“And others.”
“Like Shanar and Kimar,” Fiona reminded him.
“So much competition,” T’mar teased, shaking his head.
“It’s only competition if there’s a prize.”
Wisely, the bronze rider said nothing.
“Between the tunnel snakes and the Mrreows, I don’t know which is worse,” Colfet said early one morning after he had completed inspecting the hull of one of the ships.
“What’s up?” T’mar asked. He, Kindan, Lorana, and Fiona were seated nearby. T’mar and Kindan were due to start more drills with the now mature weyrlings.
“The tunnel snakes tore a new hole in the side of the Istan Harvest,” Colfet said, shaking his head, referring to one of the older ships. “They got into the stores and we probably wouldn’t have found them except one of those fardling Mrreows came chasing after it.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“They were all scared out of their wits with the racket but no other harm was done,” the seaman replied.
“Should we organize another hunting party?” Kindan asked. “The pelts fetched a fair price, last time.”
“The pelts weren’t worth the three injured,” Fiona said, shaking her head. Kindan absently stroked his left forearm: He’d been among those injured.
“And we were lucky that Mayorth ever recovered,” Lorana reminded them. “We can’t risk another injury when we’re so close.”
“Well, we’ve got to figure out what we’re going to do,” T’mar said. “We’re nearing the time when we should bring the injured here.”
“We’ve got another couple of months, surely,” Fiona said.
“True, but if they were here earlier, we’d have more bronzes,” T’mar pointed out. “And more experienced riders to help with the training.”
“But we’d have the injured to tend and more to feed,” Fiona countered.
“So what do you suggest?”
“Well,” Fiona said, pursing her lips for a moment before continuing, “I think we should consider our firestone needs and get that sorted before we bring the fighting dragons here.”
“The queens could rise any day,” T’mar reminded her.
“They could but, aside from Talenth, they’d still be pretty young.”
“Honestly,” T’mar told her, “I was rather surprised she didn’t rise when we were in Igen.”
“And I’m surprised she hasn’t risen here, yet,” Fiona told him, recalling their conversation weeks past. “Do you suppose it has something to do with timing it?”
“I doubt it,” T’mar said, taking a bite of the melon that he’d tackled for breakfast. He looked at it with distaste, saying apologetically to Shaneese, “I never thought I’d say it, but I’m getting tired of fruit.”
“Well, we’ve no holders to till fields,” Fiona replied, “so unless you want to take more weyrlings from training and set them to the fields, we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got.”
T’mar grunted an agreement and finished his melon in silence. Fiona, too, was silent while she ate and for much the same reason—melon once a sevenday was a rare treat, melon morning, noon, and evening was more of a torment.
Jirana was watching the toddlers, but she came racing when they finished their meal. “Are we flying, Weyrwoman?”
“Of course!” Fiona assured her. “Have you got your gear?”
“I’ll get it,” Jirana chirped, racing toward their ship. It had become a habit for Fiona to bring her up with her whenever she flew Talenth, just as Jeriz rode with Terin whenever she drilled.
“She’s eager,” Shaneese said approvingly even as she moved closer to the playground to take over minding the toddlers.
“She loves flying,” Javissa agreed with a touch of worry.
“She can always fly with me,” Fiona told her. “Even when we return.”
An angry growl and a child’s shriek electrified them.
“Jirana!” Fiona and Javissa cried at once, racing toward the ship. They reached it together and found the girl crumpled on the deck, a large gash in her leg. One of the Mrreows ran off at their approach, something dangling from its mouth.
“Baby!” Javissa cried as she gathered her youngest in her arms. Fiona knelt and examined the bloodied leg, her expression grave.
Talenth, get Bekka! She called even as she located the artery behind the girl’s knee and applied pressure to reduce the blood loss.
“I hurt, Momma,” Jirana whimpered.
“What happened?” Fiona asked, looking up and smiling at the dark-eyed child. “Can you tell us?”
“I was going toward the stairs when the tunnel snake charged at me,” Jirana said. “And then I was hit from the back and heard the Mrreow and I screamed.” She turned to her mother. “I think the Mrreow tried to save me.”
“I think it was just trying to get the tunnel snake,” Kindan said when Fiona recounted the tale to him and T’mar later, after Jirana’s wound had been stitched. She’d been given fellis and brought to the center of their camp, near the nursery, so that she could be kept under constant watch. “It pushed her out of the way because it was hungry and the tunnel snake was the smaller prey.”
“I suppose,” Fiona said without much enthusiasm. Kindan quirked an eyebrow upward questioningly. “Well, it just seems that these Mrreows came with the colonists.” She raised a hand to tick off her reasons, “They’ve got fur like the canines. And they’ve four limbs, not six, their eyes aren’t like any of the eyes the six-limbed Pernese have.”
Kindan pursed his lips and nodded. “It could be,” he agreed. “But why haven’t we seen them before?”
“Why do they attack dragons?” T’mar demanded. “None of the canines or herdbeasts do that.”
“Maybe the dragons are too much like the tunnel snakes,” Lorana replied.
“But we’ve got canines that go after tunnel snakes, and not dragons,” Kindan objected.
“The dogs have to be trained,” Fiona reminded him. “They don’t attack the tunnel snakes without training.”
“That’s because they’re smart,” Kindan replied. “Those things are nasty.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe you used to hunt them when you were little.”
“I didn’t know any better,” Fiona admitted. “And I think if the tunnel snakes back home were like these, I probably wouldn’t have.”
“Well the question remains, what are we going to do about them?” T’mar said.
“The bigger question is whether hunting the Mrreows is helping or hurting us,” Fiona said, glancing toward Kindan. The harper had his bow at his side and a quiver of arrows on his back. “If the Mrreows are keeping the tunnel snakes in check, perhaps we should just leave them be.”
“And hunt tunnel snakes?” Kindan asked.
Fiona shrugged. “They’re almost impossible to find in this soft soil. They have no trouble at all burrowing through it.”
“There’s no decent rocky place on this half of the island,” T’mar remarked, glancing challengingly at his Weyrwoman. She shrugged; she still hadn’t written that strange note warning them away from the western half of the Great Isle, so she had no reason to know if the restriction was still necessary.
“And there’s no guarantee we’d find better elsewhere,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “And even if we did, it would take at least a month, probably more, to move our camp now.”
T’mar blew out a sigh in agreement.
“Regardless,” Javissa spoke up, “what are we going to do about the children?”
“I think we’d better have them sleep here,” Fiona said. “And we’ll need to set up a guard.”
The attack on Jirana had unsettled everyone in the camp, and the setting of a permanent guard was met with a feeling of relief.
“Did you notice Delanth at drill tonight?” Kindan asked T’mar as they made their way back to their ship for the evening. The Weyrleader nodded.
“Proddy, wasn’t she?” Fiona asked. T’mar
nodded. Being proddy—irritable and snappish—was a sign of a green about to rise.
“You know, they haven’t chewed any firestone,” Kindan said.
“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “But that might not be so bad.”
The others looked at her. “Well, even if all the greens had eggs, how many would that be?”
T’mar shrugged. “No one knows.”
“If they had twenty eggs each, we’ve only forty-four, so we’d have just eight hundred and eighty eggs,” Fiona said.
“And just how, Weyrwoman, would you expect us to feed that many hatchlings?”
“And where would we find all the Candidates?” Kindan asked in surprise.
“Well, we don’t even know how many they’d clutch, so I think we’re counting our dragons before they hatch,” Fiona said.
“But if they could,” T’mar said with a sense of hope, “we could re-populate all Pern.”
“With greens and blues,” Fiona reminded him.
“I suppose that must have been another one of Kitti Ping’s thoughts,” Lorana said.
“Actually,” Fiona said, “I think the fire-lizards figured it out on their own and our ancestors just kept it.”
“We’ll talk on this in the morning,” T’mar decided, patting his Weyrwoman tenderly on the head. She bristled at him and then leaned up for a kiss that he returned briskly before going to his cabin. He was back a moment later, saying to Fiona, “Where’s Shaneese?”
“With the children,” she told him with a dimpling smile. “Why, dragonrider, are you afraid of sleeping alone?”
Lorana chuckled and T’mar went wide-eyed, nodding. “Very afraid,” he assured her. “What should I do?”
“Perhaps we’ll think of something,” Fiona told him, turning to hug Lorana and Kindan in turn. “Why don’t you and I discuss it Weyrwoman to Weyrleader?”
Their pleasant night was shattered at first light when Fiona woke, eyes wide. “She’s rising.”
“Talenth?” T’mar asked, surprised and reaching to touch Zirenth’s mind. The bronze was still sleeping.
“No, Delanth,” Fiona said, pushing herself up and putting on her robe and slippers.
They met Lorana and Kindan as they left their cabin and together the four of them went to the center of the camp and the nursery.
“Lorana, can you be with Vellany?” Fiona asked. “I’ll handle the queens and the other greens.”
“They’re all so close to rising, it might be a good idea to have them go elsewhere,” T’mar suggested.
“Exactly my thinking,” Fiona said. She grabbed her gear, while warning Talenth. The queen met her at the bottom of the ship. They were about to take off when Jirana rushed toward them. “Come on!” Fiona called.
The little girl scampered up, Fiona strapped her in and with a quick image to Talenth, took them all between.
“This is where my father died, isn’t it?” Jirana asked as Fiona and the other queens and greens circled down for a landing on the Red Butte. Fiona mentally kicked herself for her choice—it was instinctive, one of the earliest drilling points the Igen riders had learned.
“Yes,” Fiona said, wondering if she should bring them all elsewhere. But the mood of the younger greens and queens was too nervous and it took all of her and Talenth’s efforts to get them organized and arrayed around the plateau. “This is also where the dragonriders arranged to provide food to the holders during the Plague.”
“It’s a nice place,” Jirana said as she looked around, scanning. “Can I see where my father is?”
Fiona nodded silently, relaying orders through Talenth assigning the other queen riders responsibility for overseeing their greens. She jumped down first, reached up to hand Jirana down, and looked around.
It had been at least four, perhaps five, Turns since Lorana had built the cairn.
Terin saw and joined them, leading Taria, Helena, and Seriya, as well as the other green Telgar riders with her. As if by some unspoken command, Lin, Jassi, Garra, and Indeera followed and soon more than forty riders were behind Fiona.
The Weyrwoman nodded at the other queen riders, then stopped and knelt down beside Jirana. “Is it okay if the others come with us?”
Jirana looked around solemnly at the others grouped silently nearby and nodded slowly. “I think my father would like that.”
“Jirana is looking for the cairn Lorana made for her father,” Fiona told the others after she stood up. Terin moved forward and rested her arm comfortingly on the young girl’s shoulder. Lin came up on her other side while Jassi, Garra, and Inderra stood behind.
Fiona led the way, even as she checked with Lorana about the flight.
We’re at Red Butte, Fiona told the other woman with a tone of apology in her voice. Jirana wants to see her father’s grave.
She felt a trickle of shock from the ex-dragonrider, then a calm supportive acceptance. Of course, Lorana thought to her. I’ve told Javissa. She approves.
Fiona nodded to herself absently even as she sent a grateful thought back to Lorana; she hadn’t thought about asking Jirana’s mother. A moment later, Fiona turned with a certainty and headed toward a pile of rocks in the distance.
“Your father lies here,” Fiona said, going to her knees beside the girl.
Jirana looked around the plateau and closed her eyes. She swayed with the wind, her nostrils going wide as she took in a deep breath, savoring the scent on the wind. After a long moment she opened her eyes again, peering at the ground between the stones of Tenniz’s cairn.
“Do you think purpleflower might grow here?” Jirana asked, turning to Fiona.
“It’s very dry up here,” Jassi said, coming to squat beside the young girl on the other side. “But I think you could find some that would thrive.”
“When we come back, can we do that?” Jirana asked.
“Of course,” Fiona promised. “Should we bring your mother?”
“No,” the little girl replied. “Father told me that it would make her sad.”
“He told you?” Fiona repeated, eyes narrowing. Jirana nodded. “Just now?”
Jirana made a face. “No, silly, he’s dead! He told me before; the last time we met.”
“Jirana,” Fiona began with the slow patience of an adult trying to break bad news to a child, “your father died before you were born.”
“Yes,” Jirana said. “But he told me when he saw me the last time.”
“The last time?” Terin repeated, dropping down beside Fiona and exchanging a quick worried look with Fiona. “When was that?”
“When he told Jeriz that he had to go to Telgar,” Jirana replied simply.
You can come back, Lorana told Fiona. Winurth flew her.
“We should get back,” Fiona said, looking first to Terin and then to Jirana. The little girl nodded in quiet acceptance.
“So what does this mean?” Shaneese asked when they gathered back once more and were able to take a break.
“It means that J’gerd is going to have a lot of explaining to do,” Kindan predicted.
“He’ll do fine,” Fiona said. “He’s good with words and well-liked.”
“I meant about eggs,” Shaneese said. “Will Delanth clutch?”
“Perhaps,” T’mar said, looking toward Fiona.
“If greens are like queens, then we’ll know in twelve to fifteen weeks,” Fiona said, “when she clutches.”
“We haven’t got a suitable hatching ground,” T’mar said. “Will the eggs even harden without the heat?”
Fiona shook her head. “What we could do is bring more sand up here, cover it at night, and expose it by day when it’s not raining so that it will gather heat.”
“The sands are always hot,” T’mar said. “What will that mean to these eggs?”
“I don’t know,” Fiona admitted, turning a questioning look to Kindan.
“You’ve read more Weyr Records than I,” he told her.
“So we don’t know if she’ll clutch and, if she does, we don
’t know if her eggs will hatch on this ground,” T’mar concluded.
“Worse,” Fiona said, and the others turned to her apprehensively, “we know that this mating flight will spark others.”
“The bronzes are old enough,” T’mar said, flicking a hand open dismissively.
“They may be old enough, but are there enough bronzes for all these queens?” Lorana asked.
“And what do we do if more than one rises, green or queen?” Fiona asked. Lorana and T’mar shook their heads; they had no more of an answer than she.
“We can send the others to Red Butte,” Kindan suggested. “That would help.”
“But if two or more rise?” T’mar asked.
“Then we’ll have to handle it,” Fiona declared. “We can’t lose any dragons.”
The next morning, Fiona woke with a hot angry feeling roiling inside her.
Talenth! Fiona’s cry roused Lorana and T’mar just as the bronzes roared expectantly.
“Come on!” Fiona cried, racing out of the cabin toward her suddenly ravenous queen. She heard Lorana follow after, felt the dragonrider pull herself away from the queen even as Fiona found herself fighting to maintain control.
No! Blood your kills!
Talenth’s bellowed response was not that of her normally kind, docile friend. Now she was a full queen, roaring her challenge to the entire Weyr.
The bronzes roared in response and then—another dragon bellowed! Another queen! How dare she!
Who, who could challenge her? Talenth shrieked in anger. Fiona felt confusion, fear, terror, panic—but none of it from her.
Terin! Kurinth! Lorana’s voice rolled through her mind.
Help her, Fiona called, even as she poured her will toward Talenth. The queen rose with an angry bellow and dropped immediately on the nearest buck, snapping its neck.
No! Fiona rasped at her queen. Only blood your kills! Talenth rebelled, angry, fighting back, ready to eat her way to combat strength—she would teach this challenger, she would kill any who stood against her rightful position.
For an instant Fiona wavered against the pressure, felt herself ready to give in, to see claw against claw, fang against fang, to rend, tear, rip to victory.
Dragon’s Time: Dragonriders of Pern Page 29