Dragonsblood (53 page)

lead. He waved back to M’tal just before the Benden riders went
between

to return to Benden Weyr. The number of Benden dragons looked terribly

small.

“You’ve the greater number,” J’lantir called, turning back to K’lior, “would

you lead the Fall?”

K’lior inclined his head gracefully. “It shall be my honor.” He relayed his

orders to the riders of the combined Weyrs. As one, dragons turned their

heads to their riders, and riders fed them firestone. As one, the fighting

dragons of Ista and Fort Weyr rose to defeat the deadly Thread.

“Have M’tal give the coordinates back to the Weyr,” B’nik told a coughing,

exhausted Caranth.

I think that is wise,
the dragon agreed.
Gaminth says that M’tal asks if

you’re all right. I told him it was me. He said to be careful and asked if we

should just fly straight back.

“Perhaps,” B’nik said out loud, patting Caranth’s neck fondly. “Are you up

for it?”

Another cough wracked Caranth.
I think I would be better going
between.

Another cough and a cloud of green ooze engulfed B’nik.
I don’t want to fly

right now.

B’nik thought furiously: If they went
between
and Caranth got lost, then they

would be lost together; but if they flew straight back, Caranth might get even

worse from the extra strain.
Very well,
B’nik told his dragon.
We’ll follow

Gaminth.

Lorana says that she’ll be waiting,
Caranth told him.
She asked,
the

dragon volunteered before B’nik could upbraid him.
She says you’ll have

to tell Tullea.

B’nik closed his eyes tightly at the thought.

“Take this to Caranth as soon as they land,” Lorana said, pointing out the

line of steaming buckets to the weyrlings. There were only two injured

dragons, and both had minor injuries. On the other hand, two dragons had

not returned from the Fall and eleven more were coughing with the

sickness. “Make sure that B’nik gets him to drink them all, no matter how

awful it tastes.”

“Latest concoction?” Kindan asked, striding up to her from his conference

with Dalor above the Records Room.

Lorana grimaced. “It’s the same old concoction,” she admitted. “Only I

added more menthol to ease their breathing—and a bit of coloring,” she

added.

Kindan quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, sometimes just thinking that something’s going to work can make all

the difference,” she explained forlornly.

Kindan patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. “You’re doing your best,”

he told her.

“Then why are dragons still dying?” she cried, burying her head against

him.

“Lorana! Lorana come here now!” It was Tullea. Judging from the look on

B’nik’s face, he’d just told her his grim news.

“So how long have we got?” B’nik asked, looking around the table in the

Records Room at Kindan, Ketan, Lorana, and M’tal.

Kindan was the only one who would meet his eyes. He peered down at the

slate in front of him, reluctant to hand it over to the Weyrleader.

“What’s that?” B’nik asked, catching Kindan’s motion.

“Well, it’s not complete,” Kindan temporized, “and the numbers are not in

agreement, so I suspect some people must have ignored the first signs—”

B’nik cleared his throat loudly and gestured for Kindan to get to the point.

“It’s a list of the dragons we’ve lost,” Ketan said. “With guesses as to how

long it was between the first signs of symptoms and when they . . .” his

voice trailed off sadly.

Kindan spoke into the awkward silence that followed. “As I said, I suspect

that some of these numbers are off because the riders didn’t report the

symptoms immediately.”

“Three sevendays looks to be the longest,” Lorana said in a dead voice,

looking up to meet B’nik’s eyes. “Since Caranth has already been coughing

for a while . . .”

“At least a sevenday,” B’nik told them quietly. He sat down quickly, resting

his head on his hands, eyes closed. Lorana knew that he wasn’t talking with

Caranth. A moment later he looked up at M’tal, eyes bright. “If anything

happens, I want you to take over the Weyr.”

“I would prefer it if events do not make that necessary,” M’tal responded,

gesturing toward B’nik as though to hand back the privilege.

“In any event,” B’nik continued, nodding gratefully to M’tal for his support, “I

shall need you to lead the next Fall.” His mouth worked soundlessly for a

moment before he forced himself to say, “Caranth is not up to it.”

Lorana let out a sigh of relief. B’nik smiled glumly at her and turned his

attention back to M’tal. “There aren’t that many fit to fly left.”

“I know,” M’tal replied. He cast a glance at Ketan.

“We lost another ten dragons last night—five didn’t even make it
between,

and their bodies are still in their weyrs,” the healer said. “At this rate, we’ll

lose another twenty from the sickness before next Threadfall.”

The others were too shocked to respond.

“Tell him the rest,” Kindan said with a wave of his hand.

“We’ve identified seven more sick dragons this morning,” Ketan said.

“Seven!” B’nik was astonished.

“It could be good news,” Lorana said hopefully. The others looked at her.

“It could be a sign that the infection has peaked and that, after this, the

numbers of new dragons catching the sickness will decrease—”

“Only because there won’t be any dragons left,” Tullea interrupted sourly

from the doorway. She strode in, glaring around the room. “Why wasn’t I

informed of this meeting?”

“You were resting,” B’nik explained.

Tullea turned her attention to Lorana. “What are you doing here?”

“She’s here at my request,” Kindan told her, his voice edged.

“And mine,” B’nik added, gesturing for Tullea to take a seat. She remained

standing.

“How long has Caranth got?” Tullea demanded of Lorana.

Lorana gestured to Ketan, indicating that he was properly the one to

answer.

“I’m asking
you,
dragonkiller,” Tullea snarled.

“Tullea!” B’nik shouted, his voice carrying over the angry growls of the

others. “You will apologize.”

“Why?” Tullea responded silkily. “She killed her dragon, there’s no denying

it.”

“She was looking for a cure,” Kindan told her, his eyes flashing in anger.

“If I had known, I would have done the same,” Ketan added. He nodded

apologetically toward Lorana. “And she’s paid the price in full already,

without your sniping.”

Tullea bridled, clearly not anticipating the outrage she had provoked. “I am

Weyrwoman here. You owe me allegiance, Healer!”

Ketan stood up slowly, arching his fingers on the tabletop and leaning on

them. “My duty to you, Weyrwoman, was the honor that bound a dragonrider

to the rider of the senior queen,” he said, spitting out the words. “As I am

no longer a dragonrider, who holds my allegiance is now subject to

question.” He nodded to Lorana. “This lass has made the supreme

sacrifice a queen dragonrider, any rider, can make for the Weyr—she has

lost her dragon trying to save us all.”

He stood, pushed his chair back and made a half-bow to Lorana before

turning away from the table. “My allegiance does not require me to share a

room with someone who will disparage her actions.”

And without turning back, he left. Kindan got to his feet immediately behind

him, dragging a stunned Lorana along.

B’nik broke the shocked silence that followed. “What do you think you were

doing?” he shouted at Tullea. “That was completely uncalled for!”

The blood drained from Tullea’s face as she looked from B’nik to M’tal and

back again, the full impact of her words registering as she absorbed their

angry expressions.

When Tullea went looking for Lorana the next day to apologize—after a

night of arguing with B’nik—she was infuriated to discover that Lorana’s

quarters were empty, completely cleared out.

“She’s moved,” Mikkala reported when Tullea upbraided her about it.

“Where?” Tullea demanded.

Mikkala was reluctant to answer; she bent over her stew and gave it a

vigorous stir.

“Mikkala,” Tullea repeated, her voice edged with a rising temper, “where is

Lorana sleeping?”

“I believe the harper offered her quarters,” Mikkala finally replied.

With a frustrated groan, Tullea stamped her foot and rushed out of the

Kitchen Cavern toward the harper’s quarters. Halfway there, she discovered

Lorana, Kindan, M’tal, and B’nik clustered together in conversation.

“What’s going on?” she demanded suspiciously, her peace mission

forgotten.

“News from Fort Weyr,” B’nik told her, his face bright and smiling.

“From Fort?” Tullea barked. “I thought we’d agreed that no more

dragonriders should come from other Weyrs.”

“Lorana heard it from K’lior’s Rineth directly,” M’tal explained.

“She can talk to any dragon, you know,” B’nik reminded her.

Tullea’s expression was sullen. “So, what did Rineth have to say?” she

asked Lorana.

“Fort Weyr’s weyrlings and injured dragons timed it,” Lorana told her.

“So?”

“So they went back to old Igen Weyr, Turns before the start of the Pass,

and spent three Turns there. They fought Thread at Keroon two days

back.”

“Weyrlings? Fought Thread?”

“Not weyrlings any longer,” Kindan corrected. “Which is why K’lior had his

Rineth contact Lorana. He asked her to spread the word to all the Weyrs.

He suggests that if we follow his plan, we’ll be able to share time back

before the Pass, get our injured dragons healed and weyrlings aged in time

to fight the next Threadfall.”

“If we sent back the older weyrlings—they should be able to time it—and

the injured, we could add nearly two full wings of fighting dragons,” M’tal

observed.

“Why not send the younger weyrlings?” B’nik asked. “There are more of

them.”

“Too risky,” M’tal responded. “We might lose more on the jump
between

than we can afford.”

B’nik nodded in agreement.

“Ketan says he’s up for it,” B’nik repeated, raising his voice to be heard

above Caranth’s raspy coughing.

“He just lost his dragon!” Tullea declared angrily. “What makes you think he

cares?”

B’nik bit back angry words before he hurled them irretrievably at Tullea, but

he couldn’t hide the fury in his eyes.

“What will you do if Caranth dies, B’nik?” Tullea asked. “Who will fly Minith

then?”

B’nik gave her a pleading look. “She hasn’t laid her clutch yet,” he told her.

“It will be a long while before she rises to mate again.”

“Ketan should stay here, continue working for a cure,” Tullea persisted.

“Tullea,” B’nik said reasonably, “if Ketan goes with the weyrlings and injured

dragons, he’ll have Turns to work on a cure
and
we’ll have fit dragons to

fight the next Fall.”

B’nik did not point out that, as he was sending only the weyrlings and injured

dragons, Ketan would have no sick dragons to work with. But that had been

B’nik’s plan—to let Ketan recover from his loss, helping healthy young

dragons grow to maturity.

“You do what you want,” Tullea told him after a long moment sulking in

silence. “You’re Weyrleader.”

“Yes,” B’nik declared firmly, “I am.”

“Where are you going?” she called as he strode out of their quarters.

“To let Ketan know my decision,” B’nik replied, turning back in the doorway.

“We’ve got a lot to arrange and little time.”

“I thought you said they’d be gone three whole Turns,” Tullea retorted.

“
They
will,” B’nik agreed. “But
we’ll
only have two days.”

Kindan found Lorana in the Supply Caverns, supervising the movement of

medical supplies assigned for the injured dragons who were designated to

go back in time with Ketan. He waited until he could catch her alone and

said quietly, “How do we know we aren’t sending sick dragons back in

time?”

“We don’t,” Lorana admitted, grimacing. “Ketan and I have screened all of

the dragons carefully and not one of them has any signs of the sickness,

but . . .”

“So could
we
have brought the sickness back in time and infected the

Weyrs?” Kindan asked pointedly.

Lorana creased her brow thoughtfully. She shook her head. “It had to start

somewhere, so I don’t think it came back from now to then,” she decided in

the end. “Besides, it’s not so much a question of where it came from as it is

how to cure it.”

Kindan shrugged, acknowledging her point.

“How are the miners doing?” she asked, waiting for a group of sweaty

weyrlings to haul their burdens past them.

“They’re doing well,” Kindan replied. “Dalor tells me that he thinks the same

thing happened on the upper passage as on the lower. If he’s right and it’s

just a rockslide, they won’t have more than a spear-length of rock to

remove.”

“So another day or two?”

“Yes, about that,” Kindan agreed.

“That will be just about when Ketan and the weyrlings return.”

“Right in time for the Fall over Nerat,” Kindan agreed.

A weyrling approached Lorana, wiping sweat out of his eye and giving her a