“Well done!” T’mar called finally. “You can all take a break. Be sure to get water for your dragons.” As he spotted some weyrlings heading to the barracks, he called out, “Walk to the lake, do not get water from the barracks. You need to cool off muscles — yours and your dragons’.”
Fiona could see the sense in that as she trudged along with the others to the far end of the Bowl and the lake. The penned herdbeasts, afraid that they were on the menu, wailed and slunk away from the approaching dragons.
I’m not hungry, Talenth said, snorting irritatedly at the herdbeasts.
They don’t know any better, Fiona replied. When her stomach grumbled she added humorously, Maybe they realize that I am.
I could get you one, Talenth offered.
I’ll eat in the kitchen, Fiona assured her, patting her neck affectionately.
Without thinking about it, Fiona had Talenth wait to drink until all the other dragons had drunk their fill.
Manners, she chided her dragon when Talenth complained to her. We set the example, we make sure that everyone else is fed — or watered — before us. That’s the mark of a leader.
Talenth absorbed Fiona’s words trustingly and ceased her grumbling. I’m a leader?
You’re a queen, Fiona told her. Of course you are!
A leader! Talenth glanced at the weyrlings ahead of her as they made their way back to the weyrling barracks. Shouldn’t I be in front, then?
No, Fiona assured her, you’re fine where you are.
“Fiona!” a voice called from just outside the weyrling barracks. Fiona spotted Tajen striding toward her.
“Good day to you, Talenth,” he called as he approached. To Fiona he said, “I saw the drill today; you did well.” He glanced at Talenth. “I just wanted to check her over; I haven’t seen her in a while.”
Talenth was delighted to show off her wings and have Tajen run knowing hands over her legs, examining her all over.
“She’s growing well,” he declared when he was done. He nodded to Fiona, adding, “And you’ve done well in oiling her. I see no signs of flaky skin.”
“Xhinna helps,” Fiona felt obliged to explain.
“I’ve heard that she has taken to gliding from her ledge,” Tajen said. When Fiona nodded confirmation, he turned to the queen and said, “Are you ready to fly?”
Can I fly? Talenth asked Fiona excitedly.
“She certainly wants to,” Fiona said.
“Well, I think if she gets on her perch and tries flapping her wings for a bit, she might extend her glide,” Tajen replied. But he shook his finger at Talenth and added warningly, “But no more than a few beats, then glide back down. I don’t want you straining yourself; you could damage your muscles.”
Can I do it now? Talenth begged.
“Can we try now?” Fiona asked.
Tajen pursed his lips consideringly, then shrugged. “Only once, because both of you have had enough exercise this morning.”
I can fly! Talenth exclaimed, prancing back to her weyr. Fiona and Tajen followed quickly behind her and stood below the ledge to watch as she climbed up, crawled into her weyr, turned, and raced to the edge, wings flared and ready for flight.
As she leapt off, she gave her wings one beat and bugled excitedly as she rose into the air. Another beat and then — “Hey, that’s too high!” Fiona cried in alarm.
Sorry! Talenth responded, sounding not the least bit contrite.
Glide on back down! Fiona ordered, nervously eyeing the height to which Talenth had climbed. With her excitement unabated, Talenth leveled her wings and glided slowly back down to the ground, landing easily several hundred meters across the Bowl.
Did you see? Talenth called. I flew! I really flew!
Yes, you did, Fiona agreed, her mental voice full of pride. You flew very well.
Tajen walked quickly toward Talenth, with Fiona following a few steps behind.
“Ask her to spread her wings if she can, and hold them,” Tajen requested of Fiona.
Talenth was willing but curious. I think he wants to check your muscles, Fiona guessed. She was right. Tajen ran his hands over Talenth’s pectoral muscles and across her chest, gesturing for Fiona to follow behind him with her hands.
“I’m feeling for any heat and any signs of knotted muscle,” he explained. He paused for a moment in his exploration, widening his movements around one particular spot, then pointing it out to Fiona. “Feel here.”
Fiona did. The muscle seemed tighter than elsewhere.
“Nothing major,” Tajen assured her, “just some normal tightness.” He continued his inspection. “But if you were to feel the same tightness the next time she flies, you might want to tell me.”
“Would that be bad?”
“I doubt it,” Tajen said with a shrug. “Usually it’s just the muscles getting their strength. Often one muscle has to do more work to compensate for weaker muscles until they get stronger. But if it persists, we may need to let her rest for a few days so that she doesn’t strain herself.” He smiled and beckoned for Fiona to come closer, murmuring, “Young dragons rarely do themselves an injury — the worst they do is get sore for a day or so — but it’s always wise to keep an eye on them in case it’s more serious.”
Can I do it again? Talenth asked eagerly.
“Not today,” Fiona replied, adding to Tajen, “She wants to do it again.”
“Of course she does,” Tajen replied with a grin. He caught Talenth’s whirling eyes and said to her, “Tomorrow, if you feel up to it.”
I will! Talenth declared fervently, climbing back up the ledge to her weyr. Tajen followed her progress with a thoughtful look in his eyes.
“Are you thinking she’s doing too much?” Fiona guessed.
“No,” Tajen said, shaking his head and smiling. “I was thinking how much her gliding exercise will help her muscle tone.”
“Will that mean she’ll be ready to fly sooner?” Fiona asked hopefully, working to keep her emotions from Talenth. She didn’t want to raise the gold’s hopes falsely.
“I don’t think so,” Tajen said. “But it might mean that she’ll be more fit when she does first fly.” He paused for a moment before adding, “But that wasn’t what I was thinking.”
Fiona’s look challenged him to explain.
“I was thinking,” Tajen answered, “that if it were to help her, it might also help the hatchlings.” Before Fiona could respond, he added, “Those of her clutch, I mean.”
“I don’t know how the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman would feel about that.”
“We can find out by asking them,” Tajen said. “But first, I wanted to know if you or Talenth had any objections.”
“No,” Fiona said without really thinking over her answer. Tajen cocked an eyebrow at her, challenging her response. “No, honestly, I think it’d be fun.”
“Then we should ask the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, shouldn’t we?”
“They’ll be at lunch,” Fiona said. “Just let me make sure that Talenth is settled in.”
They found Cisca and K’lior at the head table on the dais.
“We figured that today we should be easy to find,” Cisca murmured to Fiona as she joined them at the table. “I heard that your dragon flew today.”
Fiona nodded, looking somewhat surprised that this was remarkable.
“You know that Melirth keeps an eye on her hatchlings,” Cisca explained. “And Talenth was quite proud of herself.”
“Yes, she was,” Fiona agreed with a broad grin.
“In fact,” Tajen inserted smoothly into the conversation, “we were wondering if perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea for all of Melirth’s latest hatchlings to practice gliding.”
Cisca beckoned to K’lior and quickly brought him in on the conversation. He frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded, glancing at Tajen. “Would it help them fly faster?”
“I doubt it,” Tajen responded. “But it certainly would make the transition easier. Their muscles would b
e more toned.”
“I suppose,” Cisca said carefully, glancing at K’lior for confirmation, “that if they drilled no more than once a day, it wouldn’t be too great an inconvenience.”
“And you could watch all the pretty youngsters,” K’lior teased her.
“K’lior!” Cisca growled back warningly. “They’re far too young for me, you know that!” She cast a sidelong glance at Fiona, “Though maybe for our junior Weyrwoman . . .”
Fiona blushed furiously, shaking her head in denial. Cisca’s eyes danced as she enjoyed Fiona’s discomfort, but then she took pity on the youngster and turned back to Tajen, asking, “Have you discussed this with T’mar?”
Tajen shook his head.
T’mar, who was seated farther down the table, looked up at the mention of his name. “Weyrwoman?”
With a nod, Cisca invited him to move closer. Once he was seated again, she explained Tajen’s suggestion.
“I’m not sure that it wouldn’t actually reduce their training time,” T’mar said finally. “We don’t know how much time is spent getting their muscles honed.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be Turns,” Tajen said.
“No, but maybe months.”
“Even a month might be all the difference we need,” K’lior said with a tone of urgency.
“Tomorrow, Thread falls at High Reaches and Igen,” T’mar observed.
“Ista is down to forty-six fighting dragons,” Cisca said. At the startled looks of the others, she added, “B’nik of Benden has promised to support them.”
“Which is why we must have all the fighting strength we can get,” K’lior said. He glanced at T’mar and Tajen. “If the older weyrlings had to — ”
“They would die,” Tajen declared flatly. “They haven’t even started flaming yet!”
“I think we will have to teach them soon,” K’lior said heavily, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes against the anguish he felt.
“Even with that,” T’mar declared, glancing at Tajen for confirmation, “they’d need at least three months before they’d survive more than an hour against Thread.”
“If that,” Tajen agreed sadly. “If we had the queen’s wing . . .” Tajen put in bitterly.
“We’ve got a queen,” Cisca said.
“We can’t risk Melirth,” K’lior said immediately.
“If we do it properly, we won’t risk anyone,” Cisca replied. She glanced at Fiona, cocking her head questioningly.
“How much firestone could Melirth carry?” Fiona asked the Weyrwoman.
“More than a bronze,” Tajen replied, glancing at T’mar, who considered the statement and then nodded reluctantly.
“She would still have to supply the firestone,” K’lior objected, “and she couldn’t do it any faster than another dragon.”
“She could if she trailed the firestone at different levels,” Fiona said. The others looked at her. “What if she trailed firestone at say, two, four, and six dragonlengths beneath her?”
“On both sides,” Tajen added. “That’d be six dragons at once.”
“And she can carry at least twice as much firestone as the weyrlings,” Fiona guessed, glancing to the Weyrwoman for confirmation.
“Perhaps even three times as much,” Cisca allowed, glancing toward K’lior with a concerned, measuring look.
“If anything happened to her — ” K’lior began, then broke off, seeing another objection. “You’re forgetting, all of you, that dragons have riders.”
“And?” Cisca demanded, brows furrowed.
“There’s a reason the weyrlings only have two sacks of firestone on tether at a time,” K’lior told her. “It’s because they couldn’t manage the workload of more.”
“So?” Cisca demanded. “I’ll get someone to help me.” She glanced pointedly at Fiona, who was delighted at the notion.
“No,” K’lior replied, shaking his head firmly. “I might risk one of our queens at the trailing edge of Thread but not both Weyrwomen.”
Cisca’s elation deflated immediately. “You’re right.” Then she brightened again. “Perhaps Tajen?”
“Actually,” Tajen began slowly as all eyes turned to him, “perhaps it would make more sense for T’mar and me to perform the experiment first.”
“A bronze could carry nearly as much as a queen,” K’lior reminded Cisca.
“And it would be safer for the Weyr,” Cisca conceded against her will.
“Someone has to keep things running here,” K’lior agreed with her.
“But if it works — ” Cisca began.
“We’ll talk about it,” K’lior agreed. He raised a finger toward Fiona, adding, “But she won’t ride with you.”
“I could take Xhinna,” Cisca said thoughtfully.
“She’d be thrilled,” Fiona agreed.
Tajen turned to T’mar. “We should spend some time on this idea of the Weyrwoman’s.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” Cisca corrected him, nodding to Fiona. “It was hers.”
Fiona flushed with pride.
Xhinna’s surprise at the long line of weyrlings clambering up the ledge to Talenth’s weyr was quickly overwhelmed by her joy at watching the bronze, browns, blues, and greens happily launching themselves skyward, first in a glide and then, the second time, beating their wings several times to climb and climb before once more returning to the ground.
Fiona and Talenth watched with her from their vantage point on the ground, Talenth exclaiming happily at each launch and telling Fiona, I flew higher than that! — which, being true, required Fiona’s firm agreement each time.
Can they come again tomorrow? Talenth asked excitedly after the weyrlings had finished their last flight and had gone back to their quarters.
You won’t mind? Fiona asked. Apparently not, Fiona decided, as Talenth responded, Can I go first?
Fiona woke suddenly, in the middle of the night. Xhinna was snoring beside her. Fiona directed her thoughts to Talenth and the dragon’s response was so alarmed that Fiona instantly leapt out of bed. She paused only long enough to slip her feet in slippers and grab her robe before racing to Talenth’s weyr.
Talenth was trembling in her sleep, limbs restless and eyelids fluttering.
It’s all right, Fiona told her dragon as quietly as she could, concentrating on soothing her without waking her. Talenth uncurled, turned, and curled up again, still trembling.
It burns! Fiona heard. She snapped her head around, looking outside the weyr, trying to locate the source of that thought. But before she found it, she heard another voice call, Arith! And suddenly Fiona felt her legs give out and she collapsed against Talenth, all strength drained, her eyes streaming tears, her mouth open in a silent scream.
She seemed to lie there forever, all strength sapped, all hope gone, feeling only the trembling of her queen beside her. And then —
It will be all right. But it wasn’t Talenth’s voice. Fiona opened her eyes, looking around to find the source of the voice.
After a long moment, Fiona thought back, How can you be sure? But there was no answer.
ELEVEN
I reached out
And you were gone.
I cried out
But you had flown.
FortHold , Morning, AL 508.1.19
Cisca found her there, sleeping beside Talenth, early the next morning.
“Arith — ”
“ — has gone between, ” Fiona said grimly.
Cisca looked startled.
“Didn’t you hear it happen?” Fiona asked her, surprised. Cisca shook her head. “I heard Arith cry, ‘It burns!’ and then Lorana cried, ‘Arith!’ and then Arith went between and . . . I collapsed.”
“I’ve never heard of this happening before,” Cisca said, looking troubled.
“And then I heard another voice,” Fiona said.
“What did it say?”
“It said, ‘It will be all right.’ ”
“I certainly hope so,” Cisca agree
d fervently, but she looked dubious. She looked off into the distance for a long, thoughtful moment and then seemed to come to a decision. “Whether it will or not, that’s how we should act.”
“Like it will be all right?”
“Yes,” Cisca said. She leaned over and extended a hand to Fiona. “And so you’d best make yourself presentable. Meet me in the Kitchen Cavern. I’m sure others will want that reassurance — to see that it will be all right.”
Fiona took Cisca’s hand gratefully and stood up, feeling sore from her awkward sleeping position.
“So if Arith has gone between, what will Lorana do?” Fiona asked.
“She’ll grieve,” Cisca said, her eyes bright with tears.
“What about the cure, was she working on that?” Fiona wondered.
Cisca’s eyes widened in horror. “Arith said, ‘It burns!’ What if the cure was what killed her dragon . . .” Cisca’s voice trailed off. From her expression, Fiona could see that Cisca was speaking to Melirth, but then the Weyrwoman stopped abruptly.
“Benden flies today with Ista; I won’t add to their worries,” she declared. “We can find out later.” She nodded to herself firmly, then told Fiona, “Get! Go have a bath, and meet me when you’re ready.”
“Yes, Weyrwoman.”
Fiona discovered just how fast news traveled in the Weyrs when she arrived at the Weyrleader’s table for breakfast.
“If Arith went between, what does that mean for our weyrlings? They’re nearly the same age,“ M’kury was saying as Fiona sat. Getting no response from the Weyrleaders, he turned to her. “What do you think, Weyrwoman?”
“I think it will be all right,” Fiona replied, trying to sound as if she believed it.
“They were working on a cure, weren’t they?” K’rall asked from his side of the table. His eyes rested on Fiona so she felt obliged — if utterly unqualified — to answer.
“I know no more than you,” Fiona told him honestly.
“Well, I hope they hurry,” M’kury said. “I’ve got three sick dragons in my wing.”
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