Dragonheart

seen.” He paused, adding drolly, “Unless you’d really like Benden’s Weyrleader to see you with your head half- shorn.”

Where’s T’mar?  Fiona asked Talenth, sighing irritably but allowing herself to be pushed back into the chair.

He and the older weyrlings are getting ice,  Talenth responded.

Who’s the senior bronze? No, forget that.  Fiona remembered that T’mar’s Zirenth was the only healthy adult bronze still here. Where’s N’jian?

N’jian went with them.  Talenth replied, sounding much less worried than Fiona. J’keran is greeting him.

J’keran asks where you are,  Perinth said suddenly to Fiona.

I’ll be done in a moment. Have him offer the Weyrleader some refreshment but nothing with ice,  Fiona replied.

Nothing with ice,  Perinth repeated to himself.

Tell Terin that she’s got company,  Fiona said to Talenth.

She’s getting ready,  Talenth told her. She says to remind you that the traders are due this evening.

“Oh, dear!” Fiona groaned out loud. “F’dan, hurry!”

“You hurry a haircut, you get bad results,” F’dan told her with mock seriousness. “You’re just over half done.”

“You’ve got five minutes, and then I’m leaving now matter how I look,” Fiona warned him.

“No,” F’dan told her sternly, “you’re a Weyrwoman. Even Weyrleaders who arrive unannounced can wait for you.”

“They might,” Fiona agreed. “I  can’t.”

“Probably true,” F’dan muttered to himself, stepping back and eyeing her hair judiciously before his next cut. “So the practice will be good for you.”

Fiona seethed with impatience as F’dan continued his careful clipping. Slowly she forced herself to relax and as she did, she realized that for all his words, the blue rider had sped up his work.

Finally, F’dan stood back for one last careful inspection of his handiwork and sighed.

“Well, it will do,” he said. “You can’t expect good results if you rush.”

Gesturing to Fiona to rise, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her about to face the mirror.

“I’m gorgeous!” Fiona exclaimed, beaming with pride at her new look.

“You were always gorgeous, Weyrwoman. Now you’re stunning,” F’dan corrected.

Fiona leaned forward to the mirror to examine F’dan’s scissor work. Her hair was short but framed her face and skull like a golden cap. The hair on her forehead parted into two separate bunches, with the angled break at the center of her forehead.

“I look like a baby,” she complained. “I’m too young!”

“You only look your age,” F’dan said. He brushed stray hairs from her clothes, then stood back again, inspecting his handiwork.

“There!” he proclaimed proudly. “Fit to greet a Weyrleader!”

He spun her on her heels and, with an affectionate pat on her butt, sent her on the way out of his quarters.

Over her shoulder, Fiona called back, “Thanks, F’dan!”

“Any time, Weyrwoman, any time,” he told her feelingly.

She took the steps down to the Bowl two at a time. The midday heat forced her to slow down as she crossed the Bowl to the Kitchen Cavern; even so she arrived with her newly trimmed hair plastered to her face with sweat.

She was seen first by Terin, who was facing toward the entrance, talking to a tall man. M’tal? Fiona thought. If it was him, why wasn’t he wearing his Weyrleader’s jacket?

She was too far to hear Terin’s words distinctly, but her gesture made it obvious that she had announced Fiona’s arrival to the man.

The man who turned to face her was not the same M’tal she’d seen earlier that day. His face was more lined, his hair had more gray, his eyes looked —

“You’re from the future, too!” Fiona exclaimed as she closed the distance between them.

“M’tal, Gaminth’s rider of Benden, at your service,” M’tal replied, bending low and reaching for Fiona’s hand. Fiona raised it as her training compelled her and was pleased when the dragonrider gently kissed the back of it and released it to her, his eyes surveying her warmly.

“I can see your sister’s face in you,” he told her. “She was not much older than you the last time I saw her.”

“And when was that, my lord?”

“M’tal,” he corrected her gently, adding, “B’nik leads the Weyr now.” He paused, then continued, “I last saw your sister more than ten Turns back when the black-and-yellow quarantine flag was first seen at Fort Hold.” He smiled sadly. “I can still see her in my mind as she raced off to her Hold and father.”

“I had less than two Turns at the time,” Fiona said with a deep sigh.

“And yet, now, you seem to have grown rather quickly,” M’tal said with a grin. “I’d heard you’d Impressed; I hadn’t heard that K’lior thought to send you back in time here.”

“Lord K’lior had not ordered it,” Fiona replied. “But why are you here now?”

“I’m here through an oversight on my part,” M’tal admitted frankly. “I must have got my coordinates mixed. I’d hoped to meet you when you were leaving Igen to return to our present.”

“So we did return,” Fiona murmured to herself. Before M’tal could comment further, she silenced him with a raised hand. “Please, say no more about it, I’ve learned that knowing too much of the future is a heavy burden.”

M’tal nodded in agreement and frank approval. He started to say something else, then seemed to collapse on himself, reaching out hastily to prop himself upright.

Fiona and Terin reached out to guide him into a chair.

“You’d best not tarry too long, my lord,” Fiona warned him. “Being back in time is hard on us riders.”

“So I’m discovering,” M’tal replied weakly. “Do the effects wear off?”

Fiona shook her head. “They haven’t so far,” she told him. “But some feel it more than others and some of us have felt it practically since Impression.”

“Since Impression?” M’tal repeated, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s like a constant noise in our heads, like chalk rubbed the wrong way on slate,” Fiona said. She gestured toward Terin, only to discover that the young headwoman had gone over to the hearth, to prepare a quick pitcher of klah. “Those who have not Impressed, like Terin there, don’t feel the effects.”

“And how many weyrfolk came back in time with you?”

“Only Terin,” Fiona admitted.

“So it might just be that she’s immune to the effects,” M’tal observed.

“Perhaps,” Fiona agreed politely.

M’tal flashed a grin at her. “Clearly you don’t think so.” He waved a hand in a throwaway gesture, then continued, “I don’t see many of your injured.”

“We’ve been here long enough for most of them to recover,” Fiona replied. “Only our most severely injured remain, and they’ll return right — ”

“After the wedding!” M’tal exclaimed, slapping his forehead with his hand. “Of course, I’d forgotten. You were the source of the glows!”

“Please, we haven’t done that yet,” Fiona told him urgently.

“But Zenor has asked Nuella, hasn’t he?” M’tal asked. “I seem to recall that this was about the day he did — perhaps that’s why I came back to this time.”

“He asked her just this morning,” Fiona admitted.

M’tal leaned forward, scrutinizing her face carefully, and then exclaimed, “You were the girl! You were the one who forced him to ask her! And gave me the gold for Kindan!” He blew out his breath in a long, surprised sigh, shaking his head. “I knew that I’d seen you before, when I’d seen you before. You reminded me so much of Koriana