Dragonheart

him as they prepared their riding straps for the long flight. F’jian nodded, his expression still bleak. In exasperation, she added, “And you know what to do if all else fails, right?”

“No.”

“Ask,” Fiona told him, shaking her head. “I don’t doubt your weyrmates will be telling you long before you get worried.”

“Mount up!” T’mar called.

In moments the massed wings were aloft. They circled the hapless D’lanor and Canoth, who were left behind on watch, before F’jian’s bronze Ladirth bugled loudly and set off on the long flight toward the wherhold.

Talenth flew well and Fiona allowed herself to loosen up, twisting on her perch to peer at the dragons behind her, then turning back again to scan those in front. The younger weyrlings kept a good formation, she noted with pride.

They cleared the saddle between the Igen Mountains and flew toward the Igen river. At first, Fiona couldn’t make it out and then, slowly, where she expected it, she discerned a ribbon of blue water tinged with the gold of the rising sun.

The sun erupted over the horizon and the view changed from a vision of grays and blues to a world of colors: gold, sand, blue, green, brown, and, in the far distance, a hint of snow on the northernmost mountains. Fiona reveled in the sight, turning her gaze from one vision to another.

Before them the vista stretched endlessly and seemed only to crawl toward them, like a trundlebug on a hot day.

It seemed to take forever to get anywhere.

Fiona realized worriedly that she needed to use the necessary and wondered how long she could hold out. She started scanning furiously for Plains Hold and bit back a curse when she found it — so far ahead of them.

Minutes crept by slowly while the pressure in her bladder continued to build and she swore at herself for not taking the time to make a final visit before mounting her dragon. If only she hadn’t been so worried about F’jian!

Finally the flight started to descend, slowly, leisurely. And then — by the First Egg! — she spotted the wherhold. She almost cried out in relief and desperately willed the flight to drop faster, to reach the ground sooner so she could slink off to the necessary.

It was not to be: T’mar indicated that they were to overfly the wherhold in a large circle to announce their presence.

Why don’t we just have one of the dragons talk to Nuellask? Or Arelsk?  Fiona demanded tartly.

Manners,  was the response relayed from T’mar through Talenth.

Fiona gritted her teeth, determined not to reveal her plight even as she felt the beat of Zirenth’s wings above her and saw the bronze dragon descend into the formation — which widened to allow him — beside her. When he signaled for the rest of the flight to descend while signaling for her to remain aloft with him, she could no longer hide her urgency.

“Not fair!” she shouted.

T’mar indicated that they should land by the watermill and Fiona consented with glee: There was a restroom there, too, and it would not be crowded with desperate dragonriders all waiting their turn.

She had dismounted and was racing for the stone building before T’mar could say a word.

“So, how do you like flying with a full bladder?” he asked when she rejoined him at last.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” T’mar confessed, grinning broadly, “until now.”

“Oh!” Fiona growled, too rushed to say anything more. “So why did we land here?”

“Why did  we land here, Weyrwoman?” T’mar repeated challengingly.

Fiona swore silently to herself, meeting his mocking look squarely while she thought. “It’s a test, obviously,” Fiona replied, trying not to sound like she was playing for time — which she was, of course.

T’mar nodded.

“F’jian, as the leader of the first wing, is acting wingleader,” Fiona decided, beginning to relish the challenge. “So the test will be to see whether he makes his courtesy to the lord and lady, properly attends to the well-being of the dragons and riders, and then . . .” She paused as her thoughts raced ahead of her and she sent a silent message to Talenth. “They’ll come here to water the dragons and check for new orders.”

T’mar nodded but raised one hand, motioning for her to continue.

“And the test for me . . .” She trailed off, thinking hard, and then inspiration struck. “Is to see if I’m willing to let F’jian figure this out on his own!”

As if in response, they heard the rustle of dragon wings and the sky darkened as the small flight rushed into a landing near the river’s edge.

“Very good,” T’mar said with a congratulatory nod. “And why is it that you need this test, Weyrwoman?”

“Because a leader who doesn’t let her juniors learn on their own is no leader at all,” Fiona replied.

T’mar’s lips curved upward approvingly. “And so, what are your orders, Weyrwoman?”

“Orders?” Fiona repeated, arching an eyebrow and matching his grin. “I expect I’ll be asking F’jian what he plans to do next.”

“Very good!”

F’jian, when asked, looked stumped for a moment before turning inquiringly to J’keran, who cocked his head back toward the Weyr.

“I think we should return to the Weyr,” F’jian said, spreading his gaze between T’mar and Fiona.

“And, without asking J’keran, why do you think that?” T’mar asked.

“Because we’ve flown three hours already,” F’jian replied slowly, “and the dragons are watered and we shouldn’t have to fly more than six hours in a day as we haven’t flown more than that so far.”

“Very well,” T’mar said. “Make it so.” He turned to the gathered riders and raised his voice, “And on the way back, I want you to keep your eyes open for good recognition points. You’ll be going between  soon enough, so we shall start drilling on passing images.”

The younger weyrlings’ eyes lit up at his words and, while remounting their dragons, they babbled excitedly among themselves.

Fiona waited until F’jian’s wing was aloft before ordering Talenth up and into her position, glancing behind her to be certain that J’keran and the older riders had taken their positions astern. Satisfied, she scanned the skies for the sight of the large bronze shape that was Zirenth, found it, and allowed herself a moment of congratulations before turning back to look down at the watermill as they passed over it.

It would make a good recognition point, she decided, fixing the bend of the river and the angle of the building in her mind. The wherhold itself was a smudge of buildings and low hills to the southeast.

The flight back to the Weyr seemed longer than the flight out, perhaps because she was tired, or perhaps because she was so eager to get back to the Weyr.

She glanced around in front and behind at the flight, found T’mar again, and scanned the ground below. The wind in her short hair kept her cool. In fact, the air at their height was cool enough that Fiona almost wished she’d brought the heavy wherhide Weyrowman’s jacket, while at the same time she worried whether the riders would get burned flying for so long under the hot Igen sun. She regretted not packing sunblock in her carisak.

She glanced around again and it suddenly hit her — she was flying! She was flying on Talenth!

Talenth, we’re flying!  Fiona called excitedly. Remember how long we’ve wished for this?

It feels good,  Talenth agreed, pausing her stroke for a moment so that she could take one great big downstroke to catch up in a spurt with the receding wing in front.

Squawks from behind warned them that J’keran and the older riders were not pleased with the maneuver, so Fiona quietly urged Talenth back to her routine of slow, steady strokes.

But from that moment on, Fiona’s view of their journey changed from one of duty to one of adventure, and time seemed to shrivel into nothing as they soared back to Igen Weyr.

True to his word, T’mar quizzed the riders on their return for the recognition points they’d chosen, demanding that they send the image to Zirenth. Red-faced, each rider was informed, usually by Zirenth’s amused snort, that his image was not sufficiently wellformed to use for a journey between.