Dragonheart впп-8

by Тодд Маккефри

  “It won’t last beyond our leaving,” Fiona observed, shaking her head.

  “Profit when possible,” Azeez said, quoting a trader maxim.

  “I don’t want us to get involved in trader politics,” T’mar declared, glancing frankly toward Azeez. “Especially to the detriment of traders beholden to Fort.”

  “You have conflicting loyalties,” Azeez observed.

  “We’ve already established loyalty with you,” Fiona said, adding, “Do you think it won’t last when we return to our own time?”

  “In your time, Fiona, you are not the senior Weyrwoman,” Azeez reminded her. “You may not control your loyalties.”

  Fiona flinched — the remark struck all too true.

  “Then let us help you while we can,” Terin said, glancing toward Fiona for approval.

  “Recipes won’t work,” Azeez said, changing the subject back to the original issue, “but recipes with spices would.”

  “Because you could only sell a recipe once?” Terin guessed.

  “Correct,” Azeez agreed approvingly. “Have you any recipes that require unusual spices?”

  “Curry with pistachio,” Fiona suggested immediately, citing her favorite culinary find.

  “Pistachios aren’t limited to Igen,” Mother Karina replied with a thoughtful frown, “but they are not common to the cold north, either.”

  “Ginger and some of the hotter chilis,” T’mar suggested.

  “I’m sure we can come up with a list for trade,” Azeez agreed. “When and how will we start?”

  T’mar pursed his lips in a sour look. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “I’d hate to think of depriving the Weyrs of their needed — ”

  “The Weyrs have need of us, too,” Fiona cut across him, gesturing to the weyrlings around them. “If we don’t get them trained and ready to fight, there will be no point in our coming back to this time.”

  “I wonder, though, is there any other source of proper firestone?” Azeez asked, glancing toward Fiona. “If the Igen charts marked gold, wouldn’t they also mark firestone?”

  T’mar and Fiona exchanged astonished looks and rose from the table, eager to put thought into action.

  “The map has lasted this long,” Mother Karina said in a tone that halted their motion, “I’m sure it will keep until after you’ve eaten.”

  “And the food’s hot now,” Terin added, grinning at the older trader.

  T’mar gave Fiona a sheepish look and the two returned to their seats, but they were unable to keep themselves from eating more quickly than usual. Terin, Azeez, and Mother Karina noticed and laughed at them.

  T’mar flushed, but Fiona ignored them, concentrating on finishing her meal.

  “Another excellent and tasty meal, Terin,” she said as she rose from her place, searching the cavern for a nearby glowbasket she might purloin. T’mar was at her side before she reached the entrance to the Weyr Bowl.

  “Would you like us to wait for you?” Azeez called after them, his amusement unrestrained.

  “Whatever,” Fiona called back, waving a hand airily over her shoulder.

  Talenth greeted them solemnly as they entered her weyr. Fiona paused long enough to call out a greeting and an apology as she and T’mar moved through the Weyrwoman’s quarters and into the Records Room beyond.

  “We should have brought more glows,” T’mar observed as he laid the map out on the long table and tried to make out the markings in the light of the glow Fiona had brought. Fiona leaned close to the map, frustrated herself, and nodded in agreement, only to gasp in surprise as the level of light in the room doubled.

  “I thought you might need more,” Terin said brightly as she entered, cradling a large basket in her arms. She placed it heavily on the table and leaned over the map, joining the other two in their examination.

  “What’s this?” Fiona asked, tapping a mark on the mountains not far north of the spot that marked the location of Igen Weyr. T’mar leaned closer and then peered down at the legend at the bottom of the map.

  “Silver, I think,” he said, returning to the spot on the map to fix it in his mind.

  Terin examined the legend carefully. She pointed at one mark. “This is the mark for firestone.”

  “So we just need to find that on the map . . .” Fiona murmured, scanning the map from the bottom to the top, right to left. She paused at a spot near Nerat Tip. “Here’s one.”

  “I doubt M’tal would be happy with us poaching in Benden territory,” T’mar remarked.

  “Not if he never knew about it,” Terin said suggestively. Fiona and T’mar gave her a remonstrating look and the young girl sighed. “I suppose that wouldn’t be too friendly, would it?”

  “Here’s one,” T’mar said, pointing to a spot south of the Weyr. He frowned as he measured the distance with his eye. “It’s less than an hour’s straight flight from here.”

  “That’s odd,” Fiona said, peering closer to the spot. “Why would dragonriders have forgotten the old firestone if Igen had a mine so near by?”

  “I suspect we won’t know until we look,” T’mar replied.

  “Tomorrow?” Fiona asked, cocking an eyebrow upward.

  T’mar nodded.

  “Do we tell Azeez?” Terin wondered.

  “Let’s see what we find, first,” Fiona suggested.

  Fiona invited Terin to ride with them, but the young girl demurred, asking quite rightly, “And who will keep an eye on everything if we’re all gone?”

  They left at first light, wearing the light clothes favored by the traders under their warm wherhide jackets and riding gear, and carrying extra water. T’mar had decided to bring half the young weyrlings; the rest were working and drilling under F’jian’s and J’keran’s watch.

  T’mar had set J’nos directly in charge of the traveling group of weyrlings, who had been ecstatic at the thought of a playful excursion until T’mar had reminded J’nos that they needed to bring shovels, picks, and other digging tools.

  Talenth was first into the air and took up a position high above the Star Stones as she waited, radiating impatience, for the others to catch up. T’mar joined on Zirenth shortly, the bronze rider smiling and waving at them.

  He says that we were right to take the high position as we’re the most powerful, Talenth told Fiona smugly. Fiona laughed and patted her beautiful young queen enthusiastically.

  Taking their cue from the Star Stones, Fiona oriented Talenth in the direction she thought they should fly. A few moments later, Zirenth aligned to the same direction and T’mar gave Fiona the signal that she should lead.

  With a laugh of pure delight, Fiona urged Talenth onward. The queen responded eagerly, her wings swiftly boosting them to a breathtaking speed. A sudden worry nudged Fiona and she craned her neck around to see that the smaller blues and greens were struggling to maintain their speed.

  Slow down; we’ll let the others catch up, Fiona said to Talenth, her pride in her gold’s great strength seeping through her admonishment.

  I suppose, as leader, we shouldn’t lose them, Talenth agreed reluctantly.

  We need to go higher, too, Fiona said as she eyed their distance to the ground. Let’s start a slow climb.

  The idea of a climb pleased Talenth, who broadened her downstroke to lift them slowly higher. Fiona compared her view of the ground below with her memory of heights and elevations — and the chill of the air — and had Talenth level off when she was satisfied.

  We continue south with the river in view on our left, Fiona said to Talenth.

  T’mar says that this is high enough, Talenth relayed with the smug tones of someone proven right.

  Fiona nodded in response but said nothing, concentrating instead on the view ahead and trying to ignore the chill air rushing over her. She was glad that T’mar had insisted that they wear full riding gear; on the ground it had been hot and stifling, but in the air it was just enough to keep Fiona from a severe chill. She adjusted her scarf up higher over her nose
— “I’ve seen them freeze clean off!” F’dan had told her once when they were discussing the dangers of dragonflight.

  The sun to their left lit the Igen river gold, then silver as it rose higher into the sky. It was a beautiful day and Fiona’s heart leapt to be here, now — a Weyrwoman on her gold dragon.

  Talenth, she thought fondly, I love you.

  I love you, too.

  They’re lagging, Fiona told Talenth as she scanned the weyrlings struggling along behind them two hours later. Ask T’mar if we should land and let them rest.

  T’mar says that we should land when we find the site, Talenth replied.

  Fiona pursed her lips tightly to hold in a sharp retort and bent further over Talenth’s neck, peering at the ground below for any sign of the landmass they were seeking.

  The map had shown a spot on the southern end of a saddle between two hills, the northern one higher than the southern, with the firestone on the eastern side of the saddle. But that map had been drawn hundreds of Turns back, and while the mountains wouldn’t have changed in that time, the sands of Igen could have blown so much dust into the area as to fill in the saddle itself. That would make sense, else why would the Igen riders have abandoned the mine?

  Her gaze caught on something — there! What was that? She peered down further, raising a gloved hand to shield her eyes from the sun. It looked like a large “X” in the ground below her. It was directly in the saddle between two mountains and the area looked recently worked.

  Fiona had Talenth turn a tight circle over the spot.

  Ask T’mar if we should land, Fiona said to Talenth even as she urged her gold lower.

  Yes, was the response Talenth relayed.

  Let the weyrlings land first, Fiona instructed Talenth. We’ll go look around a bit.

  They flew to the far side of the southern hill, then circled to the west and came back around to the big “X.” Fiona could spot a road that led toward the river and followed it to a well-constructed pier that looked recently used — there were coils of rope neatly placed at the far end, ready to moor a cargo ship.

  T’mar says we should join them, Talenth told her.

  They circled back and landed near the others. The heat in the valley was oppressive, and Fiona shucked off her riding gear before she dismounted, grateful for the flowing robes of lightweight white material she wore beneath. She pulled the hood up over her head to shade her hair and neck from the sun and then jumped down lightly to the sandy ground below.

  “It looks like someone’s been here before us,” T’mar remarked as she joined him. He gestured to the roadway. “This is recent work.”

  “No sand on the road,” Fiona agreed. She gestured uphill, toward the dark tunnel entrance. “Is anyone in there?”

  T’mar shook his head. “Why don’t we find out?”

  With J’nos and the weyrlings trailing behind them, they climbed the rise to the dark tunnel.

  “It looks like there’s a door at the far end,” T’mar said as they got closer, his brows furrowed thoughtfully.

  “And it’s closed,” Fiona agreed. They crossed into the darkness of the tunnel. Something light just inside caught her attention and she turned to it. It was a slate with white chalk written on it: “Please be sure to close the door when you’re done.”

  “Do you recognize the writing?” Fiona asked, raising the slate toward T’mar. The wingleader took it and examined it cautiously before handing it back to Fiona, who replaced it in exactly the same spot.

  “Could it be Pellar’s?” Fiona asked. She’d never met the man, but as everyone knew that he was mute, used slates, and mined firestone, he was an obvious choice.

  T’mar frowned before replying, “Actually, it looks something like your writing.”

  Fiona turned back and snatched at the slate, eyeing it minutely. It could be, she finally decided. “Or Terin’s.”

  “Why don’t we see why we should keep the door closed?” T’mar suggested, putting his hand on the handle and pulling the door open.

  It was dark inside.

  “Did we think to pack glows?” Fiona asked, turning back to J’nos.

  “Here, Weyrwoman,” one of the other weyrlings replied, passing up a small glowbasket. “It’s not very big.”

  “It’ll do,” Fiona told him gratefully, stepping through the door as she unbundled the glow and let its feeble light play on the tunnel beyond.

  “Someone,” T’mar murmured as he looked around the scene in front of them, “has been very busy.”

  The tunnel ahead was blocked by a workcart, clearly ready to resume its role in mining as soon as the bags of firestone placed in and all around it were moved away. Bags and bags and bags of firestone —

  “There’s more than we need!” J’nos exclaimed delightedly as he eyed the bags of firestone stacked to the left and right of the tunnel entrance. “There’s enough for all the dragons we have to fight a full Fall!”

  “There’s another slate,” T’mar said, gesturing toward the center of the cart. Fiona rushed toward it, glow in hand. The writing on the slate read, “Take what you need.”

  “Someone has been very thoughtful,” Fiona said as she passed the slate back to T’mar. The bronze rider crouched down to bring the slate closer to Fiona’s glow and read the message with a low whistle of surprise.

  “By the egg of Faranth!” T’mar said when he had breath again. He peered quizzically at Fiona. “You haven’t been back in time again, Weyrwoman?”

  “Not that I remember,” Fiona replied, shaken by T’mar’s observations on the slate’s handwriting. Even more than the note outside, this slate looked like it was written in her hand.

  “Perhaps sometime in the future?”

  “That would explain the dizziness!” Fiona exclaimed. T’mar gave her a quizzical looked so she continued, “T’mar, what if we were in the same time more than twice? Remember how shaken M’tal was; what if our dizziness is because we’re triple-timing or worse?”

  “And only some of us,” T’mar said thoughtfully. “Others don’t feel it because they didn’t — or won’t — do it.”

  “Exactly!”

  “That’s a possibility, Weyrwoman,” T’mar agreed. A moment later he added, “But it’s a possibility for the future. For now, we’ve got other concerns.”

  “Like mating greens who haven’t chewed firestone,” Fiona said.

  “Precisely.” T’mar turned to J’nos, saying, “Organize a party to start loading the dragons. We’ll take this load back between. ”

  The work was hot and sweaty, but in less than two hours, each of the dragons was loaded with five sacks of firestone — Zirenth and Talenth each carried eight — and the tired riders mounted their dragons.

  T’mar says that you are to give the coordinates, Talenth told her as they rose into the hot midday air. Fiona swelled with pride at the honor, then set the image of Igen Weyr at midday firmly in her mind and sent the image to Zirenth for confirmation. She caught T’mar’s pumping arm gesture of acknowledgment, had Talenth send the image to the rest of the wing, then said, Let’s go.

  They burst out into the sky over Igen precisely where and when Fiona had chosen, were greeted cheerfully by the watch dragon, and descended swiftly to a landing in the Weyr Bowl near the unused firestone shed.

  With the rest of the weyrlings to help, unloading proceeded more quickly than loading and they all retired to the Dining Cavern for a well-deserved late lunch.

  “We’ve got ninety-six sacks of firestone,” T’mar said to Fiona as they started in to their meal of cold cuts and bread, “so we can afford to use two sacks each.”

  “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 gi
rl 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.