Dragongirl (35 page)

“You two will be careful,” Fiona said as she glanced up at Lorana and Kindan perched atop bronze Zirenth later that evening. “And you’ll make sure that Nuella doesn’t get hurt, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Lorana assured her. Kindan added a nod in agreement.

“Zirenth, I hope you’re well rested,” Fiona said, patting the great bronze on his foreleg. The bronze rumbled in amused agreement. “Talenth and I are expecting you to be here for the Hatching, you know.”

“Yes, you’d better take good care of him,” T’mar called from the entrance to Zirenth’s weyr. “He and I expect many more mating flights!”

Fiona smiled at that and, with one last wave to Lorana and Kindan, stepped back from the bronze.

“In which case,” she said to T’mar, “you’ll need to get some rest.”

“Come up here and I’ll show you how much rest I need, Weyrwoman,” T’mar responded teasingly. To his surprise, Fiona jumped up onto the queens’ ledge and trotted over to him, even before Zirenth had leaped up to go
between
.

“I wish she wouldn’t do that,” T’mar muttered for her ears alone. “She should take him up to the Star Stones first.”

“She said she always knows where and when she is,” Fiona assured him.

“It’s not that,” T’mar told her, shaking his head, “it’s that it sets a bad example for the rest of the Weyr.”

“Good point,” Fiona said. “We should tell her when they get back.”

“We should,” T’mar said, jerking his head invitingly toward his weyr. “In the meantime, perhaps you’d care for a demonstration of my newly regained strength.”

Fiona gave him an arch look. “Are you so desperate to put yourself in a coma?”

T’mar snorted. “Really, Weyrwoman, I think you overestimate yourself.”

“Probably,” Fiona agreed. “But there are some experiments I’m not willing to try.”

T’mar’s expression softened at the tone in her voice. “So, exactly
what
experiments are you willing to try?”

Fiona snorted and waved for him to precede her into his quarters.

They were lying together, asleep, much later when the sound of Zirenth’s wings awoke them. Fiona untangled herself from him and, with a restraining look, gestured for him to remain while she went and helped Kindan and Lorana.

They reeked of firestone, as did Zirenth.

“You’ve been flaming?”

Fiona said, her lips set disapprovingly. “Had to,” Kindan said. “When one of the wingleaders was injured, K’lior assigned us to take over.” Fiona’s eyes widened in surprise.

“It was for the best,” Lorana said. “It got us closer to the fighting, so we could coordinate better.” She smiled as she looked at Kindan. “He did all the fighting while Nuella and I did the controlling.”

“It worked out well enough,” Kindan said diffidently as they walked into T’mar’s rooms.

“You had my dragon flaming?” T’mar asked, sitting up in his bed.

“As you knew,” Lorana said without any sign of apology. “You were in touch with Zirenth so much you nearly distracted him.”

“You were?” Fiona said, glaring at the Weyrleader. “Even while we …?”

“No, not then,” T’mar assured her hastily.

“I’m sorry,” Fiona said to Lorana, “if I had realized he was interfering, I would have distracted him more fully.”

“Don’t,” Lorana said with a smile for T’mar, “you’ll only encourage him.”

Kindan’s features sharpened grimly as he absorbed their banter, eyeing Fiona appraisingly. Fiona sensed that he was disappointed somehow and her elated mood evaporated.

“It’s late,” Kindan said, “we shouldn’t detain you too long, Weyrleader.”

“How bad was it?” T’mar asked.

“They lost four dragons, had two seriously injured, and two who will take a good month to recover,” Lorana reported.

“High Reaches flies at night in three days’ time,” T’mar said with a sigh. He glanced up at Kindan. “They’ll want you again, won’t they?”

Kindan didn’t reply, looking distracted, so it was Lorana who answered, “I expect so, Weyrleader, if that’s all right with you.”

“It’s for the good of Pern,” T’mar said. He cocked his head toward Kindan, adding, “Though I’ll be happy when you get your own dragon.”

Kindan glanced sharply at T’mar and shook his head. “I’m not sure that’ll happen, Weyrleader.”

“Only because the right dragon’s not been hatched,” T’mar declared stoutly. Fiona and Lorana nodded emphatically in agreement but Kindan kept his doubtful expression.

F
or the next three days, until the next night Fall at High Reaches Weyr, Fiona felt Kindan grow more distant from her. At first, she put it down to nerves, exhaustion, and drill, but when he returned from the second night Fall at High Reaches, his attitude toward her was unmistakable. Rather than speaking to her, he made his report to T’mar only, excluding her from his line of vision and holding tightly to Lorana while he spoke.

“A lot of their losses were because they were unused to flying with the watch-whers and wouldn’t listen to Lorana,” Kindan said, running a hand through his dark hair in exasperation.

“How bad was it?” Fiona asked. Kindan said nothing; it was Lorana who replied, looking up from the seat into which she’d half-fallen on their return. “Bad. They lost three dragons, had three seriously injured, and five minor injuries.”

“Between their losses from the first night Fall and this one, they’ve only five wings now fit to fly,” Kindan said.

“One hundred and fifty fighting dragons,” Lorana murmured, her eyes wide with worry.

“We’ll find a way through,” Fiona assured her, curving her lips up into a smile. “We’re here now because of you; we won’t fail.”

Lorana made no response. Kindan gave Fiona a sour look that both startled and hurt her.

“We need to rest,” Kindan said to T’mar, gesturing politely toward Lorana and helping her up from her seat. T’mar nodded and waved them away. When they were gone, his eyes sought Fiona’s.

“He hates me,” Fiona said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“Of course,” T’mar agreed. “Who else could he hate?”

Fiona’s brows furrowed at his question.

“He can’t hate Lorana, and hating himself is much the same,” T’mar told her. “You, on the other hand, are a living reminder of all his faults and failings.” He shook his head wearily. “You are the obvious target.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

“Which is all the more reason,” T’mar told her with a wry grin. “He hates that he’s so angry that he has to find someone to take it out on. He’s chosen you because you’re the Weyrwoman and he’s hoping you’re strong enough to weather his storm.” T’mar pursed his lips and gave her an inquiring look. “Are you?”

Fiona was about ready to protest once more that it wasn’t fair but the words died on her lips. Was it fair that Koriana died of the Plague? Was it fair that Lorana lost her queen in her attempts to save Pern?

“Is he afraid to love me?” Fiona asked at last, feeling her heart churn heavily in her chest, as though weary of beating.

“Yes,” T’mar told her gently, “just as much as he’s afraid that you don’t love him.”

“What?”

“In that, we’re not all that different, he and I,” T’mar said, glancing up at her from under his eyebrows, his expression guarded.

“I …”

“M’tal and I had several long conversations before he left for Ista,” T’mar said to comfort her. He grinned as he added, “Apparently his obversations about you quickly became pertinent to his own situation.”

“We’ve a saying at Fort Hold: ‘When you’re talking to someone, two pairs of ears are listening,’” Fiona said.

“Precisely,” T’mar said. He laid his head back on his pillow, his eyes gazing unfocused toward the ceiling as he confessed, “It is impossible not to love you.”

“I love you, T’mar,” Fiona replied slowly. “I just don’t know—”

“No, of course you don’t,” T’mar cut her off. “For all your maturity, you’ve still Turns of learning in ways of the heart.” He roused himself and grinned at her wickedly. “I expect you’ll prove as quick a study there as you have with all things related to the Weyr.”

“If I could, without hurting too much,” Fiona said, “I’d love everyone.”

“Actually,” T’mar said, lowering his head once again, “I think you already do—in your own way.” “And that’s the problem.”

“Weren’t you the one who quoted: ‘Problems are just challenges’?”

Fiona snorted at the taunt.

“And aren’t you always up for a challenge?”

“Sleep well, Weyrleader,” Fiona said, marching to Zirenth’s lair. “You need your rest.”

SIXTEEN

Dragonrider:
Dance in clouds
Soar to stars
Touch mountains
Skim rivers
.

Telgar Weyr, morning, AL 508.4.15

“Fit to fly?” Fiona asked as she raced up the queens’ ledge toward T’mar. The Weyrleader grinned and nodded emphatically. The air was full of the fresh smell of spring and while clouds danced overhead, Fiona felt that they wouldn’t make rain that day, at least. The morning air was chilly but without the harsh, biting cold of winter.

“Come on, Zirenth, let’s see if you remember!” T’mar called to the bronze dragon, who followed him eagerly out of his weyr. He cocked a glance toward Fiona. “Care to join us?”

Fiona shook her head ruefully. “Talenth is too gravid to be interested.”

“She’s six weeks or so shy of clutching,” T’mar said, his expression growing serious.

“Queens can clutch any time from twelve to fifteen weeks after mating,” Fiona reminded him. “Although the norm seems to be about fourteen.”

“Three and a half months, then,” T’mar said. “So she’s due near the end of next month.”

“Or sooner,” Fiona cautioned.

T’mar raised a hand. “Don’t say that! An early clutch is small.”

“We’ll hope for a late clutch, then,” Fiona said, nodding toward Zirenth.

“And a queen egg,” T’mar said, as he moved to the side of Zirenth’s weyr, allowing the great bronze easy egress.

“Queen eggs are rare on the first Hatching,” Fiona warned him.

“We need queens,” T’mar said, as Zirenth backed up against the ledge and crouched down to let his rider jump on his shoulders.

“Indeed we do,” Fiona agreed. With an approving glance at T’mar’s grasp of his riding straps, she added, “And we need Weyrleaders, too!”

“She won’t rise again until after her clutch hatches,” T’mar reminded her as Zirenth turned away from the ledge and moved out into the Weyr Bowl proper.

“So keep safe and fly well, Weyrleader!” Fiona called, waving merrily after him.

T’mar waved back over his shoulder and then, with two bounds, Zirenth was aloft, pumping mightily toward the Star Stones and being greeted cheerfully by T’mar’s fighting wing. The remaining wings of Telgar Weyr joined them and together they winked
between
to drill in preparation for the next Threadfall.

After they were gone, Fiona’s expression slipped. The clutching would change things, she was certain. But the steady erosion of the Weyrs’ strength had only been recently reversed by the recovery of the first of the wounded.

Telgar Weyr now had—with T’mar and the other five recovered dragonriders—five full-strength fighting wings, a full wing less than they’d had when the Weyrs had redistributed their strength. And while Telgar was the worst off, none were all that much stronger—as both Fiona and T’mar had taken pains to point out to H’nez, who’d resumed command of the fighting wings after J’lantir’s sudden death.

The wiry, dour bronze rider had grown so distraught over the losses that Jeila had begged Fiona to intervene.

“I’ve heard nothing but good about you,” T’mar had told H’nez when Fiona brought the issue to his attention. “I’ll be hard pressed to match your ability when I return to health.”

“I wish you had recovered a month ago,” H’nez confessed.

“But I didn’t,” T’mar said. “And you’ve not complained in all that time.” He gave H’nez a grin. “Keep up the good work, I’ll soon relieve you!”

T’mar’s encouraging talk was still not enough for H’nez and the bronze rider grumbled that when T’mar recovered, he’d request to be allowed to return to Fort Weyr.

“No, you won’t!” Jeila had told him heatedly. “You’ll stay here, with me, where you belong.”

And that, as Jeila told Fiona later, was that. Although, Fiona thought with a grin, perhaps Jeila had produced some extra inducements as she had confided all this as a prelude to announcing her pregnancy.

“It’s still too early to tell,” Jeila had cautioned when she’d shared the news. “And I’m worried.”

Fiona raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

Jeila gestured to her petite frame and thin waist. “I’m worried that the way I’m built, I might not carry to term.”

“Wasn’t your mother much the same as you?” Fiona had asked. When Jeila had nodded in response, Fiona had continued, “And how many children did she have?”

“Four,” Jeila admitted. “But she miscarried the first.”

“Well,” Fiona had replied, “we’ll guarantee you the best midwife.”

“I want Bekka,” Jeila told her.

“She’s not a midwife.”

“Her and her mother, then,” Jeila had replied.

“I’ll see what we can do,” Fiona said. “After all, I’ve reason to believe that Lorana may have need of one soon.”

“And what about you?” Jeila had asked, casting a probing look her way.

“I think two will be enough to getting on with,” Fiona had replied, turning the question aside. Jeila had given her a thoughtful look but had not pressed the matter.

It
was
just possible that she was with child, but Fiona had always been erratic in her cycle, so she wasn’t entirely certain. Surely she hadn’t noticed any change in her eating habits and, if she felt a bit more emotional, it was far too easy to ascribe to the current mood of the Weyr—even, of all Pern.

There was no escaping the steady, slow attrition of the fighting strength of the Weyrs. High Reaches had fared best of all, while the other Weyrs found themselves nearly a full wing short—and this after only two months of fighting. With losses up to a wing every two months, there would be no dragons flying at any Weyr—save perhaps High Reaches—when the still-unclutched hatchlings were barely old enough to fly.

The advent of the new agenothree throwers eased the requirement of the dragonriders to perform endless patrols looking for any stray burrow after a Fall—except that, alarmingly, more and more Thread had made it through in the latest Falls to cause burrows larger than the holders could contain.

Fiona heard that Lord Holder Gadran of Bitra was practically dyspeptic with fury when Weyrleader B’nik of Benden had to burn yet another of the Bitran’s forests to check the spread of burrows. Telgar had been no luckier, having to fire two valleys—one in Telgar Hold and the other in Crom—much to the despair of all involved.

The discussion around the Weyrleaders’ table of late had turned to the issue of when to start going
between
times to previous Threadfalls.

“Hold off as long as you can,” Fiona had urged. “The dangers of timing it are so great that I fear you’ll lose more than you’ll save.”

“It matters not,” T’mar had said. Fiona looked at him sharply and he shrugged. “You can be certain we won’t be timing it until after we’ve timed it.”

“You mean that the first we’ll know of timing it will occur when a flight from the future comes to our aid?” H’nez asked.

“Precisely,” T’mar said, raising a hand to disguise a yawn, a move not unobserved by Fiona who snorted and handed him his mug of
klah
.

“Well, at least you know the dangers,” she’d observed sourly. Thoughtfully, she added, “Although, given how tired you are, going
between
times might be doubly dangerous.”

“Perhaps I’m tired because I’ve already done it,” T’mar said. “Perhaps we’re more accustomed to the effects.”

H’nez gave the Weyrleader a doubtful look, then turned imploringly to Fiona, who snorted and told T’mar, “And perhaps you’re eager to let H’nez have the Weyrleader’s position permanently!”

“I’ll be careful,” T’mar said.

Fiona bit back a tart rejoinder and converted her breath into a long sigh.

“Our strength is returning,” T’mar told her soothingly. “We’ve five fighting wings as of today—we’ve been as low as four.” He turned to H’nez. “We’ve time enough before the next Fall, I think we should practice timing it.”

“If you are, then I’m coming with you,” Fiona warned.

“If you can get Talenth roused, we’ll be happy to have you,” T’mar said, knowing that the gravid queen was spending most of her time resting. Fiona glared at him in response, turned on her heel and stomped off.

“I’ll be happy when her queen clutches,” T’mar admitted to H’nez once she was out of earshot.

“It’ll be awhile yet,” H’nez said. T’mar nodded in agreement, then shook his head to clear it of distractions, before saying to H’nez, “Now, let’s consider how best to practice timing it.”

“I
would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” F’jian said as the dragonriders milled around the Dining Cavern later that evening. He pointed at T’mar. “There he was”—and then he pointed to a spot above him—“and
there
he was—two of him!”

“Two of you, as well?” Terin asked, her expression troubled.

“I didn’t see me,” F’jian said, “I was too busy looking at the Weyrleaders.” He shook his head in bemusement. “If I hadn’t seen it myself, I never would have believed it.”

The conversation was a sample of the murmuring throughout the Cavern as dragonriders joked and swapped tales of seeing themselves—“I never knew I was that fat!” “We did!”—and explaining to the wary weyrfolk the events of the day.

“We’ll jump back tomorrow,” T’mar said to H’nez as they gathered at the wingleaders’ table. Timing it was difficult enough to
do
but sometimes harder to explain—as they hadn’t jumped back immediately in time after seeing their future selves, the jump from some future point still had yet to occur.

“So soon?” Fiona asked, eyeing him carefully.

“That will give us more time to recover before the next Threadfall,” T’mar said. He frowned. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have considered jumping back any later than that.”

“You didn’t look too tired,” H’nez said.

“The worst of the exhaustion usually sets in
after
timing it,” Fiona said.

“So it will only be a problem if we don’t have enough time to recover.”

Fiona looked at T’mar and they exchanged a frown, the Weyrleader saying, “I’m not sure it’s quite that easy.”

Fiona pulled the pitcher of
klah
toward her and refilled T’mar’s mug. “I’m not sure that either of us are good examples,” she said, shaking the pitcher emphatically before placing it back on the table.

“How did Kindan and Lorana do on Winurth?” Fiona asked, glancing toward the couple who sat at the opposite end of the table, engrossed in their own conversation.

“Well enough,” T’mar told her. He pursed his lips, adding, “If we had more injured riders than dragons, this idea of pairing spare riders with dragons would work better.”

“Dragons are larger than riders,” Fiona said, “so they’re more likely to get injured just because of their greater size.”

T’mar flipped the fingers of one hand up in agreement. Dragons were injured nearly eight times more often than riders; Fiona was right, it was a simple question of size.

“We’re doing pretty well all the same,” Fiona said, catching T’mar’s eyes and glancing significantly toward H’nez, who wore a glum look. “We’ve only twenty-three injured, and nine of them only slightly.”

“And twenty-one are lost forever,” H’nez reminded them grimly. Jeila, who was sitting beside him, reached for his near hand and cradled it comfortingly. “Of all the Weyrs, we’ve lost the most.”

“No more than Ista,” Fiona said.

“And High Reaches is close, with nineteen,” T’mar added, shaking his head emphatically. “So, if you’re to make comparisons, H’nez, remember that you’re comparing yourself with M’tal and D’vin—both of whom have been Weyrleaders Turns longer than you’ve been leading Falls.”

H’nez started to reply, thought better of it and, with a sigh, nodded glumly.

“Besides,” Fiona said, “if you’ll recall, J’lantir led the Weyr for the earliest Fall.”

“He was a good man,” H’nez said.

“Even good men can make mistakes,” T’mar said. He shook himself and rose from the table. “And with that, I will say good evening, I think we can all use our rest.”

He cast a questioning look toward Fiona, hand outstretched. She frowned thoughtfully before rising and grabbing his hand. Together they paid their compliments to Shaneese and departed into the darkened Bowl.

M
uch later, Fiona found herself taking a hurried bath in T’mar’s quarters before quietly sneaking back to her own weyr. She paused in Talenth’s lair for a long time, watching the flanks of her queen as they rose and fell with her breathing. Her stomach had turned lumpy with the growing eggs.

Talenth twitched in her sleep, as though reacting to Fiona’s presence. To soothe her, Fiona moved over to the queen’s great head and gently scratched her eye ridges. Talenth exhaled noisily, twisted slightly on her side as though trying to get comfortable and slid back into a deeper slumber.

A smile played across Fiona’s lips as she watched her queen, marveling that such an amazing person could love
her
.

A slight noise from the entrance of her quarters warned her that she was not alone. Without turning, she knew it was Kindan. She couldn’t say how long he’d been watching her. Beyond him she felt the comforting presence of Lorana, asleep. For a moment Fiona allowed herself once again to be amazed at how she felt Lorana’s presence, much like she felt Talenth—like fabric brushing against her skin or her hair when the wind tossed it—part of her and, yet, apart.

It was not like that with Kindan. Her heart pounded in her chest and her breath came faster to her, his very presence energized her.

She turned then, her eyes seeking out his in the gloom. For a long moment they stood there; Fiona waiting, expectant, and vaguely surprised at her own serenity. Then Kindan moved forward. She waited for him, only moving when his arms wrapped around her, folding herself into his embrace.

“N
ever again!” T’mar groaned as he slipped down off Zirenth’s neck. Fiona caught him, disregarding his scolding look. She looked beyond him to Lorana and Kindan as they dismounted Winurth in the distance. Lorana carefully helped Kindan down, his face was as ashen as T’mar’s.