Dragongirl

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  No, you’re not, Fiona replied testily, you’re showing off.

  Talenth answered with a chagrined silence.

  Fiona relented and patted the golden neck hard before loosening her grip on her straps and sliding down Talenth’s foreleg to the ground below. Off you go, have fun!

  Talenth sauntered off, taking a quick leap to cup the evening air beneath her wings and glide slowly in the darkness. She was joined shortly after by Zirenth, who flew protectively at her side.

  “Well, she’s enjoying herself!” Zenor’s deep voice exclaimed in the night air.

  With a yelp of joy, Fiona raced to the sound of his voice and threw herself into his arms. “Zenor!”

  “Hey, easy there!” the red-haired holder declared as he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re not as small as you once were and I’ve ten more Turns to my name.”

  “Indeed you do,” Kindan said. “You’re practically gray with age.”

  “Kindan!” Zenor exclaimed, unceremoniously dropping Fiona to race over to his lifelong friend. He paused long enough to pull Fiona back to her feet and along with him, adding, “So have you discovered the identity of your secret admirer?”

  “I have,” Kindan said. He gestured toward Lorana on his other side. “And this is Lorana.”

  “Ah?” Zenor said in surprise. “And …”

  “It’s complicated,” Kindan said.

  “Only to confused harpers,” Lorana said, reaching a hand forward to Zenor who shook it absently.

  “Zirenth flew Talenth,” Fiona said by way of exclamation.

  “But we’d heard that T’mar was injured.” A new voice, Nuella’s, joined in the conversation.

  “He was,” Lorana said, turning toward the approaching woman who was led by a young girl who was easily recognizable as her daughter.

  “Zirenth would have gone between except that Lorana and Kindan restrained him,” Fiona said.

  “And you,” Lorana said. “It took the three of us.”

  “The three of you?” Zenor said.

  “And so when Zirenth flew Talenth … oh!” Nuella said, her expression brightening. “Then congratulations are due all around, aren’t they?”

  “I think so,” Lorana said. She glanced at Kindan. “Some of us are still adjusting to the reality.”

  “Shards, Kindan!” Zenor said, his eyes going wide. “Only you would have partnered with the two most amazing women on Pern!”

  “Present company excluded, of course,” Kindan added with a half-bow toward Nuella.

  “He bowed at you, Momma,” the girl said.

  “I know, Nalla,” Nuella assured her daughter easily. “He learned manners at the Harper Hall.”

  “He’s the one who gave you your first watch-wher, isn’t he?” Nalla asked.

  “Yes, he did,” Nuella told her patiently. Only the adults heard the pain in her voice.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Fiona said, rushing forward to hug Nuella and discovering, in surprise, that she was taller than the wher-handler.

  “I was hoping you’d come tonight,” Nuella said in agreement.

  “She had Sula lay out some dainties,” Nalla declared eagerly.

  “Sula’s dainties?” Kindan asked. He turned to Lorana and Fiona, saying, “You really have to try Sula’s dainties.”

  “I have,” Fiona reminded him. She added to Lorana, “Remind me to see if we can pry the recipe from her.”

  “That good?” Lorana asked.

  “That good,” Kindan agreed, gesturing them forward.

  “We’re here to talk about the Threadfall tomorrow,” Fiona said as they made their way into the hold.

  Nuella nodded. “So I’d guessed.”

  Quickly, Fiona brought them up to date with the news.

  “J’lantir?” Nuella exclaimed in delight when Fiona mentioned his arrival. She gave Fiona an approving look, then turned to Kindan, saying, “She certainly has a way of attracting the best, doesn’t she?”

  “She does,” Kindan said when he recalled that Nuella could not see his nod.

  “See?” Lorana said triumphantly to Fiona. “Everyone notices.”

  Fiona blushed in embarrassment.

  Seated in the comfort of Nuella’s quarters, even as Sula distracted Nalla and the younger Zelar, Lorana explained her plan to Nuella.

  “You can speak to any dragon?” Zenor said, his eyes going wide with surprise as he absorbed the notion.

  “She can feel them, too,” Kindan told his old friend, with a dour look.

  “Oh,” Zenor said, his face falling. “That could be … must have been … painful.”

  Lorana nodded in response.

  “What’s important now,” Fiona said, with a sympathetic look toward her friend, “is that Lorana has offered to coordinate between dragons and watch-whers.”

  “Can you speak with the watch-whers, too?” Nuella asked.

  In response, Lorana grew still with the inward look of one communing mentally. A moment later she looked up and smiled even as a surprised squawk echoed in from the night air. “Yes, I think I can!”

  “Yes, you can,” Nuella agreed, adding wistfully, “Nuellask says she’s never heard a voice like yours before.”

  “You don’t suppose you could teach Nuella …?” Fiona asked hopefully.

  Lorana shook her head. “I wouldn’t know where to begin,” she replied, frowning as she glanced thoughtfully at Fiona, “but maybe you could.”

  “Me?”

  “Why not?” Zenor said. “You’re full of surprises

  “Fiona grumbled irritatedly.

  “You can hear my thoughts,” Lorana reminded her.

  “And you could plant images in my mind,” Nuella added hopefully.

  Fiona shook her head. “Anyone could do that,” she told Nuella, turning to Lorana and adding, “And you taught me how to hear your thoughts. I’m nothing special.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Nuella and Lorana said in unison.

  “And I agree,” Zenor said. “But Thread will not wait. Perhaps we should consider the issue at hand.”

  “I suppose,” Nuella said, still wistful with the thought of communicating more closely with her watch-wher. She shook herself, dismissing the thought from her mind. “So you are here to coordinate on tomorrow’s Fall.”

  “Indeed,” Kindan said. “Given that Lorana can talk with any dragon—”

  “Or watch-wher,” Fiona added.

  “Or watch-wher,” Kindan accepted the correction with a nod, continuing, “we think it’d be best if we coordinated through her.”

  “Aren’t the next four Falls all night Falls?” Zenor asked, nodding toward Nuella. “That’s what we’ve heard here.”

  Lorana and Fiona glanced expectantly toward Kindan, who frowned in thought, his lips moving silently. After a moment he nodded, saying, “Telgar, Fort, and High Reaches twice.”

  “High Reaches flies tomorrow,” Fiona said.

  “It does, but the sun sets later there so the Fall will last from mid-afternoon to late evening there,” Kindan told her.

  “Up to the twenty-first hour,” Nuella agreed. “And then their next one actually starts the day before—on the twenty-third, falling through into the twenty-fourth.”

  “For some reason,” Zenor said with a droll grin toward Kindan, “the Threadfall charts are all based on Benden time.”

  Kindan shrugged and grinned in response.

  “It’s only natural,” Nuella said. “That’s where you were posted.”

  “You know,” Zenor said, stroking his chin, “if you and Lorana are going to fly this first night Fall, it might make sense for you to fly all of them.”

  Fiona gasped in surprise.

  “It makes sense,” Zenor told her. “Lorana can speak to any dragon. Her coordination will help save lives—dragon and watch-wher alike.”

  “If you’re going to do that,” Fiona said, turning to Lorana and then Nuella, “then Nuella should ride with you.”

  “
What?” Nuella barked.

  “Lorana can’t talk to you directly by mind but your ears work well enough,” Fiona said.

  “Besides, with Kindan’s eyes, you’ll not need worry about more threadscore,” Zenor added hastily, giving Fiona a grateful wink.

  “Can Zirenth manage three?” Kindan asked.

  “Of course,” Lorana said with staunch loyalty for her surrogate mount.

  It would be an honor to carry the WherMaster, Zirenth declared with an accompanying rumble from outside.

  Nuella’s face lit with a smile, making it clear to Fiona that the bronze’s announcement had been made to all present.

  “Well!” Fiona said. “When Zirenth speaks, it’s foolish to argue.”

  So it was arranged. Fiona tried her hardest to convert her worry and disappointment into a method of acquiring Sula’s recipe for dainties, but she was thwarted and made the return trip to Telgar in frustrated silence.

  “That’s excellent news!” J’lantir said. He glanced at Kindan and Lorana, confiding, “I’d been most concerned about our coordination with the watch-whers.” He paused before adding wistfully, “We at Ista have never had a chance to work with them.”

  “Well, you’ll get it tonight,” Fiona said, her tone grumpy. Her worry for Kindan and Lorana increased with each passing moment.

  J’lantir frowned and looked over at H’nez. “This is going to be a difficult Fall, even with the aid.”

  “How so, sir?” H’nez asked. Fiona was surprised to hear the amount of respect in the usually self-possessed bronze rider and leaned forward to better hear J’lantir’s answer.

  “We’ll be flying into the setting sun,” J’lantir said. “It may make it much harder to spot Thread.”

  “It could also light it up,” H’nez countered.

  “Or both,” Fiona said. She turned to J’lantir. “I see your point. With such conditions a rider could get too self-assured, especially with the falling chill of night to dull the senses.”

  “Indeed,” J’lantir said. “And I’m concerned that it may not be dark enough for the watch-whers to use their abilities.”

  “Or even to fly,” H’nez said, his face set in a grim frown.

  “What can we do, then?” Fiona asked, feeling more desperate than before.

  “Fly Thread,” H’nez answered simply.

  “Hope for the best,” J’lantir said in agreement. He took a long sip of his klah and toyed with the eggs on his plate before saying to H’nez, “If anything happens to me, you lead.”

  “Yes sir,” H’nez said and for once Fiona could tell that the bronze rider held no joy in the thought of leading the Weyr.

  “You’ve done a good job,” Fiona said as she inspected the set of the riding straps on Zirenth’s neck and shoulder. “You’ve room enough for four sacks of firestone and yet you’ll all be secure in your mount.”

  Kindan nodded. “I should, for all the times I’ve been made to inspect weyrlings.”

  “Just part of your training, love,” Lorana assured him with a smile that she extended with a nod toward Fiona. Fiona answered it with the same look, causing Kindan to mutter, “You’d think you’ve got my egg all picked out.”

  “I haven’t,” Fiona said, her eyes dancing as she jerked a hand toward her weyr and the sleeping Talenth, “she has.”

  Kindan snorted in amusement, a sound that died quickly as he began his climb up to his place on the great bronze dragon’s neck. He reached a hand down to Lorana, who climbed quickly to her place behind him, leaving the rearmost position for Nuella.

  “Don’t hurt my dragon!” T’mar bellowed from his bed, forcing good cheer into his voice.

  “We’ll do our best,” Kindan called back in promise.

  “Fly safe,” Fiona said, looking up at the pair of them. “I need you back.”

  Kindan said nothing, Lorana nodded gravely in response, and then Zirenth moved away from the ledge, into the Bowl proper, took a leap, cupped air, rose swiftly above the gathering dragons, up to the Star Stones, and was gone, between.

  “I’ve got to get better,” T’mar grumbled from his bed. Fiona cast one last glance at the after-image of the bronze dragon and his riders, then turned to march briskly back into T’mar’s quarters.

  “You will,” she assured him, “if you are willing to rest.”

  “By the First Egg,” T’mar swore, “I’ve never known anything harder!”

  “Fly well!” Fiona called to J’lantir less than half an hour later as the last of the assembled wings made ready to take to the air. Above them the other five wings of Telgar Weyr circled, ready and eager for the night’s fight.

  “We’ll see you in three hours’ time,” J’lantir said. “We hand off the Fall to High Reaches over Nabol.”

  Fiona knew this and she was certain that J’lantir knew she knew this, so she gathered that the flightleader was making the announcement for the benefit of the knots of weyrfolk gathered around the outskirts of the Bowl to see off the fighting dragons.

  This was only the second Fall since the disastrous time when D’gan and all the dragonriders of the Weyr were lost. Fiona could understand that they were naturally anxious, particularly as in the first Fall since then, their new Weyrleader, T’mar, had been seriously injured.

  She could sense the feelings of anticipation and worry and fought to keep them from settling on her, too.

  “Good flying!” Fiona called loudly, waving J’lantir and the last wing into flight.

  The dragons rose gracefully, assumed their position at the head of the upper Flight, and, together, one hundred and eighty-five dragons disappeared between. To Thread. To battle.

  “It will get darker soon,” Lorana assured Nuella as they followed slowly behind the fighting dragons, gouts of flame marking their progress in the battle against Thread. The dragonriders had been fighting for more than an hour, with only two more hours left before they would meet with the High Reaches riders above Nabol Hold.

  Even so, the fight had been difficult. For Lorana, who felt as well as saw the carnage, the first loss was the most shocking, as she saw the small blue and his rider engulfed from behind by a clump of Thread that had been hidden in the gloam of the dusky night air—invisible one moment, mortal the next. She had cried out in unison with the tormented blue, had known that the small dragon had received its deathblow and then—he was gone, forever, between.

  Nuella had wrapped her arms around her and buried her head against her spine in comfort while Kindan had tried his best to turn in his perch to console her.

  “Keep flying!” Lorana had told him. “I’ll recover.”

  “Yes, you will!” Nuella had agreed fervently, sitting back enough to rub Lorana’s shoulders in a soothing motion.

  Moments later a brown cried out and disappeared, but winked back into the fight, having frozen off an assaulting strand of Thread between.

  “I think it’s getting darker,” Kindan said now, straining to pick out the dragons in the night air.

  “This is the most dangerous time,” Nuella said. “When it is still too light for the watch-whers, and too early for the Thread to have frozen.”

  As if in answer, ahead of them, a pair of dragons bellowed in pain, their cries stifled as they went between. Only one returned.

  “Karalth made it back to the Weyr,” Lorana reported, referring to the missing green. Her lips curved upward in relief as she added, “Fiona’s with him.”

  “That’s good to know,” Kindan called back over his shoulder. “I’m going to close up or we’ll lose sight of J’lantir.”

  In response, Zirenth swooped forward with easy wingbeats, closing up to the nearest dragons.

  Lorana strained forward over his shoulder for a sight of J’lantir.

  “There’s J’lantir!” Kindan shouted, raising an arm and pointing.

  Lorana strained over his shoulder to follow his aim and had just spotted the flightleader when she shrieked, “J’lantir! Behind you!”

  Too late,
the bronze rider reacted to the clump of Thread that had twisted on the rising turbulence of the night air to fall directly onto the backs of rider and dragon alike. For one brief moment it flared, gorging upon the leathers of the bronze rider and the skin of the unprotected dragon, and then they were gone between—but not before Lorana could make out the pulsing red of blood as Thread ate through the last of J’lantir’s wher-hide jacket and feasted on his flesh, even as it grew in its feeding on Lolanth’s spine.

  “He was too late,” Lorana cried, balling her fists and pounding them feebly against Kindan’s back. “Too late!”

  J’lantir is no more! The voice rang out clearly, devoid of hope, bereft of all happiness, dry only with despair.

  H’nez, lead the flight.

  Ahead a dragon rumbled in acknowledgment and the dragons of Telgar Weyr hastened to re-form their confused assault against the falling Thread.

  When Fiona finally staggered into her quarters after ensuring that the last of the four injured were comfortably settled into their weyrs and certain to recover, she was too tired to notice much of her surroundings. She shucked her clothes into the bathroom, threw on her nightgown as quickly as tired fingers, spurred by the evening chill, could manage, and slipped herself into the warm bed with a sigh of contentment.

  She was surprised to realize that she was looking into Kindan’s eyes.

  “Lorana’s keeping an eye on T’mar,” he said.

  Fiona murmured noncommittally and closed her eyes. A moment later she opened them again. Kindan was still looking at her.

  “Who ordered H’nez to lead the flight?” he asked. “Was that you or Lorana?”

  “I think it was me,” Fiona said.

  “It sounded mostly like you,” Kindan agreed, his brows furrowed. “But it sounded like Lorana, too.”

  “A bit of both,” Fiona agreed.

  They looked at each other for a moment longer then, reached out and hugged tightly, comfort against the pain.

  Fiona felt her tears come and let them flow freely. When they were gone and Kindan was still in her arms, she felt a different feeling wake in her. Awkwardly she moved her head to peer into his eyes and darted her lips against his for a kiss.

  Throwing despair away for passion, Fiona let her hands flow over his warm body, and had the reassuring pleasure of his hands moving in response. Slowly they maneuvered, touching, moving, silently, passionately.