Dragonsblood

ONE

Four men stood in a knot around the Star Stones of Fort Weyr. The sun was just above the horizon, casting the harsh shadows of early dawn at winter’s end. Each man wore the prestigious shoulder knots of Weyrleader. Their warm wher-hide jackets proclaimed them the leaders of Benden, Fort, Telgar, and Ista Weyrs.

K’lior, Fort’s Weyrleader, was host and the youngest present. He was also the newest Weyrleader, having gained his position less than a Turn before.

He glanced back to the Star Stones-to the Eye Rock, which bracketed the Finger Rock, which itself was lit by the baleful Red Star. Thread was coming. Soon.

The air was made more chilly by the steady breeze blowing across the plateau where Fort’s Star Stones were placed. K’lior suppressed a shiver. “Fort is still wing light. We’ve only had the one clutch-”

“There’s time yet, K’lior,” C’rion, Ista’s Weyrleader, judged. He pointed at the Red Star and the Eye Rock. “Thread won’t fall until after the last frost.”

“There’s no doubt, then, that Thread is coming,” K’lior said, wishing the other Weyrleaders would disagree with him.

For over two hundred Turns, the planet of Pern had been free of the threat of Thread falling from the sky.

Now that peace would end.

The Red Star’s return would bring the Thread that would try, once more, to devour all life on Pern.

For the next fifty Turns, the dragons would rise to the skies, flame Thread into lifeless char, or, failing, watch in horror as it burrowed into the rich soil of Pern to destroy all organic material with mindless voracity.

“Telgar’s ready, K’lior,” D’gan declared. He turned back from the Star Stones and the dawning light to gaze at the others, who were obscured by the sharp shadows of the early morning light. His words were firmly emphasized by the distant rumbling of his bronze, Kaloth. “My wings are at full strength and I’ve two clutches on the Hatching Grounds-”

One of the other Weyrleaders cleared his throat loudly, but D’gan’s fierce glare could not pierce the shadows to identify the culprit.

“Yes, we were lucky,” he continued in answer to the unknown heckler, “but the fact remains that Telgar will be wing heavy when Thread falls. And our holders have tithed fully so we’ve no lack of equipment or firestone.”

K’lior shifted uneasily, for he had been frank in relaying his difficulties in getting Fort’s full tithe. “But you don’t agree to pooling resources?” he asked again.

He had called this meeting of the Weyrleaders to propose just that. As none of them had ever fought Thread, K’lior felt that his notion of “fly together, learn together” had merit, and would promote communication among the Weyrs. He was shocked when D’vin of High Reaches had refused the invitation and was even further shocked by D’gan’s attitude. Telgar’s Weyrleader was Igen-bred, after all. K’lior had hoped that D’gan’s experience would have made him more amenable to working together, not less.

D’gan favored the wiry Fort Weyrleader with a superior look. “If you’re still wing light when Thread falls, K’lior, I’m sure I could spare some of my own.”

“I’ll bet they’re all bronzes,” a voice muttered dryly. It came from the direction of the Benden and Istan Weyrleaders.

The implication that D’gan might want to reduce the competition for Telgar’s next mating flight was obvious. Not that D’gan’s Kaloth had to fly all Telgar’s queen dragons to remain Weyrleader-just the senior queen.

D’gan stiffened angrily at the remark, turned to K’lior, and said, “I’ve a Weyr to attend, Fort. I must return.”

“Let me call someone to guide your way, D’gan,” K’lior offered pleasantly, worried about slippery walkways under unfamiliar feet.

The offer annoyed D’gan, who snapped, “I can find my own dragon well enough, Fort.”

K’lior jogged after D’gan, still hoping to soothe the other’s foul mood.

“C’rion, you know he’s got a thin skin. Why do you insist on pricking it?” M’tal asked the Istan Weyrleader in exasperation.

C’rion chuckled at the Benden Weyrleader’s remark. “Oh, you know, M’tal, he’s not all that bad-when he stops taking himself so seriously. I feel it’s my duty as an older, more experienced Weyrleader, to spill the wind from his sails when he takes on airs like that.”

“D’gan is the sort to swear his Egg cracked the wrong way,” M’tal agreed.

C’rion snorted a laugh. “I suspect that D’gan will be a lot more acceptable after his first dose of numbweed. And K’lior will steady up after his first Threadfall.”

M’tal pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I’m not so sure about D’gan.”

C’rion shrugged. “I’ve been worried ever since it was decided to abandon Igen Weyr and incorporate those dragonriders into Telgar.”

“It made sense at the time,” M’tal said, “what with the drought in Igen, the death of their last queen, and the good harvests at Telgar.”

C’rion raised a hand to ward off further discussion. “All true. But D’gan himself worries me. He drills his riders hard. Telgar Weyr has never lost the Games since he became Weyrleader-but will all that be worth anything when Thread comes?”

M’tal nodded emphatically. “If there’s one thing I could never imagine, it would be D’gan shirking his duty. We dragonriders know what to expect when Thread comes.” He waved a hand at the Star Stones. “And we know it will come soon.”

“I hear your queen laid a large clutch last week,” C’rion said, changing the topic. “Congratulations.”

M’tal laughed. “Are you going to make me an offer like our esteemed Telgar?”

“No, actually, I was going to offer a trade,” C’rion said.

M’tal motioned for him to continue.

“Two queen eggs, by all accounts,” C’rion said. “That would make four queens all told.”

“No, one of the eggs is a bronze,” M’tal said. “We’d hopes at first, but Breth nudged it back with the others.” The queen dragons always pushed their queen eggs into a special spot on the Hatching Grounds, which they carefully guarded.

“All the same…”

“Are you looking for new blood, C’rion?”

“It’s the job of every Weyrleader to see to the strength of the Weyr,” C’rion agreed. “Actually, I was thinking that to honor a new queen requires a good selection of candidates. I’m sure you’ll want to Search for a proper Weyrwoman.”

M’tal burst out laughing. “It’s J’trel, isn’t it? You want to pawn that old scoundrel off on us!”

“Actually, yes,” C’rion agreed with a laugh of his own. “But he’s not a scoundrel. And it’s no lie that his blue has an eye for good riders, especially the women.”

“Which is odd, considering his own preferences,” M’tal remarked.

“Well, you know blues,” C’rion agreed diffidently. As blue dragons mated with green dragons, and both were ridden by male riders, the riders themselves tended to be the sort who could accommodate the dragons’ amorous arrangements.

“And you want to get him away from Ista so he can forget about K’nad,” M’tal surmised. K’nad and J’trel had been partners for over twenty Turns.

“K’nad went quickly,” C’rion agreed, “it was a blessing. He was very old, you know.”

Less than a dozen Turns older than you, M’tal thought to himself dryly. Somberly he also realized: And only fifteen Turns older than me.

Aloud, he said, “So you want J’trel distracted by new duties?”

C’rion nodded. “It would be easier for us at Ista, too. Thread is coming. It’s going to be hard on the old-timers.”

There was an uneasy silence. M’tal shook himself. “I’ll have to talk it over with Salina and the Wingleaders.”

“Of course,” C’rion replied. “There’s no hurry.”

Curious, M’tal asked, “Where is J’trel now?”

C’rion shrugged. “I don’t know. He and his blue took off after the ceremony for K’nad.” He frowned. “He had that look in his eyes, the one he usually gets just before Ista finds itself with a whole bunch of the biggest fresh fruit you’ve ever seen.”

“He hasn’t been going to the Southern Continent, has he?” M’tal asked with a frown of his own. Dragonriders were discouraged from venturing to the Southern Continent with all its unknown dangers.

“I’ve made it a point never to ask,” C’rion answered dryly. “You really have to try the fruit.”

Lorana sat on her knees, ignoring the hot sun beating down on her, all her attention concentrated on the tiny creature in front of her. Sketching swiftly, Lorana used her free hand alternately to keep the little thing from moving away and to keep her sketchbook from sliding off her lap. She ignored the beads of sweat rolling down her face until one threatened to drop in her eye, at which point she broke from her task long enough to wipe it away hastily.

The creature, which she dubbed a “scatid,” took that moment to burrow quickly into the dry sand. Lorana examined her sketch and frowned, trying to decide if she needed more details-the scatid was smaller than the tip of her thumb, and its six limbs had never stopped moving.

Grenn, the littler of Lorana’s two fire-lizards, cocked his head at the retreating insect and then looked back at Lorana with an inquiring chirp.

“Of course it ran away,” she said with a laugh in her voice. “You’re ten times its size.”

The fire-lizard pawed at the hole, looked up at Lorana, and chirped again.

“I’ll know it if I see it again,” Lorana replied, pushing herself up from her knees and stretching to relieve her cramped muscles. She stowed her sketchbook in her carisak and slid her sun hat back on her head-she’d slipped it onto her back when its shade had interfered with her view of the scatid. She added thoughtfully, “Unless you want it?”

With a squawk, Grenn jumped back awkwardly from the hole. Lorana laughed again. “I’d say that was a ‘no.’ ”

Behind her, golden Garth squeaked an agreement.

“You’ve both been fed, so I know you’re not hungry,” Lorana said, half to herself. She peered down at the burrow and then at the irrepressible brown fire-lizard. “Would you eat it?”

Grenn examined the burrow for a moment, then dropped down on it and pawed at the hole, widening it. When the scatid was again uncovered, Grenn peered at it until the scatid’s diggers snapped at him-whereupon the fire-lizard gave a startled squawk and sprang away.

“You would eat it, then,” Lorana decided. “You’re just not hungry enough.” She glanced thoughtfully at the sun overhead. “Or you’re too hot to eat anything.”

Grenn chirped in agreement. Lorana nodded, saying, “J’trel will be here soon enough.”

The little fire-lizards, distant cousins to the huge fire-breathing dragons of Pern, trilled happily at the thought of seeing their large friend again.

“In the meantime, we can walk toward the beach again-there should be a breeze,” Lorana told them.

The fire-lizards chorused happy assent and disappeared, leaving Lorana to traipse along after them on foot. She heard Garth formulating some plan as the little queen and her consort went between. Deciding that the two fire-lizards were not getting into too much trouble, Lorana stopped concentrating on them and focused her attention on the path she was following.

Her clothing was not meant to cope with the hot Igen sun, but Lorana had done the best she could with it, loosening her tunic and rolling up her sleeves and trouser legs. Her outfit would be perfect once onboard the ship, and was almost warm enough for the cold between.

Halfway to the beach, she sensed a sudden exultation from Garth and felt the two fire-lizards go between. In no time at all, they reappeared high above her, chirped a warning, and dropped what they had been holding between them. Lorana held out her hands and caught a good-sized roundfruit. She laughed and waved at them. “Thank you!”

The fruit was delicious and moist, easing her dry throat. Energized, she picked up her pace to the shore.

Grenn swooped low over her and let out a querying squawk, curving back around toward her, eyes whirling hopefully.

“No,” Lorana said, “you may not perch on my shoulder. You need to stretch that wing now that it’s healed. Besides, between the carisak and our gear, I’m carrying enough, thank you.”

Grenn gave her a half-sad, half-wheedling chirp and beat his wings strongly to regain his lost altitude. High above him, Garth gave him an I-told-you-so scolding.

As he climbed sunward, Lorana noted that in his antics there was no residual sign at all of the broken left wing that had nearly cost his life-and had completely changed hers. With a frown Lorana forced the memory away and continued on to the beach.

“Why didn’t you wake me, you silly dragon?” J’trel grumbled, pulling off his riding helmet and running his hand through his stringy white hair as he searched the darkness below for any sign of Lorana. “You knew I’d had too much wine, but you went off sunning yourself on some rock and fell asleep, didn’t you? Poor Lorana! Waiting and waiting for us… only we were asleep.”

Talith took J’trel’s moaning in good part, knowing that the old dragonrider was merely practicing his excuse on him. Talith had been tired and the sun had been so warm. J’trel had needed a rest himself and the wine at Nerat Sea Hold had been so inviting… and they had worked hard all these many days helping Lorana with her explorations.

We were tired, Talith told his rider. The sun, the wine, were good.

“Ah, but while we were sunning ourselves, Lorana was doubtless being fried in the heat or was bitten by one of her subjects, or-it’s turned so cold, Talith!” J’trel said, pulling his riding helmet back on. “Almost as cold as between. What if-”

She is down there, Talith said, tightening into a steeper dive. J’trel craned his head out over Talith’s neck and saw a small fire below on the beach.

“She’s probably half frozen,” J’trel chided. “This will never do.”

Lorana leapt from her place at the fire and rushed to greet the old rider as Talith settled. Grenn and Garth chirped cheerful greetings to Talith, who rumbled back.

We fell asleep in the warm sun, the dragon told Lorana, and now J’trel is afraid that you are cold.

“The fire’s warm, J’trel,” Lorana said, beckoning eagerly, “and there should be enough light to see by.”

“See what?” J’trel asked, his earlier excuses forgotten in the heat of Lorana’s excitement.

Lorana held up a hand. “I can’t tell you, I have to show you.”

“Well then, let’s get to that fire.”

When he was settled by the fire, angled so that its warmth was on his back and its light good for reading, Lorana opened her sketchbook and passed it to him.

“Look at this one for a moment,” she said, pointing to one of her earlier drawings.

J’trel took the book and peered at it. His eyes weren’t good close up anymore; he moved the book farther away until the image came into focus.

“Hmm, ugly little beastie,” he muttered to himself, then hastily added, “but you drew it well.”

With a polite nod, Lorana took the book, flipped the pages to one of her more recent drawings, and thrust it back in the dragonrider’s hands.

“Now look at this, please.”

J’trel frowned, and examined the drawing more carefully. “Why it’s almost the same-but different! I can’t quite see what, though.”

Lorana leaned forward and pointed. “Here-the back legs have none of the fur of the other ones.” She flipped back to the first drawing. “But see how the front digger legs are much thinner on this one than on the other? I think that this northern one needs the thinner diggers to burrow in the wet earth, while this little beastie needs wider diggers to push the sand away. See?”

“Almost,” J’trel said with a frown. He shook his head. “My eyes are too old, and it’s too dark.”

Lorana laughed. “I suppose the light is too bad! But I’ve been looking at these pictures for hours.” Catching J’trel’s grim face, she added hastily, “Oh, don’t worry, J’trel, I was quite safe-Garth and Grenn kept watch.”

She glanced back at her drawing and then eagerly back to J’trel. “Did you have any luck finding a ship? I’d love to see if there are any different sorts of scatids in Tillek, not to mention the other beasties I’ve found.”

“A ship, she asks!” J’trel exclaimed. “Oh, Lorana, did I find the most beautiful vessel for you! Fit for a Holder this one is-in fact it’s meant for a Holder-none other than the Lord Holder of Tillek, the Masterfisher himself, designed it, and it was built-ah, it’s just finished in the yards and will sail with the tide!”

His beaming smile suddenly vanished.

“J’trel, what’s wrong?” Lorana asked.

“The tide!” J’trel wailed. “Oh, Lorana, that dratted dragon of mine-we’ve missed the tide!” He turned to his dragon. “Talith, why didn’t you wake me?”

“I’m sure you were both tired,” Lorana said in a reasonable voice. “But, J’trel, what does it matter that we’ve missed the tide?”

“Wind Rider sailed with the tide, Lorana. The ship’s gone!”

There is plenty of time, Talith said soothingly. I know when we should meet the sailing master. You have given me a very clear image.

J’trel brightened. “Of course!” he agreed. “Lorana, gather your gear and I’ll have you on the good ship Wind Rider before she sails!”

Between only lasts as long as it takes to cough three times, Lorana reminded herself silently as Talith rose high above the Igen shoreline and the faint traces of her campfire blended into the darkness far below them.

Since meeting J’trel and his blue dragon, Lorana had been between several times as they had gone from their unmarked camp to various points on Pern. She had become mostly used to the chill and dead silence of the nothingness that was between one place and another.

It may take a bit longer this time, Talith warned her. And then they were between.

The warming comfort of Talith’s presence steadied her. Lorana counted slowly to herself: one, two, three, fo-

The sun shone high in the sky as Talith appeared over Ista Sea Hold. Garth and Grenn arrived moments later right above the dragon, chittering their pride in following the larger dragon between.

Talith nimbly deposited his riders before the main entrance to Ista Sea Hold and told J’trel he was going to look for a nice warm resting spot.

“Just don’t fall asleep again,” J’trel warned, slapping the blue dragon’s neck affectionately. As the blue dragon became airborne, he gave a soft cough.

Lorana looked at J’trel, with her brows raised. “I don’t recall him coughing like that before.”

J’trel waved a hand. “He’s old. Sometimes a thick lungful of air will make a dragon cough. His lungs aren’t like they used to be.”

“Do dragons cough often?” Lorana asked, with natural curiosity-her father had been a beastmaster and had even tended people in emergencies, and she had learned much of his craft.

J’trel shrugged. “Dragons are very healthy. Sometimes they seem to get a bit of a bug, and sometimes a cough.” He made a throwaway gesture, saying, “It doesn’t last long.”

“What about the Plague?” Lorana asked with a faint shudder.

“The Plague affected people, not dragons, and the dragonriders were careful to keep safe.” J’trel’s face took on a clouded look. “Some say we were too careful.”

Lorana shook her head emphatically. “We have to have dragons to fight Thread, and they have to have riders to help them.”

J’trel smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder for a brief hug. “That’s the spirit.”

Because she was with a dragonrider, Lorana was not jostled by the crowd: People cleared out of their path. J’trel took this deference by the seaholders as a dragonrider’s just due and set a brisk pace to make up for his earlier tardiness.

Lorana struggled to keep up with him. J’trel noticed and gave her a worried look. “Are you all right?”

Lorana flushed and waved his courteous inquiry aside. “I’m just a bit tired, is all. Maybe I’ve been walking too long.”

You have never gone between times before, Talith told her with a yawn of his own.

“Between times?” Lorana asked aloud.

“Shh,” J’trel said suddenly, holding a hand up warningly. Then his eyes narrowed as he considered what she’d said. “Why did you say that?”

“Talith told me,” Lorana said.

J’trel sighed. “We had to get here before Wind Rider sailed,” he explained.

Lorana motioned for him to continue. Leaning closer to her, he lowered his voice. “Dragons can not only go between from one place to another, but from one time to another,” he explained. “When we jumped between we also jumped back in time. In time for you to catch the Wind Rider.”

“That’s amazing!”

“It has its price, though,” J’trel added, wearily rubbing the back of his neck. “It takes a toll on dragon and rider-and any passengers.”

Lorana gave him an inquiring look.

“Right now you’re here at Ista Sea Hold and also on the Igen seashore,” J’trel explained. “How do you feel?”

Lorana thought about it. “I’m tired,” she said after a moment. “But I thought that was from all the excitement.”

“That, and timing it,” J’trel said. “Some people feel stretched and irritable after they’ve timed it. It gets worse the longer the jump, the more a person’s in two places at once.”

“So dragons don’t time it that often?” Lorana asked.

“Dragonriders are never supposed to time it,” J’trel replied. He wagged a finger at her. “Let it be our secret.”

Lorana nodded, but she had a distracted look on her face. J’trel had seen that look before on others and had worn it himself when first confronted by the dragons’ amazing ability, so he waited patiently for the question he knew she would ask.

“J’trel,” Lorana began slowly, her expression guarded but hopeful, “could we go between time to when my father was with that herdbeast and warn him?”

J’trel shook his head and said sadly, “If we could have, we already would have.”

Lorana raised her brows in confusion.

“You can’t alter the past,” he told her. “As long as it never happened in the past, it never can happen in the past.”

“Why not?”

It cannot be done, Talith said. A dragon cannot go to a place that is not.

Lorana looked puzzled.

“I tried once,” J’trel said, shaking his head at some sad memory. “I couldn’t picture my destination in my mind.”

It is like trying to fly through rock, Talith added.

“I wanted to go back to when my mother was still alive,” J’trel said. “I wanted her to see that I’d Impressed, that I’d become a dragonrider. I thought it’d make her happy.” He shook his head. “But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t see her and the place clearly enough in my mind to give Talith the image.”

You had not done it, so you could not, Talith explained with draconic logic.

Lorana shook her head, mystified. “Maybe if I think about it long enough, it’ll make sense,” she said, but her attention was already caught by the tall masts of the ships docked just ahead. Swarms of seamen and landsmen bustled about, loading and unloading carts, ships, and conveyances. “Which one is it?” she asked J’trel.

“The shiny new one!” he told her, gesturing with a flourish. “The good ship Wind Rider, readying for her maiden voyage.”

Eyes widening, Lorana grabbed her book and stylus from her carisak and began sketching furiously.

A sea voyage would do her good, J’trel mused, watching her draw. It would give her a chance to take stock, see more of the world, and maybe learn to see herself as she really was. She thought too poorly of herself.

He remembered how he had first met Lorana. It had been late and dark, and he and Talith had been cold and feeling old… lost.

His partner, K’nad, had succumbed to his ailment, and K’nad’s green Narith had departed forever between a sevenday before. J’trel had summoned his courage and done everything to make K’nad’s passing easier for everyone in the Weyr.

Then he had gone to tell K’nad’s kinsfolk, at the Hold where he had been born and raised. Carel, Lord Holder of Lemose and K’nad’s younger brother, took the news silently, inured to death from the great losses of the Plague twelve Turns before.

After an uncomfortable dinner, Lady Munori saw J’trel to the great Hold doors.

“He has buried his grief so deep that it no longer shows,” she said of her husband, as an apology to the dragonrider. She touched his arm consolingly. “He was always proud of K’nad.”

J’trel nodded and turned to leave.

“Dragonrider! My lord!” someone called out of the night. “A moment, please.” There was a note of panic in the voice.

J’trel turned to see a young woman rushing toward him. She was tall, still gangly in her youth, and not very pretty.

“Your pardon, my lord,” she said. “I was hoping to speak with you before you left.”

“This is Lorana,” Munori said to J’trel, her voice tinged with sadness. “Her father, Sannel, was a beastmaster who bred for us, as well as Benden and Bitra.” She grimaced. “One of our beasts got crazed and kicked him in the head.”

“To be in demand by three Holds-your father must be sorely missed,” J’trel said, looking at Lorana more closely. He revised his first impression. Her dark hair and almond eyes were set in an expressive face that was, at the moment, quite somber. He wondered what she would look like when she smiled.

Lorana nodded. “I was wondering if I could ask your advice,” she said after a moment. “The beast that killed my father also snapped the wing on Grenn, one of my fire-lizards.”

“I’m sorry,” J’trel replied, guessing at the nature of her request. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard of any new clutches recently. But if I do, I’ll be sure to put your name in for a replacement egg.”

Lorana shook her head. “He still lives.”

J’trel was amazed. “Usually a fire-lizard suffering such a wound will go between,” he remarked. “Often forever.”

A brilliant spark of determination flared in Lorana’s eyes. “I wouldn’t let him.”

“It was the most amazing sight,” Lady Munori added. “You could even see them breathing together, her and her fire-lizard, as she fought to keep him here.”

Intrigued, J’trel said, “I should like to see this fire-lizard.”

“Thank you,” Lorana said, dipping a slight curtsy to the dragon-rider.

Lady Munori accompanied them. “You should see her drawings, too, J’trel,” she said. “Lord Carel has two hanging in his chambers.”

J’trel cocked an eye at the young woman. “A healer and a harper! You are a woman of many talents.”

Embarrassed, Lorana ducked her head.

Silently, she led them to one of the guest rooms and gestured politely for J’trel and Munori to precede her.

A fire-lizard’s chirp challenged them as they entered.

“They’re friends, Garth,” Lorana called out.

“You’ve two!” J’trel exclaimed as he caught sight of the beautiful gold fire-lizard posting guard over the injured brown.

“I tried to get Coriel…” Lorana began defensively.

“How many times do we have to tell you that you’ve nothing to apologize for?” Munori asked in exasperation. She explained to the dragonrider, “Lorana was watching the eggs for my daughter when they hatched and, well…”

The brown fire-lizard gave a plaintive sound. Seeing that his wing was splinted and immobilized, J’trel began crooning reassurances.

“There, lad,” he said. “Let’s have a look at you.” He moved closer, but stopped when the little queen gave him a haughty and challenging look.

“Talith, could you-?” J’trel said aloud to his dragon.

The gold gave a startled squawk as the dragon spoke to her. Then, with a very dignified air, she moved away from her injured friend.

“I’ve never seen the like,” J’trel said admiringly, examining the splint. “A break like this…”

“I did my best,” Lorana said.

“You did the best I’ve ever seen,” he told her. “Our Weyr healer could take lessons from you.”

Gently he spread the wing, examined the splint, and then returned the wing to its original position. “How long ago did this occur?”

“About a sevenday,” Lady Munori told him. “When we first came upon the three of them, we thought we’d lost them all, father, daughter, fire-lizard. But then that one-” She pointed at the gold. “-started squawking at us, and we realized that her Lorana was still alive.”

“Will the wing heal?” Lorana asked, worried that she might have condemned her fire-lizard to a fate worse than death.

“The bones are aligned properly,” J’trel judged. “And he seems well-fed,” he added, with a grin at the brown’s bulging stomach. “I’d say that his chances are good.” Privately, though, he wasn’t so sure.

“Is there anything else I should do?” Lorana asked. “And when will it be safe for him to fly again?”

J’trel pursed his lips thoughtfully. Something in the girl’s demeanor, in her worry and her determination, sparked his compassion.

“Why don’t you come with me and we’ll take him someplace safe and warm where he can rest until his wing is healed,” he suggested.

Lorana’s eyes grew round with surprise.

“But wouldn’t the dragons at the Weyr-”

“I wasn’t thinking of the Weyr, lass,” J’trel interrupted. “I know a very nice warm place where dragons-and fire-lizards-can curl up and rest all day long.” He wagged a finger toward the brown fire-lizard. “I think the best thing we can do is encourage this one to rest and not to fly until his wing is healed.”

Lady Munori beamed at Lorana. “You can’t go wrong with an offer like that.”

Lorana smiled at the dragonrider, a smile that lit her face. “Thank you!”

It took a month of careful attention for Grenn’s wing to heal in the warmth of a southern sun. During that time, J’trel was pleased to provide Lorana with pencil and paper to sketch upon-and amazed when he saw the results.

They had been together in the sunny warmth for two sevendays before Lorana really opened up to the old dragonrider. It happened the evening after J’trel had announced that he was certain Grenn’s wing would heal. Lorana had just finished sketching the splint design she’d put on Grenn and started a new page. J’trel hadn’t been paying attention until he heard her stifle a sob. Looking over, he saw that she was drawing a face.

“Is that your father?” he asked. He had guessed that, as soon as she knew her fire-lizard was safe, Lorana would allow herself to grieve.

Lorana nodded. Haltingly, with J’trel’s gentle questioning, she told him her story.

Lorana had been helping her father since she could toddle; indeed, since the Plague took the rest of her family-mother, brother, and sister-she had been his only helper.

She recounted huddling amongst the cold bodies while her father stood in the doorway shielding them from the outraged holders who feared his roaming ways had brought the Plague with him. It was only when they discovered that nearly all the bodies beyond him had gone cold that they relented.

Lorana had used all her wits-particularly her skill at drawing-to bring her distraught father out of the despair that overtook him after that fateful day. Since then, Sannel had used her ability in drawing, tasking her with registering all the marks and conformations of their various breedings, and taking her everywhere he went. When he died, she had been devastated.

When J’trel looked over Grenn that evening by the campfire, he was very pleased to be able to give Lorana some good news. “I think we should try to see if he can fly tomorrow morning,” he announced. “When the air is cold.”

“Because the air is heavier then, right?” Lorana asked.

“Exactly,” he agreed. “And, if he’s all right, I’ll take you back to the Weyr with me.”

Lorana’s face fell.

J’trel gave her an inquiring look.

“I don’t know if I belong there,” Lorana admitted. When J’trel started to protest, she held up a restraining hand. “I don’t know where I belong.”

J’trel bit back a quick response. He gave her a long glance and nodded slowly.

“I think I see,” he said at last. “In fact, I feel somewhat the same myself.”

“You do?” Lorana asked, taken aback.

“Not about you,” he added hastily, pointing a finger toward his chest. “About myself.”

Lorana was surprised.

J’trel let out a long, slow sigh. “I’m old,” he said at last. “I can’t say that I’ll be any credit when Thread falls again. And I’m tired.”

“Tired?”

“Tired of hurting,” J’trel admitted. “Tired of the pain, tired of memories, tired of not being able to move the way I used to, tired of making compromises, tired of the looks the youngsters give me-looks I used to give old people.

“It was different with K’nad,” he continued softly, almost to himself. “Then I had someone to share with. We would groan when our joints hurt and laugh about it together.”

He shook his head sadly. “I hadn’t planned on anything beyond saying good-bye to K’nad’s kin,” he admitted. “And then I met you.”

Lorana shook her head, trying to think of something to say.

J’trel waved her unvoiced objections aside. “I’m not complaining,” he assured her. “In fact, I’m glad to have met you.” He grinned at her. “I’ve never met a woman more fit to lead a Weyr.”

“Lead a Weyr?” Lorana repeated, aghast. “Weyrwoman? Me? No, no-I-”

“You’ve more talent than I’ve ever seen,” J’trel told her. “Half the Istan riders of the past thirty Turns were searched by me and Talith.”

He smiled briefly in pride. “And you can talk to any dragon!” he exclaimed.

Lorana crinkled her forehead in confusion. “What makes you say that?” she asked. “I’ve only talked with Talith.”

“While it’s true that a dragon can talk to anyone he chooses, only riders bonded to a dragon can address one-and usually only their own. No rider can talk to another dragon unless he can hear all dragons. Do you know how few can do that?”

Lorana could only shake her head.

“Torene is the only one I can think of,” J’trel said. “And I don’t think she had your way with them. It’s more like you feel them than talk to them.”

“You don’t?” Lorana asked in surprise. She looked out to Talith and smiled fondly at the blue. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Lass, when are you going to stop apologizing for your gifts?” J’trel interrupted her gently.

“It’s just-it’s just-” Lorana couldn’t continue.

“I see,” J’trel said to stop her from tearing herself apart. He grimaced. He had seen this behavior in many of the survivors of the Plague.

The Plague had come up suddenly twelve Turns earlier. Some said it had started at Nerat Tip, others said Benden Hold, still others said Bay Head. Wherever it had started, it had spread quickly, if sporadically, across all of Pern. While the Holds of Benden Weyr-Bitra, Lemos, and Benden-were hardest hit, no hold from southeasternmost Nerat Tip to northwesternmost Tillek Hold had been spared.

In less than six months the Plague had passed, leaving grieving holders and crafters to recover-and wonder why the dragonriders hadn’t helped out sooner. Help from the Weyrs had come, but only when the worst of the Plague had passed. J’trel knew why: He’d heard from his Wingleader, J’lantir, of the bitter arguments amongst the Weyrleaders over whether to aid the holders or preserve their own numbers to fight the Thread that was due to fall in the Turns to come.

In some places, one out of three holders had perished. In others, only the very youngest and the very oldest had been affected. Some outlying holds had been left empty, devoid of all life, and everyone had at least one close relative or friend who had succumbed to the Plague.

When the Plague had passed and the dragonriders had come to help, they’d found fields untended, men and women sitting listless and vacant-eyed. The few healers who hadn’t themselves fallen to the Plague explained that these people were in deep shock. It took days of comfort and caring for the survivors to recover.

Everyone felt the same nagging loss, the same wonderment mixed with shame at their survival-the sense that they were not worthy of their existence.

“What would you like to do?” J’trel asked her.

Lorana shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t think that I’m ready…”

“Perhaps you aren’t,” J’trel agreed. “You could always go back to Lemos-”

“No!” Lorana exclaimed. She took a deep breath, then continued more calmly. “Please, Lemos holds too many sad memories-I don’t want to go back there.”

“Very well,” J’trel said. He pursed his lips. “Perhaps we should look at your skills…?”

“Well, I guess I’m not bad with broken wings,” Lorana allowed, with a glance toward the sleeping Grenn.

“And you can draw very well,” J’trel said. He yawned. “Perhaps we should sleep on it.”

When the sun woke him the next morning, J’trel was struck with an inspiration. He knew that Lorana would overcome her grief more easily if she had something to engage her attention, and he recognized that her eye and training put her in an excellent position to categorize the various species on Pern.

“No one’s ever drawn all the different creatures of Pern,” he told her. “You could be the first.”

Lorana was intrigued.

“But how can I get all over Pern?” she asked. “I couldn’t ask you to take me everywhere.”

“I shall have to ponder that,” J’trel said, admitting, “at some point I’ll have to get back to my own affairs.”

Then he stood up, slapping his legs with his hands. “But now, I think it’s time to see whether our charge is ready for his first flight.”

It was only a few moments before the fire-lizard came back down squawking loudly in complaint.

J’trel looked surprised. “I don’t understand.”

“I do,” Lorana said with a laugh. “We’ve been stuffing him so much, he’s too fat to fly!”

“J’trel?” Lorana’s voice drew the dragonrider back from his reverie.

She handed her book to him nervously, pointing at her latest sketch. J’trel could see that she’d done several in rapid succession.

“Is this Captain Tanner?” she asked, pointing to her latest effort.

“That’s him, indeed!” J’trel agreed enthusiastically. “Let’s go aboard, so you can meet him.”

Aboard, J’trel led her to the stern of the ship. Lorana’s eyes darted all about, taking in the activity and the sights with relish.

Suddenly they stopped.

Captain Tanner was opposite her. Next to J’trel was another seaman. Two others stood on either side of Captain Tanner.

Lorana was surprised to realize that Captain Tanner was the youngest of the men. She guessed that he was near her own age of twenty Turns. The other seamen all looked older, sea-grizzled, and not nearly as wholesome, wearing grubby clothes and frowns.

Captain Tanner’s honest brown eyes met hers in quiet appraisal.

“Here’s your ship’s healer, Captain Tanner,” J’trel said, “as promised.”

Tanner’s eyes widened as the words registered. He turned to Lorana, his expression bleak. “My lord J’trel did not mention that you were a woman.”

“Show him your drawings,” J’trel said.

Numbly, Lorana extended her sketchbook to Captain Tanner. Tanner took them politely and glanced down at the first drawing.

“Have you ever drawn a ship?”

“Just now from the docks,” she said. “If you turn the page…”

Captain Tanner did so and gasped in awe. The sailors near him drew closer for a better view.

“I’m also interested in the fish and the birds at sea,” Lorana said.

“That’s why Lorana wants to journey with you on the Wind Rider,” J’trel put in.

“And you’d draw them, as well?” one of the older men asked. Lorana nodded.

“And if we caught them, would you give us a drawing of that?” another asked. Before Lorana could answer, the third seaman guffawed, “As if you’d ever catch anything Minet! You and that old rod of yours!”

“Aye, a net’s the only proper way to catch fish!”

“There are no nets aboard Wind Rider, you git!” Minet replied. Lorana could tell that there was no real rancor among the three.

“Wind Rider is a schooner, Baror,” Tanner said. “She’s built for speed, not trawling.”

The seaman named Baror looked away from Tanner, face clouded. Lorana wasn’t sure she liked that look.

“They say it’s bad luck to have a woman aboard a ship,” Baror muttered. Beside him Minet nodded.

“I’d say it’s worse luck to travel without a healer,” J’trel observed. Captain Tanner nodded.

“Did you say the Wind Rider was built for speed?” Lorana asked, looking at the other ships in the harbor for comparison.

“Aye,” Minet told her, “Lord Holder Tillek-the Masterfisher himself-had her built here special, for fast runs between Thread.”

“If it ever comes,” the third seaman growled.

“It’ll come, Colfet, it’ll come,” Captain Tanner replied, casting an apologetic look toward J’trel.

Colfet seemed to realize his gaffe. “I meant no disrespect, dragon-rider.”

J’trel didn’t hear much apology in the northerner’s tone but let it go. “Then I’ll take none, seaman.”

Tanner decided to change the subject. “J’trel says you’ve also got a way with beasts.”

“My father worked with them, yes,” Lorana replied.

“Do you suppose you could splint an arm or tend a scrape for a person?”

Lorana shrugged. “It’s not much different. More than a scrape or a break and you’d want to get a proper healer.”

The seamen all nodded in agreement.

“None of the lads are likely to get themselves hurt on a milk run like this,” Colfet growled. “Just down to that new sea hold and back here.”

Captain Tanner told Lorana, “I’m only captain for Wind Rider’s shakedown cruise. After these three get the feel of her rigging, they’ll be taking her on up to Tillek.”

“But I’d like to go to Tillek,” Lorana said.

Colfet glanced at the other Tillek men, then said, “For that you’ll have to get my approval.” He took a long thoughtful breath. “Let’s see how you are on this run down to this new Hold, first.”

“We’d better be moving then,” Tanner said, turning to the others. “The tide doesn’t wait.”

J’trel shook her hand and then grabbed her in a hug. “You watch out for yourself, youngster. I’ll want to know how you get along.”

Lorana gave him a smile. “I’ll do that, J’trel.”

The Wind Rider was everything Captain Tanner had said it would be. Lorana stowed her gear in the healer’s cabin and then joined the crew on deck as the ship was nimbly warped out of Ista Harbor. The schooner heeled as the wind caught her quarter, and the helmsman cursed as he struggled to control the wheel.

As the ship heeled into a new wave and burst through the other side, Captain Tanner said to Colfet, “What do you think of her now, Mister Colfet? Is she fit for your Master’s fleet?”

“She grabs the wind well, Captain Tanner,” Colfet admitted. “But it’s early days, early days. I’d like to see her in a blow.”

Tanner laughed and pointed to the confused seamen above in the rigging. “Not before this lot get themselves sorted out, I hope.”

Colfet gave him a sour grin. “No, not before.” He glanced at the setting sun over the taffrail. “And tomorrow will be too fair for a strong wind.”

“What makes you say that?” Lorana asked.

“Bad weather coming, probably a blow,” Colfet answered, as if that were all the explanation needed.

Captain Tanner raised his monocular to his eye. “Lorana, look there! It seems we’re getting a send-off!”

Lorana looked where Tanner pointed and could see a dragon and rider in the distance waving at them. She laughed and waved back.

J’trel says safe voyage, Lorana, Talith told her.

Thank him please, Talith.

High up in the sky, Talith relayed Lorana’s reply to J’trel.

“You’re welcome, lass,” J’trel said to himself. “Did you hear that, Talith? How many can speak to other dragons? How many Weyrwomen can do that? Not one, I’m telling you. She’ll ride gold, and she’ll be the best Weyrwoman Pern’s ever seen.”