Dragonsblood

SIXTEEN

Kindan’s stomach lurched as Caranth began a sharp descent the moment they came out from between over Benden Weyr. Their drop was so steep that Kindan was pitched forward, hard, against Lorana when Caranth suddenly stretched his wings to cup air and slow them for a landing. Even so, the dragon hit the ground with a jolt.

Lorana was off and rushing toward her weyr before either B’nik or Kindan could move. Kindan followed quickly, with B’nik not far behind.

K’tan was waiting for them in Lorana’s quarters. Arith’s eyes were whirling, and when she saw her rider she gave a happy chirp-which ended in an unmistakable sneeze.

I’m all right, Arith told Lorana over and over as Lorana wrapped her arms around the young dragon’s head. I’m all right.

No you’re not, Lorana chided her gently. But you will be, I promise. We’ll find something. We found something at Fort Weyr.

She looked up at K’tan. “We found something at Fort Weyr,” she said. Kindan raised his eyebrows in surprise-in their haste to get back to the Weyr, they had not even spoken.

“What?” K’tan asked.

“The Records at Fort say that something was built here, at Benden Weyr, just at the start of the First Interval,” B’nik explained. He looked keenly at K’tan. “Some special rooms. Do you know of any such rooms?”

K’tan frowned and shook his head. “There’ve been some cave-ins; perhaps the rooms are buried,” he told them.

“If they’re buried, we’ll dig them up again,” B’nik declared fiercely.

K’tan looked at Lorana. “It could only be a cough…”

“Dragons don’t get coughs,” Lorana corrected him in a flat, dead voice.

“It’s only started,” B’nik said. “She’s young-she could fight it off.”

I don’t feel too bad, Arith added comfortingly with a soft croon.

K’tan motioned for Lorana to come to him. She followed and he brought her out of her rooms and into the corridor.

“I know this is hard,” he told her softly. “But you have to understand that your attitude and strength are the best hopes for Arith right now.”

A hand crept up on her shoulder and she turned to see Kindan standing behind her. “He’s right,” the harper said.

Lorana took a deep breath. “I know,” she told them. She squared her shoulders. Kindan tightened his grip reassuringly before dropping his hand back to his side. She turned and went back to Arith.

“I haven’t been giving you enough attention,” she told the young dragon.

You have been doing your work, Arith said staunchly. And you always come when I need you.

Lorana knelt down once more and wrapped her arms around her dragon’s neck.

“I love you,” she said out loud.

I know, Arith responded, firm in her knowledge and wondrously grateful. She nudged Lorana with her head. Go! I’ll be all right.

Lorana pulled back from Arith and looked up into her whirling faceted eyes. “Are you sure?”

You can’t find these rooms while you’re here, can you?

“I’ll check on you every hour,” Lorana promised aloud.

Check on me when I ask, Arith responded.

“You are stubborn,” Lorana chided her dragon.

“I can’t imagine where she learned it,” B’nik remarked teasingly. He stretched out his hand to her. “If you would, Weyrwoman, I believe you can help us in this search.”

Lorana smiled, although her eyes still held a lingering fear, and took the Weyrleader’s hand.

“We are as ready as we’ll ever be,” J’lantir told Dalia as the rest of Ista Weyr’s wingleaders filed out of the Council Room.

“You did an excellent job, J’lantir,” Dalia agreed. “C’rion would have been proud.”

Only three days had passed since the Weyrleader’s death. Dalia had known, of course, the instant that C’rion and Nidanth had been lost. She was still in mourning, but she was Weyrwoman-she would not let down C’rion’s men, nor destroy his legacy.

She had appointed J’lantir as interim Weyrleader. The response of the other Wingleaders had been unanimous support.

J’lantir had swallowed his personal misgivings and had drilled the remaining dragonriders as well as he could in the short time between the Threadfall at South Nerat and today.

“I wish the weather were better,” Dalia told him.

“Or worse,” J’lantir responded. “Then we’d have more time to train.”

“Yes, a cold snap or torrential downpour would be best,” Dalia agreed.

“We must fly the Thread we were given,” J’lantir said resignedly.

The dragonrider who had been sent ahead to abandoned Igen Weyr reported that the weather was gusty, with scattered clouds at fifteen hundred meters.

A lousy height, J’lantir thought to himself as he made his way down to the Weyr’s great Bowl. Dragons could fly up to just over three thousand meters in the daylight-as high as a man could fly and not pass out from lack of oxygen.

With clear skies, dragons could fight Thread all the way down to five hundred meters or less. But with the scattered clouds it would be imperative to flame the Thread before they entered the clouds or risk missing clumps as they fell through.

Some of those clumps of Thread would drown in the water of the clouds but, as the clouds were scattered, it was just as likely that some would survive the descent and burrow into the arid plains around Igen Weyr or-worse-into the lush green shoreline of the Igen coast.

J’lantir climbed onto Lolanth, grabbed and secured the firestone sacks handed up by one of the weyrfolk, and surveyed his wing. The other five wings were already airborne above him-all flying wing light.

One hundred and twenty-four dragons and their riders would face Thread today, less than half of the number that had first flown over Keroon on their first Fall. At least there were enough dragons to be certain that they would get most of the Thread that fell.

J’lantir nodded his thanks to the youngling who handed up his last bag of firestone, made sure that it was securely fastened beside him, and, with one final glance at his riders, gave the arm-pumping gesture to fly.

Dalia looked on from the Bowl below as the dragonriders of Ista Weyr arrayed themselves over the Star Stones and then winked out of sight between to fight Thread. She fought the impulse to bite her lips or cross her arms, knowing that the rest of the Weyr was watching her.

Some riders would not come back this time, just as C’rion had not come back the last time, Dalia knew. She and C’rion-her throat suddenly had a lump in it-had known that these days would come since they first Impressed their dragons.

They had pored over the Records together when C’rion’s Nidanth had first flown Bidenth and he had become Weyrleader. They knew that dragons and their riders would be injured fighting Thread. They knew that dragons and their riders would die fighting Thread. That was the way it had to be, that was the price paid for riding a dragon, that was the price that had to be paid to keep Pern from being utterly destroyed by Thread.

Dalia turned away, looking down from the Star Stones to those around her. Her eyes picked out Jassi coming toward her.

“I’ve got the fellis juice up from the store rooms,” Jassi reported. “And we’ve got enough numbweed on hand.”

“And the sick dragons?”

Jassi grimaced, looking down. “Two are getting worse,” she answered. Then she raised her head and added cheerfully, “But the others seem all right.”

Dalia nodded brusquely. “Very well,” she said. “It will be hours before the Fall is over-let’s see what we can do about dinner.”

“That’s handled,” Jassi said. “But I wasn’t sure about which weyrlings should be sent to bring more firestone during the Fall.”

Dalia changed direction, heading to the weyrling barracks. V’rel, the Weyrlingmaster, had insisted on flying Threadfall, and neither she nor J’lantir could turn down an able dragon and rider, particularly as V’rel and Piyolth were several Turns their junior. “Let’s go see, shall we?”

One hundred and twenty-three dragons joined the watch dragon over Igen Weyr.

“Lousy weather,” J’lantir shouted to B’lon, his wingsecond.

“If only it’d get worse,” B’lon agreed. The clouds below them were as reported-scattered and thin. Above them the sky was obscured by wispy high cirrus clouds. B’lon pointed to them. “Is there any chance that the air’s too cold above and the Thread will freeze?”

J’lantir followed his gaze. “It could be,” he said. “But we shouldn’t count on it.”

A noise from behind them caught their attention.

M’kir has sighted Thread, Lolanth reported, at the same turning his head back to J’lantir, jaws wide and ready for firestone. J’lantir opened a sack and began feeding the stones to Lolanth.

Tell the others, J’lantir responded. He gazed up at the skies, picking out the thin Thread among the wispy clouds above them. This is going to be a mess, he thought.

K’tan caught up with Kindan as evening began. They had seen each other earlier in the day while tending to the injured dragons and working with B’nik in plotting which parts of the Weyr to explore for the Oldtimer Rooms. Since then, Kindan had been off checking out the highest places in the Weyr. Now he looked anything but elated.

“Any luck?” K’tan asked him without any hope.

Kindan shook his head. “No,” he said. “You?”

“I’ve spent more time tending the sick than looking,” K’tan told him. He leaned closer to the harper. “I just wanted to remind you that Ista is about to fly Thread.”

Kindan’s confusion showed in his expression.

K’tan nodded toward Lorana’s quarters. “You might want to be there for her,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Kindan agreed quickly. “You’re right.” He started to head off, his stride increasing. Back over his shoulder he called, “Thank you.”

He was halfway across the Bowl when B’nik hailed him.

“Ista should be fighting Threadfall over Igen soon,” the Weyrleader called warningly. Kindan smiled and waved acknowledgment, pointing toward Lorana’s quarters. B’nik nodded.

Kindan found Lorana in Arith’s room, curled up next to her dragon. The room was gloomy, the setting sun cut off by the lip of the Bowl. Arith stirred fitfully as Kindan entered the room, but Lorana’s eyes were already wide open, staring blankly into space. She looked up at Kindan.

“She’s resting,” she reported. “Her breathing seems easier.”

Kindan nodded.

“I just ate a while ago,” Lorana added, as though that were the reason for Kindan’s appearance. Her tone was acerbic as she continued, “Mikkala checked up on me in the last hour.”

Kindan took in her words and tone with a quickly suppressed grimace. If anyone knew the deathwatch drill for a rider and a sick dragon, it would be Lorana. She had held the hands of the distraught riders, had uttered all the comforting words she could imagine, and had held the riders in her arms as they collapsed with grief and despair when their dragons went between forever.

“Thread falls over Igen Weyr soon,” Kindan told her bluntly. “Ista will be fighting it.”

Lorana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She tilted her head up to look into Kindan’s eyes. “Thank you,” she told him.

“Should I turn on the glows?” he asked, jerking his head toward the nearest glow basket.

“More light would help,” Lorana agreed. As Kindan busied himself with the task, she followed him around the room with her eyes, partly to distract herself and partly because he was such a pleasant distraction.

He turned back to her when he was done. “May I stay?”

Lorana met his gaze with a bittersweet look and patted the ground beside her. “I was hoping you would,” she told him. “The ground’s hard, but you don’t notice it after a while.”

Kindan sat beside her, unsure whether to lean against Arith as she was doing, or to offer himself as a support for Lorana, or to lean himself against her.

She sensed his unease and turned her back to him, stretching her neck from side to side to get out the kinks. She reached behind her and said to him, “Could you?”

Kindan stifled a laugh and began to gently massage her tense shoulder blades and upper back. He took his time and was thorough.

Partway through, Lorana gasped and Arith jerked awake, eyes opening quickly. The little queen keened softly beside her rider, and Kindan didn’t need to see Lorana’s face to know that she was crying with the pain of dragons forever lost.

In the end, Kindan couldn’t say who was more distraught: Lorana, Arith, or himself. Through the course of the evening-the length of the Fall as it traveled from Igen Weyr southwest, over the Ista Strait and onto the southern tip of Ista Island-Lorana shuddered as though beaten down by a miner’s hammer, and Arith keened, sometimes so often that it almost seemed as if the small dragon was chanting. The pain and anguish that both rider and dragon were suffering hurt Kindan even more because he did not feel it except through them and could not anticipate the next loss.

All through the long Fall he stayed by them, gently massaging Lorana’s tense back, softly patting Arith’s hide. Kiyary or Mikkala must have come to check on them several times, for Kindan remembered nodding thankfully to them at various points in the night and resisting the same wine he tried to force unsuccessfully on Lorana.

In the end, Kindan had started to count when either Lorana or Arith gasped or shuddered with the pain of dragons and riders far away. He stopped when he reached seventy. Ista Weyr had some one hundred and twenty dragons or more able to fight Thread; if seventy were injured or lost, it was just as Verilan had said: Ista would not be able to fight another Threadfall. Two Falls like that and Benden Weyr would not be able to fight Thread either.

And then Thread would fall-unchecked-and leach all the life from the land. And even if the Holders survived, locked in their Holds, how long would it be before they starved in a lifeless and barren land?

J’lantir surveyed the surviving Wingleaders as they gathered in the Council Room at Ista Weyr.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said to M’kir, barring the brown rider as he tried to enter. M’kir’s left arm was in a sling, his shoulder heavily bandaged where Thread had gouged it, the left side of his head bandaged to hide the gaping hole that had once held a fierce blue eye.

M’kir opened his mouth to protest but stopped as J’lantir swayed in the doorway.

“You need to get some rest,” the brown rider told his Weyrleader, sliding past him.

J’lantir turned to face the others in the room. S’maj was the only Wingleader left besides himself. B’lon was favoring his left leg, wrapped in a bandage placed over his now-useless flying pants-a long thin line of blood showed where Thread had eaten through it and into his leg, but the score was not deep; B’lon’s Lareth had been able to take them quickly between, where the Thread had frozen, shriveled, and cracked off.

A sound from behind him caused J’lantir to swivel his head. His eyes went unfocused for a bit as the movement caused the world to wobble.

You must rest too, Lolanth chided him. J’lantir knew his dragon was right, just as he knew he had to ignore the advice.

Dalia entered, smoothing her features as she surveyed the occupants of the room.

“How bad is it?” M’kir asked her urgently.

“It’s bad,” B’lon predicted.

“Perhaps we should let our Weyrwoman tell us,” J’lantir said with a tone of reproval in his voice. He inclined his head toward her-a mistake, his stomach informed him. I’ll feed you later, J’lantir growled back at his stomach.

Dalia raised an eyebrow at J’lantir, clearly recognizing that he was suffering, but stopped herself from commenting as she caught the pleading look on his face.

“Fourteen dragons went between,” she told the others. “Twenty were severely injured, and it will be more than three months before they will fly again.”

A groan went around the table.

“Another thirty-one have lesser injuries but will need at least several weeks to recuperate.” She took a breath before finishing. “And we’ve identified another eleven sick dragons.”

“So how many dragons will be able to fly Thread over Ista Hold in three days’ time?” J’lantir asked, dreading the answer.

“Forty-eight,” Dalia answered, unable to keep the pain out of her voice.

Kindan woke the next morning to Arith’s coughing. It took him a moment to realize that he was leaning against her back and that Lorana was sleeping in his lap. Arith turned her head to give Kindan an apologetic look.

“Think nothing of it,” he responded with a courteous nod of his head. At that moment Arith sneezed, covering him with green mist.

Lorana twitched and sat upright, blinking the morning into focus.

“Shh, it’s all right,” Kindan said soothingly.

Lorana focused on his face. “She sneezed again, didn’t she? You’re all covered in green.”

Arith gave an apologetic bleek.

“So are you,” Kindan told Lorana. Then he frowned consideringly. “Well, maybe not quite as much.”

Are you hungry? Lorana asked Arith.

Thirsty, Arith replied after a moment’s reflection.

“Arith’s thirsty,” Lorana announced, standing up. Kindan followed her action.

“We’d best clean up before we go anywhere,” he said, peeling off his stained tunic. “Or people will think that we’re sick.”

Lorana gave no reaction to his attempt at humor. With a polite nod to the humans, Arith stood up, stretched, took a few quick steps to the ledge of her lair, and blithely jumped off it, gliding surely toward the lake in the Weyr Bowl.

“You know,” Kindan said, gesturing fondly after the departing gold, “I’ve never seen a dragon so young act so self-assured.”

Lorana’s lips twisted up in the ghost of a smile. “She is agile, isn’t she?”

They met Arith again as she splashed about on the shoreline of the lake.

“Well,” someone behind them drawled, “now that you two have deigned to join the rest of us, perhaps you’d care to look for these special rooms I’ve heard so much about.”

They turned to see Tullea leaning indolently against Minith’s foreleg. B’nik stood beside her.

“Arith was sick,” Lorana explained, turning back to catch sight of the young queen as she splashed back to the shore.

“All the more reason to search, then,” Tullea responded. “Unless you two are more inclined to cavorting?” She cast a disdainful look at Kindan’s bare chest. “And get some clothes on.”

With that, Tullea turned away from them and headed back to her weyr, B’nik following, stony-faced.

“I’ll go on,” Kindan said to Lorana. “I’ve got to get a clean shirt from my room anyway.”

Passing by the Kitchen Cavern on the way to his room, Kindan was hailed by Kiyary.

“Tullea giving out to you, was she?” Kiyary asked, smiling evilly. “I can see why, too-your bare chest is enough to make a dragon swoon.”

Kindan, who knew full well that most dragonriders were, of necessity, more muscled than he, took Kiyary’s mocking in the well-intentioned manner it was delivered. “It’s all that hard work with my guitar,” he said, grinning.

“And those drums up on the heights don’t hurt either,” Kiyary responded, giving him a more thorough appraisal than when she’d been teasing him. “Come to think of it, maybe Tullea has a point.”

Kindan snorted and headed off with a backward wave over his shoulder. In his room, he pulled out a fresh shirt and hastily donned it. He paused, as he was tucking it in his pants, to look over the map of the Weyr he’d drawn in chalk on a slate board. He’d marked the map with X’s to show where they’d searched already. He pursed his lips sourly; he couldn’t see an unmarked spot.

He spun around at a noise from the doorway behind him. It was B’nik. Kindan lifted up the map and showed it to the Weyrleader.

“I can’t think of anywhere else to look,” he said.

B’nik entered the room and peered closely at the map. “Perhaps the Records at Fort were wrong,” he said after a long moment.

Kindan shook his head. “If they are, then we have no hope.”

“I can’t see what could be so special in those rooms,” B’nik said. “Nor why they were built here at Benden.”

“Fort would have made more sense,” Kindan agreed abstractedly. Something in the Weyrleader’s comment nagged at the edge of his consciousness.

“I came to tell you that K’tan says the new riding harnesses have arrived,” B’nik said, obviously not at all clear why the information was important to the harper.

“They have?” Kindan answered excitedly, looking toward the door. He caught B’nik’s questioning look and explained, “Salina had me order Lorana’s riding brightware a while back, and now there’s leather to attach it to.”

B’nik smiled. “I can see how that’d cheer her up,” he agreed. “What sort of design did you get?”

Kindan searched around in a drawer and pulled out a small sack. He opened it, searched for a moment, then pulled out one of the smaller pieces of brightware and handed it to B’nik.

“Silver, is it?” B’nik asked as he took the proffered piece and examined it. It was a small circular piece, meant to be attached over one of the standard steel buckles on the riding leathers. That way, as the leathers and metalwork wore out, it could be removed and placed on a replacement riding harness.

“I can make out the Benden Weyr symbol, but what sort of symbol is this?” B’nik asked, pointing at one of the images. “That’s a healer mark! And-there’s an animal beside it.”

“Salina made me order them soon after Lorana Impressed,” Kindan said. “So I used what I’d learned about Lorana. Apparently, that’s about the same as the mark she used for her fire-lizard’s harness.”

“She had fire-lizards?” B’nik asked, looking up from the silver brightwork.

“Two,” Kindan told him. “They were lost at sea in a storm.”

B’nik digested this information with discomfort. “Her fire-lizards weren’t sick, were they?”

“I believe they were,” Kindan responded. “She doesn’t talk about them much.”

B’nik acknowledged Kindan’s reply with a grunt, absently fingering the brightwork with his thumb. With a start, he pulled himself out of his musings and handed the silver circle back to Kindan.

“I’m sure she’ll be pleased at the thought,” he said. “Why don’t you get the leathers for her and present the whole array?”

“Thank you,” Kindan said. “I’ll do that.”

“When you’re done, come find me and we’ll talk some more,” B’nik told him as he turned to leave.

“Very well, Weyrleader,” Kindan said. “Where will you be?”

“Practicing,” B’nik called back over his shoulder. “You might ask Lorana if Arith would talk to Caranth when you need me.”

“Thank you, I will.”

Does this mean we’ll ride together soon? Arith asked excitedly as Kindan and K’tan helped Lorana put on the flying gear.

“She wants to know when I’ll ride her,” Lorana said out loud.

“It will be many months yet,” K’tan said with a shake of his head. “Arith’s bigger than all the other hatchlings of her clutch-she’s the queen so you’d expect her to be-but she’s still got a lot of growth before she’s ready to carry even your light weight.”

Arith made a plaintive sound and Lorana laughed. “Never you mind. First you need to get used to wearing the riding gear,” she said out loud.

“Indeed she does,” K’tan agreed emphatically. “In fact, if she gets used to it soon enough she might try flying with it some.”

Could I? Arith asked wistfully. Now? I could go eat.

“She wants to eat with it on,” Lorana told the others.

“The riding harness will need to be oiled first,” K’tan said, shaking his head again. “It would be better, young queen, if you waited until you’d had the harness on for a day or two, so we know that we’ve got it adjusted right.”

Arith blew a dejected sigh through her nose, which turned into an open-mouthed cough.

Sorry.

Kindan and K’tan exchanged concerned looks.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Kindan said.

“No,” Lorana responded emphatically. Beside her, Arith made a similar noise, though quieter, for fear of exacerbating her cough. “And I love the brightwork, Kindan. It’s very well done.”

“A friend of mine,” Kindan told her.

“Well, please thank her for me.”

“Him,” Kindan corrected with a grin. “But I’ll pass the thanks on.”

“How’s the search going?” she asked, feeling awkward and wanting to change the topic. Seeing the worried looks exchanged by the other two, she regretted the question instantly. “Not well?”

“No,” Kindan said. “I can’t think of anywhere else to look.”

“That’s because you’re not weyrbred,” K’tan said, clapping the harper on the back. “Why don’t we talk about it while we check on the injured?”

“Arith, I’d like to go with them. Will you stay here?” Lorana asked her dragon out loud, so that the others could hear. “Should we take your harness off so you can lie down?”

No, the queen replied, shaking her headed so firmly that her body swayed in counterpoint. And I won’t get it dirty, I promise.

Lorana laughed and hugged Arith’s neck. Let me know if it itches, or if you need me.

Of course.

I won’t be long, Lorana promised.

Take your time, Arith replied, I’ll call you if I need you.

Lorana turned to Kindan and K’tan. “I’ll come with you.”

Lorana appeared distracted while the three of them checked on the injured dragons. Several times K’tan had to repeat a question or a request to her before she responded. Kindan noticed that she kept looking around the Weyr, particularly whenever a dragon sneezed or coughed.

Their work took them through the morning and still they’d only checked on half of the ninety-two injured dragons.

“I think we should group all the sick dragons,” Kindan said as they walked to the next weyr.

“We’ve been over this,” K’tan said. “How would you do it?”

“Just together, at least,” Kindan said. “Probably on the lowest level.”

“Why not a high field?” Lorana asked. “It would be colder up there-it might prevent the spread of the sickness.”

“Or it might speed it up,” K’tan countered. “If the cold makes it harder on the dragons’ resistance.”

“But aren’t dragons pretty much inured to cold?” Kindan asked. “I mean, they go between.”

“But only for short periods of time,” Lorana admitted.

“But they do fly where the air is cold,” K’tan mused. “They don’t seem to mind the cold as much as we do.”

“Exactly,” Kindan said. “But if you have the sick dragons up high where it’s cold-and I presume you mean a landing outside of the Weyr-then what about the riders? And how will we get food and supplies to them?”

Lorana threw up her hands in capitulation.

“Let’s bring it up to B’nik,” K’tan suggested. “It’s his decision.”

B’nik listened to them carefully when they approached him at lunchtime. Tullea was with him.

“If I understand you, then,” the Weyrleader said, “the correct quarantine method depends on how the sickness is transmitted.”

“Yes, that’s right,” K’tan agreed.

“But we don’t know how it spreads,” B’nik continued, “so you want to try all three precautions-is that right?”

“At least with the sick dragons,” K’tan said.

“But you can’t say if a dragon that seems healthy hasn’t already got the sickness,” Tullea remarked.

“No,” Lorana agreed. “We can’t.”

“So we might end up with the whole Weyr up in high fields,” Tullea interjected sourly. “What a great idea.”

“It’s the best we can come up with,” Kindan said with a shrug.

Frowning, Tullea opened her mouth to retort, but B’nik raised an open hand, silencing her.

“What about those rooms?” he asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to find them?”

“What is supposed to be in these rooms, anyway?” Tullea demanded.

“We don’t know,” Lorana told her. “But the Records specifically stated that they were built here at Benden.”

“So you don’t know where they are or why they were built-and yet you want to spend precious time searching for them?” Tullea gestured to the rest of the Weyr. “And let our dragons die while you search?

“Weyrleader, I think this is some old tale that will waste the time of our healer and harper,” Tullea said formally to B’nik. “As Weyrwoman, I can see no point in it. Why not have Lorana conduct the search on her own?”

“But her dragon is sick,” Kindan protested.

“All the more reason for her to be diligent, then.” Tullea pressed a hand to her head, as though to ease pain. “And Harper, you’ve been too long from your duties. I could use a good song, and I’m sure the weyrlings need more instruction.”

“Lorana has been helping me tend the injured dragons as well as the sick,” K’tan protested.

“Well, perhaps I can assist you,” Tullea replied sweetly. “It is one of my duties, after all.”

“It’s settled then,” B’nik said, standing hastily. “Lorana will search for the missing rooms, and K’tan and Tullea will tend the sick and injured dragons, releasing Harper Kindan to his teaching duties.”

“Well, Lorana, I’m sure you’ll want to feed your dragon before you begin your search,” Tullea said dismissively, grabbing Kindan’s arm and pulling him away. “Tell me, Harper, what new songs will you sing for us tonight? I’m sure the Weyr needs cheering.”

“I was wondering how long it would be before she started in.”

Lorana turned to see Salina standing beside her.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t come to see you,” the ex-Weyrwoman apologized.

“You’ve been busy,” Lorana excused her.

“No, I’ve been afraid,” Salina corrected. She gave Lorana a frank look. “I’d heard about your Arith, and I…”

“It’s all right,” Lorana said, patting Salina on the shoulder. “I understand.”

“Well I don’t. You did everything you could when Breth was ill,” Salina said. She gestured with a hand. “Walk with me, please?”

Lorana nodded and fell in beside Salina as they walked out into the Bowl. Salina turned to the entrance to the Hatching Grounds.

“I’ve always loved this place,” she said. “Since I first Impressed-and before-I’ve been in love with Benden Weyr, its high walls, morning mists, brilliant sunsets, but most of all, I’ve loved the Hatching Grounds.”

They were at the entrance, looking in.

“There’s something marvelous about them,” Salina breathed. “Right now it’s so quiet in here, waiting, but soon, Minith will clutch and this cavern will be filled with her hissing and challenging anyone who comes near her eggs. And then-there’ll be the Hatching.”

She gestured to the heights surrounding them. “Dragons-mostly bronzes-will stand up there, keening welcome to their newest offspring. And the Weyr, all of us, will be made alive again with each Impression, reliving all the joy”-her voice dropped-“and the pain of our bond with our own dragon.”

She grabbed Lorana’s hand and patted it gently. “And one day, your Arith will be here, guarding her hatchlings.”

Lorana shook her head. Salina cocked her head questioningly.

“I don’t know,” Lorana said.

“I heard Tullea’s set you a task,” Salina said, changing the topic with another pat of Lorana’s hand. “What is it?”

Lorana explained about the Records they’d found at Fort Weyr.

“Rooms?” Salina said musingly. “Special rooms, eh? And not mentioned in our own Records?

“Perhaps the Records were lost-” Salina dropped Lorana’s hand and raised one of her own for silence, head bowed as she thought.

“Perhaps they aren’t mentioned in our Records because they were considered obvious, like the Kitchen Cavern or the Bowl itself,” she said, looking up again. “If everyone knew about them, then there was no reason for special mention, was there?”

Lorana gave her a dubious look.

“And now no one can find the rooms,” Salina continued, musing out loud. “So if someone were to build rooms that everyone knew about and were obvious and they become lost-how would that happen?”

“I don’t kn-”

“A cave-in!” Salina exclaimed.

Lorana’s look of doubt changed to one of excitement. “But where?”

“I know where the rooms are,” Salina told her, starting down into the Hatching Grounds. “Follow me.”

“Wait a minute,” Lorana called. “Shouldn’t we get glows?”

“And probably some help, too,” Salina agreed, her enthusiasm only slightly quenched by her common sense. “If I’m right, the rooms are buried behind a rockslide.”

“We should get Kindan,” M’tal said as soon as Salina outlined her theory to him that evening.

Salina shook her head. “Tullea wants Kindan to sing tonight. I think she wants to separate Kindan and Lorana.”

M’tal snorted, shaking his head. “Is she trying to make B’nik jealous, or Lorana angry?”

“I can’t imagine Lorana getting angry,” Salina said. “Unless it was over something involving her dragon.”

“Righteous anger, then,” M’tal agreed. “And perhaps not just for her dragon. She seems to have good priorities.”

“She does,” Salina agreed emphatically. “It may help her survive-”

M’tal cocked an eyebrow at her.

“-if she loses her dragon,” Salina finished softly.

“None who have gotten sick have recovered,” M’tal said softly by way of agreement. “But this can’t go on. Our ancestors were smart enough to make the dragons from fire-lizards; I can’t believe that they weren’t smart enough to anticipate a sickness like this.”

“If they could predict it, and they could make dragons from fire-lizards, why didn’t they make it so the dragons wouldn’t get sick?” Salina asked.

M’tal shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps we’ll find the answer when we get into those rooms.”

“So why wait for Kindan?”

“Kindan’s miner bred,” M’tal reminded her. “If there’s a cave-in, he’s the right one to handle it.”

“And if he can’t?”

“Then he’s the right one to get help,” M’tal replied, miming a miner holding a pick in two hands. Salina smiled and gestured toward the door of their new, lofty weyr.

“It’s not such a bad idea of Tullea’s to have Kindan sing tonight,” Salina said as they started down the many flights of stairs to the Bowl.

“Mmm?”

“Well, he’s got quite a good voice, and we could use the cheering.”

“Let’s hope, then, that Kindan’s in a cheering mood,” M’tal returned. Neither of them mentioned on the long descent from their weyr that M’tal’s Gaminth could have flown them to the Bowl in a moment: M’tal because he was sure that Salina was still quietly grieving her loss; and Salina because he was right.

As they crossed the Bowl to the Kitchen Cavern, they could hear Kindan’s voice lead off in the opening chorus of “The Morning Dragon Song,” subtly altered:

“He must have changed that for Lorana,” Salina remarked. “That song normally refers to a bronze dragon.”

“But I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Tullea thinks it’s for her,” M’tal said.

Several big fires had been built in braziers outside of the Kitchen Cavern, and the long tables had been pulled out into the cold night air. Torches lined a way through the tables.

The harper and his helpers were set up on one table placed against the wall of the Weyr Bowl itself. The sounds of Kindan’s guitar and voice echoed eerily off the walls of the Bowl. All around them, M’tal could see gleaming pairs of dragon eyes peering down from the heights above.

By the time M’tal and Salina found seats, Kindan had finished his revised version of “The Morning Dragon Song.”

“This is a different song, now,” Kindan said, his voice carrying over the murmurs and chatting of the dragonriders and weyrfolk.

“Not all of it’s remembered, but perhaps its time has come.” He modulated his guitar chords into a dissonant, melancholy sound.

The murmuring of the crowd grew silent as Kindan continued:

M’tal and Salina exchanged worried glances and watched as B’nik and Tullea huddled together in an exchange that could almost be heard over Kindan’s voice as the harper continued:

Salina bent to whisper something in M’tal’s ear, but he gripped her arm tightly and gestured at Kindan. The harper’s look was intent, as one who was desperately trying to remember something. His face brightened and he continued:

Lorana suddenly leapt up from her seat and raced away across the Bowl. M’tal had a fleeting glimpse of her distraught look as she passed him, but before he could react to that, Tullea shouted out: “Enough! That’s quite enough! Harper Kindan, I do not want to hear that song ever again.”

“But I do, Weyrwoman,” Kindan replied firmly. There was a gasp from the crowd. Everyone knew that Kindan could be outspoken, but speaking against the Weyrwoman was an affront to the honor of every dragonrider.

“Tullea is right, Harper,” B’nik said loudly, rising beside his Weyrwoman. “That is not a song for this Weyr.”

Kindan looked ready to argue the point. M’tal cleared his throat loudly, catching Kindan’s eyes and shook his head slowly. For a moment the young harper looked ready to pursue his rebellion. Slowly the color drained from his face and he calmed down.

“Weyrleader, Weyrwoman,” he said with a half-bow from his chair, “my apologies. The song has me perplexed,” he explained. “But I will respect your orders”-he laid a slight emphasis on that word-“and return to more traditional lays.”

“Very well then,” Tullea replied. She waved a hand at him imperiously. “Continue, Harper.”

Kindan gave her another half-bow, signalled to his accompanists, and stood to sing in a strong, martial voice:

“Go see to Lorana,” M’tal said to Salina as soon as he was sure that the situation was back under control.

Salina found Lorana in Arith’s weyr, her arms wrapped around her dragon’s head.

“He means me, doesn’t he?” Lorana asked as Salina entered. She didn’t look up at the ex-Weyrwoman. Her voice was choked with tears.

“I don’t know,” Salina answered honestly. “But I hope he does.”

“You hope?” Lorana asked incredulously, turning to face the Weyrwoman. “How can you?”

“Because that song-if it has anything to do with what’s happening to us-”

“How can it? When was it written?” Lorana demanded. “It’s probably just some old harper song written by someone who’d drunk too much.”

“It could be,” Salina admitted honestly. “And, now that you mention it, that makes the most sense.”

“So why did he sing it?” Lorana cried angrily.

“You think it was about you?” Salina asked.

“Don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Salina told her. “You’re not a healer, we know that.”

Lorana shook her head angrily, fingering one of the silver pieces of brightwork on Arith’s harness.

“Do you see this?” she asked, pulling the piece off and waving it at Salina. “Do you see how it’s marked? A healer’s mark.”

Salina gasped, startled.

“Exactly!” Lorana cried, turning back to replace the brightwork on Arith’s riding harness. “And everyone will know that, too. So what will they think, Salina?”

“What do you imagine?”

Lorana took a steadying breath and wiped the tears off her cheeks. “I think that the riders will believe that I brought this sickness here with me,” she said slowly.

Salina felt as if she’d been struck in the stomach. She slumped down to her knees as the full impact of Lorana’s words struck home.

If Lorana had brought the sickness, then it was her fault that Breth had died. For a moment Salina felt anger rise up in her and she knew that her face showed it, even without seeing Lorana’s stricken reaction. It would be so much easier, such a relief, if she could blame someone for her loss. But then her brain overcame her emotions, and Salina realized that Lorana stood to lose her own dragon, too, long before her time.

“My fire-lizards,” Lorana continued, unable to control herself, “I think they got sick. And-” She stopped, eyes going wide with astonished fear. “J’trel and Talith-they went between forever.” She gulped down her tears. “I was so sure that it was me. I was going to leave, but then I Impressed Arith. I couldn’t leave her-I didn’t know what to do.”

“You’re right,” Salina said, “you couldn’t leave her. And as your Weyrwoman, once you’d Impressed, I would never consider asking you to leave the Weyr. We will solve this problem together.”

“Of all the stupid, ill-considered, blockheaded, unthinking-”

“Don’t stop,” K’tan told Kindan as the harper poured out a litany of self-contempt. “You forgot fardling.”

“-fardling, moronic, imbecilic-” Kindan paused, groping for more words.

K’tan shook his head sadly. “A harper at a loss for words when they’re so desperately needed.”

“Why did you do it?” M’tal asked, joining the other two.

Kindan let out a deep sigh, shaking his head ruefully. “It just came to me,” he said. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” He punctuated each word by banging his head with his hand.

“How’s Lorana?” K’tan asked M’tal. “I noticed you sent Salina after her.”

“I have no way of knowing,” M’tal answered with a grimace.

“You could ask Arith,” Kindan suggested hopefully.

“I don’t think so,” M’tal answered frostily. Kindan grimaced and dropped his head.

“I suppose I could talk to Lorana,” he said.

“No.” M’tal’s voice was firm.

“You’ve caused enough trouble,” K’tan agreed.

“I don’t know how I’ll make up for it,” Kindan said, giving M’tal a look that begged for advice.

“I don’t know if you’ll be able,” M’tal told him grimly. “But there is one thing that would be a good start.” At Kindan’s hopeful look, he continued, “Salina says that she thinks the Oldtimer Rooms are hidden behind a rock fall near the Hatching Grounds.”

“You mean?…” K’tan started, his eyes taking on a faraway look.

M’tal nodded. “That rockslide back by the way we used to come to look at the eggs back when we were candidates.”

“It seemed dangerous, even when I was young,” K’tan said. “I never went too close.”

Kindan braced to the challenge. “Well, let’s grab some glows and have a look, shall we?”

“Tonight?” K’tan asked, taken aback.

“What better time?” Kindan replied. “While Tullea’s occupied.”

“Should we wait for Salina?” K’tan asked.

M’tal shook his head. “No, I think we might be in for a very long wait.”

Kindan groaned.

In the end, M’tal and K’tan talked him out of acting immediately, reasoning that the job was properly one for miners, and that Kindan would best be employed in engaging some. So with B’nik’s blessing, M’tal, K’tan, and Kindan left at first light the next morning.

It took only moments after their arrival at Mine Natalon for Dalor to agree to come to Benden with miners. K’tan and Kindan returned to Benden to make preparations while M’tal arranged transport. Kindan had just finished alerting Mikkala that there would be extra mouths to feed when he heard a shout.

“Kindan! Is it you?” the red-haired woman cried joyfully as she crossed the Bowl along with the other arrivals. “It’s been ages!”

Kindan gave the woman a startled look and then recognition dawned: It was Renna. Memories of his youth at Camp Natalon came back to him. This woman was the youngster Kindan had set to keeping the watch when he’d been put in charge of his watch-wher, Kisk, over ten Turns ago. Renna had grown taller and broader, but she still bore the easygoing intelligence he had seen so long ago.

Renna ran up to him and Kindan closed the remaining distance to be met by a tight hug and a peck on the cheek, both of which he returned fully.

“You’re looking great,” Renna said, pushing him away to look him up and down. “Life at the Weyr agrees with you?”

Kindan nodded, then broke into a grin. “I remember ages back when Nuella said, ‘I know who he’s sweet on.’ ”

Renna blushed and laughed as Dalor, Head Miner at Mine Natalon, clumped up beside them. He shook Kindan’s hand, then clapped him firmly on the back.

“Thank you for coming,” Kindan told Dalor.

“For a chance to see a Weyr close up, it’s I who should be thanking you,” Dalor responded with a snort. He took in the sight of the great Bowl with a whistle. “Not to mention a chance to do some clean mining.” Hastily, he added, “Not that coal hasn’t been good to us, nor that we don’t need it. But it-”

“-gets everywhere!” Renna joined him in chorus. She turned to him and kissed his cheek.

“But you clean up nice, love,” she said. Dalor blushed and looked down at the ground, smiling.

Three other miners drew up beside him, waiting for orders.

“I’ll show you the spot,” Kindan said, leading the way toward the Hatching Grounds.

As he had planned, Kindan gave them a quick tour of the Grounds and a chance to recover from the impressive view before leading them down the corridor toward the cave-in. They were followed by a group of weyrfolk, mostly young boys, who were just as interested in the miners as the miners were in them. Kindan sent some of the youngsters back to the Bowl to haul down the miners’ gear.

“You’re right when you say this is Oldtimer work,” Dalor commented, running his hands appreciatively along the smooth walls. He took a closer look at the rock. “It looks like they melted their way through.”

“That’s what I thought,” Kindan agreed.

“Ah, but they weren’t so smart, were they?” Dalor went on, pausing to glance carefully at a part of the smooth wall.

Kindan looked at him questioningly.

“Look here,” Dalor said, pointing. “You can see where the rock faces are formed. They must have hoped that the two layers would never slip over each other, or they must not have realized what they were dealing with.”

“Slip?” M’tal, who had been following along, asked.

“Aye, my lord,” Dalor said with a nod. “There are two different layers here, see?” He pointed to the spot where the different colors were close to each other. “You can tell by the color. The layers can slip over each other, which happens when there’s an earth shake.”

M’tal examined the spot with renewed interest.

“Can you get through to the other side?” Kindan asked.

“Well, we don’t know how far it is, do we?” Dalor replied.

“It can’t be too far,” M’tal said. “This section can only go so far before it comes out the far side of the Bowl.”

“There’s that,” Dalor agreed, nodding. “That’d be about five or six meters, right?”

M’tal frowned in thought. “About,” he said. “Maybe a bit more, maybe a bit less.”

“Might not take so long, Dalor,” another miner said. “If the rock gave at the layers, there’d only be a meter or two falling from the roof.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, Regellan,” Dalor said. In an aside to Kindan, he added, “It turns out our Regellan here is quite the thinker. I brought him along in part to see what he would learn from looking over the Weyr.”

“He’s welcome to look all he wants,” Kindan told him. He remembered Regellan as one of the new apprentices assigned to Mine Natalon just before he’d left for the Harper Hall.

Dalor smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he replied. Then he gestured at the cave-in. “We’ll get this sorted out first.”

Having said that, Dalor immediately began organizing the men for digging. He politely waved away M’tal and Kindan-“You’ve no miner’s hats; we’ll call you when we’re done”-and swiftly got his crew started on the work.

Kindan led Renna and M’tal back to his quarters. While Renna looked around appreciatively at Kindan’s musical instruments, Kindan explained to M’tal, “A good crew can mine about a meter of rock a shift.”

“I’d say they’ll be faster with that loose rock,” Renna put in.

Kindan made a face and waggled his hand. “It might be harder, and they’ll have to do some shoring.”

Renna nodded. “That’s so, but I don’t think Dalor plans to be here too long.”

“It was good of him to come,” M’tal said.

“We’re happy to help the dragonriders,” Renna said in a tone that made it clear to the other two that the decision to help out was as much hers as Dalor’s. Kindan and M’tal shared a fond smile for Renna’s spirit, no different from their memories of her as a youngster, back when Kindan had first met the Weyrleader over ten Turns earlier at Camp Natalon. Ignoring it, Renna asked Kindan, “You say you hope to find some Oldtimer rooms beyond the rubble? And somehow what’s in them will cure the dragons of their sickness?”

“That’s our hope,” M’tal answered. Kindan nodded fervently.

It took the miners until lunchtime the next day to break through the cave-in.

“It’s remarkably clean,” Dalor said admiringly as he ran his hand along the smooth walls. “Only the ceiling above gave way.”

“Your men did a great job,” M’tal commented approvingly.

“Thank you, Weyrleader,” Dalor replied, then blushed when M’tal cleared his throat and jerked his head toward B’nik.

“I’m sure that Wingleader M’tal is appreciative,” Tullea said bitingly, “as am I, the Weyrwoman.”

B’nik chose to smooth things over. “Indeed, a remarkable job, Miner Dalor,” he said.

Tullea marched past the others and up through the newly cleared corridor, a glow held in her hand. Suddenly, she stopped, scanning one side of the corridor intently.

“This looks like a door,” she exclaimed. She hunkered down, peering to either side of it. “What’s this?” she asked, seeing a square plate to the left of the door. She pressed it just as Dalor, who had been watching her actions with growing alarm, shouted, “Don’t touch it!”

Too late.

With a rumbling groan, the wall began to slide open and light flooded in from the other side.

Dalor raced to Tullea and pulled her back away from the door. Even as he did, she slumped toward the floor so that B’nik had to catch her other side to prevent her from falling.

“What is it?” B’nik asked as they hastily withdrew toward the Hatching Ground.

“Bad air,” Kindan said, looking intently at Tullea. “She’s breathing, and not in any distress.”

Gently the miner and Weyrleader laid Tullea on the ground, and Kindan examined her more carefully.

“Yes, I’d say that the air was stale,” he declared finally. He looked up to B’nik. “She’ll be all right. Just let her breathe and wake up slowly.”

Kindan frowned thoughtfully and asked Dalor, “How long do you think before the air will be replaced?”

“I’d give it an hour, at least,” Dalor said. “And then I’d move cautiously.” He glanced around the Hatching Grounds as though searching for something. “I don’t suppose you have any watch-whers?”

Kindan shook his head. “Nor fire-lizards.”

“I’d heard they’d been banished,” Dalor said, his tone carefully neutral.

Kindan shook his head sadly. “I think most of them died before that anyway.” He composed himself and straightened up. “Let’s get Tullea to softer ground,” he suggested.

The moment her eyes fluttered open again, Tullea protested loudly and demanded to go see the Oldtimer Rooms. To Kindan, she sounded as if she wanted revenge on the rooms for causing her embarrassment. But B’nik was firm and insisted that someone else go in first once the rooms finished airing.

“I’ll go,” Kindan volunteered when they reassembled in the Hatching Grounds.

“I will go,” Regellan declared, shaking his head. “I’ve no family,” he added by way of explanation.

“I’m not so sure that Melena would agree,” Dalor said with a grin. “But you’ve earned the right.”

He glanced at B’nik and Tullea. “If that’s all right with you, Weyrleader?”

“Absolutely,” B’nik replied.

In the end, Regellan was fine. He peered inside the open corridor, blinked several times, purposefully drew great, deep breaths, and then walked through the doorway and out of sight. The rest of the party waited tensely outside until he returned again, his eyes wide.

“The room is full of the most amazing things,” he declared, beckoning them inside.

Tullea elbowed her way past the others and raced to be second into the rooms. She paused just past the threshold, not so much for fear of bad air but in amazement at what she saw. Most of the far wall was covered from floor to ceiling with a drawing of several ladderlike columns composed of weird interconnected varicolored rods and balls.

“Look at this!” Regellan called out, pointing to the drawing, as the others flooded into the room.

Tullea glanced at the wall drawing, made a hasty scan of the room, and then headed unerringly for something glittering on an open shelf at the other end of the room.

Kindan entered the room and stared wide-eyed at the drawing. Then a flash of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he turned just in time to see Tullea pocket a small, silvery object. Before he could move to intervene, she was picking something else up from the counter.

“What are these?” she asked, holding up a crystal clear glass vial. She shook it, examining the powder-like substance inside, then casually placed it back on the counter and picked up another.

There were four vials in all, Kindan noticed. The countertop bore not only dust-free spots where the vials had been placed. Each clear spot was centered over a colored mark: red, green, blue, and yellow.

His eyes widened as Tullea negligently put the fourth vial back on the countertop, well away from any of the colored marks.

“Do you remember which vial went where?” he asked her shortly, trying to see if he could guess the original position of the last vial she had picked up.

“No,” Tullea replied with a shrug.

“I think it’s important,” Kindan told her. B’nik came up beside him and frowned at the misplaced vials.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it all out,” Tullea replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, turning to explore a set of cabinets. After some fiddling, she discovered that they were magnetically locked and spent several moments opening and closing them before she noticed what was inside.

“I wonder what this is,” she said, reaching in to pull the object out.

B’nik caught K’tan’s and Kindan’s horrified looks and quickly intervened. “I think we should leave this for our harper and healer to examine,” he said. “They can report when they’ve had a chance to inventory everything.”

“And I think I should get Miner Dalor and his good crew back to their homes before dark,” M’tal added. Dalor and the other miners looked both eager to be going and disappointed not to be staying to learn more about the mysterious room.

“We’ve kept you from your work too long,” B’nik agreed.

Dalor waved this aside. “We’re glad to help,” he said. “Didn’t you say there was another rockslide up above?”

“There is,” Kindan agreed. “But I think we’ll find enough here to keep us occupied for a while.”

“We’ll be glad to help again,” Renna said. Dalor nodded firmly in agreement.

“When we’re ready, we’ll be happy to have you back,” B’nik said. “You’ve been a great help.”

M’tal’s Gaminth and K’tan’s Drith were waiting in the Bowl as they emerged from the Hatching Grounds. Kindan helped the miners climb up on the dragons’ backs.

“I’ll get started while you’re gone,” he told K’tan when all the miners were settled a-dragonback.

“I’ll expect you to be done by the time I get back,” K’tan called down. Kindan grinned and tossed the dragonrider a sloppy salute.

With a leap and a few great sweeps of their wings, the two dragons were airborne and then gone between.

“There’s got to be something more,” Kindan said to K’tan hours later.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because, aside from those four glass vials and whatever’s in them,” Kindan replied, “there isn’t anything there.”

“There are these,” K’tan said, pulling open a drawer and pointing at some long, thin clear objects with strange handles on the top. “They have to be syringes for injections.”

“Injections?”

K’tan nodded. “Sometimes the herders use syringes when there’s a particularly nasty spread of infection going around. They take the blood from one of the recovered herdbeasts and inject it into the others, spreading the immunity.”

Kindan gave the healer a dubious look.

“Lorana would know about it,” K’tan added. He looked at the vial. “I suspect that this is supposed to be liquefied and injected.”

“Liquefied?”

“Probably with sterile water,” K’tan said.

“For what purpose?” Kindan asked.

“I don’t know. I’d be a whole lot happier if there was a sign that said this was the cure we were looking for,” K’tan agreed.

“Do you see any sign?” Kindan asked, pivoting to look all around the room.

“The marks on the walls,” K’tan pointed out, gesturing.

“Which don’t serve any purpose that I can make out,” Kindan said, making a sour face.

“What about that song of yours-doesn’t it offer any suggestions?”

Kindan shook his head, his jaw clenched. “I can’t remember any more of it.” He slammed his fist onto the countertop in anger. Then he tapped his head. “It’s in here, I know it is, but I can’t remember it-even just after the fire in the Archives, I couldn’t remember-and I’m the last one who read that dratted song.”

“Certainly the last one left alive,” K’tan agreed grimly. He had heard the story from both Kindan and M’tal, although their accounts differed: a playfight in the Harper Hall’s Archives had caused a fire that had burned countless old Records to ashes. He remembered hearing how Kindan had been banished to Fort Hold until his fate was decided, how the Plague had interrupted everything, how Kindan’s efforts had saved the survivors of Fort Hold, and how the grateful Lord Holder had seen to Kindan’s reinstatement in the Harper Hall.

K’tan’s expression grew grim. “If we don’t find a cure soon…”

Dejectedly, Kindan turned toward the exit. “I have to report to B’nik.”

It was Arith’s coughing that drove Lorana down to the newly opened Oldtimer room. She waited until her dragon was sleeping as well as could be expected, waited until she felt hopeful that Arith might not have another coughing episode-which meant that she didn’t leave until late in the night.

Softly she made her way across the Bowl and into the Hatching Ground. She searched in the dim light until she found the new opening, visible by the faint light coming from it. Her steps grew surer as she got closer and the light from the room grew brighter. She paused for a moment at the doorway, stifling a gasp of wonder at the drawing on the other side of the room, and then entered.

Salina and Kiyary had both given her good descriptions of the room, but she needed to see with her own eyes. Kindan was sitting behind the tabletop that held the four vials. When she entered the room, he started, wiping the fatigue from his eyes.

“I must have dozed off,” he muttered when he saw her. He straightened up and asked, “How is Arith?”

“Her cough is getting worse,” Lorana said, striving to keep her composure. She gestured at the vials. “Is that all there is?”

Kindan nodded resignedly. “These cabinets are empty. There’s another doorway,” he said, pointing to the wall with the drawings, “but it won’t open.”

“Is it blocked? The rockslide?”

“No,” Kindan replied, “I don’t think so. We got an echo when we knocked on it.” He shook his head. “Either the mechanism’s broken or…”

Lorana waved away his explanation and strode over to the drawings. “So we’ve got these, and those vials?”

“That’s it,” Kindan said.

Lorana bent to peer closely at the drawings. “These are very detailed.” She traced the spiraling patterns of one, bending down and peering closer. “This must mean something-someone went to an awful lot of trouble to make these.”

“Mmm.” Kindan’s response sounded more like the noise of someone falling asleep than the noise of someone listening attentively. Lorana turned around just in time to catch him nodding off; he woke up again just as his head bobbed down to his chest.

“You should get some sleep,” she told him. “You’re no good here.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be up most of the night anyway,” Lorana said morosely. “Arith’s not sleeping well.”

“I’m sorry,” Kindan said miserably.

Lorana shook her head. “You can’t help if you’re asleep on your feet.” She pointed to the door. “Go.”

Kindan entertained a rebellious look for a moment before sighing resignedly and shuffling toward the door. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

Lorana had already turned back to the drawing and was examining it intently, so her only response was a negligent wave of her hand over her shoulder.

When she had finished examining the first drawing, Lorana repeated her inspection on the next. She stopped as she noticed some patterns in the new drawing and went back to look at the first. She sighed. There were not only similar patterns between the two drawings but also similar patterns within each drawing. It reminded her of some strange beadwork. For a while she entertained the notion of getting some colored beads and stringing them in the spiraling triangles that were represented by the drawings. The beadwork would be pretty enough, she mused, but she couldn’t see how it could help the dragons.

She shook her head to clear the thought and turned to the third drawing. Again she found similar patterns and repeated patterns in the drawing. She turned her efforts to the fourth drawing-and stopped dead in her tracks. Four drawings, four vials.

Lorana straightened and turned to the tabletop where the four vials were placed. Did the four patterns match the four vials somehow?

Were the patterns supposed to tell someone which vial to use? Could it be that the knowledge represented by those drawings had been so common when they were first drawn that no one had ever considered that the method of reading them might be forgotten and that was why there were only the vials and the drawings? Read the drawings and pick the vial?

But Lorana couldn’t read the drawings. And Arith was dying. She knew it, she tried to deny it, and she would never think it while Arith was awake and might hear her thought, but it was so. No dragon who had gotten the sickness had survived.

Four vials. Four drawings. Four illnesses? Was one of the vials the one that could cure the dragons?

Lorana felt Arith stir, could sense which cough was hers among the several that punctuated the deep night.

I’ll be right there, Lorana told her dragon, racing from the room. Time is running out, she thought fleetingly as she left the room that held Arith’s only hope.

She stopped in the doorway and turned back to the four vials. Arith?

I’m all right, the young queen lied valiantly.

Lorana’s response was not spoken or thought, but just as clearly as if she had spoken aloud, Arith knew that Lorana had seen through the lie and had known the reasons for it.

Will it hurt to die? Arith asked Lorana, her tone both fearful and curious.

Lorana bit her lip, her face a mask of pain and tears as all the love and hope she had for her dragon tore through her.

You’ll be all right! she swore fiercely, with all the strength of her being, willing the stars to change courses, the seasons to halt, and all the pain that was both today’s and tomorrow’s to stop.

No, I won’t. Arith responded firmly, sadly. I’m dying. Will it hurt?

Lorana found that her hands were clenched tightly into claws, that through her tears her face was contorted in anger. I will not let this happen, she swore. But as the thought formed in her mind, she realized its futility.

Arith was right-she was dying. Just like all the other dragons on Pern. And in the Oldtimer room were four drawings and four vials. Lorana turned back to the room.

Maybe you don’t have to die, Lorana told her dragon fervently.

As she explained the Oldtimer room to Arith, Lorana reentered and went to the cabinet against the wall. She opened each drawer in turn, pausing to examine the contents carefully. She found what she was looking for in the third drawer. The syringes were in a sealed rectangular container. Lorana was surprised at the hiss of air rushing into the container when she opened it. There were five syringes.

Lorana marveled at them. They were much smaller and more delicate than the syringes her father had used to inject serum into young calves. She remembered the first time she had helped him, how nervous she had been at the thought of squirting liquids into a young calf.

The contents of the vials were powder. Clearly they needed to be liquefied.

Arith, there may be a cure, Lorana told her dragon. There are four vials here; I think one of them has the cure.

Which one? Arith asked.

Which one, indeed? Lorana asked herself. She could try all four one at a time, but how long would she have to wait between each dose to know if it worked? Would Arith have enough time to wait between each dose? How could she decide?

Lorana swallowed and shook her head fiercely. This was not a decision she could make alone-there was more than her life involved.

Maybe we should wait, Lorana thought.

No, Arith responded, and Lorana could feel her dragon’s sense of foreboding, her sense of despair. I think we should do it now.

Which one? Lorana asked her.

All of them, Arith responded. If the others are wrong, they won’t hurt, will they?

I don’t know, Lorana told her truthfully.

Let’s try just a little of each, then, Arith replied. The young gold gave a mental chuckle. You know, you can hear all the dragons. I think I can hear more of your thinking than other dragons can. There’s no time to try them one at a time, is there?

No, Lorana replied, pulling out one of the syringes. There isn’t any time.

I’ll meet you at the entrance to the Hatching Grounds, Arith told her.

Lorana searched through the cabinet, found an empty, sealed beaker, and opened it. Nervously, she turned to the four larger beakers. How much of each? Less than for a full-grown dragon because Arith was not full grown, Lorana guessed, but how much?

There were five needles, she reasoned, so perhaps each held enough for a full dose. She would need half that much for Arith.

B’nik was shoved roughly awake. He tried to squirm away from his tormentor, but the shaking continued.

“Get up!” Tullea shouted in his ear.

“Mmph, what is it?” B’nik asked blearily. He turned on his side, facing Tullea, his eyes blinking furiously as he tried to see in the dim light.

“I need to talk to you,” she told him.

“Can’t it wait until daylight?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Tullea snapped. “It’s about Lorana.”

“What about her?”

“I don’t want her going to the Oldtimer room,” Tullea said. “She’s to be kept away.”

“Why?”

“For her own good,” Tullea snapped back. Her eyes darted to her dressing table. B’nik’s sleep-muddled mind recalled that she had been playing with something silver and small before she’d gone to bed. He didn’t recall her having a silver brooch or jewelry box.

“What harm could she get into?” he replied, sitting upright.

“I don’t know,” Tullea said, not meeting his eyes. “I just don’t want her there. It’s not her job anyway.”

“She knows something about healing,” B’nik protested. “She’s been helping K’tan-”

“Let her help with the injured dragons,” Tullea said. “But she’s not to-”

“Shh!” B’nik said, raising a hand. “Someone’s coming.”

Tullea bespoke her dragon. “It’s Lolanth, from Ista Weyr, and his rider, J’lantir,” she said, frowning. “It’s awfully late to wake anyone.”

Behind her, B’nik cocked an ironic eyebrow, but wisely refrained from saying anything. He sprang from the bed, pulling a robe over himself and thrusting Tullea’s toward her.

“He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important,” he said. He turned to the food shaft and called down for klah and snacks for three, then strode quickly to the doorway to greet J’lantir.

“Weyrleader B’nik,” J’lantir said in relief when he saw him, “I’m sorry to wake you.”

B’nik waved the apology aside. “Quite all right,” he said, “I was not asleep.” He gestured toward the Council Room. “If you’ll step this way, I’m having some klah and snacks sent up. Weyrwoman Tullea will join us shortly.”

J’lantir blinked in surprise. “My apologies to your Weyrwoman,” he said. “This is a very late hour for me to come here but-”

B’nik gestured him to a seat. “You wouldn’t be here at this hour if it wasn’t important,” he repeated, trying to calm the older rider.

J’lantir drew a ragged breath. “I don’t know how badly the illness has hit your dragons-”

“Badly, I’m afraid,” B’nik said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” J’lantir replied feelingly. “Perhaps this is a fool’s errand, after all.”

“At this hour?” Tullea drawled from the doorway. She carried in the tray of klah and snacks that B’nik had ordered earlier.

B’nik flushed at her tone of voice, but his reaction was mild compared to J’lantir’s painful wince.

The Istan Weyrleader licked his lips. “We have lost seven more dragons in the past day to the illness,” he announced.

Tullea and B’nik exchanged horrified looks.

“Thread falls at Ista Hold in less than two days’ time, and we have only forty-six dragons fit to fly it,” J’lantir continued.

“Then you shall have Benden flying at your side,” B’nik announced. Tullea gave him a scathing look, but B’nik ignored her. “We have six full wings of dragons, and our next Threadfall is not for another twelve days.”

“Three wings-one flight-would be more than enough,” J’lantir said, his face brightening with relief. “It’s a night fall, as you know, and won’t last too long.”

“Very well,” B’nik said. “I’ll ask M’tal to be the flight leader-you’ve worked with him before. He’ll report to you in the morning.”

J’lantir’s smile widened into a broad grin. “That would be excellent!” He rose and grabbed B’nik’s hand in his. “Thank you! Ista will ride with you anytime.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” B’nik replied. “Would you like some klah before you depart?”

“No, no,” J’lantir said, shaking his head. “I’ve been beside myself trying to figure out how-and I didn’t want to-”

“I understand,” B’nik interrupted, nodding fervently. He knew how hard and humiliating this decision must have been for the older dragonrider. “We are all living in hard times-”

A shriek from the Bowl outside cut through the evening air.

Lorana’s hands were trembling as she mixed the serum. Each time she scooped in powder from the next vial, the mixture would change color and then slowly return to a clear liquid. If the proportions were too small, she would have wasted the precious powders. Perhaps the Oldtimers had known this and made their powder behave this way on purpose. Lorana hoped so. She hoped that she was supposed to mix all four vials together. That she had the right quantities.

She was done. Outside, in the distance, she heard Arith scrabbling from the Bowl into the Hatching Grounds. Lorana took a deep, stilling breath and then carefully filled the syringe with the contents of the small beaker. She gently squeezed the air out of the needle until a small spurt of the precious liquid dripped out. She was ready.

I’m ready, Arith told her.

Lorana didn’t remember walking back to the Hatching Grounds. She did remember stopping in her tracks as she caught sight of Arith, small and fragile, standing in the dim light that leaked through to the Hatching Grounds.

It is our decision, Arith said. I am young. I am strong. If this works, we can help the others.

Lorana forced herself to move again. She showed the syringe to Arith.

Will it hurt? the gold dragon asked.

Don’t look at it, Lorana cautioned. She found a spot on Arith’s neck, felt for and found a large vein. She paused then, overcome by the enormity of the moment.

Is it over? Arith asked hopefully. With a sigh, Lorana gently plunged the needle in and slowly pushed the plunger down.

Now it’s over, she told her dragon. She quickly removed the syringe and then, realizing she had nowhere to put it, held it numbly in her hand.

Good, Arith said. I don’t feel any different. She sneezed.

Lorana jumped.

No, it’s-Arith stopped, her eyes whirling to red. She turned her head from one side to another. I don’t feel good.

Lorana looked at her in the dim light. Arith’s skin looked splotchy, different. The young queen made an irritated noise and turned to snap at her side.

It itches! Arith yelled. Lorana, it burns!

I’ll go get some numbweed, Lorana declared but her feet were rooted to the spot. I’ll call for help.

It’s-it’s-oh, it hurts! Arith wailed. It’s wrong, Lorana, it’s wrong! And then, suddenly, she wasn’t there.

Arith! Lorana shouted, reaching for her dragon. She reached between, dove after her, found a fleeting glimpse in the distance, but it was too far. Frantically, she reached for all the other dragons of the Weyr and followed Arith, desperate to bring her dragon back. Arith fought to get away, pushed against her call, against the strength that Lorana had called from the dragons of the Weyr, fought, and fought-and, suddenly, she found a place where she could go-

No, no, no!

Arith was gone.

Lorana had one fleeting glimpse, one sliver of a feeling that Arith had felt some other calling-and then she was gone.

With one last, heart-tearing scream, Lorana collapsed, unconscious, on the floor of the Hatching Grounds.