Dragonheart

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  “Xhinna was telling me about our Benden visitors,” T’mar mentioned at last.

  “Lorana and B’nik,” Xhinna said. “They came here with Kindan—”

  “Kindan was here?” Fiona asked, surprised and disappointed. If he’d been there, why hadn’t he come to see her?

  Xhinna shook her head. “They dropped him off at the Harper Hall first.”

  “Did they find anything in the Records?” T’mar asked.

  “Yes, they found a reference to a special place built at Benden Weyr.”

  “Why Benden?” Fiona asked.

  “It was Weyrleader M’hall of Benden who convinced them to build the rooms,” Xhinna said with a shrug.

  “You’re guessing,” Fiona said.

  “It happened over four hundred Turns ago,” Xhinna replied. “Of course I’m guessing.”

  “It seems a good guess,” T’mar observed. “M’hall was the eldest son of Sean and Sorka, and the first to establish a new Weyr.”

  “So?”

  “So he was the senior Weyrleader, after the death of Sean, and people would have looked to him for leadership,” T’mar replied. He shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll learn more when they find the special place.”

  “They’d better be quick about it,” Xhinna said, “if Lorana’s queen, Arith, has got the illness.”

  There was an awkward, thoughtful silence.

  “How much time does she have?” Fiona wondered out loud.

  “We don’t know,” T’mar replied. He made a face. “You’ve talked with Kentai and Tajen and the others, you know as much as I do.” He shrugged. “Maybe three sevendays, maybe less.”

  “Fiona said that if Talenth went between she’d go with her,” Xhinna remarked.

  “Yes,” T’mar responded slowly, “I can understand that.”

  “I’m going with her if she does,” Xhinna added stoutly.

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to make such a promise,” T’mar warned her. Xhinna gave him a stubborn look and he went on. “No one ever says words with the thought that they might one day have to eat them.”

  “I won’t!”

  “You wouldn’t be the first,” T’mar observed mildly. “I’ve had to eat my own words countless times; that’s why I give you such advice.”

  “How did they taste?” Fiona asked, surprised to find her humor returning.

  “Awful,” T’mar replied with a grimace. “But I was always glad after I’d eaten them.”

  “ ‘Be careful what you wish for, you might get it,’ ” Fiona repeated the old saying.

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m not wishing for it,” Xhinna protested irritably. “I just want to have plans.”

  “Why not plan for good things?” T’mar suggested.

  “Like what?” Fiona challenged.

  “Like when your Talenth can fly and take you between,” T’mar suggested.

  “What’s that got to do with me?” Xhinna asked. After a moment, she turned excitedly to Fiona, “Would you take me with you?”

  “Of course,” Fiona promised. “We can go everywhere together.” “Not flying Thread,” T’mar said.

  “But we haven’t enough queens for a queen’s wing,” Xhinna said.

  “Yet,” Fiona told her with a grin.

  “Are you planning on repopulating the Weyr with queens so soon?” Xhinna asked mockingly. She dropped her eyes into her lap as she realized the full import of what she’d said.

  Fiona remembered the times she had gone with her father to the stud sheds to watching the bulls breed. Somewhere in her future there were mating flights, many mating flights. A thrill, a sense of dread and excitement both, churned her stomach.

  “That’s for Turns not yet come,” T’mar chided Xhinna gently. “ ‘Don’t count your eggs before they’ve hatched.’ ”

  “Dragon eggs,” Xhinna said with a snigger and a mischievous glance toward Fiona.

  Fiona turned her attention to T’mar, asking, “What’s it like, a mating flight?”

  T’mar smiled and shook his head. “That’s not for Turns to come yet,” he said again. “But it’s marvelous and you’ll be brilliant, I’m sure of it.”

  “Just don’t let her gorge,” Xhinna said warningly.

  Fiona looked at her inquiringly.

  “Your queen, don’t let her gorge when she rises or the clutch will be too small.” Xhinna felt the intensity of the looks the other two were giving her and explained, “I heard it from the other weyrfolk.”

  T’mar smiled. “They’re right, of course. They’ve seen enough mating flights to know.”

  “What about you?” Xhinna pressed.

  T’mar shook his head. “I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind,” he said. “It’s personal.”

  “Well, I remember the last mating flight and I felt this amazing feeling,” Xhinna replied. “I’d never felt anything like it before. I just wanted to hug everyone.”

  “Yes,” T’mar agreed quietly, “mating flights are like that: The emotions of the queen and her bronze flow into everyone.”

  “When is Melirth due to rise again?” Xhinna asked.

  “Not for a while yet,” T’mar replied. “Within the Turn, probably.” He slapped his good hand on his thigh and rose from his chair. “Which reminds me, it’s getting near enough toward dinner that we should head down to the Living Cavern and at least pay our respects to K’lior and Cisca, even if we’re too stuffed to eat.”

  “Not me,” Xhinna responded feelingly, rising and grabbing their tray deftly. “I heard what Zirana’s making for dinner and I kept room enough!”

  “The word from Ista is bad,” Cisca said the moment she had a chance to catch Fiona’s ear. “We don’t know everything yet, but it sounds like they lost over two-thirds of their fighting dragons.”

  “How many do they have left?”

  Cisca shook her head. “Less than a Flight, certainly. Maybe less than two wings.” With a sad look she added, “I think they lost more to the illness than anything else. Too many riders don’t want to miss the fight; too few are adept at knowing the signs of this illness.”

  “Do we know?”

  “Not really,” Cisca answered truthfully. “The cough is obvious, but the earlier signs . . . even Lorana wasn’t certain. Not that we had much time to talk about it . . .”

  Fiona gave her a puzzled look.

  “We spent most of our time poring over old Records and little time talking,” Cisca told her. She ran a hand nervously across her forehead, wiping hair away from her eyes. “Of course she left the moment she learned about her dragon.” She paused in thought, then shook her head. “The cough’s the most noticeable symptom.”

  Fiona saw that the others around the table were watching them and pulled back from Cisca. The Weyrwoman noticed and turned to K’lior.

  “I was just telling Fiona about Ista,” she told him.

  “What’s the news? Did they have a Fall?” T’mar asked. He was sitting across from Fiona.

  “Yes,” Fiona replied. She looked at the Weyrwoman, expecting her to fill in the details, but Cisca merely waved for her to continue the tale and reached for a platter of steaming meat. Fiona took a breath. “The Weyrwoman was just telling me that they may have lost as much as two-thirds of their fighting strength.”

  “Two-thirds!” M’kury exclaimed from farther down the table. “They were already light, and with the loss of C’rion . . .”

  “J’lantir’s leading them now,” K’lior said.

  “J’lantir,” H’nez snorted derisively. “The man lost his whole wing!”

  “But we found out why, didn’t we?” M’kury retorted quickly. “And without them, we would have had even more holders die in the Plague.”

  “Holders!” H’nez snorted once more. “Who needs—”

  “I was a holder, H’nez, in case you’ve forgotten,” Fiona snapped angrily, her hands balled into fists under the table. “And without J’lantir, I wouldn’t be here. Think on that.”<
br />
  “Actually,” Cisca added drolly, “perhaps it’d be best if you just think, H’nez.”

  H’nez’s eyes flashed and he tensed in his chair, his anger obvious to everyone. Outside a dragon bugled loudly, answered by another higher-pitched dragon: Melirth and Talenth. The sounds seemed to recall him to his senses, and with some effort, he relaxed in his chair.

  “Everyone is tense,” K’lior said soothingly into the silence that fell. “These are trying times and we—” He waved his hand indicating all the wingleaders and the two Weyrwomen. “—set the tone for the entire Weyr.”

  “I spoke without thinking,” H’nez said, raising his eyes to K’lior, then Cisca, then Fiona.

  “It was probably just the wine,” M’kury said in a conciliatory tone. Then he noticed that there wasn’t any wine at the table and raised a hand, calling, “We need some wine here. Make it Benden white, if you can.”

  “You and your Benden white,” S’kan said, shaking his head. “You’d think you were in Benden, not Fort.”

  “Fort for the riders, Benden for the wine,” M’kury said, holding out a hand to take one of the glasses being offered to the table. “Everyone has a specialty.”

  The rest of the wingleaders guffawed.

  “And we know yours,” M’valer said, gesturing to M’kury’s glass as a kitchen drudge carefully filled it.

  “And why not? We don’t have another Fall for a sevenday,” M’kury replied nonchalantly.

  “Good point,” M’valer acknowledged, raising his own glass for filling.

  “Don’t drink too much, though,” K’lior cautioned.

  “What about T’mar’s wing?” M’kury asked with a sideways glance toward T’mar.

  “Every wing is flying light,” T’mar observed. “We need all the fit dragons we can get.”

  “We need fit riders, too,” H’nez remarked sourly.

  “My arm will be well enough when Thread falls.”

  “Not if you tear it up during drills,” Cisca said pointedly.

  “Why don’t I ride with T’mar tomorrow?” Tajen suggested. He hadn’t been sitting at the table but had come by partway through the conversation and had listened in, unnoticed. “I could catch the firestone for him.”

  T’mar started to say something, but K’lior spoke first. “That’s a very interesting idea.” The Weyrleader turned to Cisca. “Could we pair other uninjured riders with uninjured dragons?”

  “You mean two riders together, or one rider on another’s dragon?”

  “That’s unthinkable!” M’valer exclaimed, looking extremely outraged. “Don’t ever think that I’ll let my dragon be ridden by another!”

  “Not even to save Pern?” Fiona asked him. M’valer hesitated and she pressed on. “Even if your dragon would allow it and wanted to do it?”

  “You know how they get when Thread falls,” M’kury added.

  “Well . . . maybe,” M’valer said finally. “But it would have to be in direst need.”

  “Why direst need?” Cisca asked reasonably. M’valer bristled, so she persisted. “How can we tell if without your dragon flying one Fall, we will have enough strength for the next?”

  M’valer looked confused by this question, so Cisca continued, “No one can really say which dragon will be the most important in a Fall—”

  “You’ve not ridden a Fall,” H’nez objected.

  “No, I’ve tended the injured,” Cisca returned sharply. “And I’m saying that we need every fighting dragon that can fly, regardless of who is riding them.”

  “Well, it’s a thought at least,” K’lior observed, placing a soothing hand on Cisca’s arm. She glanced over at him in surprise. Whatever response he gave was a secret between the two of them, perhaps relayed by dragon, but it seemed enough for Cisca. K’lior turned his attention back to T’mar. “If you’ve no objection, then I would be interested to see how you work with Tajen tomorrow.”

  T’mar gave the ex-dragonrider a quick, measuring look, then nodded. “I’d be delighted.”

  “Then it’s settled,” K’lior said, returning his attention back to his dinner.

  “What about the weyrlings?” H’nez asked. “Who’s going to handle them?”

  “Well,” Tajen replied with a shrug, “the ones who can fly will be handling firestone, and the younger ones will be working with the Weyrwomen here, so I don’t think there’s an issue.”

  “Who’ll control the flying werylings and the firestone?” H’nez pressed.

  “That would be my job as Weyrwoman,” Cisca replied. She cast a glance at Fiona and smiled impishly. “Fiona will be responsible for the firestone, as we don’t need to have any more riders falling on her.”

  That drew a chuckle all around and a shamed look from T’mar.

  “With me holding on to you, T’mar, you needn’t worry about falling,” Tajen said, adding to the bronze rider’s shame.

  “If you want me to handle the firestone,” Fiona said to Cisca, “then I should probably drill with the weyrlings.”

  “Well said!” Tajen exclaimed. “Why don’t you plan on that tomorrow when the riders are practicing?”

  Fiona nodded even as she felt her stomach go suddenly heavy with worry. Tomorrow! Under the table, Xhinna patted her knee reassuringly.

  “You won’t have much trouble with the older weyrlings,” Tajen consoled Fiona early the next morning over breakfast. “There are only twelve of them with hatchlings from Hinirth’s last clutch, and they’re almost old enough to join the fighting wings.”

  “The two leaders are J’gerd and J’keran,” T’mar added. “J’gerd’s a wiry-haired lad, smiles a lot but he’s thoughtful.”

  “J’keran is blond-haired and low-built,” Tajen continued, glancing at T’mar for agreement.

  “He’s strong, just not tall,” T’mar said. “They’re both—” He glanced at Tajen. “—steady, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Steady’s a good word,” Tajen agreed. “Given time they’ll make passable riders.”

  “They’ll know what to do; you just keep on top of ’em,” T’mar told her as he tipped back his mug for the last bit of klah and rose from the table. “You’ll do fine.”

  And with that, they left.

  Fortunately, Cisca took pity on her. It must have been the look in her eyes, Fiona thought ruefully as the Weyrwoman guided her toward the weyrling tables.

  With well-honed good manners, all the young riders rose as soon as they spotted the Weyrwomen. Fiona knew some of them already, but she still felt that she was being confronted with a sea of faces.

  Cisca gestured to one of the older weyrlings at the end of table. “This is J’gerd.”

  The lad smiled, and immediately Fiona recognized it as the telltale sign, along with his curly black hair, that had been given her by T’mar.

  “You must be J’keran, then,” Fiona said to a smaller, blond-haired boy standing beside J’gerd.

  J’gerd’s smile grew wider and he poked the other lad, saying jokingly, “Examine your conscience and tell the Weyrwomen whatever sins you’ve committed.” While J’keran was still looking at him bemusedly, J’gerd added, “Quickly now, before it’s too late!”

  “You’d best be mindful of your own errors,” J’keran replied steadily. Then he jerked his head toward one of the younger riders. “Either you or F’jian there would be my guess for any pranks.”

  “Sit, sit all of you,” Cisca commanded. Obediently the riders sat back down, still looking at the Weyrwoman half-expectantly, half-fearfully.

  “Fiona will be responsible for firestone drill this morning,” Cisca said.

  “Weyrwoman,” J’gerd said with a polite nod toward Fiona.

  “We worked together on the first-aid drill,” F’jian piped up from his place at the tables. “If you’d like,” he offered Fiona, “I could guide you around.”

  “So you can eat with the Weyrleader?” J’gerd replied with a shake of his head. “No, the Weyrwoman will need an experienced hand to help
her, not some young . . .” But he trailed off as he realized that Fiona’s queen was from the same clutch and any insult to F’jian’s bronze might also be applicable to her queen.

  “You have to forgive J’gerd,” J’keran spoke up in the silence. “His lips often move a full minute before his brain.”

  That brought sniggers from the rest of the group and red-faced shame to J’gerd’s face.

  A subtle move from Cisca made it clear to Fiona that she was on her own to handle the situation. On her own and being tested.

  “We need to make allowances all around,” Fiona said after a moment, choosing her words carefully. “Some who speak too quickly should learn caution—” She saw J’keran glance victoriously at J’gerd. “—while others who do not speak at all risk never being heard.” She was pleased to see J’keran and J’gerd exchange expressions as her meaning sank in.

  “As such,” she continued, “I think it best if the two of you came with me to the Weyrleader’s table, while F’jian stays here and keeps order.”

  The young bronze rider sat suddenly bolt upright as he absorbed the meaning of her words.

  “Come on, quickly,” Fiona called, as she turned toward the Weyrleader’s table, seeing K’lior rising. Cisca merely smiled and waved her on. If K’lior moved too quickly, she’d never be able to talk with him, Fiona realized with a rush of fear. She couldn’t shout, it would be unseemly and almost certainly unheard in the noise of the Cavern so—

  Talenth, ask Rineth to have K’lior wait for me, Fiona called to her dragon.

  In front, she saw K’lior halt and turn slowly around, scanning for her. She picked up her pace and was soon beside him, J’keran and J’gerd a step behind her.

  “K’lior, thanks for waiting!” Fiona said a little breathlessly. “I wanted to introduce the firestone crew to you.”

  “J’gerd, J’keran,” K’lior said, nodding to each. He looked back to Fiona, saying, “Good choices.”

  He frowned for a moment before continuing. “Thread will fall over Ruatha and then on to the Weyr.” He glanced at the three of them to make sure they understood. To the two lads, he said, “We’ll use the usual recognition points and full load.”

  “Full load?” Fiona repeated, bewildered.