Dragonsblood (35 page)

bandaging done. The wounded dragon’s grateful rider rose with her and

stood beside her. Lorana motioned Arith aside. “I’m sorry Tullea, but M’tal

explained that if Minith were injured, she might not mate.”

Tullea’s eyes widened as the words sunk home. “I was doing my duty,” she

said dully. “I’m supposed to take on the duties of the Weyrwoman.”

“When there is only one mature queen,” Salina told her, “those duties do

not include flying against Thread.”

Tullea nodded, but her gaze turned back to Lorana. “You had no right,” she

told her hotly, “to order my queen about.”

“It was M’tal’s orders,” Lorana protested.

“M’tal!” Tullea snapped and started to say more, but a hiss from both Salina

behind her and the dragonrider beside Lorana forestalled her from saying

more. She glared at the rider, who did not flinch, and then at Lorana. “You

will not tell my dragon what to do, girl.”

“I have more patients to attend,” Lorana said, ignoring the comment. “Arith,

it’s all right. Go back to your weyr, dear.”

“This isn’t over,” Tullea growled at Lorana’s back.

“If you’re interested in a Weyrwoman’s duties, Tullea, now is a good time to

start,” Salina said from behind her. “There is numbweed ready and those

who need it.”

Tullea’s hands clenched at her sides and she turned sharply to glare at

Salina, but the old Weyrwoman merely gestured toward the Lower

Caverns.

“I can’t say I think much of your teaching,” a voice growled in Kindan’s ear

later that evening as he sat at one of the dining tables in the Food Cavern.

Startled, Kindan looked up to see K’tan looking down at him, grim-faced.

Kindan gave him a quizzical look.

“You are responsible for teaching dragonriders their manners, are you

not?” K’tan asked.

“Mmm, that might be more a function of the Weyrlingmaster than the

harper,” Kindan returned, his eyes twinkling. “I take it you heard of the

exchange today between Tullea and—”

“Just about everybody,” K’tan returned. A puzzled look crossed his face.

“She’s the only person I’ve ever heard of who got
less
sociable after she

Impressed.”

“That was—what?—three Turns back, now?” Kindan mused.

K’tan nodded. “She’s weyrbred. She was quite the charmer even before

she Impressed. I had an occasion—”

Kindan snorted. “I would have thought you had better taste!”

K’tan glared down at him. “As I said, she was more sociable back then,” he

said.

“There, you see, it’s not my fault,” Kindan said with a smile.

K’tan laughed and sat down beside him. “I know, lad, I was just ribbing you.”

He let out a long, tired sigh. “You did good work today,” he said. “You’ve the

makings of a good healer. Perhaps you learned from Master Zist—”

“Master
harper
Zist, if you please,” Kindan corrected. “We harpers are

rather touchy about rank.”

K’tan snorted. “Very well,
Journeyman
Kindan.” He lowered his voice so

that it would travel only to Kindan’s ears. “Not that I haven’t heard that you’d

been tapped for Master.”

“This doesn’t seem like a good time to leave the Weyr,” Kindan replied.

K’tan clapped him on the shoulder. “Good on you, lad,” he said. “And you’re

right, this isn’t a good time to leave the Weyr.” His voice dropped. “There

might not be a Weyr left on your return.”

Kindan raised an eyebrow. “The losses today weren’t that bad, were they?”

K’tan shook his head. “No, thank goodness. We lost four, though—more

than we would have if it hadn’t been for
her.
”

There was no need for him to explain who he meant.

“Another fifteen severely wounded and twenty-two with minor injuries,” the

Weyr healer went on.

“How’s M’tal taking it?” Kindan asked, careful to keep his voice low.

K’tan gave him a measuring look. “Badly. Worse than he should, I think.”

“What about the other Weyrs—how have they done?” Kindan asked.

K’tan shook his head. “I haven’t heard.”

“I would have thought you would have been in touch with the other healers,”

Kindan remarked.

“I’ve only met G’trial of Ista,” K’tan replied. “But none of the others.”

“And what does G’trial say?”

K’tan’s face grew closed. “His dragon went
between
two days back,” he

said, waving aside Kindan’s attempts at commiseration, “but I’d heard that

there were more sick dragons at Ista than at Benden.”

“Ista has to fight Thread three more times in the next nine days,” Kindan

remarked.
That
much he had learned from the Records.

“It’s going to be tough, then,” K’tan said. “What about us?”

Kindan smiled. “We’re getting a break. We’ve got nineteen days before

Thread falls over Upper Bitra.”

K’tan shook his head. “None of the injured we’ve got will be ready by then.”

L’tor approached them. “K’tan, when you’ve got a moment, M’tal would like

to talk with you.”

K’tan rose. “I’m ready now.”

Kindan rose with him. “I’ve got to get back to the Records.”

“It’d be better if you could find out about the other Weyrs,” K’tan said. The

Weyrs operated autonomously and some, such as D’gan’s Telgar and

D’vin’s High Reaches, were unwilling to discuss their internal affairs with

outsiders.

A thoughtful look crept into Kindan’s eyes. He nodded his head decisively.

“I’ll do that,” he said.

“How?”

“Do you suppose M’tal would be willing to spare K’tan long enough for him

to give me a lift?” Kindan asked L’tor. “I feel a need to practice some

drumming.”

The Weyr drum was up on the watch heights. When he was up here during

the day, Kindan never tired of the view. As it was, in the evening it was cold,

and a steady wind leached all heat from him. Still, if he peered carefully and

held steady enough, Kindan could make out the fire-pits of Bitra Hold to the

west and maybe, or maybe it was his imagination, a faint glow from Benden

Hold to the south. Kindan adjusted his drum to point more toward Bitra.

He took his sticks and pounded out “Attention.” Then he waited. Several

seconds later, and closer than he’d imagined, he heard a drummer respond

with “Proceed.” Kindan grinned. Clearly some minor hold that he hadn’t

noticed before had recently gotten a drummer. Excellent.

He leaned into the beat to rap out his message, hoping that he had phrased

it with sufficient nonchalance that it wouldn’t alarm the relayers but would still

yield its true meaning to Masterharper Zist, the intended recipient.

The message sent, he listened carefully to the drummer repeating it back,

and on to the next drummer in the station. With any luck, sometime in the

next day or so, Masterharper Zist would get the message.

Which meant, Kindan realized with a groan, that there had to be someone

up here listening for the answer for the next several days.

“I’ll get one of the weyrlings,” he said to himself, glad that there was no one

else to notice his chagrin.

L’tor directed K’tan to the Council Room. As they entered, K’tan noticed

that the only other rider present was B’nik, who looked rather

uncomfortable.

Get used to it, lad, K’tan thought. If you want to lead, it’s going to get

harder.

He made a face, annoyed with himself for thinking so sourly of B’nik. He

had known the rider since before he’d Impressed, and the truth was that

B’nik was a steady, careful rider and a good leader. It was only B’nik’s

continued association with Tullea that marred K’tan’s opinion of him.

“Glad you’re here,” M’tal said as he caught sight of them entering the room.

He gestured to a pitcher. “There’s warm
klah
if you need it.”

K’tan silently shook his head and found a seat.

“Did Kindan have any news?” M’tal asked.

K’tan shook his head. “He asked to be dropped up to the watch heights to

drum a message to the Masterharper.”

B’nik frowned. “What for?”

K’tan shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest,” he said. “We were talking

about the losses of the other Weyrs before L’tor found us, so . . .”

“I’d heard that he had thought of asking the Masterharper if there were any

Records of illness kept at the Harper Hall,” L’tor suggested.

“He could have done both,” M’tal said. He looked at the others seated

around the table. “We could use all the information we can get,” he

admitted. He held up a slate. “I’ve been looking at our strength, trying to get

an estimate of how we’ll fare.

“We started this Pass with over three hundred and seventy fighting

dragons,” he said. “After two Falls, we’re down to two hundred and fifteen.”

“I thought it was more than that,” B’nik said. “Are you counting the coughing

ones?”

M’tal shook his head. “No, I’m counting them as sick,” he said, “and I wish

I’d kept them back from the first Fall. I think we lost most of our dragons

because they were so muddled they got lost
between.
”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, M’tal,” K’tan said heatedly. “Dragons

don’t get sick, no one knew—”

“Well, they’re sick now,” M’tal cut in. “And until they’re better, I’m not letting

sick ones fly with us.”

B’nik frowned. “But the losses—”

M’tal held up a hand. “They were worse when the sick ones flew with us.”

“The last Fall was a short one—you can’t really compare the two,” K’tan

said.

“Even allowing for the length of the Fall,” M’tal corrected, “the losses were

much higher when the sick ones flew.

“The real question is, how many more will get sick and how soon?” M’tal

asked, looking pointedly at K’tan.

K’tan shook his head. “I can’t say. Lorana, Kindan, and I have been going

through the Records and so far haven’t found anything like this. We’ve got

nothing to compare it with: Dragons—and fire-lizards—haven’t gotten sick

before.”

M’tal gave the Weyr healer a long look, then sighed deeply. “In nineteen

days, we fly against Thread over Bitra. I need some idea of how many

dragons will be flying,” he said slowly. He looked at B’nik. “If things go well,

I’d like you to lead that Fall.”

The others in the room startled. M’tal raised a hand to quell their impending

speech. “It’s customary for the Weyrleader to ask other Wingleaders to

lead a Fall,” he said. “It’s good practice, too. No one can ever say when a

Weyrleader might be injured or lost
between.

“And,” he added, “there’s a very good likelihood that Caranth will fly Minith

when she rises. It will make the transition easier all around if you’ve had

some experience leading a Fall beforehand.”

B’nik spluttered for several moments before regaining his speech.

“M’tal—I’m honored,” he said finally.

“Don’t be,” M’tal said firmly. “You’re a good rider. You’re good enough to

know it, too. I’d be asking you to lead a Fall soon enough even if”—he

paused, taking a deep breath—“even if Salina were still Weyrwoman.”

M’tal looked back to K’tan. “That’s why I want to know what you think our

strength will be. It will be hard enough for B’nik to lead a Fall the first time,

even with everything under control. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him to lead one

without giving him some idea of the number of dragons he’ll be leading.”

K’tan nodded in understanding, then closed his eyes in thought. When he

looked up moments later, his face was clouded. “The trouble is, I can’t

really give you a decent guess, M’tal,” he said. “We don’t know how many

dragons were lost
between
because they had the sickness but didn’t tell us

or didn’t realize it themselves.”

Before anyone could comment, he continued, “All the same, if you look at

the first sicknesses and losses, we’ve lost seventy-three dragons—not all

of them to the sickness—but it’s the worst number.” He waited for M’tal to

nod. “That’s seventy-three out of three hundred and eighty-five fighting

dragons, or about one in five who’ve either been lost or gotten sick in the

past three sevendays. So I’d say that you could possibly expect the same

ratio in the next three sevendays.” He raised a cautioning hand. “It might get

worse, it might get better. But, let’s say that another forty-three dragons will

not be able to fly the next Fall.”

M’tal nodded, though his face was pale. He looked at B’nik. “That would

leave you with about one hundred and seventy dragons,” he said. “Can you

do it?”

B’nik was just as pale as the Weyrleader. “Forty-three more dragons,” he

echoed, aghast. He shuddered, then forced himself to answer M’tal. “I’ll do

my best.”

“That’s all anyone can do,” M’tal said with a satisfied nod. He stood up and

turned to leave. “I’ll make the announcement tomorrow morning. After that, I

want to leave the training to you.”

B’nik nodded. “I think I’ll continue with the exercises you had us doing

before the last Fall,” he said after a moment. Then he grinned. “I don’t

suppose your wing would mind slinging ‘Thread,’ would it?”

“I don’t suppose,” M’tal agreed with a grin and a nod. “Now, if you’ll excuse

me, it’s been a long day”—he covered his mouth to stifle a yawn—“and I’m

in need of some rest.”

A voice called him urgently from sleep: “Master Zist, Master Zist!”

Masterharper Zist raised his head wearily from his pillow and blearily looked