Dragonheart впп-8

by Тодд Маккефри

  I don’t know, she confessed. I just do. I’m sorry that it hurts you, too.

  Can you help him?

  Fiona bent to cradle Talenth’s head with her whole body. I’m not sure, she said. But deep inside her, Fiona knew that was a lie. As she considered it, she heard a noise — a dragon going between.

  We’ve been here long enough, let’s go, the rider thought to the dragon under her.

  As you wish, the dragon responded. With a great heave of its hind legs, the dragon leapt into the air and went between.

  TWO

  Skin stretch

  Flake, peel.

  Oil, scratch,

  Feed, creel.

  FortWeyr, The Next Day

  “I’ll be just fine, Father,” Fiona assured Lord Holder Bemin as he took his leave of her the next morning. “You can send Jokester to check on me — ” Catching herself, she gestured lovingly down to the gold queen beside her. “ — us, whenever you need.”

  “It’s just that — ”

  “You must get back to the Hold, Father,” Fiona told him firmly. “I’ll be fine —” she paused, raising her hand to stifle a yawn. “ — here.”

  “You look exhausted,” Bemin said, glancing to the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman for support.

  “A late night and a stressful day,” Fiona assured him, again stifling a yawn. She smiled ruefully down at Talenth. “We’ll be fine.”

  Lord Bemin gave his daughter one final, worried look. “I’ll send Jokester to check on you.” The bronze fire-lizard perched on his shoulder made a cheerful noise of agreement.

  “T’mar will see you back to your Hold, my Lord,” Weyrwoman Cisca said, gesturing to a sturdy rider and his bronze dragon waiting nearby. She glanced at Fiona, adding, “He’ll be able to guide your fire-lizard back on his return.”

  “Thank you,” Fiona said, much relieved. She couldn’t wait to see Fire’s reaction to the larger gold queen.

  “Wingleader,” Bemin nodded absently, gesturing for the rider to precede him.

  With T’mar’s help, he mounted the great dragon easily enough and had time to look down once more at Fiona and her dragon. Despite another yawn, she waved merrily as the bronze leapt into the air, rose above the Weyr, and winked out between.

  For Fiona, the next few sevendays passed in a frenzy of feeding, oiling, scratching, and tending the baby gold dragon whose only activities were eating, sleeping, and complaining.

  Her fire-lizard, Fire, after hours in a state of mixed surprise, delight, and jealousy, found herself helping joyfully, often finding the itchiest spots and scratching them with her own claws.

  You know, Fiona had admitted to the dragonet early on, I’m only doing this because it’s you.

  And you love me, Talenth had agreed, turning over so that Fiona could reach another offending itch. With a laugh, Fiona obliged, sweat running down her nose as she scratched the flaking skin and poured more oil on it.

  As Talenth grew, the job of scratching and oiling her grew as well, until Fiona began to wonder if she’d ever done anything else. Occasionally she saw others in the Weyr. She knew she ate, but her memories of both food and sleep were truncated and foggy at best.

  In fact, “foggy” was a great description of her time so far at the Weyr. She had only a foggy map of the Weyr: She had traveled only once from the Hatching Grounds into the Weyr Bowl and up the short ramp into her Weyrwoman’s quarters, and had made only a few trips to the Kitchen Cavern before before figuring out how to use the Weyr’s amazing conveyor system to order food for her quarters. Fiona could never remember feeling so at odds and disjointed. She envied the weyrbred riders who already knew their way around and had been more prepared for these first weeks with a new weyrling.

  “She’s growing well.”

  Fiona jerked, startled by the voice behind her. But she turned quickly enough to nod to Cisca, amazed that such a big person could move so quietly.

  “That she is,” Fiona agreed, giving Talenth a final pat. Fiona wasn’t quite sure how to deal with Cisca. Having grown up as the only surviving child of a grieving Lord Holder, she’d never had to listen to an older woman’s directions before. And the Weyrwoman was only six turns older than she was.

  “Will you let me take your rider, Talenth?” Cisca asked the young gold dragon. As Talenth had curled up once more and was engaged in her favorite pastime — sleep — she made no reply. Cisca smiled at Fiona. “I think we can take that for a ‘yes.’ ”

  Fiona looked expectantly at her queen fire-lizard, but Fire glanced her way only once, then lay her head back down on her perch on the dragonet’s neck and closed her eyes, clearly saying, Go on without me. With a smile, Cisca gestured for Fiona to follow her and led the way out of the weyr and down the corridor to her own quarters.

  “I’m to teach you your duties as a Weyrwoman,” Cisca said as they entered her rooms. Fiona’s eyes widened as she caught sight of Melirth lounging in her weyr. Cisca caught her glance and laughed. “You think you’re oiling now !”

  Fiona’s attempt to stifle a groan was noticed by Cisca, who continued sympathetically, “Really, it’s not as bad as all that.” She gestured to the small shapes surrounding her dragon. “The fire-lizards are an immense help . . . most of the times.”

  “My father has a fire-lizard,” Fiona said, forgetting that Cisca had met Jokester at the Hatching.

  “Maybe you can entice your father into letting him help you and your little queen,” Cisca suggested, gesturing to a day table flanked by several chairs.

  “No,” Fiona said, shaking her head sadly, as she sat down. “With me here, Father’s only got Jokester.” She pursed her lips, then shook her head again. “Anyway, if Jokester came, I’m not sure he’d leave Fire alone.” She met the Weyrwoman’s eyes. “I think it would be best if Jokester stayed at the Hold.”

  “Did your father teach you much of holding?” Cisca asked, taking a chair of her own.

  Fiona made a face. “That was all he ever talked about!”

  “Well, he did you a service, then,” Cisca said. “Running a Weyr is not all that different from running a hold.”

  The look Fiona gave her was mulish.

  “You don’t think so?”

  “I can’t imagine that you’ve got to spend your time sitting with old grannies while they go on and on about the good old . . .” Fiona trailed off as she noticed Cisca’s expression.

  “I get to listen to old dragonmen,” Cisca informed her with a smile. She couldn’t resist adding, “Of course, now, I’ve got you to help me.”

  Fiona turned a groan into a deep breath and let it out slowly, squaring her shoulders.

  “Of course, instead of just running a hold, you’ve got a dragon as well,” Cisca added.

  Fiona thought of the sleeping Talenth and her expression softened. She nodded slowly. “Indeed, I do.” She shivered in response to another thought. “And Thread is coming soon.”

  “Yes, it is,” Cisca said. “But your Talenth will be too young to join the queen’s wing for several Turns yet.”

  Fiona seemed not to hear her, her attention still directed inward. “I will not fail the Weyr.” She sat in silence for a moment, then shook herself and looked up at Cisca. “I’m sorry, Weyrwoman, you were saying?”

  “I was talking about the queen’s wing,” Cisca said. “There’s only Tannaz and her Kalsenth now. Weyrs don’t fly a queen’s wing unless there are three queens.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  Cisca waved the apology aside. “There’s nothing to apologize for, unless you know how to speed up time and you’ve been holding out on us.”

  Fiona shook her head.

  “I thought so,” Cisca said. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you think a Weyrwoman’s duties are, based on what you know from holding?”

  “Okay,” Fiona said. She thought for a moment, then continued. “A Weyrwoman is responsible for the proper running of the hold — I mean, Weyr. She has to handle the staff — ” She caught Cisc
a’s look. “Not staff?”

  “Weyrfolk,” Cisca supplied.

  “Weyrfolk,” Fiona repeated, nodding as she fixed the word in her memory. “She handles the weyrfolk in the preparation of food — ” Fiona’s brow furrowed. “ — the food from tithe?”

  “Yes,” Cisca agreed. “When Thread is falling we don’t have time to find food.”

  “Nor do we,” Fiona replied tetchily. She caught herself and blushed, shaking her head. “I meant the hold. Holders.”

  “I’m weyrbred,” Cisca responded. “I’m counting on you to remind me of what it is to be a holder.”

  “It’s just that . . .” Fiona trailed off in embarrassment.

  “Go on,” Cisca said. Her tone was kind.

  “It seems that dragonriders don’t do that much and yet they get whatever they need, whenever they want it,” Fiona said, her frank blue eyes meeting Cisca’s warm brown ones. Cisca waited silently. Fiona lowered her gaze and pursed her lips. Finally, she sighed and looked up again at the Weyrwoman. “I’ve heard holder lads say the same thing about me.”

  “And is it true?”

  Fiona’s shoulders slumped. “I know I didn’t work as hard as some of them.”

  “Are you lazy, then?”

  Fiona’s eyes flashed angrily. “I never shirked a duty, never stopped until I was told, never — oh!”

  Cisca smiled at the younger girl. “Perhaps you understand being weyrfolk better than you imagined.”

  Fiona nodded ruefully. She started to say something but stopped abruptly, stricken.

  Cisca said nothing as she too was suddenly stricken.

  Outside, dragons bellowed in anguish, their voices almost drowned out by the nearer sound of Melirth’s keening. Fiona could hear Talenth’s anguished cry mingling with the others.

  I’m here! she called to her dragon.

  Talith is no more, Talenth told her sadly.

  A hand covered Fiona’s and she looked up as Cisca told her sadly, “That is one of the extra prices dragonriders pay.”

  The death of Talith and his rider J’trel left Fiona distraught for the next several days. She tried to hide it from Talenth, but the young queen was too perceptive.

  What is hurting you? Talenth asked in mixed tones of confusion and protectiveness.

  Talith, Fiona replied.

  Who?

  Never mind, Fiona assured her, her tone as bright as she could make it. Let’s get you oiled up again; you’ve rubbed it all off in the sand.

  Later, when Talenth was sleeping, Fiona sought out the Weyrwoman.

  “You want to know why Talenth doesn’t remember?” Cisca asked. She smiled. “That’s one of the gifts of the dragons — their memories are short, they forget most things quickly.”

  “You say most things?”

  “Sometimes they remember; usually the strangest things.” In response to Fiona’s confused look, she added, “You’ll soon find out for yourself.”

  “How did Talith die?” Fiona asked the question she’d been dreading for days.

  “J’trel was old,” Cisca said. “They went between together.”

  “Do dragons die of old age?”

  “No one really knows,” Cisca said, shaking her head. “Usually the rider dies of old age first and the dragon goes between. ” She smiled at Fiona. “You’ve many Turns before that’ll be a concern for you.”

  Fiona nodded and returned to her quarters to curl up comfortably with Talenth.

  Yet it seemed that Cisca was wrong. Four days later, Fiona was startled awake in the middle of the night. Talenth was trembling in her sleep, and none of Fiona’s comforting could still the hatchling, yet neither did the queen wake.

  Fiona heard voices nearby and stumbled out of her quarters toward the sound. Her fire-lizard stirred on her perch atop Talenth and flitted to Fiona’s shoulder. Fiona shushed her absently and strained to hear.

  “Ban the fire-lizards?” K’lior was saying to Cisca.

  “That’s what they said,” Cisca agreed. “The fire-lizards have gotten sick and three — at least — have died. They’re afraid that the dragons — ”

  “Dragons?” K’lior broke in. He started to say more, but at that moment Fiona stumbled on a pebble and the noise distracted him. “Who’s there?” he called, thrusting his head out the doorway of his quarters.

  “It’s me,” Fiona said, coming farther down the corridor. “I heard voices.”

  K’lior turned back to his room and murmured something that Fiona didn’t catch, then turned back to her. “I’m sorry we woke you; it’s nothing to worry about.”

  “K’lior!” Cisca called reprovingly. “She’ll know soon enough.”

  K’lior grimaced, then gestured for Fiona to join them. “What did you hear?” he asked as she followed him into the Weyrwoman’s quarters.

  “Something about fire-lizards being banned,” Fiona replied, her hand going, uncontrolled, to the fire-lizard on her shoulder.

  “Kindan’s fire-lizard went between, ” Cisca told her softly. “They think he went between to die.”

  “Why?” On her shoulder, Fire chirped worriedly.

  Cisca shook her head. “We don’t know,” she said. “Apparently he got ill, something in the lungs.”

  “Could this illness affect the dragons?” Fiona asked, glancing back toward her weyr, filled with dread that she might lose both of her only true friends one after the other.

  “We don’t know,” K’lior said.

  “But the dragons and fire-lizards are related,” Cisca added.

  “So maybe they could get sick,” Fiona surmised. “And that’s why you want to ban the fire-lizards.”

  “Yes,” K’lior agreed.

  “Many of our weyrfolk have fire-lizards,” Cisca reminded him.

  “Yes, I know,” K’lior said. He turned to Fiona. “How will they react?”

  On her shoulder, Fire creeled and Fiona shuddered. She thought of Kindan, of how he must feel in his loss. Then she thought of — “Father!”

  “That’s right,” Cisca said, “your father has a fire-lizard, too.”

  “Father?” Fiona repeated numbly. “But he’s not at the Weyr.”

  “It would have to be a general ban,” K’lior told her.

  “Wouldn’t just this continent be enough?” Cisca asked, brows furrowed.

  “Yes,” K’lior said. “As long as the fire-lizards can’t infect the dragons.”

  “What happens to a fire-lizard that’s separated from its person?” Fiona asked.

  “We don’t know,” K’lior said, frowning. “A fire-lizard’s bond is not as strong as a dragon’s. If we send them to the Southern Continent, perhaps . . .”

  “Not all will go, will they?” Fiona asked.

  “No,” K’lior admitted.

  “But without the dragons — ”

  “Thread comes soon,” Cisca said.

  Fiona turned her head in the direction of her sleeping dragon, then back to the Weyrleaders. “My father survived the Plague, he’ll understand. He’s strong.” She turned again toward her quarters. “Come on Fire, we’d best tend to Talenth.”

  K’lior started to say something, but Cisca held up a restraining hand, cocking an ear and waiting until she could no longer hear Fiona’s footsteps.

  “What was that about?” K’lior asked incredulously.

  “She’s in shock, she’s grieving,” Cisca told him. “She needs time to say farewell.”

  K’lior nodded then. “I’d like to talk with the weyrfolk in the morning,” he said. “And give all those who have fire-lizards a chance to say farewell.”

  Cisca nodded abstractedly.

  “What?” K’lior said. “What are you thinking?”

  “Have you noticed the way Fiona behaves?”

  “I don’t know how else she could behave, given the news,” K’lior replied.

  “Have you talked with the weyrlings recently?”

  “Are you afraid they have this illness?” K’lior asked, suddenl
y alarmed. “Could her fire-lizard have spread it to the dragons?”

  “No,” Cisca replied, “although that’s a horrible possibility.” She frowned, mulling the notion over, then shook her head. “Have you noticed how they all seem so tired?”

  “And distracted,” K’lior agreed. “They seem only half here — T’jen was muttering about it just this morning.”

  “And you paid attention?” Cisca asked, amused. It was almost tradition that every Weyrlingmaster was convinced that the latest group of weyrlings was the worst ever.

  “Yes,” K’lior agreed. “Because he’d just told off the same rider twice for the same silly thing — he couldn’t get his practice harness on properly.”

  “With the Plague, though, it was the strongest who succumbed,” Cisca remarked.

  “That was humans, not dragons,” K’lior said. “We can’t be sure of anything.”

  “Well, it’s clear that the fire-lizards must go,” Cisca said. “If things work out, perhaps we can have them return.”

  “That’d please a lot of our weyrfolk,” K’lior agreed.

  There were no signs of pleasure the next morning as dragonriders and weyrfolk collected in the Kitchen Cavern. K’lior could tell that most of the dragonriders knew what was coming: Those with fire-lizards had placed themselves near those weyrfolk who had fire-lizards.

  Looking upon the sea of faces, most many Turns older than he, K’lior had never been more aware of how young he was to be a Weyrleader.

  “I have grave news from Benden Weyr,” he announced, his voice loud enough to fill every corner of the great room. “M’tal informs me that they have identified a sickness among the fire-lizards — ”

  “The fire-lizards!” several exclaimed at once.

  “Yes,” K’lior agreed. “Kindan’s bronze Valla succumbed to it yesterday. The symptoms are a cough that doesn’t get better, and green sputum — ”

  “Can it affect the dragons?” someone shouted from the back of the room.

  “We don’t know,” Cisca said, stepping up beside her mate. “But — ”

  “We can’t take the risk!” another of the weyrfolk called. “ ‘Dragonmen must fly when Thread is in the sky!’”