Dragonheart

SEVENTEEN

Igen Weyr, Late Evening, AL 498.9.8

“That’s the last of it,” K’rall reported as he and his wing of convalescents dispersed in the last of the evening light.

That wing, in the last three sevendays, had grown to thirty-one as more than two dozen riders and dragons had recovered from their injuries. There were only sixteen of the original forty-seven lightly injured dragonpairs remaining, and Fiona hoped to see at least half of them returning to duty in the next sevenday. That would still leave the thirty severely injured, who would need at least another four months to heal.

“Good,” she said, gesturing toward the Kitchen Cavern and the Weyrleader’s table. Terin and T’mar were already seated. They had finished eating before K’rall’s return and were engaged in what had become a routine meeting to handle the planning of the next day’s events. As she sat down and Terin pushed a pitcher of iced klah toward her, she added, “We’ve enough ice to trade when Azeez arrives in the morning, and enough to provide the wherhold.”

“We’ve two rooms full of ice, we should have enough,” Terin added, shaking her head. “Any more and the whole place will freeze.”

“Don’t say that,” K’rall said holding up a cautioning hand, “or you’ll have every rider in the Weyr demanding his own cooler.”

“Not if they want to eat, they won’t,” Terin said with a frown, turning toward the large cookpot simmering on the hearth.

“Has Zenor had much luck mining?” K’rall asked T’mar. K’rall had led the group that had flown the Smithcrafters and their gear to the newly established wherhold.

“They’ve been too busy settling in,” T’mar replied. “I doubt they’ll be able to start serious exploration for another month or more.”

“In the meantime, we’ve more mouths to feed than we’ve food,” Terin said grimly.

“I thought that holder Kedarill had pledged a herd to the wherhold,” K’rall said.

T’mar shook his head. “Kedarill was willing to let them herd as many head of cattle as they could find,” he explained. “Finding is the problem.”

At Fiona’s urging, Zenor had taken the lead in negotiating the establishment of the new wherhold with the holder of Plains Hold. Kedarill had greeted the proposal enthusiastically, and his enthusiasm had redoubled with Zenor’s revelation of gold and the Mastersmith’s support. Kedarill was certain, and T’mar agreed, that Ospenar, Keroon’s Lord Holder, would fully concur with his minor holder’s decision, especially after M’tal, the Weyrleader of Benden Weyr, had made an enthusiastic tour of the new wherhold.

The new wherhold was on land that looked to Benden Weyr under the new boundaries established after Igen was abandoned, and so M’tal’s approval made Ospenar’s acceptance all but foreordained.

In involving Benden’s Weyrleader, Fiona, Nuella, and T’mar had been careful not to mention the Igen dragons, while at the same time providing a plausible explanation for the future appearance of any dragon at the wherhold — that they were from Benden Weyr.

“We’ve loaned them some from our herd in the meantime,” Fiona said, sighing deeply at the memory of the twenty head of cattle that had been hauled off by dragon to the fresh pens at the wherhold.

“I thought your plan would keep us from this,” K’rall said, glaring at T’mar.

“We’ve enough for the next sevenday,” Fiona said in T’mar’s defense. “By then the wherhold should have found their own cattle, and maybe some gold with which to repay us.”

“We could cut back,” Terin suggested.

“It’s not the riders, it’s the dragons,” T’mar reminded her with a reluctant shake of his head. “If it weren’t for the dragons, we would have enough cattle to supply us easily.”

“A Weyr’s not much use without dragons,” Fiona muttered, wondering if perhaps her earlier castigating thoughts of the old Igen Weyrfolk were perhaps premature. She savored a mouthful of klah, hoping it would keep her awake.

“It’d be different if we had a proper tithe,” K’rall assured her.

“But then we’d be a proper Weyr with four times as many dragons,” Fiona replied. She made a face and concluded, “So I’m not sure if we’d be any better off.”

“Do you think that the holds could support the Weyr in a fair tithe?” T’mar asked K’rall speculatively.

The older dragonrider pursed his lips tightly. “No, I think that as they are they wouldn’t support a full Weyr.” He nodded toward Fiona as he added, “But if the Weyr were to trade, perhaps then.”

“So what if we were to scour the area for any more wild herdbeasts?” Fiona asked, sipping some more klah.

“I don’t know if that would work,” T’mar said.

“Maybe not if we looked just here, but what about across Pern?” K’rall suggested.

“I’d not want to rob anyone of their proper herd,” Fiona objected.

“Nor would we,” K’rall said. “We would look in the wild places, the sort of places we’ve found unclaimed cattle before.”

“We’re going to need more livestock as the injured recover and the weyrlings get old enough to fly,” T’mar said. “Even if we survive now, we’ll have too many mouths to feed later.”

“It seems a waste to leave good riders growing old when they’ll be needed in their prime when we return,” K’rall remarked dolefully.

T’mar motioned for him to continue and the old rider added, “Three Turns doing nothing more than practicing is at least two Turns, maybe even two and a half Turns, too many.”

“So why not send them back?” Fiona asked, her face brightening. “They won’t age, and they can eat in the future.”

“If we send them all back now, we’ll be too short-handed to look after the injured,” T’mar told her. “Besides, we’ll need some older, steadier riders to train the youngsters — drill them on recognition points, teach them to flame, and show them the tricks they’ve learned flying in formation.”

“But that doesn’t require a full wing for three Turns,” K’rall said. “I think Fiona may have part of our solution — send some of the able-bodied forward in time to meet us when the weyrlings are old enough to learn to fly in formation.” His eyes gleamed with excitement as he went on hurriedly, “That’d save on not just cattle but everything, and the riders would be better off, too. And you’d save on all the clothing and gear that you’d need in the meantime — you could use that extra for more trade.”

“How would you know when to arrive?” T’mar asked.

“We use the stars, like the traders trained us,” K’rall replied. “We’d come back a month before the end of the third Turn. If you weren’t ready then, we could train with you.”

“So you’re offering to lead the wing?” Fiona asked.

K’rall nodded curtly. “If we use this next sevenday to set things in order, we could leave at the end of it.”

“What if we find we need you?” T’mar asked.

K’rall shrugged. “Send someone forward to bring us back again.”

“What about when the others recover?” Fiona asked.

“N’jian can train with them, as I’ve trained with this lot, and then bring them forward,” K’rall said. He gave T’mar a broad smile as he caught the other’s surprise at the recommendation and nodded toward Fiona. “I know that sounds strange coming from me, but this Weyrwoman’s done a lot to broaden my horizons.” He pursed his lips tightly before admitting to T’mar, “And so have you.”

T’mar gave the older rider a grateful look. “I’m sure you would have done the same.”

“I’m not so sure,” K’rall said, shaking his head. Glancing frankly at Fiona, he added, “I’m afraid I might have decided that this one here was too young for such duties.”

“And perhaps I am,” Fiona said. Before K’rall could argue with her she continued, “We won’t really know until we return to our time, ready and able to fight Thread with four full wings.”

“She’s right,” T’mar said. “The test comes when we’re needed.”

“I just hope all this — this — ” He framed his head with his hands to indicate the muzzy-headedness that affected them all. “ — noise will go away when we get back.”

“I’ve been dealing with it since I Impressed,” Fiona said. “I’m sure you’ll handle it.”

“It’s got something to do with timing it, I’m certain,” K’rall said. “And that’s another good reason to take people forward as soon as they’re able — this strain puts everyone on edge; we’ll have fights if we’re not careful.”

“T’mar and I, and some of the other weyrlings, have managed without fighting,” Fiona said.

“But you prove my point,” K’rall told her. “You and T’mar and some of the weyrlings have been fighting this since before we came back in time and it’s cost you — you could have done so much more without the distraction.” He shook his head irritably, adding, “But that’s not my point. If it affects you so differently from most, there’s no telling if it won’t affect others even worse.”

“Well, we’ve had no fights yet,” T’mar said not quite refuting the older rider.

“We’ve been here just more than two months,” K’rall reminded him. “What will you be like three Turns from now?”

T’mar smiled and shook his head. “I suppose you’ll have to find out.”

“Of course,” Fiona said, “if you leave now, you’ll miss the wedding.” There was no need to specify which wedding: all the Weyr was talking about Zenor and Nuella.

“But he hasn’t even proposed yet!” K’rall exclaimed.

“He hasn’t made the ring yet, so he can’t propose,” Fiona said.

“He’s started practicing,” Terin said with a smile. “I heard from Arella that he’s been cursing nonstop since Stirger set up that solar forge.” With a shrug, she added, “Of course that might have been for the price he charged.”

The others smiled. Journeyman Stirger was a prickly, ill-tempered, opinionated, arrogant, and stubborn man, but he was honest enough to admit it. He was also quick to apologize and admit his mistakes. His apology to Fiona had almost had her forgive him, and had caused her to realize that she had some of her father’s tendencies to hold on to a grudge longer than sensible.

“Ah, but once Stirger thought up the idea, it was Zenor who figured how to mass produce them and market them,” Fiona said. “And with that he’s recouped Stirger’s price twice over.”

“And found himself rated apprentice to the Smithcraft,” T’mar remarked, remembering the dazed look of the young man when Mastersmith Veclan had sent down the package containing smith garb and badges.

“At least Terregar is there to keep order,” K’rall remarked. He had a grudging respect for red-haired, hot-tempered Zenor, but Terregar’s steadiness was more in keeping with K’rall’s temperament and though he had more than ten Turns on the smith, they had forged a bond of friendship.

“Terregar!” Fiona exclaimed with a snort. “It’s Silstra that runs the place.” She shook her head as she mused, “I’m surprised Veclan was willing to let her go; she was doing much the same at the Smith Hall.”

“Ah, but she’s a wise woman and she’d been training her replacement,” Terin said, with a touch of wistfulness. She’d spent some time helping Silstra. The older woman had been to the Weyr on Fiona’s invitation, and her sharp eyes missed nothing as she examined the Kitchen Cavern, the supply rooms, and the rest of the Weyr, she was both free with her praise and profuse with her advice. Terin glanced around the large Kitchen Cavern now as she added almost mournfully, “And she managed to get Sula from Mine Natalon to handle the hearth so as to let her concentrate on other holding matters.”

“And you watched her every move, memorized the best of them, and ever since have been hounding the weyrlings like a queen dragon about to mate,” K’rall said, wagging a finger at her while his eyes danced with humor.

“It’s only sensible,” Terin muttered not quite sure whether his words were meant as ridicule or praise.

“Which brings us back to cattle,” T’mar said.

“So it does,” K’rall agreed, lowering his hand back to his lap. He was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, there was sorrow in his voice. “While I’d hate to miss the wedding, I don’t think we can afford to wait.”

T’mar made a face but could offer no dissent. He lowered his head, resting his chin on an upraised hand, his elbow propped on the table in his favorite thinking position.

“It’ll mean more work for the older weyrlings,” Terin said.

“The younger ones won’t be ready to fly for at least another seven months,” K’rall observed.

“Six months, ten days, to be exact,” Fiona corrected with a wry grin. “We make the count every day just to be sure.”

K’rall smiled indulgently at her. “It’s been many, many, many Turns since Seyorth was a weyrling, and I still haven’t forgotten how we were always counting down the days.”

“How about this,” T’mar said, looking up at the others. “We stop by the wherhold tomorrow morning early, and if we can’t glean a definite date, we let K’rall and the others leave tomorrow evening.”

“We can be ready in a day,” K’rall agreed. “I certainly would hate to miss the wedding.”

They found Zenor no more ready to forge his gold wedding ring in the next sevenday than he had been in the sevenday before and so the next evening, reluctantly, K’rall and the other convalescent riders readied themselves for the jump forward in time.

Fiona made a special effort throughout the day to say something in parting to each rider and every dragon that was going forward, while attending to her other duties. Even so, when the thirty-one dragons and riders gathered at dusk in the Weyr Bowl, she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as though she were saying good-bye forever.

“When we meet again, Weyrwoman, you’ll be flying between, a true dragonrider,” K’rall said, his eyes gleaming with pride.

Fiona nodded, not trusting her voice. K’rall eyed her for a moment and then grabbed her into a great big hug. Almost as quickly he released her again, seeming abashed at his actions. Fiona leaned forward and up to kiss him on the cheek. “Fly well, K’rall!”

T’mar stepped over to K’rall, repeating the instructions for a final time: “Come between on the night of the first day of the third month in the Turn — ”

“Five hundred and one after Landing,” K’rall finished for him. He gave T’mar a tight nod. “We’ll meet you then.” He turned to Terin, who huddled unobtrusively behind Fiona. “When we meet again, you’ll be as old as the Weyrwoman is now!”

Terin nodded, her eyes gone wide at the thought. K’rall gave her a moment more to speak and, when she remained mute, shook his head. “Can I hope we’ll get a welcome feast?”

“Of course!” Terin said, suddenly bubbling with words. “I’ll cook your favorite meals, and we’ll have ices and — ”

“Glad to hear it, lass.” K’rall cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I’ll leave it for you to surprise us.”

With a final nod to T’mar and Fiona, the older rider clambered up his dragon’s foreleg and settled himself into his riding straps, tightening them with exaggerated motions to make certain that Fiona knew he was being careful.

“Wouldn’t want to fall off in a jump of three Turns,” he called down.

“Fly safe, dragonrider!” Fiona returned, stepping away from Seyorth, her hand grabbing Terin’s and guiding her back.

In the dim light, Fiona barely made out K’rall’s hand gesture signaling the wing aloft. And then the rustle of thirty-one pairs of wings blew loose sand through the still-hot evening air as the dragons rose into the night sky, climbing heavily and circling over toward the Star Stones.

For a moment, Fiona could almost make them out, a blur of wings and motion, and then they were gone between — and Turns ahead.

Fiona and the younger weyrlings found themselves busier in the days after K’rall and the other convalescents went forward in time, surprised at the return of all the work that they’d gladly shared.

For herself, Fiona was happy to be forced to spend more time at the Weyr and leave the issues of the wherhold to T’mar and the older weyrlings. Still, the Weyr felt emptier, particularly with the thinned numbers at mealtimes.

To make up for it, she began encouraging P’der, K’lior’s wingsecond, and N’jian, the last remaining injured wingleader, to join her at the Weyrwoman’s table.

“It’s part of your therapy,” she told each of them in turn as she slowly ground down their resistance. She made it easier by moving them into lower level weyrs vacated by the departed dragon riders — she moved everyone lower to fill in the empty weyrs. “A change will do you good. And besides, the air is colder lower down.”

By the end of their third month in the past, the worst of the injured dragons were ready to start limited activities, and early mornings and late evenings were filled with the sorry sounds of dragons as they painfully learned to move regrown muscles.

“Start by having them just walk from one end of the Bowl to the other,” T’mar said when Fiona asked for therapy suggestions. “Then, when they can do that without too much pain, have them glide off the queen’s ledge.”

“We’ll have to schedule that carefully,” Fiona said thoughtfully. “We don’t want the sun up, but we want to give the weyrlings a chance for their glide and some breakfast.”

“I’m sure you’ll have no trouble with that.”

Fiona’s look made it plain that she thought it was easier said than done. However, when T’mar made to comment, she raised her hand up angrily, forestalling him. “I’ll manage.”

Her solution was very popular: With the consent of the riders, she arranged for the younger weyrlings to “assist” them in exercising their dragons, including some of the more tedious warming-up exercises and culminating in the glide off Talenth’s ledge.

I like having everyone around me, Talenth said when Fiona wondered whether it was too much for the young dragon. Anyway, I’m their queen.

Fiona laughed at that, but not without a nagging thought crossing her mind: How would Talenth react on her return to Fort Weyr and her position as a lesser queen? Come to think of it, Fiona realized that she wasn’t sure how wellshe’d manage adjusting to a secondary role. She shrugged off the thought as F’jian and one of the recovering greens made a particularly long glide; the problem was Turns ahead.

The hot summer that had so alternately impressed and dismayed the dragonriders turned colder, and finally, as the four hundred and ninety-eighth Turn since men first settled on Pern neared its end, the weather turned bitter and frigid.

“Is there any chance of getting more heat up here?” F’dan asked petulantly one morning as Fiona completed her inspection of his wounds.

“No,” Fiona told him bluntly. “You’re fully recovered. If you want to be warm, then get off your arse and hike on down to the Kitchen Cavern — the exercise will do you good.”

F’dan snorted at her tone and her choice of words. His had been a hard recovery, and he had learned early on in his physical therapy that Fiona had heard enough swearing from her father’s guards that he could only rarely cause her to blush. She had responded by teasing him about it, using his own words against him.

“I’d be happier back at the Weyr,” he said wistfully.

“Talk to T’mar, then,” Fiona said. “If he thinks you’re ready to go, he’ll probably send all the older riders off into the future.”

“Not before the wedding, I hope!” F’dan said, looking shocked. “Not with all the practice we’ve had!”

The wedding was one of the constant topics of conversation at the Weyr ever since Fiona had first broached her wild idea to T’mar and P’der.

“I think we should do something special for Nuella and Zenor on their wedding,” Fiona had said, unaware that her eyes were gleaming in a way that telegraphed to any who knew her that she had a plan already set in her mind. T’mar and P’der exchanged glances: They knew.

“And what would that plan be, my lady?” P’der asked, carefully keeping his expression neutral.

“Well, do you remember Silstra’s wedding?” Fiona asked.

“I believe I’ve heard of it before,” P’der had said, his eyes dancing. Fiona flashed him a quelling look that did little to dampen his humor. Well, perhaps she and Terin had rather gone on about stories they’d heard about the wedding, but even Silstra, normally quite reserved, had reminisced fondly about the late-night wedding, and the way it had been illuminated by a basket of glows carried by Dask, her late father’s watch-wher.

“Good,” Fiona said tartly in response to his teasing tone. “Then perhaps you’ll see why I think having the whole Weyr illuminate the procession would be a fitting tribute — ”

“Fiona, that’s excellent!” T’mar had declared, his face beaming.

“She doesn’t know what she’ll be doing ten Turns from now, but we do — an excellent tribute!” P’der had concurred.

The plan, Fiona was pleased to recall, had been enthusiastically adopted by every dragon and rider in the Weyr. Glow swamps had been raided, and glow balls large enough for a dragon to hold in forelegs had been shaped from the nearby river clay; practice had become a new drill involving ever more complex maneuvers and routines until the nights were a-gleam with swirling patterns that kept all enraptured.

“I wish we’d thought of this in our time,” T’mar had said as he and Fiona watched the entire flying Weyr perform an intricate maneuver involving formations of red, blue, and green glows. He had purposely excluded himself from the drill, guessing that he would have duties at the wedding which would keep him earthbound.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Fiona had asked by way of agreement.

“Not just that,” T’mar replied, shaking his head, “but we can adapt it to fighting tactics, as well — and see where we’ve got gaps in our wings.”

“We could aid the dragons in night flights, too,” P’der added. “I’m sure the glows don’t bother the watch-whers.”

“That’s something I hadn’t considered,” T’mar admitted appreciatively. He nodded toward the final formation as it flew overhead. “We’ll have to remember this.”

“It’d be hard to forget,” P’der had replied.

“And do we have any idea when the wedding will take place?” F’dan now asked.

Fiona shook her head with a grimace. “I’m not sure that Zenor has asked.”

“But I thought he’d finished his ring a fortnight back!” F’dan exclaimed.

“He did,” Fiona said, smiling. “Of course, he’d melted down three perfectly good attempts before deciding on this one, so . . .”

“Weyrwoman,” F’dan told her seriously. “I would take it as a personal favor if you would sit down with the young man and impel him forward in his quest.”

“So that we can have the festivities before you leave?” Fiona asked, smiling.

“But of course,” F’dan replied. “After all, we blues are known for our conviviality!”

“Are you offering me a ride?” Fiona asked teasingly. F’dan had complained of aches and pains nearly every time he’d ridden his Ridorth — except when practicing with the glows.

“Do you know, Weyrwoman, I believe I am,” F’dan said, rising from his seat and bowing courteously to her. “It would be our honor — Ridorth’s and mine — to escort you on this quest.”

“I’ll have to check with — ” Fiona began, meaning to say that she would have to check with T’mar, but she cut herself off. After all, wasn’t she the Weyrwoman here? True, it was only by dint of her being the only queen rider at Igen Weyr but, really, after all these more than six months at the Weyr, wasn’t she entitled to the perks of the title as well as the duties?

She checked herself and her impulse. She was Weyrwoman, and she’d spent the last six months learning the role — both here and back at Fort. There was a reason to check with T’mar.

“I’ll check with T’mar first,” Fiona said. “I’d hate to foul any plan he might have made already.”

“Of course,” F’dan agreed, walking toward her and offering an arm. “Shall we go down together?”

“Certainly,” she said, taking the proffered arm and smiling. She knew that his offer of an arm was more for his benefit than hers; by the time they’d reached the level of the Bowl, she didn’t doubt that she’d been holding him up and not the other way around.

T’mar was not in the Kitchen Cavern when they arrived.

“I’ll just sit over here,” F’dan said, pulling a seat near the large hearth.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Fiona warned him. Talenth, where’s T’mar?

Inspecting the weyrling barracks.

“Come on, he’s with the weyrlings,” Fiona told F’dan, cocking her head toward the Bowl.

F’dan made a great effort out of getting up from his chair, but Fiona glared at him, arms crossed, not buying the act for a moment. He’d recovered enough that he could rise from a chair unaided — it was only walking long distances that taxed his strength.

“Better,” she murmured archly as he caught up with her. The blue rider shrugged unrepentantly.

They found T’mar, J’keran, and J’gerd inspecting the weyrling quarters. T’mar made a great show of dismay at the merest speck of dust or the slightest error of placement.

“Attention to detail,” he said, shaking his head at the collected riders. “If you are not constantly alert, you risk getting yourself Threaded — or, worse, getting your dragon Threaded.”

“He’s right, by the egg of Faranth,” F’dan added urgently. “If I had been just a moment more attentive, I would have spotted the clump that got me.”

“Every rider makes mistakes,” T’mar said with a wave toward F’dan. “With a six-hour Fall, it can happen at any moment. The better practiced you are at keeping your eyes open, on insisting on following every ballad and instruction, the better chance you have of surviving even the worst encounter.”

“We were lucky to get between so quickly,” F’dan agreed.

“May we have a word, wingleader?” Fiona asked. T’mar glanced at her, then said to J’keran, “Will five minutes be enough?”

“Certainly, wingleader,” J’keran said promptly.

T’mar turned to Fiona and F’dan, raising his hands invitingly.

“F’dan suggested that perhaps we should see if Zenor needs some help,” Fiona said.

“With?”

“Proposing!” F’dan exclaimed. “Before we all expire from old age.”

T’mar’s eyes twinkled, and his lips curved upward as he asked Fiona, “And you are qualified in this matter, how?”

It was a good question, but Fiona was only willing to admit that to herself. “I’m the Weyrwoman around here and have a certain weight at the wherhold.”

T’mar grinned, shaking his head. “So you are proposing to frighten him into marriage?” He shook his head. “It seems to me that fear is his current problem. I can’t see that increasing it will help any.”

“But we’ll have to go back soon, and if he doesn’t propose we’ll miss the wedding!” F’dan objected.

“So you two hatched this scheme just so the Weyr could show off night flying?” T’mar asked sardonically.

“Well . . . yes,” Fiona agreed. “It would be a shame to have the older riders leave without seeing the fruits of their labors.”

“I would think that recovering from their injuries and returning to fight Thread would constitute the fruits of their labors,” T’mar said, his voice taking on an edge.

“T’mar!” Fiona said, her tone just short of a whine. “This is our chance to honor Nuella and set a proper example, to show that the Weyrs can work with watch-whers. It’s not just fun.”

T’mar looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then ran a hand wearily through his hair. “I suppose if I said no, you’d just go anyway.”

“No,” Fiona told him, shaking her head emphatically. “I’d want to know why, and if I thought your reasons were totally unacceptable, then I might go.” She blew out a breath before adding, “But I expect that any reasons you have would make sense and I wouldn’t go just out of spite.”

T’mar gave her a frank look of gratitude.

“Was F’dan here your last convalescent for the morning?” he asked finally.

“For the day,” Fiona corrected. “And he’s fit enough that I’ve accused him of shirking. That’s partly why we thought to fly to the wherhold.”

“The watch-whers will be sleeping soon, if not already,” T’mar remarked.

“All the better to see Zenor without their knowing,” Fiona replied, her lips curving upward impishly.

T’mar chuckled, shaking his head.

“Very well, if you’re set on this,” T’mar told her. “Go now, before the others find out and we have an impromptu performance.”

Fiona smiled back gratefully, turning and dragging F’dan by the arm before the wingleader could change his mind.

“But you know,” T’mar called over his shoulder, forcing them to halt and turn around, “as F’dan hasn’t been there yet, he’ll have to fly the whole way.”

Fiona’s smile broadened, as she said, “Of course! All part of my plan, wingleader.”

Beside her, F’dan groaned.

“This will teach you to stint on your therapy,” Fiona told him unsympathetically.

“It’s not that much farther,” Fiona said to F’dan as he groaned once more.

“I’d forgotten what it’s like to ride for hours!” the blue rider moaned. “I’m sore in places that haven’t been sore in Turns.”

“Nothing a good brisk walk on the ground and a warm bath later won’t cure,” Fiona assured him gruffly, glad to have someone else’s pain to distract her from her own: This was the longest she’d ever flown a-dragonback, and while F’dan might not have been sore in places in Turns, Fiona was certain that she’d grown new muscles just for the occasion that had the express purpose of becoming painfully sore.

She leaned back against him to peer up and out over the right side of Ridorth’s neck.

“There!” she called, pointing with her right hand, her left tightening its grip on the arm F’dan had wrapped protectively about her waist. “See those foothills?”

In response, Ridorth began a turn and a steady descent toward the ground. Moments later they landed and Fiona quickly unsnapped her straps, threw her leg over Ridorth’s neck, and slid quickly down to the ground below, landing with knees flexed.

“Don’t try that fool stunt again, Weyrwoman!” F’dan shouted at her as he climbed down the approved way, using Ridorth’s foreleg. “I’ll not be tending you if you break your legs!”

“Sorry,” Fiona mumbled, her cheeks hot.

“Can you imagine what they’d say at the Weyr if I returned you injured?”

His tone was bantering now, but Fiona had no illusions that his first angry reaction was the most honest.

“I was stupid.”

“Not stupid, just foolish,” F’dan corrected her, stepping around to her side. “And perhaps a bit young, still.”

Fiona cocked her head up at him: The blue rider wasn’t tall by most standards, but he still stood a head higher than her.

“You forget that, don’t you?” F’dan said. Her look answered him and he continued sagely, “You know, you’ve the whole Weyr on your shoulders only if you won’t ask for help.” He stepped behind her, quickly resting his hands on her shoulders. “And while there’s no one who doubts your courage, you’ve not cause to bear such a weight.”

“Cisca does.”

“Weyrwoman Cisca relies on the help of others and admits her mistakes,” F’dan said as he returned to his place by her side. He leaned down to wag a finger in her face, saying kindly, “Which is not to say that you don’t have the same qualities, Weyrwoman. Just to say that you shouldn’t forget your friends.”

Fiona gave him a questioning look but found herself afraid to speak.

“Bold as I am, I count myself among them,” F’dan added. He looked ahead — giving Fiona time to wipe her suddenly teary eyes — and scanned their surroundings critically. Then he looked back down to her, raising his eyebrows. “Where to, my lady?”

Fiona glanced around. North of the river she made out the outlines of a large stone shed with a sloped roof and long overhang; her guess that it was a barn was reinforced when she noted the thin line of a stone fence adjoining it. Closer, by the river, there was a long, low building, again in proper stone and with the requisite roofing. The building looked odd and she squinted at it. The roof overhung the river and —

“There!” Fiona declared, setting off toward the knot of men working beside the building.

Shortly her hunch was rewarded when she caught sight of a red-haired man in the group.

“What are they doing?” F’dan murmured as they got close enough to make out the details.

“I think they’re setting up a waterwheel,” Fiona said, watching a group of men struggle with hoists and tackle.

Their presence wasn’t noted by the workers. Fiona, with a smile, indicated to F’dan that they should remain quiet, watching the work. It took the toiling men and women a good quarter of an hour to get the wheel mounted and seated on the stone shaft, and then they all stood back appreciatively as the water rolled off the plume to start the wheel turning, at which point there was a quiet cheer. A handsome bearded man with just a hint of gray in his beard stood away from the group and called, “Well done, lads! Now we can get to the real work.”

He was met by a chorus of good-natured groans.

“Finding the gold, that is,” he explained.

“That’s Terregar,” Fiona told F’dan.

“That’s Terregar?” F’dan asked, eyeing the other man with renewed interest. “His work in gold and jewels is — ”

“Just starting now,” Fiona reminded him abruptly.

“So this is a good time to set him a commission, isn’t it?” F’dan asked with a grin.

“Probably,” Fiona agreed. “Have you anything in mind?”

“A ring, I should think,” F’dan said, glancing down at his barren fingers meditatively. He looked over to her, adding, “You might consider it, too.”

“The way you lot fly, it’d only get dirty with blood or ichor,” Fiona exclaimed.

“You never know when a pair might come in useful,” F’dan replied judiciously.

Fiona jerked her head toward the group and started forward, calling back to F’dan, “Come on, while they’re still on break.” To the group she called, “Zenor!”

The red-haired lad cocked his eyes toward the sound and his face broke into a smile as he identified her.

“Weyrwoman!” he called back. “You’re just in time!” He gestured to the waterwheel, now turning at a steady pace. “Did you see?”

“We got here just as you were mounting it,” Fiona told him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Terregar point out a new task to the rest of the workers and then detach himself in their direction. “

We’re a bit busy,” Terregar called as he approached, his glance falling to Zenor.

Zenor glanced reprovingly at the older man’s brusqueness, then turned to Fiona. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“We were wondering about rings,” F’dan said, essaying a grin toward Terregar.

“Actually, we were wondering about one in particular and its current disposition,” Fiona said, having noted the flash of Terregar’s eyes at F’dan’s words. She glanced toward the smith. “Although if you were looking for commissions, I’m sure we could arrange a fair trade.”

Terregar’s angry look faded. He glanced down to the ground, abashed. “I’m not used to fair dealings with dragonriders,” he said, glancing up again. “I’m sorry.”

“As are we,” Fiona replied. “Although once we are fighting Thread, we won’t have time for fair trade.”

“I don’t know,” Zenor objected, “I think the sweat of your brow, the blood of your bone, the ichor of your dragons, the risk of your lives or worse, is hard to price.”

Fiona smiled at him. “I suppose there is that.”

Terregar eyed Zenor thoughtfully, clearly reassessing his own beliefs.

“You could be a harper,” F’dan declared appreciatively.

A sound from above, more felt than heard, heralded the arrival of a dragon from between. Fiona glanced up in surprise; it was a bronze.

“That’s not one of ours,” F’dan declared, eyeing the landing dragon carefully.

“We’re not supposed to be here,” Fiona yelped, looking to Zenor and Terregar for aid. “They can’t know we’re from the future!”

“Here,” Terregar said, shucking off his tunic and throwing it toward Fiona. “Put this on and go to the others.”

“You can’t hide me,” F’dan said as the others turned to him. “My blue is yonder.”

“Just be who you are, only from this time,” Fiona called as she strode off quickly to join the work group.

“I was much younger then!” F’dan called back.

Fiona shrugged and then turned her attention to her new role as smith worker.

“There’s a strange bronze landing,” she explained before the other workers could finish their greeting. “I need to blend in; they can’t know we’re here from the future.”

“Weyrleader D’gan would have a fit,” one of them said in agreement. He glanced at Fiona assessingly. “Ever panned for gold?”

Fiona shook her head, grinning from ear to ear.

“We’ll set you up, then,” the man said, reaching for a pan and tossing it to her. “I’m Klinos, that’s Jenur, Aveln, Torler, and that,” he finished, gesturing to the youngest of the group, a lad of about ten, “is my son, Finlar.”

“Mine, too,” Jenur put in with a growl. She was the only woman in the group and clearly used to Klinos’s ways. “Or did you forget that you had help?”

“You’re always a help, love,” Klinos said obtusely. “Finlar, this is the Weyrwoman, only we want to keep that a secret from the other dragonmen.”

The youngster grinned up at Fiona. This was a challenge that he was sure to revel in.

“He’ll show you the way of it,” Klinos said, nodding affectionately toward Finlar.

“Come on Weyrwo — ”

“Fiona will do.”

Finlar’s eyes got as wide as the mining pan in his hands. In a hushed voice he said, “Fiona.”

Behind, the others laughed.

“Go on with you, teach her right!” Jenur called after them. “Be sure she finds some good nuggets.”

“Most of ’em have already been found,” Finlar complained.

“Let’s do what we can,” Fiona suggested.

Finlar led her down to the river bank and stood for a moment, eyeing it critically.

“Do you mind getting wet?” he asked and, when she shrugged, started out straight into the river. He glanced back when he noticed that she hadn’t followed and called, “It’s okay, it’s pretty flat here. No big holes.”

Reluctantly, Fiona followed, wondering if perhaps they weren’t making more of a spectacle of themselves than prudence suggested. The water quickly rose to her knees and then to her waist.

“It’s cold!”

“Nah, just chilly,” Finlar corrected. “You get used to it quickly.”

He peered around and started trudging farther upstream and more toward the far bank. Fiona followed him, wondering if she shouldn’t be reining him back. As if reading her thoughts, he peered back over his shoulder and said, “It’s okay, I know what I’m doing.” After a moment he added, “Besides, if I didn’t, me ma would skin me alive.”

Fiona grinned.

“Okay, now lean down, get a good mix of bottom and water,” Finlar told her, matching his actions to his words, “and then stand back up, swirling the water around to spill the dirt out.” He began a swirling motion with his arms and allowed the dirtier water to spill over the edges. “If you’re lucky, when you’re done, you’ll find a nugget. If not, you’ll find gold dust, little flecks of the stuff.” With pride he added, “You always find gold flecks.”

Fiona repeated Finlar’s steps twice before she felt she had a good grasp of the mechanics. Her first pan revealed only small flecks of gold.

“Throw it back, you’ll get better,” Finlar said as he inspected her pan.

“But . . . it’s gold!”

“The mill’s for those small flecks,” Finlar told her dismissively. “That’s why we’re building it.”

Seeing her continued reluctance, he leaned over and used his pan to force hers back into the water, spilling the contents. “Trust me, you’ll find better!”

Fiona sighed but dutifully scooped up another pan. It didn’t seem right to her so she dumped it, moved another step closer to the shore, and tried again.

“That’s it,” Finlar said encouragingly. “Use your senses.” His dropped his voice. “Sometimes I think we can feel the gold.”

Maybe they could at that, Fiona thought as she lifted up the refilled pan: This one felt right. Moments later she was jumping up and down squealing, “Look, gold! I found gold!”

“Shh, you’re supposed to be blending in,” Finlar hissed at her desperately, glancing back to the far shore. What he saw made him groan. “Oh, no! Now we’re for it.”

Fiona was so thrilled with the sight of the two nuggets in her hand, each just about the size of the fingertip of her smallest finger, that it was moments before Finlar’s panic registered.

“They’re waving us over!” Finlar cried in despair.

“I found gold!” Fiona exclaimed, still oblivious to the danger.

“You’re supposed to act like you’ve been doing it for the past half Turn,” Finlar growled at her.

“Look,” Fiona said eagerly, extending her pan to him. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

“They?” Finlar repeated, his brows furrowing as he bent closer. “You found two?”

“Right there,” Fiona said, ducking her chin toward their location in her pan. She glanced up at him, grinning broadly. “Aren’t they pretty?”

“Most of the times we don’t find two,” Finlar said with awe in his voice. He turned toward the far bank and waved. “Come on, we’ll show them!”

Fiona walked carefully over, keeping her attention divided between her pan and the placement of her feet: There was a lot of gold dust in the pan, too, and she didn’t want to lose any of it.

Finlar reached down and grabbed her arm to help her up the bank, where waiting hands reached down to hoist her up.

At the top, Fiona found herself looking into the amber eyes of a tall, middle-aged man with speckles of gray in his otherwise warm brown hair. He was a dragonrider not just by his garb but by his bearing. She raised her head to greet him, but a nudge from Finlar reminded her of her secret and she dropped her eyes again.

“You’re always being so bold,” Finlar chided her. “You’ll shame the hold the way you go on.” To the dragonrider, he said, “Please forgive her, my lord.”

The muted sound of laughter in the distance told Fiona that F’dan could only just contain his mirth at her position.

“My lord,” Fiona said, bowing in a low curtsy, keeping her pan steady in one hand. “Please forgive me: I was overexcited and too bold.”

“Nonsense,” the dragonrider assured her, his eyes dancing. “You had every right.” He gestured to the pan. “May I see?”

She relinquished it to him, feeling for a moment once more like a holder and wondering if she’d lose her treasure to this man. She tamped hard on her pride and could feel, in the distance, F’dan’s mixed emotions of approval and humorous appreciation.

“As you can see, Lord M’tal,” Terregar spoke from his side, as the dragonrider poked his finger to nudge the two visible nuggets, “we’ve had a lucky find.”

M’tal! Fiona cringed inwardly. Benden’s Weyrleader himself. She’d seen the man before, of course, but he was younger now than the last time she’d laid eyes on him.

“And set up a new crafthall?” M’tal asked, looking toward Terregar.

“And the wherhold,” Zenor added stoutly.

“It was about the wherhold — and Nuella — that I came,” M’tal replied. He pushed the pan back toward Fiona, telling her, “Well, I’m sure your master will be pleased with your work this day.”

Fiona glanced toward Terregar, who gave her a look suffused with dread and wonder, and then she piped up, “If you please, my lord, I’d take it as a great favor if you’d accept these pieces for Journeyman Kindan.”

“Kindan?”

Fiona dropped another curtsy and pressed the pan back into M’tal’s hands. “We’ve all heard his songs and the ballads about how he helped in the Plague,” she said. “It seems only right — to me, at least.”

M’tal cocked his head, glancing toward Terregar and Zenor approvingly. “You teach your crafters well.”

“We haven’t a harper of our own yet, but we do what we can,” Zenor responded, carefully avoiding any glances in Fiona’s direction. Fiona noted that Terregar was eyeing her with renewed interest, clearly reevaluating her.

“Journeyman Kindan is famous throughout Pern,” Fiona said. “It seems only right, if it’s not too much to ask.”

“It’s not,” M’tal said, picking the two nuggets out of the pan and returning it to her. “And I thank you for the notion.”

Zenor eyed the two pieces carefully, saying, “If my lord would, I believe I could fashion those into a ring or small pins.”

“A harp, perhaps?” M’tal asked.

Zenor paused for a long moment, consideringly. It was Terregar who spoke up, “A harp it shall be, my lord.” To Zenor he said, “Any lack we’ll make up from other pannings.”

“A gift from the Wherhold for Kindan’s gift of his watch-wher to our lady Nuella,” Fiona declared grandly. Finlar’s gasp at her side alerted her to her mistake: Her wording was too grand for a mere crafter girl.

“Well spoken,” M’tal said as he passed the nuggets over to Zenor. “Very well spoken for one without a harper.”

“We’re a mixed lot,” Terregar told him quickly. “Some from the Smith hall, some from outlying holds and crafts nearby.”

“Mmm,” M’tal murmured. He glanced at Fiona. “And who should I name to Journeyman Kindan as his benefactor?”

“Fi — ” Fiona began but broke off even before she felt Finlar cringing beside her. “Please just call it a gift from the crafters and holders of the wherhold, my lord.”

Terregar glanced at her in surprise mixed with admiration. Zenor gave her a knowing nod; he’d formed his opinion of her back at Mine Natalon.

M’tal turned back to Zenor. “As I was saying,” he began, “my visit here was more to coordinate with Nuella and the wherfolk than to admire your gold.”

There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere as the crafters absorbed his words.

Zenor gave him an expectant look.

“Do you recall how Nuella visited all the holds, Turns back before she bonded with Nuelsk?”

Zenor nodded. “Indeed I do, my lord,” he replied. “However, if you are here to ask that of her again, I should inform you that she’s just recently bonded with a gold — ”

“Has she, by the First Egg!” M’tal exclaimed, his face breaking into a huge grin. “I’d heard about the accident at the mine, of course, but I hadn’t hoped — ” He cut himself off, motioning courteously to Zenor. “Please continue.”

Zenor cast a nervous glance toward Fiona: What should he say? Fiona thought quickly, passing her pan to Finlar, who grasped it in surprise. “I could go see if she’s awake, sir,” she suggested quickly to Zenor.

“Yes, do that,” Zenor said gratefully, glancing back to the Weyrleader. “Perhaps we should wait for Nuella.”

“Perhaps,” M’tal said, glancing toward Finlar and the two pans, “I could try my luck in the river?”

As Fiona sped away she suppressed a giggle at the sight of Benden’s Weyrleader drenched up to his hips as he happily panned for gold. It was only when she was halfway to nowhere that she realized she wasn’t exactly sure where to find Nuella.

She scanned around nervously, then settled on the hills. She was certain that Zenor and Terregar would have quarried their stone from the hills, excavating quarters for the watch-whers at the same time as providing housing for the crafters.

Quickly she discovered that she’d made the right choice. She paused as the dark archway cut into the side of the hill came into view: the craftwork was perfect, the stones laid dry to form a tall archway that was properly recessed the regulation dragonlength into the hill, with room clearly set for two large steel doors, one set behind the other to provide double protection against Thread. She thought she could feel both Zenor’s mining craft and Terregar’s smith craft at work in its formation — a proper blend for Nuella’s queen.

Again Fiona found herself admonishing herself to remember that Nuella had not yet made her amazing night flight. The adoration of the Fort riders for the watch-whers was something that had already subtly disturbed the wherhandlers, unused as they were to anything but derision from dragonriders.

Glows lit the way inside, and Fiona turned to the sound of voices and the smells of cooking.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” a woman’s voice demanded brusquely from the nearest hearth. “You’re soaking. Why aren’t you out in the sun, drying off?”

Fiona’s heart leapt as she took in the flour-smudged face, the stern look and the amazing smells arising all around her. This slim person was clearly of the same mold as her beloved Neesa, the head cook at Fort Hold since before Fiona was born.

“You must be Sula,” Fiona said, recalling Zenor’s glee at arranging to bring her with them from Mine Natalon.

“Of course I am. Now get out of here,” Sula responded sharply. “Don’t think to nab a dainty on your way out, either!” To herself she began muttering, “I work all day and all night and these kids just gobble it up without a word of thanks.”

“If you’ve dainties, you might want to send them down to the river,” Fiona said over Sula’s mutterings. The cook glanced at her sharply, and Fiona explained, “Weyrleader M’tal is here, looking for Nuella.”

Sula clasped flour-whitened hands to her cheeks, adding to the smudges already there, as she exclaimed, “Why didn’t you say so immediately!” She began bustling about the kitchen, twice as busy as she’d been before. “Oh, my!” She raised her voice to a bellow. “Silstra! Silstra, get over here, we’ve got company!”

She glanced again at Fiona. “Well, what are you still doing here? You’ve delivered your message, you — ”

Silstra bustled into the room, her face set to scold whoever had caused her to be disturbed. She stopped the moment she caught sight of Fiona and dropped a curtsy. “Weyrwoman, what are you doing here?”

“Actually, I was here to get Zenor to propose,” Fiona admitted, “but Weyrleader M’tal has dropped in and wants a word with Nuella.”

“Did he recognize you?” Silstra asked, her expression going anxious.

“No,” Fiona replied. “They sent me into the river to pan and I found some nuggets and — ” She cut herself short. “He thinks I’m a crafter or holder, and I’ve been sent to get Nuella before M’tal starts asking questions that Zenor and Terregar can’t handle.”

Silstra snorted. “Then you’d best be quick — neither of them are good at lying.”

Sula, who had been staring bug-eyed at Fiona ever since Silstra had identified her, finally found breath enough to gasp, “My lady, I’m so sorry! I didn’t — ”

Fiona stopped her with a raised hand and a grin. “You reminded me of our cook back at the Hold. It felt like being home.”

“Shards!” Sula exclaimed, shaking her head in dismay. “That a cook would talk so to a Lady Holder!”

“If she hadn’t, I’d be the size of a barge,” Fiona replied, still grinning. “I was always stealing from the kitchen.”

“I had you marked for a rascal,” Silstra murmured approvingly. Sula gasped in surprise. “You couldn’t manage your Weyr at this age if you hadn’t been a hellion as a child.”

“I only hunted tunnel snakes,” Fiona said in her defense.

“Exactly!” Silstra said. She turned to Sula. “But the Weyrwoman’s right about your dainties. Do be a gem and set out a platter that I can bring down.”

“And some iced klah, ” Sula said in agreement, nodding toward Fiona. “We’re so glad that you weyrfolk brought us that.”

“It’s the only way to survive in the heat,” Fiona said. “But I think you’d best send down warm klah, as it’s really chilly out and, also, we don’t want to have to explain the ice.”

“Oh!” Sula exclaimed, smudging yet more flour onto her cheeks with her hands. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I’ll lead you to Nuellask’s weyr,” Silstra said, turning so quickly that Fiona had to scurry to follow her. On the way, Silstra said over her shoulder, “I’m glad you’re here; I’ve about run out of things to say to Zenor.” She shook her head, adding fondly, “The lad’s afraid he’s not good enough for her.”

Fiona thought briefly of Kindan, wondering if he felt the same, and then realized that her previous mention of him and her meeting now with his oldest sister brought a pang of longing and familiarity to her heart.

“It seems to me that he loves her,” Fiona replied. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Sometimes,” Silstra said. “I think he’s afraid that she’ll say no, fearing that she’ll end up having to choose between him or her queen.”

“She won’t,” Fiona declared. “At least, she hadn’t in my time.”

“Don’t tell her that,” Silstra cautioned. “I can see how right you are to keep the future clouded. If she knew what she did, she’d feel trapped and without choice.”

“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “That’s one reason.”

Silstra paused outside a darkened archway. “Nuellask is in there.”

Talenth? Fiona called. I’m here at the wherhold. Could you ask Nuellask if I can come in?

A moment later a curious chirp echoed in the corridor.

“She doesn’t usually do that,” Silstra muttered, surprised.

“I asked Talenth to speak with her,” Fiona explained.

“Who’s there?” Nuella called groggily from the entrance.

“It’s Silstra,” Silstra replied. “Weyrwoman Fiona is here with me.”

“M’tal’s down by the river,” Fiona added. “He’s asking questions.”

“M’tal?” Nuella repeated, her voice perking up. “I dreamed about him.”

“Should I have him come to you here?” Fiona asked. She added, “He doesn’t know about me — he thinks I’m a crafter.”

“Well, he’s right on that,” Nuella said, her voice approaching them. A moment later she stepped out, one hand outstretched. “Nuellask is sleepy; we can leave her here,” she said as she reached her hand toward Fiona, who grabbed it in response. Nuella smiled. “It’s good to have you here again, Weyrwoman.”

“We’ve been busy at the Weyr,” Fiona said, “or I would have come more often.”

“You are always welcome,” Nuella told her.

“So I did right, then?” Fiona asked, suddenly feeling her age and all the worry that she’d had about forcing the queen on Nuella and the wherfolk to move here.

“You did,” another voice chimed in from down the corridor. It was Arella. She added teasingly, “Didn’t you know that?”

“No, not really,” Fiona admitted in a small voice. “I only knew that there was a wherhold, not who was in it — ”

“But you knew you were doing right at the moment, when you forced us to change,” Nuella corrected her. She waved her free hand dismissively. “You should understand how much being tied to the future hurts you.”

Fiona made a surprised sound.

Nuella and Arella both burst out laughing and Fiona found herself bristling, her cheeks hot with shame.

“They mean well, Weyrwoman,” Silstra assured her in a tone that told of long suffering with the wherwomen’s humors.

“If you just trust yourself, Fiona, you’ll do fine,” Arella explained when at last she recovered from her laughing bout.

“This wherhold is thriving — will thrive,” Nuella added approvingly. “And it is because of you, only because of you, that it is so.”

“But I knew it would!” Fiona declared, feeling that that should detract from her honors.

“No,” Nuella corrected with a shake of her head. “As you said, you only knew some things. You were responsible for making this, even if the future gave you hints.”

“M’tal’s here,” Silstra said to Arella.

“He’s down at the river,” Nuella added, raising Fiona’s hand invitingly. “So, Weyrwoman, what shall we tell him?”

“Hmmph!” Fiona snorted. “After all you’ve just said, it seems to me that you’ll figure it out.”

Nuella snorted, then nodded. “I’m sure I will.”

“He doesn’t know about Fiona or the Igen riders,” Silstra added.

“F’dan brought me,” Fiona said, “but he’s going to say that he’s from Fort Weyr.”

“As that’s the truth, there’s no problem with that,” Nuella agreed.

“I’ll get back to Sula — she’s doubtless in a tizzy by now,” Silstra said, nodding to each of them in turn, then marching quickly away.

As they made their way down toward the river, Arella and Nuella quizzed Fiona on her meeting with M’tal. Both giggled and glanced at each other when Fiona, red-faced, explained about her gift for Kindan.

“He’s quite a looker,” Arella told Nuella knowingly.

“I know,” Nuella agreed. “But I prefer redheads.”

“We know,” Arella said with a grin.

“He’s a handsome lad,” Fiona agreed. She saw Arella’s encouraging nod and, not wasting time to wonder how the wherhandler had divined her intentions, plunged on, “He’d be quite a catch.”

“Only if he’s willing to be caught,” Nuella said with a sigh. “I was hoping maybe when Nuelsk rose . . .”

Arella burst out laughing, pointing a finger accusingly at Nuella. “I never would have thought that of you!”

“Why not?” Nuella asked, her innocence vanishing. “I’ve heard enough about mating flights to hope — ”

“You are a sly one!” Arella exclaimed.

Fiona felt uncomfortable with the tone of the conversation, not scandalized but troubled all the same, feeling somewhat as though she were on the edge of a deeper understanding that only experience could provide.

“As it is,” Nuella persisted, “I don’t know if I can wait until Nuellask rises.”

“Ah, but it’d be so much better with a queen!” Arella said, grinning lecherously.

Something in Nuella’s silence calmed the other wherhandler, who shook her head, glancing toward Fiona with a meaning Fiona couldn’t fathom.

“M’tal doesn’t know my name,” Fiona told them as they drew near the millhouse.

“Probably for the best,” Nuella agreed. “Fiona’s not that common a name.”

“He’ll have met me by now,” Fiona said in agreement. “I mean the ‘me’ of four Turns.”

“If watch-whers can go between like dragons,” Arella asked, her lips pursed thoughtfully, “can they go between times like dragons, too?”

Nuella and Fiona gasped at the notion.

“Weyrwoman?” Nuella said, throwing the question to her.

Fiona shook her head. “I can’t see why not.”

“What’s it like, then, going between times?” Arella asked.

“It’s hard,” Fiona told her. “It’s harder on riders than dragons or weyrfolk. Terin doesn’t feel it at all. But the riders — we feel like there’s a noise or tension, a tingling, a jangle on the senses. It comes and goes and we’re never sure when. Some days are better than others, and the days aren’t the same for all dragonriders. It leaves us both tired and edgy. Klah is good when we’re tired, rest when we’re edgy.” She frowned as she admitted, “There’ve been fights. Fights that shouldn’t have happened.”

“Fights?” Arella asked, surprised.

Fiona nodded. “We — T’mar and the wingleaders — handle them. If a douse of cold water won’t bring them to their senses, we put them in a ring with a stuffing suit and let them have at it.”

“Stuffing suit?” Arella repeated.

“A set of clothes full of stuffing so that they can hit each other without breaking bones,” Fiona explained. “They usually wind up exhausted, all the fight gone out of them.” She gave Arella a grim look as she added, “And then they’re put on the worst details for the next fortnight or more.”

“I can imagine,” Nuella said thoughtfully. To Arella she said, “Remember that.”

“Aye,” Arella responded. She explained to Fiona, “We’re still sorting out how we’re going to handle the wherhold.”

“Arella’s been used to more watch-whers in the same place than I have,” Nuella said. “So I look to her for knowledge.”

“You’re the senior,” Arella reminded her. “You’ve got the gold.”

“You’re following Weyr traditions?” Fiona asked.

“It seems right,” Nuella explained. “At least until we learn differently.”

“Besides, all the watch-whers obey the queen,” Arella added.

“And dragons,” Nuella reminded her. Fiona noted Arella’s sour look as the woman acknowledged that remark. For a moment Fiona wondered what it would be like the other way around, if the dragons obeyed the watch-whers, and then she realized that they already had — in the night flight Nuella had led.

“I’m not so sure,” Fiona said much to Arella’s surprise. “I think the watch-whers are willing to listen to the dragons much the same way the dragons are willing to listen to their riders.”

“So, no difference,” Arella said with a dismissive shrug.

“No,” Nuella responded. “The Weyrwoman has a point. A dragon doesn’t have to obey her rider.”

“Think of a hatching,” Fiona said suggestively.

“Or a mating flight,” Arella added appreciatively. “If your dragons are anything like our watch-whers, then a mating flight requires the greatest control a handler — rider — ever needs.”

“It’s in the Ballads,” Fiona said in agreement, suppressing an internal shudder — could she control Talenth when she rose? She forced herself to be calm; the event was still Turns away. Besides, Fiona couldn’t imagine Talenth ever fighting her.

“Shh,” Arella hissed warningly to Fiona. “We’re getting near.”

They found the group indoors, with Terregar leading M’tal on an impromptu tour of the new building.

“We’ve only got the beams for the second floor but we’re hoping to trade with Lemos for enough wood to lay in decent flooring,” he was explaining as they entered.

“I hate to say it,” M’tal replied, “but Telgar’s got better wood at lower prices.”

“I’d prefer not to trade with Telgar,” Zenor replied. “Besides, we figure that here we’re beholden to you, so that it’s good manners to work with other holds beholden to Benden.”

M’tal gave him a thoughtful look. “In old times this land would have looked to Igen Weyr for protection,” he said.

He found himself looking at a sea of hopeful faces and added, “I see no reason why Benden Weyr shouldn’t avail itself of such a great tithe. I’ll have a word with C’rion.”

The group gave a collective sigh of relief, untempered by M’tal’s mention of tithe.

“Ah, Lady Nuella,” M’tal cried as he caught sight of her. “How kind of you to join us!”

Nuella’s face split into an honest grin as she rushed toward the sound of his voice, hands outstretched. “My lord!”

“M’tal,” the dragonrider corrected her. “My friends call me M’tal.”

Beside her, Fiona felt Arella’s surprise. She guessed that even though the wherhandler had met Benden’s Weyrleader several times before, this impulsive, uncontrolled display of affection for one attached to the watch-whers removed any lingering suspicion that all dragonriders fell into two groups: those who despised the watch-whers, and those who sought to use them for their own purposes.

“M’tal,” Nuella corrected herself, folding herself into his arms and hugging him cheerfully.

“It’s been too long, I’m afraid,” M’tal said when they broke apart. “When I’d heard about your Nuelsk, I thought that I should wait until you were settled before asking you — ”

“What?” Nuella wondered.

“Actually,” M’tal said, gesturing around with a free hand, “I’d meant to inveigle you into something like this. ” He smiled and shook his head in awe. “Only I’d no notion of anything quite so grand as your current undertaking.”

Nuella turned her head toward Fiona, then hastily, as if realizing her error, back to M’tal. “It all just sort of happened, my lord.”

“I wish we had known about the gold here sooner,” M’tal said wistfully. “It would have eased the pain everywhere, for people are willing to work that much harder in the hopes of getting beautiful jewelry.”

He glanced toward Terregar. “How did you find it?”

“It was on some old maps at the Smith Hall,” Fiona improvised quickly, taking in the look of impending terror on Terregar’s face. “I was cleaning — ”

“Hiding,” Terregar corrected acerbically, grinning at Fiona with gratitude hidden in his attitude of long-suffering affection.

“Ah, so you’re craftbred!” M’tal said to Fiona. He turned back to Terregar, adding, “Quite an honor to the Smithcraft. Master Veclan must have been sorry to let her go.”

“Actually,” Fiona said in all honesty, “I think he was grateful to see the back of me.”

Terregar snorted.

“Lady Silstra is preparing a platter, my lord,” Fiona said, aiming her glance halfway between Terregar and M’tal and throwing in a sloppy curtsy for good measure.

“I’ve kept you all too long,” M’tal said, turning toward Nuella and politely reaching for her hand. “If I can just have a word with this kind lady — ” He paused and glanced at Arella. “ — and Arella, too, I’ll let you go back to your work.”

The look on Arella’s face when she heard M’tal name her was one of surprise suffused with delight.

Nuella glanced toward Fiona, who caught the look and said, “I’m sorry for having disturbed you, my lady.”

“Well, it was an important interruption,” Nuella said dismissively. “Just see that all your interruptions are as important.”

Fiona nodded, then remembered Nuella’s eyes and amplified, “I will, my lady.”

With one final scrutinizing look and a sardonic mutter of, “Very much an honor to your craft!” M’tal took his leave of Fiona and the others.

There was a moment of silence as the remaining workers waited for the Weyrleader to move out of earshot, and then they all gave a collective sigh of relief.

“That was awkward!” F’dan declared as he stepped out of the crowd.

“Did M’tal notice you?” Fiona asked.

“He did and I told him my rank and Weyr,” F’dan assured her. He glanced toward Terregar. “I wonder if my presence here might have inclined him more toward offering protection.”

“I’m sure it did,” Terregar said, his lips curving upward. He turned his attention to Fiona. “And now that that latest excitement is out of the way — and, I hope you do not take this badly, I must confess that excitement seems to follow you, Weyrwoman — what was it that you came to see us about?”

“Rings,” F’dan reminded him.

“We’ve already negotiated your price.”

“A day’s work here from both me and my blue,” F’dan told Fiona. From the look on Terregar’s face, Fiona guessed that the smith was still recovering from his shock while simultaneously calculating how to use F’dan and Ridorth to his best advantage. Fiona found herself liking this bearded man and could see why Silstra had found his quiet competence so attractive.

“With an option for another day for the same price,” Terregar reminded F’dan.

“Such option to expire upon our departure from Igen,” F’dan said, repeating the last part of their agreement.

Terregar nodded. “You drive a good trade, dragonrider.”

“I learned it from the best,” F’dan said, and surprised Fiona by glancing in her direction.

“And what is it you want to trade today, Weyrwoman?” Terregar asked, his attention once again returning to her.

“Actually, all we want is a moment of Zenor’s time, if we could,” Fiona said, glancing toward the red-haired man. With a smile she added, “And perhaps to see the ring.”

Terregar’s eyebrows rose. Did Fiona detect a gleam of humor in his eyes?

“It’s better in the sunlight,” Terregar said. “Zenor, why don’t you take them outside?”

Zenor, seeming distracted, led them through the doorway and into the midday sunlight. A wind swept the worst of the heat from them, but all the same, Fiona felt they couldn’t stay long before they’d be driven back inside.

“Come on, Zenor, give,” she said peremptorily, holding out a hand, palm open.

Zenor reached into his tunic and pulled on the leather thong tied around his neck. He looped it over his head and dropped it into Fiona’s outstretched hand.

“I don’t think it’s good enough,” Zenor said morosely even as Fiona’s mouth opened in a large “Oh!” of astonishment.

“Zenor, it’s amazing!” she exclaimed, holding the gold band up close so that she could examine every intricate detail. “Three bands wound together, how did you do it?”

“I had help from Terregar,” Zenor said. “Although he did say that I was as addled as a wherry to even think of such a piece.”

“It’s never been done before,” F’dan explained. “There’s never been enough gold of such quality, nor” — he nodded respectfully toward Zenor — “anyone so deft at such workings.”

“I was always good at making things,” Zenor said with a diffident shrug of his shoulders.

“You know,” Fiona said judiciously, returning the ring to Zenor, “you’re right. There’s something wrong with that ring.”

“I knew it,” Zenor groaned. F’dan gave Fiona a startled look of disbelief. “I just knew it,” Zenor continued. With a pleading look he asked Fiona, “What is it?”

“It’s not on Nuella’s finger!” Fiona exclaimed, her eyes flashing in irritation.

“Huh?”

“You can’t see your work in its proper light until it’s in its proper setting,” she told him. “And that ring was made for her finger. That’s its proper setting.”

She reached for his hand, latched on, and tugged. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Zenor asked, lurching after her like a herdbeast being led to pasture.

“I think I’d best see to Master Terregar,” F’dan said hastily, taking off in the opposite direction. “I’m not sure I should be seen more by Weyrleader M’tal today.”

Fiona ignored his words, concentrating on keeping Zenor in her grip.

Halfway toward the wherhold, Zenor grasped her intention and suddenly dug in his heels.

“No, I can’t, it’s not the right time,” he told Fiona feebly. “I’m not ready.”

Fiona released his wrist and turned around to face him.

“Do you love her?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“Do you love her?” Fiona repeated. “Kindan told me long ago when he was talking about you, her, and Nuelsk, that when he left he told her that if she kissed you then everyone would know that she loved you.” She paused to let that sink in. “So, knowing that, do you love her?”

“Well, of course!” Zenor cried in response. “But she’s got the new watch-wher and we’re settling in and — ”

“None of that matters,” Fiona told him calmly. “You need to seize the moment, Zenor, or you might lose her forever.” She paused as a sudden revelation burst upon her. “You’re afraid of losing her, aren’t you? You almost lost her in the Plague.”

“And what if something happens to me?” Zenor asked. “What then? You’ve seen how hard it was for her after Nuelsk. It was just as hard after her parents and — ”

“Zenor, you’ve answered your own question,” Fiona broke in gently. Zenor gave her a puzzled look. “You can’t deny her the joys of today to save her from the pain of tomorrow. All you are doing is denying her any chance at happiness, not any chance at pain.”

Zenor’s eyes grew wider as he absorbed the sense in her words.

“Today is an excellent day to see if that ring fits,” Fiona urged him quietly.

“Yes,” Zenor agreed, drawing himself up to his full height, his eyes roaming off into the distance . . . or the future. “You’re right.”

He started off, his gait purposeful and long, leaving Fiona to trot after him.

Zenor didn’t break his stride as they entered the dimly lit hold, nor did he pause to find his bearings, setting a course directly for the kitchen. Presently Fiona heard the tenor voice of M’tal.

“Nuella,” Zenor began the moment he burst into the room, halting all discussion.

Nuella looked toward him expectantly. Zenor closed the distance between them and he reached for the leather thong around his neck, pulling it off in one fluid movement even as he sank to his knees, his free hand grasping Nuella’s.

There was a moment’s silence as everyone took in the scene, then Zenor placed the gold ring in Nuella’s palm. “Will you marry me?”

Nuella gasped in surprise, her eyes suddenly wet with tears. “Marry you? Of course, with all my heart!”

“That went very well, my lady,” F’dan said as he hoisted Fiona up in front of him and busied himself with tightening her riding straps firmly. “You have quite the social knack, if I may observe.”

“I just had to think of all the moaning you’d make if I failed,” Fiona replied teasingly. Really, it was a joy to spend time with F’dan because he treated her like a full-grown person, able to take on any burden, sometimes demanding more of her than she thought she could give. And he did it all with a manner that was always respectful, always supportive. And, of course, he swore like some of her father’s guards — when they thought no one from the Hold was listening.

“We lowly blues are always willing to take on the tasks we’re called to,” F’dan replied drolly as Ridorth leapt nimbly into the air. “Of course,” he added, “I’ll certainly need a long massage for all the kinks I’ve got in my poor recovering body this day.”

“I’ll send a weyrling,” Fiona retorted icily. Massaging was one of the therapies that she’d initially feared the most but had ultimately found to be the most enjoyable and relaxing work. It had taken her two sessions to cure her of any lingering squeamishness when dealing with human flesh, particularly male human flesh, and to become absorbed in the art of gentling muscles back into health.

“Oh, be sure to send a pretty one,” F’dan teased. “I like it when you send a pretty one.”

Fiona snarled playfully but said nothing as the darkness of between took hold of them.

“I’ll do your hair if you do my leg,” F’dan offered as they burst back out into the daylight over Igen Weyr. Beneath them Ridorth bugled a response to the challenge from the watch dragon perched on the heights near the Star Stones.

“Wash, brush, and trim?”

“Deal.”

It had given Fiona a sublime sense of relief when she discovered that riders of blues and greens, while deferential to her as a Weyrwoman, treated her womanness as something unimportant to their relationship with her. Fiona had always understood intellectually why that was so, but it was only when she recognized it on a subconscious level that she truly allowed herself to open up to them. These older men, who did not see her as a potential mate, were free to see her as the person she was.

Of all the riders, perhaps because of his lengthy recovery, Fiona had become fondest of F’dan and was most comfortable being herself with him.

“You are truly a beautiful girl, you know,” F’dan said as he toweled off her hair while she sat before him. Fiona couldn’t help blushing with pride. F’dan threaded a lock of her gold hair through his fingers. “Your hair is silky, your freckles mark your face and shoulders delicately, your nose is — ” He sniffed. “ — well, you’ll survive with your nose.”

“What’s wrong with my nose?”

“Nothing.” F’dan chuckled. “Just teasing.” He finished toweling and picked up a comb, running it slowly through her hair. He held up the ends and peered at them. “Yes, you need a trim. You’re getting all raggedy.” He hissed through his teeth as he added, “And this sun’s not good for the condition — you’re all dried out. Aren’t you using that oil we’d discovered?”

“We ran out,” Fiona replied drowsily. She loved when he played with her hair.

“Mmm,” F’dan murmured in a tone that informed her he would check on the veracity of that statement.

“We used the last of it on your leg, if you recall,” she told him, not quite finding the energy to sound testy. She’d insisted upon their return on massaging his leg first and was glad she had: the exercise had done him much good, but his muscles had definitely been tight and had needed the massage to relax them.

“Really,” F’dan responded, sounding not at all convinced. “How convenient for you, then.”

Fiona growled back in keeping with the banter.

“I’m surprised you don’t demand that I stay here with you the next three Turns,” F’dan commented. “Otherwise who will take care of you?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“It’s a good thing that you’ve arranged to have the wedding before I leave, then,” F’dan murmured as he began to tackle her long locks. “Perhaps you’d prefer me to cut it short so that you won’t have to worry about it when I’m gone?”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Fiona said, knowing it would surprise the blue rider. “In this heat it’s far too much bother.”

“But your hair is so soft!” F’dan objected.

“I don’t see you wearing your hair long in this heat,” Fiona retorted.

“I’ll grow it out again as soon as I return to the Weyr,” F’dan told her. “In colder weather it’s wise to have long hair.”

“Ah, then you agree,” Fiona said triumphantly. She held up a hand with index finger and thumb measuring a gap. “This long, if you please.”

“You might as well be a boy at that length,” F’dan remarked sourly. “You’ll take away my only joy.”

“Well, short, then,” Fiona said willing to compromise. “But if I don’t like it, you’ll cut it my way.”

“Very well,” he agreed, not bothering to keep the reluctant tone out of his voice.

Fiona was glad to hear him pick up the scissors, for she knew that she’d be seated for a long time and, truth be told, the stress of the morning had left her quite tired.

Then, dimly, she heard something out of the ordinary and roused herself enough to question Talenth.

A bronze has arrived, Talenth told her, and the watch dragon has challenged him. A moment later, she added, It is Gaminth of Benden Weyr.

“Gaminth?” Fiona repeated, sitting up and startling F’dan, who just narrowly avoided clipping her bangs at the root. “M’tal?”

“I heard, too,” F’dan told her irritably. “You’re not done, and until I’m done with you, you’re not fit to be seen.” He paused, adding drolly, “Unless you’d really like Benden’s Weyrleader to see you with your head half-shorn.”

Where’s T’mar? Fiona asked Talenth, sighing irritably but allowing herself to be pushed back into the chair.

He and the older weyrlings are getting ice, Talenth responded.

Who’s the senior bronze? No, forget that. Fiona remembered that T’mar’s Zirenth was the only healthy adult bronze still here. Where’s N’jian?

N’jian went with them. Talenth replied, sounding much less worried than Fiona. J’keran is greeting him.

J’keran asks where you are, Perinth said suddenly to Fiona.

I’ll be done in a moment. Have him offer the Weyrleader some refreshment but nothing with ice, Fiona replied.

Nothing with ice, Perinth repeated to himself.

Tell Terin that she’s got company, Fiona said to Talenth.

She’s getting ready, Talenth told her. She says to remind you that the traders are due this evening.

“Oh, dear!” Fiona groaned out loud. “F’dan, hurry!”

“You hurry a haircut, you get bad results,” F’dan told her with mock seriousness. “You’re just over half done.”

“You’ve got five minutes, and then I’m leaving now matter how I look,” Fiona warned him.

“No,” F’dan told her sternly, “you’re a Weyrwoman. Even Weyrleaders who arrive unannounced can wait for you.”

“They might,” Fiona agreed. “I can’t.”

“Probably true,” F’dan muttered to himself, stepping back and eyeing her hair judiciously before his next cut. “So the practice will be good for you.”

Fiona seethed with impatience as F’dan continued his careful clipping. Slowly she forced herself to relax and as she did, she realized that for all his words, the blue rider had sped up his work.

Finally, F’dan stood back for one last careful inspection of his handiwork and sighed.

“Well, it will do,” he said. “You can’t expect good results if you rush.”

Gesturing to Fiona to rise, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her about to face the mirror.

“I’m gorgeous!” Fiona exclaimed, beaming with pride at her new look.

“You were always gorgeous, Weyrwoman. Now you’re stunning,” F’dan corrected.

Fiona leaned forward to the mirror to examine F’dan’s scissor work. Her hair was short but framed her face and skull like a golden cap. The hair on her forehead parted into two separate bunches, with the angled break at the center of her forehead.

“I look like a baby,” she complained. “I’m too young!”

“You only look your age,” F’dan said. He brushed stray hairs from her clothes, then stood back again, inspecting his handiwork.

“There!” he proclaimed proudly. “Fit to greet a Weyrleader!”

He spun her on her heels and, with an affectionate pat on her butt, sent her on the way out of his quarters.

Over her shoulder, Fiona called back, “Thanks, F’dan!”

“Any time, Weyrwoman, any time,” he told her feelingly.

She took the steps down to the Bowl two at a time. The midday heat forced her to slow down as she crossed the Bowl to the Kitchen Cavern; even so she arrived with her newly trimmed hair plastered to her face with sweat.

She was seen first by Terin, who was facing toward the entrance, talking to a tall man. M’tal? Fiona thought. If it was him, why wasn’t he wearing his Weyrleader’s jacket?

She was too far to hear Terin’s words distinctly, but her gesture made it obvious that she had announced Fiona’s arrival to the man.

The man who turned to face her was not the same M’tal she’d seen earlier that day. His face was more lined, his hair had more gray, his eyes looked —

“You’re from the future, too!” Fiona exclaimed as she closed the distance between them.

“M’tal, Gaminth’s rider of Benden, at your service,” M’tal replied, bending low and reaching for Fiona’s hand. Fiona raised it as her training compelled her and was pleased when the dragonrider gently kissed the back of it and released it to her, his eyes surveying her warmly.

“I can see your sister’s face in you,” he told her. “She was not much older than you the last time I saw her.”

“And when was that, my lord?”

“M’tal,” he corrected her gently, adding, “B’nik leads the Weyr now.” He paused, then continued, “I last saw your sister more than ten Turns back when the black-and-yellow quarantine flag was first seen at Fort Hold.” He smiled sadly. “I can still see her in my mind as she raced off to her Hold and father.”

“I had less than two Turns at the time,” Fiona said with a deep sigh.

“And yet, now, you seem to have grown rather quickly,” M’tal said with a grin. “I’d heard you’d Impressed; I hadn’t heard that K’lior thought to send you back in time here.”

“Lord K’lior had not ordered it,” Fiona replied. “But why are you here now?”

“I’m here through an oversight on my part,” M’tal admitted frankly. “I must have got my coordinates mixed. I’d hoped to meet you when you were leaving Igen to return to our present.”

“So we did return,” Fiona murmured to herself. Before M’tal could comment further, she silenced him with a raised hand. “Please, say no more about it, I’ve learned that knowing too much of the future is a heavy burden.”

M’tal nodded in agreement and frank approval. He started to say something else, then seemed to collapse on himself, reaching out hastily to prop himself upright.

Fiona and Terin reached out to guide him into a chair.

“You’d best not tarry too long, my lord,” Fiona warned him. “Being back in time is hard on us riders.”

“So I’m discovering,” M’tal replied weakly. “Do the effects wear off?”

Fiona shook her head. “They haven’t so far,” she told him. “But some feel it more than others and some of us have felt it practically since Impression.”

“Since Impression?” M’tal repeated, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s like a constant noise in our heads, like chalk rubbed the wrong way on slate,” Fiona said. She gestured toward Terin, only to discover that the young headwoman had gone over to the hearth, to prepare a quick pitcher of klah. “Those who have not Impressed, like Terin there, don’t feel the effects.”

“And how many weyrfolk came back in time with you?”

“Only Terin,” Fiona admitted.

“So it might just be that she’s immune to the effects,” M’tal observed.

“Perhaps,” Fiona agreed politely.

M’tal flashed a grin at her. “Clearly you don’t think so.” He waved a hand in a throwaway gesture, then continued, “I don’t see many of your injured.”

“We’ve been here long enough for most of them to recover,” Fiona replied. “Only our most severely injured remain, and they’ll return right — ”

“After the wedding!” M’tal exclaimed, slapping his forehead with his hand. “Of course, I’d forgotten. You were the source of the glows!”

“Please, we haven’t done that yet,” Fiona told him urgently.

“But Zenor has asked Nuella, hasn’t he?” M’tal asked. “I seem to recall that this was about the day he did — perhaps that’s why I came back to this time.”

“He asked her just this morning,” Fiona admitted.

M’tal leaned forward, scrutinizing her face carefully, and then exclaimed, “You were the girl! You were the one who forced him to ask her! And gave me the gold for Kindan!” He blew out his breath in a long, surprised sigh, shaking his head. “I knew that I’d seen you before, when I’d seen you before. You reminded me so much of Koriana that I couldn’t forget you.” He paused and admitted impishly, “I’d even had some thought of introducing you to Kindan . . . but I wasn’t sure if that wouldn’t cause him more grief.”

“You did?” Fiona asked excitedly. For a moment she allowed herself to be lost in the possibility: What would have happened? How would it have worked?

Terin dropped the tray of mugs and klah on the table, rattling Fiona back to reality.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Fiona said as she placed a mug in front of the bronze rider, picked up the pitcher, and poured him a full helping of the warm klah. “I cannot stay in this time; I belong back at the Weyr.”

“You say your injured have left already?” M’tal asked.

“Only those with the lighter injuries,” Fiona told him. “They’ve gone ahead in time to meet us here in another two and a half Turns when the younger weyrlings” — she felt herself blush — “and my queen have matured.”

“You brought the younger weyrlings back?” M’tal asked, his brows raised in surprise. “The ones from Melirth’s last clutch?” When Fiona nodded, he asked, “How?”

“We’re not sure,” Fiona admitted. “There was a queen rider who guided us back, and then she and a group of riders brought back the most injured riders and dragons.”

“Otherwise it would have been only the thirty lightly injured and the twelve older weyrlings,” Terin interjected.

“And you don’t know who this queen rider was?” M’tal asked.

Fiona shook her head, then bit her lip hesitantly. M’tal noticed and raised his brows again invitingly.

“T’mar and I wonder if it wasn’t me from the future,” Fiona admitted reluctantly. “From beyond our future.”

“Well, you could have done it because you would have known that you could have done it,” M’tal murmured thoughtfully, glancing over to Fiona for agreement.

“That was the thought,” Fiona replied. “But . . . it didn’t feel like me.” She groped for words. “I didn’t feel doubly strained, like I think I would if I were in the same time three times over.”

“Hmm,” M’tal murmured, then, once again, he made the throwaway gesture with his free hand. “I doubt we’ll find an answer in our time, either, but we’re certain to find one some time.” He downed his klah and rose to his feet. “I think it would be best if I left now. I know what I need to know.”

“We can help you,” Fiona said, nodding urgently to Terin who was already on her feet on the other side of the bronze rider.

M’tal made to wave them off, but then, with a startled look, he found himself reeling and gladly leaned on them for support.

“Maybe you are in this time thrice,” Fiona told him.

“Perhaps,” M’tal agreed feebly. “In which case, the sooner I leave, the happier I’ll be.” He smiled. “Of course, I shall be sorry to miss more of your company.”

“Are you well enough to go between ?” Terin asked as they helped him up to his perch on Gaminth’s neck.

“Yes, I think so,” M’tal said, waving them back and adding testily, “This blasted heat doesn’t help.”

He glanced thoughtfully at Fiona for a moment, as though mulling over his words, then gestured to her sadly. “I should tell you, Kindan is attached to Lorana.”

“I’d heard,” Fiona shouted back up to him. “Give him my regards.”

“Certainly!”

Gaminth leapt into the air, slowly climbed up out of the Bowl, passed the Star Stones, and winked between.

“So we know one thing, that we make it back safely,” T’mar said when Fiona recounted the events to him later that evening at dinner. A trading caravan with Azeez and Mother Karina had arrived just in time to join them, so the Dining Cavern was more full and lively than it had been for a while.

“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “And we know that some people seem to take timing it even worse than we do.”

“Which begs the question — why?”

Fiona shrugged.

“It might be that some are just more susceptible,” N’jian spoke up from the far end of the table.

“Or it could be that some are traveling in time more than others,” T’mar observed darkly.

“Does anyone have a good understanding of timing it?” Fiona wondered.

“No,” N’jian replied before T’mar could answer. “All I know is that it’s not encouraged, and I think with good reason.”

“Shards, you’ll have no arguments there!” Fiona exclaimed, glancing at J’keran, who was bravely stifling a yawn, and F’jian, who looked no better.

“Did Nuella set a date for the wedding?” Mother Karina asked as she approached the table with her latest dish. It had become the custom that whenever the traders arrived at the Weyr, they would share in the Weyr’s chores. Terin was particularly grateful for the relief — Mother Karina usually forced the youngster to sit and watch when she was cooking.

“You can’t learn everything on your feet,” Mother Karina always said.

It was now Terin to whom she served the first portion, ostensibly in her role as headwoman but, Fiona guessed, more because the old trader had taken a motherly interest in the Weyr’s youngest. Terin took the mothering with a mixture of annoyance and delight: delight at the attention; annoyance that someone would feel it required.

Her eyes widened as she sampled, chewed, and swallowed, she raised a hand to fan her mouth and reached for a mug of cool water with the other. “Whew!” she exclaimed. “Spicy!” After a moment, she amended with a look of surprise, “But not really hot.”

Mother Karina beamed at her, passing the plate toward Fiona and T’mar, who reached for it simultaneously. Fiona reluctantly waved for him to take it first; in her unspoken tally of new dishes, it was the bronze rider’s turn to have first taste. A Weywoman’s duties included ensuring the fair treatment of everyone in the Weyr.

T’mar passed the plate to Fiona who took a small helping before passing it on.

“It smells marvelous,” she declared.

“It is from a different cooking style than we normally use, but still one for a hot climate,” Karina explained.

“Meat sliced thin, cooked quickly, onions, fresh vegetables . . . and something else,” Fiona said as she carefully savored the tastes in her mouth.

“We trade it from Ista and sometimes from Nerat Tip,” Karina said. “It is called coconut. There is a kind of milk inside, as well as a white flesh that can be flaked off.”

“It gives the dish a slightly sweet flavor,” Terin said, eyeing the distant plate hopefully.

“I’ll get you more,” Karina said, rising and heading back to the hearth.

“ ‘You need feeding,’ ” Terin quoted to Karina’s fleeting back in a voice that carried only to Fiona’s ears.

“Is that so bad?” Fiona asked. Terin narrowed her eyes, then grinned and shook her head.

“When is the wedding?” she asked, repeating Karina’s unanswered question.

Fiona, mouth full, shook her head and shrugged.

“It would be good to find out,” N’jian said seriously. “I would hate to miss it, but we are wasting valuable time and resources here now that we’re all healed.”

“When you leave, how many will be left?” Azeez asked rhetorically.

“T’mar, Terin, myself, the twelve older weyrlings and the thirty-two younger weyrlings,” Fiona said, ticking off her fingers with each number.

“Forty-seven then,” Azeez said, glancing up toward Mother Karina, who had returned and was determinedly refilling Terin’s plate in spite of the other’s murmured protests.

“And thirty weyrs free,” Karina said, looking up from her serving.

“Winter’s getting harsh,” Azeez added.

“Would you two kindly stop dancing around and get to the point?” Fiona asked with an edge of amused exasperation in her voice. T’mar glanced at her and then nodded toward Azeez.

“We were wondering if we could trade our services for your empty weyrs,” Azeez said in a rush, glancing from T’mar to Fiona.

“Trade?” Fiona repeated, turning her eyes toward Mother Karina. The older woman nodded, gesturing toward Terin and pulling up a seat to sit beside her. “This one, for sure, could use some help.”

“I’m doing fine!” Terin protested loudly.

“You are,” Fiona agreed diplomatically. “Except that you hardly sleep, and when you do you’re tossing and turning and you’re always to bed last and up first.”

“I toss and turn?” Terin asked in surprise, a hand rising to her cheek in mortification.

“And talking,” Fiona added. She grinned at her friend. “Do you think that every time I end up sleeping with Talenth it’s because I want to?”

“I could move out — ”

“No, you will not!” Fiona declared loudly. She turned to Karina. “I see no problem with this notion.”

“Traders and weyrfolk,” N’jian muttered, shaking his head. “It’s not been done.”

“I’ll bet it has,” T’mar said. “Remember that when our ancestors crossed here from the Southern Continent, everyone lived in the same place — ” He nodded toward Fiona. “ — Fort Hold. It wasn’t until much later that Fort Weyr was established.”

“So the traders and the dragonriders were certainly living together for part of the time after the Crossing,” Azeez agreed.

“We have nothing to hide,” Fiona said, glancing quellingly toward N’jian.

“Our ways are different, Weyrwoman,” he responded unapologetically. By way of illustration, he jerked his head toward a group of blue and green riders who were laughing together over some shared joke.

“Trader ways are different, too,” Fiona countered. She waved a placating hand toward the brown rider. “Oh, I don’t say there won’t be problems or the occasional difference, but I think it will be a great help to the Weyr.”

Her emphasis on the last word was not lost on N’jian who considered her response for a moment before nodding reluctantly.

“We asked because we would like to help with the wedding,” Mother Karina explained.

“Traders don’t like settling in one place for too long,” Azeez said.

“Not all traders mind a bit of a rest,” Karina corrected him. She turned to Fiona. “It’s customary for new mothers to rest in one place for three months — longer if possible.”

“We’d be delighted to help,” T’mar said with a nod toward Fiona.

“And the wedding?” Karina inquired.

“The older riders shouldn’t tarry too long,” N’jian reminded T’mar.

“We can’t hurry their wedding,” Fiona reminded him.

“With all respect, Weyrwoman,” N’jian replied, his lips twitching upward even as he sketched a bow from his chair, “you can.”

“And did,” T’mar added.

Fiona threw up her hands in surrender. She turned to Mother Karina. “You’ve met Nuella, haven’t you?”

Karina nodded. “We came from there.”

“By dragonback,” N’jian added. “They left their caravan and several traders behind.”

“Setting up a new depot?” Fiona guessed.

“Did you get any ideas from Nuella or Silstra, then?” Terin asked, her fork hovering near her mouth.

“Eat, child!” Karina ordered. She waited until Terin had emptied her fork before continuing. “I spoke with Silstra — she is quite a trader — and she thinks that sometime before Turn’s end would be best.”

“Turn’s end would be the latest we could keep the older riders here,” T’mar said.

“That doesn’t leave much time,” Fiona said, startled.

“Indeed,” Karina agreed. “Which is why I offered our services to Silstra.” She allowed herself a small smile. “And as soon as we can get our mothers settled into the Weyr, we’ll be able to set them to making suitable wedding clothes.”

“That’s right!” Fiona exclaimed in sudden memory. “Kindan said that traders were at Silstra’s wedding!”

“Silstra thought it fitting,” Karina allowed, looking pleased.

“So we’ve less than seventeen days,” Terin declared before hastily swallowing her next mouthful.

“It would help to get an exact date,” Fiona said thoughtfully.

Terin rose quickly and pressed her hand on Karina’s shoulder before dashing to the hearth. Fiona didn’t have time to wonder at the odd gesture, because Karina leaned in close at that moment to say conspiratorially, “And who would be best at getting that date?”

“I suppose it would be me,” Fiona confessed with mixed emotions. She wasn’t sure she could soon handle another day as exciting as this one had proved. T’mar glanced at her — or, rather, at a point over her shoulder — and grinned.

“What?” Fiona demanded, perplexed. Her confusion grew as everyone at the table started to rise and noises from behind indicated that all those in the Cavern were getting to their feet.

Terin approached with F’dan — they were bearing a large platter between them. On the platter was a large cake with icing, and too many candles to count quickly.

“Happy birthday, Fiona!” Terin cried as she put the cake in front of her.

“But — it’s not my birthday!” Fiona exclaimed loudly, her voice not carrying over the roar of the riders cheering her on.

“Yes, it is,” T’mar told her, grinning wildly. “You’ve been here one hundred and seventy-eight days now, and that, added to your time at Fort Weyr, is a whole Turn.” He gestured toward the candles. “You’ve turned fourteen.”

“Make a wish!” the crowd urged.

“Blow them out!”

Still confused and overwhelmed with surprise, Fiona gave a gracious sigh, drew a deep breath, and blew the candles out.

Afteward, as everyone finished congratulating her, she looked over to Terin and smirked widely.

“What?” the young headwoman asked nervously. “You aren’t mad, are you?”

“Oh, no,” Fiona exclaimed, her eyes dancing impishly. “I’m just recalling that you’ve twelve days until your Turning!”

Soon enough, Fiona reassured Talenth as she hovered over the Star Stones perched on Zirenth’s back. You’ll be flying soon enough.

I wish I could go with you, Talenth repeated morosely.

Well, how about the first place we fly to will be the wherhold?

I’d like that, Talenth agreed.

I have to be there, Fiona told her again. Nuella has asked me to stand by her side. She paused, adding worriedly, You will be okay without me?

I’m tired, Talenth replied sounding testy. I’ll sleep.

Sleep and grow strong, Fiona told her encouragingly.

I wish I was bigger.

Soon enough, love, soon enough, Fiona assured her, sending a tender caress with her thoughts. How are the children?

The littlest ones are in your bed, I think they think I’m too big for them, Talenth told her, her spirits lifting. But the older ones are warm and comfortable.

Mother Karina had been speechless when Fiona had suggested that the trader children spend the night in her weyr, those wanting to sleeping with Talenth.

“I sleep with her all the time,” Fiona assured her. “She’s completely safe. And I’m sure she’d love the company.”

“But trader children . . . sleeping with a queen!” Karina repeated, eyes wide in amazement.

“She likes the company and,” Fiona added with a wry grin, “it makes her feel older to have youngsters to watch over.”

Karina and the other traders had difficulty looking at the queen, who was much bigger now than any of their herdbeasts, and thinking of her as young. But as Fiona knew all too well, Talenth had only been out of the egg little more than ten months now.

“Anyway, she’s going to have to learn,” she said, hoping to clinch the argument; learning had a special place in Karina’s thinking.

“Why, are you planning on having lots of children?” Karina asked, and her eyes twinkled at Fiona’s sudden blush.

“That’s for the future,” Fiona told her, trying to will the heat out of her cheeks. “I was thinking that once we’re back at the Weyr, she’ll appreciate the company of the younger weyrfolk.”

“And you’ll have a steady supply of helping hands,” Terin observed tartly.

“Are you complaining?” Fiona asked, brows raised. When Terin shook her head quickly, Fiona added, “Anyway, it’s not so much for me as for her and the children.” Her eyes glowed. “I remember sleeping with Forsk when I was a child . . . I never felt so loved or peaceful.”

“You’re an odd one,” Karina said. “You seem happiest when in the center of a pile of warm bodies.”

“It keeps the cold away,” Fiona replied. More honestly, she added, “It feels like family would feel to me.”

Karina eyed her speculatively. “And you didn’t have that growing up the only child of the Lord Holder.”

Fiona said nothing.

“Well, if it pleases you, Weyrwoman,” Karina allowed at last, “I’ll see if the children are up for it.”

“Up for it!” Terin exclaimed in disbelief. “You’ll be able to trade a whole sevenday’s chores and their best behavior for the honor.”

“And they’ll think they got the better of the bargain,” Karina had agreed with a grin.

So now, as Zirenth went between in the last of the twilight, saluted by the luckless rider perched on his watch dragon near the Star Stones, Fiona still felt anxious over leaving Talenth behind, but was comfortable in the knowledge that her queen was surrounded by awed, amazed, and — she was certain — soon to be loving companions.

The cold, silent nothingness of between was replaced in a sudden rush by the warm, noisy air over the wherhold as Zirenth spiraled quickly toward the landing place. Before them a specially erected trellis, lined with glows, stretched outward from the entrance of the wherhold to a raised platform at the end of the walk, where Zenor and Nuella would exchange their vows. Here and there, Fiona picked up the brighter glows of watch-wher eyes, brilliantly reflecting what little light there still was.

She deftly picked her way past the trellis and headed into the wherhold where, as she had half-expected, pandemonium reigned. The smells arising from the kitchen and the tenor of the overwhelming babble assured Fiona that whatever problems there were did not emanate from that location.

“I’m here!” Fiona called loudly, her voice echoing down the corridors. Hearing no response, she turned toward Nuellask’s lair.

She had just about arrived when a pair of arms reached out and pulled her inside.

“Good!” Silstra cried as she slid Fiona out of sight.

“What is it?” Fiona asked as her eyes adjusted to the faintly lit gloom.

“Did you know that M’tal would be here?” Nuella demanded, her voice pitched much higher than normal.

“No,” Fiona admitted. “But I should have guessed, come to think of it.”

“And C’rion of Ista!” Silstra added, looking far more panicked than Fiona would ever have guessed possible.

“And Kindan,” Nuella added, her tone somewhat mollified.

“Kindan?” Fiona squeaked. “What if he recognizes me?”

“We figured it out,” Nuella said, gesturing for Silstra to explain.

“You’ll be the crafter girl you pretended to be when M’tal met you,” Silstra said tentatively.

“But M’tal said that he thought I looked so much like Koriana he thought about introducing me to Kindan!” Fiona wailed.

“What’s the harm in that then?” Silstra asked, cocking her head assessingly. “You’re nearly the same age — it might be good for him.”

“I’m the same age now !” Fiona exclaimed. “When I go back to my time, he’ll be ten Turns older. Besides — ” She cut herself off hastily.

“You know something of the future involving him,” Silstra guessed shrewdly.

“I want you beside me,” Nuella said. “I don’t think I can do this on my own.”

“That’s silly, and you know it,” Fiona declared undiplomatically. She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth and her expression showed it. “What I mean is that you’re more than able, Nuella. I’m flattered that you want me by your side but — ”

“If you can’t be there . . .” Nuella began, her eyes wide with fear. “Then Silstra will have to manage everything; Sula’s doing the cooking and there’s no one else — ”

“What about Terin?” Silstra asked, glancing toward Fiona in a way that made it clear she’d already tried this suggestion.

“Won’t Kindan be with Zenor?” Fiona asked suddenly.

“Y-yes,” Nuella allowed.

“Then there won’t be a problem,” Fiona told them. “He’ll be so busy with his duties and I’ll be so busy with mine that we won’t have any time to exchange pleasantries.”

“That’s good for the ceremony, but what about after?” Silstra wondered.

“I’ll get T’mar to take me dancing,” Fiona said, almost glad to have a reason to spend time with the bronze rider.

“That’s another thing — all those dragons!” Nuella sniffed. “How are we going to explain them?”

“We won’t,” Fiona said with a shrug. “Any colors the riders are wearing belong to Fort Weyr but I doubt they’ll be seen in the dark.”

“So how will you explain them?” Silstra asked.

“If pressed, we’ll say that they’re from Fort Weyr,” Fiona said. “That’s no lie.”

“And if not pressed?”

“Well, it would seem to me that C’rion will think that M’tal arranged it and M’tal will think that C’rion arranged it,” Fiona replied, her lips curving upward.

“That will only work if you keep the riders away from the Weyrleaders,” Silstra said.

“Yes,” Fiona agreed reluctantly. “I suppose you’re right.”

Talenth, Fiona called, please tell T’mar that M’tal and C’rion are here .

He says that he’s already seen them, Talenth replied a moment later.

“T’mar knows,” Fiona explained. She wiped her hands together briskly, as if wiping that problem off her hands. “Now, is there any other way I can help you?”

“Just hold my hand and don’t let go,” Nuella implored, reaching out a hand.

“Never,” Fiona vowed, clasping it firmly.

“Well,” Silstra said glancing around the room. “I think that everything is in order.” She glanced toward Fiona. “I’ll go tell Kindan to start the music.” At the door, she turned back. “When you hear the music, start out.”

“Oh, he’s playing?” Fiona asked excitedly.

“He sang at Silstra’s wedding,” Nuella said. “And I met him, when I was hiding, pretending to be Dalor.”

“Hmm, maybe that’ll work for me, too,” Fiona said.

“How do I look?” Nuella asked.

Fiona knew that for blind Nuella, the question was more than perfunctory. “How about we try an experiment?” she suggested as a bold thought came to her.

Talenth, could you relay an image to Nuellask? Fiona asked.

I can try, Talenth responded eagerly.

“Let me look at you,” Fiona said, turning to eye Nuella carefully in the brighter light of the hallway.

Nuella was dressed in a fine white dress with delicate white slippers, her blond hair wrapped up around her head in a French braid bound with pretty blue ribbon.

Fiona concentrated on her and concentrated on sharing the image with Talenth.

Do you see it?

A woman in a dress, Talenth told her. Is that Nuella?

Yes, Fiona agreed. And if you can give Nuellask the image and ask her to send it to Nuella — I know she’s very young.

She tries . . . now, Talenth replied. This is fun, she likes it too!

“Close your eyes, Nuella, reach out to your watch-wher,” Fiona instructed. “What do you see?”

Nuella gasped in astonishment. “Is that me?”

“As best I can see you, as best Talenth can share the image, and as best Nuellask can send it to you,” Fiona said.

Nuella grabbed Fiona’s hand tightly in hers. “Oh, thank you!” Her free hand reached down to her dress. “Oh, it’s as beautiful as I’d hoped!”

“Well, then,” Fiona said, her lips curved up in a huge grin, “the music has started. Let’s not keep your red-haired lad waiting.”

Her face split in a huge beaming smile, Nuella walked with Fiona out into the crisp night air.

The music swelled and suddenly was the only sound as the gathered crowd grew hushed.

Ahead, at the raised platform, Fiona could make out the figures of Zenor and Kindan, standing side by side. Zenor had never looked more handsome. Kindan stood beside him, resplendent in harper’s blue, his gaze resting proudly on Nuella.

“Definitely you should marry him,” Fiona whispered as they reached the first of the stairs. She added, warningly, “Step.”

Nuella took the step easily, and Fiona guided her beside Zenor, took the hand with which she’d been guiding her, and placed it into Zenor’s outstretched hand.

As Fiona moved to the side, Kindan moved around in front of the pair. From the shadows, C’rion and M’tal appeared on either side. Terin appeared with a small plush pillow bearing two gold rings, each crafted of three bands twined together.

“We are here for a joyous occasion,” Kindan told the gathered crowd. “It is all the more joyous for me because we celebrate the joining of two of my dearest friends in a new life at a new and prosperous hold, the craft of their hands, and the bonding of their hearts.”

Kindan paused and looked out down the trellis pathway. “Terregar? Silstra?”

Fiona looked in surprise as Terregar and Silstra, arm in arm, walked quickly up the path to stand before Nuella and Zenor.

As the hush of the crowd dissolved into excited whispers, Kindan spoke up loudly.

“Tonight also,” he said, “it is my pleasure to announce another union.” At his gesture, Terregar handed a rolled parchment up to Zenor; a short moment later, Silstra handed a similar parchment to Nuella.

“Actually, two unions,” Kindan corrected himself, his eyes dancing mischievously. He gestured to the rolls Zenor and Nuella clutched in bewilderment. “By order of Mastersmith Veclan, I am pleased to announce that the Plains Wherhold has been designated a smithcraft, the Goldhall of Plains Hold.”

Zenor’s eyes went wide with amazement while the crowd gapsed in surprise.

“And by order of Lord Holder Ospenar and holder Kedarill, I am also pleased to announce the establishment of the Wherhold of Plains Hold.”

Kindan went down on one knee before them, intoning quickly, “My lord, my lady, it gives me joy to be the first to greet you!”

Zenor shook his head, shocked, while Nuella’s eyes streamed with tears of joy.

Their shock and joy redoubled as Kindan rose and C’rion and M’tal bowed to them. “To the Wherhold!”

Their cry was echoed loudly by the collected holders, their elation echoing all around them.

Kindan had to wait a long time for the crowd to be quiet once more.

“And now, my lord,” he said nodding toward Zenor, “my lady,” he bowed toward Nuella, “I understand that you have come to express vows before this company.” He turned to Nuella. “Is this so?”

“It is,” Nuella declared loudly.

“And you, my lord?” Kindan asked of Zenor.

It took Zenor two tries before he could sound out, “It is.”

Kindan smiled at him and Fiona was pleased to see M’tal rest a comforting hand on Zenor’s shoulder as Kindan continued through the vows. At last the rings were exchanged, and the newlyweds kissed.

Kindan stepped back then, shouting to the crowd, “Zenor and Nuella!”

Now, Fiona called to Zirenth.

She was lucky to be facing away from the wherhold so that she saw the long trails of glows in the sky as they approached. As T’mar’s Zirenth, bearing a basket full of green glows, and N’jian’s Graneth bearing a basket full of yellow glows, flew into view of the rest of the crowd, Kindan called out, “What? Watch-whers?”

“They fly well,” M’tal noted approvingly. “I’d always known that watch-whers were up to such things.”

“Dansk flew with just one basket,” Kindan said as he looked to the sky in awe. “I’d never thought of seeing so many watch-whers in flight . . .”

The massed wing of forty-two dragons, all the older werylings and recovered riders, flew overhead in a graceful display of color, then reformed and swung back around, performing intricate maneuvers, making tight circles and trails in the sky to the delight of all the observers, at a height such that only the glows themselves, and not the dragons carrying them, were visible.

“That’s some flying,” C’rion exclaimed, glancing toward M’tal.

“I didn’t know watch-whers could do so well,” M’tal remarked.

“They are very capable,” Kindan declared. “Although . . .” He shaded his eyes, squinting into the dark sky above.

Quick! a voice implored Fiona.

She didn’t need any urging and, feigning a loss of balance, tumbled into Kindan.

“I’m sorry,” she exclaimed, “I got dizzy.”

“Not a problem,” Kindan said, setting her back on her feet and resuming his scan.

Talenth! Tell T’mar it’s time to finish! Fiona thought, glancing toward M’tal, who had stopped staring at the sky long enough to look her way.

“Oh, it’s you again,” he said, smiling at her. He pointed up to the sky. “Some sight, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, my lord,” Fiona said. “I hear that Arella and Jaythen practiced forever on it.”

She wasn’t lying, as presently two lights separated from the others descending in a steep dive, resolving themselves into the shapes of a green and bronze watch-wher, each triumphantly carrying large glows in their foreclaws and — to Fiona’s surprise — bearing riders on their backs.

With their descent, the final performance was over and the dragons of Igen disappeared between.

The party swelled as the Igen dragonriders, garbed as plain holders, arrived from their landing behind the wherhold. Under the pretext of helping the newlyweds settle in, Fiona escorted Zenor and Nuella, glad to get out of the sight of Kindan and the Weyrleaders.

“I’m so glad we primed Arella and Jaythen,” Fiona sighed as she helped Nuella out of her gown and into more comfortable party clothes.

“They were thrilled to fly with dragonriders,” Nuella replied. “I just wish that Nuellask were older.”

“On your wedding night?” Fiona exclaimed in exasperation.

“Well,” Nuella considered, “maybe not.” She paused for a moment. “But I’m getting one of those saddles when she’s older.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Fiona said in agreement. “Come on,” she said, hastily changing the subject before Nuella might question her tone, “let’s get you out there for the dance!”

Nuella followed her lead gladly until Fiona could return her to Zenor and the two of them led off in the first dance in the square laid out beside the garlanded trellis.

“Who’s good on the drums?” Kindan called out, searching the crowd. He spotted Finlar and gestured to him. “You look like a strong likely lad — are you up for it?”

“I can try,” Finlar replied, breathless with excitement.

From among the other children, Kindan quickly gathered a makeshift orchestra and set to singing and calling tunes until relieved by Silstra and Terregar, who proved to have very good voices.

Fiona found T’mar and danced with him once before finding herself tapped by N’jian, then F’dan, J’keran, and what seemed the entire Weyr one after the other until she honestly declared herself exhausted.

In a lull between sets, she pored over the food laid on the groaning tables, piled her plate high, found herself some sweetjuice and sat in a quiet corner, glad to be unnoticed for the moment.

When someone suddenly spoke beside her, she jumped.

“M’tal tells me that you know Arella and Jaythen.” It was Kindan.

“I do,” Fiona admitted.

“And Nuella, you were her honor maid.”

“Yes,” Fiona said, feeling very uncomfortable. She glanced around anxiously for T’mar or any of the dragonriders but could not make out any of them in the dim light and motion of the dancing throng.

Kindan peered closer at her. “You remind me of someone,” he said. “Are you related to Nuella?”

Panic enveloped her. In desperation, she lifted her cup to her lips and let it slip, splashing juice down her front. “Oh, no!”

Kindan looked around futilely for something to help dry her off.

“I must go or this will stain,” she said, jumping up and scurrying away as fast as she could.

“Will I see you again?”

“Certainly,” Fiona called over her shoulder. She found T’mar, who took one look at her frightened expression and stained dress and picked her up in his arms.

“It’s Kindan,” she breathed into his ear. “I need to get away, back to the Weyr.”

“Very well, it’s getting late anyway,” T’mar said. With a grin, he added, “And I think we’ve done well by the Weyr this evening.”

“Indeed!”

When T’mar dropped her off, Fiona slipped quietly into her weyr. Eyes accustomed by the starry night to the light of the dim glows, she found her nightgown, quickly changed, and, seeing her bed full and squirming with the youngest of the trader children, snuggled herself into the crowd of older children nestled up against Talenth’s warm hide.

I’m back, Fiona said drowsily to her beautiful queen. Talenth heaved a slight sigh and drifted into a deeper sleep.

No one was quite prepared for the next morning. The trader children were desperate to stay with Talenth the whole day, while the adults — trader and rider alike — were all weary from the excitement and drink of the evening before.

Neither T’mar nor Fiona pushed the others hard that day but as the sun sank once more on the horizon and they gathered for the evening meal, T’mar told the diners in the Kitchen Cavern, “I think it is time for the older riders to depart.”

“They’re all recovered,” Fiona agreed.

“We were only waiting for the wedding,” N’jian remarked. He cocked a glance toward T’mar. “Same plan as with K’rall? Meet you here at the third Turn?”

“Yes,” T’mar said. “Use the same coordinates.”

“The stars will guide us,” F’dan murmured in his seat next to Fiona.

The next day was marked by a flurry of activity as the older riders collected their gear, sorted out their quarters, and prepared for the jump between times to the Igen Weyr nearly two and a half Turns in the future.

“You’ll have sixteen Turns when we meet again,” F’dan said as Fiona hugged him goodbye. “You’ll be full grown, a lady in your own right.”

Fiona laughed at the description.

“I doubt I’ll have changed all that much,” she said.

“You’ll be a dragonrider when next we meet,” N’jian told her, glancing down from his mount on Graneth.

“And your queen won’t be long from rising,” F’dan reminded her. He pushed her away from him to look her in the eyes. “Be careful, Weyrwoman.”

“I will,” Fiona promised.

The dragonriders mounted, the dragons rose in the starry night, circled up to the Star Stones, and blinked between.