Dragongirl

FIFTEEN

J’lantir and the three Istan wings arrived early the next morning. Shaneese and the Telgar weyrfolk had worked through the night to prepare the additional one hundred and forty-five weyrs required for the welcome influx of fighting strength.

“We’ve found enough of our weyrfolk who’d like to swap for warmer climes that we’ve no worries providing space for their weyrfolk,” Shaneese had assured Jeila as she grew anxious at the scope of the whole affair.

“It’s like we’re getting a whole new Weyr!” Jeila said, eyes wide.

“Well, we’ve been poaching from Fort, High Reaches, and Benden,” Fiona said. “I think it’s about time we stole from Ista as well.”

The junior weyrwoman had snorted in response and recovered her humor, only repeating darkly, “But I still don’t know why you left the arrangements to me.”

“I have it on highest authority that it’s a Weyrwoman’s duty to be sure that her replacement is well-trained,” Fiona told her, grinning. “After all, you never know when you’ll need a new one.”

Jeila grabbed her right arm tightly with both of hers and implored, “Promise me you’ll give me some warning before you do anything!”

“I’ll try,” Fiona temporized, her grin slipping. “But there are times …”

Like the night before. She hadn’t expected to find Kindan awake; she’d been avoiding him, not certain if she ever would find the courage to discover if his prior passion was only dragon-flamed, but Lorana practically threw them at each other, insisting that she had to help in the Kitchen Cavern.

In the morning, Fiona was surprised to find that Lorana had crept in with them sometime during the night.

“Are you all right?” Fiona asked as she felt Lorana shift against her.

“I’m fine,” Lorana said.

“You are?” Fiona asked. Confused, she added, “Then why did you … you don’t mind?”

“No,” Lorana said. Fiona pressed herself against the older woman in thanks.

“Besides,” Lorana added, “if anything were to happen to me, I’d need to know that there was someone there for Kindan. And the child.”

“Always,” Fiona said firmly, realizing how much trust Lorana placed in her: That Lorana would choose her as a surrogate. “And in response, I’ll ask—”

“I’ll love any child of yours, no matter who the father,” Lorana said. “You’re a special one; Kindan’s right to love you.”

“Love me?” Fiona could only mouth the words.

“Of course,” Lorana said. “Hasn’t he always?”

“I thought he loved me for my sister, for Koriana,” Fiona said.

“Maybe once,” Lorana said. “But after the mating flight, no.”

“But he doesn’t seem to even notice me!”

“Notice you?” Lorana asked, smiling.

“I mean, until last night.”

“He did,” Lorana said. “But I don’t think he understands yet.”

“That he loves me?”

Lorana shook her head. “That he doesn’t have to choose.”

“I always thought that I would be married to a Lord Holder, one man, and maybe one love,” Fiona said.

“So did I,” Lorana said. “And I think I’ve found him.” She made a face as Fiona started to protest. “He wouldn’t be the man I love, if he weren’t in love with you, too.” Her eyes twinkled as she added, “What was it that little one said? ‘I’ll help you grow your heart.’”

“Aryar,” Fiona recalled fondly.

“You help me grow my heart,” Lorana told her. “Besides, I’ve never heard of two people speaking to each other the way we have.”

“I found no mention of it in the Records.”

“Perhaps we should ask Kindan.”

“I think Masterharper Zist,” Fiona said. “I think we shouldn’t tell Kindan just yet.”

“Perhaps not,” Lorana said. “We wouldn’t want to shock him too much just now.”

“Did you tell him about the baby?”

“No,” Lorana said, amusement spilling out of her voice. “I was hoping we could present him with a double event, as it were.”

Fiona giggled. “That would be nice.”

And now Fiona, Lorana, and Kindan were arrayed side by side to greet J’lantir as he jumped nimbly from his perch atop bronze Lolanth. The air was still cold and the clouds above threatened rain or, more likely, snow later in the day. Dragons’ breath was clearly visible as streams of fog wisping through the air. Fiona noticed some of the Istan riders shiver and was glad she and Shaneese had preparations made to keep them warm—used, as they were, to the much warmer climate of Ista.

“Kindan!” J’lantir exclaimed, racing over to hug the shorter man quickly. “M’tal told me I’d have a surprise, but I didn’t expect it to be you!”

In the background, Fiona noted, weyrfolk spread out with mugs of warm klah and extra sweaters for the colder Istan riders. Fiona took a careful breath, not wanting to freeze her nose, just enough to get a good sniff of the amazing pine scent that wafted down from the trees in the mountains surrounding the Weyr. She could never get enough of that special, fresh smell.

“I suspect I’m only a part of it,” Kindan said with a smile, gesturing to Lorana. “This is Lorana.”

J’lantir’s eyes widened in recognition and he drew himself back, bowing low in front of her. “My lady, I grieve for your loss and applaud your extreme fortitude in saving all the dragons of Pern.”

Fiona could feel Lorana tense beside her. Not all, she thought, remembering that her beloved friend felt every dragon’s loss.

“Fiona, Weyrwoman,” Fiona said in introduction, distracting the bronze rider from his gaffe.

“Weyrwoman,” J’lantir returned with a brisk nod, his frank eyes clearly registering his surprise. “Aren’t you awfully young for the duty?”

“I’ve nearly seventeen Turns, bronze rider,” Fiona corrected him.

“Nearly,” J’lantir said, his brows rising with his words. “That many; I hadn’t realized.”

“I spent three Turns back in Igen,” Fiona said. She gestured to one of the weyrfolk, who handed J’lantir a steaming mug, and she added, “I remember all those warm days very fondly.”

J’lantir chuckled appreciatively, muttering thanks to his server and draining his mug with evident relish.

“We’ll try to keep you warm,” Fiona said.

J’lantir raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise and turned his head enough to see how his other riders fared. He gave Fiona a grateful nod as he saw that they were being bundled up and hastened out of the cold morning to their quarters.

“So I see!” he said.

Fiona gestured to H’nez, who stepped forward. “Weyrleader T’mar is recovering from injuries, and in the meantime H’nez is senior flightleader.”

“Flightleader,” H’nez said with a nod toward J’lantir. “I believe you outrank me.”

“I might at that,” J’lantir said.

“We’ve a Fall tomorrow; how would you like to array the wings?” H’nez asked.

“I think I’d like to get settled in first,” J’lantir said. “If you’ve any training you’ve planned for your Flight today, please proceed.”

“Gladly,” H’nez said. He turned to Fiona and nodded to her. “Weyrwoman.”

“Fly safe,” Fiona said with a wave. Once he was out of earshot, she muttered to herself, “Old stick in the mud.”

“I’ve been called that, yes,” J’lantir said, turning to her.

“Not you,” Fiona corrected, pointing to H’nez’s retreating back. “Him.”

J’lantir’s brows rose once more as he registered the comment, but before he could make any remarks, Fiona continued, “We’ve weyrs set to your disposal and fresh food if your riders feel the need, Flightleader.”

“As soon as we get settled and pay our respects to the Weyrleader, we’ll probably want to join H’nez and get a feel for the air,” J’lantir said.

“Excellent,” Fiona said joyfully. At J’lantir’s surprised look, she added, “I had a bet with our headwoman and you’ve made me a winner.”

“Glad to oblige,” J’lantir said, smiling. “Are there any other wagers I should aid?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Fiona replied innocently, glancing significantly toward Kindan. “A Weyrwoman has to maintain decorum.”

J’lantir startled at that, asking, “Aren’t you the same Fiona who was so fond of tunnel snakes as a youngster?”

“I was more fond of the marks I earned catching them,” Fiona corrected him with a grin. “However, I now have reason to believe that I was never in any danger, having been protected by my continued existence.”

J’lantir gave her a blank look, so she said, “My snake-hunting companion was someone who knew that I would live long enough to go back in time to Igen and so had no worries inciting me to greater and greater levels of danger.”

“Oh!” J’lantir said, enlightened. “Not the sort of thing one encounters often.”

Fiona nodded in agreement. “If you need anything, bespeak Talenth.”

“Or have your dragon ask me,” Lorana said.

“Yes,” Fiona said. “Lorana can hear any dragon.”

“Oh,” J’lantir said, thinking quickly. He turned back to the taller woman. “Then you have my heartfelt commiserations; the past few months must have been quite a trial.”

Fiona linked hands with Lorana at the same time as Kindan encircled the dark-haired woman’s waist protectively.

“I am lucky in my friends,” Lorana told him.

J’lantir nodded and, somewhat bemusedly, turned back to the remaining Istan riders.

“Oh, Flightleader!” Fiona called as he departed. J’lantir turned back to her expectantly. “As time permits, see the headwoman, she’s proper Telgar garb for the riders.”

J’lantir nodded absently, then brightened. “I shall arrange it at the earliest moment!”

Fiona nodded and waved him back to his duties.

The riders from High Reaches were the next to appear. They arrived just after the former Istan riders departed to join H’nez in drill. The sun was well in the sky and the chill of the morning had vanished.

“I wonder who they’ll send to lead the wing,” Kindan said, craning his neck and sheltering his eyes to spot the lead rider.

Fiona picked out the rider and discovered that her eyes were better than Kindan’s as she said, “He’s threadscored on the cheek. He’s missing an ear, too!”

“C’tov!” Kindan shouted, racing across the Bowl to greet the rider as his dragon landed. Fiona and Lorana followed after him, exchanging looks of surprise.

“Sonia sent her best,” Fiona said to herself as she examined the tall rider clambering down from his perch.

“She honors you,” Lorana agreed.

“Us,” Fiona corrected her firmly, reaching once more to grab Lorana’s hand and give it a quick squeeze. “I’ve got a lot to live up to.”

“You’ll do fine,” Lorana said. Fiona’s lips twitched but she made no response.

Kindan led C’tov over to them and the bronze rider bowed to Fiona. “Weyrwoman, I present you with thirty-seven of High Reaches’ best.”

“We’re honored, wingleader,” Fiona said. “You are welcome here.”

“May I pay my respects to the Weyrleader?” C’tov asked, looking beyond her to the queen’s weyr where Zirenth peered out.

“I think it would be best to wait until evening,” Fiona told him. “J’lantir and his Flight from Ista have just gone off to join flightleader H’nez in drill.”

C’tov nodded in understanding. “Then, with your leave, Weyrwoman, as soon as we’ve stowed our belongings, we’ll join them.”

“Headwoman Shaneese was expecting you,” Fiona told him, waving toward a group approaching from the lower caverns. “They’ll take your gear and stow it in your quarters.”

“Thank you,” C’tov replied, his eyes twinkling as he smiled at her. Fiona realized that disregarding the scorched side of his face was easy given the animation the bronze rider brought to his expressions, particularly his piercing blue eyes.

“My pleasure.”

“I should have been there!” T’mar said when Fiona recounted the events to him later. He shifted nervously in his bed.

“You’re not leaving that bed until Birentir says,” Fiona told him, pressing a hand against his chest forcefully. “Even if I have to sit on you.”

“Or Birentir does,” Lorana added in agreement. “I can’t imagine he’d want to have a Weyrleader be the first patient he lost.”

T’mar lay back, fuming. “Well, at least tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing more than you would have guessed,” Kindan told him with an easy wave of his hand. “H’nez led off the drill this morning, J’lantir has joined with a Flight from Ista, and, just recently, C’tov from High Reaches brought another thirty-six fighting dragons with him.”

“By the First Egg, we’ve got a fighting Weyr and a lamed Weyrleader,” T’mar growled, his eyes going accusingly to Fiona.

“And do you suppose, Weyrleader,” Fiona returned hotly, “that in all these Turns that situation has never before arisen?”

T’mar pursed his lips mulishly.

“The Records are pretty clear on the issue,” Kindan said. “Even here at Telgar, the Weyrleader has been injured for months at a time.”

“And?” T’mar demanded.

“And he’s appointed seconds, had reports made to him, and proceeded as best he could with due regards to his injury and his eventual recovery,” Fiona told him. Her voice softened as she added, “I know it’s hard, particulary with H’nez in charge, but it is part of a Weyrleader’s duty to train his replacement.”

“And you, Weyrwoman?”

“I’m doing very well in that department, thank you,” Fiona replied primly.

T’mar held her eyes for a moment more, then blew out a breath in resignation, forcing some cheer into his response as he said, “You are at that.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said. After a moment she added, “I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

“Well, what cannot be changed must be endured,” T’mar said with a sigh. From his weyr, Zirenth craned his neck and blew a sympathetic sigh toward his rider. T’mar smiled at him and then turned back decisively to Kindan and Lorana. “But my incapacity is no reason that Zirenth should get out of shape.”

Kindan cocked his head at the bronze rider inquiringly.

“If Tajen could do it when I was lamed before, why not you and Lorana now?” T’mar asked.

“No!” Fiona snapped without thinking. The others turned to her and she shook her head in confusion.

“I could do with the exercise,” Lorana said, casting a glance toward Fiona. “I think Kindan’s up to catching firestone.”

“It takes Turns of training to make a proper fighting pair,” T’mar said. “I was thinking more of reserve than fighting.”

“Or we could observe, and report back,” Kindan said.

“Dragons aren’t good with subtleties,” T’mar said.

Fiona gestured toward Lorana. “She can talk directly with me—”

“She can?” T’mar asked, surprised. His expression broadened when he noticed the same look of surprise on Kindan’s face.

“You can?” the harper asked, looking from Fiona to Lorana and back. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“We’re not sure how well it works,” Fiona said, temporizing. She glanced at Lorana and took in the other’s stance and the look of excitement on her face, and added hastily, “But this would be a good time to learn.”

“Zirenth is willing,” T’mar said. Fiona thought she heard some sudden reluctance on his part, but the bronze rider shrugged, adding, “And who am I to argue?”

“You’re the Weyrleader,” Fiona said in answer.

“And this is a way to adapt, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Fiona agreed, still reluctant. She turned to Lorana and Kindan. “But if you fly the Fall tomorrow—or any day—stay behind and report in.”

“She’s right,” T’mar said. He glanced at Kindan, smiling. “Much though I trust you both, I’d hate for either you or Zirenth to get injured.”

“Dragonmen must fly when Thread is in the sky,” Lorana quoted, her expression stolid, firm.

“And of us all, I suppose you have the best right to call yourself dragonman,” Kindan found himself saying. Fiona and T’mar nodded in agreement.

“No one knows what would happen to the dragons if anything happens to you,” Fiona warned Lorana. The older woman nodded in understanding.

“Enough of this!” T’mar said, raising both arms to wave them off. “Get your harness on Zirenth and have Fiona inspect it, then we’ll see.”

Fiona brightened at the thought, then slumped as T’mar cautioned her, “And don’t think to keep them dirt bound on a pretext.”

Glumly, Fiona nodded, following the other two out. She turned at the entrance to Zirenth’s lair, and called back to T’mar, “As soon as they’re safely airborne, I’ll come back.”

T’mar’s eyes flashed in gratitude.

As it was, Kindan and Lorana had no trouble at all in getting Zirenth’s fighting straps properly arrayed. Fiona, with some foresight, had them load up with eight sacks of firestone, allowing them to refuel the fighting dragons.

Jeila came running up as they completed their preparations.

“I could help,” she said, looking imploringly to Fiona. “I could fly with firestone, too.”

“Not until after Tolarth’s clutched,” Fiona told her. “Right now our two golds are more valuable as breeders.”

Jeila, pouting, agreed. To lift the dusky weyrwoman’s spirits—and her own—Fiona added, “But if we get some gold eggs in our clutches, we’ll be able to consider other options!”

“We’ll have to wait Turns yet,” Jeila said.

“Perhaps,” Fiona said. “Although some of us have found the Turns come easier than others!”

At the reminder of Fiona’s time in the past, Jeila brightened.

At Fiona’s request, Jeila joined her in T’mar’s quarters. T’mar gave the petite weyrwoman a cheerful greeting and the three of them alternated between discussing Weyr matters and dissecting the messages from the drilling dragons.

“I think we should offer J’lantir the lead,” T’mar said just after Fiona relayed how the Ista flight had outperformed its Telgar and High Reaches counterparts. He caught Jeila’s frown and nodded his head toward her. “You disagree?”

“No,” Jeila said, sighing. “He’s led a Weyr as well as a Flight, he’s had more experience than any bronze rider here.”

“H’nez will be disappointed,” Fiona predicted.

Jeila glanced sharply toward her, a calculating look on her face. “It would be wrong to hope he behave any other way.”

“It would,” T’mar agreed. “I would feel the same in his position.”

“In fact, you do,” Fiona pointed out. T’mar gave her a pained look even as he nodded in acknowledgment of her words.

“His first concern is Pern,” Jeila said, almost to herself. “Then his Weyr, his Flight, his wing, his dragon.” With a rueful smile, she added, “After that he considers himself and the feelings of others.”

“He is a hard man,” Fiona said.

“Tough times call for such,” Jeila replied. Her eyes flashed as she said to Fiona, “I know that you and he have quarreled in the past—”

“Our ways are different,” Fiona said. “But your interests are the same.”

Fiona smiled at the dark-haired woman. “What I do know is that anyone who attracts your affection has my friendship.”

“But, even so, we should let J’lantir lead,” Jeila said in agreement. She lifted her head to meet Fiona’s eyes, then turned to T’mar, saying, “Weyrleader, I agree with your decision.”

“While I’m still recovering, I’ll let H’nez lead the Fort riders,” T’mar said.

“No, you will not!” Fiona found herself shouting in unison with Jeila. They turned to each other in shock, and Fiona gestured for the other woman to speak first. Jeila cleared her throat, then said with as much control as she could muster, “Weyrleader, if you give J’lantir the authority to lead the fighting dragons, you must leave how to lead and arrange the wings and Flights up to him as well.”

“Besides, we should mix up our riders as quickly as we can,” Fiona said, after nodding in agreement with Jeila’s declaration. “We are Telgar now.”

“Exactly,” Jeila said.

T’mar’s lips rose in a small grin. “I believe you have made excellent points, Weyrwomen.”

Fiona made sure to accompany Birentir as he checked on T’mar shortly before the fighting drill was to end. She and Terin brought him a lunch tray and waited until Birentir had inspected him before setting it in front of him and helping him sit up enough to eat.

“Another two days at least, Weyrleader,” Birentir said. “After that, we’ll see how you are at standing.”

“I feel fine,” T’mar protested.

“Lying down, yes,” Fiona snapped back. “Wait until you try standing.”

“With a concussion, people often feel as if their feet are floating above the ground,” Birentir said. “Given the condition of your leg, the last thing you need to do is strain your sutures, particularly with a fall.”

T’mar grumbled in reply.

“You rush your recovery and you won’t recover,” Fiona warned him. T’mar made a face and waved at her in a feeble display of irritation. She was about to voice an angry reply when she felt Lorana and brightened. “They’re coming back.”

A moment later, they heard the sound of a dragon bursting out of between and Zirenth bugled happily at his low arrival. They reeked of firestone, the sort of smell that only comes from a flaming dragon.

“Zirenth, you know better!” Fiona called chidingly to the bronze dragon even as Lorana and Kindan jumped from the dragon’s haunches to the queens’ ledge nearby. Fiona ran out to the ledge, wagging a finger at the pair. “And you two! You should know better!”

The broad grin on Lorana’s faced slipped for a moment, then redoubled. “We knew where we were, Fiona!”

Seeing the ex-dragonrider looking so happy robbed Fiona of any response, leaving her to shake her head wordlessly.

“You look just like your father after you were caught hunting tunnel snakes,” Kindan declared, laughing.

Fiona felt her cheeks burning. Embarrassed, she turned away, stamping her foot loudly on the ground of the ledge.

She was surprised a moment later when Kindan wrapped his arms around her from the back in a strong hug. She twisted in his arms to face him and realized that she was very nearly at eye level with him.

Kindan said nothing, merely looking deeply into her eyes until she buried her head against his neck.

“We were careful,” he told her soothingly.

“Be more careful next time,” Fiona huffed, still grumpy with worry.

“You knew what we were doing,” Lorana said, coming up to them, looking not the least upset at their embrace. She smiled as she added insightfully, “You’re jealous!”

Fiona lifted her head and stuck her tongue out at the older woman, who chuckled in response.

“Of course I am,” Fiona said. She broke free from Kindan, maintaining her grasp on one of his hands, reached and grabbed Lorana’s right hand with her other hand and tugged them both gently into T’mar’s quarters. “Tell us everything.”

Their report was not quite complete when it was interrupted by the sound of the return of the remaining dragons in one great rush of cold air from between.

T’mar and Fiona glanced at each other for a moment, then turned their heads to strain for the sounds of the descending dragons. The four of them—T’mar, Fiona, Kindan, and Lorana—nodded approvingly as they heard the various wings descend and disperse, one after the other.

“Lorana, could you ask J’lantir to report?” T’mar asked when they heard the last of the dragons rising on their way back to their weyrs.

“I’ve asked Lolanth,” Lorana said. She glanced at the blond-haired Weyrwoman, adding, “I think Fiona’s the only one I can talk with directly.”

“Probably just as well,” Kindan quipped and instantly found himself the center of two piercing glares: one of blue eyes, the other of brown. He raised his hands defensively, saying, “Well, could you imagine how awful it would be if you could hear every dragonrider as well as every dragon?”

Lorana nodded, conceding the point, but Fiona held the harper’s eyes for a moment longer before looking at T’mar to ask, “And why do you suppose that is?”

T’mar paused before answering and was rewarded with the sound of J’lantir rushing up the ledge to them. He gestured pointedly toward the entrance and held his breath.

“Weyrleader,” J’lantir called as he entered, then seeing Fiona and the others added with a polite nod to each, “Weyrwoman, harper, Lorana.”

“I wanted to talk with you about the drill,” T’mar said.

“Should I invite H’nez?” Lorana asked. T’mar nodded in agreement.

“Should we wait?” J’lantir asked, with a quick smile for Lorana.

“No, I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” T’mar said. “I know you’ve still got to settle in to your quarters.”

“And you’ll be hungry, too,” Fiona said.

“We were watching from behind you,” Kindan said, gesturing to himself and Lorana.

“And?” J’lantir asked invitingly.

“I learned a lot,” Kindan said.

“I think you’d be best integrating the wings and riders as quickly as possible,” Fiona told him.

“My thoughts as well,” J’lantir agreed. He glanced at Lorana and raised an eyebrow in invitation.

“I’m afraid I have nothing to add,” the dark-haired woman said with a rueful look. She glanced slyly at Kindan, adding, “We were learning how to flame.”

“Well, your additional unused firestone was much welcome,” J’lantir said in response. “And I did see your flaming; I think you have nothing more to learn.”

“But you will not fight Thread,” Fiona warned them.

“Weyrwoman,” J’lantir began diplomatically, “let us hope that they never need to fight Thread.”

“But we need every fighting dragon,” Kindan and T’mar declared in chorus. The harper glanced in surprise at the Weyrleader, who shook his head, saying, “Kindan has the right of it, we need to learn if we can cross-mount dragons and riders.”

“Trained dragons and riders,” Fiona said, glancing anxiously toward Kindan.

“Our need is great,” J’lantir told her. He looked at Kindan, adding, “But there is no reason you can’t be trained.”

“It will be a bit of a change to get training before getting a dragon,” Kindan said.

“Your dragon will come, lad,” J’lantir assured him and was surprised to see Fiona and Lorana nod in agreement. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t know all you can beforehand.”

“But we won’t have time to drill him on recognition points before tomorrow,” Fiona said. She felt Lorana’s hand tighten on hers and leaned against the taller woman, murmuring, “I can’t lose you.”

“You can do whatever it takes,” Lorana assured her, wrapping her other arm around Fiona and pulling the shorter woman tight against her, adding fondly, “You are strong, you will survive.”

A shiver ran down Fiona’s back and she buried her head against Lorana’s chest. After a moment, she pulled away again and gave Lorana a wan smile.

“A Weyrwoman sets the example,” Fiona said.

“She does indeed,” J’lantir said in an approving tone. The sound of H’nez’s approaching feet stalled further conversation.

“Weyrleader,” H’nez said to T’mar as he drew up. He nodded to J’lantir and threw a general look at Fiona, Kindan, and Lorana. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m pretty sure you know,” T’mar said, partly turning to J’lantir.

“I think I do,” H’nez said, facing the older bronze rider. “Flightleader J’lantir, you are the most qualified to lead the Weyr, I’ll be happy to fly wherever you see fit for me.”

“Well said, lad, well said,” J’lantir rumbled in response, his gray hair and grizzled features emphasizing his age and ability. “Your riders flew well today.”

“They could have flown better,” H’nez said with a frown. “I’ll be talking to them later.”

J’lantir barked a laugh. “Of course! They can always fly better,” he agreed. He wagged a finger at the wiry rider, adding, “But it would be a mistake to make every flight a lesson. Sometimes it is enough to let the riders find their own shortcomings. Sometimes,” he added in a more somber tone, “it is our duty to lift their spirits no matter what their failings.”

H’nez nodded. “I shall try to remember.”

“You do that!” J’lantir agreed heartily. “Do that and you’ll be a great Weyrleader.”

H’nez raised his hands, palms open in protest but the Istan rider shook his head, saying, “Every bronze dreams of a queen.”

“I have a queen,” H’nez replied quickly, then flushed and amended, “My Ginirth was lucky enough to fly Jeila’s Tolarth.”

“One of the youngest and strongest queens on Pern, I believe,” J’lantir said. “Weyrleader, indeed.”

T’mar coughed from his bed and J’lantir barked another laugh. “No offense meant, T’mar! There are Weyrs aplenty. One even now goes begging.”

“I’m Telgar now,” H’nez said.

“As are we all,” J’lantir agreed. “As are we all.”

For a long moment, no one spoke, savoring the force of the older rider’s declaration.

“I’d appreciate it, J’lantir, if you and the wingleaders could meet with me here after dinner,” T’mar said.

“This is going to be a night Fall,” Fiona spoke up, glancing at J’lantir and T’mar. “Have we coordinated with Nuella?”

“Worse,” Kindan added, “it spills over to High Reaches. They’ll be flying the darkest part.”

“Thread should arrive the seventh hour after noon,” H’nez said, casting an inquiring look toward Kindan, who nodded in agreement, “so we’ll have sun for the majority of our part of the Fall.”

“I haven’t had the honor yet of flying with Nuella,” J’lantir said. He caught the surprised look on H’nez’s face and correctly guessed that the other was not yet convinced of the utility of the watch-whers. “You should know that it was I, along with M’tal, who first discovered their true worth.”

“You flew Thread at night over Southern Boll, H’nez; do you still doubt their ability?” T’mar asked.

“It’s not that,” H’nez replied with a shake of his head. “We took a lot of casualties that night.”

“And we haven’t trained with them since,” T’mar said by way of agreement. He asked J’lantir, “Is there a chance to arrange training tonight?”

The bronze rider pursed his lips thoughtfully, then shook his head. “I think our riders are too tired. It was a strain to drill at all today; usually I prefer a day of rest prior to a Fall.”

“It was necessary with all the influx,” H’nez said.

“Oh, absolutely,” J’lantir agreed. “But we’re now all too tired to consider more drilling.”

“We’re not,” Lorana said, gesturing to Kindan. “We could coordinate with Nuella.”

“And you could talk to the watch-whers, too!” T’mar exclaimed enthusiastically. He glanced at Fiona, who flushed when she noticed his gaze and shook her head resignedly.

“It could work,” she said. “In fact, Lorana, why don’t you tell Sonia’s Lyrinth of your plan and offer to fly the full Fall?”

“At night?” H’nez exclaimed. “With no training?”

“Needs must,” Fiona told him. With a sly look toward Lorana and Kindan, she added, “Besides, your ability to coordinate will make you too valuable to risk fighting Thread directly.”

Kindan groaned in response but Lorana merely nodded serenely.

“We should leave after dark,” Kindan said. “Nuella and Nuellask won’t be awake before then.”

“I’m coming with you,” Fiona declared, her expression daring anyone to defy her.

“If,” T’mar responded slowly, his expression neutral, “Weyrwoman, you feel it in the best interests of Pern to disturb your queen’s rest before she has clutched, I will say nothing against it.”

“Good!” Fiona said. “Because Talenth says that she’s bored lying around all day and wants to get out while she still can!”

They left with the last of the evening sun hovering on the horizon in the west. A light rain was falling and threatened to turn into a cold winter downpour.

The evening meal had been a spirited affair with riders from three Weyrs discovering their differences and similarities while the Telgar weyrfolk, grateful for the further infusion of strength, outdid themselves in making the new riders feel welcome and at home.

Fiona announced J’lantir’s position as fighting leader, which was greeted enthusiastically by all—except for a few grumbles from the older Fort riders, which died down as they considered the sensibleness of the decision.

Worries soon surfaced about fighting at night and were soothed by Fiona’s revelation of the mission to Nuella. It seemed that every one of the one hundred and eighty-five fit riders found a chance to pay respect to Lorana, each profoundly grateful for her sacrifice and deeply moved that she had chosen Telgar as her new Weyr. Fiona was surprised to hear murmurs of approval about herself, too, mostly in praise of her ability to attract the likes of Lorana and J’lantir to the Weyr.

“That’s as silly as a wherry bathing!” Fiona declared the first time she heard it from one of the older riders who should have known better.

“It isn’t,” Jeila chided her. “Think of how jealous Sonia must be.”

“Or Cisca,” Terin added from her place near F’jian. Strictly speaking, the displaced headwoman should not have been seated with the dragonriders, but the Telgar weyrfolk had learned to respect the youngster and had discovered that their new Weyrwoman tended to ignore such traditions in favor of the comfort and enjoyment of all.

“Or Tullea,” Fiona said in rueful agreement. “Of course, she probably saw Lorana as a threat.”

“Almost certainly,” Jeila said.

“Maybe Tullea will get better now that she’s not time-fuddled,” Fiona said, taking a long sip of klah herself and remembering M’tal’s comment. If she was time-fuddled like Tullea, then when would she be going back in time … and where?

“What?” Kindan asked, leaning across the table toward her, with a look of concern on his face.

Fiona shook her head, smoothing her expression. “Nothing.”

The harper’s lips tightened into a frown.

“It’s not important now,” Fiona assured him. Kindan gave her a look that reminded her that he knew her all too well and made it clear to her that he would pursue the topic later, she could be certain. “Finish your klah and let’s go.”

Grudgingly, Kindan did as she ordered and, with a glance at Lorana, rose from the table as soon as he’d finished his drink.

They were all still dressed in their riding gear, so it was only a matter of moments before they were airborne, circling the Star Stones before winking out between to the wherhold.

They arrived with the last of the light, circling down quickly to the landing just outside the stone hold. A bugle from the ground announced their arrival, followed quickly by Talenth’s warbled greeting in response.

Nuellask is awake, Talenth relayed eagerly, diving so steeply that Fiona had to lean back and clutch her flying straps tightly.

Sorry! Talenth said as she caught her rider’s flash of fear just before she pulled up into a perfect landing.

No, you’re not, Fiona replied testily, you’re showing off.

Talenth answered with a chagrined silence.

Fiona relented and patted the golden neck hard before loosening her grip on her straps and sliding down Talenth’s foreleg to the ground below. Off you go, have fun!

Talenth sauntered off, taking a quick leap to cup the evening air beneath her wings and glide slowly in the darkness. She was joined shortly after by Zirenth, who flew protectively at her side.

“Well, she’s enjoying herself!” Zenor’s deep voice exclaimed in the night air.

With a yelp of joy, Fiona raced to the sound of his voice and threw herself into his arms. “Zenor!”

“Hey, easy there!” the red-haired holder declared as he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re not as small as you once were and I’ve ten more Turns to my name.”

“Indeed you do,” Kindan said. “You’re practically gray with age.”

“Kindan!” Zenor exclaimed, unceremoniously dropping Fiona to race over to his lifelong friend. He paused long enough to pull Fiona back to her feet and along with him, adding, “So have you discovered the identity of your secret admirer?”

“I have,” Kindan said. He gestured toward Lorana on his other side. “And this is Lorana.”

“Ah?” Zenor said in surprise. “And …”

“It’s complicated,” Kindan said.

“Only to confused harpers,” Lorana said, reaching a hand forward to Zenor who shook it absently.

“Zirenth flew Talenth,” Fiona said by way of exclamation.

“But we’d heard that T’mar was injured.” A new voice, Nuella’s, joined in the conversation.

“He was,” Lorana said, turning toward the approaching woman who was led by a young girl who was easily recognizable as her daughter.

“Zirenth would have gone between except that Lorana and Kindan restrained him,” Fiona said.

“And you,” Lorana said. “It took the three of us.”

“The three of you?” Zenor said.

“And so when Zirenth flew Talenth … oh!” Nuella said, her expression brightening. “Then congratulations are due all around, aren’t they?”

“I think so,” Lorana said. She glanced at Kindan. “Some of us are still adjusting to the reality.”

“Shards, Kindan!” Zenor said, his eyes going wide. “Only you would have partnered with the two most amazing women on Pern!”

“Present company excluded, of course,” Kindan added with a half-bow toward Nuella.

“He bowed at you, Momma,” the girl said.

“I know, Nalla,” Nuella assured her daughter easily. “He learned manners at the Harper Hall.”

“He’s the one who gave you your first watch-wher, isn’t he?” Nalla asked.

“Yes, he did,” Nuella told her patiently. Only the adults heard the pain in her voice.

“It’s good to see you again,” Fiona said, rushing forward to hug Nuella and discovering, in surprise, that she was taller than the wher-handler.

“I was hoping you’d come tonight,” Nuella said in agreement.

“She had Sula lay out some dainties,” Nalla declared eagerly.

“Sula’s dainties?” Kindan asked. He turned to Lorana and Fiona, saying, “You really have to try Sula’s dainties.”

“I have,” Fiona reminded him. She added to Lorana, “Remind me to see if we can pry the recipe from her.”

“That good?” Lorana asked.

“That good,” Kindan agreed, gesturing them forward.

“We’re here to talk about the Threadfall tomorrow,” Fiona said as they made their way into the hold.

Nuella nodded. “So I’d guessed.”

Quickly, Fiona brought them up to date with the news.

“J’lantir?” Nuella exclaimed in delight when Fiona mentioned his arrival. She gave Fiona an approving look, then turned to Kindan, saying, “She certainly has a way of attracting the best, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” Kindan said when he recalled that Nuella could not see his nod.

“See?” Lorana said triumphantly to Fiona. “Everyone notices.”

Fiona blushed in embarrassment.

Seated in the comfort of Nuella’s quarters, even as Sula distracted Nalla and the younger Zelar, Lorana explained her plan to Nuella.

“You can speak to any dragon?” Zenor said, his eyes going wide with surprise as he absorbed the notion.

“She can feel them, too,” Kindan told his old friend, with a dour look.

“Oh,” Zenor said, his face falling. “That could be … must have been … painful.”

Lorana nodded in response.

“What’s important now,” Fiona said, with a sympathetic look toward her friend, “is that Lorana has offered to coordinate between dragons and watch-whers.”

“Can you speak with the watch-whers, too?” Nuella asked.

In response, Lorana grew still with the inward look of one communing mentally. A moment later she looked up and smiled even as a surprised squawk echoed in from the night air. “Yes, I think I can!”

“Yes, you can,” Nuella agreed, adding wistfully, “Nuellask says she’s never heard a voice like yours before.”

“You don’t suppose you could teach Nuella …?” Fiona asked hopefully.

Lorana shook her head. “I wouldn’t know where to begin,” she replied, frowning as she glanced thoughtfully at Fiona, “but maybe you could.”

“Me?”

“Why not?” Zenor said. “You’re full of surprises

“Fiona grumbled irritatedly.

“You can hear my thoughts,” Lorana reminded her.

“And you could plant images in my mind,” Nuella added hopefully.

Fiona shook her head. “Anyone could do that,” she told Nuella, turning to Lorana and adding, “And you taught me how to hear your thoughts. I’m nothing special.”

“I’m not so sure,” Nuella and Lorana said in unison.

“And I agree,” Zenor said. “But Thread will not wait. Perhaps we should consider the issue at hand.”

“I suppose,” Nuella said, still wistful with the thought of communicating more closely with her watch-wher. She shook herself, dismissing the thought from her mind. “So you are here to coordinate on tomorrow’s Fall.”

“Indeed,” Kindan said. “Given that Lorana can talk with any dragon—”

“Or watch-wher,” Fiona added.

“Or watch-wher,” Kindan accepted the correction with a nod, continuing, “we think it’d be best if we coordinated through her.”

“Aren’t the next four Falls all night Falls?” Zenor asked, nodding toward Nuella. “That’s what we’ve heard here.”

Lorana and Fiona glanced expectantly toward Kindan, who frowned in thought, his lips moving silently. After a moment he nodded, saying, “Telgar, Fort, and High Reaches twice.”

“High Reaches flies tomorrow,” Fiona said.

“It does, but the sun sets later there so the Fall will last from mid-afternoon to late evening there,” Kindan told her.

“Up to the twenty-first hour,” Nuella agreed. “And then their next one actually starts the day before—on the twenty-third, falling through into the twenty-fourth.”

“For some reason,” Zenor said with a droll grin toward Kindan, “the Threadfall charts are all based on Benden time.”

Kindan shrugged and grinned in response.

“It’s only natural,” Nuella said. “That’s where you were posted.”

“You know,” Zenor said, stroking his chin, “if you and Lorana are going to fly this first night Fall, it might make sense for you to fly all of them.”

Fiona gasped in surprise.

“It makes sense,” Zenor told her. “Lorana can speak to any dragon. Her coordination will help save lives—dragon and watch-wher alike.”

“If you’re going to do that,” Fiona said, turning to Lorana and then Nuella, “then Nuella should ride with you.”

“What?” Nuella barked.

“Lorana can’t talk to you directly by mind but your ears work well enough,” Fiona said.

“Besides, with Kindan’s eyes, you’ll not need worry about more threadscore,” Zenor added hastily, giving Fiona a grateful wink.

“Can Zirenth manage three?” Kindan asked.

“Of course,” Lorana said with staunch loyalty for her surrogate mount.

It would be an honor to carry the WherMaster, Zirenth declared with an accompanying rumble from outside.

Nuella’s face lit with a smile, making it clear to Fiona that the bronze’s announcement had been made to all present.

“Well!” Fiona said. “When Zirenth speaks, it’s foolish to argue.”

So it was arranged. Fiona tried her hardest to convert her worry and disappointment into a method of acquiring Sula’s recipe for dainties, but she was thwarted and made the return trip to Telgar in frustrated silence.

“That’s excellent news!” J’lantir said. He glanced at Kindan and Lorana, confiding, “I’d been most concerned about our coordination with the watch-whers.” He paused before adding wistfully, “We at Ista have never had a chance to work with them.”

“Well, you’ll get it tonight,” Fiona said, her tone grumpy. Her worry for Kindan and Lorana increased with each passing moment.

J’lantir frowned and looked over at H’nez. “This is going to be a difficult Fall, even with the aid.”

“How so, sir?” H’nez asked. Fiona was surprised to hear the amount of respect in the usually self-possessed bronze rider and leaned forward to better hear J’lantir’s answer.

“We’ll be flying into the setting sun,” J’lantir said. “It may make it much harder to spot Thread.”

“It could also light it up,” H’nez countered.

“Or both,” Fiona said. She turned to J’lantir. “I see your point. With such conditions a rider could get too self-assured, especially with the falling chill of night to dull the senses.”

“Indeed,” J’lantir said. “And I’m concerned that it may not be dark enough for the watch-whers to use their abilities.”

“Or even to fly,” H’nez said, his face set in a grim frown.

“What can we do, then?” Fiona asked, feeling more desperate than before.

“Fly Thread,” H’nez answered simply.

“Hope for the best,” J’lantir said in agreement. He took a long sip of his klah and toyed with the eggs on his plate before saying to H’nez, “If anything happens to me, you lead.”

“Yes sir,” H’nez said and for once Fiona could tell that the bronze rider held no joy in the thought of leading the Weyr.

“You’ve done a good job,” Fiona said as she inspected the set of the riding straps on Zirenth’s neck and shoulder. “You’ve room enough for four sacks of firestone and yet you’ll all be secure in your mount.”

Kindan nodded. “I should, for all the times I’ve been made to inspect weyrlings.”

“Just part of your training, love,” Lorana assured him with a smile that she extended with a nod toward Fiona. Fiona answered it with the same look, causing Kindan to mutter, “You’d think you’ve got my egg all picked out.”

“I haven’t,” Fiona said, her eyes dancing as she jerked a hand toward her weyr and the sleeping Talenth, “she has.”

Kindan snorted in amusement, a sound that died quickly as he began his climb up to his place on the great bronze dragon’s neck. He reached a hand down to Lorana, who climbed quickly to her place behind him, leaving the rearmost position for Nuella.

“Don’t hurt my dragon!” T’mar bellowed from his bed, forcing good cheer into his voice.

“We’ll do our best,” Kindan called back in promise.

“Fly safe,” Fiona said, looking up at the pair of them. “I need you back.”

Kindan said nothing, Lorana nodded gravely in response, and then Zirenth moved away from the ledge, into the Bowl proper, took a leap, cupped air, rose swiftly above the gathering dragons, up to the Star Stones, and was gone, between.

“I’ve got to get better,” T’mar grumbled from his bed. Fiona cast one last glance at the after-image of the bronze dragon and his riders, then turned to march briskly back into T’mar’s quarters.

“You will,” she assured him, “if you are willing to rest.”

“By the First Egg,” T’mar swore, “I’ve never known anything harder!”

“Fly well!” Fiona called to J’lantir less than half an hour later as the last of the assembled wings made ready to take to the air. Above them the other five wings of Telgar Weyr circled, ready and eager for the night’s fight.

“We’ll see you in three hours’ time,” J’lantir said. “We hand off the Fall to High Reaches over Nabol.”

Fiona knew this and she was certain that J’lantir knew she knew this, so she gathered that the flightleader was making the announcement for the benefit of the knots of weyrfolk gathered around the outskirts of the Bowl to see off the fighting dragons.

This was only the second Fall since the disastrous time when D’gan and all the dragonriders of the Weyr were lost. Fiona could understand that they were naturally anxious, particularly as in the first Fall since then, their new Weyrleader, T’mar, had been seriously injured.

She could sense the feelings of anticipation and worry and fought to keep them from settling on her, too.

“Good flying!” Fiona called loudly, waving J’lantir and the last wing into flight.

The dragons rose gracefully, assumed their position at the head of the upper Flight, and, together, one hundred and eighty-five dragons disappeared between. To Thread. To battle.

“It will get darker soon,” Lorana assured Nuella as they followed slowly behind the fighting dragons, gouts of flame marking their progress in the battle against Thread. The dragonriders had been fighting for more than an hour, with only two more hours left before they would meet with the High Reaches riders above Nabol Hold.

Even so, the fight had been difficult. For Lorana, who felt as well as saw the carnage, the first loss was the most shocking, as she saw the small blue and his rider engulfed from behind by a clump of Thread that had been hidden in the gloam of the dusky night air—invisible one moment, mortal the next. She had cried out in unison with the tormented blue, had known that the small dragon had received its deathblow and then—he was gone, forever, between.

Nuella had wrapped her arms around her and buried her head against her spine in comfort while Kindan had tried his best to turn in his perch to console her.

“Keep flying!” Lorana had told him. “I’ll recover.”

“Yes, you will!” Nuella had agreed fervently, sitting back enough to rub Lorana’s shoulders in a soothing motion.

Moments later a brown cried out and disappeared, but winked back into the fight, having frozen off an assaulting strand of Thread between.

“I think it’s getting darker,” Kindan said now, straining to pick out the dragons in the night air.

“This is the most dangerous time,” Nuella said. “When it is still too light for the watch-whers, and too early for the Thread to have frozen.”

As if in answer, ahead of them, a pair of dragons bellowed in pain, their cries stifled as they went between. Only one returned.

“Karalth made it back to the Weyr,” Lorana reported, referring to the missing green. Her lips curved upward in relief as she added, “Fiona’s with him.”

“That’s good to know,” Kindan called back over his shoulder. “I’m going to close up or we’ll lose sight of J’lantir.”

In response, Zirenth swooped forward with easy wingbeats, closing up to the nearest dragons.

Lorana strained forward over his shoulder for a sight of J’lantir.

“There’s J’lantir!” Kindan shouted, raising an arm and pointing.

Lorana strained over his shoulder to follow his aim and had just spotted the flightleader when she shrieked, “J’lantir! Behind you!”

Too late, the bronze rider reacted to the clump of Thread that had twisted on the rising turbulence of the night air to fall directly onto the backs of rider and dragon alike. For one brief moment it flared, gorging upon the leathers of the bronze rider and the skin of the unprotected dragon, and then they were gone between—but not before Lorana could make out the pulsing red of blood as Thread ate through the last of J’lantir’s wher-hide jacket and feasted on his flesh, even as it grew in its feeding on Lolanth’s spine.

“He was too late,” Lorana cried, balling her fists and pounding them feebly against Kindan’s back. “Too late!”

J’lantir is no more! The voice rang out clearly, devoid of hope, bereft of all happiness, dry only with despair.

H’nez, lead the flight.

Ahead a dragon rumbled in acknowledgment and the dragons of Telgar Weyr hastened to re-form their confused assault against the falling Thread.

When Fiona finally staggered into her quarters after ensuring that the last of the four injured were comfortably settled into their weyrs and certain to recover, she was too tired to notice much of her surroundings. She shucked her clothes into the bathroom, threw on her nightgown as quickly as tired fingers, spurred by the evening chill, could manage, and slipped herself into the warm bed with a sigh of contentment.

She was surprised to realize that she was looking into Kindan’s eyes.

“Lorana’s keeping an eye on T’mar,” he said.

Fiona murmured noncommittally and closed her eyes. A moment later she opened them again. Kindan was still looking at her.

“Who ordered H’nez to lead the flight?” he asked. “Was that you or Lorana?”

“I think it was me,” Fiona said.

“It sounded mostly like you,” Kindan agreed, his brows furrowed. “But it sounded like Lorana, too.”

“A bit of both,” Fiona agreed.

They looked at each other for a moment longer then, reached out and hugged tightly, comfort against the pain.

Fiona felt her tears come and let them flow freely. When they were gone and Kindan was still in her arms, she felt a different feeling wake in her. Awkwardly she moved her head to peer into his eyes and darted her lips against his for a kiss.

Throwing despair away for passion, Fiona let her hands flow over his warm body, and had the reassuring pleasure of his hands moving in response. Slowly they maneuvered, touching, moving, silently, passionately.

Long afterward, Fiona reached a hand up to his cheek and stroked it gently. Kindan cupped her hand with his and smiled down at her. “Three times,” he told her with a smile. Fiona chuckled and raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“What do you mean, I can’t go out?” T’mar demanded testily when Birentir told him. “I waited an extra two days because you said so!”

He turned to Fiona, who was eyeing him with one eyebrow raised archly. “And you—dowsing my wine with fellis juice so I slept an extra day! Give me those crutches!”

Fiona pulled them away from him, saying, “Not until you get some sense in your thick skull. You’re acting like an addle-pated wherry!”

“I’m acting like a Weyrleader,” T’mar declared, but his words lacked conviction.

“A Weyrleader sets an example, or so I’m told,” Birentir said dryly. “And a Weyrleader recovering from a severe pair of injuries would best set an example by listening to the Weyr Healer, wouldn’t he?”

T’mar scowled stubbornly before leaning back in his bed, asking in a grudging tone, “So, healer, what can I do?”

“If you wish to recover fully,” Birentir responded, emphasizing the last word, “you’ll restrict your movements to your weyr for the next sevenday or so.”

“And then?”

“Then we’ll see,” Fiona told him, shaking her head in exasperation as she added, “You’re just as bad as the worst were back in Igen, you know.”

T’mar’s face twisted as the barb struck home. He had vivid memories of the younger Fiona arguing with grizzled old-timers—and winning.

“Ah, you’re remembering,” Fiona said, taking in the look on his face. “Perhaps you’ll also remember that all of my charges recovered and are now fighting Thread?”

“I do,” T’mar growled with a resigned look on his face. He brightened as he turned back to the healer, saying, “So, just around here?”

“If you don’t tire yourself.”

“How will I know?”

“You’ll know when you fall over back into a coma,” Fiona said with a shake of her head. “Or, if you’re sensible, you’ll listen to your body and limit yourself accordingly.”

T’mar jerked his head to Zirenth’s lair. “You could make him stop me.”

“I could,” Fiona agreed, turning with a half-smile toward the slumbering bronze in the weyr beyond. She turned back to T’mar. “But they’re desperate for him and the night crew for the Fall at Fort this evening, so I’m going to rely on your common sense instead.”

And with that, she thrust the crutches toward him, turned, and walked briskly out of the room, passing through Zirenth’s weyr and murmuring a fond greeting to the dozing bronze before moving on to the rest of her day’s business.

Birentir and T’mar were left behind to exchange surprised looks.

“She has a way about her,” Birentir said.

“Makes you forget her Turns, doesn’t she?” T’mar asked with a grin.

“If there’s one thing this Weyr doesn’t lack, it’s a strong Weyrwoman,” Birentir said.

“For which,” T’mar said, his voice straining as he raised himself on his crutches, “I am extremely grateful.”

“And does she know that?”

T’mar greeted the healer’s question with a glowering silence marred by a wince as he took his first step.

“You two will be careful,” Fiona said as she glanced up at Lorana and Kindan perched atop bronze Zirenth later that evening. “And you’ll make sure that Nuella doesn’t get hurt, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Lorana assured her. Kindan added a nod in agreement.

“Zirenth, I hope you’re well rested,” Fiona said, patting the great bronze on his foreleg. The bronze rumbled in amused agreement. “Talenth and I are expecting you to be here for the Hatching, you know.”

“Yes, you’d better take good care of him,” T’mar called from the entrance to Zirenth’s weyr. “He and I expect many more mating flights!”

Fiona smiled at that and, with one last wave to Lorana and Kindan, stepped back from the bronze.

“In which case,” she said to T’mar, “you’ll need to get some rest.”

“Come up here and I’ll show you how much rest I need, Weyrwoman,” T’mar responded teasingly. To his surprise, Fiona jumped up onto the queens’ ledge and trotted over to him, even before Zirenth had leaped up to go between.

“I wish she wouldn’t do that,” T’mar muttered for her ears alone. “She should take him up to the Star Stones first.”

“She said she always knows where and when she is,” Fiona assured him.

“It’s not that,” T’mar told her, shaking his head, “it’s that it sets a bad example for the rest of the Weyr.”

“Good point,” Fiona said. “We should tell her when they get back.”

“We should,” T’mar said, jerking his head invitingly toward his weyr. “In the meantime, perhaps you’d care for a demonstration of my newly regained strength.”

Fiona gave him an arch look. “Are you so desperate to put yourself in a coma?”

T’mar snorted. “Really, Weyrwoman, I think you overestimate yourself.”

“Probably,” Fiona agreed. “But there are some experiments I’m not willing to try.”

T’mar’s expression softened at the tone in her voice. “So, exactly what experiments are you willing to try?”

Fiona snorted and waved for him to precede her into his quarters.

They were lying together, asleep, much later when the sound of Zirenth’s wings awoke them. Fiona untangled herself from him and, with a restraining look, gestured for him to remain while she went and helped Kindan and Lorana.

They reeked of firestone, as did Zirenth.

“You’ve been flaming?”

Fiona said, her lips set disapprovingly. “Had to,” Kindan said. “When one of the wingleaders was injured, K’lior assigned us to take over.” Fiona’s eyes widened in surprise.

“It was for the best,” Lorana said. “It got us closer to the fighting, so we could coordinate better.” She smiled as she looked at Kindan. “He did all the fighting while Nuella and I did the controlling.”

“It worked out well enough,” Kindan said diffidently as they walked into T’mar’s rooms.

“You had my dragon flaming?” T’mar asked, sitting up in his bed.

“As you knew,” Lorana said without any sign of apology. “You were in touch with Zirenth so much you nearly distracted him.”

“You were?” Fiona said, glaring at the Weyrleader. “Even while we …?”

“No, not then,” T’mar assured her hastily.

“I’m sorry,” Fiona said to Lorana, “if I had realized he was interfering, I would have distracted him more fully.”

“Don’t,” Lorana said with a smile for T’mar, “you’ll only encourage him.”

Kindan’s features sharpened grimly as he absorbed their banter, eyeing Fiona appraisingly. Fiona sensed that he was disappointed somehow and her elated mood evaporated.

“It’s late,” Kindan said, “we shouldn’t detain you too long, Weyrleader.”

“How bad was it?” T’mar asked.

“They lost four dragons, had two seriously injured, and two who will take a good month to recover,” Lorana reported.

“High Reaches flies at night in three days’ time,” T’mar said with a sigh. He glanced up at Kindan. “They’ll want you again, won’t they?”

Kindan didn’t reply, looking distracted, so it was Lorana who answered, “I expect so, Weyrleader, if that’s all right with you.”

“It’s for the good of Pern,” T’mar said. He cocked his head toward Kindan, adding, “Though I’ll be happy when you get your own dragon.”

Kindan glanced sharply at T’mar and shook his head. “I’m not sure that’ll happen, Weyrleader.”

“Only because the right dragon’s not been hatched,” T’mar declared stoutly. Fiona and Lorana nodded emphatically in agreement but Kindan kept his doubtful expression.

For the next three days, until the next night Fall at High Reaches Weyr, Fiona felt Kindan grow more distant from her. At first, she put it down to nerves, exhaustion, and drill, but when he returned from the second night Fall at High Reaches, his attitude toward her was unmistakable. Rather than speaking to her, he made his report to T’mar only, excluding her from his line of vision and holding tightly to Lorana while he spoke.

“A lot of their losses were because they were unused to flying with the watch-whers and wouldn’t listen to Lorana,” Kindan said, running a hand through his dark hair in exasperation.

“How bad was it?” Fiona asked. Kindan said nothing; it was Lorana who replied, looking up from the seat into which she’d half-fallen on their return. “Bad. They lost three dragons, had three seriously injured, and five minor injuries.”

“Between their losses from the first night Fall and this one, they’ve only five wings now fit to fly,” Kindan said.

“One hundred and fifty fighting dragons,” Lorana murmured, her eyes wide with worry.

“We’ll find a way through,” Fiona assured her, curving her lips up into a smile. “We’re here now because of you; we won’t fail.”

Lorana made no response. Kindan gave Fiona a sour look that both startled and hurt her.

“We need to rest,” Kindan said to T’mar, gesturing politely toward Lorana and helping her up from her seat. T’mar nodded and waved them away. When they were gone, his eyes sought Fiona’s.

“He hates me,” Fiona said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“Of course,” T’mar agreed. “Who else could he hate?”

Fiona’s brows furrowed at his question.

“He can’t hate Lorana, and hating himself is much the same,” T’mar told her. “You, on the other hand, are a living reminder of all his faults and failings.” He shook his head wearily. “You are the obvious target.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

“Which is all the more reason,” T’mar told her with a wry grin. “He hates that he’s so angry that he has to find someone to take it out on. He’s chosen you because you’re the Weyrwoman and he’s hoping you’re strong enough to weather his storm.” T’mar pursed his lips and gave her an inquiring look. “Are you?”

Fiona was about ready to protest once more that it wasn’t fair but the words died on her lips. Was it fair that Koriana died of the Plague? Was it fair that Lorana lost her queen in her attempts to save Pern?

“Is he afraid to love me?” Fiona asked at last, feeling her heart churn heavily in her chest, as though weary of beating.

“Yes,” T’mar told her gently, “just as much as he’s afraid that you don’t love him.”

“What?”

“In that, we’re not all that different, he and I,” T’mar said, glancing up at her from under his eyebrows, his expression guarded.

“I …”

“M’tal and I had several long conversations before he left for Ista,” T’mar said to comfort her. He grinned as he added, “Apparently his obversations about you quickly became pertinent to his own situation.”

“We’ve a saying at Fort Hold: ‘When you’re talking to someone, two pairs of ears are listening,’” Fiona said.

“Precisely,” T’mar said. He laid his head back on his pillow, his eyes gazing unfocused toward the ceiling as he confessed, “It is impossible not to love you.”

“I love you, T’mar,” Fiona replied slowly. “I just don’t know—”

“No, of course you don’t,” T’mar cut her off. “For all your maturity, you’ve still Turns of learning in ways of the heart.” He roused himself and grinned at her wickedly. “I expect you’ll prove as quick a study there as you have with all things related to the Weyr.”

“If I could, without hurting too much,” Fiona said, “I’d love everyone.”

“Actually,” T’mar said, lowering his head once again, “I think you already do—in your own way.” “And that’s the problem.”

“Weren’t you the one who quoted: ‘Problems are just challenges’?”

Fiona snorted at the taunt.

“And aren’t you always up for a challenge?”

“Sleep well, Weyrleader,” Fiona said, marching to Zirenth’s lair. “You need your rest.”