Gone Away, Gone Ahead - 7. Threats

D’gar slid the straps off Herebeth, only then realising how exhausted he felt. His back and neck ached fiercely and his feet were at just the wrong stage of coming back to life that they hurt.

I shall go for a swim now, Herebeth said happily, as he took off and joined the scrummage of dragons making for the lake. The water must be freezing, but fortunately dragons didn’t feel the cold with the same intensity as their riders.

After hanging his straps carefully on the hooks provided, he limped into the bathing cavern, which was as full of riders as the lake was of dragons. Fortunately, there were several different sized bathing pools available and some of those who had come back earlier were already getting out to make room for others. A pile of dry towels had been left on one of the stone shelves, carved so precisely you had to wonder how it had been done. There were plenty of cubby holes in which to store your clothing, shaped by the same lost techniques. He carefully put the clean, folded shirt he’d brought down from his weyr in first. No way was he going to put the damp, sweaty one back on after getting clean. He pulled his boots off, wincing. Two of his toes looked pale and bloodless and he sat rubbing some life back into them before going any further. Painful experience had taught him that putting numb toes into hot water wasn’t a good idea. He undressed slowly, so that by the time he’d stripped down to his underclothes, his toes had more or less returned to the land of the living. Unlike Choliarth and C’don, who wouldn’t be returning anywhere. It must have been poor visualisation when they were taken by surprise, although that was a more common mistake among younger pairs, not something you’d expect to happen to a dragon and rider of their age and experience.

‘Not too bad a Fall,’ someone said.

D’gar turned to see T’burrad. ‘Apart from losing a pair.’

‘I’ve seen worse.’ He kicked off his wherhide trousers. ’You must have done too.’

D’gar nodded. It was rare not to lose anyone during a Fall, but it didn’t usually happen right in front of you. Now that he had time to think, he kept wondering if there was anything else he could have done to prevent it. ‘I saw this one happen,’ he said.

‘Thread get him?’ T’burrad stripped off his shirt. It was a pleasant distraction to notice that his tattoos went a lot further than just his arms.

‘No. There was a patch coming down above them. They spotted it at the last minute - we tried to warn them - and they went between before it got close enough to do any damage.’

‘Bad visual, then.’

‘That’s what I was thinking.’

T’burrad shrugged. ‘Oh well, nothing you could have done.’ He finished undressing. ‘Seen any of the others?’

‘Think they’re in that pool over there.’ He pointed over to their right. Watching him walk away, D’gar realised he was guilty of staring. He’d not consciously looked at men’s bodies in that way for a while. Well, up until the mating flight he’d not even really thought about sex for a good while, so it figured. He finished undressing and followed him over to the pool.

The hot water felt wonderful. He ducked under, then grabbed a handful of sweetsand to rinse his hair and scrub the ash from his face. His cheeks stung slightly; must have caught a few burns from the char. But he was here, safe, alive and unscored. Herebeth was fine too. It had been, all in all, not a bad day.

He swam across the join the rest of the Fort riders, who were sitting on the ledge that ran along one side of the pool, semi-submerged. Everyone seemed in good spirits. The igen riders, in slightly more sombre mood, were lined up on the other side, talking quietly among themselves. Strange to think the last time he’d shared a bath with all his wingmates was after the last ever Fall (as far as they’d known then) over Ruatha. The mood had been almost euphoric. Now, it was just another day’s work done; the first of many Falls in this new Pass. It was fairly unlikely any of them would live to see clear skies again.

‘Hey, D’gar. You going to get that lad of yours to give you a massage tonight?’ It was V’chal. He’d already made his own move and was kneading T’garrin’s shoulders.

‘Maybe. If he’s not too tired from throwing firestone around all day.’ To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what H’rek had planned for later. He might prefer to celebrate with his own clutchmates this evening. Spending just one night together (and after a mating flight at that) didn’t make it a relationship.

‘I’m sure he won’t be too tired,’ V’chal said, leaving unsaid what he thought H’rek might not be too tired for.

‘We’ll see.’ He floated on his back for a while, tracing the patterns in the strata of the cavern ceiling and letting the warmth soothe away his aches and pains. Herebeth was doing much the same in the lake, immersing his tired wings in the cool water.

You like him. He likes you. You are good for each other.

Stop it, you matchmaking dragon, you.

This was very peaceful. He tried to clear his mind and think of nothing at all. It only lasted a few minutes until a couple of the riders started splashing around and he got a mouthful of soapy water with an aftertaste of ash and firestone. The water in the baths circulated to keep clean, but not that quickly.

‘Hey!’ he protested, getting splashed again for a reply. Well, there wasn’t going to be any more relaxing now, so he joined in with the water fight. It got quite rowdy and a fair amount of water went over the edge of the pool. Luckily whoever had designed the bathing cavern had anticipated that kind of situation and had sloped the floor slightly so that the excess drained away. By the time he got out, the flooding had receded, although the floor was still quite wet in places.

He dried himself off and put his trousers back on. Then, just as he was about to pick up his clean shirt, someone reached in from behind him and snatched it away.

‘Hey, watch it!’ He turned, expecting it to be J’rud or one of the other jokers, only to find F’drun standing there, fully dressed. There was a tiny damp patch on the left sleeve of his shirt.

‘You splashed me,’ he said coldly.

With all the splashing that had been going on, there was no way anyone could be singled out as being to blame. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d been drenched or anything. ‘We were all messing around,’ he said. ‘Not just me.’ He wasn’t going to apologise for something that wasn’t his fault.

F’drun looked him right in the eyes and deliberately dropped his shirt into a puddle. He smiled nastily.

D’gar felt anger rising up, even though he knew that F’drun was deliberately trying to provoke him. The room had gone very quiet and people were watching to see what might happen next. It was obvious that F’drun wanted him to lose his temper. And however satisfying that would be (very, at the moment) it would only make things worse. D’gar took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm. ‘Never much liked that shirt anyway,’ he said, addressing the audience who had all gathered at the side of the pool. He picked it up and wrung out the worst of the water. ‘Oh well, better take this to the laundry. See you lot later.’

It wasn’t really warm enough to walk around shirtless, but it was either that or put on the one he’d worn all during Threadfall. He walked briskly across to the Lower Caverns and the laundry. The steamy warmth issuing from the doorway soon took away the chill. A few of the women inside stopped what they were about and stared at him. He supposed it wasn’t that common for partially dressed riders to come in. There were one or two whistles of appreciation.

‘Er, where do I put things that need washing?’ he asked a plump young woman, whose glossy brown curls were bent on escaping from under the scarf she’d tied around her head.

‘Over there.’ She pointed to a large woven basket.

‘Thanks.’ He turned to go.

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Come with me.’ And she guided him out of the main cavern into a corridor. He hoped fervently she wasn’t going to proposition him. It was the last thing he needed right now.

‘i’m Bavi,’ she said, by way of introduction.

‘D’gar, Herebeth’s rider.’

‘Thought so. You’re the one whose dragon flew Rioth, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’ What was it to her?

She stood with hands on hips and looked him up and down. ‘You’d better take care of my H’rek. If you hurt him, then…’ She paused as if searching for some suitable threat. ‘Every single thing you send to this laundry will end up shrunk, dyed or otherwise ruined. Got that?’

Her H’rek? She certainly wasn’t old enough to be his mother. A sister maybe? ‘Listen, Bavi. I’ve no intention of hurting H’rek in any way.’

‘Good. Then we’ll get along fine.’ She held out her hand. ‘Give us those shirts. I’ll make sure they get done today.’

‘Thanks.’ He handed them over.

She appraised him one more time. ‘Not bad, I suppose. Bit skinny for my taste. Now get off with you and put something on before you catch your death.’

He went up to his weyr for a fresh shirt (his last one), then before going back down for the Wing meeting, sat on the edge of his unmade bed to get his thoughts in order. Firstly, what could he do about F’drun? The man was going to make his life a misery if it carried on like this. Would it be worthwhile trying to talk to him, alone, where he had no need to put on an act in front of others? From what he’d heard from the High Reaches riders, it might be a pointless exercise, but it had to be worth a try.

Secondly, what to do about H’rek. He couldn’t deny he liked the lad. They were good for each other in all sorts of ways. Before he’d met H’rek, he hadn’t much cared, but now he had a reason to live again. Was that really fair though? He sighed. Maybe he should try to discourage H’rek from spending another night with him; give him a chance to come down from the aftermath of the mating flight and make a more reasoned decision about whether he wanted this to continue. Whatever this was.

You think too much, Herebeth commented.

I know. Can’t help it, though. He’d sometimes wondered if his life would be easier if he was more like M’rell, who never spent too much time considering the consequences of anything he decided to do. Or J’rud, always quick with a joke or a witty comment. Or even V’chal, who only thought about his next sexual conquest. Their lives were surely a great deal simpler than his own.

Come on then. Best get on with it.

Herebeth flew him back down. He noticed the youngsters - still couldn’t stop himself thinking of them as weyrlings, even if H’rek didn’t like it - on their way into the bathing cavern. They must have just finished their firestone duties. Their dragons took off from the landing area, most heading for the lake, which would surely be a bit stirred up and mucky by now. Herebeth followed. He was still besotted with Rioth. Like dragon, like rider, D’gar thought ruefully, before going inside to join his wingmates, most of whom were already seated around one of the long dining tables. He poured himself a klah and went over. M’rell moved up on the bench to make space. The seating was still split along Weyr affiliation lines; Fort, Igen, High Reaches. It would be a while - if ever - before that changed. R’feem sat in the centre of the long edge of the table, flanked by his Wingseconds. B’lin looked serious; well, he’d lost one of his own riders today, so that was to be expected. F’drun looked grim, but that seemed to be his default expression, so no point trying to read anything into it. The last few stragglers came and joined them.

‘Right. Now we’re all here, I’m going to try to keep this as brief as possible,’ R’feem started. ‘But first, we need to remember and honour C’don and Choliarth, who were lost today. They were a seasoned pair, with twelve Turns of fighting Thread behind them. Let’s send them off properly.’

B’lin and F’drun passed around small cups of something alcoholic and they all joined in a toast to the unfortunate pair. Just like the old days, D’gar thought as the fiery spirit burned a trail down his throat. Some days, they’d lost so many, everyone was drunk before the meeting even started.

‘Now, to business.’ R’feem called them back, probably as aware as anyone of the memories that had stirred up. ‘It would be remiss of me not to point out that ours was the only Wing to have a fatality today.’

‘That was just bad luck,’ one of the Igen riders said.

‘I know, I know,’ R’feem said. ‘But still, it doesn’t look good for us to lose a pair, when they didn’t.’

‘We didn’t have any scorings and they had plenty,’ M’rell said.

Us and them. It was inevitable, especially after all the ‘four hundred Turn old’ jibes.

‘They didn’t even keep formation most of the time from what I was seeing. All over the sky, they were.’ That was from T’burrad.

‘Should have been keeping an eye on where you were, rather than other folk,’ F’drun sounded irritated. ‘There were one or two in our Wing who were equally as bad.'

D’gar knew that F’drun would be looking in his direction. He could almost feel the man’s eyes boring in to him, so he deliberately refused to look up.

‘I’m afraid F’drun has a point there. Now I know we’ve not had much time to practice together, but there was some sloppy flying today. We let too much Thread get past us and that’s not good.’ R’feem had that disappointed tone to his voice that was always far more effective at making you feel bad than any amount of shouting. ‘We should be setting the Benden riders an example as we’ve a lot more experience than they have.’

There were nods and noises of agreement from around the table at that.

‘So, from now on, we’ll be drilling every day until we get this Wing into fighting shape. And that brings me to my second point. Since the end of the last Pass we’ve all been guilty of letting ourselves go, fitness-wise. From tomorrow, we’ll have fitness sessions first thing before breakfast to make sure everyone’s in as good shape as their dragons. F’drun has kindly offered to supervise them.’

‘We’ll be meeting on that flat piece of ground by the lake. No excuses, no exceptions.’ For once, F’drun sounded happy.

D’gar groaned inwardly. The bastard was going to have a field day ordering them about and getting everyone to do absurd exercises.

‘That’s all.’ R’feem took a drink of klah. ‘Any questions?’

No one had any, or at least, none they wanted to voice in front of everyone else.

‘Well then, the rest of the day is yours to do as you please. Enjoy it. The hard work starts tomorrow.’

D’gar got up to see if there was any food to be had. He was suddenly aware of how long it had been since breakfast. Over by the night hearth he found a tray scattered with pieces of cheese, bowls of pickled vegetables and some slightly hard rolls. He sliced one open, stuffed some cheese and pickles inside then sat on his usual bench and began to eat. B’lin came over and sat down next to him. They hadn’t really talked much, but he seemed like a decent sort. Better than F’drun anyway.

‘Any idea what happened?’ he asked.

D’gar shook his head. ‘Apart from them being tired, no. They didn’t get Threadscored, just went between to avoid a patch.’

‘i know you’d reported a few times they weren’t flying well.’ He sighed. ‘Wish I’d made him go back to the Weyr now.’

That was the downside of being Wingsecond. Responsibility for others, not just to yourself and your dragon. ‘He thought he was fine. Thought he could manage.’

‘Still wish I’d done something, though. Choliarth was injured quite badly a few months back, near the end of the Pass. C’don lost his weyrmate too. It hit him hard.’

That was a bit too close for comfort. ‘You know how it is. No one likes to let their wingmates down. It was his choice.’

‘And my job to stop him doing anything stupid.’ B’lin was obviously in reflective mood. ‘We’d flown together for a few Turns in the same Wing. Looked out for each other…’

‘I’m sorry.’ There wasn’t much else to be said.

‘Well, thanks anyway. I’d better join the others. We’ll have a few more drinks for him tonight.’ He patted D’gar on the shoulder as he left.

As he prepared another roll - the first one had gone down far too quickly - M’rell beckoned him over. He was with most of the other Fort riders, huddled together in a group.

‘What is it?’

‘We’re talking about… you know who.’ He flicked a glance over to where F’drun was still sitting with R’feem, having some sort of discussion. It was notable that everyone else had left the table.

‘And?’

‘Someone needs to tell R’feem what he’s like.’

When M’rell said ‘someone’, he usually meant D’gar. ‘Well, how about you, then?’ D’gar took a bite from the second roll. ‘Or all of us? Mind you, he hasn’t really done anything yet worth complaining about.’

‘We all saw him drop your shirt on the floor earlier,’ J’rud pointed out.

‘Yes, but that’s not much to go on, is it?’

‘And there was the way he tried to provoke you yesterday.’

‘Same thing. It’s not enough. Look, we all know R’feem’s a fair Wingleader. Give it a bit of time and he’ll soon work it out for himself. If we say anything now, it just makes it look like we’re resentful. Especially if it comes from M’rell or me.’

J’rud frowned. ‘I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.’

‘Me neither. But hey, having to take some exercise isn’t any worse than what they used to make us do when we were weyrlings.’ It sounded so reasonable, he was almost convincing himself.

‘Depends on what sort of exercise it is.’ M’rell shook his head. ‘I don’t know what he’s up to, but I don’t trust him.’

‘And you’re probably right. But give him time and he’ll trip himself up.’ He finished eating, licking the crumbs off his fingers. ‘Right, I’ve got things to do.’

‘Like your weyrling?’ V’chal smiled.

He definitely had a one-track mind. ‘Actually, I need to clean and oil my straps. You’d probably be as well to do yours in case our favourite Wingsecond decides on a surprise inspection.’

It didn’t turn out quite as he’d planned, because Herebeth wanted to eat first. He was hungry enough to go for a herdbeast, which he despatched neatly and cleanly. D’gar sat in a sunny spot. Watching your dragon feed was always a good way to rid yourself of frustration. It was all too easy to imagine the slaughtered prey as someone you disliked.

As Herebeth slurped up the entrails, several other dragons swooped down. Not surprising really; they’d all worked hard today. One of them was Rioth.

D’gar glanced around. Several of the youngsters from Southern were on the other side of the feeding pen. He decided to pretend he’d not seen them. If H’rek came over, that would be of his own choice. No encouragement, remember, he told himself.

Rioth took out a large wherry. Herebeth continued to dismember his kill in the usual messy fashion, watching her as he ate. D’gar looked quickly across the pen. H’rek and his friends were talking together. They seemed subdued.

Rioth says her rider is unhappy. You should speak to him.

I will, if he comes over here.

Why do you not go to him?

Because...

Shells! Why was life so complicated? Why was his dragon so determined to get them together? D’gar looked again. H’rek caught his eye and raised a hand uncertainly.

Go to him, Herebeth said.

Well, it wasn’t like he was trying to avoid the lad. Just giving him time to consider his options, that’s all. He got up slowly and went over. He knew the others were looking at him with a certain degree of curiosity. He was suddenly very aware that had the Weyrs not come forward, he would have been dead a few hundred Turns before they were all born. ‘I’m D’gar,’ he said to them. ‘Don’t believe we’ve been introduced yet.’

‘Oh, right.’ H’rek pointed them out, one by one. ‘These are some of my clutchmates. M’shol.’

A tall, well-built lad. Bronze rider, too. In fact, the majority were bronzes.

‘R’gan.’

R’gan seemed a bit reluctant to meet his eye. Maybe he’d been the one H’rek had told him about, who’d implied that he might not be able to remember what to do after four hundred Turns between.

‘L’cal.’

Another tall one. Very composed and with an air of superiority. Typical bronze rider, in fact.

‘J’tir and B’dor.’

A green and blue. Possibly a couple, though weren’t they rather young to have paired up? Stop being judgemental, he told himself. S’brin and he had only been fourteen when they first got together.

There was a squeal from the pens as one of the bronzes caught a herdbeast rather awkwardly and dropped it again. The beast thrashed around as best it could with a broken back until the dragon came in for another go and managed to finish it off. H’rek winced slightly.

‘So, how was your Fall?’ D’gar asked, as you did, afterwards. The usual and expected reply was something along the lines of ‘not too bad’, even if it had been horrendous. Everyone was then free to move on to other topics.

They all looked at each other as if unsure how to reply. At last, L’cal did. ‘We’re all fine. But… someone died, didn’t they?’

Of course. They would have felt it, like everyone else did, through their dragons. He suddenly realised they’d not had much - if any - experience of death yet and had probably never been asked the question before. ‘We just had a drink for them.’

‘You knew them?’ L’cal asked, carefully.

‘C’don and Choliarth were in our Wing.’

‘What happened?’ That was from R’gan. 'Did they get hit by Thread?’

Anyone who had actually seen a few gruesome deaths wouldn’t even ask that.

Before he could reply, H’rek broke in. ‘R’gan. Leave it. He might not want to talk about it.’

H’rek was different. H’rek thought before he opened his mouth. ‘It’s fine,’ D’gar said, smiling briefly at him to show he’d appreciated the concern. ‘Nothing hit them. It would have done if Choliarth hadn’t gone between. They just didn’t come back out.’

‘Oh. Is that all?’ R’gan sounded disappointed.

‘Dead’s dead, however it happens.’ Maybe he should try to teach them something from it. ‘You never lost anyone between during your weyrling training?’

A couple of them shook their heads.

‘You were lucky. Most clutches lose one or two. You’ve probably all been told many times you need to visualise your destination clearly. That’s what happens when you don’t. That’s why you need to have a place in your head that’s so well known, so ingrained that if something goes wrong - even if you’re badly wounded or half conscious - you can get there. Mostly, it’s your home Weyr. You can be sure of help there.’

They nodded. H’rek looked thoughtful. Then he said slowly, ’Our home Weyr was Southern. If we went there now, it’d be deserted.’

That was a good point. ’Then make sure you change it to Benden. Not much point escaping Thread if you bleed to death alone somewhere.’ It reminded him he should do the same himself; even though Fort Weyr was occupied, they were unlikely to be fighting Thread at the same time as Benden and he should make sure they returned here if he or Herebeth were injured.

Another bronze dragon felled his prey. The herdbeasts were panicking now, fleeing from the shadows above them. But they could only run so far, constrained by the fences.

‘You’d best let those beasts settle a while. Don’t want to scare them too much.’ They weren’t exactly in top condition anyway. Benden obviously didn’t get the best as their tithes. Although that was bound to change now that the Holders had a reason to be grateful for the protection of the Weyr.

H’rek sat down next to him on the bench. The others moved away slightly, leaning on the fence and watching their dragons. ‘Are you really all right?’ he asked quietly.

‘Fine. Honestly.’ Best to change the subject. ‘Do you have a sister working here?’

H’rek looked puzzled. ‘No.’

‘There’s a rather fierce woman in the laundry. She told me to look after you, or else.’

‘Oh, that’d be Bavi. She was down south, too. We’re good friends. Did she really say that?’

He nodded. ‘Threatened dire consequences to my clothes if I upset you.’

He smiled. ‘She can be a bit protective.’

‘Look.’ This was difficult. ‘I just wanted to say you don’t have to feel like you have to sleep with me again if you don’t want to.’

‘Oh.’ He sounded uncertain. ‘What if I do?’

‘Well, that’s all right then.’ It was a relief to hear that from him. ‘I didn’t want you to think there was some sort of obligation, just because of… those two.’ Rioth and Herebeth were sharing the last morsels of the herdbeast.

‘For someone bright, you can be really stupid at times.’ H’rek wriggled closer. ‘No one makes me do anything I don’t want to.’

They snuggled together. D’gar realised how right it felt, being with H’rek like this.

That’s better, Herebeth said. He and Rioth were licking the gore off each other’s muzzles. It looked a bit like draconic kissing.

D’gar followed his example. H’rek seemed to enjoy it as much as Rioth was. When they finally broke off, he realised that all of H’rek’s clutchmates were staring at them. He also realised he wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon - this glorious afternoon they were both still alive to see - in long, slow loving with this man he cared about so much.

‘Shall we go back to my weyr?’ he asked.

‘I’d like that,’ H’rek said.