Dragonheart

“We’ll keep that up for the next sevenday,” he said, sounding pleased.

“I’ll bet they never did this to the other weyrlings,” Fiona muttered rebelliously to F’jian.

“Maybe not,” F’jian said with a shrug. “But if it makes us safer riders, what’s the harm in it?”

Fiona couldn’t say anything in response, suddenly recalling her angry exchange with T’mar Turns back and ahead at Fort Weyr.

At the end of that sevenday, T’mar made the weyrlings fill sandbags to their weight. He inspected them on a balance beam and, for the next several days, until all the weights balanced for all the weyrlings, made the weyrlings empty their sandbags individually before allowing their dragons to fly unharnessed.

The older weyrlings, meanwhile, found the whole exercise hilarious and were now lined up every morning, jeering the weyrlings and cheering on the wingleader.

“We’ll get up before  everyone,” Fiona swore one morning. Her words were met with a growl of approval from the rest of the weyrlings.

The next morning, every weyrling was checked twice, once by his partner and once by Fiona, who was herself checked three times — first in secret with F’jian alone, and twice more in public by F’jian and J’nos.

“We need to set the example,” she had explained.

The effort proved out — for the first time the dragons were allowed to walk around the Bowl with the sandbags attached to their harnesses before T’mar — to the groans of all the younger weyrlings and the guffaws of all the older weyrlings — ordered the sandbags removed again.

This practice lasted another sevenday and became so routine that all the younger weyrlings exclaimed in delight when T’mar refrained from ordering the sandbags to be removed.

F’jian smiled excitedly at Fiona as his Ladirth climbed the queen’s ledge in preparation for his first full-weight glide, but Fiona was troubled.

“I don’t think this is right,” she said to F’jian’s surprise. “Don’t you think T’mar would insist on them flying first with a lighter load to strengthen their muscles?”

“But they’ve been gliding for Turns!” F’jian protested. Fiona glanced toward T’mar and noted how the bronze rider stood, impassively looking their way.

“T’mar,” she called. “Shouldn’t we start with less weight?”

T’mar’s face slowly creased with a smile and he nodded.

“It was another test!” F’jian groaned beside her as he rushed to remove half the sandbags from Ladirth’s load.

Two full sevendays passed before the dragons were permitted to glide with their riders’ full weight in sand.

And then —

“No sandbags tomorrow,” T’mar said as the last dragon glided back down to the ground, landing lightly, his eyes whirling in shades of green with pleasure.

“No sandbags,” Fiona repeated, having learned always to repeat the wingleader’s orders for confirmation.

The rest of the day crawled by, broken only by the excited chatter of the younger weyrlings.

“You first,” T’mar said to Fiona as the weyrlings formed up the next morning. “Climb up on Talenth — mind your head! — she’s got the largest wingspan, and even though you’re nearly the lightest rider, if she can manage without strain, so can the others.”

For all her anticipation, for all that dragonriders had been flying dragons for hundreds of Turns, for all the experience Fiona had had flying on the backs of others’ dragons, she still couldn’t help feeling nervous and excited as she climbed up on Talenth’s back.

Ready?  Talenth asked excitedly.

Wait a moment,  Fiona said, turning to look down at T’mar — he looked smaller from this height — asking, “Can you check my straps, wingleader?”

T’mar smiled as she passed another one of his silent tests and walked around Talenth’s neck, inspecting the straps from both sides and tugging on them.

“They look in order,” he said. He leaned closer and said in a voice pitched for only her ears, “Are you ready?”

Fiona’s heart leapt into her throat and for a moment she felt light-headed. This was it! Then she nodded. “Ready.”

“Just a regular glide, nothing more,” T’mar said to her. “Talenth can’t get much speed with you on her back, so she’ll just have to glide off the ledge.”

“I know.”

T’mar nodded and waved for her to proceed. Fiona found herself hesitating, not frightened really, but wanting to savor the moment. She would never have a first flight again.

“Go, Weyrwoman, fly!” the other weyrlings urged.

Okay, Talenth, just take a nice drop off the ledge,  she said.

Talenth rumbled a sigh and then trotted as quickly as she could to the ledge and went over. She spread her wings and glided no more than ten meters before landing daintily.

“Next!” T’mar barked, not even waiting for Fiona to move off.

Go to the back of the line,  Fiona told Talenth, hiding a grin.

We’re going to go again?  the gold dragon asked excitedly.

If we can.

They could and did.

“Three times,” T’mar said when Fiona landed for the second time, unable to keep a huge smug grin off her face. “Always do things three times.”

And so they did.

We flew!  Talenth cried excitedly as they watched the last of the weyrlings complete their third glide.

We glided,  Fiona corrected her, leaning forward to pat her neck affectionately. Flying will come later.

Indeed, it took another two months before T’mar declared that he had a special announcement to make after dinner.

“Tomorrow we’ll begin weyrling training,” he told the assembled riders as they finished their dessert.

Fiona, F’jian, J’nos and all the younger weyrlings cheered but their voices were drowned out by those of the older weyrlings and dragonriders.

“You worked hard for it,” J’keran told Fiona. “You deserve it.” He motioned for her to lean toward him and added quietly, “I think T’mar was harder on you lot because of your gold.”

“I had guessed as much,” Fiona replied, adding, “It might also be because he wants to be sure that these weyrlings are better prepared to fight when they return.”

“If that’s the case, then when they’re ready to learn flaming and fighting, T’mar will be working both sets of weyrlings extra hard,” J’keran said, a pained look on his face.

“Better learn than burn,” Fiona replied, quoting the old training motto.

“You say that before your muscles are burning from the workout,” J’keran warned her. “When you start catching sacks of firestone in midair and flying six-hour Falls, you’ll find you have muscles that you never knew you had — and all of them sore.” He frowned for a moment, then brightened. “Of course, T’mar probably won’t force you  to train like the weyrlings.”

“Queens fly Thread,” Fiona returned, feeling her cheeks heating.

“Only if there are enough for a queen’s wing,” J’keran responded as he leaned back and spooned up his last bite of dessert.

Fiona turned to T’mar. “I want to train with the weyrlings.”

“Of course,” T’mar replied as if the matter were already settled.

“Fighting and flaming,” she said.

T’mar’s eyes narrowed. “If we can find a flamethrower, certainly.”

“It’ll be Turns before it’s an issue,” J’keran remarked as he swallowed his last bite.

“Good, then I’ll have Turns to track down a flamethrower,” Fiona declared.