Тодд Маккефри: Dragonheart

“What happened?” Fiona demanded, glancing from F’jian to J’gerd and then to T’mar. The wingleader shrugged.

“He accused me — ” F’jian began hotly but broke off abruptly as he spotted Terin in the distance.

“You should know better — ” T’mar began consolingly.

“Don’t talk to me, wingleader!” F’jian snapped back. “You have no command over me.”

“I do,” Fiona told him softly.

“A Weyrwoman is a Weyrwoman when her dragon rises,” F’jian retorted, the veins on his neck straining with his anger.

“No,” Fiona replied, her voice steady and cold. “A Weyrwoman becomes senior Weyrwoman when her queen is the first to mate in a new weyr.” She gestured around the Bowl. “Do you see any other queen dragons here?” F’jian swallowed and glanced away from her, and she continued, “So we know that if Talenth rises, I will be senior Weyrwoman.”

“It won’t happen here,” F’jian said in a snarl.

“No, it won’t,” Fiona agreed. She leaned in toward him, her eyes narrowed dangerously. “And it doesn’t matter. Because I am a Weyrwoman, here or at Fort Weyr in the future. And because I am, the dragons — and their riders — listen to me.”

F’jian’s eyes started in alarm, but he dropped his head, unwilling to meet her gaze.

Fiona felt herself in a strange place, in a moment in time where she knew that whatever she did was crucial, would alter not only her future but the future of everyone here — perhaps even all of Pern.

You can do it. The voice wasn’t the strange one, it was an echo of Nuella’s faith in her, of Tannaz’s eyes, of Aleesa’s confidence, of Mother Karina’s strength. Without looking, Fiona knew that the old trader woman was near, watching, unable and unwilling to interfere.

The moment was Fiona’s alone.

She walked closer to the young bronze rider, raised a hand under his chin, and forced his head up so that his eyes met hers. “What should we do, bronze rider?”

F’jian met her look with a mixture of shame and horror.

“I can imagine what J’gerd said to you,” Fiona told him calmly, ignoring the sudden shift of the brown rider beside her. “And I’m sure he regrets it.”

“Bronze rider,” J’gerd spoke slowly, miserably, “I apologize for insulting you and your intentions.”

“Pretty lame,” Fiona told him out of the corner of her mouth. “You’ve been teasing him unmercifully for at least a month, I’m sure.”

J’gerd’s reaction confirmed Fiona’s suspicions and she berated herself for not acting sooner. T’mar might be the oldest bronze rider here, but his power over the now-grown weyrlings had been fading every day. And, as it faded, the responsibility for the Weyr fell more and more on Fiona’s shoulders — shoulders that up until this moment she had felt too frail for the strain.

Now, as she felt Talenth’s silent love, approval, and strength, and as she felt something even more — the unspoken fealty not only of dragons to their queen but of their riders to their queen’s rider — now, Fiona knew she’d made a mistake. Risen or not, mated or not, Weyrwoman or not, hers was the responsibility and her shoulders — so much thinner than her father’s — had all the strength of Fort Hold and Fort Weyr supporting them.

“T’mar,” she ordered, “get the suits.” She paused, glancing at J’gerd and F’jian. “These two are going to get their chance to knock the stuffing out of each other.”

Fiona felt but did not see T’mar’s nod and heard him as he turned and delegated a group of riders to bring out the thick stuffing suits.

As the riders set up an impromptu circle, Fiona caught sight of Mother Karina and nodded to her. The old woman took the glance for an invitation and joined her.

“What are they doing?”

“I thought you would have seen this earlier,” Fiona said in surprise. Four riders struggled in, two each to the heavily padded suits that they carried between them. “If riders have a disagreement, we can’t let them fight to the death — their dragons would be lost with them.”

Karina nodded, then gestured to the suits. “And those . . . ?”

“They are heavily padded,” Fiona told her, adding with a smile, “and very restricting.”

The two riders were being helped to drag on the thick trousers and tunic, then were engulfed in fluffy helmets and huge, balled gloves.

“I’ve only seen one other fight myself,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “There is something about being back in time, by the First Egg, that makes riders more irritable.”

“Queen riders, too?” Karina asked softly.

Fiona nodded bleakly. “Queen riders, too.”

“So who knocks the stuffing out of you when you need it?” Karina wondered.

“Usually, I do,” Fiona admitted sourly.

“Hmm,” Karina murmured, her expression neutral.

“They’ll be exhausted before too long,” Fiona predicted as the two riders stood opposite each other and began the formal salute.

“How long will you let them fight?” Terin demanded from behind. Fiona turned to the younger woman and pursed her lips before answering, “Until one of them can’t fight anymore.”

“Won’t or can’t?” Terin persisted.

“Can’t,” Fiona told her firmly.

F’jian delivered the first blow, rocking J’gerd back on his heels. The brown rider kept his hands at his sides.

“You wanted this fight!” Fiona shouted at J’gerd angrily. J’gerd looked at her entreatingly, but Fiona shook her head, her anger growing. “You fight, brown rider.”

Reluctantly, J’gerd raised his hands to block F’jian’s blows, but the wiry bronze rider ducked around him and started pummeling the brown rider on his side, harmlessly.

“If you don’t fight now, J’gerd,” Fiona called to him, “I’ll have you fight again tomorrow and the next day until you do fight.”

“Why are you forcing him?” Terin demanded in horror.

“So that he will never want to fight again.”

“That’s stupid!”

“Yes, it is,” T’mar agreed as he crossed to Fiona’s side. “But it is the only way to get them to stop.”

F’jian landed a good blow on J’gerd’s face, bloodying the brown rider’s nose and suddenly J’gerd was fighting. He lunged into F’jian and landed one solid blow, but then the bronze rider dodged, slammed both gloved hands into J’gerd’s back, and sent the brown rider stumbling away.

When J’gerd turned back, F’jian caught him another doublefisted blow in the face, sending J’gerd reeling backward until he stumbled and fell down.

“Enough.” Fiona said the word quietly, but it traveled throughout the circle with a weight of its own. She rushed over to kneel beside J’gerd, eyeing his bruised face with muted sympathy before glancing up at F’jian. The bronze rider was breathing heavily and had a cut over his right eye, that Fiona judged painful but superficial.

“Is honor satisfied now, bronze rider?” she asked him in a tone that dictated the response.

“Yes, Weyrwoman,” F’jian replied. Fiona nodded to the other riders, saying, “Get them out of the suits.”

When F’jian was once more standing in front of her in his riding clothes, Fiona pointed to his cut. “I bet that stings.”

“Not much,” F’jian said cockily.

Before she could have any second thoughts, Fiona raised her hand, spun on her heel, and slapped him hard on the cheek.

“I’ll bet that does,” she growled as she turned back to face him, her hand raised for a repeat performance. In the distance, Talenth rumbled angrily, echoed by the distressed calls of the Weyr’s dragons.

“Yes, it does, Weyrwoman,” F’jian cried, his tough stance disintegrating into the bewildered look of a young man uncertain of his ground and standing.