An hour later, Fiona and Xhinna struggled with the last of the heavy trestle tables as the first casualty arrived. Fiona was straightening up over the table when she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. She jerked her head around in time to see a dark shadow against the nooning sun and, with a cry of horror, raced to the falling dragonrider.
Catch the head! she remembered from the drill they’d done days past. Arms outstretched, she raced to catch the rider’s head and shoulders, only to misjudge and have the rider land full on her, crushing her to the ground. It was the last thing she remembered for a long while.
When she awoke, she was in her bed and it was dark. Her forehead was cold and wet; someone had put a cloth over it.
“Don’t move,” a voice told her warningly. She thought maybe it was Kentai.
“Don’t speak,” Xhinna put in sharply. “You took a nasty blow to the head.”
“You’ll probably have a concussion, so we’re going to keep an eye on you,” the Weyr harper added, reaching over to touch the cloth. “In a moment, I’m going to uncover a glow and I want you to open your eyes and close them the moment you see the glow. Don’t nod or move your head.”
“You were lucky Zirenth managed to ease T’mar’s fall,” Xhinna said, although it sounded to Fiona as though the younger girl were saying it more to reassure herself.
“Okay, open your eyes and close them when you see the glow,” Kentai said calmly.
Fiona opened her eyes and immediately spotted the glow held in his hands about a handspan in front of her. She closed her eyes, feeling suddenly quite drained.
“Good,” Kentai noted. “Now, without opening your eyes, can you lift your right hand?”
Fiona could and did.
“Lower it and raise your left,” Kentai told her. Fiona did. “Excellent!” She heard the sounds of him rising and a rustle as Xhinna rose beside him.
“There doesn’t seem to be any lasting damage,” Kentai said softly—probably he meant his words for Xhinna’s ears only, but Fiona’s were strangely acute at the moment. “She should rest. Don’t give her any fellis juice without checking with me.”
“Okay,” Xhinna replied, her tone a bit hesitant.
“How bad was it?” Fiona demanded, willing herself to stay still. She heard a startled intake of breath, probably Kentai, and persisted, “How bad was it? I need to know.”
“You’re fine,” Kentai said.
“Not me, the others,” Fiona replied.
There was a silence.
“Tell me!”
“Seventeen were lost, twelve have serious injuries, twenty-three others have injuries that will keep them from flying for up to three months,” Kentai reported grimly.
“And?” Fiona prompted.
“We’ve identified twenty-five more sick dragons,” Kentai concluded. After a moment’s pause, he added, “You must get better, Fiona. Your courage inspired everyone today.”
“I was stupid!” Fiona groaned.
“You saved T’mar’s life,” Kentai corrected. “You risked your own to do it.”
“How is he?”
“Alive, thanks to you,” Kentai told her. “Now get some rest, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of visitors tomorrow, T’mar included.” He cleared his throat with a chuckle. “After all, it’s not every day that a wingleader is saved by a Weyrwoman. It’s usually the other way around.”
“Go on, harper, I’ll look after her,” Xhinna said. Fiona heard the harper’s footsteps fade away as he made his way through Talenth’s weyr and out to the Weyr Bowl.
Talenth? Fiona called.
I wasn’t worried about you, Talenth said, sounding to Fiona very much like she’d been worried sick. I knew you were going to be all right. She told me so.
She? Fiona wondered.
Shh, get some rest, a different voice echoed in Fiona’s mind. We’re keeping an eye on you, you’ll do fine.
The voice sounded so calm, so assured, so sensible. Cisca? Xhinna? No, the voice sounded like neither.
Sleep, the voice said gently, firmly.
Fiona drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Fiona woke to the feeling that she was being watched. She stirred, then stopped as a voice spoke. “Don’t move.”
She heard the sound of someone rising from a chair—someone too big to be Xhinna; besides, the voice was male—and heard the person move awkwardly out of the room.
“I’ll be back with the harper,” the voice assured her. “You’re to stay still until he examines you.”
T’mar. Fiona opened her mouth to protest, but apparently the wingleader hadn’t gone so far that he didn’t notice, for he chided her with, “No, don’t talk, either!”
And then he was gone, leaving Fiona alone with her thoughts. No, not quite alone. Talenth?
Fiona! Her dragon responded instantly. There was a tone of contrition and embarrassment.
You’re eating? Fiona thought to her, getting a fuzzy notion that her gold was over by the Feeding Grounds.
I was hungry, Talenth said. She said I should eat.
She?
Melirth, Talenth replied, her tone brightening, tinged with awe and pleasure. She’s very kind.
Yes, she is, Fiona responded, wondering if perhaps it had been Melirth she’d heard the night before. But dragons rarely spoke so cogently, being more concerned with the here and the now.
Noise at the entrance to her quarters alerted her to the arrival of others.
Eat hearty, love, Fiona called to her dragon.
I am, Talenth replied, sounding as though her mental mouth were full. Fiona got the impression of warm, hot meat, and suddenly felt her stomach growl.
“Well, that’s auspicious!” a voice called from the approaching footsteps. T’mar. “I’ve sent for food.”
“She should start with liquids—a good light broth, first,” Kentai corrected. “No klah.”
“No klah?” Fiona and T’mar objected in unison. There was a moment’s silence as they reacted to their impromptu chorus, then T’mar continued solo, “From what Xhinna says, this girl practically lives on klah!”
This girl! Fiona muttered mentally. T’mar wasn’t all that much older than Kindan, and Kindan was . . . much older than she.
“A concussion,” Kentai lectured, rounding on T’mar, “which you avoided, courtesy of this child—”
“Child!” Fiona blurted out in protest.
“I beg your pardon, Weyrwoman,” Kentai responded after a moment of dumbfounded silence.
“No klah?” Fiona prompted, quietly accepting his apology.
“It might make it more difficult to recover,” Kentai explained. “Klah has been associated with headaches, and you’ll want to avoid that.”
“For how long?” T’mar and Fiona again asked in unison. Kentai chuckled while Fiona fought to keep herself from blushing.
“We’ll check at the end of the day,” Kentai said. Fiona felt someone remove the cloth on her head, feel her forehead, and replace the cloth. “There’s no sign of fever.” She heard Kentai turn and grab something, then mutter to T’mar, “Close the curtains.”
A moment later, Fiona heard the curtains that separated her quarters from Talenth’s being closed, followed by the curtains to the outside corridor. By now, her room should be quite dark.
“Open your eyes, Fiona,” Kentai said.
She found herself staring up at the harper, who was holding a glow. T’mar moved into view in the background, one side of his face covered in a bandage and his arm in a sling.
Kentai leaned forward, examining her intently. “What am I looking for?” he asked her.
“Pupils equally reactive to light,” Fiona replied quickly, just as if it were a test. Then she realized that it was. “Are they?” she asked.
“Yes,” Kentai said, nodding in relief. “Still, I want you to rest until tomorrow. Concussions can be tricky things.”
“I had one once as a weyrling,” T’mar said by way of
agreement. He went pale as he continued, “I spent a whole day feeling like my feet were always two toes off the ground.”
“Did you?” Kentai asked conversationally. “I don’t recall the incident.”
“Yes, well, you wouldn’t,” T’mar replied, sounding like he was regretting the admission. “It was the result of an unpleasant altercation.”
“Did every weyrling fight with H’nez?” Kentai asked in exasperation.
“I suspect so,” T’mar allowed. “At least, all the bronze riders did.”
“How is he?” Fiona asked.
“His wing did better than some,” T’mar replied, his tone full of self-recrimination.
“T’mar, aside from your injuries, only two of your wing were hurt,” Kentai said. “That is no worse than most.”
“Well, I’ve got ten days to get well again,” T’mar said.
“Your arm might not be up to catching firestone,” Kentai warned mildly.
“Oh, be certain of it, it will be,” T’mar promised.
“So, tomorrow, I can get up?” Fiona asked, moving the conversation away from an obviously painful topic.
“Yes,” Kentai agreed. “And we should leave you to your rest.” Fiona rested fitfully throughout the remainder of the day. The next morning, she felt well enough to get up and bathe without Xhinna’s help; she was pleased to let her friend sleep in, after she’d been working so hard to help Fiona and also take care of as many of Fiona’s duties as she could. But when Xhinna woke up and saw her toweling off, she was unusually quiet, and Fiona could see that something was bothering her.
“What?” she demanded.
Xhinna sighed and made a face; it was obvious that she felt she had some kind of confession to make. “There was a woman here while you were sick,” she began. With a raised eyebrow, Fiona commanded her to continue. “Lorana,” Xhinna said. “She Impressed a gold at Benden Weyr and she’s been looking for a cure to the illness. She came here yesterday with the Weyrleader, B’nik, to look through our Records.”
“And?” Fiona urged.
“They found something in the Records,” Xhinna went on. “They were excited and surprised.”
“What else?” Fiona prompted, seeing that Xhinna was getting closer to what was really worrying her.
“Her dragon got sick, she just found out, and she rushed back to Benden,” Xhinna finished in a rush, her eyes darting uncontrollably in the direction of Talenth’s weyr.
“Talenth is fine,” Fiona declared stoutly.
“Yes,” Xhinna agreed hastily. “Of course.”
Fiona threw on a robe and reached for her slippers. “Let’s check on her,” she said. “That way we’ll both know.”
But Xhinna didn’t make a move to follow. Surprised, Fiona turned back and gave her a questioning look.
“You said that you’d go between with her,” Xhinna began hesitantly.
“She asked me,” Fiona replied softly, having a disturbing notion that she knew where Xhinna was heading.
“I don’t know how I’d survive if you went between,” Xhinna confessed.
We’re not going between for a long time,” Fiona assured her.
“You don’t know that,” Xhinna replied, her face grim.
“You can come with us, if that’s what you want,” Fiona said.
“Thank you,” Xhinna said, getting up at last. “I hope it won’t happen and I don’t know if I’ll want to, but I just wanted to know . . .”
Fiona smiled and grabbed her hand. “We won’t leave you behind,” she promised.
From the moment that Kentai pronounced himself satisfied with Fiona’s recovery, she had only one thing on her mind: to see T’mar. She hoped that she hadn’t been too obvious about it when she’d offered to check on the injured riders, but judging from Kentai’s raised eyebrow and Xhinna’s amused snort, she wasn’t sure.
To save herself from any snide comments, she made sure that she visited all the other riders first. But it didn’t help.
“So now are we going to visit your boyfriend?” Xhinna asked after their last stop. “He’s the only injured rider left, you know.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Fiona protested heatedly. Xhinna wisely said nothing, but Talenth, who had apparently been attracted to Fiona’s thoughts, asked, What’s a boyfriend?
I’ll tell you later, Fiona promised in a tone that sounded surprisingly like the same one her father had used Turns past when she’d been asking awkward questions. Unlike her own self all those Turns past, Fiona discovered pleasantly that Talenth was contented with the answer.
Zirenth’s weyr was on the third level, above the weyrling barracks. Fiona could imagine that that location was part of the reason that T’mar had volunteered to add weyrlingmaster duties to his work as wingleader: the noise from the weyrlings below was audible even here.
“Good day, Zirenth,” Fiona called loudly as they halted at the entrance to T’mar’s quarters. “Is your rider about?”
“I am,” T’mar intoned from just inside. “Is that Weyrwoman Fiona I hear?”
“And Xhinna,” Xhinna added with a laugh.
“I’m checking on the injured,” Fiona said, ignoring the laughing look in Xhinna’s eyes. “You’re the last for the day.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” T’mar replied. “Please come in.” Xhinna sidled behind Fiona and pushed the young Weyrwoman irreverently in before her. Fiona realized that she was blushing and turned to chide Xhinna, only to hear T’mar laugh, “Leaving so soon?”
Flustered, Fiona turned back again. “No, it’s just that I—”
“Come in, come in,” T’mar invited her ebulliently. “Zirenth, we have company.” He spread his hands in front of him demurely, adding, “If I had known, I would have sent for refreshments.”
“They’re on the way,” Xhinna put in promptly.
“Are they?” T’mar asked in surprise, turning just in time to see a fresh tray being carried into view by the current. “Oh, yes they are!”
He picked up the tray with his good arm but Xhinna scooped it away from him with a courteous look and laid it on the nearby table.
Fiona took the moment to carefully appraise the bronze rider’s injuries: the arm in the sling would heal with time; the bandage over the right side of his face was somewhat more concerning. T’mar must have noticed, for he chose that moment to say, “I appreciate your attentions, but I’ve been assured by both Kentai and Cisca that I will recover fully, even if I will add a scar to my forehead.”
“It missed the eye then,” Xhinna murmured clinically. “I’m glad.”
“Burnt out just on the eye ridge,” T’mar said, gesturing to the bandage. “If Zirenth had gotten us between an instant later, it would have scored through the bone. As it was, I was blinded on that side and so confused that when we came back into the Weyr Bowl . . .” He shook his head ruefully and gave Fiona a respectful nod. “Well, you know, as you took my fall.”
“I was trying for your head and shoulders,” Fiona responded lamely.
“I hate to say it,” T’mar said, biting his lip, “but I’m rather glad you saved me as you did.” Fiona gave him a surprised look. “I would have certainly broken both legs otherwise and been that many more months healing.”
“Then I’m glad, too,” Fiona replied. “Pern needs all its dragons and riders.”
“Including queens,” T’mar reminded her, raising a finger scoldingly. “Next time, let me fall if you must. The thought of you losing your neck to my stupidity . . .”
“Fresh klah, who wants it?” Xhinna interjected into the charged silence that fell as T’mar’s words trailed off.
Fiona nodded curtly, her eyes fixed on T’mar. Was he just—
“Are you just worried about my queen?” The words were out of her mouth before she realized it. Beside her, she could feel Xhinna tense up in surprise. Fiona hid her shock by giving T’mar a demanding look.
T’mar took his time answering, first sipping from his klah
and setting his mug carefully back down on the table before meeting her eyes. “As a dragonrider and a wingleader, it is my duty to worry about both rider and dragon.”
“So this is just about my dragon,” Fiona snapped.
“Fiona!” Xhinna cried.
“I nearly get killed for you and all you care about is my dragon!” Fiona continued, jumping to her feet and stepping back from the table. “Well, you can save yourself the next time!”
And with that she stalked off, leaving an astonished Xhinna and an open-mouthed T’mar behind her.
Are you all right? Talenth asked worriedly.
Yes, Fiona told her brusquely. No, she amended a moment later. I don’t know.
What can I do to help? Talenth asked.
Why hadn’t the others asked that? Fiona moaned to herself. She was trying so hard and never got any acknowledgment, she was so . . . She stopped in her tracks, feeling small and numb.
“I was stupid,” she murmured, needing to admit it out loud. With a deep sigh, she turned around and walked back to T’mar’s quarters. To Talenth, she said, Thank you, you help just by being with me.
I love you, too, Talenth replied. Fiona got the sense that her queen was tired, had been aroused by Fiona’s emotions, and was now thinking of sleep once more.
I’ll be down to oil you soon, Fiona promised.
I don’t think I need it, Talenth responded drowsily.
Get some rest, then, sleepyhead!
She heard quiet conversation coming from T’mar’s weyr as she approached. It stopped when she was close enough that her footsteps had probably become audible inside.
Fiona forced herself to enter. “T’mar, I’m sorry, I behaved badly.”
“We’re all under a lot of stress, Weyrwoman,” T’mar replied calmly. He lifted a hand and opened it in a throwing-away gesture. “It’s forgotten. Come sit back down with us.”
Still feeling ashamed and somewhat shocked by her actions, Fiona sat back down. There was a long moment of silence, which she found pleasant, while they drank their klah and chewed on the rolls that had been sent up from the kitchen.
Dragonheart Page 19
