Dragonheart

TEN

FortWeyr , Morning, AL 508.1.13

“Wake up, Xhinna, wake up!” Fiona’s excited voice startled Xhinna from her groggy slumber. “Thread falls today!”

Xhinna was up and out of the bed in a trice, her exhaustion forgotten.

“The bath’s all yours,” Fiona told her. “I’ve already been.”

Xhinna paused on her way to the baths, wondering if Fiona could restrain her excitement long enough to wait for her before heading to breakfast. Clearly today was one of those good days when Fiona’s energy was at its fullest.

“I’m going to check on the Weryleaders,” Fiona said, turning decisively toward Talenth’s weyr. “Be ready when I come back?”

“Sure,” Xhinna murmured, her voice still morning-hoarse.

Thread! Xhinna thought as she stripped and lowered herself into the warm waters of the bathing pool. She had never thought that she would be eager for Thread to come, but she, like Fiona and everyone else in the Weyr, saw the arrival of Thread — of something dragons and riders could see, could flame, could destroy — as a relief from all the horror of the sickness that had claimed eighteen more dragons in the last nine days. At least thirty more were now sick.

More galling to the spirits of the riders and weyrfolk of Fort Weyr was the fact that Benden, Telgar, and Ista Weyrs had all already experienced their first Threadfalls. Xhinna and the other weyrfolk were all convinced that, as the oldest Weyr, the honor of the first Threadfall of the Third Pass should rightly have gone to Fort. It’s really a silly notion, she told herself as she rubbed off the night’s dirt in the warm waters.

After her bath, she dried herself as best she could, then brushed her teeth and returned to the living quarters to dress quickly.

Fiona burst into the room just then. “We’re to meet in the Dining Cavern for breakfast,” she blurted and, just as quickly, sprinted out again.

Quickening her pace, Xhinna finished tying on her shoes and sprinted out of their rooms, through Talenth’s weyr, and, with a flying leap that secretly thrilled her, off the ledge and into the Weyr Bowl behind.

“Careful! You don’t want to be the first casualty of the day!” Cisca called from behind her.

Xhinna waved in agreement but kept up her pace, hoping — and failing — to close the distance to Fiona with her shorter legs.

At least, Xhinna told herself as she arrived, gasping, at the entrance to the Dining Cavern and spotted Fiona beckoning to her eagerly, she’s saved me a place.

As Xhinna slid in gratefully beside Fiona, another person sat opposite her: H’nez. The bronze rider cast a dismissive glance her way, murmured, “Weyrwoman” to Fiona, and reached for the klah.

Fiona intercepted his reach, pulling the pitcher out of his way. “Let me pour for you, wingleader,” she offered politely.

“It’s flightleader,” H’nez responded, raising his mug. “I lead a Flight this day.”

“I’m sure you’ll do well,” Fiona said.

“And who would doubt it?” H’nez demanded.

Flustered, Fiona could think of nothing to say in response and turned to Xhinna instead. “Would you like some, too?”

Xhinna noticed the angry look H’nez cast in her direction, as though it had been she who had cast doubts upon his prowess, and ducked her head, causing Fiona to miss her mug. The spill was minor and quickly mopped up, but Xhinna could feel her cheeks burning with shame.

“Good morning, Flightleader!” a cheerful voice called from the entrance. Xhinna recognized Tajen and was grateful when the exrider joined them at their table and occupied H’nez in conversation while she hastily ate.

“Slow down,” Fiona chided her. “You’ll need a good meal today.”

“And a strong stomach,” H’nez growled from across the table. “After what happened to Benden, I’m sure there’ll be a lot of injured for you to sew up.”

“H’nez!” Tajen protested. “That is no way to talk before a Fall.” The bronze rider’s mouth twitched into a frown and he lowered his eyes. “None of them will be in my wing, of course.”

“Pity about the rest of your Flight,” Xhinna snapped tartly and then flushed in embarrassment at her words. Instantly, contrite, she said, “I’m sorry, my lord, my nerves got the better of me.”

“As did mine,” H’nez replied, his voice suddenly under control. Xhinna was surprised to see him regarding her reflectively. “Please forgive me, I think I am more excited than I’d realized.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Tajen said to both of them. “Let us all forget this moment.”

“We’ve a Fall coming,” Fiona added by way of agreement. She rose and gestured for Xhinna to follow, saying to H’nez, “Good flying, dragonrider!”

As they made their way out of the Dining Cavern, Fiona spotted Cisca beckoning to her. Certain that the Weyrwoman had heard the entire exchange and fearful of Cisca’s ire, Fiona made her way reluctantly over to the Weyrleader’s table.

She was right. “I look to you to keep tempers even, not frayed,” Cisca chided her. Then she glanced over at H’nez and frowned, adding, “But I think in this instance, he needed someone to snap at.” She gave Xhinna a saturnine look. “And you held your own.”

“I was wrong,” Xhinna replied glumly.

“Yes, you were,” Cisca agreed. “And honest enough to admit it, which forced a bronze rider to examine his own actions.” Xhinna’s brows furrowed as she considered this. With a chuckle, Cisca added, “Now you are beginning to understand politics.”

“Fly well!” Cisca called out later in the Weyr Bowl as K’lior mounted his bronze dragon. K’lior waved in acknowledgment and then Rineth leapt into the sky, followed immediately by P’der’s brown Leranth and the other dragons of the Weyrleader’s wing.

Farther in the distance, T’mar’s wing and H’nez’s wing lofted into the sky. Fiona’s heart leapt in her throat as she waved to the dragonriders, wondering which of them would come back. She hoped T’mar would. Nervously she glanced toward Cisca, wondering if the Weyrwoman had noticed her look, and was surprised to discover an expression of fear and sorrow on Cisca’s face.

“Weyrwoman?” Xhinna said from beside Fiona, obviously seeing the same thing.

Cisca forced herself into a smile and dabbed her eyes quickly before straightening once more. “Don’t tell anyone!”

“What, that you’re human?” Xhinna asked impetuously.

“I’m the Weyrwoman,” Cisca declared. “Everyone looks to me for leadership.”

“You’re still human, my lady,” Xhinna told her stubbornly.

“It’s good to set the example,” Fiona added in agreement, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t show your true feelings to me.”

“Or me,” Xhinna added. “I’ll keep your secrets.”

Cisca cocked her head at the younger girl consideringly, then nodded, saying, “Yes, you will, won’t you?”

Xhinna nodded, then turned to the now-empty Bowl. “And there is no one in this Weyr who isn’t worried about every dragonrider.”

“Yes,” Cisca agreed, her eyes scanning the empty skies above the Weyr. In the distance, near the Star Stones, she could see the watchdragon on his solitary patrol. She sketched a salute toward the rider and smiled when the dragon dipped its head in response. She turned back to the others. “Now, we need to get ready.”

An hour later, Fiona and Xhinna struggled with the last of the heavy trestle tables as the first casualty arrived. Fiona was straightening up over the table when she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. She jerked her head around in time to see a dark shadow against the nooning sun and, with a cry of horror, raced to the falling dragonrider.

Catch the head! she remembered from the drill they’d done days past. Arms outstretched, she raced to catch the rider’s head and shoulders, only to misjudge and have the rider land full on her, crushing her to the ground. It was the last thing she remembered for a long while.

When she awoke, she was in her bed and it was dark. Her forehead was cold and wet; someone had put a cloth over it.

“Don’t move,” a voice told her warningly. She thought maybe it was Kentai.

“Don’t speak,” Xhinna put in sharply. “You took a nasty blow to the head.”

“You’ll probably have a concussion, so we’re going to keep an eye on you,” the Weyr harper added, reaching over to touch the cloth. “In a moment, I’m going to uncover a glow and I want you to open your eyes and close them the moment you see the glow. Don’t nod or move your head.”

“You were lucky Zirenth managed to ease T’mar’s fall,” Xhinna said, although it sounded to Fiona as though the younger girl were saying it more to reassure herself.

“Okay, open your eyes and close them when you see the glow,” Kentai said calmly.

Fiona opened her eyes and immediately spotted the glow held in his hands about a handspan in front of her. She closed her eyes, feeling suddenly quite drained.

“Good,” Kentai noted. “Now, without opening your eyes, can you lift your right hand?”

Fiona could and did.

“Lower it and raise your left,” Kentai told her. Fiona did. “Excellent!” She heard the sounds of him rising and a rustle as Xhinna rose beside him.

“There doesn’t seem to be any lasting damage,” Kentai said softly — probably he meant his words for Xhinna’s ears only, but Fiona’s were strangely acute at the moment. “She should rest. Don’t give her any fellis juice without checking with me.”

“Okay,” Xhinna replied, her tone a bit hesitant.

“How bad was it?” Fiona demanded, willing herself to stay still. She heard a startled intake of breath, probably Kentai, and persisted, “How bad was it? I need to know.”

“You’re fine,” Kentai said.

“Not me, the others,” Fiona replied.

There was a silence.

“Tell me!”

“Seventeen were lost, twelve have serious injuries, twenty-three others have injuries that will keep them from flying for up to three months,” Kentai reported grimly.

“And?” Fiona prompted.

“We’ve identified twenty-five more sick dragons,” Kentai concluded. After a moment’s pause, he added, “You must get better, Fiona. Your courage inspired everyone today.”

“I was stupid!” Fiona groaned.

“You saved T’mar’s life,” Kentai corrected. “You risked your own to do it.”

“How is he?”

“Alive, thanks to you,” Kentai told her. “Now get some rest, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of visitors tomorrow, T’mar included.” He cleared his throat with a chuckle. “After all, it’s not every day that a wingleader is saved by a Weyrwoman. It’s usually the other way around.”

“Go on, harper, I’ll look after her,” Xhinna said. Fiona heard the harper’s footsteps fade away as he made his way through Talenth’s weyr and out to the Weyr Bowl.

Talenth? Fiona called.

I wasn’t worried about you, Talenth said, sounding to Fiona very much like she’d been worried sick. I knew you were going to be all right. She told me so.

She? Fiona wondered.

Shh, get some rest, a different voice echoed in Fiona’s mind. We’re keeping an eye on you, you’ll do fine.

The voice sounded so calm, so assured, so sensible. Cisca? Xhinna? No, the voice sounded like neither.

Sleep, the voice said gently, firmly.

Fiona drifted off to sleep.

Fiona woke to the feeling that she was being watched. She stirred, then stopped as a voice spoke. “Don’t move.”

She heard the sound of someone rising from a chair — someone too big to be Xhinna; besides, the voice was male — and heard the person move awkwardly out of the room.

“I’ll be back with the harper,” the voice assured her. “You’re to stay still until he examines you.”

T’mar. Fiona opened her mouth to protest, but apparently the wingleader hadn’t gone so far that he didn’t notice, for he chided her with, “No, don’t talk, either!”

And then he was gone, leaving Fiona alone with her thoughts. No, not quite alone. Talenth?

Fiona! her dragon responded instantly. There was a tone of contrition and embarrassment.

You’re eating? Fiona thought to her, getting a fuzzy notion that her gold was over by the Feeding Grounds.

I was hungry, Talenth said. She said I should eat.

She?

Melirth, Talenth replied, her tone brightening, tinged with awe and pleasure. She’s very kind.

Yes, she is, Fiona responded, wondering if perhaps it had been Melirth she’d heard the night before. But dragons rarely spoke so cogently, being more concerned with the here and the now.

Noise at the entrance to her quarters alerted her to the arrival of others.

Eat hearty, love, Fiona called to her dragon.

I am, Talenth replied, sounding as though her mental mouth were full. Fiona got the impression of warm, hot meat, and suddenly felt her stomach growl.

“Well, that’s auspicious!” a voice called from the approaching footsteps. T’mar. “I’ve sent for food.”

“She should start with liquids — a good light broth, first,” Kentai corrected. “No klah. ”

“No klah ?” Fiona and T’mar objected in unison. There was a moment’s silence as they reacted to their impromptu chorus, then T’mar continued solo, “From what Xhinna says, this girl practically lives on klah !”

This girl! Fiona muttered mentally. T’mar wasn’t all that much older than Kindan, and Kindan was . . . much older than she.

“A concussion,” Kentai lectured, rounding on T’mar, “which you avoided, courtesy of this child — ”

“Child!” Fiona blurted out in protest.

“I beg your pardon, Weyrwoman,” Kentai responded after a moment of dumbfounded silence.

“No klah ?” Fiona prompted, quietly accepting his apology.

“It might make it more difficult to recover,” Kentai explained. “Klah has been associated with headaches, and you’ll want to avoid that.”

“For how long?” T’mar and Fiona again asked in unison. Kentai chuckled while Fiona fought to keep herself from blushing.

“We’ll check at the end of the day,” Kentai said. Fiona felt someone remove the cloth on her head, feel her forehead, and replace the cloth. “There’s no sign of fever.” She heard Kentai turn and grab something, then mutter to T’mar, “Close the curtains.”

A moment later, Fiona heard the curtains that separated her quarters from Talenth’s being closed, followed by the curtains to the outside corridor. By now, her room should be quite dark.

“Open your eyes, Fiona,” Kentai said.

She found herself staring up at the harper, who was holding a glow. T’mar moved into view in the background, one side of his face covered in a bandage and his arm in a sling.

Kentai leaned forward, examining her intently. “What am I looking for?” he asked her.

“Pupils equally reactive to light,” Fiona replied quickly, just as if it were a test. Then she realized that it was. “Are they?” she asked.

“Yes,” Kentai said, nodding in relief. “Still, I want you to rest until tomorrow. Concussions can be tricky things.”

“I had one once as a weyrling,” T’mar said by way of agreement. He went pale as he continued, “I spent a whole day feeling like my feet were always two toes off the ground.”

“Did you?” Kentai asked conversationally. “I don’t recall the incident.”

“Yes, well, you wouldn’t,” T’mar replied, sounding like he was regretting the admission. “It was the result of an unpleasant altercation.”

“Did every weyrling fight with H’nez?” Kentai asked in exasperation.

“I suspect so,” T’mar allowed. “At least, all the bronze riders did.”

“How is he?” Fiona asked.

“His wing did better than some,” T’mar replied, his tone full of self-recrimination.

“T’mar, aside from your injuries, only two of your wing were hurt,” Kentai said. “That is no worse than most.”

“Well, I’ve got ten days to get well again,” T’mar said.

“Your arm might not be up to catching firestone,” Kentai warned mildly.

“Oh, be certain of it, it will be,” T’mar promised.

“So, tomorrow, I can get up?” Fiona asked, moving the conversation away from an obviously painful topic.

“Yes,” Kentai agreed. “And we should leave you to your rest.” Fiona rested fitfully throughout the remainder of the day. The next morning, she felt well enough to get up and bathe without Xhinna’s help; she was pleased to let her friend sleep in, after she’d been working so hard to help Fiona and also take care of as many of Fiona’s duties as she could. But when Xhinna woke up and saw her toweling off, she was unusually quiet, and Fiona could see that something was bothering her.

“What?” she demanded.

Xhinna sighed and made a face; it was obvious that she felt she had some kind of confession to make. “There was a woman here while you were sick,” she began. With a raised eyebrow, Fiona commanded her to continue. “Lorana,” Xhinna said. “She Impressed a gold at Benden Weyr and she’s been looking for a cure to the illness. She came here yesterday with the Weyrleader, B’nik, to look through our Records.”

“And?” Fiona urged.

“They found something in the Records,” Xhinna went on. “They were excited and surprised.”

“What else?” Fiona prompted, seeing that Xhinna was getting closer to what was really worrying her.

“Her dragon got sick, she just found out, and she rushed back to Benden,” Xhinna finished in a rush, her eyes darting uncontrollably in the direction of Talenth’s weyr.

“Talenth is fine,” Fiona declared stoutly.

“Yes,” Xhinna agreed hastily. “Of course.”

Fiona threw on a robe and reached for her slippers. “Let’s check on her,” she said. “That way we’ll both know.”

But Xhinna didn’t make a move to follow. Surprised, Fiona turned back and gave her a questioning look.

“You said that you’d go between with her,” Xhinna began hesitantly.

“She asked me,” Fiona replied softly, having a disturbing notion that she knew where Xhinna was heading.

“I don’t know how I’d survive if you went between, ” Xhinna confessed.

We’re not going between for a long time,” Fiona assured her.

“You don’t know that,” Xhinna replied, her face grim.

“You can come with us, if that’s what you want,” Fiona said.

“Thank you,” Xhinna said, getting up at last. “I hope it won’t happen and I don’t know if I’ll want to, but I just wanted to know . . .”

Fiona smiled and grabbed her hand. “We won’t leave you behind,” she promised.

From the moment that Kentai pronounced himself satisfied with Fiona’s recovery, she had only one thing on her mind: to see T’mar. She hoped that she hadn’t been too obvious about it when she’d offered to check on the injured riders, but judging from Kentai’s raised eyebrow and Xhinna’s amused snort, she wasn’t sure.

To save herself from any snide comments, she made sure that she visited all the other riders first. But it didn’t help.

“So now are we going to visit your boyfriend?” Xhinna asked after their last stop. “He’s the only injured rider left, you know.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Fiona protested heatedly. Xhinna wisely said nothing, but Talenth, who had apparently been attracted to Fiona’s thoughts, asked, What’s a boyfriend?

I’ll tell you later, Fiona promised in a tone that sounded surprisingly like the same one her father had used Turns past when she’d been asking awkward questions. Unlike her own self all those Turns past, Fiona discovered pleasantly that Talenth was contented with the answer.

Zirenth’s weyr was on the third level, above the weyrling barracks. Fiona could imagine that that location was part of the reason that T’mar had volunteered to add weyrlingmaster duties to his work as wingleader: the noise from the weyrlings below was audible even here.

“Good day, Zirenth,” Fiona called loudly as they halted at the entrance to T’mar’s quarters. “Is your rider about?”

“I am,” T’mar intoned from just inside. “Is that Weyrwoman Fiona I hear?”

“And Xhinna,” Xhinna added with a laugh.

“I’m checking on the injured,” Fiona said, ignoring the laughing look in Xhinna’s eyes. “You’re the last for the day.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” T’mar replied. “Please come in.” Xhinna sidled behind Fiona and pushed the young Weyrwoman irreverently in before her. Fiona realized that she was blushing and turned to chide Xhinna, only to hear T’mar laugh, “Leaving so soon?”

Flustered, Fiona turned back again. “No, it’s just that I — ”

“Come in, come in,” T’mar invited her ebulliently. “Zirenth, we have company.” He spread his hands in front of him demurely, adding, “If I had known, I would have sent for refreshments.”

“They’re on the way,” Xhinna put in promptly.

“Are they?” T’mar asked in surprise, turning just in time to see a fresh tray being carried into view by the current. “Oh, yes they are!”

He picked up the tray with his good arm but Xhinna scooped it away from him with a courteous look and laid it on the nearby table.

Fiona took the moment to carefully appraise the bronze rider’s injuries: the arm in the sling would heal with time; the bandage over the right side of his face was somewhat more concerning. T’mar must have noticed, for he chose that moment to say, “I appreciate your attentions, but I’ve been assured by both Kentai and Cisca that I will recover fully, even if I will add a scar to my forehead.”

“It missed the eye then,” Xhinna murmured clinically. “I’m glad.”

“Burnt out just on the eye ridge,” T’mar said, gesturing to the bandage. “If Zirenth had gotten us between an instant later, it would have scored through the bone. As it was, I was blinded on that side and so confused that when we came back into the Weyr Bowl . . .” He shook his head ruefully and gave Fiona a respectful nod. “Well, you know, as you took my fall.”

“I was trying for your head and shoulders,” Fiona responded lamely.

“I hate to say it,” T’mar said, biting his lip, “but I’m rather glad you saved me as you did.” Fiona gave him a surprised look. “I would have certainly broken both legs otherwise and been that many more months healing.”

“Then I’m glad, too,” Fiona replied. “Pern needs all its dragons and riders.”

“Including queens,” T’mar reminded her, raising a finger scoldingly. “Next time, let me fall if you must. The thought of you losing your neck to my stupidity . . .”

“Fresh klah, who wants it?” Xhinna interjected into the charged silence that fell as T’mar’s words trailed off.

Fiona nodded curtly, her eyes fixed on T’mar. Was he just —

“Are you just worried about my queen?” The words were out of her mouth before she realized it. Beside her, she could feel Xhinna tense up in surprise. Fiona hid her shock by giving T’mar a demanding look.

T’mar took his time answering, first sipping from his klah and setting his mug carefully back down on the table before meeting her eyes. “As a dragonrider and a wingleader, it is my duty to worry about both rider and dragon.”

“So this is just about my dragon,” Fiona snapped.

“Fiona!” Xhinna cried.

“I nearly get killed for you and all you care about is my dragon!” Fiona continued, jumping to her feet and stepping back from the table. “Well, you can save yourself the next time!”

And with that she stalked off, leaving an astonished Xhinna and an open-mouthed T’mar behind her.

Are you all right? Talenth asked worriedly.

Yes, Fiona told her brusquely. No, she amended a moment later. I don’t know.

What can I do to help? Talenth asked.

Why hadn’t the others asked that? Fiona moaned to herself. She was trying so hard and never got any acknowledgment, she was so . . . She stopped in her tracks, feeling small and numb.

“I was stupid,” she murmured, needing to admit it out loud. With a deep sigh, she turned around and walked back to T’mar’s quarters. To Talenth, she said, Thank you, you help just by being with me.

I love you, too, Talenth replied. Fiona got the sense that her queen was tired, had been aroused by Fiona’s emotions, and was now thinking of sleep once more.

I’ll be down to oil you soon, Fiona promised.

I don’t think I need it, Talenth responded drowsily.

Get some rest, then, sleepyhead!

She heard quiet conversation coming from T’mar’s weyr as she approached. It stopped when she was close enough that her footsteps had probably become audible inside.

Fiona forced herself to enter. “T’mar, I’m sorry, I behaved badly.”

“We’re all under a lot of stress, Weyrwoman,” T’mar replied calmly. He lifted a hand and opened it in a throwing-away gesture. “It’s forgotten. Come sit back down with us.”

Still feeling ashamed and somewhat shocked by her actions, Fiona sat back down. There was a long moment of silence, which she found pleasant, while they drank their klah and chewed on the rolls that had been sent up from the kitchen.

“Xhinna was telling me about our Benden visitors,” T’mar mentioned at last.

“Lorana and B’nik,” Xhinna said. “They came here with Kindan — ”

“Kindan was here?” Fiona asked, surprised and disappointed. If he’d been there, why hadn’t he come to see her?

Xhinna shook her head. “They dropped him off at the Harper Hall first.”

“Did they find anything in the Records?” T’mar asked.

“Yes, they found a reference to a special place built at Benden Weyr.”

“Why Benden?” Fiona asked.

“It was Weyrleader M’hall of Benden who convinced them to build the rooms,” Xhinna said with a shrug.

“You’re guessing,” Fiona said.

“It happened over four hundred Turns ago,” Xhinna replied. “Of course I’m guessing.”

“It seems a good guess,” T’mar observed. “M’hall was the eldest son of Sean and Sorka, and the first to establish a new Weyr.”

“So?”

“So he was the senior Weyrleader, after the death of Sean, and people would have looked to him for leadership,” T’mar replied. He shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll learn more when they find the special place.”

“They’d better be quick about it,” Xhinna said, “if Lorana’s queen, Arith, has got the illness.”

There was an awkward, thoughtful silence.

“How much time does she have?” Fiona wondered out loud.

“We don’t know,” T’mar replied. He made a face. “You’ve talked with Kentai and Tajen and the others, you know as much as I do.” He shrugged. “Maybe three sevendays, maybe less.”

“Fiona said that if Talenth went between she’d go with her,” Xhinna remarked.

“Yes,” T’mar responded slowly, “I can understand that.”

“I’m going with her if she does,” Xhinna added stoutly.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to make such a promise,” T’mar warned her. Xhinna gave him a stubborn look and he went on. “No one ever says words with the thought that they might one day have to eat them.”

“I won’t!”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” T’mar observed mildly. “I’ve had to eat my own words countless times; that’s why I give you such advice.”

“How did they taste?” Fiona asked, surprised to find her humor returning.

“Awful,” T’mar replied with a grimace. “But I was always glad after I’d eaten them.”

“ ‘Be careful what you wish for, you might get it,’ ” Fiona repeated the old saying.

“Exactly.”

“I’m not wishing for it,” Xhinna protested irritably. “I just want to have plans.”

“Why not plan for good things?” T’mar suggested.

“Like what?” Fiona challenged.

“Like when your Talenth can fly and take you between, ” T’mar suggested.

“What’s that got to do with me?” Xhinna asked. After a moment, she turned excitedly to Fiona, “Would you take me with you?”

“Of course,” Fiona promised. “We can go everywhere together.” “Not flying Thread,” T’mar said.

“But we haven’t enough queens for a queen’s wing,” Xhinna said.

“Yet,” Fiona told her with a grin.

“Are you planning on repopulating the Weyr with queens so soon?” Xhinna asked mockingly. She dropped her eyes into her lap as she realized the full import of what she’d said.

Fiona remembered the times she had gone with her father to the stud sheds to watching the bulls breed. Somewhere in her future there were mating flights, many mating flights. A thrill, a sense of dread and excitement both, churned her stomach.

“That’s for Turns not yet come,” T’mar chided Xhinna gently. “ ‘Don’t count your eggs before they’ve hatched.’ ”

“Dragon eggs,” Xhinna said with a snigger and a mischievous glance toward Fiona.

Fiona turned her attention to T’mar, asking, “What’s it like, a mating flight?”

T’mar smiled and shook his head. “That’s not for Turns to come yet,” he said again. “But it’s marvelous and you’ll be brilliant, I’m sure of it.”

“Just don’t let her gorge,” Xhinna said warningly.

Fiona looked at her inquiringly.

“Your queen, don’t let her gorge when she rises or the clutch will be too small.” Xhinna felt the intensity of the looks the other two were giving her and explained, “I heard it from the other weyrfolk.”

T’mar smiled. “They’re right, of course. They’ve seen enough mating flights to know.”

“What about you?” Xhinna pressed.

T’mar shook his head. “I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind,” he said. “It’s personal.”

“Well, I remember the last mating flight and I felt this amazing feeling,” Xhinna replied. “I’d never felt anything like it before. I just wanted to hug everyone.”

“Yes,” T’mar agreed quietly, “mating flights are like that: The emotions of the queen and her bronze flow into everyone.”

“When is Melirth due to rise again?” Xhinna asked.

“Not for a while yet,” T’mar replied. “Within the Turn, probably.” He slapped his good hand on his thigh and rose from his chair. “Which reminds me, it’s getting near enough toward dinner that we should head down to the Living Cavern and at least pay our respects to K’lior and Cisca, even if we’re too stuffed to eat.”

“Not me,” Xhinna responded feelingly, rising and grabbing their tray deftly. “I heard what Zirana’s making for dinner and I kept room enough!”

“The word from Ista is bad,” Cisca said the moment she had a chance to catch Fiona’s ear. “We don’t know everything yet, but it sounds like they lost over two-thirds of their fighting dragons.”

“How many do they have left?”

Cisca shook her head. “Less than a Flight, certainly. Maybe less than two wings.” With a sad look she added, “I think they lost more to the illness than anything else. Too many riders don’t want to miss the fight; too few are adept at knowing the signs of this illness.”

“Do we know?”

“Not really,” Cisca answered truthfully. “The cough is obvious, but the earlier signs . . . even Lorana wasn’t certain. Not that we had much time to talk about it . . .”

Fiona gave her a puzzled look.

“We spent most of our time poring over old Records and little time talking,” Cisca told her. She ran a hand nervously across her forehead, wiping hair away from her eyes. “Of course she left the moment she learned about her dragon.” She paused in thought, then shook her head. “The cough’s the most noticeable symptom.”

Fiona saw that the others around the table were watching them and pulled back from Cisca. The Weyrwoman noticed and turned to K’lior.

“I was just telling Fiona about Ista,” she told him.

“What’s the news? Did they have a Fall?” T’mar asked. He was sitting across from Fiona.

“Yes,” Fiona replied. She looked at the Weyrwoman, expecting her to fill in the details, but Cisca merely waved for her to continue the tale and reached for a platter of steaming meat. Fiona took a breath. “The Weyrwoman was just telling me that they may have lost as much as two-thirds of their fighting strength.”

“Two-thirds!” M’kury exclaimed from farther down the table. “They were already light, and with the loss of C’rion . . .”

“J’lantir’s leading them now,” K’lior said.

“J’lantir,” H’nez snorted derisively. “The man lost his whole wing!”

“But we found out why, didn’t we?” M’kury retorted quickly. “And without them, we would have had even more holders die in the Plague.”

“Holders!” H’nez snorted once more. “Who needs — ”

“I was a holder, H’nez, in case you’ve forgotten,” Fiona snapped angrily, her hands balled into fists under the table. “And without J’lantir, I wouldn’t be here. Think on that.”

“Actually,” Cisca added drolly, “perhaps it’d be best if you just think, H’nez.”

H’nez’s eyes flashed and he tensed in his chair, his anger obvious to everyone. Outside a dragon bugled loudly, answered by another higher-pitched dragon: Melirth and Talenth. The sounds seemed to recall him to his senses, and with some effort, he relaxed in his chair.

“Everyone is tense,” K’lior said soothingly into the silence that fell. “These are trying times and we — ” He waved his hand indicating all the wingleaders and the two Weyrwomen. “ — set the tone for the entire Weyr.”

“I spoke without thinking,” H’nez said, raising his eyes to K’lior, then Cisca, then Fiona.

“It was probably just the wine,” M’kury said in a conciliatory tone. Then he noticed that there wasn’t any wine at the table and raised a hand, calling, “We need some wine here. Make it Benden white, if you can.”

“You and your Benden white,” S’kan said, shaking his head. “You’d think you were in Benden, not Fort.”

“Fort for the riders, Benden for the wine,” M’kury said, holding out a hand to take one of the glasses being offered to the table. “Everyone has a specialty.”

The rest of the wingleaders guffawed.

“And we know yours,” M’valer said, gesturing to M’kury’s glass as a kitchen drudge carefully filled it.

“And why not? We don’t have another Fall for a sevenday,” M’kury replied nonchalantly.

“Good point,” M’valer acknowledged, raising his own glass for filling.

“Don’t drink too much, though,” K’lior cautioned.

“What about T’mar’s wing?” M’kury asked with a sideways glance toward T’mar.

“Every wing is flying light,” T’mar observed. “We need all the fit dragons we can get.”

“We need fit riders, too,” H’nez remarked sourly.

“My arm will be well enough when Thread falls.”

“Not if you tear it up during drills,” Cisca said pointedly.

“Why don’t I ride with T’mar tomorrow?” Tajen suggested. He hadn’t been sitting at the table but had come by partway through the conversation and had listened in, unnoticed. “I could catch the firestone for him.”

T’mar started to say something, but K’lior spoke first. “That’s a very interesting idea.” The Weyrleader turned to Cisca. “Could we pair other uninjured riders with uninjured dragons?”

“You mean two riders together, or one rider on another’s dragon?”

“That’s unthinkable!” M’valer exclaimed, looking extremely outraged. “Don’t ever think that I’ll let my dragon be ridden by another!”

“Not even to save Pern?” Fiona asked him. M’valer hesitated and she pressed on. “Even if your dragon would allow it and wanted to do it?”

“You know how they get when Thread falls,” M’kury added.

“Well . . . maybe,” M’valer said finally. “But it would have to be in direst need.”

“Why direst need?” Cisca asked reasonably. M’valer bristled, so she persisted. “How can we tell if without your dragon flying one Fall, we will have enough strength for the next?”

M’valer looked confused by this question, so Cisca continued, “No one can really say which dragon will be the most important in a Fall — ”

“You’ve not ridden a Fall,” H’nez objected.

“No, I’ve tended the injured,” Cisca returned sharply. “And I’m saying that we need every fighting dragon that can fly, regardless of who is riding them.”

“Well, it’s a thought at least,” K’lior observed, placing a soothing hand on Cisca’s arm. She glanced over at him in surprise. Whatever response he gave was a secret between the two of them, perhaps relayed by dragon, but it seemed enough for Cisca. K’lior turned his attention back to T’mar. “If you’ve no objection, then I would be interested to see how you work with Tajen tomorrow.”

T’mar gave the ex-dragonrider a quick, measuring look, then nodded. “I’d be delighted.”

“Then it’s settled,” K’lior said, returning his attention back to his dinner.

“What about the weyrlings?” H’nez asked. “Who’s going to handle them?”

“Well,” Tajen replied with a shrug, “the ones who can fly will be handling firestone, and the younger ones will be working with the Weyrwomen here, so I don’t think there’s an issue.”

“Who’ll control the flying werylings and the firestone?” H’nez pressed.

“That would be my job as Weyrwoman,” Cisca replied. She cast a glance at Fiona and smiled impishly. “Fiona will be responsible for the firestone, as we don’t need to have any more riders falling on her.”

That drew a chuckle all around and a shamed look from T’mar.

“With me holding on to you, T’mar, you needn’t worry about falling,” Tajen said, adding to the bronze rider’s shame.

“If you want me to handle the firestone,” Fiona said to Cisca, “then I should probably drill with the weyrlings.”

“Well said!” Tajen exclaimed. “Why don’t you plan on that tomorrow when the riders are practicing?”

Fiona nodded even as she felt her stomach go suddenly heavy with worry. Tomorrow! Under the table, Xhinna patted her knee reassuringly.

“You won’t have much trouble with the older weyrlings,” Tajen consoled Fiona early the next morning over breakfast. “There are only twelve of them with hatchlings from Hinirth’s last clutch, and they’re almost old enough to join the fighting wings.”

“The two leaders are J’gerd and J’keran,” T’mar added. “J’gerd’s a wiry-haired lad, smiles a lot but he’s thoughtful.”

“J’keran is blond-haired and low-built,” Tajen continued, glancing at T’mar for agreement.

“He’s strong, just not tall,” T’mar said. “They’re both — ” He glanced at Tajen. “ — steady, wouldn’t you say?”

“Steady’s a good word,” Tajen agreed. “Given time they’ll make passable riders.”

“They’ll know what to do; you just keep on top of ’em,” T’mar told her as he tipped back his mug for the last bit of klah and rose from the table. “You’ll do fine.”

And with that, they left.

Fortunately, Cisca took pity on her. It must have been the look in her eyes, Fiona thought ruefully as the Weyrwoman guided her toward the weyrling tables.

With well-honed good manners, all the young riders rose as soon as they spotted the Weyrwomen. Fiona knew some of them already, but she still felt that she was being confronted with a sea of faces.

Cisca gestured to one of the older weyrlings at the end of table. “This is J’gerd.”

The lad smiled, and immediately Fiona recognized it as the telltale sign, along with his curly black hair, that had been given her by T’mar.

“You must be J’keran, then,” Fiona said to a smaller, blond-haired boy standing beside J’gerd.

J’gerd’s smile grew wider and he poked the other lad, saying jokingly, “Examine your conscience and tell the Weyrwomen whatever sins you’ve committed.” While J’keran was still looking at him bemusedly, J’gerd added, “Quickly now, before it’s too late!”

“You’d best be mindful of your own errors,” J’keran replied steadily. Then he jerked his head toward one of the younger riders. “Either you or F’jian there would be my guess for any pranks.”

“Sit, sit all of you,” Cisca commanded. Obediently the riders sat back down, still looking at the Weyrwoman half-expectantly, half-fearfully.

“Fiona will be responsible for firestone drill this morning,” Cisca said.

“Weyrwoman,” J’gerd said with a polite nod toward Fiona.

“We worked together on the first-aid drill,” F’jian piped up from his place at the tables. “If you’d like,” he offered Fiona, “I could guide you around.”

“So you can eat with the Weyrleader?” J’gerd replied with a shake of his head. “No, the Weyrwoman will need an experienced hand to help her, not some young . . .” But he trailed off as he realized that Fiona’s queen was from the same clutch and any insult to F’jian’s bronze might also be applicable to her queen.

“You have to forgive J’gerd,” J’keran spoke up in the silence. “His lips often move a full minute before his brain.”

That brought sniggers from the rest of the group and red-faced shame to J’gerd’s face.

A subtle move from Cisca made it clear to Fiona that she was on her own to handle the situation. On her own and being tested.

“We need to make allowances all around,” Fiona said after a moment, choosing her words carefully. “Some who speak too quickly should learn caution — ” She saw J’keran glance victoriously at J’gerd. “ — while others who do not speak at all risk never being heard.” She was pleased to see J’keran and J’gerd exchange expressions as her meaning sank in.

“As such,” she continued, “I think it best if the two of you came with me to the Weyrleader’s table, while F’jian stays here and keeps order.”

The young bronze rider sat suddenly bolt upright as he absorbed the meaning of her words.

“Come on, quickly,” Fiona called, as she turned toward the Weyrleader’s table, seeing K’lior rising. Cisca merely smiled and waved her on. If K’lior moved too quickly, she’d never be able to talk with him, Fiona realized with a rush of fear. She couldn’t shout, it would be unseemly and almost certainly unheard in the noise of the Cavern so —

Talenth, ask Rineth to have K’lior wait for me, Fiona called to her dragon.

In front, she saw K’lior halt and turn slowly around, scanning for her. She picked up her pace and was soon beside him, J’keran and J’gerd a step behind her.

“K’lior, thanks for waiting!” Fiona said a little breathlessly. “I wanted to introduce the firestone crew to you.”

“J’gerd, J’keran,” K’lior said, nodding to each. He looked back to Fiona, saying, “Good choices.”

He frowned for a moment before continuing. “Thread will fall over Ruatha and then on to the Weyr.” He glanced at the three of them to make sure they understood. To the two lads, he said, “We’ll use the usual recognition points and full load.”

“Full load?” Fiona repeated, bewildered.

“Sometimes when we practice we don’t fill the firestone sacks full,” K’lior explained kindly. “But as we’ve a Fall coming and we’re flying wing-light, we need all the experience we can get.”

“Full load, it is,” J’keran replied, sounding somewhat gleeful.

K’lior looked back at Fiona. “Is there anything else, Weyrwoman?”

“No, thank you, Weyrleader,” Fiona replied formally, remembering at the last moment to bow rather than curtsy. Weyrwomen, as Xhinna was constantly reminding her, need not curtsy to anyone.

“Good Fall, Weyrleader!” J’gerd and J’keran called in unison as K’lior departed.

“We need to get ready, too, don’t we?” Fiona asked, turning back to the older riders. “Won’t they need firestone to take with them?”

“Of course, Weyrwoman,” J’gerd replied, trying not to sound as if that weren’t obvious. “J’keran, go and send the others to the barracks.” He turned back to Fiona. “Do you have the key?”

“Key?” Fiona repeated blankly. It turned out that the firestone was kept in a locked room, a leftover precaution from the days not so many Turns before when firestone had been dangerously explosive — mere contact with water would set the “old” firestone burning.

The newer firestone, as Fiona knew from her time with Kindan, Kelsa, and the other harpers, had been discovered by C’tov of High Reaches Weyr and was, as far as any could tell, the real firestone that had been first discovered in ancient times when it was used by fire-lizards.

Fiona spun around looking for Ellor. She quickly spotted her.

“Here’s yours,” Ellor said, handing a simple key and length of chain over to Fiona. “Mind you don’t lose it.”

“Mine?” Fiona repeated in surprise.

“Certainly,” Ellor said with a raised eyebrow. “You’re a Weyrwoman: this is your Weyr.”

With a nod, Fiona placed the chain over her neck and the key against her chest, pretending that she completely understood Ellor’s meaning. She was certain that she was missing some deep importance in the headwoman’s words, but she didn’t have the time to think on it more. J’gerd and J’keran were right behind her.

“Let’s go,” J’keran urged, all pretense now dropped. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Especially not for H’nez,” J’gerd agreed with a grimace.

Fiona said nothing but quickened her pace, breaking into a trot as she exited into the Weyr Bowl. She was about to slow down, uncertain of her direction, when J’keran sped past her. “This way!”

A knot of weyrlings were gathered outside the first-level door that housed the Weyr’s supply of firestone.

“You’ll need someone to count,” a voice beside her chimed up unexpectedly. Fiona turned to see Xhinna, who gave her a reassuring smile and said, “You’ve got to keep a tally of all the firestone leaving the room.”

“Could you do it?” Fiona asked. Xhinna’s expression dimmed slightly, letting Fiona guess that her friend wanted a more challenging role. She leaned in closer. “What do you want to do?”

“I’d like to fill the sacks,” Xhinna told her.

“That’s hard work,” a deeper voice spoke up. Xhinna and Fiona turned to see J’keran standing close by. “Usually we have the younger ones switch off.”

“We’ve what — twelve weyrlings to fly firestone?” Fiona asked out loud.

“Eleven,” someone else called out. “V’lex was injured in the last Fall.”

“Thirty-three weyrlings to bag — ”

“Thirty-four,” Xhinna put in stoutly.

“You’re not a weyrling!” one of the younger boys complained. “You’re a girl!”

“I’m a girl,” Fiona said warningly.

“Were you addled in your Shell, D’lanor? She’s offering to help!” another weyrling put in, eyeing Xhinna with a combination of surprise and awe.

“And what will happen when you’re all in fighting wings?” Fiona asked.

“Well, there’ll be more weyrlings,” J’keran suggested cautiously.

“Not unless Melirth rises soon!” J’gerd replied derisively.

“Why should we worry about that?” D’lanor wondered.

“You shouldn’t,” Fiona said. I should, she added to herself. “So, who should we set to counting?”

“Why not get V’lex?” someone suggested.

“Are you witless? V’lex can barely stand,” J’keran rounded on the hapless weyrling.

“I can do it,” Fiona suggested.

“Not a good idea, Weyrwoman,” J’gerd said at once. “You’ll need to be everywhere, keeping an eye on everything.”

“And your dragon,” J’keran added, glancing around in search of Talenth.

“You’ll need her to coordinate with us,” J’gerd explained. “When we’re at the rendezvous.”

“I could do it,” a new voice piped up. “I’m good at counting.”

Fiona discovered that the voice belonged to a young girl, younger than Xhinna. She had close-cropped strawberry-blond hair and vivid green eyes.

“Terin!” Xhinna exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here? Does Ellor know?”

“I asked,” Terin replied stubbornly. “She said, ‘Just as long as you don’t get underfoot.’ ”

“Another girl,” a weyrling in the distance murmured disapprovingly.

Fiona’s doubts vanished with those words and the look on Terin’s face.

“Very well, you can be our counter,” she said. J’gerd gave her a doubtful look, then handed a slate to the young girl.

“Make a mark for every bag filled,” he told her.

“I know,” Terin replied testily. “My father is a bronze rider.”

“No, he’s not,” a voice whispered loud enough to be heard by all.

“Enough!” Fiona bellowed, causing Terin to shrink visibly and the weyrlings to back away in surprise. “We’ve work to do, and we need to do it now.” She turned to the younger werylings. “You know what to do. Get moving.”

“They’re going to need a full sack for every flying dragon,” J’gerd told her. “And then we’ll need twice that for the weyrlings.”

“That’s one hundred and sixty-four sacks to start,” Fiona translated, “and . . .”

“Three hundred and twenty-eight for the weyrlings,” Terin supplied from beside her. Catching the looks of surprise around her, she added, “I said I was good with numbers.” She paused and looked at the weyrlings. “With Xhinna, that’s just under five sacks each to start and another . . . not quite ten for the weyrlings.”

“With that number, the werylings will be carrying close to thirty bags each, won’t they?” Fiona asked, looking to J’gerd for agreement. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then nodded. “That’s too much weight, isn’t it?”

“Each sack weighs — ” Terin dodged past the first of the young weyrlings carrying two full sacks of firestone. “We should get out of the way.”

“One sack at a time!” J’keran shouted at the weyrling.

Terin quickly made two marks on her slate and continued, “Each sack weighs two stone. So thirty sacks would be — ” She paused to mark off another filled sack leaving the storeroom. “ — sixty stone.”

“Too much,” Fiona said. Talenth, tell Rineth that the weyrlings can only provide half the firestone at a time.

Rineth has told K’lior, Talenth responded immediately.

“You’ll carry half the load,” Fiona told J’gerd and J’keran, “and come back for the rest.”

The two riders nodded, and quickly exchanged looks of relief. H’nez wants to know when his wing will have its firestone, Talenth relayed to her.

Ask Rineth in what order K’lior wants the wings provisioned, Fiona responded.

H’nez first, Talenth replied, her voice sounding slightly amused.

“Be sure to get the firestone to H’nez’s wing first,” Fiona called to the weyrlings as they rushed past.

“It’d be quicker if the younger ones just did the bagging and the older ones distributed,” Terin said, her tone reminding Fiona somewhat of Xhinna.

“Excellent suggestion, Terin,” Fiona replied, gesturing to J’gerd to implement it.

“Are you hoping to be Weyrwoman yourself, then?” J’gerd asked the young girl teasingly before hoisting a firestone sack and trotting off toward H’nez’s waiting wing.

“Don’t listen to him,” Fiona said to Terin. “He’s just annoyed that he didn’t think of it himself.” The younger girl’s expression brightened.

Fiona could feel the tension from the dragons out in the Weyr Bowl and didn’t need to see H’nez’s irritated gestures to realize that the dragonriders expected their supplies to be delivered more quickly. She sighed and resolved to start earlier before the Fall when it really came. But “drills are how people learn,” as her father often said. She smiled to herself at the thought of how surprised her father would be to see her in her current position. Lord Bemin had always been appalled when Fiona had taken it upon herself to order the Hold guard and other holders about — yet now she was ordering dragonriders !

Fiona stood at the entrance of the firestone room until Terin’s count reached thirty sacks and then decided to follow the last sack to see how things were with the dragonriders.

Her eyes first went to H’nez’s depleted wing. The older weyrling carrying the last load was struggling to bring it to the waiting blue rider at a trot, but the distance from the firestone room was such that it took several minutes to get there.

“Who’s next?” Fiona murmured aloud to herself, determined to order the next wing to move closer to the firestone. Irritably, she realized that she didn’t know. Probably M’valer and K’rall, H’nez’s favorite wingleaders, Fiona decided with a grimace. Fiona guessed that K’lior was giving the prickly flightleader the opportunity to be first into the drill.

Talenth, have M’valer bring his wing here, she told her dragon. They’ll get their firestone that much quicker.

A mild bugle in the distance alerted Fiona that her queen had relayed the message and that M’valer was surprised at it.

They come, Talenth replied a moment later. Linth was surprised that I told him.

“Upsetting the bronze riders, I see,” a woman’s voice said. Fiona whirled and was surprised to find Cisca looking down at her, an expression of approval on her face.

“This is quicker,” Fiona said, gesturing to the wing of dragons that had arrived in front of the firestone room.

“I know,” Cisca agreed in an easy, amused tone. “But having your new queen — ‘not months out of her shell’ — order grizzled veterans around is something new to them.”

“I suppose it must be,” Fiona agreed reluctantly. “But they seemed so upset at not getting their firestone quicker — ”

“Don’t apologize,” Cisca interrupted, holding up a hand. “You’re doing your duty as a Weyrwoman.”

“Was this another test?” Fiona asked, her feelings mixed between relief that she’d passed and annoyance that she’d been tested again.

“Every day is a test,” Cisca replied soberly. “But we’ll never learn new ways of doing things if we insist on telling everyone what they should be doing.”

“Well, I think we should keep a full load of firestone bagged and ready at all times,” Fiona remarked.

“A good idea,” Cisca agreed, “and usually we do. I suspect that with T’mar’s injuries, the issue was conveniently forgotten by the weyrlings.”

“I can’t say as I’d blame them,” Fiona said. “They must have been exhausted bagging and flying the firestone and then, on top of it, helping with the injured.”

“Sixty-two,” Terin called loudly from the doorway. M’valer’s wing had flown off and was replaced with K’rall’s.

Cisca turned to the sound of the younger girl’s voice and then looked back at Fiona, her eyes dancing. “Acquiring more outcasts?”

“She can count,” Fiona replied with a shrug. “She says her father was a rider.”

Cisca made a face. “She came to us from a small hold that was doing poorly,” she said. “And yes, they made the claim but couldn’t identify the parent.”

“And they let her go?” Fiona asked, surprised.

“It was six Turns ago, during that harsh winter, and that hold couldn’t feed itself,” Cisca explained. Before Fiona could ask the question, the Weyrwoman continued, “Yes, it was one of your father’s minor holds.”

“It must have been Retallek,” Fiona decided. “Father was going to replace the holder there as soon as the weather turned good enough to ride.”

Cisca raised an eyebrow, urging Fiona to go on.

“There were none left alive when he got there,” Fiona told her grimly.

“So she was lucky,” Cisca murmured quietly.

“Yes,” Fiona agreed with a deep sigh. She shook herself and said to the Weyrwoman, “I think I’ll go inside and see if I can help.”

Cisca acknowledged this with a wave and strode off.

Inside the firestone room, the air was getting dusty as the weyrlings heaped firestone into open sacks. She spotted Xhinna and waved to her, but the weyrgirl was too busy, wiping sweat out of her eyes and stooping to shovel another load of firestone into her bag.

“Water,” Fiona murmured to herself. We must get them water. And why wasn’t there more air coming in?

She started back to the entrance and pushed the double doors fully open, then looked around for someone to get water.

Talenth, she called, could you ask Ellor to send someone with water for the weyrlings? They’ll be parched.

Ellor has sent the water, Talenth told a moment later.

Thank you, Fiona replied, sending a mental caress toward her dragon.

“One hundred,” Terin said beside her as another weyrling passed by.

“Thank you.” Fiona looked up and saw Tajen lifting a sack of firestone up to his perch behind T’mar on Zirenth.

“I’ve brought some water,” a young boy piped up suddenly from behind Fiona. She turned and had to lower her gaze to meet the eyes of the towheaded youngster in front of her.

“Can you go inside and make sure that everyone gets a drink?” The boy’s eyes grew big and round as he realized he was talking to a Weyrwoman, but he shook his head slowly.

“Why not?” Fiona asked in surprise.

“Firestone explodes when water touches it,” the boy replied in a half-whisper.

“Old firestone,” Terin chimed in abruptly. “This is new firestone.” She shook her head at him, looking superior, although Fiona doubted she was more than two Turns his elder.

“Go on,” Fiona said, gently shoving the child to the door. “You’ll be fine. Just make sure that everyone gets a drink; tell them it’s my orders.”

“Yes, Weyrwoman,” the boy replied, his shoulders suddenly straighter as he realized that he would be giving the Weyrwoman’s orders.

Fiona, who had been raised as a Lord Holder’s daughter, had only a fleeting moment of surprise at how easily everyone followed her orders before she returned her attention the task at hand.

“One hundred and ten,” Terin called out a short time later.

Fiona insisted on carrying the last sack herself and cheerfully handed it up to a blue rider, who gawked at her in surprise before tying the sack to his riding harness.

“Good flying!” she called up to him.

“Thank you, Weyrwoman,” the rider returned, and then he was rising into the air, following the last wing as it took station above the Star Stones, then blinked between to the skies above Ruatha Hold.

“Everyone, take a break,” Fiona called. “But stay on your feet. Ten minutes.”

She had sent the weyrboy back to the kitchens for some snacks and set him the task of ensuring that everyone had a chance to eat while they were resting. She went into the firestone room and rousted out Xhinna and the weyrlings, urging, “Get some fresh air!”

To Terin, she said, “Good job.” The youngster glowed.

“What do you think of firestone, now?” Fiona asked Xhinna when she had a chance to catch her alone.

“It’s not so bad,” Xhinna replied with a look of stout determination.

When the break was over, the younger weyrlings and Xhinna started back to bagging firestone while the older weyrlings put their harnesses on their dragons in preparation for hauling the firestone.

At last the last sack was loaded onto the dragons, and J’gerd waved to Fiona from his perch on brown Winurth, then called to the other weyrlings, “Test straps!”

The weryling dragons flexed their hindquarters and leapt into the air, their wings beating frantically as they lifted their loads. Just off the ground, they hovered.

Winurth asks if you can see any loose straps, Talenth told her. Fiona got a feeling of motion from her queen, and turned to see Talenth hurrying out on to her ledge to see all the commotion firsthand. As the young gold caught sight of the straining dragons, she added wistfully, When can I do that?

When the other weyrlings of your clutch can, Fiona replied sending a wave of commiseration along with the thought. She turned back to the weyrlings and assessed their situation. Tell Winurth that I see nothing wrong from here.

J’gerd waved down at her and made a pumping motion to the flying weyrlings. They rose higher. J’gerd dropped his arm suddenly and the weyrlings swooped, stopping abruptly, straining their lines.

Winurth says that everyone reports ready, Talenth relayed in a tone of curiosity. What are they ready for?

What, indeed? Fiona wondered. Suddenly she understood.

Talenth, tell Rineth that the weyrlings are ready, Fiona said, realizing that J’gerd could have just as easily had his own dragon relay the information to the Weyrleader.

K’lior says that they should meet high at the north Ruathan border, Talenth responded a moment later, relaying the message very carefully.

Good, Fiona responded. Please tell Winurth.

A moment later, J’gerd made another arm motion. In response, the weyrlings rose higher, gathered at the Star Stones, and then disappeared between.

Did they get there? Fiona asked a moment later.

Rineth says they are in a good formation, Talenth replied.

Fiona straightened her shoulders with pride and turned to Terin.

“They got there,” she said. The youngster looked at her as if she’d just pronounced water wet.

It seemed only moments later that the older weyrlings were back, tying on their second load of firestone. Again they tested it. This time one sack fell off and a shamefaced green rider returned to the ground, retrieved the fallen sack, tied it securely, and tested once more. When all was in order, J’gerd gave the signal again and they went between, J’gerd first sketching a salute to Fiona. Fiona smiled and, gesturing for Terin to follow her, entered the firestone room.

Inside, she quickly collected all the younger weyrlings.

“Great work, everyone,” she said to them, eyeing them all carefully. They were hot and sweaty, looking very much worse for their efforts. And yet, in a real Fall, they’d need to prepare at least eight bags of firestone for each dragon, and they’d only prepared three. “We’ve got at least an hour before we’ll need to do more,” she told them. Their faces brightened until Fiona held up a hand in caution. “But I think we should ready another load of firestone, just in case.”

“But we won’t need it!” a voice grumbled in the crowd.

“Today maybe,” Fiona said. “But sure as Thread falls from the sky, the dragons will be needing firestone soon. What harm is there in being ready?”

“She sounds just like T’mar,” the same voice grumbled.

“She should, she’s a Weyrwoman,” another voice answered. Fiona recognized that voice as F’jian.

“F’jian, take charge,” she said. “I want to talk with the Weyrwoman.” With that, she turned and moved out briskly, her thoughts racing even more quickly.

It seemed foolish to her, with the illness and so few weyrlings, for the Weyr to rely on them alone for firestone. And what would happen if the older weyrlings got the illness or were injured? Who would fly the firestone then? Perhaps some of the less injured dragons could do it. Or perhaps K’lior’s thought of having healthy riders ride sick riders’ dragons would fill the gap. She needed to talk to Cisca.

“They won’t be up for it,” Fiona blurted as soon as she found the Weyrwoman where she was supervising the laying out of the first-aid area along with Kentai and Ellor.

Instead of asking who or what, Cisca merely nodded. “What should we do about it?”

“Can we organize some of the weyrfolk?” Fiona asked. She lowered her voice to be certain that no one else heard her next words. “We don’t know if the illness will affect the younger dragons. We must be prepared.”

“Actually,” Cisca corrected her, “we do know that it will affect them.” Fiona looked puzzled, until Cisca continued, “We know that Lorana’s Arith is infected.”

“Oh, yes,” Fiona replied sadly. She glanced toward her weyr, where Talenth was eyeing the bustle in the Weyr Bowl with great interest.

“We can do it,” Ellor said. “We’ll have to use more of the youngsters, though.”

“Good idea,” Cisca said. She turned to Fiona. “And with the work set more squarely on the weyrfolk, you’ll be able to help me with more of my chores.”

Oddly, the thought cheered Fiona. Cisca caught her look and winked at her.

“In fact . . .” she began, glancing around at the activity of the Weyr Bowl, “I think that perhaps you and I should make a quick inspection while we still have the time.”

“Inspection?” Fiona repeated, wondering what the Weyrwoman was talking about. A rustle of wings surprised her further, even more so when gold Melirth settled on the ground next to them.

“Run and get your riding things!” Cisca ordered, turning to the chair on which she’d draped her wher-hide jacket, leather helmet, and gloves.

Fiona raced back to her quarters, waved cheerfully at Talenth, rushed into her rooms, and opened the closet where she’d placed the riding leathers that she’d been given, in all due ceremony, at Turn’s End. She was surprised to realize that that had been less than three weeks ago. She grabbed what she needed and raced back out.

“She’s big and you’re small,” Cisca said, eyeing her queen with obvious delight, “so I’ll give you a hand up.”

It was less elegant than that, but finally, with a certain amount of undignified pushing on the part of Fort’s senior Weyrwoman, Fiona managed to catch the riding straps and crawl up on Melirth’s neck. A moment later she was joined by Cisca.

“Are you ready?” Cisca asked, leaning over Fiona’s shoulder.

“Where are we going?” Fiona asked, looking around the Weyr Bowl quickly, seeing the startled look on Xhinna’s face and the eager looks of the younger weyrlings.

“I can’t have you not doing your duty as Weyrwoman just because your dragon’s too young to fly,” Cisca told her sternly, adding with a chuckle, “And I haven’t been in the air for days. ”

With that, Melirth leapt, her great wings easily propelling them up high and out of the Bowl. They paused only long enough to dip a wing at the watch dragon by the Star Stones, and then Fiona was engulfed in the cold of between.

Are you all right? Talenth asked anxiously.

I’m fine, Fiona replied and was surprised to realize that she was. It was the first time that between seemed merely normal, almost comforting. She had only an instant to adjust to the new feeling before they burst out again into the sunlight.

Above her, Fiona could see twelve dragons spread in a loose V formation. Each dragon had a pair of firestone sacks dangling below them.

“We’re here!” Fiona cried, suddenly understanding Cisca. “We’re watching the weyrlings deliver the firestone!”

“Part of your job, Weyrwoman,” Cisca said into her ear. “Pay attention and see if they’re doing it right.”

Of course they were: they’d already done it once that morning. The purpose of the trip, Fiona realized, was not so much for her to check up on the weyrlings as for Cisca to show her how the weyrlings should be passing firestone.

The maneuver was quite tricky, Fiona decided as she watched one of the fighting dragons catch up with a weyrling, come alongside, get the weyrling’s attention and then, with a heart-stopping flip of the wings, dive in a spiral to a position directly underneath the weyrling, near the firestone sack.

The load was transferred neatly from weyrling to dragonrider, and then the two veered away from each other, the weyrling’s dragon lurching slightly from the sudden weight reduction.

“Well done,” Cisca murmured in Fiona’s ear. Fiona nodded in agreement. “Watch carefully: the trick’s the same for the flame throwers we’ll be using.”

“We don’t have enough queens,” Fiona protested, trying to imagine herself and Talenth accomplishing the maneuver.

“Yet,” Cisca said with a laugh.

They watched until all the weyrlings had relinquished their loads and then Cisca called, “Hold on tight!”

Suddenly Melirth’s great wings were pumping with more power than Fiona could imagine and the great queen lurched forward in the sky, arcing up to a nearly upside-down position before sweeping back in the other direction and taking up a position directly in front of the weyrlings.

Fiona felt more than heard the surprise and pleasure of the weyrling dragons behind her.

“We’re taking them home,” Cisca called. Fiona felt Cisca change her balance as she raised an arm and gave the universal signal to go between.

We’re coming back now, Fiona told Talenth as the cold nothingness that was between engulfed her once more.

You had fun! Talenth said, sounding both pleased and accusing. They burst out into the air above Fort Weyr , right at the Star Stones. The watch dragon bugled a greeting as Melirth zoomed past and then began a spiraling, leisurely descent back into the Weyr.

Yes, I did! Fiona agreed happily.

That evening Xhinna was so obviously sore from all her efforts that Fiona insisted the younger girl take her bath first.

“Don’t put on your nightgown when you get out,” Fiona ordered, “I’m going to put some salve on your back.”

Xhinna didn’t even protest as Fiona slathered her back with the sticky salve. Finally, Fiona sent her to bed and took her own bath. When she was done, she found Xhinna already asleep, lightly snoring.

Sometimes, Fiona thought happily to herself in a drowsy languor just before sleep overtook her, it’s like we’re sisters. It was a pleasant thought and Fiona squirmed up closer to Xhinna as she settled into sleep; it was still midwinter and the warmth of another body was perfect.

When Fiona awoke the next morning, Xhinna was still sound asleep. She decided to leave her; she knew that, despite Xhinna’s protests, the girl had worked herself ragged the day before.

Stepping into Talenth’s weyr, she checked on her sleeping mate, quietly oiled a new flaky patch that she’d been eyeing, and made her way out onto the ledge and into the Weyr Bowl.

The sun had crested over the easterly ridge of Fort Weyr , but there were still heavy banks of fog rising from the Bowl itself. Still, Fiona had no trouble negotiating her way to the Dining Cavern.

“Fiona!” Cisca hailed her as she entered. Fiona looked around and saw the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman seated by themselves at one of the regular tables. Cisca was beckoning to her. Fiona waved back and trotted over to sit beside them.

“We don’t have enough weyrlings,” K’lior began without preamble, not even looking up from the roll he was buttering. He was dressed in a worn tunic and looked haggard.

“No,” Fiona agreed.

“K’lior! Let her eat!” Cisca said, pushing the rolls toward Fiona and offering, with a quirk of her eyebrow, to pour the klah.

“It’s okay,” Fiona said after her first gulp of klah. Cisca glanced pointedly to K’lior before glancing back to see if Fiona understood. Fiona didn’t, but she gathered that the Weyrwoman wanted her to eat before she spoke again, so she took a roll herself and began to butter it quietly.

“Cisca,” K’lior murmured warningly to his mate.

“Shh,” Cisca said firmly in response. “Eat! Talk after.”

“We need an answer before the others get here,” K’lior grumbled before returning dutifully to his eating.

Fiona bit into her roll, still hot and melting the butter, chewed reflexively, swallowed, and asked, in defiance of Cisca’s warning looks, “How many weyrlings would we need?”

“A Flight of flying weyrlings would be best,” Cisca said, raising a hand to keep K’lior from answering.

“They need to have at least a Turn from the Egg, right?”

“More would be better,” Cisca said in agreement. “In easier times, we wouldn’t have them lifting firestone until they have at least two Turns.”

“Don’t want to overstrain them,” K’lior put in.

“The younger ones will need another ten months before they can help,” Fiona observed, realizing that she and Talenth would start their training at about the same time.

“Queens wait longer,” Cisca told her warningly.

“In good times,” Fiona pointed out.

“And these are not good times?” Cisca asked with a grin.

“You’re to start training with the weyrlings, too,” K’lior told Fiona abstractedly.

“I’m responsible for her training, Weyrleader,” Cisca reminded him, adding a playful poke to remove any sting in her words.

“So tell her!” K’lior said, flinching from her fingers.

“You’re to train with the weyrlings,” Cisca said, turning back to administer another fast playful poke to her mate.

“Can I?” Fiona’s eyes shone with excitement. “That’d be great.” K’lior snorted humorously.

“How did it work with T’mar and Tajen?” Fiona asked, returning to the original problem.

“Well enough,” K’lior said. “But that solves only part of the problem.”

“And we still don’t know if one dragon will let another ride it.”

“Can’t you test that?” Fiona wondered. The other two looked at her. “Can Cisca ride Rineth?”

The two gave her startled looks. Fiona wondered what was wrong with her suggestion.

“Better a brown rider on a bronze,” K’lior said after a moment. Seeing Fiona’s perplexed look, he explained, “I’d be surprised if a bronze would let a woman ride him.”

“Any more than I could see a man on a queen,” Cisca said by way of agreement.

“Of course,” K’lior added reflectively, “no one has ever tried, so I can’t be certain it wouldn’t work.”

Cisca’s eyes narrowed as she said thoughtfully, “I wonder if Rineth would let me ride him?”

K’lior shrugged. “I’d prefer it if you never have to find out.”

“Me, too,” Cisca agreed fervently.

“What did you do last Threadfall?” Fiona asked, her mind still working on the question before them.

“We used the older weyrlings and rotated a wing from each of the flights,” K’lior told her.

“We left you to handle the problem yourself yesterday because we wanted to give you the chance to come up with a better solution,” Cisca explained to Fiona.

“And we have so few dragons now that a wing would be a big loss to our fighting strength,” K’lior added.

“Especially with the illness,” Cisca added bitterly. She glanced at K’lior consideringly, then added, “I think we’re going to lose Yerinth and Casunth today.”

K’lior nodded, his expression set.

“H’nez will stay with F’vin, and M’valer says he has someone with S’pevan,” Cisca added.

“Thank you for that,” K’lior said, acknowledging Cisca’s foresight.

“We’ve got another forty or more who are feverish,” Cisca continued unhappily.

“How many will be ready for this Fall?”

“If it comes to the worst, a little more than a full Flight,” Cisca told him. “But that would be spread out amongst the wings.”

“A Flight,” K’lior repeated with anguish in his voice.

“We’ll find a cure,” Fiona said, surprising herself. “We have to. What about Benden Weyr? Have we any news from them?”

“They found a room,” Cisca said after a moment of silent communion with her dragon. “Melirth tells me that Gaminth says they are searching it.”

“See? Then they’ll find a cure,” Fiona predicted confidently.

“In the meantime,” Cisca said, looking pointedly at K’lior to get his full attention, “it is up to us, Weyrleader and Weyrwomen, to keep up our spirits.”

“I agree,” K’lior said. “If we lose hope, then all the Weyr will lose hope.”

Fiona’s mind was back on the issue of firestone. “How much firestone can one of the larger dragons carry?” Weyrleader and Weyrwoman looked at her expectantly, so she continued, “Could one of the browns or bronzes carry enough for a full wing?”

“Just detach a dragon from the wing to get the firestone?” K’lior repeated to see if he was following Fiona’s line of thought. When she nodded, Cisca brightened, saying, “That could work!”

“It’d be difficult for the wing, though,” K’lior said consideringly. “They’d lose cohesion, which would make fighting Thread harder.”

“They’d have to train for it,” Cisca agreed. K’lior frowned.

“But wouldn’t they have the same problem if a dragon or rider got injured?” Fiona asked.

“Yes, they would,” K’lior agreed. His expression brightened. “Your suggestion certainly could work.”

“I think you should try it out tomorrow,” Cisca said.

“Why not today?” K’lior asked in surprise.

A bugle and the sound of dragons keening erupted in the Weyr Bowl outside.

“Yerinth has gone between, ” Cisca responded.

A moment later the keening increased to a higher pitch.

“Casunth?” K’lior asked.

Cisca nodded sadly.

The loss of two more dragons to the illness cast a pall on the entire Weyr. Fiona found some solace in oiling Talenth’s hide, and for a change it was frustrating that the queen’s skin had very few of the dangerous dry patches.

She was happy to be interrupted by a voice from outside her ledge calling, “Weyrwoman? Wingleader T’mar sends his compliments and asks if you and Talenth would join the weyrlings in the morning drill.”

“We’d be delighted!” She called to Xhinna, “Xhinna, we’re going to drill with the weyrlings! Join us if you want!”

“I don’t have a dragon!” Xhinna called back grumpily.

“You can pretend!” Fiona answered with a grin.

Talenth insisted once more on launching herself from her ledge and gliding down to the Bowl proper before trotting over to the weyrlings arrayed outside their barracks.

“Weyrwoman,” T’mar greeted her as she joined the group. “If you’d please drill with the younger group.”

“Can’t we have her with us?” J’gerd asked. The rest of the older weyrlings added their agreement.

“No,” T’mar told them firmly. “Talenth is of the same clutch as the youngsters; the drill is appropriate to her age.”

“But she’s bigger than any of them!” an older weyrling protested. “That’s because she’s a queen, dimglow!” F’jian snapped in response.

“Where would you like us?” Fiona asked.

“A queen’s position is either in front of a wing or in the middle of the wing,” T’mar told her. “Today, I’d like you in the middle so that you and your dragon can observe the others.

“But,” he continued, spreading his attention amongst all the younger weyrlings, “until you riders know your drill, your dragons will stand aside.” A chorus of groans rose from the younger weyrlings, but was silenced by T’mar’s order: “Form up!”

Fiona watched in surprise as the weyrlings started to line up in a large V formation until she heard a voice whisper loudly, “You’re supposed to be in the center!”

Fiona flushed and then rushed to find her position. At the front, F’jian craned his neck around at the formation, then called to T’mar, “Ready for drill!”

“Weyrwoman, you need to be farther back, in line with the second-to-last row,” T’mar called critically. Fiona scooted back quickly to the correct position.

“Very well,” T’mar said, seeming satisfied. “Now we will drill.” He took a deeper breath and ordered, “Wing, right wheel!”

Fiona was totally lost as the riders started moving forward and turning to the right. In moments she was completely outside the formation, scampering to get back.

“Halt!” T’mar bellowed. The group halted. “Weyrwoman?”

“I got lost,” Fiona said. “Sorry.”

“Perhaps you should watch some drill first,” T’mar replied, beckoning to her to join him. To the weyrlings, he called, “Reform!”

As he put the weyrlings through their drills, T’mar explained everything to Fiona, from the formations to the arm motions, to the timing. When they were done, he called out, “Halt! Reform in a V ahead.” To Fiona he said, “Now, Weyrwoman, are you ready to resume your education?”

Fiona took a deep breath and nodded. “I just hope my arms don’t get too sore.”

“If they don’t,” T’mar told her with a determined look, “let me know.” He smiled at her distraught look. “It’s your first day, your arms are certain to get sore.” She made a grim face, to which T’mar added, “Just remember: All eyes will be on you.”

Fiona nodded, shook her head to clear her mood, and smiled at the wingleader. “They always are!”

The drill was every bit as exhausting as T’mar had promised, but Fiona refused to admit it or ask for a break. It was only when the weyrlings themselves were grumbling loudly that T’mar finally relented.

“Okay, now get your dragons,” he told them, “and reform here.”

As Fiona sought out Talenth, T’mar told her in an undertone, “You’re to stand in front of your dragon.”

Fiona nodded and beckoned Talenth to follow her. As the weyrlings reformed, Fiona found her assigned spot and spent a few moments positioning Talenth.

This is fun! Talenth exclaimed, eyes whirling green in pleasure.

And, as the werylings recommenced their drill, with their dragons following dutifully behind them, Fiona realized that it was fun. For a while, anyway. They practiced the various maneuvers over and over again until even Talenth’s enthusiasm waned.

“Well done!” T’mar called finally. “You can all take a break. Be sure to get water for your dragons.” As he spotted some weyrlings heading to the barracks, he called out, “Walk to the lake, do not get water from the barracks. You need to cool off muscles — yours and your dragons’.”

Fiona could see the sense in that as she trudged along with the others to the far end of the Bowl and the lake. The penned herdbeasts, afraid that they were on the menu, wailed and slunk away from the approaching dragons.

I’m not hungry, Talenth said, snorting irritatedly at the herdbeasts.

They don’t know any better, Fiona replied. When her stomach grumbled she added humorously, Maybe they realize that I am.

I could get you one, Talenth offered.

I’ll eat in the kitchen, Fiona assured her, patting her neck affectionately.

Without thinking about it, Fiona had Talenth wait to drink until all the other dragons had drunk their fill.

Manners, she chided her dragon when Talenth complained to her. We set the example, we make sure that everyone else is fed — or watered — before us. That’s the mark of a leader.

Talenth absorbed Fiona’s words trustingly and ceased her grumbling. I’m a leader?

You’re a queen, Fiona told her. Of course you are!

A leader! Talenth glanced at the weyrlings ahead of her as they made their way back to the weyrling barracks. Shouldn’t I be in front, then?

No, Fiona assured her, you’re fine where you are.

“Fiona!” a voice called from just outside the weyrling barracks. Fiona spotted Tajen striding toward her.

“Good day to you, Talenth,” he called as he approached. To Fiona he said, “I saw the drill today; you did well.” He glanced at Talenth. “I just wanted to check her over; I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Talenth was delighted to show off her wings and have Tajen run knowing hands over her legs, examining her all over.

“She’s growing well,” he declared when he was done. He nodded to Fiona, adding, “And you’ve done well in oiling her. I see no signs of flaky skin.”

“Xhinna helps,” Fiona felt obliged to explain.

“I’ve heard that she has taken to gliding from her ledge,” Tajen said. When Fiona nodded confirmation, he turned to the queen and said, “Are you ready to fly?”

Can I fly? Talenth asked Fiona excitedly.

“She certainly wants to,” Fiona said.

“Well, I think if she gets on her perch and tries flapping her wings for a bit, she might extend her glide,” Tajen replied. But he shook his finger at Talenth and added warningly, “But no more than a few beats, then glide back down. I don’t want you straining yourself; you could damage your muscles.”

Can I do it now? Talenth begged.

“Can we try now?” Fiona asked.

Tajen pursed his lips consideringly, then shrugged. “Only once, because both of you have had enough exercise this morning.”

I can fly! Talenth exclaimed, prancing back to her weyr. Fiona and Tajen followed quickly behind her and stood below the ledge to watch as she climbed up, crawled into her weyr, turned, and raced to the edge, wings flared and ready for flight.

As she leapt off, she gave her wings one beat and bugled excitedly as she rose into the air. Another beat and then — “Hey, that’s too high!” Fiona cried in alarm.

Sorry! Talenth responded, sounding not the least bit contrite.

Glide on back down! Fiona ordered, nervously eyeing the height to which Talenth had climbed. With her excitement unabated, Talenth leveled her wings and glided slowly back down to the ground, landing easily several hundred meters across the Bowl.

Did you see? Talenth called. I flew! I really flew!

Yes, you did, Fiona agreed, her mental voice full of pride. You flew very well.

Tajen walked quickly toward Talenth, with Fiona following a few steps behind.

“Ask her to spread her wings if she can, and hold them,” Tajen requested of Fiona.

Talenth was willing but curious. I think he wants to check your muscles, Fiona guessed. She was right. Tajen ran his hands over Talenth’s pectoral muscles and across her chest, gesturing for Fiona to follow behind him with her hands.

“I’m feeling for any heat and any signs of knotted muscle,” he explained. He paused for a moment in his exploration, widening his movements around one particular spot, then pointing it out to Fiona. “Feel here.”

Fiona did. The muscle seemed tighter than elsewhere.

“Nothing major,” Tajen assured her, “just some normal tightness.” He continued his inspection. “But if you were to feel the same tightness the next time she flies, you might want to tell me.”

“Would that be bad?”

“I doubt it,” Tajen said with a shrug. “Usually it’s just the muscles getting their strength. Often one muscle has to do more work to compensate for weaker muscles until they get stronger. But if it persists, we may need to let her rest for a few days so that she doesn’t strain herself.” He smiled and beckoned for Fiona to come closer, murmuring, “Young dragons rarely do themselves an injury — the worst they do is get sore for a day or so — but it’s always wise to keep an eye on them in case it’s more serious.”

Can I do it again? Talenth asked eagerly.

“Not today,” Fiona replied, adding to Tajen, “She wants to do it again.”

“Of course she does,” Tajen replied with a grin. He caught Talenth’s whirling eyes and said to her, “Tomorrow, if you feel up to it.”

I will! Talenth declared fervently, climbing back up the ledge to her weyr. Tajen followed her progress with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

“Are you thinking she’s doing too much?” Fiona guessed.

“No,” Tajen said, shaking his head and smiling. “I was thinking how much her gliding exercise will help her muscle tone.”

“Will that mean she’ll be ready to fly sooner?” Fiona asked hopefully, working to keep her emotions from Talenth. She didn’t want to raise the gold’s hopes falsely.

“I don’t think so,” Tajen said. “But it might mean that she’ll be more fit when she does first fly.” He paused for a moment before adding, “But that wasn’t what I was thinking.”

Fiona’s look challenged him to explain.

“I was thinking,” Tajen answered, “that if it were to help her, it might also help the hatchlings.” Before Fiona could respond, he added, “Those of her clutch, I mean.”

“I don’t know how the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman would feel about that.”

“We can find out by asking them,” Tajen said. “But first, I wanted to know if you or Talenth had any objections.”

“No,” Fiona said without really thinking over her answer. Tajen cocked an eyebrow at her, challenging her response. “No, honestly, I think it’d be fun.”

“Then we should ask the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, shouldn’t we?”

“They’ll be at lunch,” Fiona said. “Just let me make sure that Talenth is settled in.”

They found Cisca and K’lior at the head table on the dais.

“We figured that today we should be easy to find,” Cisca murmured to Fiona as she joined them at the table. “I heard that your dragon flew today.”

Fiona nodded, looking somewhat surprised that this was remarkable.

“You know that Melirth keeps an eye on her hatchlings,” Cisca explained. “And Talenth was quite proud of herself.”

“Yes, she was,” Fiona agreed with a broad grin.

“In fact,” Tajen inserted smoothly into the conversation, “we were wondering if perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea for all of Melirth’s latest hatchlings to practice gliding.”

Cisca beckoned to K’lior and quickly brought him in on the conversation. He frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded, glancing at Tajen. “Would it help them fly faster?”

“I doubt it,” Tajen responded. “But it certainly would make the transition easier. Their muscles would be more toned.”

“I suppose,” Cisca said carefully, glancing at K’lior for confirmation, “that if they drilled no more than once a day, it wouldn’t be too great an inconvenience.”

“And you could watch all the pretty youngsters,” K’lior teased her.

“K’lior!” Cisca growled back warningly. “They’re far too young for me, you know that!” She cast a sidelong glance at Fiona, “Though maybe for our junior Weyrwoman . . .”

Fiona blushed furiously, shaking her head in denial. Cisca’s eyes danced as she enjoyed Fiona’s discomfort, but then she took pity on the youngster and turned back to Tajen, asking, “Have you discussed this with T’mar?”

Tajen shook his head.

T’mar, who was seated farther down the table, looked up at the mention of his name. “Weyrwoman?”

With a nod, Cisca invited him to move closer. Once he was seated again, she explained Tajen’s suggestion.

“I’m not sure that it wouldn’t actually reduce their training time,” T’mar said finally. “We don’t know how much time is spent getting their muscles honed.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be Turns,” Tajen said.

“No, but maybe months.”

“Even a month might be all the difference we need,” K’lior said with a tone of urgency.

“Tomorrow, Thread falls at High Reaches and Igen,” T’mar observed.

“Ista is down to forty-six fighting dragons,” Cisca said. At the startled looks of the others, she added, “B’nik of Benden has promised to support them.”

“Which is why we must have all the fighting strength we can get,” K’lior said. He glanced at T’mar and Tajen. “If the older weyrlings had to — ”

“They would die,” Tajen declared flatly. “They haven’t even started flaming yet!”

“I think we will have to teach them soon,” K’lior said heavily, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes against the anguish he felt.

“Even with that,” T’mar declared, glancing at Tajen for confirmation, “they’d need at least three months before they’d survive more than an hour against Thread.”

“If that,” Tajen agreed sadly. “If we had the queen’s wing . . .” Tajen put in bitterly.

“We’ve got a queen,” Cisca said.

“We can’t risk Melirth,” K’lior said immediately.

“If we do it properly, we won’t risk anyone,” Cisca replied. She glanced at Fiona, cocking her head questioningly.

“How much firestone could Melirth carry?” Fiona asked the Weyrwoman.

“More than a bronze,” Tajen replied, glancing at T’mar, who considered the statement and then nodded reluctantly.

“She would still have to supply the firestone,” K’lior objected, “and she couldn’t do it any faster than another dragon.”

“She could if she trailed the firestone at different levels,” Fiona said. The others looked at her. “What if she trailed firestone at say, two, four, and six dragonlengths beneath her?”

“On both sides,” Tajen added. “That’d be six dragons at once.”

“And she can carry at least twice as much firestone as the weyrlings,” Fiona guessed, glancing to the Weyrwoman for confirmation.

“Perhaps even three times as much,” Cisca allowed, glancing toward K’lior with a concerned, measuring look.

“If anything happened to her — ” K’lior began, then broke off, seeing another objection. “You’re forgetting, all of you, that dragons have riders.”

“And?” Cisca demanded, brows furrowed.

“There’s a reason the weyrlings only have two sacks of firestone on tether at a time,” K’lior told her. “It’s because they couldn’t manage the workload of more.”

“So?” Cisca demanded. “I’ll get someone to help me.” She glanced pointedly at Fiona, who was delighted at the notion.

“No,” K’lior replied, shaking his head firmly. “I might risk one of our queens at the trailing edge of Thread but not both Weyrwomen.”

Cisca’s elation deflated immediately. “You’re right.” Then she brightened again. “Perhaps Tajen?”

“Actually,” Tajen began slowly as all eyes turned to him, “perhaps it would make more sense for T’mar and me to perform the experiment first.”

“A bronze could carry nearly as much as a queen,” K’lior reminded Cisca.

“And it would be safer for the Weyr,” Cisca conceded against her will.

“Someone has to keep things running here,” K’lior agreed with her.

“But if it works — ” Cisca began.

“We’ll talk about it,” K’lior agreed. He raised a finger toward Fiona, adding, “But she won’t ride with you.”

“I could take Xhinna,” Cisca said thoughtfully.

“She’d be thrilled,” Fiona agreed.

Tajen turned to T’mar. “We should spend some time on this idea of the Weyrwoman’s.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” Cisca corrected him, nodding to Fiona. “It was hers.”

Fiona flushed with pride.

Xhinna’s surprise at the long line of weyrlings clambering up the ledge to Talenth’s weyr was quickly overwhelmed by her joy at watching the bronze, browns, blues, and greens happily launching themselves skyward, first in a glide and then, the second time, beating their wings several times to climb and climb before once more returning to the ground.

Fiona and Talenth watched with her from their vantage point on the ground, Talenth exclaiming happily at each launch and telling Fiona, I flew higher than that! — which, being true, required Fiona’s firm agreement each time.

Can they come again tomorrow? Talenth asked excitedly after the weyrlings had finished their last flight and had gone back to their quarters.

You won’t mind? Fiona asked. Apparently not, Fiona decided, as Talenth responded, Can I go first?

Fiona woke suddenly, in the middle of the night. Xhinna was snoring beside her. Fiona directed her thoughts to Talenth and the dragon’s response was so alarmed that Fiona instantly leapt out of bed. She paused only long enough to slip her feet in slippers and grab her robe before racing to Talenth’s weyr.

Talenth was trembling in her sleep, limbs restless and eyelids fluttering.

It’s all right, Fiona told her dragon as quietly as she could, concentrating on soothing her without waking her. Talenth uncurled, turned, and curled up again, still trembling.

It burns! Fiona heard. She snapped her head around, looking outside the weyr, trying to locate the source of that thought. But before she found it, she heard another voice call, Arith! And suddenly Fiona felt her legs give out and she collapsed against Talenth, all strength drained, her eyes streaming tears, her mouth open in a silent scream.

She seemed to lie there forever, all strength sapped, all hope gone, feeling only the trembling of her queen beside her. And then —

It will be all right. But it wasn’t Talenth’s voice. Fiona opened her eyes, looking around to find the source of the voice.

After a long moment, Fiona thought back, How can you be sure? But there was no answer.