“I wanted to thank you for what you’ve done,” Sonia told Lorana. “I’m sure you haven’t heard it enough yet.”
Fiona’s temper flared and her eyes flashed angrily as she thought that perhaps Lorana’s worries about the manners of senior Weyrwomen were not so misplaced after all.
“We appreciate your help, Weyrwoman,” Fiona spoke up, calling upon her memories of her father in his moments of diplomatic fury. “Is there anything we can provide you with or will you be returning to your Weyr for lunch?”
Sonia glanced at Fiona with a look of amusement before turning back to Lorana, and asking, “Is there anything we can get you?”
“Weyrwoman Fiona has already seen to my needs, thank you,” Lorana said, shifting her position to stand closer to Fiona, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“Sonia!” a voice shouted and a blur of a figure flung itself onto the dark-haired Weyrwoman. It was Jeila. She stepped back from the embrace quickly, saying, “It’s good to see you here!”
“Jeila,” Sonia said. “What brings you here?” Before Jeila could answer, the Weyrwoman guessed, “Tullea?”
“I asked for her to be here so that we could use Tolarth’s blood for the cure if necessary,” Lorana said. “Jeila did not feel well, so we had her stay the night here.”
“And where will you spend this night?” Sonia asked, cocking her head questioningly toward Jeila. The other weyrwoman’s eyes slid over to the Telgar riders, picking out H’nez.
Fiona was surprised by her own feelings when she noticed the other girl’s look—how dare she? Lorana’s hand tightened on her shoulder comfortingly while Fiona fought to control her jealousy—even as she sought to analyze the strength of the emotion. It wasn’t like her; she had no real feelings for H’nez—did she?
Sonia took in the tableau with one quick look and smiled. “Oh.”
Jeila flushed and met Sonia’s eyes with a suffused look on her face.
“Tolarth is close to rising,” Sonia said to Lorana by way of explanation.
“As is Fiona’s Talenth,” Lorana said.
Sonia held up a hand to Jeila. “Are you hoping to be Telgar’s senior?”
Jeila snorted and shook her head, her free hand moving behind her toward Fiona. “I would be happy to be Fiona’s second.”
“Really?” Sonia said, her tone prickly with surprise.
Fiona felt somewhat vindicated by Jeila’s declaration and Sonia’s sudden reappraisal, but before she could fully appreciate it, Sonia angled her head toward her and asked, “And do you feel ready to assume such a burden?” She examined Fiona critically from head to toe. “You seem rather young for it.”
“She was Weyrwoman at Igen,” Terin spoke up, having moved, unnoticed, toward the knot of weyrwomen.
“And you are …?” Sonia asked, her eyebrows raised demandingly.
“Terin was my headwoman,” Fiona said. She smiled at the younger girl before explaining to Sonia, “She’s a bit impetuous but she means well.”
“So you were her headwoman,” Sonia said. “And now?”
“I am,” Shaneese said, stepping forward, attracted by the same play of emotions that had attracted Terin. She bowed to Sonia. “We’ve met before, Weyrwoman.”
Sonia’s eyes narrowed as she strained for recognition, then she brightened. “Shaneese! Weren’t you Lina’s headwoman?”
“I was,” Shaneese said, a look of sadness crossing her face before she continued, “and now I’m Fiona’s.”
“I see,” Sonia said in a doubting tone. She made a tossing-away gesture with one hand, dismissing the issue, asking Shaneese, “Do we have some time for klah?”
“I could bring it here,” Shaneese offered, “or you could join us in the Dining Cavern.”
“Come to the Cavern, Weyrwoman,” Fiona said decisively, slipping her shoulder out from under Lorana’s hand and grabbing it with her own to urge the ex–queen rider to accompany her. “We still have plenty of time before the Threadfall and I’d like to show you something that you might find interesting.”
“Really?” Sonia repeated, clearly intrigued by Fiona’s excitement.
“I’ll stay here,” Jeila said, glancing at H’nez, who was making final arrangements with his wings. “Until they’re off.”
Fiona felt that Jeila was making her some sort of offer, but she couldn’t quite fathom it. She hesitated, feeling that perhaps she should wait, but Jeila waved her on. “I’ll keep watch for you, Weyrwoman.”
The dark-eyed woman’s declaration was so firm, so warm, that Fiona smiled once more in response, nodded in agreement, and led the others off toward the Dining Cavern.
Talenth, could you ask Mekiar to attend us? Fiona asked. Beside her, Lorana jerked and Fiona realized that the other woman had heard the exchange. She clenched Lorana’s hand in hers, her eyes darting up to Lorana’s, dancing with joy at the notion that the other woman could share her moments with her queen.
“Talenth enjoys company,” Fiona told her quietly.
“I know,” Lorana responded. Her tone sounded hesitant, shy.
“What?”
“I—” Lorana began, then cut herself short, shaking her head. “Nothing.”
Fiona felt Lorana’s desire to drop the matter and, out of her gratitude for the other woman’s sacrifices, decided not to press it even as her curiosity welled. Lorana, she was certain, was going to say something important, something that would answer a lot of Fiona’s questions. She felt Lorana’s hand twitch in hers and forced her thoughts into a different direction.
“This is amazing,” Sonia declared as Mekiar guided her through her first finished vase, her eyes wide with the delight her fingers were reporting as they shaped the clay. She glanced longingly at Fiona, then Mekiar. “How hard would it be to set up one of these?”
“I imagine you’d have to inquire of the Mastersmith,” Fiona guessed. “But Zellany may be amenable.”
“You mean, he owes you for those new flamethrowers,” Sonia observed.
“Actually, my lady,” Mekiar told Fiona demurely, “these pottery wheels are something we make here in Telgar.”
Fiona picked up on the other man’s undertones and her brows rose as she inquired, “And this is a Telgar craft secret?”
“Well,” Mekiar huffed, “not so much a secret as—”
“I understand,” Sonia said, sounding deflated. She turned her head up to Mekiar, who was standing above her seat. “Perhaps you’ll let me visit?”
“Weyrwoman,” Mekiar said, at a loss for further words.
“Nonsense!” Fiona declared firmly. “Mekiar, too many arts were lost in the Plague. This one clearly gives such pleasure that we would be churlish not to share it.”
Mekiar started to protest but Fiona forestalled him. “Weyrwoman Sonia clearly has a gift for this and will doubtless make many remarkable works that will command high trade, but there will always be a need for vases, for plates, for mugs, and I don’t doubt that the glazes and colorings that will be favored by High Reaches will be quite different from those favored by us here.”
Mekiar’s protests died in a sigh.
“I’m sure we can convince Pellar to search out clays,” Sonia suggested. “And we’d be willing to trade our clays and pigments for your wheels and expertise.”
“Weyrwoman,” Mekiar said, with a quizzical look toward Fiona, “it will be our pleasure.”
Beside them, Lorana murmured a grunt of agreement, lost in her own forming.
From behind Mekiar, Jeila coughed delicately. “Sonia? If you’re done, could I try?”
Sonia looked back down to her hands and the figure she was forming. “I’m not done yet.”
Jeila sighed in resignation.
“Weyrwoman,” Mekiar said, taking pity on her, “I believe we can set up another wheel before the day’s end.” He paused, adding, “Although if you’d like to try free-forming, you could work on the table over there.”
Mekiar strode over to the clay barrel and dug up a ni
ce lump of clay that he placed invitingly on a nearby table, arranging a pitcher of clean water close to hand.
Fiona giggled and, in explanation to all the heads turned to her in surprise, said, “Who would have thought that getting dirty could be so much fun?”
Sonia did not take her eyes off her work as she replied, “Me, for one.”
“Sonia!” Jeila exclaimed in a reproving tone. The High Reaches Weyrwoman snorted in delight at the younger woman’s outrage.
They’ve met the Benden riders, Talenth called suddenly, even as Tolarth and Lyrinth bugled loudly.
How are they doing? Fiona heard a voice ask Talenth. She glanced behind her to Lorana, who met her eyes with a wide-eyed look of amazement.
“You heard me!” Lorana said, her voice soft with shock. Fiona grabbed her hands and nodded her head.
Yes.
TWELVE
Chew stone,
Breathe fire.
Wheel, turn,
Fly higher.
Telgar Weyr, Threadfall, AL 508.2.11
With M’tal’s approval and encouragement, H’nez arranged his forty dragons into two light wings, with F’jian flying with him and T’mar leading the other. D’vin of High Reaches had asked the Telgar riders to fly above the High Reaches flights until they had taken over the Fall from Benden. However, H’nez had seen how poorly the tired Benden riders were faring against the Fall and committed his two wings early.
This Thread falls strangely, Ginirth remarked minutes into the Fall. H’nez agreed but was too strained, swiveling his head in all directions to respond. The Thread did indeed fall strangely, roiled by currents of warm air rising from the tops of the mountains.
A Telgar dragon, threadscored, cried in pain before going between.
Zirenth, Ginirth told him. T’mar was scored badly on the leg.
Have F’jian take over the other wing, H’nez said, turning around in his seat to spot F’jian and make a broad arm gesture to the same effect. The young rider pumped an arm in acknowledgment and his bronze Ladirth wheeled sharply out of formation to race toward the other, now leaderless wing.
Thread was falling strangely.
Lorana’s sharp intake of breath alerted Fiona just an instant before a cold prickle of dread coursed down her own spine.
“Come on!” she said, racing out of the Dining Cavern and into the Weyr Bowl.
On the far side of the Bowl, at her station near the Hatching Grounds, Terin looked up at Fiona’s form, shouting, “What is it? It’s too early!”
As if in answer, Talenth bugled loudly in warning and a bronze shape winked into existence.
“It’s T’mar!” Fiona cried, racing toward the injured pair even as she heard Lorana and Kindan following fast behind her.
“It doesn’t look too bad on this side,” Lorana called after Fiona.
“It’s his leg!” Terin called from her vantage point on his right side.
As though in response, T’mar raised his left hand to wave Fiona off—and that’s when his riding straps broke. He plunged off Zirenth’s right side.
With a cry of pure terror, Fiona put on an extra burst of speed. Terin, who was closer, was slower into motion, startled by the sudden turn of events.
Zirenth did what he could and sideslipped toward the Weyr walls in hopes of scooping up his fallen rider with his foreclaws.
The effort was well-intentioned but ill-timed. Instead of catching him, his foreclaw threw T’mar hard against the rock wall. The bronze rider went limp, bouncing off the stone to tumble toward the ground. Zirenth gave a heart-stopping cry.
Time seemed to stop for Fiona as she cried, Don’t let him go between!
She reached with all her energy toward the panic-stricken bronze dragon even as she stretched her legs and arms in frantic motion, making a desperate attempt to get under T’mar. Somewhere in her mind she knew there was no way she could possibly catch him—she was too far away, he was too large for her, she could never take his weight—but nothing seemed to matter but getting under him and cushioning his fall.
Zirenth sideslipped away from the wall, his wings clawing for air as he tried to gain enough altitude to go between, unable to sense life in T’mar’s body.
No! a voice cried. I won’t lose you!
Later, Fiona couldn’t say whose voice it was. She fervently added her strength to the cry even as she ran.
And then, as she saw T’mar’s legs pass her outstretched arms, she felt a hand touch her shoulder and she knew that she would catch him, alive or not. Energy coursed through the hand and into her; it redoubled again even as a voice shouted, Hold him! Don’t let him get away!
Fiona glanced upward and gripped Zirenth in her thoughts. The bronze dragon roared in agony and writhed in the air as though fighting off an entanglement, then gave another defiant bellow and angled his flight back down to the ground.
Time returned to normal as the weight of T’mar’s body fell full onto Fiona’s outstretched arms and, with a grunt of pain, she collapsed on the ground under him, his head and arms cradled on her lap.
“Don’t move,” Lorana ordered hoarsely.
“Are you all right?” Terin asked, her voice near hysterical.
Kindan! Fiona was surprised that she heard Lorana’s call, and then the harper arrived beside her and knelt over T’mar’s head. He examined it carefully, his eyes taking in everything before he moved his hands.
“We’ve got to get his headgear off,” Kindan said. Blood was on his hands and Fiona realized with a start that T’mar’s scalp was bleeding. She made to wipe it away but was halted by Kindan’s harsh, “Don’t move!”
Kindan turned to Terin. “Get scissors!”
Terin paused mid-stride, then turned and ran back to her station.
How is he?
“He’s breathing,” Kindan said, pointing to T’mar’s chest. “So he’s still alive.”
“Look at his leg!” It was Bekka. Fiona followed the youngster’s finger and was horrified to see that T’mar’s right leg was not only broken from the fall but also chewed up by Thread. She could see bone near the knee.
“Bekka, get your gear,” Fiona said. The girl nodded once and tore off to her station.
“I’m worried about his head and his neck,” Kindan said aloud. He glanced toward Fiona. “If his neck is broken, one wrong move will kill him.”
Fiona nodded, then checked the movement, afraid of jostling T’mar.
“Zirenth thought he was dead,” Lorana said, her words coming with great effort.
“Not yet,” Fiona said. She glanced toward Lorana. “How did you hold on to him?”
“I didn’t,” Lorana said in surprise. “I thought it was you.”
“I thought it was you,” Kindan said to Lorana. “You did much the same when you pulled Caranth back.”
“I felt like I was pulled this time,” Lorana said, glancing at Fiona.
“I didn’t think it was me,” Fiona repeated. “I thought it was you.”
Terin arrived with the scissors, and a moment later, Bekka returned with her aid bag.
“Terin, Lorana, hold his head steady while I do this,” Kindan said.
“What about his leg?” Bekka asked.
“Wait until I get his helmet off,” Kindan said. Gently, he cut along the top seam of the wher-hide helmet, peeling it slowly away from T’mar’s head. Fiona gasped when she saw what lay beneath it. “His skull’s been smashed.”
“Will he live?” Fiona could see the white of his skull amid the freely-flowing blood, could see thin lines where the bone had cracked, but otherwise, the wound did not look as bad as others she had seen. She had never dealt with a head wound like this. If it had been his leg, she’d have given him a month before trying him on crutches.
Kindan pursed his lips. “It will depend upon him. He’s been concussed; he might be in a coma.”
“That would explain Zirenth’s behavior,” Lorana said. “He couldn’t hear T’mar, so he assumed the worst.”
“If Zirenth had gone between, T’mar wouldn’t have survived,” Kindan said.
“So what do we do?” Fiona asked.
“All we can do is wrap the wound and keep an eye on him.”
“We should get him to the Healer Hall,” Fiona said.
“I don’t think he’d survive the trip between.”
“Then we should get a healer here,” Fiona said. She gave Bekka an apologetic look as she added, “Someone who could help Bekka in her learning.”
“Perhaps Ketan would come?” Lorana suggested to Kindan. The harper pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“Perhaps.”
“Get a stretcher and let’s get him to the infirmary,” Lorana said.
“No, put him in the empty queen’s weyr,” Fiona said. The other two looked at her. “Zirenth will want to be near him and the stretcher-bearers can negotiate the queens’ ledge easily enough.”
“I’ll get a stretcher,” Lorana said, standing up, pausing only long enough to say to Fiona, “when I come back, I want you to take a cold bath—you strained all the muscles in your arms and back.”
“I’ll show you where the stretchers are,” Bekka said, trotting along after her.
It was only when Lorana mentioned it that Fiona thought to take stock of her own injuries and she realized that the other woman was absolutely right. Ruefully, she asked herself, “Does she boss weyrwomen around all the time?”
“Usually,” Kindan said with a grin. Fiona’s eyes widened in surprise.
Lorana was back moments later with Bekka, two sturdy weyrfolk, and a stretcher. Between her, them, Kindan, and Fiona, they managed to gently place T’mar in the stretcher, his neck braced, leg straight.
Zirenth, we’re putting T’mar in the other queen’s weyr, Fiona called. Ahead of her, Lorana snorted, turned her head and said, “I told him already.”
“You heard me talking to him, too?” Fiona asked in surprise.
“Of course.”
“I thought you just heard dragons.”
“Usually I do,” Lorana said with a bemused look.
They reached the start of the ledge and conversation stopped as they carefully negotiated it and their way through the empty lair to the quarters beyond. T’mar was delicately moved from the stretcher onto the empty bed.
Dragongirl Page 18
