“What?”
“Why don’t you find out, then?” Fiona said. The headwoman’s surprise was total, so with another chuckle Fiona turned away from her and started out to the Weyr Bowl, pausing only long enough to call back over her shoulder, “I see nothing wrong with sharing.”
“She should take you up on that,” Lorana said as they stood inside the Hatching Grounds; when she’d met Fiona she’d asked her what was so funny. Fiona had relayed the entire conversation.
“She’d be good for him,” Fiona said. “She’s closer to his age and she’d bolster his confidence.”
“Whereas you,” Lorana said with a twinkle in her eyes, “have entirely too much!”
“Maybe,” Fiona said, shrugging one shoulder. “Sometimes I think it’s all an act and perhaps when I get older I’ll regret all the decisions I’ve made”—she paused, hugging Lorana closer to her—“except this one.”
“Which one?” Lorana asked. “The decision to save Zirenth was mine and the mating flight was a natural result of that first decision.” She pursed her lips. “Unless you’re trying to claim you influenced Talenth in her choice of mate?”
“Not as much as she influenced me,” Fiona said. “But we worked as a team that day, as you and I work as a team now.”
“Do you suppose we could choose to break our bond?”
“I hope not,” Fiona said. “But I suppose it’s possible.” She frowned, adding, “There’s nothing like this in the Records and no guarantee that it will last.” She glanced down to Lorana’s belly. “Perhaps when your baby is born the bond will break.”
“I hope not,” Lorana said softly, surprising Fiona. She caught the young woman’s reaction and patted her on the arm, admitting softly, “I need someone to share this all with—”
“What about Kindan?”
“With him I share what he can’t feel,” Lorana said. “With you, I share what we can feel.”
“We complete each other, don’t we?” Fiona asked, hoping that Lorana would agree and worried that she might not
“The three of us.”
“Four, I think,” Fiona said. “I think T’mar is part of it.” Lorana furrowed her brows questioningly. “If it had been another bronze injured and you and Kindan had bonded with it, I’m not sure I would have reacted the same way; I’m not sure Talenth would have mated with him.”
“And if it had been another man with me than Kindan …?”
“I’m not sure.”
“So what happened required four people to be in love and committed to their best interests,” Lorana said.
“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “I doubt it would happen any other way.” She smiled at Lorana. “And not just any people but four very special people.”
“Each with their own pain and their own need,” Lorana added in agreement. Fiona said nothing; she hugged her tighter.
“So, are we rested?” T’mar asked H’nez, his lips quirked teasingly as the tall, lanky bronze rider and he strode out to their dragons shortly after lunch two days later.
“As much as we can be,” H’nez allowed grimly. He leaned closer to the Weyrleader, lowering his pitch for his ears alone. “I’m still concerned about the Wings.”
“With the split?” T’mar asked, glancing up at the taller man’s troubled brown eyes. “We need a reserve group, riders to get more firestone.”
“That’s exactly what M’tal thought.”
“His reasoning was sound,” T’mar said. “And B’nik reports light winds aloft … as do our watch riders.”
One of the reasons T’mar had decided to keep the twenty-five dragons of Telgar’s fifth Wing in reserve was that it allowed him to send out watch riders who would, after the Fall, be immediately available to sweep for Thread burrows. After the disastrous Fall over Keroon, T’mar’s exhausted riders had discovered no less than three well-established burrows. Fortunately, all were quickly dispatched, aided in particular by the flamethrowers that Fiona had inspired the Smithhall to develop ten Turns ago when they were back in time at Igen Weyr.
T’mar shook his head and slapped the lanky rider on the arm affectionately. “Don’t worry.”
H’nez glanced down at him, frowning. He let out a deep sigh, releasing his worries with it. “We’ll do our duty.”
T’mar mounted Zirenth quickly, waving back at Fiona, who very ostentatiously blew him kisses while, standing next to her, Jeila did the same with H’nez—causing the swarthy rider to color noticeably. T’mar smiled, wagging an admonishing finger at his Weyrwoman and totally spoiled the effort immediately afterward by blowing a kiss back at her.
“Fly safe!” Fiona called loudly.
T’mar grinned, surprised at the warmth of his feelings for the difficult young woman who chose her own ways to love and, with one final glance into her eyes, raised his arm in the ages-old signal for the dragons to fly.
Fiona’s grin faded the instant the last of the dragons winked between. Grimly she turned to Jeila. “Help Shaneese finish setting up, would you?”
Jeila accepted the request with a nod, adding, “Where will you be?”
“I’m going to check on Lorana and the Hatching Grounds,” Fiona said, trying to keep her tone light. But, as she turned to leave, Jeila reached out with a hand to restrain her. Fiona turned back, worry plain in her eyes.
“What is it?” Jeila asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Fiona said. “I just feel that something is going to happen.”
“Something bad?”
“Maybe,” Fiona said. Then, with a shrug, “Probably.” She shook Jeila’s hand off her arm and strode off purposely toward the Hatching Grounds.
Kindan caught up with her just as she arrived. “Have you seen Lorana?”
Fiona shook her head. Kindan’s eyes narrowed as he sensed the stress in her motions and followed her.
“Weyrwoman!” a voice called out excitedly as soon as she was visible.
“It’s the Weyrwoman!” another young girl’s voice piped up in excitement.
In a moment, Fiona and Kindan were surrounded by a small cluster of wide-eyed, excited, happy, weyrchildren who all seemed intent on telling their particular story with all the excitement of the very young. Fiona noticed that even though they all wanted to be heard, they were all very careful to keep their voices down, not wanting to disturb the two queens indulgently watching the proceedings from their respective nests on the warm sands of the Hatching Grounds.
Xhinna appeared and walked briskly toward the cluster, looking anxiously around for Taria.
“I’m sorry, Fiona, I was—”
“—just looking at the eggs,” Fiona finished for her, smiling. “That’s what you’re here for.”
“Taria and I are supposed to be watching—”
Fiona cut her off with an upraised hand. “Have you seen Lorana?”
Xhinna’s brows rose in surprise and she shook her head. “I think she was here earlier,” she said, glancing around.
“She left,” Taria said, approaching with a gaggle of youngsters trailing behind. “She was here earlier.”
“Where?” Xhinna asked abruptly.
“I don’t know,” Taria replied, sounding cross herself.
Fiona sensed Kindan glancing at her pointedly, but she didn’t need the harper’s presence to guess that the two had been quarreling. She’d heard some rumblings through Mekiar and Shaneese already; apparently Taria was convinced that Xhinna would Impress a queen and leave her, while Xhinna feared exactly the same of Taria.
Fiona searched for something to say to defuse their fears, but gave up with a shrug: Finding Lorana was more important to her at the moment. With an arch look, she turned and strode out of the Hatching Grounds, heading for her quarters.
Thread! Zirenth called as they entered the air over Crom, diving suddenly to avoid the menace, then turning and twisting back up while at the same time flaming, charring and burning the threatening Thread with sinuous grace.
T’mar had only a momen
t to wonder at the speed of the assault before he was completely engaged in the instant-to-instant fight against the streams of falling Thread that threatened his life and his planet.
He heard and grunted in surprise at each injured bellow, keeping a half-count in his head as dragon after dragon went between to freeze off tenacious Thread, trying to count back all who returned to the fray, but he was too overwhelmed by his own efforts and those of his bronze to keep any more than a vague number in his head.
Dive, rise, turn, twist, bend, flame. Reach down, grab a bag of firestone, haul it up, toss the stones into Zirenth’s open maw, turn back to scan the skies overhead and flame again.
Too much, too quick, T’mar thought in a sudden, grim, chilling realization. He peered from side to side and then over his shoulder, craning to count the dragons of his wing and the wings on either side of him.
Call in the others!
A new group of dragons suddenly appeared, the reserves. With an eager bellow, the twenty fresh dragons joined the fray and for a moment, T’mar felt safe. And then—
“They’re too heavy with firestone,” T’mar growled to himself as first one, then two and finally three dragons screamed in pain and blinked between. Only two returned.
A bronze dragon suddenly appeared beside him: H’nez. One quick look at H’nez’s expression was enough to confirm T’mar’s worst fears.
We must get help, T’mar thought, wondering which Weyr to ask, and how soon help could arrive. Another dragon screamed in pain, its bellow cut off midway as it sought the safety of between.
“We’re getting destroyed!” H’nez’s voice carried across the dragonlength’s distance.
T’mar nodded in grim agreement.
“I’m going to ask for help,” T’mar yelled back.
“Who?”
But before T’mar could respond, a bellow from above caused him to glance up and he saw a Wing of dragons burst into existence above him.
“Benden!” H’nez shouted. “We’re saved!” Even as he said it, he urged Ginirth down into a tight dive to circle back and up to the head of his own Wing in flight on T’mar’s right.
T’mar glanced up, a big grin of relief on his face as he picked out the brilliant red diamond with the Benden “II” in the center—B’nik himself had come to their aid!
T’mar waved enthusiastically, and then, as he saw the sudden peril, waved frantically to the Weyrleader hoping to alert him to his peril just as—
—the clump of Thread landed on the rider’s back and, in one instant obliterated the red and diamond of Benden Weyr, engulfed the rider in a haze of blood and death. With one horrible scream, rider and dragon disappeared between forever.
Alone bronze dragon burst into the early evening air above Benden Weyr and dropped quickly into the Weyr Bowl, the rider ignoring Minith’s warbled challenge and racing across the grounds, eyes wide, searching desperately for something.
“What is it? What are you doing?” Tullea shouted to the frantic man. She recognized the shoulder knots of a Weyrleader and the white and black fields of wheat—T’mar of Telgar.
T’mar skidded to a halt in front of her, tears streaming from his eyes, and he fell on his knees in front of her, clasping her around the waist.
“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” T’mar cried, his voice muffled against the folds of her pants.
Tullea raised a hand to her cheek, eyes wide with fright. “B’nik?”
T’mar glanced up at her, his face tear-streaked. “He flew to our aid. Flew to save us and …”
“No!” Tullea cried, herself collapsing to the ground with him. “No, it can’t be!”
Inside the Hatching Grounds, Minith bugled in concern and horror.
“It can’t be!” Tullea repeated, tears starting down her cheeks as she shook her head in the vain hope of shaking off the Telgar Weyrleader’s words.
A rush of air above them and a roar of dragons startled everyone. From within the Hatching Ground, Minith bugled again, this time sounding defiant and proud.
Tullea glanced up at the returning dragons and then over accusingly to T’mar, “You lie! How dare you!”
She threw off his hands and stood up abruptly, reaching down to drag him up beside her.
“There he is! There’s B’nik! And Caranth, safe as can be!” She turned and slapped him hard across the face, palm wide with all the force she could muster. “What sort of a sick trick is this? Did Lorana set you up for this?”
T’mar shook his head, looking from her to B’nik, confusion written in his eyes.
“What’s going on?” B’nik asked, closing the gap between them quickly while pulling off his riding gloves. He recognized the bronze rider. “T’mar! How are you? How was the Fall?”
“B’nik?” T’mar repeated in blank surprise. He turned to Tullea in apology and surprise. “But I saw …”
“Saw what?” Tullea demanded. “This is just some sick joke—” She cut herself off, grabbing B’nik tightly in her arms and growling, “He told me you were dead!”
“Dead?” B’nik said, pushing her away from him, careful to keep a hand on her as he looked over to T’mar.
“We were overwhelmed in the Threadfall, it was falling in clumps and our strength was too little,” T’mar said, his eyes smoldering with the memory, “and then you came with a Wing and—but you’re here!”
“I didn’t come,” B’nik told him. “We never flew to your aid.”
“There was a rider wearing your jacket—the Benden Weyrleader’s jacket,” T’mar said. “He flew with a Wing until—”
“Until what?” Tullea demanded.
“Until he was engulfed in Thread,” T’mar finished in a whisper. He looked imploringly to B’nik. “But if it wasn’t you—” T’mar broke off, his confusion evident.
“Yet,” B’nik said.
“Yet?” Tullea repeated, glancing at her mate demandingly.
“Have Minith talk with Zirenth,” B’nik said in a flat, chill voice.
“Talk with Zirenth?” Tullea repeated dully. “Why would—”
“Because Zirenth saw it, too,” B’nik told her, his expression wooden, his eyes bleak with pain. “T’mar tells the truth.”
“Yet,” T’mar repeated to himself, hissing in a horrified breath as he looked sharply at the Benden Weyrleader. “This is yet to be?”
“Clearly.”
“What?” Tullea cried as she absorbed his meaning. “B’nik, you can’t die!”
“I can’t see how I can’t,” B’nik told her sadly. He waved a hand to T’mar. “It’s already happened.”
NINETEEN
Smither, tanner, crafter know
Where and how your work must go.
As prospers thus the dragon weyr
So will Pern be kept Thread clear.
Telgar Weyr, evening, AL 508.5.26
“We can’t fight with just three Wings again,” H’nez said, controlling his temper with difficulty as he and the other wingleaders discussed their tactics for the next day’s Fall.
“We can’t fight without firestone,” F’jian replied, wearily wiping a hand across his face. They had been arguing for the better part of two hours, ever since their evening meal just after another grueling day of drilling. C’tov sat silently between them, clearly not happy at the issue set before them.
“So the only choice is to time it,” T’mar repeated, glancing first at his oldest and then at his youngest wingleader. “And because of that, I’m elected.”
“Trying to emulate B’nik?” Fiona asked sourly from where she sat in solitude at the end of the long table. Her sense of doom had only increased with the news of B’nik’s impending loss. She kept the worry to herself, lying to both Kindan and Lorana, pleading duty or distraction when she couldn’t otherwise avoid them. She sensed that Lorana had an inkling of her fears, but Fiona was desperate to keep any stress from the older woman and her growing baby.
T’mar gave her a sour look. “Not particularly,” he said. “But
we have to face our needs.”
“And the Weyr needs its Weyrleader,” Fiona shot back. She regretted her words even before she caught the look of disappointment in T’mar’s eyes. She knew that he was doing his best, just as they all were. It just wasn’t enough.
T’mar’s lips twitched as he suppressed his retort and Fiona, realizing the effort he was making, gave him an apologetic shrug.
“We’re all under stress,” T’mar said, cutting his gaze to the other wingleaders, a gesture that caused Fiona’s spirits to sink even further at the implied rebuke. “But as you know, Weyrwoman, I and those who share your fatigue seem to be less sensitive to the extra strain of timing it.” Fiona grimaced at his words. “So it would seem that we are the best choice for the job.”
“So you’re going to provide our reserves and bring firestone?” H’nez asked again, his incredulity unalloyed.
“No,” Fiona replied, before T’mar could draw breath. “They’re going to ferry firestone and provide relief only if needed.” She nodded toward T’mar. “So you’ll only time it if absolutely necessary?”
“That wasn’t my plan,” T’mar admitted, choosing his words carefully. “But I think there’s sense in that.”
“Let me get this clear,” F’jian said. “You’ll fly the Fall with firestone and then, only if we need it, you and your Wing will time it—after the Fall—to give us additional strength.”
“Makes sense,” H’nez muttered, reluctantly approving. Then he frowned. “But won’t it be a bit unnerving to supply yourself with firestone?”
“I suppose that’s possible,” T’mar said. He spread his hands open above the table. “But it’s the best plan we’ve got.”
“So it’s agreed,” Fiona declared, glancing down the table challengingly.
It was late the next evening when T’mar collected his weary Wing and urged them back into the skies—and back in time to fight the Threadfall they’d already fought.
“At least we know the worst,” B’len, T’mar’s latest wingsecond allowed with a grim look as they mounted their dragons once more.
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