Тодд Маккефри: Dragonheart

Squawks from behind warned them that J’keran and the older riders were not pleased with the maneuver, so Fiona quietly urged Talenth back to her routine of slow, steady strokes.

But from that moment on, Fiona’s view of their journey changed from one of duty to one of adventure, and time seemed to shrivel into nothing as they soared back to Igen Weyr.

True to his word, T’mar quizzed the riders on their return for the recognition points they’d chosen, demanding that they send the image to Zirenth. Red-faced, each rider was informed, usually by Zirenth’s amused snort, that his image was not sufficiently wellformed to use for a journey between.

Only Fiona’s image of the watermill at the wherhold passed muster.

I see it, Zirenth told her directly. I could go there.

Fiona kept her expression neutral, not wanting to further depress the weyrlings.

After that, sending images was added to their daily routine. Then one night, over a month after they’d started this routine, T’mar arose after dinner and announced, “Tomorrow the younger dragons will turn two.”

Fiona glanced excitedly at the younger weyrlings gathered at her table. She’d known it; she’d been counting down the days, hoping that perhaps they would start —

“Tomorrow, in the morning, we will start drilling on going between, ” T’mar said. After that, his mouth continued to move, but no one could hear him for the roar of approval that echoed throughout the Kitchen Cavern.

“You stay here,” Terin told Fiona acerbically after the fourth time she was awakened by the Weyrwoman’s tossing and turning. “If you go to Talenth, you’ll keep her awake, too!”

As the younger girl grabbed spare blankets and hauled herself off, grumbling under her breath, to the queen’s lair, Fiona muttered an apology and tried to force herself to sleep . . . but it wasn’t possible.

Sleep, Talenth murmured to her sometime later and, whether it was her tone or some special ability that she’d only just acquired, Fiona finally drifted off.

She awoke with the very first noises of the morning, dressed quickly, and ran to the Kitchen Cavern.

T’mar arrived at his usual time and refused to be rushed, even though Fiona could feel the tension of the other weyrlings nearly overwhelm her own sense of excitement.

“If you all cannot calm down, we will try again tomorrow,” T’mar said after the werylings had groaned at seeing him pour a third cup of klah.

Fiona willed herself to be calm, sending her eagerness into the very rock of the Weyr, forcing her breathing to slow, concentrating her loving thoughts on Talenth. Around her, she felt the other riders do the same.

“Better,” T’mar intoned, slowly raising his cup to his lips. Only Fiona saw how his brows twitched as he tried to keep from laughing.

“I’ll bet you were worse on your first day,” Fiona said accusingly.

“Another habit of a leader is to ensure that those who learn from her don’t have to repeat her mistakes,” T’mar observed drily. Fiona gave him a brittle look. The bronze rider was clearly enjoying himself, but she couldn’t argue with his dedication.

T’mar sent the older weyrlings out first. They flew off singly, winking out between to the recognition points he had assigned them.

“Break into groups of three,” T’mar ordered as the younger weyrlings gathered in front of him. Fiona aligned herself with F’jian, but T’mar shook his head at her, saying, “You’re your own group, Weyrwoman.”

The weyrlings smiled but, prudently, made no comment.

“We’ve twelve recognition points,” T’mar told them. “Twelve groups. We work round-robin.”

J’keran appeared suddenly over the Star Stones, and landed just as T’mar pointed toward him, saying, “J’keran at the Star Stones is your return point. You will jump to your recognition point and then back here to the Star Stones and land. Once you’ve landed, you’ll rotate to the next group until you’ve jumped to all of the recognition points.”

The weyrlings surged eagerly toward their dragons, but T’mar’s voice rose up. “You will jump one at a time. We will wait until we know that the jump was successful before another person goes between. ” He paused, glaring around at the riders. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, wingleader!” Fiona and the thirty-two weyrling riders shouted back dutifully.

“Do you really understand?” T’mar asked again, lowering his voice dangerously.

“Yes, wingleader!” they shouted once more.

“Very well,” T’mar said. He glanced around, pointing at D’lanor.

“You will jump first,” he said.

D’lanor gulped, his eyes wide with sudden fright.

“J’gerd has your position.” T’mar paused. “What is your destination?”

D’lanor closed his eyes and repeated the drill of asking his Canoth to ask J’gerd’s Winurth for the image.

“It’s dark!” he said, opening his eyes in surprise. “I can’t see enough!”

“Yes, it is,” T’mar agreed, smiling at the distraught rider to assure him that he’d done well. “Try again.”

D’lanor closed his eyes once more. This time when he opened them, he was smiling. “The wherhold.”

T’mar nodded and paused, no doubt, Fiona guessed, checking with J’gerd, Winurth, Zirenth, and Canoth to confirm that D’lanor had good coordinates.

“Very well, mount your dragon, fly up to the Star Stones, and, when you get the signal, you may jump between. ”

Time seemed to stand still as Fiona and the other weyrlings watched D’lanor climb to his mount on Canoth, carefully check his straps, solemnly salute T’mar and Fiona, launch into the sky, and climb up toward the Star Stones.

Fiona didn’t know what the signal was and so was shocked when Canoth and D’lanor suddenly disappeared between. She wasn’t the only one, for around her the other weyrlings gasped softly in surprise.

She could hear her heart beating loudly, feel the blood pumping through her veins as she waited, breathless.

“There comes a time,” T’mar said softly in her ear, having sidled over to her unnoticed, “when you have to trust.”

Fiona glanced up at him bleakly, then nodded in understanding, forcing her lips straight, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

She was just about to ask T’mar or Talenth if D’lanor had made it when suddenly there was a change above the Star Stones and D’lanor and Canoth burst out of between, back from their first flight.

To the cheers of his weyrmates, an elated D’lanor glided back down to the Weyr Bowl.

T’mar pointed to the next group. “J’nos, you will go to V’lex.”

J’nos repeated the drill, discovering that V’lex was hovering over Plains Hold. Again, dragon and rider rose to their position by the Star Stones, again they disappeared between, and again their weyrmates held their collective breath until, triumphant, the dragonpair returned to the Star Stones.

It seemed, as this was repeated over and over, that the fear and the thrill should lessen, that it should grow anticlimactic, but it didn’t.

“Weyrwoman,” T’mar said finally. She was the last to go. The others all looked at her expectantly. She looked to T’mar for instructions and he surprised her with, “Where do you want to go?”

Fiona’s eyes went wide. In her panic, she reached out to Talenth.

We can do this, Talenth assured her, not at all concerned. We already did it once when we came here.

The calm in her mental touch was enough to reduce Fiona’s fright to something manageable.

“The wherhold,” Fiona replied. “I’d like to pay my respects to Lady Nuella while I’m there.”