Dragonheart

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  “We’ll be up at first light,” K’lior promised.

  “I’ll have the kitchens send up something warming,” Cisca added.

  As they made their way down the stairs to the Weyr Bowl, she said to Fiona, “You were right about her.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your Xhinna is a good person,” K’lior said, glancing back at Cisca. The Weyrwoman nodded.

  When she rose and dressed in the morning, Fiona found Talenth awake and waiting for her on her ledge. The dragon was peering curiously upward. Fiona looked up but could see nothing in the foggy morning mist; only the sounds she heard told her that the men were working to winch Salith out of his weyr.

  They’re taking Salith away, Fiona informed her dragon.

  When I die, will you go with me? Talenth asked.

  “It won’t be for a long, long while,” Fiona replied firmly, needing to say the words out loud. After a long moment of reflection, she added, “And yes, I’ll go with you.”

  Good, Talenth responded feelingly. I’d be lonely without you.

  “Right now, though, we’ve got other things to do,” Fiona declared. “I’m going to be practicing this morning.”

  Practicing what?

  “We’re going to practice first aid,” Fiona said.

  Me, too? Talenth asked, her eyes whirling anxiously.

  I think we can include you, too, Fiona told her. Talenth nudged her affectionately. “I need to get some breakfast.”

  With a wave, Fiona leapt from the ledge to the ground below, flexing her knees to absorb the impact, and then walked briskly off. She found the Kitchen Cavern more crowded than usual for this time of the morning and was glad to hear Cisca call her to the Weyrleader’s table.

  “Xhinna was up all night with Tajen,” Cisca told her as Fiona sat and a weyrfolk laid a plate and mug in front of her. She cocked an eyebrow toward K’lior, who threw up his hands and glanced pointedly at H’nez. With a snort, Cisca turned back to Fiona and said, “K’lior and I were talking last night: we think Xhinna should be a candidate at the next Hatching.”

  Fiona gave her a surprised look, and then her face broke out into a wide grin.

  “I wouldn’t say anything to her about it yet,” K’lior warned. “We have more important things to deal with today.”

  “Yes, today we have our drill,” Cisca said.

  “And I have mine,” K’lior said, wiping his mouth and rising from his chair. With a nod to Fiona and smile for Cisca, he departed, trailed by P’der, his wingsecond, as well as T’mar and M’kury.

  “Ellor is with Tajen,” Cisca said to Fiona. “Salith was taken between this morning.”

  “I heard them working,” Fiona replied, eyeing a breadroll without much enthusiasm. Cisca followed her gaze, grabbed the breadroll, and dropped it on Fiona’s plate.

  “Eat,” the Weyrwoman ordered, grabbing a roll for herself. She leaned closer to Fiona and said quietly, “We must set the example.”

  The words rang a chord in Fiona; they were similar to words her father had used with her some Turns back when she had protested against visiting the elderly and sick of Fort Hold. “We are the model all others look to,” Lord Bemin had said to her. “Some of these old ones looked after you when you were little; it’s only fair to return the favor.”

  Fiona nibbled her lips nervously, then reached for the butter and spread it on her roll.

  “Fresh today,” Cisca said as she saw Fiona’s look of delight at the taste of the butter and bread in her mouth. “Ellor had some of the kitchen up early to churn the butter specially.”

  “It’s good,” Fiona agreed, craning her neck around to see if she could spot Ellor and tell her directly. Then she remembered Cisca’s words, that Ellor was with Tajen. “Did she make the butter for him?”

  “She had an idea that he’d appreciate a good meal,” Cisca said, wiping a stray crumb from her lip. “I know that he hasn’t eaten well since Salith took ill.” She shook her head sadly, then turned her gaze back to Fiona. “So, today we are going to drill on injuries—what do you know about first aid for dragons?”

  “Nothing,” Fiona replied in surprise. “Don’t fellis and numbweed work on them as well as us?”

  “They do,” Cisca replied. “And when dealing with Threadscoring, the Records say that numbweed is ‘most efficacious in relieving a dragon’s pain’ but caution that fellis juice is ‘best administered to the rider.’ ”

  “Why is that?” Fiona wondered aloud.

  Cisca shrugged. “I imagine that more than anything, it’s because it’d take such a large amount of fellis to have any effect on a dragon.” She frowned thoughtfully before adding, “And I suppose it’s not too good for an injured dragon to be drugged into sleep—except in the worst of cases.”

  “But why give fellis to the rider?”

  “Because,” Cisca replied, giving Fiona a mischievous grin, “you may have noticed that riders and dragons are linked.”

  Fiona nodded.

  “And so,” Cisca continued, “I imagine that calming the rider has a calming effect on the dragon, too.”

  “What is Threadscore like?”

  “We only have the Records to go by,” Cisca said. “According to them, however, the damage from Thread depends upon how long a rider or dragon is exposed to it before they go between and freeze it off.”

  “And if you don’t go between?”

  “Thread eats through flesh and bone very quickly,” Cisca replied, grimacing. “There are Records about some terrible scorings—usually riders getting hit by clumps of Thread.”

  “Clumps?”

  “Sometimes Thread falls in bunches, sometimes as separate strands,” Cisca told her. She shrugged. “It seems to depend more upon the winds than anything.”

  “And when it hits in clumps?”

  Cisca gave a long sigh. “A quick dragon or rider can get between quickly enough to avoid the worst of it,” she said. “A single strand burns a thin line, like a hot poker across the skin.”

  “So you’d just treat that like a burn?” Fiona asked. “Numbweed, healing salve, and bandage?”

  “Yes,” Cisca agreed, impressed. “But if the score is deeper it must be cleaned carefully and stitched quickly.”

  “In a typical Fall, how many dragons are injured?” Fiona asked. “There is no typical Fall,” Cisca replied. “The number varies from a few to several dozen or more.”

  Fiona’s eyes grew wide at the thought of so many wounded dragons and riders, but before she could say anything, a deep voice spoke from behind her.

  “And that’s why we drill.” It was T’mar, and when Fiona turned to look at him, he smiled reassuringly at her. “So that we can keep those numbers as low as possible.” He nodded to Cisca. “In fact, that’s what brought me here—we’re ready when you are.”

  Cisca rose and Fiona followed suit. “We’re ready now.”

  Ellor, the new headwoman, saw Cisca rise and motioned for the rest of the assigned weyrfolk to join them. Together they filed outside into the Weyr Bowl, where the sun had risen high enough to burn off the worst of the morning mist and take the chill out of the air.

  Kentai, who was already out in the Bowl, made his way toward them. “I think first we should practice with a dozen injured weyrlings,” he suggested.

  T’mar gestured to a group of weyrlings near the entrance to the Hatching Grounds. “I’ve already got some positioned.”

  Kentai, with Ellor’s help, briskly organized the weyrfolk, while Cisca strode off to a table where he had left slates and writing tools. Following her, Fiona glanced up to her weyr for any sign of Talenth. She was surprised to see her dragon stick her head out, probably wondering what all the noise was about.

  We’re drilling on first aid, Fiona told her.

  Great, Talenth replied cheerfully. Can I help? Then a moment later, she added, What’s “first aid”?

  When dragons or people get injured, Fiona replied, reminded once again that her dragon was still only
a baby. Usually during Threadfall. She went into a fuller explanation as she watched Cisca busily writing on several tablets.

  Oh, Talenth replied, seeming uneasy at the thought. She strode further out onto her ledge and peered over at all the weyrlings. What are they doing?

  They’re going to pretend to be injured, Fiona replied.

  Oh, me too! I want to pretend, too! Talenth responded immediately and so emphatically that Fiona turned to look back up at her. Eyes whirling anxiously, Talenth rushed toward the edge of the ledge and must have misjudged her speed, for she went straight off. Her face took on the most startled expression and Fiona screamed “Talenth!”—just before the weyrling spread her wings and glided easily down to the ground.

  Did you see that? Talenth exclaimed excitedly. I flew!

  “Well, you’d better stop flying unless you want to get injured for real!” Fiona yelled at her, her voice carrying clearly above the sudden silence that engulfed the Weyr Bowl as all the weyrfolk and weyrlings watched Talenth’s excited first glide.

  “You scared me right out of my skin,” Fiona declared, surprised to hear those words coming out of her mouth: It was what Neesa had always said whenever Fiona had tried something new and dangerous.

  I’m sorry. Talenth eyed her critically, tilting her head from one side to the other. Your skin looks fine from here.

  Fiona laughed, striding over to Talenth and grabbing the dragon’s head in her hands. “I meant that you scared me; I was worried that you might get hurt.”

  Talenth nudged her, nearly forcing Fiona off her feet.

  That was fun, the young queen said. Can I do it again?

  “Only if you’re careful,” Fiona said. “You looked so frightened, it seemed like you’d never remember you had wings!”

  I was surprised, Talenth agreed. She raised her wings and turned her head to look at them. I haven’t used them much.

  Everything about you is new, Fiona replied with a huge grin on her face.

  “Why don’t you have her join the other hatchlings?” Cisca suggested, having arrived unnoticed behind Fiona.

  “Or she’ll probably distract everyone with her antics?” Fiona asked, silently relaying the request to Talenth, who looked up eagerly, head swiveling to find a likely spot.

  “Yes,” Cisca agreed with a laugh. “I remember when Melirth first did that trick—I’d thought that it was some peculiar trait of hers alone.”

  “To scare you out of your skin?” Fiona wondered.

  “All dragons can do that,” T’mar added from behind them, his gaze settled affectionately on Talenth. “She looks sound.”

  “When she isn’t trying to break her neck,” Fiona responded.

  “Dragons are sturdier than you’d think,” he corrected her. “They look fragile, but really, they’re rather tough.”

  “Well, I’d prefer this one to keep herself in one piece as long as possible,” Fiona replied and then, as her flip words registered, her spirits sank. She remembered Tajen—and Tannaz, J’marin, L’rian, and M’rorin.

  “Talenth, over there by Ladirth, if you would,” T’mar said aloud to the queen. Talenth looked over at the hatchlings, gave a chirp of recognition as a bronze arched his head up and back to look at her, and happily stalked off to join the others.

  The youngsters—riders and dragons both—followed Talenth’s progress with eager eyes, as they hadn’t seen much of her at all until then. Once she’d arrived on station—and was prompted to remain there by a silent warning from Fiona—the collection of dragons and people returned to their drill.

  “First, we’re going to go from station to station and brief all the weyrfolk on first aid, bandages, numbweed, sutures, needles, and the other equipment,” Cisca said to Fiona and Kentai. “Once we’re done with that, we’ll do a quick practice of some injuries, and then we’ll take lunch and be ready for the proper drill.”

  They got everyone sorted out, and then Cisca showed each dragonrider one of the half-dozen slates she’d written on. When they got to the young bronze dragon and his rider, Fiona was surprised: F’jian needed Cisca to repeat her instructions no less than three times, finally being told, “If you still can’t remember, ask Fiona.”

  F’jian had an open and friendly face, and Fiona could see that his poor memory troubled him, too.

  “Another one of you muddleheads,” Cisca remarked to Fiona as they moved off. The Weyrwoman regarded Fiona curiously for a moment, then added, “Although if this is you when you’re not at your best . . .”

  “I don’t know,” Fiona replied. “I think I have good days and bad days.”

  “We all do,” Cisca said. “But compared to some of the weyrlings, you don’t seem nearly as dazed as you did.”

  Fiona pondered that for a moment. “Maybe that’s because I haven’t been asked to do much more than I did back at Fort Hold.”

  Cisca looked thoughtful. “That could be it; I hadn’t realized how much was expected of you there.”

  “If I wanted to be around my father, I was expected to behave,” Fiona said with a shrug. “And because I wanted to be around my father very often, I learned quickly to behave very well.”

  “Hmm,” Cisca murmured. “Well, I can’t say I’m not glad of it, considering the times we’re in, but I wish that you might have had longer to be a child.”

  “No one who survived the Plague could remain a child,” Fiona told her, shaking her head.

  Cisca turned back to survey the group of young dragonriders arrayed before them. “I hope the same is not true for this lot,” she sighed. Then, with a characteristic headshake, she put the moment aside and turned back to the business at hand, waving to Ellor and calling out, “They’re ready!”

  What followed was more amusing than instructive: Many of the riders could only poorly explain their or their dragon’s symptoms, most of the young weyrfolk were confused and disorganized, and the older ones weren’t much better.

  “This was to be expected,” Cisca murmured for Fiona’s ears alone. “Don’t act alarmed, or they’ll feel bad.”

  Fiona nodded; her father had said something similar to her when they’d held a fire drill not a Turn before.

  Then Cisca said something that shocked Fiona: “Remember that you may be conducting this drill next time.”

  “I don’t think I could manage if anything happened to you,” Fiona protested. The loss of Tannaz was still too fresh in her mind.

  “I don’t plan on it,” Cisca told her firmly, adding with a grimace, “but it’s my duty as a Weyrwoman to be prepared for the worst.” After a pause, she said, “And your duty, too.”

  A cold shiver went down Fiona’s spine as she imagined seeing Cisca mounting a sick and dying Melirth for a final ride between.

  Suddenly Cisca grabbed Fiona’s arm and yanked her around so that she could meet her eyes squarely. “That is exactly what I need you to avoid,” the Weyrwoman said sharply. In the distance, Fiona heard Talenth’s plaintive cry, and she could almost feel the alarm spreading through the weyrfolk and weyrlings. “They look to us, Fiona. We set the tone. Our dragons reflect it.”

  A shadow fell beside her and Fiona felt her free hand grasped by someone else. Xhinna.

  “It’s all right.” Fiona’s words of reassurance echoed exactly Xhinna’s words of reassurance. The two girls looked at each other in surprise for a moment and then burst out laughing. Fiona could feel their mood travel to the others, could feel Talenth’s worry disappear.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Xhinna apologized.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Cisca told her. “You can stand with Talenth and keep her company.”

  “Get her to tell you about her first flight,” Fiona suggested, still grinning.

  “You know she talks to me sometimes?” Xhinna asked, clearly worried, turning from Fiona to Talenth and back again.

  “Really?” Cisca responded in surprise. “How often?”

  Xhinna shrugged. “Not that often.”

  “I ask her
to,” Fiona said, waving it away. But Xhinna’s eyes still looked worried.

  “Sometimes when you don’t ask her to,” Xhinna added quietly, casting her eyes down to the ground.

  “Xhinna,” Fiona replied slowly, firmly, “if Talenth wants to talk with you, then I’m glad.”

  Xhinna looked up, her eyes lighting in hope and surprise. “You are?”

  “You are my friend,” Fiona declared stoutly. “I’m glad that she likes you, too.” Deep in her thoughts, she wondered again why Talenth only sometimes referred to Xhinna by name, but she knew it wasn’t because her dragon loved Xhinna more than Fiona. It was something else . . . but Fiona couldn’t imagine what it might be.

  “Well, this is great,” Cisca declared. “But, Xhinna, we’re working on medical drills this morning.”

  “I heard,” Xhinna said quickly, ducking her head again. “I’m sorry, Weyrwoman but—”

  “No, don’t apologize.” Cisca held a hand up to halt her. “I was just going to ask if you’d be Talenth’s partner while Fiona and I follow the drill.”

  “You don’t mind?” Xhinna asked Fiona.

  “Of course not.”

  “Very well,” Cisca called at the end of the second drill. “That went better than the first time.” Rueful looks greeted that declaration. It had gone better than the first time, but only just.

  “We’ll take our lunch break now,” Cisca told the gathered weyrfolk and weyrlings. “Then, before we work with the fighting wings, we’ll do one last drill—only this time, the weyrlings will be our aidsmen and the weyrgirls will be the victims.”

  A snort of surprise erupted from the collected group while the older women chuckled appreciatively.

  The drill after lunch was the best of the three.

  “Right,” Cisca called across the field as they finished the drill. “Weyrlings, send your dragons back to their lairs because I think—” and the air grew dark with the wings of the much larger fighting dragons “—that we might have more injured to deal with.”

  T’mar’s wing arrived in good formation, except for his own dragon, who dropped precipitously in front of Fiona, causing her and many of the other girls to gasp in fright until Zirenth caught the air at the last moment and managed to land, with one wing precariously folded, as though grievously injured.