Dragonheart

SIX

FortWeyr , Seven Days Later, AL 507.13.22

“There’s no need to worry about more herbals,” Tannaz said to Fiona as she entered Kalsenth’s weyr early that morning, bearing a steaming bucket full of the pleasant-smelling brew. “It’s not working.”

Fiona began a protest, but the older woman silenced her with a raised hand. “It hasn’t worked at all these last three days.”

Tannaz was a shrunken remnant of herself, eyes red-rimmed, hair oily and lank, her skin nearly hanging on her frame. She’d been up every night, twitching with every snort or cough her dragon made — and sometimes she’d started in terror to the sound of other dragons whose coughs echoed in the Weyr Bowl with an eery irrevocability, a harbinger of death.

Kalsenth’s breath came and went in wheezes, punctuated erratically by louder coughs that wracked her great gold body from end to end; Fiona cringed to see the beautiful queen in such straits.

“Tell Cisca that I want to move to a higher Weyr,” Tannaz said, turning away from Fiona and back to her dragon.

“Tannaz . . . ?” Fiona began but the older, smaller Weyrwoman waved her away with a hand thrown up dismissively.

In a mood that bordered on terror, Fiona left swiftly, calling to her dragon, Talenth, tell Cisca that Kalsenth has gotten worse.

After a moment’s pause, Fiona’s queen, who had clearly been dozing, responded, I have. She says to meet her in the kitchen.

Thanks, Fiona replied, altering her trajectory toward the Kitchen Cavern. As she made out the glow of the kitchen fires through the early morning fog, she spotted the darker form of a person near by.

“How’s Tannaz this morning?” Melanwy asked. “How’s her dragon?”

“Worse,” Fiona told her brusquely. Melanwy had taken to skulking around Tannaz’s quarters, always ready to help, but Fiona got the distinct impression that the old woman was personifying the old saying: Misery loves company. Fiona was growing to hate the older woman’s presence but said nothing as Tannaz had made no protest.

“She’s addled,” Tannaz had told Fiona the only time the younger Weyrwoman had commented on it, her tone making it clear that she had expected more compassion from Fiona. “She thinks that I’m Nara , the old Weyrwoman, half the time.” Seeing Fiona’s still-troubled expression, Tannaz added, “I don’t mind the company. You can’t be here all the time; you’ve got your own dragon to tend.”

Fiona couldn’t help but hear the resentment in Tannaz’s tone at that, the unspoken “Your dragon is healthy, at least.”

“I’ll see to her,” Melanwy said now. As the old woman hobbled off, Fiona heard her add, “Haven’t I always seen to her?”

“Fiona, what is it?” Ellor asked as Fiona entered the Kitchen Cavern.

Fiona was still so unnerved by Melanwy’s bizarre behavior that she could only shake her head.

“The Weyrwoman’s over there,” Ellor said, pointing. She pushed a tray into Fiona’s arms. “There’s klah here and something warm for this cold morning.”

Still bemused, Fiona trudged over to the Weyrwoman and set the tray down, sitting only when Cisca gestured for her to do so. The Weyrwoman was so caught up in her own thoughts that it wasn’t until she’d offered Fiona a cup of klah for the second time that she realized the younger queen rider hadn’t responded.

“Fiona!”

Fiona looked up at her, dazed.

“What is it?”

“She’s not going to make it, is she?” Fiona said quietly to Cisca. “Neither Kelsanth nor Tannaz, are they?” When Cisca said nothing, Fiona continued, her voice rising along with her anger. “And Melanwy’s there every day, just waiting and hoping for the time when — ”

“Drink some klah, ” Cisca said, her voice commanding. She pushed a mug into Fiona’s numb hands.

Fiona obeyed, but it was as if someone else were moving her hands, someone else drinking. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Dragons were always healthy, they never got sick, they never . . .died.

“She’s going to go with her, isn’t she?” ahe asked, absently dropping her mug on the table.

“If she does, it’ll be her choice,” Cisca replied quietly.

“So what’s Melanwy doing?” Fiona demanded.

“I think,” Cisca replied after a moment, “in her own way, she’s trying to help.”

“Help?” Fiona couldn’t believe it.

“In her own way,” Cisca repeated. She looked up as K’lior pulled out a chair opposite Fiona. He looked haggard.

“I just left J’marin,” K’lior told them.

“The herbal didn’t help, did it?” Fiona demanded. She didn’t notice the look that K’lior and Cisca exchanged and only barely heard K’lior’s words: “No, it didn’t.”

“That’s what Tannaz said,” Fiona told them bleakly. She looked up at Cisca. “She said to tell you not to worry about the herbals and that she wants to move to a higher weyr.”

“No,” Cisca said determinedly. “She’ll stay in her weyr.” She caught Fiona’s look and added, “I’ll tell her.”

T’mar approached them and, at K’lior’s gesture, took a seat. “L’rian’s Danorth is not getting better.”

“None of them are,” declared Kentai, approaching from the cavern’s entrance. He grimaced as he added, “I just spoke with our Masterherder.”

“Herder?” T’mar murmured in surprise.

“The herbal is very similar to one she uses for sick herdbeasts,” Kentai continued, seating himself beside Fiona, across from T’mar. He shook his head. “She says that usually if the herbal doesn’t work the first time, the beast will die.”

“Dragons aren’t the same as herdbeasts!” T’mar declared.

“No,” agreed Kentai, “but the herbal is.”

“I’ve spoke with Toma before,” K’lior mused, “and she’s always seemed very knowledgeable in her craft.”

“We can’t do nothing !” T’mar persisted, looking from Kentai, to Cisca, to K’lior, and finally at Fiona. “Thread is coming and we’ll need all our dragons.”

“I think we all know that, T’mar,” K’lior said soothingly. T’mar simmered under the Weyrleader’s gaze.

“Is there anything you suggest we do differently?” Kentai inquired.

T’mar glared at the harper, muttering, “If we had a healer . . .”

“If we had a healer he’d tell us no more than we know,” Kentai retorted. He gestured to the Bowl outside and up toward the drumheights by the Star Stones. “I’ve been in constant communication and no one has a better solution than Kindan’s.”

“He’s no healer,” T’mar persisted rebelliously.

“No,” Kentai responded agreeably, “he’s not. But it was Kindan who thought of the ways that helped the Holders during the Plague, and Kindan is the only one who has bonded with a watch-wher and Impressed a fire-lizard.”

“I trust Kindan,” Fiona declared hotly. “He saved my life.”

T’mar gave her a surprised look, then lowered his eyes and muttered, “He’s no dragonrider.”

“But Lorana is,” Kentai responded. “And it is her herbal we have been using.”

T’mar gave the harper a mulish look but said nothing, instead reaching for a mug and the pitcher of klah. He knocked the mug over and broke it.

“Here,” Fiona said, pushing her mug toward him. “Have mine.”

“No, I’ll get my own,” T’mar declared.

“T’mar!” Cisca called to him in surprise. The bronze rider looked her way, his brows raised. “Are you sure you want to do that? It’s never wise to turn down the favors of a Weyrwoman.”

T’mar was about to respond angrily but caught himself. He shook his head and said to Cisca, “My apologies, Weyrwoman, I’m not myself.”

Cisca nodded in acknowledgment, then looked pointedly toward Fiona.

T’mar turned toward the younger queen rider. “Weyrwoman, I apologize for my poor manners,” he said. “If you’d accept my apology, I’d be most grateful.”

The tension at the table was palpable and Fiona felt it as she never had before. It was hers to own; she could deny T’mar’s apology and fan the flames or she could cool things off. She shook her head; she was too exhausted for anger to burn long in her.

T’mar caught her movement and mistook it. Affronted, he started to rise, only to stop when Fiona reached across the table and grabbed his hand.

“I was shaking my head at my own foolishness,” she said, catching his eyes. “Please sit back down and do take my mug. We’ve all been through too much; we’re all worried, and all tired.”

She tugged on his hand and T’mar, with a lopsided grin, eased back into his chair.

“I’ll pour, if you’ll let me, dragonrider,” Kentai offered. At T’mar’s grateful nod, the harper filled the mug with the warm klah.

“I’m sorry to have snapped at you, too,” T’mar said as he curled his fingers around the now-warm mug.

“If we’re going to survive this,” Fiona was surprised to hear herself say, “we are going to have to forgive our outbursts and accept our pain.”

“ ‘Accept our pain,’ ” Cisca repeated, giving Fiona a curious look.

It was something that Kindan had said, Fiona realized, on one of the rare occasions when she’d managed to get him to talk about the Plague.

“Yes,” she said, not caring to elaborate; she felt it would not be a good idea at this moment to mention Kindan again.

“We don’t know how long this will last,” Kentai said into the silence that fell. He smiled at Fiona. “I think our newest Weyrwoman is right: We are going to have to forgive our outbursts and accept our pain.”

“So what are we going to do for the sick dragons?” T’mar wondered.

“Keep them as comfortable as possible; have someone be with them and their riders as often as needed,” Fiona replied, remembering other words — this time from her father — about the Plague. In response to T’mar’s scrutiny, she explained, “That’s what Father said they did during the Plague.”

“And I don’t think there’s much more we can do,” Cisca agreed. “Wait,” T’mar surmised dully.

“And hope,” Fiona added.

T’mar ran a weary hand through his hair and back down his neck, massaging his tense tendons. “It doesn’t seem all that much.” “It’s all we can do,” K’lior replied.

“It’s more than watching and waiting,” Fiona added. “It’s being someone who listens, someone who helps, a kind word, an understanding touch.”

“You’ve done this before?” T’mar asked, his expression making it clear that he was dramatically reevaluating the young queen rider opposite him.

“Once,” Fiona confessed. “With an old uncle.”

She could see that the others wanted to know more. “He died holding my hand,” she explained. Her face crumpled in memory as she added, “I cried for a sevenday.”

The others looked at her expectantly. Fiona wiped her eyes and summoned a smile. “That was nearly two Turns back, just before I turned twelve.”

“Your father made you do that?” T’mar asked, sounding offended.

“I am — was — a Lord Holder’s daughter,” she said. “It was my duty.” T’mar’s expression remained clouded, so Fiona went on, “I asked to be there.” She forced back a sob. “If — if it were to happen to me, I’d want to know that someone would be with me, too.”

Cisca rose and stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders soothingly. “Queen dragons never make mistakes when it comes to their mates.”

“Obviously!” T’mar and Kentai agreed emphatically. K’lior merely nodded, with a special smile for Cisca.

“Very well, then,” the Weyrleader said after a moment. “I believe that Weyrwoman Fiona has made an excellent suggestion: We shall arrange for someone to be in attendance of our sick dragons and their riders at all times.”

“I’d best return to Tannaz, then,” Fiona said, starting to rise. But Cisca pushed her back into her seat.

“She’ll survive with Melanwy long enough for you to break your fast.”

Before Fiona could draw breath to protest, K’lior added, “You’re no use to anyone half-starved.”

“There’ll be fresh bread in a few minutes,” Ellor called from her place by the ovens. “And some buns, too.”

“There,” Cisca said as though Ellor’s words had closed the subject. “You can’t leave until you’ve tried the buns and some bread.” “I’ll stay if you’ll stay,” Fiona declared to T’mar. The older rider gave Fiona an odd look, then nodded.

“I’ll get us some more klah, ” Kentai said, rising from his chair.

“Sit! Sit!” Ellor shouted. “There’ll be someone along in a moment to do that.” She turned back to her ovens, muttering to herself, “Never let harpers near the food.”

By the time Fiona had finished her breakfast, the cavern had filled with weyrfolk. As dragonriders entered, they usually called out a greeting to the Weyrleader or Weyrwoman, or were greeted by K’lior or Cisca in turn.

“I didn’t know there were so many children,” Fiona said as she spotted a group of nearly thirty children arrive at once from one of the entrances at the far side of the cavern.

“Most of a Weyr is children,” Kentai told her. He gave the dragonriders an apologetic look and rose. “Which reminds me: I’ll need to get started with classes soon, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course,” K’lior said. Cisca nodded and waved to him.

“You’re wondering, why so many children?” T’mar guessed from Fiona’s expression. Fiona nodded.

“The answer’s simple,” Cisca replied with a mischievous grin. K’lior must have kicked her under the table, for the Weyrwoman started and stuck her tongue out at him. She turned to Fiona. “Given that there can be up to five hundred dragonriders in a Weyr, and that each of them is expected to do his — ”

“ — or her,” K’lior interjected.

“ — duty to the Weyr,” Cisca continued with a scowl for her Weyrleader, “you’d expect there to be upward of a thousand youngsters of various ages.”

“A thousand?” Fiona repeated, mulling the number over. She knew that Fort Hold proper had at least six thousand, and her father had told her that before the Plague there had been ten thousand, but she’d never really thought about how many of those would be children.

“We’ve fewer here now. I doubt we’ve got more than seven hundred,” K’lior said thoughtfully.

“What happens to them all?” Fiona asked. “Where are they now?”

“Some are taking lessons,” Cisca said, gesturing in the direction Kentai had taken. “Some are helping with the weyr.”

“And some are doubtless getting into trouble,” K’lior added with a grin.

“Doubtless,” Cisca agreed. “And several are probably at this very moment on the Hatching Grounds, looking around and dreaming.”

“I doubt it,” K’lior declared. “I suspect it’s a bit too early for that.”

“What do they do when they grow up?” Fiona wondered.

“Some become dragonriders,” K’lior said. “Some stay on and work at the Weyr; some become weyrmates.”

“Most weyrmates work at the Weyr,” Cisca corrected him.

“Some learn a craft and become apprenticed,” K’lior went on.

“We’ve three in the Harper Hall at this moment,” Cisca pointed out proudly.

“And two at the Smithcrafthall,” K’lior reminded her.

“For which we are most grateful,” Cisca agreed emphatically.

“Why?”

K’lior snorted. “Let us say, simply, that it is not as easy as one should like to get a tithe from the Smithcrafthall.”

“D’gan,” Cisca snarled. “The man’s a cretin.”

“Weyrleader D’gan?” Fiona asked. The Smithcrafthall was located near Telgar, and so came under Telgar Weyr’s protection.

“He makes the rest of you look good,” Cisca said to K’lior impishly.

K’lior shook his head and turned back to Fiona. “Some of them Impress or go to other Weyrs,” he said, continuing the original thread of their conversation.

“And some go to holds,” Cisca added.

“I can’t think of any who came to Fort,” Fiona said.

“You probably wouldn’t,” Cisca agreed. “They usually come as pairs or groups and prefer to stake out new lands. You wouldn’t see many of them at the Hold proper.”

“We’re an independent lot, weyrfolk,” K’lior agreed.

“But you’ll never find weyrfolk unwilling to help,” Cisca added, “if you ask for it.”

“I think I should check on Tannaz now,” Fiona said, feeling a bit out of sorts — the Weyrleaders were going on about how great weyrfolk were, and while she knew that holderfolk were every bit as kind and good, she didn’t think it would be wise to point that out. Besides, no one had offered to help her since she’d been in the Weyr; she’d done all the helping.

As she rose from her chair, the bronze dragonrider she recognized as H’nez approached their table, saying, “More dragons coughing this morning, aren’t there?”

Fiona was glad to leave; she liked him even less for that comment than she had before. As if K’lior wasn’t doing everything he could!

Her anger stayed with her as she crossed the Weyr Bowl. The morning fog was all but gone, leaving only thin wisps of mist at the edges of the Bowl. Wishing for some way to vent her pique, Fiona kicked a stone out of her way. A moment later she found another, then another. What began as a way to relieve anger became a game and she proceeded to kick from one stone to the other until she realized that she was wasting her time and avoiding the task at hand. With an angry huff at herself, Fiona took her bearings and started toward her weyr.

She was halfway up the ramp to her ledge, wondering what she was going to say to Tannaz, wondering whether Melanwy would still be with her, when she heard a noise from her weyr and looked up.

There was a figure standing in the archway, looking startled. For a moment, Fiona felt a rush of thoughts race over each other: Was it Kentai? Had someone heard Talenth coughing? Or . . .

The figure dropped its head in shame and started down the ramp toward her. It was a dark-haired girl who looked vaguely familiar, though Fiona couldn’t recall having met her.

“I — I was just tending the glows,” the girl mumbled as she reached Fiona.

Fiona’s anger came back then, redoubled. She lashed out her hand and grabbed the girl’s wrist. “No, you weren’t!”

The girl’s eyes flashed briefly, then she lowered them again and just stood there, trying to free her trapped hand with the other.

“What’s your name?” Fiona demanded.

The girl stopped her struggling. At Fiona’s commanding look, she swallowed and said, “Xhinna.”

Still holding the girl’s wrist, Fiona turned back to her weyr. “Come on.”

“I’ve got chores to do,” Xhinna protested. “I’ll get in trouble.”

“You’re in trouble now,” Fiona told her. “More won’t matter.” She paused to look back at the girl she was pulling along. “You wanted to get a look, didn’t you?”

Xhinna tried out a look of incomprehension, but then gave it up; her face settled into a scowl as she murmured, “She should have been mine.”

Talenth? Fiona called. Are you okay? She felt only the young dragon’s sleeping mind. Aloud she said, “The dragon chooses the rider — you know that.”

As they entered Talenth’s weyr, Fiona cast a quick around the large chamber. The glows were still dim, left over from the night before, but she had expected that. Nothing had been disturbed.

“Have a good look at her,” she instructed the dark-haired girl. “But don’t wake her. She’s still asleep and she’ll want oiling the moment she’s up.”

“She’s big,” Xhinna said in awe as she sidled around the weyr toward the entrance to Fiona’s sleeping quarters. Fiona saw Xhinna’s darting glance into the other room, saw the look of longing in her eyes.

Recognition suddenly dawned. “You were the candidate who chased after her,” Fiona exclaimed.

Xhinna’s face darkened in shame. “I was afraid she was going to get away,” she confessed miserably. “And it would have been my fault.”

“Your fault?” Fiona thought that was going too far.

“I shouldn’t have been there,” Xhinna said, grimacing. “I wasn’t Searched.”

“Nor was I,” Fiona remarked, not seeing any harm in that.

Xhinna swallowed hard and raised her eyes to meet Fiona’s as she admitted, “I stole the robe from the laundry and snuck in with the others.” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Melanwy said I shouldn’t have been there, that I might have ruined everything.”

“Shh!” Fiona hissed, bringing a finger to her lips. “Melanwy’s next door with Tannaz and Kalsenth.”

Xhinna’s eyes widened in fright and she mouthed a wordless, “Oh!”

“I thought,” Fiona began softly after a long moment in which they both stood still, listening guiltily for any sounds that they might have been heard by Melanwy or Tannaz, “that all weyrfolk were allowed to be candidates at a Hatching.”

“I’m not weyrfolk,” Xhinna murmured in reply. Fiona gave her a surprised look, so Xhinna explained quickly, still in a furtive voice, “They found me all alone in the wild when I was just a baby.”

“But you’re younger than me,” Fiona said in confusion. “It couldn’t have been the Plague.”

Xhinna shrugged. “No one knows. Perhaps my parents or my mother only just survived; perhaps something else happened, not the Plague.”

“But you were raised here,” Fiona protested.

“Not to hear the others tell,” Xhinna said. “The boys tease me, the girls shun me, and Melanwy . . .”

Fiona urged her to continue.

“Melanwy wants to send me away,” Xhinna said so quietly that Fiona had to lean forward to catch her words.

“But she’s not the Weyrwoman!” Fiona protested.

“Nor was Cisca until a few Turns back,” Xhinna replied. “And while Nara was around, Melanwy was headwoman. Everyone listened to her. She said I wasn’t like most other girls.” She paused for a long time before she raised her troubled eyes to Fiona’s. “And she’s right.”

Fiona was disturbed by the other girl’s intensity, by a nagging suspicion that Xhinna was trying to tell her some deep secret, something important. She examined the younger girl: dark hair fell just beyond her shoulders and framed a swarthy face and dark, intelligent eyes. Her nose was pretty and lightly freckled.

“I don’t like Melanwy,” Fiona told her honestly. “I know that she’s old and addled and deserves respect but . . . she seems so mean all the time!”

Xhinna let out a gasp of surprise, her expression brightening.

Fiona turned back to Talenth, who had started twitching. Gesturing to her dragon, she asked the other girl, “Have you seen enough?”

Xhinna’s expression made it clear to Fiona that the younger girl could never see enough of the queen dragon but Xhinna only said, “Yes, thank you.” She turned away. “I’d best be going.”

“Come back any time you want,” Fiona called after her. Xhinna stiffened, as though stung by the words, so Fiona added, “I mean it.”

The younger girl stopped and turned back, her expression full of surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” Fiona replied. She grinned. “Although if you come when Talenth’s awake, I’ll make you help oil her.”

Xhinna’s face lit in a smile, her eyes dancing. Fiona was amazed at how much happiness transformed the girl’s face.

“I could bring fresh glows,” Xhinna offered shyly.

“As long as you don’t get in trouble,” Fiona replied. Then she remembered Xhinna’s Hatching Ground admission and corrected herself. “I mean more trouble!”

Xhinna looked pained until she recognized Fiona’s teasing tone, and then she grinned again. “I’m always in trouble,” she replied. “At least with the glows, I can use you as an excuse.”

“Absolutely!” Fiona agreed. She cocked her head as a new thought struck her. “In fact, perhaps we can arrange for you to help me.”

For a moment, Xhinna looked absolutely stunned, then her face clouded once more. “Like a drudge?”

“No,” Fiona corrected her, her tone turning a bit sharp, “like a friend.” She paused and raised her eyebrows at the girl. “They do have those at the Weyr, don’t they?”

“Some do,” Xhinna allowed.

Fiona guessed that Xhinna added in her thoughts, “just not me.”

“Who would I talk to?” Fiona asked.

Xhinna’s face darkened once more before she answered, “Melanwy.” Fiona’s surprise must have shown, for Xhinna added, “Since the Hatching, she’s had me report to her directly.” Her tone changed to a remarkable approximation of Melanwy’s croaking: “ ‘The honor of the Weyr must be maintained.’ ”

Fiona bit back a chuckle.” That sounds just like her,” she said. Then she asked, “Why aren’t you with her now?”

“She sent me away,” Xhinna responded bitterly. “She’s in there with Tannaz, just waiting for — ”

“What?”

Xhinna took a deep breath and a quick step back toward Fiona, to whisper, “She’s just waiting for Kelsanth to die.”

Then, as if the enormity of the admission overwhelmed her, Xhinna raced away back toward the Kitchen Cavern.

When Fiona was done tending Talenth, she walked back through her rooms and into the rear corridor. She paused for a moment outside Tannaz’s quarters, then moved noisily into the room, calling, “Hello! Tannaz!”

She heard an answering voice coming from Kelsanth’s lair and followed it.

Melanwy glanced up sourly from a chair set against the near wall while Tannaz stood wearily at Kelsanth’s head, stroking the ailing queen’s eye ridges.

“What do you want?” Melanwy demanded.

Fiona ignored her and walked over to Tannaz. “Is there anything I can get you?”

Tannaz looked over to her blearily, shook her head and turned her attention back to scratching Kelsanth’s eye ridges.

“You need to eat, Tannaz,” Fiona said to the older Weyrwoman. “Why don’t we send for some food?”

“It’s awfully dark in here,” Melanwy declared loudly. She stirred in her chair. “Where’s that dratted girl with the new glows?”

Fiona continued to ignore the old headwoman, keeping her attention on Tannaz. “Would you like to take a bath?” she asked, gesturing toward the bathing room. “I could watch her while you do.”

Listlessly, Tannaz shook her head.

“I’m going to get you some food,” Fiona declared, and turned to leave, only to find Melanwy blocking her way.

“Didn’t you hear her?” the old headwoman blared angrily. “She said she didn’t want any.”

“She didn’t say that, Melanwy,” Fiona replied calmly, noting with surprise that she was nearly as tall as the old woman. “She didn’t say anything.”

“Then don’t get her anything!” Melanwy ordered.

“I’ll bring some food,” Fiona replied firmly. Her temper flared and she stretched to her full height, her eyes flashing. “And you’ll have respect for a Weyrwoman, no matter what your years!”

Either Fiona’s words or her tone got through to the old woman. Melanwy stepped aside, wearily sitting back down in her chair, shaking her head. “It won’t help, you know. She won’t eat.” Fiona looked at her. “I already tried.”

Fiona was surprised to hear that admission from Melanwy but her anger still flared, so she snapped back, “But you’re not a Weyrwoman.” Melanwy’s eyes widened. Fiona turned back to Tannaz. “If need be, I’ll have her dragon tell her to eat!”

And, with that, she turned about, strode past Melanwy and Tannaz, and headed down the ledge to the Weyr Bowl, realizing that she could get to the Kitchen Cavern faster that way than going back through her own weyr.

When she arrived, she found Zirana and explained her need. “And do you know where I can find Xhinna?”

“Xhinna?” Zirana repeated in surprise, shaking her head. She gave Fiona a probing look. “What do you want with her?”

“I’ll need help carrying this, and Melanwy’s snarking about the glows,” Fiona explained.

“Melanwy? Is she bothering you?”

“She’s with Tannaz,” Fiona replied in a tone that made it clear she thought that was worse.

Zirana frowned for a moment, then made up her mind. With a firm nod, she grabbed Fiona by the shoulders and pushed her toward the back entrance to the cavern. “You go back there, listen for children, you’ll find Xhinna,” Zirana told her. “I’ll get the food ready.”

“Thanks!” Fiona called back as she trotted away.

“She’s no relative of mine, that girl!” Zirana called after her.

Fiona could almost hear Zirana thinking of saying more and then deciding against it. Why was the cook so alarmed about Xhinna?

She passed through the back archway and was surprised to find that she was in a large corridor with branches left and right as well as straight ahead. She knew that there were more living quarters carved into the hard stone of Fort Weyr than she’d seen so far, but even with her foray to the medicine stores, she hadn’t quite realized their full extent. A breath of air and some light from the straight corridor informed Fiona that it connected somewhere with the outside of the Weyr and the road that led down to Fort Hold itself.

She cocked her head and listened. Faintly, from the right, she heard the sound of children laughing. She followed it. It was a number of minutes before she found herself outside a large room. Peering in, she saw more children than she’d ever seen at once in the Weyr.

Some were running around, others were grouped together, some were constructing with blocks, and some were playing games Fiona didn’t recognize. Toward the back wall, she noticed a very large cluster of children sitting and listening raptly to someone who was pacing and gesturing before them. It was Xhinna.

Fiona moved closer and waited quietly for Xhinna to finish her storytelling. At last the younger girl stopped speaking, and as the children began murmuring to one another, Fiona approached. Some of the children saw her.

“It’s the Weyrwoman!” “Weyrwoman Fiona!” Fiona was surprised by their whispers and the looks they gave her.

Then she felt a tug at the base of her tunic and looked down to see a small hand connected to a tiny, solemn-eyed child who couldn’t have had more than four Turns.

“Are you really a Weyrwoman?” the little girl asked.

“Yes, I am,” Fiona said, kneeling down to meet the girl eye to eye. The little girl backed up a step, startled.

A boy toddled up beside her, clearly a sibling. He was older but not by much. “Is your dragon going to die?”

“Dennon!” Xhinna’s voice boomed above her as Fiona struggled to regain her composure. The question had shocked her, chilled her to the bone in a way that going between had never done. Xhinna squatted down beside Fiona, placed a hand on her shoulder, and gave her a brief squeeze, all the while saying to Dennon, “It’s not polite to talk like that!”

“But you said Tannaz’s dragon was going to die!” Dennon protested angrily. “And they say that Asoth and the others are going to die, too!”

“Your father’s dragon will be all right, Dennon,” Xhinna assured the boy, her tone suddenly quiet and soothing.

“B-but if a queen could die, then why not a blue, too?” Dennon blubbered. Beside him, his sister started to quietly cry.

“What’s going on here?” a woman’s voice called from the entrance. Fiona looked up and recognized Ellor.

“Xhinna, what are you doing?” Ellor demanded. “I thought you were going to watch them!” Under her breath she muttered, “The mothers only wanted a moment’s peace!”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Xhinna replied, getting back to her feet. “Dennon started bawling.”

“There, Dennon,” Fiona said to the youngster, “it’s going to be all right.”

“Do you promise?” Dennon asked, his trusting eyes gazing into hers.

“Dennon,” Xhinna rasped, “she can’t — ”

“I promise,” Fiona said, raising her voice over Xhinna’s. “Things will work out, even though there may be tears.”

Remember that.

Fiona stepped back, looking around the room. That voice! She’d heard it before. She reached out to Talenth: Did you say something?

No, the queen replied. She did.

Who? Cisca?

No, Talenth replied. I cannot say, I do not know her name. We haven’t met yet.

“Are you all right?” Ellor’s voice was full of concern and Fiona realized that the cook had anxiously raced across the room to her.

“I’m fine,” Fiona said, rising to her feet.

“Xhinna — ” Ellor began, her voice edged with fury.

“She’s to come with me,” Fiona said. “I need her.”

Ellor opened her mouth to protest, but Fiona cut across her. “Zirana sent me to get her.”

Ellor looked like she wanted to argue, but the noise of the children distracted her. She blew out her breath in a loud sigh. “Very well,” she said, glaring at Xhinna. “Go with the Weyrwoman and mind your manners!”

Fiona needed no more urging and, grabbing Xhinna by the arm, dragged the girl along with her.

“Thanks!” Xhinna said as they entered the corridor. “Now you see what I mean about how everyone always blames me, even when I don’t do anything.”

Fiona was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, it was with an honest, deliberate voice. “Those children didn’t hear about dragons dying from anyone but you,” she said. “You didn’t set them off just then, but you certainly set them up for it.”

Xhinna stopped dead in her tracks. Fiona turned back to her. Xhinna’s expression was dead, haunted.

“I thought you were different,” Xhinna whispered in shock. “I thought you might really like me.”

“Oh, you’re worse than a pricklebug, you!” Fiona roared back at her. She reached out and grabbed Xhinna’s hand, tugging her along. “You take offense at the slightest bit of honesty.” She sighed loudly. “It’s like you expect everyone to be mean to you.”

“That wasn’t mean?” Xhinna asked with a sniff.

“It was true!” Fiona snapped. “You told those kids a story and you scared them. You’re responsible for that. You made a mistake — it doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“It doesn’t?” Xhinna repeated, as though the concept was new to her.

“No, everyone makes mistakes,” Fiona said, increasing her stride as Xhinna started walking beside her faster. “It’s what you do about them afterward that matters.”

“You mean you don’t hate me?”

“Because you wanted to be a dragonrider?” Fiona demanded. “Or because you like telling stories?”

“Because — ” Xhinna took a deep breath before confessing in a rush, “Because I hoped that your dragon would die.”

Fiona gaped at her, dumbstruck.

“I — I thought if — if I couldn’t have her,” Xhinna stammered, “then why should you?” She looked down and began to cry. “I’m sorry. It was mean of me, and I didn’t mean . . . not really, b-but I thought if I had a dragon then maybe I’d . . .”

“Maybe you’d fit in,” Fiona finished for her. Xhinna’s head bobbed up and down, but she covered her face with her hands and her sobs continued unabated. Fiona groped for a response. The thought of losing a dragon, any dragon . . .

“You know I had a fire-lizard,” she began. She thought she saw Xhinna nod, so she continued. “She was a gold. Her name was Fire.” She paused, fighting to retain her composure. “I miss her . . . so much!”

“But you’ve got a queen!” Xhinna sobbed. “And I’ve got nothing.”

“I’m not going to be sorry for you,” Fiona told her brusquely. Xhinna stiffened in surprise. “You can still Impress — you’re not too old.”

“They won’t let me on the Hatching Grounds,” Xhinna protested miserably.

“They didn’t let me on the Hatching Grounds,” Fiona pointed out to her. “And I still Impressed.”

Fiona felt herself losing her temper again. “Look,” she said abruptly, reaching out to pry Xhinna’s hands away from her face, “I don’t have time for all this. Zirana sent me to find you. We’ve got to get food for Tannaz, and I’m going to get her to eat it, even if I have to force her dragon to make her; so you’d better come along now or you’ll be in worse trouble.”

She turned and started off back to the Kitchen Cavern. A moment later she felt a hand brush her arm. “I only thought that before I met you,” Xhinna said softly. “About your dragon, I mean.”

Fiona turned back to her with a small smile. “That’s what I thought.”

When Fiona and Xhinna arrived at Tannaz’s weyr a half an hour later, Xhinna kept her eyes downcast and followed every one of Fiona’s orders silently, just as they’d agreed.

“Pretend it’s a game,” Fiona had suggested with a grin. “You get a point for every order I give you that you can do without making any noise. This time I’ll make it easy, but the next time — be warned! — I’ll do my very best to make you laugh.”

Treating it as a game made it easier for Xhinna to survive Melanwy’s sour humor and bitter jibes.

“Seems you’ve found a leash for her, Weyrwoman,” Melanwy admitted grudgingly as Xhinna dipped her head politely to the old headwoman. “She hasn’t said a word once.” Melanwy paused for a second, then added maliciously, “Usually no one can shut her up.”

Xhinna’s eyes flashed, but she caught Fiona’s look and let the insult pass.

Tannaz ate, although slowly and mechanically, her sick dragon looking on as best she could.

“The food will do her good, too,” Melanwy said, jabbing a gnarled hand toward the dragon. She glanced at Fiona. “Good on you to find a way to get her to eat.”

“She’s my friend,” Fiona said simply. Tannaz glanced more alertly in her direction and almost managed a smile. Fiona smiled back at her and told her, “You should get some rest.”

“I’ll watch your dragon,” Melanwy declared.

“Actually,” Fiona said, trying to sound as diplomatic as she could, “perhaps both of you should rest and we’ll watch Kalsenth.”

“What about your dragon?” Melanwy protested.

“She’s right next door,” Fiona said with a dismissive shrug. “I can pop right round to her if she needs. Besides, she’s sleeping. You know how they sleep,” she added fondly.

“Weelll . . .” Melanwy drawled reluctantly, “I suppose a nap wouldn’t do either of us any harm.”

“Quite right!” Fiona agreed emphatically, gesturing for Xhinna to guide Tannaz to bed and raising an arm invitingly to the old headwoman. “I’ll escort you to your quarters, if you’d like.”

Melanwy glanced sourly after Xhinna, then shook her head and rose to her feet. “I can manage on my own,” she muttered as she tottered off.

Xhinna helped Tannaz into her bed and covered her with a comforter, then returned to Kalsenth’s weyr. The sick queen lay curled up with her head wrapped in front of her body, resting on her tail.

“You did well,” Fiona told her, patting Xhinna on the arm. “And you know the reward for a job well done?”

Apparently Xhinna thought she did, for she groaned.

But Fiona surprised her. “You can stay and watch Kalsenth,” she said, gesturing to the chair that Melanwy had vacated. “I’ll be next door with Talenth — call or come get me if you need me.”

“But — ”

“You’ll do fine,” Fiona assured her.

“What if she dies while I’m watching?”

“She won’t,” Fiona said firmly. She tried not to betray any doubt. “At least, I don’t think she will. Tannaz would wake up if that were to happen, I’m sure of it.”

“But Melanwy wants to be here if she dies,” Xhinna protested. “She does?” Fiona asked, surprised.

“She wanted to go with Nara and Hinirth,” Xhinna said. “She never forgave her for going between without her, so she’s hoping to go with Kalsenth.”

“Why not one of the other dragons?” Fiona asked.

“Only a queen will do for her,” Xhinna replied sourly.

“Oh, I see!” It almost made sense. It wasn’t as though Melanwy were very comfortable in her old age and she must know that her wits were out of kilter, which must be hard on someone used to being regarded as an honored member of the community. Going between with a dragon and rider would be an honorable, dignified end for her.

“Well, I’m hoping that she’s chosen the wrong dragon,” Fiona declared.

Xhinna turned her head in the direction of Tannaz’s quarters, murmuring, “I hope so, too.”

Against Xhinna’s dire pleadings, Fiona brought the weyrgirl to dinner in the Kitchen Cavern with her. She made Xhinna sit next to her, closest to Cisca, in the place that Tannaz would usually have taken.

Cisca and K’lior nodded to the younger girl, and Cisca gave Fiona an inquiring look, but nothing was said until the desserts were served.

“Weren’t you the girl who swiped a candidate’s robes and snuck onto the Hatching Grounds during the last Hatching?” K’lior asked as he heaped a large helping of apple crumble onto his plate.

Xhinna tried to disappear by scrunching low into her seat, but her bright red face was evident to all.

“I wish I’d thought of that,” Fiona declared.

“She wasn’t the first, I assure you,” Kentai added with a wry grin. “It’s a long-established tradition in all the Weyrs.”

“It didn’t work, though, did it?” Cisca asked, not looking at Xhinna but at Fiona. Her look was odd: Fiona couldn’t understand what she meant by it.

“The dragons always know,” H’nez said from his place beside Kentai. “They know blue riders from bronze riders, too.”

What was that supposed to mean? Fiona wondered.

“I thought all the weyrfolk were allowed to stand on the Hatching Grounds when they’re of age,” she said, glancing at Kentai for confirmation.

“We usually limit the number at each Hatching to not more than twice the eggs,” Cisca said as she took a forkful of her cake. Noticing Fiona’s curious look, she explained, “So as not to crowd the hatchlings or have too many pointless injuries.”

“I won’t do it again,” Xhinna murmured, looking miserable.

“Yes, you will,” Fiona declared, glancing fiercely in Cisca’s direction. “As long as you’ve the right.”

The senior Weyrwoman met Fiona’s look steadily, then flicked a hand in acceptance.

“I don’t want to make trouble,” Xhinna persisted.

She looked ready to flee, so Fiona placed a hand over her wrist. “She helped me with Tannaz today,” she said quickly. “I’d like her to stay with me, to help.”

Cisca’s furrowed her brow and gave K’lior a questioning look.

“Stay with you?” H’nez repeated.

“That way she could get things in the middle of the night if I have to stay with Tannaz or Kelsanth.”

Cisca’s expression cleared and, beside her, K’lior nodded. “I don’t see any harm in it,” he said to the Weyrwoman.

“You wouldn’t!” H’nez said with a derisive snort.

“Actually,” Cisca declared, glancing directly at H’nez, “I think it’s an excellent idea, particularly with Kelsanth in such straits.” She turned back to Fiona. “I almost wish I had thought of it myself. After all, the weyrlings in the weyrling barracks get plenty of help, not just from each other but from their friends and family.”

“A rider rides his own dragon,” H’nez retorted.

“And makes his own straps, hauls his own firestone,” K’lior agreed equably. “But a rider doesn’t make his own food, or raise his offspring without help.” He reached across to clasp Cisca’s hand. “Fiona is alone here in the Weyr. It makes sense that someone raised here should help, particularly as Tannaz is indisposed at the moment.”

“I think,” Cisca declared, “that even if Kelsanth were not sick, it would make sense to have someone available to help a queen rider.”

“Like a drudge?” H’nez said with a sneer as he regarded Xhinna. “Certainly she fits the role.”

“H’nez!” T’mar growled warningly.

Fiona glared angrily at H’nez, then turned away from him to Cisca in a move that was an obvious dismissal and slight. The man might be a bronze rider and many Turns older than she, but he had a lot to learn about manners.

“Fioonna,” Xhinna murmured fearfully beside her.

“Weyrwoman, Weyrleader, thank you,” Fiona said with a polite nod for each. She pushed back her chair and rose, nudging Xhinna to do the same. “I think we’d best get back to my weyr so that we can assist Tannaz as she needs.

“Harper,” she said, nodding to Kentai. Her gaze skipped over H’nez and rested on T’mar, as she said, “Wingleader.” With that, she turned sharply and, still clutching Xhinna’s arm, marched out of the cavern.

“Discipline is much lacking in this Weyr,” she heard H’nez declare loudly after her.

“As are manners,” Kentai agreed just as loudly. And, while she wasn’t sure if H’nez had recognized the harper’s tone, Fiona was certain as she walked away that the Weyr’s harper was not referring to her.

They stopped to pick up dinner for Tannaz and Melanwy, then hurried off to the Weyrwoman’s quarters. When they arrived, they found Melanwy urging Tannaz to “Get in the bath, now! You’ll catch your death of cold.”

Tannaz’s eyes were flat, dark, unresponsive, but something in the intensity of Melanwy’s words caused her to move listlessly toward the bathing room.

Melanwy spotted Fiona and Xhinna as she looked around for a place to put the towels. “Don’t just stand there gaping!” she snapped. “Take these towels to the laundry and get more!” She waggled a finger warningly at Xhinna. “And mind you that they’re not new towels; they’ll just be dirtied by all this muck.”

“Actually, I think they should be burned,” Fiona said, surprising herself with her words.

“Burned?” Melanwy responded, eyebrows rising to the top of her forehead in outrage. “We don’t burn towels at Fort Weyr , young lady, no matter what strange things you might have been taught at your Hold!”

“They’re infected,” Fiona replied. “They should be burned to prevent the spread of this illness to other dragons.”

Melanwy’s expression abruptly changed to contempt. “Well, of course,” she sneered, “and we’ll just send to the holders for more.”

“Yes, we will,” Fiona responded through gritted teeth, anger coursing through her. “And you’ll address me as Weyrwoman!”

“You!” Melanwy repeated. “A mere strip of a girl, barely two months Impressed?”

“Yes, her,” a new voice declared loudly from behind Fiona.

Fiona was so angry that she couldn’t look back at Cisca — she kept her gaze locked with Melanwy’s, making it clear that young or not, she was not going to stand for such poor manners.

“You’re no better,” Melanwy muttered under her breath. “Should’ve been Nara .”

“But it’s not Nara !” Cisca responded sharply. “ Nara is dead, her dragon’s gone between, and I am the senior Weyrwoman of Fort Weyr!”

There was the sound of dragons roaring in acknowledgment. Fiona was dimly aware that Talenth had been one of them.

It’s all right, Fiona assured her dragon. I’m all right.

Of course, Talenth replied unperturbedly. Fiona got the distinct feeling that had Fiona not been all right, Talenth would have been in Kalsenth’s weyr immediately. Her dragon’s fierce loyalty filled Fiona with joy.

“I’m sure Melanwy had just forgotten, Weyrwoman,” she declared, still staring at the old headwoman. She gestured to the archway to Tannaz’s quarters. “You’d best help Tannaz with her bath — we’ll take care of things here.”

As if in a daze, Melanwy nodded and turned to obey. Fiona was surprised that the older woman hadn’t continued to argue: it was as if Melanwy had suddenly lost her spirit. In the night outside the weyr, dragons bugled again.

“You need to be careful when you do that, Fiona,” Cisca said quietly.

Fiona turned on her heel and found the Weyrwoman standing right in front of her. “Do what?” she asked, bewildered.

“Dragonriders can sometimes force people to their will,” Cisca explained. “Not many, and most not as well as you just displayed. It’s a dangerous gift and you can find yourself using it on others unwittingly. Later, Melanwy may feel that you forced her, stripped her of her will.”

“You mean,” Fiona asked with some fear, “I can make people do things they don’t want to do?”

“Yes,” Cisca said. “Dragonriders learn to recognize it and defend against it, but others . . .”

Xhinna had pressed herself tightly to the wall, her eyes going warily from Fiona to Cisca and back again.

“But,” Fiona began slowly after a long silence, “ doesn’t everyone work to get people to do things they don’t want to do?”

“There’s a difference between cajoling and forcing,” Cisca replied. She waved to Xhinna. “You cajoled Xhinna into helping you; you forced Melanwy. Do you feel the difference?”

Fiona hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I was angry at Melanwy,” she said, “I needed her to do what I wanted so that I could calm down.”

Cisca lowered her eyes and sighed, then looked up again with a grin. “Not that I can blame you this time,” she admitted, “but you’re going to have to learn when you are using that power, at the very least.”

Fiona gave her a quizzical look.

“It can become second nature to you, like breathing,” Cisca explained. “And then you’ll always use it. If you do, you’ll never know when people are responding because you made them or because they want to.”

Fiona shivered at the idea, both thrilled and horrified . . . and wondering how often she’d done it before.

Cisca must have guessed her thoughts. “You may have used the power before, but you wouldn’t have been nearly as strong as you are now that you’ve Impressed.”

Footsteps echoed and then K’lior walked in.

“Queen riders are the strongest,” he said, catching one of Cisca’s hands in his. “Bronze riders are next.” He grinned over at his Weyrwoman. “We learn to resist the power early on.”

“You’ll get more control over it when your dragon rises to mate,” Cisca added.

“Mate?”

“Yes,” K’lior replied. “When a queen bloods her kills and rises to mate, she’s a mindless creature with only one intent.” He nodded to Fiona. “You’ll be the one to control her, to force her to your will — ”

“And,” Cisca continued, interrupting smoothly with a clenching of her hand around K’lior’s, “when you learn to control your dragon, you learn to control your power at the same time.”

“I don’t understand,” Xhinna murmured from her place at the wall.

“Fiona will,” K’lior replied, nodding toward the young Weyrwoman. “When the time comes.”

“But that’s Turns away,” Cisca said with a wave of her hand. She looked over at Xhinna. “Why don’t you take those dirty towels to . . .” She trailed off, considering whom to suggest.

“I know it’s not my place to say it, Weyrwoman,” Xhinna said, pushing herself from the wall to stand upright. “But it seems that Ellor’s always around when there’s need and she knows much more than desserts.” She swallowed nervously, then finished in a rush, “She’d make a great headwoman — you can ask anyone!”

K’lior made a strange noise in his throat, Fiona looked at Xhinna as though she’d never seen her before, and Cisca looked thoughtful.

Pressing her advantage, Xhinna continued, “As long as Melanwy still thinks she’s in charge, she’s going to cause trouble, Weyrwoman.” She flicked her eyes up to meet Cisca’s then, feeling that she’d overstepped herself, dropped her gaze to the floor again and muttered, “At least, that’s what I’ve heard some saying.”

Cisca gave Xhinna a considering look, then said, “Why don’t you take these to Ellor and ask what’s to be done with them?”

“Of course, Weyrwoman,” Xhinna said, darting out of the archway and into the Bowl with all possible speed.

“She may have a point,” K’lior murmured.

“She does have a point,” Cisca agreed.

The sound of a dragon coughing reverberated through the night air. Cisca shook her head, then looked back at Fiona, but it was clear that her thoughts were elsewhere as she muttered to herself reflectively, “Ellor would make a good headwoman.”

“I’ll see to the glows,” Fiona suggested demurely. After all Cisca’s talk about power, she wanted to prove to herself that she could still do some things the usual way.

Cisca nodded. “We’ll be in our weyr, if you need us,” she said, turning to leave, but K’lior blocked her.

“Actually, I think we’ll be in the Council Room,” he said. In response to Cisca’s questioning look, he explained, “I think it’s time to set out watchriders.”

“At this hour?” Cisca inquired.

“Immediately,” K’lior replied with a firm nod, gesturing for Cisca to precede him. As they left, Fiona heard him continue quietly, “I think it would be a good idea to post several healthy dragons at the holds.”

His voice was cut off as he and the Weyrwoman turned toward their quarters.

Fiona entered Tannaz’s quarters with a bucket of fresh glows. While she replaced the old glows with new, she also found herself tidying up, making the bed, picking up clothes, and generally behaving in a manner that, she knew, would have surprised everyone back at Fort Hold .

You’re a dragonrider now, she told herself sternly. It’s time to behave like one.

But, deep down, Fiona knew that her behavior was more to convince herself that she wasn’t some sort of monster.

“I’m rather glad that happened,” Cisca said as she and K’lior entered the Council Room.

“With Fiona, or Melanwy?”

“Both, I think,” Cisca replied, a thoughtful look on her face. She sighed. “ ‘Out of the mouths of babes!’ Xhinna is right that we — I — should replace Melanwy as headwoman but . . .”

“You were afraid?” K’lior teased gently.

Cisca gave him a measuring look, her lips pursed tightly, before finally admitting, “Yes.”

K’lior nodded and said nothing.

“Well, maybe not so much afraid as . . . considerate,” Cisca corrected herself.

“That’s what I thought,” K’lior told her.

“And,” Cisca said, persisting with her self-examination, “because I was hoping that the problem would solve itself without my pushing.”

“And so it did,” K’lior observed.

Cisca shook her head. “Only because Fiona lost her temper and pushed instead.” She furrowed her brow, deliberating internally.

“She’ll be careful now,” K’lior said. “You scared her.”

“I hope I didn’t scare her too much,” Cisca admitted ruefully. She smiled at K’lior. “Such power!”

“She said she was angry,” K’lior remarked.

“Yes, but she compelled Melanwy,” Cisca persisted. “Can you imagine the power that took?”

“Melanwy’s — ”

“ — getting old, yes,” Cisca said, cutting across his objection, “but she also has had tens of Turns more time to learn resistance to such compulsions.”

“Are you suggesting that Fiona might be a problem?” K’lior asked, his eyes hooded.

“No,” Cisca replied with a firm shake of her head. “I’m saying that she’s going to be an awesome Weyrwoman when the time comes.”

K’lior mulled that over silently until the sound of the wingleaders’ footsteps disturbed him.

As usual, H’nez was first, followed closely by T’mar.

Really, K’lior reflected, it should be the other way around. Carefully he schooled his face to hide his thoughts as he examined his eight wingleaders.

H’nez was hotheaded, bold, decisive, and unwilling to admit error. Not quite foolish, but given to moods.

T’mar . . . T’mar was not himself, K’lior thought in agreement with Cisca’s earlier disturbing observation. T’mar was more than ten — closer to twelve — Turns older than K’lior. In fact, except for an excessive level of restraint, he was the rider that K’lior himself had most hoped to emulate. But something had happened to T’mar, something that left him slightly off his peak, distracted . . . and it had cost him the leadership of the Weyr when Cisca’s Melirth had unexpectedly risen after the death of Nara ’s Hinirth.

M’kury was a weyrmate of K’lior’s; they had Impressed at the same time. M’kury was enthusiastic, outgoing, but perhaps overexuberant. He was also blunt in the extreme, which often rubbed people the wrong way. K’lior had no problem with it, as he had learned that M’kury expected no less in return. In fact, K’lior found it refreshing, even if occasionally overwhelming, to know that M’kury would never refrain from speaking his mind.

V’ney was almost the exact opposite; a person for whom manners were of paramount importance. His polish was well rewarded as he was liked — no, adored — by all his riders and had no lack of weyrmates, either. However, he was not as quick as H’nez or T’mar — when he was on form — when it came to handling a wing in flight. He could be counted to perform magnificently in ordinary maneuvers, but he — and his wing — tended to come apart when things got out of hand.

M’valer and K’rall were old, both having been wingleaders ever since K’lior could remember. And while they were steady, K’lior was concerned that they’d spent so much of their lives preparing — they were both nearing their fiftieth Turn as dragonriders — that they would have neither the stamina nor the flexibility when it came time to fight live Thread.

The last two wingleaders came last to the Council Room and looked anxious and out-of-place as they entered. K’lior waved them in and gave them encouraging looks, but he could see the way they stiffened when confronted by H’nez’s glower and K’rall’s half-heard snort.

S’kan and N’jian were brown riders, and all of K’lior’s work had not yet reconciled H’nez or K’rall to the fact that there were not enough mature bronzes to lead all the wings. And, in all honesty, K’lior wasn’t sure that even if he’d had enough bronzes, he’d consider displacing these two as wingleaders. For, in constrast to the steady V’ney or the aging K’rall and M’valer, S’kan and N’jian were natural leaders — and natural wingleaders.

In fact, K’lior admitted to himself, it was a pity that queens were almost always caught by bronzes, for these two brown riders would both have made excellent Weyrleaders.

“It’s not right, browns leading wings!” H’nez had complained when K’lior had first implemented his plan, and the grumbling had never ceased since. And no matter how hard K’lior or Cisca praised the brown riders or encouraged them, the resentment of H’nez, K’rall, and M’valer always kept S’kan and N’jian feeling unworthy.

K’lior gestured for the wingleaders to sit as he pulled out a chair for Cisca, but all except for M’kury waited until the Weyrwoman was properly seated. M’kury gave Cisca an unapologetic grin, which she returned; she was used to the prickly bronze rider and preferred his lack of airs to those of some others.

“So why did you call us at this late hour, K’lior?” M’kury began without preamble. “I was already well into a nice beer and looking forward to some — ” He broke off with a meaningful glance toward Cisca.

“I’m not sorry to interrupt your revelry,” K’lior replied just as briskly, “particularly as you have made it plain to everyone how tender your backside was after the last time you — ”

“All right!” M’kury broke in with a hand upraised, conceding defeat. “Forget I spoke.”

“Forgotten,” Cisca said, her eyes dancing. She wondered which poor weyrfolk was dealing with M’kury’s latest attentions — the young bronze rider seemed to have a different bedwarmer for every one of a sevenday.

“If your reasons for calling us were only to . . .” H’nez began suggestively.

“They were nothing of the sort,” Cisca interjected hotly. “However some of us believe in exchanging pleasantries.”

K’lior cleared his throat loudly. Cisca gave him a look that was not quite sorry but was, at least, attentive.

“I want to start posting riders to the holds,” the Weyrleader announced without preamble.

The outburst was immediate and predictable. “The holds!” “Why now?” “You’d be dispersing our strength!”

“Not that any explanation is required, Weyrleader,” M’kury cut in loudly and clearly, quelling the others into silence, “but I’d like it if you could explain your plan and the duration of the dispersement.”

“We know that Thread is due very soon,” K’lior began, ignoring the expected disgruntled body language displayed by H’nez, K’rall, and M’valer. He hid his surprise at T’mar’s similar expression as he continued, “The weather is cold this time of year and may be cold enough that the Thread will freeze when it falls — ”

“Blackdust!” M’kury exclaimed, slapping a hand to his forehead. “By the First Egg, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Perhaps that’s why you’re not the Weyrleader,” V’ney ventured in a tone that suggested that the exuberant rider might consider containing himself and letting K’lior continue.

M’kury smiled and gestured for K’lior to go on, but before he could, H’nez objected, “And what good would it do to send riders to the holds?”

“Not just the holds,” K’lior said, “but all the obvious watch-points where we might spot Thread or blackdust.”

“That’d take two, maybe three wings to manage!” M’valer objected.

K’lior nodded. “I think that we can rotate through the wings, but, yes, I would imagine that to do it properly, with appropriate relief, we would need at least a wing for each major Hold: Ruatha, Fort, and Southern Boll.”

“Surely you’d only need a single dragon for each?” M’kury suggested.

“At the Hold proper, yes,” K’lior replied. “But I want us to cover every hold minor and every major outcropping or vantage point.”

“Oh,” M’kury responded. “Yes, I could see how that would eat up — ”

“But not a whole wing, surely!” K’rall protested.

“Of course not,” K’lior agreed. “We would want to rotate dragon and rider, give them a chance to rest, eat, and change vantage points.”

“Why change?” M’valer wondered. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to keep them in the same place?”

“Only if your eyes don’t get tired of looking at the same place all the time,” V’ney drawled in response.

M’valer glanced at the younger rider for a moment, then snorted. “Well said!”

“So,” K’lior persisted, “we’ll need to send out practically a full Flight of dragons.” As expected, the riders perked up at K’lior’s use of the word, “Flight.”

K’lior nodded to H’nez. “I’d like you to oversee the first effort.” H’nez nodded, his expression veiled. K’lior could only guess at the many possible thoughts in the other’s head, but he didn’t doubt that surprise and a sense of entitlement were among them. “Will you be ready by first light?” K’lior asked.

“Of course,” H’nez responded automatically.

“Good,” K’lior replied, nodding decisively. “I don’t think we’ll ask you to stay out for more than three days, then we’ll rotate.”

“I’d like to have K’rall’s and M’valer’s wings with me,” H’nez declared.

“That was my thinking, too,” K’lior responded. “But I want you to leave the ill dragons behind — I don’t want to stress them any more than necessary.”

“But they’re only coughing!” H’nez declared, his irritation obvious. “I wouldn’t let sick riders stay in their beds; I see no reason — ”

K’lior cut across him, turning to K’rall and M’valer to ask, “Do either of you recall dragons coughing, in all your Turns at the Weyr?”

Mutely, K’rall and M’valer shook their heads. K’lior turned his gaze to H’nez. “Because this is something that rare, wingleader, I have decided that we will keep the sick dragons in the Weyr.” He glanced at M’kury and added sardonically, “If it were only because they’d been out all night drinking beer or cavorting, I’d say differently.”

M’kury grinned.

“But,” K’lior continued, turning his gaze back to H’nez, “as dragons don’t get colds or hangovers, I think it’s best if we treat this carefully.”

“Especially given the losses at the other Weyrs,” Cisca added.

“And the fire-lizards,” M’kury added, his usually chipper expression replaced by a much more somber look.

“Yes,” K’lior agreed, “particularly because of the fire-lizards. It has been hard enough for our own weyrfolk to handle their loss. Seeing the dragons may help the holders and crafters cope with the loss of their own fire-lizards.”

“Or it could irritate them,” M’kury said bluntly. K’lior gave him a questioning look. “It could remind them that they lost their fire-lizards while we ” — he gestured to indicate the whole Weyr — “have kept our dragons.”

“They know that without the dragons all Pern would be Threaded!” H’nez declared with a contemptuous glare.

“I doubt they’ll be thinking that until Thread actually does fall,” Cisca put in. She saw some of the wingleaders — V’ney, T’mar, S’kan, and N’jian — nod in agreement. “Until then,” she continued, “the loss of their fire-lizards might increase their resentment toward dragonriders.”

“Are you saying that we shouldn’t go on patrol?” H’nez wondered.

“No,” Cisca replied, shaking her head, “I’m saying that we should remember it and behave accordingly.” She gave K’lior a private look that he had come to recognize as a warning that he was shortly going to have a message relayed by his Rineth from her Melirth.

Cisca wonders if maybe you should send different wingleaders out first, Rineth told him an instant later. K’lior caught her eye and shook his head just enough for her to notice.

“The Weyrwoman’s right,” K’lior said out loud. “H’nez, I want you to take that consideration into account as you set up your patrols. Be sure to make a courtesy call at each hold, major and minor, and each crafthall.”

“But — ” H’nez protested only to have K’lior cut him off.

“It’s good manners,” K’lior said. “In fact, it makes good sense as we’ll want to be recognizable to their ground crews.” He paused. “In fact, H’nez, can you see to it that you identify the various ground crews, too?”

He pursed his lips for a moment as he considered that question himself. “Perhaps that’s too much,” he decided finally. “We can save that for the next Flight.”

“No, Weyrleader, we can do that,” H’nez declared, clearly upset that K’lior might think him incapable of the extra effort.

“Excellent,” K’lior replied. He looked around the table for any objections, then started on the next topic. “Now, there is one other thing the Weyrwoman wants to discuss with us.”

He gestured to Cisca, passing the discussion over to her.

“I’d like to ask Melanwy to care for Tannaz and Kelsanth full time,” Cisca said straight out. At the dismayed looks of the riders, she added, “At least until Kelsanth recovers.”

“Will she recover?” V’ney asked softly.

“We don’t know,” K’lior admitted after a moment’s silence.

“What about that herbal they used at Benden Weyr?” T’mar asked.

“It didn’t work; they lost their senior queen,” M’kury declared, obviously surprised that T’mar didn’t remember.

“We’ve more coughing,” M’valer added reluctantly.

“Has any dragon recovered from this?” S’kan wondered out loud.

“Not that we’ve heard,” Cisca replied. “Melanwy’s old enough that looking after Tannaz and her dragon will be enough for her by itself, so I’m going to ask Ellor to stand in as headwoman.”

“Ellor, the dessert cook?” H’nez asked. Cisca nodded and was surprised when the irritable dragonrider responded with, “Good choice. She’s capable.”

A murmur of agreement went around the table.

“Not that it’s our business, anyway,” K’rall pointed out. “Running the Weyr is the Weyrwoman’s job.”

“But it is a good choice,” V’ney observed, daring the older rider to disagree.

“Oh, it is, it is,” K’rall said quickly.

“Good,” K’lior said. He rose from his seat, extending a hand to Cisca, who took it and squeezed it in relief. “Now, it is late and H’nez’s flight will be leaving at first light, so I think we ” — he indicated himself and the Weyrwoman — “will bid you a good night.”

“Others,” Cisca chimed in with a grin to M’kury, “might want to carefully consider whether it would be wise to resume their activities.”

“No problem,” M’kury declared. “They’re both waiting for me in my quarters!”