“With two hundred and eighty-five fighting dragons?” Cisca snorted. “I expect we’ll do more than manage.”
K’lior managed a weak smile, thinking about Cisca’s concerns over T’mar and his own concerns over what had happened to Kindan’s fire-lizard.
“It’s been nearly three sevendays; maybe we’ll be able to bring the fire-lizards back,” Cisca said, much to K’lior’s surprise. In response to his look, she explained, “They’ll bring up morale for everyone.”
K’lior gave her a doubtful smile and was about to say something but stopped suddenly, turning toward the weyr and his dragon.
Cisca felt a sudden disquiet from Melirth.
“Was it the — ”
“Two dragons!” K’lior groaned.
“Was it the illness?” Cisca wondered. Before she could repeat the question to her grieving queen, the keening of the dragons increased to a fever pitch.
FOUR
Their lungs melted,
Their breath turned green.
Sick, listless, ailing,
Dragons fled between.
Fort Weyr, AL 507.13.12
Fiona groaned when she awoke. The sun was high in the sky. Her muscles were all sore, aching from the awkward position in which she’d finally found sleep after the awful nighttime awakening that she and all the dragonriders had experienced. But the ache in her muscles was nothing to the ache in her heart. She felt hollow. So hollow that for one frantic instant, she looked around wildly for Talenth only to stop, realizing that the bulk of the young dragon lay beneath her. She pulled back and spent several long, tense moments watching her queen, searching for signs of life. She didn’t realize that she’d been holding her breath until she let it out in a sigh as she saw Talenth’s chest rise and fall in the steady breathing of an exhausted dragonet.
Then, to her surprise and annoyance, Fiona’s stomach grumbled loudly. She nearly hissed at it in anger, afraid that it might disturb the sleeping queen. When it rumbled again, she beat a hasty retreat from the queen’s lair, rushing out into the Weyr Bowl.
Out there, Fiona was struck by silence. She glanced at the sun overhead in confirmation of the late hour and frowned — usually by this time the Weyr Bowl was bustling with dragons, riders, and weyrfolk.
Had something happened to the whole Weyr, she wondered, a jolt of fear running down her spine. At a half- trot she rushed down the incline onto the Bowl proper and over to the Kitchen Cavern.
It was a moment before she spotted anyone and then her sigh of relief carried through the entire room.
Tannaz beckoned to her. Fiona closed the distance quickly, her brain teeming with questions, but when she got to Tannaz’s table, she found that she could only sit numbly and stare at the small basket of rolls.
Tannaz caught the look and pushed the basket to her, sliding over a tub of butter with her other hand.
“You’ll feel better when you eat,” the older Weyrwoman told her. “I know I did.”
“Better?” Fiona repeated, startled by the hollowness in Tannaz’s voice. She was surprised at the sound of her own voice: hoarse, empty, lifeless.
“Eat.” Tannaz leaned forward and grabbed a roll, setting the example.
Fiona followed suit and buttered her roll slowly. There was something reassuring, almost peaceful, in the way the cool butter spread on the roll. Normal .
She took a bite and chewed slowly. The butter and the fresh bread were wonderful! Fiona finished her first bite and took another bigger bite of her roll. She could hardly believe how good the roll was, how fresh the butter was.
“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” Tannaz asked before taking another bite herself.
Fiona could only nod, her mouth full.
“That’s because you’re hungry,” Tannaz told her. She pushed a pitcher over to her and gestured toward a mug. “The
Fiona wasn’t much of a fan of
“It’s great!” she exclaimed after her first sip. She was thirsty, and at that moment the cold, spicy brew was better than the freshest stream water. She finished her mug and filled it again.
Tannaz chortled. “That’s because you’re thirsty.”
“Where are the others?” Fiona asked. She already felt more awake.
“Grieving,” Tannaz told her flatly.
“Well, they can’t grieve any longer,” a voice boomed from the entrance. Fiona turned and saw Cisca. Reflexively, she rose.
“Have some food,” Tannaz murmured, her mouth half-full, as she got to her feet with the basket of rolls in one hand.
As Cisca crossed the distance between them her expression changed from one of anger to one of hunger. She took the proffered roll and, sitting down, slathered it with butter from the tub Fiona pushed in her direction. Two rolls later she said, “You’re right, I was hungry.”
“
“It’s cold,” Fiona warned.
Cisca acknowledged the warning with a nod and looked around for a mug. Tannaz offered hers, and the Weyrwoman took it gladly.
“Better, huh?” Tannaz asked as Cisca gulped down the cold liquid. Cisca nodded wordlessly. Two rolls and another mug of cold
Tannaz rose to her feet and gestured for Fiona to follow her. “We’ll rouse the weyrfolk and get a proper meal,” she declared. “You stay here and rest.”
Cisca nodded gratefully.
“You’ll probably have to bring food to the riders,” a voice declared from the entrance.
“Ah, Kentai,” Tannaz called to the man garbed in harper blue, “we’ll be glad of your help.”
The harper’s lips turned up, the nearest anyone had come to a smile so far that day.
“Is it like this across Pern?” Fiona wondered.
“Very likely,” Kentai said. “Certainly at the Weyrs.”
“It’s not just the news — it’s what it means,” Tannaz elaborated.
“Well, this illness hasn’t affected Fort.” Fiona recognized T’jen’s voice before she spotted the Weyrlingmaster striding in from the brilliance of the midday sun. He nodded briefly to the Weyrwomen and again to the harper. “The weyrlings have started to recover,” he told them. “The rest of the Weyr will be back on their feet soon, I’m sure.”
“It was the shock,” Tannaz declared, shaking her head. “I was so
“It’s yet to happen here,” T’jen reiterated. “If we close the Weyr, we’re not likely to be — ” He broke off,
