“—and I’ve made the best decision I can,” T’mar finished, acknowledging her interjection with a sad nod. “As it stands, Telgar has the greatest experience in timing it and our dragons and riders are trained the best in coping with it.
“I felt that it would be more dangerous to introduce a new wing into our ranks, given that we would probably have to time it even with their numbers, so I decided we would perform the experiment.”
“And how many will die in this experiment?” Fiona demanded hotly, then quickly brought her hand up to her face in horror, her eyes wide with guilt and sorrow. “T’mar, I’m sorry! That was uncalled for!”
“Fewer perhaps than would die the other way,” T’mar responded, his voice cold with anger. “Although, as we’ll be certainly fighting twice, the chances of your needing a new Weyrleader are clearly doubled.”
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Fiona growled, then offhandedly said to T’mar, “Not you, me. I should never have said anything of the like; it’s only that I am worried about you.” She caught his eyes with hers and added in a softer voice, “I’m afraid that you’ll make the mistake B’nik made.”
“He hasn’t made the mistake yet,” T’mar said, reaching up a hand to accept her apology. His eyes narrowed as he continued half to himself, “In fact, it might not even be him.”
“I thought you said you recognized him?”
“Not him,” T’mar replied with a quick shake of his head, “his jacket.” He took a breath and continued, “I saw the Benden Weyrleader’s jacket quite clearly before the Thread consumed it.”
“Well, I couldn’t imagine B’nik just giving that away!”
“No, I couldn’t, either,” T’mar admitted. “But it could be possible that a different person inherited it.”
“Not as long as Tullea’s senior!” Kindan said, chuckling.
“Indeed,” T’mar said. “But until it happens, we won’t really know who wore the Benden Weyrleader’s jacket when it did happen.”
“But it seems fair to guess that whoever was wearing it was the Benden Weyrleader,” Kindan said. “Even if this Weyrleader is from the distant future, he was still destroyed by Thread.”
“And just as true if it really was B’nik,” T’mar said. “But my point is that we don’t know when this will happen, when some future B’nik jumps between to save us—after saving M’tal beforehand.”
“Although, with our numbers so low, it could be soon,” Fiona said with a grim look.
“It could be,” T’mar said. “But it gives me hope that perhaps we can survive longer before that day comes to hand.”
“Long enough for our weyrlings to grow to fighting strength?”
T’mar shrugged at the notion but Fiona could tell he was hopeful.
“So …” Fiona began slowly, “because B’nik’s not dead yet, you’re hoping that this will somehow mean that you won’t die when you fly the same Fall twice, am I right?”
T’mar’s hopeful look faded as he stammered, “I wasn’t quite looking at it that way.”
T’mar was not completely surprised when Fiona arranged for Kindan to stay with Lorana that night with only the thin excuse, “Xhinna needs a chance to prove herself.”
Nor was he surprised to be awoken by her quietly slipping into his bed not much later.
“If you are going to get yourself killed, bronze rider, then I’m going to need something to remember you by,” Fiona told him firmly. As his lips quirked up in a smile, she added severely, “And more than just one good night.”
She put actions to her words and gave herself so completely and demanded so much of him that neither was in doubt afterward of the nature of the gift, the willingness with which it had been given, nor the love with which it had been received.
Later, in the afterglow, Fiona propped her head on one arm and told him, “And when you come back, you’re to make more time for Shaneese.” She smiled as she plumbed the depths of his expression. “As I told Lorana, I share. And I plan to get all the help raising children I can.”
Wisely, Telgar’s Weyrleader said nothing.
“You came back, you came back!” Fiona cried flinging herself into T’mar’s arms two days later as they returned from their first round of flying the Fall.
“We still have to fly again,” T’mar warned her.
“But you’ll come back from that, too,” Fiona said, gesturing toward Lorana in the distance, before burying herself once more against his chest. “She knows.”
“I see,” T’mar said, hugging her back tightly. He pushed her away gently, his eyes filled with pain as he asked, “And does she know how many we’ve lost?”
“Yes,” Fiona replied, equally grim, casting her eyes upward to avoid meeting his. “Seven lost—two now, five more when you go back. Three severely injured and five moderately injured in addition to more than the usual number of scrapes, cuts, and near-misses.”
“How did she take it?”
Fiona raised a hand, gesturing toward the distant figures of Lorana and Kindan as they went from rider to rider.
“She’s taking it well,” Fiona said. She moved away from the Weyrleader, adding, “I’m going to make my farewells.”
T’mar let her go with a solemn nod; he needed to rest a moment before he went to speak with those riders he knew wouldn’t be returning.
“Here, drink this!” a voice piped up beside him. He looked toward it and saw Shaneese proferring a large mug of steaming klah. “Fiona said you’d need it.”
“She’s right,” T’mar agreed wholeheartedly, taking a long draught of the warming liquid. He gave Shaneese a quizzical look as he swallowed. When he found his breath, he said, “You’ve added something.”
“A bit of spice,” Shaneese agreed. “Nutmeg, it gives it a special kick.”
“It’s very good,” T’mar said and, recalling Fiona’s words, gave the headwoman a very grateful smile. “It’s clear that you show proper respect for a Weyrleader!”
“I certainly try,” Shaneese replied, a smile dimpling her face. She glanced around to distant throngs of riders and dragons, adding, “I know that the Weyrwoman sometimes gets too … involved to notice such matters.”
“Usually she’s very good,” T’mar said in agreement, “but sometimes she lets her youth carry her away.” He smiled down at the dusky-skinned headwoman. “I’m pleased to see that you are so able to alleviate her deficiencies.”
“She and I try to work as a team,” Shaneese said, glancing up shyly at the Weyrleader.
“Together, I’m sure you’re more than the sum of your parts,” T’mar said, draining his mug and holding it apologetically to the headwoman. “I’m afraid it’s all gone.”
“Oh, there’s plenty more where it came from,” Shaneese said, turning toward the Kitchen Caverns. “Shall I get you some?”
“Maybe later,” T’mar said. “We’ve another Fall—rather the same one again—to ride.” He smiled. “And when I get back, I fear I shall be too weary to do much more than crawl into bed.”
“I’ll see to it that hot stones are ready for you,” Shaneese offered.
“I’m sure you’ll be just as busy and weary as I will,” T’mar allowed, his senses not so dull that he couldn’t detect the double meaning. “I’d hate to think of delaying you from your bed just for that.”
“It would be no trouble.”
“I could ask Fiona to bring them with her to bed,” T’mar said, wondering how far to push this exchange.
“That would be difficult for her, as I understand she’s decided to sleep in the Hatching Grounds to keep Tolarth and Jeila company,” Shaneese said. “She suggested you would be too tired to put up with her this evening.”
“She did, did she?” T’mar said. “And she thought I’d appreciate a cold bed by myself?”
“No,” Shaneese said, her lips curving upward in a smile.
“Well, if she’s not going to be there and you’re going to bring the hot stones, I see no reason for you to
have to traipse across the cold Weyr Bowl back to your quarters by yourself.”
“I really couldn’t ask you to escort me back after flying two Falls,” Shaneese demurred.
“And I,” T’mar confessed, “couldn’t imagine myself capable.” He paused as if in thought. “But if you’ll be so kind as to bring the hot stones, then—if you don’t mind—you could just as easily rest with me.” He added quickly, “Not that I’ll be much company, with two Falls flown.” He held up a cautioning hand as he added, “I’ll probably snore.”
“Fiona says that your snores are cute,” Shaneese said, grinning. Her grin faded as she added, “I’d like to hear them.”
“Then, if you wish, you shall,” T’mar told her, placing a hand on her shoulder companionably.
“I’ll look forward to it,” the headwoman said, her face blossoming with a grin that again showed her marvelous dimples.
“Now, I’d best be about my duties,” she said, turning away and gently removing the hand he’d placed on her shoulder, her own grasp lingering for a moment before she let him go. “I’d hate for people to say I was monopolizing you.”
“Of course,” T’mar allowed with a smile of his own. Much refreshed, he turned to survey the rest of the group in the Weyr Bowl. The riders and dragons were a small knot nearly lost in the growing dusk.
Small, T’mar thought grimly, and soon to be smaller. His eyes sought out the slim form of Fiona. He spotted her and saw that she was looking in his direction. He waved at her, smiling.
That girl takes on entirely too much to herself, he mused. And yet, he had to admit that now he was looking forward to his return from the Fall in a way he would not have expected—and he owed it to her forethought and caring. He raised his hand to his mouth and expansively blew her a kiss. Fiona theatrically caught the kiss, clasped it to her breast, held her hand there while raising her other hand to her lips and returning the gesture to him in the grandest style.
If anything were to happen to her, I don’t know what I’d do, T’mar thought grimly.
You’d survive, Zirenth responded, surprising T’mar, who’d believed that he’d kept his thought to himself. He got a glimmer of feeling from his bronze and the chord resonated with him: She’ll see to that.
Is that why, T’mar mused, his heart suddenly going cold, she arranged this evening with Shaneese?
True to his word, T’mar practically stumbled into his bed that evening when he returned from the Fall. He was extremely grateful that Shaneese was there and quickly demolished all her attempts to leave him alone. He was glad that he did; the headwoman was older and more mature in the ways of people than Fiona, but she was nearly the same size while more pleasantly rounded. Her brilliant eyes and bright teeth shown in her dark face with an intensity that Fiona’s blue eyes and tanned skin would never realize, but there was a similarity between the two that T’mar couldn’t identify in his exhaustion.
“Thank you,” he said a moment later as Shaneese rubbed his back with a warm oiled stone. “I didn’t think about that.”
“Fiona suggested it,” Shaneese murmured quietly.
“She suggested the whole evening,” T’mar grumbled. He felt Shaneese stiffen for a moment and then she continued moving the oiled stone over his sore muscles. She sighed, and T’mar turned his head back to cast her an inquiring glance.
“Can you love more than one person?” she asked him softly, her hands not pausing in their work.
“Yes,” T’mar said. He thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “It takes time and effort and caring but it can be done. Fiona does it.”
“Fiona is a world unto herself.”
“No,” T’mar replied slowly, “not really.” He felt the headwoman’s surprise and added, “She doesn’t even want to be her own world; she wants all of us in it and she’ll do whatever is required to make that so.”
Shaneese thought on that, moving the oiled stone to another tight spot and rubbing.
“She snares people in her delusions,” she suggested at last.
“No, honestly, I think she inspires them to share her dreams.”
“Even now?” Shaneese asked, her question encompassing all the pain and loss that Telgar and every Weyr had endured since the beginning of the Third Pass.
“Particularly now,” T’mar replied. He thought for a moment, adding, “She is not without limits. I know that she’s afraid and that she hurts—”
“I’ve seen that, too.”
“—but as long as she can keep her spirits up, she’ll keep our spirits up,” T’mar finished. “She knows that if we lose hope, we’ll lose everything.”
“And so she arranged for me to be here tonight to keep up your hopes?” Shaneese asked with a trace of irritation creeping into her voice.
“No,” T’mar replied, “I think she expects that to come in the morning.” He turned over and grabbed the stone from her hand, dropping it back into the basket at the side of his bed as he gestured for her to lie down, telling her with a mischievous grin, “And for that, you’ll need your rest.”
Shaneese closed her eyes for a while and then opened them when she was certain he was asleep. She could see his eyelids flutter and his mouth work in silent pain as his dreams replayed the events of the last Fall. A feeling of tenderness overwhelmed her and she ran her hand across his cheek, stroking him out of his nightmare and back into relaxed slumber. She looked at him as he slipped into a deeper sleep and then laid her head beside his.
Weyrwoman, I accept, she thought as his slow breathing turned into gentle snores.
“What are you doing here?” Kindan’s voice betrayed his surprise as he spied Fiona curled up on the warm sands of the Hatching Grounds.
“Waiting for you,” Fiona replied with a smile, taking great enjoyment in the harper’s increased surprise.
“I was just shooing—”
“—the shell-seekers,” Fiona finished for him, her brows furrowing in confusion. “I’ve never quite understood the logic …”
“It’s complicated,” Kindan agreed, turning back to herd the last of the weyrling riders out of the Hatching Grounds and back to their beds. Fiona waited patiently, carefully settling the most disturbed knot of youngsters who were camped out near Tolarth’s clutch. She was satisfied with them pretending to sleep, knowing that they would soon bubble up again, their excitement overwhelming their fatigue. Fiona smiled; she hadn’t guessed that the first Hatching would increase the interest the younglings had in the second clutch. She suspected that Shaneese or any of the older weyrfolk could have told her but Shaneese—Fiona’s face lit with a wicked grin—was otherwise indisposed at the moment, or at least so she hoped, and all the other weyrfolk were probably too busy with their anticipated joy at the Weyrwoman’s discomfort. That they were wrong in their assessment pleased Fiona even more; she liked children and enjoyed their wide-eyed excitement, breathless babbling, and the sheer joy they brought to every activity.
“Complicated, you said?” Fiona murmured to Kindan several minutes later as he, having finally seen off the last of the weyrlings, made ready to head back to the weyrling barracks himself.
“Complicated,” Kindan agreed, willing to put off his next duty for a moment. He frowned, gesturing toward the children. “And why is it, Weyrwoman, that you are in charge of this brood?”
“It’s part of a deal with Xhinna and Taria,” Fiona said, adding quickly, “So what about this seeking egg shards is complicated?”
Kindan shrugged. “First, it depends upon the seeker.”
Fiona raised an eyebrow politely and Kindan’s lips curved upward as he acknowledged her restrained response.
“For those who’ve Impressed, the purpose is obvious: The shard represents a memento, a good luck piece,” he explained. Fiona nodded in understanding, then flicked her eyes for him to continue. “For those who didn’t Impress, it’s more like a promise, a token of a future possibility.”
“So did you take a piece?”
; “No,” Kindan replied, shaking his head. Fiona gave him an inquiring look. “I have pieces of Kisk’s egg and pieces of Valla’s egg; I think I’ve got all the tokens I need.”
Fiona reached into her vest pocket and pulled out a shard, grabbing one of his hands with her other and placing the shard in his hand, clasping both hands around his and forcing his fingers to close.
“Then this is for you,” she said. Kindan’s brows twitched and he pulled his hand out of her grasp, holding up the piece to the light.
“It’s a blue shard, from Tazith’s shell,” Kindan said as he examined it. His blue eyes looked down to meet hers. “Are you saying that I should set my hopes on a blue?”
Fiona chuckled, shaking her head. “No, I’m saying that you should consider that some shells are harder than others.” She took a quick darting step toward him and stood on her tiptoes to rap him gently on the skull. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be a hatchling coming forth.”
Kindan met her twinkling eyes with a dour expression. “It’s also possible that not all eggs hatch.”
“That’s an old saying,” Fiona agreed. “But it refers to chickens and other fowl, not dragons.”
Kindan snorted softly at the correction. He glanced around, noticing Talenth curled up in the distance for the first time, and glanced meaningfully in her direction.
“Talenth decided to keep Tolarth company,” Fiona explained. In a whisper she added, “I think it might have more to do with the hot sands, personally.” Fiona turned to Talenth and, impulsively, back to Kindan, grabbing his hand and tugging him after her. “Maybe you should try it, it’s good for muscles.”
“But—”
“Xhinna will take care of the weyrlings,” Fiona told him, carefully keeping her face away from him lest her expression reveal that that was part of her plan.
Much later, as they lay in a quiet sheltered spot that had, Kindan noted, been both carefully chosen and carefully prepared, he muttered to himself, “Good for the muscles!”
“I didn’t say which,” Fiona purred in response, nuzzling up close against him.
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