Dragongirl

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  They’re fine! Lorana’s voice came to her quickly, soothingly. They’ve just come out of between.

  Chagrined, Fiona felt her cheeks burn with shame and sent an apology toward Lorana. The older woman certainly didn’t need such reminders of the grim past.

  Still, Fiona couldn’t quite shake off her unease. She took a slow, calming breath and carefully pushed the thought deep inside herself: The last thing she wanted was to worry Lorana with her own fears. She could tell that she was successful because she felt no resonance from the ex–queen rider but, even so, she couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that something would go horribly wrong.

  Memories of her fevered chanting came back to her: Can’t lose the baby, can’t lose the baby, can’t lose the baby! It mixed with Lorana’s nightmare cry, her sweaty, gasping breaths and as Fiona fought to quench her fears she had raked over one horrifying thought—whose baby? Or babies?

  That’s it? T’mar thought in surprise as they came to the end of the Fall. Like the Upper Bitra Fall, this one had started way up north in the Snowy Wastes, where Thread could only freeze and die—a pleasant thought—and had crossed into the mountains above Crom, ending a good half hour’s flight from the Hold itself.

  The air had been steady if mildly turbulent and the Weyrs had no trouble picking up the Thread and following it as it crossed into the higher mountains and then ended at the foothills and high plains above Crom.

  An easy Fall. T’mar snorted derisively. Easy enough: Telgar and High Reaches had each lost two dragons, and both had the same number of injuries. High Reaches had only two dragons badly mauled against Telgar’s three, but while Telgar had the same number of slighter injuries, High Reaches had four dragons and riders who would not fly again for the next month or more.

  Zirenth, have C’tov—T’mar cut himself short: C’tov had been one of the injured with another score on his left side. This time, fortunately, it had been his left thigh that had borne the brunt of it, even as Sereth’s neck had been lightly nicked just below—protected by the extra bulk of his rider’s leg. Have C’tov’s wing fly sweep.

  Very well, the bronze said. Winurth leads.

  J’gerd? T’mar thought in surprise. He hadn’t realized that the brown rider was C’tov’s wingsecond; he’d been injured not all that long ago. T’mar snorted to himself; it was hard to keep track of who flew where these days.

  Let’s go back, T’mar thought even as he waved farewell to D’vin and the High Reaches riders.

  Even with C’tov’s injuries and the other five injured dragonpairs, the mood at the Weyr that night was one of relief, almost festive.

  “Not bad,” F’jian said, sounding very pleased with himself as he raised his glass to Terin for a refill. “If I do say so myself, not bad at all.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t come home too battered,” Terin said with a sweet smile to take most of the sting out of her words. F’jian gave her a hurt look, but she shook it off saying, “Don’t let your head get too big for your helmet!”

  “I won’t, I won’t,” F’jian protested even as the laughter around the table brought red spots to his cheeks. He glanced at T’mar and raised his glass toward him. “You trained us well.”

  “To fly, perhaps,” T’mar said with a grin, adding as he shook his head, “But in drinking … not at all.”

  “Flying’s what’s important,” F’jian said merrily, glancing at his riders and raising his glass to them once more. He drained it and held it out to Terin, who cocked her head thoughtfully. “Another glass and you’ll be asleep before the party starts.”

  “What?” F’jian roared, waving his free hand around to the folk gathered in the cavern. “This is the party!”

  “Well, it’s one party,” Terin agreed, her eyes twinkling suggestively.

  F’jian blinked at her in his confusion and Terin sighed.

  “I think one party will be enough for him tonight,” Fiona said, coming up behind her. “They fight again in three days.”

  Terin turned in her chair to peer up at the Weyrwoman, her expression bleak. “I know.”

  Fiona smiled down at her. “If you’d like, I’ll wait with you.”

  “No, you’re still supposed to be resting,” Terin said. She turned back to F’jian, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and then pushed back her chair. “Let me escort you to your quarters.”

  “Kindan can—”

  “Kindan will be pouring the wine all night long,” Terin said, watching the way the harper was pacing back and forth among the revelers. “And then he’ll be up early in the morning, drilling the weyrlings.”

  “Are we working him too hard?” Fiona asked, even as Terin linked arms with her and started off toward the exit to the Weyr Bowl.

  “No more than any other,” Terin said. “Of course, with C’tov grounded, I’m sure he’ll find himself with more help.”

  “Weyrwoman!” T’mar’s voice called across the distance and Fiona stopped and turned back to face the throng. T’mar raised his glass in toast and she waved back happily in response.

  “To the best Weyrwoman on Pern!” F’jian said suddenly, lurching upward and raising his glass high.

  “Fiona! Fiona! Fiona!” the rest of the riders cheered in agreement. They quickly drained their glasses and held them out for more.

  Fiona waved and cheered them in return before turning back with Terin to the cold night outside. “They’ll feel it in the morning.”

  “Good morning!” Fiona called cheerfully as she entered T’mar’s quarters carrying a tray on which she’d perched a pitcher of warm klah, three mugs, two plates, and a basket of fresh, warm rolls.

  “Unh!” T’mar groaned in response. Fiona’s smile grew broader as she placed the tray on his day table. She quickly filled a mug and made her way over to him, humming loudly, off-key. “Unh!”

  “Did you sleep well?” Fiona asked loudly, as the bronze rider sat up in his bed, wincing at the cold stone beneath his feet and cupping his forehead feebly in his hands. She relented enough to waft the warm mug in front of his nose and say quietly, “Fresh klah for the weary Weyrleader.”

  “Mnh,” T’mar said, lowering one hand to grasp the mug and bring it to his lips. He drank slowly, lowered the mug, raised it again and took another sip.

  “F’jian is apparently not feeling too well this morning,” Fiona went on with a quick smile. “Terin served him his breakfast about an hour ago.”

  “Unh,” T’mar grunted once more, bringing his mug up for another swallow. He raised his head enough to give her a bleary-eyed look. “And to what do I owe my extra rest?”

  “I’m not as mad at you as Terin is with him,” Fiona told him simply. She shrugged, adding, “Anyway, I know you drank less than most and needed more sleep than others.”

  She craned her head around toward the bathroom and called out loudly, “I’ve klah and rolls, Shaneese!”

  “Thank you!” the headwoman called back softly. A moment later the dusky woman appeared, wrapped in a robe. She clucked sympathetically at T’mar and gratefully accepted the mug Fiona poured for her.

  “I let you sleep in,” Fiona told the headwoman, smirking at T’mar’s expression. She went to the tray at the table, filled the last mug and, peering over the edge, told the other two, “I’ll leave you to it; just know that Kindan’s going to be drilling the weyrlings in another half an hour or so.”

  Shaneese smiled at her and blew a kiss in her direction. “Thank you for the warning!”

  Fiona nodded and spun about, mug cradled in one hand as she made her way briskly out onto the queens’ ledge beyond. As she made her way into Talenth’s weyr and saw Kurinth peer curiously into one of the still vacant weyrs, she thought: Pretty soon we’ll have to rearrange things.

  Telgar was laid out differently than some Weyrs, with the senior queen’s and junior queens’ quarters all on one side. She wondered at that as there was room available on the other side of the Weyr Bowl for another queen’s weyr. Fiona guesse
d that D’gan must have decided to leave Lina on the side of the Weyr closest to the kitchens while he quartered on the farther side. It made some sense to have all the queens together, but only when the Weyrwoman was not actively fighting Thread.

  As it was now, T’mar was quartered in one of the junior queens’ weyrs, close to Fiona. She made a note to talk the arrangements over with Shaneese—two more queens and they would have the decision taken out of their hands.

  Not, she mused as Kurinth snorted in surprise at something inside the empty weyr, that it was much of a problem now—Kurinth was quite willing to share a weyr with Ladirth, doubtless encouraged by her rider. All the same, as was easy to see from the young queen’s curiosity, it was probably time she settled in her own weyr.

  Fiona furrowed her brows as she looked around, wondering why the young queen was so far from her normal weyr. Her eyes widened as a whirl of dust whisked through the air and Kurinth just barely dodged it, snorting, eyes whirling red, craning her neck back in surprise.

  “There!” Fiona heard Terin exclaim grumpily. She continued on to herself, “Thinks he can stay up all night!” She snorted. “Expects me to carry him back to his weyr!” Another cloud of dust erupted. “Wants me to bring him breakfast!”

  “Can I help?” Fiona asked, brushing past Kurinth and suddenly sneezing as another cloud of dust filled the air.

  “You can—oh!” Terin looked up, saw the dust settling over Fiona and stopped, her expression halfway between contrition and mirth.

  “It’s high time you had your own weyr,” Fiona said, glancing at the pile of clothes strewn in one corner. “If you’ll wait a moment, I’m sure that Shaneese can find you some help to straighten it out.” She glanced back at Kurinth who blinked up at her. “And Kurinth is getting big enough that she’ll need a proper weyr of her own.”

  “You know that’s not it!” Terin growled, eyes flashing.

  “And in your own weyr,” Fiona continued smoothly, ignoring the young weyrwoman’s response, “you can entertain as you see fit.”

  “Oh!” Terin’s brow puckered as Fiona’s words registered. Her anger evaporated. “Oh, I suppose I can.”

  “And people who get too much into their cups will have to find their own weyr, without disturbing you or—” Fiona paused, glancing around in surprise “—where are your usual helpers?”

  “I don’t know if I’ll have them anymore,” Terin said. “Most of them were taken away last night by their mothers.”

  Fiona thought that that was probably just as well. She could also imagine how the older, Thread-seasoned bronze rider might find it difficult to maintain his best behavior surrounded by small ones who viewed him with awe.

  “I’ll have Kindan send some food over for Kurinth,” Fiona said. She paused and met Terin’s green eyes frankly. “And how was his head this morning?”

  Terin straightened and her eyes danced as she reported gladly, “F’jian was not feeling at all well this morning!”

  “Hmm,” Fiona said. “Well, perhaps you should consider that in”—she glanced outside—“a few minutes, Kindan will start exercising the weyrlings.”

  Terin gave her a blank look and then comprehension dawned and her face took on a wicked smile. “Oh!”

  After she’d got Terin settled in and they’d both gleefully watched as Kindan drilled the weyrlings—who shouted quite loudly—Fiona left to check on Lorana. She found her in the Records Room with a basket of glows near at hand.

  “It can’t be done,” Fiona said as she peered over Lorana’s shoulder, looking down at the contents of the slates spread in front of the ex–queen rider.

  “There’s no mention of timing it in any of the Records I’ve found,” Lorana said.

  “That’s because it’s not a wise thing to do,” Fiona said. “Too many accidents, too much confusion.” She shrugged. “You know.”

  “Like B’nik,” Lorana agreed.

  “Like all those who got to see their own deaths hours before they went to them,” Fiona said. She sighed, eyes downcast as a litany of faces came to her mind: faces sad but resigned—those of the riders; faces fearful and forlorn—those of the bereaved. “He can no more escape his fate than they.” She sighed, walked around the table and dropped into the seat opposite. Lorana looked up at her. “You know, T’mar told me that some of the riders—the ones who had timed it—actually waved at themselves in farewell, tried to comfort their past selves.”

  Lorana gazed at her, shaking her head.

  Fiona tried a different tack, saying, “Tullea’s no different from any of those who get this bad news.” She shook her head sadly. “She’ll recover in time.”

  “I don’t know,” Lorana said. “I think she’s so desperate, so … hurt—in pain—that she really would follow him between.”

  “And there’s only that one new queen at Benden,” Fiona said by way of agreement. She grimaced, adding, “I don’t see her binding the wounds that would leave.”

  “No, Lin needs seasoning before she’d be able,” Lorana agreed. The new junior weyrwoman at Benden was far too unsure of herself to take charge in Tullea’s stead.

  Fiona shrugged. “Well, there are mature queens in the other Weyrs, if it comes to that.”

  “I’d be happier if there were another way.”

  “Another way,” Fiona said half to herself. “Another way.”

  “M’tal saw him and then T’mar …” Lorana began thoughtfully.

  “With a whole Wing, no less,” Fiona pointed out.

  Lorana nodded then glanced up at Fiona, lips curved up in a thin smile as she added, “And Tullea’s forbidden his Wing to go with him.”

  “So he found another Wing, how hard would that be?” Fiona tossed back with a shrug. She frowned again, adding, “And anyway, we don’t know when he timed it—”

  “What?” Lorana asked, sitting upright in her chair.

  “We don’t know when he timed it,” Fiona repeated, scarcely hiding her exasperation.

  “We don’t even know if he timed it.”

  “If?”

  “We know that someone did,” Lorana said, “but all that anyone saw was a man wearing the Benden Weyrleader’s jacket.”

  “So maybe it was a different Weyrleader?” Fiona asked. “From a different time?” She frowned, shaking her head. “It could be but we won’t know until it happens.” She smiled wanly at Lorana and said with a sniff, “For all we know, it could just as easily have been someone who stole B’nik’s jacket.”

  “It was just a thought,” Lorana said with a quick shrug. She looked down at the slates once more, sighed, and stood up, swaying slightly with the awkward weight of the baby. She gave Fiona a pleading look, saying, “Would you clean up here? I’m not—I must—”

  “Go!” Fiona said, waving her away. She’d heard enough about “peeing for two” to understand. I’ll probably know about it firsthand soon enough, she mused as she reached for the scattered slates and started to put them away. A smile crossed her lips and she started humming happily.

  “Well, as of this evening, you’ve seventy-two fighting dragons,” Fiona said proudly to T’mar as they gathered together for dinner. She quirked a quick grin, adding, “C’tov tried to get back to flying, but I sent him to his quarters.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that he’s eager,” T’mar said, glancing at the wingleader, who was seated glumly at the end of the table. He raised his voice to carry, saying to him, “I’m sure that Kindan appreciates your help with the weyrlings.”

  “I’ve learned a great deal,” Kindan said, sending a thankful nod in the bronze rider’s direction. C’tov waved a hand in acknowledgment.

  “Seventy-two is a good deal less than I’d like,” T’mar said to Fiona.

  “I’d prefer three hundred and, if wishes were dragons, that’s what we’d have,” Fiona said.

  T’mar pursed his lips grimly, nodding. He glanced at Lorana, telling her, “If it weren’t for you, we’d have none.”

  “I kno
w,” Lorana said quietly, looking no happier. T’mar shot a look at Fiona, to which the Weyrwoman responded with a quick shake of her head.

  “Well,” T’mar continued, “with Fort’s eighty-six and our seventy-two, we’ll be close to two full Flights in strength.”

  H’nez raised his eyebrows at that appraisal: The total number was a full Wing short of two Flights. Beside him, Jeila shook her head quickly, and he grimaced, and resumed his meal without comment.

  “Where’s Terin?” T’mar asked, peering down the table and spying F’jian eating glumly by himself.

  “She’s in her new quarters,” Fiona said casually. She tilted her head toward the Weyrleader. “Actually, that brings up a good point: We should reconsider the disposition of the lower-level weyrs.”

  T’mar raised an eyebrow and motioned for her to continue.

  “Traditionally,” Fiona continued, putting a tone of disdain on that word, “the Weyrwoman and Weyrleader have lodged in the weyrs to the north of the Bowl nearest the Hatching Grounds.”

  T’mar nodded.

  “The junior weyrwomen have all lodged on the opposite side, where we’ve now got you quartered.”

  “But your quarters are there, too,” T’mar said.

  “True, as is the Records Room that we’re also using as the Council Room,” Fiona said. “But to the north there’s a perfectly good room for the Council to meet in, and another large room with access from both the Weyr Bowl and the Weyrwoman’s quarters for the Records.” She made a face. “I think the current arrangements are a holdover from when Igen integrated with Telgar.

  “But with Terin in her quarters, we’ve now got all four of the junior weyrwomen’s quarters filled, and the senior Weyrwoman’s and Weyrleader’s quarters remain empty.”

  “So what do you propose?” T’mar asked. He quite liked being close to the Kitchen and Living Caverns—the life of the Weyr centered there—but he could see how crowded they were getting and understood Fiona’s hidden hope that they would soon have enough queens to fill all queen weyrs.