Dragonheart

THIRTEEN

Igen Weyr, Early Morning, AL 498.7.3

Talenth woke Fiona early the next morning. The watchdragon says that they are getting ready to leave. Fiona propped herself up on an elbow and looked at Terin sleeping next to her on their makeshift bed of blankets, considering whether to wake her. She decided against it; the younger girl had had a busy enough first day as headwoman.

She made a mental note to send a party of weyrlings to get mattress fillings and started to crawl over Terin to the edge of the bed, but stopped when she saw her open her eyes.

“What is it?”

“The traders are leaving,” Fiona told her quietly.

Terin rubbed her eyes and sat up. “I’ll come with you.”

“It’s still dark outside,” Fiona cautioned as she rose and hastily pulled on the clothes she’d been wearing the day before. Terin followed suit and in short order the two followed the gleam of Talenth’s eyes into the queen’s new lair.

Did you want to come, too? Fiona asked her dragon.

Will it be fun? Talenth asked. Fiona shrugged. Talenth glanced around her lair and decided that she’d got herself too well settled to want to move. I’ll stay here, then.

One of the moons was high enough to provide some dim light in the Weyr Bowl outside — enough for eyes to see, if not in color. Fiona picked out the shape of the watch dragon on the heights near the Star Stones to the east. The night air was chill, fresh, expectant. She made out a shape: T’mar.

He must have seen them, for he stopped and waited for them to catch up. Together, the three of them made their way to the Kitchen Cavern.

“Klah or tea?” Terin asked, grabbing a glove to snag a pot of water from the hearth.

“You will find that it’s best to change your hours when you live in the desert,” they heard Mother Karina say from somewhere behind them. They turned to face her. “Night is your friend.”

“Thread falls when it will,” T’mar told her.

“Thread does not yet fall,” Karina reminded him. “Even when it does, Igen Weyr prepares in the early morning and late evening. Avoid the sun whenever you can.”

Azeez entered behind her. Karina turned to him.

“Everything is ready,” Azeez told her respectfully.

“The night awaits,” Karina said, turning to follow Azeez.

“Let us see you on your way,” Fiona offered, trotting after them.

They made their way through darkened corridors dimly lit by half-charged glows until they reached a deeper darkness where the heights of the Weyr Bowl shaded them from the moon’s light. Stars glittered beckoningly in the night sky.

Azeez climbed up to his perch on the first dray. “We shall see you soon.”

“Expect us before the next sevenday,” Karina amended.

Whips cracked, encouraging the large herdbeasts to start moving. With Azeez in the lead, the drays began to move slowly out into the dark night. When they could no longer be seen, T’mar turned to lead the way back.

“So, klah or tea?” Terin repeated when they returned to the Kitchen Cavern.

“Klah, ” Fiona replied. “And I’ll help you get started with breakfast.”

T’mar raised his eyebrows in a wordless question.

“I don’t think that I’ll be able to get back to sleep,” Fiona explained. “And while we haven’t enough charged glows to do much, I think I’d prefer to start adopting Karina’s suggestion.”

“Karina’s suggestion works well for those who bring wares from one place to another,” T’mar said, “but not so well for those who need eyes to see what wares to gather.”

Fiona nodded in agreement.” We must see if there are any light mirrors in storage,” she said. “We could do with more light in the lower quarters, and I’d like to examine the Records.”

“You could bring them here, into the Kitchen,” T’mar suggested.

“They’re heavy; I don’t think I could carry many.”

“Get the weyrlings to help.”

“They’ll be busy enough tending the injured,” Fiona said. “We should plan how we’re going to do it.” She gestured for T’mar to take a seat. “Terin, do you have a spare slate and some chalk?”

Terin’s cheeks dimpled — if there was one thing on which Fiona could rely, it was that Terin would never be far from her tools.

“Our worst injured are N’jian, P’der,” T’mar began, ticking off the list on his fingers as Terin delivered the slate to Fiona, “F’dan’s Ridorth, K’ranor’s Troth — ”

“Hold it!” Fiona interjected. “You’re going faster than I can write, for one, and for two, we should be talking injuries and treatments.”

T’mar replaced the frown on his face with an apologetic look. His brows rose in surprise as Fiona snagged the cuff of her sleeve and used it to erase the half-filled slate.

“Very ladylike,” he teased her.

Fiona glared at him, but without any real feeling. “I think we should have separate slates: one for injured riders, the other for injured dragons.”

“It’s a pity that we couldn’t bring the healer,” Terin remarked.

“But — ” Fiona began to protest, then paused. “Actually, you’re right.”

“It would have made sense if we’d decided to bring the most injured back in time,” T’mar corrected. “As it was, we deemed it too risky.” He glanced up at Fiona, the merest hint of accusation in his eyes, as he added, “Until we got our unexpected help.”

Fiona shook her head in irritation. “You know that I have no idea who it was — ”

“I do,” T’mar cut across her. “But it is not something I would put past your older self.”

“I can’t say for certain that it wasn’t me from some time in the future,” Fiona admitted, not bothering to hide her frustration, “but it doesn’t matter — they’re here now and we’ll have to care for them as best we can.”

She glanced down at the two slates she now had, one of which had been silently placed in front of her during her latest exchange with T’mar.

“So,” she said, turning back to the problem at hand, “we’ve got P’der and . . .”

“N’jian,” T’mar supplied, his face devoid of feeling. “His right side was severely Thread-scored.”

“Fortunately they went between before the Thread ate far into his chest,” Terin said. Fiona glanced over to the younger girl — Terin looked queasy but persisted. “His injuries are to the skin and muscle of the chest and abdomen.”

“His right side looks like a slab of meat badly butchered,” T’mar said, grimacing. He continued bleakly, “Whether he survives or not is up to us.”

“What do we need to do?” Fiona asked.

“We need to keep his wounds clean, keep him flat on his back, give his skin a chance to grow again, and then — slowly — help him to recover his strength,” T’mar replied. He gestured for the slate, but then pointed at the other one instead, writing down a list of dragon names. After a moment he glanced up at Terin. “We’ll need more slates — at least two.”

Terin nodded and rushed off, grabbing a glowbasket as she passed out into the darkened storeroom corridors.

“Troth, Piyeth, Kadorth, Varth, and Bidanth are all the worst injured dragons,” T’mar said as he wrote down their names.

“When it gets light enough, I’ll start a search of the Records,” Fiona told him. “I’ll look for descriptions of treatments, as well.”

“As well as what?”

“Just about everything,” Fiona replied with a shrug. “Watering holes, cattle and herdbeast plains, crops grown, glow supplies, herb gardens, local medicines, weather reports — ”

“Whoa!” T’mar interjected, raising a hand to fend her off. “You’ll need a Turn before you find all that.”

“I hope not,” Fiona replied with a shake of her head; she regretted the movement instantly, as her longer bangs whipped across her face, causing her to irritably blow them aside and run her hands through her rebellious locks to pull them back once more behind her ears.

When she was finished, she was surprised by the look on T’mar’s face. “What?”

“Nothing,” the bronze rider replied, glancing hastily down to the slates.

“What?” Fiona persisted.

T’mar reluctantly looked back up at her. “It’s just that you looked cute when you did that.”

Fiona felt her cheeks flush and a thrill run through her at his words. Cute!

T’mar looked away again and ended the awkward silence by clearing his throat. “Of the dragons, I’m most worried about the damage to Troth’s and Varth’s wing joints — if they don’t grow back fully, they’ll never be able to fly again.”

Fiona nodded, suppressing a shiver.

Terin returned at that moment with a stack of slates, her glowbasket perched precariously on top. She returned the glowbasket to its place, trotted over to the table, picked up two, and blew the dust off them, coughing. She placed those two slates in front of Fiona, scooping up the rest and saying, “Whew! These were left behind when they abandoned the Weyr. They’re all musty and dirty, so I’m going to wash and dry them.”

“You know,” T’mar said as he took one of the proffered slates, “we really need a slate for every injury, so that we can keep track.”

“Seventy-seven slates?” Terin called from her place by the hearth. “I don’t think that’s practical.”

“Why?” Fiona returned, glad to be distracted from T’mar.

“How would you cart them all around?” Terin asked. “And how would you keep them from being erased?”

“We should set up a Flight board,” T’mar declared. Fiona didn’t hide her confusion, so he explained, “We have them back at the Weyr.”

“This is a Weyr,” Fiona reminded him.

T’mar gave her an irritated look.

“I think it’s a pity it was abandoned,” Fiona said.

“You haven’t been here a full day,” T’mar reminded her. “Perhaps you should wait to make up your mind.”

“Our ancestors founded it for a purpose,” she disagreed. “I’m sure they considered its location carefully.”

“Times change,” T’mar said with a shrug. “They might not have foreseen such a drought.”

“You were saying something about a Flight board?” she said, returning the conversation to the subject at hand.

T’mar nodded. “Every wing has them and there’s a master board — or two — one in the Records Room and the other here, in the Living Cavern.”

“I remember,” Terin piped up from her corner, pulling out another freshly washed slate and laying it on a drying board. “It was at the Weyrleaders’ table, on the wall behind.”

“That’s it,” T’mar agreed. “Although that was only a summary board. It shows each wing with totals fit to fly or injured. With one look, the Weyrleader knows the fighting state of the Weyr.”

“K’lior had it cleaned off before we left,” Terin put in, pulling another clean slate out of the washbowl.

“I imagine he — or Cisca — decided it was too depressing,” T’mar said. He glanced over at Fiona, shaking his head. “Do you realize that we have no fewer than three of our nine wingleaders here with us?”

Fiona was surprised.

“Myself, N’jian, and K’rall,” T’mar told her. “Not to mention K’lior’s wingsecond, P’der.”

“K’rall?” Fiona repeated in surprise. She couldn’t recall the sour old bronze rider’s face among those she’d seen.

“His face was scored,” T’mar said. “He should recover in two months or so.”

“We had to dose him with fellis juice, to keep him from moving his mouth.” Terin sounded amused.

“Until the youngsters get old enough to fly, we’ll have to keep the older weyrlings for flights and other work,” T’mar declared, glancing at Fiona, who nodded in agreement. He took another breath. “In that case, we can split the thirty-three youngsters into three groups — ”

“Four,” Fiona corrected instantly. “We’ll need a work party for housekeeping chores here at the Weyr.”

“And that would give them some rest, as well,” Terin added.

“F’jian and J’nos would be the first two leaders — ”

“Are you sure you want J’nos?” Terin interjected. The other two turned to her and she shrugged as she explained, “Did you see how dozy he looked yesterday? He could barely walk.” She paused, her lips pressed together firmly and her eyes thoughtful. “He wasn’t the only one, either. It’s like — ”

“Like all those who weren’t dozy before suddenly became dozy!” Fiona exclaimed in surprise.

T’mar looked at her with eyes narrowed, then slowly nodded. “You think that timing it has caused this?”

“We’re in two places in one time — our younger selves are now at Fort, where we belong, and our older selves are here, where we never were — why wouldn’t that cause strain and distraction?” Fiona responded.

“I don’t feel dozy!” Terin declared.

“That’s because you aren’t a dragonrider,” Fiona told her. She regretted the words the moment she saw how Terin’s face fell sorrowfully.

“At least, not yet,” T’mar told her.

“Not everyone Impresses,” Terin said with a pout.

“There are no guarantees,” T’mar agreed. “But I’m sure you’ll get your chance” — he glanced slyly at Fiona — “when her queen rises.”

Terin’s eyes widened and she glanced apprehensively toward Fiona.

“Of course!” Fiona said. “You and Xhinna — ”

“I wish she was here,” Terin interjected.

“We could use her help,” Fiona agreed. She turned back to T’mar, saying, “So this distraction could be caused by timing ?”

T’mar pursed his lips. “It could.”

“You don’t sound certain.”

“I’m not,” the bronze rider agreed. “It doesn’t explain why you were . . .”

“Dozy?” Fiona supplied when his words trailed off. “And you? Weren’t you also dozy?”

“Do you think it was an effect from timing it now?” T’mar wondered. A short moment later, he shook his head and answered himself, “But that doesn’t explain why some were affected and not others.”

“Maybe everyone reacts differently,” Fiona suggested with some uncertainty.

“I can understand being distracted when in the same time twice,” T’mar said, his lips pursed again, “but I don’t understand why we would feel it when we weren’t in the same time.”

“Perhaps — ” Fiona began but cut herself off. T’mar gave her a questioning look, but she only shook her head in response. She didn’t want to suggest that perhaps they were twice in the same time not now, but back in the “present” Third Pass. T’mar continued to look at her thoughtfully.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “We know that if we’re distracted we can still function: if not at our best, then well enough.”

“The others will be waking soon,” Terin said as she walked back to them, leaving a drying tray full of clean slates. “We should decide on those shifts.”

“I think we can use J’nos,” Fiona said. “He’ll need watching until he gets over being — ” She cut an amused look toward Terin who grinned back at her. “ — dozy.”

“T’del and Y’gos would be the obvious candidates for the other two positions,” T’mar said.

“Why?” Fiona asked, realizing that she couldn’t remember T’del among the many weyrlings.

They ride browns, Talenth answered.

“Browns are usually wingseconds,” T’mar replied.

“Or wingleaders,” Terin added. T’mar accepted the addition with a nod.

“Why not go by ability?” Fiona wondered.

“Brown and bronze riders are often the ones with the most leadership ability,” T’mar said.

Fiona cocked her head challengingly.

“Oh, you get the occasional blue or green rider who makes a good leader,” he explained, “but more often their skills lie in different areas.”

“Like cavorting!” Terin snickered. “It’s a wonder we don’t have more of them.”

“Greens are sterile,” T’mar reminded her.

Fiona tapped the slates. “We need to concentrate.”

T’mar heaved a sigh and gave Terin an apologetic look. “Maybe we could send you to the traders when there’s a mating flight.”

“I remember the last mating flight,” Terin said. “I’ll be fine.”

Oh, but you’re getting older! Fiona thought. Suddenly she realized that so was she. In fact — “Terin, when’s your birthing day?”

“The twentieth of the seventh month,” Terin replied promptly, surprised by the distraction.

Fiona laughed. “You’re going to have another Turn soon!”

“What?” Terin cried in dismay. “My birth date is months away!” “Not here!” Fiona told her. “Here, we’re in the seventh month already.”

“And when’s your birthday, then?”

“The eighth day of the seventh month,” Fiona told her, her face changing expression as she realized that that date was only five days away.

“And how old will you be?” T’mar asked.

“Now or then?” Fiona asked.

“Which is now and which is then?” Terin asked with a laugh.

“You’d have fourteen Turns at your next Turning,” T’mar remarked. “So here you’d have only four Turns, wouldn’t you?”

“This is very confusing,” Fiona said glumly. “Do I Turn on my birthday here, or wait until the right amount of time would have passed in the future?”

“Why not do both?” Terin asked, giggling. “You could have a Turning for now and a Turning for later.”

“What matters is how old your body is,” T’mar declared. Fiona shot him a glance. Undeterred, he continued, “It’s how we’ll judge the dragons and their readiness to fly or go between. ”

“And that speaks to when your dragon will rise to mate!” Terin exclaimed, dissolving into a full-on giggling fit.

What, Fiona wondered anxiously, if Talenth rose to mate back in this time? There were only two bronzes: T’mar’s Zirenth and K’rall’s Seyorth. Well, three, if she counted F’jian’s Ladirth, she corrected herself reluctantly.

“She’s too young,” Fiona heard herself say.

“Not in three Turns’ time!” Terin retorted, her giggles dying away. She took a breath and, when she caught sight of Fiona’s expression, forced herself to stop altogether, murmuring, “Sorry.”

Fiona’s eyes flashed as she dredged up a heated retort, but it died on her lips as Talenth said, When will you be done? I itch.

“I’ve got to oil Talenth,” she said, rising.

“I’ll warm some oil,” Terin said, glad of an excuse to change the topic.

“I’ll finish here,” T’mar said, waving to the charts.

Later, when Terin arrived with more oil, the younger girl tried to apologize to Fiona. “I’m sorry about back there,” she said. “I didn’t mean — ”

Fiona waved her apology aside. “You were having fun,” she told her. “There’s no harm in that.”

Terin dipped her head and diligently applied herself to searching out and oiling any flaky patches of Talenth’s skin.

Afterward, they returned to the Kitchen Cavern. Terin snagged the first weyrlings and set them to cooking and sculling duties. “And be sure there’s klah !”

“Make sure we send out a party to find more glow,” Fiona said as she rose after her breakfast. “I think the light’s good enough to see in the Records Room.”

“I’ve detailed the work party to concentrate on getting more of the lower weyrs cleared for the injured,” T’mar said. “I’m going to take the older weyrlings on a patrol — we’ll look for your glows while we’re out.”

Fiona nodded, saying as she departed, “Be sure to check with Terin for anything else we might need.”

The Records Room was a room off of the Weyrwoman’s quarters, as in Fort Weyr . Fiona searched in the dimly lit room for the large mirrors that she knew should be there and found a pair. She snagged the first one and went back into the corridor, mounting it in the holder built into the wall and angling it so that it picked up the morning light and bounced it into the room. Satisfied, she returned to the Records Room and placed the other mirror so that it reflected the light up to the glittering white ceiling, providing the room with nearly the same illumination as light through a window.

In the center of the room was a long, low table surrounded by chairs. Fiona was surprised at first that the chairs, at least, hadn’t been taken along when the Weyr had been abandoned but, on reflection, realized that Telgar Weyr would already have had sufficient furniture for its Records Room. Some of the Records had obviously been taken, though — a few of the storage cabinets were empty — and she could only hope that enough remained for her purposes.

She found a couple of likely stacks, settled herself at the table, and began to read.

It didn’t take all that long for Fiona to recall her father’s choicer oaths in regards to reading Records. “A boring necessity best delegated,” was the most innocuous of his pronouncements. For a brief moment she toyed with the notion of delegating the work, but curiosity overwhelmed boredom and she soldiered on, stifling a yawn.

She had gone through twenty slates — finding only two of value — before she found a truly tantalizing reference: “Of course, we used the surveyor map to locate the most recent vein of minerals.”

Surveyor map? What was a “surveyor?” She shook her head. It was the idea that mattered, not the word. If there was a map that showed minerals, what else might have been marked on a map? She looked around the room, eyes narrowed. Where would such a map be kept?

In a locked cabinet, Fiona decided. She rose and walked around the room, exploring. At last she ended up back at the cabinet where she’d first started. Had she looked carefully enough? She squatted down in front of it, studying the open cubbies. Yes! The bottommost cubby had a door, and there was a keyhole in that door! So, where was the key?

She spent many fruitless minutes hunting through the other cabinets before she wondered if perhaps some blockheaded Telgar-bound rider had pocketed the key. If that were the case, how could the door be opened?

Returning to the closed cubby, she knelt and carefully inserted a fingernail into the keyhole. She gently tugged. She was so surprised when the door swiveled open that she fell back on the stone floor.

The cubby was filled with tightly rolled . . . maps?

Fiona pulled out the top roll. It was as long as the cubby was deep. With a triumphant cry, she brought it to the table, pushed aside the boring Records, and unrolled it.

It was a map made of strange material, smooth, almost silky — definitely something made by the Ancients. She placed a slate on one corner to hold the edge down and then spread it out fully, trapping the far edge under another slate.

Talenth! she called excitedly. Tell T’mar to come to the Records Room — quick!

“And see, there, that’s the symbol for gold, isn’t it?” Fiona said an hour later as she and T’mar pored excitedly over the map, each with a mug of klah nearby.

“Where?” T’mar asked, diverting his attention from a place where he’d spotted good pastureland — a possible gathering for wild herdbeasts.

“There,” she said, pointing again to a series of turns in a river. “Over by Plains Hold.”

“I wonder that the Mastersmith hasn’t seen this,” T’mar said thoughtfully.

“I wonder why we don’t have one of these at Fort Weyr ,” Fiona countered.

“Fort was the first Weyr,” T’mar mused. “I suspect they had this already at the Harper Hall and didn’t see the need at the Weyr.”

“Mmph!” Fiona snorted. “I don’t recall anything like this in the Hold Records.”

“But didn’t Kindan find similar Records when he was searching for the new firestone?”

Fiona shrugged — she didn’t know and didn’t care — and tapped her chosen spot on the map to gain T’mar’s attention. The wingleader, with a quick grin, bent to inspect the markings.

“I think you’re right,” he said as he straightened up again. And then, in surprise, he bent down once more, eyes wide. “That’s exactly where the Wherhold is!”

“No,” Fiona corrected triumphantly. “It’s exactly where the Wherhold will be.”

“And when Zenor is mining the gold — ”

“ — and Igen is getting a dutiful tithe — ” Fiona added, her face splitting into a huge grin.

“ — we’ll have enough to trade for our needs!”

Despite the excitement of their discovery, neither T’mar nor Fiona were able to devote much attention to it for the next several days, spending the bulk of their time engaged in the effort required to settle up a Weyr — and one full of convalescents, at that.

Fiona found herself crawling into bed in the heat of the afternoon only to wake at the first cooling of the evening. Her whole sleep schedule was rearranged — she spent more time sleeping in the day than at night — and it did her temper no good at all.

But she had cause to be pleased, not annoyed: After only five days in their new Weyr, enough weyrs had been cleared to house all the injured dragons and riders; the work teams had been trained in the basics of first aid and dressings; T’mar and his scouting parties had located several good grazing areas and had filled them with herdbeasts; they had started a well-composted herb garden and had located and identified several varieties of wild crops and fruits that they could harvest to add to their stores. All in all, as Fiona woke early on the morning of her fifth day, leaving Terin to sleep in for once, it seemed that things were well in hand.

She turned the glow enough to manage her toilet, then turned it over again to its dim side, slid quietly past the sleeping Talenth, and made her way to the Kitchen Cavern, where she discovered the last of the evening crew getting ready for rest and the beginnings of the day crew coming on watch.

T’mar, because of his need to scout the surrounding lands, was on the day crew, and she was not surprised to see him enter the Kitchen Cavern not long after she had set herself down at the Weyrleader’s table with a basket of warm rolls, some preserves, and a pot of klah.

“I wish we had butter,” T’mar grumbled as he joined her, leaning over to examine the various preserves.

“To have butter we’d need milch cows, cowherds to herd them, milkers to milk them, a churner to churn the butter, and a cool place to store it,” Fiona said as she chewed her roll. But, she admitted to herself, a little butter would be nice.

“We could trade,” T’mar said.

“We have nothing to trade with yet,” Fiona pointed out. “Anyway, in this heat, how long would butter last?”

“There must be a way to keep it cool,” T’mar said.

“Some of the storage rooms might work . . .”

“Not for long, you’d need some ice — ”

“Ice!” Fiona’s shout caused everyone in the room to turn toward her. “T’mar, that’s it! We can get ice!”

“What?”

“It isn’t enough to have a tithe of gold,” Fiona continued on excitedly. “We need something we can trade with anyone at any time.”

“Most people will do without ice if they’ve other needs,” T’mar warned her.

“But those that want it will pay dearly,” Fiona said, her enthusiasm unabated. “Think of it, particularly here in this heat! Not only can you keep food fresh, but if you set up a fan — and we’ve no lack of wind here to drive one — you could cool a room!”

T’mar stroked his chin thoughtfully, staring absently in the distance in front of him.

“Some of our riders would do better if their quarters were cooler,” he murmured. Then he shook himself out of his musings and turned his attention back once again to the young queen rider in front of him. “It’s the middle of summer and we’re in one of the hottest places on Pern, where were you planning on finding ice?” he demanded. A moment later he added, “And without getting us caught. Don’t forget that none of the riders in this time know of our presence here.”

Fiona waved aside his objections with an airy flick of one hand. “Where, bronze rider, is it cold all Turn?”

“You can’t make ice between !” T’mar objected.

“No, not between, ” Fiona said, her tone exasperated. She pointed toward with her finger. “North! In the Snowy Wastes!”

T’mar looked at her as if she were sun-touched.

“Think of it, it’s just a jump between for us and then we’re back again with as much ice as we can carve out of the ground.”

“Where would you go?” T’mar asked. “This idea is so good, I’d be very surprised if D’gan or one of the other Igen riders hasn’t already thought of it — in which case we stand a very good chance of running right into them.”

“Then we go where they don’t,” Fiona said. “We go north of Benden or Nabol.”

“We could use the coastline to guide us,” T’mar mused appreciatively. “That would give us an easy mark to follow.” Then he frowned again. “Except that the coast is often fog-shrouded, which could spell disaster.”

Fiona gave him a questioning look.

“A dragon needs a good visual image to go between, ” he told her, remembering that she had yet to take Talenth between on her own.

Fiona knew what happened without a good image — at best, the dragon would not go between. At worst . . . it would be lost forever, trapped between.

“Wait a moment,” T’mar exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“What?”

“The Far Watchers!” T’mar told her, his expression triumphant. “Every weyrling is drilled on them; they’re not part of the standard recognition points so we don’t drill them often, but even so . . .”

“Far Watchers?” Fiona repeated, confused.

T’mar gestured to her apologetically, explaining, “They’re two very tall peaks at the northern edge of the Benden Mountains — weyrlings are taught about them to get an idea of the sort of weather that’s too cold for Thread to survive.” He grinned. “To the north of the peaks the ground is always frozen, covered in layers of ice.” He nodded to her as he continued, “Layers of marvelous, easily cut and hauled, tradeable ice.”

“So when can we go?”

“We, ” T’mar said, “aren’t going anywhere. Now that you’ve given me the idea, I’ll take a group of the older weyrlings there later today when we have a chance.” He gestured toward her. “You will want to arrange a special storage room for the ice, maybe two, as we’ll need to experiment to find the best way to store it as long as we can.”

Fiona began spluttering in protest until T’mar said the one word that was certain to silence her. Rising from his chair, he nodded to her, his eyes twinkling. “Weyrwoman.”

Fiona forced her temper back under control, giving him a seething look as she nodded his dismissal.

“Until later, wingleader,” she replied, stressing the last word with a tone that hinted threat and revenge while emphasizing her superior position — a mannerism she’d learned from her father when he dealt with recalcitrant holders minor and lofty craftsfolk.

When Terin arrived later in the day, Fiona had her detail a work party to clear out the innermost supply room.

“And make sure that we can get in and out of it easily,” she added. “I’m off to check on the injured riders.”

“Say hello to K’rall for me,” Terin said in a waspish tone — the older bronze rider was a very bad patient who was completely unwilling to have young Terin tend to him and refused to accept that she was headwoman, even when Fiona had asked Talenth to relay the information to Seyorth, his dragon.

Fiona he treated with a mixture of awe and condescension, not forgetting for a moment that she was a queen rider but constantly harping on about her youth. As she got to know him more, Fiona started treating him like one of the old guards at Fort Hold : she was polite, deferential, but very definitely in charge.

And she was grateful that of all the older wingleaders, she had to deal with him rather than H’nez, whose manners brought out the worst of her famous Fort Hold temper.

She stopped in the kitchen long enough to prepare a light tray and grab a first-aid bag, then headed around the Bowl to K’rall’s weyr. She mused at this other difference in Igen Weyr living — at Fort Weyr , no one thought twice about walking directly from one side of the Bowl to the other, but here, in hot Igen, everyone was careful to use the interior corridors and the back entrances to the weyrs.

Fiona made a mental note to herself — again — to get canvas and fittings for awnings that could be placed above the weyrs to provide shade. She and Terin had seen the small indentations above either side of every weyr in Igen and had quickly divined their purpose, but a search for the corresponding poles and canvas had proven fruitless. She couldn’t imagine why the cooler Telgar Weyr clime would require such things, but perhaps the Igen weyrfolk had decided to bring this bit of familiarity with them.

Fiona imagined how the Weyr would look festooned with brightly colored canvases — from above it might look like a mini-Gather, quite colorful. She wondered if riders would insist on having the awning colors match their dragons’ colors or if they would go for more elaborate designs. In fact — and Fiona made another mental note — such work could easily be extended to tents that might be profitably traded with desert folk everywhere. Perhaps there was a new trade for the Fort riders, used as they were to knitting garments in their spare time. But first they’d have to trade for the fabric . . .

She stopped outside K’rall’s door, listening and gathering her breath and thoughts.

“K’rall?” she called when she was ready, and marched through the door.

“Are you decent?” she asked as she placed the tray on his dining table, keeping to the newly established ritual of asking a question that would both alarm and please the older man.

“K’rall?” she called again, looking around the room, her eyes narrowed. She went to the hanging glows and turned them up, glancing around the room. She heard a noise from the lavatory. “I’ll just wait outside,” she called. “Knock on the table when you’re ready.”

She went back outside and waited.

Talenth? Fiona asked her half-awake queen. Could you ask Seyorth how K’rall is this morning?

Seyorth says that K’rall wants to get the bandages off, Talenth told her. He says that K’rall is grumpy this morning.

Tell Seyorth that K’rall needs to keep the bandages on, Fiona replied. There was no point in telling a dragon that the bandages would have to be maintained for at least a month — dragons didn’t remember such lengths well. A month and forever were closely related in a dragon’s mind.

I’ve told him, Talenth replied a moment later. Why is it that all the bronzes are so polite to me?

It’s because you’re their queen, Fiona told her, smiling to herself; they had this discussion at least every other day. Talenth was both overjoyed by and slightly nervous about the apparent adulation showered upon her by her fellow dragons.

It’s good to be queen, Talenth decided. Fiona smiled and shook her head affectionately.

K’rall’s voice interrupted. “When she rises, make sure she doesn’t blood her kills.”

“You haven’t taken off your bandages have you?” Fiona demanded, bustling into the room. His strange reference to Talenth’s future rising made her wonder if he wasn’t also feverish. Although it was also possible that the older rider had said it merely to distract her.

“It itched,” K’rall said, turning to look at her. Fiona had to work hard to school the revulsion out of her expression — the right side of K’rall’s face was a mess.

“Shards!” she exclaimed. “Now we’ll have to redo the sutures.”

Talenth, have one of the weyrlings bring some fellis juice, Fiona ordered. Whoever’s on duty in the pharmacy.

Turning her attention back to K’rall, Fiona clenched her jaw and took the seat opposite him.

“You’ve got a nasty wound, K’rall,” Fiona told him, examining the mauled side of his face with all the detachment she could muster. “You didn’t suffer just a single burn, you know.”

K’rall lowered his eyes — he was lucky to still have the right one — unwilling to face either the truth or the Weyrwoman.

“If you behave, you’ll get back the full use of your jaw,” Fiona said. “If not, we’ll be feeding you porridge for the rest of your life.”

“I had to see,” K’rall said slowly, his words slurred. “I had to know.”

“You had to listen to your Weyrwoman!” Fiona shouted at him, losing her temper. Before K’rall could voice an angry retort, Fiona softened, and reached out to take his hand. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to see you disfigured.”

K’rall raised his other hand toward his face — Fiona grabbed it with her free hand and gently put it back on the table. She shushed him, saying, “You are a dragonrider, you bear your wounds with pride.” She nodded fiercely, feeling both the strength and truth of her words. Whatever her feelings about his personality, Fiona would never deny K’rall’s courage. “If you let me,” she continued, “I will see to it that the damage is slight.”

She saw his eyes light in disagreement and shook her head at him. “Your wounds are not so different from the others’,” she told him. “And I learned enough at the Hold and the Hall to know how to treat them.

“You need rest, you need to keep your muscles still, so that they can grow and recover, and you need to keep the bandages on until the skin has healed.” Fiona found herself marveling at her words and her tone of voice — where had she learned to speak like this? Then she realized: She was speaking like her father had, like Cisca did.

“We must play our part, Fiona,” Bemin had said to her once, on the sad day when they’d buried one of the old Fort guards. “Even when we don’t want to, we must act as though we know all the answers and can do whatever is asked of us.” He had smiled at her as he added, “And, after a while, it is no longer playing.”

Fiona now understood the meaning of those words. She was no longer playing.

She saw K’rall’s unspoken question lingering in his eyes. It was difficult for her to answer.

You must play your part.

“You are a handsome man, K’rall,” Fiona said, not surprised to hear his breath catch or see his eyes rise to meet hers. She met them squarely. “I’m of the age where I notice such things more and more” — she felt heat rising in her cheeks, but she persisted — “and I’ve seen the way some of the women back the Weyr watched you.” She smiled. “I think that won’t change when you get back.”

“You can’t know,” K’rall murmured.

“Nor can you,” Fiona told him firmly. She heard the scuttling of feet moving quickly toward them and heaved an internal sigh of relief that the weyrling from the pharmacy had arrived. “Now finish your breakfast and then lie back down — we’re going to have to redo those stitches and then dose you with fellis juice — you need to rest.” When K’rall opened his mouth again to protest, she threw up a hand. “One more word, bronze rider, and I’ll stitch your mouth shut. By the First Egg, you will recover fully and you will obey me!”

K’rall looked ready to protest once more — probably to say that he would never disobey a Weyrwoman — but he must have realized that speaking was just what Fiona had ordered him against doing, because he merely sighed and slowly ate his porridge.

At last Fiona left him, replacing herself with one of the nursing weyrlings under strict orders to let her or Terin know if there was any change in his condition and to keep a good eye on his breathing — she was a bit afraid that she’d been too liberal with the fellis juice.

Fiona felt it was her duty as Weyrwoman to check personally on the wingleaders every day — and she made certain that she checked up on every injured rider or dragon every two days — so her next visit was with N’jian.

The brown rider’s Threaded chest had been a particular worry for T’mar, who fretted that the cold of the long trip between times might have exposed N’jian to infection, so Fiona kept a careful eye on him during the first days at the Weyr. Fortunately, he seemed to have taken no ill from the journey, but his recovery would be slow and difficult. With the muscles of his chest and abdomen shredded by a strand of Thread that had been frozen just seconds before it would have devoured his innards, N’jian could only rest on his back or left side, and all movement was painful for him.

Fiona wondered if the rider wouldn’t be well-served by floating in a warm bath, perhaps with some healing salts, but she was still sufficiently worried by the state of his wound to want to hold off until he’d recovered more. As it was, he was starting to develop sores on the parts of his body that supported his weight.

Fiona had decided that he could stand long enough to eat breakfast — he didn’t need her to warn him against sitting as standing was a sufficiently painful procedure in itself.

He wore nothing more than a long, loose tunic over his bandages, partly because it was difficult for him to dress and also because that made it easier to tend his wounds.

Fiona schooled her expression into a smile as she decided to inspect his sores today.

“I’m going to want to look at the sores and see what we can do about them,” she said as she entered the room, glancing meaningfully at the weyrling who was already there. Without a word and no visible sign of relief — something that Fiona had had to drill the weyrlings on — the lad left them alone. Fiona had realized from her own thoughts that having wounds examined in private would be less embarrassing than in public, so unless she needed to consult with a weyrling or provide instruction, she conducted her examinations alone.

She went about the inspection with a sense of distraction that she worked to instill into all the weyrlings — they were to show no sign of embarrassment at tending naked flesh. It was hard enough to recover from wounds without being made to feel ashamed of it.

Fiona realized that she had learned some of this detachment from Cisca, some from her father, and also some from her brief time with Tintoval, who managed to profess such a passion for her duties that no one was bothered by her necessarily intimate examinations.

Still, Fiona would occasionally in the privacy of her thoughts marvel that she had been examining a grown man until she firmly told herself to get over it — these were people, with feelings and pride, people who had risked their lives and their beloved dragons protecting others; she would see them only as such.

“Let me get those cleaned up and bandaged and you’ll be good for the day,” she told N’jian cheerfully.

“I’m sorry to be such a burden — ”

“You flew Thread, you’re not a burden,” Fiona said brusquely, cutting him off. “You get well; you’ll be fighting soon enough.”

N’jian accepted her assurances silently, wincing only when Fiona touched a particularly sore wound.

“If you feel the need, later, you might want to relax in the pool,” she told him when she was done and ready to leave. “Just let someone know and they’ll get the bandages back off.”

Since she had tackled her two most challenging patients first, the rest of the morning got easier once she’d finished with N’jian. Still, she was glad to finally find herself back in the Kitchen Cavern relaxing with a mug of klah in front of her.

With a contented sigh of her own, Terin sat beside her, helping herself to the pitcher of warm klah that she’d placed on the table along with a basket full of warm rolls.

“Mmm,” Fiona said as she bit into one of the rolls, “this is excellent.”

The sound of dragonwings caught her attention and she turned toward the entrance, expecting to see a glimpse of the returning dragonriders. But an overwhelming sense of alarm caused her to jump to her feet.

Come quick! T’mar needs you! Talenth cried.

Warn the weyrlings! Fiona called back. Have them meet me!

“Terin, come on, something’s wrong with T’mar!” she shouted over her shoulder as she dashed out into the Weyr Bowl.

She arrived just in time to catch T’mar as he slid off Zirenth’s neck.

“T’mar! What happened?” Fiona cried as she knelt over him, shading him from the sun. She felt his forehead to see if he was feverish, but it felt cool. She glanced up in time to see the older weyrlings being helped down from their mounts. Only a few could stand unaided.

“Weak,” T’mar murmured. “Dizzy.” Feebly he moved a hand, attracing Fiona’s attention to the carisak it held. “Go’ the ice.”

Fiona quickly organized parties to carry the riders into the Kitchen Cavern, lying them down on the ground all the while assuring their dragons that they would be okay.

“What happened?” F’jian asked as he directed another pair of boys carrying the last of the older weyrlings into the cavern.

“I don’t know,” Fiona said, still clutching the cold carisak that T’mar had given her. “They went to get ice.”

She looked around and saw that all the weyrlings had carisaks that bulged. “Get a party to put those carisaks in the storeroom,” she instructed F’jian. “Terin knows which one I mean.”

Talenth, who’s on watch? she asked, hoping that whoever it was was one of the responsible ones she could trust in this emergency.

J’per.

Shards! J’per was worse than any of the youngest weyrlings. No wonder T’mar had left him on watch.

Is he awake? Fiona asked acerbically, recalling how often J’per had been chided for sleeping on watch.

He is now. Talenth replied slyly. Fiona didn’t need to ask her queen to elucidate for Talenth expounded, I had Ginoth rustle his wings — that woke him!

Good! Fiona turned her attention back to T’mar. Was there something about the Snowy Wastes? Could it have frozen them all more than the cold of between ? Or — Fiona shuddered — could it be that some illness lived in the Wastes, something that affected riders this quickly? If T’mar and the older weyrlings died, what would she do?

“T’mar,” Fiona said urgently to the listless rider. Zirenth, what happened?

Tired, the bronze dragon responded. They all got very tired.

Zirenth seemed unconcerned, which gave Fiona an immense sense of relief. She had Talenth check with the other dragons of the party and found the same thing — the riders had suddenly become overwhelmed with exhaustion, and none of the dragons were overly worried.

“Let’s get them to their weyrs,” Fiona said, rising from her knees. “They need rest; they’ve been pushing themselves too hard.”

F’jian and the other young weyrlings worked hard to move the older riders to their weyrs, relieved to have something to do.

J’per reports dust in the distance, Talenth relayed when Fiona had finished settling T’mar in his weyr.

Traders?

I’ve sent J’per to find out, Talenth responded, seeming pleased with her action.

I need to know when they’ll arrive, Fiona told her.

I’ve told them, Talenth responded. In a few moments, she added, J’per thinks that they will be here at nightfall. He says that they look like they are camping in the shade.

Very good, Fiona said. Thank him and have him return to his post.

Distantly she heard the rustle of wings that heralded Ginoth’s return to his watch at the Star Stones. Fiona turned back to the sleeping T’mar for one final check. He was resting easily, so Fiona decided that she could leave him under Zirenth’s care.

Let me know if he wakes, she told the bronze dragon. Zirenth raised his sleepy head long enough to meet her eyes and nod, then he curled back up into a comfortable sleeping position.

Stifling a yawn of her own and feeling that she’d had too much excitement for one day, Fiona returned to the Kitchen Cavern.

“We have a fair bit of ice now,” Terin reported. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Use it to cool any of the injured that most need it,” Fiona said. She cocked her head questioningly. “How long will it keep frozen?”

Terin shrugged. “There wasn’t enough to fill the room, so I think it’ll melt faster.”

“Can you put it in pitchers or something so that we can collect the meltwater?”

“There’s a lot of ice for that,” Terin replied.

“I was just thinking that it’d be nice to serve Azeez and Karina some cold drinks,” Fiona said.

Terin’s eyes widened in appreciation. “I’m sure that the traders would enjoy that.” She grinned. “In fact, I think it’s our duty to see what such cold drinks might be like.”

Fiona shook her head. “Not for me,” she said, “I’m ready for my nap. Maybe later.”

“I suppose a nap’s not a bad idea,” Terin agreed. She made a shooing motion toward Fiona. “You go; I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

As Fiona settled a clean sheet over herself, grateful that the weyrlings had found mattress stuffing before their excursion to the Snowy Wastes, Fiona replayed T’mar’s return in her mind one more time before drifting off to a fitful sleep.

When she woke, hours later, the sun was on the horizon and the day fading away.

Talenth, she called, as she slipped into her shoes, how is T’mar?

Awake and waiting for you in the cavern, Talenth replied. I told him you are coming.

Does he have any idea — no, wait, I’ll ask him myself.

Fiona hurried along to the Kitchen Cavern. T’mar, seated at the raised Weyrleader’s table in the back of the room, nodded to her as she entered. J’keran and J’gerd were seated with him.

“We were just discussing our trip,” T’mar informed her as she sat at the table.

“And?”

T’mar shook his head. “We’ve no idea why it was so exhausting for us.”

The dragons are fine, Talenth volunteered.

“Well, you’d been out riding before, hadn’t you?” Fiona said. “Perhaps going from the intense heat to the extreme cold and then back again — ”

T’mar interrupted her with a shake of his head. “I’ve made journeys like that before without this ill effect.”

Fiona sighed, at a loss for ideas. It was almost as if whatever had affected her and T’mar and some of the other weyrlings a while back had affected those who went to the Wastes even more. Sudden inspiration caused her to gasp, but she shook her head when T’mar narrowed his eyes at her expectantly. Instead, she cut her eyes to the two older weyrlings.

“J’gerd, J’keran, for now if there are no more problems, I’d like you to get the older weyrlings ready to receive the traders,” T’mar told them. After they had left, he turned to Fiona. “Well?”

“It’s just that you and I have been talking for a while now about the dangers of being in the same time twice,” Fiona began slowly. “What if that happened this time?”

T’mar frowned.

“When was the last time you went to the Snowy Wastes?” she persisted.

T’mar shrugged. “I think the last time was in the winter when we practiced recognition points.”

“And when do you think you went to the Snowy Wastes today?” T’mar frowned. “It was — ”

“Was it now, in this Turn, or then, ten Turns in the future?”

T’mar’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened as his certainty gave way to confused possibility.

“And wouldn’t that mean that you and the weyrlings had gone between times twice today?” Fiona continued, triumphantly. “And that you were double or triple-timing yourself ten Turns in the future?” She paused to let her point sink home. “And wouldn’t that cause you to be extremely tired and dizzy?”

“Yes,” T’mar agreed slowly, “that seems reasonable.” He frowned. “But I only know recognition points in the future!”

“Is that a problem?”

“It is when it comes to drilling the weyrlings — your weyrlings — as they get older,” T’mar said bitterly. “If it caused this much trouble with the older weyrlings, imagine what it would do with those going between for the first time.”

“The second time,” Fiona corrected absently. “They’ve gone between once already.”

T’mar glowered at her.

“So how hard is it to learn the recognition points for this time?” she asked.

“It’s not so much that as unlearning the old points,” T’mar replied. “And we’ve no way to know when we are.”

“How will we get back to Fort Weyr at the right time?”

“I hadn’t really thought of it,” T’mar admitted. “I had only thought to come back when we left; I don’t know how we’d come back three days later.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Fiona said. “For the time being, though, I think we should concentrate on our current problems.” She grinned at him. “Like how best to make use of your ice!”

“You sound like you have some suggestions,” T’mar returned with a grin of his own.

“I do,” Fiona agreed, raising her hand high and beckoning to Terin. “And I’m sure Terin will have more.”

Azeez and Mother Karina greeted the wingleader and Weyrwoman effusively as T’mar and Fiona ushered them into the Kitchen Cavern.

“We have news!” Azeez cried as soon as he saw them.

“And we brought supplies,” Mother Karina added.

“We have some news of our own,” T’mar told them. “But first, come sit with us.”

“You must be tired after your journey,” Fiona added solicitously as she gestured to the high table. She smiled at T’mar as she continued, “We’ve had a chance to explore our surroundings and prepare some refreshments.”

“And something to trade, I imagine,” Azeez said as he carefully seated Mother Karina and then himself.

“Klah ?” Fiona asked, offering the pitcher.

“It’s too hot for klah, ” Mother Karina replied.

“Tea, then?” Fiona offered, picking up another pitcher. “We’ve made a nice infusion of herbs and some of the orange rinds you left us. It’s quite refreshing.”

“What’s in the third pitcher?” Mother Karina asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

Fiona poured herself some of the klah before responding. “In this heat, I have to agree that warm klah is not too pleasant,” she began, reaching for the third pitcher. “But iced klah — ” and she poured two lumps of ice into her mug “ — is entirely different.”

She raised the mug and passed it to Mother Karina. “Perhaps you’d agree?”

“Ice?” Karina repeated, eyeing the bobbing lumps in the mug. “It’s the middle of summer — where did you get ice?”

“Perhaps you’d care for a new treat, made with sweet cane and orange peel,” Terin suggested, bringing forth a covered dish and ceremoniously displaying a bowl full of crushed ice sprinkled with the orange flavoring. “It’s quite tangy.”

“You have this much ice, that you can make sweets with it?” Azeez asked in surprise.

“You should try the ice,” Fiona said, spooning out a portion into a bowl and putting it in front of him.

“Most of our ice we use to keep our injured riders cool,” T’mar added. “A large block properly placed can cool a whole room.”

“A block of ice?” Karina repeated. “For cooling?”

“I imagine you could use it in your caravans,” Fiona said. “We could probably arrange a trade — ”

“Weyrwoman, you most certainly could,” Azeez agreed, dubiously lifting a spoon of the shaved ice to his mouth. He chewed it slowly, carefully, his expression growing ever more enraptured. “This is marvelous.”

“So you think we could trade with it?” T’mar prompted.

“Of course,” Karina agreed. She took a sip of the iced klah. “This is good!”

“How many kilos can you get for us?” Azeez asked.

“Can you deliver it where we ask?” Karina added, glancing sharply at the other trader.

“Obviously quantity and delivery will have to be discussed,” Fiona said with an airy wave of her hand. “But for now, perhaps you would like to tell us of your journey?”

Dinner that evening was an ebullient affair with weyrlings and those older riders able to walk mixing together with the traders, each group finding the other alien and fascinating.

“It is good to see dragonriders in this Weyr again,” Azeez said as he leaned back from the table, replete with Terin’s best cooking.

“Not that traders were ever invited to dine at this Weyr,” Karina added darkly.

“Times change,” T’mar said, not doubting that D’gan would never have considered issuing such an invitation when he’d been Weyrleader at Igen.

“Yes, they do,” Azeez agreed.

“We have news,” Karina said, glancing to Azeez.

“It is not all good,” Azeez warned. “We have spoken with our traders and they agree to try your plan of transporting special goods by dragon.” He paused, eyeing T’mar before continuing. “We have also spoken with some holders. The news there is not so good. They are shorthanded from the Plague and many of their fields lie fallow. What food they get they either consume themselves or give in tithe to Telgar Weyr. They have nothing to spare.”

T’mar shifted uneasily in his chair, his expression dark.

“What about the wild beasts, those that were left to roam after the Plague?” Fiona asked.

“Those that you can find, you can have,” Azeez said with a shrug. “None could stop you.”

“But how will you find them?” Karina asked. “If holders see you herding them on your dragons, they are quite likely to count them as tithe to the Weyr.”

“And I suspect D’gan will not be happy,” T’mar observed.

“He’ll probably accuse them of lying, which will cause them further hardship,” Mother Karina said.

“So we are on our own for cattle,” T’mar surmised.

“No,” Azeez said shaking his head. “But you cannot expect to get cattle from the local holders.”

“We could buy them somewhere else?” Fiona asked.

“You could trade for them,” Karina agreed. “If you had something to trade.”

Azeez held up a restraining hand before T’mar or Fiona could speak. “Ice will only go so far,” he told them. “It is a luxury, and if there is too much of it, questions will also be asked.”

“What about the watch-whers?” Fiona wondered. “If we get them, what then?”

“You could trade a watch-wher egg for a quarter-herd or maybe even a half-herd of livestock,” Azeez said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But can you get one?”

“What if we could get gold?” Fiona asked.

The two traders abruptly sat upright and leaned forward. “Gold would buy many things,” Azeez agreed. “It might not buy cattle directly, but it could buy things that could buy cattle.”

“Where would you get gold?” Karina asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Fiona smiled at her and tapped her nose knowingly. “Craft secret.”

“How soon could you get it?” Azeez asked.

“Not any time soon,” Fiona admitted. “For the time being, we’ll have to trade in ice.”

“That will work for a month, maybe two, but for Turns . . .” Azeez shook his head.

“We will need to do most of our trading at night,” Mother Karina said. “Not only to keep your ice cold but to keep our trades from prying eyes.”

Fiona saw T’mar sit bolt upright and was convinced that he had the same startling thought that crossed her mind, but she glanced at him warningly as she said, “Well, if you want us to trade at night, you’ll have to teach us how to navigate by the stars.”

Azeez and Mother Karina exchanged a quick look, then Azeez shrugged in acquiescence. “It will be our pleasure.”

“That knowledge has already been traded for,” Karina said as she caught Fiona’s look of surprise. She and Azeez exchanged glances, and then the old woman sighed sadly.

“It made sense for us to trade on the knowledge we gained from you,” Karina admitted, her eyes downcast. “But it gives us mixed feelings.” She paused, consideringly. Finally she raised her eyes to meet Fiona’s. “We traded some fire-lizard eggs, knowing what we know of the future. One was a queen egg.”

“It wasn’t mine,” Fiona said, her eyes all the same blurry with tears. Quietly she continued, “I got my fire-lizard eight Turns later. I named her Fire and loved her very much.” She wiped her eyes and shook her head to clear her mood. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was from your queen’s clutch. Do not regret it. I don’t.”

“Well,” Mother Karina said, wiping her eyes as well. “It was a wrench to let the egg go.”

“And,” Azeez said, “as we traded on the knowledge you’ve given us, we consider that we owe you trade.”

“I see,” Fiona said, glancing toward T’mar.

“We come from a time ten Turns in the future,” T’mar reminded the Traders. “Don’t make the mistake of trading on that too much.”

“I’m not sure you made a good trade,” Fiona said by way of agreement. “Not only did you lose a chance at many clutches, but you also lost the joys of a fire-lizard.”

“Your dragons will not accept fire-lizards near them,” Azeez said. “We decided to resist the temptation.”

“Beside,” Karina added, “without fire-lizards, we will need to develop different means of communications.”

“Not to mention that they hate the sandstorms,” Azeez reminded her drily.

“We should talk more of trade,” Fiona said, gesturing for Terin to bring her slates. “We have a list of things we can offer.”

“And a list of things you need, no doubt,” Mother Karina added with a gleam in her eyes.

T’mar waited until the next morning, when the traders were gone, to ask the question he had for Fiona. “What is it that you didn’t want to say in front of the traders?”

“Well,” Fiona said, her lips curved upward with satisfaction, “it’s just that I realized that these traders have spent Turns navigating the desert by the stars.”

“And?”

“Well, we know that the Red Star is one of those stars,” Fiona continued, “and that the moons and planets and other stars all move in the sky in determined patterns.”

“Yes,” T’mar agreed impatiently.

“So,” Fiona continued, smiling sweetly, “why can’t we use the stars to tell us when as well as where we are?”

T’mar stared at her for a long moment and then, slowly, his lips curved up in a grin to match hers.

“And with the stars to guide us, we can come back to Fort Weyr three days after we left!” he exclaimed. He grabbed Fiona in a great hug. “I couldn’t use the Red Star for such accuracy, but I’ll bet the traders can teach us how to use the planets! Well done, Weyrwoman, well done!”

Fiona basked in his praise.

Weyrwoman.