Lina smiled, although her eyes were still weary. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “He so wants to live up to your example, you know.”
Unconsciously, D’gan felt stung by the comment, even though he knew it had been kindly meant. He was determined to set a standard no other could attain.
C’rion stopped, pulling his back straight and forcing a pleasant expression onto his face before he stepped out onto Ista Weyr’s Bowl. All above him, from one side of the Bowl to the other, the Weyr was full of the sounds of dragons coughing, snorting, and sneezing.
Directly above him, he heard a dragonrider call out, “Valorth! Valorth, no!”
A dragon dived out from its weyr and winked between, leaving behind T’lerin-no, C’rion grimaced, Telerin; the honorific contraction for a dragonrider lasted as long as his dragon. C’rion turned to head toward the ex-dragonrider, to console him as he had consoled so many others in the past three sevendays.
“I’ll do it,” a voice behind him said. C’rion whirled, swaying slightly from fatigue, as he caught sight of J’lantir.
Wearily, C’rion nodded. “Get Giren,” he said, “he’ll know what to do.”
J’lantir shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, just now. T’lerin spent too much time comforting Giren when Kamenth went between.”
C’rion gave him a blank look.
“T’ler-Telerin might blame Giren,” J’lantir explained.
“Then G’trial-I mean, Gatrial-” The look on J’lantir’s face stopped him.
“I’m sorry,” J’lantir said, tears welling up in his eyes. “I was coming to tell you-”
C’rion bowed his head and nodded. He had feared that the Weyr healer would not survive the loss of his dragon, especially after experiencing all the pain and suffering of watching over thirty other dragons succumb.
“It was fellis juice, laced with wine and something else, I couldn’t identify,” J’lantir said. “Dalia said she’ll look after him.”
C’rion shook his head, biting his lips. “No, no, I’ll do it, it’s my duty.”
J’lantir touched his shoulder gently. “You’ve too many duties, Weyrleader. Thread is falling-”
“The Weyr must be led,” C’rion finished, swallowing hard. “How many have we lost so far?”
“Thirty-six,” a new voice answered. Dalia joined them. “I’ve got weyrfolk looking after Telerin,” she said. “We’ve got another thirty or more that don’t look well.”
“Thread falls nine days from now,” C’rion responded.
Dalia smiled grimly, walked wearily up to him and hugged him. “You’ll do all right,” she told him.
TWELVE
“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” This is as true in ecosystems as it is in physics. Any new species will incite a reaction from the ecosystem.
- Fundamental Principles of Ecosystem Design, 11th Edition
M’hall leaned back on Brianth and gazed up into the darkening sky. Nothing. Some stars had started twinkling and the Red Star, which had been invisible for months in daylight, was definitely fading in intensity.
Torene wants to know if that’s it, Brianth relayed, adding an echoing rumble of his own.
We haven’t seen any more signs of Thread for the past hour, M’hall replied. I think that’s it. Have Torene assign a watch rider and tell the rest to go back to the Weyr.
Torene wants to know if you’re coming, too, Brianth said.
M’hall pursed his lips in thought. Might as well, between won’t get any warmer while I’m waiting.
It was hard to imagine that Thread would not return. That he would not be called upon to fight them day after day, again and again. That finally, he and all his surviving dragonriders could rest.
Rest, M’hall thought with a snort of amusement, I wonder what that’s like. He patted his hardworking bronze partner on the neck and thought, Come on, Brianth, let’s go home.
Brianth had obligingly dropped M’hall off near the Caverns before retiring to his weyr. M’hall waited for his Wingleaders to assemble, patting them on the back or exchanging words as they arrived. Ghosts of lost riders ringed them: M’hall could bring up many faces, scarred or young, bitter or thrilled, that were no longer seen in the Weyr.
I wonder how Father would have handled this, he mused. Or Mother.
“So that’s the last of it, M’hall?” G’len called out.
“As far as I can tell,” M’hall replied. “And right on schedule.”
“Well that’s something to be grateful for,” young M’san said.
“Wine all around!” a voice bellowed from the background. M’hall roared in hearty agreement. The cold of between filled the air as another dragon returned. Without looking, M’hall knew it was Torene and Alaranth.
“Mugs tonight,” Torene declared. “You’ll all just break the glasses.”
They waited patiently while the wine was passed around. Soon the Cavern was filled to overflowing with riders and weyrfolk.
“I didn’t know we had this many mugs,” Torene remarked in surprise.
“I didn’t realize we had this many people,” M’hall returned with a smile. He looked out at the people of Benden Weyr, survivors of the First Pass of the Red Star, and bellowed in a voice so loud that the dragons roared, “To absent friends!”
“Absent friends!” The shouted response shook the very rocks of the Weyr.
“Come down and join the celebration,” Emorra called to the drummers on the tower.
“We can’t, we’re on duty.”
“Suit yourselves, then,” she called back to them. She was drunk and she knew it. She hadn’t been drunk in-she couldn’t remember how long. She must have been drunk once before, or she wouldn’t have recognized it now.
She turned back to the College, watching her feet to keep from stumbling. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the tower behind her, realizing that the voice that had answered her wasn’t Tieran’s. Where was he? She hadn’t seen him for a while. Emorra pursed her lips, wondering exactly why she cared.
The celebrants in the courtyard of the College had dispersed, some going back to their rooms and others settling down for quieter revelries right there. Emorra startled when her ears picked out Tieran’s voice. He was in one of the classrooms. She headed toward it.
Partway there, Emorra paused. She heard a woman’s voice talking to him. Well, maybe I should leave them alone, she thought sadly to herself. The voice spoke again, passionately, and Emorra recognized it.
She charged into the room, yelling, “Just what do you think you’re doing? You’re old enough to be his grandmother!”
Her agitation took her all the way into the room. Tieran was seated at one of the tables. No one was seated in his lap. No one was muttering sweet nothings into his ear.
Instead, Wind Blossom was in front of the chalkboard, scribbling genetic coding sequences on it. Of course, Emorra thought to herself with slowly dawning comprehension, I’ve never heard her use that tone unless she was talking genetics.
Tieran and Wind Blossom were startled by her bold entrance. Wind Blossom recovered more quickly, giving her daughter an inscrutable-even to Emorra-look. Tieran just looked puzzled. The brown fire-lizard had leapt into the air, but did not go between.