Fiona tackled the issue of finding a flamethrower the very next day, taking time with Terin to thoroughly examine the storerooms without result.
“They probably took them to Telgar,” Terin said.
“Is there anywhere else they might be?” Fiona wondered aloud. She couldn’t imagine why a Weyr without queens would be worried about taking flamethrowers with them.
“The Hatching Grounds?” Terin ventured. “That’s the only place we haven’t been that might have the room.”
“What about the queen’s weyrs?” Fiona asked. “We’ve only thoroughly looked through three: there are two more.”
Terin shook her head. “Only one — I assigned the other to F’jian yesterday.”
“But they’d still be cleaning it out, wouldn’t they?”
Terin nodded. “I’ll have them keep a lookout for anything that might be a flamethrower.”
“I’ll talk with Azeez when he comes in.”
The deal with the traders had worked out brilliantly in the Turn and a half that the Fort riders had been back in time. While much of the trade occurred outside the Weyr at depots established much as T’mar had suggested in areas safe from sandstorms and easily serviced by caravans, there was still a lot of storage in use at the Weyr as dragonborne goods were moved from one outlying depot to another. Indeed it was rare to see an actual caravan at the Weyr these days. Instead, traders came in on dragonback and left the same way. By mutual agreement, only the original traders were allowed to stay at the Weyr, so as to keep the secret among a select group.
“A flamethrower?” Azeez repeated when Fiona brought it up over dinner. He frowned thoughtfully. “Are they the same as are used in the holds?”
Fiona glanced questioningly toward T’mar. “Probably,” the wingleader said.
“You don’t want a flamethrower,” Azeez told Fiona, shuddering.
“Of course I do,” Fiona replied hotly. “They’re used in the queen’s wing.”
“All the flamethrowers I know use the old firestone,” Azeez said with a grimace. “They’re prone to explode.”
“They won’t work with proper firestone?” T’mar asked, curious.
“No, they rely on mixing stone and water to produce flame,” Azeez said.
For countless Turns firestone — now called old firestone or sometimes flamestone — had been reluctantly chewed by dragons until the last old firestone mine had exploded. The search for a new vein of the ore had led C’tov, aided by Kindan, to discover — or rediscover — the original firestone that had long ago been chewed by fire- lizards.
“Flamestone’s very dear,” Azeez said. “It’ll be hard to get and transport here, particularly without someone noticing.”
“I don’t want it here,” T’mar said. “There have been too many accidents with that stuff, and the weyrlings could get careless, never having dealt with it before.”
He caught Fiona’s mulish look, so he added, “The burns from that stone are horrific.”
Fiona grimaced. “There must be some way.”
“It’d be better to find a different sort of flamethrower,” Azeez remarked.
“Who could — ” T’mar began.
“Stirger!” Fiona cut in excitedly. “It’d be the sort of challenge that would warm his ratty heart.”
“You’re not seriously suggesting that we ask the smith — ” T’mar began only to be cut off once more by Fiona.
“If it were done right, it could be sold to the holders, too,” she said, turning to glance at Azeez. The trader took on a calculating look and then grinned devilishly back at Fiona.
“Yes, it could be quite profitable,” he replied. “I believe that D’gan is currently operating the only remaining old firestone mine.”
T’mar snorted derisively. “He would be!”
“Probably forced some Shunned to do it for him,” Fiona agreed acerbically. “Getting a better flamethrower would free them, wouldn’t it?” She glanced to T’mar for confirmation.
The bronze rider made no response, his lips pursed thoughtfully.
“Well?” she prompted.
“I was thinking,” T’mar said, rousing himself. The others looked at his grim expression. Fiona motioned impatiently for him to continue. “I don’t recall any word of a new flamethrower being mentioned in our time.”
Fiona’s lips fell into a frown of her own. “Father would have mentioned it.”
“So this invention will have to wait until your return,” Azeez said hopefully. “It does not mean that Stirger could not develop it for you now.”
“He’d have to agree to keep it a secret,” Fiona said sourly.
“Is there anyone else who could invent such a thing, then?” Azeez asked. “Someone you could trust more to keep such a secret?”
T’mar cocked his head thoughtfully for a long moment. “I can’t think of anyone.”
“I can,” Fiona said excitedly. “Terregar and Zenor both.”
“If you could pry them away from their mining and smithing,” T’mar retorted.
“We’ll just have to be very persuasive,” she said.
The two men glanced at each other ruefully and chuckled.
“What?” Fiona demanded, glaring at them.
“I rather suspect it’ll be you that’s persuasive,” T’mar said, his lips curved upward in a smile.
“Weyrwoman,” Azeez said by way of agreement.
Fiona found in the next two months that she didn’t have the time to pursue anything other than her duties — and her training. The first drills were easy enough, with the weyrlings walking around the Bowl and repeating their twice daily gliding lessons, steadily building up the weights carried by the young dragons. They were helped happily by the young traders who wintered with them and were thrilled to be counted as “dragon baggage,” as J’gerd had humorously labeled them, or “dragon riders” as they gladly labeled themselves.
After two sevendays T’mar changed the drill dramatically.
“Today we will see if you can fly,” he told the collected weyrlings that morning at breakfast. The older weyrlings followed this announcement enthusiastically, remembering their first flight more than two Turns back.
Breakfast and chores were finished at breakneck speed, and Fiona, F’jian, and J’nos had the weyrlings assembled in proper formation well before T’mar strode out into the Weyr Bowl, trailed by the older weyrlings.
“Who wants to be first?” T’mar shouted to the collected group. Every hand shot up.
“It should be the Weyrwoman,” F’jian said, lowering his hand reluctantly. Fiona was startled to see all the other weyrlings lower their hands, murmuring, “Yes, Fiona! Let her go first.”
T’mar hid a grin, while behind him, the older weyrlings voiced their agreement.
Fiona looked down from her perch on Talenth and saw Terin standing, silhouetted by the light of the Kitchen Cavern, hunched over, her face unreadable in the distance.
“I’ll do it if Terin rides with me,” Fiona called back. T’mar’s brows furrowed and all the weyrlings murmured in shock. “It’s only fair, after all she’s done!”
As T’mar opened his mouth, Fiona added, “She doesn’t weigh much; I’m sure that Talenth can carry her, too!”
T’mar turned to Terin. “Terin, come here!”
Slowly at first, then faster, the youngest headwoman trotted over to the bronze rider. T’mar gave her a gentle look and then motioned for her to turn around. Grabbing her under the elbows, he lifted her experimentally then put her back down, his eyes going to Talenth.
“Weyrwoman, how much do you weigh?” he asked.
“Seven stone,” Fiona called back. “And Terin’s not more than five. Talenth has already handled twelve stone.”
“Very well,” T’mar said, swatting Terin lightly on the butt, sending her on her way.
Terin’s delighted cry echoed around the Weyr.
“But only for the first flight,” T’mar called as Fiona reached down and helped her friend clamber up. “You
