Dragongirl

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  “Given what I know, bronze rider,” Verilan said quietly, “there will be no dragons left when those hatchlings are ready to fight Thread.”

  “None?” Salina gasped.

  “My lady, we stopped when we reached fifty-nine fighting dragons,” Verilan said, glancing at his group of apprentices and helpers, who were waiting outside the pavilion.

  “And when was that?” D’vin asked.

  “Forty-seven weeks from now,” Verilan replied, glancing down at his slate with a sour look.

  “And when do your calculations say the total strength will be down to just one Flight of ninety dragons?” H’nez asked.

  “Thirty-eight weeks from now,” a voice outside the canvas called in response. Fiona recognized Bekka. She’d seen the girl when she’d arrived with the Master Archivist and assumed that she’d been sent to help Birentir.

  “Who dares listen in on this council?” H’nez demanded angrily, rising from his seat.

  Bekka poked her head in through the entrance. “I do,” she told him simply, adding, with a shrug, “And pretty much everyone else. After all, this concerns us, too.”

  “As indeed it does,” Fiona agreed, raising a hand to pull H’nez back to his seat, “but we already have enough voices in this discussion.” She gestured for Bekka to leave. “Listen if you must, but speak only if absolutely necessary.”

  “Something,” Verilan added menacingly, “that I’d already mentioned to you.”

  Bekka paled at the Archivist’s words and slunk out of the enclosure.

  Fiona turned to him with frank surprise at Bekka’s immediate and fearful obedience of the Master Archivist. “How did you do that?”

  Verilan shrugged. “I’ve been dealing with apprentices since not long after you were born, my lady.”

  “Which still does nothing for the issue at hand,” Weyrwoman Sonia said.

  “No,” Masterharper Zist agreed sadly, “it does not.”

  “Have you figured how much better we’d have to fight to survive long enough for the hatchlings to mature to fighting age?” K’lior asked Verilan.

  “We’re working on it!” Bekka’s voice called from outside the pavilion. Fiona glanced sharply toward the entrance before giving Verilan a droll expression.

  “She is, perhaps, one of the more challenging apprentices,” Verilan allowed.

  “Nothing we wouldn’t have expected,” Zist added, “given the source.”

  Fiona ducked her head in appreciation of the gibe, then turned her head toward H’nez. “I presume we’ve got Terin helping with the calculations?”

  “Bekka suggested her,” Verilan said. He gave Fiona a hopeful look, as he added, “She’s quite good with numbers. If she were to come to the Harper Hall …”

  “I’ll put it to her,” Fiona replied.

  “I’m not sure that F’jian would approve,” H’nez said.

  “As long as dragons have wings, F’jian won’t be far from her,” Fiona said. “He’s no fool, nor she—I can’t believe either would want her talents to go to waste.” Her expression made it clear that she thought H’nez wouldn’t want Terin’s talents to go to waste, either.

  “At another time,” Zist said, “we really should discuss how to identify and encourage such talents.”

  Fiona nodded in agreement.

  “What I don’t understand is why are we in so much danger,” D’vin said. “Did they not survive the same sort of problems in the last Pass?”

  “From all that I’ve seen, we have no Weyr Records from the time two hundred and fifty Turns back,” Kindan said. He glanced toward Fiona. “Unless some survived at Igen?”

  “They did. But I don’t recall any problem like ours.”

  “They must have survived worse problems in the First Pass,” K’lior said. “Back then they started with no dragons and still survived!”

  “Ah, but they had the aid of their amazing machines,” Mastersmith Zellany responded. “I’m afraid we can offer not much more than the agenothree throwers inspired by Weyrwoman Fiona.”

  “That’s not much help from the past,” Weyrwoman Tullea said. Beside her, Benden’s Weyrleader gave her a pained look, but Tullea persisted. “We had help from the First Pass before, why not ask for more now?”

  “Are you willing to sacrifice your dragon to send the message?” Sonia asked. Tullea gave her an irritated look.

  “I doubt that they can help any more,” Lorana said. As the others glanced her way, she continued, “Wind Blossom is dead, and, from what Emorra said in her audios, her special knowledge died with her.”

  “What about all those ancient artefacts you were so desperate to sink at Tillek?” Tullea asked.

  “Their usefulness to us was over when the last of the materials were used in the cure,” Kindan said.

  “I,” H’nez began, “for one, am of the opinion that we here can solve this problem.” He glanced at Tullea. “I think we don’t need more hand-holding from the past.”

  “You say that with less than a wing of fighting dragons?” Tullea asked scornfully.

  “Speaking now for Ista, some of us have seen worse days,” M’tal said. “And yet we recovered.” He looked around the table as he added, “Ista has three hundred and seven fighting dragons.” He paused, glancing at Dalia and Salina before continuing, “I’m willing to redistribute that strength to bring the other Weyrs up to decent fighting numbers.”

  “Really?” Tullea asked acerbically. “What, you’ll give away a wing?”

  “To Benden, yes,” M’tal replied. With a wink for Fiona, he added, “I think we can send another ninety-seven here, to Telgar.” Over the gasps of the others he added, “Telgar is central to Pern and could well be expected to be taxed more than most.”

  “We were thinking along the same lines,” D’vin said, turning toward K’lior. “Sonia and I would like to bring your strength up to two Flights, if you’re willing.”

  “We’d appreciate it,” K’lior replied, grinning.

  “And we’ll send two wings here, to Telgar,” Sonia added, smiling at Fiona. “A queen’s due, as it were.”

  “For our part, we promise to share any queens with Weyrs that need them,” Fiona said in response, glancing at Cisca, who nodded in thanks.

  “This still won’t solve our problem,” D’vin said.

  “No, but it will make it easier to bear,” B’nik said.

  “And we’ll fly to your aid, when needed,” H’nez declared solemnly.

  “Only if you’re not fighting Thread yourselves,” M’tal said.

  “For the Crafts,” Zellany said, “we and the Holders might be able to provide better ground cover.”

  “As soon as we get enough of those new flamethrowers,” Lord Holder Gadran of Bitra Hold growled.

  “And training,” Lady Nerra of Crom Hold added.

  “To be honest,” Lord Holder Bemin spoke up reluctantly, “we really don’t know how much better these new flamethrowers will perform until we’ve used them more.”

  “I’m certain, my Lord, that they’ll do better than the old ones,” the Mastersmith said. “If only because your crews won’t have to worry about them exploding.”

  “That would be a relief,” Gadran said.

  “What else can we do?” H’nez asked. “It seems that we need to provide the time—”

  “That’s it!” Tullea exclaimed. “Go back in time, raise the new weyrlings back in time.”

  “Where?” Fiona asked after the first rush of excitement had flowed over her. Tullea looked at her dumbfounded, so she continued, “I mean, Weyrwoman Tullea, we’ve already used all the time we had at Igen Weyr.”

  “Used all the time?” Tullea repeated, brows furrowed thunderously. “How can you use time?”

  “Every Turn back all the way through ten Turns has been used already,” Kindan said. “If we’d sent more weyrlings back in time, we’d already know about it.”

  “You can’t break time,” B’nik told his mate quietly.

  “
And we don’t know quite when the sickness started,” Lorana said, “so we can’t go back further in time.”

  “Not only that, but before then I don’t think the holds had recovered sufficiently from the Plague to provide supplies,” Fiona said.

  “We can bring supplies,” H’nez said.

  “From where?” Sonia asked.

  “From wherever we’ll get them to feed our new weyrlings, I suspect,” K’lior said.

  “It still won’t work,” Fiona said. The others looked at her. “If it had happened in the past, there would have been signs at Igen.”

  “But you said yourself that someone had worked the firestone mine nearby,” Kindan reminded her. “And it was the new firestone, not the flamestone we’d been using.”

  “Perhaps we could use timing itself,” M’tal said while Fiona absorbed Kindan’s comment with a thoughtful frown.

  “How?” D’vin asked.

  “Dragons could go back to a Fall to aid in the fight,” M’tal said.

  “How would they know to go back?” K’lior asked.

  “Because they would have seen themselves come back,” M’tal said.

  “So … when we do it, we’ll do it?” Sonia said.

  “That seems to be the common case with timing,” M’tal replied dryly.

  “Who has the most experience with timing?” D’vin asked, looking around the room, his eyes settling on M’tal.

  The older rider chuckled. “Guilty.”

  “Well, then, it makes sense to go with the advice of the most experienced in this matter,” D’vin said. “I’ve only done it once, myself.”

  “I’ve done it once as well,” Tullea griped, “for three bloody Turns!”

  “Yes, dear,” Sonia said in a tone that was both calming and dampening, “we remember.”

  “My experience isn’t all that much different from Tullea’s, except that I never stayed back in time as long as she has,” M’tal said, nodding diplomatically toward Tullea, who gave him a mollified look in return. “But I think that journeying between time is more fatiguing than going between places.”

  “I’d agree,” Fiona said.

  “So what that will mean for the riders is that they should be well-rested before going between times and have time to recover before another Threadfall,” D’vin surmised. He turned to M’tal. “Is that right?”

  “I’d say so.”

  “According to what I’ve learned from Kindan and the other Weyr harpers,” Verilan said, careful to note his sources, “the pattern of Threadfalls repeats every fifty days.”

  M’tal pursed his lips thoughtfully and nodded, turning to D’vin and B’nik, who each made gestures of agreement.

  “According to my sources, then,” Verilan said, “it seems that as things stand, Benden flies in seven Falls, Telgar in six, Ista in five, while the High Reaches and Fort Weyrs fly four Falls.”

  “Then Benden should have more dragons,” Tullea said.

  “I’d prefer to see how things work out, first,” B’nik said, glancing reprovingly at his Weyrwoman. “There was a reason our ancestors established six Weyrs.”

  “Six Weyrs,” Tullea said, “and Benden’s had to take a higher proportion of the Falls that used to be flown by Igen.”

  “I don’t think we can hope to reestablish Igen until we’ve solved the current problem,” Sonia said with a nod toward Tullea. “But if you run into troubles, we’ll provide you with aid.”

  “Benden will fly its own Falls, thank you.”

  “That’s really for me to decide,” B’nik told her. He glanced around the room. “Still, I think for coordination, it’s always best to assume that the assigned Weyr will handle a Fall unless prior arrangements are made.”

  The dragonriders all nodded in agreement.

  “We’ve got an answer for you,” Bekka called from outside the pavilion.

  “By all means, please tell us,” Verilan said, his voice a mix of somber gravity and resignation.

  “From what I can figure,” Terin’s voice piped up from outside the canvas, “and Bekka has checked me, the Weyrs must lose less than two dragons every Fall if they’re to maintain their strength for two Turns.”

  “There hasn’t been a Fall yet where a Weyr hasn’t lost at least three,” Verilan said. He cocked his head toward the outside group, demanding, “Is that losses or casualties?”

  “Casualties,” Terin responded after several tense moments of whispered conversation between her and the others.

  “The injured come back,” Bekka said.

  “That doesn’t help if every dragon and rider is injured,” Fiona pointed out.

  “Oh!” Bekka said in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Can you work out how long the Weyrs have until they have less than a Flight of fighting dragons?” Sonia asked.

  “We’ll work on it, Weyrwoman,” Verilan said, rising from his chair and adding, “I think it best if I go supervise.”

  The Weyrwoman waved a hand in agreement.

  “I don’t see how we have any other choice but to do better,” D’vin said in the silence that followed.

  “Perhaps timing will help,” M’tal said hopefully. He pursed his lips tightly for a long thoughtful moment, then rose from his chair, bowing toward Fiona and nodding at H’nez.

  “Weyrwoman,” he said, “I think it best if we take our leave of you. I have many preparations to make and”—he nodded toward H’nez again—“I’m certain that you will want as much training time as possible between now and your next Fall.”

  The others rose, too, and the meeting adjourned.

  As M’tal peered down from his perch on Gaminth, he sketched a quick salute to Kindan, calling out, “As you seem to be something of the acting Weyrleader, I thought you might like to know that I’ll be sending J’lantir and his wing to you.” He smiled drolly as he added, “Try not to lose them, will you?”

  From the ground, Kindan smiled and waved an acknowledging salute, calling back, “We’ll do all we can!”

  Gaminth leaped into the air, beat his wings twice, and was gone between even before he’d cleared the watch heights.

  “Show off!” Sonia swore affectionately as she sat astride her Lyrinth alongside D’vin on his bronze Hurth.

  “I’d prefer it if he were less flashy,” D’vin said with a frown. M’tal was now the oldest Weyrleader left and the High Reaches Weyrleader could not help feeling a sense of foreboding.

  Across the distance of dragonlengths, Sonia shot him a probing look and nodded in silent agreement, her expression shifting to match his.

  “Fly well!” Fiona called up to them.

  “Don’t be strangers!” Jeila added in agreement, her arm wrapped possessively around H’nez’s lanky waist.

  The High Reaches Weyrleaders waved back and then they, too, were gone, between.

  “They should have flown to the watch heights first,” H’nez commented sourly.

  “They know what they’re doing,” Jeila said in their defense.

  “They’re tired, and tired people should never deviate from tradition,” H’nez groused. “Not only that, but we’ll be certain to have those here foolish enough to think they can do the same—and I’ll have to show them otherwise.”

  Tullea and B’nik were more careful, particularly as Norik had achieved his ambition of attaching himself as Benden’s harper, and rode clinging to Tullea’s back, talking ingratiatingly to the Weyrwoman. The dour Gadran eyed him critically from his position behind B’nik on Caranth.

  “It’s not as though we’ll see Kindan, at least until T’mar has healed fully,” B’nik had allowed when the notion had been proposed to them.

  “And he seems a lot more competent than Kindan,” Tullea had agreed, her eyes flashing sharply toward the younger harper. She added venomously to Fiona, “Not that I’m sure you didn’t get the better of the bargain, my dear.”

  “Two for one, and both the most famous on Pern?” Fiona purred in response. “I cannot tha
nk you enough.”

  “Of that I’m certain,” Tullea rejoined, not willing to let the exchange go in Fiona’s favor.

  Fiona merely nodded, lips pursed tightly, in response.

  Cisca and K’lior were the last to leave and they left reluctantly, clearly tempted by the offer of a warm meal.

  “We’ve much to do ourselves,” K’lior said by way of apology, as he and Cisca headed out the archway of the Kitchen Cavern and into the Weyr Bowl.

  “Thread falls over Fort in six days,” Cisca reminded them.

  “They’re both night Falls, too,” Fiona remarked with a grimace.

  “Why don’t we fly them together?” Cisca asked. Beside her K’lior choked in surprise. “Just we two queens?”

  “Queens together?” K’lior gasped in surprise, his brown eyes nearly popping out of his head.

  Fiona shook her head apologetically even as Cisca laughed and slapped her mate on the back, saying, “I did it just to see you squirm!”

  “Besides,” Fiona said, “as both queens have just recently risen, it probably would be unwise to risk them, at least until they’ve safely clutched.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Cisca agreed with a sigh. She glanced at K’lior as she added slyly, “But perhaps we could cadge a ride with Kindan and Lorana?”

  “I suspect they’ll be busy enough looking out for themselves,” K’lior said.

  “I hadn’t thought of them flying this Fall,” Fiona admitted anxiously, adding a moment later, “But we need all our dragons and I doubt we could keep Zirenth on the ground.”

  “I didn’t mean to alarm you,” Cisca said. “I’m sure they’ll do fine.”

  “It’s a night Fall,” K’lior said by way of agreement, “and the air here is cold, so much of the Thread will be dead.”

  Less than a month had passed in the present time since the two night flights that Fort Weyr had fought with the aid of Nuella and the watch-whers, and even though Fiona’s memories of the events were faded by the three Turns she’d spent back in time at Igen Weyr, still her recollection of the anguished cries of riders, dragons, and watch-whers was a searing memory. She fought to suppress a shudder of fear.

  Cisca sensed her feelings and wrapped her in a hug. “You’ll do fine, Weyrwoman.”