Dragonheart

TWELVE

Igen Weyr, Morning, AL 498.7.2

The cold, black nothing of between was suddenly replaced by heat and a bright sun.

Whee! Talenth cried delightedly. Look how high I am!

Fiona glanced over and saw that Talenth was indeed nearly twice as high as she’d ever been before. Careful! Just glide down.

Okay, Talenth said, sounding disappointed. Nevertheless, the young queen glided carefully down into the strange Bowl beneath them.

“This is Igen Weyr,” the strange rider called.

“It’s awfully warm,” Fiona said. “I thought it would be cold and windy, even here.”

“We are slightly more than ten Turns back in time,” the rider replied with a hint of humor in her voice. “I thought you’d prefer to start with warmer weather. This is the second day of the seventh month of the four hundred and ninety-eighth Turn since Landing.”

The gold touched down and the rider turned to Fiona, the bright morning sun rising behind her casting her face in shadow. “Get down.”

Fiona obeyed reflexively and was surprised to see the rider and dragon leap skyward as soon as she’d found her feet. In an instant they were gone, between.

There’s no one here, Talenth declared, peering around the sandswept Weyr.

Fiona wheeled slowly around on her heel, scanning the Bowl and the weyrs carved into its walls.

Where were T’mar, the injured riders, and the older weyrlings?

Fiona felt a moment of panic as she wondered if she’d somehow been betrayed, misled by an unknown rider and purposely abandoned here with a dragon too young to fly. She spotted a canvas-covered mound not too far away and walked over to it.

As she approached, she realized it had been recently erected. She lifted up a flap and saw crates and barrels — supplies of some sort.

So at least she doesn’t mean me to starve, Fiona thought hopefully.

She turned around, scanning the abandoned Weyr. The air was hot and getting hotter, smelling of sand and roasted dust. Overhead the sun was intense even though only still rising, already beating down unyieldingly.

The floor and sides of the Bowl were of a different stone than she had expected, accustomed to the stark whiteness of Fort Weyr . This Weyr was carved into orange rock. Fiona knelt and picked up some loose earth in her hand; it was sandy, fine, and dusty, unlike the packed ground of Fort’s Bowl.

Aside from the canvas mound of supplies, the Weyr had a forlorn, abandoned feel to it.

Fiona turned around again slowly, scanning for the queen’s quarters, searching for the entrance to the Hatching Grounds, the location of the Kitchen Cavern, the weyrling barracks — and suddenly the Weyr was alive to her, she felt the stone in her blood, felt the warm welcome of the hot sun and the fine sand.

This could be home.

A sudden rustle above her caused Fiona to crane her neck upward. A clutch of dragons burst forth from between, with the gold in the lead. Fiona saw F’jian mounted on his bronze Ladirth, looking both terrified and thrilled at the same time as his dragon glided down quickly to the ground.

Talenth, watch out! Fiona called, fearful lest one of the inexperienced riders or dragons come crashing down on her. Talenth scurried to the side of the Bowl and Fiona scampered after her a moment later.

“Did you see us?” F’jian shouted as soon as his Ladirth came to a halt. “We flew!”

“We only glided,” J’nos corrected him as he slid down Pilenth’s foreleg onto the ground. He stood beside his brown, patting him loudly, a broad grin splitting his face from ear to ear. “But we went between !”

“If we hadn’t seen you do it, we wouldn’t have dared to try,” F’jian said to Fiona in awe.

“Where is everyone else?” J’nos asked, peering expectantly around the Weyr.

“I wonder,” Fiona mused, “if she could bring you back, could she bring back the more severely injured riders and dragons too?”

The other weyrlings gathered around them, all wondering the same thing.

“We should ask the queen rider,” Fiona said, gesturing to the far side of the Bowl where the huge gold dragon had alighted.

“Who is she, anyway?” F’jian asked.

“And we won’t get in trouble, will we?” J’nos wondered anxiously. “After all, she’s a queen rider.”

“Let’s ask her,” F’jian said. Fiona nodded in agreement and found herself leading the others toward the Weyrwoman and her queen dragon.

“Hello!” she shouted, feeling alarmed as she sensed that dragon and rider were preparing to go between once more. “Can you bring back the other injured dragons and riders?”

“For that I’ll need help,” the woman returned.

“I don’t think that we could give you any help,” Fiona began reluctantly, gesturing to the dragonets. “They’re too small; it’s a wonder they managed to get here at all.”

“Oh, it’s no wonder,” the gold rider replied in amused tones. “And I’m sure you’ll be able to help with what needs doing.”

Before Fiona could respond, the queen dragon leapt into the air, beat its wings once, and disappeared between.

It seemed only a moment later that she reappeared and the air was full of dragons — gold, bronze, brown, blue, green — all guiding or aiding injured dragons and riders to settle upon the warm sands of Igen Bowl.

Fiona felt dizzy and swayed where she stood, even as one of the queen riders laughed and waved merrily in her direction.

“Are you all right?” J’nos asked, grabbing her and propping her upright.

“I think it’s just the heat,” Fiona replied, looking around for the gold rider who had first brought her here. “We should go thank her.”

But before they’d gone half a dragonlength, a gold dragon leapt into the air and was gone, between. Fiona heard the loud rush of many wings, and suddenly the weyr was empty of all save the weyrlings and the injured dragonpairs from Fort Weyr .

“Where’d they go?” J’nos cried.

“Who was she?” F’jian demanded.

Fiona shook her head. “I don’t know.”

The others took this news in slowly, muttering amongst themselves.

“You don’t think it’s a trick or something, do you?” F’jian asked after a while.

“We’re here — she did what she said she would,” Fiona said. “Besides, she rode a queen.”

The woman had never claimed to be a Weyrwoman — but she must have been one. Who else but a Weyrwoman could ride a queen?

“What are we going to do?” J’nos asked, looking around with growing alarm.

“You are going to go over to the weyrling barracks and start cleaning them,” Fiona told him sternly. “The Weyrwoman said that this is Turn four ninety-eight, so this Weyr has been abandoned for nearly seven Turns — you’d best watch for tunnel snakes.”

“Tunnel snakes!” J’nos blanched. “I don’t know how to handle tunnel snakes!”

“If you find any, let me know,” Fiona told him. When the brown rider’s eyes bugged out, she explained, “I used to hunt them back at my father’s Hold.”

Fiona was surprised and pleased by the hushed exclamations of the other weyrlings as this news spread.

She turned to F’jian. “Get some others to help stow what’s under that canvas in the Kitchen Cavern. Send in a detail first to be sure there are no tunnel snakes there, either.”

F’jian nodded and started calling out names, while moving toward the canvas-covered mound.

“And send another group to see to the older riders and dragons; we’ll need to get them out of the heat.”

Fiona wondered if hot, dusty Igen Weyr might have other dangers than tunnel snakes. She dismissed the worry, telling herself that the weyrlings would report anything out of the ordinary.

They had been working for about a quarter of an hour when the air above them was once again filled with dragons. Fiona glanced up and waved, her face splitting into a huge grin — part from relief and part in reaction to the evident astonishment of the riders flying above.

T’mar had arrived.

Talenth, tell Ladirth and Polenth that we need everyone out here to help with the injured riders.

I told them; they’re coming, Talenth replied promptly.

Fiona made a face as she berated herself for not already detailing a crew to clean out weyrs for the injured riders.

F’jian joined her, glancing up as the injured dragons and riders made hasty landings. “Most of the supplies are medicines and bandages,” he told her.

“No food?” Fiona asked, frowning.

F’jian pursed his lips and shook his head. “Some klah bark, some herbals, but nothing to eat.”

Fiona frowned in turn, then dismissed the worry. “Get the weyrlings to help these injured riders. Put them in the weyrling barracks for the moment — just to get them out of the sun.”

A shadow passed low overhead and Zirenth landed nearby. “What are you doing here?” T’mar shouted.

“When did you leave?” T’mar demanded, leaping down beside Terin, who had just returned, breathless, with a flask of water.

“Late at night after you left,” Fiona said. She had been too eager when the mysterious queen rider had made her amazing offer to consider how T’mar would react, and once she’d arrived at Igen, she’d been too busy organizing the weyrlings to think about it anymore.

“F’jian and the other weyrlings are here, too,” she told him, partly to give T’mar all the news at once and partly in hopes that he might be distracted by the information.

“How did you get here?” he repeated, reaching out to grab Fiona’s shoulders with both arms, as if to assure himself that she was real.

“The Weyrwoman brought us,” Fiona said.

“What Weyrwoman?” T’mar demanded. “Not Cisca?”

Fiona shook her head.

“Then who?”

“I don’t know,” Fiona told him honestly. “She never gave me her name.”

T’mar frowned, looking deep into Fiona’s eyes. “It wasn’t you, was it?” was it?”

“From the future?” Fiona asked.

“No, you on your own!” T’mar exclaimed. “How could anyone know to come from the future?”

Fiona’s temper rose. “Anyone from the future would know! If it’s been done, then they’d know, wouldn’t they?”

“And they brought you here, conveniently, before we arrived,” T’mar said, his tone simmering near the boil.

“And they got us some supplies,” Fiona said, gesturing to the remains of the mound that the weyrlings had mostly stored.

“Supplies?” T’mar repeated, brows creased in a frown.

“Mostly medicine and bandages,” Fiona said. “The weyrlings will be storing it in the Living Cavern once J’nos has finished checking for tunnel snakes.”

“Tunnel snakes?”

Fiona’s lips turned up in a quick grin as she confided, “I don’t think he’ll find any, but I told him to keep an eye out for them. “

“This Weyr’s been abandoned so long, there probably are tunnel snakes,” T’mar said in a tone that indicated he hadn’t considered the possibility himself.

“Well, there probably aren’t any in the Living Cavern; we would have heard J’nos’s shriek by now,” Fiona said. Seeing T’mar’s thoughtful look, she pressed on. “And I’ve got another party clearing the weyrling barracks. We’re putting the injured dragons and riders in there until we can clear out some weyrs.”

“Weyrwoman Fiona, what are you doing here?” someone called in surprise from the gathering throng of dismounting riders. Fiona recognized J’keran, one of the older weyrlings.

“Same as you,” she told him with a grin. “Are you ready to start cleaning?”

“Cleaning?”

“Unless you were planning on sleeping out here in the Bowl,” T’mar said.

“Get over to the weyrling barracks,” Fiona said. “F’jian’s got some of the younger weyrlings working there already, but I’m sure they’ll benefit from the oversight of more mature riders.”

“I’m on it!” J’keran said, looking relieved at the notion of ordering around the younger weyrlings.

“I’ll be by to check that everyone’s working,” Fiona warned him. She turned to Terin, saying, “Terin, I want you to take stock of the supplies, then see how they’re coming with the weyrling barracks.” Terin nodded. “As soon as you’re done with that, find F’jian and get a crew to clear out the Hatching Grounds — there really might be tunnel snakes there, so have everyone be careful and send in some of the smaller greens.”

“Send in the greens,” Terin repeated to herself, then nodded and trotted off to the Living Cavern to start her chores.

“Hatching Grounds?”

“I was thinking that for the time being it would be quicker to clear than individual weyrs,” Fiona said.

“Good thought.”

“And I don’t know about you, but I didn’t bring any bedding,” Fiona continued. From the look on T’mar’s face, it was obvious that the wingleader hadn’t thought of it either. Fiona hid her surprise, asking, “Did you bring any food?”

T’mar shrugged, shaking his head.

“Well, then we’re going to get hungry.”

“T’mar,” a rider called from the distance, “should we post a watch dragon?”

“Of course! But not you, P’der, you need to rest,” T’mar replied.

“I can rest as easily up there,” P’der said.

“No, you cannot!” Fiona shouted at him. “You are going to get well and that means you are going to rest or Cisca and K’lior will have my head!”

“Fiona?” P’der called, squinting to better see her. “What are you doing here?”

“Keeping you from doing something stupid,” Fiona returned tartly. She searched around for one of the weyrlings and beckoned him over. “P’der here is recovering from serious injuries to his neck and back,” she told him. “He’s to rest, lying on his stomach.” She frowned, thinking about how to treat the stubborn scores that had nearly flayed the man. “If he has to sit up, he’s to sit with his chair reversed.” The weyrling looked from her to P’der, Klior’s wingsecond, to T’mar, then back to Fiona, and she gave him an irritated growl. “Once he’s settled, see Terin and find some numbweed. If there’s only reeds, then set a pot to boil — we’ll need a lot of it.”

The weyrling blanched at the thought of making numbweed, a smelly, difficult job that all weyrfolk avoided if at all possible.

“We’re just here to get older, D’lanor,” she told him with a reassuring smile. “These injured riders are here to get well. So it’s our duty to look after them, eh?”

D’lanor replied with a hesitant smile of his own.

“P’der,” Fiona said, cocking her head in the direction of the Living Cavern.

“Yes, Weyrwoman,” P’der replied, and turned to follow the weyrling.

“So, Weyrwoman,” T’mar said, stressing the title and smiling as he said it, “who should we set on watch?”

“That, wingleader, would be up to you, wouldn’t it?” Fiona retorted. And, before he could respond, she turned briskly on her heel and headed over to the weyrling barracks.

An hour later, Fiona sat exhausted by a smoky hearth, taking her turn stirring a smelly pot full of numbweed grass. The air not only was full of the noxious fumes that made her eyes water and her nose run but was also stiflingly hot. Fiona resolved to herself that in future she would boil numbweed only in the cold of the night.

A noise behind her caused her to turn her head and she saw Terin approaching.

“The weyrling barracks are all clean,” the younger girl reported. “The crew cleaning the Hatching Grounds will be done in another hour or so. I set a group to clearing out your quarters.”

“My quarters?” Fiona repeated in surprise. Then her brow furrowed. “How did you manage to get them to obey you?”

“You’re the senior Weyrwoman,” Terin replied with no hint of duplicity. “I just made it clear to them that it’s what you needed.” She smiled as she added, “You know how it is with weyrlings; the boys practically fell over themselves to help.”

“And, after all those firestone drills, they’re used to following your orders,” Fiona guessed.

“It’s not like there are any other weyrfolk around,” Terin agreed. “Shards, you and I are the only two women here!”

Fiona coughed and gestured to the exit into the Bowl. “We need to get out of here.”

“I’ll have J’keran get someone to take over,” T’mar called from the entrance. He gave Fiona a sheepish look as she neared the entrance. “I’m sure that there has to be some weyrling who’s earned it.”

“Don’t you dare!” Fiona cried, eyes widening angrily.

T’mar took a half-step back, his confusion evident.

“This numbweed is for everyone,” Fiona told him. “Everyone works on it. I will not have people taking it as a punishment. What sort of numbweed do you think you’ll get with an attitude like that?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” T’mar confessed with a frown. “Very well — ”

“Shall I set up a roster?” Terin offered.

“Yes,” Fiona said with a firm nod. “Every person who’s able will be on it — except for you.”

“Why not me?” Terin asked, looking ashamed.

“Because you’re going to be doing all the tallying around here,” Fiona told her firmly.

“You’ll be our Records keeper,” T’mar told her with a suitably grave expression.

“Headwoman,” Fiona corrected.

“Headwoman?” Terin and T’mar echoed in disbelief and surprise.

“Can you think of anyone else more qualified here?”

“I suppose not,” T’mar admitted after a moment. He turned to Terin. “Headwoman it is.”

“Me?” Terin squeaked.

“Yes, and you’d better get to that list; we don’t want the numbweed to burn,” Fiona said. With wide, serious eyes, Terin nodded and scuttled off. Fiona shouted after her, “And don’t let anyone give you trouble!”

“I won’t!” Terin called back over her shoulder, her pace increasing as she raced over to the weyrling barracks.

Talenth, Fiona called to her dragon, where are you?

I’m in the Hatching Grounds, Talenth said. I’m helping scare the tunnel snakes away.

Be careful! Fiona warned.

Of course, Talenth replied quickly, but Fiona could hear her dragon’s disappointment.

She amended her warning: If you get bit, let me know.

Okay, Talenth replied more cheerfully. Is that all?

No, Fiona said, remembering the real reason she’d contacted her dragon. I want you to tell all the dragons that Terin is headwoman.

Okay, Talenth replied instantly. They know. A moment later, she added, Zirenth thinks it’s a good idea.

“Your dragon thinks it’s a good idea for Terin to be headwoman,” Fiona reported to T’mar.

“I know,” T’mar replied with a grin. “I told him.”

A weyrling rushed up, ducked his head in acknowledgment of T’mar and even more in acknowledgment of Fiona. “I’m to stir the numbweed.”

T’mar clapped the weyrling on the back and guided him into the Kitchen Cavern. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He turned back to Fiona as he pushed the weyrling forward, saying, “Would you wait here for me, Weyrwoman?”

“Okay,” Fiona replied, surprised at T’mar’s deferential tone. When he returned, he gestured for her to precede him out into the Bowl. Zirenth landed in front of them, turning his head toward them, his multifaceted eyes whirling with eagerness.

“I think it would be a good idea to familiarize ourselves with the surroundings before it gets dark,” T’mar told her, gesturing for her to mount his bronze dragon. Moments later, Zirenth leapt into the sky, his huge wings beating steadily, slowly gaining altitude and clearing the Weyr Bowl.

“Shards!” T’mar exclaimed as he noticed the size of the gap between Zirenth’s claws and the top of the Weyr. “I hadn’t realized how much the heat would affect him.”

“Why would it?”

“Hot air is thinner, so it requires more work to get the same height,” T’mar told her. He reached past her and patted Zirenth’s neck affectionately.

“We should probably warn the injured dragons not to strain themselves,” Fiona said.

“Yes,” T’mar agreed distractedly. His tone was more focused when he told her a moment later, “Done.”

Zirenth found a good updraft into which he swerved to circle up high above the Weyr.

“I can see the sea,” Fiona said, pointing off to the east.

“This land is so dry and hot,” T’mar remarked worriedly.

“Does anything grow here?” Fiona wondered. “Wasn’t that why Igen was abandoned?”

Fiona could feel T’mar behind her shaking his head. “The last Lord Holder made some poor choices in dealing with the drought and planted more thirsty crops rather than switching to those adjusted to more arid climes.”

“My goodness! That answer was something I’d expect more from a harper than a dragonrider!”

Behind her, she felt him shrug. “Just as Lord Holders, we find it useful to keep abreast of things.”

“I suppose we could fish,” Fiona said, gazing westward over the uninviting terrain, “but I’m not sure that we’d catch enough to feed the Weyr.”

“And it would get very dull,” T’mar agreed. Zirenth dipped out of the thermal, gently curving his flight westward. “I think we can do better.”

“But we can’t get near the holders,” Fiona protested. “We don’t want the dragons near the fire-lizards.”

“Why not?” T’mar asked. “The fire-lizards are not sick back in this time.”

“And we don’t want to risk them getting sick,” Fiona pointed out. “But even if we could be absolutely sure that none of our dragons carries the illness, fire-lizards have the strangest memories, and we don’t want them remembering us being here at Igen, in this time.”

“Of course,” T’mar agreed. “But I think that will be the least of our problems.”

Fiona scanned the harsh landscape below and nodded. Zirenth turned eastward, back toward the Weyr.

“There has to be some place where the Weyr kept its herds,” she said.

“Herds?” T’mar snorted. “How do you know they kept herds? It’s just as likely that they fed directly out of the holders’ stock, saving everyone the trouble of delivering livestock across that. ” He gestured to the badlands below him and then, just as suddenly, gave a startled grunt. Zirenth dove instantly, his motion surprising Fiona, who found herself grateful for T’mar’s sudden tight hold on her waist.

“What’s that?” the bronze rider asked, pointing to a dusty spot below.

“It looks like some workbeasts,” Fiona said, raising one hand to shade her eyes as she peered against the harsh sunlight.

“Traders?” T’mar mused.

“Don’t get too low, or Zirenth will have hard work getting us back to the Weyr,” Fiona cautioned.

T’mar chuckled. “Just as long as he can get us high enough to go between we’ll be fine.”

Fiona said nothing in response, abashed that she hadn’t thought of it herself.

“They look like they’re heading for the Weyr,” T’mar said as they got lower. “Six, maybe seven cargo drays and one house dray.”

Fiona remembered trader caravans coming to Fort Hold when she was younger and her face lit up: They always brought strange and wonderful things, even for those used to the marvels that often came to the Harper and Healer Halls.

The house dray — which Fiona would have called the domicile dray — was covered with bright decorations, and the front of all the drays were shaded with colorful canvas hoods. They looked much more gawdy than the ones she had seen before.

Her spirits fell as she had a new thought. “Traders trade. What will they want to trade with us?”

“We’ll find something,” T’mar declared.

“They must have started here some days back,” Fiona said as they descended close enough for her to see how slowly the ponderous workbeasts were moving. “How did they know to come?”

“Perhaps the same person who guided you guided them,” T’mar suggested. “We’ll know soon enough.”

A large man in the lead dray climbed up to the top of the wagon, waving in recognition of the dragon descending toward them. Fiona and T’mar were not surprised to see him signal the other drays to halt. As they circled lower, Fiona saw that what she thought was a seventh dray was actually four workbeasts harnessed together two by two.

“Let’s not leave them in this heat long,” she said as Zirenth nimbly touched down on the hot dusty ground. She immediately shucked off her jacket and wished she had worn cooler clothes. How were they going to survive this heat for the next three Turns?

T’mar leapt down first, turning back to hold his arms out to Fiona who, suppressing a grimace at his gallantry, fell into them and then pushed herself away as soon as her feet felt the earth beneath her. T’mar smiled and gestured toward the traders.

“Should we tell them about timing it?” Fiona whispered to T’mar as they trudged through the thick sand toward the first dray.

“Let’s see if we can avoid it,” he said in reply. A sudden thought made him add, “I wish we’d thought to have you wear your rank knot.”

“You’re wearing yours,” Fiona said, thinking that should be enough. T’mar did not reply.

“T’mar, Zirenth’s rider, and Fiona, Talenth’s rider,” he declared as the lead Trader approached.

“Well met,” the man replied. Fiona was surprised to see how big the man was, taller than T’mar by a head and so broad-shouldered she thought he could easily lift one of the workbeasts singlehanded.

“Azeez at your service,” he said, bowing low to them. He gestured toward his dray. “The sun is high; we would be more comfortable talking in the shade.”

Fiona saw that the other traders had left their drays and were trudging to the first one, climbing into the cabin from the back.

“We don’t want to disturb you,” T’mar said. “Especially in this heat.”

“This heat?” Azeez cocked his head up and peered at the sun above. “This is not heat.”

“We’re from the north,” Fiona said. “We’re not used to such heat.”

“I can see that,” Azeez agreed. “You are not dressed for it.”

Fiona nodded politely, surreptitiously studying his clothing: he wore long, flowing robes, and his head was topped with a piece of cloth that draped down over his ears and neck and was tied into place with a brightly colored piece of knotted rope.

“Traders learn to adapt to the climate,” Azeez said, motioning politely for them to precede him.

“Is there much here to trade?” T’mar asked.

“There is always trade,” Azeez replied, his tone making Fiona wonder if he was quoting some wise saying. They reached the dray and Azeez beckoned for them to climb up. “It will be quicker to go in through the front.”

By courtesy Fiona went first, spending a moment locating the doorway and its latch before she entered the dim cabin.

Voices stopped mid-word as she entered.

“Sit! Sit!” one of the traders urged her, pointing to a cushion just beyond the door. Fiona sat quickly and was surprised to recognize how relieved she felt when T’mar settled next to her — she felt young and awkward, a feeling that increased as she glanced around at the faces peering at her and realized that no one else there was as young as she.

“I’m T’mar and this is Weyrwoman Fiona,” T’mar said, nodding to the others.

“Fiona!” one of the traders exclaimed in surprise. “That’s not a common name.”

“Lord Bemin’s daughter is named Fiona, isn’t she?” wondered another trader, an old woman by the sound of her voice.

T’mar glanced at Fiona, and she could tell that he was thinking that they would not be able to keep their origins hidden after all.

“I’m that Fiona,” she said. “We are here from the future. But I think we should keep that a secret.”

The traders began to talk excitedly amongst themselves until Azeez called them to order. Several of the traders — Fiona noticed the old woman in particular — appeared to find her claim unbelievable.

“Some of our dragons were injured fighting Thread and we’ve come back in time to speed their healing,” Fiona said. “Do we have you to thank for the medicines we found at the Weyr?”

“We brought them,” Azeez said cautiously, glancing sternly at the other traders.

“How can going back in time speed their healing?” the old woman demanded.

“It has to do with timing,” Fiona began.

“ — you must understand that this is highly confidential,” T’mar interjected.

“It will take the same amount of time for their wounds to heal,” Fiona continued, glaring at T’mar, “but while we hope to stay here for three Turns, we will return to our time only three days after we left.”

“ ‘Healed and ready to fight,’ ” the old woman said, her tone indicating that she was repeating words she’d heard previously. She looked at the other traders, who shared glances and nodded to one another in some strange understanding that Fiona couldn’t fathom.

“Three Turns, you say?” Azeez said, looking thoughtful.

“If this works, we’ll tell the other Weyrs back in the future so that they can heal their injured, too,” T’mar said.

“So they will come when you leave?” the old woman guessed.

“So we hope,” Fiona told her. She swallowed hard, adding, “Things are not going well for us.”

“The Weyrwoman who spoke to us earlier warned us that you would not accept the presence of fire-lizards,” Azeez said, his eyes darting from Fiona to T’mar, gauging their reactions.

“I had to give up my fire-lizard,” Fiona admitted bleakly.

“Can we trade on the future?” the old woman asked Azeez. “Isn’t that worth more than treasure?”

“Excuse me,” Fiona said irritably, “but it seems awfully awkward to be talking with people and not know their names.”

The old woman glanced to Azeez, a smile crossing her lips fleetingly.

“Our pardon,” Azeez said, inclining his head respectfully. He pointed to the old woman. “This is Mother Karina — I mean, Trader Karina — ”

“I think you were right the first time,” Fiona said, interrupting him. She glanced at the old woman, who sucked in a gasp of surprise and quickly dropped her eyes.

“ ‘Dragonriders can always see lies,’ ” Karina said, glancing sourly at Azeez.

“Why are you called Mother?” Fiona asked, her tone polite but demanding. “It means more than just the word, and more than trader.”

She sensed surprise and nervousness in the other traders.

“We traders of the desert are different from others,” Karina explained. “We love our hot dry weather, we eat spicy hot food to cool us, we know how to travel from one oasis to another, how to survive when there is no water, what to do in a sandstorm — ”

“Sandstorm?” T’mar repeated the unfamiliar word.

“Winds do not come over the mountains,” Karina said, gesturing to the east, “but pick up from the south and west, sometimes blowing for thousands of kilometers, blowing all before them, including the sand.”

“The wind can strip the hide off a person in minutes,” Azeez said with a shudder.

“Even dragons are not safe,” Karina warned them. “But you can go between when we cannot.”

“What you describe sounds dangerous even to dragons,” T’mar said. “I shall be certain to warn my riders. Thank you.”

“I have met traders before who ride in brightly colored drays,” Fiona said. “Would I have met any of you desert traders?”

“No, we prefer the plains of Igen and Keroon,” Azeez replied.

“So you trade with other traders?”

Karina chortled. “Traders trade with everyone.”

Azeez glanced at the other traders, who shifted in their seats, their faces expressionless; yet Fiona felt that they had reached some unspoken agreement.

“Our caravan brings you food,” Azeez said to his guests.

T’mar began to reply but Fiona, reacting to a feeling in her gut, interrupted before he had half a word out. “What do you wish in trade?”

T’mar glanced at her in surprise, but her glare silenced him and he sat back slightly on his cushion, silently relinquishing the conversation to her — although not without some hidden reservations, she felt.

Karina gave Fiona an approving look, but it was Azeez who spoke. “You must understand, our tithe we give to the Lord Holders in trade; they pass on our goods to the Weyrs.”

“And Igen Weyr has been empty for Turns,” Fiona mused.

“Lord D’gan feels that the tithes rightly belong to Telgar now,” Azeez said. Fiona got the feeling that he was quoting a conversation with one of the local Lord Holders — and from his tone, the Lord Holder had not been pleased.

“The holders would be hard-pressed to provide us with tithe,” Fiona remarked, glancing toward T’mar. The wingleader nodded, reluctantly agreeing with her appraisal.

“One hundred and twenty-four dragons, even if forty-six of them are still weyrlings, will require a lot of feeding,” Karina commented. “And if you are successful, we are to expect similar amounts in the Turns after you leave.”

“The Weyrwoman told you this?” Fiona asked. Karina nodded. “Then she must have had an idea how we could accomplish this.”

Karina smiled mischievously. “She said that you would know what to do.”

“She assumes a lot,” T’mar replied sourly. Fiona glared at him again.

“There are things a dragon and a rider can do that no others can do. Might that be worthy of trade?” she suggested.

“Some things are worth more than gold,” Karina responded guardedly.

Fiona smiled; she had heard her father say that many Turns earlier — or, rather, some Turns in the future. “Knowledge,” she said.

“That is one,” Karina agreed. Azeez shifted slightly in his seat. Karina caught his eye — again Fiona felt some secret communication pass between them — and nodded.

“Our riders will need to patrol around the Weyr — ” T’mar began.

“Lord D’gan claims that Telgar provides all the protection we need,” Karina said.

“Igen was abandoned,” T’mar persisted, and Fiona could tell that his remark touched a nerve with the traders. “While we are here, we will patrol and provide aid as needed.”

“That is something,” Karina agreed. “But for cattle and livestock, we will need to trade with holders and farmers.”

Fiona smiled at the old woman. “You have something in mind.”

“Your patrols will help in emergencies, but the farmers lose stock to the wild canines that roam the land.” Fiona could sense what Karina didn’t add: “Since the Weyr was abandoned.”

“What could help against that?” Fiona asked. “Don’t most of the wolves attack at night?”

Karina nodded. “If we could trade the farmers something that would watch at night — ”

Fiona burst out laughing. “Watch-whers! You want watch-whers!”

“They are good against tunnel snakes, too,” Azeez admitted. He grinned. “We may not need them in our drays, but we know their value to holders.”

“But — ” Fiona was about to say that Nuella’s presence at the Wherhold near Plains Hold should be enough protection when she realized that, in this time, Nuella had not yet come to Plains Hold. In fact, she realized with a thrill of excitement, there had always been a mystery surrounding Nuella’s move. Perhaps now she knew the reason.

“I see,” she said finally. She thought, Zirenth, tell T’mar to say nothing. It’s important — I’ll explain later.

I have told him, the bronze dragon replied.

Beside her, T’mar gave a startled motion, which he covered by crossing his knees and glancing toward her.

“What would it mean in trade if we could convince watch-whers to relocate here?” She saw their startled looks and smiled. “Ah, you were just hoping that we could get an egg or two, weren’t you?”

“If the watch-whers could stop the night attacks, there would be far more livestock than you and your dragons would need,” Karina said.

“Since the Plague,” Azeez began and then stopped as he noticed the dragonriders’ startled reaction. “Ah, but that was Turns ago for you, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Fiona answered hastily, realizing that the traders were not aware of the dragon illness of the future.

“Ten Turns or more,” Karina told Azeez. She noticed Fiona and T’mar exchange uneasy looks and smiled, saying, “You have dragons that you say were injured from Threadfall, and we know that won’t happen for another ten Turns or more, so you must come from at least that far in the future.”

“I think I see how you can trade on that information,” Fiona guessed.

“You can?” Karina raised an eyebrow.

“Of course,” Fiona told her. “You know now that ten Turns in the future the dragons will be so injured that they need to send us back in time, so you know that their need for numbweed will be great and you can trade that knowledge profitably to those who grow and harvest numbweed, helping them make greater profit and helping yourself to your rightful profit in carrying the goods in tithe.”

“You could be a trader,” Karina said. Fiona accepted it for the compliment it was.

“My father raised me well.”

“You mean, your father will raise you well,” Azeez corrected her, smiling.

“I think I might prefer is raising me well,” Fiona countered, smiling back.

“You were talking about the Plague?” T’mar said politely to Karina.

“Since the Plague, there are fewer farmers, and many farms lie fallow, untended,” Karina said.

“Might there be any cattle left from abandoned holds?” Fiona asked.

“There could be,” Azeez admitted, “but if there are, they would be mostly in hidden valleys in the low mountains.”

“The sort of terrain that only dragons could traverse,” T’mar said, grinning at Fiona. “I think we could entertain our weyrlings with such a prospect.”

“Do you know of any abandoned fields nearby where we could graze our herds?” Fiona asked.

“There are more fields in Keroon than here in Igen,” Karina told her. “For your dragons it is a short journey.”

Fiona pursed her lips thoughtfully, then turned to T’mar. “Do you know if any of the older weyrlings have experience tending livestock?”

“It would be better to find holders for that,” T’mar replied, holding up a hand to forestall Fiona’s quick retort. “Remember, we will be here only for three Turns, and others will follow after us.”

T’mar’s words reminded Fiona of one of Neesa’s admonishments: Always leave a place better than you found it.

“So,” she summarized, “while it is possible that we might find some cattle in hard-to-reach valleys, we’ll need to trade watch-whers for enough food to feed the dragons in the Turns to come.” She glanced at Mother Karina. “That doesn’t seem enough. Is there anything else we could trade?”

“Gold and precious metals are always in demand,” Karina told her.

T’mar looked thoughtful. After a moment, he looked at Azeez. “In our Weyr, we often knit sweaters to pass the time. They are highly regarded by the holders looking to us.”

“Such gifts would not be best to trade from this location,” Karina responded, “particularly if you wish to remain hidden.”

T’mar pursed his lips in sour acceptance of her point.

“What could we make for trade that might not arouse suspicion?” Fiona asked.

“Nothing too bulky, obviously,” T’mar said.

“Why not?” Fiona countered. “Dragons can carry heavy loads. We could deliver our goods anywhere on Pern.”

“As long as you weren’t seen,” Azeez reminded her.

“Would it not serve you well to have us carry goods for you?” Fiona asked, directing her question to Mother Karina.

The old woman leaned back and roared with laughter. It was several minutes before she recovered enough to speak. “You should be a trader!”

Fiona glanced at Azeez and the others and perceived a mixture of shock, irritation, astonishment, and admiration.

“We could save you days on your most perilous journeys, and we all know that time is precious to a trader, not to mention saving you wear and provisions,” Fiona persisted, feeling that she had to win their approval in addition to that of Mother Karina. She could see them reflecting thoughtfully on her words. “You could create havens to store goods, and we would move them for you between one store and another in only the time it takes to go between. ”

“You said your dragons were injured,” Azeez said.

“Our older weyrlings are too young to carry all that an adult dragon could carry,” T’mar said slowly, “and many of our older dragons will need half a Turn or more to recover, but there are enough able now to carry everything in this caravan safely anywhere on Pern.”

“Anywhere on Pern,” Azeez repeated, his eyes wide.

“In only the time it takes to cough three times,” Fiona added.

“How would we arrange this with you?” Karina asked, and Fiona realized that she had made the deal.

“Our weyrlings must drill to learn recognition points all over Pern,” T’mar said. “There is no reason we could not arrange for one to be placed at your disposal while the others are drilling.”

“The only thing is that you would need to keep your fire-lizards away from the dragons,” Fiona warned.

“But fire-lizards like dragons!” one of the younger Traders exclaimed in surprise.

“There is a reason,” T’mar told him.

“And you can’t tell us,” Karina guessed. She turned toward the agitated young man. “Tenniz, we shall do as they ask.”

The lad nodded, clearly troubled, and leaned back; his eyes went unfocused, and he looked as if he were lost in thought.

“I think,” Mother Karina pronounced slowly, “that we have a trade.”

“For our services you will provide . . . ?” Fiona prompted.

“We will provide you with a twentieth of the profits we make on all goods carried by your dragons,” Karina said with a smile. “I think, given the time we will save and the extra goods you’ll be able transport anywhere because of us, that we should at least get the full tithe — a tenth — of all profits,” Fiona responded. She ignored T’mar’s grunt of surprise, keeping her eyes focused on Karina.

“Who bargains for you, wingleader?” Karina asked T’mar.

“The Weyrwoman bargains for the Weyr,” Fiona replied. “The Weyrleader leads against the Fall; the Weyrwoman leads in all else.” Beside her, she could sense T’mar’s reluctant nod.

Karina smiled at Fiona’s boldness, then exchanged a glance with the other traders. Tenniz was still lost in thought, so Karina prompted, “Tenniz?”

“I see a sickness,” Tenniz spoke, his eyes still unfocused, his words brilliant in a way that Fiona could not quite understand — shiny with purpose, almost as though he were in another place. “Thread is falling, yet fire-lizards and dragons are not flying against it, coughing out their life force, dying.”

“You have a sister,” Fiona responded, shivering with insight and urgency. “Her name is Tannaz. She must go to Fort Weyr .”

Tenniz glanced up at her, his reverie broken in astonishment. He searched her face and suddenly, tears fell from his eyes.

“ ‘The gifts of the future can be bitter,’ ” Karina quoted.

“She was my friend,” Fiona admitted, her eyes locked with Tenniz’s.

“We are only given so much time to treasure the gifts in our lives,” T’mar added solemnly.

“If Tannaz was your friend, then I am your friend,” Tenniz declared, reaching out a hand to Fiona. Fiona leaned forward to take it, but Azeez barked, “Stop!”

She turned to him in surprise, her hand outstretched in midair.

“Among traders, the hand of friendship has a special meaning,” Azeez told her. “Once given, it can never be returned.”

“So be it,” Fiona said, clasping Tenniz’s hand tightly. The lad surprised her by rising from his chair, levering her up by her arm, and clasping her tightly to him. Then he pushed himself away, leaned down, and tenderly kissed her on the forehead. Sensing that this was part of some ritual, Fiona stretched up to kiss him the same way.

“The traders of the desert are not like others,” Karina said to T’mar. “While all traders owe allegiance to the Lilkamp, we trace our line back to those who roamed the ancient Earth, trading, searching, reading the ways of the world.”

“You have the blood of dragonriders in your veins,” Fiona guessed.

“Many traders do,” Azeez said with some pride. “Many riders who have lost their dragons take to wandering and find themselves becoming traders by choice.”

“We desert traders have a bit more,” Karina said, and Fiona could feel the other traders swell with pride. “We brought with us a talent different from that required to ride dragons.”

“You can see the future.” Fiona saw Karina’s look of surprise fade into an approving grin.

“You who travel back in time as though it were merely a road less traveled would see that, as with all roads, it can be mapped,” the old woman said.

That gave Fiona an idea. “Such an ability would be invaluable in predicting sandstorms,” she offered.

“It is good for trade all around,” Azeez admitted with a wicked grin.

“It was Tenniz who knew about the Weyrwoman,” Fiona said with certainty. She glanced at her new friend. The dark-haired, dark-eyed, dusky-skinned man — who looked so much like Tannaz that Fiona’s heart lurched in sorrow — met her eyes and nodded. “Do you know who she is?”

Tenniz shook his head. “Sometimes,” he began slowly, “when I feel the future, I get a sense of big events — like boulders or holes in the horizon.” He looked to see if Fiona followed the meaning of his words, then continued. “She stands out like a beacon, a light that goes on for Turns.”

“Is it hard to learn how to use your gift?” Fiona asked, already suspecting the answer.

“It is not enough to see the winds of time,” Tenniz said softly. “It is also important to know when to speak and when to stay silent.” Fiona absorbed this slowly. “Sometimes it must be very painful for you.”

A sound, near to but not quite a sob, burst from Tenniz.

“I think I can understand,” T’mar commented. “Impressing a dragon is a great gift, but it has a price, and sometimes that price is a terrible sadness.”

Tenniz glanced at the older dragonrider in surprise.

“I think that we all have gifts,” Fiona declared. “Sometimes not knowing the future is a greater gift than knowing the future.”

“It can be so,” Karina agreed. “Our lives are what we are willing to make of them. Our gifts are our own to cherish or despise.”

A sudden indrawn breath from Tenniz startled them all. Fiona glanced at him worriedly and found herself locked again by his gaze, knowing that he had seen the future once more and that it concerned her — and worried him.

“You are with the beacon,” Tenniz told her, his voice full of awe. “She is so powerful, she can change everything. And you will change her.”

Tears dripped again from his eyes and his jaw trembled with fear. “You will face difficult choices. You will control all Pern. You are in the beginning and at the end.” His expression grew bleak. “I can see the beacon going out in your presence.”

“What does that mean?” T’mar asked in alarm.

Tenniz could only shake his head, looking pityingly at Fiona.

“Thank you,” she said to him, gulping down her fears. “I would rather know than not.”

Tenniz dropped his eyes. For a moment Fiona felt a wild, uncontrolled panic — how could she destroy all Pern? And why would she destroy the one person who had helped her the most? Then she took a steadying breath and squared her shoulders, recalling her father’s proud gaze, the admonition of brave Tannaz, and Kindan’s joy when she Impressed Talenth — and Talenth herself.

“I shall do what is right,” she declared. “I am the daughter of Fort Hold ’s Lord, a queen rider, and I will serve and save Pern!”

Fiona was drained, listless, when they returned to the Weyr less than a quarter of an hour later. She tried — and failed — to stifle a yawn.

“You should rest,” T’mar told her, glancing worriedly as she lurched to stay upright.

“I’ll rest when we’ve got everything prepared,” she said, forcing herself upright. “I am the Weyrwoman; it’s my duty.”

T’mar smiled affectionately at her. “Go rest for an hour,” he told her. “I can take care of the Weyr for that long.” He made a shooing gesture at her. “Go, get some rest.”

Fiona’s protests died on her lips as Terin trotted over to her and grabbed her by the hand. “You’re no good to us exhausted,” the younger weyrgirl declared.

“But — ”

“All you’ll do is drive the weyrlings to exhaust themselves in turn,” Terin told her. “And then we’ll all be cranky.”

Sensing the futility of further protests and recognizing that she was too tired to argue anymore, Fiona let herself be led away by her small headwoman.

“I found some blankets but no sheets,” Terin said apologetically as she led Fiona up an incline and into a darkened weyr. “There are no charged glows — in fact, I think all the glows are dead — so we’ll have to see if we can find some wild glow to replace them.”

“Look for dank places, near slow waters,” Fiona told her.

“We’ll get to that later,” Terin said, although Fiona could tell from her tone that the youngster had filed the information away and would act on it accordingly. She led Fiona to a pile of blankets and sat her down. “No mattresses, either. We found enough cots for the injured riders, but we’ll have to get mattresses soon.”

“We make them from willow reeds,” Fiona said. “You’ll find them near the glow goo.”

“Shh!” Terin said, gently pushing Fiona down on the makeshift bed and covering Fiona with the topmost blanket. “You’re not as bad as some of the others, you know,” she commented absently as she tucked the blanket against Fiona. “Some of the riders practically fell asleep on their feet.”

“Is no one working?” Fiona asked, but fatigue overwhelmed concern and she couldn’t muster the energy to sit up again.

“Oh, no! I wouldn’t let that happen,” Terin told her primly. “But the ones who were always slow and dizzy seem to be the ones who are doing best here.” She cocked her head as if just realizing what she’d said. “That’s odd, isn’t it?”

Fiona could only nod, working her head against the rough blankets to find a more comfortable spot, her eyes already closed. Sleep came to her quickly.

“Fiona.” The voice that woke her much later was deep, male. T’mar. Fiona rolled over, ready to leap out of bed. T’mar held up a restraining hand. “The traders have been spotted; they’ll be here in about a quarter of an hour.”

Fiona sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes.

“F’jian and some of the other weyrlings are getting up to help,” T’mar reported as he stood back to give her room. He quirked his eyebrows as he said, “They were all overcome with a similar exhaustion.”

Fiona found her shoes and slid her feet into them, then rustled her hair into a bunch and shoved it behind her as best she could without a mirror. She didn’t think the traders would take affront at her appearance, but she did have her duty as Weyrwoman. She turned back in time to catch T’mar stifling a grin.

“I’m not surprised they’re exhausted,” Fiona said as she gestured for the wingleader to precede her. “We did a lot of work today, and none of them have ever gone between before.”

“Ah, but not all were so fatigued,” T’mar told her. “In fact, the ones that took it the best were the same as the ones Tajen had remarked upon when he was Weyrlingmaster.”

“What about you?” Fiona asked, recalling Cisca’s concerns about the bronze rider. “Have you slept at all?”

Before T’mar could respond, his knees suddenly buckled, and she reached out to prop him up. Fiona helped him back to the makeshift bed and sat him down.

“Put your head between your knees,” she ordered, pushing down on his head to overcome his resistance. “Don’t sit up until I tell you.”

“But the traders — ”

“Terin will see to things,” Fiona declared with false assurance. “Anyway, you’ll be up in a moment, so just hush and rest.”

Fiona spent the next few minutes exploring her memories of the amazing day she’d just lived.

“Some of the weyrlings are probably tired because they were awoken in the middle of the night back at Fort Weyr ,” she said after a few moments’ thought. She slowly released the pressure on T’mar’s head and let him sit up, her eyes examining him as best she could in the dim light. “Do you feel like standing?”

“Whether I do or not, I have a duty,” T’mar replied, forcing himself to his feet again.

Fiona eyed him critically. “We’ll get you to the Kitchen Cavern and have you sit,” she decided. “You can order just as easily from there as anywhere.”

T’mar didn’t argue and silently allowed her to keep a steadying hand on his arm as they made their way down the queens’ ledge and over to the Kitchen Cavern.

“Ah, you’re up!” Terin exclaimed brightly as she saw Fiona arrive. “We’ve done what we could, but we’ve got no proper food to greet guests.”

“They’ll be bringing the food,” Fiona assured her. “I suspect, however, that it won’t be food we’ve had before.”

Terin shrugged. “As long as it’s not numbweed, I’ll eat it.”

Fiona sniffed the air and was vexed to be able to still catch a faint whiff of the noxious but marvelous weed.

Terin noticed and frowned. “I think next time we’ll brew it in the Bowl.”

“Maybe down by the river,” T’mar said. Terin gave him a quizzical look, so the bronze rider expanded: “The Igen River is over those mountains — no time at all a-dragonback.”

Terin shrugged, dismissing the issue from her list of worries.

“You know,” she said to Fiona in the tone of one relaying a confidence, “I’m the only girl here.” She caught Fiona’s widening eyes and amended hastily, “The only one who isn’t a dragonrider.”

“You’re going to have to draft the dragonriders to help you,” Fiona told her.

“But — ”

“You’re headwoman,” T’mar reminded her. “You won’t have any problems.”

“I’ve only ten Turns!” Terin protested.

“It’s not the Turns that matter — it’s how you behave,” Fiona assured her.

Terin pursed her lips, not looking relieved.

T’mar nodded. “You’ve a maturity about you that makes people willing to discount your years.” He caught her worried look and added, “Besides, they’re used to obeying the headwoman — and certainly none of them would be willing to take on your duties.” He grinned.

“But some of the boys — ”

“If anyone gives you a problem, I want to know of it,” T’mar told her firmly.

“And I,” Fiona added fiercely. She glanced at T’mar and turned, grinning, to Terin. “I told Talenth to tell the other dragons that you’re headwoman. I doubt you’ll have any problems.”

“Oh!” Terin exclaimed. Her expression brightened with mischievous glee.

“I expect you to behave responsibly,” Fiona warned the younger girl. “Or you’ll have to answer to me.”

Terin’s glee cooled noticeably and her next words were very demure: “Yes, Weyrwoman.”

They are here, Talenth said. They are at the gates.

“Have the watch dragon let them in,” Fiona said aloud, to let Terin know. She glanced at the young headwoman. “Do we have the storerooms clean?”

Terin’s eyes widened in horror. “No, we were too busy clearing quarters for the most injured riders,” she confessed.

“No matter,” T’mar assured her. “I’m sure I can find enough warm bodies to prepare at least part of the storerooms before we eat.”

At this Fiona’s stomach rumbled, and she suddenly realized that she was ravenously hungry. T’mar smiled.

“You go greet our benefactors, while I take care of the storerooms,” the wingleader said, rising from his chair. Fiona glanced at him nervously, but the bronze rider made it clear by his stance that he was no longer in need of aid.

Fiona met Azeez just as he called the caravan to a halt.

“Welcome to Igen Weyr,” she said with a slight bow. The words seemed to grow larger in the cooler air, and she felt as though they meant even more than she’d intended.

Azeez jumped down from his dray and bent his head toward Fiona in response.

“It is good to see this Weyr in use again,” said Mother Karina, striding forward. She nodded to Fiona. “It is right that you are its first Weyrwoman.”

Fiona didn’t know how to take the old woman’s statement — was it a compliment or a pronouncement?

“Get the beasts settled and the stores unloaded,” Karina ordered Azeez. Before Azeez could respond, she continued, “Everyone is hungry; send up the lunch supplies first.” She glanced at Fiona. “Has your headwoman got her weyrfolk ready?”

Fiona’s eyes widened in a mixture of fright, astonishment, and humor: How would Karina take to meeting Igen’s headwoman?

“Let’s find out,” she replied, trying not to worry as she gestured for Karina to lead the way.

In the Kitchen Cavern, Terin was busily supervising a mixed array of convalescent riders and reluctant weyrlings.

“I’ve got water boiling,” the girl said as soon as she caught sight of Fiona. She saw Karina behind her, hid a gulp, and made a curtsy. “Terin, headwoman at Igen.”

“This is Mother Karina,” Fiona said, waving a hand to introduce the older woman.

“How many Turns have you?” Karina demanded of Terin.

Terin’s expression clouded fearfully, then she drew in a breath and drew herself up taller, saying proudly, “I’ve ten Turns.”

“A good age,” Karina told her in approving tones. “I was that age when the traders called me Mother.”

Terin gave a noncommittal nod in response, not quite sure how to handle this information. Then she said, “All the klah bark is old and moldy.” She gestured to a sack.

“The lads have brought more,” Karina said dismissively.

A noise from behind Karina caught their attention and they saw two traders coming forward with sacks over their shoulders.

“J’keran!” Terin called immediately. “Send five strong weyrlings back with these traders — they have our lunch.”

“Immediately!” J’keran replied, gesturing for another weyrling to take over his duty at his boiling pot.

Karina gestured to the boiling water. “And what were you hoping to put in your pots?”

“Food for injured dragonriders and growing weyrlings,” Terin replied promptly. A small grin slid over her as she added, “And anyone else that feels need.”

Karina cocked her head at those words. “Is that so? Is it a habit of the Weyr to feed those who wander nearby?”

“Always,” Terin replied solemnly. “We’ll share the last crumb.” “Big words from such a small girl,” Karina replied.

“Only the truth,” Terin replied, her eyes flashing. “I am an orphan myself. I was taken in as a baby, my parents dead from the hunger.” She raised her head in challenge to the older woman. “So you see, I have reason to be my word.”

“Be your word? And what does that mean to you, youngling?”

“It means you can count on me to stand by the words I speak,” Terin replied. “And as I’ve been appointed headwoman here by Weyrwoman Fiona, and that appointment’s been approved by senior wingleader T’mar, you can take my word to stand for that of all the riders here at Igen.”

“There must be a lot of trader stock in the weyrfolk!” Karina declared with a laugh. She held out a hand to Terin. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, headwoman.”

“Thank you,” Terin replied, her expression lightening once more as she took Karina’s old, withered hand in her much younger, smaller grasp and shook it firmly.

“So, do you know how to prepare lentils, headwoman?” Karina asked. “Or how to make desert bread?”

“Could you show me?” Terin asked politely.

Karina nodded and gestured for Terin to precede her to the kettles.

In short order J’keran and the traders arrived with barrels and more sacks of goods. The first barrel contained klah bark, which was quickly put to the boil. The first sack contained some small hard disks that none of the riders had ever before seen.

“These are lentils,” Karina explained. “They are full of protein and good eating, hardy enough for our desert climes. They make an excellent soup — which can be our first course.”

She started to lead Terin away, talking about garlic, ginger, and carrots. Fiona was torn between following and checking on the work unloading supplies.

Glancing back at her, Karina said, “Go on, Weyrwoman! Terin and I can handle this.”

The relaxed smile on Terin’s face was the final assurance Fiona needed, so, with a half-wave, she took off into the corridors toward the storerooms.

“We’ll be done shortly, Weyrwoman,” T’mar told her when she arrived. Quietly, just for her ears, he added, “I hope that we’ll eat soon — we’re building quite an appetite.”

“Terin and Karina are working on it,” Fiona replied. “But it’ll be close to another hour.” Seeing T’mar’s face fall, she added hurriedly, “But we’ve got fresh klah for those who need it.”

“We can wait until lunch,” he decided.

Fiona nodded and left, wondering what to do next. She decided to check on the injured riders and their supplies, and ended up in the small herbal room, sorting through medicines. It took Talenth to break through her concentration.

T’mar says that lunch is ready, the gold dragon told her.

Good! Fiona replied, suddenly aware of the amazing aromas that were filling the Weyr. How about you?

I’m not hungry, Talenth assured her. A little itchy, maybe.

Her words reminded Fiona that she needed to be sure there was enough oil on hand for all the young and old flaky dragonhide. She almost turned back to check the stores, but her stomach grumbled again and she headed for the Kitchen Cavern.

In addition to the promised lentil soup, there was something she’d never encountered before: a spicy mixture of onions, sweet potatoes, and black beans, all wrapped up in a very thin, soft flatbread. It was both sweet and piquant.

“It tastes good,” Fiona said as soon as she swallowed. “Good, but different.”

“Hot food for hot climes,” Tenniz told her with a grin. “You’ll get used to it soon enough.” His eyes held some hint of mystery, but Fiona was too busy enjoying the new tastes and smells to linger upon it.

“Early afternoon in this climate tends to be too hot for work,” Azeez said to T’mar, “so usually we take a nap.”

“That make sense,” Fiona said before T’mar could object. “It will be particularly good for the injured riders and those with injured dragons.”

“Why the dragons?” T’mar wondered, frowning.

“If their riders are resting, they’ll rest, too,” Fiona reminded him.

“But we don’t have — ” T’mar began, gesturing toward Azeez.

“We have gear we could set up in your unused living quarters,” Azeez assured him.

Karina shot him a glare and Fiona noticed.

“You’ve stayed here before,” she stated. Tenniz looked down, avoiding her eyes, but Karina nodded.

“No one was using it,” Azeez said.

“We kept the water flowing,” Karina said.

“I’m glad you did,” Fiona said. “I’m sure the Weyr would have been much harder to clean if you hadn’t used it.” She turned to T’mar, then added, “I see no reason why you can’t continue to use it while we’re here.”

T’mar thought about it, then nodded. “We will be using less than a third of the weyrs, and would be glad of your company.”

“Let me be clear,” Azeez said. “We’re traders; we need to move to trade. We’d only be here occasionally, for no more than a night.” “Not if I can help it,” T’mar replied, then laughed as he caught Azeez’s bemused look.

“We talked about this when we met,” T’mar continued. “We could carry supplies for you.” Azeez nodded, still no closer to comprehension. “And you would need to store them, occasionally?”

“We could store them here?” Karina asked, eyes alight with the prospect.

“Whatever we can do to help,” T’mar offered.

“For a reasonable fee, of course,” Terin added from her place at the table. She caught Karina’s eyes challengingly and locked with them until the older woman threw up her hands in surrender.

“Another with the soul of a trader!”