Dragonheart

FOUR

Fort Weyr, AL 507.13.12

Fiona groaned when she awoke. The sun was high in the sky. Her muscles were all sore, aching from the awkward position in which she’d finally found sleep after the awful nighttime awakening that she and all the dragonriders had experienced. But the ache in her muscles was nothing to the ache in her heart. She felt hollow. So hollow that for one frantic instant, she looked around wildly for Talenth only to stop, realizing that the bulk of the young dragon lay beneath her. She pulled back and spent several long, tense moments watching her queen, searching for signs of life. She didn’t realize that she’d been holding her breath until she let it out in a sigh as she saw Talenth’s chest rise and fall in the steady breathing of an exhausted dragonet.

Then, to her surprise and annoyance, Fiona’s stomach grumbled loudly. She nearly hissed at it in anger, afraid that it might disturb the sleeping queen. When it rumbled again, she beat a hasty retreat from the queen’s lair, rushing out into the Weyr Bowl.

Out there, Fiona was struck by silence. She glanced at the sun overhead in confirmation of the late hour and frowned — usually by this time the Weyr Bowl was bustling with dragons, riders, and weyrfolk.

Had something happened to the whole Weyr, she wondered, a jolt of fear running down her spine. At a half-trot she rushed down the incline onto the Bowl proper and over to the Kitchen Cavern.

It was a moment before she spotted anyone and then her sigh of relief carried through the entire room.

Tannaz beckoned to her. Fiona closed the distance quickly, her brain teeming with questions, but when she got to Tannaz’s table, she found that she could only sit numbly and stare at the small basket of rolls.

Tannaz caught the look and pushed the basket to her, sliding over a tub of butter with her other hand.

“You’ll feel better when you eat,” the older Weyrwoman told her. “I know I did.”

“Better?” Fiona repeated, startled by the hollowness in Tannaz’s voice. She was surprised at the sound of her own voice: hoarse, empty, lifeless.

“Eat.” Tannaz leaned forward and grabbed a roll, setting the example.

Fiona followed suit and buttered her roll slowly. There was something reassuring, almost peaceful, in the way the cool butter spread on the roll. Normal .

She took a bite and chewed slowly. The butter and the fresh bread were wonderful! Fiona finished her first bite and took another bigger bite of her roll. She could hardly believe how good the roll was, how fresh the butter was.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” Tannaz asked before taking another bite herself.

Fiona could only nod, her mouth full.

“That’s because you’re hungry,” Tannaz told her. She pushed a pitcher over to her and gestured toward a mug. “The klah ’s cold, try it.”

Fiona wasn’t much of a fan of klah at the best of times, and cold wasn’t the best. But the scent wafted over to her and she found herself filling the mug without thinking.

“It’s great!” she exclaimed after her first sip. She was thirsty, and at that moment the cold, spicy brew was better than the freshest stream water. She finished her mug and filled it again.

Tannaz chortled. “That’s because you’re thirsty.”

“Where are the others?” Fiona asked. She already felt more awake.

“Grieving,” Tannaz told her flatly.

“Well, they can’t grieve any longer,” a voice boomed from the entrance. Fiona turned and saw Cisca. Reflexively, she rose.

“Have some food,” Tannaz murmured, her mouth half-full, as she got to her feet with the basket of rolls in one hand.

As Cisca crossed the distance between them her expression changed from one of anger to one of hunger. She took the proffered roll and, sitting down, slathered it with butter from the tub Fiona pushed in her direction. Two rolls later she said, “You’re right, I was hungry.”

“Klah, ” Tannaz said, sliding the pitcher in her direction.

“It’s cold,” Fiona warned.

Cisca acknowledged the warning with a nod and looked around for a mug. Tannaz offered hers, and the Weyrwoman took it gladly.

“Better, huh?” Tannaz asked as Cisca gulped down the cold liquid. Cisca nodded wordlessly. Two rolls and another mug of cold klah later the Weyrwoman confessed, “I didn’t realize I was that hungry.”

Tannaz rose to her feet and gestured for Fiona to follow her. “We’ll rouse the weyrfolk and get a proper meal,” she declared. “You stay here and rest.”

Cisca nodded gratefully.

“You’ll probably have to bring food to the riders,” a voice declared from the entrance.

“Ah, Kentai,” Tannaz called to the man garbed in harper blue, “we’ll be glad of your help.”

The harper’s lips turned up, the nearest anyone had come to a smile so far that day.

“Is it like this across Pern?” Fiona wondered.

“Very likely,” Kentai said. “Certainly at the Weyrs.”

“It’s not just the news — it’s what it means,” Tannaz elaborated.

“Well, this illness hasn’t affected Fort.” Fiona recognized T’jen’s voice before she spotted the Weyrlingmaster striding in from the brilliance of the midday sun. He nodded briefly to the Weyrwomen and again to the harper. “The weyrlings have started to recover,” he told them. “The rest of the Weyr will be back on their feet soon, I’m sure.”

“It was the shock,” Tannaz declared, shaking her head. “I was so certain that it wasn’t going to happen — ”

“It’s yet to happen here,” T’jen reiterated. “If we close the Weyr, we’re not likely to be — ” He broke off, alerted by a sound, and turned quickly, looking back the way he’d come. Fiona turned in the same direction, listening intently. The sound echoed around the Weyr: the deep noise of a dragon coughing.

“Salith!”

“What are you going to do?” H’nez demanded as K’lior entered the Council Room.

“Give him a chance to sit at least,” M’kury snapped.

K’lior used the moment of their bickering to take a deep breath and look around the room. Before the wingleaders had settled down, he heard the rustle of cloth behind him and was not surprised when Cisca, Tannaz, and Fiona entered the room.

H’nez glared at them, but M’kury rose from his seat, gesturing politely to Cisca. “Weyrwoman.”

Cisca nodded her thanks and settled herself in the chair beside K’lior.

“Well?” M’kury demanded of the rest of the room. “Are you going to leave our Weyrwomen standing?” His eyes settled challengingly on H’nez.

T’mar and P’der rose quickly and gestured to the Weyrwomen.

“I want them to sit by me,” Cisca said, glancing at H’nez. The grizzled rider grimaced before relinquishing his chair to Tannaz.

A younger rider, wearing the knots of a wingleader, vacated the seat on Cisca’s other side. “Sit here, little one,” he said to Fiona.

“Thank you, V’ney,” Cisca said as he moved to the edge of the room. The young man nodded back courteously.

Underneath the table, unseen by the others, Cisca patted K’lior’s knee reassuringly. He looked over to her and smiled, then turned his attention to the rest of the room.

“What are we going to do?” he said, repeating H’nez’s words. He nodded to Kentai, the Weyr harper, who stood against one wall. “Harper, what do you say?”

“I haven’t got much to say,” Kentai admitted, shaking his head sadly. “You all know better than I what happened at the other Weyrs and the symptoms of this illness.” He gestured with one hand vaguely in the direction of T’jen’s weyr.

“And you’re not a healer,” H’nez added, glaring at K’lior. “When are you going to get Zist and Betrony — ”

“That’s a question for a later day,” Cisca cut in.

“You know why we’ve no healer, H’nez,” M’kury growled. “It’s because you goaded old Sitarin into that duel.”

H’nez’s jaw worked angrily.

“H’nez,” K’lior said with a restraining hand upraised. The older rider locked eyes with him for a moment then glanced away, letting out a long, slow breath. K’lior glanced at Cisca, asking, “Have you spoken with Benden’s new Weyrwoman?”

Cisca shook her head. “But Melirth has heard from Lorana.”

“Who’s Lorana?” someone muttered from the back of the room.

“I thought Tullea was second Weyrwoman,” someone else added.

“Lorana Impressed at Benden’s latest Hatching,” Cisca said. “She bespoke Melirth at M’tal’s request.”

“But her hatchling can’t be more than — ” M’kury began.

“She’s younger than Talenth!” H’nez exclaimed. “How can you expect a dragonet to say anything sensible at that age?”

“Lorana spoke directly to Melirth,” Cisca replied. With a slightly wistful look, she continued, “She can speak to any dragon.”

“Like Torene?” Fiona blurted in surprise.

“Like Torene,” Cisca agreed. “Although I got the feeling from Melirth that . . .” Her voice trailed off and she shook herself, saying, “Anyway, she told Melirth about Kindan’s fire-lizard and Salina ’s Breth.”

“And?” H’nez demanded. Cisca turned her head slowly toward him, her dark eyes simmering. The bronze rider cleared his throat hastily and bobbed his head. “My apologies, Weyrwoman.”

Cisca held his gaze for a moment more, then looked away, dismissing him from her regard as she said to K’lior, “They can’t be certain what is causing the illness or how long it lasts.”

“Do they have a cure?” K’lior asked.

Cisca closed her eyes, linking with her dragon, then opened them again. “Lorana is not answering; she may be asleep.”

“No help there, then,” H’nez growled.

“When people are sick,” Tannaz spoke into the ensuing silence, “we quarantine them.”

“We started that with the fire-lizards,” T’jen agreed. He looked down to the floor a long moment, then brought his chin up jerkily, saying, “Salith and I should be kept away from the weyrlings at the very least.”

“Nonsense!” H’nez declared loudly. “Who will teach them?”

“If they are coughing,” Fiona spoke up nervously, “could we put masks on them like they did in the Plague?”

A few riders nodded thoughtfully, but H’nez shattered it with a loud guffaw. “Who would put a mask on a dragon?”

“I would,” Tannaz declared. “Especially if it helped prevent infection.”

K’lior pursed his lips and shook his head. “Perhaps we should wait until we know more.”

“How many dragons will die before then?” H’nez demanded angrily.

“Until we know what’s causing it, we won’t know whether we’re helping or hurting,” Cisca shouted. Outside, they heard a dragon bellow, and then another — closer — bellowed back.

“That’s you put in your place,” Tannaz murmured to herself, recognizing the sounds of bronze Ginirth and gold Melirth.

“But we should do something, ” H’nez protested.

“Yes,” T’mar agreed heatedly. “We should think and not act rashly.”

“As long as Salith isn’t near the hatchlings,” T’jen said.

K’lior glanced consideringly at the Weyrlingmaster, then nodded. “Take Salith to one of the unused weyrs at the far end of the Bowl.” He glanced at T’mar. “I want you to take over the weyrlings.”

T’mar looked ready to argue, then paused and finally nodded in acquiescence. “Yes, Weyrleader.”

“Everyone is to keep an eye and ear out for any more signs of the illness,” K’lior declared. “Report it to me or Cisca immediately.” He rose decisively and, with a polite gesture for Cisca to precede him, left the room. Tannaz followed immediately after.

Their departure startled Fiona. She remained seated as the other wingleaders slowly drifted past grumbling darkly among themselves.

“He’s too young,” she heard H’nez mutter heatedly to himself as he bustled by her. “You should have flown her.” The rumble of agreement in the Bowl beyond belonged to Ginirth.

Long after everyone had left, Fiona sat, trembling. It was only when she heard Talenth’s plaintive, I itch!, that she roused herself and left the darkening Council Room.

After she finished oiling Talenth into contented slumber, Fiona set off in search of the other Weyrwomen. She found Tannaz first.

“Can you help?” Tannaz asked as she caught sight of her. When Fiona nodded, the older Weyrwoman slumped against the corridor wall and closed her eyes in relief. “Good.”

“What do I do?”

“Oh, sorry,” Tannaz said shaking herself and standing upright again. “We need to talk to the riders, check on the dragons . . . that sort of stuff.”

“Deal with sick aunties?” Fiona murmured, unable to contain herself. “Old uncles?”

“Dragonriders,” Tannaz corrected her firmly. Fiona felt herself burn in shame. Tannaz noticed, even in the shadows of the corridor, and relented. “Yes, they probably are a bit like old uncles at this moment, but they’ll be protecting those sick aunties.” She nodded forcefully. “So don’t forget that.”

“What do I say to them?” Fiona asked, working to keep a whining tone out of her voice.

“You know how they feel,” Tannaz said, her voice turning softer, warmer. “Probably more than most, since you lost your fire-lizard.”

Fiona bit her lip, then shook herself fiercely and nodded for the Weyrwoman to continue.

“So talk to them about how they feel, how you feel. Don’t lie but be positive.” Tannaz put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed firmly. “You are a Weyrwoman now.”

Something in the other’s tone made Fiona realize that Tannaz was bestowing upon her a gift, not weighing her with a burden. Tannaz must have seen it, too, for she let go of the young girl and told her brusquely, “Off you go, now!”

As Fiona started off down the corridor in the direction Tannaz had indicated, she realized that she didn’t know where to start and slowed down, dithering between going back and asking the other Weyrwoman or just picking a spot and starting.

As if reading her thoughts, or recognizing her omission, Tannaz called after her, “First weyr after the stairwell.”

Fiona picked up her pace again, looking anxiously in each entrance to see if it was a stairwell. After a while her pace slowed down again as she began to think about what she was going to do. What did one say to grieving dragonriders? Fiona wondered. She mulled on this, growing more and more anxious with each step until, by the time she reached the stairwell, she was nearly trembling with fear.

I can’t do this, she thought miserably, stopping one pace before the entrance to the weyr. I’ve only thirteen Turns!

She thought of turning back, of telling Tannaz that everyone had made a mistake, that Talenth had made a mistake in choosing her — and that thought, that horrible thought, brought her up short. She reached out and touched the sleeping queen lightly with her mind. She felt Talenth’s fatigued response, realized that the queen was groping slowly toward full consciousness in response to Fiona’s needs, and pulled away.

Back to sleep, little one, she thought fondly to her mate.

Kindan had no one, Fiona chided herself, and he was your age when the Plague struck. He saved you and everyone at Fort.

Well, she corrected herself, tears filling her eyes, almost everyone. He couldn’t save Mother, or my brothers, or even my sister, the girl he loved.

But he saved me, she remembered, and thought of the tales her father had told her of Kindan’s bravery. With those in mind, along with images of her own Impression, she lifted her head and stepped forward.

I can do this, she thought, and she called out, “Hello?”

“Who’s there?” From the sound, Fiona guessed that the rider was calling from his dragon’s weyr.

“Fiona, Talenth’s rider,” she replied, walking through the rider’s quarters to the entrance to the dragon’s weyr.

“The new Weyrwoman?” the rider muttered to himself. Then he said, “See, Danorth, that’s the youngster we saw Impressing that queen at the last Hatching.”

Fiona heard a dragon make an inquiring noise and stepped into view. Danorth was a green dragon. Her rider was an older man, older even that H’nez but, at least from first appearances, not nearly as irascible.

“I’m forgetting my manners!” he exclaimed, rising to his feet and bowing his head. “I am L’rian, Danorth’s rider, at your service, Weyrwoman.”

Fiona smiled and nodded back.

“Fiona . . .” he murmured thoughtfully, then comprehension brightened his expression. “You were Lord Bemin’s child, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Fiona replied, not seeing the need to state that she still was Bemin’s child.

“She was just a baby back then,” L’rian said, speaking mostly to his dragon, then caught himself. “My apologies, Weyrwoman, but I often find myself talking aloud to Danorth, just to hear my voice.”

“But you get out, don’t you?” Fiona asked quickly. The man appeared no older than her father, but then Fiona remembered that weyrfolk aged better than holders, so perhaps he was nearing sixty Turns or even the seventy Turns that Masterharper Zist had.

“Indeed I do!” L’rian replied, straightening up. “My bones might be old, but the mind’s still able.”

“You knew me as a baby?” Fiona asked uneasily.

“Indeed, I did,” L’rian replied. “I was lucky enough to be on the Weyrleader’s wing back then, and there was many a time when I’d attend a Gather at Fort Hold .”

“Did you know my mother?” Fiona asked, curious. The only memories she had were so dim that she was never willing to put much faith in them.

“I did,” L’rian told her, shaking his head sadly. “I knew her before she was Lady Holder, even.” He smiled at her. “She looked a lot like you, actually.

“She came from Ruatha,” he continued, pleased to see that he had such a willing audience. “At first she spent time at the Harper Hall.” L’rian winked at her. “Rumor was that she was sweet on a harper, even though she was the eldest of Ruatha’s daughters.”

Fiona listened, entranced, for the next half hour while L’rian reminisced.

“Oh, I can go on, can’t I?” he said in apology when he realized how long they’d been talking. He smiled. “But it’s good to talk to fresh ears; all the stories become new again.”

Fiona smiled back. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Was that the purpose of your visit?” L’rian asked, somewhat bemused. “I can’t think of anyone who might know that I’d met your mother, you know.”

“No,” Fiona said, rising to her feet and looking anxiously toward the door. “Tannaz asked me to — ”

“Check on us?” L’rian guessed with a knowing look.

Fiona thought of prevaricating but realized it was futile. “The loss of the dragons — ”

“That was horrible,” L’rian confessed. “Even for the weyrfolk, who can only know what’s been lost, not what was had.”

“Some of them had fire-lizards,” Fiona remarked.

“So they did,” L’rian agreed. “And those would understand, even if they were still in pain. But only someone who has Impressed can really understand what it is to lose a dragon.” He pursed his lips, then leaned closer to Fiona, saying conspiratorially, “If anything were to happen to Danorth, if she were to get ill, I think I’d go between with her.”

“But what about your loved ones?” Fiona asked in dismay.

“I’ve seen many of the ones I’ve loved go between already,” L’rian told her. “My sons and daughters are all grown, their mothers are well partnered, and my best mates are in the past. I’ll have no regrets when the time comes.”

“Except one,” Fiona corrected. “Fighting Thread.”

L’rian barked a laugh. “Fighting Thread!” He turned back to Danorth. “Did you hear that? She thinks we’ll fight Thread!”

“It’s coming soon,” Fiona replied hotly. “And we’ll need all dragonriders then.”

L’rian paused then, absorbing her words. “I suppose we will at that, if only to carry firestone to the fighting wings,” he allowed.

“There, you see, you’ve something to live for, then,” Fiona told him.

L’rian smiled and gave her a tolerant look. After a moment, he grinned and wagged a finger at her. “I’ll tell you better.”

Fiona looked at him inquiringly.

“I’ll wait around until your gold rises, and then we can have some serious conversations,” the green rider teased.

Fiona felt herself turning bright red, and L’rian burst into a loud, long laugh. She brought herself under control enough to declare, “Heard and witnessed!” which wiped the smirk off the old man’s face. She turned to his quarters, saying, “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must check on the others.”

“Go, lass!” L’rian called after her. “Go and may you bring as much joy to the others as you’ve done to me.” As she left she heard him muttering to his dragon, “Did you hear that, Danorth? We’re staying on for another three Turns if we can make it. Staying on to talk with the wee one after her dragon rises.” There was a thoughtful pause and she heard, just before she moved out of hearing distance, “We might even stick around for her Hatching!”

Fiona schooled herself to spend less time with the next rider and was glad that she managed to spend no more than a quarter of an hour with each of the next six. However, she did promise herself that she would find more time in the coming months to talk with more riders. So many of them reminded her of her father’s guards, sturdy men who worked hard and determinedly to provide peace and protect the Lord Holder if the need ever arose.

However, the riders were also different; a breed apart. They spoke of firestone. The older ones spoke of spicy firestone, the sort that burned the throats of their dragons. They spoke of riding straps and tack, they shared with her their horror stories of oiling patchy dragonhide, and they shared memories of past Games, and reminiscences of past mating flights.

While none seemed too overwhelmed by the death of the four dragons, Fiona had been in her father’s company long enough to note those who spoke with a forced heartiness — she’d heard the same tone in prideful holders who had over-farmed their lands or were afraid to admit other shortcomings. Often the neediest Fort holder was the one least likely to ask for aid. Lord Bemin was constantly visiting the smaller holds, always on the pretext of preparing or collecting tithe, but even with only thirteen Turns to her, Fiona had noticed the times when her father had ordered some of the guards to help out with a planting or a fencing, or had sent back to the Hold for some special spices or tubers.

“I’ve so many tubers in our root cellars that I’ll have to get rid of them or let them rot,” she recalled him saying to one farmer whose entire crop had been ravaged by tunnel snakes. “Would you do me the favor of taking some?”

Or, “My men have grown soft on this trip; would you let me put them to work on that field over there?”

She knew that she still had a lot to learn, so she found it easy enough to listen to the dragonriders and sometimes surprised herself by suggesting that she was hungry — even when she wasn’t — and would they have some food with her. Then she’d order down or have their dragon bespeak the watch dragon and have some food brought up to them, and that way she could be certain that the rider ate something that day.

She was genuinely sorry, hours later, to have to interrupt her latest meeting when Talenth woke.

“I’ve got to go oil her — her skin’s itching again!” Fiona declared as she made her departure.

“Go! Give her a good oiling,” the brown rider told her, waving her to the door.

“I could come back,” she offered tentatively.

“No, I’ll need to oil my own beast,” he told her kindly. “You go on and see to the others.”

Fiona nodded gratefully and rushed back down to the center stairwell and across the bowl to her weyr and itching dragon. She was pleased with her efforts; she’d managed to see everyone on her half of the level.

She oiled Talenth quickly, making sure to lavish lots of praise — using some of the new phrases she’d heard from the older riders — and then rushed off, promising to return when needed.

Go! Be Weyrwoman, Talenth replied with a mixture of pride and curiosity — she was still too young to grasp all the responsibilities of her rider, but she was pleased to know that Fiona was doing what was expected of her.

As Fiona crossed the Weyr Bowl again, she saw that there were many dragons on the ground and in the air: The activity at Fort Weyr looked more normal.

“Fiona!” Tannaz called to her from near the Kitchen Cavern. Fiona waved and rushed over.

“Cisca said we should stop what we’re doing and help with the evening activities,” Tannaz told her as she got closer. She smiled at the younger Weyrwoman. “Kentai is going to put on a performance and the cooks are putting on a feast.”

So, with a mixture of relief and regret, Fiona turned her skills to the evening’s activities, and was soon busy learning things she’d never known about Southern Boll cooking from the head cook, Zirana.

“Do you sing?” Kentai asked her at one point.

“Sing?” Fiona repeated, wrestling her attention away from the pungent smells and thinly-sliced meats and vegetables being quickly cooked in front of her. She couldn’t help but make a face as she answered, “I sing when I can’t avoid it.”

“Hmm,” Kentai murmured thoughtfully. “Would you prefer to dance?”

“I’d prefer to learn the swords, to be honest,” Fiona told him. She’d grown up on the tales of Nerra of Crom, but no matter how she’d tried, she’d never managed to get her father to agree to her taking lessons.

“Ah, Nerra of Crom!” Kentai said with a knowing nod. “Weyrwomen are more often encouraged to gain skill with the bow, and tonight would not be the time for a display of such skill.”

“Flaming arrows,” Zirana muttered as she poured a batch of thinly-sliced vegetables into a cooking bowl.

“Not after last time!” Kentai laughed. When he caught Fiona’s perplexed look, he explained, “Cisca nearly set the weyrling barracks alight.”

“Strong,” Zirana agreed tersely. She flicked her eyes up to Fiona for a moment. “Good for the Weyr.”

“Why bows?” Fiona inquired of Kentai.

“Tradition,” Kentai replied. “Besides, using a bow is similar to using a flamethrower a-dragonback, or so the Records say.” Before Fiona could ask, he added, “You probably won’t be taught until Talenth is old enough to mate.”

“Probably?” Fiona said, seizing on the word.

Kentai shrugged. “Nothing is for certain in a Weyr.”

“Food is certain,” Zirana corrected him. She made a shooing gesture to Kentai. “Hungry harpers is certain.”

“Harpering is hungry work,” Kentai said reprovingly.

“Cooking is hungry work,” Zirana retorted. She beckoned Fiona to come closer. “Come, learn to cook.”

Fiona didn’t say that she’d been haunting the Fort Hold kitchen since before she could remember, because Zirana’s style of cooking was so completely different from Neesa’s that Fiona wanted to learn all about it. For one thing, it looked like Zirana tended toward lighter fare than Neesa, working with fresh vegetables, thin-sliced meats, all cooked together quickly at high heat. Neesa’s food was more the sort that stewed for half a day or was marinated days in advance. The aroma of cooking food, pungent with fresh spices, banished Fiona’s fatigue.

“Weyrwomen — dragonriders and weyrfolk — must know how to cook,” Zirana declared, waving a wooden spoon threateningly at Kentai, who had sidled back toward the cooking bowls. “Harpers always know how to eat.”

Kentai raised his hands in defeat, saying to Fiona, “Once you’ve learned as much Boll wisdom as this one is willing to teach you, feel free to find me.”

Tannaz, who had been helping one of the dessert cooks preparing fresh fruits, called over to Fiona, “And when you’ve learned from Zirana, you come to me and I’ll teach you proper Igen cooking.”

“Igen!” Zirana swore, tending to her pots. “Igen food is thick and heavy.”

“I’ll teach you how to make desserts from nothing,” the cook at Tannaz’s side piped up.

“You listen to Ellor, here,” Tannaz agreed vehemently. “She’s the best.”

Ellor blushed and bent back down to her work, looking flattered.

“Keep chattering, Melanwy will hear,” Zirana cautioned.

Fiona was startled by the silence that descended. “Who’s Melanwy?”

“Headwoman,” Zirana replied, bending back down to her cooking. Fiona saw that Ellor had also returned intently to her work. When she caught Tannaz’s eye, the older Weyrwoman shook her head quickly, in an obvious “not now” movement. Fiona sighed and turned her attention back to the amazing dishes that Zirana was preparing.

“Ginger, garlic, onions, mushrooms, pernooms, all a good start for cooking,” Zirana explained as she started a fresh cooking bowl, pouring in a quick daub of oil and then throwing in many of the ingredients she’d listed. The smell of ginger, garlic, and pernooms wafted up enticingly. Zirana passed the spoon to Fiona. “You try.”

Fiona gave her a startled look before taking the spoon and quickly swirling the ingredients around the bowl.

“No burning, no sticking,” Zirana instructed. “Just stir fast.”

As Fiona did so, Zirana started throwing in sliced onions, followed by a darkish sauce. “From soya bean,” Zirana explained, smiling as she poured it on. “Now meat.” And Zirana scooped in a cup of thinly sliced wherry meat.

The aroma arose mouth-wateringly from the bowl and Fiona’s stomach gave a lurch, suddenly reminding her that she’d missed lunch. Zirana must have noticed, for she said, “Cooks always hungry, never eat.” She patted her flat belly. “Stay thin!”

Under Zirana’s guidance, Fiona constructed three more dishes, then the cook surprised her by saying, “Now you make your own.”

“What?” Fiona cried in surprise.

“Make your own,” Zirana repeated loudly.

“You’re letting her make her own, Zirana?” Tannaz called from her cooking island. She told Fiona, “You should be honored. She wouldn’t let me cook for a whole Turn.”

“That’s because you’re Igen,” Zirana retorted, shaking her head. “Igen only think thick food.”

Fiona let the conversation wash over her as she looked at the ingredients waiting to be cooked. Garlic, lots of garlic, she decided, throwing it in the sizzling bowl and stirring it quickly. She found a pepper mill and ground it over the garlic, tossing in only a drop of the soya sauce before stirring more. The smell wafted up enticingly. Pernoom, Fiona decided, looking among the various edible Pernese fungi for the one she wanted the most. It had a special flavor, piquant, and unlike any other flavor, hearty yet fresh. There! Sagooms. She only needed a few and that was just as well as they were always hard to find. She shredded three and poured them on. The smell changed again and she looked for some vinegar. Yes. Then she was ready for the vegetables. Broccoli, carrots, onions. She added beef and, when it was brown, more soya sauce. A bit more pepper, she decided.

“Done?” Zirana asked, intruding into Fiona’s reverie. She didn’t wait for Fiona’s answer but spooned up a small piece of meat and tasted it. “Good,” she declared. “You serve this to Weyrleader.”

“Me?”

“Weyrleader and wingleaders,” Tannaz called across from the hall. “It’s a Fort tradition.”

Fiona’s eyes widened and she looked accusingly at Tannaz. Tannaz understood the look perfectly and laughed. “Not telling you is also a Fort tradition.”

“Weyrwomen must cook,” Zirana said in agreement.

“It smells good,” Ellor added. “Save us some, will you?”

“I’ve written down the recipe,” Kentai said from an out-of-the-way corner, holding up a slate. “You can make more later.”

“It’s never the same,” Fiona said, surprised to hear Zirana echoing the words in unison with her. The older cook turned to her and said approvingly, “You’ll do.”

Fiona beamed with pride. She’d never been allowed to cook at Fort Hold , even though she’d been in the kitchens since before she could remember. And here, on her first try, she was serving the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman.

She felt awkward that evening as she helped to carry the warming plates to the Weyrleader’s table. She was suddenly aware of the amount of noise in the cavern and looked around in surprise to see that most of the tables were full, many of them with women and children. Harper Kentai nodded to her as he made his way to a raised platform set between the two openings to the Bowl. He was busy directing a group of youngsters up onto the stage.

“The children often practice and perform here,” Tannaz told her. “Is it different at Fort Hold with the Harper Hall so close?”

Fiona smiled and shook her head. “I suspect we have more performances than the Weyr,” she said. “Not only do we host the Hold’s performances, but also those of the Hall itself.”

“So you get a double dose, do you?” Ellor asked. “Is that a good thing or bad?”

Fiona’s eyes twinkled. “As a Lady Holder, I am required to say that it was always a good thing.”

“And when you’re not a Lady Holder, what would you say?” Tannaz asked.

“I would say that each performance is different,” Fiona replied diplomatically.

“Some are better than others,” Tannaz guessed.

“A Lady Holder would never say that,” Fiona replied, pretending to be shocked. The others laughed.

“I suspect tonight will be good, even for those of us who aren’t Lady Holders,” Tannaz said.

“I’m not a Lady Holder, I’m a Weyrwoman,” Fiona said, partly to remind herself.

“The distinctions are not all that great,” a new voice chimed in from behind her. Fiona turned to greet Cisca, who waved her motion aside, saying, “I just wanted to see if Zirana and Ellor weren’t overworking you.” She glanced at Tannaz and added, “I heard you’d already been put in harness by this one.”

“She did well,” Tannaz said, not sounding at all contrite.

Cisca cocked her head to one side thoughtfully but said nothing. The gesture must have had some meaning to Tannaz, for the other Weyrwoman blushed and shook her head in silent mirth. Cisca grinned then.

“I take it you’ve suffered no lasting harm,” she said, turning back to Fiona.

“They let me cook!” Fiona exclaimed.

Cisca looked really surprised and gave Zirana and Ellor looks. “Really?”

“Not me,” Ellor said, tossing her head in Zirana’s direction.

Cisca’s eyes widened. “You let her cook?”

“She grew up in Neesa’s kitchen,” Zirana replied. “She learned.”

“But they wouldn’t ever let me — ” Fiona began.

“You watched, didn’t you?” Tannaz pointed out.

“Well, yes,” Fiona admitted. “But — ”

“You learned,” Zirana told her. She pointed to the bowl of food that Fiona had prepared, still steaming on the warming trays. “She’ll serve you tonight.”

“Excellent!” Cisca declared. “I’m looking forward to it.”

When the time came, however, Fiona found herself far more nervous than she’d ever remembered. What if no one liked it?

“Take,” Zirana told her tersely, pointing to the serving bowl into which she’d heaped the greater portion of Fiona’s dish. Repressing a gulp, Fiona lifted the dish by the handles and stopped abruptly as Zirana caught hold of her shoulder, pulled her around, and clapped a lid on top of the dish. “K’lior second, Cisca first,” she commanded.

Swallowing nervously, Fiona nodded and started carefully toward the table at which the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman were seated. Their table was directly in front of the stage that Kentai and the youngsters had occupied.

Fiona felt as though all eyes were on her and for a moment she stumbled and felt an instant of blind panic as she envisioned falling down, the beautifully decorated serving dish shattering, and her food splattering all across the clean stone floor.

You’ll do fine. Fiona blinked and swallowed hard. The voice was not Talenth’s. Was she imagining things?

She took a deep breath to steady herself, raised her head again to look to the Weyrleader’s table, and walked with head high and shoulders back, as befitted the daughter of Fort Hold ’s Lord.

Cisca smiled as Fiona approached her left shoulder and lifted the lid, allowing the steam to rise toward her.

“Ahh! What is this?” she asked theatrically, her eyes twinkling up at Fiona.

“A dish I prepared for you and the Weyrleader,” Fiona replied, glancing to K’lior, who returned her look gravely. Cisca took the serving spoon and helped herself to a good portion. She took a quick bite and closed her eyes to help her savor the tastes. She opened them again and smiled at Fiona. “That’s wonderful.”

Fiona beamed with pleasure and, following Cisca’s gesture, moved on to K’lior. The Weyrleader helped himself to a larger portion, added some rice, and took a small taste.

“Hmm, ginger beef!” He gestured to the dish and the table, saying, “Set it down and let others try it.”

Fiona put the serving dish down on the warming tray that ran the length of the table and turned to go back to Zirana at the cooking fires.

“Sit here, Fiona,” Tannaz said, approaching from behind her and indicating the seat next to Cisca. Taking the seat on Fiona’s other side, she grinned and gestured to the serving dish. “Why don’t you try the beef? I hear it’s great.”

Fiona sat and was surprised when the rider sitting opposite Cisca passed her the serving dish.

“Thank you, P’der,” Tannaz said to the rider.

The rider nodded to both of them, saying, “Just be sure to leave me some.”

“Kentai has the recipe,” Fiona told him.

“It wouldn’t be the same,” P’der replied, retrieving the serving dish that Tannaz was passing back to him, “This is your first dish as a Weyrwoman.”

“One day you might be the Weyrwoman, and for some reason, the dragonriders set store by how well you can cook,” Tannaz murmured to her.

“Is that because Sorka was a great cook?” Fiona wondered out loud, remembering the first Weyrwoman of Pern.

Tannaz laughed. “No, I think it’s because a rider thinks first of his stomach.”

“Second,” K’lior corrected her with an impish grin.

“First of his dragon,” Cisca agreed.

“I understand,” Fiona replied somberly. Tannaz looked at her in surprise and Fiona hid her discomfort by spooning up a bite of her dish.

It really is good! Fiona thought, amazed. Tannaz, who was still watching her, chuckled, saying, “What, did you think Zirana would let you serve something that wasn’t good?” Fiona’s look answered her and the Weyrwoman continued, “You’re not at the Hold anymore. You’ll be treated with respect, but no one will lie to you.

“Of course, if it had been Melanwy, you might have had to make a dish three times before she’d let you serve it to — ”

“And a good thing, too,” a voice hoarse with age rasped through Tannaz’s words.

Tannaz’s face drained of color before she could school herself and turn to the speaker.

“Headwoman Melanwy,” she said formally. “I’d like you to meet Weyrwoman Fiona, Talenth’s rider.”

“Hmph!” Melanwy snorted. “Think I can’t tell who she is for myself? What, think I’m blind?”

Fiona found herself looking up at a white-haired, stooped, aged woman whose face was lined with Turns of hard living.

“Just because I lost my dragon doesn’t mean I’ve lost my reason, too,” Melanwy continued harshly.

Suddenly Kentai was at her side, a hand close to hers. “You’ll join us on the stage tonight, won’t you?”

“You want me to sing?” Melanwy barked.

“Drums, if you would,” Kentai replied courteously. He leaned down to her, adding, “These youngsters can only keep time with a decent drummer.”

“Hmph, I can’t disagree with you there!” Melanwy snorted. “In my day, they wouldn’t have been allowed to entertain even D’mal — ” Her voice broke off suddenly and her eyes misted.

“How I miss him.” She glanced disapprovingly at K’lior, who had diplomatically engaged in an animated discussion with P’der and could pretend not to hear her.

“Come, then,” Kentai said, gently guiding her away, “and show us all how it’s done.”

For a fleeting moment it looked as though Melanwy was going to rail at the harper’s obvious distraction, but her obstinate look faded and, instead, she looked momentarily puzzled.

“Who are you?” she asked Kentai querulously, in a voice and expression that reminded Fiona of a small child looking for her mother.

“I’m Kentai, Melanwy,” the harper replied courteously, his troubled eyes darting to Tannaz and Fiona. He gestured to the stage. “You were going to play with us.”

“I can’t sing,” she said once again.

“No, drums,” Kentai told her. The rest of their conversation faded away as the harper and the old woman moved toward the noise of the stage.

“I’ve never found out how old she really is,” Tannaz murmured to Fiona. She seemed unsettled by the encounter.

“I think Kentai did wonderfully,” Fiona said. When Tannaz gave her a surprised look, she added, “We’ve any number of older people at Fort Hold who’ve lost their measure of the days.” She remembered all the times she’d sat in with old aunties and uncles. “One moment their thinking is clear and brilliant, the next they’re like lost children.” She sighed. “It’s sad, really. Sometimes I think growing old is no gift at all.”

“Melanwy would be the first to agree with you,” Tannaz told her. “She wanted to go between with Nara and Hinirth and railed at her lot for Turns afterward.”

“And she’s the headwoman?”

“Not even I have the heart to take that away from her,” Tannaz admitted. “When she’s not addled, her knowledge of weyrcraft is invaluable.” She glanced at Cisca. “We take turns spending time with her, hoping to learn as much as we can before her last day.” “I’ll help,” Fiona offered. “When Talenth is a bit older, I’m sure I’ll have more time.”

“I’m not sure I want you around her,” Cisca chimed in, surprising Fiona. “She’s a morbid thing these days, and I don’t think it’d be fair to you.”

“I wouldn’t mind, Weyrwoman,” Fiona told her. “It’d be nothing more than I’ve done at the Hold, as I was telling Tannaz.”

Cisca smiled at her. “I know that,” she said. “And that’s all the more reason to let you have what few Turns there are to you before you shoulder a grown woman’s burdens.”

“Thread’s coming,” Tannaz added in agreement. “You might see the full Pass through.”

“I intend to,” Fiona declared. She paused for a moment, not because she didn’t know what she meant to say next but because she wanted to give the two older Weyrwomen a chance to fully absorb her words. “So it seems that it would make sense for me to know everything I can about the Weyr, wouldn’t you agree?”

Tannaz gave her an astonished look, then turned to Cisca, who laughed.

“You made your case.” She frowned and added, “Still, I don’t think it’s fair to rob you so young of your youth. I have a motherly duty — ”

“Pardon, Weyrwoman,” Fiona interruped, her throat hard, her face hot, “but I lost my mother before my third Turn and, with her, any chance of a proper childhood.”

Cisca gave her a look that was part affront, part surprise, but Fiona met her eyes squarely. “I’m young, I know, but I’ve had to grow up fast and I don’t think I know how to stop.”

Before Cisca could respond, K’lior laid a hand on her arm in a gesture that Fiona couldn’t interpret: she had never seen her mother and father together. Cisca and K’lior exchanged the briefest of looks before the Weyrwoman turned back to Fiona. “We will talk about this after we’ve eaten.” She raised her free hand above her head to signal for dessert.

“Don’t be in such a rush to grow up,” Tannaz murmured as their plates were cleared.

“I can’t tell you when I ever really thought I was a child,” Fiona responded. But in her heart she recalled all the times when she’d been with Kindan and wondered — until the fruit dessert that Tannaz and Ellor had made was served, and she enjoyed it so much that she completely forgot the previous conversation.

As hot klah was being served and everyone sat back from their tables, replete, Kentai and the singers began their songs.

As they finished, they moved on to a song that Fiona knew quite well and it brought tears to her eyes:

Kindan had written the song long before he had come to the Harper Hall, long before the Plague that had killed so many, including all of Fiona’s family, except her father. She wondered now, with a thrill running down her spine, how Kindan would feel when he saw her flying her dragon toward him one morning.

Before the song was completed however, Fiona felt Talenth stirring.

“Talenth is waking up,” she said to Tannaz, wondering what to do.

“Go feed her and see to her,” Tannaz ordered with no attempt to keep her exasperation out of her voice. “Your dragon always comes first.”

With an apologetic nod to the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, Fiona rushed out of the Kitchen Cavern and into the dusky Bowl.

I’m coming, she told her dragon.

Fiona was relieved to find that Talenth had no more serious issues than a rumbling stomach and a small flaking spot under her chin. She fed her and oiled her, told her about making her first meal, and calmed the queen down until she settled back into the half-slumber that characterized the majority of her daily activity.

“I’m going back now; call me if you need me,” Fiona said. Talenth said nothing in response, and Fiona could sense only the dimmest of images in the sleepy dragonet’s mind.

When she went back out into the corridor, she heard voices from the Weyrwoman’s quarters, so she headed that way, instead of back to the Bowl.

“Weyrwoman?” Fiona called politely at the entrance.

“Come on in, Fiona,” Tannaz called back. “We’re having a quick conference before we call it a night.”

Inside, Fiona found Cisca, Tannaz, and K’lior grouped around the table. The room was lit by large glow baskets, two glowing green, one blue, and a fourth a dim yellow. With nightfall, the glows brought out the shadows and dark places in the room. Tannaz beckoned to Fiona to come sit on her knee.

“Whoof! You’re heavier than I thought!” the Weyrwoman exclaimed.

“Maybe you should switch,” Cisca suggested.

“What, and admit that I’m smaller than a weyrling?” Tannaz replied. “Think what that would do to my esteem.”

Although Fiona knew that she was taller than the older Weyrwoman, it was still a shock to have the fact demonstrated so completely. Tannaz was just one of those people who seemed big, no matter what their size, because of their great presence.

“Although,” Tannaz admitted after a moment, “if our conversation goes on too long, you’re going to have to find a different perch.” She complicated manners by tickling Fiona’s side. Fiona was still young enough that she was ticklish, and she tried vainly to shift away from Tannaz’s teasing fingers.

“We won’t keep you long,” Cisca said in a tone that silenced both Fiona’s giggling and Tannaz’s antics. Tannaz turned her complete attention to the Weyrwoman.

“I can’t be sure, but I thought I heard two more coughs on the way up here,” Tannaz said with a grimace.

“That’s what I heard, too,” K’lior agreed.

“Melirth says that Asoth and Panunth don’t feel well,” Cisca reported.

K’lior turned toward the Bowl, thoughtfully. “M’rorin and J’marin ride in H’nez’s wing.”

“Should we move them up to Salith?” Tannaz wondered.

“I’d say yes,” Cisca replied, looking questioningly at K’lior.

“I’ll check with Kentai in the morning,“ he said.

That made sense to Fiona. Everyone knew that harpers got some training in healing.

“I’m not sure that it won’t create more tension to separate the wingriders from their wing,” K’lior went on.

“When there’s a cold going around Fort, the sick people either stay in their quarters or go to the infirmary,” Fiona offered tentatively.

“We do that when weyrfolk get sick,” Cisca said.

“They don’t get sick nearly as much as holders,” Tannaz added. “And the riders never seem to get sick.”

“Why would they go to the infirmary?” K’lior asked Fiona.

“They’d go when they were so sick that they couldn’t care for themselves,” Fiona replied. “Father and I would visit them either way — usually we’d bring soup or fruits — but it was better for a really sick person to be near the healer at all times.”

“We’ve no healer,” Cisca said bitterly.

“I’m not sure it would help with the dragons,” K’lior said.

“So who’s going to patch them up when they get Thread-scored?” Cisca demanded. She gestured to Tannaz, Fiona, and herself. “We’ll be flying queen’s wing.”

“Not for a while,” K’lior reminded her. “And by then I’m sure the Healer Hall will have dispatched a journeyman to us.”

Fiona chewed her lip before confessing, “Father said we didn’t have enough spare hands to send them to the Halls for eight Turns of learning.”

The others looked at her inquiringly.

“That’s how long it takes to train a healer,” Fiona told them. “Four Turns in the Harper Hall, four more in the Healer Hall.”

“Why so long?” Cisca asked.

“Why not just teach healing?” Tannaz added.

“Kindan said that a harper learns a lot of healing,” Fiona replied. “The extra turns at the Healer Hall are to learn even more.”

“Fort was hard hit by the Plague,” K’lior remembered.

“Father said it was the same with all the holds and crafts,” Fiona responded. “He said it was getting better now that the holds and crafts were recovering from the Plague, but that there were still fields lying fallow and looms gathering dust.”

“I could see how hard it would be to give up an able body in such times,” Tannaz said. When Cisca looked ready to disagree, Tannaz explained, “The grain from the fields is needed for the cattle for the dragons, as well as for the holders who tend the cattle.”

“Well, we won’t solve that problem here,” Cisca said, dismissing the issue. “The question is, what to do with these sick dragons?”

“The question is, how many are sick, will they recover, and when?” K’lior corrected her. When she looked at him blankly, he reminded her, “Thread will be coming soon and we’ll need every dragon and rider we have.”

Even though the conversation was engrossing and worrying, Fiona found herself so tired from the day’s events and her own efforts that she could only poorly stifle a yawn.

“And we won’t answer them tonight!” K’lior said, rising from his chair. He bowed his head to Fiona. “My apologies, I forgot that not only is your dragon young and growing but so are you.”

“Both of you need your rest,” Cisca agreed. She, too, found herself yawning. “We all need our rest.”

“I’ll talk with Kentai tomorrow,” K’lior said.

“I’ll want to listen in,” Cisca told him.

“Get up,” Tannaz ordered Fiona. “I’ll see you to your Weyr.”

The last thing Fiona remembered was the sight of Tannaz stretching on her tiptoes to reach up and turn over the last glow in her room.