Dragongirl (45 page)

“I love you,” he told Lorana feelingly, wrapping hands around her back and gently kneading the tight muscles he found there.

“I know,” Lorana replied. She exhaled blissfully as Kindan found a knotted muscle and teased it out. She leaned herself against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “I know.”

“Y
es, Weyrwoman, five more fighting dragons have recovered,” H’nez said heatedly to Fiona two days later as the wingleaders met in the Council Room, “but that’s no cause for cheer. We’ve still got nearly two full Wings of injured dragons and less than that of fighting dragons.”

“In these days we need to find cheer where we can,” F’jian said.

“We’ll fly in four Wings,” T’mar repeated, firmly reiterating what he’d first said to start the discussion. “That way we’ll have bronzes leading each Wing and we’ll have a reserve to haul firestone.”

“And fourteen dragons in each Wing,” H’nez growled darkly. Fiona shot him a glare and then a beseeching look toward Jeila who, instead of backing her authority, lowered her eyes and glanced away. H’nez saw the exchange and raised a hand placatingly. “Oh, I’m not saying it’s a bad plan! In fact, T’mar, I think it’s the best plan we have, given our circumstances.”

Fiona gave him a surprised look, and glanced at Jeila, who raised her eyes to meet hers again, her lips quirked in a lopsided grin. Fiona smiled and shook her head: She should never have doubted the petite weyrwoman.

“The question is, T’mar, when are we going to be too weak?” H’nez asked him seriously. “And what will we do then?” He paused and glanced around the table. “For, like as not, the day is coming.”

“And soon,” C’tov said in agreement.

“There’ll be another Hatching soon—” Fiona began hopefully.

“And three Turns from now we’ll be grateful for the extra strength,” H’nez said dismissively.

“Two Turns,” C’tov protested. H’nez shot him a look but the scarred bronze rider persisted, “We can get them ready in two Turns.”

“But it won’t solve our problems
now.”

“No, it won’t,” T’mar agreed with a sigh. “And I plan on talking with the other Weyrleaders about this—after this Fall.” He glanced at H’nez before continuing, “But for the moment, we’ve a Fall to ride in less than two hours.”

“The ground crews are ready,” Kindan said, glancing at Fiona, who nodded in agreement. This Fall would be over both Telgar Hold and the Weyr itself, and Weyrwoman Fiona was responsible both for the care of the injured and the Weyr’s ground crews. Kindan, as Weyrlingmaster, had been tasked with detailing weyrlings to ground crews—part of the revised training that he, T’mar, and H’nez had all unanimously agreed upon.

“We’re going to have the reserve Wing deposit crews and equipment up with the herds and the other outliers,” Fiona said, nodding toward C’tov, who’d been elected to lead the reserves.

“So,” T’mar said, rising from his chair, “I think we’ve covered everything we can. Wingleaders, prepare your Wings.”

The others nodded, rose, and filed out of the room. After a moment, Kindan shuffled off after them, nodding to both weyrwomen as he departed.

Fiona sat for a long while, her eyes darting toward Jeila, who kept her head bowed and remained silent.

Fiona waited patiently.

“This baby will have a father,” Jeila said.

“Of course.”

The other weyrwoman glanced up to her, glaring, challenging, dark eyes brooding. “Can you guarantee that?”

“No,” Fiona told her softly, rising from her chair and coming around to where Jeila sat. She crouched down behind her, placing her arms on the petite woman’s shoulders. “I can’t guarantee anything except that as long as I draw breath I will do everything to protect you, your children, and your loves.”

Silently, tears started down Jeila’s face and the weyrwoman leaned her head on Fiona’s right hand where it rested on her shoulder. “I’m not like you, I can’t live without him.”

“Yes you can,” Fiona told her encouragingly. “You can because you’ll have the baby. If you lose him, you’ll still have that part of him.”

After a moment, Fiona stood and, grabbing Jeila’s arms, forced the weyrwoman to rise out of her chair.

“You have the strength of the desert in you, Jeila,” Fiona told the dark-haired woman quietly. “You’ll not succumb to a drought, or to sorrow.”

Jeila’s eyes brightened as she looked up into Fiona’s blue eyes. She wiped her tears away and smiled tentatively, telling the taller Weyrwoman, “You do realize that you are every bit as difficult as my relatives said you were?”

“Did they say that?”

“They did,” Jeila declared with a nod. “Stubborn, prideful, cheerful, indomitable, and”—she paused to gather breath, her lips curving up in a tentative smile—“the best hope of Pern.”

“By the First Egg, I certainly hope not!” Fiona chuckled, feeling the discomfort of the weight of all those expectations bearing down on her shoulders.

“You and Lorana.”

“We can’t do it on our own,” Fiona said, marveling again at the other woman’s thin bones and petite frame. She grinned at Jeila, adding, “I’d like to think we’ll get help.”

“If I lose him …”

“It’s never wise to take sorrow before its time,” Fiona said, wondering where she had first heard the phrase … Kindan? She wrapped her arms around the other woman and hugged her tightly.

“So you’re pregnant,” Fiona murmured after a while. “When’s the date?”

Jeila drew in a sharp breath and stepped back so that she could look up, incredulously, into Fiona’s eyes. “You, too?”

“W
e were incredibly lucky,” T’mar said when he returned from the Fall for the first time, “we only lost three.”

He frowned as he glanced at two disconsolate riders and those grouped mournfully around them. “Rather, we lost one now and we’ll lose two more when we go back in time to fly again.”

“I know,” Fiona said, gearing herself up for the renewed loss. “How many were injured from those that timed it?”

T’mar pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Two, three?”

“We’ve one mauled and two injured now,” Fiona said, nodding toward the weyrfolk who were working to patch up one badly scored green dragon and her rider. She wrinkled her nose distastefully. “Why does it always have to be greens and blues?”

“Because there are so many of them,” T’mar said, glancing around the shadows of the night darkened Bowl. “When we return, it’ll be the middle of the night.”

“We’ll be ready,” Fiona said. She shrugged, adding, “Although it’d be nicer if I knew how many injuries I had to deal with, then I could let helpers get more sleep.”

“Doesn’t Lorana know?”

“She can talk to any dragon, but she can’t talk into the future,” Fiona said. “Imagine how awful
that
would be, if she could!”

T’mar, too tired from Threadfall, merely nodded. He turned to the others, then back to Fiona. “Have Lorana let them know that we fly again in two hours’ time.”

“Go to your quarters, take a break,” Fiona suggested. “I’ll come along later.”

T’mar gave her a guarded look and Fiona smiled. “You’ll have enough time to let me work on some of those knotted muscles! I won’t do anything to put you to sleep, but there’s no point in having you fight the same Thread twice if you’re too sore to move!”

“I wish someone could do the same for Zirenth,” T’mar said feelingly, as he and the bronze trotted off to their weyr.

When Fiona found him later, he was seated at his desk, his legs stretched out under the table, a tray with a pitcher of
klah
and a mug before him, the steam still rising from the mug.

“Shaneese brought it,” he said as he gestured for her to sit down. He smiled as he added, “And
someone
must have mentioned my whining to her as Zirenth had a whole wing of weyrfolk oiling him not much later.”

Fiona went around behind him, laying her hands on his shoulders. They were as hard as stone. Silently she began kneading the muscles, working her hands up to his neck, particularly at the base.

“Get up,” she told him after a few minutes.

T’mar rose as instructed, eyebrows raised. “Should I lie down on the bed?”

“No, just sit backward in your chair,” Fiona said, reaching around him to turn the chair around and shoving him toward it. “If you’re not too cold, you might lift your tunic, so I can get to your muscles directly.”

Smiling, T’mar pulled off his shirt, draped it over the back of the chair, and then sat down in reverse position, with his chest pressing against the shirt.

“This is something I learned from Bekka,” Fiona said as she crouched down and began working her hands over his hips.

“From Bekka?”

“She learned it from her mother, to ease knots out of expectant mothers,” she said as she leaned into her work. A moment later, just when she expected to get the greatest rise, she added, “I expect you to take careful note; you’ll need it.”

However, instead of even twitching at her revelation, T’mar said nothing.

“T’mar?” Fiona asked, irritated that he hadn’t responded as she’d hoped. She peered around to look him in the eyes: They were closed. The Weyrleader was snoring gently, asleep, his head bowed.

“T
hat’s the last of them,” Fiona told Terin as she and the youngster stood, bathed in the green dragon ichor that they’d been drenched in while sewing up the worst of the injured dragons.

Fiona reached for a towel, threw it to Terin, and grabbed another for herself, wiping off her hands, arms, face, and then what was left of her clothes. She had sensibly dressed in older clothes: a tunic and trousers with soft shoes. Her feet hurt from standing so long, her back hurt, her shoulders and hands felt cramped, but she smiled at the younger woman. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“It could have been worse,” Terin agreed, stifling a yawn.

“Get to bed!” Fiona ordered, jerking her head in the direction of F’jian’s weyr.

“Bath first, I think,” Terin said, sniffing herself reflectively.

“Then come with me,” Fiona said. “If you bathe alone you’re likely to fall asleep and drown.”

Terin’s eyes flashed but another yawn stifled her retort and with a sheepish look she gestured for the Weyrwoman to precede her.

As they made their way through Talenth’s empty weyr and into Fiona’s quarters, she whispered, “We’ll need to be quiet, I don’t want to disturb Lorana.”

“I can’t sleep anyway,” a voice from the bed startled them. The room grew lighter as Lorana turned over a glow. She gave the two others a quizzical smile as she explained, “The baby’s kicking.”

“We’re going to wash off all this muck,” Fiona said, gesturing to the remnants of the dragon ichor, “why don’t you join us?”

“A warm bath might help,” Lorana agreed. Fiona moved quickly to her side, gesturing for Terin to help. Solicitously they helped Lorana out of bed, ignoring her protests—“I’m not
that
big!”

Somewhere along the way, Fiona dozed off to be woken by a dig from a giggling Terin.

“I was
saying,”
Terin told her making it clear that she’d spoken before she’d noticed Fiona’s slumber, “that this is the first time that the three of us, recipients of Tenniz’s gifts, have been together for months.” She frowned at Fiona thoughtfully as she added, “Have you gotten any closer to figuring out his meaning?”

“Well,” Fiona began slowly, “as there’s a queen egg on the sands, I suspect we know what your gift means.”

Terin sniffed wistfully. “I wouldn’t presume that egg is meant for me.” She turned to Lorana. “Wouldn’t it be for you instead?”

Lorana gave her a questioning look and Terin responded, “I mean, your prophecy implies that you’ll have another queen, doesn’t it?”

Lorana flicked her eyes away, expression grim.

“Well, mine makes it clear enough,” Fiona said cheerfully, “Tenniz said it would all work out.” She glanced Lorana’s way, adding, “And in many respects, I think it already has.” She caught Lorana’s dubious look and continued, “We’ve weyrlings and eggs on the ground, we’ve dragons that can fly when just months before we feared we’d have none—and new life on the way. I think things will only go on getting better.”

Even if she didn’t quite believe it herself, Fiona knew that she had a duty to appear unworried, cheerful. And, maybe there was more truth than hope in what she’d said. Perhaps things
were
getting better.

They finished quickly and Fiona made certain that Terin made it back to her weyr before turning in. By the time she got into bed, Lorana already looked to be asleep. Fiona pursed her lips as she wondered whether to continue their earlier discussion, but, with a weary sigh, decided to leave it for morning.

When she woke the next morning, the demands of the day and injured dragons and riders drove the issue completely from her mind. Kindan arrived early with a pitcher of steaming
klah
and a smile on his face; Fiona took a mug for herself and bustled off to the Dining Cavern for a proper breakfast, leaving Kindan and Lorana time alone together.

She found T’mar and the wingleaders already in deep discussion, breaking their fast almost as an afterthought.

“Make them eat or they’ll be useless,” Shaneese said urgently as she came by to place a basket of fresh steaming rolls temptingtly in front of the Weyrleader. She gave Fiona a probing look and added, “And make sure you eat your share; don’t forget the juice.”

Fiona looked at her in surprise and the headwoman continued brusquely, “You’re eating for two now; even if you thought you had no need, you’ve got to consider the other.”

The other? Fiona glanced around furtively to see if any of the wingleaders had noted the exchange and was surprised at her sense of disappointment when she realized they hadn’t. Men, she snorted disgustedly before glancing back up to the headwoman, her eyebrows raised in inquiry.

“Think Tenniz was the only one with gifts?” Shaneese asked. “You’re the right age and you’ve been trying so hard—wouldn’t be surprised if you had two.”

“That’d be a good start,” Fiona said.

Shaneese smiled, saying, “I suppose it would, for you, at that.” She reached over, grabbed a moisture-beaded pitcher, snagged a clear glass, and deftly poured a large helping of the juice, placing it near Fiona’s right hand and the pitcher just above it. “Be sure you drink at least two glasses, then,” Shaneese ordered. “Every meal.”