Dragonsblood (30 page)

snow line on the mountains. He wished that Salina’s Breth was still alive.

With two queens—and no danger from strange illnesses—they could have

a small queen’s wing battling any missed clumps of Thread before they

reached the ground. The queens, with their greater wingspan, could easily

handle flying low to the ground for the length of a Fall. But Breth’s death

meant that it was not to be and, because of it, the number of burrows would

be higher than normal. It was too dangerous to risk Benden’s remaining

adult queen dragon flying alone, let alone the distraction it would give the

other dragons.

M’tal took a deep breath, surveyed the area one last time, then put the

image of Benden’s Star Stones firmly in his mind and gave Gaminth the

word to go home.

Mikkala, the headwoman at Benden Weyr, a stout, bustling woman who said

little and kept her eyes open, tutted in disapproval of Kindan’s work.

“Never met a man who’s not happy the minute he’s done the least bit of

work,” she said, sending a hard look toward the harper, who raised his

hands in mock defense. Her look softened and she shook her head wryly.

“Other people will be needing to find these bandages, not just you and the

healer!”

“If you’re complaining about a man’s work, then you’ll need to ask Lorana,”

Kindan told her.

So Lorana found herself in charge of laying out the medicine and bandages

in preparation for injured riders and dragons.

Kiyary was detailed to help, and Lorana found herself so engrossed in

setting up first aid trays and assigning tasks to the weyrlings that she didn’t

have time to notice that Kindan had disappeared.

She
heard
the reports from Gaminth of the three dragons that failed to

come
between
from the Weyr to Upper Bitra. She chided herself for not

noticing their loss sooner, only to realize that she had felt a momentary

worsening of the general pall that hung over her and everyone else in the

Weyr, but had put it down to mere nerves.

It was only when Lorana had everything in order and sought to feed Arith

that she noticed that the Weyr harper was nowhere in sight. She dismissed

the issue in favor of ensuring that Arith was well fed and well oiled. She

smiled proprietarily as she realized that her queen was nearly as big as

some of the fully-grown smaller green dragons. Still, it would be years

before Arith was ready to fly—or to mate, a thought that caused Lorana

some vague discomfort.

In the meantime Arith was just as comforting, loving, considerate,

confounding, wretched, ill-tempered, and fractious as any youngster could

and should be. All of which meant that Lorana was glad to be able to see

her marvelous friend happily ensconced on her freshly built bed of warm

sand, curling up for a good after-food and after-grooming nap.

Lorana had just decided that Arith was fully asleep when she
heard
the

piteous cries of dragons being Thread scored in the Fall at Upper Bitra.

Their pain came to her thankfully dulled, like the remnant soreness of a

wound not quite healed.

Arith picked up her unease and an echo of the pain she felt through their

link and looked over at her, eyes blinking sleepily.

“I’m sorry,” Lorana cried aloud. “I can’t help it. Try to sleep, little one.”

There is no need to apologize,
Arith said.
I am glad that you can hear the

other dragons. It is a gift.

“A gift?” Lorana repeated.

Yes,
the queen replied.
You hear us the way we hear each other. It’s

special. I
like
that.

Lorana hadn’t considered her ability in that light. She winced as she
heard

another dragon bellow in great pain and go
between
—and then she winced

in greater pain when the dragon did not return. She tried to find it
between,

could feel herself going—

Don’t!
Arith cried.
Don’t leave me.

Lorana opened her eyes and thrust her arm against the wall for support.

I didn’t mean to,
she apologized.
I was trying to get Minerth.

Minerth is
gone, Arith said firmly.
You cannot save her.

Lorana found herself comforted by Arith’s assurance, but deep down she

felt that she almost
could
have brought Minerth and C’len back from

wherever they had gone
between.
But both had been scored by Thread,

Minerth fatally so.

Salina comes down with the harper,
Arith told her.
You should go meet

them.

“Are you keeping watch on Salina?” Lorana asked, surprised.

Yes,
Arith said.
She was the rider of my mother. And she is
very
sad. I

would like to cheer her up.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Lorana said, standing upright once more. “If you get

some sleep.”

I’ll try,
the queen promised.

Lorana spotted the harper and Weyrwoman easily as she made her way

across the Bowl toward the aid station. Kindan was talking animatedly, and

Salina—well, Salina looked like one of the dead.

Lorana joined them, adding whatever cheerful comments she could until

she managed to get close to Kindan’s ear while Mikkala was offering Salina

some special sweets. “I don’t think this is the best thing for her,” she

whispered.

“I can’t leave her by herself,” Kindan responded in equally hushed tones.

“So many don’t survive the loss of their dragon, you know.”

Lorana pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Maybe—maybe it would be a mercy,”

she said carefully.

“But not the best for Benden, not now,” Kindan replied. “Think of what

would happen to M’tal. And the Weyr.”

Lorana shuddered. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she confessed.

Around the Weyr, hatchlings bugled fearfully. Lorana and Kindan looked up

in time to see a badly scored dragon plummeting down toward them.

Get away!
Lorana shouted. The hatchlings veered away from the falling

dragon bare moments before it landed—hard—on the floor of the Bowl.

“Get some numbweed!” Lorana shouted over her shoulder as she ran

toward the wounded dragon and rider.

The beast was horribly injured—she could see that immediately. Both wings

were in tatters, scored repeatedly by Thread. Ichor oozed from hundreds of

sharp wounds.

It’s all right, it’s all right,
Lorana called soothingly to the dragon.

Kindan leaped up and grabbed the rider, throwing him over his shoulder

and carrying him to a clear spot not far from his dragon. Gently, he laid the

rider out on the ground. Lorana rushed over to him and knelt on the

opposite side of the injured man. Kindan felt the rider’s neck for a pulse

and then looked up at Lorana, his eyes bleak.

With an anguished bellow, the dragon rose clumsily to its legs and jumped

into the air—gone
between.

Lorana rose and spotted Salina approaching in the distance. The

Weyrwoman took one look at Lorana and her hand went to her mouth in

sorrow.

Another dragon bugled in the sky above them, falling, with just barely more

control than the first dragon.

The next several hours were a horrid blur of scored dragons and riders,

hasty bandages, numbweed, fellis juice, and, all too often, the forlorn keen

of a dragon going
between
on the death of its rider.

Lorana only vaguely noticed when M’tal and the rest of the Weyr returned.

When M’tal asked, “Where’s Tullea?” she could only shake her head and

turn back to the injury she was working on. Only later, much later, did it

occur to Lorana that Tullea should have been helping tend the injured.

Once, Lorana found herself grabbed by K’tan. “Wash your hands,” he told

her. She noticed that her hands were covered in blood from the rider she

had been tending. “Blood shouldn’t mix,” the Weyr healer warned.

Lorana’s hand flew to her face but she stopped it just in time, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t wash when I went from Jolinth to Lisalth.”

K’tan shook his head and gave her a pat. “Dragon ichor isn’t the same. You

can mix it any time,” he assured her. “It’s just human blood that can cause

problems. People have different blood, and mixing it can cause fevers.”

“I’ll remember,” Lorana promised, washing her hands in a bucket that one

of the weyrlings had brought over at K’tan’s beckoning.

Some time later, as Lorana rose from bandaging another dragon’s wing tip,

she swayed and the world wheeled around her. Hands reached out and

steadied her, and she found herself looking up into a face.

It was Kindan. “When did you last eat?” he asked her.

Lorana tried to remember but couldn’t. She feebly shook her head.

“Come on,” Kindan said decisively. When Lorana tried to resist, he added,

“K’tan’s back; he can handle things for a while.”

“Eat!” K’tan agreed loudly from where he was working on a wounded

dragonrider.

“We’ll send you something, too!” Kindan promised as he led Lorana toward

the caverns.

“I have to get back as soon as I can,” Lorana said.

“No,” Kindan replied firmly. “You need to rest. You’ve done enough, more

than enough, for one day.”

“But—but there’s a fracture to set on Aliarth,” Lorana protested.

“K’tan will see to it,” Kindan said. “Or it will wait until I’m sure you’re up for

it.” He shook his head in amazement. “You’ve been working for ten hours!”

“So have you,” she retorted.

Kindan was taken aback. “Well, so I have!” he agreed. “It’s a wonder I’m

not fainting of hunger myself.”

They were scarcely seated before they were served a hot bowl of thick

soup and a mug of mulled wine. Fresh-baked bread with butter was set

beside the soup.

“There’s more where that came from,” their server told them with a broad

smile. Kindan recognized her as Tilara.

“Thank you,” he replied, gesturing for Lorana to eat.

“There’s no need,” Tilara responded. She looked at Lorana and told her, “I

saw the way you stitched up Jolinth’s wing.” She gave Lorana an admiring

look. “I never would have believed it possible, but it looks like he’ll fly

again.”

Kindan remembered her as one of the women sweet on K’lar, Jolinth’s

rider.

“Is K’lar resting, now?” he asked.

Tilara smiled wickedly and hefted a large pitcher she’d been holding in her

other hand. “He is now. I doused his wine with fellis juice.”

“Rest is what he’ll need,” Lorana agreed. K’lar had been scored, a nasty

sear from forehead to cheek which fortunately required only a clean

bandage and some numbweed for the pain.

“Ah, look at me!” Tilara protested. “Here you’re supposed to be eating and

I’m jawing away at you.” She turned away, then called over her shoulder,

“Eat up, because I’ll be bringing seconds shortly.
And
dessert.”

Lorana found that she was far hungrier—and thirstier—than she’d realized.

The soup bowl was empty before she realized, and she reached for the

bread and butter, only to have Kindan catch her hand.

“Allow me,” he said, passing her the platter.

Lorana nodded her thanks and proceeded to pile butter on bread. Tilara

was back and had refilled their bowls before they noticed.

“Would you be ready for something heartier after the soup?” she asked.

“There’s a nice bit of spiced wherry just about ready. And tubers, and fresh

peas.”

“That would suit me very well,” Kindan said. He quirked an eyebrow at

Lorana, who caught his look and nodded, her mouth full.

“Food for two!” a voice called from nearby. Lorana recognized it as Tullea.

She looked over. The queen rider looked fresh and rested. Beside her,

B’nik made shushing motions.

“You there!” Tullea shouted at Tilara, ignoring B’nik’s gestures. “Did you

hear me?”

“I’m busy,” Tilara responded. She added in a voice that only Kindan and

Lorana could hear, “I’m helping those who helped the Weyr.”

She took herself off, oblivious to Tullea’s shouts. Tullea rose from her seat

and was about to go after Tilara when M’tal entered.

“Tullea, I was looking for you,” the Weyrleader called. Tullea turned to him,

face still red with anger, but before she made any response, B’nik placed a

hand on her arm, soothingly. None of the scene escaped M’tal’s eyes, tired

though he was.

“What are the casualty figures?” he asked Tullea as he closed the

distance.

“What?”

M’tal rephrased his question. “How many riders and dragons are too injured

to fly in the next Fall, and how long will it take for them to recover?”

“I don’t know,” Tullea snapped. She thrust a hand toward Lorana. “Ask

her.”

W’ren, M’tal’s wing-second, entered the Cavern and placed himself beside

his Weyrleader.

“I am asking you,” M’tal said. “With the loss of Breth, you have become the

Weyrwoman of Benden. It’s your duty to keep track of the injured.”

Tullea recoiled from M’tal’s words and then, as the full import dawned on

her, her eyes gleamed and she gave him a wicked smile.

“That’s right, I am, aren’t I?” she said with unconcealed glee. She gave

B’nik a knowing look and then returned her gaze to the Weyrleader. “And