Dragonheart

agreed, mostly to humor him.

“No, no, no,” K’lior shouted back. “The weyrlings and the injured riders — they all need time  to grow and recover.”

“Make sense, K’lior,” Cisca returned irritably.

K’lior took a deep breath and gave her a huge smile. “We’ll time it. Send them back in time somewhere so — ”

“So they can recover!” Cisca finished with a joyful cry and a leap. “K’lior, that’s brilliant!”

“There’s only one place we can go,” K’lior told the assembled wingleaders. “Igen. It’s the only Weyr that’s empty. And we can’t go back too far — we don’t want to have to worry about the Plague.”

“I’d recommend going back ten Turns,” Tintoval, who was there at Cisca’s invitation, said.

“Why not just three?” M’valer asked querulously.

“Three gives no margin for error,” Tintoval replied.

The bronze riders exchanged looks, and K’lior said, “Ten Turns, then.”

“If this works, won’t you want to offer the same chance to the other Weyrs?” Tintoval asked.

“It makes sense,” Cisca said. “But there’s no reason we can’t have an overlap.”

“Not with D’gan,” T’mar murmured. M’valer glared at him, but before he could say anything, M’kury said with a smirk, “No, indeed!”

“No one knows if this is going to work, anyway,” H’nez said. K’lior glanced sourly in his direction — H’nez had been late in joining the fight the night before.

“That’s why we’re going to try it ourselves before we suggest it to the other Weyrs,” K’lior said. He grimaced. “It’s a pity we’ve only got twelve weyrlings able to go between. ”

“But we’ve got seventy-seven injured riders and dragons who can manage,” Cisca pointed out. “Together, that will give us nearly three full Flights of dragons.”

“If  they survive,” H’nez reminded her. “If something happens to them — ”

“Then we’ll be just as shorthanded as we are now,” Cisca cut him off.

K’lior turned to T’mar. “When can you be ready?”

“In two hours,” T’mar replied. “When do you need us back?”

“Excuse me,” H’nez said, “but I think I should be the one to go.” K’lior turned to him with a raised brow.

“I’ve had the most experience leading Flights of dragons; I’ll be the best at training them and handling their injuries,” H’nez explained.

“T’mar is handling the weyrlings now,” K’lior said. “And the decision as to who goes is mine.”

H’nez flushed angrily. “Then pick me.”

K’lior eyed him with distaste for a moment, then turned his attention back to T’mar. “The healer will need to stay here.”

T’mar nodded in agreement.

“Weyrleader!” H’nez snapped through gritted teeth. All eyes turned to him. “If you will not let me lead the Flight back to Igen, then I demand that you send me to another Weyr.”

“H’nez!” M’valer gasped.

K’lior merely nodded. “I can not send you until this illness has been cured,” he told H’nez. “At that time, however, you may go to any Weyr that will have you. In the meantime, as we have more wingleaders than wings, you are to fly in M’kury’s wing.”

H’nez nodded stiffly, rose from his chair, and rushed out of the room, ignoring K’rall’s and M’valer’s outraged expressions.

“I could go,” Fiona spoke up in the silence that followed H’nez’s dramatic exit. Everyone looked at her. “I know some healing and I’m a Weyrwoman.”

T’mar smiled kindly at her, shaking his head. “Talenth is too young to go between. ”

“Three Turns is a long time for the Weyr to wait for its next queen,” M’kury said, glancing at the other riders.

Cisca pursed her lips and shook her head. “We can’t risk losing the only other queen we have.”

“If Talenth were older, able to go between,  I’d be happy to send you,” K’lior said. He shook his head. “As it is, I can’t allow it.”

“They’re going back in time?” Xhinna repeated in surprise when Fiona filled her in later as they were oiling Talenth. “And that will work?”

“No one knows,” Fiona said. “But they hope so.”

“How will they know how to get there?”

Fiona smiled. “They’re going to use the Red Star as a guide.”

“The Red Star?”

“Yes, they’ll fly to Igen in our time, sight the Red Star in the Star Stones, and work out what the image should be for ten Turns back,” Fiona told her.

“And when they come back, they’ll be three Turns older?” Xhinna said, grappling with the thought.

“In three days, they’ll be three Turns older,” Fiona agreed, her tone wistful. “T’mar’s leading them.”

There!  Talenth cried as Fiona found a particularly itchy part. Fiona smiled indulgently and scrubbed harder with her oily rag. Oh, that’s much better!

“When we’re done oiling Talenth, Cisca wants us to meet with Tintoval and make a chest of medicinal supplies,” Fiona said.

“What if something goes wrong?” Xhinna asked. “What if they don’t come back?”

Fiona shook her head. “In that case, we’ll think of something.”

“There are two more sick dragons today,” Xhinna noted darkly.

“That brings the total up to eighteen,” Fiona said, pursing her lips tightly. “And two more dragons went between. ” She’d lost track of how many dragons had succumbed to the illness; she knew it was over fifty, but she couldn’t say by how much. More became ill every day.

“Even if everything goes well, there will be less than two full Flights of dragons.”

“I know, Xhinna,” Fiona replied, grimacing. “We just have to do what we can.”

“I heard that the Benden Weyr healer’s dragon went between  today.”

Fiona nodded. Cisca had sent her after breakfast to check on Tintoval; the healer had known K’tan — no, Ketan — it had been his recommendation that had sent her to the Harper Hall.

“How do you bear it?” Xhinna asked, glancing over from her place near Talenth’s neck, her oiling temporarily forgotten. She gestured to Talenth. “How can you stand the thought of losing her?”

“I won’t  lose her,” Fiona declared. She patted Talenth forcefully. “No matter what happens, I won’t lose you.”

Talenth chirped happily. I love you.

“I wish I were going to Igen,” Xhinna said wistfully. “I’d like to be away from all this for three Turns.”

“You could ask T’mar,” Fiona said, though her heart wasn’t in it.

Xhinna shook her head. “I’ll stay with you.”

“I think Talenth’s all done for now,” Fiona said, leaning back from her place over Talenth’s itchy patch. “Let’s go find Tintoval.”

The sun was well past its zenith when all the arrangements were complete and the riders and dragons were arrayed in the chilly Bowl, ready to go to Igen and back ten Turns in time. In the end, after much discussion, it was decided that T’mar should take only the forty-seven most lightly injured dragons and riders, as well as the older weyrlings. It would be too dangerous for the thirty more seriously injured dragonpairs to make the leap between  times, a point that Fiona emphasized in her discussions with F’jian and the other disgruntled young weyrlings.

“Fly well,” K’lior called to the assembled riders. From perches on high, the rest of the dragons of Fort Weyr looked on.

“I’ll see you in three days,” Tajen said as he helped T’mar settle the last of his gear on Zirenth’s neck. “Try not to get too tanned.”

T’mar laughed and waved his farewell. Tajen stepped back, joining K’lior, Cisca, Fiona, and the others. T’mar turned on his perch, making one final assessment of his charges, then raised his arm and pumped his fist in the