Dragonsblood

by Todd McCaffrey

  She turned to B’nik. “Weyrleader, bring the miners back. Let us find the other rooms. They might be our only hope.”

  “And if they aren’t,” M’tal added glumly, “then at least we’ll know the worst.”

  B’nik raised his eyes bleakly to M’tal. “Send for the miners, please.”

  “T’mar!” K’lior exclaimed as the bronze rider dismounted from his dragon, a grin spread from ear to ear. K’lior hurtled over to the other rider and grabbed him in a gleeful hug.

  “How did it go?” K’lior asked, pushing himself back from the grinning bronze rider, oblivious to the rest of the Weyr surrounding them and hanging on their every word.

  T’mar’s grin slipped, and K’lior noticed for the first time the deep bags under the bronze rider’s eyes. K’lior stepped back and took a thorough inventory of the rider and the rest of the dragonriders who had returned from their three-year sojourn between back in time to the empty Igen Weyr of over ten Turns ago. T’mar looked fit, tanned, and healthy—but bone-weary.

  “I would never recommend it, Weyrleader,” T’mar replied, fighting to keep on his feet, “except in direst circumstances.

  “The dragons were fine, but even the youngest riders felt . . . stretched and constantly drained,” he went on. “I even had fights among the injured riders, tempers were that frayed by timing it.”

  He gave his Weyrleader a strained look.

  “We were in the same time for too long, we could hear echoes of our younger selves, it was—” He shook his head, unable to find further words.

  “But you’re here now,” K’lior said, surveying the full-strength wings landing behind him in the Bowl.

  T’mar straightened and smiled, his hand sweeping across the Bowl. “Weyrleader, I bring you one hundred and twenty-two fighting dragons.”

  “Good,” K’lior replied firmly, clapping T’mar on the shoulder. “Get them bedded down and then get some rest.” He spoke up for the crowd. “We’ve Thread to fight in three days’ time.” He turned back to T’mar. “I can let you rest tomorrow, but we’ll have to start practicing the next day.”

  “Thread in three days?” T’mar asked, puzzled. “Did I time it wrong?”

  “No,” K’lior replied. “You timed it perfectly. We’re going to help Ista Weyr.” He beckoned to his wingsecond, P’dor, to join them.

  “In fact,” he said as P’dor drew close, “we’re going to help all the Weyrs.” He nodded to P’dor. “Let them know what we’ve done and discovered.”

  P’dor jerked his head in acknowledgment and turned away.

  “Wait!” T’mar called after him. “You’ll need my reports.”

  K’lior raised a hand to dissuade him, but T’mar shook his head, lifting his carisak from his side. “I wrote ’em out before we left.”

  “Excellent!” K’lior replied enthusiastically. Then he wagged a finger at the exhausted bronze rider. “Now, get some rest.”

  “I’m sorry, J’ken, but I can’t risk it,” B’nik said solemnly to the stricken bronze rider. “Turn your wing over to T’mac.”

  “But it’s just a cough!” J’ken exclaimed desperately, turning to M’tal, Ketan, and the others for support. “And you need every fighting dragon—”

  “Exactly,” B’nik cut across him. “I can’t risk any accidents. That’s why J’tol and half my wing aren’t flying, either. Limanth has the sickness, so you and he won’t fly Thread.”

  “I made the mistake once,” M’tal added. “And you remember what a disaster that was.”

  J’ken hung his head in resignation.

  “You can help with the weyrlings,” B’nik offered consolingly. “That will free up P’gul to fly with Kirth.”

  J’ken gave him a stricken look, swallowed, and nodded wearily.

  With a jerk of his head to M’tal, B’nik strode away to supervise the rest of the Weyr in its preparation for Threadfall over Benden.

  Ketan and Lorana exchanged looks. He cocked his head toward B’nik and raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. Lorana sighed and strode off after B’nik.

  “B’nik!” she called out. The Weyrleader stopped and turned back to her, waving M’tal along.

  “This is the last time,” B’nik promised, answering her unspoken question, his expression bleak, his hands raised halfway in entreaty. “M’tal will lead the next Fall.”

  Lorana nodded and grabbed his hands in hers. “Be careful.”

  “I will,” B’nik promised. “For all our sakes.”

  “And when you get back, you’ll tell Tullea,” she said.

  B’nik let out a deep sigh and nodded. He turned away from her, toward his dragon.

  “Weyrleader!” she called after him. “Safe Fall!”

  B’nik raised his arm in salute.

  Lorana was surprised to find, after an hour’s searching, that Kindan was in the Weyr’s Records Room once more.

  “I thought we’d exhausted this approach,” she remarked as she entered the room and dropped into a chair.

  Kindan looked up from his reading and flashed her a hesitant smile.

  “We did,” he agreed. “I was just looking for maps of the Weyr to show to Dalor.”

  “No luck with that other door, then?”

  “No,” Kindan said, shaking his head ruefully. “But Dalor doesn’t want to use force just yet—he’s afraid of jamming the door shut.”

  “Wise,” Lorana agreed. She gestured toward the Records spread out in front of him. “Any luck?”

  Kindan shrugged and slumped further into his chair. “Not yet.”

  Dalor stuck his head in the door just then. “There’s a rock slide down the corridor here, did you know?”

  “Yes, that’s the one we talked about the last time you were here. It’s been that way for Turns,” Kindan replied. “Probably happened during the last Pass.”

  “I’d like to try to clear it,” Dalor said. “It might not be the right way, but it’s not far above the Oldtimer Room and the corridor walls look smooth, like the walls to the Oldtimer Room.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Lorana agreed.

  “Tullea won’t like the noise,” Kindan said.

  “She’ll change her tune when B’nik tells her,” Lorana murmured.

  “Tells her what?” Dalor asked. Kindan just looked at her.

  Lorana frowned, sighing. “Caranth has the illness.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell.

  “We’ll find the way through that other door,” Dalor declared firmly. With a nod, he turned and left, calling out orders to his miners.

  “He’ll make a good Masterminer,” Kindan said fondly.

  “Are you always plotting for your friends?” Lorana asked, grinning.

  “Only the good ones,” Kindan replied with a grin of his own. His mood changed. “Lorana, I want to apologize—”

  Lorana raised a hand and shook her head, silencing him. “We have more important things to consider.”

  “Not for me,” Kindan declared, looking her squarely in the face. “I love you. I—”

  “Kindan,” Lorana said softly. She rose from her chair and walked to stand behind his. In a flash, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “I love you, too,” she murmured into his ear. Then something on the Record he had been perusing caught her eye.

  “What’s that?” she asked, cocking her head critically and pointing to the lower corner of the Record.

  Kindan bent over to peer closely at the spot, then sat bolt upright. “That’s it! Those are the Oldtimer Rooms!”

  “It looks like there are three,” Lorana remarked, peering over his shoulder.

  “And it looks like the corridor that Dalor’s excavating should lead right into the big one,” Kindan agreed.

  “Words are not enough to express our thanks, Weyrleader,” J’lantir called as K’lior and three full-strength wings of Fort dragons burst into the air over Keroon.

  “You’d do the same if our roles were reversed,”
K’lior replied with a dismissive gesture. “After all, ‘Dragonmen must fly—’ ”

  Piyolth reports the leading edge of Thread, Lolanth relayed. Gaminth sends his regards.

  J’lantir peered and could see a group of Benden riders, with a bronze in the lead. He waved back to M’tal just before the Benden riders went between to return to Benden Weyr. The number of Benden dragons looked terribly small.

  “You’ve the greater number,” J’lantir called, turning back to K’lior, “would you lead the Fall?”

  K’lior inclined his head gracefully. “It shall be my honor.” He relayed his orders to the riders of the combined Weyrs. As one, dragons turned their heads to their riders, and riders fed them firestone. As one, the fighting dragons of Ista and Fort Weyr rose to defeat the deadly Thread.

  “Have M’tal give the coordinates back to the Weyr,” B’nik told a coughing, exhausted Caranth.

  I think that is wise, the dragon agreed. Gaminth says that M’tal asks if you’re all right. I told him it was me. He said to be careful and asked if we should just fly straight back.

  “Perhaps,” B’nik said out loud, patting Caranth’s neck fondly. “Are you up for it?”

  Another cough wracked Caranth. I think I would be better going between. Another cough and a cloud of green ooze engulfed B’nik. I don’t want to fly right now.

  B’nik thought furiously: If they went between and Caranth got lost, then they would be lost together; but if they flew straight back, Caranth might get even worse from the extra strain. Very well, B’nik told his dragon. We’ll follow Gaminth.

  Lorana says that she’ll be waiting, Caranth told him. She asked, the dragon volunteered before B’nik could upbraid him. She says you’ll have to tell Tullea.

  B’nik closed his eyes tightly at the thought.

  “Take this to Caranth as soon as they land,” Lorana said, pointing out the line of steaming buckets to the weyrlings. There were only two injured dragons, and both had minor injuries. On the other hand, two dragons had not returned from the Fall and eleven more were coughing with the sickness. “Make sure that B’nik gets him to drink them all, no matter how awful it tastes.”

  “Latest concoction?” Kindan asked, striding up to her from his conference with Dalor above the Records Room.

  Lorana grimaced. “It’s the same old concoction,” she admitted. “Only I added more menthol to ease their breathing—and a bit of coloring,” she added.

  Kindan quirked an eyebrow.

  “Well, sometimes just thinking that something’s going to work can make all the difference,” she explained forlornly.

  Kindan patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. “You’re doing your best,” he told her.

  “Then why are dragons still dying?” she cried, burying her head against him.

  “Lorana! Lorana come here now!” It was Tullea. Judging from the look on B’nik’s face, he’d just told her his grim news.

  “So how long have we got?” B’nik asked, looking around the table in the Records Room at Kindan, Ketan, Lorana, and M’tal.

  Kindan was the only one who would meet his eyes. He peered down at the slate in front of him, reluctant to hand it over to the Weyrleader.

  “What’s that?” B’nik asked, catching Kindan’s motion.

  “Well, it’s not complete,” Kindan temporized, “and the numbers are not in agreement, so I suspect some people must have ignored the first signs—”

  B’nik cleared his throat loudly and gestured for Kindan to get to the point.

  “It’s a list of the dragons we’ve lost,” Ketan said. “With guesses as to how long it was between the first signs of symptoms and when they . . .” his voice trailed off sadly.

  Kindan spoke into the awkward silence that followed. “As I said, I suspect that some of these numbers are off because the riders didn’t report the symptoms immediately.”

  “Three sevendays looks to be the longest,” Lorana said in a dead voice, looking up to meet B’nik’s eyes. “Since Caranth has already been coughing for a while . . .”

  “At least a sevenday,” B’nik told them quietly. He sat down quickly, resting his head on his hands, eyes closed. Lorana knew that he wasn’t talking with Caranth. A moment later he looked up at M’tal, eyes bright. “If anything happens, I want you to take over the Weyr.”

  “I would prefer it if events do not make that necessary,” M’tal responded, gesturing toward B’nik as though to hand back the privilege.

  “In any event,” B’nik continued, nodding gratefully to M’tal for his support, “I shall need you to lead the next Fall.” His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he forced himself to say, “Caranth is not up to it.”

  Lorana let out a sigh of relief. B’nik smiled glumly at her and turned his attention back to M’tal. “There aren’t that many fit to fly left.”

  “I know,” M’tal replied. He cast a glance at Ketan.

  “We lost another ten dragons last night—five didn’t even make it between, and their bodies are still in their weyrs,” the healer said. “At this rate, we’ll lose another twenty from the sickness before next Threadfall.”

  The others were too shocked to respond.

  “Tell him the rest,” Kindan said with a wave of his hand.

  “We’ve identified seven more sick dragons this morning,” Ketan said.

  “Seven!” B’nik was astonished.

  “It could be good news,” Lorana said hopefully. The others looked at her. “It could be a sign that the infection has peaked and that, after this, the numbers of new dragons catching the sickness will decrease—”

  “Only because there won’t be any dragons left,” Tullea interrupted sourly from the doorway. She strode in, glaring around the room. “Why wasn’t I informed of this meeting?”

  “You were resting,” B’nik explained.

  Tullea turned her attention to Lorana. “What are you doing here?”

  “She’s here at my request,” Kindan told her, his voice edged.

  “And mine,” B’nik added, gesturing for Tullea to take a seat. She remained standing.

  “How long has Caranth got?” Tullea demanded of Lorana.

  Lorana gestured to Ketan, indicating that he was properly the one to answer.

  “I’m asking you, dragonkiller,” Tullea snarled.

  “Tullea!” B’nik shouted, his voice carrying over the angry growls of the others. “You will apologize.”

  “Why?” Tullea responded silkily. “She killed her dragon, there’s no denying it.”

  “She was looking for a cure,” Kindan told her, his eyes flashing in anger.

  “If I had known, I would have done the same,” Ketan added. He nodded apologetically toward Lorana. “And she’s paid the price in full already, without your sniping.”

  Tullea bridled, clearly not anticipating the outrage she had provoked. “I am Weyrwoman here. You owe me allegiance, Healer!”

  Ketan stood up slowly, arching his fingers on the tabletop and leaning on them. “My duty to you, Weyrwoman, was the honor that bound a dragonrider to the rider of the senior queen,” he said, spitting out the words. “As I am no longer a dragonrider, who holds my allegiance is now subject to question.” He nodded to Lorana. “This lass has made the supreme sacrifice a queen dragonrider, any rider, can make for the Weyr—she has lost her dragon trying to save us all.”

  He stood, pushed his chair back and made a half-bow to Lorana before turning away from the table. “My allegiance does not require me to share a room with someone who will disparage her actions.”

  And without turning back, he left. Kindan got to his feet immediately behind him, dragging a stunned Lorana along.

  B’nik broke the shocked silence that followed. “What do you think you were doing?” he shouted at Tullea. “That was completely uncalled for!”

  The blood drained from Tullea’s face as she looked from B’nik to M’tal and back again, the full impact of her words registering as she absorbed their angry expre
ssions.

  When Tullea went looking for Lorana the next day to apologize—after a night of arguing with B’nik—she was infuriated to discover that Lorana’s quarters were empty, completely cleared out.

  “She’s moved,” Mikkala reported when Tullea upbraided her about it.

  “Where?” Tullea demanded.

  Mikkala was reluctant to answer; she bent over her stew and gave it a vigorous stir.

  “Mikkala,” Tullea repeated, her voice edged with a rising temper, “where is Lorana sleeping?”

  “I believe the harper offered her quarters,” Mikkala finally replied.

  With a frustrated groan, Tullea stamped her foot and rushed out of the Kitchen Cavern toward the harper’s quarters. Halfway there, she discovered Lorana, Kindan, M’tal, and B’nik clustered together in conversation.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded suspiciously, her peace mission forgotten.

  “News from Fort Weyr,” B’nik told her, his face bright and smiling.

  “From Fort?” Tullea barked. “I thought we’d agreed that no more dragonriders should come from other Weyrs.”

  “Lorana heard it from K’lior’s Rineth directly,” M’tal explained.

  “She can talk to any dragon, you know,” B’nik reminded her.

  Tullea’s expression was sullen. “So, what did Rineth have to say?” she asked Lorana.

  “Fort Weyr’s weyrlings and injured dragons timed it,” Lorana told her.

  “So?”

  “So they went back to old Igen Weyr, Turns before the start of the Pass, and spent three Turns there. They fought Thread at Keroon two days back.”

  “Weyrlings? Fought Thread?”

  “Not weyrlings any longer,” Kindan corrected. “Which is why K’lior had his Rineth contact Lorana. He asked her to spread the word to all the Weyrs. He suggests that if we follow his plan, we’ll be able to share time back before the Pass, get our injured dragons healed and weyrlings aged in time to fight the next Threadfall.”

  “If we sent back the older weyrlings—they should be able to time it—and the injured, we could add nearly two full wings of fighting dragons,” M’tal observed.