Dragongirl

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  “Shh!” Fiona whispered, gently rubbing his brow. “Close your eyes, you’ve got to rest, regain your strength.”

  “As you say, Weyrwoman.”

  She moved back then, thinking to call Bekka and Seban, but his hand tightened around hers once more, begging.

  “Rest, and I’ll stay with you a bit longer,” she told him softly. “You’ve had a nasty fall, near smashed your skull. You might have headaches or worse, so rest easy.”

  Again, his hand tightened on hers in an unspoken plea.

  With a sigh, Fiona relented, not too reluctantly, and resumed her examination of his tanned face, looking more lively now with just the slight animation that his consciousness provided it.

  They remained that way until she heard the noise of Zirenth’s return and, not without misgivings, had Talenth send for Bekka and Seban.

  Footsteps, a pair of them, approached from Zirenth’s weyr and when a hand reached gently for her shoulder, she reached up behind her and clasped it gratefully.

  “He woke,” she said quietly, even as Kindan came into view at her side. “He spoke.”

  “That’s good,” Kindan said, sounding weary.

  “I’ve sent for Seban and Bekka,” she told them. She smiled at the fatigue in Kindan’s voice. “You two should get some rest, timing it is very exhausting.”

  Lorana snorted humorously. “To say nothing of mating flights!”

  The sound of another two sets of feet, one quicker and softer than the other, heralded the arrival of Seban and Bekka.

  “He woke?” Seban asked as he joined them. Fiona nodded. Seban gestured to her politely and, reluctantly, she released T’mar’s hand and stood back, allowing Bekka and Kindan to examine him.

  Kindan’s face was lined with more than exhaustion when he was finished.

  Fiona met his eyes demandingly and the older man gave her an astonished look in response. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Kindan said. “I’d like to send for Tintoval.”

  Talenth? Are you up for a flight? Fiona asked her dragon. We should pay our respects to Melirth and Cisca.

  Talenth’s response was an enthusiastic, Of course!

  “I’ll see if she’ll come,” Fiona told him. She nodded to him and Lorana. “You two should get some rest—”

  “A bath first,” Lorana said wistfully.

  “Just be careful not to fall asleep in it,” Fiona warned. “Timing it can make you that tired.”

  Lorana raised an eyebrow in surprise, then nodded compliantly when she saw that Fiona was deadly serious.

  Fiona was still so concerned with their weariness that she put off her departure until they were both safely in bed.

  “Are you going to tuck us in?” Kindan teased sleepily.

  Fiona shook her head silently, her face going red. She quietly put on her riding gear, went to Talenth’s weyr, put on and double-checked the riding straps, and then urged her queen out to the queens’ ledge.

  Talenth was glad of the exercise, even though Fiona could feel that the gold had some muscles that were still sore from the previous day’s exertions. To warm her up, Fiona had Talenth do a slow, lazy circuit above the Weyr before fixing the image of Fort Weyr firmly in her mind and giving Talenth the order to go between.

  The cold of between was a tonic to Fiona, seeming to banish all the nagging thoughts that had been quietly demanding her attention. She counted slowly to herself, one, two, three—

  And burst out above Fort Weyr without any bother. The watch dragon challenged her and Talenth bugled a response, the watch rider waving at her. Fiona waved back, surprised to see V’lex again, even though it hadn’t yet been a fortnight since their return from their journey back in time to Igen Weyr.

  Fiona smiled to herself as she remembered the mating flight of V’lex’s green Sarinth; the first mating flight she’d ever experienced after her Impression of Talenth. Beneath her, Talenth rumbled in amusement.

  Soon, you’ll be a mother, Fiona thought to her queen with a mixture of pride and teasing.

  I’ll clutch, Talenth corrected her, adding wistfully, maybe there will be a queen egg.

  Or two!

  Two would be more, Talenth observed abstractedly. All the same, Fiona understood her dragon’s meaning: While two would be good, it would be more than Talenth could imagine.

  It was another question for the Records, Fiona thought as she guided Talenth in a spiral down to the Weyr Bowl below. Did queens ever produce two gold eggs in the same Hatching?

  The thought of two queen eggs hardening on the Hatching Sands brought another thought—would Lorana stand again? Briefly Fiona entertained the notion of Lorana dragon-borne, smiling and waving as she soared on a beautiful gold. Or would it hurt too much?

  Fiona pushed the question from her mind, uncertain of how much of her thoughts were shared with Lorana.

  “Lady Fiona!” a woman’s voice came to her from across the Bowl, toward the Dining Cavern. Fiona turned in time to see an older woman bearing down on her. She was familiar, Fiona realized, her mind straining to match the features and then—

  “Merika!” Fiona called in response. “How are you? I’m sorry that I’ve been monopolizing Bekka but she’s—”

  “Ah, you’ve been doing me a favor,” Merika said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Her expression changed as she added feelingly, “Not to mention the good it’s done her father.”

  “But I’m sure that you miss her.”

  “I do,” Merika said with a savage nod. “I miss her every day and I send a special thought her way.” She straightened. “But she’s doing good, as you say, and good for her father.” Her eyes danced as she added, “And for all that I love her, and she’s the youngest of my four, she’s worse than a nest of tunnel snakes some days.”

  “Which is probably why she’s so dear to my heart,” Fiona said. “I made a fair number of marks hunting tunnel snakes.”

  “I thought you two were well-matched,” Merika said in a tone which indicated that that had been a part of her willingness to let her youngest go to Telgar. “And I’d be doing both of you a disservice if I didn’t admit that I was much the same at the same age.” She smiled as she added, “After all, it takes a fair bit of flirting to catch the eyes of a blue rider, duty or no!”

  “Well, I know for certain that Seban loves his daughter,” Fiona said, not certain how to deal with the question of blue riders and their duty.

  Merika nodded wisely. “‘Love knows love,’” she recited. “Or perhaps it should be: love loves love.”

  The phrase echoed thrillingly down Fiona’s spine. “Yes, that about sums it up between them.”

  Merika brought a finger to her nose as though sharing a secret. “And not just them, for all the word’s been.”

  Fiona was startled to think that her exploits were the talk of the Weyr and then, on reflection, somewhat pleased. “It seems that I’m in good company,” she teased the older woman.

  Merika chuckled. “It’s not for nothing that they made up that saying about love knowing love.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “You’ll be looking for the Weyrleader or the Weyrwoman?” Merika said, glancing toward the senior queen’s weyr.

  “Actually, I’m hoping to get Tintoval for a consultation,” Fiona said. She smiled toward the queen’s weyr. “I imagine that Lady Cisca probably won’t want to be disturbed.”

  “Probably,” Merika agreed, her eyes dancing once more. “It was quite a mating flight.” She leaned in closer as she confided, “I wasn’t sure if Melirth was ever going to come close enough to any dragon to mate. After all, she’d just risen not a sevenday before!”

  “The Igen Records said that it happens sometimes, especially when there are other mating flights that day. A second flight gives plenty of eggs,” Fiona said.

  “Indeed,” Merika said. “But it seemed for the longest time that Melirth was torn between Rineth and Zirenth.”

  “If so, I’m glad to h
ear it,” Fiona said. “T’mar regained consciousness.” Briefly, she told the older woman of T’mar’s injuries and their worries.

  “Perhaps that was it, perhaps Melirth was encouraging him to recover,” Merika said, although she didn’t sound convinced. “And by the First Egg, we’ve never heard of one bronze rider being Weyrleader to two Weyrs!” She shook her head and chuckled, “Awkward, that’d be.”

  “Awkward indeed,” Fiona said, wondering if such a thing had ever occurred in all the Records. Once again, she regretted the necessity that kept the Records of the Weyrs separate. She wondered how much more could be gleaned from reading the Records of all the Weyrs combined? She pushed the thought from her mind, returning to her present issue.

  “Is Ellor about?”

  “You’d find her in the Dining Cavern if she is,” Merika said. She gestured toward the far end of the Weyr. “I’ve got to check on Perilla, the mating flight’s probably brought on her contractions.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “Shards, no, Weyrwoman!” Merika said with a laugh. “I’ve been doing this for Turns now, since before you were born. I’ll manage.”

  And with that, the older woman continued on her way, leaving Fiona behind, shaking her head at the similarities between mother Merika and daughter Bekka.

  As predicted, Fiona found Ellor in the Dining Cavern, bending over a pot gently simmering and ordering the attendant to add more spices.

  “There’ll be a lot of hungry mouths here later on!” Ellor said. To herself she muttered, “And no one can say when they’ll wander in.”

  She looked up at the sound of Fiona’s footsteps, her expression cloudy, her lips pursed for an angry outburst only to burst into a huge grin when she recognized the Weyrwoman.

  “Fiona!” Ellor said, rushing forward to crush the younger woman in a tight hug. She pushed herself away, gripping Fiona’s shoulders as she examined her. “I swear by the First Egg, you’ve grown a full hand since I last saw you and that not even a sevenday ago.” She shook her head. “They must be feeding you well at Telgar, and well they should, after all they’ve been through and you’ve done for them.”

  “Ellor!” Fiona said, more to find the time to regain her breath and her thoughts than for any chiding. She laughed, saying, “They’ve been most kind to me at Telgar. Shaneese is the headwoman and she’s quite something.”

  Ellor’s lips pursed disapprovingly. “I’ve heard of her,” she said shortly. “She’s got trader’s blood, hasn’t she?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with trader’s blood,” Fiona rebuked her softly. “And, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m beholden to traders for my time in Igen.”

  Ellor allowed her frown to fade. “Of course you are,” she said. “Not that they didn’t profit from the encounter, by all rights.”

  “Profit was had by all,” Fiona agreed. “And is there harm in that? The Weyrs work to the profit of Pern by providing protection; our wares cannot be bartered, should we frown upon those whose can?”

  Ellor shook her head, her expression mulish as she admitted, “No, I suppose we can’t.”

  She looked up and met Fiona’s eyes squarely. “Why, you certainly have your father’s way about you to shame me in my own hearth.”

  “I don’t mean to shame you,” Fiona said soothingly. “I merely wish to be fair.”

  “Fair!”

  “And it’s not that you aren’t, Ellor,” Fiona hastened to add. “If it weren’t for you—”

  “What?”

  “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know half of what I know about running a Weyr,” Fiona told her. “Not to mention how to cook.”

  “Ah, hungry, are you?” Ellor asked, relieved to find the conversation turning to matters closer to her mind.

  “I am,” Fiona said, surprised at the admission. “It’s been a strenuous”—she ignored Ellor’s accusing chuckle—“several days and I’ve not eaten as well as I should.” She raised a finger and waggled it at the headwoman. “But don’t tell Shaneese, she’d be desolate after all she’s done to feed me.”

  “Are you eating for two now?” Ellor asked.

  Fiona made a face. “I don’t know.”

  “It’d be early days yet,” Ellor agreed. She glanced up to Fiona’s eyes. “And perhaps you’ve enough on your plate with all that’s going on.”

  “I promise to tell you all, if you feed me,” Fiona said, glancing wistfully toward the nearest table.

  Ellor snorted once more and waved her to a chair. “For all that I’ve heard of Shaneese, even with your pining, I’d be addled not to know that she sets a good table, good enough that you wouldn’t be here just to be fed.” As she spoke, she bustled up a plate, soup bowl, and mug, and filled each, setting them and utensils in front of Fiona and gesturing for her to start eating. “What is it, then, that brings you here?”

  Predictably, the question was asked when Fiona had just swallowed. Fiona gave Ellor an apologetic look as she cleared her throat. “T’mar’s conscious. I want Tintoval to check on him.”

  Ellor pursed her lips thoughtfully before responding. “You’ll bring her back?”

  Fiona gave her a look of surprised hurt in reply.

  “It’s just that so many people seem to stay in your wake once attracted,” Ellor said, working hard to keep her expression neutral. “Lorana, Kindan, even that weyrwoman from High Reaches, Jeila.”

  “I think Jeila chose Telgar more for H’nez than me.”

  Ellor shook her head. “And why do you think H’nez is at Telgar?”

  The question caught Fiona off balance. “He’d been fighting with K’lior, he wanted to be posted to another Weyr.”

  “All true,” Ellor said, clearly believing none of those reasons to be the principal one.

  “I’ve no love for H’nez!”

  “No,” Ellor said. “And I’m sure he knows that, too.”

  “So why would he want to be at Telgar?”

  Ellor sighed, clearly debating something with herself before deciding to say, “Because you are good for him

  “Fiona raised her eyebrows in response.

  Ellor gave her a quick grin. “Sometimes, even when we don’t want to admit it, we know that someone has something we can learn from them.”

  “H’nez can learn from me?”

  Ellor nodded. “And you can learn from him.”

  “He’s not without his strengths,” Fiona admitted reluctantly. “And Jeila seems a good judge of character.”

  “And while I’ve never known him not to be a bit bullheaded, H’nez is perceptive enough to know his weaknesses,” Ellor said. “And driven enough to strive to remove them.”

  “I certainly see ‘driven,’” Fiona said, taking a sip of her klah.

  Ellor smiled in agreement. Deftly changing the subject, she asked, “And how long do you think you’ll need our Tintoval’s services?”

  “How about if I promise to have her back in time for dinner—unless there’s an emergency?”

  And so it was agreed. Fiona found Tintoval in her quarters and the healer was more than willing to accompany her, on one condition: “I want us to stop at the Healer Hall and see if Masterhealer Betrony has any journeymen or apprentices he’d like to have consult on this.”

  Fiona grinned. “Thinking of educating the next generation?”

  “That,” Tintoval conceded, adding with a grin, “and perhaps to tantalize some with the allure of Weyr life.”

  “Well, anything that gets me more healers is all to the good!” Fiona said, adding, “But, as I recall, there were three apprentices sent there from Fort Weyr.”

  “There were, and I’ve made sure that Cisca and K’lior know how grateful we are for it,” Tintoval replied. “They’re able, too, but they’ve a ways to go before they’ll walk the tables.”

  They stopped briefly at the Healer Hall. Fiona had just enough time to look wistfully toward her father’s Hold before Masterhealer Betrony packed Talenth with three journeymen—two men
and one woman, all older than Fiona—and sent them on their way.

  “They’ve never been between before,” he warned Fiona just before she mounted. He smiled at her; he’d been one of the healers who’d tended her many scrapes as a youngster, so they were well acquainted.

  “I’ll be careful with them,” Fiona said. She paused, thinking of Bekka. “And Master—” Betrony gave her an expectant look “—would you be willing to take on another apprentice?”

  “How old is she?” Betrony asked, wryly guessing that Fiona’s candidate was a girl.

  “She has twelve Turns,” Fiona said. She saw Betrony’s look but forestalled him, “Her mother is one of Fort Weyr’s midwives, and her father was a dragonrider.”

  “Was?”

  “He lost his blue to the sickness,” she replied sadly. “I think it’s only her love of life that’s kept him going.”

  “So I’d be getting a package, eh? Father and daughter?”

  Fiona nodded; she hadn’t thought of it that way.

  “Is she as bad as you were?”

  “Worse; she doesn’t sleep,” Fiona said. The Masterhealer’s eyes widened in surprise. “She takes little naps from time to time.”

  “Oh, like our Tintoval,” Betrony said with a sideways look at the Weyr Healer. “Does she follow orders?”

  “She’s dutiful,” Fiona allowed. “But willful.”

  “And I’ve never dealt with that,” Betrony muttered sardonically, nodding toward Tintoval, who stuck her tongue out at him in response. Betrony snorted and shook his head. Then he turned to Fiona. “Where is she now?”

  “She’s at Telgar with me,” Fiona said. “And I’d need a replacement for her.”

  He nodded toward the healers. “Those are my best,” he told her. “I’d not let them go, only you say that she comes with her father.”

  “Seban,” Fiona agreed. “Between them, they know enough about healing to handle a Threadfall.”

  Betrony’s eyes widened in admiration. “Very well, if you wish, you may send her whenever you can spare her.”

  “Thank you!” Fiona said, turning back to Talenth.