Dragonsblood (44 page)

“Arith, I’d like to go with them. Will you stay here?” Lorana asked her

dragon out loud, so that the others could hear. “Should we take your

harness off so you can lie down?”

No,
the queen replied, shaking her headed so firmly that her body swayed

in counterpoint.
And I won’t get it dirty, I promise.

Lorana laughed and hugged Arith’s neck.
Let me know if it itches, or if you

need me.

Of course.

I won’t be long,
Lorana promised.

Take your time,
Arith replied,
I’ll
call
you if I need you.

Lorana turned to Kindan and K’tan. “I’ll come with you.”

Lorana appeared distracted while the three of them checked on the injured

dragons. Several times K’tan had to repeat a question or a request to her

before she responded. Kindan noticed that she kept looking around the

Weyr, particularly whenever a dragon sneezed or coughed.

Their work took them through the morning and still they’d only checked on

half of the ninety-two injured dragons.

“I think we should group all the sick dragons,” Kindan said as they walked to

the next weyr.

“We’ve been over this,” K’tan said. “How would you do it?”

“Just together, at least,” Kindan said. “Probably on the lowest level.”

“Why not a high field?” Lorana asked. “It would be colder up there—it might

prevent the spread of the sickness.”

“Or it might speed it up,” K’tan countered. “If the cold makes it harder on

the dragons’ resistance.”

“But aren’t dragons pretty much inured to cold?” Kindan asked. “I mean,

they go
between.
”

“But only for short periods of time,” Lorana admitted.

“But they do fly where the air is cold,” K’tan mused. “They don’t seem to

mind the cold as much as we do.”

“Exactly,” Kindan said. “But if you have the sick dragons up high where it’s

cold—and I presume you mean a landing outside of the Weyr—then what

about the riders? And how will we get food and supplies to them?”

Lorana threw up her hands in capitulation.

“Let’s bring it up to B’nik,” K’tan suggested. “It’s his decision.”

B’nik listened to them carefully when they approached him at lunchtime.

Tullea was with him.

“If I understand you, then,” the Weyrleader said, “the correct quarantine

method depends on how the sickness is transmitted.”

“Yes, that’s right,” K’tan agreed.

“But we don’t know how it spreads,” B’nik continued, “so you want to try all

three precautions—is that right?”

“At least with the sick dragons,” K’tan said.

“But you can’t say if a dragon that seems healthy hasn’t already got the

sickness,” Tullea remarked.

“No,” Lorana agreed. “We can’t.”

“So we might end up with the whole Weyr up in high fields,” Tullea

interjected sourly. “What a
great
idea.”

“It’s the best we can come up with,” Kindan said with a shrug.

Frowning, Tullea opened her mouth to retort, but B’nik raised an open hand,

silencing her.

“What about those rooms?” he asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to find them?”

“What is supposed to be in these rooms, anyway?” Tullea demanded.

“We don’t know,” Lorana told her. “But the Records specifically stated that

they were built here at Benden.”

“So you don’t know where they are or why they were built—and yet you want

to spend precious time searching for them?” Tullea gestured to the rest of

the Weyr. “And let our dragons die while you search?

“Weyrleader, I think this is some old tale that will waste the time of our

healer and harper,” Tullea said formally to B’nik. “As Weyrwoman, I can see

no point in it. Why not have Lorana conduct the search on her own?”

“But her dragon is sick,” Kindan protested.

“All the more reason for her to be diligent, then.” Tullea pressed a hand to

her head, as though to ease pain. “And Harper, you’ve been too long from

your duties. I could use a good song, and I’m sure the weyrlings need more

instruction.”

“Lorana has been helping me tend the injured dragons as well as the sick,”

K’tan protested.

“Well, perhaps
I
can assist you,” Tullea replied sweetly. “It
is
one of my

duties, after all.”

“It’s settled then,” B’nik said, standing hastily. “Lorana will search for the

missing rooms, and K’tan and Tullea will tend the sick and injured dragons,

releasing Harper Kindan to his teaching duties.”

“Well, Lorana, I’m sure you’ll want to feed your dragon before you begin

your search,” Tullea said dismissively, grabbing Kindan’s arm and pulling

him away. “Tell me, Harper, what new songs will you sing for us tonight? I’m

sure the Weyr needs cheering.”

“I was wondering how long it would be before she started in.”

Lorana turned to see Salina standing beside her.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t come to see you,” the ex-Weyrwoman apologized.

“You’ve been busy,” Lorana excused her.

“No, I’ve been afraid,” Salina corrected. She gave Lorana a frank look. “I’d

heard about your Arith, and I . . .”

“It’s all right,” Lorana said, patting Salina on the shoulder. “I understand.”

“Well
I
don’t. You did everything you could when Breth was ill,” Salina said.

She gestured with a hand. “Walk with me, please?”

Lorana nodded and fell in beside Salina as they walked out into the Bowl.

Salina turned to the entrance to the Hatching Grounds.

“I’ve always loved this place,” she said. “Since I first Impressed—and

before—I’ve been in love with Benden Weyr, its high walls, morning mists,

brilliant sunsets, but most of all, I’ve loved the Hatching Grounds.”

They were at the entrance, looking in.

“There’s something marvelous about them,” Salina breathed. “Right now it’s

so quiet in here, waiting, but soon, Minith will clutch and this cavern will be

filled with her hissing and challenging anyone who comes near her eggs.

And then—there’ll be the Hatching.”

She gestured to the heights surrounding them. “Dragons—mostly

bronzes—will stand up there, keening welcome to their newest offspring.

And the Weyr, all of us, will be made alive again with each Impression,

reliving all the joy”—her voice dropped—“and the pain of our bond with our

own dragon.”

She grabbed Lorana’s hand and patted it gently. “And one day, your Arith

will be here, guarding her hatchlings.”

Lorana shook her head. Salina cocked her head questioningly.

“I don’t know,” Lorana said.

“I heard Tullea’s set you a task,” Salina said, changing the topic with

another pat of Lorana’s hand. “What is it?”

Lorana explained about the Records they’d found at Fort Weyr.

“Rooms?” Salina said musingly. “Special rooms, eh? And not mentioned in

our own Records?

“Perhaps the Records were lost—” Salina dropped Lorana’s hand and

raised one of her own for silence, head bowed as she thought.

“Perhaps they aren’t mentioned in our Records because they were

considered obvious, like the Kitchen Cavern or the Bowl itself,” she said,

looking up again. “If everyone knew about them, then there was no reason

for special mention, was there?”

Lorana gave her a dubious look.

“And now no one can find the rooms,” Salina continued, musing out loud.

“So if someone were to build rooms that everyone knew about and were

obvious and they become lost—how would that happen?”

“I don’t kn—”

“A cave-in!” Salina exclaimed.

Lorana’s look of doubt changed to one of excitement. “But where?”

“I know where the rooms are,” Salina told her, starting down into the

Hatching Grounds. “Follow me.”

“Wait a minute,” Lorana called. “Shouldn’t we get glows?”

“And probably some help, too,” Salina agreed, her enthusiasm only slightly

quenched by her common sense. “If I’m right, the rooms are buried behind

a rockslide.”

“We should get Kindan,” M’tal said as soon as Salina outlined her theory to

him that evening.

Salina shook her head. “Tullea wants Kindan to sing tonight. I think she

wants to separate Kindan and Lorana.”

M’tal snorted, shaking his head. “Is she trying to make B’nik jealous, or

Lorana angry?”

“I can’t imagine Lorana getting angry,” Salina said. “Unless it was over

something involving her dragon.”

“Righteous anger, then,” M’tal agreed. “And perhaps not just for her dragon.

She seems to have good priorities.”

“She does,” Salina agreed emphatically. “It may help her survive—”

M’tal cocked an eyebrow at her.

“—if she loses her dragon,” Salina finished softly.

“None who have gotten sick have recovered,” M’tal said softly by way of

agreement. “But this can’t go on. Our ancestors were smart enough to

make the dragons from fire-lizards; I can’t believe that they weren’t smart

enough to anticipate a sickness like this.”

“If they could predict it, and they could make dragons from fire-lizards, why

didn’t they make it so the dragons wouldn’t get sick?” Salina asked.

M’tal shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps we’ll find the answer when we

get into those rooms.”

“So why wait for Kindan?”

“Kindan’s miner bred,” M’tal reminded her. “If there’s a cave-in, he’s the

right one to handle it.”

“And if he can’t?”

“Then he’s the right one to get help,” M’tal replied, miming a miner holding a

pick in two hands. Salina smiled and gestured toward the door of their new,

lofty weyr.

“It’s not such a bad idea of Tullea’s to have Kindan sing tonight,” Salina said

as they started down the many flights of stairs to the Bowl.

“Mmm?”

“Well, he’s got quite a good voice, and we could use the cheering.”

“Let’s hope, then, that Kindan’s in a cheering mood,” M’tal returned. Neither

of them mentioned on the long descent from their weyr that M’tal’s Gaminth

could have flown them to the Bowl in a moment: M’tal because he was sure

that Salina was still quietly grieving her loss; and Salina because he was

right.

As they crossed the Bowl to the Kitchen Cavern, they could hear Kindan’s

voice lead off in the opening chorus of “The Morning Dragon Song,” subtly

altered:

“Through early morning light I see,

A distant dragon come to me.

Her skin is gold, her eyes are green;

She’s the loveliest queen I’ve ever seen.”

“He
must
have changed that for Lorana,” Salina remarked. “That song

normally refers to a bronze dragon.”

“But I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Tullea thinks it’s for her,” M’tal said.

Several big fires had been built in braziers outside of the Kitchen Cavern,

and the long tables had been pulled out into the cold night air. Torches

lined a way through the tables.

The harper and his helpers were set up on one table placed against the wall

of the Weyr Bowl itself. The sounds of Kindan’s guitar and voice echoed

eerily off the walls of the Bowl. All around them, M’tal could see gleaming

pairs of dragon eyes peering down from the heights above.

By the time M’tal and Salina found seats, Kindan had finished his revised

version of “The Morning Dragon Song.”

“This is a different song, now,” Kindan said, his voice carrying over the

murmurs and chatting of the dragonriders and weyrfolk.

“Not all of it’s remembered, but perhaps its time has come.” He modulated

his guitar chords into a dissonant, melancholy sound.

“A thousand voices keen at night,

A thousand voices wail,

A thousand voices cry in fright,

A thousand voices fail.”

The murmuring of the crowd grew silent as Kindan continued:

“You followed them, young healer lass,

Till they could not be seen;

A thousand dragons made their loss

A bridge ’tween you and me.”

M’tal and Salina exchanged worried glances and watched as B’nik and

Tullea huddled together in an exchange that could almost be heard over

Kindan’s voice as the harper continued:

“And in the cold and darkest night,

A single voice is heard,

A single voice both clear and bright,

It says a single word.”

Salina bent to whisper something in M’tal’s ear, but he gripped her arm

tightly and gestured at Kindan. The harper’s look was intent, as one who

was desperately trying to remember something. His face brightened and he

continued:

“That word is what you now must say

To—“

Lorana suddenly leapt up from her seat and raced away across the Bowl.

M’tal had a fleeting glimpse of her distraught look as she passed him, but

before he could react to that, Tullea shouted out: “Enough! That’s quite

enough! Harper Kindan, I do not want to hear that song ever again.”

“But I do, Weyrwoman,” Kindan replied firmly. There was a gasp from the

crowd. Everyone knew that Kindan could be outspoken, but speaking

against the Weyrwoman was an affront to the honor of every dragonrider.

“Tullea is right, Harper,” B’nik said loudly, rising beside his Weyrwoman.

“That is not a song for this Weyr.”

Kindan looked ready to argue the point. M’tal cleared his throat loudly,

catching Kindan’s eyes and shook his head slowly. For a moment the