Dragonsblood (31 page)

when Minith rises, who knows who’ll be Weyrleader then?

“Mind your manners, M’tal, you wouldn’t want to upset your queen, would

you?” Tullea purred.

M’tal gave her a hard, penetrating look. “Your duty is to the Weyr,

Weyrwoman.”

“I’ll do my duty,” Tullea snapped, “when my queen mates. As for now, ask

her.” She cocked her head toward Lorana.

“Tullea,” B’nik said pleadingly. Tullea looked down at him and merely shook

her head.

“And there’ll be changes in the Caverns, too,” she said in a louder voice

before she sat back down. “I’m tired, B’nik—get us some food.”

The bronze rider looked between the Weyrleader and Tullea, sighed, and

gave the Weyrleader an apologetic look as he rose and headed over to the

hearth.

K’tan entered the Cavern, caught sight of M’tal, and lengthened his stride to

approach the Weyrleader.

“Weyrleader,” K’tan said with a nod of his head.

“How bad is it?” M’tal asked. He had some idea from the fighting itself and

from the field of injured dragons and riders spread across the floor of the

Bowl.

The Weyrleader had not even tried to hide his tears as he went from rider

to dragon, consoling, cheering, doing what he could to comfort and show

that he shared their pain—and more. He felt responsible for each and every

Thread score. Worse, he
knew
that his order that the coughing dragons fly

Threadfall had immensely increased the losses.

“Forty-five are known to have gone
between,
” K’tan said. “Another

twenty-three are badly injured and will need at least a month before they

can fly again. Another thirty-seven have more minor injuries and should be

able to fly in the next sevenday.”

M’tal slumped as though he’d been hit in the chest. Nearly a third of the

Weyr’s strength had been lost in the first Threadfall. Behind him, W’ren

gasped in surprise.

I must think, M’tal told himself. He looked around the cavern and spotted

Kindan and Lorana.

“Let’s join them,” he said, gesturing the others toward them.

Kindan spotted them first. He took in M’tal’s grim expression and waved

them to seats nearby. Lorana looked up from her soup as the others sat

down. Guiltily, she put her spoon in her bowl, waiting for the others to be

served.

“No, no, eat, Lorana,” M’tal said. “Someone will come with food soon

enough.”

“I’ll see to it myself,” Kindan said, rising to his feet.

“He’s a good lad,” W’ren commented as they watched Kindan approach

one of the cavern women and strike up an animated conversation.

“It’s a wonder he never Impressed,” K’tan said.

“Or a blessing,” M’tal added. The pain in his voice was obvious to all.

“Come on, M’tal, it’s not all that bad,” W’ren protested. “We took losses,

sure, but the Records show that every Weyr takes losses in its first Fall.”

“One third of the Weyr?” M’tal’s response was full of pain and self-directed

anger. He waved a hand toward the Bowl outside. “Did you not see them?

They’re littered all across the Bowl.”

“Not anymore,” K’tan responded firmly. When M’tal shot him a look, he

explained, “They’re resting in their weyrs, now, Weyrleader.”

“Food for three or five?” a pleasant voice interrupted. Lorana recognized

Tilara, back again, laden with food. Kindan bore a huge tray behind her, like

a beast of burden.

“Set it for five, Tilara,” Kindan begged. “I couldn’t carry this food back

again.”

“That’s because you’re just a lazy harper,” Tilara retorted, but there was no

sting in her voice. Quickly, she laid out plates, bowls, and mugs. Then she

directed Kindan in the proper placement of the platters of food, pitchers of

klah,
and baskets of bread. She gave the table one long, satisfied look,

then said to Kindan, “If you’ve ever a mind to change professions, you’d do

well here in the caverns.”

“Why, thank you, Tilara,” Kindan replied with a slight bow. “But I think I’ve

found my craft.”

Tilara laughed and patted him gently on the arm before heading back to her

cooking.

“Is that spiced wherry?” K’tan asked, looking longingly at a platter piled high

with steaming meats.

“It is indeed, good dragonrider,” Kindan said. He speared several slices

and deftly transferred them to the Weyr healer’s plate. He turned to M’tal.

“And for you, Weyrleader?”

“I’m not hungry,” M’tal protested.

“You’ll eat,” a voice said from behind them. It was a woman’s voice, firm.

“You’ll eat and you’ll like it, old man.”

“Salina?” M’tal cried, rising from his chair and turning around.

The look they exchanged was so full of emotion that Lorana found herself

looking away, fearful of intruding on their privacy. Her gaze brought her

eyes to Kindan, who had also looked away.

M’tal guided Salina to the chair beside him, which W’ren had vacated as

soon as he’d seen Salina arrive.

“Kindan, serve him some of that wherry,” Salina ordered. When Kindan

stabbed three slices, Salina shook her head. “Make it five, and see if you

can find some raw meat.”

A faint smile crossed M’tal’s lips as he and his mate shared a private joke.

W’ren gestured to Salina with the pitcher of
klah.
“May I serve you, my

lady?”

“Wait until I get this old flame stoked,” Salina told him. All the dragonriders

grinned. Satisfied that M’tal’s dinner was laid out to her order, she told him,

“Eat.”

Salina sat back in her chair and simply watched M’tal until, with a

long-suffering sigh, he started to carve up his meat and chew it.

“Slowly,” Salina told him. M’tal nodded affably and, with great exaggeration,

ponderously chewed his meal.

Salina ignored the over-response. “Better.”

“
Klah,
my lady?” W’ren repeated his offer. Salina accepted with a grateful

nod.

“And some soup, to start,” she said. Kindan and Lorana found themselves

colliding in their haste to fill the Weyrwoman’s bowl. With a graceful

gesture, Kindan let Lorana have the honor.

“Please join me,” Salina said after she’d been served, “if you’re still

hungry.”

“I don’t think K’tan has yet eaten, my lady,” Kindan said before the Weyr

healer could make any objections.

Salina glared at him balefully until K’tan filled his own soup bowl, then she

turned her attention to W’ren, who reddened and filled his plate with the

still-hot spiced wherry.

Satisfied, Salina filled her spoon again and brought it toward her lips.

Before she sipped the soup, she said to Lorana, “How bad was it?”

“Forty-five dragons went
between,
” Lorana told her.

The Weyrwoman shuddered, forced herself to finish her mouthful. With her

other hand, she gestured for Lorana to tell her the rest.

“Twenty-three with serious injuries, and thirty-seven with minor injuries that

will heal in two sevendays or less.”

Salina nodded, placing her spoon back in her bowl. “How many were left

dragonless?”

“Four,” K’tan told her, his face tight with pain.

“And they’re being tended?”

“They are in the care of weyrmates or weyrfolk,” K’tan assured her. “With

their loved ones whenever possible.”

“Good,” Salina said. She looked at Lorana. “The dragons that went

between
—did you feel it?”

“Yes,” Lorana replied, her throat tight with pain.

Salina reached out and grabbed Lorana’s hand. “I’m sorry, that’s quite a

load to bear,” she said.

“We’re tough, my lady,” Lorana said, “Arith and I.”

“That’s good, for these are tough times,” Salina responded. She looked at

the Weyr healer. “What are we going to do about it?”

“I’ll go back to the Records Room. There
has
to be something there,” K’tan

replied, rising from the table.

“Sit, sit,” Salina ordered, gesturing him back into his chair. “You’ve fought

Thread, tended the ill . . . you must be exhausted.”

K’tan met her eyes and nodded frankly.

“You’d miss more than you’d see,” the Weyrwoman continued. She looked

at M’tal. “When is the next Threadfall?”

“For our Weyr?” M’tal asked.

Salina nodded.

“Not for another three days. But I don’t know how the other Weyrs will do.

Telgar Weyr fought Thread over Igen Weyr today, as well. I wonder how

they fared.”

“I—” Lorana began. The others glanced at her. “I think they did badly,” she

said. Her eyes gleamed with tears. “There were
many
dragons who went

between.
”

“And you felt them
all
?” Salina asked in a voice filled with awe. Lorana

nodded.

“My poor dear,” the Weyrwoman replied, reaching for Lorana’s hand once

again. “And to think I grieved for one.”

“I—I don’t think I feel their loss as strongly as I would the loss of my own

dragon,” Lorana protested.

“And I hope that never happens,” K’tan told her fervently. All the others

nodded.

“But even so, the loss of so many dragons,” Salina said, then stopped.

“How many dragons, do you know?”

“I don’t,” Lorana confessed. “Maybe a hundred.”

“A hundred,” W’ren exclaimed.

“Maybe more,” Lorana added.

“At the beginning of this Pass, to lose a hundred dragons,” K’tan

murmured, shaking his head.

“There were less than three thousand dragons on all Pern,” M’tal said,

speaking for the first time. “If a hundred are lost every Threadfall . . .”

With a roar of anger, D’gan slammed his hand against the table in the

Council Room. “How many did you say?”

“Fifty-four are severely wounded and will take six months or more to heal,

eighty-three are lightly wounded and may be able to fly in the next three

months,” V’gin repeated.

“And we lost seventy,” D’gan added, his anger spent in that one loud

outburst. It had been a rotten Fall. The Weyr had been arrayed perfectly,

but the air currents over old Igen Weyr had always been difficult and they

roiled the Thread up and down unpredictably. Once the wings had taken

their first losses, D’gan’s brilliant array of dragons had flown apart and

things had only gotten worse.

This was supposed to be his triumph, his first Threadfall, his chance to

show everyone who had doubted, after all the success in the Games, after

all his tireless efforts, that he, D’gan of Igen Weyr, was the proper

Weyrleader of Telgar.

He remembered the sad day when Morene had died and the last queen of

Igen had gone
between.
He remembered how V’lon had grown old, his

face seamed with age, practically overnight. How Telgar, Benden, Ista, and

Fort had begged off providing Igen with a replacement queen. How in the

end, D’gan’s suggestion that Igen ride with Telgar was grudgingly

accepted. But on that day, over twenty Turns ago, D’gan had vowed that

he’d show them all, that he’d prove to the doubters that Igen riders were the

best. He’d vowed to become Telgar’s Weyrleader, to fly their queen and

show the rest of Pern his mettle.

And he had. He’d worked tirelessly, still was working tirelessly. But on the

way, perhaps after the first mating flight, or even before, D’gan had found

that his aspirations had changed. He was more than just a displaced rider

finding a home in a new Weyr, he was a Telgar rider and he was a

Weyrleader. He would show them—M’tal, C’rion, that young boy, K’lior, all

of them—what a
true
Weyrleader was like.

It had been
his
Weyr that had won all the Games.
His
Weyr had the most

dragons,
his
Weyr had the most queens, and
his
Weyr was responsible for

the most territory on Pern.

And now this. He turned to V’gin. “How many dragons will I have to fight the

next Fall?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“There are fifteen more dragons showing signs of the fever—”

“They’ll fly the Fall,” D’gan interjected.

V’gin grimaced. “We don’t know how much the sickness contributed to our

losses, D’gan.”

“Exactly,” D’gan said, “we don’t know. So they’ll fly. ‘Dragonmen must fly,

when Thread is in the sky.’ So, Weyr healer, how many dragons will fly with

me over Telgar Weyr and Hold in six days’ time?”

V’gin sighed. “If you include the fifteen sick dragons—”

“And any others that get sick in the meantime,” D’gan said pointedly.

V’gin accepted the correction with a shrug. “Counting them, you’ll have

three hundred and thirty-eight fighting dragons and two queens.”

“The queens will stay behind,” D’gan said. “A proper queen’s wing is three

or more.” His tone failed to hide how much it galled him that Garoth had not

been able to provide the Weyr with another queen dragon. Well, perhaps

on the next mating flight, he thought to himself.

“I think you’re right,” Lina, Telgar’s Weyrwoman, agreed. She was older

than D’gan, and he often wondered how much of her affections were for

him, D’gan, and how much for Telgar’s Weyrleader, even though they had

sired a child between them.

“D’lin did well today,” D’gan commented. The youngster was really too

young to be hauling firestone, but he had insisted and T’rin, the

Weyrlingmaster, had allowed him. Still, it had been a surprise to recognize