Dragonheart

Yet it seemed that Cisca was wrong. Four days later, Fiona was startled awake in the middle of the night. Talenth was trembling in her sleep, and none of Fiona’s comforting could still the hatchling, yet neither did the queen wake.

Fiona heard voices nearby and stumbled out of her quarters toward the sound. Her fire-lizard stirred on her perch atop Talenth and flitted to Fiona’s shoulder. Fiona shushed her absently and strained to hear.

“Ban the fire-lizards?” K’lior was saying to Cisca.

“That’s what they said,” Cisca agreed. “The fire-lizards have gotten sick and three — at least — have died. They’re afraid that the dragons — ”

“Dragons?” K’lior broke in. He started to say more, but at that moment Fiona stumbled on a pebble and the noise distracted him. “Who’s there?” he called, thrusting his head out the doorway of his quarters.

“It’s me,” Fiona said, coming farther down the corridor. “I heard voices.”

K’lior turned back to his room and murmured something that Fiona didn’t catch, then turned back to her. “I’m sorry we woke you; it’s nothing to worry about.”

“K’lior!” Cisca called reprovingly. “She’ll know soon enough.”

K’lior grimaced, then gestured for Fiona to join them. “What did you hear?” he asked as she followed him into the Weyrwoman’s quarters.

“Something about fire-lizards being banned,” Fiona replied, her hand going, uncontrolled, to the fire-lizard on her shoulder.

“Kindan’s fire-lizard went between, ” Cisca told her softly. “They think he went between  to die.”

“Why?” On her shoulder, Fire chirped worriedly.

Cisca shook her head. “We don’t know,” she said. “Apparently he got ill, something in the lungs.”

“Could this illness affect the dragons?” Fiona asked, glancing back toward her weyr, filled with dread that she might lose both of her only true friends one after the other.

“We don’t know,” K’lior said.

“But the dragons and fire-lizards are related,” Cisca added.

“So maybe they could  get sick,” Fiona surmised. “And that’s why you want to ban the fire-lizards.”

“Yes,” K’lior agreed.

“Many of our weyrfolk have fire-lizards,” Cisca reminded him.

“Yes, I know,” K’lior said. He turned to Fiona. “How will they react?”

On her shoulder, Fire creeled and Fiona shuddered. She thought of Kindan, of how he must feel in his loss. Then she thought of — “Father!”

“That’s right,” Cisca said, “your father has a fire-lizard, too.”

“Father?” Fiona repeated numbly. “But he’s not at the Weyr.”

“It would have to be a general ban,” K’lior told her.

“Wouldn’t just this continent be enough?” Cisca asked, brows furrowed.

“Yes,” K’lior said. “As long as the fire-lizards can’t infect the dragons.”

“What happens to a fire-lizard that’s separated from its person?” Fiona asked.

“We don’t know,” K’lior said, frowning. “A fire-lizard’s bond is not as strong as a dragon’s. If we send them to the Southern Continent, perhaps . . .”

“Not all will go, will they?” Fiona asked.

“No,” K’lior admitted.

“But without the dragons — ”

“Thread comes soon,” Cisca said.

Fiona turned her head in the direction of her sleeping dragon, then back to the Weyrleaders. “My father survived the Plague, he’ll understand. He’s strong.” She turned again toward her quarters. “Come on Fire, we’d best tend to Talenth.”

K’lior started to say something, but Cisca held up a restraining hand, cocking an ear and waiting until she could no longer hear Fiona’s footsteps.

“What was that about?” K’lior asked incredulously.

“She’s in shock, she’s grieving,” Cisca told him. “She needs time to say farewell.”

K’lior nodded then. “I’d like to talk with the weyrfolk in the morning,” he said. “And give all those who have fire-lizards a chance to say farewell.”

Cisca nodded abstractedly.

“What?” K’lior said. “What are you thinking?”

“Have you noticed the way Fiona behaves?”

“I don’t know how else she could behave, given the news,” K’lior replied.

“Have you talked with the weyrlings recently?”

“Are you afraid they have this illness?” K’lior asked, suddenly alarmed. “Could her fire-lizard have spread it to the dragons?”

“No,” Cisca replied, “although that’s a horrible possibility.” She frowned, mulling the notion over, then shook her head. “Have you noticed how they all seem so tired?”

“And distracted,” K’lior agreed. “They seem only half here — T’jen was muttering about it just this morning.”

“And you paid attention?” Cisca asked, amused. It was almost tradition that every Weyrlingmaster was convinced that the latest group of weyrlings was the worst ever.

“Yes,” K’lior agreed. “Because he’d just told off the same rider twice for the same silly thing — he couldn’t get his practice harness on properly.”

“With the Plague, though, it was the strongest who succumbed,” Cisca remarked.

“That was humans, not dragons,” K’lior said. “We can’t be sure of anything.”

“Well, it’s clear that the fire-lizards must go,” Cisca said. “If things work out, perhaps we can have them return.”

“That’d please a lot of our weyrfolk,” K’lior agreed.

There were no signs of pleasure the next morning as dragonriders and weyrfolk collected in the Kitchen Cavern. K’lior could tell that most of the dragonriders knew what was coming: Those with fire-lizards had placed themselves near those weyrfolk who had fire-lizards.

Looking upon the sea of faces, most many Turns older than he, K’lior had never been more aware of how young he was to be a Weyrleader.

“I have grave news from Benden Weyr,” he announced, his voice loud enough to fill every corner of the great room. “M’tal informs me that they have identified a sickness among the fire-lizards — ”

“The fire-lizards!” several exclaimed at once.

“Yes,” K’lior agreed. “Kindan’s bronze Valla succumbed to it yesterday. The symptoms are a cough that doesn’t get better, and green sputum — ”

“Can it affect the dragons?” someone shouted from the back of the room.

“We don’t know,” Cisca said, stepping up beside her mate. “But — ”

“We can’t take the risk!” another of the weyrfolk called. “ ‘Dragonmen must fly when Thread is in the sky!’”

There was a chorus of assent.

“What do you want us to do, Weyrleader?” J’marin, Asoth’s rider, asked. His gold fire-lizard Siaymon sat nestled on his shoulder.

“We’re going to have to send the fire-lizards away,” Cisca said. “We think we can send them to the Southern Continent.”

J’marin stepped forward, his expression grim. He was more than twenty Turns older than either Cisca or K’lior. “Not all will make it.”

“That may be so,” K’lior agreed, leaving unspoken the acknowledgment that the others would go between.  He spoke up to the rest of the Weyr. “We have to protect the dragons — it is our duty. I called you here to tell you what we must do and to give those of you with fire-lizards a chance to say