Dragonheart

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  Fiona straightened her shoulders with pride and turned to Terin.

  “They got there,” she said. The youngster looked at her as if she’d just pronounced water wet.

  It seemed only moments later that the older weyrlings were back, tying on their second load of firestone. Again they tested it. This time one sack fell off and a shamefaced green rider returned to the ground, retrieved the fallen sack, tied it securely, and tested once more. When all was in order, J’gerd gave the signal again and they went between, J’gerd first sketching a salute to Fiona. Fiona smiled and, gesturing for Terin to follow her, entered the firestone room.

  Inside, she quickly collected all the younger weyrlings.

  “Great work, everyone,” she said to them, eyeing them all carefully. They were hot and sweaty, looking very much worse for their efforts. And yet, in a real Fall, they’d need to prepare at least eight bags of firestone for each dragon, and they’d only prepared three. “We’ve got at least an hour before we’ll need to do more,” she told them. Their faces brightened until Fiona held up a hand in caution. “But I think we should ready another load of firestone, just in case.”

  “But we won’t need it!” a voice grumbled in the crowd.

  “Today maybe,” Fiona said. “But sure as Thread falls from the sky, the dragons will be needing firestone soon. What harm is there in being ready?”

  “She sounds just like T’mar,” the same voice grumbled.

  “She should, she’s a Weyrwoman,” another voice answered. Fiona recognized that voice as F’jian.

  “F’jian, take charge,” she said. “I want to talk with the Weyrwoman.” With that, she turned and moved out briskly, her thoughts racing even more quickly.

  It seemed foolish to her, with the illness and so few weyrlings, for the Weyr to rely on them alone for firestone. And what would happen if the older weyrlings got the illness or were injured? Who would fly the firestone then? Perhaps some of the less injured dragons could do it. Or perhaps K’lior’s thought of having healthy riders ride sick riders’ dragons would fill the gap. She needed to talk to Cisca.

  “They won’t be up for it,” Fiona blurted as soon as she found the Weyrwoman where she was supervising the laying out of the first-aid area along with Kentai and Ellor.

  Instead of asking who or what, Cisca merely nodded. “What should we do about it?”

  “Can we organize some of the weyrfolk?” Fiona asked. She lowered her voice to be certain that no one else heard her next words. “We don’t know if the illness will affect the younger dragons. We must be prepared.”

  “Actually,” Cisca corrected her, “we do know that it will affect them.” Fiona looked puzzled, until Cisca continued, “We know that Lorana’s Arith is infected.”

  “Oh, yes,” Fiona replied sadly. She glanced toward her weyr, where Talenth was eyeing the bustle in the Weyr Bowl with great interest.

  “We can do it,” Ellor said. “We’ll have to use more of the youngsters, though.”

  “Good idea,” Cisca said. She turned to Fiona. “And with the work set more squarely on the weyrfolk, you’ll be able to help me with more of my chores.”

  Oddly, the thought cheered Fiona. Cisca caught her look and winked at her.

  “In fact . . .” she began, glancing around at the activity of the Weyr Bowl, “I think that perhaps you and I should make a quick inspection while we still have the time.”

  “Inspection?” Fiona repeated, wondering what the Weyrwoman was talking about. A rustle of wings surprised her further, even more so when gold Melirth settled on the ground next to them.

  “Run and get your riding things!” Cisca ordered, turning to the chair on which she’d draped her wher-hide jacket, leather helmet, and gloves.

  Fiona raced back to her quarters, waved cheerfully at Talenth, rushed into her rooms, and opened the closet where she’d placed the riding leathers that she’d been given, in all due ceremony, at Turn’s End. She was surprised to realize that that had been less than three weeks ago. She grabbed what she needed and raced back out.

  “She’s big and you’re small,” Cisca said, eyeing her queen with obvious delight, “so I’ll give you a hand up.”

  It was less elegant than that, but finally, with a certain amount of undignified pushing on the part of Fort’s senior Weyrwoman, Fiona managed to catch the riding straps and crawl up on Melirth’s neck. A moment later she was joined by Cisca.

  “Are you ready?” Cisca asked, leaning over Fiona’s shoulder.

  “Where are we going?” Fiona asked, looking around the Weyr Bowl quickly, seeing the startled look on Xhinna’s face and the eager looks of the younger weyrlings.

  “I can’t have you not doing your duty as Weyrwoman just because your dragon’s too young to fly,” Cisca told her sternly, adding with a chuckle, “And I haven’t been in the air for days.”

  With that, Melirth leapt, her great wings easily propelling them up high and out of the Bowl. They paused only long enough to dip a wing at the watch dragon by the Star Stones, and then Fiona was engulfed in the cold of between.

  Are you all right? Talenth asked anxiously.

  I’m fine, Fiona replied and was surprised to realize that she was. It was the first time that between seemed merely normal, almost comforting. She had only an instant to adjust to the new feeling before they burst out again into the sunlight.

  Above her, Fiona could see twelve dragons spread in a loose V formation. Each dragon had a pair of firestone sacks dangling below them.

  “We’re here!” Fiona cried, suddenly understanding Cisca. “We’re watching the weyrlings deliver the firestone!”

  “Part of your job, Weyrwoman,” Cisca said into her ear. “Pay attention and see if they’re doing it right.”

  Of course they were: they’d already done it once that morning. The purpose of the trip, Fiona realized, was not so much for her to check up on the weyrlings as for Cisca to show her how the weyrlings should be passing firestone.

  The maneuver was quite tricky, Fiona decided as she watched one of the fighting dragons catch up with a weyrling, come alongside, get the weyrling’s attention and then, with a heart-stopping flip of the wings, dive in a spiral to a position directly underneath the weyrling, near the firestone sack.

  The load was transferred neatly from weyrling to dragonrider, and then the two veered away from each other, the weyrling’s dragon lurching slightly from the sudden weight reduction.

  “Well done,” Cisca murmured in Fiona’s ear. Fiona nodded in agreement. “Watch carefully: the trick’s the same for the flame throwers we’ll be using.”

  “We don’t have enough queens,” Fiona protested, trying to imagine herself and Talenth accomplishing the maneuver.

  “Yet,” Cisca said with a laugh.

  They watched until all the weyrlings had relinquished their loads and then Cisca called, “Hold on tight!”

  Suddenly Melirth’s great wings were pumping with more power than Fiona could imagine and the great queen lurched forward in the sky, arcing up to a nearly upside-down position before sweeping back in the other direction and taking up a position directly in front of the weyrlings.

  Fiona felt more than heard the surprise and pleasure of the weyrling dragons behind her.

  “We’re taking them home,” Cisca called. Fiona felt Cisca change her balance as she raised an arm and gave the universal signal to go between.

  We’re coming back now, Fiona told Talenth as the cold nothingness that was between engulfed her once more.

  You had fun! Talenth said, sounding both pleased and accusing. They burst out into the air above Fort Weyr, right at the Star Stones. The watch dragon bugled a greeting as Melirth zoomed past and then began a spiraling, leisurely descent back into the Weyr.

  Yes, I did! Fiona agreed happily.

  * * *

  That evening Xhinna was so obviously sore from all her efforts that Fiona insisted the younger girl take her bath first.

  “Don’t put on your ni
ghtgown when you get out,” Fiona ordered, “I’m going to put some salve on your back.”

  Xhinna didn’t even protest as Fiona slathered her back with the sticky salve. Finally, Fiona sent her to bed and took her own bath. When she was done, she found Xhinna already asleep, lightly snoring.

  Sometimes, Fiona thought happily to herself in a drowsy languor just before sleep overtook her, it’s like we’re sisters. It was a pleasant thought and Fiona squirmed up closer to Xhinna as she settled into sleep; it was still midwinter and the warmth of another body was perfect.

  When Fiona awoke the next morning, Xhinna was still sound asleep. She decided to leave her; she knew that, despite Xhinna’s protests, the girl had worked herself ragged the day before.

  Stepping into Talenth’s weyr, she checked on her sleeping mate, quietly oiled a new flaky patch that she’d been eyeing, and made her way out onto the ledge and into the Weyr Bowl.

  The sun had crested over the easterly ridge of Fort Weyr, but there were still heavy banks of fog rising from the Bowl itself. Still, Fiona had no trouble negotiating her way to the Dining Cavern.

  “Fiona!” Cisca hailed her as she entered. Fiona looked around and saw the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman seated by themselves at one of the regular tables. Cisca was beckoning to her. Fiona waved back and trotted over to sit beside them.

  “We don’t have enough weyrlings,” K’lior began without preamble, not even looking up from the roll he was buttering. He was dressed in a worn tunic and looked haggard.

  “No,” Fiona agreed.

  “K’lior! Let her eat!” Cisca said, pushing the rolls toward Fiona and offering, with a quirk of her eyebrow, to pour the klah.

  “It’s okay,” Fiona said after her first gulp of klah. Cisca glanced pointedly to K’lior before glancing back to see if Fiona understood. Fiona didn’t, but she gathered that the Weyrwoman wanted her to eat before she spoke again, so she took a roll herself and began to butter it quietly.

  “Cisca,” K’lior murmured warningly to his mate.

  “Shh,” Cisca said firmly in response. “Eat! Talk after.”

  “We need an answer before the others get here,” K’lior grumbled before returning dutifully to his eating.

  Fiona bit into her roll, still hot and melting the butter, chewed reflexively, swallowed, and asked, in defiance of Cisca’s warning looks, “How many weyrlings would we need?”

  “A Flight of flying weyrlings would be best,” Cisca said, raising a hand to keep K’lior from answering.

  “They need to have at least a Turn from the Egg, right?”

  “More would be better,” Cisca said in agreement. “In easier times, we wouldn’t have them lifting firestone until they have at least two Turns.”

  “Don’t want to overstrain them,” K’lior put in.

  “The younger ones will need another ten months before they can help,” Fiona observed, realizing that she and Talenth would start their training at about the same time.

  “Queens wait longer,” Cisca told her warningly.

  “In good times,” Fiona pointed out.

  “And these are not good times?” Cisca asked with a grin.

  “You’re to start training with the weyrlings, too,” K’lior told Fiona abstractedly.

  “I’m responsible for her training, Weyrleader,” Cisca reminded him, adding a playful poke to remove any sting in her words.

  “So tell her!” K’lior said, flinching from her fingers.

  “You’re to train with the weyrlings,” Cisca said, turning back to administer another fast playful poke to her mate.

  “Can I?” Fiona’s eyes shone with excitement. “That’d be great.” K’lior snorted humorously.

  “How did it work with T’mar and Tajen?” Fiona asked, returning to the original problem.

  “Well enough,” K’lior said. “But that solves only part of the problem.”

  “And we still don’t know if one dragon will let another ride it.”

  “Can’t you test that?” Fiona wondered. The other two looked at her. “Can Cisca ride Rineth?”

  The two gave her startled looks. Fiona wondered what was wrong with her suggestion.

  “Better a brown rider on a bronze,” K’lior said after a moment. Seeing Fiona’s perplexed look, he explained, “I’d be surprised if a bronze would let a woman ride him.”

  “Any more than I could see a man on a queen,” Cisca said by way of agreement.

  “Of course,” K’lior added reflectively, “no one has ever tried, so I can’t be certain it wouldn’t work.”

  Cisca’s eyes narrowed as she said thoughtfully, “I wonder if Rineth would let me ride him?”

  K’lior shrugged. “I’d prefer it if you never have to find out.”

  “Me, too,” Cisca agreed fervently.

  “What did you do last Threadfall?” Fiona asked, her mind still working on the question before them.

  “We used the older weyrlings and rotated a wing from each of the flights,” K’lior told her.

  “We left you to handle the problem yourself yesterday because we wanted to give you the chance to come up with a better solution,” Cisca explained to Fiona.

  “And we have so few dragons now that a wing would be a big loss to our fighting strength,” K’lior added.

  “Especially with the illness,” Cisca added bitterly. She glanced at K’lior consideringly, then added, “I think we’re going to lose Yerinth and Casunth today.”

  K’lior nodded, his expression set.

  “H’nez will stay with F’vin, and M’valer says he has someone with S’pevan,” Cisca added.

  “Thank you for that,” K’lior said, acknowledging Cisca’s foresight.

  “We’ve got another forty or more who are feverish,” Cisca continued unhappily.

  “How many will be ready for this Fall?”

  “If it comes to the worst, a little more than a full Flight,” Cisca told him. “But that would be spread out amongst the wings.”

  “A Flight,” K’lior repeated with anguish in his voice.

  “We’ll find a cure,” Fiona said, surprising herself. “We have to. What about Benden Weyr? Have we any news from them?”

  “They found a room,” Cisca said after a moment of silent communion with her dragon. “Melirth tells me that Gaminth says they are searching it.”

  “See? Then they’ll find a cure,” Fiona predicted confidently.

  “In the meantime,” Cisca said, looking pointedly at K’lior to get his full attention, “it is up to us, Weyrleader and Weyrwomen, to keep up our spirits.”

  “I agree,” K’lior said. “If we lose hope, then all the Weyr will lose hope.”

  Fiona’s mind was back on the issue of firestone. “How much firestone can one of the larger dragons carry?” Weyrleader and Weyrwoman looked at her expectantly, so she continued, “Could one of the browns or bronzes carry enough for a full wing?”

  “Just detach a dragon from the wing to get the firestone?” K’lior repeated to see if he was following Fiona’s line of thought. When she nodded, Cisca brightened, saying, “That could work!”

  “It’d be difficult for the wing, though,” K’lior said consideringly. “They’d lose cohesion, which would make fighting Thread harder.”

  “They’d have to train for it,” Cisca agreed. K’lior frowned.

  “But wouldn’t they have the same problem if a dragon or rider got injured?” Fiona asked.

  “Yes, they would,” K’lior agreed. His expression brightened. “Your suggestion certainly could work.”

  “I think you should try it out tomorrow,” Cisca said.

  “Why not today?” K’lior asked in surprise.

  A bugle and the sound of dragons keening erupted in the Weyr Bowl outside.

  “Yerinth has gone between,” Cisca responded.

  A moment later the keening increased to a higher pitch.

  “Casunth?” K’lior asked.

  Cisca nodded sadly.

  The loss of two
more dragons to the illness cast a pall on the entire Weyr. Fiona found some solace in oiling Talenth’s hide, and for a change it was frustrating that the queen’s skin had very few of the dangerous dry patches.

  She was happy to be interrupted by a voice from outside her ledge calling, “Weyrwoman? Wingleader T’mar sends his compliments and asks if you and Talenth would join the weyrlings in the morning drill.”

  “We’d be delighted!” She called to Xhinna, “Xhinna, we’re going to drill with the weyrlings! Join us if you want!”

  “I don’t have a dragon!” Xhinna called back grumpily.

  “You can pretend!” Fiona answered with a grin.

  Talenth insisted once more on launching herself from her ledge and gliding down to the Bowl proper before trotting over to the weyrlings arrayed outside their barracks.

  “Weyrwoman,” T’mar greeted her as she joined the group. “If you’d please drill with the younger group.”

  “Can’t we have her with us?” J’gerd asked. The rest of the older weyrlings added their agreement.

  “No,” T’mar told them firmly. “Talenth is of the same clutch as the youngsters; the drill is appropriate to her age.”

  “But she’s bigger than any of them!” an older weyrling protested. “That’s because she’s a queen, dimglow!” F’jian snapped in response.

  “Where would you like us?” Fiona asked.

  “A queen’s position is either in front of a wing or in the middle of the wing,” T’mar told her. “Today, I’d like you in the middle so that you and your dragon can observe the others.

  “But,” he continued, spreading his attention amongst all the younger weyrlings, “until you riders know your drill, your dragons will stand aside.” A chorus of groans rose from the younger weyrlings, but was silenced by T’mar’s order: “Form up!”

  Fiona watched in surprise as the weyrlings started to line up in a large V formation until she heard a voice whisper loudly, “You’re supposed to be in the center!”

  Fiona flushed and then rushed to find her position. At the front, F’jian craned his neck around at the formation, then called to T’mar, “Ready for drill!”