Dragonheart

by Todd J. McCaffrey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “It is,” Nuella declared loudly.

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

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

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

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

  Now, Fiona called to Zirenth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Quick! a voice implored Fiona.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  When someone suddenly spoke beside her, she jumped.

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

  “I do,” Fiona admitted.

  “And Nuella, you were her honor maid.”

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

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

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

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

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

  “Will I see you again?”

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

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

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

  “Indeed!”

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

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

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

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

  “They’re all recovered,” Fiona agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

  Fiona laughed at the description.

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

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

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

  “I will,” Fiona promised.

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

  EIGHTEEN

  Weyrling and rider,

  First jump, no higher.

  Glide to ground,

  Then go round.

  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.