Dragongirl (24 page)

“It’d be early days yet,” Ellor agreed. She glanced up to Fiona’s eyes. “And perhaps you’ve enough on your plate with all that’s going on.”

“I promise to tell you all, if you feed me,” Fiona said, glancing wistfully toward the nearest table.

Ellor snorted once more and waved her to a chair. “For all that I’ve heard of Shaneese, even with your pining, I’d be addled not to know that she sets a good table, good enough that you wouldn’t be here just to be fed.” As she spoke, she bustled up a plate, soup bowl, and mug, and filled each, setting them and utensils in front of Fiona and gesturing for her to start eating. “What is it, then, that brings you here?”

Predictably, the question was asked when Fiona had just swallowed. Fiona gave Ellor an apologetic look as she cleared her throat. “T’mar’s conscious. I want Tintoval to check on him.”

Ellor pursed her lips thoughtfully before responding. “You’ll bring her back?”

Fiona gave her a look of surprised hurt in reply.

“It’s just that so many people seem to stay in your wake once attracted,” Ellor said, working hard to keep her expression neutral. “Lorana, Kindan, even that weyrwoman from High Reaches, Jeila.”

“I think Jeila chose Telgar more for H’nez than me.”

Ellor shook her head. “And why do you think H’nez is at Telgar?”

The question caught Fiona off balance. “He’d been fighting with K’lior, he wanted to be posted to another Weyr.”

“All true,” Ellor said, clearly believing none of those reasons to be the principal one.

“I’ve no love for H’nez!”

“No,” Ellor said. “And I’m sure he knows that, too.”

“So why would he want to be at Telgar?”

Ellor sighed, clearly debating something with herself before deciding to say, “Because you are good for him

“Fiona raised her eyebrows in response.

Ellor gave her a quick grin. “Sometimes, even when we don’t want to admit it, we know that someone has something we can learn from them.”

“H’nez can learn from me?”

Ellor nodded. “And you can learn from him.”

“He’s not without his strengths,” Fiona admitted reluctantly. “And Jeila seems a good judge of character.”

“And while I’ve never known him not to be a bit bullheaded, H’nez is perceptive enough to know his weaknesses,” Ellor said. “And driven enough to strive to remove them.”

“I certainly see ‘driven,’” Fiona said, taking a sip of her
klah
.

Ellor smiled in agreement. Deftly changing the subject, she asked, “And how long do you think you’ll need our Tintoval’s services?”

“How about if I promise to have her back in time for dinner—unless there’s an emergency?”

And so it was agreed. Fiona found Tintoval in her quarters and the healer was more than willing to accompany her, on one condition: “I want us to stop at the Healer Hall and see if Masterhealer Betrony has any journeymen or apprentices he’d like to have consult on this.”

Fiona grinned. “Thinking of educating the next generation?”

“That,” Tintoval conceded, adding with a grin, “and perhaps to tantalize some with the allure of Weyr life.”

“Well, anything that gets me more healers is all to the good!” Fiona said, adding, “But, as I recall, there were three apprentices sent there from Fort Weyr.”

“There were, and I’ve made sure that Cisca and K’lior know how grateful we are for it,” Tintoval replied. “They’re able, too, but they’ve a ways to go before they’ll walk the tables.”

They stopped briefly at the Healer Hall. Fiona had just enough time to look wistfully toward her father’s Hold before Masterhealer Betrony packed Talenth with three journeymen—two men and one woman, all older than Fiona—and sent them on their way.

“They’ve never been
between
before,” he warned Fiona just before she mounted. He smiled at her; he’d been one of the healers who’d tended her many scrapes as a youngster, so they were well acquainted.

“I’ll be careful with them,” Fiona said. She paused, thinking of Bekka. “And Master—” Betrony gave her an expectant look “—would you be willing to take on another apprentice?”

“How old is she?” Betrony asked, wryly guessing that Fiona’s candidate was a girl.

“She has twelve Turns,” Fiona said. She saw Betrony’s look but forestalled him, “Her mother is one of Fort Weyr’s midwives, and her father was a dragonrider.”

“Was?”

“He lost his blue to the sickness,” she replied sadly. “I think it’s only her love of life that’s kept him going.”

“So I’d be getting a package, eh? Father and daughter?”

Fiona nodded; she hadn’t thought of it that way.

“Is she as bad as you were?”

“Worse; she doesn’t sleep,” Fiona said. The Masterhealer’s eyes widened in surprise. “She takes little naps from time to time.”

“Oh, like our Tintoval,” Betrony said with a sideways look at the Weyr Healer. “Does she follow orders?”

“She’s dutiful,” Fiona allowed. “But willful.”

“And I’ve never dealt with that,” Betrony muttered sardonically, nodding toward Tintoval, who stuck her tongue out at him in response. Betrony snorted and shook his head. Then he turned to Fiona. “Where is she now?”

“She’s at Telgar with me,” Fiona said. “And I’d need a replacement for her.”

He nodded toward the healers. “Those are my best,” he told her. “I’d not let them go, only you say that she comes with her father.”

“Seban,” Fiona agreed. “Between them, they know enough about healing to handle a Threadfall.”

Betrony’s eyes widened in admiration. “Very well, if you wish, you may send her whenever you can spare her.”

“Thank you!” Fiona said, turning back to Talenth.

He took two long strides toward her and spoke quietly into her ear, “You can use this time to see which of these healers might work with you. I was about to send them off to the holds, so they’re all packed and ready to leave.”

“If they don’t work out, I’ve got Kindan and Lorana,” Fiona said.

“And,” he wagged his head at her with a grin, “from what I’ve heard, you’ve learned a fair bit yourself.”

Fiona nodded. “All those lessons you gave me.”

“I thought you were asleep!”

Fiona smiled, shaking her head. “Not all the time.”

She turned to hug the Masterhealer, who took the opportunity to say, “When you see Kindan, you might remind him that there are several people here—at both the Healer Hall and the Harper Hall—who are eager for a word with him.”

“I will!”

As she climbed up behind Tintoval, she said loudly, “Healer, be sure the others are properly hooked on with the riding straps. The weyrfolk are under strict orders to let plummeting healers fall.”

Tintoval turned back long enough to give Fiona a droll look, recalling their first meeting and how Fiona had been rebuked for risking the life of a queen and her rider for a mere healer, before turning back to be certain that the others were secure. Fiona craned around her side to make her own inspection and, satisfied, sat upright before ordering Talenth to leap once more for the sky.

“Remember,
between
only lasts as long as it takes to cough three times!” Fiona shouted loudly before giving Talenth the image of Telgar and the order to take them
between
.

They arrived as predicted on the third cough—Fiona was certain that she heard one hastily stifled—and Talenth began a gentle descent into the Weyr Bowl. Fiona was pleased by the exclamations and pointing hands of the journeymen gawking at the sights of the Weyr below them.

“I’m taking us to the queens’ ledge,” Fiona told Tintoval, as Talenth altered her course slightly, did a half-circle, and gently landed within a wingtip of the queens’ ledge.

Fiona was the first off, then Tintoval. Between them, they got the other three down. The girl—she looked to have perhaps seventeen Turns—was the last down and lightest. The middle man looked to have two more Turns than she, and the last was the eldest, seeming closer to T’mar’s age—old to be a journeyman.

The man sensed her curiosity and smiled at her as he introduced himself, “Birentir, formerly harper of Red Sands hold.” He gestured to the other two. “These are Cerra”—the woman—“and Lindorm.”

“I’m glad to meet you,” Fiona said, giving them all a brisk nod. She clambered up the side of the queens’ ledge and was surprised when two arms fastened on her legs and gave her a boost. She turned back and held out a hand for Tintoval, who took it and accepted a second boost from Birentir and Lindorm. Cerra had balked at the ascent and had trotted to the end of the ledge, climbing the rise as quickly as she could. Birentir turned to follow her progress and with a polite nod to the two women on the ledge, elected to follow her less strenuous route. Lindorm looked torn between clambering up and trotting around. Tintoval decided the issue by waving him toward the others. “Master Betrony would have my hide if you were hurt climbing the ledge!”

Fiona, feeling slightly guilty, waited for the others to join them, then led them into T’mar’s quarters.

“This is Seban and Bekka,” Fiona said as the other two rose at the sound of their arrival. A slight sound caused Fiona to glance over her shoulder and she was surprised to see Tintoval step back to the wall, where she leaned with arms folded, nodding pointedly to Fiona to indicate that she was going to monitor the proceedings, rather than lead them.

Fiona accepted her decision with a nod of her own and turned back, and, noting that Lorana and Kindan had joined them, she stretched her hand toward them, adding, “And this is—”

“Kindan!” Cerra cried, rushing toward him. “It’s good to see you!”

“You must be Lorana,” Birentir said with an engaging smile, raising a hand in greeting. “There are not enough thanks on all of Pern to repay you for what you’ve done.”

Lorana shook her head wordlessly. Fiona moved to her side and touched her hand briefly, just enough to let the older woman know that she understood her ambivalence, as she whispered, “You
paid.”

Lorana twitched at her words but said nothing. Changing the subject, Fiona turned to look down at T’mar. “How is he?”

“Awake and wishing you’d all be quiet,” T’mar spoke up tetchily. “If you’re hoping to speed my recovery by shouting, it’s not working.”

Birentir’s features twisted into a frown as he bent down to the bronze rider, looking over his shoulder to ask Lorana, “How long since his concussion?”

“This is the second day,” Kindan said.

“When did he regain consciousness?” Birentir asked, turning back to gaze at T’mar.

“Today, after the third mating flight,” Fiona said. Birentir glanced her way with a dismissive look. Fiona felt her temper rising and was surprised to feel Lorana’s hand on her shoulder, soothingly.

“Mating flights are a strong emotional stimulant,” Birentir said. “And you said it took three?”

“Mine, Jeila’s, and Melirth’s at Fort,” Fiona said.

“What of his dragon?” Cerra asked, looking over her shoulder toward the sleeping bronze. Birentir glared at the interruption. “If he was unconscious, who controlled Zirenth?”

Fiona nodded at Kindan.

“You?” Cerra asked in surprise.

“Lorana and I, actually,” Kindan replied, reaching to grab Lorana’s free hand.

“If they hadn’t, Zirenth would have gone
between
forever,” Fiona told her.

“Who flew Talenth?” Lindorm asked, glancing from Fiona to T’mar.

“Zirenth flew her,” Seban said. “And, would you all, as our patient has asked, talk more softly?”

“Sorry,” Lindorm replied, glancing down at T’mar. “Does it hurt very much?”

T’mar nodded, unwilling to trust himself to words.

Birentir was still absorbing Seban’s revelation. “If Zirenth flew your queen, then who …?” His voice trailed off as his eyes settled on Kindan.

“We’re here for T’mar,” Fiona reminded the older healer testily, glancing pointedly in his direction.

“Masterharper Zist will be eager for your report,” Birentir told Kindan. “I’m surprised you—”

“Oh, please!” Cerra cut him off. “Would you get out of the way, so we can see to the patient?”

“I
am examining him,” Birentir said haughtily.

“No, you’re not,” Fiona declared, gesturing for him to move away from T’mar. “In fact, you’re just leaving. I think you’ll find some food in the Dining Cavern.”

“You can’t—” Birentir spluttered in amazement “—I’m the senior here and you’re—you’re just a girl!”

Shh, Talenth!
Fiona called as she felt her queen readying to bellow in angry support of her rider.

“You idiot,” Bekka snapped, with an impertinence that surprised everyone, “she’s the Weyrwoman, she can do anything she farding well pleases!”

“Shh,” Fiona said to Bekka. “You’re hurting T’mar’s ears.” She turned to the older healer, saying coldly, with all the dignity learned from Turns watching her father deal with such arrogance, “Journeyman Birentir, I believe that we no longer have need of your services.”

“I—” Birentir’s eyes shifted around the room nervously and he licked his lips. “I’m sorry if I offended, Weyrwoman.”

“I’m sure,” Fiona agreed, gesturing for him to move away. “My headwoman’s name is Shaneese, you might meet her in the Kitchen Cavern.”

Reluctantly, Birentir rose and backed away from the group, his lips moving as he searched for some words that might heal his breech.

Fiona turned her back on him, gesturing toward Cerra and Lindorm to take the older healer’s place. After he’d left, Fiona leaned over to Bekka and shook a finger at her warningly.

“Sorry,” Bekka said contritely, “but he wasn’t
listening
to the patient.” She glanced up at her father. “And if you don’t listen to the patient, how can you know what’s wrong?”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Fiona said, turning her attention back to T’mar.

Cerra ceded her position to Lindorm, saying, “I’ve not had much work with head injuries.”

“I’m no better,” Lindorm said, kneeling beside T’mar. “Really, Weyrwoman, for all that he’s an ass, Birentir probably knows the most of the three of us.”

“No he doesn’t,” T’mar corrected him softly, his eyes closed against the pain.

Cerra raised her eyebrows in surprise.