Dragonheart впп-8

by Тодд Маккефри

  Xhinna’s eyes flashed, but she caught Fiona’s look and let the insult pass.

  Tannaz ate, although slowly and mechanically, her sick dragon looking on as best she could.

  “The food will do her good, too,” Melanwy said, jabbing a gnarled hand toward the dragon. She glanced at Fiona. “Good on you to find a way to get her to eat.”

  “She’s my friend,” Fiona said simply. Tannaz glanced more alertly in her direction and almost managed a smile. Fiona smiled back at her and told her, “You should get some rest.”

  “I’ll watch your dragon,” Melanwy declared.

  “Actually,” Fiona said, trying to sound as diplomatic as she could, “perhaps both of you should rest and we’ll watch Kalsenth.”

  “What about your dragon?” Melanwy protested.

  “She’s right next door,” Fiona said with a dismissive shrug. “I can pop right round to her if she needs. Besides, she’s sleeping. You know how they sleep,” she added fondly.

  “Weelll . . .” Melanwy drawled reluctantly, “I suppose a nap wouldn’t do either of us any harm.”

  “Quite right!” Fiona agreed emphatically, gesturing for Xhinna to guide Tannaz to bed and raising an arm invitingly to the old headwoman. “I’ll escort you to your quarters, if you’d like.”

  Melanwy glanced sourly after Xhinna, then shook her head and rose to her feet. “I can manage on my own,” she muttered as she tottered off.

  Xhinna helped Tannaz into her bed and covered her with a comforter, then returned to Kalsenth’s weyr. The sick queen lay curled up with her head wrapped in front of her body, resting on her tail.

  “You did well,” Fiona told her, patting Xhinna on the arm. “And you know the reward for a job well done?”

  Apparently Xhinna thought she did, for she groaned.

  But Fiona surprised her. “You can stay and watch Kalsenth,” she said, gesturing to the chair that Melanwy had vacated. “I’ll be next door with Talenth — call or come get me if you need me.”

  “But — ”

  “You’ll do fine,” Fiona assured her.

  “What if she dies while I’m watching?”

  “She won’t,” Fiona said firmly. She tried not to betray any doubt. “At least, I don’t think she will. Tannaz would wake up if that were to happen, I’m sure of it.”

  “But Melanwy wants to be here if she dies,” Xhinna protested. “She does?” Fiona asked, surprised.

  “She wanted to go with Nara and Hinirth,” Xhinna said. “She never forgave her for going between without her, so she’s hoping to go with Kalsenth.”

  “Why not one of the other dragons?” Fiona asked.

  “Only a queen will do for her,” Xhinna replied sourly.

  “Oh, I see!” It almost made sense. It wasn’t as though Melanwy were very comfortable in her old age and she must know that her wits were out of kilter, which must be hard on someone used to being regarded as an honored member of the community. Going between with a dragon and rider would be an honorable, dignified end for her.

  “Well, I’m hoping that she’s chosen the wrong dragon,” Fiona declared.

  Xhinna turned her head in the direction of Tannaz’s quarters, murmuring, “I hope so, too.”

  Against Xhinna’s dire pleadings, Fiona brought the weyrgirl to dinner in the Kitchen Cavern with her. She made Xhinna sit next to her, closest to Cisca, in the place that Tannaz would usually have taken.

  Cisca and K’lior nodded to the younger girl, and Cisca gave Fiona an inquiring look, but nothing was said until the desserts were served.

  “Weren’t you the girl who swiped a candidate’s robes and snuck onto the Hatching Grounds during the last Hatching?” K’lior asked as he heaped a large helping of apple crumble onto his plate.

  Xhinna tried to disappear by scrunching low into her seat, but her bright red face was evident to all.

  “I wish I’d thought of that,” Fiona declared.

  “She wasn’t the first, I assure you,” Kentai added with a wry grin. “It’s a long-established tradition in all the Weyrs.”

  “It didn’t work, though, did it?” Cisca asked, not looking at Xhinna but at Fiona. Her look was odd: Fiona couldn’t understand what she meant by it.

  “The dragons always know,” H’nez said from his place beside Kentai. “They know blue riders from bronze riders, too.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Fiona wondered.

  “I thought all the weyrfolk were allowed to stand on the Hatching Grounds when they’re of age,” she said, glancing at Kentai for confirmation.

  “We usually limit the number at each Hatching to not more than twice the eggs,” Cisca said as she took a forkful of her cake. Noticing Fiona’s curious look, she explained, “So as not to crowd the hatchlings or have too many pointless injuries.”

  “I won’t do it again,” Xhinna murmured, looking miserable.

  “Yes, you will,” Fiona declared, glancing fiercely in Cisca’s direction. “As long as you’ve the right.”

  The senior Weyrwoman met Fiona’s look steadily, then flicked a hand in acceptance.

  “I don’t want to make trouble,” Xhinna persisted.

  She looked ready to flee, so Fiona placed a hand over her wrist. “She helped me with Tannaz today,” she said quickly. “I’d like her to stay with me, to help.”

  Cisca’s furrowed her brow and gave K’lior a questioning look.

  “Stay with you?” H’nez repeated.

  “That way she could get things in the middle of the night if I have to stay with Tannaz or Kelsanth.”

  Cisca’s expression cleared and, beside her, K’lior nodded. “I don’t see any harm in it,” he said to the Weyrwoman.

  “You wouldn’t!” H’nez said with a derisive snort.

  “Actually,” Cisca declared, glancing directly at H’nez, “I think it’s an excellent idea, particularly with Kelsanth in such straits.” She turned back to Fiona. “I almost wish I had thought of it myself. After all, the weyrlings in the weyrling barracks get plenty of help, not just from each other but from their friends and family.”

  “A rider rides his own dragon,” H’nez retorted.

  “And makes his own straps, hauls his own firestone,” K’lior agreed equably. “But a rider doesn’t make his own food, or raise his offspring without help.” He reached across to clasp Cisca’s hand. “Fiona is alone here in the Weyr. It makes sense that someone raised here should help, particularly as Tannaz is indisposed at the moment.”

  “I think,” Cisca declared, “that even if Kelsanth were not sick, it would make sense to have someone available to help a queen rider.”

  “Like a drudge?” H’nez said with a sneer as he regarded Xhinna. “Certainly she fits the role.”

  “H’nez!” T’mar growled warningly.

  Fiona glared angrily at H’nez, then turned away from him to Cisca in a move that was an obvious dismissal and slight. The man might be a bronze rider and many Turns older than she, but he had a lot to learn about manners.

  “Fioonna,” Xhinna murmured fearfully beside her.

  “Weyrwoman, Weyrleader, thank you,” Fiona said with a polite nod for each. She pushed back her chair and rose, nudging Xhinna to do the same. “I think we’d best get back to my weyr so that we can assist Tannaz as she needs.

  “Harper,” she said, nodding to Kentai. Her gaze skipped over H’nez and rested on T’mar, as she said, “Wingleader.” With that, she turned sharply and, still clutching Xhinna’s arm, marched out of the cavern.

  “Discipline is much lacking in this Weyr,” she heard H’nez declare loudly after her.

  “As are manners,” Kentai agreed just as loudly. And, while she wasn’t sure if H’nez had recognized the harper’s tone, Fiona was certain as she walked away that the Weyr’s harper was not referring to her.

  They stopped to pick up dinner for Tannaz and Melanwy, then hurried off to the Weyrwoman’s quarters. When they arrived, they found Melanwy urging Tannaz to “Get in the bath, now! Yo
u’ll catch your death of cold.”

  Tannaz’s eyes were flat, dark, unresponsive, but something in the intensity of Melanwy’s words caused her to move listlessly toward the bathing room.

  Melanwy spotted Fiona and Xhinna as she looked around for a place to put the towels. “Don’t just stand there gaping!” she snapped. “Take these towels to the laundry and get more!” She waggled a finger warningly at Xhinna. “And mind you that they’re not new towels; they’ll just be dirtied by all this muck.”

  “Actually, I think they should be burned,” Fiona said, surprising herself with her words.

  “Burned?” Melanwy responded, eyebrows rising to the top of her forehead in outrage. “We don’t burn towels at Fort Weyr , young lady, no matter what strange things you might have been taught at your Hold!”

  “They’re infected,” Fiona replied. “They should be burned to prevent the spread of this illness to other dragons.”

  Melanwy’s expression abruptly changed to contempt. “Well, of course,” she sneered, “and we’ll just send to the holders for more.”

  “Yes, we will,” Fiona responded through gritted teeth, anger coursing through her. “And you’ll address me as Weyrwoman!”

  “You!” Melanwy repeated. “A mere strip of a girl, barely two months Impressed?”

  “Yes, her,” a new voice declared loudly from behind Fiona.

  Fiona was so angry that she couldn’t look back at Cisca — she kept her gaze locked with Melanwy’s, making it clear that young or not, she was not going to stand for such poor manners.

  “You’re no better,” Melanwy muttered under her breath. “Should’ve been Nara .”

  “But it’s not Nara !” Cisca responded sharply. “ Nara is dead, her dragon’s gone between, and I am the senior Weyrwoman of Fort Weyr!”

  There was the sound of dragons roaring in acknowledgment. Fiona was dimly aware that Talenth had been one of them.

  It’s all right, Fiona assured her dragon. I’m all right.

  Of course, Talenth replied unperturbedly. Fiona got the distinct feeling that had Fiona not been all right, Talenth would have been in Kalsenth’s weyr immediately. Her dragon’s fierce loyalty filled Fiona with joy.

  “I’m sure Melanwy had just forgotten, Weyrwoman,” she declared, still staring at the old headwoman. She gestured to the archway to Tannaz’s quarters. “You’d best help Tannaz with her bath — we’ll take care of things here.”

  As if in a daze, Melanwy nodded and turned to obey. Fiona was surprised that the older woman hadn’t continued to argue: it was as if Melanwy had suddenly lost her spirit. In the night outside the weyr, dragons bugled again.

  “You need to be careful when you do that, Fiona,” Cisca said quietly.

  Fiona turned on her heel and found the Weyrwoman standing right in front of her. “Do what?” she asked, bewildered.

  “Dragonriders can sometimes force people to their will,” Cisca explained. “Not many, and most not as well as you just displayed. It’s a dangerous gift and you can find yourself using it on others unwittingly. Later, Melanwy may feel that you forced her, stripped her of her will.”

  “You mean,” Fiona asked with some fear, “I can make people do things they don’t want to do?”

  “Yes,” Cisca said. “Dragonriders learn to recognize it and defend against it, but others . . .”

  Xhinna had pressed herself tightly to the wall, her eyes going warily from Fiona to Cisca and back again.

  “But,” Fiona began slowly after a long silence, “ doesn’t everyone work to get people to do things they don’t want to do?”

  “There’s a difference between cajoling and forcing,” Cisca replied. She waved to Xhinna. “You cajoled Xhinna into helping you; you forced Melanwy. Do you feel the difference?”

  Fiona hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I was angry at Melanwy,” she said, “I needed her to do what I wanted so that I could calm down.”

  Cisca lowered her eyes and sighed, then looked up again with a grin. “Not that I can blame you this time,” she admitted, “but you’re going to have to learn when you are using that power, at the very least.”

  Fiona gave her a quizzical look.

  “It can become second nature to you, like breathing,” Cisca explained. “And then you’ll always use it. If you do, you’ll never know when people are responding because you made them or because they want to.”

  Fiona shivered at the idea, both thrilled and horrified . . . and wondering how often she’d done it before.

  Cisca must have guessed her thoughts. “You may have used the power before, but you wouldn’t have been nearly as strong as you are now that you’ve Impressed.”

  Footsteps echoed and then K’lior walked in.

  “Queen riders are the strongest,” he said, catching one of Cisca’s hands in his. “Bronze riders are next.” He grinned over at his Weyrwoman. “We learn to resist the power early on.”

  “You’ll get more control over it when your dragon rises to mate,” Cisca added.

  “Mate?”

  “Yes,” K’lior replied. “When a queen bloods her kills and rises to mate, she’s a mindless creature with only one intent.” He nodded to Fiona. “You’ll be the one to control her, to force her to your will — ”

  “And,” Cisca continued, interrupting smoothly with a clenching of her hand around K’lior’s, “when you learn to control your dragon, you learn to control your power at the same time.”

  “I don’t understand,” Xhinna murmured from her place at the wall.

  “Fiona will,” K’lior replied, nodding toward the young Weyrwoman. “When the time comes.”

  “But that’s Turns away,” Cisca said with a wave of her hand. She looked over at Xhinna. “Why don’t you take those dirty towels to . . .” She trailed off, considering whom to suggest.

  “I know it’s not my place to say it, Weyrwoman,” Xhinna said, pushing herself from the wall to stand upright. “But it seems that Ellor’s always around when there’s need and she knows much more than desserts.” She swallowed nervously, then finished in a rush, “She’d make a great headwoman — you can ask anyone!”

  K’lior made a strange noise in his throat, Fiona looked at Xhinna as though she’d never seen her before, and Cisca looked thoughtful.

  Pressing her advantage, Xhinna continued, “As long as Melanwy still thinks she’s in charge, she’s going to cause trouble, Weyrwoman.” She flicked her eyes up to meet Cisca’s then, feeling that she’d overstepped herself, dropped her gaze to the floor again and muttered, “At least, that’s what I’ve heard some saying.”

  Cisca gave Xhinna a considering look, then said, “Why don’t you take these to Ellor and ask what’s to be done with them?”

  “Of course, Weyrwoman,” Xhinna said, darting out of the archway and into the Bowl with all possible speed.

  “She may have a point,” K’lior murmured.

  “She does have a point,” Cisca agreed.

  The sound of a dragon coughing reverberated through the night air. Cisca shook her head, then looked back at Fiona, but it was clear that her thoughts were elsewhere as she muttered to herself reflectively, “Ellor would make a good headwoman.”

  “I’ll see to the glows,” Fiona suggested demurely. After all Cisca’s talk about power, she wanted to prove to herself that she could still do some things the usual way.

  Cisca nodded. “We’ll be in our weyr, if you need us,” she said, turning to leave, but K’lior blocked her.

  “Actually, I think we’ll be in the Council Room,” he said. In response to Cisca’s questioning look, he explained, “I think it’s time to set out watchriders.”

  “At this hour?” Cisca inquired.

  “Immediately,” K’lior replied with a firm nod, gesturing for Cisca to precede him. As they left, Fiona heard him continue quietly, “I think it would be a good idea to post several healthy dragons at the holds.”

  His voice was cut off as he and the Weyrwoman turned toward their qu
arters.

  Fiona entered Tannaz’s quarters with a bucket of fresh glows. While she replaced the old glows with new, she also found herself tidying up, making the bed, picking up clothes, and generally behaving in a manner that, she knew, would have surprised everyone back at Fort Hold .

  You’re a dragonrider now, she told herself sternly. It’s time to behave like one.

  But, deep down, Fiona knew that her behavior was more to convince herself that she wasn’t some sort of monster.

  “I’m rather glad that happened,” Cisca said as she and K’lior entered the Council Room.

  “With Fiona, or Melanwy?”

  “Both, I think,” Cisca replied, a thoughtful look on her face. She sighed. “ ‘Out of the mouths of babes!’ Xhinna is right that we — I — should replace Melanwy as headwoman but . . .”

  “You were afraid?” K’lior teased gently.

  Cisca gave him a measuring look, her lips pursed tightly, before finally admitting, “Yes.”

  K’lior nodded and said nothing.

  “Well, maybe not so much afraid as . . . considerate,” Cisca corrected herself.

  “That’s what I thought,” K’lior told her.

  “And,” Cisca said, persisting with her self-examination, “because I was hoping that the problem would solve itself without my pushing.”

  “And so it did,” K’lior observed.

  Cisca shook her head. “Only because Fiona lost her temper and pushed instead.” She furrowed her brow, deliberating internally.

  “She’ll be careful now,” K’lior said. “You scared her.”

  “I hope I didn’t scare her too much,” Cisca admitted ruefully. She smiled at K’lior. “Such power!”

  “She said she was angry,” K’lior remarked.

  “Yes, but she compelled Melanwy,” Cisca persisted. “Can you imagine the power that took?”

  “Melanwy’s — ”

  “ — getting old, yes,” Cisca said, cutting across his objection, “but she also has had tens of Turns more time to learn resistance to such compulsions.”

  “Are you suggesting that Fiona might be a problem?” K’lior asked, his eyes hooded.

  “No,” Cisca replied with a firm shake of her head. “I’m saying that she’s going to be an awesome Weyrwoman when the time comes.”