Dragon's Time

NINE

Lorana had Minith land carefully on the driest, stoniest part of the ground near the shore and waited, still perched on the queen’s back for several minutes, just listening.

She was fortunate to have had enough experience with J’trel to have learned something of woodcraft and knew that it was perilous to move too quickly or act with too much assurance.

“The first mistake will be your last,” her father had once told her. It was sad and true both; he’d been talking about herdbeasts—and it had been his mistake with the crazed herdbeast that had kicked him in the head that killed him. He’d been working with the animals all his life; it had taken only the one mistake to end it.

“Let’s try farther up the coast,” Lorana said, guiding Minith back into the air. They glided up the coast, with Lorana urging Minith to take occasional forays inland before returning to the coastline once more. When she spotted another rocky outcropping, she had Minith hover above it for several minutes. Something about it looked forbidding, Lorana had no idea what until, after a few minutes, she saw something streak across the rock and leap toward them.

Up!

Minith responded instantly to Lorana’s order and beat her way high into the air even as Lorana craned her neck over, trying to identify the strange attacker.

What would consider attacking a dragon?

This was a place to be treated warily. Lorana had Minith wait several more minutes to see if she could spot further movement, in vain.

Can we go back to the first spot? Minith asked. I’d like to rest.

Let’s go back to Red Butte, Lorana said. We can rest safely there.

Lorana was shocked when they arrived to realize that, ten Turns back from the start of the Third Pass, there was no rock cairn to mark Tenniz’s resting place.

He was still alive.

It was early in the summer’s day she’d chosen, the sun was high enough that the rocks had been warmed and the early breeze had died down to wisps of wind. Lorana and Minith soon found themselves stretched out, the ex-dragonrider leaning against the exhausted queen and, in short order, they were asleep.

They woke late that night, cold but rested. Lorana took them forward to the next day, near Igen, where she found several strong wild herdbeasts. She had Minith catch one and they hauled it back to what she had started to call the Great Isle. She let the beast go on the barren spot of rock they’d found and returned for another, repeating the effort until she’d brought a good dozen, half of whom were male, judging by their horns.

Now, let’s go see what we find, Lorana thought to the queen as she imagined the same place seven Turns in the future. The weyrlings would need the three Turns before the start of the Third Pass in which to grow to maturity, but she wanted to give her small herd enough time to grow and populate the island before she brought in dragon hunters.

The leap forward in time was a long one, though not as long as her leap to the end of the Pass. She noted that Minith was pale with exhaustion at the end of it and regretted how hard she’d treated the willing queen.

It is necessary, Minith thought back, as they circled the island. Lorana was thrilled when she first spotted one of the herdbeasts descended from her flock. They followed it until it met up with a large herd that ran away from the dragon above them, joining with a larger herd and then a larger herd until it seemed that the whole plain teamed with herdbeasts.

Lorana was amazed at their numbers. Could all these have come from my dozen?

Suddenly she felt a warning from Minith and then the air crackled as a dragon burst from between. The rider grinned and waved at her. Lorana gave the rider a startled look—it was Fiona and her heart leaped with joy as she waved back.

Talenth says to turn north, toward the camp, Minith told her.

Let’s go!

Lorana was surprised to see a large and well-formed camp near the dangerous rocks she’d marked out on her first foray into the Great Isle, but she was glad to land, hopping off Minith to race into Fiona’s arms.

“I knew it!” Fiona cried, her face wet with tears. “I knew you wouldn’t quit, you’d never give in.”

“Of course,” Lorana agreed, hugging her fiercely. “I couldn’t let you down.” She glanced around as she added, “Or Kindan.”

“He’s here,” Fiona told her, grabbing her hand and dragging her along. “He’ll be delighted to see you, he needs to see you.” She raised her voice to a bellow and called, “Kindan!”

The harper appeared from within a group of drilling weyrlings and his jaw dropped as he spied Lorana. In an instant he had his arms around her, was hugging her tightly and babbling, “Never, never leave me again!”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Lorana swore just as fervently and just as teary-eyed. When they’d both cried themselves out, Lorana pulled back, glancing from Kindan to Fiona and back again. In a small voice she said, “I lost the baby.”

Fiona reached out to her and grabbed her tightly. “Yes, dear,” she said, “we know.”

“We thought of the same thing and came up with the same solution,” T’mar explained when Lorana got to the part in her tale where she mentioned moving the herdbeasts back in time.

“At least now we know why we were all so muzzy-headed,” Fiona said with relief. “We are not only back in time here, but also back in time at Igen as well.”

“Knowing why helps, but it doesn’t stop us from feeling the effects,” T’mar said.

“I’ll be glad when we get to normal,” Fiona agreed. “At least now, though, I don’t have to doubt my sanity.” Fiona explained about how she fainted when she met her future self and how she nearly fainted again when, as her future self, she went back in time to organize the weyrlings for their jump back to this time and place.

“What about the injured?” Lorana asked, noting the small size of the camp.

“We decided this time to bring them back when the weyrlings were older and could provide more help,” Fiona said. “That way our young dragonriders don’t have to split their time so much.”

“So we’ll have two Turns here by ourselves, and then we’ll get the injured back with us to heal,” Kindan said.

“And then we’ll have another three hundred and forty-one dragons to add to our strength,” Fiona said with pride.

“That might still not be enough,” T’mar cautioned, in a tone that sounded like he was rehashing an old argument.

“It’s the best we can do,” Fiona said. T’mar frowned but nodded.

“What do you need me to do?” Lorana asked.

“Well, first, if you don’t think you need her, you should probably send Minith back to Tullea,” Fiona said. “She’s nearly desperate without her.”

Lorana nodded vigorously. “I worried about her,” she said. “I hope she’ll forgive me.” With a frown, remembering the Tullea of the far future, she added, “But I doubt it.”

“Did you learn anything about the wildlife here?” Kindan asked. “We’ve only been here two days ourselves and we’re still getting sorted out.”

Lorana shook her head. “I didn’t learn much,” she told them, describing her original survey of the land.

“Something tried to attack a dragon?” T’mar repeated, in surprise and glancing questioningly at Kindan.

The harper shook his head. “I don’t recall any Records of that.”

“Nor I,” Fiona said. She made a face as she added, “We’ve been hearing some noises from the woods, some deep mrreow sound that we’ve never heard before.”

“I think what I met was different,” Lorana said with a shake of her head. “This creature made no noise. It seemed like a tunnel snake. Large and very fast.”

Kindan and Fiona exchanged a look. “I suppose if there was nothing hunting tunnel snakes they’d get large,” Fiona said.

“And the faster ones would survive longest,” Kindan said, “and grow largest.”

“Large enough to attack a queen?” T’mar asked, his tone dubious.

“Need breeds desperate action,” Fiona said.

“Well, we’d best keep guard,” T’mar said grimly. “A weyrling is much smaller than a—”

A sudden mrreow broke through his speech, followed immediately by a dragon’s cry of pain and a chorus of shouts. The group rushed out to see a large furry beast running off, and a group of youngsters gathered around a bellowing dragonet.

Talenth! Fiona cried.

It struck before we could spot it, the queen replied.

Fiona rushed back to the tent for her aid kit. When she returned, Lorana and the others were gathered around the young blue dragon whose left wing was badly mauled. B’carran looked up anxiously, asking, “Will he be all right?”

It was a nasty wound, Fiona noted as she reached for her gear.

“Let me,” a young woman said as she knelt next to Fiona. “Jassi, of Ista.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Fiona said, then leaned closer to murmur for the young woman’s ears alone, “What do you think?”

“It’s bad,” Jassi said as she examined the wound. She point to the worst spot. “The sail’s completely away from the bone here.”

“Nasty,” Bekka said as she shouldered her way through the crowd.

“What did this?”

“One of the Mrreows,” Fiona said. Bekka pursed her lips tightly.

“We’ll need to build a large wall,” T’mar said, turning to Kindan. “Let’s organize some crews.”

“Lorana,” Fiona said, turning toward the taller woman, “would you take Talenth to help? I’m going to be busy here.”

Lorana gave Fiona a measuring look as thoughts raced through her head, then nodded. Fiona smiled back at her in gratitude for accepting Fiona’s wordlessly delivered plan.

Lorana moved away from the crowd and called to Minith.

It’s time you went home, dear, Lorana thought fondly to the queen.

I do miss my rider, Minith admitted, sounding wistful, but still willing to remain with her.

She misses you, Lorana agreed. She turned her attention to Talenth. Can you follow us?

Of course, Talenth said, but Lorana could feel the slight sense of worry from the younger queen.

“I can fly her,” a voice spoke up from beside Lorana.

“Bekka?” Lorana said, reaching for the young blonde and giving her a quick hug. “Aren’t you needed with Mayorth?”

“I think Fiona and Jassi will do fine,” Bekka said. “But I’m worried about Talenth going between by herself.”

“Very well, if Talenth’s willing, you can fly her with me,” Lorana said after just the slightest of pauses.

Talenth was happy to carry Bekka and before long the two were airborne. Lorana confirmed coordinates with Talenth, having learned from Bekka when Minith returned to Tullea, and together they went between forward in time.

They had not quite been between for three coughs when they heard a male voice cry toward them: The Weyrs! The Weyrs must be warned! And another voice, female, cried, Can’t lose the babies, can’t lose the babies!

Lorana felt a tug on her heart as she tried to fathom the pain of the two voices, but she felt Bekka’s rising panic and, with a surge of will, they broke beyond the cries, forward to Telgar Weyr and back once more into the light.

Lorana jumped off Minith and raced over to Talenth where Bekka gave her a hand up. They were in the air and between before anyone noticed.

“He’ll survive,” Fiona told B’carran as she finished the last of the bandaging on Mayorth’s injury. “The damage was bad and it’ll take several months to heal, but he’s young and he’ll make a full recovery.”

B’carran nodded absently, his eyes straying toward the Istan girl, Jassi.

“The Weyrwoman’s right, B’carran,” Jassi told him, then she shook her head in apology to Fiona.

“If you say so, Jassi,” the young rider said in relief, reaching down and scratching the young blue’s eye ridges. “You’ll be fine, Mayorth, Jassi says so.”

“The two of you need to get rest,” Fiona said, motioning for them to move on.

“Sorry about that, Weyrwoman,” Jassi apologized after the blue dragon and his rider had departed. “They’re used to me at Ista.”

“And they trust you, with good reason,” Fiona said, gesturing for the other woman to follow her. “I take it you’ve been at Ista for a while, then?”

“I came when the sickness started,” Jassi said. “I wanted to help the dragonriders; when I was little, it was J’trel who found the fruits during the Plague to nurse me back to health.”

“You knew J’trel?” Fiona asked in surprise. “Did you ever meet Lorana?”

“I did, once, before she went aboard the Wind Rider,” Jassi admitted. Shyly she added, “My father’s still got one of her drawings in his tavern.”

“Come with me!” Fiona said, her eyes twinkling. Talenth had just returned and Fiona picked up her pace, urging the older woman to keep up, so that they met Lorana just as she was helping Bekka down from Talenth’s neck.

“Lorana?” Jassi asked in surprise.

“Jassi!” Lorana exclaimed with a wide smile, moving forward to hug the woman tightly. Jassi squeezed her back with equal force.

“When we heard about the Wind Rider, I cried,” Jassi said, tears starting in her eyes. “And then we heard about you and your queen and”—she broke off, gesturing back toward the weyrlings—“you could have my queen, if you want.”

“I think Talenth might have something to say about that,” Fiona said, patting her queen’s foreleg possessively. “She’s quite partial to Lorana.”

Lorana laughed suddenly at some hidden joke, and the others all looked at her in surprise. “Falth”—she said, pointing to Jassi—“and Talenth”—she pointed to Fiona—“both say that while they would happily carry me anywhere, they are quite attached to their riders and would not want to lose them!”

“I think all dragons are partial to her,” Bekka said. She looked up at the dark-eyed woman and said, “If I ever Impress, I’ll let you ride my dragon.”

Lorana smiled back at Jassi and shook her head. “As you can see, I’ve got too many dragons to ride already.”

“But doesn’t it hurt?”

“It does,” Lorana admitted, her voice catching on a sob. “I miss my Arith every moment of every day.” Fiona grabbed her hand and clenched it comfortingly. Lorana squeezed back as she continued, “But the dragons keep me company and that makes it a bit easier.”

“I heard,” Jassi began hesitatingly, “when the sickness was the worst that C’rion said you heard every dragon die.”

Lorana nodded bleakly.

“How can you survive such pain?”

“It’s hard,” Lorana said. “But it would be much harder to abandon those who remain, to give in or give up simply because it hurts.”

Bekka moved toward her, raising a hand to rest on her shoulder. Lorana smiled down at the young woman.

“I think it’d be harder, not being able to share their pain,” Lorana said. “But I don’t know.”

“It’s hard,” Bekka said. “Sometimes I go into a corner and just cry and cry after a bad Fall.”

“You, too?” Jassi asked in wonder. “I thought I was the only one.”

“I think we all do,” Fiona said. “But mostly they get better, so it’s not too bad.”

Jassi cast her gaze out to the lush undergrowth that surrounded them. “But these creatures, these—”

“Mrrreows, I call them,” Bekka said.

Jassi considered the term, then nodded. “These Mrrreows are nasty.”

“Now that we know they’ll attack dragons, we can guard against them,” Fiona said.

“With weyrlings?” Jassi asked.

“No, our old weyrlings will manage,” Fiona assured her with a smile. “You may recall that I went back to Igen Weyr with Fort’s weyrlings—”

“I heard about it, and then our weyrlings and injured followed you,” Jassi said. “That’s why I was willing to come here, so my Falth could grow and help with the next Threadfall.”

Fiona nodded and continued, “Well, the weyrlings who came back with me all suffered from what we called ‘muzzy-headedness’—”

“Tired all the time? Forgetful?”

“Exactly,” Fiona agreed. “And now,” she waved a hand at their current location, “that they’re all grown up and ready to watch over our current batch of weyrlings, we know why.”

“Why?” Jassi asked.

“Because they’re here now and there in Igen at the same time,” Fiona said.

“They all came?” Lorana asked, surprised. “All except F’jian,” Bekka said sadly.

“F’jian?” Lorana repeated, glancing around. “Where is he?”

“He was lost between,” Fiona told her. “He died saving T’mar.”

“But then why was he muzzy-headed?” Lorana wondered. Fiona shrugged and shook her head. “And Terin? How is she?”

“She seems in good spirits,” Bekka said. “Seems?”

“She claimed that F’jian came back to her, told her it would be all right, that he’d always be there when she needed him most,” Bekka said, her face in a frown.

“You don’t think so?”

“He’s dead,” Bekka said frankly. “I don’t see how he could have come to her.”

“We’re keeping an eye on her,” Fiona said, turning her head back toward the camp. “Jeriz is with her all the time—”

“Jeriz?” Lorana asked suddenly. “Tenniz’s son?”

“Yes,” Fiona said. “He was sent to Telgar, where he was driving Shaneese to distraction until she thought to make him my minder.” Between Fiona and Bekka, Lorana was quickly brought up-to-date with all that had happened since she’d left Telgar Weyr, days ago and Turns in the future.

“And I was adopted by the Weyrwoman,” a small girl’s voice suddenly piped up. Lorana looked down into dark eyes and a dusky face so like Tenniz’s that she could only be his daughter. “So you’re my sister, too.”

Lorana gave Fiona a quick look of resignation, then knelt down to the smaller girl and met her eyes, holding out her hand in greeting. “We haven’t met yet, I’m Lorana.”

“I know, I’m Jirana,” the girl replied. “I was named after you.” She took Lorana’s hand and shook it as she added, “And we have met, maybe you just didn’t do it yet.”

“You’ve met?” Fiona asked, pouncing on the girl’s words. “When?”

“If she doesn’t know, I can’t tell you,” Jirana said apologetically.

“You’re the new traders’ seer?” Lorana asked.

“My father said I would be the seer when I got old enough,” Jirana said.

“Is there something I should remember?” Fiona asked the child.

Jirana nodded solemnly. “Shaneese wants to know if you’ve eaten.”

“Shaneese is here?” Lorana asked in surprise and delight.

“I wouldn’t leave her behind,” Fiona said. The older woman gave her a measured look and Fiona explained, “It wouldn’t be fair to her or T’mar.”

Fiona led them back to a spot just outside the tent and they met Shaneese, who insisted on hugging Lorana and then sat them all down, apologizing for the poor fare she had to offer them.

“Well, Lorana saw to the herdbeasts,” Fiona said. “So I think it’s only fair that we work out the rest.”

“If we could make some nets, I’ll bet there’s great fishing to be had,” Jassi said, looking out toward the seaward horizon.

“It’s fruits and vegetables that worry me,” Shaneese said as she deftly served the group.

“And spices,” a voice piped up.

“And spices,” Shaneese agreed, nodding toward Javissa who was tending one of the nearby pots.

“We’ll all have to pitch in,” Fiona said, glancing at Terin with a grin. “I wonder who we’ll find to trade with here.”

“I thought no one was here,” Jassi said in confusion.

“You have to be careful with our Weyrwoman and her words,” Shaneese told the well-built blonde. “She tends to talk in plans.”

“Ah, you’ve figured that out!” Terin said. Shaneese snorted a laugh and nodded.

“And someone’s got to dig the firestone,” Fiona mused, turning to Lorana. “Unless you’ve managed that already?”

“Firestone?” Jassi asked.

“Not for at least two Turns yet,” Terin assured her. “There’s no use doing it before—oh! You mean that firestone mine!”

“Someone cleared it out and mined it,” Fiona reminded her. “And I think we were the ones who made it happen.”

“Again,” Terin agreed. Under Lorana’s questioning, Fiona explained about the firestone mine they’d discovered back in time at Igen Weyr, clean and ready for use, with firestone already stacked for them.

“That reminds me,” Lorana said. “Have you ever heard someone speaking in between?”

“Speaking in between?” T’mar echoed as he and Kindan wandered back from their latest efforts. He glanced at the harper, but Kindan shook his head.

“What did you hear?” Kindan asked.

“I wasn’t sure, it might have been my imagination, but when I came forward to return Minith to Telgar, I heard two voices,” Lorana said. “One a man’s, the other a woman’s.”

“What did they say?” T’mar asked.

“Did Bekka hear it, too?” Fiona asked on his heels.

“I didn’t ask her,” Lorana confessed.

Talenth, did you hear voices? Fiona asked her dragon.

Yes.

“Talenth heard them,” Fiona said. “What did they say?”

“The woman’s said something like: ‘Can’t lose the babies!’ ” Lorana said. “And the man said: ‘The Weyrs! They must be warned!’ ”

“That was D’gan,” Kindan said instantly, looking at Lorana. “Don’t you remember? He said that when Telgar went between forever.”

“Could they still be there?” Fiona asked, horrified at the thought.

“We didn’t hear them when we came forward from Igen,” Terin said.

“We came back in time before they were lost,” Fiona reminded her. Abashed, Terin nodded in recollection.

“Why didn’t we hear them coming back?” T’mar wondered. “And what about the other voice?” Kindan asked. “A woman’s.”

Lorana looked at Fiona. “I thought it was you.”

“Me?” Fiona asked as a chill of fear swept over her. She shook it off angrily. “After all we’ve been through, I’m going to be certain that I’ll have my babies here.”

“Babies?” Lorana repeated in surprise.

“Bekka thinks I’m having twins,” Fiona told her.

“Which is why as soon as you eat, you’ll take some rest,” Shaneese told her. “And Jirana will keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t know how I can sleep in this heat,” Fiona said. She saw Terin start to speak and rushed on, “It’s not like Igen. I’m sticky all the time.”

Terin nodded in understanding. “There’s too much water in the air, I feel like a fish.”

“It feels like home to me,” Jassi confessed.

“In the desert, we learned the ways of the desert folk,” T’mar said, nodding at Shaneese and Jirana. “What advice, sea person, do you have for us?”

“Wide windows, lots of fans, dress loose and cool,” Jassi said, ticking each point off on a finger.

Lorana’s eyes narrowed and she looked at Kindan and T’mar, asking, “I’m curious, why did you choose this location?”

“We found a rocky promonitory, but it was too small,” Kindan said with a shrug. “This is slightly better.”

“When we start building,” T’mar added, “we’ll build more inland, clearing the trees and undergrowth.”

“You’ll have to keep trimming it,” Jassi cautioned. “This island is wetter than Ista and it takes constant effort there to keep the brush back.”

“Are you familiar with any of the vegetation here?” Lorana asked the blonde.

“Is there anything we can eat?” Shaneese added.

Jassi frowned. “I haven’t seen much, yet.”

“We’ve been busy just settling in,” Fiona explained. “We’ve only been here two days; this is just a camp until we figure out where to settle.”

Lorana nodded. Fiona grinned at her. “Perhaps you and Jassi would be willing to scout around?”

“I can come,” Kindan offered. Fiona glanced toward T’mar, who frowned for a moment in thought. “I can make and shoot a bow,” Kindan added as he saw the Weyrleader’s hesitation.

“Very well,” T’mar agreed. As they started to move, he held up a cautioning hand. “But you’ve got to turn over your Weyrlingmaster duties to someone while you’re gone.” Kindan nodded readily, but T’mar wasn’t finished. “And then you’ve got to teach everyone what you know of woodcraft.”

“I know some, too,” Lorana added.

“Good, then you can teach together,” T’mar said with a grin. To Kindan he said, “Who should take over as weyrlingmaster?”

“Terin,” Fiona said immediately. The young weyrwoman made a startled sound, but Fiona waved a finger at her peremptorily. “And Lin, and Jassi, and—who are the other queen riders?”

“Oh,” T’mar said, his eyes widening in delight. “Very good, well said, Weyrwoman.”

Jassi and Terin both looked perplexed. It was Lorana who spoke first. “That way none of the weyrlings will feel confused, seeing their own queen riders, and you will all get experience in leading—which will stand you in good stead later.”

Fiona nodded and smiled at the older woman. “If you get confused or need help, look to Xhinna and her mate, Taria. They’re good at organizing younguns, they’ll handle the weyrlings just as easily.”

“Garra is from Fort, Indeera from High Reaches,” Lorana told Fiona. “Their queens are Niloth and Morurth.”

“Oh, yes!” Fiona said, smiling again. “If you get really lost, have your dragons bespeak Lorana. All the dragons talk to her.”

As Lorana started away, leading Kindan toward Talenth, she paused and glanced around. “Where’s Seban?”

“Father stayed behind,” Bekka said with a sniff. “He said that we’d be gone a long time here, but only a wink for the rest; he was afraid that he’d be too old when we got back.”

“That makes sense,” Lorana agreed. She looked at Bekka’s shoulder, and pointed to the journeyman knot. “And we’ve clearly got all the healers we need.”

Bekka’s lips curved upward in pleasure at the compliment.

By the end of the month, they’d staked a location, sketched out and designed by Fiona and Jassi, who both had the most experience in setting up living quarters, and had laid out a ring of stakes from the trees they’d removed, set close together to provide protection from the marauding Mrreows. Inside the Weyrhold, as Fiona had taken to calling it, they had finished some crude buildings and were starting on a more complex stone building.

The dragons had to weather the rains that swept in frequently, which pleased no one, but all their scouting had revealed no location any better than the one they’d chosen—nothing at all like a proper weyr or a even a decent mountainside.

“I suppose, if we can figure it, we can build into the ground,” T’mar had suggested. Jassi shook her head. “If the weather’s like it is in Ista, the ground will be too wet and it would flood in a heavy rain.”

“So how are we going to protect the dragons?” Fiona wondered.

“We could build large houses for them,” Jassi suggested.

“If we could get enough canvas, we could rig tents,” Javissa said.

“How much canvas would we need?”

“About four dragonlengths long by one dragonlength wide for each dragon,” Terin said. “Assuming you’re willing to put up with openings at each end and a height just high enough for a dragon to stand under.”

“The weyrlings won’t need that much space,” Kindan said.

“They will when they get bigger,” Fiona said.

“Then we’ll need seven hundred and eight square dragonlengths of canvas,” Terin said.

“I doubt all the Masterfisherman’s crafters make more than fifty dragonlengths of canvas a Turn,” Jassi said.

“I think I understand why our ancestors chose to use the Weyrs,” Fiona said with feeling.

“And perhaps also why they chose not to come here,” Kindan said.

“If we went back in time to the time of Igen, and the clothmakers doubled their work, they could make seven hundred dragonlengths in those seven Turns,” Terin suggested.

“They’d need half of that for the ships,” Jassi pointed out. She shook her head, adding, “I don’t recall any order like that, or anything close in the past seven Turns.”

“And it’s not something that wouldn’t be noticed,” Kindan agreed grimly.

“So we need a different solution,” Fiona said. She looked at Kindan. “Could we quarry enough rock?”

“How would you make the roof?” T’mar challenged.

“We use leaves,” Jassi said, eyes going wide. “The shore is full of palms, and sailors have used them for ages to make quick shelters.”

“They’d dry out,” Kindan objected.

“So we replace them,” Fiona said with a dismissive shrug. She turned back to Jassi. “How many would we need?”

“I’m not sure,” Jassi admitted. “There’s an art to making that sort of covering.”

“Are there any among your weyrlings who might know?” T’mar asked.

“We should ask them,” Fiona said, gesturing outside their shelter.

“It’s nearly dinner,” Shaneese said. They’d had luck enough in finding several patches of tubers, some of which they’d transplanted into their compound, and Jassi had located several edible vegetables, but they were running low on spices and had yet to find a decent stand of klah trees. Fiona didn’t mind that nearly as much as the others, content to drink the plentiful juice from the various succulent fruits that had been found scattered readily throughout the island.

“Maybe tomorrow we should scout the western half,” Lorana suggested, “maybe we’ll find a better place there.”

They had stopped at the great river that stretched nearly the whole length of the Great Isle, splitting it into western and eastern halves. The explored eastern half was nearly as large as all the Telgar plain. In all of it, mysteriously, they had spotted no animals larger than the herdbeasts they’d imported Turns before. They’d found several clutches of wherry eggs, but had found few wherries themselves. Half the wherry eggs Kindan had tried proved to have been already eaten by the ever-present tunnel snakes. He’d only managed to find two in all their exploration that were unhatched and had brought them, triumphantly, back to be cooked and served to Fiona, who craved them with a passion that surprised her.

In fact, if Fiona hadn’t thought herself properly pregnant before, she was making up for it now in her ninth week of pregnancy. Smells began to affect her and foods she’d never liked she now craved, while those she’d adored she found she could no longer stomach.

“And I think they’re fighting in there,” Fiona had complained to an amused Bekka after one night of terrible heartburn.

Unbeknownst to her, Bekka had spoken with Lorana, Kindan, and T’mar. She’d invited Javissa to join them, as the older trader had the most recent practical experience with growing children.

“We’re beginning to run out of medicines,” Bekka told them. “I’m worried about what Fiona’s eating, she’ll start to get cravings—as will Shaneese—and we may not have what she needs on hand.”

“We need something to trade,” T’mar said. “And we need to do it in such a way that no one will notice.”

“There’s no one here to trade with,” Bekka reminded him.

“I know that, child.” T’mar smiled at her and shook his head. “So we’ll have to trade with the Northern Continent, discreetly.”

“Those brightfish might fetch a fair mark,” Lorana said. The brightfish were the catch of choice amongst both rider and dragon. The meat was not fishy, being pink in color and tasting tantalizingly of the best meat—with just a little something different and spicy. Jirana had said it best when she’d said that it tasted like a smoked meat. But the fish itself was bright and easily spotted from the air, so the name brightfish was given to it and quickly stuck. “And we could maybe work with the fishermen or traders to the fishermen so there’ll be no questions.” She frowned for a moment as she remembered Colfet, the man who had saved her when the sailship Wind Rider had foundered. What had happened to him?

“Whitefish, too,” Bekka said. “It’s less tasty, but it goes well with the tubers.”

“When fried and served with vinegar,” Kindan agreed, his eyes going wide with pleasure.

“Cromcoal would help,” Shaneese pointed out. “And we’ll need some wine or we’ll have to make it ourselves if we want more vinegar.”

They’d found some wild grapes growing, but had only harvested them as fruit as they were too few for a decent batch of wine.

Fellis they’d found in plenty and numbweed, too.

“We need something small that we can trade,” T’mar mused.

“What about ice, from the Snowy Wastes?” Kindan suggested. “That worked well before.”

“There’s a thriving ice trade already,” T’mar said.

“How do you know that’s not us?” Lorana asked with a ghost of a smile.

T’mar frowned thoughtfully, then shook his head. “It might even be, when the weyrlings are old enough to fly, but not now—we’ve got too much work for our grown dragons as it is.”

“I’m beginning to understand tithing much better,” Javissa said grudgingly. The others looked at her. “Even without Thread falling, it’s too much work to raise dragons and provide for them at the same time.”

“We did it in Igen,” T’mar said with a shrug. “Fiona figured out a way.”

“Maybe we should ask her again,” Bekka said. The others stared at her and she shrugged. “It’s not like others don’t need these supplies and she’s still got her wits, even when pregnant.”

“Why don’t we wait until we’ve checked out the western half before we ask her?” Kindan asked. “Maybe we won’t have to worry her.”

“Very well,” T’mar agreed.

Fiona’s shriek startled them all out of bed before dawn the next morning. T’mar and Shaneese rushed in to find Kindan, Lorana, and Jirana anxiously consoling the Weyrwoman. Bekka dashed in a moment later.

“What is it?” Bekka asked, looking from one person to the next for an answer.

“We got a message,” Fiona said, gesturing to Kindan, who passed a slate over to the healer.

“ ‘Stay east of the great river,’ ” Bekka read. She glanced sharply at Fiona. “That’s your writing.”

“It is,” Fiona agreed. “But I don’t recall writing it.”

“That happens sometimes in a pregnancy,” Bekka allowed with a shrug.

“But look at the slate,” Fiona said, gesturing for her to examine it again. Bekka looked down at it and then up again, confused. “We don’t have slate here,” Fiona told her. “It has to have come from another place. Probably another time.”

“So you sent yourself a note from the future?” Bekka guessed. “And why should we stay east of the great river?”

Fiona shook her head, shrugging. “There must be a reason that we’ll find out in the future.”

“So we need another solution,” Kindan said to T’mar.

“For what?” Fiona demanded. With no preamble, Bekka told her. When she was finished, Fiona nodded. “We could trade brightfish and whitefish, if we were careful.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Probably with traders who are used to trading with fishermen, and don’t ask questions.”

“We thought of that,” Kindan said.

“It’s bulky, but we can catch it easily enough,” Fiona continued. She frowned thoughtfully. “The easiest thing to trade is information.”

“Judging by this slate, telling anyone about where we are is not a good idea,” Bekka said. The others nodded.

“Come along, we’re up, so’s half the camp,” Shaneese said, “we might as well break our fast.”

They made their way to the firepits that had been set outside the wooden building. A weyrling was on watch, tending the fire and the warming brew stewing in a pot. They had not found klah, but they’d discovered several very large varieties of brewable herbs from which to make tea.

Bekka and Shaneese both waved for Fiona to take the nearest seat while Shaneese and Lorana brought out one of the clean pots in which to start some breakfast cereals cooking.

“Not information,” Fiona said, “but perhaps some of the plants here could be traded.” The others nodded. “What we really need is something valuable, something rare, something like … gems.”

“What about that clay?” Bekka mused, thinking of the rich deposits of clay they’d found near all the riverbeds.

“It’s good clay,” Fiona agreed, wishing she could get Mekiar’s opinion on it. “We could trade it, but it’s heavy, even for a dragon.”

“Aren’t finished goods even better?” Kindan asked. Fiona nodded, her eyes narrowed questioningly. “Well, couldn’t we set up a pottery wheel and kiln and make finished goods?”

“We’d need more than one pottery wheel to get a decent set of trade goods,” Fiona said. “And we’d want to find some decent glazes, too.”

“We’d do better with leather from the herdbeasts,” Lorana said. “We’ve got plenty to spare.”

“We could trade that for a lot of things,” Kindan agreed. He looked toward Bekka. “Could we use the leather for our coverings?”

“You think we could get hundreds of dragonlengths of leather?” Bekka asked incredulously. Kindan thought on that for just a moment before letting go of the notion with a soft chuckle and a shake of his head.

“There are greenstones in some clays, aren’t there?” Fiona asked, looking toward Kindan for confirmation.

“Sapphires,” Kindan agreed. “But green’s not a popular color.”

“What about that blue-green stone we found near the beach?” Lorana asked suddenly. “It was pretty.”

“It certainly was,” Kindan agreed. “I’d never seen its like before.”

“It could be used in jewelry,” Shaneese said. “I know several holders who would like it.”

“Wait a moment,” Fiona said, her eyes going wide with amusement. “We’re talking about trading what’s rare, aren’t we?”

Shaneese nodded.

“And haven’t we been eating the best fruit we’ve ever tasted?” Fiona asked.

“Fruit,” Kindan repeated dully. “You’d trade fruit?”

“In winter,” Fiona said. “When it’s not available.”

“Or where it’s not available,” Shaneese said, eyes widening.

“And I know the perfect person to do our trading,” Fiona added, turning to Jirana. The girl was too sleepy to notice, but she perked up when Fiona said, “Sweetie, can you wake your mother for us? It’s important.”

It was Jassi who came up with the ultimate solution to their housing problem.

“Ships!” she declared one day as she raced toward Fiona. The Weyrwoman was dozing in the midday heat and feeling large and heavy with children.

“What, are they here?” Fiona asked, trying to understand how ships could have come this close to their shore without being grounded.

“We bring ships, my lady,” Jassi said, eyes full of excitement.

“Dragons will carry anything just as easily,” Fiona assured her. “They can carry great weights.”

“No, my lady, we buy ships and bring them here,” Jassi told her, waving her hand around the camp. “They don’t have to be new, they can be old and mastless.”

“Slow down, slow down,” Fiona said. “I don’t understand.”

It took a while for Jassi to make sense and, infuriatingly for Fiona, even longer for the Weyrwoman to comprehend her.

“So we buy old ships without the masts, small ships, and have the dragons fly them from the shore here onto the land.”

“Exactly,” Jassi agreed. “We might want to dig out the ground to give them an even keel, but then we could put all the people and supplies in them—it’d be just like living aboard a ship.” Jassi paused. “We’d need about nine or ten small ones, maybe less if we could haul a bigger one—they could easily hold a wing of riders or more.”

“And the dragons?”

“They don’t mind sleeping out,” Jassi said, gesturing around toward several clumps of stray dragons dozing in the sunlight.

“They’re tough,” Fiona said.

“And they think it’s fun,” Jassi added.

“What about the sails?” Fiona asked, perking up. Jassi looked at her in surprise. “If we bought the ships, they’d come with—what?—two sets of sails, right?”

In the end, it took a combination of ships, sails, and palm trees to provide enough housing and they found eleven ships in all, keeping one afloat to help with the fishing.

Lorana and Jassi were the principle sailingmasters, aided by the one person Lorana trusted back in this time with their secret—Colfet.

She’d been delighted when Jassi had told her that the old sailor had survived the wreck of the Wind Rider and had insisted on taking Talenth to meet him. Their reunion had been joyful, but Lorana had seen how hard the wreck had been on the man; his arm had never healed quite right so he’d eked out a living repairing fishnets and sails. He’d been perfect for the mission and thrilled to be able to help her once more.

His enthusiasm had faded somewhat when he’d discovered how poorly some of his students absorbed his teaching, but he was old enough to take the long view and shortly, even the worst of his “crew” were able to do their duties to his satisfaction.

Fiona had dispatched T’mar and Terin to borrow the Igen Weyr Records, which she insisted upon using for teaching materials with Jeriz—she had not forgotten her promise to teach him reading.

Jassi suggested that they borrow the Records from Ista, which might have suggestions more suited to the humid, wet climate they inhabited, but Fiona vetoed that idea.

“What we really need is a smith or access to their Records,” Fiona mused one day after Kindan had brought back a bit of silver. “That’d teach us something about smelting silver.”

“We need to talk to the Masterminer about mining the ore and what to look for,” Kindan countered.

“Why not both?” Lorana asked. The two turned to her. Jirana was already asleep on one of the hammocks that Fiona would never use—they made her seasick—and the group had the large stern cabin to themselves, as Colfet had refused Lorana’s offer, saying, “The side cabin’s all I need, lass.”

“How could we do that?” Kindan asked.

“Harpers are permitted anywhere,” Lorana said blandly. “And you could copy anything we need that you found.” She glanced toward Fiona and winked. “Take Jeriz with you, he could use the practice.”

“You’d have to pry him away from Terin,” Fiona said. She’d only managed to teach the lad to read by arranging for the young weyrwoman to be with them. Fiona got the impression that, were the green-eyed boy older, he would have sought instruction from Terin directly.

As it was, Kindan managed to get Jeriz to agree to go along only if Terin could accompany them. So, Lorana, Kindan, Jeriz, and Terin departed on Talenth, leaving Kurinth in Fiona’s care.

When they returned, it was all Kindan could do to thank the younger pair and release them before he and Lorana burst into laughter. “You should have seen him,” Kindan told Fiona, “you would have thought that Verilan himself was watching his every stroke.”

“Did he do well?”

“Marvelously, if terrified for fear of not impressing Terin,” Lorana allowed with equal mirth. She shook her head and sobered, telling Fiona, “I think you made an inspired choice with that pair.”

Fiona said, “Yes, I did, didn’t I? I can’t wait to see my own children at that age.”

She could not say the same thing six months later. She was great with child, expecting any moment, sleeping fitfully in a bunk in the captain’s cabin, attended by Bekka, who was aided by Jirana with Javissa and Shaneese, and with Lorana on call.

Bekka examined her after her water broke and Jirana went for her mother and Shaneese. At Fiona’s behest, Lorana, Kindan, and T’mar came, but the cabin was too small for all of them, so they took turns comforting her.

“I’m never, never, never doing this again!” Fiona screamed as a contraction rippled through her.

“You’re doing fine,” Shaneese assured her.

“I don’t feel FIIINE!” Fiona shouted as another contraction shook her.

“T’mar, get behind her,” Bekka ordered, all her calm tone suddenly replaced with a commanding voice of cold precision. “Fiona, you know what to do.”

Fiona, with T’mar’s guidance, found her way to the birthing stool and squatted as she’d practiced for the past two months. T’mar knelt behind her and she leaned back onto his chest. Lorana came to one side and Kindan to the other.

Bekka examined the position of the babies with her hands on Fiona’s stomach and grunted in satisfaction.

“You’re doing fine,” Bekka assured her. “Next contraction, push hard.”

“Anything!” Fiona wailed, squeezing Kindan’s hand tightly.

Another contraction rippled through her and another. Fiona yelled loud and long, took another deep breath.

“I don’t think you’re yelling loud enough,” Bekka told her calmly as she examined the birth canal. “Can’t you do better?”

“Bekkkaaa,” Fiona warned with a ragged breath. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Are you afraid?” Bekka taunted, eyeing Fiona’s stomach carefully. “Remember, you’ve got two coming. The time to have avoided this was ten months back.”

“They’re not forty weeks,” Fiona said, panting to regain her breath. “They’re thirty-seven, so that’s not much more than nine months.”

“Stop talking,” Bekka snapped. She saw the contraction start, and ordered, “Push!”

With another yell, louder this time, Fiona pushed with all her strength. Bekka reached up to guide the baby and caught it deftly.

“Shaneese, the knife,” Bekka said.

“What!” Fiona wailed, eyes wide with surprise.

“The first one’s out, I’m cutting the umbilical,” Bekka told her, making the cut and tying the tube. She pulled the baby away and handed it to Shaneese, who cleaned it quickly, and, following Fiona’s instructions, showed it to her.

“You have a beautiful girl, Fiona,” Shaneese told her.

“You and Lorana know what to do,” Fiona entreated, gasping for breath and feeling as though she’d been punched repeatedly. Another contraction rippled through her. She felt so awful that she was glad to know that she’d arranged with Lorana and Shaneese that they would watch over the child if anything happened to her. And, with twins, she was glad that one would be getting immediate maternal attention, leaving her to deal with birthing the second.

“The other one’s getting ready,” Bekka said, feeling gently around Fiona’s tense stomach. “You’re lucky, you might only have another hour.”

“Another hour!” Fiona wailed in dismay. She gestured feebly to Shaneese. “Show me the baby again.”

Smiling, Shaneese brought the baby girl up to her mother. Fiona looked at her, then squeezed Lorana’s hand for attention. The other woman looked at her.

“Swear to me, both, that you’ll be her mother,” Fiona said.

“Fiona!” Bekka growled.

“Swear as foster-mothers,” Fiona said.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Lorana assured her. “But I claim this child as kin of my heart, blood of my blood, life of my life, for all time.”

“This child is ours,” Shaneese said in agreement. “She shall grow strong with the care of her mothers. I shall call her my own, tend her wounds, cheer her triumphs. Blood of my blood, heart of my heart, life of my life.”

“Thank you,” Fiona breathed with relief. “Kindan, T’mar.”

“I’m here,” Kindan told her, squeezing her hand lightly.

“I’m here,” T’mar said, running his hands over her strained shoulder muscles, soothing them.

A contraction rippled across her belly before she could speak. Kindan gestured to her reassuringly; they had spoken of this long before, he knew what she wanted.

“I claim this child my daughter,” Kindan said formally.

“As dragonrider of Zirenth and Weyrleader, I do claim this girl my own, heart of my heart, blood of my blood, life of my life,” T’mar said.

“I name her my own, heart of my heart, blood of my blood, life of my life,” Kindan concluded.

“Here comes another contraction!” Bekka warned. Fiona yelled as the next contraction rippled through her. Bekka looked up at her sternly. “Shards, Fiona, you’re not even trying!”

“I … am … too!” Fiona swore between breaths. She concentrated on breathing for several moments, then continued in formal tones, “I, Fiona, Weyrwoman of Telgar, do name you, heart of my heart, blood of my blood—oh!”

“Push!” Bekka ordered.

Fiona pushed, even as she squeezed Lorana’s hand imploringly.

“As her mother, I name this child in a mother’s voice: Tiona,” Lorana said even as Fiona bellowed with her next contraction.

“Shaneese, see to her,” Bekka said, nodding toward the baby.

“We’ll be right here, Fiona,” Shaneese assured the Weyrwoman, “so Tiona can meet her sib.”

Fiona didn’t hear her, as another contraction tore through her and she yelled once more, pushing with all her lagging strength.

“Well done,” Bekka said. “The head’s out.” She glanced down and gestured for Kindan to join her before she looked up at Fiona, her eyes full of concern. “I need to get one arm out, I’m going to have to guide it.”

“Tell me what to do,” Fiona said, beads of sweat dotting her forehead, her hair dank and lanky with exertion.

“Until I say otherwise, hold off on pushing,” Bekka said even as she began to ease a hand up through the birth canal to feel for the baby’s arm.

“Okay,” Fiona agreed, leaning back against T’mar and taking slow deep breaths.

“You’re doing fine,” Shaneese assured her. Kindan looked to Bekka for guidance and saw the concern in the younger woman’s eyes.

Javissa came up to take Kindan’s place, bringing a damp cloth that she used to cool Fiona’s head.

“Hold my hand tight,” Javissa told her. She felt Fiona’s hand grip hers tightly in gratitude.

“This is going to hurt,” Bekka warned as she eased her hand over the offending limb. Fiona bellowed in pain. “Good, I’ve got my hand where it needs to be,” Bekka assured her. “When you feel the next contraction, push as hard as you can. And yell like you mean it this time!”

“That won’t be HAAARRRDDD!” Fiona’s shouted as she writhed through another contraction. “AAAHHH!”

Her pain peaked and just as suddenly dropped to a dull, aching throb. She heard a funny sound and Bekka gave a slight yelp of glee.

“Javissa, the knife,” Bekka said. She glanced up at Fiona, her blood-smeared face split in a wide grin. “Congratulations, Fiona, you have a son.”

Fiona made a sound and then found her voice. “Trust a boy to be last.”

And then she fainted.

“You’re fine, your son’s fine, your daughter’s fine,” Bekka assured Fiona the instant she woke up. “You lost a fair amount of blood, but nothing to be worried about.” She paused as she turned a glow halfway to give the cabin some thin illumination. “How do you feel?”

“Sore, thirsty, and full,” Fiona said, even as she noticed how easily she could move and how much it hurt.

“Kimar is here,” Lorana told her quietly.

“Give him to me,” Fiona said urgently. As soon as she had him, he started nursing, much to her relief. “Where’s Tiona?”

“Here,” Kindan said, moving forward with another bundle and guiding her to a good nursing spot.

“Help me sit up,” Fiona said, as she tried to deal with two hungrily nursing babies. Bekka, Kindan, and Lorana rearranged her pillows so that they supported her back, but it wasn’t enough, so Kindan got behind her to provide back support and help hold one of the babies.

“They’re beautiful,” Bekka told her with warmth in her voice. “You did a wonderful job.”

Fiona nodded, not saying anything as she absorbed the painful-pleasant sensation of her two babies as they nursed.

“I’m hungry,” Fiona said suddenly.

“Feed them first,” Bekka advised her. “Then they’ll sleep and you can eat.”

“Why does that sound so much like raising a dragonet?” Fiona asked.

“Well,” Bekka said with a shrug, “it is.”

As the months passed, Fiona found herself yearning for the time when the twins could be weaned. She loved her time with them, even the incessant nursing, but she was restless to get moving, to be seen, to organize things. T’mar twitted her on it. “You’ve got to learn to delegate.”

Lorana took over many of her duties, sliding easily into the role of senior Weyrwoman. Fiona was careful not to overtax her co-mother and set Terin and the other queen riders to helping as much as they could.

Often Fiona would find herself out in the center of the camp, watching the weyrlings drill from her seat, feeling more like a Lord Holder than a Weyrwoman as the babies napped nearby or fed quietly in the shade.

She soon had company, for Shaneese delivered her baby boy right on schedule. Together the two of them exchanged groans about the whole process, smiling at the beautiful babies when they thought no one would notice, and complaining about all their difficulties when they thought someone would.

Between them, Shaneese, Fiona, and the three babies had all the help they could want and soon found themselves strictly rationing it.

Xhinna, Taria, all the queen riders, and the other three women who had Impressed were constantly stopping by, many to coo over the babies and some to look wistfully.

This brought a new concern to Fiona and she and Shaneese spent much of their time working out plans to handle the babies they expected might soon join theirs. The women riders realized that as their dragonets were growing to soon join the fighting ranks, this was the best time for them to have their children and get their families started. The queen riders were less keen.

Of them all, Terin was the least happy. She was thrilled at Fiona’s joy, hugged her friend and helped with the babies, being certain to exercise Jeriz’s talents with diapers as well as honing her own, but Fiona could see the younger woman’s sadness rise nearly day by day as Terin dwelled more and more on her loss.

“It’s what she cannot have, that’s why she wants it so much,” Shaneese declared when she and Fiona talked about it one day. The babies were crawling around in the specially constructed play area, filled with sand and lined with rocks.

“Maybe she’s just beginning to realize that F’jian won’t be coming when she needs him,” Fiona said, shaking her head sadly.

“We should start planning the nursery,” Shaneese said, changing the subject.

“A nursery?” Fiona repeated, surprised. “That seems a bit grand for just our three.”

“They won’t be alone for much longer,” Shaneese reminded her with a grin. “Some of the green riders have been inspired by our example.”

“Who?”

“All of them except Taria,” Shaneese said. “Helena has been working on J’gerd for months now and, from her smug look, she’s succeeded.”

“And Vellany?” Fiona asked, referring to the sturdily built green rider who had surprised everyone when she’d Impressed Delanth, as she’d seemed the least interested of all the Weyr’s young women. She’d been far more interested in spending time with J’gerd and other riders, so it was no surprise when Shaneese continued, “She finally managed to get J’keran to stay awake long enough.”

“Are you sure?” Fiona asked, peering out from under their shade, trying to locate the woman among the drilling weyrlings.

“Bekka is,” Shaneese said. Bekka’s ability to spot a pregnancy early was so well-known throughout their camp that some of the women had taken to avoiding her for fear that she would suddenly fix them with her knowing look.

“And Seriya?” Seriya was a shy sort with large eyes set alluringly in a delicate face.

Shaneese laughed. “V’lex!”

“Really? How?”

“I have no idea,” Shaneese admitted. “And I’m not certain how she managed to keep V’lex from pining after J’gerd long enough to—” She stopped, shaking her head in amusement. “V’lex is beside himself with joy and J’gerd—”

“That could cause trouble,” Fiona said, peering off into the distance thoughtfully.

Fiona remembered to mention it to T’mar and Kindan as they stopped by for lunch. Tied to the babies as they were, Fiona and Shaneese had taken over as much of the cooking as they could, aided by Jirana, Javissa, and whoever else was detailed to them for the day.

“Ho, so that’s what’s going on!” T’mar chuckled when he heard. “I’ve seen the way they’ve been looking at each other.”

“And?”

“And they’ll sort it out,” T’mar told her. “Seriya, for all her shyness, is a sweet person who gets what she wants.”

“It might be a problem,” Kindan said. T’mar glanced at him and he explained, “Well, their dragons will be just old enough to start flying when they’re either most pregnant or have just given birth.”

“Stick Jeriz on one and Bekka on the other,” Fiona said with a wave of her hand. “For that matter, get Colfet aboard the third.”

Colfet had proved himself a master of all trades and invaluable to the camp. He’d become the older person that everyone found themselves consulting. He was always willing to listen politely, say nothing, or bark a quick order as needs be. At this moment he was out overseeing a party setting up the kiln works, while another party was digging out silver ore, and a third party was at work smelting it. Between him and Kindan, the island had turned profitable, exporting the luscious fruits that Fiona and Shaneese consumed in bulk, as well as the pretty sea-green stone set in various silver fashioning—necklaces, bracelets, rings, and hilt pieces being the most common.

Javissa’s connections with the traders had given them ready access while Colfet had managed to secure fishing gear in exchange for the much-treasured brightfish and whitefish.

Fiona was still uncomfortable with their open surroundings, preferring the solid confines of a proper Weyr; the humidity was a constant annoyance as were the strange flying insects that seemed to buzz around incessantly, although, thankfully, they kept well clear of the dragons.

The old ships, half-buried in the ground, looked utterly incongruous in their surroundings, but had proved survivable. Wood was certainly more comfortable than cold stone, even if it was prone to retain damp air.

Fiona had dismissed the notion that some of the younger weyrlings had of calling their camp “Eastern Weyr”—it was far too pretentious and sounded far too permanent for such a temporary arrangement, but that hadn’t stopped the name from spreading so much that she’d had to catch herself when she’d started to say it.

“You’d have Colfet fly on a dragon?” Kindan asked. “I’m sure he’d be much happier on a ship any day.”

“Well, then, Bekka and Jeriz at least,” Fiona said. “They’re likely to Impress.”

“Why not Lorana or Shaneese?” T’mar asked.

“Lorana’s riding Talenth,” Fiona reminded him.

“Only because her own rider is too lazy,” T’mar teased. Fiona glared at him, but said nothing: There was too much truth to his words. As she reflected more on them, Fiona realized that there really was nothing to prevent her from flying more with her queen; the babies could easily be tended by Shaneese or Javissa. Even little Jirana was getting old enough to keep an eye on them, able to alert Talenth or one of the adults in need.

The first time it had happened, Fiona had been surprised. She hadn’t thought that Talenth would hear the little girl, but Talenth’s urgent message from Jirana had brought the Weyrwoman racing to the playground just in time to stop a small tunnel snake from darting after the babies.

They’d set a more careful watch after that and Fiona herself had gone on a few secret hunting missions; she’d found these eastern tunnel snakes to be much more vicious than those she’d killed as a child in Fort Hold.

Talenth had been unfazed when she explained that she kept a mental “ear” open for all of Fiona’s friends. Apparently the queen had adapted to her rider’s open ways by being more open herself.

“Dragons and riders influence each other,” T’mar had said when Fiona had told him. “It’s not surprising.”

“Those greens would probably be more happy with women riders,” Fiona said now, cocking her head toward Shaneese. “I can watch the babies if you want some exercise.”

In the end, both suggestions were adopted. Shaneese rode Vellany’s green Delanth with the woman’s approval, while Javissa rode Seriya’s Firunth and Lorana or Fiona switched off with Sidrath and Talenth.

The women’s children were born within a month of each other and pronounced healthy by Bekka who, now nearing her fifteenth Turn, had grown mature in her healing. She had been turning heads nearly since their arrival in the camp and now, Fiona noticed with amusement, the blond healer was turning her head from time to time.

“I’m not getting pregnant,” Bekka assured Fiona when they had a moment together privately. “We can’t afford it.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow at her challengingly, even as she bounced an oblivious Kimar on her knee.

“Oh, I’m going to have children,” Bekka told her airily. “And I’ll make you diaper them, too!” Then she shook her head firmly. “But not now. I’m not ready and there’s no other midwife.”

“Javissa,” Fiona suggested.

“When I have a baby, I’m going to have my mother midwife and my father standing beside her,” Bekka declared.

When asked, Bekka had assured her that Lorana could still have children. The older woman seemed content to play with Kimar, Tiona, and Shanar. As a second mother, Lorana was perfect, but she seemed to want nothing more than that for the moment.

As for Fiona, she found herself torn between the joy of her growing children and her own desire to get back to the fight.

She arranged, without telling T’mar, to gather the old Igen riders together—she was certain that it was they who had met with Lorana and had brought the old Fort injured riders back to the hot desert Weyr to begin their long recovery. And it seemed to her that the time was right to make that journey.

T’mar surprised her, though, when she and the others were ready to take off in the dark of night.

“Thought to leave without me?” he asked as he approached, dressed in riding gear, with Zirenth gliding in behind.

“How did you know?”

“I figured you’d try something like this,” T’mar told her. “So I asked myself when would be the best time for the Weyrwoman to fool the Weyrleader?”

“Oh,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “It would have to be a night when she’d arranged Javissa for babysitting, Kindan and Lorana for a night alone, and told Shaneese to have a good night’s rest.”

“Exactly,” T’mar agreed, his teeth showing bright in the night’s gloom. “So I merely waited until those conditions were met and asked Zirenth if he knew where Talenth was going.”

“And she told him,” Fiona said, sighing. She hadn’t thought to caution her queen on the need for secrecy.

“So here we are,” T’mar agreed. “And now, are we ready?”

“Yes, Weyrleader,” J’gerd said, standing forward with the others. “We’re ready.”

T’mar says you’re to give the image, Talenth said when they were airborne and ready to make the jump between.

Check with Lorana, she’d know best, Fiona said, even as she pulled together an image of Fort Weyr, later on that morning when she’d gone back in time to Igen Weyr with the unknown queen rider—the rider who she now knew was Lorana.

Your image matches, Talenth said after a moment.

Are you ready? Fiona asked. Talenth said that she was and Fiona urged her to pass the image on to the other dragons and, when they were ready, they went between.

They arrived in the dark of night, over Fort Weyr. They had jumped not quite three Turns into their future and shortly would be jumping ten Turns back into the past, shepherding the severely injured dragons and riders with them.

As Talenth silenced the watch dragon with a quick response, Fiona wondered if she were the gold rider who her much younger self had seen waving at her. She pulled the hood of her cloak up, while all around her, the other riders echoed her motion to disguise their identities.

“Quickly!” Fiona whispered as the riders landed and fanned out toward the various Weyrs. Her urging was unnecessary, each had already selected the dragonpair they would aid, their choice helped by their memories of the carping the older dragonriders had made when they’d arrived back in Igen Weyr so many Turns in their past.

Quickly, but not as quickly as any would have liked and not without a few heart-stopping coughs and scuffles echoing through the night air, they gathered the injured dragons and dragonriders and shepherded them between.

Their trip through time to Igen Weyr ten Turns in the past was longer than Fiona liked and she was tired at the end of it, finding less joy in waving at her younger self—had she been that small?—than she would have thought. She was grateful when they jumped back between to their present time and their Eastern Weyr.

But she was also very tired. Fiona collapsed the moment she got off Talenth, falling straight into T’mar’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Fiona apologized.

“Nothing I hadn’t expected,” T’mar said as he carried her back to their quarters. The ships were still high enough that stairs had been constructed to reach the deck, but they’d been built wide enough for three people to walk side by side so that the heavier goods could easily be carried; T’mar had no trouble climbing up with Fiona in his arms.

When they reached the deck, he glanced down at her, smiling. “You know, the stars are quite pretty this close to morning.”

“They are,” Fiona agreed gazing up at him tenderly.

“Shaneese is already asleep,” T’mar said.

“Was she expecting this?”

“No, but I had Zirenth explain to her before we left,” he told her, as he squatted down on the deck, lowering her gently.

“And what did she say?”

“She said that you and I hadn’t been spending enough time alone together,” he told her, still holding her around the waist.

“And what, bronze rider, do you think we should do with our time?” Fiona asked coquettishly.

“Perhaps we can think of something,” he said as he bent down to kiss her.

Fiona wrapped her arms around him as their lips met and when they broke free again, she said, “Perhaps.”

With all the adult company surrounding the children, it was not surprising that they learned to speak early and well. Tiona spoke the first word of the three. Kimar was the last of the children to speak, even though Shanar was a month his junior.

Dark-haired and blue-eyed, there was no mistaking Tiona as T’mar’s daughter, although her ebullient manners and charming ways were clearly inherited from her mother. At turns this both delighted and exasperated Fiona, who discovered a girl “just like me” could be a handful, much to Bekka’s obvious amusement—everyone else was too cautious to produce more than a studied lack of expression.

Shanar was sturdy, steady, and friendly, very much like his mother. He had her dark eyes and darker skin, but he freckled, reminding everyone of Jeriz.

Kimar was blond-haired and had his mother’s sea-green eyes. But his manner was more like that of his obvious father, Kindan. The boy would watch everything, move slowly, but always with grace.

When Kindan fashioned them simple pipes, all three children were ecstatic, but only Kimar slept with his every night.

Colfet, at Fiona’s request, had built a large bed in their quarters, large enough for three adults and three children—or four adults in a pinch—but as they grew older, Tiona started to exhibit a definite desire to sleep on her own like the big girls, pointing toward Jirana. Fiona and Shaneese worked to redirect that desire to something more obtainable—like having a sleepover with Jirana. Tiona, somewhat reluctantly, allowed herself to be diverted.

The young trader girl, now nearing her ninth Turn, was in parts both ecstatic at the toddler’s desire and apprehensive. She agreed to Tiona’s request to sleep with her one night, but the two were so ill-suited that Jirana found herself quietly begging a sleepy Fiona to take her daughter back or, failing that, to let her sleep in the big bed. Fiona thought only for a groggy moment before pulling Jirana in with the others and asking a drowsy Talenth to keep an “eye”—really, a mental glance—on her wayward daughter. Jirana’s bed was not so far away that Fiona wouldn’t be able to hear if the child needed her, but it was nice to know that her queen was also keeping watch.

The next day, Fiona explained the situation to Colfet who, with a merry laugh, promised to have Tiona a bed of her own by nightfall.

The children were a special source of pride to the old seaman, whose own children were all grown and starting families of their own. These dragonchildren were, for Colfet, a treasure of unimaginable wealth.

Whenever he could, he would watch them, and he was practically encouraging all the women to have more children, seeing each pregnancy as a further sign of his own success.

Fiona finally understood when she coaxed Lorana into telling her the full harrowing tale of their misadventure in the Wind Rider and Colfet’s sacrifice for her.

“J’trel had thought I’d be safe on the Wind Rider, but some of the crew had other ideas, particularly when they stranded Captain Tanner at the new Half-Circle Sea Hold,” Lorana told her. She explained how the Wind Rider had been caught in a storm, how Colfet had smuggled her off into the launch, and how she’d fallen out of the launch into the sea when a rogue wave had hit her.

Gently, but unerringly, Fiona tugged the whole story out of the older woman. She learned how guilty Lorana felt over sending her fire-lizards away—“Even then they were sick, I should have known!”—how Lorana had despaired of life, how she’d woken up in Benden Weyr and had Impressed her queen, Arith. How she’d lost Arith to her own error, how the loss of the Telgar Weyr riders under D’gan had provided her with the chance to bridge time to give those in the distant past the vital clue they needed to provide her with the right tools to save the dragons of Pern, and of how, in the end, she’d been given the locket that proved that one of her fire-lizards had made it back through time to the First Pass—and had lived.

Fiona kept encouraging her to remember until Lorana finally shed the tears that Fiona knew she needed to release—over the loss of her fire-lizards, the loss of her queen, the loss of her pregnancy. Fiona hugged her tighter then and released her long enough to kiss the other woman on both cheeks and forehead before hugging her once more.

Hearing her story, Fiona understood how Colfet felt involved in saving the dragons of Pern and how their every increase increased his own pride in Lorana—and in his decision to aid her.

“You are my life, my blood, my heart,” Fiona told her feelingly. “I could not be without you.”

Lorana hugged her back tightly, at a loss for words.

“I’m worried about Terin,” Bekka said as she met Fiona and Shaneese for lunch.

“She’s keeping to herself,” Fiona said in agreement.

“Jeriz is with her and she’s doing her drills with the weyrlings,” Shaneese pointed out.

“Halfheartedly,” Fiona said. She glanced at Bekka before being distracted by a noise from the latest additions to the nursery. Seriya raced over to scoop up her baby, but Fiona called back, “Leave him, he’s fine.”

The green rider shot Fiona a worried look but held back and watched as the baby dusted himself off and went back to playing happily with the others.

“You’ve got to let them see if they’re all right,” Fiona told the other woman with a grin. Beside her, Javissa snorted, for it had been the trader woman who had taught that to her. “If you come the first time they fall, they’ll come to believe that they’re hurt worse than they are.”

Seriya nodded in understanding.

At two Turns, Shanar, Tiona, and Kimar were the eldest in the nursery, the others ranging from nine months to slightly more than a Turn. The six alternated between playing and fighting. The older three were somewhat better at playing, but they’d had more practice.

“She’s afraid her dragon will rise,” Fiona said, in answer to Bekka’s earlier statement.

“Isn’t it still too early?” Bekka asked.

Fiona shook her head. “There’s a chance any time after the first two Turns. It’s more likely in the third Turn, though.”

“What about the greens?” Seriya asked worriedly. “Could they rise?”

“Yes,” Fiona agreed. She frowned as a new thought struck her. “And they haven’t chewed firestone.”

“So they’d be fertile?” Bekka asked.

“Why hasn’t Talenth risen already?” Shaneese wondered.

“I don’t know,” Fiona said, turning fondly toward where her queen was sleeping contentedly in a warm spot near the nursery.

“It could be because of them,” Bekka said, pointing toward the nursery.

“The Records show that many Weyrwomen had babies while their queens were mating,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “How many had twins?” Bekka asked. Fiona made a face. “None.”

“It’s possible that the extra effort required from you has inhibited her.”

“Or something else has,” Fiona said, frowning thoughtfully.

She tested this idea out on T’mar later that night. He frowned and shrugged. “Either explanation is possible,” T’mar agreed.

“We should have thought of this when we came here,” Fiona said. “Talenth hasn’t much of a choice if she were to rise.” She turned to where Zirenth lay curled on the ground just before the bow of their ship. “No offense, Zirenth.”

“He’s not offended,” T’mar assured her. “And why would you want more choice, when you’ve got him and ten weyrling bronzes?”

“The Records show that the greater the choice, the longer the flight, the more blooded kills, the greater the chance of a large clutch,” Fiona told him. She reached a hand to him and touched his shoulder gently. “Not that I want her to be flown by another bronze; I’m just not at all certain that I’d want her to be flown by one of the youngsters.”

“You’ve read the Records,” T’mar told her seriously.

Fiona nodded, getting his point. “It’s possible for a queen to stay with just the one bronze,” she reminded him.

“Possible,” T’mar agreed grudgingly. “But very rare.”

“And not always to the good of the Weyr, either,” Fiona said. “But what my queen does is not always a reflection of what I want.”

“And what do you want, Weyrwoman?”

“Right now, I want answers to our questions,” she told him. “And I want you to know that I love you.”

T’mar’s expression softened. “I do.”

“And remember that I will always have a place in my heart for you.”

“And others.”

“Like Shanar and Kimar,” Fiona reminded him.

“So much competition,” T’mar teased, shaking his head.

“It’s only competition if there’s a prize.”

Wisely, the bronze rider said nothing.

“Between the tunnel snakes and the Mrreows, I don’t know which is worse,” Colfet said early one morning after he had completed inspecting the hull of one of the ships.

“What’s up?” T’mar asked. He, Kindan, Lorana, and Fiona were seated nearby. T’mar and Kindan were due to start more drills with the now mature weyrlings.

“The tunnel snakes tore a new hole in the side of the Istan Harvest,” Colfet said, shaking his head, referring to one of the older ships. “They got into the stores and we probably wouldn’t have found them except one of those fardling Mrreows came chasing after it.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“They were all scared out of their wits with the racket but no other harm was done,” the seaman replied.

“Should we organize another hunting party?” Kindan asked. “The pelts fetched a fair price, last time.”

“The pelts weren’t worth the three injured,” Fiona said, shaking her head. Kindan absently stroked his left forearm: He’d been among those injured.

“And we were lucky that Mayorth ever recovered,” Lorana reminded them. “We can’t risk another injury when we’re so close.”

“Well, we’ve got to figure out what we’re going to do,” T’mar said. “We’re nearing the time when we should bring the injured here.”

“We’ve got another couple of months, surely,” Fiona said.

“True, but if they were here earlier, we’d have more bronzes,” T’mar pointed out. “And more experienced riders to help with the training.”

“But we’d have the injured to tend and more to feed,” Fiona countered.

“So what do you suggest?”

“Well,” Fiona said, pursing her lips for a moment before continuing, “I think we should consider our firestone needs and get that sorted before we bring the fighting dragons here.”

“The queens could rise any day,” T’mar reminded her.

“They could but, aside from Talenth, they’d still be pretty young.”

“Honestly,” T’mar told her, “I was rather surprised she didn’t rise when we were in Igen.”

“And I’m surprised she hasn’t risen here, yet,” Fiona told him, recalling their conversation weeks past. “Do you suppose it has something to do with timing it?”

“I doubt it,” T’mar said, taking a bite of the melon that he’d tackled for breakfast. He looked at it with distaste, saying apologetically to Shaneese, “I never thought I’d say it, but I’m getting tired of fruit.”

“Well, we’ve no holders to till fields,” Fiona replied, “so unless you want to take more weyrlings from training and set them to the fields, we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got.”

T’mar grunted an agreement and finished his melon in silence. Fiona, too, was silent while she ate and for much the same reason—melon once a sevenday was a rare treat, melon morning, noon, and evening was more of a torment.

Jirana was watching the toddlers, but she came racing when they finished their meal. “Are we flying, Weyrwoman?”

“Of course!” Fiona assured her. “Have you got your gear?”

“I’ll get it,” Jirana chirped, racing toward their ship. It had become a habit for Fiona to bring her up with her whenever she flew Talenth, just as Jeriz rode with Terin whenever she drilled.

“She’s eager,” Shaneese said approvingly even as she moved closer to the playground to take over minding the toddlers.

“She loves flying,” Javissa agreed with a touch of worry.

“She can always fly with me,” Fiona told her. “Even when we return.”

An angry growl and a child’s shriek electrified them.

“Jirana!” Fiona and Javissa cried at once, racing toward the ship. They reached it together and found the girl crumpled on the deck, a large gash in her leg. One of the Mrreows ran off at their approach, something dangling from its mouth.

“Baby!” Javissa cried as she gathered her youngest in her arms. Fiona knelt and examined the bloodied leg, her expression grave.

Talenth, get Bekka! She called even as she located the artery behind the girl’s knee and applied pressure to reduce the blood loss.

“I hurt, Momma,” Jirana whimpered.

“What happened?” Fiona asked, looking up and smiling at the dark-eyed child. “Can you tell us?”

“I was going toward the stairs when the tunnel snake charged at me,” Jirana said. “And then I was hit from the back and heard the Mrreow and I screamed.” She turned to her mother. “I think the Mrreow tried to save me.”

“I think it was just trying to get the tunnel snake,” Kindan said when Fiona recounted the tale to him and T’mar later, after Jirana’s wound had been stitched. She’d been given fellis and brought to the center of their camp, near the nursery, so that she could be kept under constant watch. “It pushed her out of the way because it was hungry and the tunnel snake was the smaller prey.”

“I suppose,” Fiona said without much enthusiasm. Kindan quirked an eyebrow upward questioningly. “Well, it just seems that these Mrreows came with the colonists.” She raised a hand to tick off her reasons, “They’ve got fur like the canines. And they’ve four limbs, not six, their eyes aren’t like any of the eyes the six-limbed Pernese have.”

Kindan pursed his lips and nodded. “It could be,” he agreed. “But why haven’t we seen them before?”

“Why do they attack dragons?” T’mar demanded. “None of the canines or herdbeasts do that.”

“Maybe the dragons are too much like the tunnel snakes,” Lorana replied.

“But we’ve got canines that go after tunnel snakes, and not dragons,” Kindan objected.

“The dogs have to be trained,” Fiona reminded him. “They don’t attack the tunnel snakes without training.”

“That’s because they’re smart,” Kindan replied. “Those things are nasty.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe you used to hunt them when you were little.”

“I didn’t know any better,” Fiona admitted. “And I think if the tunnel snakes back home were like these, I probably wouldn’t have.”

“Well the question remains, what are we going to do about them?” T’mar said.

“The bigger question is whether hunting the Mrreows is helping or hurting us,” Fiona said, glancing toward Kindan. The harper had his bow at his side and a quiver of arrows on his back. “If the Mrreows are keeping the tunnel snakes in check, perhaps we should just leave them be.”

“And hunt tunnel snakes?” Kindan asked.

Fiona shrugged. “They’re almost impossible to find in this soft soil. They have no trouble at all burrowing through it.”

“There’s no decent rocky place on this half of the island,” T’mar remarked, glancing challengingly at his Weyrwoman. She shrugged; she still hadn’t written that strange note warning them away from the western half of the Great Isle, so she had no reason to know if the restriction was still necessary.

“And there’s no guarantee we’d find better elsewhere,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “And even if we did, it would take at least a month, probably more, to move our camp now.”

T’mar blew out a sigh in agreement.

“Regardless,” Javissa spoke up, “what are we going to do about the children?”

“I think we’d better have them sleep here,” Fiona said. “And we’ll need to set up a guard.”

The attack on Jirana had unsettled everyone in the camp, and the setting of a permanent guard was met with a feeling of relief.

“Did you notice Delanth at drill tonight?” Kindan asked T’mar as they made their way back to their ship for the evening. The Weyrleader nodded.

“Proddy, wasn’t she?” Fiona asked. T’mar nodded. Being proddy—irritable and snappish—was a sign of a green about to rise.

“You know, they haven’t chewed any firestone,” Kindan said.

“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “But that might not be so bad.”

The others looked at her. “Well, even if all the greens had eggs, how many would that be?”

T’mar shrugged. “No one knows.”

“If they had twenty eggs each, we’ve only forty-four, so we’d have just eight hundred and eighty eggs,” Fiona said.

“And just how, Weyrwoman, would you expect us to feed that many hatchlings?”

“And where would we find all the Candidates?” Kindan asked in surprise.

“Well, we don’t even know how many they’d clutch, so I think we’re counting our dragons before they hatch,” Fiona said.

“But if they could,” T’mar said with a sense of hope, “we could re-populate all Pern.”

“With greens and blues,” Fiona reminded him.

“I suppose that must have been another one of Kitti Ping’s thoughts,” Lorana said.

“Actually,” Fiona said, “I think the fire-lizards figured it out on their own and our ancestors just kept it.”

“We’ll talk on this in the morning,” T’mar decided, patting his Weyrwoman tenderly on the head. She bristled at him and then leaned up for a kiss that he returned briskly before going to his cabin. He was back a moment later, saying to Fiona, “Where’s Shaneese?”

“With the children,” she told him with a dimpling smile. “Why, dragonrider, are you afraid of sleeping alone?”

Lorana chuckled and T’mar went wide-eyed, nodding. “Very afraid,” he assured her. “What should I do?”

“Perhaps we’ll think of something,” Fiona told him, turning to hug Lorana and Kindan in turn. “Why don’t you and I discuss it Weyrwoman to Weyrleader?”

Their pleasant night was shattered at first light when Fiona woke, eyes wide. “She’s rising.”

“Talenth?” T’mar asked, surprised and reaching to touch Zirenth’s mind. The bronze was still sleeping.

“No, Delanth,” Fiona said, pushing herself up and putting on her robe and slippers.

They met Lorana and Kindan as they left their cabin and together the four of them went to the center of the camp and the nursery.

“Lorana, can you be with Vellany?” Fiona asked. “I’ll handle the queens and the other greens.”

“They’re all so close to rising, it might be a good idea to have them go elsewhere,” T’mar suggested.

“Exactly my thinking,” Fiona said. She grabbed her gear, while warning Talenth. The queen met her at the bottom of the ship. They were about to take off when Jirana rushed toward them. “Come on!” Fiona called.

The little girl scampered up, Fiona strapped her in and with a quick image to Talenth, took them all between.

“This is where my father died, isn’t it?” Jirana asked as Fiona and the other queens and greens circled down for a landing on the Red Butte. Fiona mentally kicked herself for her choice—it was instinctive, one of the earliest drilling points the Igen riders had learned.

“Yes,” Fiona said, wondering if she should bring them all elsewhere. But the mood of the younger greens and queens was too nervous and it took all of her and Talenth’s efforts to get them organized and arrayed around the plateau. “This is also where the dragonriders arranged to provide food to the holders during the Plague.”

“It’s a nice place,” Jirana said as she looked around, scanning. “Can I see where my father is?”

Fiona nodded silently, relaying orders through Talenth assigning the other queen riders responsibility for overseeing their greens. She jumped down first, reached up to hand Jirana down, and looked around.

It had been at least four, perhaps five, Turns since Lorana had built the cairn.

Terin saw and joined them, leading Taria, Helena, and Seriya, as well as the other green Telgar riders with her. As if by some unspoken command, Lin, Jassi, Garra, and Indeera followed and soon more than forty riders were behind Fiona.

The Weyrwoman nodded at the other queen riders, then stopped and knelt down beside Jirana. “Is it okay if the others come with us?”

Jirana looked around solemnly at the others grouped silently nearby and nodded slowly. “I think my father would like that.”

“Jirana is looking for the cairn Lorana made for her father,” Fiona told the others after she stood up. Terin moved forward and rested her arm comfortingly on the young girl’s shoulder. Lin came up on her other side while Jassi, Garra, and Inderra stood behind.

Fiona led the way, even as she checked with Lorana about the flight.

We’re at Red Butte, Fiona told the other woman with a tone of apology in her voice. Jirana wants to see her father’s grave.

She felt a trickle of shock from the ex-dragonrider, then a calm supportive acceptance. Of course, Lorana thought to her. I’ve told Javissa. She approves.

Fiona nodded to herself absently even as she sent a grateful thought back to Lorana; she hadn’t thought about asking Jirana’s mother. A moment later, Fiona turned with a certainty and headed toward a pile of rocks in the distance.

“Your father lies here,” Fiona said, going to her knees beside the girl.

Jirana looked around the plateau and closed her eyes. She swayed with the wind, her nostrils going wide as she took in a deep breath, savoring the scent on the wind. After a long moment she opened her eyes again, peering at the ground between the stones of Tenniz’s cairn.

“Do you think purpleflower might grow here?” Jirana asked, turning to Fiona.

“It’s very dry up here,” Jassi said, coming to squat beside the young girl on the other side. “But I think you could find some that would thrive.”

“When we come back, can we do that?” Jirana asked.

“Of course,” Fiona promised. “Should we bring your mother?”

“No,” the little girl replied. “Father told me that it would make her sad.”

“He told you?” Fiona repeated, eyes narrowing. Jirana nodded. “Just now?”

Jirana made a face. “No, silly, he’s dead! He told me before; the last time we met.”

“Jirana,” Fiona began with the slow patience of an adult trying to break bad news to a child, “your father died before you were born.”

“Yes,” Jirana said. “But he told me when he saw me the last time.”

“The last time?” Terin repeated, dropping down beside Fiona and exchanging a quick worried look with Fiona. “When was that?”

“When he told Jeriz that he had to go to Telgar,” Jirana replied simply.

You can come back, Lorana told Fiona. Winurth flew her.

“We should get back,” Fiona said, looking first to Terin and then to Jirana. The little girl nodded in quiet acceptance.

“So what does this mean?” Shaneese asked when they gathered back once more and were able to take a break.

“It means that J’gerd is going to have a lot of explaining to do,” Kindan predicted.

“He’ll do fine,” Fiona said. “He’s good with words and well-liked.”

“I meant about eggs,” Shaneese said. “Will Delanth clutch?”

“Perhaps,” T’mar said, looking toward Fiona.

“If greens are like queens, then we’ll know in twelve to fifteen weeks,” Fiona said, “when she clutches.”

“We haven’t got a suitable hatching ground,” T’mar said. “Will the eggs even harden without the heat?”

Fiona shook her head. “What we could do is bring more sand up here, cover it at night, and expose it by day when it’s not raining so that it will gather heat.”

“The sands are always hot,” T’mar said. “What will that mean to these eggs?”

“I don’t know,” Fiona admitted, turning a questioning look to Kindan.

“You’ve read more Weyr Records than I,” he told her.

“So we don’t know if she’ll clutch and, if she does, we don’t know if her eggs will hatch on this ground,” T’mar concluded.

“Worse,” Fiona said, and the others turned to her apprehensively, “we know that this mating flight will spark others.”

“The bronzes are old enough,” T’mar said, flicking a hand open dismissively.

“They may be old enough, but are there enough bronzes for all these queens?” Lorana asked.

“And what do we do if more than one rises, green or queen?” Fiona asked. Lorana and T’mar shook their heads; they had no more of an answer than she.

“We can send the others to Red Butte,” Kindan suggested. “That would help.”

“But if two or more rise?” T’mar asked.

“Then we’ll have to handle it,” Fiona declared. “We can’t lose any dragons.”

The next morning, Fiona woke with a hot angry feeling roiling inside her.

Talenth! Fiona’s cry roused Lorana and T’mar just as the bronzes roared expectantly.

“Come on!” Fiona cried, racing out of the cabin toward her suddenly ravenous queen. She heard Lorana follow after, felt the dragonrider pull herself away from the queen even as Fiona found herself fighting to maintain control.

No! Blood your kills!

Talenth’s bellowed response was not that of her normally kind, docile friend. Now she was a full queen, roaring her challenge to the entire Weyr.

The bronzes roared in response and then—another dragon bellowed! Another queen! How dare she!

Who, who could challenge her? Talenth shrieked in anger. Fiona felt confusion, fear, terror, panic—but none of it from her.

Terin! Kurinth! Lorana’s voice rolled through her mind.

Help her, Fiona called, even as she poured her will toward Talenth. The queen rose with an angry bellow and dropped immediately on the nearest buck, snapping its neck.

No! Fiona rasped at her queen. Only blood your kills! Talenth rebelled, angry, fighting back, ready to eat her way to combat strength—she would teach this challenger, she would kill any who stood against her rightful position.

For an instant Fiona wavered against the pressure, felt herself ready to give in, to see claw against claw, fang against fang, to rend, tear, rip to victory.

No! Fiona cried, her will flowing like fire into her queen. She is our friend!

Talenth raged back, tearing down another buck, sucking it dry and rising again only—

—there was another queen in the air, too, challenging her. It was Kurinth.

Lorana reached Terin just as she heard the bellow from her queen.

“Terin!” she cried. “You must control her, you must take her away from here, don’t let her gorge, get her away.”

“No,” Terin said miserably, shaking her head, eyes streaming but unseeing. “He’s not here, it’s not right, it’s not right, it’s not right.” Her expression altered and she took on a fierce expression. “Hate her, she’s stopping me. She can’t stop me, hate her.” She shook her head again and wailed, “F’jian! F’jian, help me!”

Above, a throng of dragons bellowed in the morning air. Lorana reeled as she felt the power, reeled as she felt her legs turn to rubber. She sank to the ground even as she saw Terin’s eyes go wide.

As the last of her strength drained from her and she felt darkness overtake her, Lorana cried out, I can’t control her!

I can’t control her! Fiona heard lashing through her mind. And then she heard nothing. Lorana? She called, her concentration on her queen totally broken.

Freed, Talenth tore her way toward the usurper, ready to rend and tear.

Dragons creeled in anger, and Talenth found her way blocked—there were other queens between her and her prey.

Fiona, hold her! a voice cried.

Lorana?

Hold her, the voice called again. Help is coming.

Fiona reached for her queen and hauled her back under her control, surprised and confused by Lorana’s sudden return, stronger and more determined and—riding Talenth?

Go here! Lorana called, picturing an image that Fiona and Talenth both caught. In the image there were several alluring bronzes, far below, looking forlornly up, trying to match her speed and—

Suddenly they were there. The Red Butte was beneath, the bronzes struggling vainly to match her glory and—

Talenth soared. Fiona rose with her, freeing her dragon to reach for the highest heights.

Up! Up! Fiona called. Leave them behind!

“Terin, Terin, you must control her!” a voice was shouting in Terin’s ear. It was a scared voice, a tired voice, the voice she wanted to hear most—

“F’jian?” Terin said, opening her eyes and looking up. “F’jian?”

“I’m here,” F’jian said. “I’m here, love, just like I promised.”

“Kurinth?”

“Go with her,” another voice urged quietly. “Flow with her, follow her in your mind, see where she is.”

“Ladirth!” Terin cried as she saw the world through her queen’s eyes. “What’s he doing here?”

Does he think he can catch me? Kurinth asked, looking back with both longing and disdain as the sturdy bronze pursued her. She saw others, good strong bronzes, trying vainly to outfly her and failing.

She taunted them with a roar and climbed, climbed, climbed—suddenly at ease with the world, full of her power, certain of her future.

Beneath her, a bronze broke off, winded. And another. She bellowed at them, the poor, small piteous things! And she looked down at Ladirth. There was a great bronze. She dove toward him, feeling compelled, feeling anxious, feeling—

And suddenly he turned on his side and caught her as she came toward him and together they fell, fell, fell, and—

Together. They were together and it was everything. They were the only two on Pern, gold and bronze.