Dragonheart

Kindan had written the song long before he had come to the Harper Hall, long before the Plague that had killed so many, including all of Fiona’s family, except her father. She wondered now, with a thrill running down her spine, how Kindan would feel when he saw her flying her  dragon toward him one morning.

Before the song was completed however, Fiona felt Talenth stirring.

“Talenth is waking up,” she said to Tannaz, wondering what to do.

“Go feed her and see to her,” Tannaz ordered with no attempt to keep her exasperation out of her voice. “Your dragon always comes first.”

With an apologetic nod to the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, Fiona rushed out of the Kitchen Cavern and into the dusky Bowl.

I’m coming,  she told her dragon.

Fiona was relieved to find that Talenth had no more serious issues than a rumbling stomach and a small flaking spot under her chin. She fed her and oiled her, told her about making her first meal, and calmed the queen down until she settled back into the half-slumber that characterized the majority of her daily activity.

“I’m going back now; call me if you need me,” Fiona said. Talenth said nothing in response, and Fiona could sense only the dimmest of images in the sleepy dragonet’s mind.

When she went back out into the corridor, she heard voices from the Weyrwoman’s quarters, so she headed that way, instead of back to the Bowl.

“Weyrwoman?” Fiona called politely at the entrance.

“Come on in, Fiona,” Tannaz called back. “We’re having a quick conference before we call it a night.”

Inside, Fiona found Cisca, Tannaz, and K’lior grouped around the table. The room was lit by large glow baskets, two glowing green, one blue, and a fourth a dim yellow. With nightfall, the glows brought out the shadows and dark places in the room. Tannaz beckoned to Fiona to come sit on her knee.

“Whoof!  You’re heavier than I thought!” the Weyrwoman exclaimed.

“Maybe you should switch,” Cisca suggested.

“What, and admit that I’m smaller than a weyrling?” Tannaz replied. “Think what that would do to my esteem.”

Although Fiona knew that she was taller than the older Weyrwoman, it was still a shock to have the fact demonstrated so completely. Tannaz was just one of those people who seemed  big, no matter what their size, because of their great presence.

“Although,” Tannaz admitted after a moment, “if our conversation goes on too long, you’re going to have to find a different perch.” She complicated manners by tickling Fiona’s side. Fiona was still young enough that she was ticklish, and she tried vainly to shift away from Tannaz’s teasing fingers.

“We won’t keep you long,” Cisca said in a tone that silenced both Fiona’s giggling and Tannaz’s antics. Tannaz turned her complete attention to the Weyrwoman.

“I can’t be sure, but I thought I heard two more coughs on the way up here,” Tannaz said with a grimace.

“That’s what I heard, too,” K’lior agreed.

“Melirth says that Asoth and Panunth don’t feel well,” Cisca reported.

K’lior turned toward the Bowl, thoughtfully. “M’rorin and J’marin ride in H’nez’s wing.”

“Should we move them up to Salith?” Tannaz wondered.

“I’d say yes,” Cisca replied, looking questioningly at K’lior.

“I’ll check with Kentai in the morning,“ he said.

That made sense to Fiona. Everyone knew that harpers got some training in healing.

“I’m not sure that it won’t create more tension to separate the wingriders from their wing,” K’lior went on.

“When there’s a cold going around Fort, the sick people either stay in their quarters or go to the infirmary,” Fiona offered tentatively.

“We do that when weyrfolk get sick,” Cisca said.

“They don’t get sick nearly as much as holders,” Tannaz added. “And the riders never  seem to get sick.”

“Why would they go to the infirmary?” K’lior asked Fiona.

“They’d go when they were so sick that they couldn’t care for themselves,” Fiona replied. “Father and I would visit them either way — usually we’d bring soup or fruits — but it was better for a really sick person to be near the healer at all times.”

“We’ve no healer,” Cisca said bitterly.

“I’m not sure it would help with the dragons,” K’lior said.

“So who’s going to patch them up when they get Thread-scored?” Cisca demanded. She gestured to Tannaz, Fiona, and herself. “We’ll be flying queen’s wing.”

“Not for a while,” K’lior reminded her. “And by then I’m sure the Healer Hall will have dispatched a journeyman to us.”

Fiona chewed her lip before confessing, “Father said we didn’t have enough spare hands to send them to the Halls for eight Turns of learning.”

The others looked at her inquiringly.

“That’s how long it takes to train a healer,” Fiona told them. “Four Turns in the Harper Hall, four more in the Healer Hall.”

“Why so long?” Cisca asked.

“Why not just teach healing?” Tannaz added.

“Kindan said that a harper learns a lot of healing,” Fiona replied. “The extra turns at the Healer Hall are to learn even more.”

“Fort was hard hit by the Plague,” K’lior remembered.

“Father said it was the same with all the holds and crafts,” Fiona responded. “He said it was getting better now that the holds and crafts were recovering from the Plague, but that there were still fields lying fallow and looms gathering dust.”

“I could see how hard it would be to give up an able body in such times,” Tannaz said. When Cisca looked ready to disagree, Tannaz explained, “The grain from the fields is needed for the cattle for the dragons, as well as for the holders who tend the cattle.”

“Well, we won’t solve that problem here,” Cisca said, dismissing the issue. “The question is, what to do with these sick dragons?”

“The question is, how many are sick, will they recover, and when?” K’lior corrected her. When she looked at him blankly, he reminded her, “Thread will be coming soon and we’ll need every dragon and rider we have.”

Even though the conversation was engrossing and worrying, Fiona found herself so tired from the day’s events and her own efforts that she could only poorly stifle a yawn.

“And we won’t answer them tonight!” K’lior said, rising from his chair. He bowed his head to Fiona. “My apologies, I forgot that not only is your dragon young and growing but so are you.”

“Both of you need your rest,” Cisca agreed. She, too, found herself yawning. “We all  need our rest.”

“I’ll talk with Kentai tomorrow,” K’lior said.

“I’ll want to listen in,” Cisca told him.

“Get up,” Tannaz ordered Fiona. “I’ll see you to your Weyr.”

The last thing Fiona remembered was the sight of Tannaz stretching on her tiptoes to reach up and turn over the last glow in her room.

FIVE