“Perhaps you should still be resting,” B’nik said to her, his voice full of concern.
“I’m all right, I just lost my footing,” she lied. “Besides, I wanted to offer my help. M’tal thought that my ability to speak to any dragon might be useful.”
“It would be very useful,” B’nik agreed immediately, surprised at her offer. “I-I didn’t think that you’d-”
“I would be happy to help,” Lorana told him firmly.
“Then I shall happily accept your help,” B’nik replied cheerfully.
“Retanth says that all is ready,” Lorana said.
“Tell him to have the Weyr assemble up by the Star Stones,” B’nik replied. “Hopefully there’ll be no fog up there.”
“The watch dragon reports that the air is clear and the sun is just visible on the horizon.”
“Excellent!” B’nik said, already seeing the value of Lorana’s abilities. The one thing neither he nor M’tal could figure out was how to direct the wings and keep in contact with the Weyr at the same time. He turned back to his dragon. “Caranth, let’s ride.”
“Good Fall, Weyrleader,” Lorana called after him. She and Ketan could not quite make out his parting wave in the growing light.
“So,” Ketan said when the last of the dragons had cleared the Bowl, “suppose you tell me which new dragon has the sickness?”
“Caranth,” Lorana replied mournfully.
“Are you sure you have the coordinates right?” B’nik asked his dragon anxiously as they prepared to guide the Weyr between to Threadfall over Bitra.
I am sure, Caranth returned unflappably. B’nik was reassured by his dragon’s calm manner but still toyed with the idea of asking M’tal to have Gaminth guide the Weyr to the Fall. I am just coughing, not confused.
“Very well,” B’nik said, letting out a deep sigh. “Let’s go, Caranth!”
Following the visual image from the Weyrleader, one hundred and seventy-four fighting dragons went between.
Lorana didn’t realize that she had tensed up until she felt Caranth’s calm report of the arrival of the Weyr over Bitra-and then she found herself gasping in a deep lungful of fresh air.
Ketan gave her a surprised look, then nodded in realization. “You were worried about Caranth?”
“B’nik was worried about Caranth,” Lorana said. “Caranth seemed fine to me. Sick but still clearheaded, able to fly. Eager, even.”
Ketan cocked his head at her in curiosity. “Do I gather that if you were worried about Caranth, you might have stopped him from bringing the Weyr between?”
Lorana allowed a ghost of a smile to cross her lips. “I might.”
“Lorana,” Ketan began, cautiously choosing his words, “you do understand that the Weyrleader is responsible for the fighting dragons, don’t you?”
Lorana cocked her head at him. “Are you asking whether I know my place in the Weyr, Healer?”
Ketan pursed his lips uncomfortably. “I doubt if anyone knows your place just now,” he said judiciously.
“I agree,” she said with a small nod. “But I think it would be wrong, don’t you, if I knew that Caranth was too sick to give good coordinates not to stop him.” A small crease appeared between her brows. “What would happen if Caranth gave bad coordinates and the Weyr followed him?”
Ketan shuddered and his face went white. “They would be lost between.”
“Oh,” Lorana said, her eyes going wide. Ketan’s expression answered her question better than words.
B’nik was bone-tired and bone-cold when, six hours later, Caranth relayed that the sweepriders had reported the end of the Fall.
“Send the other wings back to the Weyr,” he told J’tol, “and have half our wing check for burrows.”
J’tol waved in acknowledgment and veered off, his wingmen following in close formation.
B’nik was glad that he had listened to M’tal’s advice and had kept his wing in reserve during the fighting. He had been able to quickly order his riders to fill gaps in other wings when needed-which had not been as often as he’d feared.
M’tal sends his congratulations, Caranth relayed.
Tell him thank you, B’nik responded, grinning unabashedly. While he hated the reason for it, he had to admit that it really was nice to have an ex-Weyrleader available and willing to give him honest praise when he earned it.
Let’s go chat with the Lord Holder, he added, his grin disappearing as he imagined the sour expression of Gadran, Bitra’s aging Lord. Even if no burrows were found, he was sure that Gadran would find some reason to moan or bicker.
J’tol reports three deep burrows in the northern valley, Caranth told him. He says they’ll have to fire the forests to contain them.
“Is something wrong?” Gadran asked, taking in B’nik’s worried expression.
“I’m afraid there is,” B’nik told him. “We fought the Fall as best we could, but my sweepriders report that three burrows are well established in the valley north of here.”
“Well established?” Gadran echoed, licking his lips nervously and peering to the north, as if expecting Thread to crest the ridge at any moment. “How well established?”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to fire the valley to contain it.”
“Fire the valley?” Gadran looked crestfallen. “All those trees?”
“The trees are what has let the burrows establish themselves so rapidly,” B’nik explained.
J’tol wants to know if they can fire the valley now, Caranth relayed, with a note of anxiety.
“Tell J’tol to fire the valley,” B’nik answered aloud.
“What?” Gadran shouted. “I did not give you permission-”
“I could not wait,” B’nik replied. “The burrows were spreading too rapidly.”
The first wisps of smoke started to rise from the valley to the north, the wind carrying it southward.
“There hasn’t been rain here in months,” Gadran said quickly. “There’s a danger that the fire might spread into this valley.”
“I’m afraid that’s a danger we’ll have to risk,” B’nik said. “I would prefer to lose a valley to fire far more than lose a Hold to Thread.”
“It’s not your decision to make!” Gadran snarled.
“On the contrary, as Weyrleader, it is absolutely my decision to make,” B’nik replied, simmering with anger. He wondered how often M’tal had cursed this fool Holder and hoped that his heir would have more sense.
He gave the Lord Holder a curt nod. “I have to attend to the injured,” he said, turning back to his dragon and mounting before Gadran could respond.
“No, I’m afraid Gadran’s always been like that,” M’tal said when B’nik approached him that night at dinner.
“What about Gadran?” J’tol called, striding into the Living Cavern, knocking soot off his riding gear. “He was red-faced and screaming when I left him. Is there more already?”
B’nik shot his wingsecond a look of alarm.
J’tol grimaced in response. “The fires got out of control; the winds up there were vicious,” he said. “We had to set backfires on the slopes above Bitra Hold itself before they were contained.”
“I should have stayed,” B’nik groaned.
“What would you have done?” M’tal asked calmly. He nodded to J’tol. “J’tol’s worked with fires before and shown his ability. I doubt anyone could have done better.”
B’nik gave J’tol a consoling look and nodded. “You’re right,” he said to M’tal. “All the same,” he added with a grin for his wingsecond, “I could have spared you his ravings.”