“But we don’t have time,” K’lior, Fort’s Weyrleader, reminded them. He glanced at Verilan. “So, eighteen months and we’ll have how many more dragons?”

“Queens clutch as few as a dozen and as many as three dozen eggs,” Verilan said, thinking aloud. “The first mating flight usually produces fewer eggs than later flights. If we were to take an average number for the eight queens, we could hope for an additional two hundred and forty dragons—somewhat less than three Flights of dragons.” He nodded at K’lior and Cisca, adding, “But the eggs have yet to clutch—let alone hatch—and that adds another four to five months to the number.”

“Nearly two full Turns, then,” M’tal said.

Fiona exchanged a bleak look with Lorana.

“I did not take my calculations out two Turns,” Verilan told the council miserably.

“Why not?” H’nez asked. Fiona kicked him under the table but the bronze rider ignored it. “Given what we know, can’t you tell us how many dragons we’ll have when these hatchlings are ready to fight Thread?”

“Given what I know, bronze rider,” Verilan said quietly, “there will be no dragons left when those hatchlings are ready to fight Thread.”

“None?” Salina gasped.

“My lady, we stopped when we reached fifty-nine fighting dragons,” Verilan said, glancing at his group of apprentices and helpers, who were waiting outside the pavilion.

“And when was that?” D’vin asked.

“Forty-seven weeks from now,” Verilan replied, glancing down at his slate with a sour look.

“And when do your calculations say the total strength will be down to just one Flight of ninety dragons?” H’nez asked.

“Thirty-eight weeks from now,” a voice outside the canvas called in response. Fiona recognized Bekka. She’d seen the girl when she’d arrived with the Master Archivist and assumed that she’d been sent to help Birentir.

“Who dares listen in on this council?” H’nez demanded angrily, rising from his seat.

Bekka poked her head in through the entrance. “I do,” she told him simply, adding, with a shrug, “And pretty much everyone else. After all, this concerns us, too.”

“As indeed it does,” Fiona agreed, raising a hand to pull H’nez back to his seat, “but we already have enough voices in this discussion.” She gestured for Bekka to leave. “Listen if you must, but speak only if absolutely necessary.”

“Something,” Verilan added menacingly, “that I’d already mentioned to you.”

Bekka paled at the Archivist’s words and slunk out of the enclosure.

Fiona turned to him with frank surprise at Bekka’s immediate and fearful obedience of the Master Archivist. “How did you do that?”

Verilan shrugged. “I’ve been dealing with apprentices since not long after you were born, my lady.”

“Which still does nothing for the issue at hand,” Weyrwoman Sonia said.

“No,” Masterharper Zist agreed sadly, “it does not.”