Dragonheart

the sleeping Talenth, and made her way to the Kitchen Cavern, where she discovered the last of the evening crew getting ready for rest and the beginnings of the day crew coming on watch.

T’mar, because of his need to scout the surrounding lands, was on the day crew, and she was not surprised to see him enter the Kitchen Cavern not long after she had set herself down at the Weyrleader’s table with a basket of warm rolls, some preserves, and a pot of klah.

“I wish we had butter,” T’mar grumbled as he joined her, leaning over to examine the various preserves.

“To have butter we’d need milch cows, cowherds to herd them, milkers to milk them, a churner to churn the butter, and a cool place to store it,” Fiona said as she chewed her roll. But, she admitted to herself, a little butter would be nice.

“We could trade,” T’mar said.

“We have nothing to trade with yet,” Fiona pointed out. “Anyway, in this heat, how long would butter last?”

“There must be a way to keep it cool,” T’mar said.

“Some of the storage rooms might work . . .”

“Not for long, you’d need some ice — ”

“Ice!” Fiona’s shout caused everyone in the room to turn toward her. “T’mar, that’s it! We can get ice!”

“What?”

“It isn’t enough to have a tithe of gold,” Fiona continued on excitedly. “We need something we can trade with anyone at any time.”

“Most people will do without ice if they’ve other needs,” T’mar warned her.

“But those that want it will pay dearly,” Fiona said, her enthusiasm unabated. “Think of it, particularly here in this heat! Not only can you keep food fresh, but if you set up a fan — and we’ve no lack of wind here to drive one — you could cool a room!”

T’mar stroked his chin thoughtfully, staring absently in the distance in front of him.

“Some of our riders would do better if their quarters were cooler,” he murmured. Then he shook himself out of his musings and turned his attention back once again to the young queen rider in front of him. “It’s the middle of summer and we’re in one of the hottest places on Pern, where were you planning on finding ice?” he demanded. A moment later he added, “And without getting us caught. Don’t forget that none of the riders in this time know of our presence here.”

Fiona waved aside his objections with an airy flick of one hand. “Where, bronze rider, is it cold all Turn?”

“You can’t make ice between !” T’mar objected.

“No, not between, ” Fiona said, her tone exasperated. She pointed toward with her finger. “North! In the Snowy Wastes!”

T’mar looked at her as if she were sun-touched.

“Think of it, it’s just a jump between  for us and then we’re back again with as much ice as we can carve out of the ground.”

“Where would you go?” T’mar asked. “This idea is so good, I’d be very surprised if D’gan or one of the other Igen riders hasn’t already thought of it — in which case we stand a very good chance of running right into them.”

“Then we go where they don’t,” Fiona said. “We go north of Benden or Nabol.”

“We could use the coastline to guide us,” T’mar mused appreciatively. “That would give us an easy mark to follow.” Then he frowned again. “Except that the coast is often fog-shrouded, which could spell disaster.”

Fiona gave him a questioning look.

“A dragon needs a good visual image to go between, ” he told her, remembering that she had yet to take Talenth between  on her own.

Fiona knew what happened without a good image — at best, the dragon would not go between.  At worst . . . it would be lost forever, trapped between.

“Wait a moment,” T’mar exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“What?”

“The Far Watchers!” T’mar told her, his expression triumphant. “Every weyrling is drilled on them; they’re not part of the standard recognition points so we don’t drill them often, but even so . . .”

“Far Watchers?” Fiona repeated, confused.

T’mar gestured to her apologetically, explaining, “They’re two very tall peaks at the northern edge of the Benden Mountains — weyrlings are taught about them to get an idea of the sort of weather that’s too cold for Thread to survive.” He grinned. “To the north of the peaks the ground is always frozen, covered in layers of ice.” He nodded to her as he continued, “Layers of marvelous, easily cut and hauled, tradeable ice.”

“So when can we go?”

“We, ” T’mar said, “aren’t going anywhere. Now that you’ve given me the idea, I’ll take a group of the older weyrlings there later today when we have a chance.” He gestured toward her. “You  will want to arrange a special storage room for the ice, maybe two, as we’ll need to experiment to find the best way to store it as long as we can.”

Fiona began spluttering in protest until T’mar said the one word that was certain to silence her. Rising from his chair, he nodded to her, his eyes twinkling. “Weyrwoman.”

Fiona forced her temper back under control, giving him a seething look as she nodded his dismissal.

“Until later, wingleader,” she replied, stressing the last word with a tone that hinted threat and revenge while emphasizing her superior position — a mannerism she’d learned from her father when he dealt with recalcitrant holders minor and lofty craftsfolk.

When Terin arrived later in the day, Fiona had her detail a work party to clear out the innermost supply room.

“And make sure that we can get in and out of it easily,” she added. “I’m off to check on the injured riders.”

“Say hello to K’rall for me,” Terin said in a waspish tone — the older bronze rider was a very bad patient who was completely unwilling to have young Terin tend to him and refused to accept that she was headwoman, even when Fiona had asked Talenth to relay the information to Seyorth, his dragon.

Fiona he treated with a mixture of awe and condescension, not forgetting for a moment that she was a queen rider but constantly harping on about her youth. As she got to know him more, Fiona started treating him like one of the old guards at Fort Hold : she was polite, deferential, but very definitely in charge.

And she was grateful that of all the older wingleaders, she had to deal with him rather than H’nez, whose manners brought out the worst of her famous Fort Hold temper.

She stopped in the kitchen long enough to prepare a light tray and grab a first-aid bag, then headed around the Bowl to K’rall’s weyr. She mused at this other difference in Igen Weyr living — at Fort Weyr , no one thought twice about walking directly from one side of the Bowl to the other, but here, in hot Igen, everyone was careful to use the interior corridors and the back entrances to the weyrs.

Fiona made a mental note to herself — again — to get canvas and fittings for awnings that could be placed above the weyrs to provide shade. She and Terin had seen the small indentations above either side of every weyr in Igen and had quickly divined their purpose, but a search for the corresponding poles and canvas had proven fruitless. She couldn’t imagine why the cooler Telgar Weyr clime would require such things, but perhaps the Igen weyrfolk had decided to bring this bit of familiarity with them.

Fiona imagined how the Weyr would look festooned with brightly colored canvases — from above it might look like a mini-Gather, quite colorful. She wondered if riders would insist on having the awning colors match their dragons’ colors or if they would go for more elaborate designs. In fact — and Fiona made another mental note — such work could easily be extended to tents that might be profitably traded with desert folk everywhere. Perhaps there was a new trade for the Fort riders, used as they were to knitting garments in their spare time. But first they’d have to trade for the fabric . . .

She stopped outside K’rall’s door, listening and gathering her breath and thoughts.

“K’rall?” she called when she was ready, and marched through the door.

“Are you decent?” she asked as she placed the tray on his dining table, keeping to the newly established