“She went
“She did?” the old woman asked, straining to find the memory. “Oh, now I remember.” There was a long silence as Melanwy absorbed her loss once again and then, with a sigh, the old woman pushed back the chair and stood up again. “What are we doing here?”
“We’re looking for herbs, Melanwy,” Cisca said. “We need echinacea and ginger and — ”
“Why?”
“Because the dragons are getting sick,” Cisca said, trying to keep the weariness out of her voice.
“Dragons don’t get sick,” Melanwy insisted again. Cisca glanced over at Fiona in exasperation.
“What do we need, Weyrwoman?” Fiona asked, stepping into the room and glancing around. “Besides ginger and echinacea?”
With a relieved look, Cisca passed a slate to Fiona. “Here’s the list.”
“Melanwy and I can find them,” Fiona said, and was instantly gratified to see relief on Cisca’s face. “Can’t we, Melanwy?”
“Who are you?” Melanwy asked.
“Fiona,” she replied quickly. “I’m from Fort Hold , Lord Bemin’s daughter.”
“What are you doing here?” Melanwy asked, then remembered her manners. “How delightful to meet you; how is your mother?”
“Perhaps Melanwy can help
Cisca brightened. “I’ll send some folk to help,” she promised, clapping Fiona on the shoulder in thanks as she passed around her and through the doorway.
Fiona turned back to Melanwy. “The Weyrwoman’s offered us some of your stores; we’ll pay them back as soon as we can, but we’ve got a sickness and need some herbs — ”
“What do you need?” Melanwy asked briskly, gesturing for Fiona to hand her the list.
Melanwy was tired when they had finished locating the last of the herbs, so Fiona escorted her back to her quarters before returning to the Kitchen Cavern.
“Take this up to T’jen,” Cisca was saying to one of the kitchen-folk as Fiona entered. She turned to a young rider standing attentively beside her and continued, “Take this to the Harper Hall and see if they can help.”
The rider nodded and left, moving briskly. It was then that Cisca noticed Fiona.
“Melanwy was tired, so I brought her back to her quarters to rest,” Fiona told her.
Cisca gestured her to a table on which were laid out some rolls, butter, mugs, and a pitcher of
“Right now there are five sick dragons,” Cisca told her once as they were seated. “Salith, Asoth, Danorth, Panunth, and Kalsenth.”
Fiona was confused. “Salith is T’jen’s brown, right?”
“Oh, sorry, I forgot that you’ve only been here — how long has it been?” Cisca said, then waved the question away. “Asoth is J’marin’s blue — he’s the one who had the gold fire-lizard, Siaymon — Danorth is L’rian’s green, and Panunth is M’rorin’s blue.”
Fiona tried to fix the names of the riders, the dragons, and their colors in her head but found, to her annoyance, that she couldn’t.
“I used to be good with names,” she said, frowning. “I know all the names of every holder in Fort Hold and all the heads of every hold minor or craft — ”
“Don’t worry,” Cisca assured her. “You’ll learn them all in time.”
Fiona contented herself with a sip from her mug and another bite of her roll. She was surprised that she was so hungry until she remembered that she hadn’t eaten at all that morning . . . which brought her back to the issue she’d been avoiding. “I seem to be in such a muddle all the time,” she confessed to Cisca. She met the Weyrwoman’s eyes. “I didn’t use to be like this.”
Cisca picked up on Fiona’s unspoken plea. “I don’t think it’s the illness,” she told her.
“But you’ve noticed?” Fiona persisted. “Is there something wrong with me?”
“If there is, you’re not alone.” The speaker was K’lior, who was striding up to them. He smiled at Fiona, kissed Cisca on the cheek, and, hooking a chair with his foot, dragged himself up a seat. He looked Fiona over intently. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m tired all the time,” Fiona said. “But isn’t that normal after an Impression? And I’ve thirteen Turns, and all the old ones said that being a teen was tiring.”
K’lior smiled reassuringly at her. “It is normal to be tired for the first few months or more after Impressing a dragonet — it takes time for them to reach their growth!” His eyes twinkled as he added, “And I recall being tired for much of my teens, too.” He looked over at Cisca, questioningly.
Fort’s Weyrwoman spent some time choosing her words. “Both are very tiring,” Cisca began.
“But Kindan had only fourteen Turns when he fought the Plague,” Fiona remarked. She pushed herself up straighter. “If he can do that, I don’t know why I can’t manage a dragon while being a teen.”
“Of course you’ll manage your dragon,” Cisca told her emphatically. With a nod toward the Weyrleader, she added, “Neither K’lior nor I have any doubt about
“But . . .” Fiona prompted then blushed as she remembered to whom she was speaking. Before she could apologize, K’lior responded, “But we have noticed that you and many others seem more tired than usual, even for those who have newly Impressed.”
“There are even some who Impressed many Turns ago,” Cisca added, thinking of T’mar.
Fiona was only half relieved by the news. “No one knows why we’re feeling this way?”
K’lior shook his head. “No, but we’re keeping an eye on it.”
“So far it hasn’t affected the dragons,” Cisca assured her, “just the riders.”
“And they’re able to do their duty,” K’lior added. Fiona noted the way Cisca glanced at the Weyrleader when he made this pronouncement.
“You don’t agree, do you?” Fiona asked her.
Cisca chewed her lip thoughtfully before saying, to K’lior’s evident irritation, “I have some reservations.”
“We’ve more important matters at the moment,” K’lior said, changing the topic. He turned to Cisca. “How are our stores for that herbal recipe Benden sent?”
Cisca shook her head and grimaced. “We’ll be out before the end of the day, with just these five.”
“We can send riders to the Holds,” K’lior decided. He took on the abstracted look of a rider talking to his dragon, smiled briefly, then said, “I’ve asked T’mar to go to Fort, P’der to go to Southern Boll, and M’kury will go to Ruatha.”
“And V’ney and H’nez?” Cisca wondered.
“They’ll be handling drill today,” K’lior told her.
“Mixed wings?” Cisca asked.
“Of course,” K’lior replied, smiling.
Fiona looked confused, so Cisca explained, “K’lior likes to mix up wings to be sure that every rider can work with every wingleader.”
“Oh.”
“It keeps them on their toes,” K’lior told her with a wink.
“It stops them from being bored,” Cisca allowed.
“Bored?” Fiona asked, surprised that dragonriders could be bored.
“You must remember that some of them have been drilling all their lives,” K’lior said.
“But the Red Star,” Fiona protested. “Thread is coming soon!” “Which is why we drill with mixed wings,” K’lior agreed.
Fiona thought on that for a moment and nodded. “Father often makes his guards change posts.”
“Probably for the same reason,” Cisca said.
A sudden thought caused Fiona to perk up. “Do you suppose, perhaps, that is, if it wouldn’t be too much of a burden — ”
“Spit it out,” Cisca said, gesturing with one hand. She pointed at K’lior. “He won’t bite.”
K’lior gave them a look of feigned indignation.
“If Talenth doesn’t wake, would it be possible for me to go to Fort?”
