B’nik nodded. “We still have seven wings of able dragons,” he said. He saw K’lior’s look of distress and hastily added, “But I don’t know how long that will last-and we started with more dragons than you.”
“What can we do to help?” Cisca asked, looking at Lorana. She frowned. “Are you Tullea?”
“This is Lorana, rider of Arith. Minith rose yesterday,” B’nik said.
“Congratulations!” K’lior said, his face brightening.
“A good flight?” Cisca added, catching K’lior’s hand in hers proprietarily.
B’nik found himself grinning at their obvious affection. “Unexpected,” he admitted. “I had not expected to be Weyrleader today.”
“Well, I can see you’ve already settled in the role,” Cisca pronounced approvingly.
B’nik’s grin broadened.
“I can get nothing from High Reaches Weyr,” Masterharper Zist said to Kindan as he completed his summary.
Kindan quirked an eyebrow. “Is there any reason?”
“The only message I got from G’relly was cryptic,” Zist admitted. “The message was ‘wait.’ ”
“That doesn’t seem too cryptic,” Kindan commented.
“Not at the time,” Zist agreed. “But it’s been nearly a fortnight since then and I’ve heard nothing further.”
Kindan frowned. “What do we know from the other Weyrs, then?”
Masterharper Zist gestured to the Masterhealer.
Masterhealer Perigar sighed. “I cannot-my specialty is humans,” he temporized.
“Surely a disease is a disease no matter whether it affects animals or humans?” Voice craftmaster Nonala asked in exasperation.
“Even if it were so,” Perigar responded, “I don’t have enough information to begin to guess-”
“I do,” Verilan, the Master Archivist, interrupted gruffly. The others all turned to him. “I don’t know anything about disease, but I can read and cipher.”
He pushed a slate across the table. “There are the numbers of dragons sick in all the Weyrs we know of,” he said, tapping one line of numbers.
“And there are the numbers of dragons lost between to this illness.” He tapped another column, then pointed to a third. “And there’s the number of injured from each Fall.”
“What’s this tell us?” Masterharper Zist asked.
“The sickness has accelerated the losses of dragons,” Verilan said. He raised a hand as the others started to protest the obviousness of his statement.
“This sickness has accelerated it so much that the Weyrs are losing half their fighting strength each time they fight Thread.” He raised his hand higher to forestall further protests.
“I know, I know, the numbers are not exact. But the pattern is there,” he pronounced. He gave a deep sigh and continued. “And, given that a Weyr needs at least one Flight-three full wings-of dragons to fly successfully against Thread…” He shook his head. “Given that, the Weyrs will be incapable of fighting Thread after the next two Falls.”
“What?” The others were out of their chairs, grabbing at the slate, trying to examine it.
Kindan sat back first, then Masterharper Zist. They ignored the others and the shouting. They had each seen enough of Verilan’s calculations to know that the Master Archivist was right.
Soon-in the next two Falls or less-there would not be enough dragons to protect Pern from Thread.
“Any luck?” B’nik asked cheerfully, sliding a platter of cheeses in Lorana’s direction. She and Cisca looked up from the stacks of Records they had placed in front of them. Lorana shook her head mutely and Cisca looked back down quickly to her reading.
“When did you last eat?” B’nik asked. Lorana’s face took on a puzzled look and before she could respond, he grinned.
“I thought so,” he said. “It’s the first question I ask Tullea, too.” He tapped the platter. “Eat. Now. That’s an order from your Weyrleader.”
Lorana quirked her lips, dropped her Record, and dragged a plate in front of her. B’nik started to pile some cheese and crackers on it for her. With a gesture, he inquired if Fort’s Weyrwoman wanted any.
“I think I’d better check on K’lior,” Cisca said. She rose quickly but turned back to tell Lorana, “I’ll be back.”
“Thanks,” Lorana told her.
“This,” Cisca gestured to the Records spread in front of them, “is for all of us.”
“Tell me what to look for,” B’nik said as Lorana spread soft cheese on her cracker, feeling guilty to be eating while the Weyrleader was working.
“Anything that might be useful,” she told him. “Mention of illness, Records of other Weyrleaders consulting the Records, that sort of thing.”
B’nik nodded but his face showed confusion. Lorana shrugged. “We really don’t know what we’re looking for,” she told him. “Dragons don’t get sick.”
“Except now.”
They continued their work silently. Sometime later, K’lior and Cisca joined them, wordlessly pulling more stacks of Records and seating themselves at Fort Weyr’s Records Room table.
It got darker. Glows were brought by the Fort Weyr Headwoman.
Finally, B’nik pushed himself back from his work, sitting upright. Lorana looked at him, expecting him to call it a day-and she was quite ready to end another fruitless search.
But as he drew breath to speak, Cisca, who had been tearing through the Records so fast Lorana wondered how she could read them, sat upright with a gasp of surprise.
“I think I’ve got something,” she told the others. She had a puzzled expression on her face. She tapped a section on the Record she was examining.
“This Record says that there was a special place built just at the beginning of the First Interval.” Cisca immediately had their undivided attention. “There was much argument about it but finally M’hall-” She nodded at B’nik’s surprised expression. “-prevailed and it was built at-”
“Benden Weyr,” B’nik finished.
“… so we have found nothing, in our Records or those of the Healercraft, to alter this conclusion?” Masterharper Zist asked, recapping the end of several hours’ worth of intense research and debating.
“I have found nothing in the Archives,” Master Archivist Verilan admitted. He cast a glance around the room, adding, “And I stand by my projections.”
Perigar shook his head ruefully at the Archivist and threw up his hands in resignation. Masterharper Zist cocked an eyebrow at him, awaiting an answer.
“As I’ve said before, I’m not an animal healer. Perhaps the Masterherdsman might give a different answer, but my craft knows nothing that will help the dragons,” the Masterhealer said finally.
The others all sat back from the table, either throwing up their hands or shaking their heads sadly. Except Kelsa. Zist gave her an inquiring look.
“I hesitate to bring this up,” she said. “It’s only a snippet.”
“Anything,” Kindan said desperately.
“I found part of a song, an ancient song,” she said. “It has a sour melody-even if it is haunting-which is doubtless why no one sings it these days, and I’ve only found a verse or two…” she cast a meaningful glance at Kindan. “It was poorly copied…”
Kindan gasped in horror and recognition. Then he drew a breath and sang:
“But that hasn’t happened,” Verilan protested. “There have been no thousand voices-”
Kindan held up a hand for silence, closing his eyes in concentration. He continued: