Dragonheart

“Fly safe, dragonrider!” Fiona returned, stepping away from Seyorth, her hand grabbing Terin’s and guiding her back.

In the dim light, Fiona barely made out K’rall’s hand gesture signaling the wing aloft. And then the rustle of thirty-one pairs of wings blew loose sand through the still-hot evening air as the dragons rose into the night sky, climbing heavily and circling over toward the Star Stones.

For a moment, Fiona could almost make them out, a blur of wings and motion, and then they were gone between — and Turns ahead.

Fiona and the younger weyrlings found themselves busier in the days after K’rall and the other convalescents went forward in time, surprised at the return of all the work that they’d gladly shared.

For herself, Fiona was happy to be forced to spend more time at the Weyr and leave the issues of the wherhold to T’mar and the older weyrlings. Still, the Weyr felt emptier, particularly with the thinned numbers at mealtimes.

To make up for it, she began encouraging P’der, K’lior’s wingsecond, and N’jian, the last remaining injured wingleader, to join her at the Weyrwoman’s table.

“It’s part of your therapy,” she told each of them in turn as she slowly ground down their resistance. She made it easier by moving them into lower level weyrs vacated by the departed dragon riders — she moved everyone lower to fill in the empty weyrs. “A change will do you good. And besides, the air is colder lower down.”

By the end of their third month in the past, the worst of the injured dragons were ready to start limited activities, and early mornings and late evenings were filled with the sorry sounds of dragons as they painfully learned to move regrown muscles.

“Start by having them just walk from one end of the Bowl to the other,” T’mar said when Fiona asked for therapy suggestions. “Then, when they can do that without too much pain, have them glide off the queen’s ledge.”

“We’ll have to schedule that carefully,” Fiona said thoughtfully. “We don’t want the sun up, but we want to give the weyrlings a chance for their glide and some breakfast.”

“I’m sure you’ll have no trouble with that.”

Fiona’s look made it plain that she thought it was easier said than done. However, when T’mar made to comment, she raised her hand up angrily, forestalling him. “I’ll manage.”

Her solution was very popular: With the consent of the riders, she arranged for the younger weyrlings to “assist” them in exercising their dragons, including some of the more tedious warming-up exercises and culminating in the glide off Talenth’s ledge.

I like having everyone around me,  Talenth said when Fiona wondered whether it was too much for the young dragon. Anyway, I’m their queen.

Fiona laughed at that, but not without a nagging thought crossing her mind: How would Talenth react on her return to Fort Weyr and her position as a lesser queen? Come to think of it, Fiona realized that she wasn’t sure how wellshe’d  manage adjusting to a secondary role. She shrugged off the thought as F’jian and one of the recovering greens made a particularly long glide; the problem was Turns ahead.

The hot summer that had so alternately impressed and dismayed the dragonriders turned colder, and finally, as the four hundred and ninety-eighth Turn since men first settled on Pern neared its end, the weather turned bitter and frigid.

“Is there any chance of getting more heat up here?” F’dan asked petulantly one morning as Fiona completed her inspection of his wounds.

“No,” Fiona told him bluntly. “You’re fully recovered. If you want to be warm, then get off your arse and hike on down to the Kitchen Cavern — the exercise will do you good.”

F’dan snorted at her tone and her choice of words. His had been a hard recovery, and he had learned early on in his physical therapy that Fiona had heard enough swearing from her father’s guards that he could only rarely cause her to blush. She had responded by teasing him about it, using his own words against him.

“I’d be happier back at the Weyr,” he said wistfully.

“Talk to T’mar, then,” Fiona said. “If he thinks you’re ready to go, he’ll probably send all the older riders off into the future.”

“Not before the wedding, I hope!” F’dan said, looking shocked. “Not with all the practice we’ve had!”

The wedding was one of the constant topics of conversation at the Weyr ever since Fiona had first broached her wild idea to T’mar and P’der.

“I think we should do something special for Nuella and Zenor on their wedding,” Fiona had said, unaware that her eyes were gleaming in a way that telegraphed to any who knew her that she had a plan already set in her mind. T’mar and P’der exchanged glances: They knew.

“And what would that plan be, my lady?” P’der asked, carefully keeping his expression neutral.

“Well, do you remember Silstra’s wedding?” Fiona asked.

“I believe I’ve heard of it before,” P’der had said, his eyes dancing. Fiona flashed him a quelling look that did little to dampen his humor. Well, perhaps she and Terin had  rather gone on about stories they’d heard about the wedding, but even Silstra, normally quite reserved, had reminisced fondly about the late- night wedding, and the way it had been illuminated by a basket of glows carried by Dask, her late father’s watch- wher.

“Good,” Fiona said tartly in response to his teasing tone. “Then perhaps you’ll see why I think having the whole Weyr illuminate the procession would be a fitting tribute — ”

“Fiona, that’s excellent!” T’mar had declared, his face beaming.

“She doesn’t know what she’ll be doing ten Turns from now, but we do — an excellent tribute!” P’der had concurred.

The plan, Fiona was pleased to recall, had been enthusiastically adopted by every dragon and rider in the Weyr. Glow swamps had been raided, and glow balls large enough for a dragon to hold in forelegs had been shaped from the nearby river clay; practice had become a new drill involving ever more complex maneuvers and routines until the nights were a-gleam with swirling patterns that kept all enraptured.

“I wish we’d thought of this in our time,” T’mar had said as he and Fiona watched the entire flying Weyr perform an intricate maneuver involving formations of red, blue, and green glows. He had purposely excluded himself from the drill, guessing that he would have duties at the wedding which would keep him earthbound.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Fiona had asked by way of agreement.

“Not just that,” T’mar replied, shaking his head, “but we can adapt it to fighting tactics, as well — and see where we’ve got gaps in our wings.”

“We could aid the dragons in night flights, too,” P’der added. “I’m sure the glows don’t bother the watch- whers.”

“That’s something I hadn’t considered,” T’mar admitted appreciatively. He nodded toward the final formation as it flew overhead. “We’ll have to remember this.”

“It’d be hard to forget,” P’der had replied.

“And do we have any idea when the wedding will take place?” F’dan now asked.

Fiona shook her head with a grimace. “I’m not sure that Zenor has asked.”

“But I thought he’d finished his ring a fortnight back!” F’dan exclaimed.

“He did,” Fiona said, smiling. “Of course, he’d melted down three perfectly good attempts before deciding on this one, so . . .”

“Weyrwoman,” F’dan told her seriously. “I would take it as a personal favor if you would sit down with the young man and impel him forward in his quest.”

“So that we can have the festivities before you leave?” Fiona asked, smiling.

“But of course,” F’dan replied. “After all, we blues are known for our conviviality!”

“Are you offering me a ride?” Fiona asked teasingly. F’dan had complained of aches and pains nearly every time he’d ridden his Ridorth — except when practicing with the glows.

“Do you know, Weyrwoman, I believe I am,” F’dan said, rising from his seat and bowing courteously to her. “It would be our honor — Ridorth’s and mine — to escort you on this quest.”

“I’ll have to check with — ” Fiona began, meaning to say that she would have to check with T’mar, but she cut herself off. After all, wasn’t she the Weyrwoman here? True, it was only by dint of her being the only queen rider at Igen Weyr but, really, after all these more than six months at the Weyr, wasn’t she entitled to the perks of