“Please,” she said, looking up at the crowd for the first time, “Arith is very hungry. Can you get her something to eat?”
“Certainly,” someone replied instantly. A figure broke from the crowd and hastened away toward the source of the distant succulent smells.
“Best get Lorana something, as well,” Kindan added, in a rich, well-modulated tone that carried the length of Benden’s great Bowl.
“Here,” a voice much closer to her—a woman’s voice—said, “Put this on.” Lorana felt a warm jacket being draped over her. “You must be as frozen as you are hungry.”
Lorana looked up to see a woman about six or seven Turns older than herself with blond hair and piercing blue eyes. A red-haired man stood beside her, looking protective. Lorana couldn’t see that the woman needed it, she had rarely seen such a selfpossessed person in her life.
“For a moment I thought maybe she was coming for me,” the woman said with a chuckle. “I’m so glad it was you. Two would be impossible.”
A sound, not quite a dragon sound, burst in the sky above them, and a small, ungainly, ugly gold shape descended toward them. It was a watch-wher, and when it alit deftly on the floor of the Bowl, it trotted over to the woman.
The gold watch-wher snuffed at Arith, who returned the gesture full of curiosity; then, with a satisfied chirp, the watch-wher sidled over to place her head under the blond woman’s hand.
“I know you!” Lorana exclaimed. “You’re Nuella.”
“I told you your fame has traveled far and wide,” Kindan said, bowing toward Nuella.
“This is Weyrleader M’tal,” Kindan continued, gesturing to a silver-haired, wiry older man beside him.
“My lord—” Lorana was abashed to have been in the Weyr all this time without meeting him.
M’tal cut her off with a wave of his hand. “M’tal, please,” he said. “Or Weyrleader, if you must. You are one of us now, Lorana.”
Tears burst from her, running unchecked down her face. Arith looked at her worriedly.
Are you hurt? the dragonet asked, ready to both comfort and defend her mate.
It’s all right, it’s all right. I’m just so happy, Lorana assured her. And she was. M’tal’s words had been just what she’d needed to hear. She had a home. She was Lorana, rider of gold Arith, dragonrider of Benden Weyr.
“I could not be happier,” she said aloud.
Lorana found herself ensconced in the last empty Weyrwoman’s weyr, her scant things moved without her asking, her stomach—and Arith’s—filled beyond bulging, and all the while she was lost in the magic of gold Arith’s whirling eyes.
Her dragon’s eyes.
All the pain, the loss, everything that had gone before in Lorana’s life was redeemed, erased, made nothing in the warmth of Arith’s love.
It was as natural as breathing to Lorana that she’d pull her bedclothes over to her hatchling’s lair and fall asleep, curled up tight around her dragon.
Kindan’s rich voice woke her the next morning. “There’s a warm pool just the other side of your sleeping quarters. I’m afraid you’ll need it.”
Lorana stretched—and winced. The hard stone of Arith’s lair might be comfortable to the dragon, but it had left a lot to be desired by her weyrmate. Her muscles ached and threatened to cramp as she gently disengaged herself from the still-sleeping dragonet.
“I brought you some klah,” Kindan added, extending a mug toward her as she rose.
“Would you happen to know where a robe is?” Lorana asked, feeling awkward in her nightdress.
Kindan pulled something off his other shoulder and tossed it to her. He turned away to give her privacy while she robed herself. “She’ll sleep for several more hours, judging by her stomach,” he told her.
“And she’ll wake ravenous,” Lorana added.
“Ten of the eggs still lie on the Hatching Grounds,” Kindan said suddenly. “Ten out of thirty-two.”
Lorana turned suddenly to Arith, reassuring herself that the dragon was all right, still here—still hers.
“That’s not normal?” she asked, turning back to him with an apologetic look.
Kindan shook his head. “Not at all,” he answered. “Oh, sometimes one or two are stillborn, but Salina’s Breth has never had a stillborn egg in any of her clutches.”
“What of the other Weyrs?” Lorana asked, her curiosity blending with her growing sense of unease.
“M’tal has spoken with C’rion,” Kindan said, “the Weyrleader of Ista.” He continued, “C’rion’s queen has just laid a new clutch, so it will be some time before we find out more from there.”
“And the other Weyrs?” Lorana asked.
Kindan shrugged. “We are only beginning to think of the questions we want to ask,” he admitted. “That’s why I wanted to talk with you.”
“Me?” Lorana asked, trying to keep a note of panic out of her voice. What if she was the cause?
“K’tan and I would like you to work with us,” Kindan told her. “Your drawings alone would be a great help.”
“My drawings?” Lorana asked in surprise.
“Yes,” Kindan agreed. He held up the drawing she’d made of the green sputum Valla had coughed up. “K’tan said we dare not keep samples of the actual infection, but with your drawings we can compare differences, and track changes in the sick.
“Which is not to say that your understanding of herdbeasts won’t also be a great help,” he added.
“Dragons aren’t herdbeasts,” Lorana protested.
“No,” Kindan agreed with a nod. “They’re not. But you’d be surprised at how similar illnesses can be between man, beast, and dragon.”
Behind Lorana, Arith stirred in her slumber. Kindan noticed.
“I didn’t mean to disturb her,” he said. “In fact, I should leave you to yourself. I’m sure you’ll want to wash up.”
Lorana forced herself to relax. “Yes, the ground was harder than I’d thought,” she said.
“Have your dragon bespeak Drith, K’tan’s dragon,” Kindan said as he made to leave.
Lorana nodded. “Is there a good time?”
He chuckled. “I suspect that your time will be more constrained than ours,” he said, gesturing toward the sleeping hatchling. “Whenever you’re ready and your dragon is asleep.”
“Which won’t be much longer,” Lorana said as Arith shifted position again.
“No it won’t,” Kindan said, agreeably shaking his head. “I’ve kept you too long, I’m sorry. It’s just—”
“I understand,” Lorana replied.
Kindan made a half-bow and departed.
Arith awoke faint with hunger. Again. It had been three sevendays since she’d hatched. In all those sevendays, Arith had eaten scraps brought by the Weyrlingmaster. Lorana had been amazed at the dragonet’s appetite, which rapidly grew from one large bucket, to two, then three, and finally five.
Arith’s sleep was as erratic as any newborn’s, which slowed Lorana’s own recovery from her exposure and exhaustion. It was all Lorana could do to keep Arith fed, feed herself, and keep up with the constant oiling necessary to keep the dragonet’s growing skin from cracking. She would wake up bleary-eyed and go back to bed bleary-eyed, never quite sure what hour of the day it was.
Fortunately, Arith’s newborn growth spurt was finally smoothing out and her sleep pattern normalizing.
“She’s growing very fast,” P’gul, the Weyrlingmaster, had exclaimed the last time he had come to check on her. “She’ll be ready for the Feeding Grounds soon.”
He shook his head in amazement. “Catch her own food, too, I don’t doubt.”
Now, as Lorana guided the increasingly irritable dragonet out of their quarters on the lowest level of the Weyr, she realized that she did not know where the Feeding Grounds were. She stopped in confusion and stood in the great Bowl of the Weyr, looking around desperately.
“Are you going to wait until she dies from hunger, or were you perhaps hoping that her k
eening would disturb the whole Weyr?” a voice from behind her demanded caustically.
Lorana spun around to come face-to-face with a woman not all that much older than herself. The woman’s face had a pinched look, as if she had been caught in a perpetual sneer. Her blue eyes were pallid and her lips were pursed tight in a thin line. Blond hair was pulled together behind her neck.
“I don’t know where the Feeding Grounds are,” Lorana said apologetically.
“Peh! Some Weyrwoman you’ll make!” the other returned. “Didn’t bother to listen to the orientation, did you? Too high and mighty. Expect the rest of us to look after you, do you?”
“No, I—”
“It’s not as though we all don’t have our own dragons to look after—” At this point a large queen burst into air above them, hovering near the other woman.
Arith took one fearful look up at the full-grown queen, gave a wistful chirp, was answered by an encouraging bellow, and promptly disappeared herself.
In a moment, Lorana could feel Arith’s pleasure as she made her first kill, and she saw an image of the Feeding Grounds in her mind’s eye. She looked up at the large queen, certain that she was the source of Arith’s inspiration, and said with relief, “Thank you.”
My pleasure, the queen responded, settling gently on the ground beside her rider. Your little one was quite agitated.
I’m sorry, Lorana apologized. I hadn’t expected to Impress her. She got a feeling of amused tolerance from the queen. I’m Lorana.
I know, the queen responded. I am Minith.
“You talk to other dragons?” Minith’s rider asked, shocked.
“Oh, yes,” Lorana said, forgetting that this was not a common trait among the weyrfolk. The look on the other rider’s face quickly disabused her. Trying to be civil—after all, the queen had helped Arith to the Feeding Grounds—Lorana stretched out her hand and said, “I’m Lorana.”
The other eyed her hand dubiously but did not take it. “Tullea, Weyrwoman second,” she said, still looking like she’d just bitten into a bitterfruit. “Salina asked me to check on you,” she added in a tone that made it clear what she thought of that imposition.
“That was very kind of Salina,” Lorana replied, desperately trying to place the name but failing. She knew she’d heard it before, but she was too groggy to dredge up the memory.
“You don’t know who she is, do you?” Tullea asked accusingly.
“Her Breth is Arith’s dam,” Lorana temporized, feeling overwhelmed by the other woman’s manner.
“Salina is the senior Weyrwoman,” Tullea snapped. “Don’t you know anything?” She didn’t give Lorana time to respond before continuing, “Well, obviously you don’t. I can’t see what sort of help you’ll ever be. Perhaps it would be best if—”
Minith erupted in a loud disapproving roar, cutting Tullea off. Tullea looked up at her dragon, her eyes softening somewhat.
“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve upset her.”
“I’m sorry,” Lorana muttered. Silently, she said to Minith, My apologies, gold dragon.
Minith gave Lorana a pert nod, eyes whirling red-green.
Lorana turned her attention to Arith, partly out of desperation. Are you all done?
One more, please! The dragonet pleaded.
Lorana couldn’t help smiling. “Very well, silly,” she said aloud.
“If your dragon gorges, don’t come to me!” Tullea said, climbing up to Minith’s neck. “I’ve better things to deal with.”
With a great bound of her hind legs, Minith leaped into the air and beat her way up out of the Bowl. Once clear she blinked out of existence between.
Lorana watched the maneuver with her eyes wide. The adult queen was so graceful and her movements so beautiful.
Soon I’ll be able to do that, Lorana marveled to herself, her thoughts going back to her splendid Arith. She had discovered with her fire-lizards that they knew how to go between from the moment they were born. Training them to come back, to go where she wanted, had taken many months of hard work. She knew from the Teaching Ballads that Arith had the same innate talent—in fact, she had just demonstrated it by going between to the Feeding Grounds—but it would take careful training over several Turns for Lorana to be able to ride her precious gold between to places of her own choosing.
Still, she entertained visions of rising into the air, blinking into the cold between and out again—anywhere on Pern.
Her heart gave a lurch as she realized the vistas her newfound freedom offered. She reached out with her mind to her dragon and made her presence tenderly felt. A rebounding wave of affection swept back to her from Arith. Lorana’s vision suddenly misted as her eyes brimmed with joyful tears.
A moment later, she felt Arith quench her thirst with the hot blood of a herdbeast, felt her dragonet rend the flesh of the small beast, and felt her swallow without so much as a bite.
Chew! Lorana told her sternly.
I’m hungry, Arith complained. Lorana could feel the little gold’s hunger, lessened by the two other herdbeasts she had consumed.
Greedy guts! Lorana thought back. She felt Arith’s amusement and self-satisfaction. That’s your last one.
Lorana felt Arith tense up in nascent disobedience.
I mean it, she warned the dragonet with the same fierce intensity she’d used to her fire-lizards. Biting back a pang of grief over their loss, she sent a second firm order to Arith.
All right, Arith allowed.
A burst of cold above Lorana heralded the hatchling’s return through between.
Arith landed quickly, stumbled just a bit, and immediately proceeded to stroll nonchalantly up to Lorana with a very obvious I-meant-to-do-that swagger. Lorana laughed at her, reaching down indulgently to scratch the dragonet’s eye ridges.
Ah, that’s better, Arith sighed.
“They’re not really supposed to go between until they’re much older,” a voice said beside her. It was K’tan.
Lorana smiled fondly at her little queen and stood up to face the Weyr healer.
“It’s all right, I knew where she was,” Lorana said.
“Even between?” he asked, eyebrows arched in surprise.
Still smarting from her encounter with Tullea, Lorana bit back her immediate irritated response and settled for, “Well . . . yes.”
“Impressive,” K’tan remarked.
“Kindan told me that you needed to talk with me several sevendays ago,” Lorana said hastily, “but I’m afraid with Arith—”
K’tan held up a hand, shaking his head. “No need to apologize.” He turned toward Arith, then turned back inquiringly to Lorana. “May I look at her?”
Lorana nodded.
K’tan’s inspection was swift and gentle. He ran his hands from her head down her neck, to her forelegs, across her distended belly, and on to her withers and tail.
“She’s making her own kills already?” he asked, his face showing surprise.
“That’s not normal?” Lorana asked in response. “The fire-lizards usually need several sevendays of hand-feeding, but I thought dragons—”
“Dragons are not so different,” he said. He stood up, backed away from the young queen, and shook his head admiringly.
“She’s beautifully proportioned,” he announced at last, adding with a grin, “barring her stomach.”
Lorana felt herself grinning back in relief. She arched her neck to scan the weyrs around the Bowl, spotted one brown head looking down at them, and waved at the dragon she knew was Drith. Drith twitched, startled that she had recognized him, and nodded back at her.
“He’s quite a beauty,” Lorana said.
K’tan, who had followed her gaze, laughed. “Indeed he is,” he agreed, his voice full of fondness for his dragon. Then he changed the subject back: “You say you knew where she was?”
Lorana nodded.
“How do you do that?”
Lorana thought for a moment, then shrugged apologetically. “I don’t
know how; I just do,” she said.
“There she is!”
Lorana looked up. A tall, graceful, older woman was striding quickly toward them, accompanied by M’tal, the Weyrleader.
“Is it true that you can talk to any dragon?” M’tal asked when they arrived.
Lorana nodded. “Yes, Weyrleader.”
“Excellent!” M’tal said.
“What is it like?” the woman asked. Lorana realized that this was Salina herself, Breth’s rider and Benden’s Weyrwoman.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” she began slowly. “I could talk to my fire-lizards of course—” She made a sad face at their mention, but continued on. “—so I guess I just didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to be able to talk to all dragons.”
Salina nodded encouragingly. Lorana groped for words, and found them. “It’s like being in a room full of your best friends.”
Her eyes lit as she peered up at all the weyrs above and the dragons looking back down at her.
“Sometimes I hear individual conversations, sometimes I don’t,” she said. “I don’t pry,” she added hastily, “and would never eavesdrop. But most of the time the dragons talk amongst themselves, you know.”
“They do?” Salina’s eyes widened in surprise. She glanced up to where her Breth lay. “Well, I suppose I’d never thought about it, but they do have a lot of time on their hands.”
“At least until Thread falls,” M’tal said. He asked Lorana, “Can you talk to watch-whers, too?”
“Watch-whers?” Lorana repeated. She shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve never tried.”
“Hmm,” M’tal murmured thoughtfully.
“If she can talk to all dragons, I would be surprised if she couldn’t talk to all watch-whers, too,” K’tan put in.
“ ‘A room full of your best friends,’ ” Salina repeated, mulling over Lorana’s words. “Why are they your best friends?”
“Maybe they aren’t,” Lorana admitted with a frown. “But they seem like it. They’re all so nice and courteous and always asking about me and Arith.”
“Well, that’s to be expected—you’re a queen rider now,” Salina said, with a touch of tartness in her tone.
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