Dragonheart

“I doubt two of mine will last the day,” K’rall said by way of agreement.

“How many will be left to fight the next Threadfall?” H’nez demanded.

“More than Ista,” M’valer said morosely.

“Fighting Thread is hard enough without this illness eating away at our strength,” V’ney observed, disheartedly spooning up some cereal.

“Too right!” M’kury agreed sourly. “And the illness itself — it’s hard enough when you can tell with the sneezing, but Jakoth, he was fine one moment and then just gone — how can we tell if we’re taking sick dragons against Thread?”

“It will be all right,” Fiona ventured again, wishing she could find the same conviction as whoever had spoken to her earlier.

V’ney looked across at her, disbelief written on his face. “No offense, Weyrwoman, but you’re young, and the young are always convinced they’ll live forever.”

“Lorana’s Arith was not much older than your Talenth,” H’nez observed. He turned to K’lior. “Are we certain that none of the weyrlings are sick?”

His implication was not lost on Fiona, who suddenly found it harder to be optimistic and lost her appetite for her roll. Cisca shot her a quick look, her eyes dropping to Fiona’s food, and getting the hint, Fiona forced herself to take a bite.

“None that we’ve noticed,” T’mar said. The other wingleaders looked less than reassured at this, so he continued, “Tajen has been keeping a special eye on them.”

The implication that Tajen, who had lost his dragon to the illness, would be a diligent observer was not lost on the wingleaders.

“That’s good,” V’ney said.

K’rall wasn’t so pleased. “Ah, but his dragon was coughing up that green infection before — ”

“Wingleaders,” K’lior said, raising his voice to cut across K’rall’s words, “in six days we ride Fall over Ruatha Hold and our own Weyr. For now, I think that should be all that concerns us.”

The wingleaders nodded in reluctant assent, returning their attention to the food on their plates.

After breakfast, K’lior had the wingleaders assemble their wings for more practice drills.

“You’ll have the weyrlings today, Weyrwoman,” T’mar informed Fiona as she strode out into the Weyr Bowl with him after breakfast. Fiona couldn’t hide her surprise, and T’mar chuckled.

“Just tell them to go about their chores, then drill them like we did the other day and — if they’re good — let them have another romp on the Weyrwomen’s ledge,” he told her.

“What about you? Tajen?” Fiona asked worriedly.

“We’re going to try your trick with the firestone,” T’mar told her with a grin. He laughed when he saw her stricken expression. Turning away to wave to Tajen, he called over his shoulder, “The rewards of a job well done!”

Another job, Fiona thought, remembering that her father had often said the same thing to her. The thought of him braced her and she squared her shoulders and turned toward the weyrling barracks.

J’gerd and J’keran were joking with F’jian, the young bronze rider, off to one side.

“Weyrwoman,” J’keran said, nodding respectfully when she approached.

“You’re to finish your chores, then drill the older wings,” she said, glancing at J’gerd to see that he understood. The curly-headed youth pursed his lips in readiness of some objection, then thought the better of it and nodded in acceptance. Satisfied, Fiona turned to F’jian. “When the younger weyrlings are done with their chores, let me know. We’ll be drilling on the ground.”

F’jian nodded, somewhat surprised at hearing her give orders — he was a good head taller than she and at least a full Turn older. “Yes, Weyrwoman.”

Xhinna joined her before the chores were done, so Fiona took her aside for a hasty conference.

“T’mar says I’m to drill the younger weyrlings today,” Fiona told her, allowing her panic to show.

“You’ll do fine,” Xhinna assured her. As Fiona began to shake her head, Xhinna added, “Just pretend like you mean everything as a test — especially any orders you get wrong.”

With Xhinna by her side, murmuring encouragement, the drill went well enough, especially when Fiona had the brilliant idea to have Talenth join in again and also tried alternating who gave the drills — she even surprised everyone by giving Xhinna a chance.

“ ‘Just pretend like you mean everything as a test,’ ” Fiona quoted back at her as she rushed off to lead Talenth. The other girl’s eyes flashed angrily, but then she grinned.

Despite the weyrlings’ initial mutinous murmurs, Xhinna proved as adept at drill as Fiona had expected, giving her orders in a well-timed cadence that actually made the drills work better.

“That was amazing!” Xhinna told Fiona when they finally called halt, her eyes shining with joy. “I could almost feel how they’d be in the air and — ” She cut herself off abruptly and dropped her eyes to the ground.

Fiona could guess what the other girl was thinking: that it was something she’d never experience. She wanted to say something to reassure her, to give her hope, but she couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound false or silly.

“Help me walk Talenth to the lake,” she said instead, leading them to the tail of the long line of weary but exhilarated weyrlings.

Why is she sad?  Talenth asked, turning her faceted eyes toward Xhinna.

She wants to Impress,  Fiona told her.

Xhinna, you could Impress one of my hatchlings,  Talenth told the younger girl but “loudly” enough that Fiona could hear, adding hurriedly, when I have them.

Xhinna stopped in her tracks, jaw agape as she looked at the young queen. She raced up and wrapped her arms around Talenth’s neck, reaching up toward her head to scratch her eye ridges. “Thank you, Talenth!”

Of course, it will be a while before I’m old enough,  Talenth added privately to Fiona. Fiona smiled at her dragon and raced around to her other side, to scratch her other eye ridge. Talenth stopped, momentarily lost in draconic rapture, then realized that the weyrlings were leaving them behind and started forward once more, alternating hopeful looks from side to side in an effort to keep both girls scratching.

The high point of the day for Fiona was back at the Weyrwomen’s ledge watching Talenth and the other weyrlings practice flying again. Finally, though, the practice was over, and she dispersed the tired but happy weyrlings back to their barracks. She had just finished oiling and settling Talenth comfortably in her weyr when T’mar and Tajen returned on bronze Zirenth. She raced over the ledge, jumping high with all the enthusiasm of a weyrling, landed on bent knees, and tore off toward them.

“How did it go?” she cried as she approached.

Tajen was first down and he met her grin with one of his own. “It went well.”

“Help me down, will you?” T’mar called irritably from his perch, flapping his injured arm in its sling like a wounded dragon. “I can’t manage yet with this on me!”

Tajen shortly had the bronze rider on the ground.

“I can’t wait to get better,” T’mar said, sourly massaging his shoulder with his free hand.

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Tajen observed drolly.

The bronze rider’s eyes flashed, then the anger faded as he realized he was being teased. “It’s just — ”

“It was too much for your arm,” Tajen finished, meeting T’mar’s stubborn look squarely. “You shouldn’t have tried so much this first time.”

T’mar started to argue but caught himself and sighed, shaking his head. “You’re right,” he agreed glumly. “But we need every dragon — ”

“And rider,” Tajen interjected.

“ — and rider,” T’mar agreed, “to fight the Fall.”

“We need every healthy  rider and dragon,” Fiona corrected him. “It’s no use having sick dragons or injured riders trying to fight Thread.”

T’mar glanced from Tajen to Fiona and back again, deciding not to argue the point.

“Anyway,” Tajen said, returning to Fiona’s original question, “it went well.”

“It would have been better if both of us were uninjured,” T’mar added.

“That slowed things down,” Tajen agreed with a wave of his hand. “Even so, trailing six sacks of firestone