Dragongirl (43 page)

“No,” T’mar said, reaching for another, even thicker shard of egg. “This is.”

Kindan cocked his head thoughtfully, gesturing for T’mar to pass him the piece. “Mmm, much thicker.”

Fiona peered up from her inspection of the first piece and craned her head over the piece the harper held. “I can see why he had such a hard time breaking out.”

“I’m surprised more didn’t have trouble,” T’mar said, his lips pursed tautly. Lorana and Kindan exchanged a troubled look.

“You think this might have something to do with the cure?” Fiona asked.

“It certainly seems the case,” Kindan said reluctantly. Beside him, Lorana nodded, her face bearing a glum expression.

“You two!” Fiona snorted. “It’s as well you’ve agreed to be separated or you’d take responsibility for all of Pern’s woes!”

“She’s right,” T’mar said, raising a hand to forestall Kindan’s protests. “Oh, it could well be an unwanted effect from the cure, but it could also be a desired effect or even a result of merely
having
the cure.”

“How so?” Lorana asked.

“I could see that Wind Blossom might have decided that the shells would need extra protection,” T’mar said, hefting the thicker shell. “I imagine this would be proof against most Thread.”

Something in his words caused Fiona’s eyes to light with interest but they dimmed again as he continued, “Of course, it’s also possible that Talenth had eaten enough shell material to make thicker shells or that, as a result of her recovering from the sickness, she had extra shell material.”

“If that were the case, queens who weren’t sick would make normal eggs,” Kindan said.

“And as Talenth is the first queen to clutch, we won’t know one way or another for the next sevenday,” T’mar said. He glanced at the other three, brows narrowing as he added, “It
is
certain that the clutches will hatch next week, isn’t it?”

“The Records all agree,” Fiona said. “The time from mating to clutching is variable, but the time from clutching to Hatching is always five weeks.”

“I imagine if the sands were colder it might be longer,” Kindan said.

“Or shorter if hotter,” Fiona agreed with a shrug.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Lorana said, cocking her head at Kindan and intoning:

“Count three months and more
,
And five heated weeks
,

A day of glory and
In a month, who seeks?”

“That
is
what the Teaching Ballads say,” Kindan agreed.

T’mar frowned, saying, “I’m not sure I understand them, even now.”

Kindan gave him an expectant look, so the Weyrleader continued, “Well, it seems that the three months and more is the time from mating to clutching, correct?”

“That’s how I learned it,” Kindan said.

“And so the five heated weeks would be the time the eggs are on the Hatching Grounds,” T’mar said.

“All the Records I’ve read agree on that,” Fiona told him, clearly wondering what he was getting at.

“And, ‘A day of glory’ refers to Impression, doesn’t it?” T’mar asked, keeping his attention on Kindan. The harper nodded. “So then, what’s the last part mean: ‘And in a month, who seeks?’”

“I’ve always thought that referred to the time when a queen could rise again,” Fiona said quietly, not surprised to feel heat rising from her cheeks.

“It seems out of place, though, doesn’t it?” T’mar persisted. “Why bring that up when the rest of the verse is about eggs and Impression?”

Kindan thought it over and nodded. “I hadn’t really thought on it too much, as no one’s ever questioned it before.”

“It all seemed to make sense,” T’mar said. “And,” he added with an apologetic grin, “we’re all used to the way harpers take license with the truth.”

“Anything to keep a rhyme,” Fiona said with a sardonic look at Kindan.

“But what else could it mean?” Lorana asked, recalling her own memories of Arith. “Unless that it refers to the time a weyrling can fly.”

“Perhaps,” T’mar said, not sounding convinced. He dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand, saying, “Well, I was just wondering. It’s not something that should concern us at the moment.”

“Nor should thick shells,” Fiona asserted, “especially when we’ve only the one clutch—and Talenth’s first, at that—to gauge by.”

“If Tolarth’s clutch is the same, then we’ll have to reconsider,” T’mar said.

“In the meantime,” Fiona said, “what are you going to do about the next Fall?”

T’mar’s face darkened and he shook his head.

“Fort’s the strongest, they could loan us a Wing,” Fiona suggested.

“They’ve less than five Wings.”

“And we have little more than two,” Fiona said. She cocked her head at him consideringly. “You’re
not
thinking of timing it with just two Wings, are you?”

“It may come to that.”

“But not now!”

“It might be better to find out now, rather than later,” T’mar said.

“Only if you’ve got support arranged beforehand,” Fiona retorted quickly. She gave him another suspicious look, then declared, “You’ve talked with K’lior!”

“I have,” T’mar admitted, nodding. “I’ve discussed it with H’nez as well.”

“So that explains the strange looks he was giving you this evening!”

“Partly,” T’mar said. Fiona eyed him again and shook her head in exasperated admiration, saying, “He had some suggestions regarding our casualties, did he?”

T’mar’s expression betrayed him and Fiona’s temper flared up and she shouted, “As if he could do any better!”

T’mar raised a hand in a calming gesture but it was pointless.

“Telgar’s going to take more casualties than the other Weyrs because Telgar is fighting over a greater area than the other Weyrs.”

“Not that much,” T’mar said.

“Enough,” Fiona said, glancing at Kindan for agreement. Reluctant to be drawn into the argument, Kindan cleared his throat before saying, “Telgar and Benden tie at six Falls each cycle for the greatest number of Falls.”

“Things would be different if Igen were flying.”

“There are still not enough dragons, no matter how many Weyrs you put them in,” Fiona said.

“It doesn’t matter,” T’mar said, giving Fiona a quelling look. “I’m the Weyrleader—”

“Until Talenth rises again!” Fiona snorted angrily.

“—and I’ve made the best decision I can,” T’mar finished, acknowledging her interjection with a sad nod. “As it stands, Telgar has the greatest experience in timing it and our dragons and riders are trained the best in coping with it.

“I felt that it would be more dangerous to introduce a new wing into our ranks, given that we would probably have to time it even with their numbers, so I decided we would perform the experiment.”

“And how many will die in this experiment?” Fiona demanded hotly, then quickly brought her hand up to her face in horror, her eyes wide with guilt and sorrow. “T’mar, I’m sorry! That was uncalled for!”

“Fewer perhaps than would die the other way,” T’mar responded, his voice cold with anger. “Although, as we’ll be certainly fighting twice, the chances of your needing a new Weyrleader are clearly doubled.”

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Fiona growled, then offhandedly said to T’mar, “Not you, me. I should never have said anything of the like; it’s only that I am worried about you.” She caught his eyes with hers and added in a softer voice, “I’m afraid that you’ll make the mistake B’nik made.”

“He hasn’t made the mistake yet,” T’mar said, reaching up a hand to accept her apology. His eyes narrowed as he continued half to himself, “In fact, it might not even be him.”

“I thought you said you recognized him?”

“Not him,” T’mar replied with a quick shake of his head, “his jacket.” He took a breath and continued, “I saw the Benden Weyrleader’s jacket quite clearly before the Thread consumed it.”

“Well, I couldn’t imagine B’nik just giving
that
away!”

“No, I couldn’t, either,” T’mar admitted. “But it could be possible that a different person inherited it.”

“Not as long as Tullea’s senior!” Kindan said, chuckling.

“Indeed,” T’mar said. “But until it happens, we won’t really know
who
wore the Benden Weyrleader’s jacket when it did happen.”

“But it seems fair to guess that whoever was wearing it was the Benden Weyrleader,” Kindan said. “Even if this Weyrleader is from the distant future, he was still destroyed by Thread.”

“And just as true if it really was B’nik,” T’mar said. “But my point is that we don’t know when this will happen, when some future B’nik jumps
between
to save us—after saving M’tal beforehand.”

“Although, with our numbers so low, it could be soon,” Fiona said with a grim look.

“It could be,” T’mar said. “But it gives me hope that perhaps we can survive longer before that day comes to hand.”

“Long enough for our weyrlings to grow to fighting strength?”

T’mar shrugged at the notion but Fiona could tell he was hopeful.

“So …” Fiona began slowly, “because B’nik’s not dead yet, you’re hoping that this will somehow mean that you won’t die when you fly the same Fall twice, am I right?”

T’mar’s hopeful look faded as he stammered, “I wasn’t quite looking at it
that
way.”

T
’mar was not completely surprised when Fiona arranged for Kindan to stay with Lorana that night with only the thin excuse, “Xhinna needs a chance to prove herself.”

Nor was he surprised to be awoken by her quietly slipping into his bed not much later.

“If you are going to get yourself killed, bronze rider, then I’m going to need something to remember you by,” Fiona told him firmly. As his lips quirked up in a smile, she added severely, “And more than just one good night.”

She put actions to her words and gave herself so completely and demanded so much of him that neither was in doubt afterward of the nature of the gift, the willingness with which it had been given, nor the love with which it had been received.

Later, in the afterglow, Fiona propped her head on one arm and told him, “And when you come back, you’re to make more time for Shaneese.” She smiled as she plumbed the depths of his expression. “As I told Lorana, I share. And I plan to get all the help raising children I can.”

Wisely, Telgar’s Weyrleader said nothing.

“Y
ou came back, you came back!” Fiona cried flinging herself into T’mar’s arms two days later as they returned from their first round of flying the Fall.

“We still have to fly again,” T’mar warned her.

“But you’ll come back from that, too,” Fiona said, gesturing toward Lorana in the distance, before burying herself once more against his chest. “She knows.”

“I see,” T’mar said, hugging her back tightly. He pushed her away gently, his eyes filled with pain as he asked, “And does she know how many we’ve lost?”

“Yes,” Fiona replied, equally grim, casting her eyes upward to avoid meeting his. “Seven lost—two now, five more when you go back. Three severely injured and five moderately injured in addition to more than the usual number of scrapes, cuts, and near-misses.”

“How did she take it?”

Fiona raised a hand, gesturing toward the distant figures of Lorana and Kindan as they went from rider to rider.

“She’s taking it well,” Fiona said. She moved away from the Weyrleader, adding, “I’m going to make my farewells.”

T’mar let her go with a solemn nod; he needed to rest a moment before he went to speak with those riders he knew wouldn’t be returning.

“Here, drink this!” a voice piped up beside him. He looked toward it and saw Shaneese proferring a large mug of steaming
klah
. “Fiona said you’d need it.”

“She’s right,” T’mar agreed wholeheartedly, taking a long draught of the warming liquid. He gave Shaneese a quizzical look as he swallowed. When he found his breath, he said, “You’ve added something.”

“A bit of spice,” Shaneese agreed. “Nutmeg, it gives it a special kick.”

“It’s very good,” T’mar said and, recalling Fiona’s words, gave the headwoman a very grateful smile. “It’s clear that you show proper respect for a Weyrleader!”

“I certainly try,” Shaneese replied, a smile dimpling her face. She glanced around to distant throngs of riders and dragons, adding, “I know that the Weyrwoman sometimes gets too … involved to notice such matters.”

“Usually she’s very good,” T’mar said in agreement, “but sometimes she lets her youth carry her away.” He smiled down at the dusky-skinned headwoman. “I’m pleased to see that you are so able to alleviate her deficiencies.”

“She and I try to work as a team,” Shaneese said, glancing up shyly at the Weyrleader.

“Together, I’m sure you’re more than the sum of your parts,” T’mar said, draining his mug and holding it apologetically to the headwoman. “I’m afraid it’s all gone.”

“Oh, there’s plenty more where it came from,” Shaneese said, turning toward the Kitchen Caverns. “Shall I get you some?”

“Maybe later,” T’mar said. “We’ve another Fall—rather the same one again—to ride.” He smiled. “And when I get back, I fear I shall be too weary to do much more than crawl into bed.”

“I’ll see to it that hot stones are ready for you,” Shaneese offered.

“I’m sure you’ll be just as busy and weary as I will,” T’mar allowed, his senses not so dull that he couldn’t detect the double meaning. “I’d hate to think of delaying you from your bed just for that.”

“It would be no trouble.”

“I could ask Fiona to bring them with her to bed,” T’mar said, wondering how far to push this exchange.

“That would be difficult for her, as I understand she’s decided to sleep in the Hatching Grounds to keep Tolarth and Jeila company,” Shaneese said. “She suggested you would be too tired to put up with her this evening.”

“She did, did she?” T’mar said. “And she thought I’d appreciate a cold bed by myself?”