Dragonsblood (42 page)

ships that brought our ancestors to Pern.”

“I’ve seen them,” Tieran said excitedly. “The astronomy students brought a

telescope up to the Drum Tower just before dawn one morning.” He

shivered at the memory of the three huge starships hovering in orbit above

the planet. “The students call them the Dawn Sisters.”

Janir turned back to Wind Blossom. “What are you hoping to do with this

equipment?” When she didn’t answer, he persisted, “I thought you’d said

that if the fire-lizards came from the future, then obviously your solution had

failed?”

Wind Blossom nodded. “I am thinking,” she told him. “There must be a

solution that works.”

“Wouldn’t it just make more sense to leave the equipment for those that

need it?” Tieran wondered.

“It would,” Wind Blossom agreed, “if they could learn how to use the

equipment in time.”

SIXTEEN

Firestone, dry

Dragons fly.

Firestone, wet

Riders die.

Benden Weyr, Third Pass, 6th Day, Later, AL 508

Kindan’s stomach lurched as Caranth began a sharp descent the moment

they came out from
between
over Benden Weyr. Their drop was so steep

that Kindan was pitched forward, hard, against Lorana when Caranth

suddenly stretched his wings to cup air and slow them for a landing. Even

so, the dragon hit the ground with a jolt.

Lorana was off and rushing toward her weyr before either B’nik or Kindan

could move. Kindan followed quickly, with B’nik not far behind.

K’tan was waiting for them in Lorana’s quarters. Arith’s eyes were whirling,

and when she saw her rider she gave a happy chirp—which ended in an

unmistakable sneeze.

I’m all right,
Arith told Lorana over and over as Lorana wrapped her arms

around the young dragon’s head.
I’m all right.

No you’re not,
Lorana chided her gently.
But you will be, I promise. We’ll

find something. We found something at Fort Weyr.

She looked up at K’tan. “We found something at Fort Weyr,” she said.

Kindan raised his eyebrows in surprise—in their haste to get back to the

Weyr, they had not even spoken.

“What?” K’tan asked.

“The Records at Fort say that something was built here, at Benden Weyr,

just at the start of the First Interval,” B’nik explained. He looked keenly at

K’tan. “Some special rooms. Do you know of any such rooms?”

K’tan frowned and shook his head. “There’ve been some cave-ins; perhaps

the rooms are buried,” he told them.

“If they’re buried, we’ll dig them up again,” B’nik declared fiercely.

K’tan looked at Lorana. “It could only be a cough . . .”

“Dragons don’t get coughs,” Lorana corrected him in a flat, dead voice.

“It’s only started,” B’nik said. “She’s young—she could fight it off.”

I don’t feel too bad,
Arith added comfortingly with a soft croon.

K’tan motioned for Lorana to come to him. She followed and he brought her

out of her rooms and into the corridor.

“I know this is hard,” he told her softly. “But you have to understand that

your attitude and strength are the best hopes for Arith right now.”

A hand crept up on her shoulder and she turned to see Kindan standing

behind her. “He’s right,” the harper said.

Lorana took a deep breath. “I know,” she told them. She squared her

shoulders. Kindan tightened his grip reassuringly before dropping his hand

back to his side. She turned and went back to Arith.

“I haven’t been giving you enough attention,” she told the young dragon.

You have been doing your work,
Arith said staunchly.
And you always

come when I need you.

Lorana knelt down once more and wrapped her arms around her dragon’s

neck.

“I love you,” she said out loud.

I know,
Arith responded, firm in her knowledge and wondrously grateful.

She nudged Lorana with her head.
Go! I’ll be all right.

Lorana pulled back from Arith and looked up into her whirling faceted eyes.

“Are you sure?”

You can’t find these rooms while you’re here, can you?

“I’ll check on you every hour,” Lorana promised aloud.

Check on me when I ask,
Arith responded.

“You are stubborn,” Lorana chided her dragon.

“I can’t imagine where she learned it,” B’nik remarked teasingly. He

stretched out his hand to her. “If you would, Weyrwoman, I believe you can

help us in this search.”

Lorana smiled, although her eyes still held a lingering fear, and took the

Weyrleader’s hand.

“We are as ready as we’ll ever be,” J’lantir told Dalia as the rest of Ista

Weyr’s wingleaders filed out of the Council Room.

“You did an excellent job, J’lantir,” Dalia agreed. “C’rion would have been

proud.”

Only three days had passed since the Weyrleader’s death. Dalia had

known, of course, the instant that C’rion and Nidanth had been lost. She

was still in mourning, but she was Weyrwoman—she would not let down

C’rion’s men, nor destroy his legacy.

She had appointed J’lantir as interim Weyrleader. The response of the

other Wingleaders had been unanimous support.

J’lantir had swallowed his personal misgivings and had drilled the remaining

dragonriders as well as he could in the short time between the Threadfall at

South Nerat and today.

“I wish the weather were better,” Dalia told him.

“Or worse,” J’lantir responded. “Then we’d have more time to train.”

“Yes, a cold snap or torrential downpour would be best,” Dalia agreed.

“We must fly the Thread we were given,” J’lantir said resignedly.

The dragonrider who had been sent ahead to abandoned Igen Weyr

reported that the weather was gusty, with scattered clouds at fifteen

hundred meters.

A lousy height,
J’lantir thought to himself as he made his way down to the

Weyr’s great Bowl. Dragons could fly up to just over three thousand meters

in the daylight—as high as a man could fly and not pass out from lack of

oxygen.

With clear skies, dragons could fight Thread all the way down to five

hundred meters or less. But with the scattered clouds it would be

imperative to flame the Thread before they entered the clouds or risk

missing clumps as they fell through.

Some of those clumps of Thread would drown in the water of the clouds

but, as the clouds were scattered, it was just as likely that some would

survive the descent and burrow into the arid plains around Igen Weyr

or—worse—into the lush green shoreline of the Igen coast.

J’lantir climbed onto Lolanth, grabbed and secured the firestone sacks

handed up by one of the weyrfolk, and surveyed his wing. The other five

wings were already airborne above him—all flying wing light.

One hundred and twenty-four dragons and their riders would face Thread

today, less than half of the number that had first flown over Keroon on their

first Fall. At least there were enough dragons to be certain that they would

get most of the Thread that fell.

J’lantir nodded his thanks to the youngling who handed up his last bag of

firestone, made sure that it was securely fastened beside him, and, with

one final glance at his riders, gave the arm-pumping gesture to fly.

Dalia looked on from the Bowl below as the dragonriders of Ista Weyr

arrayed themselves over the Star Stones and then winked out of sight

between
to fight Thread. She fought the impulse to bite her lips or cross

her arms, knowing that the rest of the Weyr was watching her.

Some riders would not come back this time, just as C’rion had not come

back the last time, Dalia knew. She and C’rion—her throat suddenly had a

lump in it—had known that these days would come since they first

Impressed their dragons.

They had pored over the Records together when C’rion’s Nidanth had first

flown Bidenth and he had become Weyrleader. They knew that dragons

and their riders would be injured fighting Thread. They knew that dragons

and their riders would
die
fighting Thread. That was the way it had to be,

that was the price paid for riding a dragon, that was the price that had to be

paid to keep Pern from being utterly destroyed by Thread.

Dalia turned away, looking down from the Star Stones to those around her.

Her eyes picked out Jassi coming toward her.

“I’ve got the fellis juice up from the store rooms,” Jassi reported. “And

we’ve got enough numbweed on hand.”

“And the sick dragons?”

Jassi grimaced, looking down. “Two are getting worse,” she answered.

Then she raised her head and added cheerfully, “But the others seem all

right.”

Dalia nodded brusquely. “Very well,” she said. “It will be hours before the

Fall is over—let’s see what we can do about dinner.”

“That’s handled,” Jassi said. “But I wasn’t sure about which weyrlings

should be sent to bring more firestone during the Fall.”

Dalia changed direction, heading to the weyrling barracks. V’rel, the

Weyrlingmaster, had insisted on flying Threadfall, and neither she nor

J’lantir could turn down an able dragon and rider, particularly as V’rel and

Piyolth were several Turns their junior. “Let’s go see, shall we?”

One hundred and twenty-three dragons joined the watch dragon over Igen

Weyr.

“Lousy weather,” J’lantir shouted to B’lon, his wingsecond.

“If only it’d get worse,” B’lon agreed. The clouds below them were as

reported—scattered and thin. Above them the sky was obscured by wispy

high cirrus clouds. B’lon pointed to them. “Is there any chance that the air’s

too cold above and the Thread will freeze?”

J’lantir followed his gaze. “It could be,” he said. “But we shouldn’t count on

it.”

A noise from behind them caught their attention.

M’kir has sighted Thread,
Lolanth reported, at the same turning his head

back to J’lantir, jaws wide and ready for firestone. J’lantir opened a sack

and began feeding the stones to Lolanth.

Tell the others,
J’lantir responded. He gazed up at the skies, picking out

the thin Thread among the wispy clouds above them. This is going to be a

mess, he thought.

K’tan caught up with Kindan as evening began. They had seen each other

earlier in the day while tending to the injured dragons and working with B’nik

in plotting which parts of the Weyr to explore for the Oldtimer Rooms.

Since then, Kindan had been off checking out the highest places in the

Weyr. Now he looked anything but elated.

“Any luck?” K’tan asked him without any hope.

Kindan shook his head. “No,” he said. “You?”

“I’ve spent more time tending the sick than looking,” K’tan told him. He

leaned closer to the harper. “I just wanted to remind you that Ista is about to

fly Thread.”

Kindan’s confusion showed in his expression.

K’tan nodded toward Lorana’s quarters. “You might want to be there for

her,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Kindan agreed quickly. “You’re right.” He started to head off, his

stride increasing. Back over his shoulder he called, “Thank you.”

He was halfway across the Bowl when B’nik hailed him.

“Ista should be fighting Threadfall over Igen soon,” the Weyrleader called

warningly. Kindan smiled and waved acknowledgment, pointing toward

Lorana’s quarters. B’nik nodded.

Kindan found Lorana in Arith’s room, curled up next to her dragon. The

room was gloomy, the setting sun cut off by the lip of the Bowl. Arith stirred

fitfully as Kindan entered the room, but Lorana’s eyes were already wide

open, staring blankly into space. She looked up at Kindan.

“She’s resting,” she reported. “Her breathing seems easier.”

Kindan nodded.

“I just ate a while ago,” Lorana added, as though that were the reason for

Kindan’s appearance. Her tone was acerbic as she continued, “Mikkala

checked up on me in the last hour.”

Kindan took in her words and tone with a quickly suppressed grimace. If

anyone knew the deathwatch drill for a rider and a sick dragon, it would be

Lorana. She had held the hands of the distraught riders, had uttered all the

comforting words she could imagine, and had held the riders in her arms as

they collapsed with grief and despair when their dragons went
between

forever.

“Thread falls over Igen Weyr soon,” Kindan told her bluntly. “Ista will be

fighting it.”

Lorana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She tilted her head up to

look into Kindan’s eyes. “Thank you,” she told him.

“Should I turn on the glows?” he asked, jerking his head toward the nearest

glow basket.

“More light would help,” Lorana agreed. As Kindan busied himself with the

task, she followed him around the room with her eyes, partly to distract

herself and partly because he was such a pleasant distraction.

He turned back to her when he was done. “May I stay?”

Lorana met his gaze with a bittersweet look and patted the ground beside

her. “I was hoping you would,” she told him. “The ground’s hard, but you

don’t notice it after a while.”

Kindan sat beside her, unsure whether to lean against Arith as she was

doing, or to offer himself as a support for Lorana, or to lean himself against