Dragonsblood

TWENTY

It was still dark outside, but Benden Weyr’s Bowl was filled with the activity of dragons and riders preparing for Fall. The air in the Bowl was filled with predawn fog, wisping up in swaths through the dark.

Lorana was both surprised and pleased at the reception she received from rider and dragon. Beside her, she could feel Ketan’s renewed mourning as he experienced the Weyr preparing for the first Fall he wouldn’t be flying.

“Healer,” B’nik called softly out of the darkness. He stepped closer, emerging from the foggy dark.

“Weyrleader,” Ketan replied politely.

B’nik, discarding any thought of commiseration, stepped close to clasp the healer on the shoulder. “I hope you won’t have much work when we get back.”

Ketan smiled. “So do I,” he said. “Fly safe.”

In the darkness a dragon coughed. Lorana lurched against Ketan and straightened, mumbling an apology.

“Perhaps you should still be resting,” B’nik said to her, his voice full of concern.

“I’m all right, I just lost my footing,” she lied. “Besides, I wanted to offer my help. M’tal thought that my ability to speak to any dragon might be useful.”

“It would be very useful,” B’nik agreed immediately, surprised at her offer. “I-I didn’t think that you’d-”

“I would be happy to help,” Lorana told him firmly.

“Then I shall happily accept your help,” B’nik replied cheerfully.

“Retanth says that all is ready,” Lorana said.

“Tell him to have the Weyr assemble up by the Star Stones,” B’nik replied. “Hopefully there’ll be no fog up there.”

“The watch dragon reports that the air is clear and the sun is just visible on the horizon.”

“Excellent!” B’nik said, already seeing the value of Lorana’s abilities. The one thing neither he nor M’tal could figure out was how to direct the wings and keep in contact with the Weyr at the same time. He turned back to his dragon. “Caranth, let’s ride.”

“Good Fall, Weyrleader,” Lorana called after him. She and Ketan could not quite make out his parting wave in the growing light.

“So,” Ketan said when the last of the dragons had cleared the Bowl, “suppose you tell me which new dragon has the sickness?”

“Caranth,” Lorana replied mournfully.

“Are you sure you have the coordinates right?” B’nik asked his dragon anxiously as they prepared to guide the Weyr between to Threadfall over Bitra.

I am sure, Caranth returned unflappably. B’nik was reassured by his dragon’s calm manner but still toyed with the idea of asking M’tal to have Gaminth guide the Weyr to the Fall. I am just coughing, not confused.

“Very well,” B’nik said, letting out a deep sigh. “Let’s go, Caranth!”

Following the visual image from the Weyrleader, one hundred and seventy-four fighting dragons went between.

Lorana didn’t realize that she had tensed up until she felt Caranth’s calm report of the arrival of the Weyr over Bitra-and then she found herself gasping in a deep lungful of fresh air.

Ketan gave her a surprised look, then nodded in realization. “You were worried about Caranth?”

“B’nik was worried about Caranth,” Lorana said. “Caranth seemed fine to me. Sick but still clearheaded, able to fly. Eager, even.”

Ketan cocked his head at her in curiosity. “Do I gather that if you were worried about Caranth, you might have stopped him from bringing the Weyr between?”

Lorana allowed a ghost of a smile to cross her lips. “I might.”

“Lorana,” Ketan began, cautiously choosing his words, “you do understand that the Weyrleader is responsible for the fighting dragons, don’t you?”

Lorana cocked her head at him. “Are you asking whether I know my place in the Weyr, Healer?”

Ketan pursed his lips uncomfortably. “I doubt if anyone knows your place just now,” he said judiciously.

“I agree,” she said with a small nod. “But I think it would be wrong, don’t you, if I knew that Caranth was too sick to give good coordinates not to stop him.” A small crease appeared between her brows. “What would happen if Caranth gave bad coordinates and the Weyr followed him?”

Ketan shuddered and his face went white. “They would be lost between.”

“Oh,” Lorana said, her eyes going wide. Ketan’s expression answered her question better than words.

B’nik was bone-tired and bone-cold when, six hours later, Caranth relayed that the sweepriders had reported the end of the Fall.

“Send the other wings back to the Weyr,” he told J’tol, “and have half our wing check for burrows.”

J’tol waved in acknowledgment and veered off, his wingmen following in close formation.

B’nik was glad that he had listened to M’tal’s advice and had kept his wing in reserve during the fighting. He had been able to quickly order his riders to fill gaps in other wings when needed-which had not been as often as he’d feared.

M’tal sends his congratulations, Caranth relayed.

Tell him thank you, B’nik responded, grinning unabashedly. While he hated the reason for it, he had to admit that it really was nice to have an ex-Weyrleader available and willing to give him honest praise when he earned it.

Let’s go chat with the Lord Holder, he added, his grin disappearing as he imagined the sour expression of Gadran, Bitra’s aging Lord. Even if no burrows were found, he was sure that Gadran would find some reason to moan or bicker.

J’tol reports three deep burrows in the northern valley, Caranth told him. He says they’ll have to fire the forests to contain them.

“Is something wrong?” Gadran asked, taking in B’nik’s worried expression.

“I’m afraid there is,” B’nik told him. “We fought the Fall as best we could, but my sweepriders report that three burrows are well established in the valley north of here.”

“Well established?” Gadran echoed, licking his lips nervously and peering to the north, as if expecting Thread to crest the ridge at any moment. “How well established?”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to fire the valley to contain it.”

“Fire the valley?” Gadran looked crestfallen. “All those trees?”

“The trees are what has let the burrows establish themselves so rapidly,” B’nik explained.

J’tol wants to know if they can fire the valley now, Caranth relayed, with a note of anxiety.

“Tell J’tol to fire the valley,” B’nik answered aloud.

“What?” Gadran shouted. “I did not give you permission-”

“I could not wait,” B’nik replied. “The burrows were spreading too rapidly.”

The first wisps of smoke started to rise from the valley to the north, the wind carrying it southward.

“There hasn’t been rain here in months,” Gadran said quickly. “There’s a danger that the fire might spread into this valley.”

“I’m afraid that’s a danger we’ll have to risk,” B’nik said. “I would prefer to lose a valley to fire far more than lose a Hold to Thread.”

“It’s not your decision to make!” Gadran snarled.

“On the contrary, as Weyrleader, it is absolutely my decision to make,” B’nik replied, simmering with anger. He wondered how often M’tal had cursed this fool Holder and hoped that his heir would have more sense.

He gave the Lord Holder a curt nod. “I have to attend to the injured,” he said, turning back to his dragon and mounting before Gadran could respond.

“No, I’m afraid Gadran’s always been like that,” M’tal said when B’nik approached him that night at dinner.

“What about Gadran?” J’tol called, striding into the Living Cavern, knocking soot off his riding gear. “He was red-faced and screaming when I left him. Is there more already?”

B’nik shot his wingsecond a look of alarm.

J’tol grimaced in response. “The fires got out of control; the winds up there were vicious,” he said. “We had to set backfires on the slopes above Bitra Hold itself before they were contained.”

“I should have stayed,” B’nik groaned.

“What would you have done?” M’tal asked calmly. He nodded to J’tol. “J’tol’s worked with fires before and shown his ability. I doubt anyone could have done better.”

B’nik gave J’tol a consoling look and nodded. “You’re right,” he said to M’tal. “All the same,” he added with a grin for his wingsecond, “I could have spared you his ravings.”

A chorus of dragon coughs echoed in from the Bowl outside. All conversation stopped.

J’tol waved a dismissive hand at the noise. “Some of that’s our dragons-they’ve got smoke in their lungs,” he assured the others. “It’ll clear out soon enough.”

Lorana gave B’nik a probing look and raised her eyebrow inquiringly. B’nik returned her look with confusion until, with a sudden start, he realized that she knew about Caranth.

“There are more important things to consider,” she said to him. She paused to give him a chance to respond and continued only after it was clear that he would not speak. She gestured to Kindan. “Kindan says that he’s discovered the words of his song. Did he tell you?”

B’nik shook his head. “We haven’t had time to talk until now.”

“And you shouldn’t be talking, you should be eating,” Tullea quipped, seating herself beside him. With a glare at Lorana, she urged B’nik to eat his dinner. “How was the Fall?”

B’nik found himself with a mouthful at her urging, desperately trying to swallow in order to answer her question.

M’tal took pity on him. “The Fall was not bad and was well flown.” He nodded to B’nik. “We lost seven, all the same, and another eighteen were injured.”

“There are only five wings fit to fly,” B’nik added.

“It won’t be long,” Kindan murmured to himself.

Tullea heard him all the same. “It won’t be long before what, Harper?” she demanded.

Kindan shifted uneasily in his seat. “It won’t be long before there will be no dragons to fight Thread,” he told her softly. He turned to B’nik. “Which is why I think it’s vital to get the miners back to find a way beyond that second door in the Oldtimer room, or another way into wherever that door goes.”

“And kill more dragons?” Tullea asked scornfully. She gestured to Lorana. “Would you have more people sacrifice their loves and sanity?”

“Would you lose all the dragons of Pern?” Lorana asked in response. Tullea stared at her.

“We cannot say what lies beyond those doors,” Lorana told the group. “But if we don’t find out, we will have denied ourselves any chance of curing the dragons.”

“How do you know?” Tullea protested.

“I don’t,” Lorana admitted. “But think about it-those rooms were built for a reason. They were built with Oldtimer skills-to what purpose?”

“To create the dragons,” Tullea replied, waving her hand dismissively. “Everyone knows that the Oldtimers created them from the fire-lizards.”

“But they created them in the Southern Continent and fled north,” Kindan remarked. “These rooms would not be where they made the dragons. In fact, since Benden was the second Weyr founded, these rooms would not have been made until long after our ancestors moved north.”

M’tal, J’tol, and B’nik looked thoughtful.

“All the miners’ hammering will disturb Minith,” Tullea protested. “I won’t permit that!”

“She’s not ready to lay her clutch yet,” Ketan observed. “If the noise bothers her, you could move the queen’s quarters to the northern side of the Bowl. There’s a nice set of quarters with a connection into the Hatching Grounds-that might prove useful for when you want to visit.”

Tullea looked momentarily interested in the proposition, then brushed it aside. “What makes you so sure that these rooms have the cure?” she demanded of Lorana.

“I don’t know,” Lorana replied honestly. She chewed her lip hesitantly, then glanced at Kindan. “Although if that song, ‘Wind Blossom’s Song,’ was meant for our times, then there would have to be a reason that I was to come to Benden Weyr,” she added. “And those rooms are the most obvious reason, aren’t they?”

B’nik looked troubled. Lorana caught his gaze. “How many more dragons will die?” she asked him pointedly. He flinched.

“Will this Weyr be emptied of all dragons?” She turned to the others. “ ‘Dragonmen must fly when Thread is in the sky,’ ” she quoted. Shaking her head, Lorana continued, “I don’t see any other way to cure this sickness. I’ve tried-and I know Ketan has tried-every remedy we’ve ever heard of that could help. This sickness is new to dragons. I think that without help from the past, all the dragons of Pern will perish.”

She turned to B’nik. “Weyrleader, bring the miners back. Let us find the other rooms. They might be our only hope.”

“And if they aren’t,” M’tal added glumly, “then at least we’ll know the worst.”

B’nik raised his eyes bleakly to M’tal. “Send for the miners, please.”

“T’mar!” K’lior exclaimed as the bronze rider dismounted from his dragon, a grin spread from ear to ear. K’lior hurtled over to the other rider and grabbed him in a gleeful hug.

“How did it go?” K’lior asked, pushing himself back from the grinning bronze rider, oblivious to the rest of the Weyr surrounding them and hanging on their every word.

T’mar’s grin slipped, and K’lior noticed for the first time the deep bags under the bronze rider’s eyes. K’lior stepped back and took a thorough inventory of the rider and the rest of the dragonriders who had returned from their three-year sojourn between back in time to the empty Igen Weyr of over ten Turns ago. T’mar looked fit, tanned, and healthy-but bone-weary.

“I would never recommend it, Weyrleader,” T’mar replied, fighting to keep on his feet, “except in direst circumstances.

“The dragons were fine, but even the youngest riders felt… stretched and constantly drained,” he went on. “I even had fights among the injured riders, tempers were that frayed by timing it.”

He gave his Weyrleader a strained look.

“We were in the same time for too long, we could hear echoes of our younger selves, it was-” He shook his head, unable to find further words.

“But you’re here now,” K’lior said, surveying the full-strength wings landing behind him in the Bowl.

T’mar straightened and smiled, his hand sweeping across the Bowl. “Weyrleader, I bring you one hundred and twenty-two fighting dragons.”

“Good,” K’lior replied firmly, clapping T’mar on the shoulder. “Get them bedded down and then get some rest.” He spoke up for the crowd. “We’ve Thread to fight in three days’ time.” He turned back to T’mar. “I can let you rest tomorrow, but we’ll have to start practicing the next day.”

“Thread in three days?” T’mar asked, puzzled. “Did I time it wrong?”

“No,” K’lior replied. “You timed it perfectly. We’re going to help Ista Weyr.” He beckoned to his wingsecond, P’dor, to join them.

“In fact,” he said as P’dor drew close, “we’re going to help all the Weyrs.” He nodded to P’dor. “Let them know what we’ve done and discovered.”

P’dor jerked his head in acknowledgment and turned away.

“Wait!” T’mar called after him. “You’ll need my reports.”

K’lior raised a hand to dissuade him, but T’mar shook his head, lifting his carisak from his side. “I wrote ’em out before we left.”

“Excellent!” K’lior replied enthusiastically. Then he wagged a finger at the exhausted bronze rider. “Now, get some rest.”

“I’m sorry, J’ken, but I can’t risk it,” B’nik said solemnly to the stricken bronze rider. “Turn your wing over to T’mac.”

“But it’s just a cough!” J’ken exclaimed desperately, turning to M’tal, Ketan, and the others for support. “And you need every fighting dragon-”

“Exactly,” B’nik cut across him. “I can’t risk any accidents. That’s why J’tol and half my wing aren’t flying, either. Limanth has the sickness, so you and he won’t fly Thread.”

“I made the mistake once,” M’tal added. “And you remember what a disaster that was.”

J’ken hung his head in resignation.

“You can help with the weyrlings,” B’nik offered consolingly. “That will free up P’gul to fly with Kirth.”

J’ken gave him a stricken look, swallowed, and nodded wearily.

With a jerk of his head to M’tal, B’nik strode away to supervise the rest of the Weyr in its preparation for Threadfall over Benden.

Ketan and Lorana exchanged looks. He cocked his head toward B’nik and raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. Lorana sighed and strode off after B’nik.

“B’nik!” she called out. The Weyrleader stopped and turned back to her, waving M’tal along.

“This is the last time,” B’nik promised, answering her unspoken question, his expression bleak, his hands raised halfway in entreaty. “M’tal will lead the next Fall.”

Lorana nodded and grabbed his hands in hers. “Be careful.”

“I will,” B’nik promised. “For all our sakes.”

“And when you get back, you’ll tell Tullea,” she said.

B’nik let out a deep sigh and nodded. He turned away from her, toward his dragon.

“Weyrleader!” she called after him. “Safe Fall!”

B’nik raised his arm in salute.

Lorana was surprised to find, after an hour’s searching, that Kindan was in the Weyr’s Records Room once more.

“I thought we’d exhausted this approach,” she remarked as she entered the room and dropped into a chair.

Kindan looked up from his reading and flashed her a hesitant smile.

“We did,” he agreed. “I was just looking for maps of the Weyr to show to Dalor.”

“No luck with that other door, then?”

“No,” Kindan said, shaking his head ruefully. “But Dalor doesn’t want to use force just yet-he’s afraid of jamming the door shut.”

“Wise,” Lorana agreed. She gestured toward the Records spread out in front of him. “Any luck?”

Kindan shrugged and slumped further into his chair. “Not yet.”

Dalor stuck his head in the door just then. “There’s a rock slide down the corridor here, did you know?”

“Yes, that’s the one we talked about the last time you were here. It’s been that way for Turns,” Kindan replied. “Probably happened during the last Pass.”

“I’d like to try to clear it,” Dalor said. “It might not be the right way, but it’s not far above the Oldtimer Room and the corridor walls look smooth, like the walls to the Oldtimer Room.”

“It’s worth a try,” Lorana agreed.

“Tullea won’t like the noise,” Kindan said.

“She’ll change her tune when B’nik tells her,” Lorana murmured.

“Tells her what?” Dalor asked. Kindan just looked at her.

Lorana frowned, sighing. “Caranth has the illness.”

An uncomfortable silence fell.

“We’ll find the way through that other door,” Dalor declared firmly. With a nod, he turned and left, calling out orders to his miners.

“He’ll make a good Masterminer,” Kindan said fondly.

“Are you always plotting for your friends?” Lorana asked, grinning.

“Only the good ones,” Kindan replied with a grin of his own. His mood changed. “Lorana, I want to apologize-”

Lorana raised a hand and shook her head, silencing him. “We have more important things to consider.”

“Not for me,” Kindan declared, looking her squarely in the face. “I love you. I-”

“Kindan,” Lorana said softly. She rose from her chair and walked to stand behind his. In a flash, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I love you, too,” she murmured into his ear. Then something on the Record he had been perusing caught her eye.

“What’s that?” she asked, cocking her head critically and pointing to the lower corner of the Record.

Kindan bent over to peer closely at the spot, then sat bolt upright. “That’s it! Those are the Oldtimer Rooms!”

“It looks like there are three,” Lorana remarked, peering over his shoulder.

“And it looks like the corridor that Dalor’s excavating should lead right into the big one,” Kindan agreed.

“Words are not enough to express our thanks, Weyrleader,” J’lantir called as K’lior and three full-strength wings of Fort dragons burst into the air over Keroon.

“You’d do the same if our roles were reversed,” K’lior replied with a dismissive gesture. “After all, ‘Dragonmen must fly-’ ”

Piyolth reports the leading edge of Thread, Lolanth relayed. Gaminth sends his regards.

J’lantir peered and could see a group of Benden riders, with a bronze in the lead. He waved back to M’tal just before the Benden riders went between to return to Benden Weyr. The number of Benden dragons looked terribly small.

“You’ve the greater number,” J’lantir called, turning back to K’lior, “would you lead the Fall?”

K’lior inclined his head gracefully. “It shall be my honor.” He relayed his orders to the riders of the combined Weyrs. As one, dragons turned their heads to their riders, and riders fed them firestone. As one, the fighting dragons of Ista and Fort Weyr rose to defeat the deadly Thread.

“Have M’tal give the coordinates back to the Weyr,” B’nik told a coughing, exhausted Caranth.

I think that is wise, the dragon agreed. Gaminth says that M’tal asks if you’re all right. I told him it was me. He said to be careful and asked if we should just fly straight back.

“Perhaps,” B’nik said out loud, patting Caranth’s neck fondly. “Are you up for it?”

Another cough wracked Caranth. I think I would be better going between. Another cough and a cloud of green ooze engulfed B’nik. I don’t want to fly right now.

B’nik thought furiously: If they went between and Caranth got lost, then they would be lost together; but if they flew straight back, Caranth might get even worse from the extra strain. Very well, B’nik told his dragon. We’ll follow Gaminth.

Lorana says that she’ll be waiting, Caranth told him. She asked, the dragon volunteered before B’nik could upbraid him. She says you’ll have to tell Tullea.

B’nik closed his eyes tightly at the thought.

“Take this to Caranth as soon as they land,” Lorana said, pointing out the line of steaming buckets to the weyrlings. There were only two injured dragons, and both had minor injuries. On the other hand, two dragons had not returned from the Fall and eleven more were coughing with the sickness. “Make sure that B’nik gets him to drink them all, no matter how awful it tastes.”

“Latest concoction?” Kindan asked, striding up to her from his conference with Dalor above the Records Room.

Lorana grimaced. “It’s the same old concoction,” she admitted. “Only I added more menthol to ease their breathing-and a bit of coloring,” she added.

Kindan quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, sometimes just thinking that something’s going to work can make all the difference,” she explained forlornly.

Kindan patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. “You’re doing your best,” he told her.

“Then why are dragons still dying?” she cried, burying her head against him.

“Lorana! Lorana come here now!” It was Tullea. Judging from the look on B’nik’s face, he’d just told her his grim news.

“So how long have we got?” B’nik asked, looking around the table in the Records Room at Kindan, Ketan, Lorana, and M’tal.

Kindan was the only one who would meet his eyes. He peered down at the slate in front of him, reluctant to hand it over to the Weyrleader.

“What’s that?” B’nik asked, catching Kindan’s motion.

“Well, it’s not complete,” Kindan temporized, “and the numbers are not in agreement, so I suspect some people must have ignored the first signs-”

B’nik cleared his throat loudly and gestured for Kindan to get to the point.

“It’s a list of the dragons we’ve lost,” Ketan said. “With guesses as to how long it was between the first signs of symptoms and when they…” his voice trailed off sadly.

Kindan spoke into the awkward silence that followed. “As I said, I suspect that some of these numbers are off because the riders didn’t report the symptoms immediately.”

“Three sevendays looks to be the longest,” Lorana said in a dead voice, looking up to meet B’nik’s eyes. “Since Caranth has already been coughing for a while…”

“At least a sevenday,” B’nik told them quietly. He sat down quickly, resting his head on his hands, eyes closed. Lorana knew that he wasn’t talking with Caranth. A moment later he looked up at M’tal, eyes bright. “If anything happens, I want you to take over the Weyr.”

“I would prefer it if events do not make that necessary,” M’tal responded, gesturing toward B’nik as though to hand back the privilege.

“In any event,” B’nik continued, nodding gratefully to M’tal for his support, “I shall need you to lead the next Fall.” His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he forced himself to say, “Caranth is not up to it.”

Lorana let out a sigh of relief. B’nik smiled glumly at her and turned his attention back to M’tal. “There aren’t that many fit to fly left.”

“I know,” M’tal replied. He cast a glance at Ketan.

“We lost another ten dragons last night-five didn’t even make it between, and their bodies are still in their weyrs,” the healer said. “At this rate, we’ll lose another twenty from the sickness before next Threadfall.”

The others were too shocked to respond.

“Tell him the rest,” Kindan said with a wave of his hand.

“We’ve identified seven more sick dragons this morning,” Ketan said.

“Seven!” B’nik was astonished.

“It could be good news,” Lorana said hopefully. The others looked at her. “It could be a sign that the infection has peaked and that, after this, the numbers of new dragons catching the sickness will decrease-”

“Only because there won’t be any dragons left,” Tullea interrupted sourly from the doorway. She strode in, glaring around the room. “Why wasn’t I informed of this meeting?”

“You were resting,” B’nik explained.

Tullea turned her attention to Lorana. “What are you doing here?”

“She’s here at my request,” Kindan told her, his voice edged.

“And mine,” B’nik added, gesturing for Tullea to take a seat. She remained standing.

“How long has Caranth got?” Tullea demanded of Lorana.

Lorana gestured to Ketan, indicating that he was properly the one to answer.

“I’m asking you, dragonkiller,” Tullea snarled.

“Tullea!” B’nik shouted, his voice carrying over the angry growls of the others. “You will apologize.”

“Why?” Tullea responded silkily. “She killed her dragon, there’s no denying it.”

“She was looking for a cure,” Kindan told her, his eyes flashing in anger.

“If I had known, I would have done the same,” Ketan added. He nodded apologetically toward Lorana. “And she’s paid the price in full already, without your sniping.”

Tullea bridled, clearly not anticipating the outrage she had provoked. “I am Weyrwoman here. You owe me allegiance, Healer!”

Ketan stood up slowly, arching his fingers on the tabletop and leaning on them. “My duty to you, Weyrwoman, was the honor that bound a dragonrider to the rider of the senior queen,” he said, spitting out the words. “As I am no longer a dragonrider, who holds my allegiance is now subject to question.” He nodded to Lorana. “This lass has made the supreme sacrifice a queen dragonrider, any rider, can make for the Weyr-she has lost her dragon trying to save us all.”

He stood, pushed his chair back and made a half-bow to Lorana before turning away from the table. “My allegiance does not require me to share a room with someone who will disparage her actions.”

And without turning back, he left. Kindan got to his feet immediately behind him, dragging a stunned Lorana along.

B’nik broke the shocked silence that followed. “What do you think you were doing?” he shouted at Tullea. “That was completely uncalled for!”

The blood drained from Tullea’s face as she looked from B’nik to M’tal and back again, the full impact of her words registering as she absorbed their angry expressions.

When Tullea went looking for Lorana the next day to apologize-after a night of arguing with B’nik-she was infuriated to discover that Lorana’s quarters were empty, completely cleared out.

“She’s moved,” Mikkala reported when Tullea upbraided her about it.

“Where?” Tullea demanded.

Mikkala was reluctant to answer; she bent over her stew and gave it a vigorous stir.

“Mikkala,” Tullea repeated, her voice edged with a rising temper, “where is Lorana sleeping?”

“I believe the harper offered her quarters,” Mikkala finally replied.

With a frustrated groan, Tullea stamped her foot and rushed out of the Kitchen Cavern toward the harper’s quarters. Halfway there, she discovered Lorana, Kindan, M’tal, and B’nik clustered together in conversation.

“What’s going on?” she demanded suspiciously, her peace mission forgotten.

“News from Fort Weyr,” B’nik told her, his face bright and smiling.

“From Fort?” Tullea barked. “I thought we’d agreed that no more dragonriders should come from other Weyrs.”

“Lorana heard it from K’lior’s Rineth directly,” M’tal explained.

“She can talk to any dragon, you know,” B’nik reminded her.

Tullea’s expression was sullen. “So, what did Rineth have to say?” she asked Lorana.

“Fort Weyr’s weyrlings and injured dragons timed it,” Lorana told her.

“So?”

“So they went back to old Igen Weyr, Turns before the start of the Pass, and spent three Turns there. They fought Thread at Keroon two days back.”

“Weyrlings? Fought Thread?”

“Not weyrlings any longer,” Kindan corrected. “Which is why K’lior had his Rineth contact Lorana. He asked her to spread the word to all the Weyrs. He suggests that if we follow his plan, we’ll be able to share time back before the Pass, get our injured dragons healed and weyrlings aged in time to fight the next Threadfall.”

“If we sent back the older weyrlings-they should be able to time it-and the injured, we could add nearly two full wings of fighting dragons,” M’tal observed.

“Why not send the younger weyrlings?” B’nik asked. “There are more of them.”

“Too risky,” M’tal responded. “We might lose more on the jump between than we can afford.”

B’nik nodded in agreement.

“Ketan says he’s up for it,” B’nik repeated, raising his voice to be heard above Caranth’s raspy coughing.

“He just lost his dragon!” Tullea declared angrily. “What makes you think he cares?”

B’nik bit back angry words before he hurled them irretrievably at Tullea, but he couldn’t hide the fury in his eyes.

“What will you do if Caranth dies, B’nik?” Tullea asked. “Who will fly Minith then?”

B’nik gave her a pleading look. “She hasn’t laid her clutch yet,” he told her. “It will be a long while before she rises to mate again.”

“Ketan should stay here, continue working for a cure,” Tullea persisted.

“Tullea,” B’nik said reasonably, “if Ketan goes with the weyrlings and injured dragons, he’ll have Turns to work on a cure and we’ll have fit dragons to fight the next Fall.”

B’nik did not point out that, as he was sending only the weyrlings and injured dragons, Ketan would have no sick dragons to work with. But that had been B’nik’s plan-to let Ketan recover from his loss, helping healthy young dragons grow to maturity.

“You do what you want,” Tullea told him after a long moment sulking in silence. “You’re Weyrleader.”

“Yes,” B’nik declared firmly, “I am.”

“Where are you going?” she called as he strode out of their quarters.

“To let Ketan know my decision,” B’nik replied, turning back in the doorway. “We’ve got a lot to arrange and little time.”

“I thought you said they’d be gone three whole Turns,” Tullea retorted.

“They will,” B’nik agreed. “But we’ll only have two days.”

Kindan found Lorana in the Supply Caverns, supervising the movement of medical supplies assigned for the injured dragons who were designated to go back in time with Ketan. He waited until he could catch her alone and said quietly, “How do we know we aren’t sending sick dragons back in time?”

“We don’t,” Lorana admitted, grimacing. “Ketan and I have screened all of the dragons carefully and not one of them has any signs of the sickness, but…”

“So could we have brought the sickness back in time and infected the Weyrs?” Kindan asked pointedly.

Lorana creased her brow thoughtfully. She shook her head. “It had to start somewhere, so I don’t think it came back from now to then,” she decided in the end. “Besides, it’s not so much a question of where it came from as it is how to cure it.”

Kindan shrugged, acknowledging her point.

“How are the miners doing?” she asked, waiting for a group of sweaty weyrlings to haul their burdens past them.

“They’re doing well,” Kindan replied. “Dalor tells me that he thinks the same thing happened on the upper passage as on the lower. If he’s right and it’s just a rockslide, they won’t have more than a spear-length of rock to remove.”

“So another day or two?”

“Yes, about that,” Kindan agreed.

“That will be just about when Ketan and the weyrlings return.”

“Right in time for the Fall over Nerat,” Kindan agreed.

A weyrling approached Lorana, wiping sweat out of his eye and giving her a questioning, if hopeful, look. Lorana smiled at him. “No, that’s the last of it, J’nor.”

She gestured for him to rejoin the Weyrlingmaster and then jerked her head at Kindan, inviting him to follow her out of the Supply Caverns and up into the Bowl.

The part of the Bowl nearest the Supply Cavern was busy but organized. P’gul, the Weyrlingmaster, had taken charge, delegating some work to Ketan and the more able of the injured dragonriders. He, B’nik, and M’tal were conferring together.

“Now,” B’nik was saying to P’gul as Lorana and Kindan approached, “You’ll take care to return precisely in two days’ time just before dusk.”

“That’s cutting things tight, isn’t it?” P’gul asked.

“It can’t be helped,” B’nik replied. “I don’t want you or any of the others coming back too soon-I’d hate for you to meet yourself coming or going, and the weyrlings-”

“Won’t be weyrlings when we get back,” P’gul observed.

“That’s true,” B’nik replied. “And I’m sure they’ll be well-trained in all the recognition points. But just as I expect them to be trained, I expect them not to be trained in timing-or else one of them will try it on their own before they’re ready.”

“There is that,” P’gul admitted.

“Good man!” B’nik replied, smiling and clapping the dour Weyrlingmaster on the back. “It’ll be three Turns for you, but only two days for us.”

P’gul nodded. “I just wish that we knew more of what to expect when we go back in time.”

“Rineth reports that it doesn’t bother the dragons at all,” Lorana said, inserting herself into the conversation with an apologetic look at B’nik. “But the riders are all confused and get very irritable.”

M’tal nodded, then stopped, looking thoughtful.

“Is there something you want to add, M’tal?” B’nik asked.

“Hmm?” M’tal roused himself, then shook his head. “No, no, just an odd thought that crossed my mind.”

For a moment B’nik considered whether to press M’tal for details, but then he decided against it. He turned back to P’gul.

“Well, I envy you the peace and relaxation you’ll have with those weyrlings,” he said to the older dragonrider, eliciting a humorous snort from all around.

“I’ll try to remember that, Weyrleader, when I’m relaxing in the warmth of the Igen sands,” P’gul replied, with a faint smile. He waved to the group, then mounted his brown dragon and signalled to the rest of the weyrlings and injured dragons.

“Good flying!” B’nik shouted to everyone.

His words were drowned out as wave after wave of dragons took to the air and circled up to the Star Stones.

When all the dragons were properly aligned, P’gul gave a signal-

“Lorana, don’t try to follow them,” M’tal said urgently as he saw her close her eyes.

- and the dragons winked between.

Lorana opened her eyes and looked at M’tal.

“I don’t know if your mind wouldn’t get lost between times,” he explained.

Kindan looked from M’tal to Lorana and grabbed her hand tightly in his. Lorana squeezed his hand in reply.

“This is utterly untraditional!” D’gan declared in outrage to his wingleaders as they met at Telgar’s Council Room. “I cannot believe that an ex-dragonrider would have the nerve to address herself to my dragon and not me.”

“What did she say?” D’nal asked.

“Kaloth tells me that she said that Fort Weyr has successfully sent their injured dragons and riders back in time, along with their weyrlings, to the abandoned Igen Weyr,” D’gan replied with a sniff.

“Really?” L’rat exclaimed, his eyes going wide. “That explains the fires we saw Turns back-do you remember, V’gin?”

The Weyr healer nodded reminiscently. “We thought perhaps they were traders or something using the Weyr.”

“And why wasn’t this reported to me?” D’gan asked archly.

“I’m sure it was,” L’rat said. “But it would have been just about the time of the Plague, if memory serves. I’m sure we all had other things to worry about.”

“They went back in time,” V’gin said quickly, “to what purpose?”

“Why, to heal, of course,” D’gan responded, as though it should have been obvious to all of them.

“But they could have healed just as easily here,” L’rat remarked, frowning.

“But they timed it,” D’gan snapped. “So that they were gone only days in our time while they spent Turns.”

“So their weyrlings grew up and their injured recovered,” V’gin surmised, nodding at the neat solution. “That’s very clever.” He looked at the Weyrleader. “Did you say K’lior at Fort had the idea?”

D’nal shot him a sharp look. Everyone knew that D’gan had no time for Fort’s Weyrleader, nor any other Weyrleader, for that matter.

“So what else did this Lorana say, D’gan?” L’rat asked quickly, hoping to avert another of the Weyrleader’s outbursts.

“She said-and this I cannot countenance-that Benden was going to use the three Turns starting nine Turns back and she advised us to consider going back six Turns if we wanted to use it,” D’gan replied angrily. “As if Benden could dictate how we use our Weyr!”

“Well,” L’rat replied honestly, “it’s not really our Weyr anymore, is it?”

D’gan’s eyes bulged at the Wingleader’s pronouncement.

“We’re Telgar riders now,” V’gin declared, nodding in agreement with L’rat’s declaration. “We have no claim on Igen.”

“I think it’s more important to consider whether it would help us,” D’nal said, trying to defuse any needless argument. “If we had all our injured dragons and riders ready to fight at Upper Crom, we’d have more than twice the strength we have now.”

D’gan sat down in his chair, his lips thinned angrily, but his eyes were thoughtful.

“If you added the older weyrlings-it wouldn’t do to send the youngest ones back, they wouldn’t survive the trip-then there would be another full wing on top of that,” V’gin added. He looked up at the others, eyes gleaming. “Why, we’d nearly be back to full strength!”

“That’s true,” D’gan agreed, still looking distracted.

“I make it nearly three hundred and thirty fighting dragons,” D’nal said, totting up the numbers in his head. “And today we’ve only got a bit more than one hundred and twenty.”

“Food’s no problem,” D’gan declared. “This Lorana person said that Fort had left them with plenty and they’d pass on the favor.” He snorted. “I’ll bet Fort just herded up the beasts we’d let run free.”

D’nal and L’rat exchanged satisfied glances.

“So shall we do this, then?” V’gin asked. “I must say, it seems an excellent idea.”

“Yes, it does,” D’gan agreed sourly, silently berating himself for not having thought of it on his own. While it galled him to admit that K’lior had had a worthwhile idea, he could tell by the looks of his Wingleaders that he had no choice but to go with it. He leaned forward, determined. “Very well, we’ll do it.”

He turned to D’nal. “I’ll want those dragons back in time to fight at Crom.”

“I understand, Weyrleader,” D’nal replied, realizing that the job had been delegated to him. “Should I take D’lin with me?”

L’rat and V’gin gazed curiously at D’gan. D’lin was his eldest son and had Impressed a well-bred bronze more than a Turn ago; they were all sure that D’gan was grooming him as his eventual successor. Having the lad time it would put him in a position to take over from his sire in short order, should anything untoward happen to Telgar’s Weyrleader.

“D’lin?” D’gan asked, amused at the question. He shook his head. “No, he’ll stay here with me. He still needs seasoning.” Having made his decision, he rose, dismissing the others and terminating the meeting.

L’rat and D’nal exchanged nervous glances as they headed toward the exit of the Council Room. Next door they could hear the unmistakable coughing of a dragon suffering from the sickness-D’gan’s own Kaloth.

“I thought you should have the honors,” B’nik said softly to Lorana. They stood at the end of the newly-cleared corridor.

Dalor had been right: The rockslide had only blocked part of the way. Once the miners had removed the fallen rock, the corridor was clear and open, running straight along until it stopped in front of a set of stairs leading down.

At the bottom of the stairs, another short corridor led to a door. At the side of the door the miners had discovered another square plate, just like the one Tullea had discovered in the first room.

B’nik hefted a long stick-a liberated broom handle-and offered it to Lorana.

“You might want to stand back and use this, in case the air is bad,” he suggested.

Lorana nodded and gratefully took the stick while B’nik waved Dalor, Kindan, and Ketan back up the stairs.

“Push it and run back,” Kindan called down to her.

Lorana grabbed the stick in both hands to steady it, then leaned forward and pushed the plate.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a groaning noise could be heard from beyond the door. Slowly the door slid open, revealing a well-lit room beyond. Entranced, Lorana forgot to run: She peered in, and the bad air caught her.

When she awoke later, Kindan was leaning over her; his look of concern vanished into one of sardonic humor the moment her eyelids fluttered open. She realized she was in his quarters, lying on his bed.

“I thought you were going to run,” he chided her.

Lorana shrugged. “I was trying to see what was inside.” She pushed herself up.

“You would have seen sooner, if you’d run,” he told her, helping her to her feet. “But B’nik decided to wait until you were able before letting anyone into the room.”

“That was nice of him,” Lorana said.

Kindan considered this. “I’m not so sure he intended to be nice as much as he wanted to be sure that we did not repeat the mistakes we made last time.” He paused. “Tullea has not been invited.”

“Let’s go,” Lorana said, feeling a sense of urgency.

“Why the rush? The room has waited all this time, it can wait a little longer.”

A cough from up high near the Weyrleader’s quarters echoed harshly across the Weyr Bowl-and then was repeated by dozens of other dragons.

“The dragons can’t,” Lorana said hoarsely.