Dragonheart

had Talenth level off when she was satisfied.

We continue south with the river in view on our left,  Fiona said to Talenth.

T’mar says that this is high enough,  Talenth relayed with the smug tones of someone proven right.

Fiona nodded in response but said nothing, concentrating instead on the view ahead and trying to ignore the chill air rushing over her. She was glad that T’mar had insisted that they wear full riding gear; on the ground it had been hot and stifling, but in the air it was just enough to keep Fiona from a severe chill. She adjusted her scarf up higher over her nose — “I’ve seen them freeze clean off!” F’dan had told her once when they were discussing the dangers of dragonflight.

The sun to their left lit the Igen river gold, then silver as it rose higher into the sky. It was a beautiful day and Fiona’s heart leapt to be here, now — a Weyrwoman on her gold dragon.

Talenth,  she thought fondly, I love you.

I love you, too.

They’re lagging,  Fiona told Talenth as she scanned the weyrlings struggling along behind them two hours later. Ask T’mar if we should land and let them rest.

T’mar says that we should land when we find the site,  Talenth replied.

Fiona pursed her lips tightly to hold in a sharp retort and bent further over Talenth’s neck, peering at the ground below for any sign of the landmass they were seeking.

The map had shown a spot on the southern end of a saddle between two hills, the northern one higher than the southern, with the firestone on the eastern side of the saddle. But that map had been drawn hundreds of Turns back, and while the mountains wouldn’t have changed in that time, the sands of Igen could have blown so much dust into the area as to fill in the saddle itself. That would make sense, else why would the Igen riders have abandoned the mine?

Her gaze caught on something — there! What was that? She peered down further, raising a gloved hand to shield her eyes from the sun. It looked like a large “X” in the ground below her. It was directly in the saddle between two mountains and the area looked recently worked.

Fiona had Talenth turn a tight circle over the spot.

Ask T’mar if we should land,  Fiona said to Talenth even as she urged her gold lower.

Yes,  was the response Talenth relayed.

Let the weyrlings land first,  Fiona instructed Talenth. We’ll go look around a bit.

They flew to the far side of the southern hill, then circled to the west and came back around to the big “X.” Fiona could spot a road that led toward the river and followed it to a well-constructed pier that looked recently used — there were coils of rope neatly placed at the far end, ready to moor a cargo ship.

T’mar says we should join them,  Talenth told her.

They circled back and landed near the others. The heat in the valley was oppressive, and Fiona shucked off her riding gear before she dismounted, grateful for the flowing robes of lightweight white material she wore beneath. She pulled the hood up over her head to shade her hair and neck from the sun and then jumped down lightly to the sandy ground below.

“It looks like someone’s been here before us,” T’mar remarked as she joined him. He gestured to the roadway. “This is recent work.”

“No sand on the road,” Fiona agreed. She gestured uphill, toward the dark tunnel entrance. “Is anyone in there?”

T’mar shook his head. “Why don’t we find out?”

With J’nos and the weyrlings trailing behind them, they climbed the rise to the dark tunnel.

“It looks like there’s a door at the far end,” T’mar said as they got closer, his brows furrowed thoughtfully.

“And it’s closed,” Fiona agreed. They crossed into the darkness of the tunnel. Something light just inside caught her attention and she turned to it. It was a slate with white chalk written on it: “Please be sure to close the door when you’re done.”

“Do you recognize the writing?” Fiona asked, raising the slate toward T’mar. The wingleader took it and examined it cautiously before handing it back to Fiona, who replaced it in exactly the same spot.

“Could it be Pellar’s?” Fiona asked. She’d never met the man, but as everyone knew that he was mute, used slates, and mined firestone, he was an obvious choice.

T’mar frowned before replying, “Actually, it looks something like your  writing.”

Fiona turned back and snatched at the slate, eyeing it minutely. It could be, she finally decided. “Or Terin’s.”

“Why don’t we see why we should keep the door closed?” T’mar suggested, putting his hand on the handle and pulling the door open.

It was dark inside.

“Did we think to pack glows?” Fiona asked, turning back to J’nos.

“Here, Weyrwoman,” one of the other weyrlings replied, passing up a small glowbasket. “It’s not very big.”

“It’ll do,” Fiona told him gratefully, stepping through the door as she unbundled the glow and let its feeble light play on the tunnel beyond.

“Someone,” T’mar murmured as he looked around the scene in front of them, “has been very busy.”

The tunnel ahead was blocked by a workcart, clearly ready to resume its role in mining as soon as the bags of firestone placed in and all around it were moved away. Bags and bags and bags of firestone —

“There’s more than we need!” J’nos exclaimed delightedly as he eyed the bags of firestone stacked to the left and right of the tunnel entrance. “There’s enough for all the dragons we have to fight a full Fall!”

“There’s another slate,” T’mar said, gesturing toward the center of the cart. Fiona rushed toward it, glow in hand. The writing on the slate read, “Take what you need.”

“Someone has been very thoughtful,” Fiona said as she passed the slate back to T’mar. The bronze rider crouched down to bring the slate closer to Fiona’s glow and read the message with a low whistle of surprise.

“By the egg of Faranth!” T’mar said when he had breath again. He peered quizzically at Fiona. “You haven’t been back in time again, Weyrwoman?”

“Not that I remember,” Fiona replied, shaken by T’mar’s observations on the slate’s handwriting. Even more than the note outside, this slate looked like it was written in her hand.

“Perhaps sometime in the future?”

“That would explain the dizziness!” Fiona exclaimed. T’mar gave her a quizzical looked so she continued, “T’mar, what if we were in the same time more than twice? Remember how shaken M’tal was; what if our dizziness is because we’re triple-timing or worse?”

“And only some of us,” T’mar said thoughtfully. “Others don’t feel it because they didn’t — or won’t — do it.”

“Exactly!”

“That’s a possibility, Weyrwoman,” T’mar agreed. A moment later he added, “But it’s a possibility for the future. For now, we’ve got other concerns.”

“Like mating greens who haven’t chewed firestone,” Fiona said.

“Precisely.” T’mar turned to J’nos, saying, “Organize a party to start loading the dragons. We’ll take this load back between. ”

The work was hot and sweaty, but in less than two hours, each of the dragons was loaded with five sacks of firestone — Zirenth and Talenth each carried eight — and the tired riders mounted their dragons.

T’mar says that you are to give the coordinates,  Talenth told her as they rose into the hot midday air. Fiona swelled with pride at the honor, then set the image of Igen Weyr at midday firmly in her mind and sent the image to Zirenth for confirmation. She caught T’mar’s pumping arm gesture of acknowledgment, had Talenth send the image to the rest of the wing, then said, Let’s go.

They burst out into the sky over Igen precisely where and when Fiona had chosen, were greeted cheerfully by