Dragon’s Time: Dragonriders of Pern

by Anne; Todd J. Mccaffrey Mccaffrey

  Bemused, Lorana rose, only to reach out to the thin man for support. Tenniz gave her an apologetic look and a firm grab, helping her to steady herself on her wobbly legs.

  “Not far,” he said. “I hope you’ll have your energy back soon.”

  “You didn’t see that?”

  “What I saw was that you came from a dark, cold place, through a darker, colder place, suffering a great loss, feeling a great sadness and despair,” he told her. He smiled for a moment. “I saw us laughing together and looking up at the stars—” He glanced up at the daylight surrounding them. “I expect that will happen later.” He paused as he steered her toward his destination. It was a pile of rocks. “And, I’m sorry to say, I saw you crying as you piled the rocks.”

  “Piled the rocks?” Lorana repeated, looking at the neat pile. And then, beyond it, she saw the small depression carved out of the unrelenting stone of the Red Butte.

  “Well, it took me a while, but I figured it out, I think,” Tenniz said pursing his lips in a quick grimace before adding, “I always liked being out among the stars.” He paused, took a quick step in front of her, and, still holding her hand, knelt, looking up beseechingly. “Would you bury me when the time comes?”

  Rise up,

  Fly high,

  Flame thread,

  Touch sky.

  Telgar Weyr, evening, AL 508.7.21

  “It will turn out all right,” Fiona said as Kindan tucked her into bed. She was exhausted. The day had been a horrible drain on her: first with Tullea’s unexpected arrivals and accusations, then with the realization that she couldn’t hear Lorana anywhere, and finally with the growing belief that Lorana had taken Tullea’s queen Minith forward in time—at the cost of her own pregnancy. Tenniz’s prophecy had come true for Lorana in a horrible way: A dragon gold is only the first price you’ll pay for Pern. If that prophecy were true, then so must be the prophecy that Tenniz had given Fiona: It will turn out all right.

  “If you say so,” Kindan murmured. T’mar had, with a firm nod, sent him off to guide Fiona to bed while the bronze rider had remained with Tullea, B’nik, and the others.

  “I don’t say, Tenniz said so,” Fiona replied sleepily. She suspected Kindan or Bekka had dosed her drink with fellis juice and she made a note to herself to speak with the younger woman about that—wasn’t fellis supposed to be bad for a baby?

  “The fact remains, T’mar, that we’ve less than a full Weyr’s strength still able to fight all the Thread on Pern,” B’nik said as he slumped wearily in his chair. He and Tullea, at T’mar’s suggestion, had gone into the Kitchen Cavern for wine and a talk. “If Fiona’s right, Lorana has gone ahead—”

  “Why?”

  T’mar shrugged. “To get help, I’d imagine.”

  “Help from the future?” B’nik repeated, his eyes narrowing. “Is that possible?”

  “I suppose, if we can go into the past to recover, we can just as easily go to the future,” T’mar said.

  “Why don’t we send our injured and our weyrlings back in time?” Tullea asked. The others looked at her. “We’ve got almost more of them than we have fighting dragons.”

  “Where would we send them?” B’nik asked. “Igen’s been used back in the past, unless we want to go back to the time of the Plague.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend that,” Kindan’s voice carried to them as he strode up to the table. T’mar gestured him toward a seat, asking, “Fiona?”

  “Sleeping,” Kindan replied. A small smile tugged at his lips as he added, “I convinced her that Bekka had dosed her mulled wine with fellis.”

  “What good did that do?” Tullea asked.

  Kindan shook his head, his smile widening. “Weyrwoman, for many, it’s not so much the deed as the belief that makes things happen.”

  “Well, she would certainly qualify!” Tullea replied with a derisive snort. “She’s willing to believe anything.”

  “I don’t think so, Weyrwoman,” Kindan replied.

  “You’re no judge; you’re besotted with her,” Tullea snapped.

  “She’s got a good heart, Weyrwoman,” H’nez spoke up in Fiona’s defense. “And she’s done a great deal of good for this Weyr.”

  Tullea frowned. “I suppose you’re right.” After a moment’s thoughtful silence, she shook her head again. “It’s not a question of heart, it’s a question of numbers, and we don’t have enough.”

  “So, if Fiona is right, Lorana has gone to the future to ask for dragonriders to help us,” C’tov said, looking to T’mar and Kindan for confirmation.

  “Yes,” Tullea agreed, glancing toward the door. “So where are they?”

  “I imagine it would take time to convince them,” H’nez said.

  “Time then, not now,” Tullea said, shaking her head. “If Fiona was right, then Lorana would already be back and our Weyrs would be full.”

  She glanced from B’nik to T’mar for confirmation. “Perhaps—” C’tov began.

  “I think we’ve been through enough for an evening,” B’nik said, rising and yawning widely. With a wry grin, he gave T’mar and the Telgar riders an apologetic look.

  “It’s later at Benden than here,” T’mar said, rising as well. He nodded to Tullea. “I’m sorry we kept you so long.”

  Tullea waved the apology aside. “It wasn’t you, it was Lorana.”

  “All the same,” B’nik said as they walked out into the darkened Weyr Bowl, “she did save my life.”

  “And for that,” Tullea said with a heavy emphasis on the last word, “I am grateful.”

  “Kurinth’s hungry,” Terin said the next morning as she heard F’jian mumble behind her in the bed. It had been a strange night for the both of them, with Terin railing at F’jian about his drinking and the bronze rider trying to avoid the issue, but, in the end, with the air cleared, Terin found herself snuggling up close to the taller bronze rider and drifting off to a sleep more peaceful than she’d ever had before.

  “I’ll come with you,” F’jian offered, stirring beside her.

  “No, you’re going to drill today and you need all the rest you can get,” the young queen rider assured him. She turned around long enough to catch his eyes as she added, “With all this timing, you’ll need to be at your best.”

  “Tomorrow’s never certain,” F’jian said, sitting up and looking around blearily for his tunic. “I treasure every moment with you.”

  Terin smiled at him, quickly pulled herself together, and raced out of his weyr down to Kurinth. She was surprised to see Fiona waiting for her, a bucket of scraps in her hand.

  “I was just about to feed her.”

  “Thanks!” Terin said, taking the bucket and going into Kurinth’s weyr, calling out happily to her beautiful baby queen dragon.

  “Good morning, F’jian,” Fiona called as the bronze rider rushed up the queen’s ledge into Kurinth’s weyr.

  “Good morning, Weyrwoman,” F’jian returned jauntily as he raced past.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Fiona said, with a smile and a wave as she turned back to her own weyr.

  A commotion from the weyrling barracks distracted her and she turned to see all the newly Impressed dragonriders race off for buckets of food. She wondered how quickly they’d settle down into a regular routine and wondered if they, too, would suffer from the strange fatigue that bothered her, T’mar, and the weyrlings who had accompanied them back in time to Igen Weyr.

  A growl from her stomach forced Fiona to realize that the dragonets were not the only ones needing food. With a mental caress for Talenth, she started down the ledge across the Bowl to the Kitchen Cavern, following the marvelous smells of breakfast and freshly baked rolls.

  She was not surprised to find T’mar, H’nez, and C’tov already seated, looking as though they’d finished a hasty breakfast. T’mar nodded politely to her, rose quickly, and pulled back a chair in which to seat her.

  “Thank you!”

  “How are you feeling?” T’mar asked c
onversationally. “I’m feeling hungry,” Fiona said, smiling up as a sound from behind alerted her to Shaneese’s approach with a basket of fresh rolls and a pitcher of juice. “Oh, thanks. I’m not sure I could stomach klah this morning.”

  “You wouldn’t get it anyway,” Shaneese told her. “Bekka’s orders.”

  “That young girl takes on entirely too much—”

  T’mar snorted and Fiona glared at him. “I recall saying exactly the same thing about you!”

  “I can’t imagine where she’d learn it,” Shaneese said in agreement.

  “Her mother, probably,” Fiona said, trying to hide her chagrin. Fiona glanced around the Cavern before asking, “Where is she, anyway?”

  “Doing her rounds,” T’mar said. “She was up early with one of the injured dragons—”

  “Dragons!” Fiona exclaimed. “Where is Birentir?”

  “Leading the way,” H’nez said.

  Fiona pushed a roll into her mouth and started chewing urgently even as she rose from the table.

  “Where are you going?” T’mar asked, brows furrowed.

  “After them,” Fiona said. “It’s my duty as Weyrwoman.”

  “Sit,” T’mar said, jabbing a finger toward the chair. Fiona shook her head and then turned in surprise as she felt Shaneese’s arms going to her shoulders, pushing her back down.

  “T’mar’s right, you need to eat,” Shaneese said.

  “But—”

  “Weyrwoman, please listen to them,” H’nez said, his dark eyes grave.

  “But—”

  “Fiona, you’ve got to take care of yourself if you’re to be of any use to the rest of us,” T’mar said. “And you’ve got more responsibilities to consider now.”

  “Especially with Lorana gone,” C’tov added quietly.

  Fiona allowed Shaneese to guide her back into her chair and carefully chewed her roll. They meant well and she knew what they meant—she not only had a responsibility to the Weyr but also to the stirrings in her belly.

  “Lorana’s coming back,” Fiona said after she swallowed. The others looked away, unwilling to comment. Fiona’s lips tightened as she realized that even if she came back, Lorana would have gone too far forward between for her pregnancy to survive. Fiona’s eyes misted as she recalled the tiny kick she had felt from Lorana’s belly. Sometimes, Fiona thought sadly, there are no good choices.

  “Our next Fall will be over lower Crom in five days’ time,” T’mar said to the wingleaders with a side glance toward Fiona.

  “We have seventy-four fighting dragons,” H’nez pointed out.

  T’mar nodded. “B’nik’s offered us a wing from Benden.”

  “That’ll help,” C’tov said.

  F’jian raced in, rushing through the Kitchen Cavern entrance and nearly bouncing off some of the weyrfolk as he ran over to join the discussion.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “I meant to say that F’jian was helping Terin feed her dragon,” Fiona said hastily in the cold silence that fell.

  T’mar smiled and shook his head. “I’ve just started,” he said. “If I’d felt your presence was critical, I would have had Zirenth bespeak Ladirth.”

  H’nez gave the younger bronze rider a dry look while C’tov merely pulled back the seat beside him invitingly.

  “As I said,” T’mar continued while F’jian poured himself some klah, “our next Threadfall is in five days’ time and we’re getting a wing from Benden to help.”

  “That’s good,” F’jian agreed.

  “If we need to,” T’mar continued, “we’ll time it. If we do that, as I’ve told B’nik, we’ll do it without the Benden riders.”

  “Well, let’s hope we get all the Thread the first time, then,” F’jian said. He opened his mouth for a smile and was startled when it expanded into a huge yawn.

  “Somebody had a good night,” C’tov muttered to H’nez.

  “F’jian, you’ll take the light wing,” T’mar declared, glancing over to catch his reaction. “You’ll be responsible for firestone and our reserve.”

  F’jian nodded glumly; he’d expected no less for being late.

  “You’ll have some company,” T’mar declared, “as I’m going to fly solo to coordinate with the three wings.” He nodded to H’nez and C’tov. “That will leave you two your wings intact.”

  “Half of my people are injured,” H’nez said.

  T’mar nodded. “Which is why it’s vital that we spend the next several days training with our new organization.”

  “How do you want to do that?” C’tov asked.

  “I think first we’ll set up the new wings and then give you the day to train them separately,” T’mar said.

  “Just a day?” H’nez asked.

  “Let’s see how we do,” T’mar said, shrugging. “I expect that coordination will shake out pretty quickly.” He gave them all a wry grin. “After all, we have done this before!”

  “And after that?” C’tov asked.

  “We’ll train for a day or two as a Weyr. B’nik’s offered us a day of training with the Benden wing after that,” T’mar said. “The day before the Fall, we’ll rest.” He glanced at F’jian as he added, “Some of us may need it more than others.”

  The younger bronze rider raised his hands in surrender. “All for the best of reasons, Weyrleader.”

  That evening, F’jian invited Terin to dine in his quarters. The drill throughout the day had been hard and they had not had a moment alone together since the morning, so Terin agreed.

  She was disturbed by F’jian’s silence as they climbed the stairs to his rooms.

  “Tired?”

  “Thinking,” F’jian told her with an apologetic look.

  F’jian had arranged to have their meal sent up before they’d started their climb and it was waiting for them when they entered his quarters.

  “Ladirth, how are you?” Terin called politely as they crossed to the small circular table where they took their meal. She frowned when the dragon made no response.

  “Sleepy,” F’jian told her with a wave of his hand. He gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit! I’ll get the food.”

  Terin was delighted at his graciousness, but sat dutifully. F’jian paused on the way back with their dinner tray, looking at her intently.

  “What?” Terin asked, wiping her face in search of any stray hairs or dirt.

  “You’re so beautiful,” F’jian said, placing the tray between them and carefully setting the dishes in front of her. Terin was amazed; F’jian often just wanted to eat straight off the tray.

  “What’s wrong?” Terin asked, suddenly uneasy with his behavior.

  F’jian shook his head. “Nothing,” he said softly, “nothing at all.”

  Terin woke suddenly in the night, cold. F’jian was out of bed. He’d insisted, strangely, on having her sleep further in on the bed—closer to the wall—which was not their normal routine. Terin had relented grudgingly, but soon fell asleep in his rangy, strong, comforting arms.

  Now those arms weren’t around her. She started to call out but stopped as she heard voices from the direction of Ladirth’s weyr. One of the voice’s was a woman’s, speaking quick and low. She heard F’jian answer and then the flutter of wings as Ladirth flew off.

  Concerned, she sent a tendril of thought toward her Kurinth—the young queen was sound asleep. Terin stretched her senses, listening in the dark of the night, but heard nothing untoward. After a while she drifted back to sleep once more, determined to talk to F’jian when he returned.

  She woke to the feeling of hot tears on her cheek. She turned over to see F’jian leaning over her, his eyes full of tears. “What?” she cried. “F’jian, what is it?”

  “Nothing,” the dragonrider told her huskily. “It’s just that you’re so beautiful.” He paused and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I love you so much. Don’t ever forget that.”

  Tenderly, Terin turned to kiss him properly but, to her surprise, he turned from h
er, kissing her on the cheek firmly.

  “Sleep,” he said, allowing himself a huge yawn. “Sleep, I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

  Terin murmured a response and lay her head back down on her pillow. She opened her eyes again as F’jian’s fingers brushed her cheek and he leaned closer, wrapping his warm, strong arms around her once more. Terin sighed happily and drifted back into a deep sleep.

  Terin found herself glancing at F’jian nervously throughout the next day, trying to figure out what had happened. He seemed both more at ease and sadder at the same time. He would always smile when his eyes found hers, but he’d never allow her to catch his expression unguarded for long.

  If F’jian’s behavior was odd, Fiona’s announcement that morning was completely disturbing.

  “She’s all right!” Fiona shouted as she bounced into the Kitchen Cavern that morning.

  Kindan, who was at the weyrlings’ table, glanced up.

  “Lorana!” Fiona said, rushing over to him and grabbing his hands. “I saw her, she’s fine!”

  “Where is she?” Kindan asked even as T’mar and the other bronze riders rushed over, glancing around in a vain attempt to spot the ex-queen rider.

  “She left,” Fiona said airily. “She said she’d be back, though.”

  Kindan’s expression grew troubled and he glanced imploringly over at Birentir and Bekka, who responded by joining them.

  “You saw her?” Bekka asked. “How was she?”

  “She drew a picture for me,” Fiona said. She glanced at Kindan. “I didn’t know you’d given her your colored pencils.”

  Kindan shot her a troubled look.

  “Fiona, why don’t you sit down and tell us while you’re eating,” Birentir suggested, gesturing for one of the weyrlings to yield his seat to the Weyrwoman.

  “All right,” Fiona said, with a touch of annoyance entering her voice. She sat, pulled over a roll, and buttered it. Chewing quickly, she swallowed and looked up to Kindan. “As I said, I saw Lorana this morning.”

  “And she drew you?”