Dragonheart

of you, that dragons have riders.”

“And?” Cisca demanded, brows furrowed.

“There’s a reason the weyrlings only have two sacks of firestone on tether at a time,” K’lior told her. “It’s because they couldn’t manage the workload of more.”

“So?” Cisca demanded. “I’ll get someone to help me.” She glanced pointedly at Fiona, who was delighted at the notion.

“No,” K’lior replied, shaking his head firmly. “I might risk one of our queens at the trailing edge of Thread but not both Weyrwomen.”

Cisca’s elation deflated immediately. “You’re right.” Then she brightened again. “Perhaps Tajen?”

“Actually,” Tajen began slowly as all eyes turned to him, “perhaps it would make more sense for T’mar and me to perform the experiment first.”

“A bronze could carry nearly as much as a queen,” K’lior reminded Cisca.

“And it would be safer for the Weyr,” Cisca conceded against her will.

“Someone has to keep things running here,” K’lior agreed with her.

“But if it works — ” Cisca began.

“We’ll talk about it,” K’lior agreed. He raised a finger toward Fiona, adding, “But she won’t ride with you.”

“I could take Xhinna,” Cisca said thoughtfully.

“She’d  be thrilled,” Fiona agreed.

Tajen turned to T’mar. “We should spend some time on this idea of the Weyrwoman’s.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” Cisca corrected him, nodding to Fiona. “It was hers.”

Fiona flushed with pride.

Xhinna’s surprise at the long line of weyrlings clambering up the ledge to Talenth’s weyr was quickly overwhelmed by her joy at watching the bronze, browns, blues, and greens happily launching themselves skyward, first in a glide and then, the second time, beating their wings several times to climb and climb before once more returning to the ground.

Fiona and Talenth watched with her from their vantage point on the ground, Talenth exclaiming happily at each launch and telling Fiona, I flew higher than  that! — which, being true, required Fiona’s firm agreement each time.

Can they come again tomorrow?  Talenth asked excitedly after the weyrlings had finished their last flight and had gone back to their quarters.

You won’t mind?  Fiona asked. Apparently not, Fiona decided, as Talenth responded, Can I go first?

Fiona woke suddenly, in the middle of the night. Xhinna was snoring beside her. Fiona directed her thoughts to Talenth and the dragon’s response was so alarmed that Fiona instantly leapt out of bed. She paused only long enough to slip her feet in slippers and grab her robe before racing to Talenth’s weyr.

Talenth was trembling in her sleep, limbs restless and eyelids fluttering.

It’s all right,  Fiona told her dragon as quietly as she could, concentrating on soothing her without waking her. Talenth uncurled, turned, and curled up again, still trembling.

It burns!  Fiona heard. She snapped her head around, looking outside the weyr, trying to locate the source of that thought. But before she found it, she heard another voice call, Arith!  And suddenly Fiona felt her legs give out and she collapsed against Talenth, all strength drained, her eyes streaming tears, her mouth open in a silent scream.

She seemed to lie there forever, all strength sapped, all hope gone, feeling only the trembling of her queen beside her. And then —

It will be all right.  But it wasn’t Talenth’s voice. Fiona opened her eyes, looking around to find the source of the voice.

After a long moment, Fiona thought back, How can you be sure?  But there was no answer.

ELEVEN

I reached out

And you were gone.

I cried out

But you had flown.

FortHold , Morning, AL 508.1.19

Cisca found her there, sleeping beside Talenth, early the next morning.

“Arith — ”

“ — has gone between, ” Fiona said grimly.

Cisca looked startled.

“Didn’t you hear it happen?” Fiona asked her, surprised. Cisca shook her head. “I heard Arith cry, ‘It burns!’ and then Lorana cried, ‘Arith!’ and then Arith went between  and . . . I collapsed.”

“I’ve never heard of this happening before,” Cisca said, looking troubled.

“And then I heard another voice,” Fiona said.

“What did it say?”

“It said, ‘It will be all right.’ ”

“I certainly hope so,” Cisca agreed fervently, but she looked dubious. She looked off into the distance for a long, thoughtful moment and then seemed to come to a decision. “Whether it will or not, that’s how we should act.”

“Like it will be all right?”

“Yes,” Cisca said. She leaned over and extended a hand to Fiona. “And so you’d best make yourself presentable. Meet me in the Kitchen Cavern. I’m sure others will want that reassurance — to see that it will be all right.”

Fiona took Cisca’s hand gratefully and stood up, feeling sore from her awkward sleeping position.

“So if Arith has gone between,  what will Lorana do?” Fiona asked.

“She’ll grieve,” Cisca said, her eyes bright with tears.

“What about the cure, was she working on that?” Fiona wondered.

Cisca’s eyes widened in horror. “Arith said, ‘It burns!’ What if the cure was what killed her dragon . . .” Cisca’s voice trailed off. From her expression, Fiona could see that Cisca was speaking to Melirth, but then the Weyrwoman stopped abruptly.

“Benden flies today with Ista; I won’t add to their worries,” she declared. “We can find out later.” She nodded to herself firmly, then told Fiona, “Get! Go have a bath, and meet me when you’re ready.”

“Yes, Weyrwoman.”

Fiona discovered just how fast news traveled in the Weyrs when she arrived at the Weyrleader’s table for breakfast.

“If Arith went between,  what does that mean for our weyrlings? They’re nearly the same age,“ M’kury was saying as Fiona sat. Getting no response from the Weyrleaders, he turned to her. “What do you think, Weyrwoman?”

“I think it will be all right,” Fiona replied, trying to sound as if she believed it.

“They were working on a cure, weren’t they?” K’rall asked from his side of the table. His eyes rested on Fiona so she felt obliged — if utterly unqualified — to answer.

“I know no more than you,” Fiona told him honestly.

“Well, I hope they hurry,” M’kury said. “I’ve got three sick dragons in my wing.”