Dragongirl (42 page)

“Heard and witnessed!” C’tov and F’jian roared in approbation.

“Y
ou do realize that you’ve agreed to take on a
third
job, don’t you?” Fiona asked Kindan later that evening as they prepared for bed. Lorana, who was already curled up in a comfortable spot, chuckled wickedly.

“Three?” Kindan repeated blankly.

“Harper, Weyrlingmaster,
and
father,” Fiona said, ticking the duties off on her fingers.

“Four, if you count mate and lover,” Lorana murmured from the bed.

“Not to mention comforter and caresser,” Fiona agreed, turning to Kindan and tugging him toward the bed. The older man gave her a startled look, but before he could make any protest, Fiona giggled and shook her head, gesturing toward Lorana.

“It’s her that needs the comforting and caressing,” she assured him, turning toward Talenth’s unoccupied weyr. “I’ll see that T’mar gets some rest.”

Kindan nodded vaguely, relieved that he hadn’t been required to ask the Weyrwoman to leave; particularly as it would have required him to ask her to leave her
own
quarters. Still, he felt awkward: She was so gracious in her behavior that he wanted to dash her off her feet and wrap her in his arms, yet at the same time he was pleased that she didn’t expect it.

“She offered,” Lorana said, looking up from the bed and gesturing for him to climb in. A smile played on her lips. “She is a remarkable person; you’re lucky she loves you.”

“I’m lucky
you
love me,” Kindan replied emphatically.

“I suppose,” Lorana said, her tone uncertain.

Fiona’s voice from the entrance startled them. “Hey! There are warming stones at the side of the bed, Kindan! You’re supposed to comfort her, not talk her ear off!”

She made a gesture of someone rubbing with their hands, then shook her head in exasperation and trotted off into the darkness of the Weyr.

“Oil, too,” Kindan observed as he turned in the bed and found the small basket of warming stones. He poured some oil over them, inhaled deeply of their soothing scent, carefully wrapped his hand around one, and turned back to Lorana. “Roll over, and we’ll ease those sore muscles.”

Kindan ignored her feeble protests and, as the warm stones and his oily fingers sought out the tense and tired muscles of her lower back, was rewarded with her soft contented sighs. When he was done he placed the used stones back in their basket with warm feelings for Fiona’s foresight:
He
would never have thought of such things!

T
he soft noise of a woman clearing her throat alerted T’mar to Fiona’s presence and he looked up from the slates he was poring over as he stretched out on the table in the back room of his quarters.

“You should be sleeping,” she said to him as she approached and peered down at his work. “Reorganizing?”

T’mar agreed with a frazzled nod, and bent back over the table.

“You’ve two sets of slates here, enough for two Flights but we’ve barely one,” Fiona remarked. Her eyes narrowed as she peered at the marks he’d chalked. “Timing?” When T’mar nodded, she cried, “You’re planning on timing it with the full Weyr?”

“I think it’s our best choice.”

“Are you hoping to imitate B’nik and die in a blaze of glory?”

“I’m hoping to save the Weyr and do our duty until we have enough weyrlings,” T’mar countered, running a weary hand through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. Fiona batted his hand aside and replaced it with both her own.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, as she found a knotted muscle and started gently kneading it. “I know you’re under a lot of stress.”

T’mar stood up straighter, easing the tight muscles Fiona was working, and grunted, “What if they’re right?”

“They, who?” Fiona dropped one hand from its work and ducked around under his shoulder to peer up at him inquiringly while still working on his neck with her other hand.

“Everyone,” T’mar said. She quirked an eyebrow and frowned, so he expounded, “The ones who say that the cure caused the small clutches and that all we’ll get are small clutches.”

“And that they won’t be enough and that we’ll die out and lose Pern?” Fiona asked softly. T’mar dipped his head in agreement. Fiona took a deep breath and met T’mar’s eyes frankly. “I don’t think it’s so. But even if it is, I won’t stop, and you won’t stop, either.” T’mar frowned, unconvinced. Fiona continued, “If worse comes to worst, then I’ll feed Talenth firestone and you and I will fly together, with Lorana and Kindan flying any uninjured dragon and Nuella and all the watch-whers of Pern flaming at everything we can.” She paused, pursing her lips grimly. “And if
that
doesn’t work, then we’ll go together, you, I, our dragons, everyone—we won’t stop until the last of us falls or is charred beyond life.”

“You,” T’mar said in voice choked with emotion, even as he wrapped his hands around her and dragged her tight against him, “are a gift.”

Fiona’s eyes welled with tears; she could find no words. A moment later she pushed back against T’mar and he looked down at her as she told him in a soft, firm voice, “You have to share me, you know.”

“I know,” T’mar said, his voice both soft and tender. His lips quirked up as he added, “You’re far too much for one man alone!”

Fiona joined him in a smile and he crushed her in another hug that he only broke when she gasped, “And you’ve got to let me breathe!”

TWENTY

Sands heat
,
Dragons hum
.
Shells crack
,
Mates become
.

Telgar Weyr, early morning, AL 508.6.19

Xhinna blearily rubbed her eyes as one of the youngsters whimpered beside her, clearly disturbed by a bad dream. She saw that it was little Darri and moved herself close enough to touch the youngster’s head, crooning, “It’s all right, it’s all right.”

Darri rolled her head away from Xhinna’s hand with a soft sigh as the dream lost its grip on her.

Xhinna spared a fond look for the little girl and then her expression darkened into a frown as she wished that events of the past twelve days could be as easily forgotten.

Sixty-six! That was the total fighting strength of the Weyr at this moment. There were nearly as many injured, but only the thirty-five least wounded could be expected to fight again in the next thirty days.

In the past two Falls, the strength of the Weyr had fallen by more than a full Wing.

Xhinna heard others muttering darkly that Telgar was unlucky, that it was taking a far greater strain than the other Weyrs, that timing it was killing dragon and rider. There was a certain truth in that last moan; it was evident that timing it left both dragon and rider more exhausted and less able to fight a Fall than those who didn’t time it.

The second Fall, the last one over Igen, had been the worse of the two last Falls, causing twenty-one casualties, including ten lost—the majority of the losses occurring when the fighting dragons timed it back to fight again.

Xhinna wondered how anyone could force themselves to jump back in time knowing already that it would mean their death. But the brave words of B’len were echoed time and again by dragonriders, bright-eyed with repressed sorrow as they assured themselves and their lovers that it was for the best; that they were glad to actually
know
it was their time, that they were glad to have a chance to give a proper farewell.

Xhinna wasn’t sure if T’mar’s practice of allowing enough time between the original fight and the timed return to the Fall made it easier or harder for the riders. Clearly, resting up from a Fall was important, but she wondered if it really helped the riders who knew that they were leaping back in time to their death.

Darri stirred again and Xhinna absently hummed a little melody to ease the child back to sleep even as her eyes darted to the entrance of the darkened Hatching Grounds; she could just make out the first gloaming of morning. She would have to get up soon. Carefully she schooled her worries away, knowing that the little ones would be looking to her for guidance.

She heard Taria stir beside her and smiled; perhaps there would be time for a quick, heartening cuddle before the work of the day overtook them. But Taria was in no cuddling mood, her eyes suddenly going wide as she sprang up, crying, “Get up! Get up! They’re Hatching!”

“Q
uickly, quickly, put this on!” Fiona urged as she threw the white robes toward Kindan and immediately busied herself dressing him.

“We can manage,” Lorana called from the bed, rolling over and sitting upright with some difficulty. At just over twenty weeks, Lorana’s belly was only beginning to show a bulge with her pregnancy, but she was careful not to jostle the baby and handled her movements protectively. “You go on!”

Fiona needed no further encouragement and tore out of her quarters, through the Weyr Bowl, and into the Hatching Grounds, telling Talenth,
I’m coming!

T’mar met her at the entrance, reaching up a hand to point at the cluster of white robes she still had thrown over her shoulder. “What are these for?”

“I’m not sure that Xhinna or Taria got theirs,” Fiona said. She looked around hastily, licking her lips. “And if I can snatch Bekka, I’ll set her out there, too.”

“So you’ve—what?—five girls on the grounds for twenty-one eggs?”

“And thirty boys,” Fiona corrected him archly.

“What about Kindan?”

“That’s including him,” she said as he reached over and grabbed the robes off her shoulder, shifting them from one hand to the other so that he could guide her toward the stands.

“No,” Fiona said, shaking him off, “I want to be down here.”

T’mar gave her a surprised look. “Breaking more Traditions?”

“I’m going to be with Talenth,” she said, snatching the robes back out of his hand. “You head up to the stands and talk nicely to the Holders.”

A roar from Talenth affirmed Fiona’s choice, so T’mar, still shaking his head ruefully, made his way up to the stands even as his Weyrwoman moved toward the clump of eggs nearest her queen.

Fiona reached Talenth’s side as soon as she’d handed out the last of the robes and turned back to stare out across the clutch of eggs toward the light of the Weyr Bowl with an air of fierce possessiveness.

“You were great,” Fiona said aloud as she patted Talenth and felt herself glow with pride as the first cracks appeared in the nearest egg.

A dragonet burst forth, creeling anxiously, and looked in Fiona’s direction.

“That way!” Fiona called, pointing to the waiting Candidates. Talenth bugled in agreement. With another cry, the dragonet awkwardly scrambled out of its shell and wobbled off, skirting the other eggs and searching, neck craning one way and then the other, searching for its mate.

Fiona felt the dragons’ hum grow to a higher pitch as the little dragonet and her new rider found each other with an exclamation of joy. Another egg cracked, and another, and suddenly the Hatching Grounds were filled with creeling, red-eyed, anxious dragonets searching for their mates.

Fiona shouted encouragement to each and every one, lost in the thrill of the moment, and cheered with each Impression.

One green stood in front of Taria creeling anxiously while the youngster waved her away.

“She’s yours!” Fiona shouted. “What’s her name?”

Taria looked toward the Weyrwoman, straightened her shoulders and looked back at the green in front of her, gingerly reaching out a hand to touch the green’s snout even as her own face burst with a look of pure joy. She cried back, “Coranth!”

Finally there were only two eggs left. One was rocking, the other seemed quiescent. Talenth craned her neck over to the still one and wailed.

“Maybe …” Fiona began, wondering how to gently tell her queen her fear that the egg was stillborn.

He needs help!
Talenth leaped forward, her jaws agape. She bit at the egg gingerly with her fangs, just breaking the surface. From inside, a creel erupted and then a beak could be seen tearing away at the inner membrane.

Meanwhile, the other shell had torn open and a brown dragonet squirmed out of it, frantically searching for its mate.

“Help him!” Fiona cried, rushing forward to join her queen in freeing the still-struggling blue. Her words were unheard over the din of the creeling brown and the remaining Candidates were distracted by the din.

“He needs help!” Fiona shouted again, looking around frantically even as she reached the egg and bunched her hands into fists to pummel at the hard shell. She spied someone in the distance and shouted, “Xhinna!”

Startled, the girl looked her way and then raced over as Fiona beckoned urgently with one hand while still working away with the other. The blue, eager to escape his shell, nipped her and Fiona snarled back, “I’m trying to
help
you!”

Xhinna appeared opposite, her eyes darting fretfully to the gash on Fiona’s hand and back to the sharp teeth of the dragonet. She hesitated only an instant, even in the knowledge that he might deal her the same injury, before diving in and pounding and kicking the shell to release the trapped dragonet.

“Come on, come on, you can do it!” Xhinna cried as sweat burst forth from her brow from the speed and strength of her exertions.

Fiona paused, eyes widening as she looked at the desperate girl and the desperate blue …

Xhinna must have felt her gaze for she stopped in her efforts and lifted her eyes to the Weyrwoman in surprise. “But blues are for boys!”

“What’s his name?” Fiona asked her softly, even as she moved forward to gently stroke the wings and back of the dragonet.

Xhinna dodged the answer, looking around frantically for any free Candidate. The blue creeled in a tone mixed with urgency and despair. Xhinna stopped her head in its frantic arc and slowly looked back at the blue.

“But I’m a girl!”

“I don’t think he cares,” Fiona said softly. Xhinna looked up at her, her expression a mix of horror and hope as Fiona repeated the ancient question, “What’s his name, blue rider?”

“Tazith,” Xhinna replied quietly, raising her arms once more to tear apart the shell. She took a deep breath and started smashing the shell open with all the fierceness of a mother protecting her child—or a rider fighting for her dragon.

“Louder,” Fiona called back, gesturing to the great expanse beyond them.

“His name is Tazith!” Xhinna shouted, turning her head back so that her words could echo strongly across the sands.

“Good, blue rider,” Fiona said, grinning at her friend. “Now let’s get him out of this shell.”

“N
o, you’re not!” Fiona declared firmly. She glanced from Lorana toward Kindan. “I completely understand your desire, Kindan, but Lorana will stay here. She needs her rest and
you
aren’t going to be getting any for the first fortnight at the least, probably the first two months.”

“Well, you’re too small to keep her warm,” Kindan returned hotly. “And who’s going to help her sore back?”

“T’mar,” Fiona told him simply. She raised a hand imperiously as both partners drew breath for hot retorts. “He’s large enough to keep us both warm and he’s got good hands—” a smile flicked across her face “—I can assure you.”

Kindan gave her a mulish look and opened his mouth to argue, but she beat him to it. “It’s settled, Weyrlingmaster.”

From his look, however, it was clear that it was
not
settled and Fiona’s choice of title was inappropriate. She held up both hands placatingly. “T’mar’s honorable, Kindan,” she told him in a softer tone. “Let him honor Lorana and help your child grow in a calm environment.”

Kindan snorted, his eyebrows twitching with humor. “If I was hoping for a calm environment, I couldn’t imagine you as part of it.”

Fiona gave him a hurt look which was compounded by defensive noises from Lorana.

“All right, all right!” Kindan declared, raising his own hands in capitulation. “I’ll grant that T’mar is honorable and that my place is with the weyrlings although, to be honest, with Xhinna on hand, I’m not at all certain that they’ve any need of me.”

“Xhinna is good with children, not dragonets.”

“But still,” and Kindan raised a hand to indicate that he hadn’t finished making his point, “I don’t see why Jeila couldn’t stay with you, after all—”

“She’s smaller than I am, Kindan,” Fiona said, stamping a foot impatiently.

“And she’ll soon need all the cosseting
she
can get.” Fiona regretted her choice of words and went on quickly to cover her gaffe. “Tolarth’s clutch will hatch next week, after all.” Kindan gave her a dubious look.

“It’s too early to say for certain,” Fiona told him, remembering that “nothing is ever kept long from a harper’s hearing” and guessing that he’d already heard rumors of Jeila’s pregnancy.

“Even so,” Fiona persisted, “Lorana’s going to need strong arms to help her up morning and evening.”

“And while we both expect and hope those arms will be yours,” Lorana added smoothly, “I think we all have to recognize that you might not always be available.”

“This is my child we’re talking about,” Kindan said, still not entirely pleased.

“This is
our
child,” Fiona corrected. “We will raise him together, all three—four—of us.”

“You’ve mentioned this to T’mar?” Kindan asked, eyebrows arched high.

“Not … officially,” Fiona temporized. Kindan’s expression deepened. “I told him that he was to expect to provide lots of aid and support as he would need the practice.”

“Wouldn’t it simply be easier for you to stay with T’mar and Lorana with me, then?” Kindan asked in a reasonable tone.

“No,” Fiona said in a small voice. “T’mar will have duties that keep him out at all hours, and so will you and I
can’t
sleep alone!”

A smile played across Kindan’s lips. “I remember that,” he said softly, turning toward Lorana to explain. “She used to invent every excuse to crawl in with me when she was little.”

“And if not you, then someone,” Fiona said. She gave them a troubled look as if weighing whether to relay a deep confidence and then admitted, “I’ve always wanted a large family.”

Kindan nodded slowly, glancing quickly to Lorana who was herself nodding in agreement. He had come from a large family himself and while he never recalled the times he shared his bed with two brothers fondly, he could understand how a young survivor of the Plague that had swept through Pern twelve Turns back would feel the need of the comforting warmth of others. How was it, he wondered even as he realized that once again he would relent to Fiona’s whims, that such a young person could possess such a forceful personality?

“And lots of kids,” Lorana added, her eyes reflecting Fiona’s quiet fervor.

“I’m a good sharer,” Fiona said to Lorana hopefully. Lorana nodded and smiled back at the younger woman.

“You are at that.”

“Good,” Fiona said with a firm nod, grinning up at Kindan. “Because now I’m going to share with you two the joy of explaining the new arrangements to T’mar!”

“L
ook at this shell,” T’mar said, tossing a chunk of egg to Kindan as he, Fiona, and Lorana entered his quarters minutes later. Kindan made the catch easily and glanced down at the proffered shard for a long moment before looking back up again to the Weyrleader. At a gesture from Lorana, the harper passed the piece over.

“It’s thick,” Lorana said after a moment, glancing up to Kindan and T’mar to see if they agreed. She passed the piece to Fiona. “This was from Tazith’s egg?”