replied. “I’d never felt anything like it before. I just wanted to hug everyone.”
“Yes,” T’mar agreed quietly, “mating flights are like that: The emotions of the queen and her bronze flow into everyone.”
“When is Melirth due to rise again?” Xhinna asked.
“Not for a while yet,” T’mar replied. “Within the Turn, probably.” He slapped his good hand on his thigh and rose from his chair. “Which reminds me, it’s getting near enough toward dinner that we should head down to the Living Cavern and at least pay our respects to K’lior and Cisca, even if we’re too stuffed to eat.”
“Not me,” Xhinna responded feelingly, rising and grabbing their tray deftly. “I heard what Zirana’s making for dinner and I kept room enough!”
“The word from Ista is bad,” Cisca said the moment she had a chance to catch Fiona’s ear. “We don’t know everything yet, but it sounds like they lost over two-thirds of their fighting dragons.”
“How many do they have left?”
Cisca shook her head. “Less than a Flight, certainly. Maybe less than two wings.” With a sad look she added, “I think they lost more to the illness than anything else. Too many riders don’t want to miss the fight; too few are adept at knowing the signs of this illness.”
“Do we know?”
“Not really,” Cisca answered truthfully. “The cough is obvious, but the earlier signs . . . even Lorana wasn’t certain. Not that we had much time to talk about it . . .”
Fiona gave her a puzzled look.
“We spent most of our time poring over old Records and little time talking,” Cisca told her. She ran a hand nervously across her forehead, wiping hair away from her eyes. “Of course she left the moment she learned about her dragon.” She paused in thought, then shook her head. “The cough’s the most noticeable symptom.”
Fiona saw that the others around the table were watching them and pulled back from Cisca. The Weyrwoman noticed and turned to K’lior.
“I was just telling Fiona about Ista,” she told him.
“What’s the news? Did they have a Fall?” T’mar asked. He was sitting across from Fiona.
“Yes,” Fiona replied. She looked at the Weyrwoman, expecting her to fill in the details, but Cisca merely waved for her to continue the tale and reached for a platter of steaming meat. Fiona took a breath. “The Weyrwoman was just telling me that they may have lost as much as two-thirds of their fighting strength.”
“Two-thirds!” M’kury exclaimed from farther down the table. “They were already light, and with the loss of C’rion . . .”
“J’lantir’s leading them now,” K’lior said.
“J’lantir,” H’nez snorted derisively. “The man lost his whole wing!”
“But we found out
“Holders!” H’nez snorted once more. “Who needs — ”
“I was a holder, H’nez, in case you’ve forgotten,” Fiona snapped angrily, her hands balled into fists under the table. “And without J’lantir, I wouldn’t be here. Think on that.”
“Actually,” Cisca added drolly, “perhaps it’d be best if you just
H’nez’s eyes flashed and he tensed in his chair, his anger obvious to everyone. Outside a dragon bugled loudly, answered by another higher-pitched dragon: Melirth and Talenth. The sounds seemed to recall him to his senses, and with some effort, he relaxed in his chair.
“Everyone is tense,” K’lior said soothingly into the silence that fell. “These are trying times and we — ” He waved his hand indicating all the wingleaders and the two Weyrwomen. “ — set the tone for the entire Weyr.”
“I spoke without thinking,” H’nez said, raising his eyes to K’lior, then Cisca, then Fiona.
“It was probably just the wine,” M’kury said in a conciliatory tone. Then he noticed that there wasn’t any wine at the table and raised a hand, calling, “We need some wine here. Make it Benden white, if you can.”
“You and your Benden white,” S’kan said, shaking his head. “You’d think you were in Benden, not Fort.”
“Fort for the riders, Benden for the wine,” M’kury said, holding out a hand to take one of the glasses being offered to the table. “Everyone has a specialty.”
The rest of the wingleaders guffawed.
“And we know yours,” M’valer said, gesturing to M’kury’s glass as a kitchen drudge carefully filled it.
“And why not? We don’t have another Fall for a sevenday,” M’kury replied nonchalantly.
“Good point,” M’valer acknowledged, raising his own glass for filling.
“Don’t drink too much, though,” K’lior cautioned.
“What about T’mar’s wing?” M’kury asked with a sideways glance toward T’mar.
“Every wing is flying light,” T’mar observed. “We need all the fit dragons we can get.”
“We need fit riders, too,” H’nez remarked sourly.
“My arm will be well enough when Thread falls.”
“Not if you tear it up during drills,” Cisca said pointedly.
“Why don’t I ride with T’mar tomorrow?” Tajen suggested. He hadn’t been sitting at the table but had come by partway through the conversation and had listened in, unnoticed. “I could catch the firestone for him.”
T’mar started to say something, but K’lior spoke first. “That’s a very interesting idea.” The Weyrleader turned to Cisca. “Could we pair other uninjured riders with uninjured dragons?”
“You mean two riders together, or one rider on another’s dragon?”
“That’s unthinkable!” M’valer exclaimed, looking extremely outraged. “Don’t ever think that I’ll let my dragon be ridden by another!”
“Not even to save Pern?” Fiona asked him. M’valer hesitated and she pressed on. “Even if your dragon would allow it and wanted to do it?”
“You know how they get when Thread falls,” M’kury added.
“Well . . . maybe,” M’valer said finally. “But it would have to be in direst need.”
“Why direst need?” Cisca asked reasonably. M’valer bristled, so she persisted. “How can we tell if without your dragon flying one Fall, we will have enough strength for the next?”
M’valer looked confused by this question, so Cisca continued, “No one can really say which dragon will be the most important in a Fall — ”
“You’ve not ridden a Fall,” H’nez objected.
“No, I’ve tended the injured,” Cisca returned sharply. “And I’m saying that we need every fighting dragon that can fly, regardless of who is riding them.”
“Well, it’s a thought at least,” K’lior observed, placing a soothing hand on Cisca’s arm. She glanced over at him in surprise. Whatever response he gave was a secret between the two of them, perhaps relayed by dragon, but it seemed enough for Cisca. K’lior turned his attention back to T’mar. “If you’ve no objection, then I would be interested to see how you work with Tajen tomorrow.”
T’mar gave the ex-dragonrider a quick, measuring look, then nodded. “I’d be delighted.”
“Then it’s settled,” K’lior said, returning his attention back to his dinner.
“What about the weyrlings?” H’nez asked. “Who’s going to handle them?”
“Well,” Tajen replied with a shrug, “the ones who can fly will be handling firestone, and the younger ones will be working with the Weyrwomen here, so I don’t think there’s an issue.”
“Who’ll control the flying werylings and the firestone?” H’nez pressed.
“That would be my job as Weyrwoman,” Cisca replied. She cast a glance at Fiona and smiled impishly. “Fiona will be responsible for the firestone, as we don’t need to have any more riders falling on her.”
That drew a chuckle all around and a shamed look from T’mar.
“With me holding on to you, T’mar, you needn’t worry about falling,” Tajen said, adding to the bronze rider’s shame.
“If you want me to handle the firestone,” Fiona said to Cisca, “then I should probably drill with the weyrlings.”
“Well said!” Tajen exclaimed. “Why don’t you plan on that tomorrow when the riders are practicing?”
Fiona nodded even as she felt her stomach go suddenly heavy with worry. Tomorrow! Under the table, Xhinna patted her knee reassuringly.
“You won’t have much trouble with the older weyrlings,” Tajen consoled Fiona early the next morning over
