He took his sticks and pounded out “Attention.” Then he waited. Several seconds later, and closer than he’d imagined, he heard a drummer respond with “Proceed.” Kindan grinned. Clearly some minor hold that he hadn’t noticed before had recently gotten a drummer. Excellent.
He leaned into the beat to rap out his message, hoping that he had phrased it with sufficient nonchalance that it wouldn’t alarm the relayers but would still yield its true meaning to Masterharper Zist, the intended recipient.
The message sent, he listened carefully to the drummer repeating it back, and on to the next drummer in the station. With any luck, sometime in the next day or so, Masterharper Zist would get the message.
Which meant, Kindan realized with a groan, that there had to be someone up here listening for the answer for the next several days.
“I’ll get one of the weyrlings,” he said to himself, glad that there was no one else to notice his chagrin.
L’tor directed K’tan to the Council Room. As they entered, K’tan noticed that the only other rider present was B’nik, who looked rather uncomfortable.
Get used to it, lad, K’tan thought. If you want to lead, it’s going to get harder.
He made a face, annoyed with himself for thinking so sourly of B’nik. He had known the rider since before he’d Impressed, and the truth was that B’nik was a steady, careful rider and a good leader. It was only B’nik’s continued association with Tullea that marred K’tan’s opinion of him.
“Glad you’re here,” M’tal said as he caught sight of them entering the room. He gestured to a pitcher. “There’s warm klah if you need it.”
K’tan silently shook his head and found a seat.
“Did Kindan have any news?” M’tal asked.
K’tan shook his head. “He asked to be dropped up to the watch heights to drum a message to the Masterharper.”
B’nik frowned. “What for?”
K’tan shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest,” he said. “We were talking about the losses of the other Weyrs before L’tor found us, so…”
“I’d heard that he had thought of asking the Masterharper if there were any Records of illness kept at the Harper Hall,” L’tor suggested.
“He could have done both,” M’tal said. He looked at the others seated around the table. “We could use all the information we can get,” he admitted. He held up a slate. “I’ve been looking at our strength, trying to get an estimate of how we’ll fare.
“We started this Pass with over three hundred and seventy fighting dragons,” he said. “After two Falls, we’re down to two hundred and fifteen.”
“I thought it was more than that,” B’nik said. “Are you counting the coughing ones?”
M’tal shook his head. “No, I’m counting them as sick,” he said, “and I wish I’d kept them back from the first Fall. I think we lost most of our dragons because they were so muddled they got lost between.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that, M’tal,” K’tan said heatedly. “Dragons don’t get sick, no one knew-”
“Well, they’re sick now,” M’tal cut in. “And until they’re better, I’m not letting sick ones fly with us.”
B’nik frowned. “But the losses-”
M’tal held up a hand. “They were worse when the sick ones flew with us.”
“The last Fall was a short one-you can’t really compare the two,” K’tan said.
“Even allowing for the length of the Fall,” M’tal corrected, “the losses were much higher when the sick ones flew.
“The real question is, how many more will get sick and how soon?” M’tal asked, looking pointedly at K’tan.
K’tan shook his head. “I can’t say. Lorana, Kindan, and I have been going through the Records and so far haven’t found anything like this. We’ve got nothing to compare it with: Dragons-and fire-lizards-haven’t gotten sick before.”
M’tal gave the Weyr healer a long look, then sighed deeply. “In nineteen days, we fly against Thread over Bitra. I need some idea of how many dragons will be flying,” he said slowly. He looked at B’nik. “If things go well, I’d like you to lead that Fall.”
The others in the room startled. M’tal raised a hand to quell their impending speech. “It’s customary for the Weyrleader to ask other Wingleaders to lead a Fall,” he said. “It’s good practice, too. No one can ever say when a Weyrleader might be injured or lost between.
“And,” he added, “there’s a very good likelihood that Caranth will fly Minith when she rises. It will make the transition easier all around if you’ve had some experience leading a Fall beforehand.”
B’nik spluttered for several moments before regaining his speech. “M’tal-I’m honored,” he said finally.
“Don’t be,” M’tal said firmly. “You’re a good rider. You’re good enough to know it, too. I’d be asking you to lead a Fall soon enough even if”-he paused, taking a deep breath-“even if Salina were still Weyrwoman.”
M’tal looked back to K’tan. “That’s why I want to know what you think our strength will be. It will be hard enough for B’nik to lead a Fall the first time, even with everything under control. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him to lead one without giving him some idea of the number of dragons he’ll be leading.”
K’tan nodded in understanding, then closed his eyes in thought. When he looked up moments later, his face was clouded. “The trouble is, I can’t really give you a decent guess, M’tal,” he said. “We don’t know how many dragons were lost between because they had the sickness but didn’t tell us or didn’t realize it themselves.”
Before anyone could comment, he continued, “All the same, if you look at the first sicknesses and losses, we’ve lost seventy-three dragons-not all of them to the sickness-but it’s the worst number.” He waited for M’tal to nod. “That’s seventy-three out of three hundred and eighty-five fighting dragons, or about one in five who’ve either been lost or gotten sick in the past three sevendays. So I’d say that you could possibly expect the same ratio in the next three sevendays.” He raised a cautioning hand. “It might get worse, it might get better. But, let’s say that another forty-three dragons will not be able to fly the next Fall.”
M’tal nodded, though his face was pale. He looked at B’nik. “That would leave you with about one hundred and seventy dragons,” he said. “Can you do it?”
B’nik was just as pale as the Weyrleader. “Forty-three more dragons,” he echoed, aghast. He shuddered, then forced himself to answer M’tal. “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all anyone can do,” M’tal said with a satisfied nod. He stood up and turned to leave. “I’ll make the announcement tomorrow morning. After that, I want to leave the training to you.”
B’nik nodded. “I think I’ll continue with the exercises you had us doing before the last Fall,” he said after a moment. Then he grinned. “I don’t suppose your wing would mind slinging ‘Thread,’ would it?”
“I don’t suppose,” M’tal agreed with a grin and a nod. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day”-he covered his mouth to stifle a yawn-“and I’m in need of some rest.”
A voice called him urgently from sleep: “Master Zist, Master Zist!”
Masterharper Zist raised his head wearily from his pillow and blearily looked up. He made out the shape of the watch drummer, Terilar, silhouetted by the glows from the Hall.
“What time is it?” he asked, confused. Too much wine, he thought.
“It is three hours past midnight,” Terilar replied.
No, not enough sleep, Zist thought, correcting his previous assessment.