Dragonheart впп-8

by Тодд Маккефри

  “If Talenth doesn’t wake, would it be possible for me to go to Fort?”

  Cisca and K’lior exchanged a look.

  “I told you that she wasn’t all addled,” Cisca said to the Weyrleader.

  “I never said she was,” K’lior responded.

  “But,” — Fiona shook her head sadly — ”I don’t know how long Talenth will stay asleep.”

  “I’m sure you’ve got at least an hour yet,” Cisca assured her.

  “And if not,” K’lior added, “we’ll send word to P’der; he can bring you back and return to Fort Hold for the supplies.”

  “I’m sure it would help to have you there,” Cisca told her.

  “You could stop at the Hold while P’der goes to the Healer Hall,” K’lior observed. “That would save time.” He looked inward for a moment and then back up at Fiona. “T’mar and Zirenth are waiting for you.” He gestured to the Bowl outside. “You’d best get going.”

  “Thank you!” Fiona said, jumping up from her chair and rushing out.

  Cisca and K’lior watched her go. Then Cisca turned to the Weyrleader and said, “You know, if this is what she’s like when she’s tired . . .”

  K’lior laughed. “She’ll be like you when she’s recovered!”

  Cisca gave him a fierce look and poked at him. “Enough of that!”

  Compared to her dragonet, the bronze dragon waiting for her in the Weyr Bowl was immense. Zirenth craned his long neck around to peer at her as she came running over, and Fiona waved at him, feeling for the first time in a long while like a young girl again.

  T’mar waited for her beside Zirenth’s huge forefoot and helped her climb up onto the dragon’s neck.

  “Hold on to the strap, Weyrwoman,” T’mar said as he climbed up behind her. He wrapped one arm around her waist and grabbed the fighting strap with the other.

  “I’m used to riding behind,” Fiona warned him just as Zirenth flexed his huge hind legs and leapt into the air.

  “I know you are,” T’mar shouted to her as the great bronze’s wings beat down and lifted them up. “I thought you might like to have a taste of what it will be like riding your own dragon.”

  My own dragon! Fiona thought, her eyes seeking out Talenth’s weyr. Talenth will be bigger than this puny bronze, she thought with a pride so fierce that it surprised, then gratified her.

  “Thank you,” she called back as Zirenth rose up out of the Bowl. She saw T’mar’s hand as he waved to the watch dragon perched near the Star Stones and then they were gliding down, into the valley below the Weyr spires.

  “Are you ready?” T’mar called to her.

  Fiona raised her arm and pumped it in the ancient dragonriders’ signal of readiness.

  A freezing blackness suddenly gripped her, but Fiona was ready for it. Between only takes as long as it does to cough three times, she reminded herself.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  They burst out high over Fort Hold and Fiona couldn’t help shouting for joy at the sight.

  “You’ll do this on your own before you know it, Weyrwoman,” T’mar promised her.

  Fiona’s shout turned into a noise of pure exhilaration as Zirenth banked sharply and spiraled on down to the landing between the Harper Hall and the Hold. Then Zirenth was on the ground, and T’mar jumped down and raised his hands to catch Fiona. She smiled as he deftly lowered her to the ground.

  “You’ve got the longer journey,” T’mar said as he stepped away from her.

  “I’m the younger,” Fiona reminded him with an impish grin.

  T’mar had no reply and merely shook his head before waving her on her way.

  “If I’m done before you, I’ll come up to the Hold,” T’mar said as he strode away.

  Fiona turned away from him and toward the path up to the Hold. It was a pleasant walk, although she was surprised to realize how tiring it was for her.

  Too much time lazing around, she decided.

  As Fiona climbed the path that led up to Fort Hold proper, she eagerly examined the streets branching off on either side toward the crafthalls and small cotholds, looking for any of the many Fort Holder children she knew and had played with, but there was no sign of them. It’s lunchtime, she reminded herself, working to keep her good mood.

  Still, the memories of the rare times she’d managed to get away from her father’s watchful gaze — and where had he been? — were among her happiest: hunting tunnel snakes in the bowels of the Hold; getting wet and muddy at the nearest lake; chasing sheep with the herders and herd dogs — all the things that a rambunctious child, though perhaps not the Holder’s daughter, would do when not in fear of a scolding.

  The first guard she saw at the Hold’s main gate was someone she did not recognize. Fiona forced a frown off her face — if she hadn’t Impressed, she would know who this new man was. She was just about to introduce herself when another guard rushed down from the watchtower, calling, “Lady Fiona!”

  It was Jelir, one of the men who had survived the Plague with her father and Kindan. He and Stennel had carried the dead off to the massed graves, Fiona recalled.

  “Your father’s not here, my lady,” Jelir told her as she approached him. He gestured back down the path. “He’s down at the Harper Hall.” The guard next to him smirked, only to have Jelir round sharply on him. “Nellin, this is Lady Fiona, the Lord Holder’s daughter.”

  Nellin sobered up immediately, murmuring, “Didn’t mean no harm, my lady.”

  What was so funny about her father being at the Harper Hall? Fiona wondered. She shook herself, remembering her task. “I’ve come for some herbals,” she told the guards. “The dragons are sick.”

  “We’d heard,” Jelir replied. “All the fire-lizards are gone.”

  “Well, don’t let us hold you up, my lady,” Nellin said, waving her inside. “From the sounds of it, you’ve got urgent business.”

  Fiona nodded and, with a final wave, made her way through the Hold gates, through the courtyard, and up to the Great Hall gates, which were open to let in the afternoon air.

  She was pleased to find Neesa ensconced in the kitchen, and for a brief moment, Fiona felt as though she were a young Lady Holder again, and not a Weyrwoman on an urgent mission.

  “Lady Fiona, what a surprise!” Neesa exclaimed when she spotted her. “Can you stay long?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t,” Fiona said. “I’ve come from the Weyr to beg for some herbals for the dragons.”

  “So it’s real, then?” Neesa asked. “We know about the fire-lizards, of course.”

  “It’s real,” Fiona confirmed. “We’ve five up at Fort Weyr who are coughing. And already at least three have gone between from all the Weyrs, including Breth, Benden’s queen.”

  “And the herbals will help?” Neesa asked, her eyes full of concern. “Thread’ll be coming soon enough.”

  “We don’t know if the herbals will help,” Fiona said. “But they include echinacea and ginger — ”

  “Marla!” Neesa called. “Drat, where is she? She’s as bad as your — ”

  “Pardon?” Fiona asked. She hadn’t been looking at Neesa, but rather in the direction she was calling.

  “Oh, nothing!” Neesa replied quickly. “It’s just that your father is never around when needed either.”

  Fiona felt sure that there was more to it than that, but she really didn’t have time to wheedle the rest of the news out of the head cook, particularly as a youngster, little younger than Fiona herself, came rushing into the kitchen at that moment.

  “Marla, take Fiona down to the stores,” Neesa ordered. “She’s to have anything she needs. It’s Weyr business.”

  Marla looked confused, frightened, and amazed all at once. “Weyr business?” she repeated.

  “Surely you remember Fiona, the Lord Holder’s daughter,” Neesa said acerbically. “And wouldn’t a curtsy be in order?”

  Marla hastily curtsied, her face going bright red with embarras
sment. “My lady,” she said as she dipped down, then flushed even more. “I mean, Weyrwoman.”

  “Not to worry,” Fiona said with a smile and a gesture to ease the other’s discomfort. “I am in a bit of a hurry, so . . .”

  Marla stared at her for a moment, still bemused. Fiona took matters in her own hands. “Follow me, I know the way.”

  She led the way down to the medicinal storeroom. “We need echinacea the most, then ginger, cinnamon, comfrey, and hyssop,” she told Marla as she started pulling containers from cupboards built into the walls. The light in the room was dim. “Bring in one of the glows from outside.”

  “I don’t know,” Marla began hesitantly, but Fiona gave her a look that sent the young holder rushing out of the room.

  She returned a moment later with a glow basket, which she hung on a hook high up.

  “Much better,” Fiona said, rummaging through another likely storage bin. “I won’t take more than half of your supplies — ”

  “Half?” Marla squeaked, her eyes round.

  “Dragons are big, Marla,” Fiona reminded her with just a touch of exasperation in her voice. “They need much more per dose than humans.”

  “Did you think to ask the herders?” Marla said.

  Fiona shook her head. “We’ll do that if we need more.”

  “More?” Marla was astonished at the thought.

  Fiona found a carisak and started to stuff it with herbs, each stored in their own jar or box.

  “There!” she said briskly, shouldering the carisak. “That should be enough for a couple of days.”

  Marla was reduced to making small squeaking noises.

  “I’ll leave you to put the glow back,” Fiona said as she made for the door. “No need to follow, I’ll see myself out.”

  “Did you get everything?” Neesa asked as Fiona stopped back at the kitchen for a quick good-bye.

  “I only took half of what were in the stores,” Fiona told her, “just in case.”

  “Well,” Neesa said consideringly, “you can always come back for the rest if you need.”

  “We don’t even know if it works,” Fiona told her. “What we heard from Benden was that they were trying it.”

  “What are the ingredients again?” Neesa asked. Fiona rattled off the list. “That sounds right to me,” Neesa allowed, “not that I know all that much about dragons.”

  “I’m only just learning myself,” Fiona said.

  “You learn fast; you’ll know it all soon enough,” Neesa assured her.

  “I don’t know,” Fiona said, pursing her lips. “I seem to be so tired all the time.”

  “I suppose that’s natural, what with a new dragon and all,” Neesa allowed.

  “No,” Fiona said, shaking her head firmly, “it’s not.” She explained what Fort’s Weyrleader and Weyrwoman had told her, finishing, “So it seems that it’s worse than normal.”

  “But not just for you,” Neesa pointed out. “They said others were affected, too, weren’t they?”

  “Yes,” Fiona admitted bleakly. “But what if — ”

  “If it’s to do with this illness, then they’d have the same problem at the other Weyrs, wouldn’t they?” Neesa suggested. Fiona frowned at that, thoughtfully. “So all you’d have to do is ask the other Weyrs, wouldn’t you?”

  “I suppose,” Fiona conceded. She shook her head to clear off her morbid thoughts. She had a sackload of herbs to get back to the Weyr now. But before she could take her leave, a loud shout erupted from the Great Hall.

  “Father?” Fiona called, recognizing the voice of Lord Holder Bemin in full rage.

  “Fiona . . .” Neesa began, but Fiona had already raced out of the kitchen. Neesa followed the fleeing figure of the youngster and shook her head. She paused a moment, listening, then turned back to her pots. No matter what, she told herself, there’d be a meal wanted.

  “Fiona?” Lord Bemin called out when he spotted his daughter rushing toward him from the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come for some herbals,” Fiona replied, dropping her shoulder to show the carisak slung on it. “What are you doing bellowing like that? I haven’t heard you so angry since that time I got lost searching for tunnel snakes.”

  “Tunnel snakes would be better,” Bemin responded, his expression sour, brows furrowed thunderously.

  “Weren’t you at the Harper Hall?”

  “I was,” Bemin snapped.

  “Are you and Kelsa arguing again?” Fiona asked, her eyes dancing.

  Bemin sighed and seemed to deflate where he stood. Fiona was surprised to see the worry lines around his eyes.

  “She’s not upset about her gold?” Fiona wondered. Kelsa had Impressed a gold fire-lizard a number of Turns back and was quite attached to her. Fiona was certain Kelsa’s loss of Valyart had hit her hard. She also recalled that Kelsa and her father had made jokes about which bronze would fly when Valyart mated.

  Even though she was the Lord Holder’s daughter, or perhaps even more because she was the Lord Holder’s daughter, Fiona had spent a lot of her youth with the herdbeasts and animals of the Hold; more than once she had helped a ewe birthing a lamb, or a herdbeast with a breech birth, so reproduction held no secrets for her.

  And so it wasn’t difficult for her to take in her father’s stance and his bellowing, and come up with a shrewd guess: “Kelsa’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

  “We were talking names,” Bemin said by way of confirmation. “Kemma if a girl, Belsan if a boy.”

  Fiona did some quick thinking, her expression growing more radiant by the second. “You were going to tell me at the Hatching, weren’t you?”

  Bemin nodded.

  Fiona let out a cry of joy and ran up to hug her father.

  “That’s great news!” she exclaimed. She stepped back. “When Talenth is old enough, I’ll visit every day — ” She frowned, then corrected herself. “ — every sevenday at least!”

  She saw that her father still looked upset. “What?”

  “We fought,” Bemin told her. “I wanted the child raised at the Hold, to be the next Holder, particularly if it’s a boy.”

  Fiona could hear his unsaid words: particularly seeing as you’re now at the Weyr. She could guess how the discussion, then argument went, her father getting more and more irritated at Kelsa’s intransigence.

  She snorted. “Father, you’re talking about a kilometer’s difference! Don’t be such a ninny!”

  Bemin looked surprised at her response and opened his mouth to reply, but Fiona remembered her mission.

  “We can talk about this later,” she told him briskly. “These medicines can’t wait, and Talenth may wake up any moment now.” She patted his arm and rushed by, headed toward the great doors. “Don’t worry, it’ll work out just fine!”

  It was only when she was up on Zirenth’s back with T’mar and the dragon was thrusting up into the sky above Fort Hold that Fiona wondered bemusedly at her temerity in giving her own father advice on romance.

  Then Zirenth went between and she thought no more of it.

  After delivering the herbs, Fiona raced across the Weyr Bowl toward the Queens ’ Quarters and up the ramp to her weyr to find that Talenth was just stirring from her long nap.

  I itch, Talenth complained as soon as she spied Fiona. Fiona grabbed the bucket of oil and a brush and sought out the offending spot.

  There! Talenth told her with a sigh of contentment. The patch was easily seen and soon dealt with. Much better.

  Fiona smiled. “Only you could wallow in a simple oiling!”

  Nonsense, I’m sure all dragons do it! Talenth corrected her, craning her head around to look at Fiona, her faceted eyes whirling with a touch of worry. I’m not being mean to you, am I?

  Fiona rushed to Talenth’s head and grabbed it, snaking an arm up to scratch the dragon’s eye ridges. “No, of course not!” she told her dragon emphatically. “You’re the most wonderful, marvelous, amazing friend a person could ever ha
ve!”

  And you would tell me if I was being difficult, wouldn’t you?

  Fiona laughed. “As long as you’ll tell me if I’m being difficult.”

  You? Never! Talenth replied, twisting her head down a little. Just there. That feels great.

  Fiona chuckled at Talenth’s so readily apparent pleasure and redoubled her efforts.

  It had been less than two months, she mused to herself, and she couldn’t imagine life without Talenth.

  A loud cough from nearby startled her.

  As one, dragon and rider turned toward the sound.

  “Kalsenth,” Fiona murmured, her heart suddenly heavy in her chest.

  She’s not getting better, Talenth observed. What will happen if she doesn’t get better?

  Fiona shook her head, not daring to answer.

  SIX

  Brave dragons, fly high, fly true

  Gold, bronze, brown, green, and blue.

  FortWeyr , Seven Days Later, AL 507.13.22

  “There’s no need to worry about more herbals,” Tannaz said to Fiona as she entered Kalsenth’s weyr early that morning, bearing a steaming bucket full of the pleasant-smelling brew. “It’s not working.”

  Fiona began a protest, but the older woman silenced her with a raised hand. “It hasn’t worked at all these last three days.”

  Tannaz was a shrunken remnant of herself, eyes red-rimmed, hair oily and lank, her skin nearly hanging on her frame. She’d been up every night, twitching with every snort or cough her dragon made — and sometimes she’d started in terror to the sound of other dragons whose coughs echoed in the Weyr Bowl with an eery irrevocability, a harbinger of death.

  Kalsenth’s breath came and went in wheezes, punctuated erratically by louder coughs that wracked her great gold body from end to end; Fiona cringed to see the beautiful queen in such straits.

  “Tell Cisca that I want to move to a higher Weyr,” Tannaz said, turning away from Fiona and back to her dragon.

  “Tannaz . . . ?” Fiona began but the older, smaller Weyrwoman waved her away with a hand thrown up dismissively.

  In a mood that bordered on terror, Fiona left swiftly, calling to her dragon, Talenth, tell Cisca that Kalsenth has gotten worse.