Dragonsblood

THIRTEEN

Today we’ll drill with mixed wings,” M’tal announced the next morning. It had been a long, hard night for the entire Weyr. The evening and early hours of the morning had been punctuated with the sorrowful cries of injured riders and dragons. Two more dragons had gone between before dawn.

M’tal had called the Wingleaders together at first light.

“Not only do we need the training,” M’tal told the group, “but it will keep us focused on our duties.”

“What about the sick dragons, M’tal?” someone called from the back.

“They won’t fly, J’ken,” M’tal said, recognizing the speaker’s voice. “I learned my lesson yesterday. We’ll let them rest.”

There was a murmur of agreement and some muttering about being a day late.

M’tal raised a hand for silence. “Yesterday none of us had fought Thread before,” he said. “Today we know better. In two days, we’ll be able to handle any losses in our flights. It’s vital that we practice today and tomorrow as hard as we can to handle losses during Threadfall.

“I’ve asked Lorana and Kindan to call out dragons as ‘casualties’ from time to time, so that we can really learn how to cope,” he told them. He saw the other riders looking at each other, nodding as they digested the idea and found they liked it.

“But what about the sickness, M’tal?” J’ken called from the back of the group. “I lost two good riders yesterday because they were too sick to fly. What if more get sick?”

“Lorana and Kindan will also be in the Records Room searching for any hints they can find,” M’tal assured them. “I’ve sent word to Masterharper Zist to search the Records at the Harper Hall, too.”

“Do they keep dragon Records at the Harper Hall?” J’tol, B’nik’s wingsecond asked, frowning.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” M’tal said.

“Sounds like Kindan and Lorana are working too hard,” L’tor muttered. He looked up at M’tal. “Let’s hope they aren’t so tired that they miss something vital.”

“Could we get someone else to help?” J’tol wondered.

“Traditionally, it’s been the duty of the Weyrwoman to examine the Records,” J’ken noted.

M’tal raised a hand placatingly. “I’m afraid that Salina is still recovering from her loss,” he told the group regretfully. “I’m sure-”

“I wasn’t talking about her, M’tal,” J’ken interjected. “I was talking about Tullea.”

He shot a glance at B’nik’s wingsecond. “What about it, J’tol? Where’s Tullea? And where’s B’nik for that matter? Late again?”

“B’nik is setting up a surprise for us,” M’tal assured the others. “I asked him to.”

“What about Tullea?” J’ken persisted. From the grumbling of the group, it was obvious that he was not the only rider who was displeased by their new Weyrwoman’s behavior.

“What matters now, dragonriders,” M’tal called in a voice pitched to carry over the grumbling, “is that Thread falls in two more days’ time and we need practice. To your dragons!”

The first two hours of practice were dismal. B’nik’s surprise was that half his wing was aloft with the ropes used for practice in the Games. They popped in and out of between well above the riders, and threw down handfuls of the ropes, to simulate clumps of Thread.

After two hours, J’tol took the other half of B’nik’s wing high aloft to throw ropes, while B’nik and the others practiced flaming it along with the rest of the Weyr.

Slowly, with many false starts and restarts, the dragonriders began to learn to become more flexible in their formations, to quickly regroup when a dragon became a casualty. And both the dragons and their riders grew more confident and adept.

When the dragonriders returned to the Weyr for a lunchtime break, M’tal felt cautiously confident that they would be ready for the next Threadfall.

“How far back do you think we should go?” Kindan asked, wheezing as some dust from the latest pile of Records flew into his face. “Some of these are disintegrating.”

“Shouldn’t we get them copied, then?” Lorana asked, carefully leafing through another pile of musty records.

“Spoken like someone who never spent days copying old Records,” Kindan responded. “Do you know how boring it is, day in, day out, copying musty old Records?”

Lorana allowed herself a slight smile. “I imagine there would be a lot to be learned,” she said.

Kindan shook his head. “No, not really,” he said. “Most of the Records are repetitious. There are only so many ways you can record crop yields and rainfall. Occasionally there’s a note of a wedding or a birth but-honestly-you’d think whoever wrote those Records was numb! Not a single joke, no songs, nothing but dull, dry facts, Record after Record.”

“Well, it’s dull, dry facts we’re after,” Lorana responded. “No joke or song is going to help us here.”

Kindan paused mid-search and looked up at Lorana. She looked back at him quizzically until he shook his head and gave her a dismissive hand gesture. “Nothing,” he told her. “I thought I remembered a song… but it was nothing.”

Lorana glanced over at the sandglass they’d brought up with them. “Ooops, our time’s up! Name another dragon,” she told him.

“Mmm, Ganth,” Kindan said. “T’mac’s brown. That’ll leave J’ken without a wingsecond.”

Lorana raised her eyebrows in appreciation of the choice. “Very well,” she said, and gave the order to Ganth. She smiled as the brown dragon thanked her and asked if he could take a swim in the lake.

I think that’s up to your rider, don’t you? she replied.

Lorana looked back down at her stack of Records and then threw her hands up in disgust. “You know, we’re going at this the wrong way,” she said.

“I’ve been saying that for hours,” Kindan agreed. He looked over at her. “What is your plan?”

“Well, I was thinking that anything that happened to the dragons recently, we’d remember,” she said. “So why work our way back through the Records? Why not start with the oldest Records and work forward?”

“The oldest Records!” Kindan groaned. “Queen rider, you certainly know how to darken a day.”

Lorana started to protest but Kindan raised a hand, silencing her.

“I didn’t say you weren’t right,” he told her. “I just dread the prospect.” He stood up and went back to the stacks of Records, searching. “You know, I’m going to have to move the newer stacks first.”

“I’ll order more klah, then,” Lorana suggested.

Kindan turned back to her with a grin. “Ah ha! This is just a plot to take a break.”

Lorana laughed and went to the shaft to order more food.

By the time they broke for the evening meal, Lorana’s good humor had frayed.

“Musty old, useless Records!” she swore.

Kindan gave her a shocked look.

“I’m sorry I ever suggested we start with the oldest ones,” she apologized, stifling a sneeze. “My nose is running and my eyes are watering with all this dust. The writing’s barely legible and I’ve probably missed something important because it’s buried in a mass of gibberish!”

“Maybe I can help.”

Lorana looked over to see Salina standing in the doorway.

“You should be feeding your dragon, anyway,” Salina said.

“After you’ve done that, you can feed yourself,” Kindan added. “You haven’t had anything since you took a break to help K’tan with that injured wing tip-if you call that a break.”

“But there’s so much to do!” Lorana protested, waving a hand toward the high stacks of unread Records.

Salina entered the room and sat at the table. Catching Lorana’s eyes, she jerked her head toward the door.

“I’ll do it while you do your other chores,” Salina said. “I’ve heard someone say that this is the Weyrwoman’s job, anyway.”

Kindan couldn’t bring himself to point out that the Weyrwoman being referred to was Tullea, not Salina.

“Ask Mikkala to send up some fresh glows, please,” Salina told Lorana as she was leaving. She looked over at Kindan. “Now, Harper, what should we be looking for?”

Two days later, with Threadfall due over lower Benden and Upper Nerat, M’tal grimaced. Three of the severely wounded dragons had gone between. And there were eight more feverish dragons. He would be leading only one hundred and ninety-six dragons-slightly more than two flights of dragons-against Thread over Nerat.

We will fight smarter this time, M’tal thought confidently.

He knew from the Records of the Second Pass that the Weyr had successfully fought Thread with less than one full flight-three wings of dragons. He also knew that the casualties in those Threadfalls had been much higher than when more of the Weyr’s strength was available.

Well, it can’t be helped, he told himself. Gaminth, give the order to go between to Nerat Tip.

With the lush green of lower Benden below them and clear skies above, M’tal surveyed the arrayed wings approvingly as they awaited the coming of Thread. He had three wings arranged as one flight flying high, with a second flight behind and lower. The sixteen spare dragons were arranged in a “short wing,” trailing behind the lower flight but ready to fill in any gaps either as individual dragons or as a full wing.

M’tal squinted, scanning the sky above him for signs of Thread. Wouldn’t it just be too much if Thread failed to fall? he mused sourly.

A dragon’s roar alerted him. There! Faintly, like a blur on the sky above, he saw it. As one, the dragons of Benden turned to their riders for firestone; as one the riders fed them the flame-bearing rock; and as one the dragons chewed the rock, digesting it deep in their second stomachs.

As one, the Weyr rose to flame Thread.

And then, behind him, dragons bugled a strange challenge. M’tal turned in surprise to find the source of their bafflement.

“What is she doing?” M’tal bellowed in outrage.

Far below and behind him, he spied the large wings of Benden’s only mature queen dragon.

Thread! Gaminth warned-but it was too late. A stream of fire seared across M’tal’s cheek and onto his chest before the nothing of between brought blessed relief from the agony of Threadscore.

M’tal clawed off the frozen Thread and then they were back in daylight again.

Gaminth, tell her to return to the Weyr! M’tal ordered.

Minith says that Tullea says it is her “duty” to be here at Threadfall, Gaminth informed him.

M’tal’s rage grew as he watched the flying formations behind him dissolve and grow unmanaged, with some bronzes striving to protect their queen.

Order the “short wing” to protect her, M’tal said. And have the rest of the wings re-form.

His orders had little effect on the chaos behind him. Grimly, M’tal wondered if it had been a wise idea to put his wing in the forefront. It had seemed a good choice to lead from the front, but he hadn’t counted on not being able to handle the confusion behind him-he hadn’t expected this sort of confusion!

Tell Minith that I order her back to the Weyr, M’tal said to his dragon. She is too near her mating flight to risk Threadscore now.

Minith says to tell you that Tullea is only doing her duty, Gaminth relayed apologetically.

“Talk to Lorana!” M’tal shouted out loud. “Have her explain it to Minith.”

Behind him, M’tal could hear dragons shrieking in pain as Thread struck them. It didn’t have to be this way, he thought furiously to himself. Damn the girl! I’ll wring her neck myself when we get back.

She is gone, Gaminth reported. The wings are re-forming. It will be all right.

Tullea jumped off her dragon as soon as she landed at Benden Weyr and launched herself toward Lorana, shrieking at the top of her lungs, “How dare you! How dare you call my dragon back!”

Lorana was tending an injured rider and had no time to rise to her feet before the other queen rider was upon her. Kindan raced over to her side, but it was Arith, awakened by the raw emotion of Tullea’s assault, who arrived first, appearing from between with a cold burst of air.

The little queen hissed at Tullea, who found herself skidding to a halt. Behind her, Minith rumbled a warning at Arith, but Arith only hissed at her, too.

“Tullea, what is this?” Salina demanded as she appeared, breathless, having run all the way across the Bowl. “What is going on?”

“M’tal had me order Minith back to the Weyr,” Lorana explained, her bandaging done. The wounded dragon’s grateful rider rose with her and stood beside her. Lorana motioned Arith aside. “I’m sorry Tullea, but M’tal explained that if Minith were injured, she might not mate.”

Tullea’s eyes widened as the words sunk home. “I was doing my duty,” she said dully. “I’m supposed to take on the duties of the Weyrwoman.”

“When there is only one mature queen,” Salina told her, “those duties do not include flying against Thread.”

Tullea nodded, but her gaze turned back to Lorana. “You had no right,” she told her hotly, “to order my queen about.”

“It was M’tal’s orders,” Lorana protested.

“M’tal!” Tullea snapped and started to say more, but a hiss from both Salina behind her and the dragonrider beside Lorana forestalled her from saying more. She glared at the rider, who did not flinch, and then at Lorana. “You will not tell my dragon what to do, girl.”

“I have more patients to attend,” Lorana said, ignoring the comment. “Arith, it’s all right. Go back to your weyr, dear.”

“This isn’t over,” Tullea growled at Lorana’s back.

“If you’re interested in a Weyrwoman’s duties, Tullea, now is a good time to start,” Salina said from behind her. “There is numbweed ready and those who need it.”

Tullea’s hands clenched at her sides and she turned sharply to glare at Salina, but the old Weyrwoman merely gestured toward the Lower Caverns.

“I can’t say I think much of your teaching,” a voice growled in Kindan’s ear later that evening as he sat at one of the dining tables in the Food Cavern.

Startled, Kindan looked up to see K’tan looking down at him, grim-faced. Kindan gave him a quizzical look.

“You are responsible for teaching dragonriders their manners, are you not?” K’tan asked.

“Mmm, that might be more a function of the Weyrlingmaster than the harper,” Kindan returned, his eyes twinkling. “I take it you heard of the exchange today between Tullea and-”

“Just about everybody,” K’tan returned. A puzzled look crossed his face. “She’s the only person I’ve ever heard of who got less sociable after she Impressed.”

“That was-what?-three Turns back, now?” Kindan mused.

K’tan nodded. “She’s weyrbred. She was quite the charmer even before she Impressed. I had an occasion-”

Kindan snorted. “I would have thought you had better taste!”

K’tan glared down at him. “As I said, she was more sociable back then,” he said.

“There, you see, it’s not my fault,” Kindan said with a smile.

K’tan laughed and sat down beside him. “I know, lad, I was just ribbing you.” He let out a long, tired sigh. “You did good work today,” he said. “You’ve the makings of a good healer. Perhaps you learned from Master Zist-”

“Masterharper Zist, if you please,” Kindan corrected. “We harpers are rather touchy about rank.”

K’tan snorted. “Very well, Journeyman Kindan.” He lowered his voice so that it would travel only to Kindan’s ears. “Not that I haven’t heard that you’d been tapped for Master.”

“This doesn’t seem like a good time to leave the Weyr,” Kindan replied.

K’tan clapped him on the shoulder. “Good on you, lad,” he said. “And you’re right, this isn’t a good time to leave the Weyr.” His voice dropped. “There might not be a Weyr left on your return.”

Kindan raised an eyebrow. “The losses today weren’t that bad, were they?”

K’tan shook his head. “No, thank goodness. We lost four, though-more than we would have if it hadn’t been for her.”

There was no need for him to explain who he meant.

“Another fifteen severely wounded and twenty-two with minor injuries,” the Weyr healer went on.

“How’s M’tal taking it?” Kindan asked, careful to keep his voice low.

K’tan gave him a measuring look. “Badly. Worse than he should, I think.”

“What about the other Weyrs-how have they done?” Kindan asked.

K’tan shook his head. “I haven’t heard.”

“I would have thought you would have been in touch with the other healers,” Kindan remarked.

“I’ve only met G’trial of Ista,” K’tan replied. “But none of the others.”

“And what does G’trial say?”

K’tan’s face grew closed. “His dragon went between two days back,” he said, waving aside Kindan’s attempts at commiseration, “but I’d heard that there were more sick dragons at Ista than at Benden.”

“Ista has to fight Thread three more times in the next nine days,” Kindan remarked. That much he had learned from the Records.

“It’s going to be tough, then,” K’tan said. “What about us?”

Kindan smiled. “We’re getting a break. We’ve got nineteen days before Thread falls over Upper Bitra.”

K’tan shook his head. “None of the injured we’ve got will be ready by then.”

L’tor approached them. “K’tan, when you’ve got a moment, M’tal would like to talk with you.”

K’tan rose. “I’m ready now.”

Kindan rose with him. “I’ve got to get back to the Records.”

“It’d be better if you could find out about the other Weyrs,” K’tan said. The Weyrs operated autonomously and some, such as D’gan’s Telgar and D’vin’s High Reaches, were unwilling to discuss their internal affairs with outsiders.

A thoughtful look crept into Kindan’s eyes. He nodded his head decisively. “I’ll do that,” he said.

“How?”

“Do you suppose M’tal would be willing to spare K’tan long enough for him to give me a lift?” Kindan asked L’tor. “I feel a need to practice some drumming.”

The Weyr drum was up on the watch heights. When he was up here during the day, Kindan never tired of the view. As it was, in the evening it was cold, and a steady wind leached all heat from him. Still, if he peered carefully and held steady enough, Kindan could make out the fire-pits of Bitra Hold to the west and maybe, or maybe it was his imagination, a faint glow from Benden Hold to the south. Kindan adjusted his drum to point more toward Bitra.

He took his sticks and pounded out “Attention.” Then he waited. Several seconds later, and closer than he’d imagined, he heard a drummer respond with “Proceed.” Kindan grinned. Clearly some minor hold that he hadn’t noticed before had recently gotten a drummer. Excellent.

He leaned into the beat to rap out his message, hoping that he had phrased it with sufficient nonchalance that it wouldn’t alarm the relayers but would still yield its true meaning to Masterharper Zist, the intended recipient.

The message sent, he listened carefully to the drummer repeating it back, and on to the next drummer in the station. With any luck, sometime in the next day or so, Masterharper Zist would get the message.

Which meant, Kindan realized with a groan, that there had to be someone up here listening for the answer for the next several days.

“I’ll get one of the weyrlings,” he said to himself, glad that there was no one else to notice his chagrin.

L’tor directed K’tan to the Council Room. As they entered, K’tan noticed that the only other rider present was B’nik, who looked rather uncomfortable.

Get used to it, lad, K’tan thought. If you want to lead, it’s going to get harder.

He made a face, annoyed with himself for thinking so sourly of B’nik. He had known the rider since before he’d Impressed, and the truth was that B’nik was a steady, careful rider and a good leader. It was only B’nik’s continued association with Tullea that marred K’tan’s opinion of him.

“Glad you’re here,” M’tal said as he caught sight of them entering the room. He gestured to a pitcher. “There’s warm klah if you need it.”

K’tan silently shook his head and found a seat.

“Did Kindan have any news?” M’tal asked.

K’tan shook his head. “He asked to be dropped up to the watch heights to drum a message to the Masterharper.”

B’nik frowned. “What for?”

K’tan shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest,” he said. “We were talking about the losses of the other Weyrs before L’tor found us, so…”

“I’d heard that he had thought of asking the Masterharper if there were any Records of illness kept at the Harper Hall,” L’tor suggested.

“He could have done both,” M’tal said. He looked at the others seated around the table. “We could use all the information we can get,” he admitted. He held up a slate. “I’ve been looking at our strength, trying to get an estimate of how we’ll fare.

“We started this Pass with over three hundred and seventy fighting dragons,” he said. “After two Falls, we’re down to two hundred and fifteen.”

“I thought it was more than that,” B’nik said. “Are you counting the coughing ones?”

M’tal shook his head. “No, I’m counting them as sick,” he said, “and I wish I’d kept them back from the first Fall. I think we lost most of our dragons because they were so muddled they got lost between.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, M’tal,” K’tan said heatedly. “Dragons don’t get sick, no one knew-”

“Well, they’re sick now,” M’tal cut in. “And until they’re better, I’m not letting sick ones fly with us.”

B’nik frowned. “But the losses-”

M’tal held up a hand. “They were worse when the sick ones flew with us.”

“The last Fall was a short one-you can’t really compare the two,” K’tan said.

“Even allowing for the length of the Fall,” M’tal corrected, “the losses were much higher when the sick ones flew.

“The real question is, how many more will get sick and how soon?” M’tal asked, looking pointedly at K’tan.

K’tan shook his head. “I can’t say. Lorana, Kindan, and I have been going through the Records and so far haven’t found anything like this. We’ve got nothing to compare it with: Dragons-and fire-lizards-haven’t gotten sick before.”

M’tal gave the Weyr healer a long look, then sighed deeply. “In nineteen days, we fly against Thread over Bitra. I need some idea of how many dragons will be flying,” he said slowly. He looked at B’nik. “If things go well, I’d like you to lead that Fall.”

The others in the room startled. M’tal raised a hand to quell their impending speech. “It’s customary for the Weyrleader to ask other Wingleaders to lead a Fall,” he said. “It’s good practice, too. No one can ever say when a Weyrleader might be injured or lost between.

“And,” he added, “there’s a very good likelihood that Caranth will fly Minith when she rises. It will make the transition easier all around if you’ve had some experience leading a Fall beforehand.”

B’nik spluttered for several moments before regaining his speech. “M’tal-I’m honored,” he said finally.

“Don’t be,” M’tal said firmly. “You’re a good rider. You’re good enough to know it, too. I’d be asking you to lead a Fall soon enough even if”-he paused, taking a deep breath-“even if Salina were still Weyrwoman.”

M’tal looked back to K’tan. “That’s why I want to know what you think our strength will be. It will be hard enough for B’nik to lead a Fall the first time, even with everything under control. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him to lead one without giving him some idea of the number of dragons he’ll be leading.”

K’tan nodded in understanding, then closed his eyes in thought. When he looked up moments later, his face was clouded. “The trouble is, I can’t really give you a decent guess, M’tal,” he said. “We don’t know how many dragons were lost between because they had the sickness but didn’t tell us or didn’t realize it themselves.”

Before anyone could comment, he continued, “All the same, if you look at the first sicknesses and losses, we’ve lost seventy-three dragons-not all of them to the sickness-but it’s the worst number.” He waited for M’tal to nod. “That’s seventy-three out of three hundred and eighty-five fighting dragons, or about one in five who’ve either been lost or gotten sick in the past three sevendays. So I’d say that you could possibly expect the same ratio in the next three sevendays.” He raised a cautioning hand. “It might get worse, it might get better. But, let’s say that another forty-three dragons will not be able to fly the next Fall.”

M’tal nodded, though his face was pale. He looked at B’nik. “That would leave you with about one hundred and seventy dragons,” he said. “Can you do it?”

B’nik was just as pale as the Weyrleader. “Forty-three more dragons,” he echoed, aghast. He shuddered, then forced himself to answer M’tal. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all anyone can do,” M’tal said with a satisfied nod. He stood up and turned to leave. “I’ll make the announcement tomorrow morning. After that, I want to leave the training to you.”

B’nik nodded. “I think I’ll continue with the exercises you had us doing before the last Fall,” he said after a moment. Then he grinned. “I don’t suppose your wing would mind slinging ‘Thread,’ would it?”

“I don’t suppose,” M’tal agreed with a grin and a nod. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day”-he covered his mouth to stifle a yawn-“and I’m in need of some rest.”

A voice called him urgently from sleep: “Master Zist, Master Zist!”

Masterharper Zist raised his head wearily from his pillow and blearily looked up. He made out the shape of the watch drummer, Terilar, silhouetted by the glows from the Hall.

“What time is it?” he asked, confused. Too much wine, he thought.

“It is three hours past midnight,” Terilar replied.

No, not enough sleep, Zist thought, correcting his previous assessment.

He sat up and rubbed his hair back.

“It’s a message from Harper Kindan,” Terilar said. “He asks if you would trade him news about the Weyrs.”

The Masterharper of Pern looked up sharply at the drummer, who seemed nonplussed by his sudden keen look.

Zist rose, turning the glow over beside his bed. “Have someone rouse Master Jofri, Master Verilan, and Master Kelsa,” Zist ordered. “And please ask someone to bring us up some klah, if there’s any still hot.”

“Very well,” Terilar said, dashing away.

“So, Kindan wants to trade, does he?” Zist muttered to himself, mostly to hear a voice in the middle of the night. Masterharper Zist appreciated his ex-apprentice’s choice of words. It was clear from Terilar’s look that the drummer hadn’t taken any deeper meaning from Kindan’s message, just as it was clear to Zist that if Kindan “wanted to trade,” he didn’t know what was going on with the other Weyrs himself. And that meant that the Weyrleaders were being more close-mouthed than he had thought.

“You woke us up in the middle of the night to tell us that Kindan wants to trade?” Kelsa demanded as the rest of the harpers gathered in the Masterharper’s office. Her words ended abruptly in a great yawn. She glared at the Masterharper, gripped her mug of klah tightly, and took a long drink.

“I’ve got classes to teach in the morning, you know,” she added.

“This is morning,” Verilan added with a yawn of his own. He frowned thoughtfully at the Masterharper. “And you wouldn’t have woken us without a reason,” he added, “which means that Journeyman Kindan’s message has more meaning to you than I’m getting from it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Which is what you wanted to know-whether others could discern that message.”

“Well, I can’t,” Kelsa said. She glanced at Jofri. “You taught the lad, I suppose you know.”

“I do,” Jofri agreed, nodding. He looked at the Masterharper for permission, and explained, “Kindan’s message makes it plain that he doesn’t know what’s going on with the other Weyrs, at least not in detail.”

Verilan nodded slowly, as comprehension dawned. “The Weyrs aren’t talking to each other,” he surmised.

“But they can relay messages telepathically from dragon to dragon!” Kelsa protested.

“It’s not the same as a face-to-face meeting,” Jofri told her. “You’d have to know exactly what you want to ask.”

“And the questions could easily be misinterpreted,” Verilan said. When Kelsa looked at him inquiringly, he expanded, “Such as how many dragons did you lose, which some Weyrleaders might take to be criticism of their abilities.”

“Exactly,” Master Zist said. “So it’s up to us to find out more.”

“Very well, but what do I or Verilan have to do with that?” Kelsa demanded.

“I’m supposed to tell Master Zist what I’ve found in the Archives about sick dragons or fire-lizards,” Verilan predicted. Master Zist nodded in agreement. The Master Archivist made a face. “Sadly, I don’t have anything to report. We’ve searched back over two hundred Turns and have found no records of illnesses in either fire-lizards or dragons.”

“How about watch-whers?” Master Zist asked.

“We checked for all the related species,” Verilan replied, shaking his head. “And we’ve found nothing. I have hopes that we can go all the way back to the Records from the Crossing-most of them are in better shape, I’m sad to relate, than those from later times.”

“More grist for the mill,” Kelsa said with a laugh. “Turns of work for your lads, then.”

The Master Archivist shook his head. “They’d much rather be copying your songs than dusty old Records that mean nothing to them.”

“I suspect that in the days to come, your apprentices-and all the students at our Hall-will find their interest in preserving our old Records increasing,” Master Zist said.

Verilan nodded in agreement. “These times do make us appreciate the need to preserve our history.”

“So we know why him,” Kelsa persisted, “but why did you have to wake me?”

Master Zist looked at her as if the reason was obvious.

“Because he needs you to figure out a song our Weyr harpers can answer discreetly,” Verilan told her. “So that we can find out how the Weyrs are doing.”

“That’s assuming that the Weyr harpers haven’t succumbed themselves,” Jofri pointed out.

“Them, or their dragons?” Kelsa asked.

“It amounts to the same thing,” Master Zist replied. He added, with an apologetic shrug toward the Master Archivist, “And while our good Archivist here may have found nothing, I also felt that your expertise in the area of song might possibly aid us.”

Kelsa responded with a raised eyebrow.

“Master Verilan’s apprentices may well have concentrated their efforts on written Records,” the Masterharper explained. “But I want you, Kelsa, to search your memory, and your library, for any songs concerning lost fire-lizards or dragons.” It was his turn to shrug. “Who knows? Perhaps there, in our older songs, we might find a clue.”

M’tal had scarcely got in bed when shouts from outside his quarters disturbed him. Salina murmured in her sleep and moved away from the noise.

The shouts grew louder as they came closer, and M’tal could make out the words and the speaker.

“M’tal! What do you think you’re doing?” Tullea shouted as she strode through the entrance into his quarters, thrusting aside the sleeping curtain that he had drawn closed just moments before and allowing the dim light of the hall glows to enter the room.

The shouts could be heard in the Records Room next door. Kindan and Lorana both looked up, jolted out of their reading.

“What’s going on?” Lorana wondered.

“I don’t know,” Kindan answered, rising from his chair, “but it sounds like trouble.”

Lorana frowned, then stood up and followed him to the doorway. He gestured with a hand behind his back, telling her to stay put, as he craned his head around the corner and cocked an ear to listen.

Tullea glared at the Weyrleader from the doorway, demanding an answer.

“I was planning on getting a good night’s rest,” the Weyrleader responded irritably. “What have you in mind?”

Tullea stopped, thrust her hands onto her hips, and glared at him, momentarily at a loss for words.

“You know what I mean,” she continued after a moment, her volume rising. “You’re trying to kill B’nik! Don’t think you can wriggle out of it.”

Salina had lost her battle for sleep and sat up blearily. “Tullea? What is it? What’s wrong with B’nik? Who’s trying to kill him?”

Tullea pointed a finger accusingly at M’tal. “He is!” she shouted. “And I’m sure you’re in on it, too. Or do you mean to tell me that you didn’t know your precious Weyrleader has ordered B’nik to lead the next Fall?”

Salina furrowed her brow and glanced at M’tal. She rubbed her eyes, bringing herself more alert.

“Next Fall? B’nik?” she repeated, digesting the news. M’tal nodded in confirmation. Salina looked up at Tullea and said, “I think that’s a good idea, don’t you?”

“What?” Tullea cried in disgust. “If he isn’t trying to get B’nik killed, he’s trying to discredit him in front of the whole Weyr.” She turned her attention back to M’tal. “You’re supposed to lead the Weyr, Weyrleader. You fly the Fall, do your duty.”

M’tal took a steadying breath.

“It is my duty to prepare the Weyr to fight Thread,” he agreed. “It is my duty to ensure the dragonriders are trained, ready, and able to meet that threat.”

Tullea nodded, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

M’tal continued, “It is my duty to ensure that our Wingleaders are able to do their jobs. And it is my duty to train those Wingleaders to fight Thread in any and all positions expected of them-including leading a Fall themselves.”

Tullea’s nostrils flared angrily. “You will not make B’nik lead the Fall!” she shouted. “You’re trying to get him killed so that your dragon will fly Minith!” She drew herself up to her full height. “Well, it’s not going to happen! I’ll not let it happen, no matter what!” Her eyes darted to Salina. “And you! You’re part of this, I can tell. Well, you’re not the Senior Weyrwoman anymore. I want you out of my quarters immediately.”

Kindan swore. “That’s it!” he snarled, darting out of the room. Lorana, who had not heard as clearly what had been said, followed close behind.

Salina glanced at M’tal, who touched her shoulder gently.

“Salina’s things were moved into my quarters before the last Threadfall, Tullea,” M’tal said, tamping down his temper. “Mikkala and a crew of weyrfolk have given it a good cleaning and were just waiting for it to finish airing before they offered it to you.”

Tullea huffed at the news. “Why wasn’t I informed earlier?”

“I’ve been busy with the injured dragons and riders, Tullea,” Salina said in a soft voice. “And I thought that you might not want to move in so soon after”-her voice caught-“after Breth’s death.”

“No one knows how the illness spreads,” Kindan broke in from behind Tullea.

The Weyrwoman whirled. “You! What are you doing here? This is a private conversation.”

“Private conversations are not normally conducted by shouting,” Kindan responded. “We heard you all the way in the Records Room.”

“We?” Tullea looked behind him and spotted Lorana. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?” she snapped at Lorana. “Spying?”

“Hardly,” Lorana said. “I was coming to see if anyone needed help.”

Salina grabbed at the statement. “Perhaps some klah and a bite of food.” She glanced at Tullea. “Or maybe some wine.”

“Good idea,” Kindan agreed quickly, turning to Lorana and adding in an undertone, “Laced with fellis juice.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” Lorana answered, with a wink for Kindan.

Tullea watched her disappear with a sour look on her face. “That girl takes far too much on herself,” she proclaimed. “When I am Weyrwoman, I’ll order her to tend to her dragon.”

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted to oblige,” M’tal purred. “When you’re Weyrwoman-perhaps you’d care to start now and take over the search through the Records?”

Tullea jerked as the barb went home. “Don’t try to distract me,” she barked. “I ordered you not to let B’nik lead the next Fall.”

As Lorana raced down the steps, still grappling with the bizarre events above her, she ran straight into B’nik.

“Have you seen Tullea?”

“She’s up with M’tal,” Lorana answered.

B’nik groaned. “She’s not the one who’s been shouting, is she?”

Lorana could only nod. The rider swore, then gave her an apologetic shrug.

“She’s accused him of trying to get you killed,” Lorana said.

“I told her not to!” B’nik growled, starting up the steps. He stopped to look back at her. “Where are you going?”

“Down to get some food and drinks,” she said.

“Make sure to put some fellis juice in her wine,” he told her, shaking his head sadly. “When she gets worked up like this, it’s about the only thing that calms her.”

Lorana frowned. “This has happened before? Is she all right?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” B’nik said in rapid response. Another shout prompted him to start back up the stairs. “I’d better get going.”

When Lorana returned with a tray, B’nik deftly took the wine glass and handed it to Tullea, who had grown quieter but no less determined.

“I don’t care,” she said. “You shouldn’t fly this Fall.”

“It’s my duty, Tullea,” B’nik said. “Besides,” he added with a grin, “I want to do it.” He grabbed a mug from the tray Lorana had set down and poured himself some klah.

“I know you do,” Tullea snapped. She took a sip of her wine. “It’s just that, if anything were to happen to you, particularly before Minith rises, I-” She broke off.

B’nik hastily passed his mug to Kindan and wrapped his arms around Tullea, drawing her into a tight embrace. The move caught her off guard and she tipped her glass, spilling some of the wine onto his tunic.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She looked at the others, her eyes moist with emotion. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“It’s all right, come on,” B’nik said soothingly, leading her from the room. “It’s late-you’ll feel better in the morning.”

There was an uncomfortable pause as the others listened to their steps as they walked down the hall back to their weyr.

“Stress does strange things to people,” Salina murmured when their steps had faded away.

“She wasn’t like this before,” M’tal muttered, looking puzzled.

“She said she’s always tired, always edgy,” Salina commented. She looked at Kindan. “Could it be something in her diet?”

Kindan shrugged. “K’tan would know best.” He cocked his head toward Lorana, adding, “But Lorana might have some thoughts.”

Lorana was still digesting the events of the evening. She shook her head. “My father bred herdbeasts,” she said. “Sometimes they would go off their feed for no reason. We could never explain it.”

“Well, Tullea’s been ‘off her feed’ for the past three Turns now,” Kindan commented sardonically.

“I think she’s just scared,” Salina said sympathetically. “And who can blame her? These are very worrying times.”

Kindan recognized the end of the conversation and picked up the tray.

“We need to get back to our work,” he said to the others, gesturing for Lorana to precede him.

“No, you need to get to sleep,” M’tal corrected. “I can’t have you two acting like Tullea.”

Out of earshot, Kindan turned back to Lorana and said quietly, “Could it be that the dragons are off their feed?”

Lorana looked at him questioningly.

“Could they be missing some nutrient we aren’t aware of? Something that would make them susceptible to this illness?”

Lorana shook her head. She started to speak, but it turned into a wide yawn before she could answer.

“M’tal is right,” Kindan declared. “You do need your sleep.”

He placed the tray on the return shaft to the Lower Caverns, turned back to her with a grin, and raised his elbow invitingly. “May I escort you back to your weyr, my lady?”

Lorana smiled in return, placing a hand on the proffered elbow, and getting into “my lady” character. “Why certainly. Lead on!”

“I think I’ve got something,” Lorana said as they pored over Records the next day.

Kindan looked up from his Records and gave her an encouraging look.

“This is the third reference I’ve seen to Fort Weyr.”

“I’ve seen about the same,” Kindan said.

“I think that when the Weyrleaders get really stumped, they go to Fort Weyr and check the Records there,” Lorana declared.

“That would make sense,” Kindan agreed. “And Fort Weyr’s close enough to the Harper Hall that they could draft some of the archivists to maintain copies in good condition.”

“Didn’t you say you used to do copying at the Harper Hall?” Lorana asked. When Kindan nodded, she continued, “Do you remember copying Fort Weyr Records?”

“No,” Kindan admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t done Turns before.”

“I think it’s worth investigating,” Lorana said.

Lorana sprang up from her seat, gave herself an almighty stretch, and said, “Anything to get away from these musty old Records.”

Kindan looked at her quizzically. “Are you accusing me of that sentiment, or admitting it yourself?”

“Both,” Lorana answered, laughing.

“B’nik.”

A voice in his ear and gentle shaking roused the dragonrider. He turned over, coming face-to-face with Tullea, her eyes worried.

“I-” she began, voice low and full of apology.

“Shh,” B’nik said, raising his fingers to her lips in a gesture of understanding. Tullea’s face crumpled and she crushed herself against him.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right, love, it’s all right,” B’nik told her, stroking her graceful neck and clasping her tight to him.

Tullea tensed and pulled back. “But it’s not all right,” she protested, her eyes shiny with tears and her nose running. She shook her head helplessly. “I don’t understand, B’nik-”

B’nik tried to shush her again but she dodged his fingers.

“I never used to be like this,” Tullea continued. “I feel pulled apart, dizzy; I can’t concentrate. I feel out of control all the time, B’nik. And it’s been like this for Turns.”

B’nik nodded sympathetically.

“I want me back,” Tullea cried. “I want to be who I was, not angry all the time.”

She looked into his warm eyes and told him her deepest fear: “And if I lose you, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that.”

M’tal wasn’t in his quarters, nor in the Kitchen Cavern. As they wandered across the Bowl, they found K’tan first and decided to try the idea on him.

“Two more dragons have started coughing this morning,” he told them as they approached. “That makes seven more since the last Fall.”

“Nearly two a day,” Kindan observed. “How long from the start of the cough until…”

“Death?” K’tan finished. He shook his head. “Two, maybe three sevendays.”

Lorana eyed the walls of the Bowl above them, picking out each individual weyr. She spotted one dragon lolling with its neck extended out over the ledge of its weyr, saw it sneeze and send a cloud of green ooze spraying down and out across the Bowl. She pointed at it.

“It may not be the way it starts to spread,” she said to the others, “but do we know if the latest sick are close by or under those already infected?”

K’tan gasped in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of that before.”

“I hadn’t either,” Lorana admitted.

Kindan raised his hands. “Nor I.”

K’tan stroked his chin thoughtfully. “But if you’re right, then we need to isolate the sick ones on the lowest levels.”

Lorana shook her head. “That won’t work,” she said. When the other two looked at her in surprise, she explained, “Because the riders still have to walk across the Bowl-and the dragons wash in the lake.”

“They could be getting it from the waters of the lake, then, couldn’t they?” Kindan said, with an apologetic look at Lorana for countering her theory.

Lorana’s shoulders slumped.

“They could. For that matter, they all eat the same food. The contagion could be spread through the herdbeasts.”

“There’s a map of the weyrs in the Weyrleader’s quarters, I believe,” K’tan said. “Given that any of these theories could be right, wouldn’t it make sense to see if we spot the pattern Lorana suggested?”

“It might,” Lorana agreed. “But if the weyrs aren’t grouped by wings, it probably won’t.”

K’tan gave her a questioning look.

“The dragons could infect each other while they’re training,” she explained sadly.

Kindan groaned. “So we’re no nearer than we were.”

K’tan shook his head. “No, I think there’s some progress-we have a number of good ideas we can follow.” He looked at Lorana. “When your father dealt with sick herdbeasts, what did he do?”

Lorana started to marshal the list of actions in her mind. Seeing that she was preparing a lengthy response, he interrupted her with an upraised palm.

“I mean, what did he do first?”

“He tried to isolate the sick from the healthy,” she said immediately. And then, as she registered the import of the words, she groaned. “Why didn’t we think of this earlier?”

“Because we’ve been too near the problem,” K’tan answered swiftly. “We’ve been too busy dealing with Thread and the day-to-day battle with the sickness.” He shook his head sadly. “M’tal’s off training.”

“Not anymore,” Lorana declared. “I just called Gaminth back.”

Kindan whistled in surprise at her forwardness.

“Now that’s acting like a Weyrwoman,” K’tan said approvingly.

“You were right to call me back,” M’tal said to Lorana when they had explained their purpose. “Fighting this illness is just as important as fighting Thread.”

They were gathered in the Council Room. At M’tal’s invitation, Salina had joined them. Kindan gave M’tal and Salina a quick review of their thinking.

Salina pointed to a slate chart and said, “Here’re the assignments for the riders.” She looked it over and sighed. “I’m afraid it’s not very up-to-date.”

She laid it on the table and the others looked it over. It was arranged by levels, with quarters numbered from the Weyrleader’s weyr.

K’tan found some colored chalks. He circled in red all those weyrs occupied by dragons that had gone between, and in yellow all those who were coughing.

Lorana pursed her lips unhappily. “That tells us how things are now,” she said. “What we want to know is the progression of the sickness.”

“Mm.” K’tan agreed. He went back and started putting numbers beside each illness. Salina’s Breth was, sadly, number one.

“But there were others sick before Breth,” Salina noted.

K’tan grunted agreement, dusted off some numbers and corrected them. They peered at the final arrangement.

“I don’t see a pattern,” Kindan said.

“Well, there wouldn’t be,” M’tal said after a long moment’s silence. “If the sickness is airborne and carried in the dragons’ sneezes, then the sickness would sink down into the Bowl. Because every dragon comes down to the Bowl at some point, they would breathe in the infected air.”

“Although some dragons sleep lower down and would be exposed to the infected air more,” K’tan commented.

M’tal accepted this point with a shrug.

“If the disease was spread by water, then every dragon would have an equal chance of catching it,” Kindan observed. He pointed to the distribution of the sick dragons. “The upper levels are less infected than the lower ones, so perhaps it is an airborne sickness.”

“You can’t rule out something in their food, either,” Salina countered.

Kindan nodded.

M’tal looked up at Lorana. “Gaminth said you had a plan. What was it?”

Lorana paused before answering. “I noticed repeated references to Fort Weyr. It seems that every time the Weyrleader encounters something extraordinary, there’s a trip made to Fort-”

“No,” M’tal said shaking his head. “I can guess what you’re thinking and we can’t risk it. No one knows how the sickness spreads and we don’t want to spread-”

“But the fact that more dragons have gotten sick since we imposed the quarantine indicates that however the sickness was first acquired, it’s being spread by our own dragons now,” K’tan interjected.

“Maybe our dragons can’t get sicker,” M’tal said, “but we can’t say whether Fort Weyr’s dragons could.” He shook his head. “It’s a risk I don’t want to take. And I can’t ask K’lior to take it, especially as he’s fighting his first Fall tomorrow.”

“Perhaps after?” Lorana suggested forlornly.

M’tal drew a loud, thoughtful breath. He let it out again in a sigh, shaking his head. “No.”

Kindan started to speak, but Lorana grabbed his arm, shaking her head. “Very well,” she said. “We’ll do what we can.”

“Have you heard from Masterharper Zist?” M’tal asked Kindan.

Kindan shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve got a weyrling up on the watch heights listening for the drums.”

“Perhaps he’ll have good news for us,” M’tal said wearily. He looked at the others. “Well, if that’s all, I think I’ll get back to B’nik’s training flight.”

“It’s time to do our rounds, anyway,” K’tan said, rising from his seat. He gestured to Lorana. “Coming?”

Lorana roused herself from her musings over the chart. “What? Oh, yes! I want to see Denorith’s wing.”