to shove. I know it.” Zulaya could sound so sure of something, but then
she was nearly a decade his senior and had had more experience as a
Weyrleader. Sometimes her intuition was downright uncanny: she could
accurately predict the size of clutches, the distribution of the
colours, the sex of babies born in the Weyr and, occasionally, even the
type of weather in the future. But then, she was Fort Weyrbred, a
linear descendant of one of the First Riders, Aliana Zuleita, and knew
things. It was odd how the golden queens always seemed to prefer women
from outside the Weyrs, but sometimes a queen had a mind of her own and
chose a Weyrbred woman in spite of what had become custom.
However, just like his predecessor, he constantly reviewed accounts of
the individual Falls, how they differed, how you could tell from the
Leading Edge of Fall that this would be an odd one. Most often the
accounts were dry statements of fact, but the prosaic language did not
disguise the presence of great courage: especially as those first riders
had to figure out how to cope with Thread, easy or hard.
The fact that he was a several times great-nephew of Sorka Connell, the
First Weyrwoman – and Zulaya pointed this out more than once –
constituted a secondary and subtle reassurance to the entire Weyr.
Maybe that’s why Meranath let Charanth catch her.
Zulaya said, her face dead serious but her eyes dancing.
Had you, I mean… did you think of me… I mean…
K’vin tried to summon appropriate words two weeks after that momentous
flight. He had been overwhelmed by her response to him that night. But
afterwards she had seemed very casual in her dealings with him, and she
did not always invite him into her quarters, despite the fact that their
dragons were inseparable.
Who thinks at all during a mating flight? But I do believe I’m glad
that Charanth was so clever. If there is anything in heredity, having a
distant great-nephew of Fort Weyr’s First Weyrwoman – AND from a family
that has put many acceptable candidates on the Hatching Grounds – as
Telgar’s Weyrleader gives us all a boost.
I’m not my many times great-aunt, Zulaya She chuckled.
Fortunately, or you wouldn’t be Weyrleader, but blood will tell!’
Zulaya had a disconcerting directness but gave him no real hint how she
– the woman, not the Weyrwoman – personally felt towards him. She was
kind, helpful, made constructive suggesnons when they discussed training
programmes but so impersonal . . . that K’vin had to decide that she
hadn’t really got over B’ner’s death yet.
He himself was obscurely comforted that his distant gre at aunt had
managed to survive Fall, and he would attempt to do the same. As, he
was sure, would his two siblings and four cousins who were also
dragon riders Though no others were Weyrleaders . yet. Still, if his
being of the Ruathan Bloodline which had produced Sorka, M’hall, M’dani,
Sorana and Mairian offered reassurance to his Weyr, he’d reinforce that
at every turn during the Pass.
Now, at probably the last large Gather Pern would enjoy wider Threadfree
skies for the next fifty years, he watched his Weyrwoman leave the group
of Telgar holders she had been talking to and stride towards him across
the open eourtyard.
Zulaya was tall for a woman, long-legged – all the better for bestriding
a dragon’s neck. He was a full head taller than she was, which she said
she liked in him: B’ner had been just her height. It was her colouring
that fascinated K’vin: the inky-black curly hair that, once freed of the
flying helmet, tumbled down below her waist.
The hair framed a wide, highcheekboned face, set off the beige of her
smooth skin and large, lustrous eyes that were nearly black; a wide and
sensual mouth above a strong chin gave her face strength and purpose
which reinforced her authority with anyone. She strode, unlike some of
the hold women who minced along, her steel-rimmed boot heels noisy on
the flagstones, her arms swinging at her sides. She’d had time to put a
long, slitted skirt over her riding gear and it opened as she walked,