Dragonheart

that I couldn’t forget you.” He paused and admitted impishly, “I’d even had some thought of introducing you to Kindan . . . but I wasn’t sure if that wouldn’t cause him more grief.”

“You did?” Fiona asked excitedly. For a moment she allowed herself to be lost in the possibility: What would have happened? How would it have worked?

Terin dropped the tray of mugs and klah  on the table, rattling Fiona back to reality.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Fiona said as she placed a mug in front of the bronze rider, picked up the pitcher, and poured him a full helping of the warm klah.  “I cannot stay in this time; I belong back at the Weyr.”

“You say your injured have left already?” M’tal asked.

“Only those with the lighter injuries,” Fiona told him. “They’ve gone ahead in time to meet us here in another two and a half Turns when the younger weyrlings” — she felt herself blush — “and my queen have matured.”

“You brought the younger weyrlings back?” M’tal asked, his brows raised in surprise. “The ones from Melirth’s last clutch?” When Fiona nodded, he asked, “How?”

“We’re not sure,” Fiona admitted. “There was a queen rider who guided us back, and then she and a group of riders brought back the most injured riders and dragons.”

“Otherwise it would have been only the thirty lightly injured and the twelve older weyrlings,” Terin interjected.

“And you don’t know who this queen rider was?” M’tal asked.

Fiona shook her head, then bit her lip hesitantly. M’tal noticed and raised his brows again invitingly.

“T’mar and I wonder if it wasn’t me from the future,” Fiona admitted reluctantly. “From beyond our  future.”

“Well, you could have done it because you would have known that you could have done it,” M’tal murmured thoughtfully, glancing over to Fiona for agreement.

“That was the thought,” Fiona replied. “But . . . it didn’t feel like me.” She groped for words. “I didn’t feel doubly strained, like I think I would if I were in the same time three times over.”

“Hmm,” M’tal murmured, then, once again, he made the throwaway gesture with his free hand. “I doubt we’ll find an answer in our time, either, but we’re certain to find one some time.” He downed his klah  and rose to his feet. “I think it would be best if I left now. I know what I need to know.”

“We can help you,” Fiona said, nodding urgently to Terin who was already on her feet on the other side of the bronze rider.

M’tal made to wave them off, but then, with a startled look, he found himself reeling and gladly leaned on them for support.

“Maybe you are  in this time thrice,” Fiona told him.

“Perhaps,” M’tal agreed feebly. “In which case, the sooner I leave, the happier I’ll be.” He smiled. “Of course, I shall be sorry to miss more of your company.”

“Are you well enough to go between ?” Terin asked as they helped him up to his perch on Gaminth’s neck.

“Yes, I think so,” M’tal said, waving them back and adding testily, “This blasted heat doesn’t help.”

He glanced thoughtfully at Fiona for a moment, as though mulling over his words, then gestured to her sadly. “I should tell you, Kindan is attached to Lorana.”

“I’d heard,” Fiona shouted back up to him. “Give him my regards.”

“Certainly!”

Gaminth leapt into the air, slowly climbed up out of the Bowl, passed the Star Stones, and winked between.

“So we know one thing, that we make it back safely,” T’mar said when Fiona recounted the events to him later that evening at dinner. A trading caravan with Azeez and Mother Karina had arrived just in time to join them, so the Dining Cavern was more full and lively than it had been for a while.

“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “And we know that some people seem to take timing it even worse than we do.”

“Which begs the question — why?”

Fiona shrugged.

“It might be that some are just more susceptible,” N’jian spoke up from the far end of the table.

“Or it could be that some are traveling in time more than others,” T’mar observed darkly.

“Does anyone have a good understanding of timing it?” Fiona wondered.

“No,” N’jian replied before T’mar could answer. “All I know is that it’s not encouraged, and I think with good reason.”

“Shards, you’ll have no arguments there!” Fiona exclaimed, glancing at J’keran, who was bravely stifling a yawn, and F’jian, who looked no better.

“Did Nuella set a date for the wedding?” Mother Karina asked as she approached the table with her latest dish. It had become the custom that whenever the traders arrived at the Weyr, they would share in the Weyr’s chores. Terin was particularly grateful for the relief — Mother Karina usually forced the youngster to sit and watch when she was cooking.

“You can’t learn everything on your feet,” Mother Karina always said.

It was now Terin to whom she served the first portion, ostensibly in her role as headwoman but, Fiona guessed, more because the old trader had taken a motherly interest in the Weyr’s youngest. Terin took the mothering with a mixture of annoyance and delight: delight at the attention; annoyance that someone would feel it required.

Her eyes widened as she sampled, chewed, and swallowed, she raised a hand to fan her mouth and reached for a mug of cool water with the other. “Whew!” she exclaimed. “Spicy!” After a moment, she amended with a look of surprise, “But not really hot.”

Mother Karina beamed at her, passing the plate toward Fiona and T’mar, who reached for it simultaneously. Fiona reluctantly waved for him to take it first; in her unspoken tally of new dishes, it was the bronze rider’s turn to have first taste. A Weywoman’s duties included ensuring the fair treatment of everyone in the Weyr.

T’mar passed the plate to Fiona who took a small helping before passing it on.

“It smells marvelous,” she declared.

“It is from a different cooking style than we normally use, but still one for a hot climate,” Karina explained.

“Meat sliced thin, cooked quickly, onions, fresh vegetables . . . and something else,” Fiona said as she carefully savored the tastes in her mouth.

“We trade it from Ista and sometimes from Nerat Tip,” Karina said. “It is called coconut. There is a kind of milk inside, as well as a white flesh that can be flaked off.”

“It gives the dish a slightly sweet flavor,” Terin said, eyeing the distant plate hopefully.

“I’ll get you more,” Karina said, rising and heading back to the hearth.

“ ‘You need feeding,’ ” Terin quoted to Karina’s fleeting back in a voice that carried only to Fiona’s ears.

“Is that so bad?” Fiona asked. Terin narrowed her eyes, then grinned and shook her head.

“When is  the wedding?” she asked, repeating Karina’s unanswered question.

Fiona, mouth full, shook her head and shrugged.

“It would be good to find out,” N’jian said seriously. “I would hate to miss it, but we are wasting valuable time and resources here now that we’re all healed.”

“When you leave, how many will be left?” Azeez asked rhetorically.

“T’mar, Terin, myself, the twelve older weyrlings and the thirty-two younger weyrlings,” Fiona said, ticking off her fingers with each number.

“Forty-seven then,” Azeez said, glancing up toward Mother Karina, who had returned and was determinedly refilling Terin’s plate in spite of the other’s murmured protests.

“And thirty weyrs free,” Karina said, looking up from her serving.

“Winter’s getting harsh,” Azeez added.

“Would you two kindly stop dancing around and get to the point?” Fiona asked with an edge of amused exasperation in her voice. T’mar glanced at her and then nodded toward Azeez.