Dragonheart

“Of course, Weyrwoman,” F’jian said, sketching her a quick salute.

Fiona made her own way to the Dining Cavern to get a pitcher of warm klah  for those waiting in the Bowl. Inside, she saw Cisca pacing nervously near one of the ovens.

“It will be all right,” Fiona murmured to her. Cisca nodded, her eyes still anxious, then visibly steeled herself, lifted her head high, and nodded.

“Of course it will,” she replied with feigned certainty. She smiled. “It had better,” she continued. “I told K’lior as much.”

“And as Weyrleader, he knows not to gainsay you,” Fiona agreed with a grin.

“Exactly!” Cisca agreed lightly. Fiona smiled at her and moved on to the klah  hearth. Her ears were good and tuned to the noises of the night, so she was able to hear Cisca’s low murmur, “Fly well, my love.”

Fiona felt the pang, the mixture of emotions — joy, sorrow, worry — which the Weyrwoman had for K’lior and wondered if she herself would ever feel that way about another.

The moment K’lior’s Rineth touched ground on Fort Weyr ’s Bowl, Cisca was beside the bronze dragon, numbweed at the ready, directing a group of weyrlings to attack the Thread-scored burns. Other groups of weyrfolk scattered around Fort Weyr ’s Bowl as more injured dragons landed by the light of glows.

“What is it?” Cisca asked suspiciously, taking in the joyous look on K’lior’s face as he dismounted beside her. “Tell me.”

K’lior closed his eyes to refresh his memory. “It was amazing,” he said.

“And?” Cisca prompted impatiently. K’lior paused dramatically. “Tell me right now, bronze rider, or you’ll — ”

K’lior held up his hands in surrender, smiling and shaking his head. He touched a finger to her lips but Cisca snapped at it with her teeth.

“Now,” she growled.

“We were getting torn up,” K’lior said after a moment. “Casualties were high — ”

“There can’t be more than two dozen,” Cisca objected, surveying the Bowl critically. “That’s bad, but not high.”

“It would have been higher if we’d fought alone,” K’lior said.

Cisca’s eyes widened in shock. “You didn’t ?” She glanced toward the top of the Bowl, as if expecting burrowed Thread to come over the crest at any moment.

“We had help,” K’lior told her.

“High Reaches?” Cisca asked. “I’m surprised, considering the way — ” She stopped, catching the look in K’lior’s eyes. “Not High Reaches?”

“Not High Reaches,” K’lior agreed.

“Who then?”

“No dragons at all,” K’lior replied, his eyes shining in wonder. “But ground crews couldn’t protect the mountains,” Cisca objected.

“No ground crews,” K’lior agreed. He paused as long as he could, judging Cisca’s growing agitation, until he said, “Watch-whers.”

“Watch-whers? They came?” Cisca said, and K’lior nodded solemnly. “They helped?”

“They more than helped,” P’der, K’lior’s wingsecond, said as he approached them. “They ate  the Thread!”

“And they see better in the dark than dragons,” K’lior added, his face bursting into another great grin.

“They know which of the Thread is frozen and which is still alive,” P’der added, shaking his head in admiration. “Those big eyes of theirs . . .”

“You should have seen them,” K’lior told her. “We were being torn apart by Thread, couldn’t see, couldn’t help our dragons, and then all the sudden we saw these points of light rise up from below us — ”

“Their eyes,” P’der interjected, nodding enthusiastically. “They reflected the night sky so much they were like jewels coming up from the ground.”

“And then she told us that they could handle the rest of the Fall, that we should go back,” K’lior finished.

“She?” Cisca asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Nuella, of course,” P’der said. “The queen watch-wher’s rider.”

“The WherMaster,” K’lior added in agreement.

“Of course, there were hardly enough watch-whers,” P’der added. “If they had had to fight a full daytime Fall, when all the Thread is warm enough to be alive, they would have been overwhelmed.”

“We  would have fought the Fall, then,” K’lior said.

“I don’t know,” P’der said, shaking his head. “There are some times, particularly down Boll way, when those warm winds keep the evening hot.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen, then,” K’lior said. He looked at Cisca. “Remind me to talk with Nuella in the morning. It was amazing.”

“So you got to see watch-whers flying at night?” Cisca asked. K’lior nodded. “Eating Thread?” K’lior nodded again. Cisca huffed angrily at him. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“You know that we agreed that the queens wouldn’t fly until the sickness is gone.”

Cisca glared at him.

“The next Fall’s at night, down at Boll,” P’der observed helpfully.

“I’ll be there,” Cisca said, daring K’lior to contradict her.

“It’ll be late in the evening,” K’lior said, thinking aloud. “The Thread will probably all be dead, so there’s probably no harm in it.”

Above them, sounding all around the Bowl, there was a chorus of dragon coughs. K’lior exchanged looks with his Weyrwoman and wingsecond.

“There are over fifty coughing from the sickness,” Cisca said somberly.

“We lost three between  in the Fall,” P’der added.

“So we have just over a hundred dragons fit to fly the next Fall in three days’ time,” K’lior surmised. Cisca and P’der nodded gloomily. K’lior straightened up, threw back his shoulders, and gave them both a cheering look. “With the watch-whers’ help, that will be more than enough.”

“And we’ll have six days’ rest after that Fall,” Cisca added with a similar attempt at cheer.

“P’der, have the wingleaders meet me in the Council Room in the morning. We can go over our organization then.”

P’der nodded curtly and strode off toward his quarters.

K’lior gestured to Cisca, who took his hand, and the two strolled around the Bowl, checking on injuries and doing their best to cheer up riders and dragons both.

“You should have seen it,” K’lior said. “There I was, wondering how we were going to manage, when this voice comes out of the night sky — ”

“Which voice?”

“Nuella’s,” K’lior said, “only I didn’t know it at the time. Nearly scared me off my perch.”

“How could she call to you?” Cisca asked.

“She was right above me,” K’lior told her.

“So she called down over her watch-wher? She was riding the watch-wher?”

“She was riding the watch-wher,” K’lior affirmed. “But she didn’t call over it.”

Cisca gave him an irritated look.

“She was flying upside down,” K’lior told her, his face once again wide in a grin. “So she just leaned her head back and talked to me. She was about as far from me as you are, actually.”

“Upside down?” Cisca repeated in amazement.

“Well, she’s blind,” K’lior answered, as if that explained everything. “Probably didn’t notice.”

“Even blind, she’d have to notice that she was upside down,” Cisca replied acerbically.

“Yeah, she probably did,” K’lior agreed wistfully. “But she was having the time of her life.”

“I’ll bet her mate’ll have her ears for that stunt,” Cisca predicted.

“Only if he finds out about it,” K’lior said softly.