F’nor started to say that he felt Brekke was spreading herself too thin as it was. It was obvious to him that, though she had few of the privileges, she had assumed all the responsibilities that Kylara ought to handle, while that one did much as she pleased. Including complaining that Brekke was shirking or stinting this or that. Brekke’s queen, Wirenth, was still young enough to need a lot of care; Brekke fostered young Mirrim though she had had no children herself and none of the Southern riders seemed to share her bed. Yet Brekke also took it upon herself to nurse the most seriously wounded dragonriders. Not that F’nor wasn’t grateful to her. She seemed to have an extra sense that told her when numbweed needed renewing, or when fever was high and made you fretful. Her hands were miracles of gentleness, cool, but she could be ruthless, too, in disciplining her patients to health.

“I appreciate your help, Brekke,” T’bor said. “I really do.”

“I wonder if other arrangements ought to be made,” F’nor suggested tentatively.

“What do you mean?”

Oh-ho, thought F’nor, the man’s touchy. “For hundreds of Turns, dragonriders managed to get well in their own Weyrs. Why should the Southern ones be burdened with wounded useless men, constantly dumped on them to recuperate?”

“Benden sends very few,” Brekke said quietly.

“I don’t mean just Benden. Half the men here right now are from Fort Weyr. They could as well bask on the beaches of Southern Boll…”

“T’ron’s no leader—” T’bor said in a disparaging tone.

“So Mardra would like us to believe,” Brekke interrupted with such uncharacteristic asperity that T’bor stared at her in surprise.

“You don’t miss much, do you, little lady?” said F’nor with a whoop of laughter. “That’s what Lessa said and I agree.”

Brekke flushed.

“What do you mean, Brekke?” asked T’bor.

“Just that five of the men most seriously wounded were flying in Mardra’s wing!”

“Her wing?” F’nor glanced sharply at T’bor, wondering if this was news to him, too.

“Hadn’t you heard?” Brekke asked, almost bitterly. “Ever since D’nek was Threaded, she’s been flying…”

“A queen eating firestone? Is that why Loranth hasn’t risen to mate?”

“I didn’t say Loranth ate firestone,” Brekke contradicted. “Mardra’s got some sense left. A sterile queen’s no better than a green. And Mardra’d not be senior or Weyrwoman. No, she uses a fire thrower.”

“On an upper level?” F’nor was stunned. And T’ron had the nerve to prate how Fort Weyr kept tradition?

“That’s why so many men are injured in her wing; the dragons fly close to protect their queen. A flame thrower throws ‘down’ but not out, or wide enough to catch airborne Thread at the speed dragons fly.”