Dragonheart

Fiona could feel T’mar behind her shaking his head. “The last Lord Holder made some poor choices in dealing with the drought and planted more thirsty crops rather than switching to those adjusted to more arid climes.”

“My goodness! That answer was something I’d expect more from a harper than a dragonrider!”

Behind her, she felt him shrug. “Just as Lord Holders, we find it useful to keep abreast of things.”

“I suppose we could fish,” Fiona said, gazing westward over the uninviting terrain, “but I’m not sure that we’d catch enough to feed the Weyr.”

“And it would get very dull,” T’mar agreed. Zirenth dipped out of the thermal, gently curving his flight westward. “I think we can do better.”

“But we can’t get near the holders,” Fiona protested. “We don’t want the dragons near the fire-lizards.”

“Why not?” T’mar asked. “The fire-lizards are not sick back in this time.”

“And we don’t want to risk them getting sick,” Fiona pointed out. “But even if we could be absolutely sure that none of our dragons carries the illness, fire-lizards have the strangest memories, and we don’t  want them remembering us being here at Igen, in this time.”

“Of course,” T’mar agreed. “But I think that will be the least of our problems.”

Fiona scanned the harsh landscape below and nodded. Zirenth turned eastward, back toward the Weyr.

“There has to be some place where the Weyr kept its herds,” she said.

“Herds?” T’mar snorted. “How do you know they kept herds? It’s just as likely that they fed directly out of the holders’ stock, saving everyone the trouble of delivering livestock across that. ” He gestured to the badlands below him and then, just as suddenly, gave a startled grunt. Zirenth dove instantly, his motion surprising Fiona, who found herself grateful for T’mar’s sudden tight hold on her waist.

“What’s that?” the bronze rider asked, pointing to a dusty spot below.

“It looks like some workbeasts,” Fiona said, raising one hand to shade her eyes as she peered against the harsh sunlight.

“Traders?” T’mar mused.

“Don’t get too low, or Zirenth will have hard work getting us back to the Weyr,” Fiona cautioned.

T’mar chuckled. “Just as long as he can get us high enough to go between  we’ll be fine.”

Fiona said nothing in response, abashed that she hadn’t thought of it herself.

“They look like they’re heading for the Weyr,” T’mar said as they got lower. “Six, maybe seven cargo drays and one house dray.”

Fiona remembered trader caravans coming to Fort Hold when she was younger and her face lit up: They always brought strange and wonderful things, even for those used to the marvels that often came to the Harper and Healer Halls.

The house dray — which Fiona would have called the domicile dray — was covered with bright decorations, and the front of all the drays were shaded with colorful canvas hoods. They looked much more gawdy than the ones she had seen before.

Her spirits fell as she had a new thought. “Traders trade. What will they want to trade with us?”

“We’ll find something,” T’mar declared.

“They must have started here some days back,” Fiona said as they descended close enough for her to see how slowly the ponderous workbeasts were moving. “How did they know to come?”

“Perhaps the same person who guided you guided them,” T’mar suggested. “We’ll know soon enough.”

A large man in the lead dray climbed up to the top of the wagon, waving in recognition of the dragon descending toward them. Fiona and T’mar were not surprised to see him signal the other drays to halt. As they circled lower, Fiona saw that what she thought was a seventh dray was actually four workbeasts harnessed together two by two.

“Let’s not leave them in this heat long,” she said as Zirenth nimbly touched down on the hot dusty ground. She immediately shucked off her jacket and wished she had worn cooler clothes. How were they going to survive this heat for the next three Turns?

T’mar leapt down first, turning back to hold his arms out to Fiona who, suppressing a grimace at his gallantry, fell into them and then pushed herself away as soon as her feet felt the earth beneath her. T’mar smiled and gestured toward the traders.

“Should we tell them about timing  it?” Fiona whispered to T’mar as they trudged through the thick sand toward the first dray.

“Let’s see if we can avoid it,” he said in reply. A sudden thought made him add, “I wish we’d thought to have you wear your rank knot.”

“You’re wearing yours,” Fiona said, thinking that should be enough. T’mar did not reply.

“T’mar, Zirenth’s rider, and Fiona, Talenth’s rider,” he declared as the lead Trader approached.

“Well met,” the man replied. Fiona was surprised to see how big the man was, taller than T’mar by a head and so broad-shouldered she thought he could easily lift one of the workbeasts singlehanded.

“Azeez at your service,” he said, bowing low to them. He gestured toward his dray. “The sun is high; we would be more comfortable talking in the shade.”

Fiona saw that the other traders had left their drays and were trudging to the first one, climbing into the cabin from the back.

“We don’t want to disturb you,” T’mar said. “Especially in this heat.”

“This heat?” Azeez cocked his head up and peered at the sun above. “This is not heat.”

“We’re from the north,” Fiona said. “We’re not used to such heat.”

“I can see that,” Azeez agreed. “You are not dressed for it.”

Fiona nodded politely, surreptitiously studying his clothing: he wore long, flowing robes, and his head was topped with a piece of cloth that draped down over his ears and neck and was tied into place with a brightly colored piece of knotted rope.

“Traders learn to adapt to the climate,” Azeez said, motioning politely for them to precede him.

“Is there much here to trade?” T’mar asked.

“There is always trade,” Azeez replied, his tone making Fiona wonder if he was quoting some wise saying. They reached the dray and Azeez beckoned for them to climb up. “It will be quicker to go in through the front.”

By courtesy Fiona went first, spending a moment locating the doorway and its latch before she entered the dim cabin.

Voices stopped mid-word as she entered.

“Sit! Sit!” one of the traders urged her, pointing to a cushion just beyond the door. Fiona sat quickly and was surprised to recognize how relieved she felt when T’mar settled next to her — she felt young and awkward, a feeling that increased as she glanced around at the faces peering at her and realized that no one else there was as young as she.

“I’m T’mar and this is Weyrwoman Fiona,” T’mar said, nodding to the others.

“Fiona!” one of the traders exclaimed in surprise. “That’s not a common name.”

“Lord Bemin’s daughter is named Fiona, isn’t she?” wondered another trader, an old woman by the sound of her voice.

T’mar glanced at Fiona, and she could tell that he was thinking that they would not be able to keep their origins hidden after all.

“I’m that Fiona,” she said. “We are here from the future. But I think we should keep that a secret.”

The traders began to talk excitedly amongst themselves until Azeez called them to order. Several of the traders — Fiona noticed the old woman in particular — appeared to find her claim unbelievable.

“Some of our dragons were injured fighting Thread and we’ve come back in time to speed their healing,” Fiona said. “Do we have you to thank for the medicines we found at the Weyr?”

“We brought them,” Azeez said cautiously, glancing sternly at the other traders.

“How can going back in time speed their healing?” the old woman demanded.

“It has to do with timing,” Fiona began.

“ — you must understand that this is highly confidential,” T’mar interjected.

“It will take the same amount of time for their wounds to heal,” Fiona continued, glaring at T’mar, “but while we hope to stay here for three Turns, we will return to our time only three days after we left.”

“ ‘Healed and ready to fight,’ ” the old woman said, her tone indicating that she was repeating words she’d