Тодд Маккефри: Dragonheart

“It was an excellent thing,” Tannaz corrected. “The worst alternative would have been for Fiona to respond with meek acquiescence to her father’s every request, fawning over him like a holder drudge. Instead, she lost her temper and told her Lord off in a manner that completely severed that relationship.”

“But he’s still her father,” Cisca said.

“He’s still her father,” Tannaz agreed. “And the wounds will take a while to heal. For both of them.”

“I’m still not seeing the good in this,” Cisca told her.

“When they meet again, it won’t be as Lord Holder and dutiful daughter,” Tannaz explained. “It will be as Lord Holder and tithe-bound Weyrwoman.” She paused, a look of admiration crossing her face. “I’m sure she didn’t plan it, but the break between them will make it much easier for the both of them to adjust to her new role — and it reaffirms in his mind his duty to the Weyr.”

“How do you see that?”

“Fiona asserted herself as a Weyrwoman,” Tannaz said, “and that assertion carries with it the weight of the whole Weyr. Without meaning to, Fiona reminded Lord Bemin that the safety of his Hold depends upon this Weyr and that he’s beholden to us.” An impish grin flashed on her face as she added, “I’ll bet our tithe from Fort will be much better this year than last.”

Cisca looked at the other for a long moment before shaking her head sadly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to match you for deviousness.”

“Ah, so aren’t you glad that I’m your junior Weyrwoman?”

Cisca reached forward and hugged her. “I certainly am!”

“Maybe it was a bad idea, sending the fire-lizards away,” T’mar said to K’lior at the end of the wingleaders’ meeting some twenty days after that tragic event. T’mar had waited until the other wingleaders had headed down to the Kitchen Caverns to join their wingriders for dinner.

K’lior gave him an inquisitive look.

T’mar went on. “There’s been no word of further outbreaks — ”

“Perhaps because the fire-lizards are all gone,” K’lior suggested.

“Perhaps it was a fluke,” T’mar retorted.

K’lior nodded in understanding, then looked over and caught T’mar’s eyes. “Tell me, bronze rider, do you wish to stake your dragon’s life on a fluke?”

T’mar’s face colored.

K’lior made a calming gesture. “I don’t mean to anger you, T’mar,” he said. “I don’t like this any more than you.” Tension had been building in the Weyr; there had been two fights, one involving a dragonrider. K’lior was no fool; he knew that both were reflections of resentment and fear.

“I’ve spoken with Kentai,” he continued, “and he suggests that we should listen for word from Benden — ”

“Benden?” the word exploded out of T’mar’s lips.

“Yes, Benden,” K’lior said calmly. “Because Harper Kindan was not only a witness to the death of his own fire-lizard, but he was also a firsthand witness to the Plague that struck the holders nearly twelve Turns back.”

T’mar’s angry look cleared slightly as he absorbed his Weyrleader’s words.

“He may not be a dragonrider,” K’lior said, “but from everything I’ve heard, he regards all life carefully and won’t take chances with the dragons.”

“He’d be a fool to do so this near to the Pass,” T’mar murmured, then shook his head abashedly. “As I was to suggest it,” he said more loudly, meeting K’lior’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Weyrleader, my previous behavior was — ”

“No more than to be expected this near the Pass,” K’lior assured him, clapping the older man on the shoulder. “Now come along, your riders are waiting for you.”

Later that evening K’lior recounted the encounter to Cisca as they were preparing for bed.

“So?” Cisca demanded.

“Well, it was odd,” K’lior said.

“But?”

“But,” K’lior said with a sigh, “it could have been nerves.”

Cisca took a dim view of this, saying, “If it’s nerves, he’s had it for over a Turn now — do you really want someone like that leading a wing?”

“His wing is doing well,” K’lior protested. Cisca glared at him and he sighed again. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Thread could come any day now,” Cisca said.

“Thank goodness Verilan discovered those Threadfall charts,” K’lior said. “Once we know the location of the first Fall, we’ll be able to predict the rest.”

“What if those charts were only meant for the Second Pass ?” Cisca asked.

“I admit that it’s possible,” K’lior said. “And we’ll be vigilant. But certainly with each consecutive pass matching those charts, we’ll get more confidence.”

“I don’t see how we can fight Thread every seventy-five hours,” Cisca said dubiously.

“Spread among six Weyrs?”

“Five Weyrs,” Cisca corrected. “I’d be happier if it were six.”

“And we’re wing light,” K’lior agreed, his optimism ebbing.

“ That doesn’t bother me,” Cisca said, poking him playfully in the ribs and grinning impishly. “Between Tannaz’s Kalsenth and my Melirth, I think we’ll have the Weyr up to strength pretty soon.”

But the Weyrleader shook his head. “Melirth won’t rise again for months yet. And then we’ve got at least three Turns — ”

“A Turn and a half,” Cisca interjected.

“Only if we force weyrlings into fighting wings early,” K’lior told her. “And the Records — ”

“We’ll survive,” Cisca interjected.

“Of course we will!” K’lior replied. “Oh, we may have it hard for the first Turn or so, but we’ll manage.”

“With two hundred and eighty-five fighting dragons?” Cisca snorted. “I expect we’ll do more than manage.”

K’lior managed a weak smile, thinking about Cisca’s concerns over T’mar and his own concerns over what had happened to Kindan’s fire-lizard.

“It’s been nearly three sevendays; maybe we’ll be able to bring the fire-lizards back,” Cisca said, much to K’lior’s surprise. In response to his look, she explained, “They’ll bring up morale for everyone.”

K’lior gave her a doubtful smile and was about to say something but stopped suddenly, turning toward the weyr and his dragon.

Cisca felt a sudden disquiet from Melirth.

Kamenth of Ista is no more, her dragon told her, rushing out of her weyr and into the Weyr Bowl, keening sorrowfully.

“Was it the — ”

Jalith of Telgar is no more, Melirth said then. The Weyr was filled with the voices of hundreds of distressed dragons.

“Two dragons!” K’lior groaned.

“Was it the illness?” Cisca wondered. Before she could repeat the question to her grieving queen, the keening of the dragons increased to a fever pitch.

Breth of Benden is no more!

Fort Weyr, AL 507.13.12

Fiona groaned when she awoke. The sun was high in the sky. Her muscles were all sore, aching from the awkward position in which she’d finally found sleep after the awful nighttime awakening that she and all the dragonriders had experienced. But the ache in her muscles was nothing to the ache in her heart. She felt hollow. So hollow that for one frantic instant, she looked around wildly for Talenth only to stop, realizing that the bulk of the young dragon lay beneath her. She pulled back and spent several long, tense moments watching her queen, searching for signs of life. She didn’t realize that she’d been holding her breath until she let it out in a sigh as she saw Talenth’s chest rise and fall in the steady breathing of an exhausted dragonet.