Dragonsblood (34 page)

seaside cottage, you send word and I’ll get you there.”

Wind Blossom opened her mouth to protest, but her expression changed

before she could utter a response. A thoughtful gleam entered her eyes.

“Why thank you, M’hall. I think I will.”

THIRTEEN

Dragon, turn

Dragon, climb

Dragonrider, watch for sign

Firestone, chew

Dragon, flame

Char the Thread, make it tame.

Benden Weyr, Third Pass, 4th day, AL 508

Today we’ll drill with mixed wings,” M’tal announced the next morning. It had

been a long, hard night for the entire Weyr. The evening and early hours of

the morning had been punctuated with the sorrowful cries of injured riders

and dragons. Two more dragons had gone
between
before dawn.

M’tal had called the Wingleaders together at first light.

“Not only do we need the training,” M’tal told the group, “but it will keep us

focused on our duties.”

“What about the sick dragons, M’tal?” someone called from the back.

“They won’t fly, J’ken,” M’tal said, recognizing the speaker’s voice. “I

learned my lesson yesterday. We’ll let them rest.”

There was a murmur of agreement and some muttering about being a day

late.

M’tal raised a hand for silence. “Yesterday none of us had fought Thread

before,” he said. “Today we know better. In two days, we’ll be able to

handle any losses in our flights. It’s vital that we practice today and

tomorrow as hard as we can to handle losses during Threadfall.

“I’ve asked Lorana and Kindan to call out dragons as ‘casualties’ from time

to time, so that we can really learn how to cope,” he told them. He saw the

other riders looking at each other, nodding as they digested the idea and

found they liked it.

“But what about the sickness, M’tal?” J’ken called from the back of the

group. “I lost two good riders yesterday because they were too sick to fly.

What if more get sick?”

“Lorana and Kindan will also be in the Records Room searching for any

hints they can find,” M’tal assured them. “I’ve sent word to Masterharper

Zist to search the Records at the Harper Hall, too.”

“Do they keep dragon Records at the Harper Hall?” J’tol, B’nik’s

wingsecond asked, frowning.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” M’tal said.

“Sounds like Kindan and Lorana are working too hard,” L’tor muttered. He

looked up at M’tal. “Let’s hope they aren’t so tired that they miss something

vital.”

“Could we get someone else to help?” J’tol wondered.

“Traditionally, it’s been the duty of the Weyrwoman to examine the

Records,” J’ken noted.

M’tal raised a hand placatingly. “I’m afraid that Salina is still recovering from

her loss,” he told the group regretfully. “I’m sure—”

“I wasn’t talking about her, M’tal,” J’ken interjected. “I was talking about

Tullea.”

He shot a glance at B’nik’s wingsecond. “What about it, J’tol? Where’s

Tullea? And where’s B’nik for that matter? Late again?”

“B’nik is setting up a surprise for us,” M’tal assured the others. “I asked him

to.”

“What about Tullea?” J’ken persisted. From the grumbling of the group, it

was obvious that he was not the only rider who was displeased by their new

Weyrwoman’s behavior.

“What matters now, dragonriders,” M’tal called in a voice pitched to carry

over the grumbling, “is that Thread falls in two more days’ time and we need

practice. To your dragons!”

The first two hours of practice were dismal. B’nik’s surprise was that half his

wing was aloft with the ropes used for practice in the Games. They popped

in and out of
between
well above the riders, and threw down handfuls of the

ropes, to simulate clumps of Thread.

After two hours, J’tol took the other half of B’nik’s wing high aloft to throw

ropes, while B’nik and the others practiced flaming it along with the rest of

the Weyr.

Slowly, with many false starts and restarts, the dragonriders began to learn

to become more flexible in their formations, to quickly regroup when a

dragon became a casualty. And both the dragons and their riders grew

more confident and adept.

When the dragonriders returned to the Weyr for a lunchtime break, M’tal felt

cautiously confident that they would be ready for the next Threadfall.

“How far back do you think we should go?” Kindan asked, wheezing as

some dust from the latest pile of Records flew into his face. “Some of

these are disintegrating.”

“Shouldn’t we get them copied, then?” Lorana asked, carefully leafing

through another pile of musty records.

“Spoken like someone who never spent days copying old Records,”

Kindan responded. “Do you know how boring it is, day in, day out, copying

musty old Records?”

Lorana allowed herself a slight smile. “I imagine there would be a lot to be

learned,” she said.

Kindan shook his head. “No, not really,” he said. “Most of the Records are

repetitious. There are only so many ways you can record crop yields and

rainfall. Occasionally there’s a note of a wedding or a birth

but—honestly—you’d think whoever wrote those Records was numb! Not a

single joke, no songs, nothing but dull, dry facts, Record after Record.”

“Well, it’s dull, dry facts we’re after,” Lorana responded. “No joke or song is

going to help us here.”

Kindan paused mid-search and looked up at Lorana. She looked back at

him quizzically until he shook his head and gave her a dismissive hand

gesture. “Nothing,” he told her. “I thought I remembered a song . . . but it

was nothing.”

Lorana glanced over at the sandglass they’d brought up with them. “Ooops,

our time’s up! Name another dragon,” she told him.

“Mmm, Ganth,” Kindan said. “T’mac’s brown. That’ll leave J’ken without a

wingsecond.”

Lorana raised her eyebrows in appreciation of the choice. “Very well,” she

said, and gave the order to Ganth. She smiled as the brown dragon thanked

her and asked if he could take a swim in the lake.

I think that’s up to your rider, don’t you?
she replied.

Lorana looked back down at her stack of Records and then threw her hands

up in disgust. “You know, we’re going at this the wrong way,” she said.

“I’ve been saying that for hours,” Kindan agreed. He looked over at her.

“What is your plan?”

“Well, I was thinking that anything that happened to the dragons recently,

we’d remember,” she said. “So why work our way back through the

Records? Why not start with the oldest Records and work forward?”

“The oldest Records!” Kindan groaned. “Queen rider, you certainly know

how to darken a day.”

Lorana started to protest but Kindan raised a hand, silencing her.

“I didn’t say you weren’t right,” he told her. “I just dread the prospect.” He

stood up and went back to the stacks of Records, searching. “You know,

I’m going to have to move the newer stacks first.”

“I’ll order more
klah,
then,” Lorana suggested.

Kindan turned back to her with a grin. “Ah ha! This is just a plot to take a

break.”

Lorana laughed and went to the shaft to order more food.

By the time they broke for the evening meal, Lorana’s good humor had

frayed.

“Musty old,
useless
Records!” she swore.

Kindan gave her a shocked look.

“I’m sorry I ever suggested we start with the oldest ones,” she apologized,

stifling a sneeze. “My nose is running and my eyes are watering with all this

dust. The writing’s barely legible and I’ve probably missed something

important because it’s buried in a mass of gibberish!”

“Maybe I can help.”

Lorana looked over to see Salina standing in the doorway.

“You should be feeding your dragon, anyway,” Salina said.

“After you’ve done that, you can feed yourself,” Kindan added. “You haven’t

had anything since you took a break to help K’tan with that injured wing

tip—if you call that a break.”

“But there’s so much to do!” Lorana protested, waving a hand toward the

high stacks of unread Records.

Salina entered the room and sat at the table. Catching Lorana’s eyes, she

jerked her head toward the door.

“I’ll do it while you do your other chores,” Salina said. “I’ve heard someone

say that this is the Weyrwoman’s job, anyway.”

Kindan couldn’t bring himself to point out that the Weyrwoman being

referred to was Tullea, not Salina.

“Ask Mikkala to send up some fresh glows, please,” Salina told Lorana as

she was leaving. She looked over at Kindan. “Now, Harper, what should we

be looking for?”

Two days later, with Threadfall due over lower Benden and Upper Nerat,

M’tal grimaced. Three of the severely wounded dragons had gone

between.
And there were eight more feverish dragons. He would be

leading only one hundred and ninety-six dragons—slightly more than two

flights of dragons—against Thread over Nerat.

We will fight smarter this time, M’tal thought confidently.

He knew from the Records of the Second Pass that the Weyr had

successfully fought Thread with less than one full flight—three wings of

dragons. He also knew that the casualties in those Threadfalls had been

much higher than when more of the Weyr’s strength was available.

Well, it can’t be helped, he told himself.
Gaminth, give the order to go

between
to Nerat Tip.

With the lush green of lower Benden below them and clear skies above,

M’tal surveyed the arrayed wings approvingly as they awaited the coming of

Thread. He had three wings arranged as one flight flying high, with a

second flight behind and lower. The sixteen spare dragons were arranged

in a “short wing,” trailing behind the lower flight but ready to fill in any gaps

either as individual dragons or as a full wing.

M’tal squinted, scanning the sky above him for signs of Thread. Wouldn’t it

just be too much if Thread failed to fall? he mused sourly.

A dragon’s roar alerted him. There! Faintly, like a blur on the sky above, he

saw it. As one, the dragons of Benden turned to their riders for firestone; as

one the riders fed them the flame-bearing rock; and as one the dragons

chewed the rock, digesting it deep in their second stomachs.

As one, the Weyr rose to flame Thread.

And then, behind him, dragons bugled a strange challenge. M’tal turned in

surprise to find the source of their bafflement.

“What is she doing?” M’tal bellowed in outrage.

Far below and behind him, he spied the large wings of Benden’s only

mature queen dragon.

Thread!
Gaminth warned—but it was too late. A stream of fire seared

across M’tal’s cheek and onto his chest before the nothing of
between

brought blessed relief from the agony of Threadscore.

M’tal clawed off the frozen Thread and then they were back in daylight

again.

Gaminth, tell her to return to the Weyr!
M’tal ordered.

Minith says that Tullea says it is her “duty” to be here at Threadfall,

Gaminth informed him.

M’tal’s rage grew as he watched the flying formations behind him dissolve

and grow unmanaged, with some bronzes striving to protect their queen.

Order the “short wing” to protect her,
M’tal said.
And have the rest of the

wings re-form.

His orders had little effect on the chaos behind him. Grimly, M’tal wondered

if it had been a wise idea to put his wing in the forefront. It had seemed a

good choice to lead from the front, but he hadn’t counted on not being able

to handle the confusion behind him—he hadn’t expected
this
sort of

confusion!

Tell Minith that I order her back to the Weyr,
M’tal said to his dragon.
She

is too near her mating flight to risk Threadscore now.

Minith says to tell you that Tullea is only doing her duty,
Gaminth relayed

apologetically.

“Talk to Lorana!” M’tal shouted out loud. “Have
her
explain it to Minith.”

Behind him, M’tal could hear dragons shrieking in pain as Thread struck

them. It didn’t have to be this way, he thought furiously to himself. Damn the

girl! I’ll wring her neck myself when we get back.

She is gone,
Gaminth reported.
The wings are re-forming. It will be all

right.

Tullea jumped off her dragon as soon as she landed at Benden Weyr and

launched herself toward Lorana, shrieking at the top of her lungs, “How

dare you! How dare you call my dragon back!”

Lorana was tending an injured rider and had no time to rise to her feet

before the other queen rider was upon her. Kindan raced over to her side,

but it was Arith, awakened by the raw emotion of Tullea’s assault, who

arrived first, appearing from
between
with a cold burst of air.

The little queen hissed at Tullea, who found herself skidding to a halt.

Behind her, Minith rumbled a warning at Arith, but Arith only hissed at her,

too.

“Tullea, what is this?” Salina demanded as she appeared, breathless,

having run all the way across the Bowl. “What is going on?”

“M’tal had me order Minith back to the Weyr,” Lorana explained, her