Threadfall - 13. Winter in the Weyr

It was like M’rell had said. D’gar was beginning to think in terms of Falls ridden, rather than sevendays or months. Most were marked out by something memorable; foul weather, injuries to a rider or dragon in the Wing, deaths. Some were more personal. D’gar didn’t think he was ever going to forget the one over Fort Hold when his stomach hadn’t settled and an unusually tight turn from Herebeth had made him throw up his breakfast. Some of the vomit had gone down Herebeth’s shoulder, the rest over the firestone sacks. He felt sorry for the weyrling having to handle those, although he’d had worse in his time on deliveries. At least it wasn’t blood.

Learning to be a useful member of the Wing wasn’t a steady progression like any of the other skills they’d mastered. There was enough variation in the way Thread fell that just when you thought you had the hang of it, something unexpected would happen, underlining your inexperience. M’ta, who was unusually talkative following one grim Fall that month, said it took a good three Turns before you could call yourself a proper wingrider. And that if you survived that long, you deserved the title.

S’brin was out of action for almost four sevendays. As was usual, Zemianth healed faster than her rider. Both however, had to wait until the healers cleared them to fly between again to resume even normal drills with the Wing.

‘Sharding boring, this support duty,’ he said, after a Fall late in the eleventh month. ‘Me and T’kes sit around most of the time playing dragon poker.’

They obviously hadn’t had anything like his own experience seeing the brown dragon devoured by Thread, D’gar considered. Not that he’d wish that on anyone. The images were vivid enough that he knew he’d remember them until his dying day. ‘How is T’kes?’ He’d not been over to the dining hall much, preferring to stay in the infirmary weyr with Neyrenth.

‘He’s putting a brave face on it. Neyrenth’s wing - what’s left of it - is healing well but as to whether he’ll have enough wingsail left to fly with…’ S’brin shook his head. ‘Just have to wait and see, I suppose.’

It was a bad business. ‘We should go and visit him. He must be feeling lonely over there.’

‘He’d probably appreciate it. And talking of which, Zalna spoke to me today. She said it was a pity she’d not seen much of us recently.’

‘I thought she was the one avoiding us. Me in particular.’

‘I don’t know about that. Anyway, we’re both invited to K’torl’s weyr tomorrow. Zalna will be there.’

‘Wonder what that’s about?’

‘Let’s go along and find out. Should we take something?’

‘I’ll get some of mum’s cakes. They always go down a treat.’

They flew up to K’torl’s weyr on Zemianth, who was feeling the need to stretch her wings. Since her scores had healed, she’d taken to her old aerobatic flights with Herebeth across the weyr Bowl. D’gar loved to watch them. He also realised that Herebeth was getting to know precisely how Zemianth manoeuvred and that it might give him an advantage when - if - he ever chased her in a mating flight.

S’brin dismounted first and took the cakes from D’gar before he slid down, not wanting to damage them. Agarra had done him proud. He handed them back just before K’torl appeared round the curtain. ‘Glad you could make it. Come on in.’

Zalna was inside, seated on a couch that was very similar to the one they had, but with decent upholstery. She wore a warm woollen dress with a wrap around her shoulders. The weather had definitely turned nippy over the past few days, but the weyr was cosy, with the stone floors covered by woven rugs and steam rising from the surface of the private bathing pool at the back.

‘A bathing pool,’ S’brin said, dipping a hand in the water. ‘Very nice. Maybe I should get myself a bronze weyrmate.’ He grinned as he said it, so D’gar knew he was joking.

‘It’s very handy,’ K’torl said. ‘Although I have to thank Zalna for putting in a good word for me. It’s supposed to only be Wingseconds or Wingleaders who get pools.’

‘But they had a few empty weyrs at the time, so no one could complain. In any case, K’torl might be a Wingsecond soon.’ Zalna smiled as she beckoned them over, making a little noise of delight when D’gar handed her the cakes.

‘Really? Good going,’ D’gar offered. He knew that K’grall, one of the Wingseconds in “F” Wing was supposed to be retiring due to bad joint ache but he’d never dreamed anyone so young would be offered the opportunity.

‘Z’los says he’ll give me a tryout on a temporary basis and if I prove capable, it should be permanent by next summer.’ K’torl had the grace to look modest about it. ‘Right place, right time, I suppose. ‘What can I get you to drink? Wine? Ale?’

‘I’ll just have a klah,’ D’gar said. He’d found the best way to avoid getting drunk and the unwanted aftermath was to not have any alcohol at all. Once he’d had one or two cups, he tended to forget his good intentions.

‘Wine, please,’ S’brin said. He never passed up the chance for some booze.

K’torl called down the service shaft. D’gar had loaded and unloaded the compartments many a time when he’d helped in the kitchen. Having such a device in your weyr seemed the ultimate in luxury.

He settled himself on the other, smaller couch, with S’brin next to him. ‘Not seen you for a while,’ he said to Zalna, hoping she might confirm his suspicions as to why.

She flushed slightly. ‘Mardra’s been keeping me busy.’

‘Oh, she’s got round to training you at last?’ D’gar remembered how Zalna had been left very much to her own devices when Gemalth was still young and unable to fly.

K’torl came back, carrying a laden tray. ‘I got us some more snacks to go along with these delicious looking cakes.’ He placed them carefully on the table and handed out the drinks, then sat down next to Zalna. They made a good-looking couple.

‘Well, cheers.’ K’torl raised his cup and they all drank. ‘Now, you’re probably wondering why we invited you here today.’

‘To get drunk?’ S’brin asked.

D’gar nudged him. ‘You have no sense of the social niceties.’

Zalna smiled. ‘It was my idea, really. I wanted to clear up a few things.’ She turned to D’gar. ‘I’ll never forget how you made me feel at ease here just after I Impressed Gemalth. And if it hadn’t been for you I might not have got to know K’torl.’

‘I appreciate that too,’ K’torl added, putting an arm around her slender waist.

‘I’ve felt bad about avoiding you,’ she continued. ‘But I’m afraid I had no choice.’

So, he’d been right; it was deliberate.

‘When Mardra began to train me, she suggested that I shouldn’t be too familiar with the other weyrlings. That I should keep a distance.’ She sighed. ‘One of the lessons I learned early in life is that if someone of importance advises you in the manner she did, they mean it as an order.'

‘It’s all right,’ D’gar said. ‘I understand how it is.’

‘I’m under a lot of pressure to behave correctly. “As a junior weyrwoman should,” as Mardra puts it. She outranks me here, of course and reminds me often that her father is Lord of Ruatha whereas mine is just a minor Holder.’

‘Mardra even threatened her with a transfer,’ K’torl put in.

Zalna pursed her lips. ‘It wasn’t quite like that. She suggested I might be happier elsewhere if she and I couldn’t get along.’

‘Same thing, really, just fancier language,’ S’brin said. ‘But with only three gold dragons here at Fort I wouldn’t think she’d want to lose one of them.’

‘It would be an exchange, she said. Apparently there’s a weyrwoman at Benden who’d like to transfer here if there’s an opening.’

It was fairly common practise with junior weyrwomen. They’d gain experience by moving to different weyrs and it ensured the dragon bloodlines didn’t suffer from inbreeding.

‘So, what’s changed?’ S’brin got to the point in his usual tactless way.

‘Well, neither of you are weyrlings any more. And if I just happen to be visiting K’torl in his weyr and a couple of his old friends drop in, then…’ she shrugged. ‘There are ways round most restrictions. That’s another lesson I’ve learned over the Turns. So, let’s have some cake and you can fill me in on the gossip I’ve missed.’

They ate and drank for a while. D’gar discussed Threadfighting tactics with K’torl while S’brin entertained Zalna with the latest scandalous rumours from the green end of the table.

‘It’s a pity you ended up in “C” Wing,’ K’torl mused. ‘R’feem goes along with T’ron’s views that seniority is the only route to promotion.’

D’gar didn’t want to be disloyal. ‘There’s nothing wrong with our Wingseconds.’

‘No, they’re fine. But imagine if one of them was injured. You certainly wouldn’t be in with a chance to take over the role in that Wing.’

‘I wouldn’t want to. I don’t know enough.’

‘You’ve only been fighting Thread for a couple of months. It’s natural to feel like that. But once you’ve had a Turn or so behind you, like I have, then you realise there’s not a massive amount more to learn.’

D’gar wasn’t so sure about that. It sounded dangerously like complacency. But he’d always got along with K’torl and he wasn’t going to argue when it didn’t affect him one way or another. ‘You’ve a lot more confidence in your ability than I have,’ he offered.

‘Maybe,’ K’torl said. ‘Or perhaps I’ve just had the encouragement and you haven’t. Some of the Wingleaders are very set in their ways. Z’los is different. He’s not afraid to try out new things. Like making me a temporary Wingsecond to give me the experience, for example. You can’t honestly believe that no-one under thirty should be given any responsibility?’

D’gar shrugged. It was how the Weyr operated. He couldn’t do anything about that.

K’torl was evidently warming to his theme. ‘Brown riders can be ambitious too and you’re brighter than a lot of folk in this Weyr, whatever their age. Trouble is,T’ron is a traditionalist. It’d be different if someone else became Weyrleader next time Loranth rises.’

D’gar raised his eyebrows. ‘And your Wingleader is one of those who’d like a chance at it?’

K’torl shrugged. ‘Z’los has never made any secret of his ambition. Rolth almost caught Loranth the last time, you know.’

‘Maybe she just prefers Fidranth.’ S’brin pointed out. Evidently he’d been keeping half an ear on their conversation. ‘He’s flown her enough times.’

Zalna picked up on it, too. ‘I’ve been told that it’s not always the dragon with the greatest stamina who catches a queen. How the rest of the weyrfolk feel about the bronze rider’s suitability can influence results. And I’d like to think the queen’s rider might have a say in it, too.’

It was easy to tell she’d never been involved in a mating flight. When dragons rose, you got swept along with their passions. D’gar couldn’t imagine being able to hold on to any rational thought or human plans at that point.

‘That’s true enough,’ K’torl put in. ‘If you start asking around, you’ll find not everyone’s happy with T’ron. Some of the older riders say he’s not a patch on Os’erl. Plus, we’re coming to the end of the Pass soon. We’ll need a different kind of Weyrleader once the Red Star diminishes in the sky. Z’los understands that better than T’ron.’

What was K’torl getting himself into, D’gar wondered? He knew there were factions in the Weyr, particularly among the bronze riders, but he’d never paid too much attention to the politics, not being in any position to influence them. He glanced at S’brin, wondering if he’d picked up the undercurrents of this conversation too.

‘We’re young,’ K’torl went on. ‘It’s folk our age who are the future of this Weyr. Not the old ones. They’ll be happy enough to sit and reminisce about past glories once it’s all over.’

‘Think I will be, too,’ S’brin said, with a smile. ‘Interval’s a good time for dragonriders and weyrfolk alike.’

‘It can be, with the right Weyrleader.’ K’torl refilled the cups. ‘Someone who can negotiate well and make sure the Holders remember it’s us who’ve protected them all the way through the Pass.’

D’gar felt he should support the Weyrleader. ‘How do we know T’ron won’t be good at those things. I mean, how much do any of us know about what goes on at that level?’

‘I’ve had a few insights,’ Zalna said. ‘Remember, I was raised with the expectation that one day I’d marry and manage a Hold myself. I can see the weaknesses as well as what’s being done well. Mardra’s getting on in Turns now. Loranth rises far less often than she used to. She’s probably not got many more clutches in her. Then it’ll be someone else’s turn.’

‘Tirelle’s the next oldest,’ D’gar pointed out. Although he’d heard - and read in the records - that sometimes when a Weyrwoman retired, it was the first queen to rise who became the senior, not necessarily the oldest. Maybe that was what K’torl eventually wanted; himself as Weyrleader at Zalna’s side?

S’brin was obviously thinking along the same lines. ‘When Gemalth rises, who do you think she’ll go for?’ he asked Zalna.

‘I have my hopes,’ she said, her eyes flicking to K’torl.

‘Doesn’t always work out so neatly.’ S’brin put an arm around D’gar. ‘I mean, you can’t get much closer than us two, but our dragons couldn’t care less.’

‘Herebeth hasn’t even caught anyone yet,’ D’gar added. ‘Has Ganath?’

K’torl looked embarrassed. ‘Well, no. He’s chased a few greens, though. It’s good practise.’

‘Best send him up after Zemianth next time,’ S’brin said, eyeing up K’torl. ‘She’s got a thing for bronzes. And I wouldn’t mind him winning, either.’

‘More cake, anyone?’ Zalna deftly changed the subject. After that, the conversation turned to other topics, such as the recent promotion of M’nan to Weyrlingmaster and the likelihood of a bad winter this Turn. They stayed for a couple of hours, eating, drinking and catching up.

‘What did you think about all that?’ he asked S’brin when they eventually returned to their own weyr, feeling stuffed.

‘Food was good,’ S’brin said, flopping down on the bed. ‘And the wine. Better than the piss-poor Tillek they serve in the dining hall.’

‘M’rell always says you can’t tell the difference after four cups.’ S’brin, he noted, had drunk considerably more than that, yet didn’t seem particularly affected by it. ‘No, I meant some of what was said. They were fishing for information, I thought.’

‘What, all that stuff about the future of this Weyr? Why should our views matter?’

‘We mix with different folk than they do.’ D’gar sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I think they were using us as sounding boards.’

‘But we’re just common wing riders.’

‘Exactly. They - or more likely Z’los - want to find out how folk feel about him. It’s true what Zalna said, that the support of weyrfolk can make a difference. T’ron’s been Weyrleader since before you or I were born, because generally, people think he’s doing a decent job. If another bronze rider were to gain popularity, it might be enough to change things at the next mating flight.’ D’gar had always thought that T’ron and Mardra’s relationship was more to do with political convenience than love. That was the way it worked in most Weyrs, after all.

‘So you reckon that’s why they invited us?’

‘Probably, yes. We all know Z’los and V’dul are the only other serious contenders for Weyrleader. It’d be interesting to find out if other riders from their Wings have been chatting with old friends to see which way the wind’s blowing.’

‘So next time Loranth rises there could be a surprise.’ S’brin propped himself up on his elbow. ‘I dunno about Z’los though. Man’s got a temper on him.’

‘Like someone else I know.’

‘Except I’ve no chance of leading a Wing, let alone a Weyr, so it doesn’t matter. Glad you or me don’t have to think about all these politics too often. Makes my head spin.’

‘No, that’s all the wine you’ve drunk.’ D’gar leaned back and felt S’brin’s arms enfold him. ‘Glad I’m not a bronze rider.’

‘Yeah. You and me won’t ever have to worry about any of that stuff. Responsibility. Who needs it?’

D’gar snuggled up to him. S’brin was right. They had enough to do just keeping themselves and their dragons from harm while Thread still fell on a regular basis.

Snow came early in twelfth month. The weyrlings and their dragons had fun playing in the drifts that piled up at the far end of the lake. The ancient rockfall became a slope to slide down. Many of the younger wingriders also had a go, despite their Wingleaders’ dire warnings about broken limbs.

The Wings assembled as usual for a predicted Fall over Ruatha, then stood down again when Thread froze in mid air to harmless black dust. As the freezing weather continued, it became clear that unless there was a shift in the weather patterns, the only Falls that would need to be ridden were those over the southerly part of Boll, where it was still mild enough for Thread to remain viable. A holiday atmosphere began to take over the Weyr, well in advance of the Turn’s End celebrations.

‘Remember that lake I spotted over Ruatha, way back in the summer?’ S’brin said one morning as they lounged around in the dining hall.

‘What about it?’

‘Well, Zemianth was watching us sliding around yesterday and she says she’d like to try it. The lake here’s not frozen thickly enough to take a full grown dragon’s weight, but I bet it will be there.’

‘What’s that?’ M’rell leaned across from the dragon poker game T’garrin had started. He’d been wise enough to watch rather than join in. T’garrin was raking in the marks.

’S’brin has just had another crazy idea,’ D’gar told him. ‘Zemianth wants to try skating, it seems.’

‘I bet Herebeth would be up for it, too. Why not ask him?’

D’gar did.

Zemianth thinks it will be fun, he replied. I agree. It would certainly be more fun than sitting in our weyr.

‘He’s mad enough to try it.’

‘Well, look at it this way. Even if the ice does give way, they’ve got wings. And I’ll bet the lake water isn’t as cold as between.’

‘Might be a good trip away from the Weyr,’ M’rell said. ‘I’ll find out if any of the others want to come.’

Several of the younger riders in ‘C’ Wing ended up going on the expedition. It was a crisp, bright day; the sky so clear that the faint crescent of Timor was visible even at midday. Eight of them left the Weyr, having informed N’rir and I’grast that their dragons needed to stretch their wings. They took some food with them, together with a kettle and klah bark so that they could brew up hot drinks at their destination.

They emerged from between over the snow-shrouded mountains, descending in lazy circles as they searched for a large enough flat space to allow the dragons to land. Eventually, S’brin spotted a scree-covered beach, south facing so that it caught the winter sun. G’reden and R’xel got a fire going while the others checked the thickness of the ice over the lake and soon realised it was solid enough to support humans. They tentatively ventured further out. It was S’brin, of course, who dared to test it by jumping in the air and stamping his feet, just as Zemianth was the first dragon to try out her sliding skills. She did it very gracefully, using her wings to propel her further along the ice. Seeing her, two more greens decided to join in, followed by the other, larger dragons. In no time, they were developing their own styles, some emulating Zemianth’s stately progress, while others decided to fly a little way before descending onto the ice to see how far they could get. The riders picked up their dragons’ infectious delight. S’brin, encouraged by Zemianth, held on to her tail as she whirled him round until he became so dizzy that he fell over. D’gar preferred to sit astride Herebeth as he flew and skidded from one shore to the other. R’xel and B’thun were the first to have the idea of getting one dragon to slide in a straight line while the others attempted to knock them off course. They also worked out a points system so it would be obvious which dragon won. Eventually, all the riders were thirsty enough to stop for a klah break. The dragons continued to play their own games, without the competitive element brought in by humans.

D’gar perched on a smooth rock at the side of the beach, watching them through the steam rising from his cup. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. It was almost like being a weyrling again.

J’rud settled down next to him. ‘That was great. How did you find this place?’

’S’brin spotted it from the air, one Fall. Think he wants us to bring the dragons here to swim, in the summer.’

J’rud shivered. ‘Not sure as I’d fancy that. It’s never going to get very warm, what with the height and all the snow melt running into it.’

‘Dragons won’t mind. And if S’brin’s mad enough to try, Zemianth can pull him out. I’ll stay here and sunbathe.’

T’garrin came over to join them. ‘This has made a pleasant change from sitting around at the Weyr. Especially with all the intrigue that’s been going on lately.’

D’gar thought he knew what T’garrin was on about, but thought it best to give nothing away.

‘What’s all that, then?’ J’rud asked.

‘Have either of you had any unexpected invitations lately?'

‘Not me.’ J’rud sipped his klah.

‘Well, I’ve had a couple of invites to go for a drink with clutchmates I’ve hardly seen since we graduated. All of them in “F” Wing.’

This definitely sounded familiar. ‘Did you go?’

‘Of course. You need to know what’s going on.’ He focussed on D’gar. ‘You’re friendly with that young weyrwoman, aren’t you. And her bronze boyfriend. Seen them recently?’

‘Might have done,’ D’gar admitted.

‘Interesting, eh?’

‘I don’t know what you two are on about,’ J’rud said. ‘Should I?’

T’garrin smiled. ‘You’d be interested in who might be in the running for Weyrleader, wouldn’t you?’

‘Well, yes. Is that what’s it about?’

‘Z’los is putting out feelers for the next time Loranth rises. Which I reckon will be sometime next Turn. He really wants it this time and he’s looking for support from the weyrfolk.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with T’ron, though,’ J’rud put in. ‘At least, not that I can see.’

‘Some folk feel like he’s been at the top too long. A few of the Wingleaders don’t like the way he pinches all their best riders after they’ve spent time training them up.’

D’gar leaned back. ‘Isn’t that one of the advantages of being Weyrleader, though? Who’s to say one of the others wouldn’t do exactly the same?’

T’garrin shrugged. ‘Quite likely. But Z’los is playing the “get a younger man in” card. New ideas and all that.’

‘That’s what I heard.’

‘Interesting times, eh?’ T’garrin blew the steam off his klah. ‘But I won’t be shortening the odds right now. Mardra’s not going to ruin a good partnership. She knows how to play T’ron; not sure if Z’los would be so malleable.’

Over the next few sevendays, on the run up to Turn’s End, the rumours spread. It seemed everyone had an opinion on who would be best suited to be the next Weyrleader at Fort. D’gar thought T’ron looked worried. It must be uncomfortable to have people speculating about your fitness to lead the Weyr. Mardra seemed unaffected. She’d still be Weyrwoman whatever the outcome of Loranth’s next flight.

The cold weather continued. Snow continued to pile up at the Weyr. M’nan had his weyrlings out with shovels clearing the landing area and the main paths.

‘Bit of a time waster,’ S’brin commented. ‘He could just get them to feed their dragons firestone and have them flame it away.’

‘That would be too easy.’ D’gar felt very glad they’d escaped all that. He had no doubt that if they’d still been in the barracks, M’nan would have had he and S’brin shovelling the deepest drifts.

The Turn’s End festivities seemed like even more of a celebration than usual, with all of the riders in excellent spirits due to the break they were having. Z’los’s table seemed merrier than most. D’gar watched him, noting that he drank less than most and took pains to greet and talk to many of the riders not in his Wing, including some of the bronzes. He wondered if R’feem would be a contender, too; he was a good Wingleader with plenty of experience and Piroth was a fine bronze. But perhaps R’feem just wasn’t as ambitious as some of the others. He had no doubt that once K’torl had a few more Turns under his belt, he’d be in the running, too. For the moment, his best chance for advancement was to support Z’los. He supposed that it might even be a condition of being allowed to try out for Wingsecond.

T’kes sat with the Wing for the feast. ‘Good news,’ he said. ‘The dragon healers have said Neyrenth can start exercising his wing in the new Turn. We might be in the air again soon.’

D’gar thought he was being over optimistic. He and S’brin had seen Neyrenth recently and reckoned he’d lost so much of the wing sail that even if he managed to get off the ground, he was unlikely to have sufficient manoeuvrability to ever fight Thread again. ‘That’s great,’ he said, putting aside his concerns. ‘Maybe you’ll be able to come with us on some of our days out.’ They’d been to the frozen lake a couple more times since their first visit. Dragon shunt, as B’thun and R’xel’s game had been called, was proving very popular.

‘I’d like that.’

T’ron stood and the room fell silent. It was time for the traditional roll call of those who hadn’t made it to the end of another Turn. Some of the names he recited were the elderly weyrfolk and retired riders who had succumbed to the natural ills of old age but the vast majority were those who had perished due to Threadfall. Many of them he recognised; R’tal and Zunth’s clumsiness hadn’t served them well in the end and they’d vanished between during one Fall, Sh’dral had been lost from ‘C’ Wing a couple of sevendays before he and S’brin joined and was still fondly remembered.

‘B’rol and Milliath,’ T’ron intoned solemnly, reading from his list.

S’brin glanced briefly at him and D’gar knew he must be remembering that awful afternoon in the infirmary too. As T’ron continued, he looked around the table, wondering how many of his wingmates and clutchmates might not be here this time next Turn. Or if, indeed, he and Herebeth might also become a statistic. Nothing was certain, really. You had to enjoy life while you could.