Threadfall - 27. The Telgar Way

Some members of the Wing regarded the new riders as you might something unexpected and unpleasant; as if a crawler had fallen from its web into your bowl of stew. Maybe that was unfair. A few looked friendly enough, while others simply ignored them. D’gar noticed that, unlike at Fort, where riders tended to sit roughly in colour order, here it was much more mixed up. The unfriendly group comprised a bronze, a brown plus a couple each of blues and greens.

All of the new riders clustered together, at the far end of the bench. Apart from J’rud, D’gar didn’t know anyone. It reminded him of when he’d just joined ‘C’ Wing, except then there had been four from Kadoth’s clutch and he’d had S’brin too.

J’rud sat to his left. The man on his right was from High Reaches and a fellow brown rider. He thought he might as well try to make friends. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m D’gar from Fort, Herebeth’s rider.’

The other turned to face him fully. He had a long-healed score down the right-hand side of his face. Judging by the extent of the scarring, he’d been lucky not to lose an eye. ‘M’lir. High Reaches. My dragon’s Kurath.’

Kurath and M’lir, he repeated in his head. There were going to be so many new names to remember. He was beginning to understand why M’ta never bothered to learn names until people had survived the first few months in ‘C’ Wing.

J’rud leaned around and introduced himself, adding, ‘D’gar and I are in the same Wing at Fort.’

‘Lucky,’ M’lir said. ‘I don’t know anyone else here. A couple of us ended up in… Balan Wing, I think it was, but everyone else is on their own.’

‘How many of you are there in total?’

‘Only five. T’kul couldn’t spare any more. We’ve had a few rough months lately too. Telgar isn’t the only Weyr whose queens are laying smaller clutches and less often.’

S’gra stood and banged on the table. ‘Right. Best get the introductions over with. Firstly, welcome to Greenfields Wing. To my left is M’kin, of bronze Valelth. He’s been a Wingsecond for almost longer than I’ve been a rider.’

M’kin gave a grimace.

‘And to my right is Z’nol of brown Heyonth.’

The other Wingsecond was much younger; probably a similar age to S’gra himself. Another two names to memorise. M’kin is the old one, Z,nol the younger, D’gar repeated a few times.

‘Just so you don’t feel too awkward, quite a few riders around the table are also new to Greenfields. We took in five from Feathertop and four from Miner’s recently. I have to say it’s a cheering sight to look around and see the table full again.’

There were a few nods and ‘ayes’ from riders D’gar presumed were the core of Greenfields Wing. It also explained the reason why they had chosen to sit in their own groups. Doubtless those from the disbanded Wings felt more comfortable with their former wingmates around them.

‘We’ve already been doing some training to acclimatise the riders who’ve just joined us. We’ll be in the air again for a few hours tomorrow. That should enable my Wingseconds to decide the final formations within the Wing. Next day, when we fight Thread over Hold Balan, Campbell’s Field and west of the big river we should be ready for whatever the Red Star throws our way. Now I know you’ll all be hungry, but unfortunately we’re last on the list at the moment, so there’ll be a wait. Let’s hope we can climb up a few turns after next Fall, eh?’

There were more noises of assent to that.

‘What’s he mean?’ J’rud hissed.

D’gar shrugged. ‘No idea.’

M’lir overheard. ‘One of the others told me we have to earn privileges.’

‘Eating’s a privilege?’ D’gar didn’t like the sound of that.

M’lir smiled. ‘Everyone gets fed in the end. It’s just, if you have to wait until last you don’t get so much choice.’

‘So why are we last?’ J’rud asked.

He shrugged ‘I dare say we’ll find out tomorrow.’

It was tantalising to smell the food but not be allowed to fetch any. D’gar noticed that a few of the riders from the other tables returned for seconds before Greenfields Wing finally reached their turn. By then it was mostly vegetables and tubers left and the only meat available was the last scrapings of a wherry stew and a some rather dried up looking meat rolls.

‘Shells!’ J’rud swore. ‘They can’t be expecting us to fight Thread on this. Let’s hope it doesn’t apply to the dragons as well.’

‘You can’t stop dragons feeding when they feel like it.’ D’gar found the vegetables slightly overcooked and without much seasoning or flavour. It was the same when they went for pudding. All of the tasty stuff had been devoured before they had a chance. Lunchtime’s meat pie seemed an age ago.

J’rud looked miserable. D’gar knew he had a sweet tooth. ‘Cheer up. Mum sent some cakes with me. You can share, if you want.’

He brightened up at the sound of that. ‘Sounds good.’

By the end of the evening, D’gar had got to know his immediate neighbours in Greenfields Wing. N’shorg and A’fas came from Igen, while A’myrrin was a Benden rider. To them, the idea of not being able to eat what they liked, when they felt hungry seemed equally strange.

‘There’ll be a way round it,’ A’myrrin said. ‘Maybe if I get friendly with one of the kitchen boys I can wangle extra rations.’

One of the Telgar riders overheard. ‘You’ll end up on shit duty for your pains if you’re caught.’

‘What?’

‘All the shit and piss that gets thrown down them holes in the weyrs has to end up somewhere. And someone has to shovel it. Favourite punishment duty here.’

It sounded very much like the midden duty D’gar had ended up doing so often when he was a weyrling, only even more smelly. He resolved to stay out of trouble and gave thanks that S’brin hadn’t been sent here with him. S’brin would have definitely ended up on shit duty.

Later on, J’rud joined him in his weyr, where they shared out cake. ‘I’m not sure I’m going to like it here,’ he said, voicing D’gar’s own concerns.

‘Give it a chance. We’ve not been here a day yet.’ D’gar was also disheartened but he felt he should try to cheer J’rud up. ‘Let’s see what happens tomorrow.’ You couldn’t judge a Weyr on the strength of one meal and a mention of nasty punishment duties. Still, something felt off. After they’d eaten, he’d seen little of the exuberance and camaraderie that was usual at Fort on a rest day evening.

It was raining in the morning. The dining hall was full of damp riders. By the time Greenfields Wing got their breakfast there were just a few eggs and plenty of porridge left, all the smoked meat, meat rolls and fried tubers having long gone.

‘Hey, D’gar!’ As he searched around for something vaguely edible and tasty, T’mudra walked past. ‘How do you like Telgar so far?’

‘Be better if I could get some decent food.’

T’mudra smiled unpleasantly. ‘You’re in Greenfields Wing. That’s where the dregs end up. You’ll always be last on the dining hall roster.’

He shook his head sadly. Still, maybe he’d find out today what they had to do to get their food more quickly.

It is raining, Herebeth observed, as he dropped down to ferry D’gar back to their weyr.

I had noticed. Guess who’s going to get soaked today?

I will get wet too.

You don’t mind getting wet. You have thick hide.

He sorted out his oiled leathers. They were fairly effective, but only for short periods of time. Ride a whole Fall in rainy conditions and the water inevitably seeped through.

Why do you still feel hungry?

There wasn’t much to eat. The porridge had been far less creamy than what they got at home. It hadn’t been long since breakfast, but he knew he’d be starving by the time lunch came around. If this carried on, he’d lose some weight and it wasn’t as if he had much fat to begin with. He was going to need Agarra’s food hampers, that was certain.

I am not allowed to eat as much as I want either. Solth told me I must ask her permission for anything larger than a wherry.

What? D’gar was appalled. You and I may have to go hunting now and then.

My thoughts too. Herebeth sounded uncertain. I do not think I like this place.

I don’t either, but we’ve no choice in the matter. As things stood, he just had to hope those weyrlings grew up fast, so they’d be able to return home before they ended up shadows of their former selves. The new information only added to his sense that Telgar wasn’t somewhere he or Herebeth would fell happy.

We muster in the Bowl in fifteen minutes.

All right. D’gar grabbed the straps and fixed them in place, then pulled on his leathers. I’m ready if you are.

They glided down. His stomach grumbled. It was probably just imagination, but he thought he felt a little weaker than normal. Mind you, if he could fight a Fall on an almost empty stomach, a few drills wouldn’t be a problem.

D’gar and Herebeth were put on the outside edge of the formation, flying with a blue and green from Telgar. Kunanth and Selth, Herebeth supplied. The rain lashed down. It was cold. Flying kept his body warm, but his hands and feet soon chilled. When they began firestone drills, he missed two catches; something he’d always prided himself on not doing. They hadn’t been well thrown, but that was no excuse. Often when they were restocking, conditions weren’t the best.

After two hours of changing formation and various other drills that weren’t dissimilar from those he’d practised a thousand times before, they went between to overfly the area where they would be fighting the next day. Vast fields showed newly sown grain poking green shoots through the dark soil in long lines. A minor Hold had been build against and partly within a cliff face and across the river, pastures were dotted with many small stone built dwellings.

By the time they got back to the Weyr, he was aching, weary and as he’d predicted, soaked through. He hung his leathers close to the vent, knowing they wouldn’t have time to fully dry out by tomorrow. Another minor physical discomfort to put up with. He then discovered they’d been out for so long that they’d missed the lunch gongs and therefore lunch. They returned to the dining hall for a meeting to finalise the positions for Fall only for him to find there was nothing to eat at all. Plenty of klah, though, which was a blessing. It took the edge off his hunger.

‘Got any more of those cakes?’ J’rud asked.

‘No. We ate them all. They go stale quickly.’ When he went back to Fort, he’d pick up foods he could store in his weyr; dried fruit, pickled veg, preserved meat and nuts. He wondered if Telgar Weyr’s economy with food was due to shortages and asked one of the older riders if that was the case.

‘It has been, a few times. Failed harvests, diseases and the like. This far north, the Holders have a rough time if it’s a bad season. Our previous Weyrleader decided that we needed to conserve food, in case of hard times and introduced the current system. Since then it’s become the Telgar way. You’ll get used to it.’

‘What about my dragon? He said he has to ask permission for more than a wherry.’

The rider nodded. ‘We all have to do it. It’s important to keep a tally of how much is consumed. Wasting food is frowned upon.’

D’gar considered that. It sounded like rationing to him and Herebeth thought the same. ‘I suppose you have to take them outside to hunt if they get hungry.’

‘Whenever we’re allowed.’

‘Allowed?’

‘We can’t leave the Weyr as and when we want to. You have to earn privileges like that.’

He liked the sound of Telgar less and less. Maybe they were so down on numbers because a lot of riders had transferred out?

Dinner proved to be as disappointing as the previous night. The other Wings took most of the decent cuts of meat before Greenfields even had a chance to go up. He dined on the gristly bits left over, together with mushy vegetables and as much of the mashed tuber he could fit on his plate. At least it filled his belly. He ate some fruit afterwards and put a couple of pieces in his pockets to stash in his weyr against emergencies. He wasn’t the only one. He noticed quite a few other riders doing the same.

Deciding he wanted to find out more about the system by which meals were served, he asked Z’nol, the younger Wingsecond to explain.

‘Each Wing starts off with a certain number of points. We lose points for bad catches,’ he looked at D’gar rather closely as he said that, ‘number of burrows over our allocated areas, injuries and the quantity of firestone we use. There are a number of other criteria too, but they’re mostly to do with performance outside of Threadfall. Each sevenday, the points are totalled up and the dining hall roster drawn up from that.’

It sounded complicated and time consuming. ‘Do you think it increases efficiency?’

‘It certainly encourages competition between the Wings. And gives riders something to work towards.’

‘But no one can help injuries. That’s down to conditions. it seems unfair to penalise for something that’s a matter of blind luck most of the time.’ D’gar began to feel a little bit as he had done when a weyrling, always asking N’teren difficult questions.

Z’nol obviously felt similarly about it. ‘You don’t need to understand. Just do what you’re told and do your job. That’s the Telgar way.’

It was the second time he’d heard that phrase. And he didn’t want to acquire a reputation for being difficult so soon after arriving at the Weyr, so he resolved to listen rather than speak and to figure out for himself rather than irritate anyone by asking too many questions.

He’d learned from some of the other riders that their first Fall would be a long one. When he’d joined ‘C’ Wing, they’d been introduced slowly, gradually building up time in the air and having a chance to become used to flying with the Wing. Evidently that wasn’t ‘the Telgar way’ either. As a brown pair, he and Herebeth would be in the air for five and a half hours, over unfamiliar terrain. J’rud had it slightly easier. As a green, he’d only be up for half a shift, although even that would be longer than he and Zurinth were accustomed to at Fort.

They sat together in his weyr the night before. ‘Nothing I’ve seen so far about this place would make me want to stay here,’ J’rud said. ‘Do you know, if Zurinth kills a herdbeast and doesn’t eat all of it, the entire Wing loses points. That’s just stupid. Dragon’s eyes are often bigger than their stomachs.’

‘I agree totally. Herebeth likes his food, as you know. He’ll need more of it rather than less, fighting these long Falls.’

‘I don’t envy you. And what if you can’t get anything to eat at the end of it?’

D’gar hadn’t even considered that. As he could never eat much before a Fall, he always stuffed himself on whatever had been left out afterwards. At Telgar, it didn’t seem as if food was available between meals. ‘I’ll have to manage, I suppose. Not much else I can do. If I force breakfast down, it’ll end up all over Herebeth anyway.’

‘There is that.’ J’rud sighed. ‘We’d best go back for supplies soon. Your mum will make sure we’re fed.’

‘Can’t even do that, according to someone I talked to earlier. No leaving the Weyr without permission. You have to earn the privilege.’

‘Wonder how that’s done?’

‘Not sure yet.’ D’gar stared disconsolately at the rough stone walls of his weyr. ‘Why couldn’t we have been sent to Benden instead of here?’

‘Or even High Reaches,’ J’rud suggested. ‘It might be freezing, but at least you can eat.’

D’gar sighed. ‘We can’t do anything about being seconded, so we just have to make the most of it. I suppose it’ll make us appreciate Fort when we return.’

‘Then let’s just hope it’s not too long.’

Fall was due around mid-morning, so it gave them a few hours after breakfast to prepare, and in D’gar’s case, to be sick twice. Not that he’d eaten much anyway. The watery porridge was even harder to force down than what was served at Fort and he didn’t dare drink too much klah. As he stood next to Herebeth, watching fine drizzle sweeping across the Bowl a wave of homesickness struck him. What he wouldn’t give now to be back in his own Weyr.

I would like to be back at Fort Weyr too, Herebeth said, somewhat glumly. But we have a job to do and we must do it.

They mustered only when called down by Valelth, another difference. Weyrlings doled out bags of firestone which he began feeding to Herebeth. D’gar saw Z’nol noting down exactly how many bags each dragon had been given and how many each rider attached to their straps before leaving the Weyr. They’d had a short Wing meeting after breakfast. Unlike R’feem’s pre-Fall briefings, details had been sketchy. About all he knew was that he’d be alongside Harith, Amyrrin’s blue and N’shorg’s green Kosith. Unlike Fort, where three levels was the norm, Telgar fought on just two. Three wings flew high, three mid-level and the other skimmed low with the queens, catching any fall-through. He supposed that with only seven Wings rather than the nine of Fort, it was a necessary modification.

Today they were on the upper level. He’d been told by M’kin - without having to ask - that they’d rotate through the positions on each subsequent Fall. So at least he was finding out some information about the way things worked here.

It felt odd, taking off without the well-known pairs around them, then emerging from between over those flat, characterless fields which all looked the same. The drizzled dampened his face and Herebeth’s hide as they waited for leading edge. It reached the far end of the line before it got to them, the fiery breath of other dragons giving warning Thread was on the way. Then it was time to fight.

The rain wasn’t heavy enough to drown Thread. Everything that got through was deadly and viable. Herebeth cleared a swathe in his usual, economical fashion. At least no one could complain they used excessive quantities of firestone. When he wasn’t occupied, D’gar watched the other two dragons. Harith was a skilful flyer, although sometimes a little too exuberant. The pair reminded D’gar of R’xel and Lath, back at Fort. Green Kosith was almost as slight as Zemianth and could twist herself into all sorts of shapes when going after strands of Thread no blue or brown could hope to reach. They actually made a pretty good triplet. He hoped the green who would take over at the mid-point was even half as good. Harith would have to swap out too. At Fort, many of the blues were able to fight a full Fall, but only on the shorter ones. No blue could manage to stay fresh for the five and a half hours they’d be chasing Fall’s lethal pattern today.

Below, the fields scrolled past in tedious similarity. A few times, he glimpsed the golden queens as they flew down any pieces that had escaped the Wings above. The rain didn’t lessen, although neither did it get any worse. As ever, water gradually seeped inside the oiled leather. When you were busy, it was easy to ignore the discomfort. Every time there was a lull, the clammy sensation of wet clothing sticking to skin irritated him. At least it wasn’t too cold.

Once one of his bags was finished, he asked Herebeth to inform Valelth, as M’kin was the Wingsecond in charge of their section.

I tell him now. Herebeth broke off as they went after a large tangle, resuming his communication once they had clear air. He informs me we will be resupplied when the shift changes. Harith and Kosith’s riders are to give you the remains of their bags.

What? He’d never had to do that before. Occasionally, if a dragon or rider had a minor injury, they might pass a bag over before returning to the Weyr to help a colleague who was running low. It sounded as if it was normal practice here. Manipulating half-empty bags wouldn’t be easy in the middle of Fall.

He could only carry a maximum of four bags on the fighting straps and most riders preferred to only use two at a time as it was less weight for the dragons to carry. Not that they seemed to mind, but it had long since been discovered that carrying extra bags reduced manoeuvrability. D’gar reckoned it would probably be best to empty the spare firestone into one sack. It would have been graded for smaller dragons, but Herebeth wouldn’t have a problem chewing it. He’d just need more to keep him flaming.

They passed over the Hold he’d seen the previous day; Campbell’s Field, tightly shuttered against Thread and with all the beasts brought under cover. More fields followed, with different crops planted. Difficult to tell what with, from this height. Finally, it was time for the greens and blues to swap out. Harith came closer, letting A’myrrin throw the remains of his sack over. As it was only around a third full, D’gar had to lean right out to catch it. If it had been windy, he’d have had no chance. Seeing a clear patch, he quickly emptied the contents into his own sack. N’shorg had even less left in Kosith’s spare sack. Just gravel, he sent to Herebeth. Still, we should be getting more soon.

He fastened the empties where he could easily reach to throw back to the weyrlings, then carried on fighting the wider area as he waited for the new pairs to arrive. They took far longer than he was used to and he knew he missed some Thread through not having a nimble green in position to take it. Had he chased it down on Herebeth, he’d have missed a larger clump. At last a blue arrived; one of the Telgar dragons. Kunanth, Herebeth supplied.

D’gar recognised the name. They’d flown with the sturdy dark blue on drills the previous day. The green who came in on replacement was Zurinth. She wasn’t quite as nimble in the air as Kosith, but it was good to have a familiar pair alongside them.

More firestone, Herebeth asked.

D’gar scrabbled around in the sack, picking out the largest bits. It took far too long and while he was doing it, he knew he wasn’t scanning the sky sufficiently. Herebeth crunched them quickly.

More, he said shortly. Having to do the work of three dragons for a time had used up a lot of flame. D’gar picked a few more pieces, until the sack was nearly empty.

We need deliveries soon, he told his dragon. Will you be all right?

For a short while. And if not too much Thread falls near us.

It felt like a gamble he didn’t want to take. By the time the weyrlings arrived, he’d had empty sacks for a while. He’d even figured that if Herebeth desperately needed to top up, he’d have to ask J’rud to throw a few pieces across. It felt wrong; uncertainty at a time when that was the last thing you needed. Now he knew why he’d had to take the almost empty bags from the outgoing blue and green. Without that scant extra, Herebeth might have run out of flame.

They crossed the Great Dunto River, the estuary and Big Bay just about visible to his left as the rain eased off slightly. His shoulders were aching in a way he’d not felt since just after joining ‘C’ Wing. He wasn’t sure exactly how many hours they’d been fighting, or how long there was left, but it felt like too long. I’grast had warned him he’d be twice as tired and he’d certainly been right about that. When trailing edge finally passed over and the Fall ended, he felt totally drained of energy.

How are you? he asked his dragon.

My wings are tired. I will be glad to bathe them. Herebeth pictured a cove they often went to, close to Fort Sea Hold.

We can’t go there. I’m sorry. The lake will have to do. He felt bad at having to disappoint Herebeth. The brown had fought as well as he ever did and it didn’t seem right for him not to have a reward for his efforts.

At the end of Fall, he usually dumped the straps and his leftover sacks in a pile, then headed straight for the bathing cavern, but the procedure here was that they had to wait to get the remaining firestone weighed before they were allowed to disperse. By the time Greenfields Wing trailed into the baths, all the pools were full. Telgar, despite having a similar capacity to Fort, had much smaller bathing caverns. Just as in the dining hall, they had to wait their turn until others left and made space. It was one more irritation on top of everything else. Even though there’d been no deaths today, which had to be something to celebrate, he noticed there was none of the larking around that usually happened at Fort. Everyone was probably too tired.

Back in the dining hall, he helped himself to klah, heavy with sweetener. Dinner wasn’t for another few hours yet and there was nothing put out to eat. He felt weak with hunger and from the exertions of the past few hours and sat back on the bench with his eyes closed.

‘Are you all right? J’rud slid in next to him.

‘Very, very tired.’ Even speaking felt like too much effort.

‘I got you this.’ J’rud placed something round in his hand. ‘A redfruit. It’s not much, I know, but it should keep you going for a bit longer.’

‘How did you…?’ He couldn’t have kept it in his pocket through Fall. Redfruits were too squishy for that.

J’rud just smiled. ‘We greens have our ways.’

‘Thanks. I really appreciate it.’ He bit into the fruit, savouring its juicy sweetness. It didn’t fill his stomach much, but certainly improved his mood.

The Wing meeting began. S’gra looked disappointed, despite the Wing having suffered no more than a few minor injuries. The main topic of discussion was that they had used three bags of firestone more than the allocated quota. That was, apparently, not good and wouldn’t help them to gain the points they desperately needed.

‘Why is there even a quota?’ D’gar asked, when the Wingleader fell silent at last. ‘Do we have a shortage of firestone, or something?’ He felt all eyes swivel towards him.

S’gra looked at him in a way that suggested he’d rather not have to explain. ‘It’s just a measure of performance we use.’

‘Right.’ He’d always assumed performance was measured by not letting Thread fall to the ground, although he didn’t go so far as to say that. ‘But dragons have to chew firestone to flame. Until you’re up there and know what the conditions are going to be like, it’s hard to judge how much your dragon will use.’

‘It’s the Telgar way.’ The Wingleader’s tone was dismissive, as if anyone should know that, even if they’d only been there for just a couple of days.

J’rud nudged him, most probably to shut him up. But D’gar was still hungry and didn’t feel like staying quiet. ‘My dragon almost ran out of flame before the resupply. If he had, we’d have been a pretty useless Threadfighting pair.’ He noticed some of the other riders who had been seconded were nodding in agreement, although no one spoke to back him up. He hadn’t expected they would.

‘But you didn’t,’ the Wingleader pointed out. ‘M’kin or Z’nol can explain the calculations, if you’re that interested. For now, can we just get on with the meeting?’

The rest of it was equally boring. Apparently all of the performance measures needed to be totalled up and scores would be given to each Wing by the following morning. This would contribute toward their total, after which, the dining room serving order would change for the next sevenday. In addition, the top two Wings would get a day out as their reward.

‘Tomorrow morning, before breakfast there’ll be physical training for all riders. Heyonth will bespeak your dragons fifteen minutes beforehand and you will assemble promptly on the landing area. That’s all. Thank you.’ S’gra sat and normal conversation resumed.

‘Exercises?’ A’myrrin grimaced. ‘Thought I’d done with those when I stopped being a weyrling.’

‘Our Wingsecond makes us run every morning,’ M’lir said. ‘Rain, snow, whatever.’

‘Glad I’m not at High Reaches, then.’ That was A’fas, from Igen. He looked at D’gar. ‘I’m pleased you asked those questions. I’d been wondering the same, myself, just didn’t want to be the first to say anything.’

‘D’gar always asks questions,’ J’rud offered. ‘Used to annoy the Weyrlingmaster no end.’

‘Thanks.’ D’gar swallowed the last of his klah. ‘I’m not objecting to their way of doing things.’ He thought he should make that clear. ‘I just like to know the reasons.’

‘Are you really going to ask about those calculations?’ A’myrrin asked. ‘Sounds very boring to me.’

D’gar nodded. ‘I agree. But if I don’t know how they work, then how can I say anything? Did any of you almost run out today?’

M’lir spoke up. ‘It wasn’t a comfortable feeling. Firestone certainly isn’t rationed at High Reaches.’

‘And another thing. Did you find it was a long time between the first shift blues and greens leaving and getting your fresh pairs in position.’ It might just have been a problem at his end of the line, but he thought he should check with some others.

‘I did. Missed some Thread through it.’

‘I know why that was,’ J’rud said. ‘They wouldn’t let us take off until the outgoing pairs landed and had their bags checked. Zurinth was itching to get away.’

A’myrrin shook his head. ‘The more I find out about the way this Weyr’s run, the less there is to like. I mean, I appreciate we’re autonomous and that there’ll be differences, but some of what went on today was both stupid and inefficient.’

‘I’d agree with that.’ So far, N’shorg hadn’t spoken very much, but it seemed even he was prompted to comment. ‘Not much we can do about it though, is there?’

‘No. But we do have a right to keep ourselves and our dragons safe and some of what I - and you - have experienced so far doesn’t help us to do that.’ D’gar felt as if his ribs were about to meet his backbone right now.

‘I’m not comfortable about fighting another fall like that,’ A’fas from Igen leaned in. ‘So, what can we do?’

D’gar suddenly realised they were all looking to him. He thought for a few moments. ‘We should probably talk to the other riders from our own Weyrs and see how they all feel. One - or even two - of us complaining can be ignored, but if forty or so say something, it might make a difference.’

‘You’re right there.’ M’lir agreed. ‘I’ll back you up.’

‘Me too,’ A’myrrin said. ‘I’m happy to help another Weyr, but not at any cost.’

‘Right, then. Talk to your fellow riders and we’ll meet up, say tomorrow afternoon. My weyr’s probably best unless any of you have a double.’

One or two of them went off right away. D’gar looked at J’rud. ‘What have I done?’

‘The right thing.’ J’rud smiled. ‘You’re a good leader. People listen to you.’

‘I don’t want to get into any trouble. Or get anyone else into it.’ It had all been very spur of the moment. Now that he had a chance to consider, he realised it might not have been such a good idea. Although he couldn’t deny that someone had needed to say something.

‘Then your way is the best way. You were right. If one or two complain they can just be labelled as troublemakers. If we all do, that’s another matter. They might even send us home.’ J’rud looked even more cheerful. ‘I’m going for a refill of klah. Want some?’