Dragonheart впп-8

by Тодд Маккефри

  T’mar had arrived.

  Talenth, tell Ladirth and Polenth that we need everyone out here to help with the injured riders.

  I told them; they’re coming, Talenth replied promptly.

  Fiona made a face as she berated herself for not already detailing a crew to clean out weyrs for the injured riders.

  F’jian joined her, glancing up as the injured dragons and riders made hasty landings. “Most of the supplies are medicines and bandages,” he told her.

  “No food?” Fiona asked, frowning.

  F’jian pursed his lips and shook his head. “Some klah bark, some herbals, but nothing to eat.”

  Fiona frowned in turn, then dismissed the worry. “Get the weyrlings to help these injured riders. Put them in the weyrling barracks for the moment — just to get them out of the sun.”

  A shadow passed low overhead and Zirenth landed nearby. “What are you doing here?” T’mar shouted.

  “When did you leave?” T’mar demanded, leaping down beside Terin, who had just returned, breathless, with a flask of water.

  “Late at night after you left,” Fiona said. She had been too eager when the mysterious queen rider had made her amazing offer to consider how T’mar would react, and once she’d arrived at Igen, she’d been too busy organizing the weyrlings to think about it anymore.

  “F’jian and the other weyrlings are here, too,” she told him, partly to give T’mar all the news at once and partly in hopes that he might be distracted by the information.

  “How did you get here?” he repeated, reaching out to grab Fiona’s shoulders with both arms, as if to assure himself that she was real.

  “The Weyrwoman brought us,” Fiona said.

  “What Weyrwoman?” T’mar demanded. “Not Cisca?”

  Fiona shook her head.

  “Then who?”

  “I don’t know,” Fiona told him honestly. “She never gave me her name.”

  T’mar frowned, looking deep into Fiona’s eyes. “It wasn’t you, was it?” was it?”

  “From the future?” Fiona asked.

  “No, you on your own!” T’mar exclaimed. “How could anyone know to come from the future?”

  Fiona’s temper rose. “Anyone from the future would know! If it’s been done, then they’d know, wouldn’t they?”

  “And they brought you here, conveniently, before we arrived,” T’mar said, his tone simmering near the boil.

  “And they got us some supplies,” Fiona said, gesturing to the remains of the mound that the weyrlings had mostly stored.

  “Supplies?” T’mar repeated, brows creased in a frown.

  “Mostly medicine and bandages,” Fiona said. “The weyrlings will be storing it in the Living Cavern once J’nos has finished checking for tunnel snakes.”

  “Tunnel snakes?”

  Fiona’s lips turned up in a quick grin as she confided, “I don’t think he’ll find any, but I told him to keep an eye out for them. “

  “This Weyr’s been abandoned so long, there probably are tunnel snakes,” T’mar said in a tone that indicated he hadn’t considered the possibility himself.

  “Well, there probably aren’t any in the Living Cavern; we would have heard J’nos’s shriek by now,” Fiona said. Seeing T’mar’s thoughtful look, she pressed on. “And I’ve got another party clearing the weyrling barracks. We’re putting the injured dragons and riders in there until we can clear out some weyrs.”

  “Weyrwoman Fiona, what are you doing here?” someone called in surprise from the gathering throng of dismounting riders. Fiona recognized J’keran, one of the older weyrlings.

  “Same as you,” she told him with a grin. “Are you ready to start cleaning?”

  “Cleaning?”

  “Unless you were planning on sleeping out here in the Bowl,” T’mar said.

  “Get over to the weyrling barracks,” Fiona said. “F’jian’s got some of the younger weyrlings working there already, but I’m sure they’ll benefit from the oversight of more mature riders.”

  “I’m on it!” J’keran said, looking relieved at the notion of ordering around the younger weyrlings.

  “I’ll be by to check that everyone’s working,” Fiona warned him. She turned to Terin, saying, “Terin, I want you to take stock of the supplies, then see how they’re coming with the weyrling barracks.” Terin nodded. “As soon as you’re done with that, find F’jian and get a crew to clear out the Hatching Grounds — there really might be tunnel snakes there, so have everyone be careful and send in some of the smaller greens.”

  “Send in the greens,” Terin repeated to herself, then nodded and trotted off to the Living Cavern to start her chores.

  “Hatching Grounds?”

  “I was thinking that for the time being it would be quicker to clear than individual weyrs,” Fiona said.

  “Good thought.”

  “And I don’t know about you, but I didn’t bring any bedding,” Fiona continued. From the look on T’mar’s face, it was obvious that the wingleader hadn’t thought of it either. Fiona hid her surprise, asking, “Did you bring any food?”

  T’mar shrugged, shaking his head.

  “Well, then we’re going to get hungry.”

  “T’mar,” a rider called from the distance, “should we post a watch dragon?”

  “Of course! But not you, P’der, you need to rest,” T’mar replied.

  “I can rest as easily up there,” P’der said.

  “No, you cannot!” Fiona shouted at him. “You are going to get well and that means you are going to rest or Cisca and K’lior will have my head!”

  “Fiona?” P’der called, squinting to better see her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Keeping you from doing something stupid,” Fiona returned tartly. She searched around for one of the weyrlings and beckoned him over. “P’der here is recovering from serious injuries to his neck and back,” she told him. “He’s to rest, lying on his stomach.” She frowned, thinking about how to treat the stubborn scores that had nearly flayed the man. “If he has to sit up, he’s to sit with his chair reversed.” The weyrling looked from her to P’der, Klior’s wingsecond, to T’mar, then back to Fiona, and she gave him an irritated growl. “Once he’s settled, see Terin and find some numbweed. If there’s only reeds, then set a pot to boil — we’ll need a lot of it.”

  The weyrling blanched at the thought of making numbweed, a smelly, difficult job that all weyrfolk avoided if at all possible.

  “We’re just here to get older, D’lanor,” she told him with a reassuring smile. “These injured riders are here to get well. So it’s our duty to look after them, eh?”

  D’lanor replied with a hesitant smile of his own.

  “P’der,” Fiona said, cocking her head in the direction of the Living Cavern.

  “Yes, Weyrwoman,” P’der replied, and turned to follow the weyrling.

  “So, Weyrwoman,” T’mar said, stressing the title and smiling as he said it, “who should we set on watch?”

  “That, wingleader, would be up to you, wouldn’t it?” Fiona retorted. And, before he could respond, she turned briskly on her heel and headed over to the weyrling barracks.

  An hour later, Fiona sat exhausted by a smoky hearth, taking her turn stirring a smelly pot full of numbweed grass. The air not only was full of the noxious fumes that made her eyes water and her nose run but was also stiflingly hot. Fiona resolved to herself that in future she would boil numbweed only in the cold of the night.

  A noise behind her caused her to turn her head and she saw Terin approaching.

  “The weyrling barracks are all clean,” the younger girl reported. “The crew cleaning the Hatching Grounds will be done in another hour or so. I set a group to clearing out your quarters.”

  “My quarters?” Fiona repeated in surprise. Then her brow furrowed. “How did you manage to get them to obey you?”

  “You’re the senior Weyrwoman,” Terin replied with no hint of duplicity. “I just made it clear to t
hem that it’s what you needed.” She smiled as she added, “You know how it is with weyrlings; the boys practically fell over themselves to help.”

  “And, after all those firestone drills, they’re used to following your orders,” Fiona guessed.

  “It’s not like there are any other weyrfolk around,” Terin agreed. “Shards, you and I are the only two women here!”

  Fiona coughed and gestured to the exit into the Bowl. “We need to get out of here.”

  “I’ll have J’keran get someone to take over,” T’mar called from the entrance. He gave Fiona a sheepish look as she neared the entrance. “I’m sure that there has to be some weyrling who’s earned it.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Fiona cried, eyes widening angrily.

  T’mar took a half-step back, his confusion evident.

  “This numbweed is for everyone,” Fiona told him. “Everyone works on it. I will not have people taking it as a punishment. What sort of numbweed do you think you’ll get with an attitude like that?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” T’mar confessed with a frown. “Very well — ”

  “Shall I set up a roster?” Terin offered.

  “Yes,” Fiona said with a firm nod. “Every person who’s able will be on it — except for you.”

  “Why not me?” Terin asked, looking ashamed.

  “Because you’re going to be doing all the tallying around here,” Fiona told her firmly.

  “You’ll be our Records keeper,” T’mar told her with a suitably grave expression.

  “Headwoman,” Fiona corrected.

  “Headwoman?” Terin and T’mar echoed in disbelief and surprise.

  “Can you think of anyone else more qualified here?”

  “I suppose not,” T’mar admitted after a moment. He turned to Terin. “Headwoman it is.”

  “Me?” Terin squeaked.

  “Yes, and you’d better get to that list; we don’t want the numbweed to burn,” Fiona said. With wide, serious eyes, Terin nodded and scuttled off. Fiona shouted after her, “And don’t let anyone give you trouble!”

  “I won’t!” Terin called back over her shoulder, her pace increasing as she raced over to the weyrling barracks.

  Talenth, Fiona called to her dragon, where are you?

  I’m in the Hatching Grounds, Talenth said. I’m helping scare the tunnel snakes away.

  Be careful! Fiona warned.

  Of course, Talenth replied quickly, but Fiona could hear her dragon’s disappointment.

  She amended her warning: If you get bit, let me know.

  Okay, Talenth replied more cheerfully. Is that all?

  No, Fiona said, remembering the real reason she’d contacted her dragon. I want you to tell all the dragons that Terin is headwoman.

  Okay, Talenth replied instantly. They know. A moment later, she added, Zirenth thinks it’s a good idea.

  “Your dragon thinks it’s a good idea for Terin to be headwoman,” Fiona reported to T’mar.

  “I know,” T’mar replied with a grin. “I told him.”

  A weyrling rushed up, ducked his head in acknowledgment of T’mar and even more in acknowledgment of Fiona. “I’m to stir the numbweed.”

  T’mar clapped the weyrling on the back and guided him into the Kitchen Cavern. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He turned back to Fiona as he pushed the weyrling forward, saying, “Would you wait here for me, Weyrwoman?”

  “Okay,” Fiona replied, surprised at T’mar’s deferential tone. When he returned, he gestured for her to precede him out into the Bowl. Zirenth landed in front of them, turning his head toward them, his multifaceted eyes whirling with eagerness.

  “I think it would be a good idea to familiarize ourselves with the surroundings before it gets dark,” T’mar told her, gesturing for her to mount his bronze dragon. Moments later, Zirenth leapt into the sky, his huge wings beating steadily, slowly gaining altitude and clearing the Weyr Bowl.

  “Shards!” T’mar exclaimed as he noticed the size of the gap between Zirenth’s claws and the top of the Weyr. “I hadn’t realized how much the heat would affect him.”

  “Why would it?”

  “Hot air is thinner, so it requires more work to get the same height,” T’mar told her. He reached past her and patted Zirenth’s neck affectionately.

  “We should probably warn the injured dragons not to strain themselves,” Fiona said.

  “Yes,” T’mar agreed distractedly. His tone was more focused when he told her a moment later, “Done.”

  Zirenth found a good updraft into which he swerved to circle up high above the Weyr.

  “I can see the sea,” Fiona said, pointing off to the east.

  “This land is so dry and hot,” T’mar remarked worriedly.

  “Does anything grow here?” Fiona wondered. “Wasn’t that why Igen was abandoned?”

  Fiona could feel T’mar behind her shaking his head. “The last Lord Holder made some poor choices in dealing with the drought and planted more thirsty crops rather than switching to those adjusted to more arid climes.”

  “My goodness! That answer was something I’d expect more from a harper than a dragonrider!”

  Behind her, she felt him shrug. “Just as Lord Holders, we find it useful to keep abreast of things.”

  “I suppose we could fish,” Fiona said, gazing westward over the uninviting terrain, “but I’m not sure that we’d catch enough to feed the Weyr.”

  “And it would get very dull,” T’mar agreed. Zirenth dipped out of the thermal, gently curving his flight westward. “I think we can do better.”

  “But we can’t get near the holders,” Fiona protested. “We don’t want the dragons near the fire-lizards.”

  “Why not?” T’mar asked. “The fire-lizards are not sick back in this time.”

  “And we don’t want to risk them getting sick,” Fiona pointed out. “But even if we could be absolutely sure that none of our dragons carries the illness, fire-lizards have the strangest memories, and we don’t want them remembering us being here at Igen, in this time.”

  “Of course,” T’mar agreed. “But I think that will be the least of our problems.”

  Fiona scanned the harsh landscape below and nodded. Zirenth turned eastward, back toward the Weyr.

  “There has to be some place where the Weyr kept its herds,” she said.

  “Herds?” T’mar snorted. “How do you know they kept herds? It’s just as likely that they fed directly out of the holders’ stock, saving everyone the trouble of delivering livestock across that. ” He gestured to the badlands below him and then, just as suddenly, gave a startled grunt. Zirenth dove instantly, his motion surprising Fiona, who found herself grateful for T’mar’s sudden tight hold on her waist.

  “What’s that?” the bronze rider asked, pointing to a dusty spot below.

  “It looks like some workbeasts,” Fiona said, raising one hand to shade her eyes as she peered against the harsh sunlight.

  “Traders?” T’mar mused.

  “Don’t get too low, or Zirenth will have hard work getting us back to the Weyr,” Fiona cautioned.

  T’mar chuckled. “Just as long as he can get us high enough to go between we’ll be fine.”

  Fiona said nothing in response, abashed that she hadn’t thought of it herself.

  “They look like they’re heading for the Weyr,” T’mar said as they got lower. “Six, maybe seven cargo drays and one house dray.”

  Fiona remembered trader caravans coming to Fort Hold when she was younger and her face lit up: They always brought strange and wonderful things, even for those used to the marvels that often came to the Harper and Healer Halls.

  The house dray — which Fiona would have called the domicile dray — was covered with bright decorations, and the front of all the drays were shaded with colorful canvas hoods. They looked much more gawdy than the ones she had seen before.

  Her spirits fell as she had a new thought. “Traders trade. What will they want to trade
with us?”

  “We’ll find something,” T’mar declared.

  “They must have started here some days back,” Fiona said as they descended close enough for her to see how slowly the ponderous workbeasts were moving. “How did they know to come?”

  “Perhaps the same person who guided you guided them,” T’mar suggested. “We’ll know soon enough.”

  A large man in the lead dray climbed up to the top of the wagon, waving in recognition of the dragon descending toward them. Fiona and T’mar were not surprised to see him signal the other drays to halt. As they circled lower, Fiona saw that what she thought was a seventh dray was actually four workbeasts harnessed together two by two.

  “Let’s not leave them in this heat long,” she said as Zirenth nimbly touched down on the hot dusty ground. She immediately shucked off her jacket and wished she had worn cooler clothes. How were they going to survive this heat for the next three Turns?

  T’mar leapt down first, turning back to hold his arms out to Fiona who, suppressing a grimace at his gallantry, fell into them and then pushed herself away as soon as her feet felt the earth beneath her. T’mar smiled and gestured toward the traders.

  “Should we tell them about timing it?” Fiona whispered to T’mar as they trudged through the thick sand toward the first dray.

  “Let’s see if we can avoid it,” he said in reply. A sudden thought made him add, “I wish we’d thought to have you wear your rank knot.”

  “You’re wearing yours,” Fiona said, thinking that should be enough. T’mar did not reply.

  “T’mar, Zirenth’s rider, and Fiona, Talenth’s rider,” he declared as the lead Trader approached.

  “Well met,” the man replied. Fiona was surprised to see how big the man was, taller than T’mar by a head and so broad-shouldered she thought he could easily lift one of the workbeasts singlehanded.

  “Azeez at your service,” he said, bowing low to them. He gestured toward his dray. “The sun is high; we would be more comfortable talking in the shade.”

  Fiona saw that the other traders had left their drays and were trudging to the first one, climbing into the cabin from the back.