Dragonheart

don’t want to overfly her.”

“No, of course not,” Terin agreed, her eyes gleaming as Fiona helped her around in front of her and tied the straps around her.

T’mar walked over and examined the fit of the straps from where he stood. Satisfied, he stood back and called up to Fiona, “Just up to the level of the Bowl, then glide back down.”

“Very well,” Fiona replied. Then her face split into a huge grin as she said, Talenth, let’s fly!

Talenth took two steps and then launched herself skyward, her wings beating gently in the heavy morning air. All too quickly she was at the level of the Bowl.

“All right, back down,” Fiona called, adding, when it seemed like Talenth was too enraptured to hear her words, Talenth!

The queen let out a roar of pure joy and dipped a wing, sending them into a tight spiral, to level up again and land, deftly, right where she’d started.

“A gentle glide was what I believe I requested,” T’mar remarked drily as Talenth folded her wings contentedly back against her sides.

Fiona gave him an apologetic shrug and set to getting Terin back down to the ground.

“Again?” she asked, her eyes gleaming as Terin raced over to the bronze rider.

“This time glide back down, gently,” T’mar said. “Remember, you are the rider.”

Fiona felt herself redden, but she nodded in meek acceptance.

This time no tricks!  Fiona told Talenth before giving her the signal to fly. In no time at all, they were at the level of the top of the Bowl again and it was time to descend. Talenth raised her wings to cup more air and climb higher but Fiona told her, If you don’t behave, we won’t get to fly more.

All right,  Talenth agreed reluctantly.

Fly too much too soon and you’ll be sore for months,  Fiona explained.

I feel fine,  Talenth complained as she glided in to another perfect landing.

“One more time, then it will be someone else’s turn,” T’mar said.

“Could we go higher?” Fiona asked hopefully.

T’mar shook his head. “Slow and steady is the way that works best.”

I tried,  Fiona reminded Talenth as they found themselves once again in no time at all level with the top of the Weyr Bowl and descending in a gentle glide.

It was fun,  Talenth said, landing in the exact same spot and folding her wings about herself complacently. I could do that all day.

It’s harder when the sun’s out and the air’s hot,  Fiona reminded her.

I’m sure I could manage,  Talenth declared.

I’m sure you could,  Fiona agreed indulgently, but what about the blues and greens? They’d want to follow your lead and they’d get hurt.

I hadn’t thought about that,  Talenth replied, looking toward the smaller dragons eagerly awaiting their turn to fly. I suppose I should set the example and be careful.

You are their queen,  Fiona said in agreement. She remained perched on Talenth as all the remaining weyrlings made their first flights, glad of the higher vantage point and happy to be able to share the moments directly with Talenth, extolling the skills of each new dragon and rider, leaning forward to lay her cheek on Talenth’s soft hide, and enjoying in every way she could her time with her mate.

From their weyrs, Zirenth and the older dragons watched and bugled their approval of each new flight. When everyone was done, T’mar had the older dragons assemble into a wing in preparation for the day’s work.

Fiona was surprised to find herself looking down over Zirenth as the great bronze dragon approached.

You’re bigger than Zirenth!  she told Talenth excitedly.

Well, of course,  Talenth responded calmly. I’m the queen.

Fiona laughed and slapped Talenth affectionately on the neck before climbing down and guiding Talenth back to her weyr, where she quickly removed the riding straps and checked Talenth’s skin for any signs of flakiness. She didn’t find any, but took the time regardless to oil Talenth’s chest and belly to a fine sheen, reveling in the scent and sight of her beautiful queen’s hide.

That evening Terin and Mother Karina outdid themselves in a special feast for the new dragonriders. Just before the end of the day, T’mar ordered all the new riders to gather at the edge of the shallow lake at the eastern end of the Weyr.

“There is one final tradition for new riders that must be observed,” he intoned solemnly. He arranged the thirty-three riders in three tightly spaced ranks, with Fiona in the middle of the first rank.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered. “Keep them closed until I say you may open them.”

There was a rustle and breeze from dragon wings above them and then suddenly —

“Shards!” “Oh, that’s cold!” “Eeek!”

Before Fiona could twitch a muscle, she was drenched, head to toe in something that was very cold, very wet, and very, very smelly.

“Eugh!”

“You may open your eyes, dragonriders,” T’mar intoned solemnly. When Fiona opened her eyes, she found that the weyrlings were surrounded by the older riders, who were all laughing hysterically.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” T’mar barked to the drenched dragonriders. “Into the water with you!”

Fiona needed no urging and found herself rushing past the other still-befuddled weyrlings to dive into the shallow lake and wash off the worst of the stench that engulfed her.

“When you’re quite done,” T’mar drawled, enjoying himself as much as the older weyrlings, “you may disperse to your quarters.” He paused. “You will have much work to do tomorrow.”

Over the next few sevendays, the weyrlings were flying for over an hour at a stretch. They were drilled on imaging — producing accurate images to share with their dragons. They learned about air currents and how to ride them up or down; they learned about steep and shallow turns, about dives, about weather — and they were drilled intensely on everything, quizzed anytime day or night. The older weyrlings took particular delight in attempting to catch out Fiona, F’jian, or J’nos.

A fortnight after they had started flying in earnest, T’mar had them flying to the valleys where the Weyr kept its herdbeasts, to the riverside where they gathered rushes, and back to the Weyr, shepherded by the older riders until they were able to fly in trios by themselves, watched by the strategically placed older riders.

Once T’mar pronounced himself satisfied with their efforts in this new routine, he made it a part of their regular drill, stretching their flying time until they were able to fly six hours nonstop.

“Now tomorrow,” T’mar told Fiona over dinner one night, “we’ll do one straight, long flight — where should we go, Weyrwoman?”

“The wherhold,” Fiona replied instantly. “I’d like to introduce Talenth to Nuellask.”

“I’d guessed as much,” T’mar gestured for J’keran to join them. “We’ll be flying to the wherhold tomorrow,” he told the other bronze rider.

“Are we bringing anything with us?” J’keran wondered.

“Check with Azeez and Terin,” T’mar said. “No more than six dragonloads. If any of the younger dragons get too tired, we can have the older ones help.”

“They can just land, can’t they?” Fiona asked in surprise.

“Not on the water.”

Fiona acknowledged this with a wry grin and a shake of her head.

“The Weyrwoman will ride in the middle of the formation,” T’mar explained to the riders in the dark of morning as they gathered after a hasty breakfast. “F’jian, your wing will take the lead; J’keran, yours will follow the Weyrwoman.”

F’jian gulped at the prospect of leading all of the Igen dragons himself. T’mar noticed and clapped him on the shoulder, saying, “Don’t worry, if you get off course, I’ll be right there to correct you!”

If anything, F’jian looked more worried.

“You’ll be using the stars and the sun,” Fiona reassured F’jian when she managed a quiet word alone with