Dragonsblood

by Todd McCaffrey

  When he reached five, he swallowed hard and said to Lolanth, Tell Pineth to have M’kir take their wing to the rear. Tell the rest of our wing to close up to the front.

  Tears streamed down J’lantir’s face as Lolanth relayed the orders and sped up to bring the wing forward to the Thread. And then there was Thread to fight, to flame, to char from the skies.

  Grimly, J’lantir did his duty for his Weyr and planet.

  Kindan was worried when he didn’t see Lorana come to dinner. They had worked all day together, part of the time in the Records Room, and part of the time helping K’tan tend to the injured dragons and riders—as well as the sick dragons.

  Lorana had been cheerful in the early morning, but as the day wore on, and dragons from Fort, Telgar, and Ista Weyrs were lost fighting Thread, her face took on a sickly pallor. Kindan could see her wince visibly with each new loss.

  “I’m all right,” she had told him when he’d asked her about it.

  Shortly before the evening meal, M’tal came searching for her in the Records Room.

  “I just heard from Lolanth,” he began, his eyes troubled.

  “I heard,” Lorana said in a flat voice.

  “Did you—” M’tal cut himself short. “I was wondering if perhaps you’d felt Nidanth’s passing.”

  Lorana shook her head sadly. “There were so many,” she said hoarsely, her voice barely audible. “Less than the first Fall, but still so many.”

  M’tal nodded slowly. “C’rion was right, then, to pity you.”

  Lorana met his eyes. “I’ll survive,” she said firmly. “It’s hard, but I have Arith to comfort me.”

  “If there’s anything you need,” M’tal said, “or anything I or Salina can do to help . . .”

  “Thank you,” Lorana said, forcing a smile. “We’ll manage, Arith and I.”

  But now, as Kindan’s eyes scanned the crowded tables, he wondered. With a sigh, he left and headed up to the Records Room. Perhaps she had decided to eat there instead.

  He was halfway up the steps when Arith called, Lorana needs the harper.

  The dragon’s message made him jump, but as soon as he recovered, he was running down the stairs and across the Bowl to Lorana’s quarters.

  Kindan slowed as he neared Lorana’s rooms, halting just before the door, catching his breath and listening. Through the curtain, he heard the soft sounds of sobbing.

  “Lorana?” he called. “May I come in?”

  “Yes.”

  Kindan pushed the curtain aside. He noticed that the tapestries were covered with drawings pinned to them. They were drawings of dragons and riders. Some he recognized as dragons from the Weyr—all dragons lost to Thread or the sickness. He guessed the other dragons were those lost from other Weyrs, although he couldn’t imagine how Lorana knew enough to draw them. As he peered closer, he saw that she didn’t—the characteristic features of a dragon’s face, the shape of its eye ridges, the spacing of the snout, the shape and number of teeth were all left as nebulous, shadowy hints. But he could plainly see their riding harness, the faces of their grief-stricken riders—and Kindan was struck by the amount of pain that he saw in those faces, pain that he knew Lorana must have felt directly.

  He noticed the light reflected off Arith’s whirling eyes as the dragon looked in worriedly from her lair toward her rider.

  As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw Lorana lying in her bed. He went over and sat on the edge. She was lying on her stomach, face in her pillow, her upper arms and back uncovered. For a moment he sat there, silent. He started to put a hand on her shoulder, paused, and pulled it back.

  “Do you have any lotion?” he asked.

  “What?” Lorana turned over to face him. In the dim light, Kindan could see her blotchy face and the streaks where tears had washed down her face. He had seen people like this before, worn out with pain, bodies tight with grief and sorrow.

  “Lotion,” Kindan repeated. “Or scented oil?”

  “There’s some oil by the bath,” she answered, sounding quizzical.

  Kindan went to the bathing room, found the oil and returned. He placed it close to the bed.

  He took some oil into his hands and rubbed it until it was warm. Then he leaned forward and gently began to massage the tight muscles of her neck.

  “Turn over, I need to do your hands,” he ordered her softly. He could sense her puzzled look. “You can’t have done all those drawings without cramping your hands,” he explained. “Turn over.”

  He gathered more lotion and, gently grasping her left hand in his right, he stroked over it with the oil, teasing out the kinks in her fingers and working the tight muscle at the base of her thumb. Slowly he worked up her arm, relieving tension in the forearm, biceps, and shoulder.

  Lorana let out a deep sigh of contentment.

  Kindan allowed himself a small smile, then returned to his work. He worked her other shoulder and arm.

  He spent a great deal of time working the kinks out of the arch of her foot and her heel, knowing how much tension got wound into the balls of the feet. He repeated his efforts on the other leg.

  At last Kindan let out a deep breath and looked down at Lorana, lying relaxed beneath him. Quietly he stood up and tiptoed out of the room.

  In the morning, Lorana awoke suddenly with a burning passion, fierce and nearly frightening in its intensity.

  Kindan ducked his head in, eyes snapping with emotion. “Tullea’s Minith has blooded her kills.”

  “She will mate soon,” Lorana said, stretching her senses and feeling the young queen’s passion. She looked up at Kindan, her eyes warm but also challenging. “Stay with me?”

  Kindan gave her a surprised, half-hoping look. Lorana sat up in her bed and patted it.

  “I’ve never been near a dragon’s mating flight,” she explained.

  Kindan moved to her and, at her beckoning, sat on the bed beside her.

  “The emotions from dragons mating are very strong,” he said, his voice low.

  At that moment, Lorana gasped as she felt Minith being caught in her mating flight and—

  When she could speak again, she leaned up and captured Kindan’s mouth with hers, kissing him deeply.

  Kindan responded by clutching her more tightly, returning her kiss as ardently as she had given it. Like dragons entwined, they drew together, burning with a passion born on dragonwings.

  Afterward, they broke apart, still touching each other loosely. Lorana looked at him as he lay beside her and traced the line of his jaw lovingly. Kindan turned his head, caught her hand, kissed it, and released it again, all with a gentle smile.

  “Who was it?” he asked, referring to the mating flight.

  “B’nik’s Caranth flew her,” Lorana told him immediately. She had known the dragon’s touch instantly.

  Kindan sighed and Lorana heard a world of unspoken thoughts in that sigh. Things would change at Benden Weyr. She reached for his hand, grabbed it, brought it to her lips, and kissed it.

  Such a union of disparates, K’tan thought to himself as he watched Lorana and Kindan enter the Main Cavern later that evening, not too far from Tullea and B’nik. M’tal and Salina were already seated.

  Tullea walked with the obvious soreness of a woman recovering from her dragon’s mating. B’nik looked equally uncomfortable.

  Lorana, on the other hand, moved through her pain, a smile close to her lips, her hand entwined in Kindan’s, projecting the sense that the pain served a purpose that she accepted and welcomed.

  She and the harper made a good pair, he reflected, and he was glad that some were happy with the day’s events.

  The same could not be said from the looks of Tullea and B’nik. They had been lovers, and passionately so, for many Turns, so K’tan would have expected Minith’s mating to be a great pleasure to them. But from Tullea’s red-rimmed eyes and the way she winced as she strode, he got the impression that it had not been so.

  The mating flight had taken place early in th
e morning, just after Minith awoke. K’tan could not remember how many bronze riders had gathered around Tullea as the enraged queen started blooding her kills. He remembered B’nik screaming at Tullea not to let her gorge, and Tullea looking back at him with a smirk in her eyes. Whether it was from Tullea’s contrariness or her inability to control her dragon, Minith managed to eat two whole herdbeasts before a bellow from Caranth and more loud shouts from B’nik got her under control. She blooded only two more kills before leaping into the air, chased by the lusty bronzes.

  The mating flight had not been that long. Indeed, all the bronzes were still flying strongly when Minith dove into them and was snared by Caranth. K’tan sighed, shaking his head at the memory. A short mating flight, gorging on her food—those spoke of a small clutch and more problems for the Weyr with a Weyrwoman who would not control her dragon.

  M’tal and Salina rose as they caught sight of Tullea and B’nik. The new Weyrwoman noticed their movement but deliberately turned toward a different table. Obviously not accepting the affront, M’tal gestured to Salina and they walked over to the table Tullea had chosen.

  “Congratulations Weyrwoman, Weyrleader on your mating flight,” M’tal began the traditional greeting. “May your hatchlings be many.”

  Tullea glowered at him. B’nik looked pained at that part of the traditional salutation but nodded politely to M’tal and Salina.

  “I want you out of B’nik’s quarters by tomorrow,” Tullea told M’tal. “The Weyrleader needs to be close to the Records Room.” She glanced at Kindan and Lorana, who had stopped in their tracks. “Lorana, you and Kindan will conduct your research elsewhere.”

  It was an obvious taunt. Lorana deflected it with a polite nod. “If you wish, we could continue our research in my quarters.”

  Tullea sniffed. “I don’t care where, as long as it’s not in the Records Room.” A new thought entered her mind and she turned to M’tal, a sly smile on her face. “As Weyrwoman, it is my duty to arrange assignment of quarters,” she declared. “I think, Wingleader M’tal, that your wing would be best up on the highest level. You may move there immediately. B’nik’s wing will occupy the quarters yours vacates.”

  M’tal accepted the order with a nod and a smile. “Thank you, Weyrwoman,” he said. “I have heard it said that the higher levels are more likely to be free of the sickness.”

  Tullea’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed again as she decided he was toying with her.

  “Weyrleader, your wing may begin moving tomorrow,” she told B’nik with a purr.

  B’nik looked nonplussed. He told M’tal, “My men won’t be ready by then. Please ask yours to move at their convenience.”

  “Yes, Weyrleader,” M’tal replied. He gestured to Salina and they departed, leaving Tullea no happier than she had been.

  The night air was broken by the sound of a dragon coughing. Startled looks went around the Cavern as they tried to identify the dragon, only to change to looks of anguish as everyone realized that yet another dragon had fallen ill. B’nik bent his head toward Tullea, engaging her in a rapid conversation.

  M’tal’s wing had moved to the upper levels before noon the next day, although they were left with a lot of cleaning still to do.

  “It’s our due for having it so easy in the training,” he teased them. They responded in kind, but there was a marked strain in their humor.

  Lorana and Kindan decided to move their research to the harper’s quarters, as they were on the Lower Caverns and closer to the Records Room than Lorana’s rooms. They took only as many Records as they felt they could sort through in a sevenday. The smaller piles gave them a false sense that the task would be easier.

  K’tan stopped in to check on them late in the afternoon.

  “I went to the weyrwomen’s quarters first, thinking you’d be there,” he told them as he ducked inside the doorway. He glanced around Kindan’s cozy rooms and nodded approvingly. “This makes more sense.”

  “Well, it’s really harper’s work anyway,” Kindan said by way of agreement. “How are the sick ones doing?”

  K’tan grimaced, shaking his head. “Worse. And more of them,” he replied.

  Kindan turned back to the piles of Records. “Then I guess we’d better get to work.”

  “We won’t find anything here,” Lorana protested, jumping out of her seat in frustration. “We need to go to Fort.”

  K’tan looked at her questioningly.

  “That’s where the oldest Records are,” she explained. “And that’s where every Weyrleader has gone when they couldn’t find an answer in their own Records.”

  “M’tal said that you can’t go,” Kindan told her reprovingly.

  “M’tal’s not the Weyrleader anymore,” Lorana shot back rebelliously.

  “Well, Arith’s too young to take you,” Kindan continued. “So how were you planning on getting there?”

  “I could take you.” Startled, they turned to see B’nik standing in the doorway. “I need to see K’lior, anyway.”

  “But—the sickness,” Kindan protested.

  “They have it at Fort, as well,” B’nik said. “K’lior’s agreed.” He turned his attention to Lorana. “When would you be ready to go?”

  “I’d like to come also,” Kindan said.

  B’nik shook his head. “I need you and K’tan to stay here, caring for the sick and injured.”

  Lorana pulled out a slate and stylus. “When can we go?”

  “Whenever you’re ready,” he replied. “I believe that Tullea and Minith are still sleeping,” he added disingenuously.

  “Very well, then,” Lorana responded pertly. She glanced back at the others and then to the new Weyrleader. “Arith still sleeps, but she’ll be hungry in another hour or two.”

  B’nik nodded thoughtfully. “Then we’ll be certain to return before she needs to feed, no matter how long we’re gone,” he told her.

  “Is it such a wise idea to time it, Weyrleader, just after the mating flight?” K’tan asked solicitously. He knew how tiring going between times was on both rider and dragon—and the mating flight had been no less exhausting.

  “Caranth is up for it,” B’nik declared. “And I may need the practice,” he added ambiguously. He gestured to Lorana. “Weyrwoman?”

  As they were heading out of sight, Kindan turned to K’tan. “Do you think you could hold things down without me?”

  K’tan thought it over and shrugged. “Some of the weyrfolk will help, I’m sure.”

  “Thanks,” Kindan said, racing after the others.

  “B’nik!” Kindan called when he caught sight of the new Weyrleader. B’nik paused, turning back to watch Kindan as he raced up to them.

  “I think it’d be a good idea if I stopped in at the Harper Hall. Could Caranth carry another?” Kindan asked.

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” B’nik said, after a moment’s consideration. “I’d planned to bring the Masterharper up to date on our affairs—you could fill him in for me. That will save time.”

  He nodded toward the Bowl. “Come along, by all means. Caranth can carry three.”

  Lorana craned her neck over B’nik’s shoulders as they spiraled down into Fort Weyr’s Bowl. The watch dragon’s bugle had already challenged them, and Lorana had heard Caranth’s response and the watch dragon’s wary greeting.

  Kindan had been left at the Harper Hall, where B’nik had been congratulated and had exchanged brief pleasantries with Masterharper Zist.

  “We’re expected,” B’nik relayed unnecessarily but politely to Lorana. The Weyrleader’s attitude during the whole trip puzzled and pleased Lorana, who had been used to his silent obsequiousness with Tullea. The man was displaying depths she had not seen before.

  Caranth alighted lightly and then, after dropping off rider and passenger, took to the air again to seek a place on the Weyr heights.

  “Fort Weyr sees the sun six hours after we do at Benden,” B’nik commented as he examined the early morning sun ris
ing over them.

  “Won’t we still have to time it on our return?” Lorana asked.

  “Indeed we will,” B’nik told her. “Have you ever gone between times?”

  “Once with J’trel,” she told him.

  “Were you very tired afterward?”

  Lorana nodded.

  “That is the price of going between times,” B’nik said. “If it weren’t for our pressing need, I’d never risk it.” He looked as if he were ready to say more but decided against it. Instead, he scanned the area and noticed a group approaching them. “Ah, here we are.”

  The man in the center of the group was younger than B’nik, handsome and wiry. His long hair was tied at the back of his neck, a style uncommon among dragonriders, but the hair was such a honey-gold and so wavy that Lorana could well imagine the attraction it would hold for some women. Her eye moved to the woman beside him. Cisca was even taller than her Weyrleader, a brown-eyed, brown-haired beauty with a strong, cheerful face. She was much more buxom than Lorana, but she carried herself proudly, her stride neither apologetic nor flaunting.

  “Weyrleader B’nik, welcome to Fort Weyr!” K’lior called as he approached the group. Cisca added a welcoming smile of her own.

  “Thank you,” B’nik replied. “I wish I were coming at a more pleasant time . . .”

  “As do we all,” Cisca agreed, her lovely features creasing into a frown. “How bad is it at Benden?”

  B’nik looked at Lorana.

  “There are twenty sick dragons at the Weyr,” Lorana told them. “Three times that number have already gone between.”

  K’lior and Cisca exchanged looks. The Weyrwoman spoke. “We have nearly sixty sick dragons and have lost over forty.”

  “I’ll be lucky to have five wings able to fight when Thread comes again,” K’lior admitted.