seaside cottage, you send word and I’ll get you there.”
Wind Blossom opened her mouth to protest, but her expression changed
before she could utter a response. A thoughtful gleam entered her eyes.
“Why thank you, M’hall. I think I will.”
THIRTEEN
Dragon, turn
Dragon, climb
Dragonrider, watch for sign
Firestone, chew
Dragon, flame
Char the Thread, make it tame.
Benden Weyr, Third Pass, 4th day, AL 508
Today we’ll drill with mixed wings,” M’tal announced the next morning. It had
been a long, hard night for the entire Weyr. The evening and early hours of
the morning had been punctuated with the sorrowful cries of injured riders
and dragons. Two more dragons had gone
between
before dawn.
M’tal had called the Wingleaders together at first light.
“Not only do we need the training,” M’tal told the group, “but it will keep us
focused on our duties.”
“What about the sick dragons, M’tal?” someone called from the back.
“They won’t fly, J’ken,” M’tal said, recognizing the speaker’s voice. “I
learned my lesson yesterday. We’ll let them rest.”
There was a murmur of agreement and some muttering about being a day
late.
M’tal raised a hand for silence. “Yesterday none of us had fought Thread
before,” he said. “Today we know better. In two days, we’ll be able to
handle any losses in our flights. It’s vital that we practice today and
tomorrow as hard as we can to handle losses during Threadfall.
“I’ve asked Lorana and Kindan to call out dragons as ‘casualties’ from time
to time, so that we can really learn how to cope,” he told them. He saw the
other riders looking at each other, nodding as they digested the idea and
found they liked it.
“But what about the sickness, M’tal?” J’ken called from the back of the
group. “I lost two good riders yesterday because they were too sick to fly.
What if more get sick?”
“Lorana and Kindan will also be in the Records Room searching for any
hints they can find,” M’tal assured them. “I’ve sent word to Masterharper
Zist to search the Records at the Harper Hall, too.”
“Do they keep dragon Records at the Harper Hall?” J’tol, B’nik’s
wingsecond asked, frowning.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” M’tal said.
“Sounds like Kindan and Lorana are working too hard,” L’tor muttered. He
looked up at M’tal. “Let’s hope they aren’t so tired that they miss something
vital.”
“Could we get someone else to help?” J’tol wondered.
“Traditionally, it’s been the duty of the Weyrwoman to examine the
Records,” J’ken noted.
M’tal raised a hand placatingly. “I’m afraid that Salina is still recovering from
her loss,” he told the group regretfully. “I’m sure—”
“I wasn’t talking about her, M’tal,” J’ken interjected. “I was talking about
Tullea.”
He shot a glance at B’nik’s wingsecond. “What about it, J’tol? Where’s
Tullea? And where’s B’nik for that matter? Late again?”
“B’nik is setting up a surprise for us,” M’tal assured the others. “I asked him
to.”
“What about Tullea?” J’ken persisted. From the grumbling of the group, it
was obvious that he was not the only rider who was displeased by their new
Weyrwoman’s behavior.
“What matters now, dragonriders,” M’tal called in a voice pitched to carry
over the grumbling, “is that Thread falls in two more days’ time and we need
practice. To your dragons!”
The first two hours of practice were dismal. B’nik’s surprise was that half his
wing was aloft with the ropes used for practice in the Games. They popped
in and out of
between
well above the riders, and threw down handfuls of the
ropes, to simulate clumps of Thread.
After two hours, J’tol took the other half of B’nik’s wing high aloft to throw
ropes, while B’nik and the others practiced flaming it along with the rest of
the Weyr.
Slowly, with many false starts and restarts, the dragonriders began to learn
to become more flexible in their formations, to quickly regroup when a
dragon became a casualty. And both the dragons and their riders grew
more confident and adept.
When the dragonriders returned to the Weyr for a lunchtime break, M’tal felt
cautiously confident that they would be ready for the next Threadfall.
“How far back do you think we should go?” Kindan asked, wheezing as
some dust from the latest pile of Records flew into his face. “Some of
these are disintegrating.”
“Shouldn’t we get them copied, then?” Lorana asked, carefully leafing
through another pile of musty records.
“Spoken like someone who never spent days copying old Records,”
Kindan responded. “Do you know how boring it is, day in, day out, copying
musty old Records?”
Lorana allowed herself a slight smile. “I imagine there would be a lot to be
learned,” she said.
Kindan shook his head. “No, not really,” he said. “Most of the Records are
repetitious. There are only so many ways you can record crop yields and
rainfall. Occasionally there’s a note of a wedding or a birth
but—honestly—you’d think whoever wrote those Records was numb! Not a
single joke, no songs, nothing but dull, dry facts, Record after Record.”
“Well, it’s dull, dry facts we’re after,” Lorana responded. “No joke or song is
going to help us here.”
Kindan paused mid-search and looked up at Lorana. She looked back at
him quizzically until he shook his head and gave her a dismissive hand
gesture. “Nothing,” he told her. “I thought I remembered a song . . . but it
was nothing.”
Lorana glanced over at the sandglass they’d brought up with them. “Ooops,
our time’s up! Name another dragon,” she told him.
“Mmm, Ganth,” Kindan said. “T’mac’s brown. That’ll leave J’ken without a
wingsecond.”
Lorana raised her eyebrows in appreciation of the choice. “Very well,” she
said, and gave the order to Ganth. She smiled as the brown dragon thanked
her and asked if he could take a swim in the lake.
I think that’s up to your rider, don’t you?
she replied.
Lorana looked back down at her stack of Records and then threw her hands
up in disgust. “You know, we’re going at this the wrong way,” she said.
“I’ve been saying that for hours,” Kindan agreed. He looked over at her.
“What is your plan?”
“Well, I was thinking that anything that happened to the dragons recently,
we’d remember,” she said. “So why work our way back through the
Records? Why not start with the oldest Records and work forward?”
“The oldest Records!” Kindan groaned. “Queen rider, you certainly know
how to darken a day.”
Lorana started to protest but Kindan raised a hand, silencing her.
“I didn’t say you weren’t right,” he told her. “I just dread the prospect.” He
stood up and went back to the stacks of Records, searching. “You know,
I’m going to have to move the newer stacks first.”
“I’ll order more
klah,
then,” Lorana suggested.
Kindan turned back to her with a grin. “Ah ha! This is just a plot to take a
break.”
Lorana laughed and went to the shaft to order more food.
By the time they broke for the evening meal, Lorana’s good humor had
frayed.
“Musty old,
useless
Records!” she swore.
Kindan gave her a shocked look.
“I’m sorry I ever suggested we start with the oldest ones,” she apologized,
stifling a sneeze. “My nose is running and my eyes are watering with all this
dust. The writing’s barely legible and I’ve probably missed something
important because it’s buried in a mass of gibberish!”
“Maybe I can help.”
Lorana looked over to see Salina standing in the doorway.
“You should be feeding your dragon, anyway,” Salina said.
“After you’ve done that, you can feed yourself,” Kindan added. “You haven’t
had anything since you took a break to help K’tan with that injured wing
tip—if you call that a break.”
“But there’s so much to do!” Lorana protested, waving a hand toward the
high stacks of unread Records.
Salina entered the room and sat at the table. Catching Lorana’s eyes, she
jerked her head toward the door.
“I’ll do it while you do your other chores,” Salina said. “I’ve heard someone
say that this is the Weyrwoman’s job, anyway.”
Kindan couldn’t bring himself to point out that the Weyrwoman being
referred to was Tullea, not Salina.
“Ask Mikkala to send up some fresh glows, please,” Salina told Lorana as
she was leaving. She looked over at Kindan. “Now, Harper, what should we
be looking for?”
Two days later, with Threadfall due over lower Benden and Upper Nerat,
M’tal grimaced. Three of the severely wounded dragons had gone
between.
And there were eight more feverish dragons. He would be
leading only one hundred and ninety-six dragons—slightly more than two
flights of dragons—against Thread over Nerat.
We will fight smarter this time, M’tal thought confidently.
He knew from the Records of the Second Pass that the Weyr had
successfully fought Thread with less than one full flight—three wings of
dragons. He also knew that the casualties in those Threadfalls had been
much higher than when more of the Weyr’s strength was available.
Well, it can’t be helped, he told himself.
Gaminth, give the order to go
between
to Nerat Tip.
With the lush green of lower Benden below them and clear skies above,
M’tal surveyed the arrayed wings approvingly as they awaited the coming of
Thread. He had three wings arranged as one flight flying high, with a
second flight behind and lower. The sixteen spare dragons were arranged
in a “short wing,” trailing behind the lower flight but ready to fill in any gaps
either as individual dragons or as a full wing.
M’tal squinted, scanning the sky above him for signs of Thread. Wouldn’t it
just be too much if Thread failed to fall? he mused sourly.
A dragon’s roar alerted him. There! Faintly, like a blur on the sky above, he
saw it. As one, the dragons of Benden turned to their riders for firestone; as
one the riders fed them the flame-bearing rock; and as one the dragons
chewed the rock, digesting it deep in their second stomachs.
As one, the Weyr rose to flame Thread.
And then, behind him, dragons bugled a strange challenge. M’tal turned in
surprise to find the source of their bafflement.
“What is she doing?” M’tal bellowed in outrage.
Far below and behind him, he spied the large wings of Benden’s only
mature queen dragon.
Thread!
Gaminth warned—but it was too late. A stream of fire seared
across M’tal’s cheek and onto his chest before the nothing of
between
brought blessed relief from the agony of Threadscore.
M’tal clawed off the frozen Thread and then they were back in daylight
again.
Gaminth, tell her to return to the Weyr!
M’tal ordered.
Minith says that Tullea says it is her “duty” to be here at Threadfall,
Gaminth informed him.
M’tal’s rage grew as he watched the flying formations behind him dissolve
and grow unmanaged, with some bronzes striving to protect their queen.
Order the “short wing” to protect her,
M’tal said.
And have the rest of the
wings re-form.
His orders had little effect on the chaos behind him. Grimly, M’tal wondered
if it had been a wise idea to put his wing in the forefront. It had seemed a
good choice to lead from the front, but he hadn’t counted on not being able
to handle the confusion behind him—he hadn’t expected
this
sort of
confusion!
Tell Minith that I order her back to the Weyr,
M’tal said to his dragon.
She
is too near her mating flight to risk Threadscore now.
Minith says to tell you that Tullea is only doing her duty,
Gaminth relayed
apologetically.
“Talk to Lorana!” M’tal shouted out loud. “Have
her
explain it to Minith.”
Behind him, M’tal could hear dragons shrieking in pain as Thread struck
them. It didn’t have to be this way, he thought furiously to himself. Damn the
girl! I’ll wring her neck myself when we get back.
She is gone,
Gaminth reported.
The wings are re-forming. It will be all
right.
Tullea jumped off her dragon as soon as she landed at Benden Weyr and
launched herself toward Lorana, shrieking at the top of her lungs, “How
dare you! How dare you call my dragon back!”
Lorana was tending an injured rider and had no time to rise to her feet
before the other queen rider was upon her. Kindan raced over to her side,
but it was Arith, awakened by the raw emotion of Tullea’s assault, who
arrived first, appearing from
between
with a cold burst of air.
The little queen hissed at Tullea, who found herself skidding to a halt.
Behind her, Minith rumbled a warning at Arith, but Arith only hissed at her,
too.
“Tullea, what is this?” Salina demanded as she appeared, breathless,
having run all the way across the Bowl. “What is going on?”
“M’tal had me order Minith back to the Weyr,” Lorana explained, her