alerted by a sound, and turned quickly, looking back the way he’d come. Fiona turned in the same direction, listening intently. The sound echoed around the Weyr: the deep noise of a dragon coughing.
“Salith!”
“What are you going to do?” H’nez demanded as K’lior entered the Council Room.
“Give him a chance to sit at least,” M’kury snapped.
K’lior used the moment of their bickering to take a deep breath and look around the room. Before the wingleaders had settled down, he heard the rustle of cloth behind him and was not surprised when Cisca, Tannaz, and Fiona entered the room.
H’nez glared at them, but M’kury rose from his seat, gesturing politely to Cisca. “Weyrwoman.”
Cisca nodded her thanks and settled herself in the chair beside K’lior.
“Well?” M’kury demanded of the rest of the room. “Are you going to leave our Weyrwomen standing?” His eyes settled challengingly on H’nez.
T’mar and P’der rose quickly and gestured to the Weyrwomen.
“I want them to sit by me,” Cisca said, glancing at H’nez. The grizzled rider grimaced before relinquishing his chair to Tannaz.
A younger rider, wearing the knots of a wingleader, vacated the seat on Cisca’s other side. “Sit here, little one,” he said to Fiona.
“Thank you, V’ney,” Cisca said as he moved to the edge of the room. The young man nodded back courteously.
Underneath the table, unseen by the others, Cisca patted K’lior’s knee reassuringly. He looked over to her and smiled, then turned his attention to the rest of the room.
“What are we going to do?” he said, repeating H’nez’s words. He nodded to Kentai, the Weyr harper, who stood against one wall. “Harper, what do you say?”
“I haven’t got much to say,” Kentai admitted, shaking his head sadly. “You all know better than I what happened at the other Weyrs and the symptoms of this illness.” He gestured with one hand vaguely in the direction of T’jen’s weyr.
“And you’re not a healer,” H’nez added, glaring at K’lior. “When are you going to get Zist and Betrony — ”
“That’s a question for a later day,” Cisca cut in.
“You know why we’ve no healer, H’nez,” M’kury growled. “It’s because you goaded old Sitarin into that duel.”
H’nez’s jaw worked angrily.
“H’nez,” K’lior said with a restraining hand upraised. The older rider locked eyes with him for a moment then glanced away, letting out a long, slow breath. K’lior glanced at Cisca, asking, “Have you spoken with Benden’s new Weyrwoman?”
Cisca shook her head. “But Melirth has heard from Lorana.”
“Who’s Lorana?” someone muttered from the back of the room.
“I thought Tullea was second Weyrwoman,” someone else added.
“Lorana Impressed at Benden’s latest Hatching,” Cisca said. “She bespoke Melirth at M’tal’s request.”
“But her hatchling can’t be more than — ” M’kury began.
“She’s younger than Talenth!” H’nez exclaimed. “How can you expect a dragonet to say anything sensible at that age?”
“Lorana spoke directly to Melirth,” Cisca replied. With a slightly wistful look, she continued, “She can speak to any dragon.”
“Like Torene?” Fiona blurted in surprise.
“Like Torene,” Cisca agreed. “Although I got the feeling from Melirth that . . .” Her voice trailed off and she shook herself, saying, “Anyway, she told Melirth about Kindan’s fire-lizard and Salina ’s Breth.”
“And?” H’nez demanded. Cisca turned her head slowly toward him, her dark eyes simmering. The bronze rider cleared his throat hastily and bobbed his head. “My apologies, Weyrwoman.”
Cisca held his gaze for a moment more, then looked away, dismissing him from her regard as she said to K’lior, “They can’t be certain what is causing the illness or how long it lasts.”
“Do they have a cure?” K’lior asked.
Cisca closed her eyes, linking with her dragon, then opened them again. “Lorana is not answering; she may be asleep.”
“No help there, then,” H’nez growled.
“When people are sick,” Tannaz spoke into the ensuing silence, “we quarantine them.”
“We started that with the fire-lizards,” T’jen agreed. He looked down to the floor a long moment, then brought his chin up jerkily, saying, “Salith and I should be kept away from the weyrlings at the very least.”
“Nonsense!” H’nez declared loudly. “Who will teach them?”
“If they are coughing,” Fiona spoke up nervously, “could we put masks on them like they did in the Plague?”
A few riders nodded thoughtfully, but H’nez shattered it with a loud guffaw. “Who would put a mask on a dragon?”
“I would,” Tannaz declared. “Especially if it helped prevent infection.”
K’lior pursed his lips and shook his head. “Perhaps we should wait until we know more.”
“How many dragons will die before then?” H’nez demanded angrily.
“Until we know what’s causing it, we won’t know whether we’re helping or hurting,” Cisca shouted. Outside, they heard a dragon bellow, and then another — closer — bellowed back.
“That’s you put in your place,” Tannaz murmured to herself, recognizing the sounds of bronze Ginirth and gold Melirth.
“But we should do
“Yes,” T’mar agreed heatedly. “We should think and not act rashly.”
“As long as Salith isn’t near the hatchlings,” T’jen said.
K’lior glanced consideringly at the Weyrlingmaster, then nodded. “Take Salith to one of the unused weyrs at the far end of the Bowl.” He glanced at T’mar. “I want you to take over the weyrlings.”
T’mar looked ready to argue, then paused and finally nodded in acquiescence. “Yes, Weyrleader.”
“Everyone is to keep an eye and ear out for any more signs of the illness,” K’lior declared. “Report it to me or Cisca immediately.” He rose decisively and, with a polite gesture for Cisca to precede him, left the room. Tannaz followed immediately after.
Their departure startled Fiona. She remained seated as the other wingleaders slowly drifted past grumbling darkly among themselves.
“He’s too young,” she heard H’nez mutter heatedly to himself as he bustled by her. “
Long after everyone had left, Fiona sat, trembling. It was only when she heard Talenth’s plaintive,
After she finished oiling Talenth into contented slumber, Fiona set off in search of the other Weyrwomen. She found Tannaz first.
“Can you help?” Tannaz asked as she caught sight of her. When Fiona nodded, the older Weyrwoman slumped against the corridor wall and closed her eyes in relief. “Good.”
“What do I do?”
“Oh, sorry,” Tannaz said shaking herself and standing upright again. “We need to talk to the riders, check on the dragons . . . that sort of stuff.”
“Deal with sick aunties?” Fiona murmured, unable to contain herself. “Old uncles?”
“Dragonriders,” Tannaz corrected her firmly. Fiona felt herself burn in shame. Tannaz noticed, even in the shadows of the corridor, and relented. “Yes, they probably
“What do I say to them?” Fiona asked, working to keep a whining tone out of her voice.
