The Second Weyr

She nodded. “This echo reads as two meters high, ground to ceiling.” She indicated with a fingertip. “Here and here Ozzie says there’re tunnels that can be enlarged, with an entrance into the-into Benden Weyr-” She was interrupted by a chorus of approval: “Sounds good.” “Paul’d be pleased.” “Perfect name!” “Has a ring to it, doesn’t it?” She went on: “-and an exit on high ground above the river, here.”

Comments and suggestions flew too thick and fast for her to identify the speakers.

“That would be the priority project, so we can get materials and people in and out easily.”

“We still have to shift by dragonback. Couldn’t send a land expedition when we don’t know the overnighting places.”

“Kaarvan wouldn’t mind a good long sail. He’s bored with fishing the Bay.”

“Iernans can bring in a lot of their own gear on their ships.”

Other riders, eager to contribute, began to crowd in, and Torene, courteously letting people past her, suddenly found herself excluded.

“It’s my map,” she said under her breath, trying to suppress a surge of bitterness as she took a further step back, nearly stepping on the feet of someone seated behind her.

“It’ll be your Weyr, ‘Rene,” said a soft, amused tenor voice. She looked down into Mihall Connell’s slightly mocking gray-blue eyes. She’d never been close enough to see their color before. “Come the time Alaranth flies,” he went on. “She’ll fly soon-but you know that, don’t you?”

There was no mockery in his tone, and he’d made more of a statement than a question.

“Well, if you intend to be Weyrleader, why aren’t you in there, mapping your space?” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them and bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Mihall.”

“Why?” His very regular eyebrows quirked briefly, and his gray-blue eyes, not a trace of mockery in them, met hers once more, his head tilted up at her. “I should like to be Weyrleader. I intend to be Weyrleader. Everyone knows that.” The mockery was back. “The question is, how does Alaranth feel about Brianth?”

“Isn’t it more how I feel about you?” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and she shook her head and stamped her foot in annoyance: That wasn’t at all what she had intended to say.

Mihall rose slowly until he was looking down at her, an intense expression on his face. “No, it’s ultimately the dragons who decide: the one who decides how to fly this queen, and the one who decides who she’ll let catch her.”

Torene knew now why she hadn’t been in his company much. He wasn’t at all like the other bronze and brown riders in her “bunch.” And knowing the reputation he and Brianth had in “catching” queens, she had deliberately, if unconsciously, avoided being in his company. She also knew the opinions the other queen riders had of him, and those only confused her more. “Polite”? “Quick”? “Deft and considerate”? “Too controlled”? None of those comments fit what she sensed of him.

He knows he is the son of his parents, Alaranth said.

“Yes, he would know that,” she said almost sadly, for that couldn’t be easy on him. When Mihall politely raised his eyebrows in query, she realized she had spoken aloud. “Brianth,” she added, and gave Mihall what she hoped was an understanding smile. From his stunned expression, she found she had only compounded her blunder and he had jumped to the logical conclusion. “Oh, lord, both feet are in my mouth tonight. Do you want a copy of your own when I ask Mother for them tomorrow?” She tried to keep her voice even and pleasant, but to her own ears she sounded irritated.

Mihall inclined toward her. “I’d appreciate it,” he said, but all the warmth she had seen-so briefly-in his eyes was gone and they were coldly gray. He stood clear of the chair, and before she could walk away from her embarrassment, he left her.

I could just scream, she told Alaranth. It all came out so wrong, Allie. How could I possibly have said the things I did to him? And the way I said them! Oh, how could I!

There was a long pause when she thought that her dragon was too sleepy to answer.

Don’t worry. The voice was not Alaranth’s.

Brianth?

He’s right. Too late now was Alaranth’s not too reassuring reply.

“Where did Torene go?” David’s voice rose above the other conversations.

“I’m here,” she said, and allowed the alacrity with which the riders parted to let her back in soothe her frustration and self-accusation.

The next morning, having asked the watchdragon to wake her at daybreak, Telgar time, Torene arrived at her parents’ cavern just as Sonja was pouring klah. To her daughter’s astonishment, she was pouring it into three cups, and there was a third bowl of steaming porridge set at the table.

“How did you know I was coming?”

“How could we not know?” Sonja said, clasping her daughter to her ample bust and joyfully, proudly, embracing her with arms well muscled from a lifetime of mining. “Telgar announces to us there will be four Weyrs, and one of them here.”