Zenor ran a quick hand over Fiona’s forehead and nodded gravely. “You’re flushed, and peaked.”
He rose quickly and crossed the room to a side table, quickly emptying several containers into a mug and returning with it. “Drink this.”
Fiona took a sip and made a face. “It’s wine and fellis juice.”
“You need your rest,” T’mar said. “You heard the healer.”
“He’s not a healer,” Fiona said even as a frantic part of her fought to get control of her mouth. “He’s a goldsmith.”
“Goldsmith!” Nuella repeated. She heard T’mar’s gasp of surprise and her expression grew thoughtful.
“You must rest,” Zenor said to Fiona, gently easing her back down to the bed. “I’m sorry that we distressed you; your recovery will be delayed because of it.”
“T’mar, tell them, make them understand,” Fiona begged, fresh tears somehow forming at the edges of her vision. “Tell them whatever they want to know.”
“As you wish, Weyrwoman,” T’mar agreed, leaning down toward her to plant a soft kiss on her cheek.
“You kissed me!” Fiona declared in muzzy surprise. “I like that.”
Exhaustion overcame her before she could say more, and she slipped into a deep sleep with a contented sigh.
* * *
T’mar’s voice greeted the moment her eyelids fluttered open. “The egg has hatched.”
“Oh, Shards! I’d hoped to be there,” Fiona exclaimed.
“Don’t sit up,” T’mar said warningly. “Your wound is still healing.”
“Nuella . . . ?”
“She says that the queen is the most beautiful creature she’s ever known,” T’mar told her, his tone conveying both wistfulness and sardonic surprise.
“And?”
“She and Dalor—did you know they are twins?—have agreed that she and Zenor can leave as soon as the queen is able.”
“What about the rest of it?”
“What rest of it?” T’mar asked, surprised. “Isn’t that all we need?”
“No,” Fiona said. “They have to form the wherhold, they have to take Arella, Jaythen, and all the other watch-whers.”
“I know nothing of this,” T’mar said, sounding somewhat aggrieved. “Is there anything else you need to tell me?”
“Oh, I’m too tired to think straight!” Fiona complained grumpily. “I—”
“Rest,” T’mar ordered, rising from his chair. “We can talk more later.”
“No,” Fiona said, “I need to get back. I miss my dragon; I miss the warmth of the Weyr.”
“It’s warmer here than at Fort Weyr,” T’mar said. Before Fiona’s irritated groan escaped her lips, he continued, “But I know what you mean: Igen is a better place for you.”
“Can you take me?” Fiona asked hopefully. “I can come back later.”
“Let me check with Zenor,” T’mar replied, heading for the door.
It seemed like forever to Fiona before the door opened again. T’mar entered, followed by Zenor, Nuella, Renna, and another man.
“Tevris and Tesk will manage,” the new man answered Nuella. “And, to be honest, we’re better off with fewer mouths to feed.”
“Do you want us to take Larissa?” Nuella asked.
“I don’t know if it’d be safe for her—” Zenor replied doubtfully.
“I’m sure it will,” Fiona interjected. “The wherfolk have loads of kids.”
“And we could use the practice,” Nuella added. From his lack of response, Fiona guessed that Zenor was growing red.
“We need the practice, too!” Renna declared. “Don’t we, Dalor?”
So the other man was Dalor, Fiona thought. She could hear the blush in his voice as he asked, “We do?”
There was a moment’s awkward silence after which Dalor, probably reeling from Renna’s glare, corrected himself. “I mean, we do!”
“Fewer mouths,” Nuella reminded him quietly.
“Renna?” Dalor said, passing the decision off to her.
“Well,” Renna said with a sigh, “she’s probably closer to Nuella.”
“She could come back later,” Zenor suggested.
“Yes, she could,” Dalor agreed, happy to find a workable compromise.
“We should go now,” Fiona said, rising painfully from the bed. She was surprised when no one stopped her.
“We can loan you some crutches,” Zenor said.
“We can’t go until dark,” Nuella said.
“Isn’t your watch-wher sleeping?” Fiona said. When Nuella nodded, she turned to T’mar. “Zirenth can carry her, can’t he?”
“Easily,” T’mar agreed. “Shall I send for the weyrlings?”
“Yes,” Fiona said, smiling at Nuella. “I don’t doubt you’ll have some things you’ll want to bring with you.”
“If you don’t get them all now, you can come back for them,” Renna said.
“I’m not sure we want to attract too much notice from D’gan,” T’mar objected.
“One trip or two won’t be a problem, will it?” Fiona said, daring T’mar to object. The wingleader frowned but reluctantly agreed.
“Good!” Fiona said, and turning once more to Nuella, added, “I think you’ll like Igen Weyr.”
“The Weyr?” Nuella repeated in surprise.
“We’ll go there first,” Fiona said. “Then, when it’s dark enough, we’ll go to Aleesa’s.” She smiled. “We’ve found, with the heat, that our hardest work is best done in darkness, like the watchwhers.”
“What about the hold you promised?” Zenor demanded. “I can’t see us staying at a Weyr forever.”
“And you won’t,” Fiona promised. “But we’ve still some things to arrange.”
“Such as . . . ?”
Fiona noticed that T’mar was also intent on her answer. “We’ll need smithcrafters to help with the gold, so we’ll have to visit the Smithcrafthall.”
“Smithcrafters?” Nuella asked, puzzled. Inspiration struck. “Oh, I suppose Zenor is enough of a miner that we needn’t worry on that account.”
“You need the smiths to refine and work the gold,” Fiona explained.
“And we still need to negotiate with the holders,” T’mar added. “I don’t think that will be a problem,” Fiona said.
“We’ll take that jump when we come to it,” T’mar allowed.
It took some time, more than Fiona wanted, for Nuella and Zenor, ably aided by Renna and less ably aided by the infant Larissa, to assemble their belongings.
It was nearing midday when T’mar finally gave the signal to Zirenth and the weyrlings he’d called to help in the transport.
Between couldn’t come soon enough for Fiona, even though the cold seemed like a fresh bite into her injured calf, and then—
You’re here! Talenth cried joyously, and Fiona smiled as she saw her beautiful gold prancing about in the Bowl below.
I’m here, Fiona agreed warmly.
As soon as T’mar had lowered her to the ground, she hobbled over to Talenth and grabbed her head in both arms, surprised that they barely reached around.
You’ve grown!
Of course! Talenth agreed. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?
Fiona found no argument with her insistence that Nuella and her watch-wher be temporarily housed in one of the unused queen’s weyrs. She was thrilled by the way her offer was received by Nuella and, even more so, by Zenor, whose attitude toward dragonriders in general and Fiona in particular seemed to have undergone a complete and permanent revision.
“This is marvelous!” he said as he examined the bath and Fiona demonstrated the hot and cold taps. “And the water is hot all the time?”
“It should be,” Fiona allowed. “At least it is in Fort Weyr.”
She was touched by the way Zenor carefully arranged the room and then led blind Nuella around it, proudly boasting, “Once she knows where things are, she gets around just fine.”
The sun was just going down
as Fiona led them to dinner, seating them at what she’d begun to think of proprietarily as the Weyrwoman’s table.
She was pleased to be greeted by the weyrling riders and the walking wounded, and even more pleased by the respectful manner in which they treated her guests.
“Watch-whers, eh?” K’rall said when he heard about Nuella. Then he peered more closely at her as recognition dawned. “Why, you don’t look—”
“K’rall!” Fiona cut across him warningly. “Remember we are ten Turns in the past and what’s happened to us has yet to happen for Nuella and Zenor.”
K’rall cast her an affronted look that faded only after he digested her meaning. He harrumphed, then gave her a look that might have been a smile, before nodding respectfully to Nuella and Zenor. “Let me just say that I am honored you chose to come here.”
Zenor beckoned to Fiona, who leaned close enough for him to mutter, “Don’t hold back so much that you scare us away from the future.”
Fiona thought about that for a moment. “I’m sorry—nothing terrible, just frightening.”
“Oh,” Zenor said with a grin. “So nothing more than I’ve come to expect with Nuella.”
“I suppose that’s right,” Fiona found herself agreeing. After all, she’d heard not only Kindan’s ballads but also his stories firsthand. “Nothing quite so startling as being the first person to take a watch-wher between.”
Dinner proceeded uneventfully after that, except that both Zenor and Nuella were surprised by the spicy dishes served them.
“It’s the heat,” Fiona explained. “Mother Karina, the oldest trader, explained that in hot climates it’s good to eat spicy-hot foods that aid in sweating.”
“The sweat cools the blood,” Zenor guessed. “Does that mean we need to drink more here?”
“Definitely,” T’mar agreed. “And here’s one of the special dishes that Terin has prepared for Fiona’s return.”
He gestured to a bowl that Terin had placed proudly on the table. It looked a bit like a white pudding or a solid cream but Fiona was certain that she had never seen its like.
“I’m sorry that we don’t have more than enough for a taste for each of us,” T’mar apologized as he scooped up a spoonful and put it on Fiona’s plate. “Terin has a nice cobbler to accompany it.”
Fiona’s nose crinkled, taking in the scent of warm cinnamon and apples wafting across the air as Terin proudly carried a warm pot to the table.
“We think the two will go together well,” T’mar said with a wink at Fiona.
Dubiously, Fiona took a nibble-sized portion of the white solid onto her spoon and put it in her mouth.
“It’s cold!” she exclaimed, nearly spitting it out. “It’s like ice, only it’s creamy.”
“Iced cream,” Terin said with a huge grin. “It took me a long time to convince J’gerd to help make it.” She leaned close to Fiona as she whispered, “We had to use a full kilo of ice!”
“It’s amazing!” Fiona said as she helped herself to a full mouthful. She turned an eye toward T’mar. “Something to trade?”
“Oh, indeed!” T’mar agreed wholeheartedly, contently mixing the iced cream and the warm cobbler into a cool mash.
“I’ve never heard that dragonriders trade,” Zenor observed mildly as he dubiously tried the iced cream. His brows rose in delighted surprise as he savored it and swallowed.
“No one is supposed to know we’re here,” Fiona said, unable to conceal her worry that too many people already knew, “so we can’t ask for tithe.”
“Besides,” T’mar added with an airy wave of his hand, “if we did and D’gan found out about it . . .”
“I couldn’t imagine he’d be happy with the prospect,” Nuella said. She took another bite of the iced cream, savoring it slowly before saying, “And if this need to trade has driven you to create this, then I think it’s great!”
“At Fort Weyr the dragonriders knit sweaters and scarves, that they give to holders and crafters that are beholden to them,” Fiona said, feeling an urge to defend dragonriders.
“Your father is a Lord Holder,” Nuella replied. “You can’t tell me that he never griped about the tithe.”
“No,” Fiona admitted. “But he never skimped on it, either.”
“Speaking of tithe,” Zenor said, glancing toward Nuella, “we have a list of questions about this hold you’re proposing—”
“And a list of needs, no doubt!” K’rall interjected. Fiona glanced nervously in his direction, afraid that the old rider was affronted, but she was surprised to see a huge grin on his face. “No more than your due, I’m certain.”
The byplay was not lost on Zenor, who gave Fiona an appraising look before continuing, “Our biggest need will be smithcrafters.”
“Yes,” T’mar agreed. “And we’ll want you to have them because, unlike the other holds, we are hoping you will give us tithe.”
“We haven’t even settled!” Zenor protested hotly.
“We think that once you have, you’ll find that there’s more than enough for you and yours,” T’mar told him. He shook his head emphatically. “We are not Telgar. We will not demand more than a fair tithe.”
“Also,” Fiona added, “don’t forget that we’ll be supplying you with stakehold, an investment of our own, as it were, and should expect—as traders—to see a return on it.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Weyrwoman,” Zenor cautioned her. “Either we tithe or we trade.”
“Trade and tithe,” Fiona told him. “You’ll find that we have many things worth trade.” She gestured to the iced cream bowl, now empty. “And we won’t stint our friends.”
“Very well,” Zenor said after checking Nuella’s expression.
“Your biggest need is food, anyway,” Nuella said. “Your Weyr and our wherhold will make a large dent in the available herds.” She turned her face toward Fiona. “How many watch-whers are there at Aleesa’s?”
Fiona was chagrined to admit that she didn’t know. “Two, for certain,” she said. “Both Arella and Jaythen have them. Arella is bonded with a green and Jaythen is bonded with a bronze.”
Zenor frowned.
“What about the other eggs in this last clutch?” Nuella asked.
“They were all spoken for already,” Fiona told her.
“That’s both good and bad,” Nuella said to Zenor.
“Why?”
“It means we’ve less to worry about when it comes to transport, but also less to bargain with,” she said. “There are a lot of holders who’ve come to see the value of watch-whers.”
“That’s part of the reason why we want to see the wherhold established here,” Fiona told them. “The holders around here were hard hit by the Plague and there are many wild herds that have attracted predators. The watch-whers can guard the herds—”
“I’m used to the mines,” Nuella remarked. “I suppose it would be nice to be out in the night air.”
“You’ll have Jaythen and the others to help,” Fiona assured her.
“You mentioned gold,” Zenor prompted.
“We saw it marked on the Weyr maps,” Fiona said.
“I’d like to see them.”
“Why don’t you go with Fiona, and I’ll check on Nuellask,” Nuella suggested.
“I’d like to see this map myself,” K’rall said as the others rose.
T’mar and Terin accompanied them. While they walked—slowly, in deference to Fiona’s crutches—Fiona held a quick consultation with them on the injured dragons and riders.
“We’ve three more riders that are now healed and ready for duty,” T’mar reported, “and N’jian has recovered from the worst of the bedsores—we’ve got him resting in his pool most of the day, with a weyrling and his Graneth keeping a watchful eye on him.”
“I’d like to see your injured,” Zenor said from behind them. “Maybe I can learn some things.”
“Or teach them,” Nuella added with a touch of pride. “Zenor became quite the healer
during the . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized what she was saying.
“The Plague happened over nearly twelve Turns in our past,” T’mar told her. “I was about the age you are now.”
“It’s done, we survived, and we press on,” Zenor said in a tone that suggested a change of topic.
“Kindan said much the same thing,” Fiona said in surprise.
“He might have learned it from Master Zist,” Nuella said. She smiled. “After Kindan left, Master Zist picked Zenor to help him.”
“Scared me witless,” Zenor agreed. “I was afraid he was going to make me a healer or—worse—a harper.”
“I would have missed you,” Nuella said fervently.
“I was never so glad as when Kindan sent his fire-lizard calling Zist back to the Harper Hall,” Zenor admitted.
“They’ve had a hard time finding enough healers, since,” Fiona said as they began the slope upward to the queens’ weyrs.
“Is that why you’ve none with you?” Nuella asked.
“There’s only one at Fort Weyr, and that just recently,” K’rall said.
“Perhaps we should send some people from the mine to the Healer Hall,” Zenor said thoughtfully.
Fiona said nothing, deciding not to tell them that they hadn’t.
When they came to the top of the ledge, T’mar said to Nuella, “I could escort you to your quarters while Fiona shows the others the Records.”
“I’d like that,” Nuella said, reaching out a hand toward T’mar. He grabbed it and led her on, telling her, “I’ve only seen a watch-wher once before and not up close.”
“Oh,” Nuella responded with interest. “Whose?”
“Yours, actually,” T’mar replied with a chuckle. “I suppose I’d better not tell you too much or it’ll spoil the surprise.”
“Don’t tell me too much because if Zenor hears, he might want to put a stop to it,” Nuella retorted with a laugh of her own. “From your tone, I was probably doing something that would frighten him.”
“Is that something you do often?”
“At least once a sevenday,” Nuella replied with an impish grin. “It keeps him on his toes.”
“Hmm,” T’mar said thoughtfully.
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