your age was recorded at Telgar Hold some eighty Turns ago when Lord Holder Predder’s eldest daughter grew three and a half centimeters — ”
“Verilan,” Fiona broke in, fearing that she had somehow unleashed another outpouring of the Archivist’s prodigious memory, “we’re here because of the signal.”
“Yes,” Verilan said, visibly pulling himself out of his recitation. “Master Zist had it set.” He gestured vaguely toward the Masterharper’s quarters. “You should go there.”
“Verilan?” Fiona said, her tone pleading for more information.
“I think you’ll find your father there,” he added.
“Is he all right?” Fiona asked immediately, despite reason telling her that if he were injured he’d be in the Infirmary, not the Masterharper’s quarters.
“All right?” Verilan repeated, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “I think that depends upon one’s criteria for such things.”
Fiona shook her head in exasperation, grabbed T’mar’s wrist, and tugged the bronze rider into a trot behind her. “We’d better hurry!”
T’mar made no comment at the incongruity of being led by a young, blond Weyrwoman who was not only half his age but also more than a full head shorter than himself; he had seen enough of Weyrwomen in his time to realize that he was probably lucky not to have to endure worse. He even kept his silence when Fiona banged on Zist’s door and announced herself.
“Isn’t T’mar with you?” Zist asked as he pulled open the door. “Ah, yes, he is!”
“Where’s my father?” Fiona demanded, scanning the room and quickly identifying its occupants. Her worries faded as she spotted Bemin seated with Kelsa at Zist’s round table.
“What’s going on?” Fiona demanded, her eyes switching from Zist, to Bemin, to Kelsa and back before finally settling demandingly on Kelsa.
“Your father and I — ” Kelsa began diplomatically, then broke off, pushing herself to her feet and patting her stomach in a manner that seemed both odd and subtly familiar to Fiona. “Well, we’re going to have a baby.”
“About time,” Fiona said. She saw Bemin start to speak and cut through: “Since I already knew — ” She paused at the surprised expressions on Kelsa’s and Master Zist’s faces and realized that her father hadn’t relayed their earlier conversation to either; her guess was confirmed by Kelsa’s glare at her father. “ — I presume this meeting is to let me know formally and also, by its venue — ” She waved a hand around the room. “ — to tell me that there are still some issues to work out.”
Zist wore an expression of approval that warmed Fiona; his approval was hard earned, more often than not.
She turned her attention to Kelsa. “Let me guess: You’re not certain you want to be a lifemate with him, and you want to raise the child here?”
“Actually, we’ve been through that,” Bemin said.
“We really just wanted to ask your blessing,” Kelsa added in an uncertain tone — a rarity in the outspoken Songmaster.
“I think it’s great,” Fiona told her enthusiastically. She looked at her father. “I’d been hoping you’d do something like this.”
“You were?” Bemin replied, surprised.
“I think Mother would have wished it,” Fiona said. In a quieter voice she added, “And I think so would Koriana.”
She was surprised at her feelings when she spoke of her long-dead, mostly forgotten older and only sister. Ever since she could remember, Fiona had been told how much she looked like her sister, how kind Koriana had been, and how in love Kindan had been with her. It had seemed like Fiona would forever be in Koriana’s shadow . . . until she was freed by her Impression of Talenth. And yet . . . Fiona thought of Kindan, remembered her half-hope that he would be here, remembered how her heart pounded whenever she heard of him, how happy she was whenever he smiled at her — was all that just her following the shadow of her dead sister?
“But you couldn’t have known I’d come,” Fiona realized, glancing over at the Masterharper. “So that wasn’t the only reason.”
Zist smiled at her and nodded. “No, it wasn’t,” he agreed.
“It was my idea,” Bemin added, smiling at his daughter. “I’d heard about your casualties and . . .”
“Healer Tintoval accepted,” Kelsa finished for him, gesturing to the healer, whom Fiona only now noticed in the room.
“As we’ve got the Healer Hall here, Fort Hold really only needs one journeyman healer to make the rounds,” Bemin declared.
“That’s only temporary,” Zist reminded him, “until we get more trained journeymen and masters.”
Fiona looked at the young healer. “You don’t mind that I took your stores for the dragons, do you?”
“Not at all,” Tintoval told her, waving the issue aside. “I’m only sorry to hear that it didn’t work.”
“Have we heard any more from Benden?” T’mar said, turning hopefully to the Masterharper.
Zist shook his head. “Kindan will be doing his best.”
“I’m sure of it,” Fiona agreed ardently.
“As am I,” Tintoval said. “And so will K’tan,” she added, referring to the healer at Benden Weyr.
“Are you sure about this?” Fiona asked. “You wouldn’t want to go to Benden instead?”
Tintoval shook her head. “Benden has a healer.”
“Tintoval is weyrbred and familiar with dragons,” Zist added. “But not with healing them,” Tintoval interjected.
“All healers say that, at first,” T’mar assured her. He bowed to her. “Healer, on behalf of my Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, I wish to extend our hopes that you will come to regard Fort Weyr as your home.”
“Thank you,” Tintoval replied, obviously touched by his sincerity.
“I also have news that you might want to hear,” T’mar said, turning back to Master Zist.
“Well, why don’t you have a seat, and you, too, Weyrwoman, and we’ll hear it over some fresh
“We shouldn’t stay too long,” Fiona cautioned as she sat down. “T’mar fought Thread last night and like all the dragonriders, he’s still exhausted.”
“We saw,” Bemin replied. “In fact, Forsk saw it rather close up.”
“Oh,” T’mar said, deflated. “So my news is known to you.”
“That the watch-whers flew against Thread?” Zist said. “Yes, we know that. What we don’t know is how it worked out for the Weyr.”
“What sort of casualties do you have?” Tintoval asked.
“Eleven severe, thirteen light,” Fiona recited quickly.
“You’ve helped?” Tintoval inquired and, on receiving Fiona’s nod, continued, “How many sick dragons do you have?”
“We’ve fifty,” T’mar told her glumly. “But we may lose some of them any day.”
Selora, the Harper Hall’s head cook, arrived with a tray holding a pitcher, mugs for all, and a plate piled high with delicious-looking, bite-sized dainties. They continued the conversation over hot
“Masterharper, Lord Holder, Master Kelsa,” T’mar said, standing and nodding to each in turn, “we really should get back to the Weyr. I’m sure Tintoval will want to get settled in, and that Cisca and K’lior will want to greet her personally on her arrival.”
“Yes, yes, we’ve been keeping you too long,” Bemin agreed, rising to his feet and bending over to help Kelsa solicitously to hers. “I’m not that far gone, old man,” Kelsa growled at him, but Fiona noted that her tone was more grateful than grudging.
“In my experience, Master Kelsa,” Tintoval advised, “it’s best to get them used to helping as early as possible; that way, when you really need help, it’ll already be there.”
“Hmm,” Kelsa murmured, glancing consideringly at Bemin.
Tintoval left to retrieve her things, and as T’mar called for Zirenth to meet them at the Landing, Fiona said
