Dragon's Time

TEN

Fiona found herself in the arms of T’mar and she nuzzled tightly against him even as she felt her sated queen gliding toward the landing of the Red Butte. The other bronzes had departed. Only Zirenth remained. When they landed, gold and bronze, they settled near each other, necks entwined.

She reached across land and ocean toward their camp, trying to find the feel of Lorana and failing.

“We must go back. Lorana’s fainted and I don’t know what’s happened with Terin,” Fiona said, pulling herself away from T’mar with ill-concealed regret. She reached out and—a sudden welling of passion overtook her and she clutched at T’mar for balance.

They lost it.

Later, when they recovered, Fiona found herself lying on T’mar’s shoulder. Cautiously she reached out once more, feeling for Lorana.

Come home, she heard.

“Are you sure you’re all right with this?” Lorana asked Fiona a sevenday later as she prepared to climb onto Talenth’s back.

“She’ll be too egg-heavy soon enough,” Fiona said. “And, once she’s clutched, she’ll not want to leave her eggs.”

“This has never been done,” Lorana cautioned.

“I trust you,” Fiona assured her. “You’re the only one to do it.” She smiled at the taller woman as she added, “After all, you can’t break time.”

Lorana smiled at her, gave her a quick hug and mounted Fiona’s queen.

They rose into the sky, circled once, and winked between.

“I need to borrow your mate,” Lorana said when she located Javissa. The journey had been less effort than she’d imagined, even though she knew that this was only the first of several journeys she needed to complete before she returned with Talenth to Eastern Weyr. It was a time after they’d first met. Javissa was large with child. The traders were at the same oasis where she’d first met them, traveling with only a domicile dray.

“Borrow?”

“I’d like him to meet some people,” Lorana said. She saw Javissa start to ask and shook her head. “I can’t tell you who.”

“How long will you be gone?” Javissa asked. “His cough is getting worse.”

“I know,” Lorana said. “Soon he will go to the place he dreamed and meet me there, but I won’t know him.”

“But not now?”

“No,” Lorana said. “When he goes, he’ll need food for two for three nights.”

“What sort of food?”

“I can’t tell you,” Lorana replied. “I’ll have him back in no time at all, but he’ll be very tired and need to sleep.”

“And you?” Javissa asked. “You won’t be tired?”

“I’ll manage,” Lorana said.

“Javissa, what is it?” Tenniz’s voice came from behind the dray. “It’s Lorana,” the trader woman said. “She wants to borrow you.”

“Borrow?” Tenniz called back, as his voice came toward them and he stepped into view. He looked at Lorana, then back to Javissa. She met his eyes and some secret communication passed between them.

“We were wondering,” Javissa said slowly and not without some misgiving, “if you would do us an honor.”

“Whatever you wish, that I can do,” Lorana promised without hesitation.

“Would you allow us to use your name in our daughter’s?” Tenniz asked. He glanced shyly at Javissa and took her hand. “We were thinking of Jirana, if it wouldn’t offend you.”

“I’d be honored,” Lorana said, dipping her head.

“Thank you,” Javissa said. She looked in Lorana’s eyes for a long time. “Tenniz says that I will be seeing you again.”

“You may be sure of it,” Lorana promised, turning toward the seer.

“And you will not keep him long?”

“When do you want him back?” Lorana asked.

“Give me time to make camp, so that he can go straight to sleep,” Javissa said.

“Twenty minutes?”

“That would be enough,” Javissa agreed.

Lorana nodded and extended a hand toward Tenniz. “I thought you would like a chance to go a-dragonback.”

“Thank you,” Tenniz said, taking her hand and following her toward the queen.

He eyed Talenth intently and said, “This is not the same queen you were on last.”

“True,” Lorana nodded. She guided him up and strapped him in. “Where are we going?” Tenniz asked as Lorana silently guided Talenth skyward.

“When,” Lorana corrected. The trader craned his neck around to look at her. “Would you like to see your daughter?”

“My daughter?” Tenniz said with a sob. “But, lady, we cannot break time.”

“True, but sometimes we can cheat it,” Lorana said, silently ordering Talenth between.

They arrived much less than a Turn into the future. Lorana spent a few moments orienting herself and then Talenth whirled down to the ground near a trader’s caravan. It was night, but the caravan had not circled up as was the usual trader precaution.

From the domicile dray there came a woman’s cry. Tenniz’s eyes widened and he scampered off Talenth, rushing to the dray. Lorana waited outside while Tenniz was with his wife for the birth of their daughter. She was surprised when Azeez came outside to greet her.

“You have brought my daughter a great gift,” the man said with tears in his eyes.

“It was the least I could do,” Lorana assured him.

“You are clearly the Beacon.”

Lorana waved the compliment aside. “Please tell Tenniz that we cannot tarry long.”

Azeez nodded and returned to the dray. Minutes later, Tenniz returned, his eyes gleaming.

“Thank you, weyrwoman, for this gift beyond price,” Tenniz said.

“It is not much I can give you,” Lorana replied. She gestured toward Talenth. “Climb on.”

“We’re going back?”

“We’re going,” Lorana told him with a twinkle in her eyes lit by the night’s stars.

Again they went between and this time they returned to another caravan, this one circled up in the customary fashion.

“We are two Turns in the future,” Lorana said.

“How do you know when we are?” Tenniz asked. Lorana smiled and pointed up to the night sky. “Oh!”

“The traders taught Fiona,” Lorana said. “She taught me.”

“ ‘Our gifts are always returned many fold,’ ” Tenniz said, quoting trader lore. His brows puckered as he asked, “But how do you know where to go?”

“Talenth and I scouted before we came to you,” Lorana told him.

“So you know what we’ll find?”

Lorana shook her head. “I only thought to offer you opportunities.”

“Thank you,” Tenniz said with feeling, deeper than mere words. “And what opportunity do you offer now?”

“I thought you might want to talk with your children,” Lorana said, gesturing to the caravan.

When Tenniz returned this time he shook his head in awe and hugged Lorana fiercely. “She spoke to me,” he said, “Jirana spoke to me.”

Lorana nodded and gestured for him to mount Talenth once more.

“Now we go back?” Tenniz asked.

Lorana shook her head. “A friend of mine tells me that the third time is the best.”

Again they went through time and returned in the night, above a caravan. Talenth bugled a warning as she descended and the caravan halted, heading south from Southern Telgar Hold on its way back to the desert.

“Jeriz has nearly ten Turns now, Jirana just seven,” Lorana said as the trader gave her an expectant look. His eyes narrowed at her tone, but she said no more, gesturing for him to head on.

Close to an hour later he returned.

“I had a sight: Jeriz will go to Telgar,” Tenniz said. Lorana nodded. “You knew?”

“I knew that he would go, not that you would see it,” Lorana said.

“And do you also know about Jirana?”

Lorana smiled. “Are you ready to return?”

“Yes,” Tenniz said. “I can return now.” He mounted up. “It will be easier to face my fate knowing that my children will be safe.”

How are you feeling? Lorana asked Talenth as they climbed once more into the night sky, having brought Tenniz back in time before the allotted twenty minutes had passed.

I am fine, Talenth assured her.

Very well, let’s go, Lorana told the queen lovingly. And remember, say nothing to Fiona.

They winked between. Again, Lorana was surprised to feel something tugging at her, hear voices crying in pain. Can’t lose the babies! Can’t lose the babies! And: The Weyrs! They must be warned!

She collected herself and fought through once more, propelling herself and Talenth as if through muddy water toward their destination.

Five coughs later they appeared above Telgar Weyr. Talenth silenced the watch dragon and glided to a landing beside the queen’s ledge.

Ladirth, be ready to come with us, Lorana said, sending the sleepy bronze the impression of hot flying, tense moments. The bronze perked up immediately, even as Lorana stepped over into Kurinth’s weyr. The young queen was sleepy, sated from a meal. Softly, Lorana moved into Terin’s quarters and tapped F’jian on the shoulder.

The bronze rider woke, startled, but Lorana put her finger to lips and gestured for him to follow her. With a backward glance at the sleeping Terin, F’jian followed her out into the sleeping queen’s weyr.

“I need you and Ladirth to come with me,” Lorana said.

“Is this important, my lady?”

“Yes,” Lorana told him. “But I will not lie to you, it will be tiring.”

“I should stay with Terin,” F’jian said, turning his head to peer back at the sleeping weyrwoman.

“You’ll see Terin,” Lorana said. “Bronzes are blooding their kills.”

“Their kills?” F’jian repeated, glancing around, senses stretched. “Where?”

“Come with me,” Lorana said. “Terin needs you.”

“Terin?” F’jian repeated blankly. He glanced toward the sleeping queen. “But Kurinth is too young.”

“Now,” Lorana agreed. “Come with me, it’s your only chance.”

Before she went between, she called Tolarth, Minith, Melirth, and Lyrinth to her, giving them the coordinates. The queens obeyed her summons, sensing her urgency.

Taking a deep breath, Lorana urged the queens and F’jian between forward into the future.

A fury erupted around them and they heard the screams of angry queens preparing to fight for their rights to the bronzes.

“F’jian!” Lorana called. “Go to Terin, she needs your help!”

The bronze dragon dashed to the ground long enough to drop his rider and then rose into the air, taking one herdbeast from the pen and sucking its blood in a frenzy before taking to the sky. Lorana dispatched the queens and Talenth to separate the passion-flamed Kurinth and Talenth, then had Fiona, T’mar, and the others send their dragons to the Red Butte to separate them from Kurinth and her flight.

Knowing that she—her earlier self back in time—had fainted from her fruitless efforts, Lorana stayed clear of Terin’s quarters. She felt Kurinth and Ladirth make their brilliant union and, moments later, felt Talenth and Zirenth join triumphantly over the Red Butte.

As Kurinth and Ladirth returned to the ground, necks twined, Lorana felt the tensions ease out of the dragons. Much later, Lorana said to Ladirth, We cannot tarry too long.

F’jian came out of Terin’s quarters not long after, his fingers twined in hers.

Tell F’jian that whenever she needs him most, he’ll be there, Lorana said to the bronze dragon.

F’jian’s head snapped to face Lorana as his dragon’s words registered. The bronze rider gave her a questioning look, one filled with an infinite sadness. Lorana nodded in response: She meant the promise.

We must return, Lorana said. Sadly, F’jian let go of Terin and mounted his tired dragon.

They followed her once more back to Telgar Weyr. As Ladirth flew up to his quarters for a needed rest, F’jian and Lorana walked back to Terin’s quarters.

“How long do I have?” F’jian asked softly.

“I cannot tell you,” Lorana said, shaking her head sadly. “And you cannot tell Terin.”

“Why?” the bronze rider asked.

“Because, no matter how much we want, we cannot break time,” Lorana said.

“So I am to die?”

Lorana said nothing. The young man turned toward the sleeping girl.

“Will I see you again?”

Lorana nodded. “And remember, I don’t know this yet.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“We cannot break time,” Lorana told him quietly. “But we can cheat it.” She waved him toward the sleeping girl and turned back once more to the Weyr Bowl.

Talenth, let’s go, Lorana said.

“This isn’t anything like a proper Hatching Ground,” T’mar said as he surveyed the result of two sevendays’ worth of effort. The dragons had worked tirelessly, scooping up fine sand from the shore and bringing it back to pile atop and beside the old nursery into the newly stone-lined makeshift Hatching Ground.

“It’s the best we can do,” Fiona said. She shook her head. “Who ever thought we’d have all five queens and four greens ready to clutch at the same time?”

T’mar shook his head. “How will we feed so many weyrlings and hatchlings?”

“We’ll send the older ones back,” Fiona said. “Keep a few for work and wait until the rest are old enough to return to the Weyrs.”

“Hmmph,” T’mar said, not satisfied with her solution but unable to counter with anything better. “What about Candidates?”

“That is a problem,” Fiona agreed. She turned to Kindan and gave him a questioning look. “Will Lorana stand, do you think?”

“Will you stand?” T’mar added, glancing at the harper.

“He has no choice,” Fiona declared. Kindan glanced her way and gave her a resigned look. Fiona chuckled and reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “He’s a wise man.”

“I don’t think it matters, really,” Kindan said with a shrug. “No Records I’ve ever read mention someone my age Impressing.”

“But if you can Impress, then maybe we can get some of the others who have lost their dragon to stand on the Hatching Grounds again,” T’mar said. “Think how that would be.”

“I’ve nearly thirty Turns now,” Kindan said. “Aren’t I too old for this? Shouldn’t someone younger have the honor?”

“The dragons will decide,” Fiona said.

“And you’ll keep your word?”

“Yes, if you are not chosen this time, I won’t ask you again,” Fiona said. They’d talked about this ever since the mating flights. At first, Kindan had refused outright, but when Lorana had merely suggested it was probably moot, the harper had relented on the condition that he would not be asked again.

“Otherwise, I’ll be as old as Zist and standing on the sands!”

“Well, we have some time to find Candidates,” Fiona said. “No one’s clutched and it will be at least five weeks from then to a Hatching.”

“If they hatch,” T’mar said grimly. “No one’s tried such cool sands before.”

“We do what we can,” Fiona said with a shrug. “We expose them to the sun when it’s shining and protect them from the elements when it’s not.”

“But day to day they’ll be hardly more than warm,” T’mar groused.

“I think that any additions to our strength would be worthwile,” Fiona reminded him.

“True,” T’mar agreed. “But I wonder if we wouldn’t be wiser having Talenth and the other queens return to their Weyrs.”

“Or maybe we can find a proper Weyr on the west side of the island,” Kindan added.

Fiona shrugged. “It’s worth considering, but we’d better be quick.”

“Six queens, four greens; how many Candidates will we need?” T’mar said again. “And where will you find them?”

Fiona shrugged once more. She, Lorana, and the other queen riders had discussed the issue with no more resolution than now. Terin had done the numbers: At the best, there would be nearly a whole Weyr’s worth of eggs looking to Impress. Even at the most conservative estimate, the ten clutches could see over a hundred eggs on the sands—nearly a quarter of the total strength they had in the camp now that they’d brought the injured riders back in time with them to heal and recover.

That decision had not been taken lightly but, as Fiona pointed out, the right time was before the queens clutched and before the eggs hatched; when the Eastern Weyr—she had given up arguing against the name—had fewer dragons to feed and enough trained bodies on hand to tend to the needs of the injured riders and dragons.

The addition of over four hundred mouths to feed—half human, half dragon—had put a huge burden on the existing population that was only met by having the now-mature weyrlings and their riders spend most of their time providing sustenance or succor but, as Fiona and T’mar had agreed, the fighting Weyrs would be able to more easily integrate the suddenly grown weyrlings into their wings if they had also trained with the soon-to-be-healed riders and dragons with nearly a Turn of Thread-fighting experience behind them.

What neither Fiona nor Lorana could explain was the strange lack of concern expressed by the queens. Fiona had only her experience of Talenth’s first Hatching, but she found it odd that the queens weren’t more anxious to provide for their offspring.

It will be all right, Talenth had assured her calmly.

“We’ve got some in the camp who can stand as Candidates,” Fiona said now, “and we can probably find some from the traders and the wherhold who’d be willing to stand.”

“We’re near enough to our proper time that we would not arouse too much concern if we rode a proper Search,” T’mar reminded her.

Fiona made a face; they’d been through this before. “Let’s wait until they clutch.”

“Would you look at that,” Shaneese said as she shook her head in admiration at the ranks of eggs of all sizes and shapes dotting the sands before them. The dragon females had all clutched within a sevenday of each other, digging, burrowing, and otherwise arranging their own individual nests out of the oversized Hatching Ground that had been made. She turned to Terin. “How many?”

“Kurinth laid twenty-three,” the weyrwoman told her proudly. “And one’s a queen!”

“Yes, but how many altogether?” Javissa asked, gesturing toward the nesting queens and protective greens.

“Oh.” Terin sounded less concerned. “Between them all, we have two hundred and fifty-three eggs, including five queen eggs.”

“The green eggs look smaller; will they hatch?”

“They’re about the right size for green or blue eggs,” Terin replied, shrugging. “We’ll know soon enough if they’ll hatch.”

“We can’t even feed a thousand!” Fiona complained when T’mar trotted out his suggested number for Candidates. “Much less find them.”

“But with that number we’d have less than four Candidates for each egg, we really should have more,” T’mar objected.

“Well, we can’t get more than twenty right now,” Fiona said. “And if you take a wing off in Search, how will we feed everyone here and still keep training?”

“Which is more important?” T’mar demanded of her with an angry shrug.

“Yes, which?” Fiona replied with nearly as much force.

“Could we time it?” Kindan asked. The others looked at him. “When we find out how many are hatching, we time it to find enough Candidates.”

T’mar and Fiona exchanged speculative looks.

“That sounds too much like breaking time,” T’mar said finally, glancing toward Lorana for confirmation.

“I’m afraid so,” the queen rider agreed. “What you’re saying is that we’d know before we know, as it were.”

Kindan blew out a sigh of resignation. “If we can go forward in time to provide help, why can’t we go forward in time to get help?”

“It didn’t work for Lorana,” Fiona reminded him grimly.

“It seems we can only know what we thought to ask,” T’mar said. “And now that we’ve thought to ask, why can’t we find out?”

“Fine, you try it,” Fiona told him, gesturing toward the outside and Zirenth in the distance. “Let me know when you get tired.”

“You’ve already tried?” T’mar asked in surprise. Fiona and Lorana both nodded.

“Perhaps you can go, but neither of us could,” Fiona told him.

“It’s like J’trel said, there’s no there,” Lorana added.

“Does this have anything to do with your voices?” T’mar asked Lorana. She had told them all about her encounters with the strange voices going forward in time. No one had any satisfactory explanation.

“I’d be happier if we could find answers instead of more unanswered questions,” Fiona said resignedly.

“Well, in the meantime, we should at least arrange to get as many Candidates as we can and have them ready at a moment’s notice,” T’mar said.

“But that won’t be near a thousand,” Fiona said. “Perhaps a hundred at most.”

“It would be a terrible tragedy to have all these hatchlings and not enough riders to Impress them,” T’mar said.

“There are a lot more girls in the Caverns back in Telgar than boys,” Terin said. “They keep secrets better, too.”

T’mar gave her a doubting look that he hastily abandoned when both Fiona and Lorana chimed in unison, “She’s right.”

“We could probably contact the other girls,” Terin said. Bekka beside her nodded. “I know some at Fort would love the chance.”

“Nerra’s been taking in so many orphans since the Plague that Crom’s practically bursting at the seams,” Kindan said. “You’ll find more girls than boys there, too, but you’ll still find plenty of boys.”

“And we can tell the traders,” Fiona said, glancing at Shaneese, who returned her look with a grateful nod. She smiled at the headwoman as she added, “They seem to be rife with rider blood.”

“Or riders are rife with trader blood,” Shaneese countered mildly. Fiona shrugged, willing to cede the point.

“We should check with the other Weyrs, beyond Telgar and Fort,” Kindan said. “Mixing blood from the Weyrs, Holds, and Crafts has always been the custom, but with dragons and riders from all five Weyrs, we can really exchange customs and ideas.”

“So that’s settled,” Bekka declared, cocking an eye at Fiona. “Are you ready for our rounds, Weyrwoman?”

Fiona nodded, turning toward Shaneese, who assured her of the babies’ safety. “I’ve got my eye on them, Jinara’s got her eye on them, and we’ve dragooned Jeriz to keep his eye on them, too—they’ll not escape this time.”

“Actually, perhaps we should take one with us,” Fiona said. Shaneese gave her a surprised look. “Well, you know how much everyone loves a baby, I was thinking if Shanar would accompany us, he could be poked and admired while we got on with the business of tending to wounds and being stern.”

“And it’s good for morale,” Shaneese guessed before Fiona could open her mouth to continue her pitch. She chuckled, shaking her head. “Very well, Weyrwoman, he’s yours.”

“Always was, always will be,” Fiona said, going to the relocated nursery on the far side of the center pavilion and calling for Shanar. The dark-eyed boy, whose skin favored his mother’s but whose features favored his father’s, trotted over readily enough and jumped up excitedly when Fiona made her offer. In a moment he was squirming in her arms, in another he was on the ground, in a third back in her arms again—all before Fiona returned to the group.

“Very well, let’s go!”

The “morning tour,” as Fiona liked to call it, of the injured dragons and riders had quickly become a ritual; it had taken only the once before Fiona and the rest had recognized how much good the sight of one of the toddlers was for the morale and emotions of the injured, rider or dragon.

Dragons loved the gentle emotions and pure honesty of the very young, their riders loved seeing proof that Pern would continue, that their great efforts were not without reward, and—most of all—everyone secretly loved seeing Fiona struggle to teach the squirmy infants manners.

Fiona was quick enough, particularly with her breeding as a Lord Holder’s daughter, to pick up on that, and she capitalized on it shamelessly, being certain always to bring with her a change of clothes, particularly diapers, and a bag for the soiled clothes. Sometimes she would change the child herself, other times she would spend minutes moaning and murmuring to wheedle a rider into doing the deed for her.

Lorana and Kindan both were privately amazed at her ability to judge emotions correctly; Fiona seemed to know which rider most needed to see that the Weyrwoman wasn’t above getting her hands—and even her clothes—dirty, and which riders wanted to prove to themselves that their fingers weren’t so clumsy, their voices weren’t so hard, their fears weren’t so great that they couldn’t change the diaper of a crying baby and return it laughing merrily.

For Fiona, it was as easy as breathing; she was never certain, but she always had an inkling of another’s emotions. This morning M’del, the grizzled old rider from High Reaches Weyr, was too sore to do more than gaze at Shanar while he gritted his teeth as Bekka gently changed the bandages on his hand.

He’d taken a scoring on the left side, his hand and thigh. Fiona learned from his brown Oranth that the rider had actually tried to push the Thread away from his dragon with his hand. Wind and motion had pushed it onto his leg before they had gone between and it had frozen off.

The hand was not much more than bone and seared muscle on the outside, which made matters worse as the muscles on the palm were still vigorous, making recovery all the more difficult. Bekka, Lorana, and Fiona all feared that he’d never regain full use of his hand, but they were determined to do the best by him.

“There,” Bekka said lightly as she finished replacing the bandages. She cast a meaningful look toward Fiona: They were almost out of bandages. Ever since they’d brought in the injured riders, they’d been plagued by one shortage after another. Work had slowed as grown weyrlings were drawn off the mines and fields to tend to the injured while still maintaining their drill.

Jeriz, now having nearly thirteen Turns, had been dragooned into everything. Fiona noticed that it was easier to get the best out of him when he was around her or Terin and suspected that the young lad, who had started to draw more attention as he reached his maturity, harbored feelings for the two of them. Terin seemed both flattered and amused.

Fiona wasn’t certain how she felt. She understood about crushes; she’d managed to turn hers on Kindan into a solid reality, so she could hardly fault the lad for hoping for the same.

Terin was much nearer him in age. Still, Terin was enlivened with the knowledge that F’jian had come when she’d needed him most and that he would come again when she needed.

Fiona and Lorana had spoken, again in private, about what the queen rider had done to arrange this, and Fiona had promised Lorana that she would honor Lorana’s vow as her own. That Lorana had said nothing, had unconsciously expected Fiona to do just that, was another sign to Fiona of how much they loved each other. More than sisters, lovers of the same man, heart bound to the same queen, intent on the same destiny. There was a place, Fiona knew with certainty, where they drew upon each other’s strength just as they replenished each other. She had something similar though less secure with Shaneese; their partnership was based more on words spoken than on emotions shared, but it was still much the same partnership.

“We should send Bekka to Nerra,” Fiona said now quietly to Lorana as they moved on toward their next charge. The dark-haired, almond-eyed woman smiled softly in response and Fiona snorted. “You were waiting for me to say that!”

“I thought it was a good idea,” Lorana said. “And if it was, I was sure that it would come to you.”

“Hmmm.”

“Can I go now?” Bekka asked. “I might be able to get Nerra to spare some of her stores.”

I am ready, Talenth said. The queen was still clearly besotted with the blond healer.

“All right,” Fiona said. Bekka glanced over at her, eyes narrowed.

“I know you’ll be careful.”

“Extra careful,” Bekka assured her, in response to Fiona’s evident worry. “Should I not go?”

“I’m just worried about those voices of Lorana’s,” Fiona said.

“Maybe I should bring Lorana.”

“No,” Fiona said, “none of the weyrlings here seem to have any problems going between and she only noticed it going through time as well.”

“So I’ll stay in the same time,” Bekka promised. She caught Fiona’s look and added, “And I’ll check in when I get there and before I leave.”

Fiona and Lorana both kept an “ear” open for the queen, who duly reported each step of their journey. Bekka was greeted warmly by Nerra and Fiona got the impression that their offer through Bekka was met with much relief—even Nerra had found it difficult to house all the orphans that had come to Crom Hold.

Everything went well, but Fiona was truly relieved only when she stood beside Talenth herself, scratching the queen’s eye ridges and joining her in looking out over the sea of hardened dragon eggs.

Kurinth and Talenth had determined to clutch together, as if in compensation for their lust-driven fracas, and they took turns watching over the combined clutches and communicating with each other, to the amusement of Lorana and the surprise of Fiona. Terin had apologized profusely over the mating flight; Fiona had waved the issue aside. The only change that surprised them was the pleasant discovery that Terin was pregnant.

Lorana had remained noncommittal on whether F’jian would be available for the delivery, explaining when Fiona asked that, “There were only so many nights before F’jian took his final flight. If we use them too quickly …”

Bekka’s success with Nerra had prompted Lin and Jassi to make equally furtive forays to their home holds and, at Fiona’s connivance, they had arranged to have Candidates gather at locations for pickup at the end of a sevenday.

“A sevenday?” T’mar said in surprise when Fiona told him. “You’re taking a risk, aren’t you? We don’t know if they’ll hatch tomorrow or a fortnight from now.”

“We’ll time it if we have to,” Fiona told him. “As it is, a sevenday is the best guess we’ve got.”

“And if they don’t hatch soon, we’ll have to leave them while the rest of us go back to our Weyrs,” Shaneese observed. “Our herdbeasts are getting very thin.”

“Another reason to visit our home continent.”

“Well, perhaps we can feed from strays when we go back to our continent for flaming drill,” T’mar said thoughtfully. Inderra, the young queen rider of Morurth, had been greeted with cheers when she’d reported from her mission to the holds of High Reaches Weyr that not only would Pellar and Halla send their daughter, Jepara, for the Hatching, but that they’d agreed to the dispatch of miners to help clear the firestone mine near Igen.

A mixed wing of older recovered riders and those with the now-mature weyrlings of the nearly three Turns past were dispatched under the leadership of J’keran to open the old mine that they’d found near Igen Weyr when a much younger Fiona had gone back in time from her old Fort Weyr. Back then, they’d found the mine already opened and worked, little realizing that their mysterious benefactors would be themselves from Eastern Weyr—Turns older, but still living in the same time. Fiona had insisted on taking enough time when they were done to write the note her younger self had seen at the opening of the mine so many Turns before, finding a perverse pleasure in remembering how the note had so confused her so many Turns ago in her own life.

“When can we start drilling with the firestone?” Taria asked. She’d grown to become quite a competent rider in her own right, matching Xhinna in everything except leadership; where Xhinna was competent and had the natural inclinations of a good leader, Taria was content to follow—not that she did not speak her mind or stand her own ground when she felt it necessary, but always from the position of a wingsecond at best, never more.

“Tomorrow, I hope,” T’mar told her.

“If the eggs don’t hatch,” Fiona reminded him. He shrugged off the question.

Lorana woke in the middle of the night, alarmed. Something had disturbed her and she came awake with the instant alarm of a mother adopted. She listened first only to hear the sounds of the three sleeping children, the calm slow sounds of Kindan’s heavy breathing, and the sweet, softer sound of Fiona’s breath coming somewhat quicker.

Something was in her hand. Surprised, she slid out of the bed and moved toward the glow. It was a slip of paper. There was a note on it: Don’t let the greens chew firestone.

“It’s my handwriting,” Fiona admitted later when they gathered for breakfast in the center pavilion that had become the camp’s version of the Kitchen Cavern. “But I haven’t written this.”

“Yet,” Bekka said, examining the paper and passing it to Terin.

“That must be very confusing,” Lin said as she reached for the paper.

“Timing it has many dangers,” Fiona agreed with a frown. “So why don’t I want the greens to chew firestone?”

“So they’ll make eggs,” Jassi guessed. She glanced out of the raised side of the pavilion to the field of eggs beyond. “Although why we’d need more than we have now …”

“We need to start drills if they’re to fight,” T’mar said, frowning once more in the direction of the note, now in Inderra’s dainty fingers. He looked to Fiona. “What do we do?”

“Have I been wrong before?” Fiona asked archly, then swatted at T’mar as she saw his eyes twinkle. “All right, I’ve been wrong, but I don’t think I’ve made it a point to send a note back in time about it.”

“This is now two mysterious notes from the future,” Kindan said. “I’d be happier if we could get an explanation for at least one of them.”

“We will,” Fiona said. She was not surprised when Terin, with a big grin, joined her in unison to say, “in time.”

“I’ll be glad when we can get back to our own time and stay there,” weyrwoman Indeera declared. She glanced hastily to Fiona, her face going red. “No offense, Weyrwoman, it just seems so confusing and wearying.”

“None taken,” Fiona said cheerfully. “For myself, I agree,” Fiona said. “I’ll be glad when we can bring our charges—and our new weyrlings—back to the Weyrs.”

“So, we’ll drill without the greens,” T’mar said.

“The young ones,” Fiona corrected. “The ones who already have chewed firestone should not be excluded.”

“That’s not what the note says,” Lin objected. She was the most literal-minded of the five junior weyrwomen. That she was willing even to contradict Fiona was a great step forward in bringing the young woman out of her shell and into her role as Benden’s junior weyrwoman. Fiona was glad to see the changes in Lin’s demeanor, changes that she, Lorana, and Shaneese had secretly nursed, aided by the more ebullient Bekka and Terin.

Just as Terin had F’jian for her Kurinth’s mating flight, so had each of the weyrwomen found themselves with their favorite candidates for their mating flights. Fiona was even more pleased with the outcome that paired Jassi with J’lian. He was no youngster, but after the devastating losses in the Istan leadership, he was the obvious future leader of Ista Weyr and his Neruth’s mating with Jassi’s Falth meant that, on her return to Ista, he would become the true Weyrleader, just as she would inherit the senior Weyrwoman role vacated by Dalia.

Jassi and Fiona had formed a tight bond in their time together, and Fiona was almost more pleased with the way the forthright younger woman agreed with her thinking than she was with their success with demure Lin. Jassi’s quiet competence had allowed Fiona to slough off many of her own responsibilities without overburdening Terin or the other queen riders, and her easygoing nature had meant that she hadn’t seen it as a reduction in power when Fiona returned more and more into her own role as the twins grew older.

Javissa was another of Fiona’s quiet triumphs. The woman was slightly older than Shaneese and there had been some friction between the two at first, but their similar backgrounds and natural kindness had rubbed that off, leaving two women who coordinated all housekeeping chores effortlessly while maintaining the control that only a headwoman could manage. Terin had been quite openly impressed with the pair of them and said so; Fiona had been secretly amused to note that both Jassi and Indeera had quietly tried to recruit the trader woman to come to their Weyrs when they all returned to their homes.

Javissa was younger than Kindan, so Fiona had set other plans, being certain to point out various eggs to Javissa even as she was ostensibly pointing them out to Jeriz. There certainly were enough eggs to go around. Even with their planning, Fiona was nervous about the number of Candidates they’d be able to present and had the occasional nightmare of creeling hatchlings going between forever, unable to find their mates.

“Fiona?” Terin prodded gently.

“Oh, sorry,” Fiona said, recovering from her thoughts. Terin nodded her head at Lin as a reminder and Fiona smiled, first at her friend and then at the serious Benden weyrwoman. “No, if I’d meant that the older greens shouldn’t chew firestone, I would have said so.”

“Perhaps we could convince the older riders to trade off with the younger ones so they’ll get a feel for flaming,” Kindan suggested.

“And we weyrwomen can practice with the flamethrowers,” Fiona said. They’d borrowed a complete set from the wherhold. Zenor had asked no questions, handing them over with full loads of agenothree.

“If you keep timing like this, you’ll be older than I am soon,” he’d warned when she’d made her quick visit.

Fiona had laughed and kissed him on the cheek before departing. “We’ll see you soon!”

Now was the first day Fiona had found it practical to drill the flying queens with the agenothree-equipped flamethrowers. She’d tackled Kindan for suggestions and the harper had reluctantly agreed to drill the queens only after Lorana had softened him to the notion. Traditionally, the senior queen rider conducted the drill, but Fiona decided it was more politic to inveigle the weyrlingmaster into the duty.

“At least they’re not all like you,” Kindan had teased. “Some of them will actually listen to what I say instead of arguing all the time.”

“I don’t argue all the time,” Fiona had said, pouting.

Now, as T’mar organized the fighting dragons for aerial drill, Kindan arrayed the queen riders for ground drill. They had grown used to drilling together on the ground in the nearly three Turns since they’d come to the Eastern Weyr and now, with their queens full grown and clutched, they eagerly approached the challenge of the bulky apparatus with the firm hopes that one day soon, each Weyr would be able to field the customary queens’ wing.

Fiona’s alternative had been an easy sell. “And until then,” she’d said, “we can form impromptu wings among the weyrs.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?” Lin had asked in confusion.

“But not with the queens,” Jassi had corrected her. Lin’s face lit with excitement and they’d spent several minutes working out the proper protocol to use in the future. All were agreed that it was an excellent idea and wondered why they hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“Because with only one queen in each weyr, it was too risky to try,” Fiona had told them, simply.

They’d all learned how to load the flamethrowers, using water for practice until Kindan and Fiona were satisfied that they could progress to the live acid, and they’d practiced with that on the ground, as individuals and in groups, but today was the first time they would fly their queens together.

“Who should lead?” Jassi asked, turning toward Fiona.

“I think Lin should lead us first,” Fiona said. The shy brown-haired woman blushed and shook her head, but Fiona persisted. “You’ll have to do it one day. Now, with this company, is the best time to practice.”

The others had weighed in and Lin and her Lith had taken the lead position.

Lith was more secure in herself than her rider and Lin changed the moment she was with her queen, just as she’d changed from shy, demure youngster to passionate, heated, demanding lover during the mating flight when her Lith had been flown, surprisingly, by J’lian’s Neruth. Fiona had quickly quashed any notions that the queen’s eggs might go to Ista, and Jassi had agreed. It would be hard enough for Tullea to accept the deed, but impossible if it had resulted in a loss for her Weyr.

In the air, Fiona was glad to fly on the rear of the left wedge of the wing, with Jassi far across from her on the right. She waved and the other woman waved back before she turned to her left, carefully positioning her thrower so that its acid would fall out and to the left of the wing.

While dragons flew up to flame Thread, queens flew down to catch the trailers that had been missed by the fighting dragons, so their natural target was something below them, not above.

At Kindan’s request, they were flying low over treetops to the south of the camp, their agenothree strong enough to help cut a clearing between the camp and the trees so that they would increase the arable land they could use for crops.

“You can never tell when you’ll need more,” Shaneese had said when they were planning the day’s work.

“And it’s good practice,” Lorana had agreed.

So Fiona was looking down and leftward when she first saw a streak of tawny cross the clearing, racing away from the falling agenothree—and toward the camp. She cried out a warning as she peeled off and down after the Mrreow, Talenth bugling with her.

The Mrreow moved with astonishing speed and leaped over the poles that had been placed around the camp’s perimeter, its goal unwavering.

Have Shaneese get the children! Fiona cried. She spotted another Mrreow and a third suddenly break cover heading toward the camp. Lorana, Mrreows are attacking!

The other queens had recovered and, at Jassi’s urging, had reformed behind Fiona.

Falth says: “Can we use the agenothree?” Talenth relayed.

No, it might hurt someone, Fiona responded at once, adding a visual emphasis by raising her arms over her head and crossing them. At Fiona’s urging, Talenth dived for the nearest Mrreow and grabbed it even as the beast flailed and tried to wriggle out of the queen’s grasp.

Bring it back to the forest, Fiona said.

Why not to the rocks?

Far in the forest, Fiona reiterated. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to kill the beasts, who were probably only hungry and acting from instinct. Even so, she kept the nozzle of her thrower pointed at the tawny hide as it struggled in Talenth’s claws. If it looked like it might hurt her queen, Fiona would have no difficulty in flaming it to cinders; sympathy was one thing, stupidity another.

They flew swiftly and made it to the far side of the forest before Talenth dove and released the creature, which struggled for a moment to regain its feet and disappeared. Behind them as they climbed, Fiona heard another Mrreow and the third as Jassi and Lin dropped their catches.

“What were they after?” T’mar wondered that evening as they took their dinner.

“If they were after the children, they were dead,” Javissa declared, matching looks with Shaneese, who nodded in similar determination. Neither of the traders understood or condoned Fiona’s actions in releasing the beasts—both preferred Talenth’s suggestion of dropping them from far up onto the rocks of the distant promontory.

“If they were after the eggs, they were dead, too,” Terin said.

“I can imagine them going after the children,” Fiona said, “but they would have been addled to consider the eggs—they’re too big.” But even as she said it she wondered. She and everyone in the camp found the notion of eggs just lying out bare to all the elements very disturbing. Talenth and the other queens were similarly disturbed, but neither man nor dragon had a better suggestion of how to place eggs on the soil of their plain.

“The sooner they hatch and we can return to the Weyrs, the happier I’ll be,” Fiona admitted.

Fiona awoke instantly the next morning.

“They’re hatching!” she cried, rousting Kindan, Lorana, and the others out of their shared bed. “Come on.”

I’m coming, Talenth! Fiona called as she pulled on trousers under her tunic and slipped her feet into her boots. She raced over to T’mar’s quarters and rapped on his door.

“We’re coming,” the Weyrleader’s voice responded. She ignored him and burst into the room, reaching for Kimar even as Shaneese hoisted Shanar to her side. Fiona reached out a hand for Tiona and the little toddler grabbed it and held on until they entered the hallway where she released it and raised both her arms imploringly to Kindan, who hoisted her up with the practice of a well-trained parent.

“The eggs are hatching, come and see,” he told her, his eyes shining brightly in the dim ship’s hallway. Tiona slipped her arms around him and clung tightly.

They raced up the ship’s passageways and down the stairs onto the camp.

Bronzes gathered around the perimeter of the sands, and more dragons came to join them, their throats opened wide in the deep thrumming that anticipated the hatching.

Go, go, go! Fiona cried to the queens in turn as they left with their assigned wings and returned with the prepared Candidates gathered at Crom Hold, up at Fire Hold in the north, and various trader camps around the continent. Wave after wave arrived as the sun rose in the morning until finally the sands were a mix of white-robed Candidates and mottled eggs.

Outside the camp, ominously, a deep-throated Mrreow roared as if in challenge or perhaps calling together its companions. Fiona nodded in satisfaction as she heard Lorana dispatch a patrol to drive them off.

And then the sun was in the sky, red and rosy. The air, still cool from the night, slowly grew thick with moisture. One by one, the bronzes stopped humming and the riders looked around, eyes wide with confusion.

Suddenly, there was a shout and someone pointed toward an egg. It wobbled feebly, then cracked. A dragonet emerged, creeling in panic and hunger. Steadied by the older dragonriders, the knot of candidates mostly stood their ground although some fled in confusion.

One, an older lad from the Smithhall by his knots, ran toward Fiona, which she thought odd.

“Weyrwoman!” the lad cried when he was close enough. “Are there tunnel snakes here?”

“Yes,” Fiona said, a sense of dread clutching at her even as she replied.

“I think they’ve got the eggs,” the lad said, lowering his head respectfully.

“We’ve been guarding them,” Fiona said, shaking her head adamantly.

“For a feast like this,” he said, stretching his arms out to indicate the massive hatching sands, “they’d tunnel for months.”

Fiona looked at the nearest clutch, one of the green’s, and noticed that none of the eggs were rocking. Here and there, further along, she saw one or two hatchlings but far, far fewer than she knew they should be seeing by now.

She went to the nearest egg and rocked it. It was hard to get it to budge in the sand, but even as she felt it move she knew the smither was right—the egg was lifeless, empty, too light.

Aghast, Fiona turned toward the other eggs near her but could not move.

Fiona? she heard Lorana call worriedly.

The eggs, Fiona said, suddenly finding her feet moving as she gained motion and speed with one destination firmly in mind.

Talenth!

Only a very few of Talenth’s eggs had hatched. Kindan saw her dart by and followed her. “Fiona, what is it?”

“The tunnel snakes!” she cried. “They got the eggs!”

“What do we do?” Bekka asked, turning hastily around. Scenes of destruction played all around them.

“Get to the good eggs,” Fiona said. “Find them, get them Impressed, and get them away from here.”

Bekka nodded and sprinted away, grabbing white-robed Candidates and dragonriders with her as she went, dropping groups here and there to stay on guard against tunnel snakes—and hope for an Impression.

She was just about to swing back around when she heard the unmistakable sound of a shell cracking. She whirled toward the sound and saw a large egg. She turned around quickly, looking for Candidates to send to the hatchling and realized that she was alone.

“No!” she cried, rushing toward the egg. “We can’t lose you! I won’t lose you!”

I am Pinorth, the small gold hatchling said as her head broke through her shell. You shall never lose me.

“By the First Egg, yes!” Bekka shouted, her eyes blazing with pride, joy, and fierce protectiveness.

Kindan stopped and turned, nearly dropping Tiona as he saw Bekka rush toward a hatchling and help her out of her egg. He had no time to rejoice, for a hatchling’s cry distracted him and he stopped, scanned the large sands and suddenly noticed how many eggs lay unhatched, motionless. He was just about to move on when the egg nearest him cracked.

“Get it!” Fiona cried, circling back, desperate to salvage anything from this disaster for her queen and for all Pern. “Help it!”

Kindan turned and passed Tiona off to her mother and then was all arms and feet, pounding and tearing through the thicker shell membrane to free the dragonet.

Another sound broke through the morning and Mrreows raced onto the sands, attacking human, hatchling, and tunnel snake without regard.

Talenth! Fiona cried, ordering her and all the queens aloft. Talenth stretched one claw and grabbed one of the tawny things, snaring it and then throwing it high in the sky where it was caught by a vengeful blue and thrown once more out of the camp to fall, crushed, among the rocks in the distance.

“Kindan!” Fiona cried as she saw a Mrreow leap toward him—only to snag a tunnel snake that had erupted from the sands, snapping after Kindan and the hatchling both.

Fiona had one fleeting instant to wonder if the Mrreow had gone for the tunnel snake or the man before she was equally transfixed by Kindan’s cry.

“No, no, no!” he cried. “Not me, there are others!”

Fiona moved toward him and bumped his shoulder, her eyes flaming even as her humor overtook her, “Why does everyone I know say that?”

Kindan looked at her for a moment longer, and then sighed heavily, reaching the tiny creature in one swift movement and pulling it bodily out of its egg.

And then, with a dozen brilliant memories of Kisk, of Valla, of all who had gone before, K’dan looked into the eyes of his dragon and knew that there would be nothing so marvelous, so wonderful, so right as that one moment when he realized that Fiona and Lorana were absolutely correct—there was a dragon for him and his name was—“Lurenth, I greet you.”

And I you, the small one said with grave dignity. The moment was fractured when Lurenth burped and added plaintively, I’m hungry.

“That’s the last of them,” J’gerd reported woodenly to T’mar late that evening. “We’ve thrown the eggs into the sea and as many tunnel snakes as we could kill.”

“And?”

J’gerd shook his head. T’mar had been there when the avenging dragons had dug through the sand to the huge tunnel that the snakes had excavated, a tunnel so large that a man could almost stand up in it.

“This ground’s too soft, all we can do is hope to fill the tunnels in for a time,” the brown rider told him.

“We should leave this place,” Shaneese said. “It has brought us nothing but sorrow.”

“Not all was sorrow,” T’mar said, stretching out a hand to stroke her forearm soothingly. “But we should leave.”

“It’s not as easy as that,” Fiona spoke for the first time since settling K’dan and Lurenth on the upper deck of their ship. “The new hatchlings are too young to go between and there are things here we should preserve.”

“Leave them behind with a guard and take the rest,” Indeera said, her eyes still red from crying.

“How many did we save?” T’mar asked, turning toward Fiona.

“None of the green eggs,” Fiona said, grimacing. “Partly because their shells were thinner, partly because I don’t think the greens are as good at guarding their eggs, and partly because—well, I think the greens let the queens tell them where to put their eggs and that meant the green eggs were more likely to be in the most exposed locations.”

T’mar nodded wearily and gave her another look.

“Of the two hundred and fifty-three eggs, all queen eggs hatched, including Bekka’s Pinorth, and most of the bronzes.” Fiona sighed. “Twenty-three.”

“Bronzes?” T’mar frowned, trying to recall that many.

“No, twenty-three hatched altogether,” Fiona said. “Jeriz—no, J’riz—saved the only green.” She did not need to add that J’riz’s Qinth was badly injured by an assault of tunnel snakes that had pierced the poor dragonet’s shell before she’d even managed to crack it. They all heard J’riz’s pained cry; in all her reading, Fiona had never heard of a dragon Impressing through her shell, but her need was great and J’riz had risen to it, smashing the egg open, pulling her out, and had single-handedly throttled two tunnel snakes before others rushed to his aid.

“Anything,” he’d cried pitifully, “I’ll do anything if you can help her! Save her, please, Weyrwomen!”

Fiona, Terin, and Lorana had rushed to the hatchling’s side. She had a nasty gash in her chest and it looked as though a tunnel snake had started to gnaw her innards before she’d been rescued.

“Shouldn’t we then say twenty-two?” T’mar asked grimly. “She can’t make it through the night.”

“Oh yes, she can,” Fiona said firmly. “Lorana’s with them now, then Terin, Bekka’s got her queen bedded with them, and I’ll be there as soon as I’m done here.” She flashed her eyes at him. “We’re not losing her.”

“There isn’t enough firestone on all Pern for those tunnel snakes,” T’mar growled. “In one stroke we’ve lost a Weyr’s strength.”

“Well, we have to work with what we have, not what we want,” Fiona said, reaching out a hand toward him. He smiled and took it.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “And what do we have?”

“We have nearly three hundred and forty-one fighting dragons, six full-grown queens, six hatchling queens, and seventeen other weyrlings,” Fiona told him.

“So with our strength we’ll nearly double the fighting strength of the Weyrs,” T’mar said, his eyes glowing. “When can we leave?”

“The better question is when can we get there?” Fiona reminded him. She turned toward the headwoman and said, “Shaneese and I are still working out detailed plans, but there’s no reason that all the fighting dragons—save one wing for protection—couldn’t go back to the future tomorrow.”

“Good,” T’mar agreed. “And when we will return?”

“They’ve got a Fall over High Reaches tip next,” Fiona said.

“Then we’ll fly with High Reaches and send our wings home from there,” T’mar declared.

“We haven’t enough firestone,” Fiona reminded him.

“The sun rises earlier at Telgar,” T’mar said. “We’ll go there first, load up, and fly on.”

“You’ll be all right?” Fiona asked Lorana worriedly the next morning.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured her friend.

“You’ll come straight back, you won’t go off to the future or anything?” Fiona persisted.

Lorana laughed, sobering immediately at Fiona’s worried gaze. “I won’t be going anywhere unless you send Talenth for me.”

“And you’ll keep an eye on K’dan?” It was both very hard and very easy to remember to contract Kindan’s name with the honorific. She’d called him by his longer name for so long she sometimes stumbled, but she always smiled when she got it right.

“And Xhinna and Taria and R’ney and all the other new weyrlings until they’re old enough to go between,” Lorana said. R’ney, who had been Raney before he’d Impressed his brown, had been the astute smither lad who’d run to warn Fiona of the tunnel snakes. He’d managed to Impress the very last hatchling—a brown—after having found a shovel he’d used both as a hammer with which to shatter shells and as an ax with which he severed the heads of a dozen tunnel snakes, his rage rising to berserk levels.

When his rage had cooled, he had been one of the first of the new weyrlings to bring his dragonet and set up his camp beside the injured Qinth. Xhinna and Taria were already there, quiet sentinels who slept not a wink the whole night. Taria had smiled shyly at the brown-eyed, rusty-haired lad, and they’d quickly struck up a conversation into which Xhinna had occasionally wandered, seeming surprised that her shy mate would find the smithcrafter’s company so enjoyable.

Fiona rushed over to Xhinna, who was holding Kimar for her, and hugged her tight even as Kimar cried, “Mommy, you’re crushing me!”

Taria plucked the boy from between the two women and set him on her shoulders. Tiona raced up and demanded the same attention only to be diverted by R’ney, who was a head taller than Taria.

“Take care of her,” Fiona whispered to Xhinna, so that Taria wouldn’t hear. “Take care of them all.”

“My word on it, Weyrwoman,” Xhinna said.

“Blue rider,” Fiona said, touching the dark-haired woman on the shoulder as they parted. “Come on, kids, we’ve got to get you up on Talenth, we’re going home!”

“But this is home,” Tiona cried. “And I want Xhinna.”

“You’ll have me soon enough,” Xhinna said, waving her away. “Now be off with you and mind your mother until I get back.”

“She minds us,” Tiona declared, finding one of Fiona’s legs and wrapping her arms around it possessively. “I’m only little, that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

“Yes it is,” Fiona agreed. “And now it’s supposed to be that you go with me back to Telgar.”

The wings and flights arrayed themselves behind T’mar and his impromptu wing of bronzes. Between them and the rest, Fiona had arrayed the queen’s wing, insisting that they return in all their glory.

Three hundred and forty-one fighting dragons and six mature queens circled their home of three Turns once and then winked between.

One, two, three—The Weyrs! They must be warned!

Fiona felt T’mar’s confusion, felt the bronze rider begin to doubt, felt something pulling at them, holding them, leeching from them, angry, scared, confused.

The Weyrs! They must be warned!

Those words! Fiona remembered them. She’d heard them before. D’gan?

The Weyrs! They must be warned!

Suddenly a fear welled up in Fiona. In front of her, strapped securely in their own harnesses were her children, her babies. She couldn’t lose them.

In the dead silence of between, Fiona screamed: Can’t lose the babies! Can’t lose the babies!

And she heard it again: The Weyrs! They must be warned!

And again she screamed, Can’t lose the babies! Can’t lose the babies!

Trapped. They were trapped.

The Weyrs! They must be warned!

Can’t lose the babies! Can’t lose the babies!

I can’t lose the babies, Fiona told herself. She knew what she had to do, her fingers worked furiously at her clips, unhooked them, and with one final, anxious cry, she stood and leapt—into the nothing of between.

Talenth! Go to Lorana! Go to Lorana, Talenth!

And then she was alone. All alone.

The Weyrs! They must be warned!

Can’t lose the babies! Can’t lose the babies!