Todd McCaffrey

by Dragonriders of Pern 03 - Dragongirl (v5)

  Fiona waved farewell and turned her attention back to the area prepared for the Weyrleaders’ council. When they’d first planned for it, Fiona had naturally assumed that they’d just use the Council Room of the Senior Queen’s quarters. But once she’d checked out the size of that room and tallied up the number of attendees, she decided that the room would be far too small to accommodate everyone—not only were there to be Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen, but also many of their healers, wingseconds, and junior queen riders, as well as harpers from the Harper Hall, smiths from the Smithcrafthall, and a smattering of interested Lord Holders.

  Fiona had despaired of housing them all, but Shaneese had strung thick canvas curtains in the Cavern to separate the designated section from the rest of the room. Fiona looked inside and was pleased to see that the chairs were also festooned with canvas covers, grouped in pairs on opposite sides of the long table, the backs and tops marked with Weyr symbols for Fort, High Reaches, Telgar, Ista, and Benden.

  In addition there were chairs for the Masterharper, the Masterhealer, the Mastersmith, Lord Bemin of Fort Hold, Lady Nerra of Crom Hold, and Lord Gadran of Bitra Hold.

  “That old wherry!” Kindan had snorted when they’d learned that he’d been invited by B’nik of Benden Weyr. “I suspect B’nik’s hoping for pointers on how to deal with the old goat.”

  “My father is a Lord Holder,” Fiona reminded him. “I’d expect more deference from a journeyman harper.”

  “Ah, so you’ve not met him!” Kindan said.

  Fiona nodded in agreement, adding reluctantly, “And Father made it a point to introduce me to all his favorite Lord Holders.”

  Kindan smiled. “That’s when he was planning to install you as the next Lord Holder of Fort, so he was currying favor,” he told her. Shaking his head, he added, “Gadran has too many sons to ever consider such an outrageous idea.”

  “So how ever did he approve of Lady Nerra?” Lorana asked.

  “It doesn’t take a majority to seat a Lord Holder,” Fiona told her.

  “Lord Gadran was the leader and sole member of the vocal minority,” Kindan noted.

  “So this meeting will be interesting on many levels,” Fiona said.

  A rustle of wings and the bugling challenge of the watch dragon alerted them to the arrival of the first of their guests.

  “M’tal and Daria from Ista,” Lorana told them as they left the enclosure. She cocked an eye at Kindan. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” With a flourish and a bow toward Fiona, he said, “By your leave, Weyrwoman, my lady and I will start conveying the Lord Holders to this meeting.”

  “Who first?” Fiona wondered, feeling oddly stung at Kindan’s reference to Lorana as his lady. “Please, not Gadran!”

  Kindan snorted. “You haven’t been so ill-behaved recently as to deserve that fate.”

  “Thank the First Egg!”

  “I think, with your permission, it will be your father—”

  “And his lady,” Lorana added.

  “I’d hardly think that Kelsa would accept being anyone’s lady!” Kindan said with a laugh.

  “Yet you claim me,” Lorana retorted in a low voice.

  Kindan looked surprised and groped for words, saying, “I—I only thought—”

  “You didn’t think, I’d say,” Fiona cut him off. She waved a hand toward Zirenth. “You’d best go.”

  Sort it out later. Fiona wasn’t sure if that was Talenth, Lorana agreeing with her, or her own voice talking to Lorana. From the surprised look on Lorana’s face, it was clear that the older woman was just as unsure.

  “Later,” Kindan agreed, turning with alacrity toward the bronze dragon’s lair.

  Lorana spared a smile for Fiona before joining him.

  “Now,” Fiona said to herself, “what other trouble can I get into today?”

  “Trouble comes without asking for it,” a sour voice spoke up beside her. Fiona spun and saw Norik. The older man grinned a strained smile. Fiona fought down the sudden tension in her gut.

  “It’s true,” Fiona agreed. “But I’ve often found that diving right into it puts it off guard.”

  “Indeed?”

  “It at least has the virtue of being novel,” Fiona told him. “And what trouble were you bringing me today?” She glanced around. “I thought you were instructing the youngsters in their singing.”

  “I was,” Norik said. “I took a break when I learned you were here.”

  Fiona gave him an attentive look.

  “I don’t know, with all that has transpired, if you remember my request for a new assignment.”

  “No,” Fiona assured him with a relieved smile, “I haven’t forgotten. In fact, I thought that you would be able to appeal directly to Master Zist when he arrives.”

  Norik pursed his lips and nodded. “So I’d hoped.”

  Fiona nodded, waiting attentively to see if their conversation was over. It was not.

  “I think, if I might, I’d like to be posted to Benden Weyr.”

  “Yes, you’d mentioned that. But I have to ask, why another Weyr?” Fiona said, surprised. And why, from what she’d heard, would anyone choose to be posted into the care of the prickly Weyrwoman Tullea? Of course, given Norik’s taciturn nature, perhaps the two would be a good match, Fiona thought impishly to herself.

  “I’ve not heard of any open holds,” Norik said. He met her eyes squarely as he added, “And, truth be told, I like the freedom of the Weyrs.”

  “As a former holder lass, I can’t argue with you!”

  “I appreciate that, my lady,” Norik said. His normally flat eyes seemed to have found some sparkle as he continued, “And now, if you’ll forgive me, I must get back to the lessons.”

  “Of course,” Fiona said, turning to the two dragons gliding down to the ground before her. She heard the sound of footsteps racing up beside her and was not surprised to hear H’nez say, “They’re early, aren’t they?”

  “I suspect M’tal wants a word with us beforehand,” Fiona said.

  Bronze and gold settled on the ground, greeted warmly by Talenth and Jeila’s Tolarth, who bugled in greeting.

  Bidenth is a great queen, Talenth declared.

  Another sound distracted Fiona and she turned to see Zirenth exit his weyr and Lorana and Kindan climb quickly aboard.

  “It’s traditional for the Weyrleader to greet guests,” H’nez said from the corner of his mouth as they approached the new Istan Weyrleader, putting up a cautioning hand and moving ahead of Fiona.

  “Bronze rider,” Fiona said tartly, her hand grabbing his and pulling him back, “in case you haven’t yet noticed, I make my own traditions.”

  “As you will,” H’nez said with a resigned sigh.

  “M’tal!” Fiona cried, rushing toward the older man uninhibitedly and throwing herself into his arms. “It’s good to see you!”

  M’tal crushed her against him in a quick hug, then pushed her back again. “I’ve not been gone that long, Weyrwoman!” he said. Then, with a worried look, he added, “Has something else happened?”

  “No,” she assured him with a grin, “I haven’t destroyed anything yet today.”

  “The day is young,” M’tal said, entering into the spirit of things.

  “You, on the other hand,” Fiona said, “have been quite busy.” She glanced over toward Bidenth and was surprised to see not one but two women dismounting. Her expression cleared instantly and she turned to him with a look of contrition and pride. “Have you found how big your heart is?”

  “Let us say that I’ve discovered that it is bigger than I thought,” M’tal replied, his voice soft and sounding troubled in the admission.

  “And,” he added, “for all my Turns, I’ve discovered that you and I have much in common.” His eyes twinkled as he declared, “I should have told you that in my youth, I was considered something of a rebel.”

  Fiona snorted with amusement. The two women approached and M’tal introduced them. “This is Dalia, Wey
rwoman of Ista.”

  Dalia’s face was lined, the corners of her eyes marked with crow’s feet and her cheeks with laugh lines. Her eyes were brown and her hair a fading red. Freckles speckled all over her face.

  Fiona nodded and extended her hand, feeling her lack of years in the presence of the older woman.

  “Congratulations, Weyrwoman,” Fiona said as she released her hand. “I hope you had an excellent mating flight.”

  “Well, it was interesting, to say the least,” Dalia said drolly. “But perhaps not quite as interesting as the tale of yours.” Dalia glanced around. “Where are Kindan and Lorana?”

  “They just left on Zirenth,” Fiona said. “They are going to ferry the Holders and Crafters.” She gave the older woman a grin as she added, “I’m not sure if it was Kindan’s idea—to get more time a-dragonback—or Lorana’s—to permit me to greet you first.”

  “Probably a little of both,” said the other woman in the party. Salina seemed near the same age as Dalia but was much taller and had an elegant, thin-boned form. Her hair had lost almost all its color but her eyes were still bright blue.

  “You must be Salina,” Fiona said, extending her hand again, adding solemnly, “I grieve for your loss.”

  “Mine is nothing compared to Lorana’s,” Salina said dismissively, “and from what M’tal’s said, you’ve done more than most to make good her loss.”

  “Thank you,” Fiona said. She wasn’t sure that she agreed with Salina; she cast a glance toward Dalia and wondered if the Weyrwoman had the same misgivings about her queen’s mating flight with M’tal’s Gaminth as she had with her Talenth’s mating flight with Zirenth. For all that Lorana denied it, Fiona was still not certain that the ex–queen rider was unhurt by Fiona’s mating-flight relationship with Kindan. And, deeper inside herself, Fiona was still not sure if her own heart was big enough to share a love.

  Fiona realized that Salina was eyeing her intently and raised her head to meet the older woman’s gaze. Salina nodded silently as if to herself and raised a hand to break the moment.

  “M’tal’s also told me about your work back at Igen,” Salina told her quietly. “That accomplishment is yours alone.”

  “You’ve acquired a following in Ista,” Dalia added, her lips curving upward. “My daughter was quite impressed with M’tal’s reports, as was I.”

  “Thank you,” Fiona said, her cheeks going hot. She sought to change the subject. “As you know, T’mar is still recovering from his fall. H’nez is our senior wingleader and will take his place in the Council.” She glanced around and waved a hand toward H’nez, who strode forward and made his introductions.

  “I understand you’re to be congratulated as well!” Dalia said with a grin, adding, “And I’ve heard that Sonia was none too pleased to lose her only other queen to such a handsome man.”

  “My Ginirth was lucky to catch her.”

  “In my experience, which bronze catches a queen is one thing,” Salina corrected him, “what the riders choose later is another.”

  “Jeila has asked me to grace her quarters,” H’nez replied, his stiff mask of control slipping for a moment to reveal a nearly boyish glee. Fiona found the expression as charming as it was unexpected. H’nez seemed to notice her reaction and, with a twitch of his eyebrows in acknowledgment, resumed his normally stiff look.

  “I think I see why she’d make such an offer,” Dalia said approvingly.

  M’tal glanced toward the three weyrwomen’s quarters near the entrance to the Hatching Grounds and said, “How is T’mar? May I see him?”

  “He’s querulous, tetchy, irritable, and snappish,” Fiona replied. “But our healer, Birentir—”

  “Birentir?” Dalia interrupted. “From Ista?”

  Fiona agreed, explaining how she’d borrowed Tintoval from Fort Weyr to examine T’mar and had arranged with Masterhealer Betrony to bring his three journeymen along for observation—and trial.

  “Birentir was a very sad and bitter man,” Dalia said when Fiona had finished. “I’m glad that he’s found peace.”

  “I’ve been told that I surround myself with difficult people,” Fiona said, careful to keep her gaze from straying in H’nez’s direction.

  “The traders call you the desert flower,” M’tal told her with a smile. He nodded toward T’mar’s quarters. “Would it be possible to pay respects to the Weyrleader?”

  Fiona frowned, not wanting to overwhelm T’mar with a crowd of visitors. Before she said anything, Dalia spoke up, saying, “I’d like to visit with Birentir, for myself.”

  “I’d be happy to escort you,” H’nez said, offering up a hand while glancing at Fiona for agreement.

  “We’ll have to keep the visit brief,” Fiona said warningly, nodding permission to H’nez, who directed Dalia on a new course toward the healer’s quarters.

  T’mar was awake, lying stretched out on his bed when they came in.

  “I’m checking Lorana’s coordinates,” T’mar told them with a strange expression on his face. “She’s on the way here with Verilan, Master Zist, and Betrony.” He made a wry face as he added, “Apparently there was a … discussion with the blue rider sent from Fort Weyr over who would have the honor of bearing the Masters.”

  “I’ll bet that was short,” M’tal said.

  “The blue bears Bemin and Kelsa,” T’mar said in agreement. He glanced toward M’tal. “Congratulations on your flight, Weyrleader.”

  M’tal nodded, saying, “It wasn’t quite what I’d intended.”

  “Often things don’t turn out the way we intended,” T’mar said, glancing toward Fiona.

  “See,” Fiona said, throwing up a hand in mock disgust, “just as I said, he’s tetchy and irritable.”

  The others chuckled.

  “Seriously,” T’mar continued, glancing toward Fiona who forced herself not to stick out her tongue in pique, “the Weyrwoman and I have talked, and I’ve talked with Kindan and Lorana about today’s meeting.”

  “And now you’ll rest and leave it in our hands,” Fiona told him pointedly.

  “I will,” T’mar said. “But as I’ve a chance to stretch the ear of the Istan Weyrleader, I thought I’d mention our worries about the number of fighting dragons once more.”

  “There’s been no change since our last conversation, T’mar,” M’tal said. “During that, I agreed that we need to have a meeting of all the Weyrleaders to plan a combined course of action.” He patted the younger man’s shoulder and stood back. “Rest easy, bronze rider, we’ll do our best.”

  They left him immediately afterward, Fiona leading the way to the Dining Cavern.

  “We would have set up a pavilion in the Weyr Bowl but,” she gestured to the damp ground and shivered at the freezing air, “we decided it would be more difficult than setting aside a meeting place in the Cavern itself.”

  “Assuming that the losses I’ve read about in the Records are a reliable standard, at our current rate, the strength of the Weyrs will fall below one Flight each—ninety dragons—in less than half a Turn,” Verilan concluded grimly, glancing at each of the Weyrleaders in turn.

  “So, even though we’ve found a cure, we have no hope,” Tullea said, turning to the Master Archivist for confirmation.

  “If the casualties follow the historical numbers,” Verilan cautioned.

  “So the solution is to fight wiser than our ancestors,” H’nez said. He asked Verilan, “What casualty rate is required for us to survive?”

  “At the risk of sounding overly pedantic, wingleader, I must ask you what do you mean by survive?” Verilan asked.

  “Have enough dragons to fight Thread,” the bronze rider said, glowering at the Master.

  “Again, meaning no disrespect, what is enough?” Verilan asked, glancing around the room to include the other Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen present. “The Records tell me that ninety dragons is the bare minimum deemed suitable to fight a Fall, yet even the Records imply that more—two Flights or even the full strength of
a Weyr—is preferred.

  “Would a mere ninety dragons be enough for all the Falls on Pern? And for how long could they be expected to hold out?” Verilan mused. “Those are questions that the Records do not answer.”

  “Because they were never asked,” D’vin said gloomily.

  “All the queens—save Darial’s Somarth—have mated recently and will mate again in half a Turn according to the Records,” H’nez said, glaring again at Verilan who met his gaze steadily. “So it would seem to me that all we have to do is wait for these weyrlings to hatch.”

  “And how long before they are strong enough to fly Thread?” Tullea asked. She gestured to B’nik, Benden’s Weyrleader, for an answer.

  “At Benden,” B’nik told the group, “we prefer to wait three Turns if possible.”

  “Eighteen months was the minimum time I found in the Records,” Verilan said. “Although, from what I can read, those riders and dragons fared worse fighting Thread than those who’d trained longer.”

  “You’re telling us nothing new in that,” H’nez snorted. “The more time to train and grow, the better the fighting dragon.”

  “But we don’t have time,” K’lior, Fort’s Weyrleader, reminded them. He glanced at Verilan. “So, eighteen months and we’ll have how many more dragons?”

  “Queens clutch as few as a dozen and as many as three dozen eggs,” Verilan said, thinking aloud. “The first mating flight usually produces fewer eggs than later flights. If we were to take an average number for the eight queens, we could hope for an additional two hundred and forty dragons—somewhat less than three Flights of dragons.” He nodded at K’lior and Cisca, adding, “But the eggs have yet to clutch—let alone hatch—and that adds another four to five months to the number.”

  “Nearly two full Turns, then,” M’tal said.

  Fiona exchanged a bleak look with Lorana.

  “I did not take my calculations out two Turns,” Verilan told the council miserably.

  “Why not?” H’nez asked. Fiona kicked him under the table but the bronze rider ignored it. “Given what we know, can’t you tell us how many dragons we’ll have when these hatchlings are ready to fight Thread?”