Dragonheart

Fiona laughed. “As long as you’ll tell me if I’m  being difficult.”

You? Never!  Talenth replied, twisting her head down a little. Just there. That feels great.

Fiona chuckled at Talenth’s so readily apparent pleasure and redoubled her efforts.

It had been less than two months, she mused to herself, and she couldn’t imagine life without Talenth.

A loud cough from nearby startled her.

As one, dragon and rider turned toward the sound.

“Kalsenth,” Fiona murmured, her heart suddenly heavy in her chest.

She’s not getting better,  Talenth observed. What will happen if she doesn’t get better?

Fiona shook her head, not daring to answer.

SIX

Brave dragons, fly high, fly true

Gold, bronze, brown, green, and blue.

FortWeyr , Seven Days Later, AL 507.13.22

“There’s no need to worry about more herbals,” Tannaz said to Fiona as she entered Kalsenth’s weyr early that morning, bearing a steaming bucket full of the pleasant-smelling brew. “It’s not working.”

Fiona began a protest, but the older woman silenced her with a raised hand. “It hasn’t worked at all these last three days.”

Tannaz was a shrunken remnant of herself, eyes red-rimmed, hair oily and lank, her skin nearly hanging on her frame. She’d been up every night, twitching with every snort or cough her dragon made — and sometimes she’d started in terror to the sound of other dragons whose coughs echoed in the Weyr Bowl with an eery irrevocability, a harbinger of death.

Kalsenth’s breath came and went in wheezes, punctuated erratically by louder coughs that wracked her great gold body from end to end; Fiona cringed to see the beautiful queen in such straits.

“Tell Cisca that I want to move to a higher Weyr,” Tannaz said, turning away from Fiona and back to her dragon.

“Tannaz . . . ?” Fiona began but the older, smaller Weyrwoman waved her away with a hand thrown up dismissively.

In a mood that bordered on terror, Fiona left swiftly, calling to her dragon, Talenth, tell Cisca that Kalsenth has gotten worse.

After a moment’s pause, Fiona’s queen, who had clearly been dozing, responded, I have. She says to meet her in the kitchen.

Thanks,  Fiona replied, altering her trajectory toward the Kitchen Cavern. As she made out the glow of the kitchen fires through the early morning fog, she spotted the darker form of a person near by.

“How’s Tannaz this morning?” Melanwy asked. “How’s her dragon?”

“Worse,” Fiona told her brusquely. Melanwy had taken to skulking around Tannaz’s quarters, always ready to help, but Fiona got the distinct impression that the old woman was personifying the old saying: Misery loves company. Fiona was growing to hate the older woman’s presence but said nothing as Tannaz had made no protest.

“She’s addled,” Tannaz had told Fiona the only time the younger Weyrwoman had commented on it, her tone making it clear that she had expected more compassion from Fiona. “She thinks that I’m Nara , the old Weyrwoman, half the time.” Seeing Fiona’s still-troubled expression, Tannaz added, “I don’t mind the company. You can’t be here all the time; you’ve got your own dragon to tend.”

Fiona couldn’t help but hear the resentment in Tannaz’s tone at that, the unspoken “Your dragon is healthy, at least.”

“I’ll see to her,” Melanwy said now. As the old woman hobbled off, Fiona heard her add, “Haven’t I always seen to her?”

“Fiona, what is it?” Ellor asked as Fiona entered the Kitchen Cavern.

Fiona was still so unnerved by Melanwy’s bizarre behavior that she could only shake her head.

“The Weyrwoman’s over there,” Ellor said, pointing. She pushed a tray into Fiona’s arms. “There’s klah  here and something warm for this cold morning.”

Still bemused, Fiona trudged over to the Weyrwoman and set the tray down, sitting only when Cisca gestured for her to do so. The Weyrwoman was so caught up in her own thoughts that it wasn’t until she’d offered Fiona a cup of klah  for the second time that she realized the younger queen rider hadn’t responded.

“Fiona!”

Fiona looked up at her, dazed.

“What is it?”

“She’s not going to make it, is she?” Fiona said quietly to Cisca. “Neither Kelsanth nor Tannaz, are they?” When Cisca said nothing, Fiona continued, her voice rising along with her anger. “And Melanwy’s there every day, just waiting and hoping for the time when — ”

“Drink some klah, ” Cisca said, her voice commanding. She pushed a mug into Fiona’s numb hands.

Fiona obeyed, but it was as if someone else were moving her hands, someone else drinking. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Dragons were always healthy, they never got sick, they never . . .died.

“She’s going to go with her, isn’t she?” ahe asked, absently dropping her mug on the table.

“If she does, it’ll be her choice,” Cisca replied quietly.

“So what’s Melanwy doing?” Fiona demanded.

“I think,” Cisca replied after a moment, “in her own way, she’s trying to help.”

“Help?” Fiona couldn’t believe it.

“In her own way,” Cisca repeated. She looked up as K’lior pulled out a chair opposite Fiona. He looked haggard.

“I just left J’marin,” K’lior told them.

“The herbal didn’t help, did it?” Fiona demanded. She didn’t notice the look that K’lior and Cisca exchanged and only barely heard K’lior’s words: “No, it didn’t.”

“That’s what Tannaz said,” Fiona told them bleakly. She looked up at Cisca. “She said to tell you not to worry about the herbals and that she wants to move to a higher weyr.”

“No,” Cisca said determinedly. “She’ll stay in her weyr.” She caught Fiona’s look and added, “I’ll tell her.”

T’mar approached them and, at K’lior’s gesture, took a seat. “L’rian’s Danorth is not getting better.”

“None of them are,” declared Kentai, approaching from the cavern’s entrance. He grimaced as he added, “I just spoke with our Masterherder.”

“Herder?” T’mar murmured in surprise.

“The herbal is very similar to one she uses for sick herdbeasts,” Kentai continued, seating himself beside Fiona, across from T’mar. He shook his head. “She says that usually if the herbal doesn’t work the first time, the beast will die.”

“Dragons aren’t the same as herdbeasts!” T’mar declared.

“No,” agreed Kentai, “but the herbal is.”

“I’ve spoke with Toma before,” K’lior mused, “and she’s always seemed very knowledgeable in her craft.”