Dragonsblood (58 page)

the ranks of dragons arrayed in front of him. The ones who had timed it still

looked a bit off-color, he admitted to himself with a frown, but they

represented over two-thirds of the Weyr’s fighting strength.

“Today we’ll show them how it’s done, won’t we, Kaloth?” he asked,

reaching down to pat his bronze dragon affectionately. As if in response,

the dragon gave a long, rattling cough, arching his neck and not quite

unseating his rider.

I’m sorry,
Kaloth apologized meekly.

“Not to worry,” D’gan grumbled. “It’s that addled healer—he should have

worked up something to help you by now.” He peered over Kaloth’s

shoulder and spotted K’rem below, preparing his brown. “Take me down

and we’ll talk to him.”

K’rem glanced up at Kaloth as the bronze dragon landed and his rider slid

to the ground. As D’gan strode toward him, the healer carefully schooled

the frown off his face.

“Kaloth’s cough sounds worse,” K’rem commented as soon as D’gan was

within hearing. “I had hoped that the last herbal would have helped.”

“It didn’t, obviously,” D’gan replied sourly.

“Weyrleader,” K’rem began hesitantly, trying to choose his words carefully,

“perhaps it would be best if Kaloth rested today—”

“What? Deny him the chance to lead the full Weyr?” D’gan cut him off

loudly. “No, just because your fardled medicines don’t work, doesn’t mean

that my dragon can’t fly when Thread is in the sky.”

With a pleading look, K’rem came closer to the irate Weyrleader. “D’gan,

he’s sick. He needs rest.”

“Find a cure, Healer,” D’gan ordered, turning back. “Find a cure
after
we

fight this Fall.”

As D’gan returned to mount his dragon, his son, D’lin, approached him

eagerly.

“The Weyrlingmaster says Aseth is ready, Father,” D’lin called. “Which wing

should we fly with?”

D’gan shook his head immediately. “No,” he said, “you’re not flying Fall

today.”

D’lin’s face fell. “But, Father . . .”

“Next time, D’lin,” D’gan told him brusquely. “Today I want you here, ready

to ferry firestone and be a messenger.”

“Yes, Father,” D’lin replied woodenly, and turned away, shoulders slumped,

toward his dragon.

For a moment D’gan thought of calling his son back, of telling him how

proud he was and how much he loved him. But then he shook the notion

off, reminding himself that the boy had to learn to handle disappointment

with discipline. As far as D’gan was concerned, D’lin was a dragonrider first

and son second.

As the sun crested the heights of Benden Weyr, it illuminated a Bowl

already bustling with activity. The younger weyrlings, who had not timed it,

were busily bagging firestone and building piles of supplies. Dragonriders,

up early and already well-fed, were checking riding gear, or were gathered

in knots talking tactics with their Wingleaders.

In a corner not far from the Living Cavern, Ketan and Lorana were setting

out supplies and organizing for the inevitable injuries that occurred fighting

Thread.

Caranth peered down morosely from his weyr over the proceedings,

occasionally joining the cacophony of dragon coughs, which echoed eerily

around the Bowl. Minith’s worried croons to her mate were answered by

soothing noises from Caranth, which fooled no one.

M’tal and B’nik moved from wing to wing, talking with riders and

Wingleaders, presenting a calm, united presence that reassured and

relieved everyone they met.

“They’re up too early,” M’tal remarked to B’nik as they moved away from

one group.

“I know,” B’nik agreed. “But you know how it is, the morning of a Fall.”

“Well, I do
now,
” M’tal agreed. “After all, we’ve had what—all of
five
Falls

so far.”

B’nik furrowed his brow. “I hadn’t really counted,” he admitted. “It almost

seems like we’ve
always
been fighting Thread.”

“It’s been only four sevendays,” M’tal remarked. “How will we be after Turns

of this?”

B’nik shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said reflectively. He twisted his

head to try to locate a cough from one of the sick dragons, failed, and

turned back to M’tal. “But if we don’t find a cure soon . . .”

M’tal clapped B’nik on the shoulder. “I know,” he said somberly.

B’nik glanced at him, gave him a small nod, and then turned to the group

they were approaching, calling with forced cheer, “So, J’tol! Ready to lead

the wing?”

The fighting dragons departed an hour before noon—one hour before

Threadfall was due at Nerat.

Lorana watched as the dragons winked
between.
A nudge from Ketan got

her attention; he cocked his head toward B’nik and they both watched as

the Weyrleader’s shoulders hunched—and hunched further as another

wracking cough from Caranth rent the late morning air.

“I could—” Lorana began.

“Why don’t you and Kindan see if you can learn anything more,” Ketan

suggested.

Lorana looked at Kindan, who nodded in agreement.

“Have someone call for us when we’re needed,” Kindan said over his

shoulder as they raced off toward the stairs to the second level. Ketan

waved in acknowledgment.

They were both puffing from exertion as they reached the stairs leading

down to the Learning Rooms.

“It’ll be easier when we can get that door open,” Kindan remarked. “Then,

presumably, we’ll be able to come in from the Hatching Grounds.”

“And all that’s needed to do
that
is for me to figure out what word I’m

supposed to say and how I’m supposed to tell someone who is hundreds

of Turns dead,” Lorana said bitterly.

Kindan ducked his head and concentrated on getting down the stairs and

into the first of the Learning Rooms, which he had dubbed “The

Classroom.”

Inside, Lorana seated herself and began once again to study her book.

It took Kindan longer to settle down in the icy silence that had spread

between them. In the end, too full of nervous energy to stay seated, he got

up to pace the room, earning a disgruntled look from Lorana. He flashed a

smile in apology, was rewarded with a frown and a sigh, and turned his

attention to the writing on the door.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “we’re going about this the wrong

way.”

Lorana slammed her book shut and peered over her shoulder at him. “What

should we do, then?”

“We should concentrate on what we know first, and then worry about what

we don’t know,” he said. Lorana’s look was not encouraging but he pressed

on. “For example, what would this word be?”

Lorana’s face relaxed into a thoughtful frown, and she turned away to get

into a position more comfortable for thinking.

“Maybe they need to know if the infection is bacterial or viral,” Kindan

suggested.

Lorana shook her head. “I don’t think that’s it,” she said after a moment’s

further thought. “The textbook hints that the problem is one of data

reduction. It would seem that there wouldn’t be all that much difference

between antibacterial and antiviral methods.

“It must have something to do with how the disease is spread,” she said

softly to herself. She got up and walked over to where Kindan stood in front

of the door, once again reading the inscription on it:

“That word is what you now must say

To open up the door

In Benden Weyr, to find the way

To all my healing lore.”

“Well,” Kindan commented as he followed the lines with his eyes again, “at

least it’s not the most disturbing part.”

Lorana cocked an eye at him, and Kindan sang,

“A thousand voices keen at night,

A thousand voices wail,

A thousand voices cry in fright,

A thousand voices fail.”

As he sang it, Lorana’s eyes widened with fear and she started shivering.

“What is it?” Kindan asked, grabbing her shoulder with his hand. “Lorana,

are you all right?”

But Lorana wasn’t hearing him.

“D’gan,
no
!” she shrieked.

D’gan looked over his shoulder one final time at the arrayed dragons of

Telgar Weyr. Beneath him Kaloth shook with a long gargling cough. He saw

K’rem turn to look at him and, impatient to get at Thread, he ordered Kaloth

to take them
between.

Just as the cold of
between
enveloped D’gan, he felt Kaloth give another

shuddering cough.

Not long now,
he told his dragon. Kaloth coughed again. D’gan began to

think that perhaps he would keep Kaloth back on the next Fall. Let D’nal or

L’rat lead—it would do them good.

Kaloth coughed again. A chill ran down D’gan’s spine, colder than the cold

of
between.

Between
only lasts as long as it takes to cough three times,
D’gan

recalled.

Kaloth had coughed three times.

Kaloth coughed again—and in that instant, D’gan realized his error.

All the dragons of Telgar Weyr had gone beyond
between.

The Weyrs! They must be warned!
D’gan thought in terror as the last of his

consciousness seeped away.

D’lin swallowed hard as he watched the dragons of Telgar wink
between.

He had worked hard for his first chance to fight Thread. Soon, he thought to

himself, the Weyr would appear over Upper Crom, ready to flame the

deadly menace from the sky.

Aseth turned his huge head to stare down at his rider.
Our turn will come

soon.

Of course,
D’lin agreed fervently, not wanting his beautiful Aseth to think for

a moment that he was in any way less than the most perfect dragon ever

hatched on all Pern.

I do not
hear
them,
Aseth thought a moment later, craning his neck up high

in the sky.

And then the world collapsed. D’lin felt as though someone had punched

him both in the stomach and just as hard in the brain, if that were possible.

He was overwhelmed by pain and fear.

The Weyrs! They must be warned!
D’lin heard the thought as though it

were his own. Aseth bellowed in horror and defiance. Without thinking, D’lin

leapt on his dragon and urged him up, out of the Bowl.

Benden will be nearest, D’lin thought, his sight masked by the waves of

tears that were streaming down unchecked.

Come on, Aseth,
between
!
And with that, overwhelmed by despair,

hopelessness, and pure courage, D’lin urged his dragon
between
—

—without envisioning his destination.

Two thousand Turns later, their bodies would be discovered, entombed in

solid rock at Benden Weyr.

M’tal looked back with satisfaction at the wings behind him. Every wing,

including those who had gone back in time, was formed up neatly.

Thread ahead,
Gaminth informed him.

I see it,
M’tal replied, signaling the wings behind him to rise up to meet the

incoming Thread. And then—

—a wave of horror, wrenching loss, and fear wracked him. Gaminth

bellowed in pain, his cry echoed by every dragon.

What is it?
M’tal asked his dragon fearfully.

D’gan and Telgar,
Gaminth replied, sounding shaken in a way that M’tal had

never heard before.
They’re
gone.

All of them?

All the fighting dragons,
Gaminth confirmed.

And the Thread?
M’tal asked, as he envisioned Thread falling unopposed

on the ranges of Upper Crom. But he already knew the answer.

“Lorana!” Kindan shouted, catching her as she slumped toward the floor. In

the distance he could hear dragons keening. “Lorana, what is it?”

A dragon’s bellow rent the air, answered by another more plaintive one.

“Is it Caranth?” Kindan asked.

Lorana opened her eyes, shivering. “It’s Telgar,” she told him dully.

Caranth?
she asked, but the dragon was already aloft, riderless, beating

toward the watch heights. In an instant she guessed his intention.
Caranth,

no!

Lorana felt the bronze go
between,
chasing after the dragons and riders of

Telgar Weyr. With a cry, she reached out to grab him, bring him back—and

found herself dragged along instead.

“Lorana?” Kindan called softly. But her eyes had gone vacant, just as they

had been when she had lost Arith. Kindan’s own soul cry was echoed by

Minith. The dragon repeated her cry louder—and then the cry was cut off.

“Lorana, Minith’s gone after Caranth,” Kindan said, hoping that she would

hear the words in her lifeless state. The only response Lorana made was a

gasp, as though she’d had the breath knocked out of her.

A rush of feet echoed down the stairs and Ketan and Salina burst into the

room. They looked from Kindan to Lorana and back.

“She must come back,” Salina rasped. “She can talk to all the dragons. She

can bring them back.”

“How?” Kindan asked, but Salina had moved beside him and grabbed

Lorana. With palm wide-open, she slapped Lorana’s face.

“Lorana! Lorana, you must come back, come back
now,
” Salina begged.

She swung for another slap just as Lorana’s eyes fluttered open and she