Dragonheart

farewell.”

“Daddy’s fire-lizard has to go away?” Janal, J’marin’s sturdy lad of seven Turns, piped up.

J’marin knelt beside his son. “Yes,” he said, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “Say good-bye to Siaymon.”

“ ‘Bye Siaymon!” Janal said. He turned to his father. “Will we ever see her again?”

“I don’t know,” J’marin admitted, tears leaking beyond his control as he stroked the beautiful gold fire-lizard who had brought so many clutches of fire-lizard eggs to the Weyr. “But she’ll be all right. She’ll play in the sun of Southern.”

“Can we visit her there?” Janal asked hopefully.

“No,” J’marin said. “She and the others have to go so that the dragons will be safe.”

“Safe?” Janal repeated, peering past his father to the Bowl and the dragon weyrs above. “The dragons can’t be hurt.”

“That’s right,” J’marin agreed. “And Siaymon will protect them by going away.” He stroked his precious gold one last time. “Have you said good-bye, son?”

“Good-bye, Siaymon,” Janal said. “I love you.”

J’marin nodded. “That was well said,” he told the youngster, ruffling his hair before turning his attention back to the gold fire-lizard. “I love you. Farewell.”

Asoth, tell Siaymon she must go to the Southern Continent,  J’marin said to his dragon, tears now streaming freely down his face.

She must go?  Asoth asked sadly.

Yes, she must,  J’marin repeated. To protect the dragons.

I will tell her,  Asoth replied.

In front of him, Siaymon gave one horrified squawk and disappeared between.

As the others began to send their fire-lizards away, K’lior grabbed Cisca’s hand. She squeezed back, tightly, her grip flexing every time another fire-lizard went between  until, finally, the Kitchen Cavern was a silent mix of sad dragonriders and tearful weyrfolk.

Fiona was in her weyr, curled up tight against Talenth, her arms wrapped tightly around Fire, when the other fire-lizards left.

“Fiona?”

She recognized her father’s voice. She made no reply, but clutched Fire tighter. The queen fire-lizard craned her neck around to look at her, her faceted eyes whirling red and green.

Fiona heard the sound of feet coming toward her.

“Fiona,” Lord Bemin said. “I came as soon as I heard.” She didn’t move. She heard him bend down, saw his face come into view. Jokester rode on his shoulder. There were tears in her father’s eyes. Fiona closed her own eyes tightly, not wanting to see his tears. Hadn’t he cried enough?

She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t close her ears.

“When we came here, to the Hatching,” Bemin said softly, his voice hoarse with emotion, “I never thought that you’d Impress.”

He sniffed. “My daughter, a queen rider!” She could hear the pride in his voice. She turned away from him, clutching Fire tight.

“I never hoped, never dreamed that our line would be so honored,” he went on in a whisper. “I thought my heart would break, I was so proud!”

Fiona turned back to him. “You were?”

She opened her eyes to peer at his face and saw, beyond the tears, the immense pride he had in her.

“Yes,” Bemin said. “You bring great honor to our Hold, and to me.” He took a breath and told her gently, “I know this is hard.” He reached up and stroked Jokester on his shoulder. “But you have duties now, duties to your Weyr and to Pern, just as I have mine to Fort Hold .”

He reached for her with one hand and gently helped her to her feet. “You are of Fort,” he said, his voice becoming firm, commanding. “You are twice  of Fort, of Hold and Weyr.” He peered down at her, the corners of his lips quivering upward. “You are my last child and I would not deprive you of anything — ”

“Then I can . . . ?” But her words trailed off as Bemin shook his head gently.

“You and I have so much,” he told her gently. He gestured to the sleeping queen dragonet, who was trembling in her sleep. “As you have your queen, I have Forsk, the watch-wher. Do you think it would be dutiful to risk all Pern to keep our fire-lizards, too?”

Fiona sniffed, her eyes catching his pleadingly, but he shook his head again.

“It is time, now,” he told her, “to say good-bye.” He turned his head to Jokester and reached up his arms, bringing the brown fire-lizard down to settle in his clasped hands. He caught Fiona’s eyes. “Queen rider, ask your queen to send them to the Southern Continent.”

“Father — ” Fiona began, tears streaming down her face, but Bemin once again shook his head and lifted his chin slightly.

“Head high, Weyrwoman,” he told her.

Fiona took in a deep breath and nodded, her tears falling unchecked.

Talenth?

What is it?  the young queen asked sleepily. You sound sad.

Tell Fire and Jokester they must go.  Fiona sobbed as she relayed the thought.

Go?

Yes, go,  Fiona replied. To the Southern Continent.  Her heart broke as she cried, Do it now!

She heard two surprised squawks, cut off suddenly, between.

“Oh, Father!”

THREE

My small fire-lizard friend

Frolic in the sun.

Our love will never end

No matter where you run.

Fort Weyr, AL 507.12.20

The next day dawned bright and sunny, though still full of winter’s cold.

With effort, drained from the previous day’s events, Fiona roused herself and Talenth to go out into the Weyr Bowl. She had to leave her weyr, if only for a moment. She milled with the sad, nervous, confused weyrlings who were feeding their dragonets. The youngsters, some her age, some not much older, were very interested in her and insisted upon helping her feed Talenth, even to the neglect of their own dragons.

“Let me tend to her,” Fiona told them finally, with a touch of acerbity. She tried hard not to think of a cheerful chirping voice or a gold streak darting through the air.

“If you’re looking for distraction, there’s tack to be oiled,” a voice growled from beside her.

Fiona looked up, startled, to see a grizzled older dragonrider standing beside her.

“T’jen, Salith’s rider,” the man said, gesturing up toward a brown dragon that was peering down at them from several levels above. “Weyrlingmaster.”