Lorana hadn’t considered her ability in that light. She winced as she heard another dragon bellow in great pain and go between-and then she winced in greater pain when the dragon did not return. She tried to find it between, could feel herself going-
Don’t! Arith cried. Don’t leave me.
Lorana opened her eyes and thrust her arm against the wall for support.
I didn’t mean to, she apologized. I was trying to get Minerth.
Minerth is gone, Arith said firmly. You cannot save her.
Lorana found herself comforted by Arith’s assurance, but deep down she felt that she almost could have brought Minerth and C’len back from wherever they had gone between. But both had been scored by Thread, Minerth fatally so.
Salina comes down with the harper, Arith told her. You should go meet them.
“Are you keeping watch on Salina?” Lorana asked, surprised.
Yes, Arith said. She was the rider of my mother. And she is very sad. I would like to cheer her up.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Lorana said, standing upright once more. “If you get some sleep.”
I’ll try, the queen promised.
Lorana spotted the harper and Weyrwoman easily as she made her way across the Bowl toward the aid station. Kindan was talking animatedly, and Salina-well, Salina looked like one of the dead.
Lorana joined them, adding whatever cheerful comments she could until she managed to get close to Kindan’s ear while Mikkala was offering Salina some special sweets. “I don’t think this is the best thing for her,” she whispered.
“I can’t leave her by herself,” Kindan responded in equally hushed tones. “So many don’t survive the loss of their dragon, you know.”
Lorana pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Maybe-maybe it would be a mercy,” she said carefully.
“But not the best for Benden, not now,” Kindan replied. “Think of what would happen to M’tal. And the Weyr.”
Lorana shuddered. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she confessed.
Around the Weyr, hatchlings bugled fearfully. Lorana and Kindan looked up in time to see a badly scored dragon plummeting down toward them.
Get away! Lorana shouted. The hatchlings veered away from the falling dragon bare moments before it landed-hard-on the floor of the Bowl.
“Get some numbweed!” Lorana shouted over her shoulder as she ran toward the wounded dragon and rider.
The beast was horribly injured-she could see that immediately. Both wings were in tatters, scored repeatedly by Thread. Ichor oozed from hundreds of sharp wounds.
It’s all right, it’s all right, Lorana called soothingly to the dragon.
Kindan leaped up and grabbed the rider, throwing him over his shoulder and carrying him to a clear spot not far from his dragon. Gently, he laid the rider out on the ground. Lorana rushed over to him and knelt on the opposite side of the injured man. Kindan felt the rider’s neck for a pulse and then looked up at Lorana, his eyes bleak.
With an anguished bellow, the dragon rose clumsily to its legs and jumped into the air-gone between.
Lorana rose and spotted Salina approaching in the distance. The Weyrwoman took one look at Lorana and her hand went to her mouth in sorrow.
Another dragon bugled in the sky above them, falling, with just barely more control than the first dragon.
The next several hours were a horrid blur of scored dragons and riders, hasty bandages, numbweed, fellis juice, and, all too often, the forlorn keen of a dragon going between on the death of its rider.
Lorana only vaguely noticed when M’tal and the rest of the Weyr returned. When M’tal asked, “Where’s Tullea?” she could only shake her head and turn back to the injury she was working on. Only later, much later, did it occur to Lorana that Tullea should have been helping tend the injured.
Once, Lorana found herself grabbed by K’tan. “Wash your hands,” he told her. She noticed that her hands were covered in blood from the rider she had been tending. “Blood shouldn’t mix,” the Weyr healer warned.
Lorana’s hand flew to her face but she stopped it just in time, eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t wash when I went from Jolinth to Lisalth.”
K’tan shook his head and gave her a pat. “Dragon ichor isn’t the same. You can mix it any time,” he assured her. “It’s just human blood that can cause problems. People have different blood, and mixing it can cause fevers.”
“I’ll remember,” Lorana promised, washing her hands in a bucket that one of the weyrlings had brought over at K’tan’s beckoning.
Some time later, as Lorana rose from bandaging another dragon’s wing tip, she swayed and the world wheeled around her. Hands reached out and steadied her, and she found herself looking up into a face.
It was Kindan. “When did you last eat?” he asked her.
Lorana tried to remember but couldn’t. She feebly shook her head.
“Come on,” Kindan said decisively. When Lorana tried to resist, he added, “K’tan’s back; he can handle things for a while.”
“Eat!” K’tan agreed loudly from where he was working on a wounded dragonrider.
“We’ll send you something, too!” Kindan promised as he led Lorana toward the caverns.
“I have to get back as soon as I can,” Lorana said.
“No,” Kindan replied firmly. “You need to rest. You’ve done enough, more than enough, for one day.”
“But-but there’s a fracture to set on Aliarth,” Lorana protested.
“K’tan will see to it,” Kindan said. “Or it will wait until I’m sure you’re up for it.” He shook his head in amazement. “You’ve been working for ten hours!”
“So have you,” she retorted.
Kindan was taken aback. “Well, so I have!” he agreed. “It’s a wonder I’m not fainting of hunger myself.”
They were scarcely seated before they were served a hot bowl of thick soup and a mug of mulled wine. Fresh-baked bread with butter was set beside the soup.
“There’s more where that came from,” their server told them with a broad smile. Kindan recognized her as Tilara.
“Thank you,” he replied, gesturing for Lorana to eat.
“There’s no need,” Tilara responded. She looked at Lorana and told her, “I saw the way you stitched up Jolinth’s wing.” She gave Lorana an admiring look. “I never would have believed it possible, but it looks like he’ll fly again.”
Kindan remembered her as one of the women sweet on K’lar, Jolinth’s rider.
“Is K’lar resting, now?” he asked.
Tilara smiled wickedly and hefted a large pitcher she’d been holding in her other hand. “He is now. I doused his wine with fellis juice.”
“Rest is what he’ll need,” Lorana agreed. K’lar had been scored, a nasty sear from forehead to cheek which fortunately required only a clean bandage and some numbweed for the pain.
“Ah, look at me!” Tilara protested. “Here you’re supposed to be eating and I’m jawing away at you.” She turned away, then called over her shoulder, “Eat up, because I’ll be bringing seconds shortly. And dessert.”
Lorana found that she was far hungrier-and thirstier-than she’d realized. The soup bowl was empty before she realized, and she reached for the bread and butter, only to have Kindan catch her hand.
“Allow me,” he said, passing her the platter.