Dragonheart

time would have passed in the future?”

“Why not do both?” Terin asked, giggling. “You could have a Turning for now and a Turning for later.”

“What matters is how old your body is,” T’mar declared. Fiona shot him a glance. Undeterred, he continued, “It’s how we’ll judge the dragons and their readiness to fly or go between. ”

“And that speaks to when your  dragon will rise to mate!” Terin exclaimed, dissolving into a full-on giggling fit.

What, Fiona wondered anxiously, if Talenth rose to mate back in this time? There were only two bronzes: T’mar’s Zirenth and K’rall’s Seyorth. Well, three, if she counted F’jian’s Ladirth, she corrected herself reluctantly.

“She’s too young,” Fiona heard herself say.

“Not in three Turns’ time!” Terin retorted, her giggles dying away. She took a breath and, when she caught sight of Fiona’s expression, forced herself to stop altogether, murmuring, “Sorry.”

Fiona’s eyes flashed as she dredged up a heated retort, but it died on her lips as Talenth said, When will you be done? I itch.

“I’ve got to oil Talenth,” she said, rising.

“I’ll warm some oil,” Terin said, glad of an excuse to change the topic.

“I’ll finish here,” T’mar said, waving to the charts.

Later, when Terin arrived with more oil, the younger girl tried to apologize to Fiona. “I’m sorry about back there,” she said. “I didn’t mean — ”

Fiona waved her apology aside. “You were having fun,” she told her. “There’s no harm in that.”

Terin dipped her head and diligently applied herself to searching out and oiling any flaky patches of Talenth’s skin.

Afterward, they returned to the Kitchen Cavern. Terin snagged the first weyrlings and set them to cooking and sculling duties. “And be sure there’s klah !”

“Make sure we send out a party to find more glow,” Fiona said as she rose after her breakfast. “I think the light’s good enough to see in the Records Room.”

“I’ve detailed the work party to concentrate on getting more of the lower weyrs cleared for the injured,” T’mar said. “I’m going to take the older weyrlings on a patrol — we’ll look for your glows while we’re out.”

Fiona nodded, saying as she departed, “Be sure to check with Terin for anything else we might need.”

The Records Room was a room off of the Weyrwoman’s quarters, as in Fort Weyr . Fiona searched in the dimly lit room for the large mirrors that she knew should be there and found a pair. She snagged the first one and went back into the corridor, mounting it in the holder built into the wall and angling it so that it picked up the morning light and bounced it into the room. Satisfied, she returned to the Records Room and placed the other mirror so that it reflected the light up to the glittering white ceiling, providing the room with nearly the same illumination as light through a window.

In the center of the room was a long, low table surrounded by chairs. Fiona was surprised at first that the chairs, at least, hadn’t been taken along when the Weyr had been abandoned but, on reflection, realized that Telgar Weyr would already have had sufficient furniture for its Records Room. Some of the Records had obviously been taken, though — a few of the storage cabinets were empty — and she could only hope that enough remained for her purposes.

She found a couple of likely stacks, settled herself at the table, and began to read.

It didn’t take all that long for Fiona to recall her father’s choicer oaths in regards to reading Records. “A boring necessity best delegated,” was the most innocuous of his pronouncements. For a brief moment she toyed with the notion of delegating the work, but curiosity overwhelmed boredom and she soldiered on, stifling a yawn.

She had gone through twenty slates — finding only two of value — before she found a truly tantalizing reference: “Of course, we used the surveyor map to locate the most recent vein of minerals.”

Surveyor map? What was a “surveyor?” She shook her head. It was the idea that mattered, not the word. If there was a map that showed minerals, what else might have been marked on a map? She looked around the room, eyes narrowed. Where would such a map be kept?

In a locked cabinet, Fiona decided. She rose and walked around the room, exploring. At last she ended up back at the cabinet where she’d first started. Had she looked carefully enough? She squatted down in front of it, studying the open cubbies. Yes! The bottommost cubby had a door, and there was a keyhole in that door! So, where was the key?

She spent many fruitless minutes hunting through the other cabinets before she wondered if perhaps some blockheaded Telgar-bound rider had pocketed the key. If that were the case, how could the door be opened?

Returning to the closed cubby, she knelt and carefully inserted a fingernail into the keyhole. She gently tugged. She was so surprised when the door swiveled open that she fell back on the stone floor.

The cubby was filled with tightly rolled . . . maps?

Fiona pulled out the top roll. It was as long as the cubby was deep. With a triumphant cry, she brought it to the table, pushed aside the boring Records, and unrolled it.

It was a map made of strange material, smooth, almost silky — definitely something made by the Ancients. She placed a slate on one corner to hold the edge down and then spread it out fully, trapping the far edge under another slate.

Talenth!  she called excitedly. Tell T’mar to come to the Records Room — quick!

“And see, there, that’s the symbol for gold, isn’t it?” Fiona said an hour later as she and T’mar pored excitedly over the map, each with a mug of klah  nearby.

“Where?” T’mar asked, diverting his attention from a place where he’d spotted good pastureland — a possible gathering for wild herdbeasts.

“There,” she said, pointing again to a series of turns in a river. “Over by Plains Hold.”

“I wonder that the Mastersmith hasn’t seen this,” T’mar said thoughtfully.

“I wonder why we don’t have one of these at Fort Weyr ,” Fiona countered.

“Fort was the first Weyr,” T’mar mused. “I suspect they had this already at the Harper Hall and didn’t see the need at the Weyr.”

“Mmph!” Fiona snorted. “I don’t recall anything like this in the Hold Records.”

“But didn’t Kindan find similar Records when he was searching for the new firestone?”

Fiona shrugged — she didn’t know and didn’t care — and tapped her chosen spot on the map to gain T’mar’s attention. The wingleader, with a quick grin, bent to inspect the markings.

“I think you’re right,” he said as he straightened up again. And then, in surprise, he bent down once more, eyes wide. “That’s exactly where the Wherhold is!”

“No,” Fiona corrected triumphantly. “It’s exactly where the Wherhold will  be.”

“And when Zenor is mining the gold — ”

“ — and Igen is getting a dutiful tithe — ” Fiona added, her face splitting into a huge grin.

“ — we’ll have enough to trade for our needs!”

Despite the excitement of their discovery, neither T’mar nor Fiona were able to devote much attention to it for the next several days, spending the bulk of their time engaged in the effort required to settle up a Weyr — and one full of convalescents, at that.

Fiona found herself crawling into bed in the heat of the afternoon only to wake at the first cooling of the evening. Her whole sleep schedule was rearranged — she spent more time sleeping in the day than at night — and it did her temper no good at all.

But she had cause to be pleased, not annoyed: After only five days in their new Weyr, enough weyrs had been cleared to house all the injured dragons and riders; the work teams had been trained in the basics of first aid and dressings; T’mar and his scouting parties had located several good grazing areas and had filled them with herdbeasts; they had started a well-composted herb garden and had located and identified several varieties of wild crops and fruits that they could harvest to add to their stores. All in all, as Fiona woke early on the morning of her fifth day, leaving Terin to sleep in for once, it seemed that things were well in hand.

She turned the glow enough to manage her toilet, then turned it over again to its dim side, slid quietly past