Kindan came in both his capacities of weyrlingmaster and harper.
“Right now we have seventy-six fighting dragons,” T’mar began.
“As well as twenty-two mauled and recovering, eight lightly injured and recovering,” Fiona added.
“High Reaches has seventy-four, Fort seventy-nine, Ista ninety-four, and Benden has the most with one hundred and fifteen,” Kindan reported.
“They’ve got a total of one hundred and twelve mauled dragonpairs and seventy-three injured,” Fiona said.
H’nez’s brows furrowed as he worked through the numbers. “So with the weyrlings and the injured we’d have nearly another Weyr’s strength.”
“And we’ve somewhat less than a full Weyr’s strength on all Pern,” C’tov said.
T’mar spread a look between Fiona and Kindan as he asked, “Any idea how much longer we’ll be able to fight?”
“Just by the numbers, there’d easily be another hundred Falls,” Terin said. The others looked at her. “We’re losing about four dragons each Fall, and we’ve got more than four hundred fighting.”
“But at some point, there’ll be too few to fight anything, even if we time it,” H’nez reminded her.
“But we don’t know what that number is,” Fiona said. “If we decide that a Flight is the least number, then we’ve …”
“Around eighty-five more Falls,” Terin responded. “That would be a bit less than ten months from now.”
“Even taking every risk, the weyrlings won’t be able to fly for two Turns,” T’mar said with a grimace.
H’nez began, “So we’d be defenseless for—”
But Fiona raised a hand, turning her head sharply toward the Weyr Bowl.
“B’nik and Tullea are coming,” Fiona said. She frowned as she communed with Talenth. “So are Sonia and D’vin.”
“Dalia, J’lian, and S’maj have just jumped between at Ista,” Jeila reported.
“Cisca and K’lior are coming with my father,” Fiona said. She rose from her seat and raced toward the Bowl.
Talenth, warn Shaneese.
As it was, Fiona and T’mar were able to greet their unannounced arrivals with all due courtesy.
“Cisca!” Fiona called, racing into the taller woman’s arms and grabbing her in a firm hug.
“Fiona,” the Fort Weyrwoman said as she recovered, “I thought you were pregnant.”
“Nothing stops her from greeting friends,” Bekka called out sourly from her vantage point. Cisca smiled at her and Bekka nodded back until the Weyrwoman noted Bekka’s new rank knots and her eyebrows rose approvingly.
“Father!” Fiona cried as she let go of Cisca. Lord Bemin greeted her with a tight hug and a kiss on the head.
“Is she a terrible patient, Bekka?” the Lord Holder asked over his daughter’s head.
“Unless I sit on her, my lord,” Bekka said. “And then she becomes biddable for a short while.”
Bemin’s eyes sought out Kindan and he addressed the harper solemnly. “Masterharper Zist sends his regrets and asks if you will sit in his place.”
“Is he ill?” Kindan asked in sudden alarm.
“He’s old, lad,” Bemin said in a sad voice. “I think he knows he’s failing.”
Kindan frowned. Fiona moved beside him and touched his arm lightly. She knew that Zist had hoped to promote him to Master, and guessed that the old harper saw Kindan as his successor. She knew from her childhood at Fort Hold that none of the current Masters—Kelsa, Nonala, Verilan, nor any of the others—were the slightest bit interested in becoming the Masterharper nor, as Fiona had heard her father say, were they up for the political duties involved. Kindan had demonstrated that ability long ago, and not just during the Plague, but also with the handling of Aleesa, the old WherMaster. She was equally certain that Kindan did not feel as capable for the role as the Masterharper did.
“I will return as soon as I can,” Kindan swore.
“Soonest would be best,” Bemin agreed. He turned to T’mar and Fiona. “I stand for all Lord Holders in this meeting.”
“And what, my lord,” Fiona asked with a formal bow, “is the purpose of this meeting?”
“We need to know what to do,” Bemin said. The others all turned toward him. “We must make plans.”
“We will fight to the last dragon,” Fiona declared.
“But when do we start feeding the queens firestone?” Sonia asked challengingly. “When the last of the bronzes, browns, blues, and greens are all gone?”
“Or before then?” Cisca asked.
“You’re too many for the Council Room,” Fiona said, gesturing toward the Kitchen Cavern. “We’ll meet there.”
“We were just talking about this,” Terin said as she walked beside Fiona. “How did they know?”
“In hard times, the same thoughts come to many,” Bemin responded as he matched his stride with theirs.
“These are hard times,” H’nez agreed.
“The first dragonriders dealt with harder times,” Fiona said staunchly. “Sean and Sorka survived.”
“They had help,” Kindan said. “Don’t you recall those flying machines that the Ancients used?”
“But at some point the flying machines wore out,” Fiona said. “And then they had not many more dragons than we.”
“How did they survive, then?” Bemin wondered.
“The holders all lived in Fort,” Kindan said. “It was only when their numbers were great enough that the dragonriders spread out across the rest of Pern.”
“But what about Thread?” Sonia asked.
They entered the Kitchen Cavern and Fiona saw that Shaneese had already set the high table with a range of foods from snacks to full meals to meet the varying hours of the Weyrs.
“Perhaps the fire-lizards helped,” Fiona suggested after they’d all been seated. “They could have caught a lot of Thread on their own—it was known that they hunted it.”
“Or the watch-whers,” J’lian said.
“There were fewer watch-whers than dragons,” D’vin said, shaking his head.
“I don’t know, Weyrleader,” Kindan said, “we’ve never had a good grasp of their numbers and how quickly they breed.”
“Which brings up another question,” Sonia said, glancing around to be certain she had everyone’s attention. “By my Records, our queens should have been rising twice a Turn for the past three or more and yet they haven’t.”
“Could they have sensed the illness coming somehow?” B’nik wondered.
“We won’t know if they’ll start rising more often for a while yet,” Fiona said. “It’s not been quite half a Turn since the last mating flights.”
“True,” Tullea agreed. “But even if they do, it won’t help us now.”
“Why not go back in time like before?” Bemin asked.
“We’ve no place to go that’s safe, Father,” Fiona said. “All the time in Igen’s been used and there are only so many places one can put a dragon.”
“And feed them,” Bemin agreed sadly. He noticed the way the Weyrleaders looked at him and he shook his head, adding, “Not a complaint, Weyrleaders, merely an observation of fact.”
“What we need are two thousand fighting dragons,” T’mar said. “From the egg, it takes three Turns to raise them to fighting strength.”
“At a herdbeast every sevenday that adds up to a large number of beasts,” Bemin said.
“They eat less when they’re younger,” Terin said, her face bearing an abstracted look as she thought of her queen. “But, roughly, that’s three hundred and twelve thousand herdbeasts.”
“We holders are expanding as fast as we can, but after the Plague, we’re still not up to those levels.”
“One hundred and fifty-six thousand a Turn at full strength,” Terin added.
“Well, at least you’re not some invisible voice this time,” Tullea remarked sourly, recalling Terin’s presence at the last High Council.
“That’s correct, Weyrwoman,” Teri
n said with an edge to her voice. Fiona smothered a laugh as she saw Tullea and Sonia eye the young redhead warily, clearly upgrading their image of her from young child to woman in her own right.
That’s right, Fiona thought, don’t underestimate my friends.
“Lorana will have an answer,” Fiona blurted on the heels of her thought.
Her comment was greeted with pained looks around the table. “I’m not sure that we’re … ready … for Lorana’s answer yet,” Dalia said into the silence that fell. “She’ll come,” Fiona declared.
“I wish she’d come soon, then,” Tullea said. “I’m tired of riding on someone else’s dragon.”
“Fiona,” Bemin spoke up, his tone carefully modulated. Fiona turned to her father and he continued slowly, measuring his words, “Even were she to return, what help could she bring?”
“Are you sure you’re not pinning your hopes on her simply because she helped us so much the last time?” Sonia asked gently.
“I’ve seen her,” Fiona said. “She drew my portrait, twice now.”
“I can see how that helps!” Tullea snorted.
“If you’ve seen her,” Sonia said, “why hasn’t she remained with you?”
“And sent back my dragon!” Tullea snapped. “She wouldn’t say.”
“For the moment, we must do what we can without her,” T’mar inserted smoothly, trying to move the conversation back on topic and away from a potentially painful and embarrassing outcome for his Weyrwoman.
“Look,” Fiona continued, undaunted, “it makes sense. Lorana went to get aid. That’s why the queens aren’t rising as much, they know that there will be enough dragons when we need them.”
“Perhaps,” Kindan allowed, his expression grim. “Or perhaps she knew that there was no hope and grief overcame her.”
“She was carrying a child, Kindan!” Fiona protested. “Your child. Do you think she would throw that away?”
“If she thought the alternative was worse, yes,” Kindan told her grimly.
“And she took my dragon with her!” Tullea snarled, turning angrily toward Fiona. “If her purpose was so pure, Weyrwoman, why didn’t she send back my queen?”
“The only way to go between is on a dragon,” Fiona reminded her.
“Or a watch-wher,” Kindan added. Fiona accepted his small aid with an angry shake of her head.
“No one can live between without a dragon or a watch-wher,” Sonia said, giving Fiona a sympathetic look. “If she’d wanted to go between forever, then she would have had to do it a-dragonback.”
“And, consider,” Kindan added, meeting Fiona’s eyes squarely, “by your accounting, she’d seen K’tan go between forever—”
“Saving B’nik!” Fiona protested.
“—saving B’nik,” Kindan allowed with a nod. “So she had an example in front of her.” He paused, shaking his head. “Why couldn’t it be that she felt there was no hope and decided to follow him, to go where her Arith went.”
“She wouldn’t,” Fiona said, shaking her head firmly, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “She loves you too much, Kindan, she’d never leave you.”
“Never leave you,” Kindan said, shaking his head. “You can’t believe that she’d leave you.”
“Harper—” Bemin began warningly.
“I’m sorry, Fiona,” Kindan said, “but all your life people have been leaving you, they left before you were born. Perhaps you just can’t let them go.”
“Kindan …” Fiona said, her voice fading into sobs as she dropped her head into her hands.
“Harper,” Bemin repeated, “if you are counseling despair, I think you’ve succeeded.”
“ ‘Step by step, moment by moment,’ ” Fiona said, suddenly on her feet, eyes flashing, hand raised with a finger pointing accusingly at Kindan. “ ‘We get through another day.’
“Listen to your words, Kindan,” Fiona spoke, her voice rolling through the room with power so great the dragons outside roared. “We must survive, we must find a way.”
She glanced at the Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen. “Maybe Lorana is gone, maybe not,” she told them. “The harper is right that she must, for the moment at least, be out of our thinking.” She glanced at Kindan. “It was foolish of me to pin my hopes solely on her.” She shook her head. “So we must find another way. That is our duty to our weyrfolk”—she nodded toward Shaneese and the others who stood rooted by her outburst—“to our holders”—she nodded to her father—“to our crafters”—and she looked toward Kindan and then down to her chest as she finished with—“and to our children.” Her eyes went to Kindan again.
The harper rose and moved toward her. She held him back with a hand.
“We have yet to consider the watch-whers,” Fiona said. “I spoke with the Mastersmith some time ago about building sunshades dark enough that they might fly in the day.”
“I know something of this,” Kindan said. The others looked at him and Fiona waved a hand for him to continue. “Master Zellany reports that they have delivered a pair of these shades to Nuella.” He paused for a moment. “Nuella tells me that Nuellask tried them and could use them for an hour just before sunset. Otherwise, the sun was too bright for her.”
“Can Zellany make them darker?” Sonia wondered.
“He’s trying,” Kindan said. “It will take him another month to prepare a darker set.”
“Have him make three sets of different darknesses,” D’vin suggested.
Kindan nodded in agreement with the suggestion.
“What about the fire-lizards?” Terin asked. Everyone turned toward her questioningly. “Well, if they helped Sean and Sorka, could we not get them to help us?”
“The sickness—” Kindan began.
“But we’ve a cure for that,” Terin said.
“Indeed,” Bemin agreed. “But I’m afraid that since they were sent to Southern, many of them would have already sickened and died.”
Terin blanched.
“So, where does that leave us?” Sonia asked.
Before anyone could answer, they heard the bellow of the watch dragon issuing a challenge and the voice of a queen bugling in response.
“Minith!” Tullea cried, jumping out of her seat and racing out to the Weyr Bowl.
“Lorana!” Fiona called in triumph, glaring at Kindan on her way after Tullea.
Outside, a crowd of weyrfolk were clustered around the gold.
Benden’s queen had returned.
Riderless.
Holder, crafter, harper know
Every dragon’s loss is a blow
To strength and power of the Weyr
And the hope of all everywhere.
Tullea insisted upon departing immediately with her queen and demanded that B’nik come with her. “We don’t know how long she’s been gone if Lorana’s been timing it; she might be ready to rise any time now.”
The departure of Benden broke the quorum of Weyrleaders and Sonia and D’vin of High Reaches departed soon after, followed by the Istans. Cisca and K’lior remained long enough to let Bemin say farewell to his daughter and then they returned to Fort. Cisca promised to be in touch, but Fiona noticed how the Weyrwoman kept her eyes more on T’mar than herself.
“I’d better see to the weyrlings,” Kindan said to T’mar, keeping his face from Fiona.
“Yes,” T’mar agreed in a cold voice, “do that.”
“I’m coming with you,” Terin said, darting after the taller harper. Kindan paused, gesturing to the young weyrwoman invitingly.
When Terin caught up, he checked his stride to match hers.
“She’s the Weyrwoman, you must respect her,” Terin said in a tight voice as they strolled across the Weyr Bowl.
“I do,” Kindan said.
“She’s right more than she’s wrong.”
Kindan nodded in agreement. “She’s strong-willed.”
“Stubborn,” Terin allowed.
“She doesn’t give up.”
“Nor did you,” Ter
in said, glancing up at him challengingly. “Are you so upset now because she’s learned from you too well?”
“She didn’t learn from me,” Kindan said with a frown. “She learned from the ballads.”
“The ballads?”
“Songs become more than truth,” Kindan told her. She gave him a questioning look. “I was scared during the Plague. I didn’t know what I was doing, I wasn’t sure that we’d survive.”
“But you didn’t give up.”
“Because I couldn’t,” Kindan said. He shook his head at the memory. “I was much younger and I wanted to impress Koriana, to impress Lord Bemin … and I wanted to live.”
“And you did all that,” Terin reminded him. “Because you didn’t give up.”
“I didn’t give up because I couldn’t,” Kindan said with pain in his voice. “After Koriana died, baby Fiona was bawling her head off, Bemin couldn’t remember where he’d put her”—he stopped and met Terin’s eyes squarely—“it was for her that I didn’t give up.”
“So why are you giving up now?” Terin asked him softly. “She’s here, she’s fighting with all that she’s got, doing all that she can, and she’s probably carrying your child.”
“I don’t know how we’ll survive,” Kindan admitted bleakly. “We’re being worn down, dragon by dragon. At some point, we’ll have too few to fly a Fall and they’ll all die gloriously and then the queens will chew firestone and die gloriously and—”
Terin’s slap was as hard as it was unexpected. Kindan raised a hand to his face in surprise and gave the redhead a wide-eyed look of astonishment.
“That’s enough,” Terin told him harshly. “You are going to go over to those weyrlings and you’re going to train them. And we’re going to survive. That’s all there is to it.” She heaved a deep sigh. “And if you can’t figure out how to save us, Fiona will.”
“Yes, weyrwoman,” Kindan said. Then, to her surprise, he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “You are right; I was wrong. We’ll figure it out even if we have to send you and Fiona to the Red Star to stomp out the Thread strand by strand.”
Dragon’s Time: Dragonriders of Pern Page 22
