Dragonheart

FIFTEEN

Igen Weyr, Morning, AL 498.8.12

Talenth! Fiona’s first thoughts were for her dragon.

I am here. Talenth sounded calm, but her voice carried an undertone of relief. You are all right! She said you would be.

Fiona wondered briefly if her dragon meant Nuella or the voice that they had heard before, the voice of the mysterious Weyrwoman.

The egg?

It will hatch soon, Talenth told her. It is good you are better.

“Lie still,” a voice — male — ordered her firmly.

Fiona groaned and struggled to get up.

“Lie still or I’ll dose you with more fellis juice,” the voice ordered with a hint of exasperation.

“I don’t like sleeping face down,” Fiona said, her words muffled by the pillow under her.

“Then you should have thought of that before you got mangled,” she was told. She heard someone move in a chair beside her, heard the rasp of a glow stone being turned, and from the corner of her eye she could tell that the room filled with a soft blue glow. “Don’t move your leg,” the man cautioned her, “but tell me how you feel.”

“Fine,” Fiona responded irritably. “I’ve got to get up, I’ve got to — ”

“Rest,” the man interjected. “You’ve got to rest.”

“But the egg!”

The man’s breath stilled chillingly.

“The egg is all right, isn’t it?” Fiona asked, worried by the silence. “Talenth told me — ”

“She did, did she?” the man asked, sounding amused. “You spoke of her a lot in your sleep but no one here has ever heard of a Talenth.”

“What else did I say?” Fiona asked, wondering how much she might have to tell and how much she might have revealed already. “How long — ”

“You’ve been here two days,” the man told her. “Most of it dosed with fellis juice to keep you from jumping up and tearing your leg irreparably.”

“The dog bit me,” Fiona said, her tone calculating. “His teeth dug in but I don’t think he got a tendon. I think he only mangled the calf.” She paused, considering the wound critically. “It should heal in a sevenday, maybe two.”

“It should, if it’s not infected,” the man agreed, sounding impressed with her diagnosis. “Are you a healer, too?”

“I’ve had to tend the sick and injured,” Fiona replied, carefully guarding her words as she realized that the man still hadn’t answered her question.

“Ah, yes,” the man said in a tone that sounded agreeable but was tinged with lingering doubt, “part of your duties as Weyrwoman, no doubt.”

Fiona stifled a groan. “You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t put much credence in words murmured in delirium,” the man corrected her. She got the impression that he hadn’t altered his opinion now that she was awake.

“Do you think I’m still delirious?” Fiona asked, then added, “Was I delirious?”

“You certainly sounded like it,” the man told her. “But now that you seem to be awake and — ” His hand touched her brow quickly, professionally. “ — not fevered, I may have to alter my opinion.”

“What did I say?” Fiona repeated her original question. “And,” she added tetchily, “who did I say it to?”

“You said it mostly to me, Zenor,” the man replied.

“Mostly?”

“There were others earlier,” Zenor told her calmly.

“Well, Zenor — wait a moment! — you’re Kindan’s friend!”

“Yes,” the man said. “You mentioned him in your sleep, too.” There was something odd in his tone, humorous but somewhat more than that — Fiona couldn’t place it. “And the mystery Weyrwoman. Is that you?”

“I don’t know,” Fiona confessed.

“You were most urgent,” Zenor said. “You said that you were from the future, that you had to see Nuella, that you hoped you weren’t too late and — ”

Fiona groaned loudly, furious with her indiscretion.

“You did seem worried about the future — you kept saying you had to get back.”

“Shards!”

“And something about gold, which aroused quite a lot of interest, particularly mine,” Zenor told her.

“Did I tell you about the wherhold?” Fiona asked, abandoning any hope of keeping all her secrets.

“You said that Aleesa had gone between on Aleesk,” Zenor told her. “Like Nuella.”

“Nuella’s gone between ?” Fiona gasped, pushing herself up in a panic.

“No, lie back down!” Zenor ordered, pushing her shoulders back down to the bed. “You’re as bad as she was.”

“Was?” Fiona repeated, her eyes wide with worry.

“You should sleep,” Zenor told her firmly, shifting in his seat. “You’re not the only one I have to tend.”

“Who else?” Fiona asked, surprised and feeling guilty that she was taking him away from those who needed it.

“Nuella,” Zenor replied tersely. “She’s asleep in the next room, dosed with fellis juice like you.”

Fiona’s question flew between them, unspoken.

“There was a cave-in. Nuelsk saved her — ” Zenor bit back a sob. “ — we think. But a tunnel-snake bit Nuelsk as she tried to get out. She managed to save Nuella before she died.”

“Just like Dask saved you Turns back,” Fiona said in amazement.

“Turns back?” Zenor repeated, surprised. “It wasn’t that long ago.”

“No, I guess it wouldn’t have been, for you,” Fiona agreed.

“I suppose Turns aren’t the same for you, then?” Zenor demanded. Fiona hid her surprise: he acted much younger than she’d thought he was and then, realizing her error, she asked, “How many Turns have you?”

“I’ll be turning seventeen soon enough,” Zenor told her proudly.

“And I’ll be turning fourteen soon enough,” Fiona replied, both stung by his tone and amused by the realization that “soon enough” meant anything just under a full Turn. Zenor had only sixteen Turns in this time! She had always thought of him as older, like Kindan. Come to think of it, in this time Kindan had little more than sixteen Turns himself. A thrill of recognition, nearly a challenge, ran through her — she was almost old enough for Kindan!

Idly she wondered what it would be like if she arranged to meet him, now, as old as she was with him as young as he was. Her pleasure at the thought faded as she wondered if she looked enough like her late sister, Koriana, to cause Kindan pain. Probably, she admitted to herself, he would recognize her as Koriana’s kin and then what would she say to him? And what if he fell in love with her and she had to leave him — how would he survive having his love dashed a second time?

But no, Fiona assured herself, Kindan hadn’t seen her or hadn’t recognized her if he had met her in this time, or he wouldn’t be at Benden Weyr, he’d be with her instead— if they’d fallen in love back in this time. The questions were so confusing, they made her brain hurt.

“You should get some rest,” Zenor said, rising from his chair. “I need to check on Nuella.”

Too tired to protest, Fiona drifted off into a hazy, fitful sleep.

“How’s the egg?” Fiona asked when she next woke.

“We’ve got it near a hearth and it’s still warm,” Zenor assured her. Fiona was surprised to see a red-haired girl about her age standing beside him, bearing a large tray. The resemblance to Zenor was obvious.

“This is Renna,” Zenor said by way of introduction. As Fiona started to turn over, he stopped her with a firm hand on her back. “You still shouldn’t move.”

“I hate sleeping on my stomach,” Fiona complained, adding, “I don’t think I can eat like this.”

“Let me look at your leg,” he said, going to the end of her bed and gently unwrapping her bandage. He leaned forward and sniffed deeply, smelling for any sign of infection. From his pleased reaction, there was none.

“With puncture wounds, the greatest danger is of infection,” Zenor explained, half to Fiona and half to Renna. He deftly rewrapped the bandages and moved to the front of her bed. “Let’s see how you feel sitting up.”

Fiona was horrified to discover that she felt worse sitting up. The wounds on her left leg felt as though they were bleeding or, worse, her muscle was oozing out through the openings. It must have shown on her face, for Zenor moved to push her back down, but she raised her arm to forestall him.

“I’ll get better,” she promised. She smiled wanly at Renna, who gave her a dubious, slightly green look in response. “Perhaps I’m just hungry.”

“Sit there; we’ll bring the table over,” Zenor said, gesturing for Renna to give him a hand. Together the two lifted either end of the table and carried it closer to the bedside.

“That egg will hatch soon,” Fiona said as she gingerly raised a mug to her lips.

“I agree,” Zenor said. Renna glanced between Fiona and her brother, her face set in a thoughtful frown.

“It’s a gold,” Fiona continued, having discovered with some surprise that the mug contained not klah but cool fresh water. “The last queen watch-wher on Pern.”

“How can you be certain?” Zenor demanded, frowning.

“I can’t and I’m not, but Aleesa thought so,” Fiona said.

Renna’s expression suddenly changed and she turned to Zenor, saying, “She’s not suggesting that Nuella — ”

Zenor waved her to silence. “I’ve explained about Nuella.”

Renna turned to Fiona. “She’s not ready — she’s still recovering — it’s only been a few days!”

Fiona was too weak to argue with the fiery redhead. A twinge from her wound prompted her to ask, “Why did that dog attack me, anyway?”

“Most of the dogs went wild after the Plague,” Zenor said with a wave of his hand. “Too many were abandoned when their owners succumbed.”

“Those of us who could settled inside the hold,” Renna said, her face reflecting painful memories.

“I’m sorry.”

“If the dragonriders had helped — ” Renna began hotly, her blue-green eyes flaring angrily at Fiona.

“I was only a baby,” Fiona began in protest before realizing that her explanation would only further confuse things.

“You don’t look that young,” Renna snapped back heatedly.

“Kindan said that the dragonriders had to wait until the Plague had passed to protect the weyrfolk,” Fiona said.

Renna snorted. “They waited, all right! They’re still waiting.”

“What?” Fiona asked in shock, shaking her head. “No, that’s not true! They dropped masks and fruit at all the holds — ”

“Except those looking to Telgar,” Renna told her harshly. “D’gan left us to live or die on our own.”

“And that fool Fenric locked himself in his hold until Nerra recovered enough to throw him out,” Fiona said, recalling her father’s words on the subject as he explained why he had supported Nerra’s claim to Crom Hold.

“Yes,” Zenor agreed, giving Fiona a keen look.

Fiona didn’t hear him, her mind absorbing Renna’s words. She asked her quietly, “How bad was it here?”

“Dalor survived,” Zenor answered. “So did Nuella, myself, Renna, Nuella’s baby sister Larissa — mostly the young.”

“It affected those in their prime more than the young or the old,” Fiona said, remembering countless discussions with Kindan, her father, and the older hold survivors.

“Except in our case, the very youngest succumbed shortly afterward,” Renna added bleakly. At Fiona’s surprised look, she explained, “There was no food.”

“We’ve only half the people that were here before the Plague,” Zenor said. “Natalon had already had us starting to relocate to the new hold; afterward, we abandoned all the old houses.”

Renna rose. “I’d better go check on Nuella.”

Fiona waved at Zenor. “You go, too! I know you’re sweet on her — ”

A muffled gasp from Zenor and a startled guffaw from Renna made her realize that she’d broached a touchy subject and she did her best to hide her surprise.

“Kindan told me,” Fiona said quickly, hoping to cover her gaffe.

Renna opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it, shaking her head. She gestured to Zenor. “You should go. I just realized that our patient here probably needs some help getting to the necessary.”

Zenor gave her a mulish look, but it dawned on Fiona that she did need help, and her expression settled Zenor’s suspicions enough that he gave his sister a curt nod before he left.

“Just so you know,” Renna said in a tight voice, “the last thing Nuella said to Zenor was, ‘Why did you let me live?’ ”

“But I thought that Nuelsk saved her,” Fiona said in surprise.

“She pushed but Zenor pulled,” Renna said tersely, wrapping an arm around Fiona and guiding her to her feet. “So, your coming here with a queen’s egg and sounding like Zenor and Nuella are mated is just as addled as expecting a dragonrider to say a kind word.”

“I’m a dragonrider,” Fiona said in protest.

Renna raised an eyebrow. “Really?” she asked skeptically, waving a hand toward the hills outside. “Where’s your dragon?”

Not waiting for Fiona’s response, she guided her toward the door and down the hall to the necessary.

By the time they returned, Fiona was so tired that she uttered no protest when ordered by Renna to lie down on her stomach once more.

“You need your rest,” the redhead said, closing the room’s shutters.

“Thank you,” Fiona told her.

“See?” Renna replied with quirk of her lips. “You can’t be a dragonrider — you’re too polite!”

Fiona didn’t have the strength to argue.

When she woke again, Talenth was calling her.

Fiona!

Talenth?

When are you coming back? Talenth asked. I itch!

Oh, I’m sorry! Fiona replied. Can you ask Terin to oil you? I’ll be back soon.

She heard a noise in the room and craned her neck around. In the dim light that slipped past the shutters, she made out someone sitting beside her. It was a woman with gold hair.

“You must be Nuella,” Fiona said, starting to roll on her side and then thinking better of it as a stabbing pain reminded her of her wound.

“Why are you here?” The question came out of a voice husky with disuse and despair.

“I heard about Nuelsk,” Fiona said. “I’m sorry.”

“But you want me to take the queen egg,” Nuella said accusingly. She heard Fiona’s surprised gasp and added, “I hear very well — better than Zenor thinks.”

Fiona spent a moment absorbing the young woman’s words. How old was Nuella, anyway? Fiona wondered. She’d seemed very old when she met her at Fort Weyr, but that was ten Turns in the future . . . Nuella was about the same age as Kindan . . . she’d have about sixteen Turns now.

“You said you had a queen of your own,” Nuella said proddingly.

“Talenth,” Fiona replied unable to keep the warmth out of her voice.

“Could you imagine losing her?”

“I lost my fire-lizard,” Fiona replied. Fondly she recalled Fire, and her breath caught.

“How?”

Fiona hesitated before responding. “I think it’s dangerous for people to know too much about their future.”

“We’re talking about your past.”

“My past is your future,” Fiona said. “Did you hear me when I was talking in my sleep?”

“No.”

Fiona decided that she really hated thinking face down. “Will you help me sit up?”

“No,” Nuella replied. “If Zenor has you lying down, then I think you’d best stay that way.”

“But it’s so hard to think !” Fiona complained. It was hard enough to think at all, and had been ever since she’d Impressed Talenth. From that moment on she’d been fighting the dizziness and fatigue that she’d come to associate with being twice in the same time. Was it because she’d timed it back here, to this now? Or was it something else?

Fiona forced herself to focus. Now wasn’t the moment to consider this issue. Nuella. She had to talk to Nuella. She was here, now. She wished she had some klah.

“How did you survive the Plague, then?” Nuella demanded.

“I was a baby; I don’t remember much of it,” Fiona replied instantly without thinking. She groaned as she realized what she’d said and then let out a deep sigh.

“I wish I hadn’t said that,” she said then. “I come from ten Turns in the future. In my time, there’s been no hint that we came back in time to here. I hate having to ask so many people to keep this secret.”

“Well, if nobody knows in your time, you must have chosen wisely,” Nuella observed.

Fiona mulled on that for a moment, started to nod, felt the pillow against her face and thought better of it. Besides, Nuella couldn’t see her movement anyway. “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said. “Kindan trusted you, so — ”

Nuella snorted derisively. “Kindan!”

“What?” Fiona asked, surprised at Nuella’s tone. “Are you angry with him? I thought you wanted Nuelsk.”

“Do I have her now?” Nuella cried, her voice breaking. “Is she here with me now?”

A door opened and light spilled into the room as Zenor strode in angrily.

“Nuella!” he exclaimed. Then, to Fiona, he said, “What have you said to her?”

“Stop, stop, it’s not her fault!” Nuella cried.

“What did you say?” Zenor persisted, shutting the door and pounding up to Fiona’s bedside. “Don’t you know she’s been through enough?”

“Stop protecting me!” Nuella insisted.

This is too much! Fiona thought miserably. Her wounded calf throbbed horribly and she felt nauseated by the emotions whipping around her.

Talenth! Send T’mar, Fiona called to her queen. Just the act of reaching out calmed her. Send him now!

He comes! Talenth replied. You sound sad.

A loud bugle, muffled by thick walls, announced the arrival of the bronze.

“That’s T’mar,” Fiona said. “He’ll take me back.” She started to rise, wondering how she would find her things and where they had put the queen egg. “I can’t handle this anymore.”

A hand gently pushed her back down as Nuella said, “Stay.”

“You need to rest,” Zenor declared.

“I can’t rest here,” Fiona said, resisting Nuella’s hand. She bit back a sob. “I’m sorry, I’ve done you nothing but harm since I came here.”

“Tell me about the future,” Nuella said, her hand still resting gently on Fiona’s back.

“Why should I?”

“Nuella, she’s probably lying!” Zenor declared.

“No, she’s not,” Nuella told him. “How many people do you know who can order dragons around?” She said to Fiona, “You can tell T’mar that — ”

A loud noise outside announced T’mar’s presence.

“This place is nothing but children!” T’mar shouted, his anger obvious. “Out of my way! Out of my way, all of you! Where is Fiona!”

“In here,” Fiona called. Zenor rose and opened the door.

“Fiona!” T’mar cried, shoving Zenor out of his way and rushing to her side. Taking in her bandaged leg, he asked, “What happened?”

“A dog bit me,” Fiona told him. And then, suddenly, it was funny to her. She started laughing.

“A dog bit me, can you imagine?” It was the funniest thing she’d ever said, she decided. Her chest hurt from laughing while lying on it and her leg twinged every time her chest heaved. “Oh, Shards! It hurts to laugh!”

T’mar turned wide eyes to Zenor. “She’s not feverish?”

“No,” Zenor said, eyeing Fiona with concern. “She wasn’t the last time I checked.”

“It’s the strain,” Nuella said. “She’s laughing to relieve her emotions.”

“That’s it!” Fiona agreed, then proceeded into another round of laughter. “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry!”

Suddenly that seemed like a very excellent idea and tears started streaming down her face.

Nuella’s hand on her back became firmer, moving more slowly. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Weyrwoman, we believe you. We believe you now.”

“What, all I had to do was cry?” Fiona demanded through her tears. “Or was it laugh?”

“Both,” Nuella said. “Zenor, I think she should sit up, maybe drink something.”

“I want to feel her temperature,” Zenor said by way of agreement. “Fiona, if you can sit up for a moment, you might feel better.”

“I don’t know,” Fiona said, even as Nuella’s hand moved to her far shoulder and applied a gentle upward pressure.

“I think they’re right,” T’mar said, his voice approaching her. His strong hands grabbed her shoulders and gently guided her upright.

“Most of them died in the Plague, T’mar,” Fiona said as soon as she saw his face, lined with a harsh look that seemed ready to turn into an unbridled anger. “Telgar sent no aid, nothing.”

T’mar sucked in air in a hiss. “I’d heard,” he said shortly. He turned to Zenor and Nuella. “I cannot tell you how sorry — ”

“But we stole their Weyr!” Fiona exclaimed, her eyes suddenly dancing once more with humor. “We came back in time and took Igen Weyr.”

Zenor gave T’mar a questioning look that turned into one of surprise when the bronze rider nodded in acknowledgment.

“We ought to take Telgar, too,” Fiona declared in a murmur to herself. “It’d serve them right.” The idea appealed to her so much, she caught T’mar’s gaze and continued, “When we get back, why don’t you go there for their next mating flight? You’d make a great Weyrleader.” She had a moment to marvel at the words pouring out of her mouth before she added, “Better than D’gan, better than H’nez.”

“This is not like her,” T’mar said to Zenor, his mouth set in a frown.

“It’s stress,” Nuella said. “She has been through a lot and the bite has — ”

“ — added physical stress to her mental exhaustion,” Zenor finished.

“I can’t be exhausted,” Fiona declared, trying to rise on her feet and stopping as a sudden pain tore up her left leg. “Ouch, that hurts!”

“Fiona, you must rest,” Nuella said. “Lie back down and rest.”

Zenor ran a quick hand over Fiona’s forehead and nodded gravely. “You’re flushed, and peaked.”

He rose quickly and crossed the room to a side table, quickly emptying several containers into a mug and returning with it. “Drink this.”

Fiona took a sip and made a face. “It’s wine and fellis juice.”

“You need your rest,” T’mar said. “You heard the healer.”

“He’s not a healer,” Fiona said even as a frantic part of her fought to get control of her mouth. “He’s a goldsmith.”

“Goldsmith!” Nuella repeated. She heard T’mar’s gasp of surprise and her expression grew thoughtful.

“You must rest,” Zenor said to Fiona, gently easing her back down to the bed. “I’m sorry that we distressed you; your recovery will be delayed because of it.”

“T’mar, tell them, make them understand,” Fiona begged, fresh tears somehow forming at the edges of her vision. “Tell them whatever they want to know.”

“As you wish, Weyrwoman,” T’mar agreed, leaning down toward her to plant a soft kiss on her cheek.

“You kissed me!” Fiona declared in muzzy surprise. “I like that.”

Exhaustion overcame her before she could say more, and she slipped into a deep sleep with a contented sigh.

T’mar’s voice greeted the moment her eyelids fluttered open. “The egg has hatched.”

“Oh, Shards! I’d hoped to be there,” Fiona exclaimed.

“Don’t sit up,” T’mar said warningly. “Your wound is still healing.”

“Nuella . . . ?”

“She says that the queen is the most beautiful creature she’s ever known,” T’mar told her, his tone conveying both wistfulness and sardonic surprise.

“And?”

“She and Dalor — did you know they are twins? — have agreed that she and Zenor can leave as soon as the queen is able.”

“What about the rest of it?”

“What rest of it?” T’mar asked, surprised. “Isn’t that all we need?”

“No,” Fiona said. “They have to form the wherhold, they have to take Arella, Jaythen, and all the other watch-whers.”

“I know nothing of this,” T’mar said, sounding somewhat aggrieved. “Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

“Oh, I’m too tired to think straight!” Fiona complained grumpily. “I — ”

“Rest,” T’mar ordered, rising from his chair. “We can talk more later.”

“No,” Fiona said, “I need to get back. I miss my dragon; I miss the warmth of the Weyr.”

“It’s warmer here than at Fort Weyr,” T’mar said. Before Fiona’s irritated groan escaped her lips, he continued, “But I know what you mean: Igen is a better place for you.”

“Can you take me?” Fiona asked hopefully. “I can come back later.”

“Let me check with Zenor,” T’mar replied, heading for the door.

It seemed like forever to Fiona before the door opened again. T’mar entered, followed by Zenor, Nuella, Renna, and another man.

“Tevris and Tesk will manage,” the new man answered Nuella. “And, to be honest, we’re better off with fewer mouths to feed.”

“Do you want us to take Larissa?” Nuella asked.

“I don’t know if it’d be safe for her — ” Zenor replied doubtfully.

“I’m sure it will,” Fiona interjected. “The wherfolk have loads of kids.”

“And we could use the practice,” Nuella added. From his lack of response, Fiona guessed that Zenor was growing red.

“We need the practice, too!” Renna declared. “Don’t we, Dalor?”

So the other man was Dalor, Fiona thought. She could hear the blush in his voice as he asked, “We do?”

There was a moment’s awkward silence after which Dalor, probably reeling from Renna’s glare, corrected himself. “I mean, we do!”

“Fewer mouths,” Nuella reminded him quietly.

“Renna?” Dalor said, passing the decision off to her.

“Well,” Renna said with a sigh, “she’s probably closer to Nuella.”

“She could come back later,” Zenor suggested.

“Yes, she could,” Dalor agreed, happy to find a workable compromise.

“We should go now,” Fiona said, rising painfully from the bed. She was surprised when no one stopped her.

“We can loan you some crutches,” Zenor said.

“We can’t go until dark,” Nuella said.

“Isn’t your watch-wher sleeping?” Fiona said. When Nuella nodded, she turned to T’mar. “Zirenth can carry her, can’t he?”

“Easily,” T’mar agreed. “Shall I send for the weyrlings?”

“Yes,” Fiona said, smiling at Nuella. “I don’t doubt you’ll have some things you’ll want to bring with you.”

“If you don’t get them all now, you can come back for them,” Renna said.

“I’m not sure we want to attract too much notice from D’gan,” T’mar objected.

“One trip or two won’t be a problem, will it?” Fiona said, daring T’mar to object. The wingleader frowned but reluctantly agreed.

“Good!” Fiona said, and turning once more to Nuella, added, “I think you’ll like Igen Weyr.”

“The Weyr?” Nuella repeated in surprise.

“We’ll go there first,” Fiona said. “Then, when it’s dark enough, we’ll go to Aleesa’s.” She smiled. “We’ve found, with the heat, that our hardest work is best done in darkness, like the watchwhers.”

“What about the hold you promised?” Zenor demanded. “I can’t see us staying at a Weyr forever.”

“And you won’t,” Fiona promised. “But we’ve still some things to arrange.”

“Such as . . . ?”

Fiona noticed that T’mar was also intent on her answer. “We’ll need smithcrafters to help with the gold, so we’ll have to visit the Smithcrafthall.”

“Smithcrafters?” Nuella asked, puzzled. Inspiration struck. “Oh, I suppose Zenor is enough of a miner that we needn’t worry on that account.”

“You need the smiths to refine and work the gold,” Fiona explained.

“And we still need to negotiate with the holders,” T’mar added. “I don’t think that will be a problem,” Fiona said.

“We’ll take that jump when we come to it,” T’mar allowed.

It took some time, more than Fiona wanted, for Nuella and Zenor, ably aided by Renna and less ably aided by the infant Larissa, to assemble their belongings.

It was nearing midday when T’mar finally gave the signal to Zirenth and the weyrlings he’d called to help in the transport.

Between couldn’t come soon enough for Fiona, even though the cold seemed like a fresh bite into her injured calf, and then —

You’re here! Talenth cried joyously, and Fiona smiled as she saw her beautiful gold prancing about in the Bowl below.

I’m here, Fiona agreed warmly.

As soon as T’mar had lowered her to the ground, she hobbled over to Talenth and grabbed her head in both arms, surprised that they barely reached around.

You’ve grown!

Of course! Talenth agreed. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?

Fiona found no argument with her insistence that Nuella and her watch-wher be temporarily housed in one of the unused queen’s weyrs. She was thrilled by the way her offer was received by Nuella and, even more so, by Zenor, whose attitude toward dragonriders in general and Fiona in particular seemed to have undergone a complete and permanent revision.

“This is marvelous!” he said as he examined the bath and Fiona demonstrated the hot and cold taps. “And the water is hot all the time?”

“It should be,” Fiona allowed. “At least it is in Fort Weyr.”

She was touched by the way Zenor carefully arranged the room and then led blind Nuella around it, proudly boasting, “Once she knows where things are, she gets around just fine.”

The sun was just going down as Fiona led them to dinner, seating them at what she’d begun to think of proprietarily as the Weyrwoman’s table.

She was pleased to be greeted by the weyrling riders and the walking wounded, and even more pleased by the respectful manner in which they treated her guests.

“Watch-whers, eh?” K’rall said when he heard about Nuella. Then he peered more closely at her as recognition dawned. “Why, you don’t look — ”

“K’rall!” Fiona cut across him warningly. “Remember we are ten Turns in the past and what’s happened to us has yet to happen for Nuella and Zenor.”

K’rall cast her an affronted look that faded only after he digested her meaning. He harrumphed, then gave her a look that might have been a smile, before nodding respectfully to Nuella and Zenor. “Let me just say that I am honored you chose to come here.”

Zenor beckoned to Fiona, who leaned close enough for him to mutter, “Don’t hold back so much that you scare us away from the future.”

Fiona thought about that for a moment. “I’m sorry — nothing terrible, just frightening.”

“Oh,” Zenor said with a grin. “So nothing more than I’ve come to expect with Nuella.”

“I suppose that’s right,” Fiona found herself agreeing. After all, she’d heard not only Kindan’s ballads but also his stories firsthand. “Nothing quite so startling as being the first person to take a watch-wher between. ”

Dinner proceeded uneventfully after that, except that both Zenor and Nuella were surprised by the spicy dishes served them.

“It’s the heat,” Fiona explained. “Mother Karina, the oldest trader, explained that in hot climates it’s good to eat spicy-hot foods that aid in sweating.”

“The sweat cools the blood,” Zenor guessed. “Does that mean we need to drink more here?”

“Definitely,” T’mar agreed. “And here’s one of the special dishes that Terin has prepared for Fiona’s return.”

He gestured to a bowl that Terin had placed proudly on the table. It looked a bit like a white pudding or a solid cream but Fiona was certain that she had never seen its like.

“I’m sorry that we don’t have more than enough for a taste for each of us,” T’mar apologized as he scooped up a spoonful and put it on Fiona’s plate. “Terin has a nice cobbler to accompany it.”

Fiona’s nose crinkled, taking in the scent of warm cinnamon and apples wafting across the air as Terin proudly carried a warm pot to the table.

“We think the two will go together well,” T’mar said with a wink at Fiona.

Dubiously, Fiona took a nibble-sized portion of the white solid onto her spoon and put it in her mouth.

“It’s cold!” she exclaimed, nearly spitting it out. “It’s like ice, only it’s creamy.”

“Iced cream,” Terin said with a huge grin. “It took me a long time to convince J’gerd to help make it.” She leaned close to Fiona as she whispered, “We had to use a full kilo of ice!”

“It’s amazing!” Fiona said as she helped herself to a full mouthful. She turned an eye toward T’mar. “Something to trade?”

“Oh, indeed!” T’mar agreed wholeheartedly, contently mixing the iced cream and the warm cobbler into a cool mash.

“I’ve never heard that dragonriders trade,” Zenor observed mildly as he dubiously tried the iced cream. His brows rose in delighted surprise as he savored it and swallowed.

“No one is supposed to know we’re here,” Fiona said, unable to conceal her worry that too many people already knew, “so we can’t ask for tithe.”

“Besides,” T’mar added with an airy wave of his hand, “if we did and D’gan found out about it . . .”

“I couldn’t imagine he’d be happy with the prospect,” Nuella said. She took another bite of the iced cream, savoring it slowly before saying, “And if this need to trade has driven you to create this, then I think it’s great!”

“At Fort Weyr the dragonriders knit sweaters and scarves, that they give to holders and crafters that are beholden to them,” Fiona said, feeling an urge to defend dragonriders.

“Your father is a Lord Holder,” Nuella replied. “You can’t tell me that he never griped about the tithe.”

“No,” Fiona admitted. “But he never skimped on it, either.”

“Speaking of tithe,” Zenor said, glancing toward Nuella, “we have a list of questions about this hold you’re proposing — ”

“And a list of needs, no doubt!” K’rall interjected. Fiona glanced nervously in his direction, afraid that the old rider was affronted, but she was surprised to see a huge grin on his face. “No more than your due, I’m certain.”

The byplay was not lost on Zenor, who gave Fiona an appraising look before continuing, “Our biggest need will be smithcrafters.”

“Yes,” T’mar agreed. “And we’ll want you to have them because, unlike the other holds, we are hoping you will give us tithe.”

“We haven’t even settled!” Zenor protested hotly.

“We think that once you have, you’ll find that there’s more than enough for you and yours,” T’mar told him. He shook his head emphatically. “We are not Telgar. We will not demand more than a fair tithe.”

“Also,” Fiona added, “don’t forget that we’ll be supplying you with stakehold, an investment of our own, as it were, and should expect — as traders — to see a return on it.”

“You can’t have it both ways, Weyrwoman,” Zenor cautioned her. “Either we tithe or we trade.”

“Trade and tithe,” Fiona told him. “You’ll find that we have many things worth trade.” She gestured to the iced cream bowl, now empty. “And we won’t stint our friends.”

“Very well,” Zenor said after checking Nuella’s expression.

“Your biggest need is food, anyway,” Nuella said. “Your Weyr and our wherhold will make a large dent in the available herds.” She turned her face toward Fiona. “How many watch-whers are there at Aleesa’s?”

Fiona was chagrined to admit that she didn’t know. “Two, for certain,” she said. “Both Arella and Jaythen have them. Arella is bonded with a green and Jaythen is bonded with a bronze.”

Zenor frowned.

“What about the other eggs in this last clutch?” Nuella asked.

“They were all spoken for already,” Fiona told her.

“That’s both good and bad,” Nuella said to Zenor.

“Why?”

“It means we’ve less to worry about when it comes to transport, but also less to bargain with,” she said. “There are a lot of holders who’ve come to see the value of watch-whers.”

“That’s part of the reason why we want to see the wherhold established here,” Fiona told them. “The holders around here were hard hit by the Plague and there are many wild herds that have attracted predators. The watch-whers can guard the herds — ”

“I’m used to the mines,” Nuella remarked. “I suppose it would be nice to be out in the night air.”

“You’ll have Jaythen and the others to help,” Fiona assured her.

“You mentioned gold,” Zenor prompted.

“We saw it marked on the Weyr maps,” Fiona said.

“I’d like to see them.”

“Why don’t you go with Fiona, and I’ll check on Nuellask,” Nuella suggested.

“I’d like to see this map myself,” K’rall said as the others rose.

T’mar and Terin accompanied them. While they walked — slowly, in deference to Fiona’s crutches — Fiona held a quick consultation with them on the injured dragons and riders.

“We’ve three more riders that are now healed and ready for duty,” T’mar reported, “and N’jian has recovered from the worst of the bedsores — we’ve got him resting in his pool most of the day, with a weyrling and his Graneth keeping a watchful eye on him.”

“I’d like to see your injured,” Zenor said from behind them. “Maybe I can learn some things.”

“Or teach them,” Nuella added with a touch of pride. “Zenor became quite the healer during the . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized what she was saying.

“The Plague happened over nearly twelve Turns in our past,” T’mar told her. “I was about the age you are now.”

“It’s done, we survived, and we press on,” Zenor said in a tone that suggested a change of topic.

“Kindan said much the same thing,” Fiona said in surprise.

“He might have learned it from Master Zist,” Nuella said. She smiled. “After Kindan left, Master Zist picked Zenor to help him.”

“Scared me witless,” Zenor agreed. “I was afraid he was going to make me a healer or — worse — a harper.”

“I would have missed you,” Nuella said fervently.

“I was never so glad as when Kindan sent his fire-lizard calling Zist back to the Harper Hall,” Zenor admitted.

“They’ve had a hard time finding enough healers, since,” Fiona said as they began the slope upward to the queens’ weyrs.

“Is that why you’ve none with you?” Nuella asked.

“There’s only one at Fort Weyr, and that just recently,” K’rall said.

“Perhaps we should send some people from the mine to the Healer Hall,” Zenor said thoughtfully.

Fiona said nothing, deciding not to tell them that they hadn’t.

When they came to the top of the ledge, T’mar said to Nuella, “I could escort you to your quarters while Fiona shows the others the Records.”

“I’d like that,” Nuella said, reaching out a hand toward T’mar. He grabbed it and led her on, telling her, “I’ve only seen a watch-wher once before and not up close.”

“Oh,” Nuella responded with interest. “Whose?”

“Yours, actually,” T’mar replied with a chuckle. “I suppose I’d better not tell you too much or it’ll spoil the surprise.”

“Don’t tell me too much because if Zenor hears, he might want to put a stop to it,” Nuella retorted with a laugh of her own. “From your tone, I was probably doing something that would frighten him.”

“Is that something you do often?”

“At least once a sevenday,” Nuella replied with an impish grin. “It keeps him on his toes.”

“Hmm,” T’mar said thoughtfully.

“See here?” Fiona said, pointing to the map she’d unrolled on the table beneath them. “Those marks are for metals and minerals.” She pointed to one in particular in the legend and then to where she knew the wherhold would be established. “See how large it is there, right at the river’s bend?”

“Gold is heavy; it would tend to accumulate in bends,” Zenor said judiciously. He looked up from the map, his eyes full of longing. “I’d like to see this site.”

“According to this,” K’rall said, gesturing to a dotted line on the map, “the land is bound to Keroon.” He circled a spot not too far away on the map, saying, “That’s Plains Hold there.”

He glanced at Fiona. “What would your father say if Fort Weyr were to annex part of his Hold to some newcomers?”

“Actually, he’d want to know which part and who the newcomers were,” Fiona replied. “A lot of holds lie empty and he’d be glad of the extra tithe.”

Zenor nodded understandingly. “As a miner, I’m used to tithing to the Hold.”

“There’s plenty of good land there,” K’rall said judiciously. “I’ve flown over it when . . .” He trailed off as he exchanged an understanding look with Fiona. He’d flown over it when the wherhold had been established. The thought of what his knowledge might mean for Zenor and the new holders both excited and alarmed her — was it right to tell them?

“I see more and more why timing it is dangerous,” K’rall said with a heavy sigh. He glanced at Zenor. “What we know about the future could help you or hinder you — and we’ve no way of determining which!”

“I prefer going into a tunnel that’s well-shored,” Zenor replied. “If I know what to expect, then I can make plans.”

“You can also come to grief expecting support where there is none,” Nuella added from behind him. They all turned to see that she and T’mar had arrived. She searched out Zenor and grabbed his hand, saying, “After I checked on Nuellask, I decided that I wasn’t too tired after all, and T’mar offered to bring me here.”

“K’rall is concerned about telling us too much of our future,” Zenor told her.

“I trust the dragonriders here,” Nuella said, emphasizing the word “here.” “They’ll tell us what we need to know.”

“So it’s up to us to decide, is it?” Fiona asked sourly. She heard K’rall’s and T’mar’s gasps at her tone but ignored them, turning to Zenor. “Ask what you want; I’ll tell you if I want.”

“Will we survive?”

“At least until my time you’ll not only survive, you’ll thrive,” Fiona told him. Oddly, she discovered that that revelation perked up her own spirits — probably it meant that their endeavor here at Igen Weyr would succeed.

“Will we have trouble with the holders?” Nuella asked.

“I don’t know,” Fiona said. “But if you do, you overcame — will overcome — them.”

“How many of the wherpeople join us?” Zenor asked.

“I don’t know,” Fiona admitted. She thought of saying more and decided that this question-and-answer session was best.

“Will I mine gold?” Zenor asked.

“I don’t know,” Fiona admitted. She’d only ever heard of all the gold jewelry he’d made, never of his actually mining it.

“Will we find gold?”

“Oh, yes!” Fiona agreed avidly. “Your wherhold will be known throughout Pern for it.”

“Can we ask more questions later?” Nuella said, tugging on Zenor’s arm. “I think we’ve heard enough for the moment.”

“Of course you can,” T’mar assented with an approving look toward Fiona. “Anytime.”

“Will the dragonriders support us?” Nuella asked as they started up the stairs, Zenor carefully bracing her.

“We will,” K’rall declared stoutly. T’mar and Fiona looked at him with surprise, so he explained, “There isn’t a rider here who doesn’t owe his life or his mate’s life to the efforts of the watch-whers. Why, when you fought that night — ”

“I think that’s more than they wanted, K’rall,” Fiona interrupted him calmly.

The bronze rider started in embarrassment and nodded his head. “I might have said too much.”

“No,” Nuella told him staunchly, “I think you said just the right amount.”

K’rall gave her a brisk nod of acknowledgment: the one reserved for equals among dragonriders. Zenor noticed and stiffened in response, afraid to ask further and glancing nervously toward Nuella.

Nuella laughed; she had caught enough of his emotions through the movements of his hands and the stiffness of his body. To Zenor she said apologetically, “It sounds like I’ll continue to give you worry, love.”

“I won’t complain,” Zenor vowed.

“Much,” Nuella corrected him with another laugh. Zenor joined in loudly.

“I think we should visit the Smithcrafthall tomorrow,” Fiona said as they entered her quarters. “While it’s light.”

T’mar groaned and Zenor looked at him questioningly. “The heat in daytime can be excruciating,” T’mar explained.

“I hear it gets better in winter,” Fiona said, not wanting them to be too alarmed.

“I like the heat,” Nuella said. “And you say you keep watch-wher hours? Work in the dark and sleep in the light? I can see how that would work.”

Zenor absorbed her remark with a thoughtful look, which was quickly replaced by one of excitement as he asked, “Do we know if Terregar or Silstra survived the Plague?”

“I don’t,” Nuella said.

“I don’t know who they are,” Fiona said with a shrug.

“I thought you were an expert on all things Kindan,” Nuella teased her. “She’s Kindan’s oldest sister.”

“I still remember their wedding,” Zenor said wistfully. “It was nighttime and Dask flew over holding a basket of glows, looking like a flying star.”

“A flying star,” Nuella repeated. “Something to think about for our wedding.”

“Our wedding?” Zenor echoed faintly, his face going white.

“I think it would be a good to have one before we have children, don’t you?” Nuella continued, enjoying the strangled noises that he made in response.

“Actually,” K’rall interposed uncomfortably, “you might want to reconsider weddings. At least with dragonriders, because of the mating flight, riders tend to partner impermanently.”

Zenor’s objection was a loud and immediate, “No!”

“No?” Nuella repeated.

“I mean, no, I am not going to accept anything less than a permanent pairing,” Zenor told her. “That is, if you want.”

“Are you proposing?” Nuella asked, her face blossoming with a glowing look.

“No.”

“What?” Nuella’s exclamation was both outraged and unyielding.

“I will propose,” Zenor said, temporizing, “but I want to do it at the right moment.”

“And when, ” Nuella asked coldly, “would that be?”

Zenor stopped and turned to grab Nuella by the shoulders. “When I have something worthy to offer you.”

“You are worthy,” Nuella assured him, gently removing his hands from her shoulders and gesturing for him to continue walking. “But if you must wait, don’t wait too long.”

“Certainly!” Zenor agreed emphatically. A moment later, however, when he was certain that Nuella wouldn’t notice, he shot an appealing glance to T’mar and K’rall, who responded with nods which affirmed that they would help him however they could. Zenor let out a sigh of relief, which he covered by feigning a yawn. “We should rest; we’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”