“Why not send the younger weyrlings?” B’nik asked. “There are more of them.”
“Too risky,” M’tal responded. “We might lose more on the jump between than we can afford.”
B’nik nodded in agreement.
“Ketan says he’s up for it,” B’nik repeated, raising his voice to be heard above Caranth’s raspy coughing.
“He just lost his dragon!” Tullea declared angrily. “What makes you think he cares?”
B’nik bit back angry words before he hurled them irretrievably at Tullea, but he couldn’t hide the fury in his eyes.
“What will you do if Caranth dies, B’nik?” Tullea asked. “Who will fly Minith then?”
B’nik gave her a pleading look. “She hasn’t laid her clutch yet,” he told her. “It will be a long while before she rises to mate again.”
“Ketan should stay here, continue working for a cure,” Tullea persisted.
“Tullea,” B’nik said reasonably, “if Ketan goes with the weyrlings and injured dragons, he’ll have Turns to work on a cure and we’ll have fit dragons to fight the next Fall.”
B’nik did not point out that, as he was sending only the weyrlings and injured dragons, Ketan would have no sick dragons to work with. But that had been B’nik’s plan—to let Ketan recover from his loss, helping healthy young dragons grow to maturity.
“You do what you want,” Tullea told him after a long moment sulking in silence. “You’re Weyrleader.”
“Yes,” B’nik declared firmly, “I am.”
“Where are you going?” she called as he strode out of their quarters.
“To let Ketan know my decision,” B’nik replied, turning back in the doorway. “We’ve got a lot to arrange and little time.”
“I thought you said they’d be gone three whole Turns,” Tullea retorted.
“They will,” B’nik agreed. “But we’ll only have two days.”
Kindan found Lorana in the Supply Caverns, supervising the movement of medical supplies assigned for the injured dragons who were designated to go back in time with Ketan. He waited until he could catch her alone and said quietly, “How do we know we aren’t sending sick dragons back in time?”
“We don’t,” Lorana admitted, grimacing. “Ketan and I have screened all of the dragons carefully and not one of them has any signs of the sickness, but . . .”
“So could we have brought the sickness back in time and infected the Weyrs?” Kindan asked pointedly.
Lorana creased her brow thoughtfully. She shook her head. “It had to start somewhere, so I don’t think it came back from now to then,” she decided in the end. “Besides, it’s not so much a question of where it came from as it is how to cure it.”
Kindan shrugged, acknowledging her point.
“How are the miners doing?” she asked, waiting for a group of sweaty weyrlings to haul their burdens past them.
“They’re doing well,” Kindan replied. “Dalor tells me that he thinks the same thing happened on the upper passage as on the lower. If he’s right and it’s just a rockslide, they won’t have more than a spear-length of rock to remove.”
“So another day or two?”
“Yes, about that,” Kindan agreed.
“That will be just about when Ketan and the weyrlings return.”
“Right in time for the Fall over Nerat,” Kindan agreed.
A weyrling approached Lorana, wiping sweat out of his eye and giving her a questioning, if hopeful, look. Lorana smiled at him. “No, that’s the last of it, J’nor.”
She gestured for him to rejoin the Weyrlingmaster and then jerked her head at Kindan, inviting him to follow her out of the Supply Caverns and up into the Bowl.
The part of the Bowl nearest the Supply Cavern was busy but organized. P’gul, the Weyrlingmaster, had taken charge, delegating some work to Ketan and the more able of the injured dragonriders. He, B’nik, and M’tal were conferring together.
“Now,” B’nik was saying to P’gul as Lorana and Kindan approached, “You’ll take care to return precisely in two days’ time just before dusk.”
“That’s cutting things tight, isn’t it?” P’gul asked.
“It can’t be helped,” B’nik replied. “I don’t want you or any of the others coming back too soon—I’d hate for you to meet yourself coming or going, and the weyrlings—”
“Won’t be weyrlings when we get back,” P’gul observed.
“That’s true,” B’nik replied. “And I’m sure they’ll be well-trained in all the recognition points. But just as I expect them to be trained, I expect them not to be trained in timing—or else one of them will try it on their own before they’re ready.”
“There is that,” P’gul admitted.
“Good man!” B’nik replied, smiling and clapping the dour Weyrlingmaster on the back. “It’ll be three Turns for you, but only two days for us.”
P’gul nodded. “I just wish that we knew more of what to expect when we go back in time.”
“Rineth reports that it doesn’t bother the dragons at all,” Lorana said, inserting herself into the conversation with an apologetic look at B’nik. “But the riders are all confused and get very irritable.”
M’tal nodded, then stopped, looking thoughtful.
“Is there something you want to add, M’tal?” B’nik asked.
“Hmm?” M’tal roused himself, then shook his head. “No, no, just an odd thought that crossed my mind.”
For a moment B’nik considered whether to press M’tal for details, but then he decided against it. He turned back to P’gul.
“Well, I envy you the peace and relaxation you’ll have with those weyrlings,” he said to the older dragonrider, eliciting a humorous snort from all around.
“I’ll try to remember that, Weyrleader, when I’m relaxing in the warmth of the Igen sands,” P’gul replied, with a faint smile. He waved to the group, then mounted his brown dragon and signalled to the rest of the weyrlings and injured dragons.
“Good flying!” B’nik shouted to everyone.
His words were drowned out as wave after wave of dragons took to the air and circled up to the Star Stones.
When all the dragons were properly aligned, P’gul gave a signal—
“Lorana, don’t try to follow them,” M’tal said urgently as he saw her close her eyes.
—and the dragons winked between.
Lorana opened her eyes and looked at M’tal.
“I don’t know if your mind wouldn’t get lost between times,” he explained.
Kindan looked from M’tal to Lorana and grabbed her hand tightly in his. Lorana squeezed his hand in reply.
“This is utterly untraditional!” D’gan declared in outrage to his wingleaders as they met at Telgar’s Council Room. “I cannot believe that an ex-dragonrider would have the nerve to address herself to my dragon and not me.”
“What did she say?” D’nal asked.
“Kaloth tells me that she said that Fort Weyr has successfully sent their injured dragons and riders back in time, along with their weyrlings, to the abandoned Igen Weyr,” D’gan replied with a sniff.
“Really?” L’rat exclaimed, his eyes going wide. “That explains the fires we saw Turns back—do you remember, V’gin?”
The Weyr healer nodded reminiscently. “We thought perhaps they were traders or something using the Weyr.”
“And why wasn’t this reported to me?” D’gan asked archly.
“I’m sure it was,” L’rat said. “But it would have been just about the time of the Plague, if memory serves. I’m sure we all had other things to worry about.”
“They went back in time,” V’gin said quickly, “to what purpose?”
“Why, to heal, of course,” D’gan responded, as though it should have been obvious to all of them.
“But they could have healed just as easily here,” L’rat remarked, frowning.
“But they timed it,” D’gan snapped. “So that they were gone only days in our time
while they spent Turns.”
“So their weyrlings grew up and their injured recovered,” V’gin surmised, nodding at the neat solution. “That’s very clever.” He looked at the Weyrleader. “Did you say K’lior at Fort had the idea?”
D’nal shot him a sharp look. Everyone knew that D’gan had no time for Fort’s Weyrleader, nor any other Weyrleader, for that matter.
“So what else did this Lorana say, D’gan?” L’rat asked quickly, hoping to avert another of the Weyrleader’s outbursts.
“She said—and this I cannot countenance—that Benden was going to use the three Turns starting nine Turns back and she advised us to consider going back six Turns if we wanted to use it,” D’gan replied angrily. “As if Benden could dictate how we use our Weyr!”
“Well,” L’rat replied honestly, “it’s not really our Weyr anymore, is it?”
D’gan’s eyes bulged at the Wingleader’s pronouncement.
“We’re Telgar riders now,” V’gin declared, nodding in agreement with L’rat’s declaration. “We have no claim on Igen.”
“I think it’s more important to consider whether it would help us,” D’nal said, trying to defuse any needless argument. “If we had all our injured dragons and riders ready to fight at Upper Crom, we’d have more than twice the strength we have now.”
D’gan sat down in his chair, his lips thinned angrily, but his eyes were thoughtful.
“If you added the older weyrlings—it wouldn’t do to send the youngest ones back, they wouldn’t survive the trip—then there would be another full wing on top of that,” V’gin added. He looked up at the others, eyes gleaming. “Why, we’d nearly be back to full strength!”
“That’s true,” D’gan agreed, still looking distracted.
“I make it nearly three hundred and thirty fighting dragons,” D’nal said, totting up the numbers in his head. “And today we’ve only got a bit more than one hundred and twenty.”
“Food’s no problem,” D’gan declared. “This Lorana person said that Fort had left them with plenty and they’d pass on the favor.” He snorted. “I’ll bet Fort just herded up the beasts we’d let run free.”
D’nal and L’rat exchanged satisfied glances.
“So shall we do this, then?” V’gin asked. “I must say, it seems an excellent idea.”
“Yes, it does,” D’gan agreed sourly, silently berating himself for not having thought of it on his own. While it galled him to admit that K’lior had had a worthwhile idea, he could tell by the looks of his Wingleaders that he had no choice but to go with it. He leaned forward, determined. “Very well, we’ll do it.”
He turned to D’nal. “I’ll want those dragons back in time to fight at Crom.”
“I understand, Weyrleader,” D’nal replied, realizing that the job had been delegated to him. “Should I take D’lin with me?”
L’rat and V’gin gazed curiously at D’gan. D’lin was his eldest son and had Impressed a well-bred bronze more than a Turn ago; they were all sure that D’gan was grooming him as his eventual successor. Having the lad time it would put him in a position to take over from his sire in short order, should anything untoward happen to Telgar’s Weyrleader.
“D’lin?” D’gan asked, amused at the question. He shook his head. “No, he’ll stay here with me. He still needs seasoning.” Having made his decision, he rose, dismissing the others and terminating the meeting.
L’rat and D’nal exchanged nervous glances as they headed toward the exit of the Council Room. Next door they could hear the unmistakable coughing of a dragon suffering from the sickness—D’gan’s own Kaloth.
“I thought you should have the honors,” B’nik said softly to Lorana. They stood at the end of the newly-cleared corridor.
Dalor had been right: The rockslide had only blocked part of the way. Once the miners had removed the fallen rock, the corridor was clear and open, running straight along until it stopped in front of a set of stairs leading down.
At the bottom of the stairs, another short corridor led to a door. At the side of the door the miners had discovered another square plate, just like the one Tullea had discovered in the first room.
B’nik hefted a long stick—a liberated broom handle—and offered it to Lorana.
“You might want to stand back and use this, in case the air is bad,” he suggested.
Lorana nodded and gratefully took the stick while B’nik waved Dalor, Kindan, and Ketan back up the stairs.
“Push it and run back,” Kindan called down to her.
Lorana grabbed the stick in both hands to steady it, then leaned forward and pushed the plate.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then a groaning noise could be heard from beyond the door. Slowly the door slid open, revealing a well-lit room beyond. Entranced, Lorana forgot to run: She peered in, and the bad air caught her.
When she awoke later, Kindan was leaning over her; his look of concern vanished into one of sardonic humor the moment her eyelids fluttered open. She realized she was in his quarters, lying on his bed.
“I thought you were going to run,” he chided her.
Lorana shrugged. “I was trying to see what was inside.” She pushed herself up.
“You would have seen sooner, if you’d run,” he told her, helping her to her feet. “But B’nik decided to wait until you were able before letting anyone into the room.”
“That was nice of him,” Lorana said.
Kindan considered this. “I’m not so sure he intended to be nice as much as he wanted to be sure that we did not repeat the mistakes we made last time.” He paused. “Tullea has not been invited.”
“Let’s go,” Lorana said, feeling a sense of urgency.
“Why the rush? The room has waited all this time, it can wait a little longer.”
A cough from up high near the Weyrleader’s quarters echoed harshly across the Weyr Bowl—and then was repeated by dozens of other dragons.
“The dragons can’t,” Lorana said hoarsely.
TWENTY-ONE
Mutualistic: A symbiotic relationship in which each species benefits.
College, First Interval, AL 58
Well, that went well,” M’hall murmured in Emorra’s ear as the gathering broke for lunch.
“I thought it was a shambles,” Emorra replied.
M’hall smiled and shook his head. “You haven’t seen the Weyrleader’s Council.” His smile vanished. “So what’s next?”
Tieran, who had seen them from across the room, approached and suggested, “Perhaps we should eat in the faculty room?”
M’hall looked around and noticed that, while they were not the only group gathered in the room, they were the group gathering the most attention. He waved a hand toward the door. “Lead on.”
In the faculty room they found Wind Blossom and Janir, heads close together in soft but intense conversation. Wind Blossom paused to wave, but immediately resumed her conversation with Janir.
“The question is, how do we teach people we don’t even know?” Tieran said as they found a small group of seats.
Emorra disagreed. “I think the question is, what can those people do?”
“I think the most important question is where they’ll do their work and how we’ll keep the wrong people away from it,” M’hall observed.
“Well, it’ll have to be Benden,” Tieran said in an offhand manner. He turned back to Emorra. “Surely if we can teach them, then it won’t matter what they can do.”
“Excuse me,” M’hall interrupted, “but why do you think it’ll have to be Benden?”
“Because whoever rode that queen obviously came—will come—from Benden,” Tieran replied. “We don’t know how people will travel then, and her queen was too young, I assume, to take her anywhere yet—”
“You’re right, there,” M’hall confirmed. “Although she was so big . . .”
“I think that carrying a rider is a question more of bone and muscle maturity, particularly bone, than of size,” Emorra o
bserved. M’hall acknowledged this with a nod and turned his attention back to Tieran.
“So, I think that Benden’s the right place,” Tieran concluded.
“Don’t you have some nice geothermals there?” Emorra asked.
“We do,” M’hall agreed. “Although how long we can keep the active systems alive is a good question. We’re already having parts problems with the electrical distribution.”
“So it’d have to be passive, then,” Emorra noted. “If my memory is correct, the power supplies on the Eridani equipment are rated for centuries when not in use.”
“How long will the power last when they’re in use?” M’hall asked.
“They’ll support decades of continuous use,” Emorra said. “From what Mother told me, the Eridani try to engineer their equipment for the long term.”
M’hall was impressed. “Four centuries is definitely ‘long term.’ ”
Tieran shook his head. “Wind Blossom said that the Eridani think in millennia and more.”
The door to the faculty room opened and Seamus O’Connell peered in. M’hall smiled and waved him over.
“I was wondering when you’d come wandering by,” M’hall said as his youngest and largest brother pulled a seat over to join them.
“The Lord Holders have been on to me about the stonecutters,” Seamus began with no preamble. “It occurs to me that you might want them yourself for this project.”
“It didn’t seem clear to me that this project has been approved,” Emorra remarked.
Seamus glanced at M’hall for confirmation. M’hall laughed. “My little brother is making his feelings on the notion quite clear.”
Tieran looked thoughtfully at the two of them. “You mean, where Benden leads, who will fail to follow?”
“Only when Benden is right,” Seamus added in his soft, deep voice. He gave Tieran a frank look. “It’s a risky proposition, but . . .”
“Our parents thrived on similar ‘risky propositions,’ ” M’hall finished.
“The dragons,” Tieran guessed.
“So it seems fair that we should entrust their deliverance to the same family that has guarded them so well,” Emorra said with a nod toward M’hall.
Dragonsblood Page 39
