The Second Weyr

Torene grinned. Now that was certain to please the Weyrleader.

“Who’s the grin for?” F’mar asked. He was sitting beside her and now leaned heavily against her shoulder.

“For me to know and you to guess,” she replied in a singsong voice.

“You’re not giving anything away, are you?” He sounded irked. “You did go to the craters today, didn’t you?”

“Sure, but that conversation had been gnawed to the bone by the time I got here,” she replied. “It would really make such a splendid Weyr. . .” She gave a wistful sigh.

“I think,” F’mar whispered in her ear, his breath tickling, “that Sean’s about to do something about establishing a new one.”

“You do?” She pulled back to look at him with an eager surprise which was genuine enough.

F’mar bent close again. “Sean wasn’t hunting all the time he was gone.”

“He wasn’t?” Torene used that as an excuse to widen the distance between them, to foil yet another of F’mar’s heavy-handed ploys.

“I think,” F’mar said, putting one hand to the side of his face and lowering his voice so that only she could hear, “that he’s busy making some deal with the Langsams and the Mercers at Ierne.”

“Oh, so they’d be happy with the lower site and leave the higher one for us?”

He nodded.

“You could be right,” she replied, imbuing her tone with hope. “Oh, good, music! The perfect end for such a meal!”

She used that opportunity to slip away from F’mar completely, hauling the penny whistle from a thigh pocket as she joined the other players.

Torene always woke early on a Fall day, even if Fall wasn’t until afternoon, as it was today over Fort and parts of Boll.

Rumors had been flying yesterday. The dragons were as bad as the people, repeating their riders’ stories, adding supporting details based on the occasional odd statement by Sean or Sorka, or even what one of the bronzes who had gone south had to say about suspected meetings with the Longwood and Orkney stakeholders. Torene listened and wondered if she ought to report some of the more implausible theories to the Weyrleaders. Then she decided against it. There was no need to tell tales out of turn. And the prospect of a new Weyr raised spints often full of jitters before any Fall, especially one over occupied lands.

As was his custom, Sean sent riders ahead to watch for the leading Edge and check the composition of today’s Fall. It would begin halfway across Big Bay, coming in over the port area-where the dolphins would swarm for the good eating and to provide what help they could. Then the Fall would sweep southwesterly across Fort and Boll lands and down the other side of the mountain range. Over the last year the Weyr had, at Pierre’s request, extended its protection to that area, too, for Boll folk were spreading out, making small holds under the jurisdiction of the larger.

Torene always managed to eat breakfast, but like many other riders, she skipped the noontime meal, settling instead for a cup of klah before she changed into riding gear and asked Alaranth to come down to be tacked up. The other queens began to assemble, joined by the seven green riders whose pregnancy required them to fight with flame-throwers. There were nine more green riders unavailable, either too recently delivered or recovering from injury, so the greens would have to ride longer shifts to keep the wings at proper strength. Sean did not like drafting in spare riders from the wings temporarily stationed at Big Island and Telgar: Wingleaders found that a gap in the rank was better than a diffident replacement who wasn’t sure of his wing-mates. Torene listened carefully as Sorka gave the greens their positions in the low-flying wing of queens. Most of them were seasoned riders, though there was one newcomer: Amy Mott, who was pregnant by Paul Logorides as a result of her green’s first mating flight.

It was almost a relief to hear Carenath’s bellow and look up to see the massed wings ranged along the Weyr Rim, awaiting the signal to chew firestone. Torene mounted the kneeling Alaranth, then reached down to those who were lifting the heavy tanks to their positions on either side of the queen’s withers. The tanks tethered, Torene attached the wand to the right-hand one and gave a good turn of her wrench to be sure the connection was firm. Thanking her helpers, she then peered up to the Rim to wait for Sean’s signal to Sorka and Faranth, the leaders of the queens’ wing.

Follow me, Carenath said to Faranth. His voice was loud and clear in Torene’s head, but she didn’t make a move. She always took extra care to wait for Sorka’s signal-ever since her first flight with the queens’ wing, when she had moved off ahead of Faranth. That was the day she had admitted, shamefacedly and feeling she was guilty of a terrible sin against the Weyrleaders and the Weyr, that she could hear the speech of other dragons. After she had made a stammered confession-in private-to the Weyrleaders, she had agreed to keep her ability to herself and be discreet at all times in exercising this unique talent.