Dragonheart

Fiona started to suggest that he consult T’mar but thought better of it. She was  the Weyrwoman, after all.

“I’m sure we can think of something!” she told him with a grin. Then she recalled her earlier discussion with the dragonrider and the fear he had of the reaction to his scarred face. “Why don’t you come down and join us this evening for the meal?”

K’rall opened his mouth in protest, caught the admonishing look in Fiona’s eyes, and closed his mouth, slowly nodding in acceptance.

“I’ll have Terin get you a slate and you can write down those dates while you’re there,” Fiona told him. She turned and started to leave, then called back over her shoulder, “We eat at the Weyrwoman’s table, in the back.”

K’rall’s amused snort followed her down the hall.

T’mar was not amused when Fiona informed him that evening as they made their way to the Dining Cavern. Fiona could feel his discomfort even as he tried to form a reply.

“He had to recover sometime,” she told him. “And you’ve been complaining for more than a sevenday at how overworked your wingleaders are.”

T’mar nodded glumly and Fiona cocked a sideways glance at him. “Are you worried that he’ll challenge your authority?”

T’mar said nothing.

“That’s silly,” Fiona said. “I’m  the authority here.”

“I don’t know if K’rall, recovered, will feel that way,” T’mar told her. “You’ve yet to have fourteen Turns.”

Fiona had spent much time thinking about this, so she had a ready answer. “It’s not age, it’s authority that matters here.”

T’mar looked at her questioningly.

“As long as Talenth is the oldest queen, the dragons will defer to her,” Fiona said. “And in deferring to her, they defer to me.”

T’mar pursed his lips sourly. “You sound like a hardened, tough old rider.”

“I’m not,” Fiona replied. “But I’m a Lord Holder’s daughter, I’ve been trained from birth to lead others.” She grimaced. “I don’t think I know anything else.”

“You’re young; you’re going to make mistakes.”

“What, and older people don’t make mistakes, too?” Fiona snapped, eyes flashing. She shook her head, dismissing her anger. “Being young, I know  that I make mistakes, I know that I have much to learn, and I’m willing to ask for help when I need it.” She paused. “So, wingleader, will you help me with K’rall?”

T’mar let out a long sigh and broke his stride, turning toward her. For a moment as their eyes locked, Fiona felt that T’mar was seeing her in a different light, and it both thrilled and scared her. And then . . . the moment was gone and the tall bronze rider nodded.

“Of course, Weyrwoman.”

And Fiona realized that the look he had given her was not for the Weyrowman but for her, Fiona, herself.

K’rall did not arrive until dinner had already been served, and then he made his way quickly, head down, to the table at the rear of the dining cavern. He could not avoid the cheerful calls of the small numbers of ambulatory convalescents, but he acknowledged them only with a curt nod.

T’mar rose when he noticed the older rider, as did Fiona. Seeing their Weyrwoman rise, the rest of the table followed suit. K’rall sat hastily, but Fiona remained standing, sweeping her gaze over the other tables and commanding them with her presence to rise as well.

A hush fell throughout the huge room.

“It’s good to have you join us again, bronze rider,” Fiona said, looking at K’rall. He raised his eyes to hers and then recognized that everyone was standing in his honor. Fiona raised her glass to her lips. “I drink to your continued recovery.”

There was a moment’s silence, then the hall filled with a chorus of: “K’rall!”

Fiona sat down slowly, her cheeks burning as she darted a glance at T’mar, who shook his head imperceptibly, confirming her own feeling that she’d overdone it. Well, she’d made a mistake — she’d learn from it.

“I’m sorry, K’rall,” she said softly to the bronze rider. “I meant to welcome you, not embarrass you.”

K’rall glanced over to her and smiled. “I’m not embarrassed,” he told her. “I was just a bit taken aback, is all.”

“I was telling the Weyrwoman how glad I’ll be to have more wingleaders recovered,” T’mar said. “I don’t know if she’s told you much of our circumstances here, but there’s much to do and few hands to do it with.”

“I haven’t told you much,” Fiona admitted to K’rall, “because I didn’t want worrying to slow your recovery.”

“I’m a wingleader, my lady, worrying is part of my job,” K’rall told her, his face set grimly but his eyes resting upon her warmly. “Tell me what needs doing, and I’ll see how I can help.”

Quickly, with useful interjections from T’mar and J’keran, and occasional nods from the younger F’jian, Fiona sketched the state of the Weyr’s affairs, deftly handling K’rall’s indignant outburst when she dealt with the problems of demanding a tithe and describing their successes to date.

“I see,” K’rall said when she had finished. He took a moment to slowly chew a bite of his meal, then turned back to her. “And what is it you’d like me to do?”

“One thing that I absolutely require is for you to start rounds with the other injured riders,” she replied promptly. K’rall raised his eyes at that but Fiona persisted. “It’s vital that injured riders see other riders recovered from their wounds — ”

“Gives them hope,” K’rall murmured approvingly. His eyes twinkled and his craggy features creased as he said, “You’ve your father’s way with words, my lady.”

“Shh!” Fiona chided him. “You don’t want to strain those muscles too much.”

K’rall winced in agreement.

“Speaking of between, ” T’mar interposed himself deftly into the conversation, “we’ve discovered a problem with our training.”

K’rall contented himself with a raised eyebrow in response.

“Our training on recognition points — ” T’mar began then caught himself. “— my  training on recognition points was — or will be — nearly eight Turns in the future.” He paused, but K’rall gestured for him to proceed. T’mar plunged on, explaining about the ice — which prompted a surprised yet approving look from the other bronze rider — and the problem with timing it.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” K’rall admitted. He stabbed his fork toward Fiona and T’mar. “But you’ve a solution . . .”

T’mar nodded and explained about the traders and learning to navigate by the stars.

“I would like to learn this,” K’rall said when T’mar had finished. He glanced at Fiona. “You think we can use the stars to guide us between  times?”

“I think someone  has done it — or will do it — already,” Fiona replied firmly, recalling their arrival at Igen Weyr.

K’rall nodded in agreement. “Any idea who the mystery Weyrwoman is?” He paused, then added, “Or will be?”

T’mar glanced significantly at Fiona, who bristled at the implication and replied heatedly, “No one knows!”

“Time will tell,” T’mar responded teasingly.

After dessert, Terin placed a clean slate and chalk by K’rall’s arm and Fiona eyed him meaningfully. K’rall glanced at T’mar and smiled, took the slate, and filled it in quickly before passing it back to Fiona.

Fiona looked at it for a moment, then passed it over to Terin, tapping at one point significantly.

“Oh, that  will do!” Terin crowed ecstatically.

Terin and Fiona kept their plans secret until the first day of the next month. That morning they cornered K’rall