never deviate from tradition,” H’nez groused. “Not only that, but we’ll be certain to have those here foolish enough to think they can do the same—and I’ll have to show them otherwise.”

Tullea and B’nik were more careful, particularly as Norik had achieved his ambition of attaching himself as Benden’s harper, and rode clinging to Tullea’s back, talking ingratiatingly to the Weyrwoman. The dour Gadran eyed him critically from his position behind B’nik on Caranth.

“It’s not as though we’ll see Kindan, at least until T’mar has healed fully,” B’nik had allowed when the notion had been proposed to them.

“And he seems a lot more competent than Kindan,” Tullea had agreed, her eyes flashing sharply toward the younger harper. She added venomously to Fiona, “Not that I’m sure you didn’t get the better of the bargain, my dear.”

“Two for one, and both the most famous on Pern?” Fiona purred in response. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“Of that I’m certain,” Tullea rejoined, not willing to let the exchange go in Fiona’s favor.

Fiona merely nodded, lips pursed tightly, in response.

Cisca and K’lior were the last to leave and they left reluctantly, clearly tempted by the offer of a warm meal.

“We’ve much to do ourselves,” K’lior said by way of apology, as he and Cisca headed out the archway of the Kitchen Cavern and into the Weyr Bowl.

“Thread falls over Fort in six days,” Cisca reminded them.

“They’re both night Falls, too,” Fiona remarked with a grimace.

“Why don’t we fly them together?” Cisca asked. Beside her K’lior choked in surprise. “Just we two queens?”

“Queens together?” K’lior gasped in surprise, his brown eyes nearly popping out of his head.

Fiona shook her head apologetically even as Cisca laughed and slapped her mate on the back, saying, “I did it just to see you squirm!”

“Besides,” Fiona said, “as both queens have just recently risen, it probably would be unwise to risk them, at least until they’ve safely clutched.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Cisca agreed with a sigh. She glanced at K’lior as she added slyly, “But perhaps we could cadge a ride with Kindan and Lorana?”

“I suspect they’ll be busy enough looking out for themselves,” K’lior said.

“I hadn’t thought of them flying this Fall,” Fiona admitted anxiously, adding a moment later, “But we need all our dragons and I doubt we could keep Zirenth on the ground.”

“I didn’t mean to alarm you,” Cisca said. “I’m sure they’ll do fine.”

“It’s a night Fall,” K’lior said by way of agreement, “and the air here is cold, so much of the Thread will be dead.”

Less than a month had passed in the present time since the two night flights that Fort Weyr had fought with the aid of Nuella and the watch-whers, and even though Fiona’s memories of the events were faded by the three Turns she’d spent back in time at Igen Weyr, still her recollection of the anguished cries of riders, dragons, and watch-whers was a searing memory. She fought to suppress a shudder of fear.

Cisca sensed her feelings and wrapped her in a hug. “You’ll do fine, Weyrwoman.”

It was only after they’d left that Fiona realized that the Fort Weyrwoman hadn’t suggested that Kindan and Lorana would be safe.