“Cisca does.”
“Weyrwoman Cisca relies on the help of others and admits her mistakes,” F’dan said as he returned to his place by her side. He leaned down to wag a finger in her face, saying kindly, “Which is not to say that you don’t have the same qualities, Weyrwoman. Just to say that you shouldn’t forget your friends.”
Fiona gave him a questioning look but found herself afraid to speak.
“Bold as I am, I count myself among them,” F’dan added. He looked ahead — giving Fiona time to wipe her suddenly teary eyes — and scanned their surroundings critically. Then he looked back down to her, raising his eyebrows. “Where to, my lady?”
Fiona glanced around. North of the river she made out the outlines of a large stone shed with a sloped roof and long overhang; her guess that it was a barn was reinforced when she noted the thin line of a stone fence adjoining it. Closer, by the river, there was a long, low building, again in proper stone and with the requisite roofing. The building looked odd and she squinted at it. The roof overhung the river and —
“There!” Fiona declared, setting off toward the knot of men working beside the building.
Shortly her hunch was rewarded when she caught sight of a red-haired man in the group.
“What are they doing?” F’dan murmured as they got close enough to make out the details.
“I think they’re setting up a waterwheel,” Fiona said, watching a group of men struggle with hoists and tackle.
Their presence wasn’t noted by the workers. Fiona, with a smile, indicated to F’dan that they should remain quiet, watching the work. It took the toiling men and women a good quarter of an hour to get the wheel mounted and seated on the stone shaft, and then they all stood back appreciatively as the water rolled off the plume to start the wheel turning, at which point there was a quiet cheer. A handsome bearded man with just a hint of gray in his beard stood away from the group and called, “Well done, lads! Now we can get to the
He was met by a chorus of good-natured groans.
“Finding the gold, that is,” he explained.
“That’s Terregar,” Fiona told F’dan.
“
“Just starting now,” Fiona reminded him abruptly.
“So this is a good time to set him a commission, isn’t it?” F’dan asked with a grin.
“Probably,” Fiona agreed. “Have you anything in mind?”
“A ring, I should think,” F’dan said, glancing down at his barren fingers meditatively. He looked over to her, adding, “You might consider it, too.”
“The way you lot fly, it’d only get dirty with blood or ichor,” Fiona exclaimed.
“You never know when a pair might come in useful,” F’dan replied judiciously.
Fiona jerked her head toward the group and started forward, calling back to F’dan, “Come on, while they’re still on break.” To the group she called, “Zenor!”
The red-haired lad cocked his eyes toward the sound and his face broke into a smile as he identified her.
“Weyrwoman!” he called back. “You’re just in time!” He gestured to the waterwheel, now turning at a steady pace. “Did you see?”
“We got here just as you were mounting it,” Fiona told him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Terregar point out a new task to the rest of the workers and then detach himself in their direction. “
We’re a bit busy,” Terregar called as he approached, his glance falling to Zenor.
Zenor glanced reprovingly at the older man’s brusqueness, then turned to Fiona. “To what do we owe the honor?”
“We were wondering about rings,” F’dan said, essaying a grin toward Terregar.
“Actually, we were wondering about one in particular and its current disposition,” Fiona said, having noted the flash of Terregar’s eyes at F’dan’s words. She glanced toward the smith. “Although if you were looking for commissions, I’m sure we could arrange a fair trade.”
Terregar’s angry look faded. He glanced down to the ground, abashed. “I’m not used to fair dealings with dragonriders,” he said, glancing up again. “I’m sorry.”
“As are we,” Fiona replied. “Although once we are fighting Thread, we won’t have time for fair trade.”
“I don’t know,” Zenor objected, “I think the sweat of your brow, the blood of your bone, the ichor of your dragons, the risk of your lives or worse, is hard to price.”
Fiona smiled at him. “I suppose there is that.”
Terregar eyed Zenor thoughtfully, clearly reassessing his own beliefs.
“You could be a harper,” F’dan declared appreciatively.
A sound from above, more felt than heard, heralded the arrival of a dragon from
“That’s not one of ours,” F’dan declared, eyeing the landing dragon carefully.
“We’re not supposed to be here,” Fiona yelped, looking to Zenor and Terregar for aid. “They can’t know we’re from the future!”
“Here,” Terregar said, shucking off his tunic and throwing it toward Fiona. “Put this on and go to the others.”
“You can’t hide me,” F’dan said as the others turned to him. “My blue is yonder.”
“Just be who you are, only from this time,” Fiona called as she strode off quickly to join the work group.
“I was much younger then!” F’dan called back.
Fiona shrugged and then turned her attention to her new role as smith worker.
“There’s a strange bronze landing,” she explained before the other workers could finish their greeting. “I need to blend in; they can’t know we’re here from the future.”
“Weyrleader D’gan would have a fit,” one of them said in agreement. He glanced at Fiona assessingly. “Ever panned for gold?”
Fiona shook her head, grinning from ear to ear.
“We’ll set you up, then,” the man said, reaching for a pan and tossing it to her. “I’m Klinos, that’s Jenur, Aveln, Torler, and that,” he finished, gesturing to the youngest of the group, a lad of about ten, “is my son, Finlar.”
“Mine, too,” Jenur put in with a growl. She was the only woman in the group and clearly used to Klinos’s ways. “Or did you forget that you had help?”
“You’re always a help, love,” Klinos said obtusely. “Finlar, this is the Weyrwoman, only we want to keep that a secret from the other dragonmen.”
The youngster grinned up at Fiona. This was a challenge that he was sure to revel in.
“He’ll show you the way of it,” Klinos said, nodding affectionately toward Finlar.
“Come on Weyrwo — ”
“Fiona will do.”
Finlar’s eyes got as wide as the mining pan in his hands. In a hushed voice he said, “Fiona.”
Behind, the others laughed.
“Go on with you, teach her right!” Jenur called after them. “Be sure she finds some good nuggets.”
“Most of ’em have already been found,” Finlar complained.
“Let’s do what we can,” Fiona suggested.
Finlar led her down to the river bank and stood for a moment, eyeing it critically.
“Do you mind getting wet?” he asked and, when she shrugged, started out straight into the river. He glanced back when he noticed that she hadn’t followed and called, “It’s okay, it’s pretty flat here. No big holes.”
Reluctantly, Fiona followed, wondering if perhaps they weren’t making more of a spectacle of themselves than prudence suggested. The water quickly rose to her knees and then to her waist.
“It’s cold!”
“Nah, just chilly,” Finlar corrected. “You get used to it quickly.”
He peered around and started trudging farther upstream and more toward the far bank. Fiona followed him, wondering if she shouldn’t be reining him back. As if reading her thoughts, he peered back over his shoulder and
