Dragonheart

SIXTEEN

Igen Weyr, Morning, AL 498.8.14

“It’ll be hot,” T’mar cautioned as Zenor mulishly repeated his demand that they visit the wherhold site before setting off for the Smithcrafthall.

“I understand,” Zenor said. “But I want to see what’s there.”

“You might not find anything in a short search,” K’rall said.

“But if we had a sample to bring with us, we’d have a much stronger argument,” Zenor said.

The two wingleaders nodded reluctantly. T’mar asked K’rall, “Will you take him, or do you want to lead the ice party?”

“I’ll take him,” K’rall decided. “I’ll take S’gan and D’teril — they’ve recovered well enough to fly and their dragons need to stretch their wings.”

“Take some of the older weyrlings, too,” T’mar suggested.

K’rall gave the bronze rider a thoughtful look. “Who would you suggest?”

“Y’gos or T’del,” T’mar replied instantly. “They’re both steady riders and their browns should be up to the heat.”

“Hmm,” K’rall murmured. “Should I be concerned about Harith and the heat?”

D’teril’s Harith had scored a wingtip in the Fall over Ruatha.

“Fiona says he’s fully recovered,” T’mar replied, adding, “I checked them out the other day and they seem more than anxious to get back in the air.”

K’rall smiled sympathetically. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on him,” he decided. “Wouldn’t be the first time a blue flew too early!”

“No, it wouldn’t,” T’mar agreed with a grin. Blue riders were eager fliers, and often their dragons became so overcome by their riders’ enthusiasm that they overexerted themselves and strained their muscles.

“Fiona and Nuella have decided that they’ll go to the old wherhold this evening,” Zenor said, glancing out from the shade of the Dining Cavern to the roiling heat in the Weyr Bowl, “so it would be good to have some news to send with them.”

Four dragons — two blues and two browns — launched themselves from their weyrs into the hot air over the Weyr, reveling in the currents that swiftly lifted them up over the Star Stones. K’rall’s Seyorth landed nimbly in front of K’rall, who gestured to Zenor. “We’re ready.”

Zenor smiled in delight as K’rall helped him climb up the bronze dragon’s huge front leg to a riding position on Seyorth’s neck. K’rall followed a moment later and, sketching a salute to T’mar, urged his great bronze skyward.

T’mar had a moment to enjoy the view of the small wing of five dragons before they veered away from the Star Stones and winked between.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned in time to see the envious look on Terin’s face as she gazed at the space where the dragons had been.

“There’s a group of weyrlings going to cut those reeds for you later,” T’mar said. “Perhaps you’d like to go with them.”

Terin nodded eagerly.

As the chill of between enveloped him, Zenor tensed, gasping for air that wasn’t there. Before his panic could overwhelm him, daylight burst around him and air entered his lungs once more.

“I’m sorry,” K’rall said, “I should have warned you.”

Zenor couldn’t speak, but shook his head in a feeble denial. Seyorth wheeled and dove suddenly, causing Zenor to tense in panic once more. And then —

— he let out his breath and looked at the ground rising below him. He was riding a dragon!

He hadn’t had any time when they came to Igen Weyr from Mine Natalon to really appreciate the experience — and he’d been too concerned with Nuella’s well-being to notice anything around him, even the cold of between. But now . . .

“There!” he called excitedly over his shoulder. “Land there!” He turned red with embarrassment as he realized he had just ordered a bronze rider, but it faded when he heard K’rall’s enthusiastic, “Hold on!” from behind him. Seyorth flicked his wings, spilling air, and they plunged even more steeply downward, giving Zenor a near vertical view of the river’s bend rapidly rising up to meet them.

Just when Zenor started to feel the first tinges of panic returning to him, Seyorth leveled up, circled once, and deftly landed less than a dragonlength from Zenor’s chosen point.

“Wow!” Zenor exclaimed. “That was fantastic.”

“I never grow tired of it,” K’rall admitted, patting Seyorth affectionately before handing Zenor down.

The air churned as the other four dragons landed and their riders jumped off.

“What are we looking for?” S’gan called as he strode over to join K’rall. He nodded affably to Zenor.

“We’re looking for two things,” Zenor said. “A good site for a wherhold — they like caves and hate the sun — and traces of gold.”

“Gold?” S’gan repeated, his brows rising in surprise. He spun around, eyeing the ground carefully. “Where would we find that?”

“The river’s bend is probably the best spot to look,” Zenor said, nodding in the indicated direction. He allowed himself a moment to take in the surrounding scrub, greener near the river but certainly not desert. He could imagine growing crops or grazing cattle here.

“Let’s go!” S’gan replied enthusiastically, taking off in a lope.

As Zenor made to follow, K’rall laid a hand on his arm. “Let’s not go too quickly; this is likely to be a long search, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Zenor agreed with a smile, matching his pace to that of the older dragonrider. He noticed that D’teril, the other blue rider, was racing after S’gan, but that the two younger brown riders were taking their cue from K’rall. “Are they always like that?”

“Blues are quick, agile,” K’rall explained. “They tend to Impress those with similar traits.”

T’del, one of the brown riders, cocked a questioning look toward K’rall.

“Not all blues are the same,” K’rall said in response. “But if you were to place a bet in a race, bet that the fastest rider is a blue.”

“Blues start quick, browns finish,” T’del said, grinning.

“True.”

Zenor slowed as they reached the river bank, and carefully began to pick a path to the river’s edge.

“I don’t see anything,” S’gan called from his spot on the shore. “

It’ll be in the water, under the dirt,” Zenor replied absently as he took a cautious step into the water and squatted down to grab a handful of muck from the river bottom. He examined it carefully and grunted with pleasure when he noted that it was grainy, not fine. Gold was less likely to sink far down in grainy soil. He eyed the overhang on the far side of the river, then turned to K’rall. “Can we get over there?”

“Certainly,” K’rall said, slogging down into the river and carefully picking his way to the far side. When he got there, he gestured to Zenor, who was watching at him in surprise. “You were thinking we’d fly ?”

Zenor snorted and shook his head in acknowledgment of the twitting, then made his way across, following K’rall’s course. Once there, he began to pull up clumps of sand, letting the water wash them away and examining the results. K’rall watched him dubiously.

“I’m hoping to get lucky,” Zenor admitted. “Really, I’d expect to find little glimmers of gold — just dust but . . .” He shrugged and grinned, and then, suddenly, his expression changed to one of complete shock.

“What is it?”

“Gold,” Zenor said shakily, raising up his hand to show a large nugget. He pocketed the piece and redoubled his efforts. In an instant the others had clambered over to join him.

“Show us how to do it,” S’gan begged. Once Zenor had shown them, the four younger riders churned up the river until the water downstream was yellow with sand.

K’rall eyed them all tolerantly, satisfying himself with a couple of attempts before giving up to watch the others.

“Have you seen enough?” he asked half an hour later as Zenor, thoroughly drenched, stood up and stretched his sore muscles.

“Yes,” Zenor said, smiling at the dragonriders, who looked ready to drain the entire river in their attempts to find more gold. “I think we’ve got something to show.”

“Then perhaps we should see if there is a potential holding site nearby,” K’rall suggested, splashing back across the river.

“Come on,” he shouted over his shoulders to the other riders. With a chorus of groans, they reluctantly followed.

Once out of the water, Zenor realized how much sandy grit his trousers had retained and regretted it, except for the heavy bulge in his pocket. He eyed the ground and headed off toward a low rise not far away.

“You could dig that out, probably,” K’rall observed. “Or you could quarry some rock and build.”

“Maybe both,” Zenor mused. “Quarry for the hold, use the caves for the whers.”

K’rall grunted agreement.

“How long would it take?” D’teril asked as he came, panting, up beside them.

“It depends on the soil,” Zenor said, digging a toe into the earth. He turned to K’rall. “Can we take some samples?”

K’rall shrugged. “We didn’t think to bring tools.”

“A sturdy stick will do,” Zenor said. He grabbed a branch from a nearby tree and broke it off, then strode around, poking the stick in the ground and occasionally stooping to dig a sample. Finally, he threw the stick away and turned to K’rall. “I’ve seen enough.”

“Will it do, then?” the bronze dragonrider asked with a smile.

“There’s good topsoil in places, particularly near the river,” Zenor replied. “And the hills have good solid rock in them.” He nodded. “I think we can make a holding of it.”

Armed with good news and several nuggets of gold, Zenor and the riders returned to the Weyr.

“It’ll be cooler at Telgar,” T’mar said enticingly to Fiona as they stood outside the Dining Cavern under the burning hot Igen sun at noon.

“But I’m on crutches!” Fiona said. She’d been glad just to spend the morning with Talenth, idly oiling her and listening to the gold dragon commiserating with her over her injury. She felt dizzy and useless.

K’rall gave T’mar a warning look, then chimed in, “Well, if you’re not up to it, Weyrwoman, I suppose — ”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t go!” Fiona snapped, her pride piqued. “I just said that I’m on crutches.”

“We’ll be sure that there’s something nice and cool for you when you return,” Terin offered. At K’rall’s gesture, she pulled out two jackets. “And I found these. I think you and T’mar should wear them.”

“What are they?” Fiona asked, peering at the jackets. “They look hot.”

“Hot but fashionable,” Terin said with a grin as she picked one up by the shoulders and proudly displayed the back. “What all Weyrwomen and Weyrleaders should wear.”

“I’m not a Weyrleader,” T’mar said, holding up his hands in a warding gesture.

“Close enough,” K’rall allowed. “Especially with regards to the markings.”

Fiona glanced more carefully at the large diamond woven onto the back of the wherhide jacket: It was sandy and showed three mounds — the Igen Weyr markings.

“Oh, wouldn’t that rile D’gan!” T’mar exclaimed.

“We thought it might provide some amusement,” K’rall said, including Terin with a gesture.

“And given all that I’ve heard about Telgar, it might be a good idea to be quickly seen as from another Weyr,” Terin added.

“I’ll roast in that!” Fiona declared in a feeble attempt to avoid wearing the jacket, but she knew, even as she spoke, that she not only would wear it, she wanted to.

“So put it on only when you’re in the air,” Terin replied sensibly, tossing the jacket to her. Fiona caught it awkwardly, groaning. Terin took pity on her and walked over. “Of course, if you want, I could help you with it now. Maybe that would be easier.”

Fiona made no protest as Terin, aided by K’rall, helped her into the jacket.

“There!” Terin declared proudly. “All set.”

“You look a proper Weyrwoman,” K’rall said approvingly.

“I’m too young.”

“It’s not the age,” K’rall said solemnly, “it’s the decorum.”

Fiona couldn’t argue with that, particularly as the words made her beam with pride. She turned to T’mar, who bowed slightly to show his approval.

“So, how far will I have to walk?” Fiona grumbled quietly to T’mar as Zenor approached.

“Not far,” T’mar said. “We’ll be sure to land you as close as we can to the Smith Hall.”

“Are you sure that I’m needed?” Fiona asked, directing her question to both T’mar and Zenor.

“I can’t say for certain,” Zenor told her, “but given that Nuella can’t come, I’d be grateful for the support.”

Nuella was sleeping with Nuellask. The watch-wher was too young to be left alone for any length of time.

“And I’d honestly prefer it if you were there as Weyrwoman,” T’mar told her. He looked awkwardly at the wherhide jacket he’d looped over his forearm. “I’d prefer not to claim honors I haven’t earned.” He met her eyes. “You have the right to claim to be Igen’s Weyrwoman.”

Fiona’s eyes danced in delight even as she shook her head demurely.

“You do,” T’mar assured her. “And I don’t doubt that your time at your father’s Hold will help in our dealings.”

“Please give me a hand up, then,” Fiona said, directing her words to K’rall. T’mar hid a smile as he clambered up to his position on Zirenth’s back and reached down to grab Fiona. Zenor came up next, and then Fiona’s crutches were strapped on to Zirenth’s harness. T’mar made certain that all the flying straps were secure, with Fiona in front, Zenor in the middle, and himself in the rear.

“Fly well!” K’rall called with a wave as Zirenth rose into the air.

As they flew toward the Star Stones, Zenor followed Fiona’s gaze and saw a gold head sticking out of the queen’s weyr. “We’ll be back before dinner,” he said to cheer her up.

“I know,” Fiona said with a sigh.

“I’ll make certain that no one shoots arrows at you or sets dogs on you,” T’mar promised, his voice light.

Fiona sighed again, more deeply. She hadn’t thought that the reason for her discomfort was that obvious. She certainly wanted the best for the Weyr, but she was getting close to the point where she’d be willing to trade a sevenday’s coddling for another injury.

“You are carrying the weight of the Weyr on you, I know,” T’mar said, seeming to divine her thinking. He reached forward and patted her lightly on the shoulder.

“I’ll survive,” Fiona declared, wishing she’d drunk more klah.

“You will,” T’mar agreed. “Things will settle down soon enough. Perhaps you’ll even be bored.”

Fiona snorted in disbelief.

With a thought from T’mar, Zirenth went between.

The cold, black nothingness of between surrounded them and Fiona was glad of her warm wherhide jacket. Then they were surrounded by light and sound again. The air was cooler, the scene greener, the smells less sharp, more earthy.

It took no time for Zirenth and T’mar to get their bearings and then they whirled into a steep spiral toward the ground below, buffeted by the tricky winds that flowed in the narrow river-fed valley.

“We came in low enough that we shouldn’t have been spotted at either the Hold or the Weyr,” T’mar shouted as they descended.

“If we did, no one at the Weyr would comment on it. Dragon riders from all over come regularly, I’m sure,” Fiona shouted back. “I’m sure they visit here as often as they visit the Harper Hall.”

She turned her head to look forward again, eyeing the ground rising up below her.

The first thing she noticed was the Smithcrafthall itself. It was a huge building set tight against the raging Three Forks river, close enough that two large waterwheels dipped into it. There was a lot of activity farther downstream, and Fiona peered at it for a moment, trying to determine what the people were doing.

They landed in the clearing nearest the Smithcrafthall. T’mar leapt down and helped Fiona dismount, handing her the crutches before turning back to help Zenor.

“That’s odd,” Fiona said as she surveyed the huge doors of the Smithcrafthall. “I would have thought there’d be a crowd gathered to see us.”

The huge four-panel doors were built so that very large objects could traverse into and out of the Smithcrafthall. Fiona hobbled toward a smaller side door.

“They’re not keeping guard,” Zenor muttered.

“Why would they?” T’mar asked.

Zenor shrugged, his expression troubled. “I would.”

At the door, T’mar moved in front of Fiona and pushed it open, then gestured for her to precede him.

She was met by a cacophony of sound, the bashing of metal with metal, the hiss of hot liquids into molds, the tinkling clatter of small tools on rough-finished goods. No one glanced up as she entered, and she was surprised to find no one near the door.

“Where is the Mastersmith?” Fiona asked but her voice was lost in all the noise. She turned to Zenor. “Who is the Mastersmith now?”

“Veclan,” Zenor replied, surprised that she needed to ask. “Isn’t he for you, too?”

Fiona shook her head, then turned back to the room before them. It was huge, and she began to be less surprised that their entrance had gone unnoted. When she could pick out people among the metal, braziers, furnaces, and jigs, they all seemed to be intent on one task or another, eyes down, gaze intent on their chores.

“Where would we find him?” T’mar asked.

Zenor shrugged. “I’ve never been here.”

“Where would we find Dalor?” Fiona asked. “He’s leading the mine now.”

“In the thick of things,” Zenor replied, grinning. “Dalor is always where there’s a problem to be solved, and then he’s on to the next one.”

Fiona nodded; it made sense and was much the same with her father or, come to think of it, with herself at the Weyr.

She began a careful survey of the work floor, looking for a knot of men. She found one and raised her crutch to point it out before proceeding as quickly as she could with her sore foot trailing behind her. She probably would have walked on it and ignored the crutches, but she knew that both Zenor and T’mar would chide her for it, and to be honest, she knew that the calf still needed rest no matter how much the infirmity galled her.

The knot thinned as they approached, then reformed protectively around the oldest member. He reminded Fiona a bit of Master Zist when he was in one of his foul moods, and she had to force herself to keep moving forward. As he took in T’mar’s shoulder knot and recognized him as a dragonrider, his bushy eyebrows narrowed in a sour frown. His gaze settled for a moment on Zenor and his expression altered a bit.

“Mastersmith Veclan?” Fiona began, shouting more loudly than necessary, hoping that her words would carry over the din to those beyond the small group. “I am Fiona of Igen Weyr, we’ve come to offer you an opportunity we think might benefit Hall and Weyr.”

Veclan looked surprised, and his gaze went from Fiona to T’mar, to Zenor, and then back to Fiona. His thoughts were obvious: Why was a young girl doing the talking?

“Igen Weyr?” the man next to Veclan repeated scornfully. “Why don’t you say Telgar?”

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Fiona snapped at the rat-faced man. “I was talking to the Mastersmith.”

“Then you should learn manners, weyrgirl,” the rat-faced man growled back.

“Weyrwoman,” Fiona corrected, her tone carefully set so as to make her correction sound reflexive, as though she’d spoken absently. She eyed the man a moment, noted the journeyman badge on his breast, then said to Veclan, “I do hope it’s customary for the Mastersmith to do the talking in his own Hall.” She turned to the other man, adding, “And out of courtesy I would speak to you by name.”

“I am Journeyman Stirger,” the man replied testily.

“Mastersmith,” Fiona began again, then realized how tired she was of shouting and gestured around the hall, “I hate to distract you from your work, but is there a quieter place we could talk?”

“What happened to your leg — did you trip on the way down a dragon?” Stirger drawled.

“Lady Fiona was attacked by dogs that had gone wild at my mine,” Zenor said, stepping forward to catch Stirger’s eyes, his hands raised aggressively.

“Your mine?”

“Perhaps someplace quieter?” Fiona repeated.

Mastersmith Veclan eyed her a moment longer, then nodded. To Stirger he said, “Check on the castings.”

“But Master — ”

“Kindly ask Silstra to join us in my office,” Veclan said to Stirger. The journeyman waved a hand in acknowledgment and turned rudely away from the others without further word.

Veclan pointed out the way and nodded to indicate that Fiona should go first. When she turned and he caught sight of the symbol on the back of her jacket, he gasped. “You dare to wear that here!”

“It’s her right,” T’mar spoke up from behind the old Smith. “Hers is the senior queen at Igen.”

“The only queen,” Fiona called over her shoulder, feeling compelled to add in honesty, “And she’s not yet had her first Turn.”

Veclan held his questions until they reached a small office and he ushered them inside. The office housed two tables, one standing off to the side, and the other at the head of the room, clearly his workdesk. Both were cluttered with drawings and half-finished castings or other metal works. When Zenor shut the door behind them, the noise from the work floor diminished appreciably.

“So, Lord D’gan has decided to reestablish the Weyr?” Veclan asked as he gestured to the nearer table. Zenor pulled a chair out from under a pile of rubble and held it for Fiona, then set to work carefully moving the drawings and other items to clear a space for the others. T’mar looked at him, shaking his head, and set to helping as best he could.

“That’s not necessary,” Veclan said, “and you’ll only upset Silstra. She’s convinced that I can’t keep the place tidy by myself and she’d feel lost if I didn’t allow the rubbish to pile up.”

“Silstra?” Zenor perked up in surprise, his nagging feeling from the first time her name had been mentioned hardening into a firm suspicion. “Is she married to Terregar?”

“How do you — ” Veclan began in surprise, then shook his head. “You are from her mine.”

“Her brother Kindan was my best friend,” Zenor told him. “I helped wash Danil’s watch-wher the night before the wedding.” He shook his head reminiscently. “That was Turns past.” He looked up to Veclan. “Do they have any children?”

“They lost their first to the Plague,” Veclan told him sadly. “But they’ve another.”

“Silstra was the best cook and organizer and she knew all about healing and — ” Zenor’s enthusiasm was cut short as the door burst open and a young woman rushed in.

“Silstra?” Zenor asked, his eyes wide.

Silstra paused, taken aback. She glanced at Zenor, who stood up.

“Zenor!” she cried. “You survived!” She saw the other two then, and her eyes narrowed. “But what are you doing here with dragonriders?”

“We have a proposal for you,” Fiona said, taking a deep breath as Silstra’s fierce gaze latched on to her. “Zenor is part of it.” She nudged him, hissing, “Show them!”

Zenor paused for a moment and reached into his pocket, extracting a heavy bag. He glanced at Fiona one final time, then loosened the bag, upended its contents into his palm.

“We’d like some help in setting up a hold and craft hall,” he said as the Mastersmith lurched forward, eyes wide, to examine the nuggets resting in Zenor’s hand.

Veclan motioned questioningly to Zenor, who obediently dumped the contents of his palm into Veclan’s outstretched hand. The Mastersmith held the nuggets close to his face for a moment, then turned to Silstra. “Get Zellany.”

As Silstra turned to go, Fiona added, “And could you bring Terregar, as well?”

Silstra paused and turned back, eyeing Fiona dubiously. “Why do you want my husband here?”

“This concerns him,” Fiona told her.

“If it concerns him, it concerns me,” Silstra replied tartly.

“Of course,” Fiona agreed.

Silstra shot a glance toward Veclan, then demanded of Fiona, “And what business has the Weyr with our crafting?”

“We’re here mostly to help,” Fiona said, forcing herself to relax. “Our trade — ”

“Trade?” Silstra snorted. “Weyrs don’t trade!”

“This one does,” Zenor told her stoutly.

“Would you please get Terregar and whoever else the Master needs,” Fiona begged, “and then we’ll answer all your questions.”

Silstra glared at her for a moment, then glanced toward Veclan for confirmation before turning once more and leaving.

“Well, maybe not all their questions,” Zenor murmured to Fiona, eyes twinkling.

An hour later, Fiona felt drained. Her wounded calf throbbed and she turned pleadingly to Zenor.

“Let’s go, milady,” he said, rising from his chair. He glared at Stirger, who had invited himself into the meeting halfway through and seemed only to delight in creating discord. “It’s obvious that there is no trade here.”

“Dragonriders don’t trade,” Stirger declared once more.

“We would,” Fiona responded, rising from her chair and propping her crutches under her arms. She turned to Silstra.

“I am sorry we couldn’t come to an agreement,” T’mar said, also rising.

Zenor glared at Silstra. “Kindan would have listened.”

“Doubtless,” Stirger drawled. “After all, he is a harper, and likes a good tale.”

Fiona bit back an angry retort, instead venting her anger and disappointment in a sigh. She turned to Veclan and Zellany, the other master at the Smith Hall, searching for some final words, but found none and shook her head in sorrow.

“We’re not coming back,” Zenor said to her as they made their way to the door. “We can find another way.”

Fiona said nothing, too weary to argue. She started forward then stopped, turning to Zenor. “Didn’t you want to ask them about the ring?”

“What ring?” Silstra demanded, glancing about the room as though looking for something missing.

“I can make it myself, I’m sure,” Zenor said. “Gold’s not that hard to work.”

“You’re going to use your gold to make this — this — ” Stirger spluttered, gesturing toward Fiona. “A ring for her finger?”

“No,” Fiona said, turning toward Silstra. “He’s going to make a ring for Nuella, before he asks her to marry him.” She smiled grimly. “And we were going to fit out our dragons to carry glows to honor them on their wedding night, the way Dask honored you on yours.”

Silstra went pale and sat down hard in her chair. Terregar glanced at her in shock, then turned to Fiona. “And what do you care? Dask was only a watch-wher!”

“Watch-whers will fly Thread at night,” T’mar declared hotly. “Dragons and dragonriders will owe their lives to them.”

“I’d ask that you keep that to yourselves,” Fiona said. “It won’t happen until the Fall over Southern Boll.” She smiled as T’mar reached around her to open the door. The noise of the hall outside was almost welcome after all the bitter talk.

“Wait a moment!” Veclan’s voice boomed out.

Fiona paused, then stepped through the door. Behind her she heard quick, heavy steps and muffled gasps, and suddenly Mastersmith Veclan stood before her.

“My lady, would you please come back inside?”

“The air in that room is too foul with malice; I prefer the smoke and noise out here.”

“I am an old man,” Veclan replied, “and my time is more precious to me than it ever was.”

“You are worried about a successor,” Fiona replied. “You needn’t be.”

“And why is that?” Veclan asked, frowning.

“Because the choice is obvious, once you believe what I said,” Fiona told him.

“And what is it that you’ll gain for your Weyr?” Veclan asked. “We’re not doing this for the Weyr,” Fiona replied. “We’re doing this for Zenor.”

“Zenor?”

Fiona nodded. “For him, his wife to be, and their children.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And I don’t want to tell you more than I must,” Fiona replied. “But think: with his wife riding a gold watch-wher, what better trade could he have than mining gold for her? In her honor?”

“Why not ride a watch-wher beside her?” Veclan mused.

Fiona shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I still do not understand what the Weyr gets from all this.”

“Honor more than anything,” Fiona replied without thinking. She gestured toward Telgar Weyr. “I have heard too many stories about the Weyrleader there. Honor has been lost by him; it is up to the rest of the Weyrs to rebuild it.”

“No gold for you?” Veclan wondered, eyeing Fiona shrewdly.

“I have a gold!” Fiona exclaimed hotly. “And not all the metal of Pern is worth one instant with her.” She started to move around him. “I’ve wasted enough time away from her.”

“Very well,” Veclan called to her back. “Go back to your Weyr, Weyrwoman. You’ll need more than one dragon to bring all our gear anyway.”

Fiona slowed and stopped, not believing her ears. Hopefully, she turned back to look into the Mastersmith’s eyes. “You mean you will help us?”

Veclan nodded, smiling.

“Why?” Fiona asked in surprise. “What changed your mind?”

“The way you spoke of your dragon,” Veclan told her. He shook his head admiringly as he added, “I wanted to believe you when you spoke of honor, but it was when you spoke of your gold that I realized you were telling the truth.”

“Of course she is,” Zenor exclaimed from behind him. “She’s the Weyrwoman of Igen Weyr!”

“She’s certainly a Weyrwoman,” Veclan agreed with a firm nod toward Fiona. “And she’s the first Weyrwoman I’ve ever met who’s willing to trade. ”

When Fiona returned to the Weyr hours later, the first thing she did was hug her beautiful Talenth. Then, even though her every nerve was still humming from the emotions of the day, she carefully searched every speck of her dragon’s hide for any slightest imperfection and oiled it thoroughly. She had never until that moment appreciated how much enjoyment she got from such a simple task.

You are the most beautiful, marvelous, amazing dragon on all Pern! she declared stoutly.

I know, Talenth replied, without any trace of arrogance.

“I have one more journey today, and then I’m not going anywhere,” Fiona promised as the last rays of the sun were cut off by the high stone walls of the Weyr Bowl.

It would be good to have you watch my flying, Talenth admitted.

I’ve missed that, Fiona agreed. I’m sure you’re getting quite good at it.

I was thinking that perhaps we could start flying just before dark, Talenth suggested hopefully.

“I’ll want to check with T’mar,” Fiona said aloud. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

Talenth’s eyes whirled a contented green. If you make this journey, will we get better food?

What, you don’t like sheep? Fiona teased.

All the older dragons talk about cattle, Talenth told her wistfully. They say that I’m big enough to eat one on my own.

Oh, I don’t know about that! Fiona cocked her head to one side as she examined Talenth’s head critically. You’d want to chew, that’s for certain!

I always chew, Talenth declared, sounding hurt.

Love, you only chew when I make you, Fiona reminded her, smiling broadly.

And you always remind me, so I always chew!

Fiona shook her head, willing to let her beautiful queen have the last word on the subject.

She turned her head as she heard a noise outside and recognized Nuella and her small watch-wher.

We’ve got company, Fiona told Talenth. Nuella is here with her little Nuellask.

Little? Talenth repeated in confusion. Did we meet them before?

Fiona tried to find a way to explain that they’d met the older Nuellask in the future. Dragons had poor enough memory without adding the confusion of time travel.

We met them when they were older, she explained at last.

Older, so bigger, Talenth mused. Smaller now?

Yes, because she’s younger, Fiona agreed.

Am I older than her now?

Yes, you are, Fiona replied. She’s just hatched, so be gentle.

Talenth arched her neck and blew a wisp of air from her nostrils to the small watch-wher.

She hears me! the gold dragon exclaimed joyfully. Yes, I’m a dragon, a queen like you. No, you’re not a dragon, you’re a watch-wher. A moment later she told Fiona, She wants to know what is the difference between a dragon and a watch-wher.

“Talenth is talking to Nuellask,” Fiona said to Nuella, who had stood silently during the exchange. “Nuellask wants to know what is the difference between a dragon and a watch-wher.”

Nuella smiled, her eyes glowing with an obvious love for her new mate. “What are you going to tell her?”

Talenth, Fiona said, tell her that watch-whers like the night and dragons like the day.

I don’t mind the night, Talenth said with an air of protest.

I know, Fiona replied indulgently. But you spend more time sleeping at night than you do during the day. Nuellask spends more time awake at night than during the day.

Oh, Talenth responded, sounding mollified. A moment later, she said, I told her. She paused in thought for moment before continuing, I don’t know if she understood.

That’s all right, Fiona looked at the small ugly creature and felt a sense of wonder that such a beast was related to the dragons. She carefully tamped down her feelings to keep Talenth from picking up on them and alarming the baby watch-wher. Do you like her?

She’s nice, Talenth told her. Can she sleep with me?

She’s likely to twitch, Fiona cautioned, thinking that watch-whers were probably enough like newborn dragonets that sleeping would be her principle occupation.

“Talenth wants to know if Nuellask can sleep with her,” she told Nuella.

Nuella laughed. “Youngsters are the same whether two legs or four, always wanting to play together or sleep together.” She caressed the baby watch-wher’s head affectionately before adding, “We’ll see how she feels when we get back.”

Fiona nodded. “Are you ready to go?”

“I think the sooner the better,” Nuella replied, gesturing toward Nuellask. “You never know when she’ll fall asleep.”

Talenth, tell T’mar that we’re ready to go, Fiona told her dragon.

He knows, Talenth replied a moment later. They come.

Fiona heard the rustle of dragon’s wings and saw Zirenth land nimbly. The sound alerted Zenor who rushed over from the next weyr.

“All set?” he asked, glancing from Nuella to Fiona. He gestured at the watch-wher. “Are we bringing her?”

“Of course,” Nuella told him. “She’s still small enough that I can just about hold her in my arms.”

“Another sevenday and she’ll be too big,” Fiona said with a laugh.

“I’ve got a bucket of scraps,” Zenor said, wagging the bucket hanging from his hand, “just in case she gets hungry.”

“Can Zirenth handle four and a watch-wher?” Fiona asked T’mar.

“Certainly,” he said. He couldn’t hide the pride in his voice.

In a few minutes they were all settled, Nuellask nestled comfortably between Zenor and Nuella, Fiona behind her, and T’mar in the rear, Fiona’s crutches once again strapped below him. T’mar had quickly constructed a harness of spare rope with which to hold the watch-wher securely and had been scrupulous in ensuring that all the humans were properly strapped.

“Precious cargo,” he murmured to Fiona before signaling Zirenth to rise.

Between was a refreshing break from the dying heat of the Igen day, quickly replaced by the cool night air of the wherhold.

“Nuellask liked it,” T’mar reported to Nuella. “She asked if we could do it again soon.”

“Soon,” Nuella promised the small watch-wher. “Right now we’re going to meet some new friends.”

“Should I come or wait here?” T’mar asked Fiona as he set her on her crutches.

“Come,” Fiona said. “I’m not sure I can get around all that well in the dark.”

The baby queen watch-wher let out a sudden squawk that reverberated in the night air and startled them all.

“Zirenth says that she felt others,” T’mar reported.

“Good girl, Nuellask!” Zenor said. “You let them all know who’s the queen!”

Nuellask chirped in pleased acknowledgment.

“Well, we don’t have to worry about making ourselves known,” Fiona murmured to T’mar as they moved forward. Zenor guided Nuella, who herself was guiding Nuellask, while T’mar hovered close by Fiona’s side.

“That’s a pleasant sound,” a voice called from the darkness in front of them. Fiona recognized Arella’s voice.

“Why are you on crutches, girl?” Jaythen growled from a place so close to them that Fiona stumbled in surprise. “Did you trip?”

“A dog bit me,” Fiona replied testily.

“I’ll bet the dog died of shame right after,” Jaythen replied with a raspy laugh.

“An arrow,” Fiona told him. “But he wasn’t dead until after Talenth spoke.”

“Your dragon killed a dog?” Jaythen asked incredulously.

“No,” Fiona said. “She startled him enough that the bowman could get a proper aim.”

“And the girl bonded?” Arella asked. “Is that her?”

“I’m Nuella.”

“I’d heard you were blind,” Jaythen said, surprised.

“I am,” Nuella said. “But in the dark everyone is blind, except the watch-whers.”

“You’re the one who rode a green between ?” Jaythen demanded.

“Yes,” Nuella replied, adding, “Are you always this demanding of your guests?”

“Don’t get many guests,” Jaythen replied.

“I can see why,” Zenor murmured.

“We came to discuss the move,” Fiona said.

“You did it? It’s settled?” Arella asked.

“We’ve found a good site, and the Mastersmith has agreed to send some crafters,” Zenor said.

“Mastersmith?” Jaythen repeated. “What does he have to do with the wherhold?”

“Not with the wherhold,” Zenor corrected. “With the gold we’ll be mining there.”

“Gold?” Jaythen repeated, and there was no mistaking the surprise in his voice. “There’s gold there?”

“There is,” Zenor replied. “We came to talk about how soon you can move there.”

“How many are there?” Nuella asked, turning her head in search of faint sounds. “I hear the children and one man. Are there others?”

“She’s good,” Arella declared approvingly. “There’s only four adults: me, Jaythen here, Jifar, and Serella.”

“Silstra and Terregar will join us from the Smith Hall,” Zenor said. “They have one youngster, and we’ve Nuella’s sister, Larissa.”

“We’ve five children,” Jaythen said. “We lost three to the Plague.”

“Would have lost more if Kindan hadn’t sent the dragonriders,” Arella added.

“Kindan was my best friend growing up,” Zenor said. “He gave his watch-wher to Nuella.”

“So you’re a miner, then,” Jaythen commented. “No watchwher of your own?”

“I’ve enough to do keeping her out of trouble,” Zenor said, jerking a thumb toward Nuella, who elbowed him goodnaturedly in response.

Jaythen laughed. “I’ll bet you do.”

“Come in,” Arella said, “and we’ll talk plans.”

Fiona smiled to herself, convinced that the wherfolk would follow Nuella’s lead and accept Zenor’s aid.

“I think things wouldn’t have gone so well if we hadn’t brought the watch-wher,” T’mar said much later as he helped Fiona negotiate the ramp up to her weyr. Talenth raised her head wearily but still asked, Can the watch-wher sleep with me?

She’s already asleep, Fiona told her apologetically. And I think she wants to sleep with her mate. She saw the glow of her queen’s eyes and added, How about I sleep with you tonight instead?

Will you?

“You can leave me here, wingleader,” Fiona told T’mar as she curled herself up against Talenth, “we girls are spending the night together.”

“I’ll get you a blanket,” T’mar offered.

“If you see Terin, please tell her she’s welcome to join us.” Fiona pulled off her jacket and bundled it under her neck, idly wondering if she was treating the Weyrwoman’s garb inappropriately. She shook her head at herself and nestled more tightly against the fur lining; she was too weary to let decorum concern her.

She was already asleep by the time T’mar returned, carrying a sleeping Terin in his arms, a pair of blankets draped over his shoulders. He smiled down at the young Weyrwoman and arranged the drowsy headwoman next to her before covering both with blankets, which he carefully tucked in around them.

He stood then, examining his work and nodding in satisfaction. As he looked at the two girls who had done so much in such a short time, his eyes softened, then lingered for a moment on Fiona. Truly a Weyrwoman, he thought.

He stepped back quietly and turned off the glows that Terin had left lit for their return.