The Seventh Wing - 1. Chapter 1

The small ledge on the topmost level of the weyr bowl looked deserted. Gibbrenth back-winged ungainly for a moment before steadying and J'day took his time in dismounting.

Are you sure we're expected? he asked his dragon.

The bronze nodded and dropped off the edge to go perch on the rim and soak in the last heat of the day. Even this late in the afternoon, with the sun ducking beyond the peaks of Igen Weyr, the heat was stifling. The weyr itself was in a good position, receiving the full brunt of the sun only for a few hours around mid-day and the ledge took full advantage of the slight breezes that came up from the south. To J'day, Igen was always blisteringly hot, even though it was still winter. The other riders assured him he'd adjust; J'day had his doubts.

Still a trifle uncertainly, for he didn't know the man, J'day stepped inside Wingrider F'rian's weyr. The sight of the enormous green dragon curled up in slumber in the outer-most chamber stopped him briefly. A certain fondness wrinkled the corners of his eyes as he recalled this particular dragon's hatching.

J'day had come to Igen Weyr that evening with special permission from his own Weyrleader to convey family for the hatching. Igen Weyr had been abandoned for turns and had even been forgotten for a time. With the 4th Pass approaching, old records had been pulled out and studied, the Weyr rediscovered and settled, and they now had a growing population that should make the difficulties of the 3rd Pass a thing of harper ballads. What with Igen still being so new, most of the other Weyrs had allowed for candidates to be Searched in their territories or offered their own weyrbrats. One of his cousins, his mother's sister's son, was a candidate and the family had applied to J'day for transport. Gibbrenth was not a large dragon; there were many browns equal to him or larger, but his aunt and uncle were neither large nor unruly passengers. They'd arrived with enough time to ensure good seats and J'day had had a singularly good view as the candidates had arrived much later, just prior to the hatching.

Around him he'd listened to the gossip of Igen's riders and his gaze was instantly attracted to the tall youth in the lead, the one with the very short, very curly black hair and form of a runner.

"That's the one," he'd heard one of the riders say. "Florian. Surely he'll get a bronze."

"My mark's on Nuache," replied one of the others. "Good lad, that. N'gan's son, you know. From Ista."

Their banter had gone back and forth, one favoring the weyrbred lad, another favoring the holder lad, and others carrying on about their own favorites. J'day had found that he was captivated by the tall lad's quiet confidence, so unlike the fidgeting and strained faces of the other candidates. Florian was tall, but not overly so, and with a runner's slim, but strong physique, but as he took his place, J'day noticed that Florian's very poise seemed to isolate him from the others. The two boys to either side gave him nervous looks, drawing either solace or confidence from whatever he said to them, but there was an undeniable space.

J'day's heart had twinged a little in sympathy. He could understand that kind of loneliness. Not a day had gone by since Gibbrenth's hatching that someone did not make a jibe at his size. The boys and then men he'd fought over those insults had not won him many friends. The riders of each mating flight that Gibbrenth had won had made it out to be some kind of personal affront that the littlest bronze had managed to fly their green. To other riders Gibbrenth was too small, too ... cute. J'day had sworn that he and Gibbrenth would be the best dragon pair in the wing. His dragon might be the smallest bronze, but that didn't stop him from catching the greens he chased.

The hatching soon overcame J'day's reservations and he watched as eagerly as the rest, feeling the inner glow that reminded him of his own Impression. Two browns and a bronze hatched first, stumbling about, a handful of greens followed almost immediately, then another bronze and two blues. This was a large clutch with 35 eggs, and even a queen egg. There was a rise in the volume of whispers as both the newly hatched browns and the bronze all seemed to converge on one end of the line. J'day heard the boisterous teasing of the men behind him only distantly, too caught up in the moment. Surely the boy, Florian, would get the bronze! He certainly seemed to think so, too, and stepped forward eagerly, but a sudden screeching distracted all attention to another dragonet, a green, knocking aside one of the other boys carelessly in her haste.

Florian paused, turning his head, and then the dragonet was on him, knocking him down. She clawed him brutally through the thin candidate's robe, hissing angrily at the other dragonets. She screeched again in anger and the other three dragonets halted uneasily before turning aside. There was laughter in the stands now, but J'day was sitting close enough to the sands to hear the boy's clear, soothing voice, interspersed with pain-filled sobs.

"Lioleth, Lioleth, it's all right, I'm all right." A dry chuckle. "I'm yours, I'm yours, calm down."

He made no move to rise, only craning his neck around at the weyrlingmaster's encouragement to look the dragonet in the eye. She creened in hunger and distress, still sitting on Florian's back, a back that was rapidly turning the white robe red.

Such boldness and perversity in a green was unusual, and J'day suddenly realized he'd missed the rest of the hatching for watching the pair. Healers, human and dragon alike, pressed closer to them, Florian's voice becoming progressively weaker, but the dragonet wouldn't let anyone approach. Abandoning his aunt and uncle to make their way out of the cavern alone, J'day pushed his way to the edge and vaulted over the rail. He dashed across the hot sands for a bucket of the chopped meat the other weyrlings were now feeding to their dragonets, and then back across the sands to the caterwauling green.

Both Weyrleader and Weyrwoman were there, but J'day went right past, agilely ducking the dragonet's teeth to throw a handful of bloody meat at the weyrling's hand. Florian stared at it dazedly for a minute before offering the chunk to the dragon. She swallowed greedily, peering around Florian at J'day, holding the bucket.

"Thanks, lad," called the dragon healer. "Keep her distracted, see if she'll follow."

J'day took a step closer, this time crouching beside the weyrling to set another piece in his easy reach. The suntanned hand trembled, as if all the strength in his lean form were being used to lift the scant ounces of herdbeast. Piece by piece, J'day gave meat to Florian until he was successfully able to coax the stubborn dragonet off the boy and to one side. It was only when Florian's head dropped face-first into the sand in sudden silence that J'day realized the boy hadn't stopped trying to console his distressed dragonet. With food in her belly, she was growing sleepy, too young and inexperienced to worry about her young rider.

Still stuffing the dragonet's belly, J'day watched as the healers pulled off the blood-soaked robe and doused the boy, neck to knee in numbweed. Even from where he stood, the wounds looked horrific.

"Thank you, Bronze Rider," said the Weyrlingmaster, reaching J'day's side. "I'll take the little gel from here."

J'day nodded, absently wiping his hands on his pants. He grinned at the older man. "Feisty little thing, isn't she?"

"She certainly knew what she wanted," said a dry voice from behind them. J'day turned to regard Weyrleader T'rar.

"Uh, my apologies, Weyrleader," he stammered hastily, switching from foot to foot on the sands he'd just realized were searing hot.

"No need, Bronze Rider ...?" he paused, his eyes going to the epaulets and patch on J'day's shoulder.

"Um, J'day, sir, Gibbrenth's rider, from Fort Weyr."

"Pleased to meet you, J'day, and my thanks as well." The weyrleader frowned, glancing over at the stricken boy now being maneuvered onto a stretcher. "Pity," he murmured softly. "I was so sure he'd get a bronze."

"It's not the color that matters," J'day had protested, moving instinctively to defend the valiant green.

The weyrleader's eyes darted back to him and J'day swallowed nervously, in awe of the powerful weyrleader and cognizant of being measured in some sense by the older man.

"No," the Weyrleader had agreed and his gaze had seemed to soften. "Color isn't everything." His eyes glanced over J'day's insignia again and he'd remarked, "You go against popular opinion, then?"

"I ... sir, I didn't mean anything!"

"Relax, J'day," replied the weyrleader with a smile. He looked up. "Is that your dragon?"

"Uh, yes." Perched now beside the other bronze, Gibbrenth seemed tiny and almost orange next to the darker bronze of Rothangalth.

"He has lovely conformation. Come," he added, ignoring the younger rider's shock to throw an arm over his shoulders. "I believe I owe you a drink."

Looking at the green now, J'day could remember that day nearly five turns ago as if it were yesterday. He had earned scathing looks from his family for his absence and blood-stained clothes, but speaking to the weyrleader for those few moments were some of the best minutes of J'day's recollection. Weyrleader T'rar had praised him and thanked him and J'day had found his eyes going back to the man often during the feast and celebrations.

T'rar was in his late thirties and growing gray at the temples, but he had a vitality that energized those around him. It was easy to see why he'd been selected to re-start Igen Weyr. Weyrwoman Malira, by contrast, was far older, her hair almost completely white. She'd been the Senior Weyrwoman at High Reaches before stepping down to come to Igen. Everyone was more than relieved to see the gold egg hatched, for there were few who believed that Oimorith would rise again. With a new weyrwoman to take over, Igen was well on its way to being self-sufficient.

J'day almost reached out to pat the dragon on the nose. Lioleth was not the largest green dragon that J'day had ever seen, but she was as large as an average blue, and a slightly dappled sea-green color from nose to tail. She wasn't bulky, quite the contrary. She was long rather than large, with a fairly small body in comparison to wingspread and tail. The thought of what a mating flight must be like quickened J'day's pulse. He'd seen F'rian and his green pull off some gut-wrenching maneuvers last turn at the Spring Games and the other riders he'd spoken to told him that this green put up a merry chase when she rose.

He edged past the dragon, stepping carefully over the tail, and into the living quarters beyond. The weyr was quite warm and snug, really much too small for a dragon Lioleth's size, and the living area was not much larger. Two old and battered chairs flanked the hearth, and a single, lumpy sofa. Within reach of the sofa was a modest kitchenette, and beyond were two curtained off areas that led to the sleeping area, visible through the open curtain, and the necessary. The place was impeccably clean and tidy; not a speck of dust anywhere. An easel rested in one corner with a half-finished painting of a woman standing next to the lead-outlined form of a dragon. Stacked on the table in neat piles were reams of paper, J'day rather thought they were more drawings, and the low table by the hearth had even more, these seemingly scattered haphazardly along with an open case of supplies: brushes, paints, and various other tools.

J'day's first impression was that the weyr was empty and he started to chastise his dragon when he realized there was humming coming from the other side of the couch. Slow-kicking feet came into view as J'day moved closer. Peering over the back of the couch, J'day saw first the scarred back, sleek with sweat. The worst of the scars were four long, puckered slashes that glowed pink despite F'rian's tan. They stretched from over the right shoulder down beyond the waistband of the very worn, much-mended trousers. The dark hair was much as J'day remembered, cut short, close to the scalp, and hanging in damp ringlets. Muscles rippled beneath sun-darkened skin and J'day forcibly moved his eyes back upwards, to a spot just over the other rider's head.

He cleared his throat self-consciously. "Um, Rider F'rian? I pardon the int --"

The other man jumped, banging his elbow on the low table. Wide, brownish-green eyes stared back at J'day for a minute, and then he was scrambling to his feet. He tripped on something, his feet sliding on more of the thin hides, and J'day reached forward to take his arm.

F'rian jerked away, out of his grasp, color rising to his cheeks as he stepped back to a more comfortable distance. He hastily snatched up a shirt and tucked the fabric into his breeks self-consciously. The shirt was tight across the broad shoulders, overlarge in the rest, stained in places, and as often-mended as the trousers. F'rian had certainly not lost his runner's build. Remaining tall, he was a half-head taller than the older rider, but still trim, with slim hips and powerful, if lean muscles. The corner's of J'day's mouth quirked as he noticed the resemblance to the dragon asleep on her stony couch just outside. It was a good thing the green was large.

"I'm sorry to have startled you," he said, as the silence stretched out between them. He scratched his head. "I had thought I was expected."

"Of -- of course, Wingsecond," replied F'rian, his face settling into the neutral expression J'day had been warned about. "Wingleader D'cor told us all to expect an interview. It's just ..." he leaned slightly to one side to peer past J'day to the empty ledge. "I didn't realize you were coming today. Right now."

J'day shrugged. "It would seem that both our dragons were a little misleading this afternoon. Gibbrenth told me the visit would not be unwelcome."

F'rian stared at J'day for a minute, an unreadable expression flickering in the eyes that seemed to change color in the light of the glows. He said, flatly, "Lioleth has never allowed another dragon to land on her ledge. She's rather ... possessive."

J'day nodded to himself. That opinion matched his own observations of the green dragon and would certainly account for the tightness of her chosen weyr. One would not have supposed a green to grow so large. Once the weyr had been chosen, she must have decided she liked being cramped rather than deal with the uncertainty of finding another place. This weyr, too, he thought, was a kind of self-imposed isolation that matched the boy J'day had never really met all those turns ago.

"Then I am honored," J'day told F'rian. He could well understand the rider's surprise, both for having never had visitors, and for his dragon's unusual behavior.

"Um, wine?" asked F'rian, his unease still apparent in his voice, if not his manner or expression.

J'day nodded. "That would be very welcome, thank you."

They sat down in the seats at the battered table and F'rian hastily grabbed the sheets of unfinished artwork and dumped them on the sofa. He stared down into his wine, the tight grip he had on his cup the only sign J'day saw of any lingering nervousness.

"So, tell me," he said, asking the same question he'd asked every other member of the twenty-four dragonriders of the wing, "what are your strengths? You and Lioleth. I've seen you in drill, but what do you feel I should know?"

"Lioleth is fast," F'rian replied quickly. "On a flat stretch no other dragon on Pern can match her, and she has the stamina to go with it. But she's not agile, not like other greens, there's just too much length to make those sharp turns and snap-twists."

"She is large for a green," J'day agreed. "And I remember the speed well. You two won the races last Spring. What else? D'cor told me you've helped to organize the last few maneuvers and the new formation that did so well in fire-drill the last sevenday."

"Yes," F'rian replied in his light-toned, but evenly-pitched voice. "I did help with those."

There was a certain emphasis on the 'help' that caught J'day's ears and his mind went back to his own meeting with the Wingleader earlier that morning. D'cor's first task for the young bronze rider he'd undertaken to train was to meet and study all the riders in his wing. He would then review their profiles and discuss the similarities and discrepancies with the Wingleader. This was to help when the time came to pick the dragons and riders for Igen's Seventh Wing, the wing that J'day would lead. His wingseconds had been chosen for him, one a transfer like himself, and both riders were currently studying with other wings. For the rest, J'day would have to select 20 dragons and their riders based upon the information in each man's folder.

Every morning, J'day and D'cor met to discuss J'day's observations. He sincerely admired the wingleader and had turned his own finely-honed skills into soaking up all the information and advice D'cor had to offer. He was young to be a wingleader, but he'd been preparing for this moment every day for almost fifteen turns. J'day was nothing if not determined, and he'd studied intently, but he was still green. He had good instincts, he'd been embarrassed to hear T'rar tell D'cor on their introduction, but he lacked experience.

Their meeting that morning had centered around the three riders J'day had interviewed the day before, and the three he had interviewed today. They were all green riders, the last members of the wing to be interviewed. J'day had kept F'rian to the last in an effort to practice on the others so that he could talk to the man calmly, and without any of the lingering excitement he'd had to finally meet the rider who rode the green that had so captivated his attention. He'd hardly believed his luck to find himself in the same wing as F'rian.

The large green and her rider had been brought up in conversation before, by the wingleader, the other wingseconds, and some of the other members in the wing, but this was the first time J'day had actually spoken to him in the two sevendays he'd been at the weyr. The information that J'day had picked up about F'rian from the other riders was not flattering, and this puzzled the bronze rider.

He well remembered the second time he'd seen both man and dragon, at the Spring Games the turn before. Being Ista's turn to host, the flight maneuvers had been held over the sea and, like most, J'day had perched on Gibbrenth's back, floating in the ocean, to watch. Igen had chosen D'cor's wing to represent them in the Wing Exhibitions. These were flashy, timed events in which the dragons of the wing dove and flew complicated patterns that didn't have anything to do with searing thread and everything to do with wowing the selected judges, a handful of retired dragonriders. The difficulty of the maneuvers and the ability of the wing to fly as a group were the two main categories. Before D'cor's wing was even half-way through their routine, they were the obvious winners. No one could tear their eyes away. The dragons flew in perfect synch, executing heart-pounding turns and swoops in and out of each other, passing so close at times that riders could have clasped hands or dragons scraped bellies.

J'day had sat up, eyes riveted. What they were doing should have been impossible. He well remembered one particular maneuver, in which a dragon he'd first thought to be a blue had zipped with incredible speed from the back of the formation to the front and back again, spiraling in and out of the others, and at the same time performing multiple barrel rolls. The very first thing he'd done after the exhibition was concluded was to ask who that dragon was. He'd wanted to introduce himself then and there; whomever could fly a dragon like that was well worth meeting, but the wing had vanished between immediately after, apparently returning to Igen. He hadn't doubted they needed a rest after that display, but he'd still been disappointed. The following morning, he'd lucked out in witnessing the final moments of the sky-race. The dragons had started at Igen and flown in a wide circle, racing from start to finish. Dragons were posted at intervals to mark the route. F'rian and Lioleth had finished over an hour ahead of the next dragon in the marathon.

That time, J'day had thought for sure he'd get a chance to meet this rider, but he'd vanished again, and J'day had to settle for talking to others about him.

"Handsome," one of the few female green riders had said, "but stand-offish."

"Stuck-up," her companion had huffed. "He's in with the Wingleader, so he thinks he's better than everybody else."

J'day had also heard, "Arrogant," and "Cocky." He'd been told that F'rian was a trouble-maker and liked to duel, which was why he was confined to the weyr when he wasn't actively competing. J'day had never actually met the rider, but this information did not fit the person J'day recalled from that Impression. He tried to tell himself it was wishful thinking, but his gut-instinct told him there was more going on.

"F'rian," D'cor had said that morning, "well, he has his issues, same as everyone else. He's steady and dependable, reliable in a crunch, but he won't take a leadership position." The wingleader had scratched his head. "I gave up on that some time ago. Every time I try, he does something stupid and gets on report and I guess you could say I've taken the hint. He's got a good head, though, but you've seen that for yourself."

"The other riders don't seem to like him," J'day had ventured.

"Can you blame them?" was the reply. "He has made no effort to befriend anyone. I respect his skills, but he's a solitary lad, and that's never made for a comfortable rider. Dragons are social creatures by nature, and so do their riders tend to be."

But all of his preparations didn't seem to matter as J'day stared at the man who sat so calmly across the table from him. F'rian's face was a blank, forcibly-polite mask. He held himself stiffly, at attention and formal, every movement calculated, each word weighed before spoken, and completely detached from the situation. He might have been discussing dragon dung for all the interest he showed. J'day was, rather unexpectedly, at a loss for anything to say. Being the sole focus of the other's gaze, he was coming to decide, was not in the least bit comfortable.

He set his half-empty cup on the table. "So Wingleader D'cor tells me he relies on you to steady the other dragons?"

A shrug. "Lioleth can be quite persuasive."

J'day had to grin. He'd been told "Intimidating," and had even witnessed the green haranguing much larger dragons with gusto, much to the chagrin of their riders and the apparent support of the leadership. D'cor was right, J'day suddenly thought. F'rian would make an excellent wingsecond. If only he rode a brown!

"Sir," asked F'rian suddenly, "may I be blunt?"

J'day nodded.

"If you have no real need of me, then I have other things to do."

The bronze rider sat back in his chair, a little taken aback. His gaze dropped to the charcoal and ink spattered on F'rian's hands and smeared on his face. He seemed as impassive as ever, but there was something about the eyes, or the slight pull on one side of his mouth that made J'day uneasy. F'rian was interesting, but not overly handsome in his looks, and J'day was finding his frank gaze and stoic silence as intimidating as most others found Lioleth and he wondered, with a rather sinking sensation in his gut, if this straight-forwardness of F'rian's was what put the other riders on the defensive. F'rian was confident and comfortable in his standing in the wing and weyr, whatever the other riders thought, and that confidence was extremely disconcerting. J'day caught himself wondering if he would measure up to F'rian's standards and felt his own resolve strengthen in challenge. He wasn't going to be made to feel small in front of a green rider!

"Perhaps you and I can continue our talk on the walk down to the dining hall?"

"No thank you, sir," replied F'rian, gathering the empty cups and taking them to the sink. Halfway there, he paused, head turned towards the ledge.

J'day looked, too. Gibbrenth? he queried his dragon.

She rises! came the bugled response.

J'day's head turned back towards F'rian at the sound of broken crockery. The two cups lay broken in a dark mess at F'rian's feet.

"No!"

J'day blinked. The face that F'rian turned toward him held only terror, his eyes wide-open, mouth slightly parted, hands clenched into fists at his sides. J'day took a half-step backwards, fighting off the impulse to be with his dragon, concern for the other rider paramount in his mind. It was just a mating flight, why all the alarm?

"F'rian?"

"No!"

J'day took a step towards him and F'rian bolted. The bronze rider stared after him for a second, shocked and no less concerned, and then pounded after. F'rian dashed for Lioleth and J'day followed, watching as the two dove towards the ground and delaying Gibbrenth's landing. To J'day's surprise, F'rian leaped from Lioleth's neck even before she'd really come to a halt and started running for the edge of the bowl.

Gibbrenth! J'day beckoned to his dragon, stepping back to let him land. Take us down. The bronze swirled his eyes at J'day uncomprehendingly.

You are where you need to be.

F'rian's not. I don't know where he went.

The bronze shook himself a little, his eyes swirling less as he concentrated. The answer, He runs, was tinged in the same surprise and confusion that J'day himself felt. Lioleth is frightened.

What? J'day gasped. Why?

The dragon's voice gained in strength as he dipped his shoulder for J'day to mount. You must find him, he said, and J'day knew that his steady dragon would fight the need to merge with him, felt the determination and strengthened his own. Gibbrenth repeated, She is afraid. Find him, J'day.

The bronze rider vaulted from Gibbrenth's shoulders and started at a run across the bowl, pushing through the gathering brown and blue and a few bronze riders preparing to join the flight. Gibbrenth sent J'day an image of the dark-haired F'rian slogging across the runner paddocks and hastened after, his mind flicking back to another of D'cor's comments about the fleeing rider.

"Can you run, J'day?" he'd asked.

A little startled, J'day had shrugged. "Depends on who you ask, I guess. Why?"

"F'rian's the fastest thing on two legs around here, a runner himself, hold-bred, you know. One of those foot-messengers." He'd looked J'day up and down with an appraising eye. "You might stand a chance of beating him, if you practice. Be good for him to lose once in a while."

J'day cursed those words as he leaped over a gate in pursuit. He'd impressed at twelve, barely old enough to take the stands, and had not kept up the discipline for distance running in his dogged pursuit of rank and position as a dragonrider. Why run when you could fly? He was fit enough, he supposed, but F'rian was undeniably gaining ground and Lioleth's agitation was a growing accompaniment to his own dragon's urgings to hurry.

F'rian reached the outskirts of the weyr as Lioleth suddenly launched upwards into the sky, bugling in what sounded like mockery of her challengers but J'day, through Gibbrenth, knew was terror. Without F'rian's mind to comfort her and calm her down, she could be driven between in panic and J'day didn't need his dragon's demands to speed his own legs.

Why hadn't F'rian known that his dragon was getting ready to rise? J'day mentally went over the green dragon's appearance, but shook his head slightly. He hadn't noticed anything unusual, and Gibbrenth hadn't commented on anything, either. Most greens, like queens, changed color slightly as their time approached, almost seeming to glow, and could be moody, just like a woman, or somnolent right before. Come to think of it, hadn't Lioleth been inside? Now that was unusual. Most of the other dragons had been basking in the fading light of the day or down at the lake getting a bath.

At Igen, all activity, even in winter, slowed to a halt during the middle of the day. Being in a desert, any arduous activity took place either in the early morning or the late evening. Everyone sought shelter from the sun during the worst of the heat, napping, usually. The weyr was a lively place late at night.

J'day had to force himself to slow his pace as the ground turned rocky and treacherous underfoot. Trader caravans did not often come to the Weyr because the terrain was so awful, but J'day seemed as nimble as a goat as he dashed along a path he alone could see. J'day was half-torn in his preoccupation, wanting -- needing -- to be with his dragon and yet driven to follow the rider. He knew from Gibbrenth that Lioleth was in straight flight away from the Weyr and that the bronze lagged behind the others, flying steadily to conserve his strength. The other pursuers forged ahead recklessly, certain that the green would tire of her direct flight and double back and they all wanted to be there first. But Lioleth, as F'rian had so inelegantly stated, was fast and had plenty of stamina. She would outlast them all and that would be a disaster.

Leaping crags and dodging boulders, J'day kept after the other rider, but the distance between himself and F'rian continued to grow. He had a stitch in his side and his toes were pinched in his boots, not meant for what J'day was asking of them, and he slowed still more. Losing track of F'rian, his eyes went instead to the ground. In the light dusting of sand, the trail was obvious. The vast desert to the West of Igen Weyr spread its sand everywhere; the stuff was a menace. J'day kept on past the burning in his muscles, slowing to a walk for a short while before picking up the pace again in his second wind. He was perspiring freely now, breathing in the hot, dry air greedily. Gibbrenth reported that all but a few of the dragons had fallen back and he was increasing his speed now, too, in order to keep Lioleth in view.

J'day faltered at the brief contact, his mind struggling to join with that of his dragon and they both fought down the impulse, Gibbrenth exhorting J'day to more speed as his own wings beat just that little bit faster. The green rider's pace had not slowed in the least. J'day slid down a slight incline, shouldered through the defile at the bottom, and plunged up the other side. He could scarcely breathe now and his heart was beating so hard he thought it might burst, but a sudden, sharp cry from up ahead spurred him on.

He passed F'rian before he'd realized that the other rider had caught his foot on a rock, one that J'day barely had presence of mind to jump over, going at a much slower pace, and he turned back in dismay. A few more minutes of searching found F'rian at the bottom of a steep embankment, struggling to right himself from a tangle of debris. Gibbrenth hissed at him to be careful as J'day eased his way down the side.

"Easy, F'rian," panted J'day as he drew closer, but his presence only seemed to encourage the green rider to greater efforts.

He lay half on his side, legs sticking out from under the scrub brush pinning him. F'rian flailed at him as J'day came closer and the bronze rider silently cursed the other man's fitness as F'rian hardly seemed even winded. He dodged flying fists to further pin F'rian's chest to the ground, almost startled into letting go as the man screamed. J'day had heard a few blood-curdling screams in his lifetime, one from a man who'd lost a dragon, and he recognized the same insane fear and panic in F'rian. He had no doubt that, as worn out as he was from the run, that were it not for the leg-entangling bushes, F'rian would have easily thrown him off, but J'day held on grimly, touching his dragon's mind for reassurance.

"You must calm down," he gasped at the rider. "F'rian! Think, man! Think of your dragon! Think of Lioleth! She's frightened. You must help her! F'rian!"

The green rider kept struggling, screaming wordlessly. In a sudden move, he twisted and freed himself of the bronze rider's grip. J'day muscled through a few blows to recapture the man, sitting on his stomach and holding onto his wrists.

"F'rian!" he shouted, leaning down. "Lioleth's in trouble! You have to help her or you'll lose her!"

Those odd-colored eyes finally latched onto J'day's face and he could have cried in relief.

"Support your dragon, F'rian!" he urged. "Help Lioleth!"

"Lio," moaned F'rian. "Lio!"

J'day slid over onto his side, away from the other man, bone weary, and reached for his own dragon's mind. Gibbrenth gained on the green as she finally slowed. In her confusion, she almost plummeted out of the sky, but the larger dragon caught her, reaching out with claws and jaws in a gentle grip, tails entwining. The deepness of the bronze's satisfaction startled J'day out of the contact and he just lay for a minute staring up at the rapidly darkening sky. A slight moan drew his attention back to the other rider and J'day gingerly sat up, muscles shrieking in protest.

"F'rian?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

A low sob met his ears.

"No, please, no!"

Looking over at him, J'day saw that F'rian lay once more mostly on his stomach, arms curled over his face, sobbing quietly, but the sound was still chilling. They were dry sobs, he saw, no tears, J'day could only shake his head. He stood to start clearing away the clinging and prickly underbrush. He had just about finished when he felt the brush of Gibbrenth's mind on his own in a tired but concerned tone.

We're fine, he told his dragon, relieved to feel the bronze once more. But you'll have to come pick us up. F'rian is hurt and I'm too exhausted to walk back. Where are you?

A long way, came the tired response. We will be awhile.

Very well, said J'day and sent all his love and pride towards the dragon.

Looking down at the only semi-conscious rider, J'day sighed. Once he had the bracken removed, he knelt down to check F'rian again. The green rider cried out in pain and panic came to his eyes again as they alighted on J'day. The bronze rider paused. The impassive countenance that he had already begun to take for granted in the younger man was gone, replaced with a fear so strong he could almost taste it. The fear, he suddenly realized, had not begun with Lioleth, but had been brought on her by her rider. Why?

Gibbrenth, he asked, ask Lioleth why her rider is frightened.

She doesn't know, the bronze replied. Does that matter?

Maybe, said J'day, dropping gratefully to the ground at F'rian's side. He sighed. Hurry, Gib.

We're coming.

They were two pairs of very exhausted dragons and riders when they finally returned to the Weyr. Getting F'rian on Gibbrenth had proved such a trial that J'day had finally given it up and hoisted the green rider onto his own dragon. F'rian held on grimly and Gibbrenth had flown closely to the other pair as J'day fretted. The green rider was visibly weakening by the time they landed. He fell sideways into J'day's arms rather than dismounted and the bronze rider was quite relieved when two of the weyr healer's journeymen bundled F'rian onto a stretcher.

Lioleth keened softly and J'day put out a hand automatically to reassure her. He was too tired to note the surprise of the other bystanders when the green not only leaned into his touch but responded favorably.

"We'll take care of him," he promised her, and gave his own dragon an affectionate caress before turning to the weyrleader with an apologetic smile.

"Some flight," T'rar remarked.

"Sir," J'day assented with an incline of the head. "Wingleader, Weyrleader, sir."

He took a step and stumbled, hearing rather dazedly as another of the journeymen helped him to his feet and then to a slow pace into the infirmary.

"Are you hurt?" asked T'rar as they settled J'day into a chair.

He shook his head. "Just sharding tired, sir. Maybe some blisters."

"Things get a little rough?"

"Pardon? Oh." He brushed fingers against his puffy eye.

The weyrleader pulled up a chair as the healers busied themselves with F'rian. "What happened?"

J'day frowned. "I'm still not completely sure, sir," and he included Wingleader D’cor in his reply. "I was in his weyr --"

"You were in his weyr?" gaped D'cor.

"Why, yes, I --"

"That fardling green doesn't let anybody up there!"

"I am aware," sighed J'day. "That was the very first thing F'rian told me when he finally gathered his wits about him." He rubbed his forehead, sticky from sweat and grime.

"Ha!" laughed D'cor. "Startled him, did you? Good lad. Wish I could've been there to see that."

T'rar frowned, asking, "And then what?"

"Well, Wingleader D'cor wanted me to get to know the riders in his wing, so I was." D'cor nodded in confirmation. "And as I was leaving, Gibbrenth told me that Lioleth was rising and then," he paused, running a hand through his hair. "And then I'm not sure. He panicked. F'rian did, I mean, and took off running. I followed, because Gibbrenth told me that Lioleth was badly frightened."

The weyrleader squeezed J'day's shoulder. "How was he hurt?"

"Running," sighed J'day. "You were right, sir," he added to D'cor. "The man's fast. I would never have caught him on foot, except that he tripped on something and fell into a ravine. I was able to talk some sense into him, to calm Lioleth. Gibbrenth caught up to her, and that I guess is all."

Healer Okato's approach put a temporary halt to the quiet discussion.

"How is he?" asked T'rar.

The healer nodded slightly. "Bad, but tolerable. He'll be laid up for a few sevendays at least. Nothing broken, some bruising, but he's a bad sprain and has wrenched his back. Certainly no flying for several months."

D'cor swore. "Will he be well enough for the Games?"

Okato shook his head. "No." He turned to J'day as the older bronze rider continued swearing. "How about you?"

"Just tired, Master, thank you for the concern."

"You'll stay the night," the healer decided. "You can have the bed there."

"Were you expecting trouble?" J'day asked, wondering at T'rar's presence and continuing the previous discussion as two journeymen helped him into a bed.

"He's hold-bred," T'rar sighed, as if that explained everything.

"Hold-bred," J'day echoed. Maybe he was tired, but, "I'm not sure I understand."

"We caught him by accident, on Search," T'rar said. "He was a runner, come back earlier than anticipated, apparently. He went right to my Search dragon and begged to be taken. I wouldn't have said no anyway, he was so eager. F'rian was only at the weyr a few days before the Hatching, not long enough for the implications of dragon color to sink in, though, as you might recall, I was certain he would Impress a bronze." He shrugged, smiling sadly.

"Oh, Faranth," sighed J'day in sudden understanding. "So he didn't know? About a green's heat cycle?"

T'rar shook his head and J'day realized that the healers had just cut off his boots.

"Hey," he protested.

"You're not going to be walking anytime soon, either," said Okato, looking over the foot. "Let's finish so I can dose you with fellis and scrub these feet clean."

"Shards," groaned J'day.

D'cor rubbed the stubble on his jaw. "F'rian's first flight was something of a shock to the kid, and he still hasn't settled."

"But that still --"

"You have a way with Lioleth," T'rar stated.

"I do find her fascinating," J'day agreed. He sighed. "And so does Gibbrenth."

"Good."

"Sir?"

"I hate to make this an order," said T'rar, "but I want you to try and get close to F'rian. Talk some sense into him. Maybe your tie to his dragon will help. Faranth knows I've tried everything else. Stupid wherry won't let anyone but F'rian near her."

"Er, yes, sir. I'll do my best."

"Each time," D'cor explained, "it gets worse. He's going to get himself killed at this rate."

J'day sighed. "Yes, sir."