Dragonsblood

NINE

Two dragons burst into existence under the low clouds near Bay Head. One was gold, the other, bronze.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Tullea grumbled to her dragon. She looked around and found B’nik’s Caranth sidling up on their right side. Her eyes darted to the seashore and the nearby rain-soaked fields. “I can’t understand why I let B’nik talk us into this.”

Because you love him, Minith replied with a hint of questioning in her tone.

Tullea laughed and patted her beautiful gold dragon’s neck. And you wanted some exercise, she said, smiling despite herself.

“She’ll rise to mate soon,” B’nik had told her calmly not a sevenday before. His eyes were clouded with an unasked question. Tullea knew the question but perversely decided to keep the answer to herself. Oh, she was pretty sure which dragon Minith would mate with, but she felt a sneaky thrill at the notion of keeping B’nik on tenterhooks. Besides, she thought to herself, it’s really the dragons’ choice.

“A well-fed, well-worked dragon will fly farther and lay more eggs,” B’nik had reminded her this morning when he’d asked if she wanted to go searching. “And we can drill on reference points.”

Tullea grabbed at the chance. Minith, at a little over three Turns old, had just matured enough to be flown and to go between. After three Turns of constant feeding, oiling, and loving, Tullea was more than ready to enjoy the fruits of her labors.

Besides, she admitted to herself, she loved to fly.

So do I, Minith agreed, once again reading Tullea’s private thoughts.

But the weather is awful, Tullea thought sourly to her dragon.

I don’t mind it, Minith said.

Tullea snorted. Of course not! You think the cold of between is just fine!

The cold of between is cold, Minith replied, with a hint of reproof in her tone.

“Well, this is worse,” Tullea growled aloud, looking toward B’nik.

The bronze dragonrider was waving excitedly and pointing to the ground below. Tullea looked but saw nothing-no, there was a bunch of rags on the beach. B’nik’s Caranth pinwheeled tightly downward on one wing tip, and Minith, with no urging from Tullea, happily followed. As they got closer, Tullea noticed that the rags had legs and arms sticking out from them.

Perhaps they had found J’trel’s stray after all. Good, Tullea thought to herself, then we can go home!

“B’nik and Tullea have found someone,” K’tan said as he entered Harper Kindan’s quarters.

“J’trel’s stray?” Kindan asked, rising from his stool and gently hanging up the guitar he’d been playing. “Come on, Valla,” he called to the bronze fire-lizard dozing on his bed. The little bronze stirred, stretched, and leaped into the air, hovering near Kindan’s right shoulder.

K’tan shrugged. “They should be here now.”

The two walked out of Kindan’s quarters and out to the Weyr Bowl. The sun had broken through the morning mist that had settled in the Bowl, but the air still held a chill.

Above them two dragons burst into view and spiraled down. Gold Minith landed first, followed by bronze Caranth.

Valla took one look at Minith, gave a surprised squawk, and disappeared. Tullea wasn’t fond of fire-lizards.

K’tan gestured to Kindan, and the two jogged toward the bronze dragon. Kindan could see that B’nik was holding someone in front of him.

“She’s very cold,” the bronze rider called out as he lowered the woman down to them.

“Where are her fire-lizards?” Kindan asked as he and K’tan took hold of the unconscious body.

“We saw no sign of them.”

Lorana woke, warm. And dry. A small, warm lump nestled against her back and she felt blankets wrapped around her. She smiled lazily and turned to face the fire-lizard lump, wondering if it was Garth or Grenn-

With a shock she saw that it was neither-and then she remembered.

The little bronze took one look at her expression and leaped into flight and between out of sight.

Lorana sighed, eyes bleary with tears that did not fall. She had sent Garth and Grenn away. She had been certain she was about to die and she had wanted to save them.

And now she was alive and they were-? She closed her eyes and focused her mind, questing for them, looking for them.

A fire-lizard’s squawk distracted her, followed immediately by a dragon’s bellow.

“You’re awake,” a voice called from beyond the doorway. A man strode into the room. He looked to be a few years older than Lorana, and was dressed in harper’s blue. The bronze fire-lizard hovered over his shoulder. The man had keen blue eyes and jet black hair. He was taller than Lorana and rangy, his body hinting at a wiry strength.

“Valla?” the man addressed the fire-lizard. The bronze chattered back at him in obvious agitation. “Valla, she needs food. Go tell Kiyary our guest is awake. Valla, will you go?”

The fire-lizard gave Lorana one more concerned look and chirped a warning before vanishing between.

“Fire-lizards are not the best messengers,” the man observed dryly. He looked down at her. “I’m Kindan.”

As she began to sit up, Kindan put out a restraining hand. “Don’t try to get up-you’re too weak.”

Lorana was already in motion, but she stopped as soon as she discovered the truth in his words: She felt as weak as a leaf.

A noise outside the room heralded the arrival of another person-a middle-aged man with the lean, muscular look of a rider. His brown hair had only a few strands of silver in it, and his brown eyes were kind.

“I’ve brought food,” he announced, setting the tray he was carrying on the bedside table. He picked up a pot and poured some of its contents into a cup. “Though I suggest this herbal, first. A starved stomach needs to learn to eat all over again.”

With a wordless gesture, Kindan helped Lorana sit up, rearranging pillows underneath her.

“I’m K’tan,” the man said as he handed the cup to her. “The Weyr healer.” He shook his head sadly. “You required much of my art these last six days.”

“Thank you,” Lorana told him gratefully. “I’m Lorana.”

The healer and the harper exchanged looks, and Lorana got the impression that they had just silently agreed to shelve some question they had.

“Let me help you,” Kindan said, sitting carefully on her bedside and handing her the cup of tea.

Gratefully, Lorana sipped the tea. The liquid was just lightly warmed, and her throat welcomed its soothing presence.

K’tan regarded her carefully as she drank. After a moment she pushed the cup away.

“Thank you,” she said to Kindan. To the healer she said, “This is very good.”

K’tan inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Suddenly Valla appeared, chittering. The fire-lizard took in the somber scene and closed his mouth instantly, giving Kindan such a regretful look that Lorana smiled.

“Is he always such a character?” Lorana asked, her eyes twinkling.

“He’s usually much worse,” Kindan agreed. “I think he’s on his best behavior because-”

“I was on death’s door,” Lorana said, guessing what he hadn’t said.

“You’ll get better now,” K’tan declared firmly. “If you can finish the tea, there’s some broth here you might try.”

“And then I’ll fall asleep,” Lorana surmised.

“You’ve been this ill before,” K’tan guessed.

“The Plague.” She remembered how hard she and her father had fought to save her mother, brother, and sister. And how, after battling for a fortnight, they’d lost first her sister, Sanna, then her brother, Lennel, and finally her mother.

After the fever had taken her mother, she and her father had cried in each other’s arms. Neither she nor Sannel had wanted to live. And then she’d caught the plague herself and her nightmares intensified to fill her waking days. The only pleasant thing had been her father’s face peering down at her as he gently wiped her forehead or held her up and spooned down broth. She had wanted to go, to join her mother and siblings, but she couldn’t-the thought of leaving him behind was too much. And the fever had passed, and she’d recovered.

She sensed a motion or a change in posture from Kindan and looked at him carefully. His face had many smile lines on it, but it was carefully schooled; she could see the pain he was hiding and she knew that this man had seen people-many people-die.

“Will I live?” she asked him quietly.

Her memory came back to her in a rush: the storm, Colfet, her plunge overboard, her blind thrust at the fire-lizards…

“Has anyone found Colfet?” she asked suddenly, trying once more to sit up. Kindan held up a restraining hand but she struggled against it. “He was all alone on the launch and his arm was broken.”

Kindan gave her a startled look, followed immediately by careful scrutiny. Beyond him, Lorana felt K’tan tense with worry.

“The dragonriders found nothing,” K’tan told her softly.

“Please ask them to keep searching,” Lorana implored.

“I shall talk with the Weyrleader,” K’tan promised.

Lorana turned her eyes to Kindan. “My fire-lizards? Did they get to safety?”

Kindan shook his head. “There’s been no word of them.”

Lorana slumped back into the bed.

“Here, try some more tea,” Kindan told her softly, raising the cup once more to her lips. When she’d finished the cup he asked her, “Do you want to try some broth, too?”

Behind him, K’tan shifted, his tension easing. “I’ll be going,” the healer told them. He glanced at Lorana. “I’ll check in on you later.”

He gestured toward Kindan. “You’re in good hands.”

Lorana woke, tired but alert. The room was dark. The only light came faintly from a glow in the farther room. Something had startled her into wakefulness. The lump at her back-Valla-was a warm and comforting presence.

Suddenly the fire-lizard tensed up, and in a rapid motion sneezed, loudly and violently.

Do dragons get coughs often? Lorana’s own words echoed in her memory.

The fire-lizard sneezed again.

“Kindan?” Lorana called.

“Kindan,” she shouted, her sense of urgency heightened, “there’s something wrong with Valla!”

She heard his startled movement from the room beyond as he roused himself out of bed. Valla needed the healer, Lorana decided. She felt about with her mind amongst the sleeping dragons in the Weyr, found the right one, and said, Kindan has need of the healer.

“He seems hot, nearly feverish,” K’tan said minutes later as he examined the fire-lizard. Kindan had uncovered every glow he could find and the room was bright with light for the healer’s examination.

K’tan shook his head. “I’ve never seen the like-not in fire-lizards.”

“Did your fire-lizards cough, Lorana?” Kindan asked her, his eyes full of concern and worry as he stroked his fire-lizard. A wave of sadness washed over Lorana: She had tried several times to reach the minds of her fire-lizards, without success.

“No, but J’trel’s Talith did,” she replied.

Kindan and K’tan exchanged worried looks.

After a moment, K’tan said to Kindan, “I don’t know what to do.”

“My father used to make a brew for herdbeasts,” Lorana suggested, then made a face. “I don’t know if it would work for fire-lizards, though.”

“It might be worth a try,” K’tan said with a shrug.

“Do you remember the ingredients?” Kindan asked. Lorana nodded.

Kindan trotted off to the outer room and rummaged about for stylus and paper, which he brought back to Lorana. She wrote quickly, in her fair hand. K’tan leaned over, scanning the list as she wrote.

“We have these ingredients,” he said when she finished. He took the list from her and headed for the door. “I shall have a brew presently.”

Kindan turned to watch the healer leave, gauging how soon he could hope for his return. When he turned back to Valla and Lorana, he was surprised to see her hunched over the paper, stylus drawing furiously.

“This is Colfet,” Lorana said as she finished the drawing. She handed it up to him. “I thought perhaps it might help in his search.”

“I had forgotten that you drew,” Kindan admitted. “When we heard from Ista Weyr, they mentioned the drawings you’d done for Lord Carel at Lemos.”

Lorana blushed slightly and feebly waved the compliment aside. “They weren’t that good.”

She shifted her attention again, rapidly making a new sketch. “What I really wanted to do was this.”

She showed the new drawing to Kindan. Two small six-legged creatures were on the page.

He raised an eyebrow inquiringly at her.

“I was hoping to draw every animal I could find on Pern, to understand their differences and similarities.”

Kindan bent again to the drawings. “I recognize this one,” he said, pointing. “I’ve seen it around in fields here.” He pointed to the other one, shaking his head. “But-where did you find that?”

“Igen seashore,” Lorana replied. She gestured at the differences and gave him a condensed version of the same observation she’d given J’trel nearly a month before.

“I’m impressed,” Kindan said. He looked at the drawing again and then back at her. “Do you draw in colors?”

“Colors?” Lorana repeated in surprise. “I could never afford colors.”

K’tan returned at that moment, bustling into the room quickly.

“Here we are!” he called, placing a tray with a steaming brew in Kindan’s hands. “Have your little one try this.”

It took all of Kindan’s coaxing to get the first drop of the brew into the fire-lizard’s mouth. Then Valla snorted indignantly and, with a red-eyed glare, blinked between.

“I don’t think he liked it,” K’tan observed dryly.

“It doesn’t taste that bad,” Lorana said defensively. “I tried a drop myself!”

“The trick now is to get him back,” Kindan said with a sigh.

“So he can finish the medicine,” K’tan added.

Kindan twitched a frown. “I had better go after him.”

“I could stay with Lorana,” K’tan offered.

“No,” Lorana said. “I’m fine. If I need anything, I’ll tell Drith.”

K’tan’s eyes widened, and Kindan turned to her in surprise.

“You spoke to Drith?” the healer asked. “He told me I was needed-that was you?”

Lorana nodded.

“I’d better go,” Kindan repeated, clearly torn.

“Go, find your fire-lizard,” K’tan said, passing the mug of brew to him. “See if you can convince him to try some more.”

Kindan took the mug and trotted away.

As Kindan’s footsteps faded away, K’tan looked back to Lorana and chose his next words carefully. “Can you speak to any dragon?”

“I think so,” Lorana said. “I could talk with Talith.”

“There’s a Hatching soon,” K’tan began. “And a queen egg-”

“J’trel thought I should be a weyrwoman,” Lorana said, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I’d be any good,” she admitted. “But I’d like to see a Hatching.”

K’tan gave her a searching look and then nodded.

“Right now, you need your sleep.” He gestured for her to lie back down. “I’ll turn the glows down on the way out.”

After K’tan left, Lorana tried to get back to sleep. She couldn’t. She kept mulling over the events in her life. She felt sorry for Kindan and his sick fire-lizard. She felt responsible.

She knew, from her work with her father, how some herdbeasts would get sick and pass the sickness on to others. She knew from bitter experience that people could also pass sickness from one to another.

Her father had taught her that the best cure for sickness among herdbeasts was isolating the whole herd if one became ill.

“Even the healthy ones?” young Lorana had asked in amazement.

Her father had nodded. “They might be healthy today and sick tomorrow. That’s why the quarantine. We keep the sick from the healthy.”

“And if they don’t get sick?”

“Well, we leave the herd isolated long enough to be sure no more beasts are getting ill,” he’d told her.

When the first incidents of Plague had been reported, and worried rumors were flying thick amongst holders and crafters, Sannel had said confidently, “This is a human illness. It may affect the herdbeasts, but it won’t affect the dragons or fire-lizards.”

Lorana knew that had something to do with the differences between native organisms and those transplanted from Earth. Could it be, though, that humans or herdbeasts could carry an illness that would affect fire-lizards?

She tried to shake the worrying thoughts away, tried to find sleep, but she couldn’t. To distract herself, she tried searching once more for Garth and Grenn. The effort left her sweating; her failure left her crying.

Her tears were still wet on her cheeks when she caught sight of a light above, toward the entrance to her room. It was multifaceted, like a fire-lizard’s eye.

“Garth?” she called out. “Grenn?”

No answer. The light in the room was growing, and Lorana saw another glittering jewel in the room beyond.

The shapes were wrong for fire-lizard eyes. She frowned in concentration. Slowly the light grew and she realized that the faceted lights were always brighter than the light in the rest of the room.

She turned on her side, propped herself up on an elbow, and pushed herself upright in the bed, legs dangling over the floor.

She felt light-headed but not quite faint. The room threatened to twist drunkenly away from her, but she forced herself to concentrate on the faceted light and find the horizon above her.

Lips tightened in determination, she pushed herself to her feet.

She was shaky.

I should be resting, she told herself. But the lights tempted her.

Her first step was awkward and ungainly, but she found her feet and slowly walked toward the door.

Standing in the doorway, she could see the next room clearly. In the ceiling were more of the bright jewels. Lines of light stretched from jewel to jewel. One line of light seemed to be coming toward the jewel in her doorway from the jewel in the center of the room.

She gasped in amazement.

The jewels were some sort of glass, she realized, placed to mirror light into the rooms. The whole effect was beautiful.

She followed the line of light from her ceiling jewel to the one in the center of the room, pivoting around to see all the rays reflected from it to still more jewels.

Wind Rider had had something like these jewels to bring light from the deck down to the lower deck, but that glass had been fogged and green. The glass in these jewels practically shone with glistening clarity.

Tottering slightly, Lorana turned back to her own room to retrieve the paper and stylus Kindan had left behind for her.

Quickly she drew a sketch of the bejeweled ceiling. When she was done, she walked into the hallway, intent on following the line of jewels to their outside source. The hallway was anticlimactic, as the jewels and light path disappeared into the ceiling above.

Still, she followed the line of white light above her until she came out into the great Weyr Bowl and the warm morning light.

“Oh!” she gasped, looking up into the sky. “Oh!” Her eyes locked on the scene above her, she fell to her knees, laid the paper on them, and, fingers flying, tried to capture the images she was seeing.

The sky was full of dragons and fire-lizards cavorting like clouds of light brought to life in the early morning softness. Blue, green, bronze, brown, and gold. The fire-lizards flitted like swarms of dutiful attendants around the soaring dragons, who took in the attentions of their smaller cousins with the pleasure of elders for infants.

The chitters of the fire-lizards and bugles of the dragons were reflected in her head by the deep mental voices of the dragons and the flighty feelings of the fire-lizards-and Lorana thought that never had she seen a more beautiful dawn chorus or had a more enjoyable moment in her life.

The moment was shattered, horribly, in an instant as from somewhere in the swarm, Lorana heard an unmistakable cough. It was echoed, moments later, by another.

Dragons don’t get sick. J’trel’s words resounded horribly in Lorana’s mind.

It seemed that as Lorana’s strength grew, Valla’s strength ebbed. In a sevenday, Lorana was nearly back to her full health, while the little fire-lizard had become listless and nearly lifeless.

Lorana did everything she could to help Kindan and his fire-lizard. She and K’tan conferred often on herbal remedies, and K’tan even visited the Healer Hall at Fort Weyr in search of more suggestions, but nothing seemed to help.

At K’tan’s request, Lorana remained sequestered in her room, even though she was much mended.

“We don’t want you to wear yourself out and relapse,” K’tan had said with a wag of his finger.

But Lorana, recalling her father’s words about quarantine, suspected that was not his only reason for the injunction.

A hoarse, wracking cough woke her in the middle of the night. Sounds came from the large room outside her quarters. A shadow approached her.

“I brought you some colored pencils,” Kindan called out. “I was hoping you’d draw…”

Lorana sat up, found the glowbasket, and quickly turned it. The glow did not light the room brightly, but it was enough to see Kindan’s worried face and the limp fire-lizard he cradled in one arm.

He extended a bundle of colored pencils to her with his other arm.

“I’d be happy to draw Valla, Kindan,” Lorana told him.

“It’s not that-” Kindan began, but just then Valla coughed a long, rasping cough and spat out a gob of green, slimy mucus. Kindan made a face and pointed at the mucus. “It’s that.”

Lorana peered at the discharge for a moment and then took Kindan’s bundle, picked up her new sketchbook-a gift from K’tan-from the bedside table beside, and drew rapidly.

“I’ve seen that sort of discharge from sick herdbeasts,” she said as she finished her sketch and held it up to Kindan.

“Did they survive?” Kindan asked, looking down fondly at his fire-lizard.

Lorana quirked her lips. “Some of them.”

“K’tan’s still asleep and I’d hate to wake him. He was up all hours last night with a sick child,” Kindan said after a moment. He gestured to her drawing. “I can show him this drawing when he wakes. In the meantime, could you make some more of that herbal for Valla?”

“K’tan wants me to stay here,” Lorana protested.

“It’s just a short trip to the Kitchen Cavern and no one’s there-I checked,” Kindan said, his eyes pleading with her. “We’ll be back in no time.”

Reluctantly Lorana nodded, unable to tell him that no herdbeast needing a second dose of herbal had survived.

They walked out into the Weyr Bowl. Lorana looked up at the dim rows of lights that stretched up from the basin of the Bowl to its rim.

“Are those dragons?” she asked Kindan.

“Mostly they’re glows,” Kindan told her. “You can just make them out during the day, but at night…”

He gestured and led her into another large cavern.

“This is the Living Cavern,” Kindan told her, gesturing around at the trestle tables laid out in neat, long rows. One wall glowed with banked fires. He led her toward the brightest fire.

“This is the night hearth,” he explained. “If ever you’re hungry, you’ll find something-including klah-here.”

He gestured to a sideboard. “The cooks usually leave some bread and butter here, as well as fruit.”

“Where do they store the herbs?” she asked.

Kindan gave her a puzzled look as he tried to remember, then brightened, pointing to a large cupboard at the far end of the cavern. “I believe the spices are there. Do you need any special herbs?”

“If the cooks keep the usual supply, I should be fine,” Lorana said, heading across the room. She opened the doors and took a deep lungful of the tantalizing smells that came from the stored herbs. With the help of a glow Kindan held up for her, she quickly collected the herbs she required and walked back to the night hearth. In a few short minutes, she had the herbs simmering in a pot of water over the open flames.

“Not much longer,” she said. Kindan nodded and gestured to the nearest chairs.

“Oh, let me!” Lorana said when she saw him trying to seat himself while not disturbing Valla. She pulled the chair at the head of the table out for him and pushed it back in a bit as he sat.

“Thank you.”

Lorana sat herself nearby, angled so she could watch the fire.

An awkward, slightly sleepy silence, descended between them. Lorana found herself concentrating on the wheezy sound of Valla’s breathing and dividing her gaze between the sick fire-lizard and his owner.

“I’ve never seen him like this,” Kindan said after a long while, shaking his head sadly. “I’ve seen others, though.”

“Fire-lizards?” Lorana asked in surprise.

“People,” Kindan replied, eyes bleak.

“All my family, except my father, died in the Plague,” Lorana said, shuddering at the memory.

Kindan gave her an encouraging look and Lorana found herself recounting how the illness had taken her family, how the holders had been afraid that with their wandering ways, they might have brought the Plague with them, how-

“I was at the Harper Hall, to start,” Kindan said when Lorana broke off with a sob. He explained how he had been sent to Fort Hold in disgrace after being accused of starting a fire in the Archives room. How he had worked with the healer at Fort as the first few Plague victims fell ill and then, as more and more succumbed, how the healer himself had taken ill and died, leaving Kindan alone, at just fourteen Turns, to carry on as best he could.

“You must have been very brave,” Lorana said in awe.

“I was very tired,” Kindan said with a shake of his head. “I was too tired to be brave.”

“Very brave,” Lorana insisted.

“They needed me,” he said simply, his voice full of emotion. “I couldn’t leave them.”

“What about your family?” Lorana asked, trying to change the subject to something less painful for the harper.

“I have a sister still alive,” he told her. “My father and all my brothers are dead.” He grimaced. “Most died in a cave-in; the last died of the Plague.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My story’s not that different from many others,” Kindan replied with a shrug. “And better than some.”

Not sure what else to say, Lorana went to check the herbal brew. Satisfied, she poured some into a tall glass.

“We’ll have to let that cool,” she said. She sniffed it. “It smells right.”

“You can tell by smell?” Kindan asked, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Lorana admitted. “I can only tell if something’s not right-like if I left out an ingredient.”

“I should have asked you for the ingredients, then I could have made it myself,” Kindan apologized.

“With a sick fire-lizard in your arms?” Lorana asked, shaking her head. “Anyway, I’m happy to help.”

“Well, thanks again,” Kindan said. Valla snorted and turned. Lorana leaned forward and held a hand just above the fire-lizard’s head, careful not to touch it.

“I can feel the heat from here,” she said.

Valla coughed green phlegm, which coated Lorana’s hand before she could pull it away.

“I’m sorry,” Kindan said.

“Don’t apologize,” Lorana said, rising to her feet. “I’ll just wash it off. Perhaps I can find a small measuring spoon while I’m up.”

“They’re over there,” Kindan said, pointing.

“You certainly know your way around a kitchen,” Lorana answered with a grin.

“Only this one,” Kindan agreed. “And mostly I know where to find the medicinals for a late night of harpering-headaches from the wine, sore throat from singing.”

Lorana washed her hands, then chose a small measuring spoon and brought it back to where Kindan sat. She poured some of the herbal tea into the spoon and gestured to Kindan. With Kindan holding Valla still, Lorana managed to pry the fire-lizard’s mouth open and coax him to swallow the dose.

“And now we wait,” Kindan guessed. He looked over to Lorana. “You should go get your rest-it’ll be dawn soon.”

Lorana nodded, stifling a yawn, and left.

Back in her room, she found herself looking up at the ceiling once more, watching as the brilliant light jewels started to glow with light from the early morning sun.

Inspired, she rose again, found her sketchbook and the colored pencils Kindan had brought, and strode out into the Bowl.

Just as before, the Bowl slowly filled with fire-lizards and dragons, rousing and going to the lake at the far end to wash and drink, or between to the Feeding Grounds outside the Weyr. She sketched quickly, filling page after page with the brilliant colors of the dragons and fire-lizards frolicking in the warm morning sun. She stopped when she ran out of paper and, eager to show her work, rushed to the Kitchen Cavern.

She found Kindan just where she’d left him. He looked up at her, and his bleak expression told all she needed to know.

“He’s gone,” the harper said in a choked voice.

“How is he taking it?” M’tal asked K’tan later that morning when the Weyr healer gave him the news of the loss of Valla.

“As well as any,” K’tan replied, shaking his head. “He’s survived the loss of a watch-wher, and he lived through the Plague.”

“Which is more than some of us can say,” M’tal acknowledged ruefully, for he still felt guilty over his decision to close the Weyr when news of the Plague first reached them.

“It was the only choice we could make,” K’tan told the Weyrleader firmly.

“Which does not make it any less painful.”

K’tan nodded. “We helped as much as we could when the Plague was over.”

M’tal grunted and made a throwaway gesture, signaling an end to the topic.

“We have another hard choice,” K’tan told the Weyrleader after a moment of silence.

M’tal nodded in understanding. “Do we know if Valla’s death was from contagion?”

“Other fire-lizards are coughing,” K’tan said.

M’tal froze for a long moment. His question, when he asked it, was dire. “Can the dragons catch this sickness?”

“I don’t know,” K’tan admitted.

“And we can’t afford to take the risk,” M’tal surmised. He locked eyes with the healer who pursed his lips and nodded reluctantly. “Are you proposing that we ban the fire-lizards from the Weyr?”

K’tan’s nod was nearly imperceptible.

“You must leave,” K’tan said to her.

Lorana looked up from her drawing of the fire-lizards, eyes stricken. Behind him she could see Kindan, his eyes burning with hate.

“You killed the fire-lizards,” Kindan snarled at her. “You brought the sickness.”

“You must leave,” K’tan repeated.

Yes, I must leave, Lorana thought to herself. This is my fault. I must go into quarantine. Until… until…

Lorana woke with a start, sweating. She looked around, trying to place herself. It was late, dark. She had been dreaming.

It had been nearly four days since M’tal had ordered the fire-lizards from Benden Weyr. Lorana had recovered her strength, but she had remained in the infirmary, scared of being seen by the weyrfolk, particularly those who’d had fire-lizards.

She gathered her gear together and found a carisak to stuff them into. She left the colored pencils and her drawings behind-perhaps they would make payment for all that the weyrfolk had done for her.

Slowly she crept out of the infirmary and toward the Weyr Bowl. Inside, she was numb. She felt nothing.

Except, maybe, hungry. No, definitely hungry. In fact, Lorana was painfully hungry. She could feel it in her belly, she could feel it in a hunger headache pounding in her head. She couldn’t understand how she could feel so hungry so suddenly.

Her ears caught a faint humming. Her nose picked up the scent of food cooking, and her stomach rumbled.

Don’t worry, you’ll get fed, Lorana told her stomach.

But I’m so hungry, her stomach protested. Lorana was momentarily surprised; she couldn’t remember her stomach ever answering her. She pushed the issue aside, allowing that it could be the product of many things-her exhaustion, her exposure, her weakness.

As she neared the end of the corridor, the sound of humming grew louder, and the smell of roasting meat stronger. Her stomach knotted in anticipation. Then, when she reached the torchlit Weyr Bowl, comprehension burst upon her like a wave.

A Hatching! In the Hatching Grounds across the Bowl, dragons were hatching, and new riders were Impressing-and around them all, the adult dragons were humming encouragement.

For a moment, Lorana considered heading toward the sound. To see a Hatching! What a glorious thing!

But, no, she had to get away before anyone found her. Before they knew-

But I’m hungry! her stomach complained.

I’ll feed you, honest, Lorana responded, wondering exactly when her stomach had become so demanding, and also wondering when she’d become so good at placating it.

She heard a murmur of voices growing louder, coming from the Hatching Grounds.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing!” someone said, his voice carrying loudly across to her. It sounded like Kindan.

“Hasn’t a hatchling ever left the Grounds before?” A female voice asked.

Ahead, the darkness split off into three shadows. Two were human shaped, and they seemed to be following something. A hatchling!

What’s a hatchling doing here? Lorana wondered. She shrank against the wall, trying to remain unseen, but the hatchling turned toward her.

I said I was hungry!

Lorana stopped dead, frozen in shock and fear, her breathing shallow, her eyes wide. It could not be. The dragonet couldn’t be talking to her-it had to be her stomach.

Please, my wing hurts. The pitiful voice in her head was accompanied by a painful mewling that Lorana’s ears heard.

Her instincts took over. She could never let an animal suffer. She rushed to the waddling dragonet and quickly untangled its baby clawed feet from its left wing tip.

“There, better?” Lorana asked out loud, oblivious to the crowd gathering around her, concentrating solely on this marvelous young gold dragon who had asked her for help.

Much, thank you, the dragonet replied, butting her head against Lorana’s side. I am Arith.

And in that instant Lorana recognized the impossible. She had Impressed.

Lorana’s sense of shock was overwhelmed by her nurturing instincts. She wobbled but did not fall down. Instead, she crouched beside Arith’s head and began to gently rub, then scratch, the dragonet’s eye ridges.

“Please,” she said, looking up at the crowd for the first time, “Arith is very hungry. Can you get her something to eat?”

“Certainly,” someone replied instantly. A figure broke from the crowd and hastened away toward the source of the distant succulent smells.

“Best get Lorana something, as well,” Kindan added, in a rich, well-modulated tone that carried the length of Benden’s great Bowl.

“Here,” a voice much closer to her-a woman’s voice-said, “Put this on.” Lorana felt a warm jacket being draped over her. “You must be as frozen as you are hungry.”

Lorana looked up to see a woman about six or seven Turns older than herself with blond hair and piercing blue eyes. A red-haired man stood beside her, looking protective. Lorana couldn’t see that the woman needed it, she had rarely seen such a selfpossessed person in her life.

“For a moment I thought maybe she was coming for me,” the woman said with a chuckle. “I’m so glad it was you. Two would be impossible.”

A sound, not quite a dragon sound, burst in the sky above them, and a small, ungainly, ugly gold shape descended toward them. It was a watch-wher, and when it alit deftly on the floor of the Bowl, it trotted over to the woman.

The gold watch-wher snuffed at Arith, who returned the gesture full of curiosity; then, with a satisfied chirp, the watch-wher sidled over to place her head under the blond woman’s hand.

“I know you!” Lorana exclaimed. “You’re Nuella.”

“I told you your fame has traveled far and wide,” Kindan said, bowing toward Nuella.

“This is Weyrleader M’tal,” Kindan continued, gesturing to a silver-haired, wiry older man beside him.

“My lord-” Lorana was abashed to have been in the Weyr all this time without meeting him.

M’tal cut her off with a wave of his hand. “M’tal, please,” he said. “Or Weyrleader, if you must. You are one of us now, Lorana.”

Tears burst from her, running unchecked down her face. Arith looked at her worriedly.

Are you hurt? the dragonet asked, ready to both comfort and defend her mate.

It’s all right, it’s all right. I’m just so happy, Lorana assured her. And she was. M’tal’s words had been just what she’d needed to hear. She had a home. She was Lorana, rider of gold Arith, dragonrider of Benden Weyr.

“I could not be happier,” she said aloud.

Lorana found herself ensconced in the last empty Weyrwoman’s weyr, her scant things moved without her asking, her stomach-and Arith’s-filled beyond bulging, and all the while she was lost in the magic of gold Arith’s whirling eyes.

Her dragon’s eyes.

All the pain, the loss, everything that had gone before in Lorana’s life was redeemed, erased, made nothing in the warmth of Arith’s love.

It was as natural as breathing to Lorana that she’d pull her bedclothes over to her hatchling’s lair and fall asleep, curled up tight around her dragon.

Kindan’s rich voice woke her the next morning. “There’s a warm pool just the other side of your sleeping quarters. I’m afraid you’ll need it.”

Lorana stretched-and winced. The hard stone of Arith’s lair might be comfortable to the dragon, but it had left a lot to be desired by her weyrmate. Her muscles ached and threatened to cramp as she gently disengaged herself from the still-sleeping dragonet.

“I brought you some klah,” Kindan added, extending a mug toward her as she rose.

“Would you happen to know where a robe is?” Lorana asked, feeling awkward in her nightdress.

Kindan pulled something off his other shoulder and tossed it to her. He turned away to give her privacy while she robed herself. “She’ll sleep for several more hours, judging by her stomach,” he told her.

“And she’ll wake ravenous,” Lorana added.

“Ten of the eggs still lie on the Hatching Grounds,” Kindan said suddenly. “Ten out of thirty-two.”

Lorana turned suddenly to Arith, reassuring herself that the dragon was all right, still here-still hers.

“That’s not normal?” she asked, turning back to him with an apologetic look.

Kindan shook his head. “Not at all,” he answered. “Oh, sometimes one or two are stillborn, but Salina’s Breth has never had a stillborn egg in any of her clutches.”

“What of the other Weyrs?” Lorana asked, her curiosity blending with her growing sense of unease.

“M’tal has spoken with C’rion,” Kindan said, “the Weyrleader of Ista.” He continued, “C’rion’s queen has just laid a new clutch, so it will be some time before we find out more from there.”

“And the other Weyrs?” Lorana asked.

Kindan shrugged. “We are only beginning to think of the questions we want to ask,” he admitted. “That’s why I wanted to talk with you.”

“Me?” Lorana asked, trying to keep a note of panic out of her voice. What if she was the cause?

“K’tan and I would like you to work with us,” Kindan told her. “Your drawings alone would be a great help.”

“My drawings?” Lorana asked in surprise.

“Yes,” Kindan agreed. He held up the drawing she’d made of the green sputum Valla had coughed up. “K’tan said we dare not keep samples of the actual infection, but with your drawings we can compare differences, and track changes in the sick.

“Which is not to say that your understanding of herdbeasts won’t also be a great help,” he added.

“Dragons aren’t herdbeasts,” Lorana protested.

“No,” Kindan agreed with a nod. “They’re not. But you’d be surprised at how similar illnesses can be between man, beast, and dragon.”

Behind Lorana, Arith stirred in her slumber. Kindan noticed.

“I didn’t mean to disturb her,” he said. “In fact, I should leave you to yourself. I’m sure you’ll want to wash up.”

Lorana forced herself to relax. “Yes, the ground was harder than I’d thought,” she said.

“Have your dragon bespeak Drith, K’tan’s dragon,” Kindan said as he made to leave.

Lorana nodded. “Is there a good time?”

He chuckled. “I suspect that your time will be more constrained than ours,” he said, gesturing toward the sleeping hatchling. “Whenever you’re ready and your dragon is asleep.”

“Which won’t be much longer,” Lorana said as Arith shifted position again.

“No it won’t,” Kindan said, agreeably shaking his head. “I’ve kept you too long, I’m sorry. It’s just-”

“I understand,” Lorana replied.

Kindan made a half-bow and departed.

Arith awoke faint with hunger. Again. It had been three sevendays since she’d hatched. In all those sevendays, Arith had eaten scraps brought by the Weyrlingmaster. Lorana had been amazed at the dragonet’s appetite, which rapidly grew from one large bucket, to two, then three, and finally five.

Arith’s sleep was as erratic as any newborn’s, which slowed Lorana’s own recovery from her exposure and exhaustion. It was all Lorana could do to keep Arith fed, feed herself, and keep up with the constant oiling necessary to keep the dragonet’s growing skin from cracking. She would wake up bleary-eyed and go back to bed bleary-eyed, never quite sure what hour of the day it was.

Fortunately, Arith’s newborn growth spurt was finally smoothing out and her sleep pattern normalizing.

“She’s growing very fast,” P’gul, the Weyrlingmaster, had exclaimed the last time he had come to check on her. “She’ll be ready for the Feeding Grounds soon.”

He shook his head in amazement. “Catch her own food, too, I don’t doubt.”

Now, as Lorana guided the increasingly irritable dragonet out of their quarters on the lowest level of the Weyr, she realized that she did not know where the Feeding Grounds were. She stopped in confusion and stood in the great Bowl of the Weyr, looking around desperately.

“Are you going to wait until she dies from hunger, or were you perhaps hoping that her keening would disturb the whole Weyr?” a voice from behind her demanded caustically.

Lorana spun around to come face-to-face with a woman not all that much older than herself. The woman’s face had a pinched look, as if she had been caught in a perpetual sneer. Her blue eyes were pallid and her lips were pursed tight in a thin line. Blond hair was pulled together behind her neck.

“I don’t know where the Feeding Grounds are,” Lorana said apologetically.

“Peh! Some Weyrwoman you’ll make!” the other returned. “Didn’t bother to listen to the orientation, did you? Too high and mighty. Expect the rest of us to look after you, do you?”

“No, I-”

“It’s not as though we all don’t have our own dragons to look after-” At this point a large queen burst into air above them, hovering near the other woman.

Arith took one fearful look up at the full-grown queen, gave a wistful chirp, was answered by an encouraging bellow, and promptly disappeared herself.

In a moment, Lorana could feel Arith’s pleasure as she made her first kill, and she saw an image of the Feeding Grounds in her mind’s eye. She looked up at the large queen, certain that she was the source of Arith’s inspiration, and said with relief, “Thank you.”

My pleasure, the queen responded, settling gently on the ground beside her rider. Your little one was quite agitated.

I’m sorry, Lorana apologized. I hadn’t expected to Impress her. She got a feeling of amused tolerance from the queen. I’m Lorana.

I know, the queen responded. I am Minith.

“You talk to other dragons?” Minith’s rider asked, shocked.

“Oh, yes,” Lorana said, forgetting that this was not a common trait among the weyrfolk. The look on the other rider’s face quickly disabused her. Trying to be civil-after all, the queen had helped Arith to the Feeding Grounds-Lorana stretched out her hand and said, “I’m Lorana.”

The other eyed her hand dubiously but did not take it. “Tullea, Weyrwoman second,” she said, still looking like she’d just bitten into a bitterfruit. “Salina asked me to check on you,” she added in a tone that made it clear what she thought of that imposition.

“That was very kind of Salina,” Lorana replied, desperately trying to place the name but failing. She knew she’d heard it before, but she was too groggy to dredge up the memory.

“You don’t know who she is, do you?” Tullea asked accusingly.

“Her Breth is Arith’s dam,” Lorana temporized, feeling overwhelmed by the other woman’s manner.

“Salina is the senior Weyrwoman,” Tullea snapped. “Don’t you know anything?” She didn’t give Lorana time to respond before continuing, “Well, obviously you don’t. I can’t see what sort of help you’ll ever be. Perhaps it would be best if-”

Minith erupted in a loud disapproving roar, cutting Tullea off. Tullea looked up at her dragon, her eyes softening somewhat.

“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve upset her.”

“I’m sorry,” Lorana muttered. Silently, she said to Minith, My apologies, gold dragon.

Minith gave Lorana a pert nod, eyes whirling red-green.

Lorana turned her attention to Arith, partly out of desperation. Are you all done?

One more, please! The dragonet pleaded.

Lorana couldn’t help smiling. “Very well, silly,” she said aloud.

“If your dragon gorges, don’t come to me!” Tullea said, climbing up to Minith’s neck. “I’ve better things to deal with.”

With a great bound of her hind legs, Minith leaped into the air and beat her way up out of the Bowl. Once clear she blinked out of existence between.

Lorana watched the maneuver with her eyes wide. The adult queen was so graceful and her movements so beautiful.

Soon I’ll be able to do that, Lorana marveled to herself, her thoughts going back to her splendid Arith. She had discovered with her fire-lizards that they knew how to go between from the moment they were born. Training them to come back, to go where she wanted, had taken many months of hard work. She knew from the Teaching Ballads that Arith had the same innate talent-in fact, she had just demonstrated it by going between to the Feeding Grounds-but it would take careful training over several Turns for Lorana to be able to ride her precious gold between to places of her own choosing.

Still, she entertained visions of rising into the air, blinking into the cold between and out again-anywhere on Pern.

Her heart gave a lurch as she realized the vistas her newfound freedom offered. She reached out with her mind to her dragon and made her presence tenderly felt. A rebounding wave of affection swept back to her from Arith. Lorana’s vision suddenly misted as her eyes brimmed with joyful tears.

A moment later, she felt Arith quench her thirst with the hot blood of a herdbeast, felt her dragonet rend the flesh of the small beast, and felt her swallow without so much as a bite.

Chew! Lorana told her sternly.

I’m hungry, Arith complained. Lorana could feel the little gold’s hunger, lessened by the two other herdbeasts she had consumed.

Greedy guts! Lorana thought back. She felt Arith’s amusement and self-satisfaction. That’s your last one.

Lorana felt Arith tense up in nascent disobedience.

I mean it, she warned the dragonet with the same fierce intensity she’d used to her fire-lizards. Biting back a pang of grief over their loss, she sent a second firm order to Arith.

All right, Arith allowed.

A burst of cold above Lorana heralded the hatchling’s return through between.

Arith landed quickly, stumbled just a bit, and immediately proceeded to stroll nonchalantly up to Lorana with a very obvious I-meant-to-do-that swagger. Lorana laughed at her, reaching down indulgently to scratch the dragonet’s eye ridges.

Ah, that’s better, Arith sighed.

“They’re not really supposed to go between until they’re much older,” a voice said beside her. It was K’tan.

Lorana smiled fondly at her little queen and stood up to face the Weyr healer.

“It’s all right, I knew where she was,” Lorana said.

“Even between?” he asked, eyebrows arched in surprise.

Still smarting from her encounter with Tullea, Lorana bit back her immediate irritated response and settled for, “Well… yes.”

“Impressive,” K’tan remarked.

“Kindan told me that you needed to talk with me several sevendays ago,” Lorana said hastily, “but I’m afraid with Arith-”

K’tan held up a hand, shaking his head. “No need to apologize.” He turned toward Arith, then turned back inquiringly to Lorana. “May I look at her?”

Lorana nodded.

K’tan’s inspection was swift and gentle. He ran his hands from her head down her neck, to her forelegs, across her distended belly, and on to her withers and tail.

“She’s making her own kills already?” he asked, his face showing surprise.

“That’s not normal?” Lorana asked in response. “The fire-lizards usually need several sevendays of hand-feeding, but I thought dragons-”

“Dragons are not so different,” he said. He stood up, backed away from the young queen, and shook his head admiringly.

“She’s beautifully proportioned,” he announced at last, adding with a grin, “barring her stomach.”

Lorana felt herself grinning back in relief. She arched her neck to scan the weyrs around the Bowl, spotted one brown head looking down at them, and waved at the dragon she knew was Drith. Drith twitched, startled that she had recognized him, and nodded back at her.

“He’s quite a beauty,” Lorana said.

K’tan, who had followed her gaze, laughed. “Indeed he is,” he agreed, his voice full of fondness for his dragon. Then he changed the subject back: “You say you knew where she was?”

Lorana nodded.

“How do you do that?”

Lorana thought for a moment, then shrugged apologetically. “I don’t know how; I just do,” she said.

“There she is!”

Lorana looked up. A tall, graceful, older woman was striding quickly toward them, accompanied by M’tal, the Weyrleader.

“Is it true that you can talk to any dragon?” M’tal asked when they arrived.

Lorana nodded. “Yes, Weyrleader.”

“Excellent!” M’tal said.

“What is it like?” the woman asked. Lorana realized that this was Salina herself, Breth’s rider and Benden’s Weyrwoman.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” she began slowly. “I could talk to my fire-lizards of course-” She made a sad face at their mention, but continued on. “-so I guess I just didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to be able to talk to all dragons.”

Salina nodded encouragingly. Lorana groped for words, and found them. “It’s like being in a room full of your best friends.”

Her eyes lit as she peered up at all the weyrs above and the dragons looking back down at her.

“Sometimes I hear individual conversations, sometimes I don’t,” she said. “I don’t pry,” she added hastily, “and would never eavesdrop. But most of the time the dragons talk amongst themselves, you know.”

“They do?” Salina’s eyes widened in surprise. She glanced up to where her Breth lay. “Well, I suppose I’d never thought about it, but they do have a lot of time on their hands.”

“At least until Thread falls,” M’tal said. He asked Lorana, “Can you talk to watch-whers, too?”

“Watch-whers?” Lorana repeated. She shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve never tried.”

“Hmm,” M’tal murmured thoughtfully.

“If she can talk to all dragons, I would be surprised if she couldn’t talk to all watch-whers, too,” K’tan put in.

“ ‘A room full of your best friends,’ ” Salina repeated, mulling over Lorana’s words. “Why are they your best friends?”

“Maybe they aren’t,” Lorana admitted with a frown. “But they seem like it. They’re all so nice and courteous and always asking about me and Arith.”

“Well, that’s to be expected-you’re a queen rider now,” Salina said, with a touch of tartness in her tone.

Lorana flushed. “It’s not quite like when my Garth rose to mate,” she said, her thoughts racing along lines similar to Salina’s.

“Garth?” M’tal asked.

“I had two fire-lizards,” Lorana explained. “Garth was my queen.”

“Oh,” M’tal responded, his tone both enlightened and relieved. “So you’ve been through a mating flight.”

Lorana nodded empathically. “Yes, definitely through,” she agreed, her eyes flashing with amusement.

“It’s a bit more intense when a queen dragon mates,” Salina cautioned. M’tal grabbed at her possessively and pulled her close to him. Salina smiled and curled against him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“So I’ve been told,” Lorana said. The dragons had just filled her in, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“The dragons told you?” M’tal asked.

“Well, not told, as it were, but more showed,” Lorana admitted.

“When?” M’tal asked incredulously.

“Just now,” Lorana answered.

“Showed?” K’tan asked.

Lorana frowned thoughtfully. “Sort of like a flurry of images and emotions,” she reported. She caught the alarmed look that passed between Weyrleader and Weyrwoman and quickly added, “All very dragonish.”

M’tal and Salina looked relieved, and Lorana guessed that they’d entertained the notion that the dragons might have conveyed intimate details.

I’m sleepy, Arith interjected.

“Of course you are, you just gorged yourself,” Lorana replied. “Why don’t you go lie down?”

All right, Arith agreed, tottering off toward their quarters. Why don’t you go eat?

“I will,” Lorana said. “I promise.”

“What?” M’tal and Salina both asked.

“Eat,” Lorana said. She raised a hand apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I’m just up.”

“May we accompany you?” K’tan asked, gesturing toward the Lower Caverns.

“I don’t know where I’m going, actually,” Lorana admitted. “I’ve only been to the night hearth.”

Salina’s brow creased thoughtfully. “Why didn’t you ask the dragons?”

Lorana looked surprised. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Actually,” K’tan admitted, “I pretty much descended upon the poor girl just after Tullea finished with her.”

M’tal sighed and exchanged a concerned look with Salina.

“Did you have words with Tullea?” the Weyrwoman asked, pushing herself out of her cuddle with M’tal and starting across the Bowl.

“Well… yes,” Lorana admitted as she and the others followed Salina.

M’tal pursed his lips tightly before saying, “Tullea seems to-”

“Have problems dealing with people recently,” Salina finished.

M’tal arched an eyebrow in disagreement. “Recently being the past three Turns,” he corrected.

“You mean she’s like that with everyone?” Lorana blurted and then clapped a hand to her mouth in surprise. The other three laughed.

“I’m afraid so,” M’tal said when he’d recovered, eyes still dancing with amusement.

“You shouldn’t feel singled out,” K’tan added.

“I’m sure she’ll settle down when Thread comes,” Salina said.

“Or her dragon rises,” M’tal added.

“Preferably when her dragon rises,” K’tan murmured.

“Her dragon hasn’t risen yet?” Lorana asked, feeling the beginnings of some sympathy for Tullea.

K’tan leaned in close to Lorana, to murmur, “We’re hoping that a mating flight will calm her nerves.”

“Or something,” Salina added, arching an eyebrow at K’tan.

“Ah, you found her!” Kindan called from a table as they entered the Living Cavern. “Are you hungry, Lorana?” he asked, then shook his head at himself. “Of course you are, I can see it from here! Sit, sit! I’ll arrange for food.”

Kindan eyed the group of women preparing food in the cavern and shouted out, “Kiyary! Could we have food for five-including one with a new hatchling?”

A young brunette in the group looked up, caught sight of Kindan, and waved acknowledgment. In short order Lorana found herself replete, filled with succulent fruits, hearty porridge, and warm klah. The others politely kept up conversation all around her while she wolfed down her food with all the abandon she had so abhorred in her dragonet.

Salina must have caught her mood, for she said, soothingly, “It’s common for new riders to find themselves eating more-the appetites of their dragons can be overwhelming.”

“Not to mention the work,” K’tan added with a laugh. When he caught the confused look on Lorana’s face, he added, “You oiled your fire-lizards, right?”

“Yes,” she replied, around a bite of food and still a bit dazed. Then comprehension dawned, and her eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, she is already quite a bit larger than my two.”

“Oiling a dragon is a large part of what we dragonriders do,” K’tan admitted, eyes twinkling.

“But if you’ve had two fire-lizards, then you probably won’t find one dragon all that difficult,” Kindan said reassuringly.

“At least not to start,” K’tan corrected. He gestured to Lorana’s plate. “Eat up, you’ll need your strength.”

“I think I’ve had enough, already.” Lorana covered her mouth to stifle a yawn.

“And after you eat, you sleep,” Kindan said. “When you’re not eating, or sleeping-” The others joined in. “-you’re oiling.”

“Dragons and fire-lizards aren’t the same,” M’tal said, directing his comment to Salina.

Lorana’s eyes narrowed as she detected an undercurrent in the conversation. She realized that it had been there all along but she’d been too hungry and too distracted to notice it. In fact, now that she had recovered from her encounter with Tullea, Lorana became aware of a shadow of dread in the Weyr’s atmosphere.

She looked entreatingly at K’tan, but the Weyr healer had ducked his head in thought. She turned her attention to Kindan. He caught her glance and imperceptibly tilted his head toward Salina.

Something was wrong with the Weyrwoman? Lorana wondered. Salina looked pensive, withdrawn, but otherwise healthy. Lorana gave Kindan a slight shake of her head to say “I don’t understand.”

Just then she heard a loud cough and a snort, which echoed around the Weyr. Salina started, looked out toward the Bowl, and then lowered her head slowly, leaning against M’tal.

“It may not be the same thing,” M’tal said, grabbing her hand consolingly. “It may not be the same thing at all.”

Lorana felt her stomach wrench in fear. She did not have to ask which dragon had coughed, nor did she need to hear Breth’s apologetic, Sorry.

“Repeat that herbal recipe for me,” K’tan asked her urgently. All too willingly, Lorana complied.

Salina lifted her head from M’tal’s shoulder and smiled wanly at Lorana.

“We shouldn’t keep you, dear,” she told her. She gestured toward the weyrs. “Go, get some rest. Your Arith will be awake again soon enough.”

“I will not tolerate shirkers,” Weyrleader D’gan growled at the blue rider in front of him. Telgar’s Weyrleader was dressed ready to ride. Above him in the distance were arrayed the wings of Telgar Weyr-all except one. D’gan’s face was twisted in a scowl.

“But Jalith is-”

“Shirking!” D’gan shouted back, towering over the shorter blue rider in his rage. He spared a contemptuous glare for the blue’s Wingleader, who wilted visibly. Jalith and M’rit were oldsters who had been at Telgar Weyr when D’gan had first arrived. “They are testing my authority as Weyrleader.”

D’gan remembered the derision he and the riders from Igen Weyr had received when they had first arrived at Telgar Weyr. It was not their fault that Igen had fallen on such hard times, nor that their dying queen had failed to lay a gold egg.

“I honestly don’t think so,” K’rem, Telgar’s Weyr healer, said as soothingly as he could. “Jalith is aspirating the same ooze that the fire-lizards-”

“Don’t tell me!” D’gan roared again. “I don’t care.” He jabbed a finger upward, pointing to the sky. “Thread is coming. I won’t have any shirkers. ‘Dragonmen must fly when Thread is in the sky.’ ”

It had taken hard work-more work, D’gan was certain, than old Telgar riders would have required-for D’gan to win respect at his new Weyr, and finally to win the senior queen and become Weyrleader. Since then he’d shown them, every day, what sort of riders came from Igen Weyr.

“I know my duty,” D’gan growled. “And all the riders in my Weyr will do theirs.”

“Thread is not in the sky today,” K’rem protested. “Perhaps if we let Jalith rest…”

“No!” Veins stood out in the side of D’gan’s neck. “Not today, not tomorrow, not any day. All my wings will fly with all their dragons. We will train to fight Thread. There will be no shirkers.” He pointed at the wilting blue rider. “Mount your dragon, join your wing.”

The blue rider blanched.

“Maybe if I could give Jalith something-” K’rem suggested.

D’gan cut him off. “You may do anything you like, Healer-after we fly our pattern.” He took two quick strides toward his bronze, leapt onto the great neck, and drove his dragon skyward.

The next several sevendays were a blur of feeding and oiling Arith, occasionally catching food for herself and snatches of sleep where she could. Lorana naturally assumed that young dragons were awake at all hours-just like young children-so it was not until K’tan explained that she realized there was anything out of the ordinary.

“Normally things wouldn’t be this disrupted,” the Weyr Healer told her as he met her on her way to the Food Cavern, “except for Breth’s problems. When the queen doesn’t sleep, the Weyr doesn’t sleep.”

“Does Arith wake the others, too?” Lorana asked, worriedly.

K’tan shook his head. “Only a little,” he assured her. “All the bronzes and most of the browns are attuned to the Senior Queen, so…”

Lorana nodded in understanding.

“And then there are the fire-lizards,” Kindan chimed in from behind them.

Lorana whirled, and Kindan gave her an apologetic wave, all the while smiling most unapologetically.

“ ‘A harper’s best instrument is his ears,’ ” K’tan said, quoting the old saying.

Kindan shook his head, grinning and pointing to his forehead. “Ears are second, brains are first.”

“Then mouth is third,” K’tan said with a snort.

“Of course,” Kindan agreed, grinning. His mood sobered. “As I was saying, the fire-lizards.”

“What about them?” Lorana asked.

“We’re trying to understand how they got sick and how long before…” Kindan’s voice trailed off.

“They die?” Lorana finished. Kindan nodded, lips drawn tight.

They reached the Cavern and sat near the fire. Kindan waved cheerfully to Kiyary, who smiled back and brought over a plate of cheese and a pitcher of klah. Mugs and plates were already laid out on the table in anticipation of the midday meal. Kindan grabbed a roll out of the basket in the center of the table, tore it open, and deftly spread it with the soft cheese. With a raised eyebrow, he tilted the basket toward Lorana, who grabbed a roll with a nod of thanks, and then Kindan repeated the performance with K’tan.

For a moment the three were silent, intent on preparing and eating their rolls. Kindan finished his first, then reached for the pitcher of klah and filled his glass and the glasses of the other two. He drank deeply before continuing. “If we can understand how the illness progresses in fire-lizards, then maybe we can gain some understanding about how the illness will affect dragons.”

“I can’t help you,” Lorana told them, shaking her head sadly. “I don’t know quite when my two got sick-I’m not even sure if they did.”

“And you sent your two between?” K’tan asked, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Valla went between, too,” Kindan added.

“To die?” K’tan wondered.

“Valla was hot and feverish,” Lorana said.

“Maybe the cold of between is too much for them when they’re sick,” K’tan suggested.

“Or they got disoriented,” Kindan said.

“Lost between?” Lorana shuddered. Then she thought for a moment. “So the first thing to do would be to prevent a sick fire-lizard-”

“Or dragon,” Kindan interjected.

“-or dragon,” she continued, “from going between.”

“But that doesn’t answer whether the disease itself is deadly,” K’tan objected.

“True,” Kindan agreed with a shrug.

“On the other hand,” K’tan noted, “we’ll never know if the disease itself is fatal if we can’t keep a fire-lizard from going between.”

“Or a dragon,” Kindan added darkly.

“I hope,” K’tan said fervently, “that it doesn’t come to that.”

“Someone’s coming,” Lorana said suddenly, eyes wide.

The other two looked around. “Where?”

“Between,” she said. She looked pained. “The dragon is unhappy; so is the rider.”

“You can feel them?” K’tan asked.

Lorana nodded. “They’re very distressed.”

Outside came the sound of a dragon popping out of between. The watch dragon bugled a challenge.

Nidanth and C’rion from Ista, was the response Lorana heard from the arriving dragon.

“Come on,” K’tan called as he started out toward the Bowl.

A wave of emotion swept Lorana off her feet. Kindan grabbed her before she could fall.

Dragons keened mournfully. Kamenth of Ista is no more, Gaminth reported. Then the noise redoubled. Jalith of Telgar has gone between, Salina’s queen, Breth, added.

“Here, lean on me,” Kindan told Lorana. She pushed away from him. The pain of the dragons’ loss tore her heart.

“No! I must get up-Arith will be worried.”

“Then let me help you,” Kindan repeated firmly.

Lorana forced herself to recognize his logic and, with an angry sigh, wrapped her arms around him. “Be quick,” she told him.

In the Bowl, a bronze dragon was just landing. The rider looked shaken. Other riders, no less shaken than he, were gathering about him. Lorana recognized M’tal and Salina. Tullea was clinging unnaturally to B’nik.

K’tan was beside the bronze rider, supporting him while the bronze dragon curved its head down close beside, eyes whirling in distress.

“I’d heard you had some cure,” C’rion, Weyrleader of Ista Weyr, said hoarsely to K’tan.

A loud, gurgling cough from high above startled them all.

“Breth, no!” Salina shouted as her queen leaped off her ledge and into the air. “No! Stop!”

Lorana took a hasty breath, looked up just as the queen went between, and closed her eyes. In her mind she leapt after the queen, calling, Breth, come back! Come back!

She bent her will to holding onto the queen, but Breth was stronger. Slowly, Lorana felt the queen draw away from her, farther between than Lorana had ever been before. In a frightened instant, she lost the queen, and then felt herself become lost.

Arith! She called out desperately in her mind, groping to find her way back. She heard no answer. Frantically, she thrashed, lost in an aloneness more vast than between. Then, at the edge of her being, she felt some “other.” She grabbed at it, was rebuffed by it, and felt no more.