“I don’t know,” Fiona admitted. “Obviously the traditional thing to do would be to move you and me out into the quarters on the north side of the Weyr.”
T’mar chuckled: It was obvious that Fiona was no more enamored of that prospect than he.
“I suppose we could do with the extra exercise,” Fiona said thoughtfully, adding with a flash of her eyes, “after all, no one would want us to get fat, would they?”
“No, I suppose not,” T’mar replied diplomatically. “And I suppose the weyrs are large enough, maybe even larger than our current quarters.”
“But I’ll miss the ease with which I can talk with Jeila and Terin,” Fiona said.
“I’m sure that they will need exercise, too,” T’mar quipped, working to control his smirk. His expression slipped as a new thought came to him. “Of course, that will put us near the weyrlings.”
“Yes,” Fiona agreed blandly.
T’mar gave her a probing look, for rarely was the Weyrwoman bland, and thought on the implications. Being nearer the weyrlings would mean being nearer to Kindan, the Weyrlingmaster. That would put Lorana closer. In fact, the only one who would stand to lose from it would be Shaneese—the headwoman was in no danger of getting fat, having barely a spare gram on her. Still, T’mar admitted privately to himself, the same could be said of Fiona, although in her case she tended more toward wiry strength than even the dusky-toned headwoman.
“If you’re thinking of offering to stay in your weyr for a while longer,” Fiona said, guessing all too accurately at the thrust of his thoughts, “consider that that would put you near Terin and Jeila and ask yourself how that might impact their partners.”
“I’ve no—” T’mar started in protest. He cut himself short as he saw Fiona’s eyes dance once more in amusement. It was true that he was not so foolish as to attempt to dally with the other weyrwomen—Jeila was far too attached and both were far younger than he preferred.
His attachment to Fiona was still something of a mystery to him. What had started as a simple act of kindness had solidified into something that caused him much pain, but which he knew would cause him even more pain to finish. He met her eyes frankly and peered deeply into them, once again amazed at their depths. She was, in far too many ways, still a child and yet … she was Weyrwoman to her core, more so even than Cisca or Sonia.
“I wouldn’t want to be that far from you,” T’mar said. He caught Fiona’s shudder of joy and she reached for his hand, grabbed it tight in hers. She let it go a moment later, glancing around to be sure that no one had noticed.
“Good,” she said. “Then it’s decided.”
“Can we wait until we aren’t so pressed for time?”
“I wasn’t thinking of starting until after this Fall,” Fiona said. “I merely wanted your decision on the matter.”
“Thank you,” T’mar said, warmly surprised that she’d wanted his decision and not his approval.
Fiona accepted his words with a nod, continuing, “And now that we’ve decided, when we’re done we’ll have two empty weyrs there, at least temporarily.”
T’mar cocked an eyebrow at her wonderingly. What was she getting at?
“I think, as we’re moving around, we should arrange it so that your wing lodges above us—they can come down the central stairs,” Fiona told him. T’mar nodded, that much seemed reasonable, but he was certain that Fiona had more and he motioned for her to continue. “That will leave us free then to move H’nez’s wing above the queens’ weyrs,” Fiona continued. “And, as we’ll have two empty weyrs there, if he wants, he could take the one nearest to Jeila.”
T’mar’s eyes widened as he caught on to her plan.
“I’m sure that would make the weyrwoman happy,” T’mar agreed with a twinkle in his eyes; it would hardly make H’nez unhappy. “And F’jian?”
“Well, I think it best if we consider putting his wing over the Caverns,” Fiona said, her tone losing some of its levity. T’mar gave her a startled look and she continued, “We could perhaps change that later, but for the time being, that’s a good location for him—I mean, for his wing.”
“Around the back, toward the lake?” T’mar asked. He knew full well that there were choice locations in the Weyr and places no one wanted—being located just above the lake and the feeding pens was one of the least desired locations: noisy and noisome both. It was, traditionally, the place where irate Weyrleaders or Weyrwomen placed those who had earned their wrath.
“Perhaps not quite there,” Fiona said, pursing her lips. “Although that might not be a bad idea.”
“It’s far from the wine,” T’mar said.
“Then, by all means, whatever you think best, Weyrleader,” Fiona said in the blandest of tones.
T’mar glanced down toward F’jian and wondered what, exactly, the young bronze rider had done to annoy his lady so much that the Weyrwoman wanted revenge.
“I’ll have to think about it,” T’mar said after a long pause.
“Don’t think too long,” Fiona told him warningly. “Or if you must, talk with Shaneese first.”
“Shaneese?” T’mar asked in surprise. From the sound of it, Fiona had already conveyed her impressions to the headwoman and, to T’mar’s surprise, it was clear that Shaneese had emphatically agreed with her.
“I think it’s important that the lesson be well and truly learned,” Fiona said with a sour look.
“Should we do more?”
Fiona sighed and shook her head, leaning closer to T’mar to tell him, “No, it was a foolish mistake. I just want to make sure that he doesn’t consider repeating it.”
“I’ll talk to Shaneese then,” T’mar said making it clear in his tone that he considered that only a formality.
“Best do it before you come to bed,” Fiona said. T’mar gave her another surprised look. She pushed back from her chair, having finished her meal a while back, and called out to the group, “Dragonriders, Thread falls tomorrow and I must rest!”
The riders all rose dutifully and nodded to her, eyeing the Weyrleader warily. T’mar rose, too, giving his half-eaten dessert a quick, rueful glance before adding, “A good night’s sleep would serve us all well!”
The others needed no more hints and slowly the dragonriders finished eating and, in small groups, made their way from the Dining Cavern to their weyrs, some accompanied by other riders, some by werymates and family.
Fiona was waiting for him in his quarters.
“Kindan is spending the night with Lorana,” Fiona told him. “Xhinna and the others know to call Talenth or Tolarth if they’ve need.”
“And you?” T’mar asked, gesturing to his room.
Fiona smiled and cocked her head up at him. “I’d like to stay with you tonight.”
T’mar smiled. “I’ve learned that it’s never good to disappoint the Weyrwoman.”
Later, much later, as Fiona rested her head on his shoulder, she asked, “What are we going to do?”
“Do?”
“Every Fall we lose two more,” Fiona said with a sigh. “Sometimes more, sometimes less but, on average, two. And with seventy-two fighting dragons, that gives us less than thirty-six Falls.”
“Much less,” T’mar said. “Really, we can’t hope to fight with less than a full Flight.”
“You could time it,” Fiona said, nuzzling deeper into his shoulder.
“The casualties would increase.”
“So we don’t have the time,” Fiona said.
T’mar was silent: He had no answer for her.
“It can’t be like this,” Fiona said. “Our children should grow up in the Weyr, strong, happy, and healthy—”
“And be dragonriders?”
“If they wish,” Fiona said. “But we shouldn’t have to face the end of everything, the last dragon, the last rider, the last Weyr.” She shook her head. “That shouldn’t happen.”
“No, it shouldn’t,” T’mar said. Which didn’t change the fact that it would. Thirty-s
ix Falls would come in little more than four months—five at the most. It would take the weyrlings just hatched another twenty-three months at the least to mature and grow strong enough to join the Weyrs. “We could send them back in time.”
“The weyrlings?” Fiona guessed. “Where to? We can’t send them back to Igen, all the time there was used.”
“Southern?”
“We sent the fire-lizards there,” Fiona reminded him. “The dragons are cured now, but I don’t know if they couldn’t get sick again.” She paused in silent thought for a long while. When she moved again it was to prop herself up on one arm. She leaned forward and kissed T’mar gently on the lips.
“You’ve a Fall tomorrow, you shouldn’t be worrying,” she said before bending back down to tease his lips once more.
Fiona woke early, eyes narrowed, inhaling deeply of the morning air: Something disturbed her. With a tender glance at T’mar, she shifted the blankets and quickly rose out of bed. She slid her feet into her slippers, found the robe she’d left at the end of the bed, shrugged it over her shoulders, and felt around for the small glowbasket at the front of the bed. Its light was weak and in need of recharging, which suited her as she only needed it to provide her with a clear view of her path into Zirenth’s lair.
The big bronze was sleeping, his breath coming in slow, steady waves. Clearly he was no more disturbed than T’mar. Fiona crept quietly past him, leaving the unnecessary glow at the weyr’s exit.
She stood there in silence, her senses stretched, trying to locate the cause of her worry. Frowning, she turned her head toward her own weyr, and listened. Her eyebrows rose in surprise as she recognized a noise closer, coming from Terin’s new weyr.
The sound was an odd mix and it was only when she ducked away from a sudden gust of dust that Fiona could make sense of it: Terin was sweeping Kurinth’s lair and muttering—no, crying—to herself.
“Terin?” Fiona called softly, having stepped away to avoid another cloud of dust.
The younger weyrwoman stopped sweeping and muttering abruptly. A moment later she spoke, sounding miserable. “Fiona?”
Fiona entered the lair and saw that poor Kurinth was huddled in one far corner, her eyes whirling a distressed red as she eyed her mate with alarm. Fiona stepped forward briskly and grabbed the broom from Terin’s hands. The youngster looked up at her in surprise, her lower lip quivering. Even in the dim light, Fiona could tell that she’d been crying: Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks tear-streaked.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Terin confessed miserably. She gave Fiona an anxious look as she added, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Come here,” Fiona said, turning toward Terin’s darkened quarters as she reached for the younger girl’s hand. She led them to Terin’s bed and sat down, pulling the young weyrwoman down beside her. She pulled Terin’s head onto her shoulder and held it, stroking the young dragonrider’s soft red-blond hair soothingly. “Talk.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Terin repeated. When Fiona remained patiently silent, she added, “I kept thinking of him.” She lifted her head off Fiona’s shoulder and turned her head up to face her, her eyes flashing dimly in the low light. “He got drunk because he’s afraid,” she said, her voice miserable. She choked back a sob before continuing, “He’s afraid he’s going to die. Or worse.”
“Worse: See all those around him die first,” Fiona guessed.
Terin’s eyes widened in surprise even as she breathed, “Yes.”
“Well, we’ve over four Wings’ worth of weyrlings between the five Weyrs and more to come,” Fiona reminded her in a light voice. “That’ll—”
“I’m sorry Fiona, but that won’t be enough,” Terin interrupted firmly. “I can do the sums, and even if somehow we could bring them all back in time and have them grow up, that would still be nearly two thousand dragons too few to save Pern.”
“Well,” Fiona said, turning to a different tack, “with your queen and the pair we’ve got already, we’ll have easily another four Wings from them in a Turn.”
“And in two Turns, they’ll be able to fight Thread,” Terin replied, shaking her head.
“We’ll think of something.”
“What?” Terin demanded. “And will it be soon enough to save F’jian?”
“Or T’mar,” Fiona added, allowing a bitter tone to creep into her voice. “Or H’nez. Or C’tov, even.”
Terin was surprised at her tone.
“Go find him, go talk to him,” Fiona said, rising from the bed and dragging the younger girl with her. “There are never any guarantees in life, Terin. The only things we can hold are the memories we’re given.”
“I’m not ready to—”
“I’m not saying that!” Fiona cut her off with a snort. “But if you’re hurting this much just worrying about him, then you at least owe it to him to let him know that.”
“Okay,” Terin said reluctantly. She paused as they entered Kurinth’s lair and turned to her queen, kneeling down and stroking the dragonet lovingly. “I’d better feed her first.”
“No!” Fiona said. “Don’t dawdle! I’ll feed her, if she’s willing.” She paused, smiling down at the pretty little queen. “Or I’ll ask Lorana, if she prefers.” She turned back to the entrance and jerked a thumb toward it. “Go! Go now.”
“What if he’s asleep?” Terin asked, temporizing.
“You’ll figure it out,” Fiona said, turning back to Kurinth and putting the young queen rider out of her sight. She remained in that position, assuming Terin’s squatting position to rub the young queen’s eye ridges until she heard Terin scamper away. To the young queenling she apologized, “She’s really a good choice, you know.”
Yes, Kurinth agreed, angling her neck so that Fiona could reach the itchiest patch.
“You’ll be big before you know it,” Fiona promised, surprised at how small the recently hatched queen seemed to her own Talenth.
Yes, I know, Kurinth said. Fiona wondered at the dragon’s certainty and shrugged; it was probably just youth and an intense desire to have that particular itch scratched.
How long they remained like that, exchanging words for caresses, Fiona didn’t know or care. She only turned away from the young queen when she heard sounds behind her outside the weyr.
“Well?” Fiona asked as she turned, expecting to see Terin return with a broad grin on her face.
It wasn’t Terin she saw. It was Lorana. The older woman was looking out over the Weyr Bowl, looking up into the air with a quizzical expression.
“Lorana?” Fiona asked, making her way quickly to the ex–queen rider, unable to keep a tinge of worry from her voice.
“Mmm?” Lorana murmured, her eyes still focused skyward.
Fiona followed her gaze but could see nothing but the Weyr—brighter now in the morning sun. Dust, probably left over from Terin’s exertions hung in the air, flickering in the morning light.
“Are you all right?”
“Just looking,” Lorana returned dreamily. Fiona cocked her head in worry but said nothing, standing beside the older woman, ready if she needed help. She half-expected Lorana to collapse or something by the way she was staring so intently at the dust motes.
“What color are they?” Lorana asked suddenly.
“Color?”
“The specks,” Lorana said, half-raising a hand.
“It’s just dust, Lorana,” Fiona said, trying to keep her voice normal.
“Dust is usually brown, isn’t it?”
“On the ground, maybe,” Fiona said, wondering why Lorana found the topic so fascinating. “It sparkles like gold in the air, though.”
“Gold?” Lorana asked, cocking her head to one side critically.
“Well, goldy, I suppose,” Fiona allowed. “Or bronzy, maybe.”
“Mmm, bronze,” Lorana agreed. She dropped her head suddenly and turned to face Fiona, catching her eyes. There was no sign of any strangeness in them. “Could you and Talenth bring me to Benden? I want t
o talk with Ketan.”
“Ketan?” Fiona asked. “There’s a Fall today, Lorana, we’ve got to get ready soon.” She paused, adding, “And Benden’s got a Fall, too.”
“I know,” Lorana said. “If you could take me now, that would work, wouldn’t it?”
“Right now?”
“We could be changed in ten minutes,” Lorana said, glancing down at her robe and slippers with some surprise. “I really need to talk with Ketan.”
“Well …” Fiona temporized then said decisively, “All right. But we have to be careful.” She pointed to Lorana’s midriff.
“Three coughs only,” Lorana swore.
Kindan was already gone. Lorana explained that he had gone to rouse the weyrlings early and she’d escorted him as far as the weyr ledge. They dressed quickly even though Lorana found that, to her embarrassment, she had to have Fiona’s help.
“I expect I’ll be asking you to help me soon enough!” Fiona said as she laughed off the older woman’s discomfort.
Even so, they were ready in less than the ten minutes Lorana had promised. Fiona spent longer working with Talenth’s riding straps, partly because she still felt some misgivings over Lorana’s state of mind. She waved at T’mar, but the Weyrleader was busy with the preparations for the Fall.
Finally, she could delay no more. Talenth took up a position below the queens’ ledge, her forewing raised so that Lorana could climb aboard without difficulty. And then Fiona was on and Talenth stepped away from the ledge, bugled a challenge to the whole Weyr, took one leap and was between.
They appeared again over Benden Weyr moments later even as Fiona was still berating herself for letting the queen set such a bad example by going between so close to the ground. Her worries and shame vanished as the Benden watch dragon challenged them and Talenth roared in response. Her bellow was greeted by a rousing chorus from the Weyr Bowl even as she wheeled sharply and spun her way down to the ground, Fiona crying in pure joy at her queen’s wild maneuver.
Todd McCaffrey Page 49
