Dragonheart

by Todd J. McCaffrey

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

  Fiona growled back in keeping with the banter.

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

  “I can take care of myself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Nothing with ice, Perinth repeated to himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “And when was that, my lord?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Only Terin,” Fiona admitted.

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

  “Perhaps,” Fiona agreed politely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Certainly!”

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

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

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

  “Which begs the question—why?”

  Fiona shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “It smells marvelous,” she declared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Fiona, mouth full, shook her head and shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

  “Winter’s getting harsh,” Azeez added.

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

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

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