Dragonheart

Fiona jerked, startled by the voice behind her. But she turned quickly enough to nod to Cisca, amazed that such a big person could move so quietly.

“That she is,” Fiona agreed, giving Talenth a final pat. Fiona wasn’t quite sure how to deal with Cisca. Having grown up as the only surviving child of a grieving Lord Holder, she’d never had to listen to an older woman’s directions before. And the Weyrwoman was only six turns older than she was.

“Will you let me take your rider, Talenth?” Cisca asked the young gold dragon. As Talenth had curled up once more and was engaged in her favorite pastime — sleep — she made no reply. Cisca smiled at Fiona. “I think we can take that for a ‘yes.’ ”

Fiona looked expectantly at her queen fire-lizard, but Fire glanced her way only once, then lay her head back down on her perch on the dragonet’s neck and closed her eyes, clearly saying, Go on without me.  With a smile, Cisca gestured for Fiona to follow her and led the way out of the weyr and down the corridor to her own quarters.

“I’m to teach you your duties as a Weyrwoman,” Cisca said as they entered her rooms. Fiona’s eyes widened as she caught sight of Melirth lounging in her weyr. Cisca caught her glance and laughed. “You think you’re oiling now !”

Fiona’s attempt to stifle a groan was noticed by Cisca, who continued sympathetically, “Really, it’s not as bad as all that.” She gestured to the small shapes surrounding her dragon. “The fire-lizards are an immense help . . . most of the times.”

“My father has a fire-lizard,” Fiona said, forgetting that Cisca had met Jokester at the Hatching.

“Maybe you can entice your father into letting him help you and your little queen,” Cisca suggested, gesturing to a day table flanked by several chairs.

“No,” Fiona said, shaking her head sadly, as she sat down. “With me here, Father’s only got Jokester.” She pursed her lips, then shook her head again. “Anyway, if Jokester came, I’m not sure he’d leave Fire alone.” She met the Weyrwoman’s eyes. “I think it would be best if Jokester stayed at the Hold.”

“Did your father teach you much of holding?” Cisca asked, taking a chair of her own.

Fiona made a face. “That was all  he ever talked about!”

“Well, he did you a service, then,” Cisca said. “Running a Weyr is not all that different from running a hold.”

The look Fiona gave her was mulish.

“You don’t think so?”

“I can’t imagine that you’ve got to spend your time sitting with old grannies while they go on and on about the good old . . .” Fiona trailed off as she noticed Cisca’s expression.

“I get to listen to old dragonmen,” Cisca informed her with a smile. She couldn’t resist adding, “Of course, now, I’ve got you to help me.”

Fiona turned a groan into a deep breath and let it out slowly, squaring her shoulders.

“Of course, instead of just running a hold, you’ve got a dragon as well,” Cisca added.

Fiona thought of the sleeping Talenth and her expression softened. She nodded slowly. “Indeed, I do.” She shivered in response to another thought. “And Thread is coming soon.”

“Yes, it is,” Cisca said. “But your Talenth will be too young to join the queen’s wing for several Turns yet.”

Fiona seemed not to hear her, her attention still directed inward. “I will not fail the Weyr.” She sat in silence for a moment, then shook herself and looked up at Cisca. “I’m sorry, Weyrwoman, you were saying?”

“I was talking about the queen’s wing,” Cisca said. “There’s only Tannaz and her Kalsenth now. Weyrs don’t fly a queen’s wing unless there are three queens.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Cisca waved the apology aside. “There’s nothing to apologize for, unless you know how to speed up time and you’ve been holding out on us.”

Fiona shook her head.

“I thought so,” Cisca said. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you think a Weyrwoman’s duties are, based on what you know from holding?”

“Okay,” Fiona said. She thought for a moment, then continued. “A Weyrwoman is responsible for the proper running of the hold — I mean, Weyr. She has to handle the staff — ” She caught Cisca’s look. “Not staff?”

“Weyrfolk,” Cisca supplied.

“Weyrfolk,” Fiona repeated, nodding as she fixed the word in her memory. “She handles the weyrfolk in the preparation of food — ” Fiona’s brow furrowed. “ — the food from tithe?”

“Yes,” Cisca agreed. “When Thread is falling we don’t have time to find food.”

“Nor do we,” Fiona replied tetchily. She caught herself and blushed, shaking her head. “I meant the hold. Holders.”

“I’m weyrbred,” Cisca responded. “I’m counting on you to remind me of what it is to be a holder.”

“It’s just that . . .” Fiona trailed off in embarrassment.

“Go on,” Cisca said. Her tone was kind.

“It seems that dragonriders don’t do that much and yet they get whatever they need, whenever they want it,” Fiona said, her frank blue eyes meeting Cisca’s warm brown ones. Cisca waited silently. Fiona lowered her gaze and pursed her lips. Finally, she sighed and looked up again at the Weyrwoman. “I’ve heard holder lads say the same thing about me.”

“And is it true?”

Fiona’s shoulders slumped. “I know I didn’t work as hard as some of them.”

“Are you lazy, then?”

Fiona’s eyes flashed angrily. “I never shirked a duty, never stopped until I was told, never — oh!”

Cisca smiled at the younger girl. “Perhaps you understand being weyrfolk better than you imagined.”

Fiona nodded ruefully. She started to say something but stopped abruptly, stricken.

Cisca said nothing as she too was suddenly stricken.

Outside, dragons bellowed in anguish, their voices almost drowned out by the nearer sound of Melirth’s keening. Fiona could hear Talenth’s anguished cry mingling with the others.

I’m here!  she called to her dragon.

Talith is no more,  Talenth told her sadly.

A hand covered Fiona’s and she looked up as Cisca told her sadly, “That is one of the extra prices dragonriders pay.”

The death of Talith and his rider J’trel left Fiona distraught for the next several days. She tried to hide it from Talenth, but the young queen was too perceptive.

What is hurting you?  Talenth asked in mixed tones of confusion and protectiveness.

Talith,  Fiona replied.

Who?

Never mind,  Fiona assured her, her tone as bright as she could make it. Let’s get you oiled up again; you’ve rubbed it all off in the sand.

Later, when Talenth was sleeping, Fiona sought out the Weyrwoman.

“You want to know why Talenth doesn’t remember?” Cisca asked. She smiled. “That’s one of the gifts of the dragons — their memories are short, they forget most things quickly.”

“You say most things?”

“Sometimes they remember; usually the strangest things.” In response to Fiona’s confused look, she added, “You’ll soon find out for yourself.”

“How did Talith die?” Fiona asked the question she’d been dreading for days.

“J’trel was old,” Cisca said. “They went between  together.”

“Do dragons die of old age?”

“No one really knows,” Cisca said, shaking her head. “Usually the rider dies of old age first and the dragon goes between. ” She smiled at Fiona. “You’ve many Turns before that’ll be a concern for you.”

Fiona nodded and returned to her quarters to curl up comfortably with Talenth.