Dragonheart

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  “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.

  NINETEEN

  White wine for wonder,

  Red wine for blunder.

  Wherhold, Late Evening, AL 500.8.18

  Fiona grinned to herself as she gripped Terin tighter to calm her as Talenth steepened her spiral downward to the landing area outside of the Wherhold.

  “I thought dragons didn’t see in the dark,” Terin called back over her shoulder nervously.

  “They see,” Fiona assured her. “Just not as well as watchwhers.”

  Terin’s response was a wordless noise, not quite a squeak.

  Terin’s noise was nothing compared to T’mar’s when Fiona had told him her plans earlier that day.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Fiona had assured him. “You and the rest are going to be drilling, Karina is here to keep the pots stirred, and Terin and I need some time with Nuella.” She’d paused, waiting until he opened his mouth in protest before adding, “It’s the polite thing to do.”

  T’mar’s protest had turned into a strangled noise.

  “As Weyrwoman, it’s my duty to maintain relations with our holds,” Fiona had added, her tone as demure as she could make it without laughing.

  T’mar seemed ready to burst with objections and Fiona’s expression dared him to try but the wingleader had finally managed to say only, “As you will, Weyrwoman.”

  Fiona had savored his assent for the victory it was. Ever since her almost-kiss with F’jian, and T’mar’s comments about her weight, Fiona had been very careful of her behavior around the male riders. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them, it was that she didn’t trust herself—or know how to handle her feelings.

  Thus the trip to the Wherhold and Nuella, who was nearest her age.

  She jumped down first and then helped Terin dismount. The other girl was a bit shaky but recovered quickly.

  A figure approached them from the shadows and called out, “Weyrwoman?”

  It was Zenor.

  “Zenor!” Fiona cried gladly. “How’s the baby?”

  “Nalla’s doing fine, Weyrwoman,” Zenor replied with a broad grin. “She’s even sleeping through the night, now.” His grin slipped as he added, “Mostly.”

  Nalla was born within the expected time after Nuella’s wedding, just—close enough that Zenor had to endure many good-natured taunts from envious wherholders.

  “To what do we owe the honor?” he asked, as he gave her a strong hug and then moved to hug Terin, who squeaked in awkward surprise at the gesture.

  “We’re here to beg shelter,” Fiona told him. She gestured for him to lead the way. “In particular, we want to talk with Nuella.”

  “Watch-wher business?” Zenor asked.

  Fiona felt herself blush. “No, it’s more . . . personal.”

  “Ah . . . girl business!” Zenor said knowingly.

  “Sort of,” she admitted.

  Zenor wrapped an arm around her shoulders comfortingly and led them to the quarters that he and Nuella shared. The air held a touch of the strange odor that Fiona associated with newborns—a mix of many things, including powders, incense, the warm musk of watch-wher, and a faint whiff of used diapers. It was not quite unpleasant nor quite appealing.

  From her other side, Terin leaned close and murmured, “It smells like babies.”

  “It should,” Zenor replied, much to Terin’s chagrin. “Although it should really smell like just one baby, sometimes it seems as though Nalla is determined to make the stink of three babies.”

  “Fiona!” Nuella’s voice called welcomingly from inside the room. “And is that Terin?”

  “It is,” Terin said, moving forward into the room. “Fiona’s come to talk about boys.”

  “Oh,” Nuella said. Fiona and Zenor entered the room at that moment, and Nuella turned her face toward them, adjusting her grip on Nalla as she did. With a grin toward Zenor, she added, “They have their uses, most times.”

  Zenor helped Fiona to a seat and then asked her frankly, “Would you like me to leave you alone?”

  “No, stay, Zenor,” Nuella said before Fiona could reply. She nodded toward Fiona. “Anything you say here stays between these walls. Zenor is an excellent listener, a good counsel, and he’s a boy—he has insights I might not.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll get some wine,” Zenor said, rising from his chair and leaving quickly.

  “Here,” Nuella said, gesturing toward the baby sleeping in her arms, “help me put her in her crib.”

  Fiona found herself moving before she thought about it. With a sly grin, Nuella slid the baby into Fiona’s arms before rising from her chair and beckoning to Fiona and Terin to follow her.

  They went into the next room, one that had been recently hewn out of the rock to accommodate its newest inhabitant. The walls were finished with touches of wood and daubed with a pink coloring. The smell of new baby was stronger there.

  “Bottom first, then slide your arms out from under her head,” Nuella instructed as she nodded toward the crib.

  “I know how,” Fiona said with a touch of acerbity in her voice.

  “But you’ve never done it before,” Nuella replied, her tone of voice carrying two meanings.

  With a tender glance at the beautiful child in her arms, Fiona slid Nalla into her crib.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready,” Fiona said, as she slid her arm slowly out from under Nalla’s head.

  “If you think you’re not ready, you’re not ready,” Nuella assured her. “There’s no reason to rush.”

  “I know that,” Fiona replied, her tone just short of a snap. “It’s just that . . .”

  “I see,” Nuella said after it was clear that Fiona had finished speaking. “Sometimes you’d like to, is that it?”

  Fiona nodded before remembering that Nuella was mostly blind, then said, “Yes.”

  “And you’re afraid that you might?” Nuella asked.

  “I’m afraid of the consequences,” Fiona said, nodding toward the sleeping baby. “Not just that, but also how it will affect the other riders.”

  “Worry about yourself,” Nuella told her. “You can’t control how the riders will feel, and besides, they will have feelings whether you do anything or not—you and Terin are the only two eligible women for them.”

  “There are trader girls, too,” Terin piped up.

  “Not eligible,” Nuella said. “They won’t be going back to your time in nine months.”

  “Nine months,” Fiona repeated thoughtfully.

  “That’s not much time at all,” Terin said.

  “And then it will be more than seven Turns before I’ll see either of you again,” Nuella mused regretfully. She gestured toward her sleeping daughter. “She’ll have over seven Turns then.”

  “I’ll have almost fourteen,” Terin said. She glanced at Fiona. “I’ll be nearly the same age as you were when we came here.”

  They heard the sounds of Zenor returning in the other room and moved to join him.

  “Wine,” Zenor sa
id as he placed a tray on their dining table, snaking glasses around to each in turn. He poured for Nuella first and carefully placed the glass in her outstretched hand. He waited until she’d tasted it and pronounced it “Wet” before he served the others.

  “Are you trying to get us drunk?” Fiona asked as she eyed the large glass Zenor had filled to the brim in front of her.

  “Of course!” Zenor agreed pleasantly. He filled his own glass and raised it. “To Fiona, Weyrwoman of Pern!”

  “Fiona!” Terin and Nuella echoed enthusiastically. Fiona went bright red. Terin took a large gulp of her wine and giggled.

  “To Nuella, Wherwoman of Pern!” Terin cried, raising her glass once more. Fiona sipped her cool wine only to find Zenor scowling at her.

  “This is not Benden white, Weyrwoman,” Zenor told her brusquely. “This wine is meant to be gulped!”

  “It is?”

  Zenor nodded emphatically. “I said to Silstra, ‘Silstra, I’ve two very nervous weyrfolk who need to talk and laugh—what sort of drink would you recommend?’ ”

  “You told Silstra?” Fiona cried, aghast.

  “I did indeed,” Zenor said, raising his glass again and gesturing that she should do the same. “And she said, ‘Well, if it were the Weyrwoman, she’d have to have Benden white, but as I know it isn’t, then you should have this instead. It doesn’t cost much and they won’t remember in the morning.’ ”

  “And you believed her?” Terin demanded in surprise.

  “I wasn’t sure,” Zenor confessed, refilling their glasses. “I imagine I’ll find out in the morning.”

  What Fiona found out in the morning was that her head ached terribly, her mouth felt funny, and she was sure she’d said far more to Zenor about her worries than she’d ever imagined.

  Somewhere between the third and the fourth bottle of wine—they seemed to appear from between—Fiona found herself pouring out all her worries and fears to Zenor. Nuella had quietly taken herself off to bed.

  “ . . . and I almost kissed him!” Fiona exclaimed as she summed up her encounter with F’jian.