Dragonheart

EIGHTEEN

Igen Weyr, Early Morning, AL 499.13.11

Fiona started pestering T’mar on her fifteenth birthday. She tried to be subtle.

“I’ve fifteen Turns now,” she told him. “Isn’t that a great age for someone on their first flight?”

“It is,” T’mar agreed, grinning. “Let me see how Talenth seems in the morning.”

In the morning he said to her, “No, she’s strong, but I think you should wait.”

And so she waited. And waited. She let another fortnight go by before she broached the subject once more. “Isn’t Ladirth wellformed?” she asked as the weyrlings gathered for their late-night gliding.

“Yes, he is,” T’mar agreed with a long-suffering sigh. “And he’ll be a fine flyer too, when the time is right.”

The next month passed with Fiona valiantly refraining from a single comment, although she caught T’mar eyeing her speculatively several times. She spent more time with Terin, with the younger weyrlings, with the traders, while T’mar was busy training the older weyrlings in formation flying, flaming, and recognition points.

“Tomorrow have the weyrlings set the riding straps on their dragons,” T’mar told Fiona the next day when the weyrlings had finished their early morning glide.

Fiona’s eyes lit, but that was nothing compared to the shouts of joy when she told F’jian and the rest of the weyrlings.

“Too much exuberance,” T’mar muttered disapprovingly when he heard the outburst. Fiona stuck her tongue out at him, which was very un-Weyrwoman-like but satisfying all the same.

The next morning, the weyrlings were lined up extra early, eyes gleaming, but T’mar disappointed them, merely inspecting their riding straps and murmuring quiet corrections to each individual rider. Fiona wasn’t spared the ordeal.

“Have them try again tomorrow,” T’mar said after ordering the harnesses removed before the weyrlings had their practice glides.

The next day things were much better, but T’mar ordered them once again to remove their harnesses before the dragns flew.

“If one harness is wrong, they are all wrong,” T’mar said when the chorus of groans arose from the collected weyrlings.

“Whose harness was wrong?” Fiona asked.

“You don’t know?” T’mar replied, shaking his head sadly.

Fiona’s face burned with shame.

“Tomorrow, we get here before T’mar and we check everyone’s harness,” F’jian said.

The next day, to everyone’s intense relief, T’mar allowed the dragons to fly with their harnesses on.

“We’ll keep that up for the next sevenday,” he said, sounding pleased.

“I’ll bet they never did this to the other weyrlings,” Fiona muttered rebelliously to F’jian.

“Maybe not,” F’jian said with a shrug. “But if it makes us safer riders, what’s the harm in it?”

Fiona couldn’t say anything in response, suddenly recalling her angry exchange with T’mar Turns back and ahead at Fort Weyr.

At the end of that sevenday, T’mar made the weyrlings fill sandbags to their weight. He inspected them on a balance beam and, for the next several days, until all the weights balanced for all the weyrlings, made the weyrlings empty their sandbags individually before allowing their dragons to fly unharnessed.

The older weyrlings, meanwhile, found the whole exercise hilarious and were now lined up every morning, jeering the weyrlings and cheering on the wingleader.

“We’ll get up before everyone,” Fiona swore one morning. Her words were met with a growl of approval from the rest of the weyrlings.

The next morning, every weyrling was checked twice, once by his partner and once by Fiona, who was herself checked three times — first in secret with F’jian alone, and twice more in public by F’jian and J’nos.

“We need to set the example,” she had explained.

The effort proved out — for the first time the dragons were allowed to walk around the Bowl with the sandbags attached to their harnesses before T’mar — to the groans of all the younger weyrlings and the guffaws of all the older weyrlings — ordered the sandbags removed again.

This practice lasted another sevenday and became so routine that all the younger weyrlings exclaimed in delight when T’mar refrained from ordering the sandbags to be removed.

F’jian smiled excitedly at Fiona as his Ladirth climbed the queen’s ledge in preparation for his first full-weight glide, but Fiona was troubled.

“I don’t think this is right,” she said to F’jian’s surprise. “Don’t you think T’mar would insist on them flying first with a lighter load to strengthen their muscles?”

“But they’ve been gliding for Turns!” F’jian protested. Fiona glanced toward T’mar and noted how the bronze rider stood, impassively looking their way.

“T’mar,” she called. “Shouldn’t we start with less weight?”

T’mar’s face slowly creased with a smile and he nodded.

“It was another test!” F’jian groaned beside her as he rushed to remove half the sandbags from Ladirth’s load.

Two full sevendays passed before the dragons were permitted to glide with their riders’ full weight in sand.

And then —

“No sandbags tomorrow,” T’mar said as the last dragon glided back down to the ground, landing lightly, his eyes whirling in shades of green with pleasure.

“No sandbags,” Fiona repeated, having learned always to repeat the wingleader’s orders for confirmation.

The rest of the day crawled by, broken only by the excited chatter of the younger weyrlings.

“You first,” T’mar said to Fiona as the weyrlings formed up the next morning. “Climb up on Talenth — mind your head! — she’s got the largest wingspan, and even though you’re nearly the lightest rider, if she can manage without strain, so can the others.”

For all her anticipation, for all that dragonriders had been flying dragons for hundreds of Turns, for all the experience Fiona had had flying on the backs of others’ dragons, she still couldn’t help feeling nervous and excited as she climbed up on Talenth’s back.

Ready? Talenth asked excitedly.

Wait a moment, Fiona said, turning to look down at T’mar — he looked smaller from this height — asking, “Can you check my straps, wingleader?”

T’mar smiled as she passed another one of his silent tests and walked around Talenth’s neck, inspecting the straps from both sides and tugging on them.

“They look in order,” he said. He leaned closer and said in a voice pitched for only her ears, “Are you ready?”

Fiona’s heart leapt into her throat and for a moment she felt light-headed. This was it! Then she nodded. “Ready.”

“Just a regular glide, nothing more,” T’mar said to her. “Talenth can’t get much speed with you on her back, so she’ll just have to glide off the ledge.”

“I know.”

T’mar nodded and waved for her to proceed. Fiona found herself hesitating, not frightened really, but wanting to savor the moment. She would never have a first flight again.

“Go, Weyrwoman, fly!” the other weyrlings urged.

Okay, Talenth, just take a nice drop off the ledge, she said.

Talenth rumbled a sigh and then trotted as quickly as she could to the ledge and went over. She spread her wings and glided no more than ten meters before landing daintily.

“Next!” T’mar barked, not even waiting for Fiona to move off.

Go to the back of the line, Fiona told Talenth, hiding a grin.

We’re going to go again? the gold dragon asked excitedly.

If we can.

They could and did.

“Three times,” T’mar said when Fiona landed for the second time, unable to keep a huge smug grin off her face. “Always do things three times.”

And so they did.

We flew! Talenth cried excitedly as they watched the last of the weyrlings complete their third glide.

We glided, Fiona corrected her, leaning forward to pat her neck affectionately. Flying will come later.

Indeed, it took another two months before T’mar declared that he had a special announcement to make after dinner.

“Tomorrow we’ll begin weyrling training,” he told the assembled riders as they finished their dessert.

Fiona, F’jian, J’nos and all the younger weyrlings cheered but their voices were drowned out by those of the older weyrlings and dragonriders.

“You worked hard for it,” J’keran told Fiona. “You deserve it.” He motioned for her to lean toward him and added quietly, “I think T’mar was harder on you lot because of your gold.”

“I had guessed as much,” Fiona replied, adding, “It might also be because he wants to be sure that these weyrlings are better prepared to fight when they return.”

“If that’s the case, then when they’re ready to learn flaming and fighting, T’mar will be working both sets of weyrlings extra hard,” J’keran said, a pained look on his face.

“Better learn than burn,” Fiona replied, quoting the old training motto.

“You say that before your muscles are burning from the workout,” J’keran warned her. “When you start catching sacks of firestone in midair and flying six-hour Falls, you’ll find you have muscles that you never knew you had — and all of them sore.” He frowned for a moment, then brightened. “Of course, T’mar probably won’t force you to train like the weyrlings.”

“Queens fly Thread,” Fiona returned, feeling her cheeks heating.

“Only if there are enough for a queen’s wing,” J’keran responded as he leaned back and spooned up his last bite of dessert.

Fiona turned to T’mar. “I want to train with the weyrlings.”

“Of course,” T’mar replied as if the matter were already settled.

“Fighting and flaming,” she said.

T’mar’s eyes narrowed. “If we can find a flamethrower, certainly.”

“It’ll be Turns before it’s an issue,” J’keran remarked as he swallowed his last bite.

“Good, then I’ll have Turns to track down a flamethrower,” Fiona declared.

Fiona tackled the issue of finding a flamethrower the very next day, taking time with Terin to thoroughly examine the storerooms without result.

“They probably took them to Telgar,” Terin said.

“Is there anywhere else they might be?” Fiona wondered aloud. She couldn’t imagine why a Weyr without queens would be worried about taking flamethrowers with them.

“The Hatching Grounds?” Terin ventured. “That’s the only place we haven’t been that might have the room.”

“What about the queen’s weyrs?” Fiona asked. “We’ve only thoroughly looked through three: there are two more.”

Terin shook her head. “Only one — I assigned the other to F’jian yesterday.”

“But they’d still be cleaning it out, wouldn’t they?”

Terin nodded. “I’ll have them keep a lookout for anything that might be a flamethrower.”

“I’ll talk with Azeez when he comes in.”

The deal with the traders had worked out brilliantly in the Turn and a half that the Fort riders had been back in time. While much of the trade occurred outside the Weyr at depots established much as T’mar had suggested in areas safe from sandstorms and easily serviced by caravans, there was still a lot of storage in use at the Weyr as dragonborne goods were moved from one outlying depot to another. Indeed it was rare to see an actual caravan at the Weyr these days. Instead, traders came in on dragonback and left the same way. By mutual agreement, only the original traders were allowed to stay at the Weyr, so as to keep the secret among a select group.

“A flamethrower?” Azeez repeated when Fiona brought it up over dinner. He frowned thoughtfully. “Are they the same as are used in the holds?”

Fiona glanced questioningly toward T’mar. “Probably,” the wingleader said.

“You don’t want a flamethrower,” Azeez told Fiona, shuddering.

“Of course I do,” Fiona replied hotly. “They’re used in the queen’s wing.”

“All the flamethrowers I know use the old firestone,” Azeez said with a grimace. “They’re prone to explode.”

“They won’t work with proper firestone?” T’mar asked, curious.

“No, they rely on mixing stone and water to produce flame,” Azeez said.

For countless Turns firestone — now called old firestone or sometimes flamestone — had been reluctantly chewed by dragons until the last old firestone mine had exploded. The search for a new vein of the ore had led C’tov, aided by Kindan, to discover — or rediscover — the original firestone that had long ago been chewed by fire-lizards.

“Flamestone’s very dear,” Azeez said. “It’ll be hard to get and transport here, particularly without someone noticing.”

“I don’t want it here,” T’mar said. “There have been too many accidents with that stuff, and the weyrlings could get careless, never having dealt with it before.”

He caught Fiona’s mulish look, so he added, “The burns from that stone are horrific.”

Fiona grimaced. “There must be some way.”

“It’d be better to find a different sort of flamethrower,” Azeez remarked.

“Who could — ” T’mar began.

“Stirger!” Fiona cut in excitedly. “It’d be the sort of challenge that would warm his ratty heart.”

“You’re not seriously suggesting that we ask the smith — ” T’mar began only to be cut off once more by Fiona.

“If it were done right, it could be sold to the holders, too,” she said, turning to glance at Azeez. The trader took on a calculating look and then grinned devilishly back at Fiona.

“Yes, it could be quite profitable,” he replied. “I believe that D’gan is currently operating the only remaining old firestone mine.”

T’mar snorted derisively. “He would be!”

“Probably forced some Shunned to do it for him,” Fiona agreed acerbically. “Getting a better flamethrower would free them, wouldn’t it?” She glanced to T’mar for confirmation.

The bronze rider made no response, his lips pursed thoughtfully.

“Well?” she prompted.

“I was thinking,” T’mar said, rousing himself. The others looked at his grim expression. Fiona motioned impatiently for him to continue. “I don’t recall any word of a new flamethrower being mentioned in our time.”

Fiona’s lips fell into a frown of her own. “Father would have mentioned it.”

“So this invention will have to wait until your return,” Azeez said hopefully. “It does not mean that Stirger could not develop it for you now.”

“He’d have to agree to keep it a secret,” Fiona said sourly.

“Is there anyone else who could invent such a thing, then?” Azeez asked. “Someone you could trust more to keep such a secret?”

T’mar cocked his head thoughtfully for a long moment. “I can’t think of anyone.”

“I can,” Fiona said excitedly. “Terregar and Zenor both.”

“If you could pry them away from their mining and smithing,” T’mar retorted.

“We’ll just have to be very persuasive,” she said.

The two men glanced at each other ruefully and chuckled.

“What?” Fiona demanded, glaring at them.

“I rather suspect it’ll be you that’s persuasive,” T’mar said, his lips curved upward in a smile.

“Weyrwoman,” Azeez said by way of agreement.

Fiona found in the next two months that she didn’t have the time to pursue anything other than her duties — and her training. The first drills were easy enough, with the weyrlings walking around the Bowl and repeating their twice daily gliding lessons, steadily building up the weights carried by the young dragons. They were helped happily by the young traders who wintered with them and were thrilled to be counted as “dragon baggage,” as J’gerd had humorously labeled them, or “dragon riders” as they gladly labeled themselves.

After two sevendays T’mar changed the drill dramatically.

“Today we will see if you can fly,” he told the collected weyrlings that morning at breakfast. The older weyrlings followed this announcement enthusiastically, remembering their first flight more than two Turns back.

Breakfast and chores were finished at breakneck speed, and Fiona, F’jian, and J’nos had the weyrlings assembled in proper formation well before T’mar strode out into the Weyr Bowl, trailed by the older weyrlings.

“Who wants to be first?” T’mar shouted to the collected group. Every hand shot up.

“It should be the Weyrwoman,” F’jian said, lowering his hand reluctantly. Fiona was startled to see all the other weyrlings lower their hands, murmuring, “Yes, Fiona! Let her go first.”

T’mar hid a grin, while behind him, the older weyrlings voiced their agreement.

Fiona looked down from her perch on Talenth and saw Terin standing, silhouetted by the light of the Kitchen Cavern, hunched over, her face unreadable in the distance.

“I’ll do it if Terin rides with me,” Fiona called back. T’mar’s brows furrowed and all the weyrlings murmured in shock. “It’s only fair, after all she’s done!”

As T’mar opened his mouth, Fiona added, “She doesn’t weigh much; I’m sure that Talenth can carry her, too!”

T’mar turned to Terin. “Terin, come here!”

Slowly at first, then faster, the youngest headwoman trotted over to the bronze rider. T’mar gave her a gentle look and then motioned for her to turn around. Grabbing her under the elbows, he lifted her experimentally then put her back down, his eyes going to Talenth.

“Weyrwoman, how much do you weigh?” he asked.

“Seven stone,” Fiona called back. “And Terin’s not more than five. Talenth has already handled twelve stone.”

“Very well,” T’mar said, swatting Terin lightly on the butt, sending her on her way.

Terin’s delighted cry echoed around the Weyr.

“But only for the first flight,” T’mar called as Fiona reached down and helped her friend clamber up. “You don’t want to overfly her.”

“No, of course not,” Terin agreed, her eyes gleaming as Fiona helped her around in front of her and tied the straps around her.

T’mar walked over and examined the fit of the straps from where he stood. Satisfied, he stood back and called up to Fiona, “Just up to the level of the Bowl, then glide back down.”

“Very well,” Fiona replied. Then her face split into a huge grin as she said, Talenth, let’s fly!

Talenth took two steps and then launched herself skyward, her wings beating gently in the heavy morning air. All too quickly she was at the level of the Bowl.

“All right, back down,” Fiona called, adding, when it seemed like Talenth was too enraptured to hear her words, Talenth!

The queen let out a roar of pure joy and dipped a wing, sending them into a tight spiral, to level up again and land, deftly, right where she’d started.

“A gentle glide was what I believe I requested,” T’mar remarked drily as Talenth folded her wings contentedly back against her sides.

Fiona gave him an apologetic shrug and set to getting Terin back down to the ground.

“Again?” she asked, her eyes gleaming as Terin raced over to the bronze rider.

“This time glide back down, gently,” T’mar said. “Remember, you are the rider.”

Fiona felt herself redden, but she nodded in meek acceptance.

This time no tricks! Fiona told Talenth before giving her the signal to fly. In no time at all, they were at the level of the top of the Bowl again and it was time to descend. Talenth raised her wings to cup more air and climb higher but Fiona told her, If you don’t behave, we won’t get to fly more.

All right, Talenth agreed reluctantly.

Fly too much too soon and you’ll be sore for months, Fiona explained.

I feel fine, Talenth complained as she glided in to another perfect landing.

“One more time, then it will be someone else’s turn,” T’mar said.

“Could we go higher?” Fiona asked hopefully.

T’mar shook his head. “Slow and steady is the way that works best.”

I tried, Fiona reminded Talenth as they found themselves once again in no time at all level with the top of the Weyr Bowl and descending in a gentle glide.

It was fun, Talenth said, landing in the exact same spot and folding her wings about herself complacently. I could do that all day.

It’s harder when the sun’s out and the air’s hot, Fiona reminded her.

I’m sure I could manage, Talenth declared.

I’m sure you could, Fiona agreed indulgently, but what about the blues and greens? They’d want to follow your lead and they’d get hurt.

I hadn’t thought about that, Talenth replied, looking toward the smaller dragons eagerly awaiting their turn to fly. I suppose I should set the example and be careful.

You are their queen, Fiona said in agreement. She remained perched on Talenth as all the remaining weyrlings made their first flights, glad of the higher vantage point and happy to be able to share the moments directly with Talenth, extolling the skills of each new dragon and rider, leaning forward to lay her cheek on Talenth’s soft hide, and enjoying in every way she could her time with her mate.

From their weyrs, Zirenth and the older dragons watched and bugled their approval of each new flight. When everyone was done, T’mar had the older dragons assemble into a wing in preparation for the day’s work.

Fiona was surprised to find herself looking down over Zirenth as the great bronze dragon approached.

You’re bigger than Zirenth! she told Talenth excitedly.

Well, of course, Talenth responded calmly. I’m the queen.

Fiona laughed and slapped Talenth affectionately on the neck before climbing down and guiding Talenth back to her weyr, where she quickly removed the riding straps and checked Talenth’s skin for any signs of flakiness. She didn’t find any, but took the time regardless to oil Talenth’s chest and belly to a fine sheen, reveling in the scent and sight of her beautiful queen’s hide.

That evening Terin and Mother Karina outdid themselves in a special feast for the new dragonriders. Just before the end of the day, T’mar ordered all the new riders to gather at the edge of the shallow lake at the eastern end of the Weyr.

“There is one final tradition for new riders that must be observed,” he intoned solemnly. He arranged the thirty-three riders in three tightly spaced ranks, with Fiona in the middle of the first rank.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered. “Keep them closed until I say you may open them.”

There was a rustle and breeze from dragon wings above them and then suddenly —

“Shards!” “Oh, that’s cold!” “Eeek!”

Before Fiona could twitch a muscle, she was drenched, head to toe in something that was very cold, very wet, and very, very smelly.

“Eugh!”

“You may open your eyes, dragonriders,” T’mar intoned solemnly. When Fiona opened her eyes, she found that the weyrlings were surrounded by the older riders, who were all laughing hysterically.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” T’mar barked to the drenched dragonriders. “Into the water with you!”

Fiona needed no urging and found herself rushing past the other still-befuddled weyrlings to dive into the shallow lake and wash off the worst of the stench that engulfed her.

“When you’re quite done,” T’mar drawled, enjoying himself as much as the older weyrlings, “you may disperse to your quarters.” He paused. “You will have much work to do tomorrow.”

Over the next few sevendays, the weyrlings were flying for over an hour at a stretch. They were drilled on imaging — producing accurate images to share with their dragons. They learned about air currents and how to ride them up or down; they learned about steep and shallow turns, about dives, about weather — and they were drilled intensely on everything, quizzed anytime day or night. The older weyrlings took particular delight in attempting to catch out Fiona, F’jian, or J’nos.

A fortnight after they had started flying in earnest, T’mar had them flying to the valleys where the Weyr kept its herdbeasts, to the riverside where they gathered rushes, and back to the Weyr, shepherded by the older riders until they were able to fly in trios by themselves, watched by the strategically placed older riders.

Once T’mar pronounced himself satisfied with their efforts in this new routine, he made it a part of their regular drill, stretching their flying time until they were able to fly six hours nonstop.

“Now tomorrow,” T’mar told Fiona over dinner one night, “we’ll do one straight, long flight — where should we go, Weyrwoman?”

“The wherhold,” Fiona replied instantly. “I’d like to introduce Talenth to Nuellask.”

“I’d guessed as much,” T’mar gestured for J’keran to join them. “We’ll be flying to the wherhold tomorrow,” he told the other bronze rider.

“Are we bringing anything with us?” J’keran wondered.

“Check with Azeez and Terin,” T’mar said. “No more than six dragonloads. If any of the younger dragons get too tired, we can have the older ones help.”

“They can just land, can’t they?” Fiona asked in surprise.

“Not on the water.”

Fiona acknowledged this with a wry grin and a shake of her head.

“The Weyrwoman will ride in the middle of the formation,” T’mar explained to the riders in the dark of morning as they gathered after a hasty breakfast. “F’jian, your wing will take the lead; J’keran, yours will follow the Weyrwoman.”

F’jian gulped at the prospect of leading all of the Igen dragons himself. T’mar noticed and clapped him on the shoulder, saying, “Don’t worry, if you get off course, I’ll be right there to correct you!”

If anything, F’jian looked more worried.

“You’ll be using the stars and the sun,” Fiona reassured F’jian when she managed a quiet word alone with him as they prepared their riding straps for the long flight. F’jian nodded, his expression still bleak. In exasperation, she added, “And you know what to do if all else fails, right?”

“No.”

“Ask,” Fiona told him, shaking her head. “I don’t doubt your weyrmates will be telling you long before you get worried.”

“Mount up!” T’mar called.

In moments the massed wings were aloft. They circled the hapless D’lanor and Canoth, who were left behind on watch, before F’jian’s bronze Ladirth bugled loudly and set off on the long flight toward the wherhold.

Talenth flew well and Fiona allowed herself to loosen up, twisting on her perch to peer at the dragons behind her, then turning back again to scan those in front. The younger weyrlings kept a good formation, she noted with pride.

They cleared the saddle between the Igen Mountains and flew toward the Igen river. At first, Fiona couldn’t make it out and then, slowly, where she expected it, she discerned a ribbon of blue water tinged with the gold of the rising sun.

The sun erupted over the horizon and the view changed from a vision of grays and blues to a world of colors: gold, sand, blue, green, brown, and, in the far distance, a hint of snow on the northernmost mountains. Fiona reveled in the sight, turning her gaze from one vision to another.

Before them the vista stretched endlessly and seemed only to crawl toward them, like a trundlebug on a hot day.

It seemed to take forever to get anywhere.

Fiona realized worriedly that she needed to use the necessary and wondered how long she could hold out. She started scanning furiously for Plains Hold and bit back a curse when she found it — so far ahead of them.

Minutes crept by slowly while the pressure in her bladder continued to build and she swore at herself for not taking the time to make a final visit before mounting her dragon. If only she hadn’t been so worried about F’jian!

Finally the flight started to descend, slowly, leisurely. And then — by the First Egg! — she spotted the wherhold. She almost cried out in relief and desperately willed the flight to drop faster, to reach the ground sooner so she could slink off to the necessary.

It was not to be: T’mar indicated that they were to overfly the wherhold in a large circle to announce their presence.

Why don’t we just have one of the dragons talk to Nuellask? Or Arelsk? Fiona demanded tartly.

Manners, was the response relayed from T’mar through Talenth.

Fiona gritted her teeth, determined not to reveal her plight even as she felt the beat of Zirenth’s wings above her and saw the bronze dragon descend into the formation — which widened to allow him — beside her. When he signaled for the rest of the flight to descend while signaling for her to remain aloft with him, she could no longer hide her urgency.

“Not fair!” she shouted.

T’mar indicated that they should land by the watermill and Fiona consented with glee: There was a restroom there, too, and it would not be crowded with desperate dragonriders all waiting their turn.

She had dismounted and was racing for the stone building before T’mar could say a word.

“So, how do you like flying with a full bladder?” he asked when she rejoined him at last.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” T’mar confessed, grinning broadly, “until now.”

“Oh!” Fiona growled, too rushed to say anything more. “So why did we land here?”

“Why did we land here, Weyrwoman?” T’mar repeated challengingly.

Fiona swore silently to herself, meeting his mocking look squarely while she thought. “It’s a test, obviously,” Fiona replied, trying not to sound like she was playing for time — which she was, of course.

T’mar nodded.

“F’jian, as the leader of the first wing, is acting wingleader,” Fiona decided, beginning to relish the challenge. “So the test will be to see whether he makes his courtesy to the lord and lady, properly attends to the well-being of the dragons and riders, and then . . .” She paused as her thoughts raced ahead of her and she sent a silent message to Talenth. “They’ll come here to water the dragons and check for new orders.”

T’mar nodded but raised one hand, motioning for her to continue.

“And the test for me . . .” She trailed off, thinking hard, and then inspiration struck. “Is to see if I’m willing to let F’jian figure this out on his own!”

As if in response, they heard the rustle of dragon wings and the sky darkened as the small flight rushed into a landing near the river’s edge.

“Very good,” T’mar said with a congratulatory nod. “And why is it that you need this test, Weyrwoman?”

“Because a leader who doesn’t let her juniors learn on their own is no leader at all,” Fiona replied.

T’mar’s lips curved upward approvingly. “And so, what are your orders, Weyrwoman?”

“Orders?” Fiona repeated, arching an eyebrow and matching his grin. “I expect I’ll be asking F’jian what he plans to do next.”

“Very good!”

F’jian, when asked, looked stumped for a moment before turning inquiringly to J’keran, who cocked his head back toward the Weyr.

“I think we should return to the Weyr,” F’jian said, spreading his gaze between T’mar and Fiona.

“And, without asking J’keran, why do you think that?” T’mar asked.

“Because we’ve flown three hours already,” F’jian replied slowly, “and the dragons are watered and we shouldn’t have to fly more than six hours in a day as we haven’t flown more than that so far.”

“Very well,” T’mar said. “Make it so.” He turned to the gathered riders and raised his voice, “And on the way back, I want you to keep your eyes open for good recognition points. You’ll be going between soon enough, so we shall start drilling on passing images.”

The younger weyrlings’ eyes lit up at his words and, while remounting their dragons, they babbled excitedly among themselves.

Fiona waited until F’jian’s wing was aloft before ordering Talenth up and into her position, glancing behind her to be certain that J’keran and the older riders had taken their positions astern. Satisfied, she scanned the skies for the sight of the large bronze shape that was Zirenth, found it, and allowed herself a moment of congratulations before turning back to look down at the watermill as they passed over it.

It would make a good recognition point, she decided, fixing the bend of the river and the angle of the building in her mind. The wherhold itself was a smudge of buildings and low hills to the southeast.

The flight back to the Weyr seemed longer than the flight out, perhaps because she was tired, or perhaps because she was so eager to get back to the Weyr.

She glanced around in front and behind at the flight, found T’mar again, and scanned the ground below. The wind in her short hair kept her cool. In fact, the air at their height was cool enough that Fiona almost wished she’d brought the heavy wherhide Weyrowman’s jacket, while at the same time she worried whether the riders would get burned flying for so long under the hot Igen sun. She regretted not packing sunblock in her carisak.

She glanced around again and it suddenly hit her — she was flying! She was flying on Talenth!

Talenth, we’re flying! Fiona called excitedly. Remember how long we’ve wished for this?

It feels good, Talenth agreed, pausing her stroke for a moment so that she could take one great big downstroke to catch up in a spurt with the receding wing in front.

Squawks from behind warned them that J’keran and the older riders were not pleased with the maneuver, so Fiona quietly urged Talenth back to her routine of slow, steady strokes.

But from that moment on, Fiona’s view of their journey changed from one of duty to one of adventure, and time seemed to shrivel into nothing as they soared back to Igen Weyr.

True to his word, T’mar quizzed the riders on their return for the recognition points they’d chosen, demanding that they send the image to Zirenth. Red-faced, each rider was informed, usually by Zirenth’s amused snort, that his image was not sufficiently wellformed to use for a journey between.

Only Fiona’s image of the watermill at the wherhold passed muster.

I see it, Zirenth told her directly. I could go there.

Fiona kept her expression neutral, not wanting to further depress the weyrlings.

After that, sending images was added to their daily routine. Then one night, over a month after they’d started this routine, T’mar arose after dinner and announced, “Tomorrow the younger dragons will turn two.”

Fiona glanced excitedly at the younger weyrlings gathered at her table. She’d known it; she’d been counting down the days, hoping that perhaps they would start —

“Tomorrow, in the morning, we will start drilling on going between, ” T’mar said. After that, his mouth continued to move, but no one could hear him for the roar of approval that echoed throughout the Kitchen Cavern.

“You stay here,” Terin told Fiona acerbically after the fourth time she was awakened by the Weyrwoman’s tossing and turning. “If you go to Talenth, you’ll keep her awake, too!”

As the younger girl grabbed spare blankets and hauled herself off, grumbling under her breath, to the queen’s lair, Fiona muttered an apology and tried to force herself to sleep . . . but it wasn’t possible.

Sleep, Talenth murmured to her sometime later and, whether it was her tone or some special ability that she’d only just acquired, Fiona finally drifted off.

She awoke with the very first noises of the morning, dressed quickly, and ran to the Kitchen Cavern.

T’mar arrived at his usual time and refused to be rushed, even though Fiona could feel the tension of the other weyrlings nearly overwhelm her own sense of excitement.

“If you all cannot calm down, we will try again tomorrow,” T’mar said after the werylings had groaned at seeing him pour a third cup of klah.

Fiona willed herself to be calm, sending her eagerness into the very rock of the Weyr, forcing her breathing to slow, concentrating her loving thoughts on Talenth. Around her, she felt the other riders do the same.

“Better,” T’mar intoned, slowly raising his cup to his lips. Only Fiona saw how his brows twitched as he tried to keep from laughing.

“I’ll bet you were worse on your first day,” Fiona said accusingly.

“Another habit of a leader is to ensure that those who learn from her don’t have to repeat her mistakes,” T’mar observed drily. Fiona gave him a brittle look. The bronze rider was clearly enjoying himself, but she couldn’t argue with his dedication.

T’mar sent the older weyrlings out first. They flew off singly, winking out between to the recognition points he had assigned them.

“Break into groups of three,” T’mar ordered as the younger weyrlings gathered in front of him. Fiona aligned herself with F’jian, but T’mar shook his head at her, saying, “You’re your own group, Weyrwoman.”

The weyrlings smiled but, prudently, made no comment.

“We’ve twelve recognition points,” T’mar told them. “Twelve groups. We work round-robin.”

J’keran appeared suddenly over the Star Stones, and landed just as T’mar pointed toward him, saying, “J’keran at the Star Stones is your return point. You will jump to your recognition point and then back here to the Star Stones and land. Once you’ve landed, you’ll rotate to the next group until you’ve jumped to all of the recognition points.”

The weyrlings surged eagerly toward their dragons, but T’mar’s voice rose up. “You will jump one at a time. We will wait until we know that the jump was successful before another person goes between. ” He paused, glaring around at the riders. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, wingleader!” Fiona and the thirty-two weyrling riders shouted back dutifully.

“Do you really understand?” T’mar asked again, lowering his voice dangerously.

“Yes, wingleader!” they shouted once more.

“Very well,” T’mar said. He glanced around, pointing at D’lanor.

“You will jump first,” he said.

D’lanor gulped, his eyes wide with sudden fright.

“J’gerd has your position.” T’mar paused. “What is your destination?”

D’lanor closed his eyes and repeated the drill of asking his Canoth to ask J’gerd’s Winurth for the image.

“It’s dark!” he said, opening his eyes in surprise. “I can’t see enough!”

“Yes, it is,” T’mar agreed, smiling at the distraught rider to assure him that he’d done well. “Try again.”

D’lanor closed his eyes once more. This time when he opened them, he was smiling. “The wherhold.”

T’mar nodded and paused, no doubt, Fiona guessed, checking with J’gerd, Winurth, Zirenth, and Canoth to confirm that D’lanor had good coordinates.

“Very well, mount your dragon, fly up to the Star Stones, and, when you get the signal, you may jump between. ”

Time seemed to stand still as Fiona and the other weyrlings watched D’lanor climb to his mount on Canoth, carefully check his straps, solemnly salute T’mar and Fiona, launch into the sky, and climb up toward the Star Stones.

Fiona didn’t know what the signal was and so was shocked when Canoth and D’lanor suddenly disappeared between. She wasn’t the only one, for around her the other weyrlings gasped softly in surprise.

She could hear her heart beating loudly, feel the blood pumping through her veins as she waited, breathless.

“There comes a time,” T’mar said softly in her ear, having sidled over to her unnoticed, “when you have to trust.”

Fiona glanced up at him bleakly, then nodded in understanding, forcing her lips straight, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

She was just about to ask T’mar or Talenth if D’lanor had made it when suddenly there was a change above the Star Stones and D’lanor and Canoth burst out of between, back from their first flight.

To the cheers of his weyrmates, an elated D’lanor glided back down to the Weyr Bowl.

T’mar pointed to the next group. “J’nos, you will go to V’lex.”

J’nos repeated the drill, discovering that V’lex was hovering over Plains Hold. Again, dragon and rider rose to their position by the Star Stones, again they disappeared between, and again their weyrmates held their collective breath until, triumphant, the dragonpair returned to the Star Stones.

It seemed, as this was repeated over and over, that the fear and the thrill should lessen, that it should grow anticlimactic, but it didn’t.

“Weyrwoman,” T’mar said finally. She was the last to go. The others all looked at her expectantly. She looked to T’mar for instructions and he surprised her with, “Where do you want to go?”

Fiona’s eyes went wide. In her panic, she reached out to Talenth.

We can do this, Talenth assured her, not at all concerned. We already did it once when we came here.

The calm in her mental touch was enough to reduce Fiona’s fright to something manageable.

“The wherhold,” Fiona replied. “I’d like to pay my respects to Lady Nuella while I’m there.”

“Very well,” T’mar agreed. “Who do you contact?”

“J’gerd,” Fiona replied instantly, sending the thought to Talenth. J’gerd’s image came back: the wherhold in the bright midday sun. “I have the image.”

Through his bronze dragon, T’mar checked with J’gerd, Winurth, and Talenth. “Very well, mount up — and good flying.”

As Fiona checked her straps in the growing morning light, she saw that Azeez, Mother Karina, and many of the young trader children had gathered to watch. Before she urged Talenth upward, she saluted T’mar and then, with a gracious wave of her arm, saluted the traders.

Let’s fly, Talenth! Fiona called, and her beautiful, great, wonderful golden queen was airborne with one quick leap, surging upward to the Star Stones. Fiona had a moment to look down at J’keran and wave, and then T’mar’s words echoed once more in her mind, “There comes a time when you have to trust.”

Very well, she would trust. She shifted the image in her mind, moved the sun to the far end of the sky and farther, brought the stars and the two moons to shine and passed it to her dragon. Talenth, let’s go here!

Her heart leapt in her mouth as the cold nothingness of between enveloped them and she began counting in her mind, remembering that between only lasts as long as it takes to cough three times. Three times! Was it more? Had she —

They burst out of the nothingness into the warm night, Talenth bugling joyously, answered by a chorus of watch-whers below.

Talenth, please convey our greetings to Nuellask, then let’s land.

As they descended, Fiona caught sight of many large eyes glowing up at her and directed Talenth to land near the smaller pair in the middle.

“Weyrwoman!” Nuella called gladly as Talenth landed and Fiona jumped down. “I heard you would be coming.”

“This is my first time between, ” Fiona cried as she rushed over to hug Nuella. “I wanted to come to you and Nuellask.”

“Why is it, Weyrwoman, that you make your first flight between at night when all the others came by day?” Nuella wondered.

“Well,” Fiona said with a shrug, “Nuellask would be asleep at midday, and it didn’t seem fair to disturb you like that.”

Nuella chuckled.

“Well, you’ve done it and now you’d best get back and take T’mar’s rightful ire,” Arella told her, shaking her head, muttering as she turned away, “If all Weyrwomen were like you . . .”

With a final hug, Fiona took her leave of Nuella and climbed back on Talenth.

So soon? Talenth asked in surprise as Fiona urged her upward again.

I don’t want us to get caught, Fiona replied, giving Talenth the original image she’d received from J’gerd and instructing her to go between once more.

The time was shorter or Fiona had grown more used to it, for she emerged in the hot midday sun near J’gerd. She waved and he waved back, grinning, while she had Talenth wheel in a tight circle on her wingtip and gave her the coordinates for J’keran and the Star Stones.

They burst back out exactly where Fiona had imagined and she cried with glee, waving carelessly to J’keran before starting her descent into the Weyr Bowl.

It was only as she surveyed the ground below her that she noticed that something had changed. The hatchlings had been dispersed to their weyrs, their riders arranged in a tight knot, T’mar and the older weyrlings standing grimly in front of them.

Fiona’s sense of triumph faded as she took in the scene. What had happened?

She dismounted and strode over to T’mar with a questioning look on her face.

T’mar turned away from her angrily, addressing the younger weyrlings.

“There is always some idiot who thinks they are special,” he told them icily. “Some dimglow who thinks that drills are too much effort, that they know everything.”

He turned back to Fiona, glaring at her.

“Fortunately,” he went on, turning once more to the weyrlings, “we have a solution for this sort of behavior.” He paused for a long while, long enough for the sense of dread and shame to lodge deep in Fiona’s chest, sucking all the joy of her unauthorized adventure right out of her.

“Our Weyrwoman has volunteered to man the Star Stones for the next month,” T’mar told the collected group gravely. “That will enable the rest of us to continue our training.” He paused. “We are done for today. Go about your duties.”

As the riders dissolved into smaller groups, none passed near Fiona, none looked at her, none spoke to her or acknowledged her existence in any way.

Talenth, I’m sorry! Fiona called to her dragon.

You are the Weyrwoman, Talenth responded in a tone of confusion. You are my rider. You can do nothing wrong.

This time I did, Fiona admitted miserably. I am the Werywoman. I neglected my duty to the Weyr; my duty to set the example.

When the others were out of earshot, T’mar approached her. “There’s always one idiot,” he repeated. “I knew it would be you.”

“That’s why you sent me last,” Fiona guessed, her heart falling deeper into her chest.

T’mar nodded curtly, his eyes boring into hers as they welled with tears, and then he glanced away and strode off briskly without another word.

If T’mar’s treatment was bad, Terin’s outburst that evening was even worse.

“What if you hadn’t come back?” the young headwoman demanded. “How would I survive? How would I live?”

Nothing Fiona could say would console the girl, who stormed out of her weyr and slept elsewhere that night.

As Fiona curled up tightly in her cold bed and tried to find some warmth, she reviewed the day, castigating herself for her foolishness, for her selfishness, for her stupidity in thinking that she could fool T’mar. Sleep overwhelmed her at last.

The next month passed slowly for Fiona. She apologized the very next day to every rider in the Weyr, twice to T’mar, and three times to Terin. Azeez and Mother Karina eyed her pityingly, but she said nothing to them, taking her punishment as it was meant.

However wrong she’d been, she was the Weyrwoman, and she refused to allow her shame to keep her from her duties. In fact, she redoubled her efforts in response.

She duly took the hot and bothersome duty of watch dragon at the Star Stones, convinced that she was probably the only Weyrwoman ever so condemned.

As the rest of the weyrlings drilled in recognition points, Fiona found herself continually worried about their return, continually standing as an example of what not to do. She wore her best garb as a tribute to their efforts and, wordlessly at first, then verbally, expressed her praise and growing confidence as the weyrlings came and returned again and again from their journeys between until she wondered how she could ever have thought the journey dangerous.

In the last sevenday of her punishment, Fiona found herself actually looking forward to the duty, finding it a time where she could spend hours in thought and moments in short communication with returning riders. Her thoughts were occupied by considering the stores for the Weyr, the trade with the outlying holds, and the functioning of the Weyr.

Terin had returned to sleeping in the queen’s weyr on the third day of Fiona’s punishment, her complaint of, “It’s too cold with the others!” fooling neither of them. Now she took to climbing the long flights of stairs up to the Star Stones to bring Fiona food and snacks and, occasionally, to share in the watch, often perched in front of Fiona on Talenth’s neck.

Fiona turned as she heard Terin’s approach and wondered idly how she was going to handle the younger girl’s imminent womanhood. Fiona had noticed how Terin had started eyeing the older weyrlings and had teased her gently about it, adding her own cogent observations to ease Terin’s embarrassment but she was worried that, being the only eligible partner for most of the riders at the Weyr, Terin might find herself overwhelmed with offers or worse — frightened by the intensity of emotion if one of the older greens took to the skies in a mating flight.

It was something that concerned Fiona about herself, too. Neither Talenth nor the greens of her clutch were old enough yet to rise, but those of J’keran’s older dragons might rise again at any moment. How would Terin react when the emotions of a mating flight combined with her growing emotions as a woman? How would Fiona?

And, Fiona admitted with a deep sigh, how would she react to Talenth rising? She wasn’t ready for it, she admitted to herself, and it scared her.

Terin bounded into view and Fiona shook her worries out of her head, producing a grateful smile and leaning down from her perch to help the younger girl climb up.

“They’re doing in and outs,” Fiona told her, meaning that the weyrlings were now practicing jumping rapidly between the Weyr and all the other recognition points.

“They’ll be exhausted tonight,” Terin replied, pulling a roll out of her carisak and passing it back to Fiona.

“And hungry before that,” Fiona agreed.

“I’ve got the young ones tending the meal,” Terin said. “Stew, so there’s little chance they’ll burn it.”

“That’s good!” Fiona agreed.

“What are the traders going to do when we leave?” Terin asked.

“They’ll manage,” Fiona replied, unconcerned. To ease Terin’s worried look, she added, “They’ve managed before, haven’t they?”

Terin shrugged in agreement. “What about us?”

Fiona raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

“What are we going to do when we get back?” Terin expanded. “I mean, I know everyone calls me headwoman — ”

“And with good reason,” Fiona cut across her firmly, surprised to hear the younger girl bring up that old worry.

“But when I get back, I’ll just be another weyrgirl,” Terin said. She frowned as she added, “And what about Xhinna?”

“I don’t know,” Fiona replied slowly. She hated to admit to herself that she’d forgotten about Xhinna in the course of the crowded last two Turns. Musingly, she said, “You’ll be as old as she is when we return.”

“It’ll only be three days for her.”

“For everyone,” Fiona agreed, bringing up the image that she’d already started rehearsing of Fort Weyr with the sun and the moons in exactly the right position. For all that she regretted her rash jump between times to visit Nuella, she was glad to know that she could trust her imaging and certain that she could, even now, without further practice, easily jump forward once more in time back to Fort Weyr.

Fiona thought back to Terin’s remark. How would Cisca view Fiona when they returned? Talenth would be ready to mate; Fiona would have had all these Turns of experience running a Weyr — could she ever be happy again following someone else’s orders? Or did she, now that she’d tasted it, see herself only as senior Weyrwoman?

“There’ll be a place for you,” Fiona said realizing that her brooding silence was only making Terin more anxious. “And I guarantee, when Talenth clutches, I’ll have you on the Hatching Grounds.”

“What about Xhinna?”

“Her, too,” Fiona said. “You both deserve it.”

“But she’ll never Impress a queen!”

“No, probably not,” Fiona said with a thoughtful shake of her head. “But even K’lior and Cisca feel that she could Impress a green or maybe even a blue.”

“A blue?” Terin repeated in surprise.

“No one will know until we try,” Fiona replied with a shrug.

A flurry of dragons came through, landing at the end of their exercise. Soon everyone had returned, dragons were dispersing back to the weyrling barracks, and only Zirenth remained with T’mar, who sat eyeing the events from his lofty position atop his dragon.

Fiona was surprised when Zirenth launched himself again and flew up toward the Star Stones. She waved cheerfully at the wingleader, but instead of waving back, he brought Zirenth in for a landing beside Talenth.

T’mar dismounted and climbed up Talenth’s foreleg, one arm holding onto the riding straps to support him.

“Have you noticed anything odd about Sarinth?” T’mar asked her meaningfully.

Sarinth was V’lex’s green.

“She seemed eager to please today,” Fiona replied, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “And . . . maybe a bit more distracted than usual.”

“She’s going to rise, isn’t she?” Terin asked, her eyes wide.

“It’s possible,” T’mar said with a deep sigh.

“I’ve seen three mating flights,” Terin boasted, her eyes shining. “They were fun!”

“You’re getting older,” Fiona reminded her.

“I’m more concerned about the traders,” T’mar replied, “particularly the children.”

“Didn’t they have fire-lizards before?” Fiona asked rhetorically. T’mar’s expression remained grim, so Fiona added diplomatically, “I don’t see any reason why we can’t talk with them tonight.”

T’mar looked only partly relieved. “Have you . . . ?”

Fiona smiled at his awkward discomfort and shook her head sadly. “Fire was too young to rise, but there were plenty of firelizards at the Harper Hall.” She glanced into his eyes and, in that moment, quashed her fears. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Good,” T’mar replied, lips pursed tightly. “Good.” He paused a moment before saying, “You’ve done well here with the weyrlings.”

“It’s been fun,” Fiona agreed. “I’ve learned a lot.”

“I thought you might,” T’mar said with a sly grin. Fiona glanced at him sharply, then roared with laughter.

“There’s . . . always . . . one!” she choked out between gales of laughter, pointing her finger at him accusingly.

T’mar went bright red, then hung his head for a moment before raising it to meet Fiona’s eyes, nodding in honest admission.

Terin glanced back and forth between the two of them mystified over the exchange until Fiona explained, “T’mar was speaking from experience when he said there’s always one idiot who thinks he is special.”

“You were the idiot?” Terin asked T’mar in surprise.

T’mar nodded guiltily, recovering enough to say to Fiona, “Did you learn your lesson as well as I did?”

“I think so.”

“Good,” T’mar replied. “Then tomorrow — if we aren’t interrupted — you may join us.”

Early the next morning the air was punctuated by a raucous cry, startling Fiona, Terin, and Talenth awake.

Sarinth is blooding her kills, Talenth reported, her tone a mixture of confusion and excitement.

Fiona felt the same excitement as she glanced toward Terin, who returned her look with a grin. “This is going to be fun!”

“We should go help,” Fiona replied. Talenth, stay here.

Talenth agreed reluctantly as Fiona and Terin dressed hastily, trotted out of the weyr, and jumped over the ledge into the Bowl below, where they made their way toward the cluster of riders loosely gathered around the feed pens at the lake’s edge.

“Don’t let her gorge!” a rider called encouragingly to V’lex, who looked confused and overwhelmed by his dragon’s passion.

“I can’t — she’s — ” V’lex replied miserably, his hands held out beseechingly, his chest heaving rapidly.

Fiona parted the crowd, dragging Terin behind her. “Grab his other hand,” Fiona told her as she reached for V’lex’s left hand, pivoting around to stand in his sight.

“V’lex,” she said, “look at me.”

V’lex forced his eyes to focus on her.

“You can do this,” she told him encouragingly. “Breathe, V’lex.” She took a deep breath herself in illustration. “That’s it! Now focus on Sarinth. She must only blood her kills — she can’t gorge.”

“She’s fighting me!” V’lex wailed. Fiona caught the fear in his voice, the sense of amazement that his normally so agreeable green had turned into an uncontrollable, red-eyed, voracious, vicious beast.

“Reach out, V’lex, reach out with me,” Fiona said, feeding her power through him. Faintly she felt an echo from Terin.

V’lex stiffened as the jolt of power coursed into him and, in the distance, Sarinth bugled in surprise and irritation. Fiona was only vaguely aware of the encouraging noises around her, that Sarinth had given up her first kill to pounce on a second and, after a brief fight, reluctantly only drank the blood of this kill, too. She pounced on a third, dispatching it with one sudden blow to the neck, fastened her jaws on its throat and sucked eagerly, her skin glistening.

Around her blues and browns made encouraging noises, their riders splitting their attention between the green dragon and her rider.

With a taunting cry, Sarinth leapt skyward, instantly chased by a flock of eager blues and browns.

“She mustn’t go between. ” The rough male voice barely made itself heard over the eager noises of the dragons. It was T’mar.

Some instinct had Fiona reach out toward Terin and drag the younger girl to her side, leaving V’lex exposed to the growing attentions of the other riders even as she herself continued to pour her power into the green rider.

And then — in an instant — Fiona felt a backlash flow into her, and suddenly she had an image from high in the sky, looking down on the Weyr and the puny blues and overmuscled browns as she soared over them, taunting them with cries as she climbed higher and higher in the cool morning air, the sun rising over the horizon in tribute to her prowess.

“Fiona!” a voice, harsh with emotion, burst over her. “Fiona, you must see to the traders!”

Fiona felt herself being brusquely shoved, pushed out of the warm huddle of bodies pressing around V’lex, felt Terin’s grasp tighten in panic on her hand and then — she was out of the throng, looking back longingly.

T’mar’s head appeared amongst the others as he called, “Go, see to the children!”

And then the instant of connection, of soaring emotions Fiona had only dimly felt before, seeped away from her and she was herself, back on the ground, a loud group of dragonriders behind her, Terin gasping wide-eyed for breath still clinging tightly, painfully to her hand, and — in the distance — a knot of young traders, looking more alarmed and frightened than excited over the behavior of the dragonriders.

“Did you see the green dragon jump into the sky?” Fiona asked the knot of youngsters as she closed upon them.

Some nodded, others shrank back behind their elders. Fiona took a deep, steadying breath and continued, “She’s on her mating flight, and she jumped into the sky daring the boy dragons to see if they could catch her.”

She smiled, adding, “She’s only thinking about how high she can fly, how much better she is than them, and — ”

Suddenly an overwhelming emotion, a sense of elation and climax flowed into Fiona and she was temporarily speechless. Beside her she heard Terin gasp and some of the older trader children also cried out while the youngsters all pointed skyward, crying, “Look, they’re falling!”

Fiona, with her back to the scene, shook her head. “They’re just playing. The brown caught the green and it’s part of their mating game.”

“Will they make more dragons?” a little boy piped up.

“Greens don’t lay eggs,” a girl corrected him, her eyes locked on the spectacle above them.

“Firestone makes them sterile,” Fiona agreed absently, willing herself back under control, feeling her skin tingle as another wave of emotion rolled over her. She took another deep, calming breath, felt Terin’s fingers cling desperately to hers and drew the younger girl to her in a tight hug.

“Sometimes it’s nice to hug a friend, just because you feel like it,” Fiona said over Terin’s shoulder to the youngsters. Some nodded solemnly, seeking out friends and hugging them with all the innocence of children. Encouraged, Fiona directed them into a larger hug, more children joining in until she, Terin, and all the trader children were one giant hug.

There was one sudden, final, joyful shout from the distant dragonriders, one final thrill pouring through the knot of children, and then Talenth said, Winurth flew her.

Afterward, Fiona and Terin herded the trader children through a quick bath in the Weyrwoman’s quarters, by which time the older traders were ready to look after them. Once Fiona had returned the last of their charges, she turned to Terin. “Let’s take a moment in the bath ourselves.”

“Do you want to go first?” Terin asked.

Fiona shook her head. “Just this once, we’ll share the tub.”

As Terin’s eyes widened, Fiona added hastily, “We’ll be needed soon — we won’t have much time.”

They were quickly in and out of the tub, spending more time drying and combing hair than bathing. Fiona insisted on Terin going first and, as the younger girl sat with her eyes closed as she luxuriated in having her hair parted, combed, and braided, Fiona remarked, “You did well.”

“I was scared,” Terin confessed, lowering her head so that Fiona could finish braiding. “I wasn’t sure what I wanted at the moment — I felt so overwhelmed, not myself.” She paused thoughtfully, then declared, “I want to be myself, not someone dragonflamed.”

Her words echoed in Fiona’s mind long after.

Tell T’mar we’re coming, Fiona told Talenth, signaling to Terin to stop drying her hair.

“We’ve got to get going,” she said aloud as she rose from the chair and started for the entrance to Talenth’s weyr. “With a mating flight there are two very happy riders and . . .” She gestured with an open hand.

“They’ll all need breakfast,” Terin agreed, striding quickly to catch up to her.

They found T’mar at the entrance to the Kitchen Cavern.

“I’ll start the klah, ” Terin said, rushing past.

“No rush,” T’mar called after her. “We’ll take this as a rest day.” Fiona cocked an eyebrow upward and grinned impishly.

“And how did you enjoy your first mating flight as Weyrwoman?” T’mar asked.

Fiona started to recount Terin’s trenchant observation to him but thought better of it, changing her expression to one of mild amusement.

“Has Sarinth chewed firestone?” Terin called from her place by the hearth.

“Firestone?” T’mar repeated, frowning. “No, we won’t start to practice flaming until they’ve mastered the recognition points.”

“You might want to reconsider that,” Fiona observed. “I’m not sure if we would want to wait for Sarinth to clutch.”

“Oh,” T’mar said, dumbstruck. He turned toward Terin and sketched a bow in her direction. “Well caught, headwoman.”

“I just thought . . .” Terin began only to break off, blushing. “It’s just that . . .” She glanced helplessly toward Fiona.

“We women tend to concentrate on such things,” Fiona said drily, recalling one of Kelsa’s choice phrases.

“Well,” T’mar said with an expression of one rapidly reprioritizing, “I suspect we’ll need to start firestone drill shortly.”

“We’ll need firestone,” Fiona replied.

“Hmm,” T’mar said, his face creased into a thoughtful frown. “That may be difficult.”

“Rather,” Fiona agreed, heading over to the spare hearth to start rolls. She turned back to him, flashing a taunting smile. “I’m sure you’ll figure out something.”

“That is unexpected,” Azeez allowed as T’mar laid out the problem to the trader over the evening meal. He twitched a smile toward Fiona and Terin as he added, “We’d already discussed how to handle it — an exchange of finished gold for firestone — but we hadn’t planned to deal for another three months or so.”

T’mar turned to the smirking Fiona in amazement. “You’d already planned . . . ?”

“Weyrwoman,” Fiona said, her eyes dancing as she pointed at herself.

“Indeed,” T’mar responded with a snort, half-amused, half-respectful. “So, Weyrwoman, how was it that you forgot to allow for rising greens?”

It was Fiona’s turn to blush. She couldn’t speak and mutely shook her head.

“With dragons, we could retrieve the stone more quickly,” Azeez said thoughtfully, “but we hadn’t expected to begin trading . . .”

“Perhaps we can find something else besides gold,” Terin suggested.

“Foodstuffs?” Fiona ventured. She shook her head, negating her own suggestion, then brightened as a new thought came to her. “Spices!”

“Recipes,” Terin declared.

“Ice,” T’mar offered.

The two women shook their heads at him and he gave Fiona a challenging look that she answered with, “They’re in the north.” “Iced cream, then,” T’mar said in a stubborn tone.

“Recipes,” Terin repeated.

“We would like to establish direct trade with the Fire Hold,” Azeez allowed.

“It won’t last beyond our leaving,” Fiona observed, shaking her head.

“Profit when possible,” Azeez said, quoting a trader maxim.

“I don’t want us to get involved in trader politics,” T’mar declared, glancing frankly toward Azeez. “Especially to the detriment of traders beholden to Fort.”

“You have conflicting loyalties,” Azeez observed.

“We’ve already established loyalty with you,” Fiona said, adding, “Do you think it won’t last when we return to our own time?”

“In your time, Fiona, you are not the senior Weyrwoman,” Azeez reminded her. “You may not control your loyalties.”

Fiona flinched — the remark struck all too true.

“Then let us help you while we can,” Terin said, glancing toward Fiona for approval.

“Recipes won’t work,” Azeez said, changing the subject back to the original issue, “but recipes with spices would.”

“Because you could only sell a recipe once?” Terin guessed.

“Correct,” Azeez agreed approvingly. “Have you any recipes that require unusual spices?”

“Curry with pistachio,” Fiona suggested immediately, citing her favorite culinary find.

“Pistachios aren’t limited to Igen,” Mother Karina replied with a thoughtful frown, “but they are not common to the cold north, either.”

“Ginger and some of the hotter chilis,” T’mar suggested.

“I’m sure we can come up with a list for trade,” Azeez agreed. “When and how will we start?”

T’mar pursed his lips in a sour look. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “I’d hate to think of depriving the Weyrs of their needed — ”

“The Weyrs have need of us, too,” Fiona cut across him, gesturing to the weyrlings around them. “If we don’t get them trained and ready to fight, there will be no point in our coming back to this time.”

“I wonder, though, is there any other source of proper firestone?” Azeez asked, glancing toward Fiona. “If the Igen charts marked gold, wouldn’t they also mark firestone?”

T’mar and Fiona exchanged astonished looks and rose from the table, eager to put thought into action.

“The map has lasted this long,” Mother Karina said in a tone that halted their motion, “I’m sure it will keep until after you’ve eaten.”

“And the food’s hot now,” Terin added, grinning at the older trader.

T’mar gave Fiona a sheepish look and the two returned to their seats, but they were unable to keep themselves from eating more quickly than usual. Terin, Azeez, and Mother Karina noticed and laughed at them.

T’mar flushed, but Fiona ignored them, concentrating on finishing her meal.

“Another excellent and tasty meal, Terin,” she said as she rose from her place, searching the cavern for a nearby glowbasket she might purloin. T’mar was at her side before she reached the entrance to the Weyr Bowl.

“Would you like us to wait for you?” Azeez called after them, his amusement unrestrained.

“Whatever,” Fiona called back, waving a hand airily over her shoulder.

Talenth greeted them solemnly as they entered her weyr. Fiona paused long enough to call out a greeting and an apology as she and T’mar moved through the Weyrwoman’s quarters and into the Records Room beyond.

“We should have brought more glows,” T’mar observed as he laid the map out on the long table and tried to make out the markings in the light of the glow Fiona had brought. Fiona leaned close to the map, frustrated herself, and nodded in agreement, only to gasp in surprise as the level of light in the room doubled.

“I thought you might need more,” Terin said brightly as she entered, cradling a large basket in her arms. She placed it heavily on the table and leaned over the map, joining the other two in their examination.

“What’s this?” Fiona asked, tapping a mark on the mountains not far north of the spot that marked the location of Igen Weyr. T’mar leaned closer and then peered down at the legend at the bottom of the map.

“Silver, I think,” he said, returning to the spot on the map to fix it in his mind.

Terin examined the legend carefully. She pointed at one mark. “This is the mark for firestone.”

“So we just need to find that on the map . . .” Fiona murmured, scanning the map from the bottom to the top, right to left. She paused at a spot near Nerat Tip. “Here’s one.”

“I doubt M’tal would be happy with us poaching in Benden territory,” T’mar remarked.

“Not if he never knew about it,” Terin said suggestively. Fiona and T’mar gave her a remonstrating look and the young girl sighed. “I suppose that wouldn’t be too friendly, would it?”

“Here’s one,” T’mar said, pointing to a spot south of the Weyr. He frowned as he measured the distance with his eye. “It’s less than an hour’s straight flight from here.”

“That’s odd,” Fiona said, peering closer to the spot. “Why would dragonriders have forgotten the old firestone if Igen had a mine so near by?”

“I suspect we won’t know until we look,” T’mar replied.

“Tomorrow?” Fiona asked, cocking an eyebrow upward.

T’mar nodded.

“Do we tell Azeez?” Terin wondered.

“Let’s see what we find, first,” Fiona suggested.

Fiona invited Terin to ride with them, but the young girl demurred, asking quite rightly, “And who will keep an eye on everything if we’re all gone?”

They left at first light, wearing the light clothes favored by the traders under their warm wherhide jackets and riding gear, and carrying extra water. T’mar had decided to bring half the young weyrlings; the rest were working and drilling under F’jian’s and J’keran’s watch.

T’mar had set J’nos directly in charge of the traveling group of weyrlings, who had been ecstatic at the thought of a playful excursion until T’mar had reminded J’nos that they needed to bring shovels, picks, and other digging tools.

Talenth was first into the air and took up a position high above the Star Stones as she waited, radiating impatience, for the others to catch up. T’mar joined on Zirenth shortly, the bronze rider smiling and waving at them.

He says that we were right to take the high position as we’re the most powerful, Talenth told Fiona smugly. Fiona laughed and patted her beautiful young queen enthusiastically.

Taking their cue from the Star Stones, Fiona oriented Talenth in the direction she thought they should fly. A few moments later, Zirenth aligned to the same direction and T’mar gave Fiona the signal that she should lead.

With a laugh of pure delight, Fiona urged Talenth onward. The queen responded eagerly, her wings swiftly boosting them to a breathtaking speed. A sudden worry nudged Fiona and she craned her neck around to see that the smaller blues and greens were struggling to maintain their speed.

Slow down; we’ll let the others catch up, Fiona said to Talenth, her pride in her gold’s great strength seeping through her admonishment.

I suppose, as leader, we shouldn’t lose them, Talenth agreed reluctantly.

We need to go higher, too, Fiona said as she eyed their distance to the ground. Let’s start a slow climb.

The idea of a climb pleased Talenth, who broadened her downstroke to lift them slowly higher. Fiona compared her view of the ground below with her memory of heights and elevations — and the chill of the air — and had Talenth level off when she was satisfied.

We continue south with the river in view on our left, Fiona said to Talenth.

T’mar says that this is high enough, Talenth relayed with the smug tones of someone proven right.

Fiona nodded in response but said nothing, concentrating instead on the view ahead and trying to ignore the chill air rushing over her. She was glad that T’mar had insisted that they wear full riding gear; on the ground it had been hot and stifling, but in the air it was just enough to keep Fiona from a severe chill. She adjusted her scarf up higher over her nose — “I’ve seen them freeze clean off!” F’dan had told her once when they were discussing the dangers of dragonflight.

The sun to their left lit the Igen river gold, then silver as it rose higher into the sky. It was a beautiful day and Fiona’s heart leapt to be here, now — a Weyrwoman on her gold dragon.

Talenth, she thought fondly, I love you.

I love you, too.

They’re lagging, Fiona told Talenth as she scanned the weyrlings struggling along behind them two hours later. Ask T’mar if we should land and let them rest.

T’mar says that we should land when we find the site, Talenth replied.

Fiona pursed her lips tightly to hold in a sharp retort and bent further over Talenth’s neck, peering at the ground below for any sign of the landmass they were seeking.

The map had shown a spot on the southern end of a saddle between two hills, the northern one higher than the southern, with the firestone on the eastern side of the saddle. But that map had been drawn hundreds of Turns back, and while the mountains wouldn’t have changed in that time, the sands of Igen could have blown so much dust into the area as to fill in the saddle itself. That would make sense, else why would the Igen riders have abandoned the mine?

Her gaze caught on something — there! What was that? She peered down further, raising a gloved hand to shield her eyes from the sun. It looked like a large “X” in the ground below her. It was directly in the saddle between two mountains and the area looked recently worked.

Fiona had Talenth turn a tight circle over the spot.

Ask T’mar if we should land, Fiona said to Talenth even as she urged her gold lower.

Yes, was the response Talenth relayed.

Let the weyrlings land first, Fiona instructed Talenth. We’ll go look around a bit.

They flew to the far side of the southern hill, then circled to the west and came back around to the big “X.” Fiona could spot a road that led toward the river and followed it to a well-constructed pier that looked recently used — there were coils of rope neatly placed at the far end, ready to moor a cargo ship.

T’mar says we should join them, Talenth told her.

They circled back and landed near the others. The heat in the valley was oppressive, and Fiona shucked off her riding gear before she dismounted, grateful for the flowing robes of lightweight white material she wore beneath. She pulled the hood up over her head to shade her hair and neck from the sun and then jumped down lightly to the sandy ground below.

“It looks like someone’s been here before us,” T’mar remarked as she joined him. He gestured to the roadway. “This is recent work.”

“No sand on the road,” Fiona agreed. She gestured uphill, toward the dark tunnel entrance. “Is anyone in there?”

T’mar shook his head. “Why don’t we find out?”

With J’nos and the weyrlings trailing behind them, they climbed the rise to the dark tunnel.

“It looks like there’s a door at the far end,” T’mar said as they got closer, his brows furrowed thoughtfully.

“And it’s closed,” Fiona agreed. They crossed into the darkness of the tunnel. Something light just inside caught her attention and she turned to it. It was a slate with white chalk written on it: “Please be sure to close the door when you’re done.”

“Do you recognize the writing?” Fiona asked, raising the slate toward T’mar. The wingleader took it and examined it cautiously before handing it back to Fiona, who replaced it in exactly the same spot.

“Could it be Pellar’s?” Fiona asked. She’d never met the man, but as everyone knew that he was mute, used slates, and mined firestone, he was an obvious choice.

T’mar frowned before replying, “Actually, it looks something like your writing.”

Fiona turned back and snatched at the slate, eyeing it minutely. It could be, she finally decided. “Or Terin’s.”

“Why don’t we see why we should keep the door closed?” T’mar suggested, putting his hand on the handle and pulling the door open.

It was dark inside.

“Did we think to pack glows?” Fiona asked, turning back to J’nos.

“Here, Weyrwoman,” one of the other weyrlings replied, passing up a small glowbasket. “It’s not very big.”

“It’ll do,” Fiona told him gratefully, stepping through the door as she unbundled the glow and let its feeble light play on the tunnel beyond.

“Someone,” T’mar murmured as he looked around the scene in front of them, “has been very busy.”

The tunnel ahead was blocked by a workcart, clearly ready to resume its role in mining as soon as the bags of firestone placed in and all around it were moved away. Bags and bags and bags of firestone —

“There’s more than we need!” J’nos exclaimed delightedly as he eyed the bags of firestone stacked to the left and right of the tunnel entrance. “There’s enough for all the dragons we have to fight a full Fall!”

“There’s another slate,” T’mar said, gesturing toward the center of the cart. Fiona rushed toward it, glow in hand. The writing on the slate read, “Take what you need.”

“Someone has been very thoughtful,” Fiona said as she passed the slate back to T’mar. The bronze rider crouched down to bring the slate closer to Fiona’s glow and read the message with a low whistle of surprise.

“By the egg of Faranth!” T’mar said when he had breath again. He peered quizzically at Fiona. “You haven’t been back in time again, Weyrwoman?”

“Not that I remember,” Fiona replied, shaken by T’mar’s observations on the slate’s handwriting. Even more than the note outside, this slate looked like it was written in her hand.

“Perhaps sometime in the future?”

“That would explain the dizziness!” Fiona exclaimed. T’mar gave her a quizzical looked so she continued, “T’mar, what if we were in the same time more than twice? Remember how shaken M’tal was; what if our dizziness is because we’re triple-timing or worse?”

“And only some of us,” T’mar said thoughtfully. “Others don’t feel it because they didn’t — or won’t — do it.”

“Exactly!”

“That’s a possibility, Weyrwoman,” T’mar agreed. A moment later he added, “But it’s a possibility for the future. For now, we’ve got other concerns.”

“Like mating greens who haven’t chewed firestone,” Fiona said.

“Precisely.” T’mar turned to J’nos, saying, “Organize a party to start loading the dragons. We’ll take this load back between. ”

The work was hot and sweaty, but in less than two hours, each of the dragons was loaded with five sacks of firestone — Zirenth and Talenth each carried eight — and the tired riders mounted their dragons.

T’mar says that you are to give the coordinates, Talenth told her as they rose into the hot midday air. Fiona swelled with pride at the honor, then set the image of Igen Weyr at midday firmly in her mind and sent the image to Zirenth for confirmation. She caught T’mar’s pumping arm gesture of acknowledgment, had Talenth send the image to the rest of the wing, then said, Let’s go.

They burst out into the sky over Igen precisely where and when Fiona had chosen, were greeted cheerfully by the watch dragon, and descended swiftly to a landing in the Weyr Bowl near the unused firestone shed.

With the rest of the weyrlings to help, unloading proceeded more quickly than loading and they all retired to the Dining Cavern for a well-deserved late lunch.

“We’ve got ninety-six sacks of firestone,” T’mar said to Fiona as they started in to their meal of cold cuts and bread, “so we can afford to use two sacks each.”

“So that’s enough to flame for about an hour and a half?” Fiona asked, piling some cold chicken onto her bread and liberally spreading it with one of the marvelous curry pastes that Mother Karina had introduced to the Weyr.

T’mar nodded, watching Fiona’s behavior with an amused look.

“What?” Fiona demanded, seeing his look. “Can’t a girl be hungry?”

“Of course,” T’mar responded smoothly, his eyes twinkling. “But it would be a shame if Talenth strained herself.”

“I am not fat!” Fiona declared hotly, suddenly folding the bread in two and forcing it into her mouth.

“Merely a growing girl,” T’mar agreed, his grin belying his demure tone.

“Hmph!” Fiona snorted around her mouthful. She chewed quickly and took a long swallow from her mug of iced water. “Flying that far is hard work.”

“For a dragon,” T’mar responded.

“You’re just afraid that I’ll get taller than you!”

“I like tall women.”

Fiona fumed, her lips thin, but realized that any further response would only fuel the wingleader’s jest.

“So we’ll start with the firestone after lunch?” she asked, desperate to change the topic.

“Not you, unless you want to make Talenth sterile,” T’mar replied.

“I thought I might watch.”

“I’m sure you’d be welcome,” T’mar said, adding with his former humor, “and you could use the exercise!”

Talenth was sleepy after lunch and lay inside her weyr peering out at the activity.

Lazybones! Fiona chided her.

You didn’t fly this morning, Talenth reminded her haughtily.

I helped haul the firestone, Fiona countered. Talenth made no response, but Fiona caught a faint hint that her queen felt none was necessary.

“I’m not fat, am I?” Fiona asked Terin, who stood nearby, eager to watch.

Terin eyed her for a moment then said, “Well, you’re taller than me.”

“So I’m fat?” Fiona demanded, horrorstricken.

“I don’t know,” Terin replied thoughtfully. “You might just be growing. I think you’d have to ask Mother Karina.” She shrugged. “But what if you are?”

Fiona had never thought of herself as fat; she’d always been skinny — everyone at the Hold had pestered her to eat more. “You’re only skin and bones!” they’d always said.

But perhaps her time here in Igen had put more than meat on her — and she just hated the idea. Especially, she hated the way T’mar teased her about it.

“Look!” Terin cried as a gout of flame erupted from the throat of one of the greens. Fiona and Terin both watched, excited, as T’mar proceeded along down the line of dragons, signaling each in turn to flame.

Apparently satisfied, T’mar mounted his bronze Zirenth and signaled the rest of the dragons to rise with him.

T’mar asks if we’ll take watch, Talenth relayed, lifting her head and snaking it between Terin and Fiona where they stood.

“Certainly!” Fiona replied. “T’mar wants us to take watch, want to come?” she said to Terin.

Terin readily agreed and, shortly, the two were mounted on Talenth as she beat swiftly up to the watch heights and daintily landed beside the blue watch dragon. The rider, his face barely visible under his wide sun hat, waved cheerfully, hefting one of the two firestone sacks at his side, and eagerly joined the rest of the weyrlings.

“I suppose from now on we won’t be able to call them weyrlings,” Fiona said.

“They’ve still got to learn how to fight as a wing and as part of a larger Flight,” Terin pointed out.

“That won’t take long,” Fiona replied.

Fiona was right; in less than three months the dragons and riders were drilling as groups, wings, and even as a small flight.

They returned to the firestone mine several times for more firestone, finally sending a half wing down under J’nos for a sevenday to mine more.

“We were very careful,” J’nos explained. “We only worked where it was easy and never dug too far in.”

At the same time, T’mar arranged for Fiona to resume her lessons flying between, often inviting her to join him as referee in the wing and flight exercises.

Spurred by T’mar’s comments earlier about her weight, Fiona took to flying every day, often helping the traders by carrying loads slung under Talenth to their various depots scattered around central Pern. She was careful to arrange that such favors were returned in full, particularly ensuring that Terin was never left to bear the burden of the Weyr’s management unaided.

T’mar had taught and drilled Fiona and Talenth on all the recognition points throughout Pern from the massive Red Butte to the spires of High Reaches Weyr — from a safe distance — from Nerat Tip to Southern Boll, from Ista Hold to the icy Far Watchers until Fiona could instantly and accurately recall the images for any place at any time.

“We’re drilling now,” T’mar explained as they planned for a night jump to Fort Hold not long after Fiona’s “sixth” Turn, “because you’ll need to know this when we return to our time, and with Thread falling, there may not be any chance to practice.” He did not add, but Fiona guessed, that the other reason he wanted her and Talenth fully trained was in case something happened to Cisca or her Melirth. “We must pay particular attention to time,” he reminded her.

Fiona nodded and took a steadying breath to still her racing heart. She was going back to where she lived, when she lived there.

T’mar says for us to send Zirenth the image, Talenth told her.

“All right,” Fiona replied, concentrating on the image in her mind.

T’mar says we will lead them, Talenth reported a moment later with unalloyed pride in her voice.

Fiona’s eyes widened and she took another deep breath before nodding to herself.

Ready? she asked Talenth. When her gold dragon rumbled in acknowledgment, Fiona said, Let’s go!

The cold, dark nothingness of between enveloped them. Fiona scarcely noticed it, she was concentrating so hard on her destination. In a moment they burst out into the sky above Fort Hold, the Harper Hall visible to their left, and Fiona ordered Talenth to start a slow rightward spiral down, checking over her shoulder to be certain that Zirenth had followed them. She smiled as she caught sight of the bronze trailing behind her, his multifaceted eyes barely returning the moonlight.

Below them, from the Hold, Fiona heard the high-pitched bugling challenge from Forsk, the Hold’s green watch-wher.

Tell her it’s okay, Fiona said to Talenth. Immediately, Forsk’s challenge changed to a warble of greeting. She looked down behind her, to where the watch-wher’s lair was slowly receding away, and waved at the bright eyes of the watch-wher.

Ask Zirenth if he’s ready, Fiona replied.

T’mar says to go to Fort Weyr, high, Talenth said.

“More drill!” Fiona exclaimed laughing. She drew forth her image of Fort Weyr, checked the night sky around her, and had Talenth relay the image to Zirenth.

Good, Talenth said. Fiona smiled and gave Talenth the word to go between.

An instant later they were high above Fort Weyr in the same night at nearly the same time. A wave of dizziness engulfed Fiona and she nearly fainted, gripping the riding straps tightly and leaning forward against Talenth’s neck.

T’mar! Fiona cried. Too many times!

She only sensed T’mar’s feeble response, finding the shadowy form of the bronze behind her. Without waiting, Fiona formed the image of Igen in her mind and ordered Talenth and Zirenth to jump between back to safety.

The watch dragon bugled worriedly as they reappeared in the warm Igen air and swiftly descended to the Weyr Bowl below, dragons and riders scrambling toward them anxiously.

“Get T’mar!” Fiona shouted above the din as she struggled to shake off the severe lethargy that had turned her legs to stone and kept her shivering in fright.

“Come on down, Weyrwoman,” F’jian called, raising his arms wide. “I’ll catch you!”

Sluggishly, Fiona undid her straps and threw her leg over Talenth’s neck to slide down off it and into F’jian’s waiting arms.

He caught her easily with one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders.

“Are you all right?” he asked worriedly, peering down into her eyes.

Fiona found herself looking up at him, seeing the intensity of his gaze, sensing his concern, and suddenly she felt more than all right, in fact — a bugle from Talenth startled her back to reality.

“Yes,” she said shakily, gesturing for him to set her down. “Thanks for catching me.”

“My pleasure,” F’jian replied with more warmth than Fiona found comfortable. Had he been about to kiss her? Had she been about to kiss him ?

They were the same age or nearly, but Fiona was startled by the flood of emotions that surged within her. I’m not ready, she told herself firmly. Her body disagreed.