Threadfall - 7. Troubles

T’mudra was throwing things around the barracks again. That had to mean Jassainth was getting proddy. This would be her third time and it always seemed to have the same effect on him.

S’brin ducked as a pair of wherhide trousers came his way. ‘Bet you’re glad I don’t get like that,’ he said to D’gar.

‘Where is it?’ T’mudra muttered, throwing more things out of his storage box. ‘Which one of you’s taken my mending kit?’

‘No one has. It’s over here.’ D’gar picked it up off the floor where it had landed.

T’mudra snatched it from him without thanks.

‘You’re welcome,’ he said, turning away as T’mudra went round gathering up his stuff, swearing under his breath.

It was well into the ninth month, but the summer’s heat clung on over the Weyr. Dragons basked in the sun as usual, causing more greens than ever to rise prematurely, or in groups. Thankfully, Zemianth’s latest mating flight had been solo. Herebeth still hadn’t shown any interest, though.

‘What’s going on here?’ M’nan, N’teren’s assistant, strode in to the barracks. He was a short man who shouted a lot to make up for his lack of height.

‘Nothing,’ T’mudra said.

‘He’s proddy again, what’s it look like?’ S’brin threw one of T’mudra’s shirts back at him from where it had landed on Zemianth’s couch.

‘Don’t you cheek me.’ M’nan pointed a finger and tried to sound threatening, but it didn’t really work.

‘He wasn’t,’ D’gar said. ‘You asked a question, he answered it.’ He was getting sick of M’nan. He had become increasingly annoying during the month since N’teren took him on. He liked to burst in to the barracks when no one was expecting it, supposedly to conduct inspections. His dragon, a lazy blue called Bilminth, seemed to share his rider’s fondness for spying on folk, often lying around wherever the weyrlings congregated and presumably passing along as much of their conversation as he understood.

‘I wasn’t speaking to you.’

‘Oh, weren’t you?’ D’gar said, affecting innocence. ‘You were shouting so loudly I thought it was so everyone in the barracks could hear.’ He was pushing his luck a bit, he knew, but it was making S’brin smile. In any case, he didn’t care any more. The more he was nagged about being responsible, the less he felt like behaving that way.

‘Do both of you fancy another sevenday’s midden duty?’ M’nan threatened.

‘Not really,’ D’gar said. ‘But we always seem to be doing it anyway, so I don’t see why I should even try to behave “in a manner befitting a brown rider” as you so often keep reminding me.’

M’nan looked confused. He often ended up confused when talking to D’gar.

From the corner of his eye, he could see S’brin trying desperately not to laugh, so he carried on. ‘I mean, where’s the incentive to behave when you just keep on giving us extra duties anyway.’

Some of the other weyrlings had stopped what they’d been doing and were watching, eager to see how this ended. M’nan’s face was getting steadily redder.

‘Right, that’s it!’ He was definitely shouting now. ‘Seven days on midden duty for you.’ He pointed at D’gar again. ‘And you.’ That was to S’brin.

‘See what I mean.’ D’gar said to everyone. ‘So predictable.’

M’nan stomped out.

‘You shouldn’t keep on riling him.’ J’rud came over. ‘I mean, you two are going to have the record for the longest time on midden duty for anyone, ever, in these barracks.’

‘We’ve got it down to a fine art by now.’ S’brin carried on making his bed, as he had been before all the commotion. ‘It’s not actually the worst thing you can end up doing. I’ve even got used to the smell. Besides, it was worth it to see D’gar getting to him.’

‘He’s a jumped up little toe rag,’ D’gar said. ‘I don’t know why N’teren picked him, of all people.’

‘It was as a favour, I heard.’ B’rol joined them. ‘Apparently he was so useless in ‘G’ Wing that H’xesh pleaded with N’teren to take him off his hands.’

‘Can’t be that useless,’ J’rud said. ‘He’s still alive.’

They all laughed. T’mudra just stared at them, shaking his head sadly.

‘What I don’t understand is why he needs an assistant at all. There are far fewer weyrlings these days and it’ll get quieter still as we near the end of the Pass.’ D’gar looked along the length of the barracks. Designed to house one hundred and forty weyrlings, the remaining forty-eight only took up a third of the available space.

‘Loranth will be laying more eggs soon,’ B’rol pointed out.

The Senior Queen had finally risen during the eighth month, just a few days after Zemianth. As expected, she’d been flown by Fidranth again.

‘Yes, but even if she has the same sized clutch as she did last time, that’s only another twenty-three. Suderoth’s not going to mate again at least until next Turn…’ J’rud tailed off. No one mentioned Suderoth much at the moment. Her rider, Tirelle, had given birth to a healthy baby girl the previous sevenday, but she remained confined to her weyr. Healers went in and out multiple times a day and Weyr gossip had it that she was seriously ill. This was borne out by Suderoth’s visibly grey hide and lack of appetite. The golden dragon lay on her weyr ledge, barely stirring.

‘And Gemalth won’t mate for another Turn and a half, minimum,’ J’rud finished, quickly diverting everyone’s attention from the plight of Tirelle and her dragon. ‘So the barracks aren’t going to be anywhere near full.’

‘Hopefully, N’teren will get as sick of him as we are.’ D’gar said. ‘In the mean time, I’d better go and shift some rubbish.’

While he was over by the kitchens - and before he started moving the rank pile of rotting food and peelings from their container - he nipped inside. Agarra would know what was going on.

‘Hey, mum.’ He sniffed the fragrant steam ascending from the pot she was stirring. ‘That smells good enough to eat.’

She tapped the back of his hand with the stirrer. ‘It’s this evening’s stew, so keep your grubby paws off until it gets out to the dining hall. What are you doing here, anyway?’

‘Oh, midden duty again.’

Agarra sighed. ‘Why do you keep getting yourself into so much bother?’

He shrugged. ‘It just happens.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I was wondering if you’d heard anything about Tirelle. How’s she doing?’

His mother pursed her lips. ‘Not good. It was a difficult birth and she’s running a fever.’

‘Oh.’

‘They’ve sent for the Masterhealer this morning. T’ron’s gone to fetch him.’

‘Let’s hope they can do something for her.’

Agarra nodded. ‘Poor woman,’ she said, with some sympathy. ‘I was lucky with all of you. Not everyone has it so easy.’

D’gar left her to go and fill his barrow. He glanced up to Tirelle’s weyr again. Suderoth was still lying in the same place, her great head resting on her forelegs. It would be awful to lose another queen dragon; bad enough when Valli and Kadoth went between, but at least they’d had a good, long life. Tirelle was only in her thirties; she and Suderoth should have Turns ahead of them.

Suderoth is sad, Herebeth said, picking up on his thoughts. She worries for her rider. We all worry too.

The golden dragon’s strong emotions cast a pall over the whole Weyr. Workers going about their duties were unusually quiet. Even the children seemed more subdued than usual. As D’gar began to even out the midden - whoever had been tending the pile last hadn’t done it with much care - he saw Fidranth returning. Two people rode with T’ron, presumably the Masterhealer and an assistant. He watched them climb the steps to Tirelle’s weyr. T’ron laid a hand on Suderoth’s head, as if trying to reassure her, before following them inside.

There was no further news that day. T’ron and Mardra sat on the top table, looking serious. V’dul, whose Sarneth had flown Suderoth and who was most likely to be the father of Tirelle’s baby, hardly ate at all. Everyone in his Wing were equally somber.

The following day Thread was due over the tip of Southern Boll. A short Fall, as much of it would be over the sea, although two of the Wings were assigned to protect the fishing fleet. Drowned Thread made a good meal for fish and the boats always tried to get in just behind trailing edge to catch a decent haul.

‘Doubt we’ll be that busy, with such a short one,’ S’brin said as they waited by the firestone dump.

‘Hopefully not.’ Short Falls could be annoying. Some riders feared running out and called for extra sacks close to the end, just in case. They’d drop them back afterwards. often untied and with the contents spilling out. Clearing up always took far longer.

N’teren waited to assign drops. ‘D’gar and B’rol - you’re on deliveries to ‘B’ Wing today.’

D’gar gave a nod of acknowledgement. ‘What level, sir?’

‘Covering the fleet today,’ he replied.

‘Don’t go dropping any sacks on the boats,’ M’nan added.

D’gar refrained from commenting. He relayed the information to Herebeth, so he’d know which dragons would be talking with him.

We deliver to Norarth’s section today. Milliath will take Lurenth’s. I have the co-ordinates. Herebeth sent him a picture of distinctively shaped dark cliffs and sparkling sea below.

We’ve been there before, he commented. There was a cove just to the east of those cliffs. N’teren had taken Kadoth’s clutch for a day out, towards the end of their between training.

‘G’tash and S’brin. ‘C’ Wing today. Mid level.’ N’teren called out. ‘R’tal and T’kes. You’ve got ‘D’ Wing. Top level.’ He continued to allocate the dragons as more information came in.

Herebeth sent him the first deliveries. ‘Two brown, two blue,’ he shouted, then, sacks secured, they took to the air.

It was a fine day over Southern Boll, although that was incidental. Thread was falling over land and sea; the fishing boats sails catching the wind as the dragons gave them protection. They’d chase Fall all the way through, taking on as many loads of fish as they could store on board.

D’gar delivered his first pair of sacks to K’san, the Wingsecond. The visibility was good today and he could see almost the entire Wing, flying a tighter formation than normal to ensure not a scrap of Thread reached the ships below.

Herebeth skimmed just beneath them to take the second load to blue Farith, one of the dragons from Loranth’s clutch. He looked to be flying well. Herebeth held back for him to sear a clump of Thread before approaching. Just as D’gar unhooked the first sack he spotted something from the corner of his eye. Something bright; a dragon tumbling through the air, then winking between. Just a few seconds later came the inevitable sadness that told of a death. He shook it off and made the delivery, unsure of what he’d half-seen until Herebeth confirmed it for him. Rodriolth has gone. He flew too close to Wesath and was flamed.

Shards! That had been P’rel. It had all happened so fast. D’gar returned to the dump, sobered by the experience. P’rel hadn’t been a close friend, but he was still a familiar figure in the barracks, with his red hair and broad smile. Now he was dead.

He took up another delivery, working through the shock. It had been different from watching that brown dragon die in the Bowl; less gruesome but more personal, because he’d seen P’rel so often, sat at the same table in the dining hall. He’d been, what, eighteen Turns? Two months graduated from the barracks. Statistics told that the first six months in a Wing were the most dangerous; now he’d seen the proof with his own eyes.

They didn’t have many more deliveries to do. Normally, they’d get off to the baths straight afterwards, but M’nan - petty as ever - insisted that he and S’brin helped to clear up the spilled sacks. There was no denying they were quicker at it than the younger weyrlings from Suderoth’s clutch.

D’gar picked up a piece of fallen firestone, seeing that plummet again and again. In his mind, it merged with other deaths; Branluth in the Bowl, Valli riding off into the rising sun for the last time. Maybe Suderoth would be the next, if Tirelle didn’t make it?

‘You’re very quiet,’ S’brin said. ‘What’s up?’

‘That death today. It was P’rel. I saw it.’

‘Shit! You should have said something earlier.’ S’brin pulled him into a hug.

D’gar breathed in the smell of char and wherhide and that indefinable essence that was S’brin. ‘It’s worse when it’s someone you know,’ he said.

‘P’rel, though. He was good. What happened?’

‘It wasn’t Thread. Well, that might have caused the accident…’ Perhaps Rodriolth had dodged without checking all around him and flown into danger. ‘He got flamed by Wesath. I saw them falling, then they went between.’ D’gar noticed one of the weyrlings staring at them. He pulled back. ‘Come on, we’d best get this lot finished before M’nan starts on us again.'

By the time they got back from the baths, everyone knew about P’rel. The members of Loranth’s clutch who were still in the barracks had got together in a huddle. It was the first death among their number and they clearly felt the loss. That was natural, of course. D’gar couldn’t help but think that the air of dread hanging over the Weyr, due to Tirelle’s illness, just made it worse.

Dinner was even more gloomy than the previous night. It was always that way when someone so young died. T’ron stood and said a few words in their honour; drinks were passed around to ‘B” Wing’s riders. After the meal, the former weyrlings left their Wing tables and came over to show their solidarity. N’teren provided wine and they conducted their own version of the remembrance ceremony. T’resh, the Wingleader, joined them.

‘The Weyr’s not been this shaken since Valli died,’ S’brin whispered.

‘I don’t think it was as bad, then.’ D’gar poured more wine. Normally, he didn’t drink so much. Tonight he wanted its numbing effect. He knew he’d not be able to sleep for thinking about everything that had happened. It was another reminder of how death could come swiftly and suddenly; the dark side of being a dragonrider that wasn’t celebrated in ballads or even appreciated by most folk outside of the Weyr.

M’rell slept in the barracks that night, along with several of the others who had moved on. D’gar didn’t think it was because they were too drunk to make it back to their own weyrs safely. It was more for the consolation of being among old friends.

The next morning, he woke with a headache. Midden duty was that bit more onerous with a hangover. But as he wheeled the kitchen scraps away, there was one shining beacon of hope. Suderoth stirred from her ledge, flew to the feeding grounds and ate two herdbeasts. As the golden queen landed back on her weyr ledge to curl up and digest her meal, it was as if everyone in the Weyr relaxed.

Tirelle wasn’t up and about for several more days, but Weyr gossip soon confirmed that she was over the worst, although left weakened by her illness. The baby - named Vedrelle, proving her parentage - had already been fostered with one of the laundry women. On the first evening that Tirelle managed to come down to the dining hall, everyone toasted her recovery.

The good weather broke just a few days into the tenth month. The first frosts rimed the Bowl. Leaves turned colour and started to fall in the Fort Hold orchards. Riders began to hope for early and unseasonably cold weather, to freeze Thread into black dust. Until then, the usual routine continued.

Towards the end of the month, D’gar began to notice that Herebeth was paying attention to particular green dragons. He thought nothing much of it, at first. Herebeth was curious and often watched other dragons as they flew to and from the feeding grounds, or up to the heights. But there was something focussed about the attention he payed, first to Midoroth, then to Minth. In both cases, the dragons rose to mate just a few days later, although Herebeth didn’t show any signs of wanting to chase them. When he started looking at Carainth in the same way, D’gar asked him about it directly.

What’s so fascinating about Carainth this morning?

She is a lovely colour. I like the way the light plays across her wings when she flies.

Is she going to rise soon?

Herebeth thought for a while. I am not sure.

You looked at Minth like that, before she rose. And Midoroth.

I do not remember.

That was the problem with a dragon’s short memory span. Anything that had happened more than a few days ago tended to fade, although sometimes you could jog their recall with the right prompt. They lived very much in the here and now. Are you going to chase Carainth? he asked. It would be good to have a bit more warning than M’rell had done, the first time Toth decided green dragons excited him.

If she rises, then maybe I will. She is a very pretty green.

What about Zemianth?

She is not about to rise.

D’gar sighed. The he went to find R’chol. ‘Just thought I should warn you that Herebeth seems to be taking an interest in Carainth. Is she about due to mate?’

R’chol obviously did some quick calculations. ‘Fairly soon, I think, although she’s not settled into a regular cycle yet. It was almost four months between her first and second time, then only three until her third. Although there was a lot of sunshine…’ He shrugged. ‘Why? Is Herebeth thinking about chasing at last?’

‘He’s not giving much away, but I think he might.’

‘Shells!’ R’chol glanced quickly down the barracks, to where S’brin was repairing one of Zemianth’s straps. ‘What’s he going to say about it?’

‘Well, I don’t complain when Zemianth goes off.’

‘Yes, but you’re more… reasonable. If Herebeth catches Carainth, I don’t want S’brin to clobber me afterwards.’

‘He wouldn’t do that.’

R’chol looked at him nervously. ‘Best make sure first, eh?’

He was probably right. It was as well to make S’brin aware that Herebeth might be starting to take an interest in other dragons. ‘I’ll talk to him.’

R’chol looked relieved. ‘Thanks. You know, I wouldn’t mind if we did end up together in the flight cave…’ he said, with a slight smile.

There was no time like the present. D’gar’s next stop was to see S’brin. He was busy stitching the leather, absorbed in concentration.

‘How’s it going?’ He sat down next to S’brin on the bed.

‘Not too bad. Think I’ll get a bit more life out of this.’

‘If you didn’t pull all those aerobatic stunts, they’d last longer.’

‘Are you trying to act responsible, or something?’

‘Not really. I just came over for a chat.’

‘Hmm?’ S’brin pulled his last stitch tight.

‘It’s just… I think Herebeth might be going to chase someone soon.’

That got his attention. ‘Really? Who?’

‘He’s been looking at Carainth a lot recently.’

‘So that’s why you were chatting up R’chol just now?’

‘I wasn’t. I just thought I should tell him, that’s all. Anyway, it might not even happen. He was looking the same way at Midoroth and Minth before they rose, but he didn’t chase them.’

S’brin said nothing for a few moments. ‘Do you fancy R’chol?’ he asked.

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘Well, do you?’

D’gar didn’t want to lie.’He’s not bad looking…’ he ventured. Just like anyone else, he could appreciate a man’s body. It didn’t mean he was going to do anything about it, not while he was partnered with S’brin.

‘So, you do, then?’

S’brin obviously needed reassurance. ‘You and I both know that what happens in a flight cave has nothing to do with how we feel about each other. If Herebeth catches Zemianth one day, that’ll be amazing. But I can no more stop him chasing than you can stop Zemianth rising.’

‘I suppose so,’ S’brin agreed, although he still didn’t sound as if he liked it. ‘Sorry. Can’t help feeling a bit jealous about having to share you. With R’chol or anyone.’

‘That’s natural. I don’t like it when Zemianth mates and I know what someone else is doing with you.’ Maybe S’brin might appreciate better how he felt, now, the times he’d had to wait to see who’d caught Zemianth. Worrying if either of them might get hurt.

S’brin made another stitch. ‘I never thought it would be like this,’ he said. ‘I never thought I’d mind. Remember that blue rider saying how it didn’t matter, because it was only a flight and he still knew his weyrmate loved him?’

D’gar nodded. ‘“It doesn’t matter who he’s having sex with right now, it’s me he loves,” was what he said.’

‘Well, I do mind. It was bad enough knowing about what H’sal did to you. I wanted to kill him.’

‘Glad you didn’t. Even though he’s a loathsome human being.’

‘That’s part of it, too. When you’re up there with your dragon, out of your own mind, you don’t even care who you’re having sex with. It could be someone you like or it might be someone you hate. There’s no choice in the matter.’

It was the most S’brin had ever said about that aspect of being paired with a dragon. ‘We all have to go through it, though. It’s for the dragons, after all.’

S’brin nodded. ‘It’s just, until now I didn’t have to think about it. About you…’

‘I’ll be fine. Herebeth probably won’t even catch anyone, the first couple of times. And at least if he wants to mate, there’s some chance he’ll chase Zemianth one day.’

‘There is that, I suppose.’

‘I just hope he gives me a bit more warning than you’ve had so far.’ Or M’rell, for that matter, last time Toth had chased - and caught - Zemianth.

‘They say that once it’s happened a few times you get to know the warning signs. Zemianth doesn’t seem to have any, other than sleeping a lot before she goes, but as she does that anyway, it’s hard to tell.’

‘I’m hoping Herebeth might tell me. We talk quite a bit.’ He was never sure if Herebeth said more than the average dragon. He certainly seemed to think more; their personalities were well matched there.

‘Don’t know if it works like that with males. They don’t have a cycle, like greens. From what I’ve seen, they seem to make up their minds as and when the greens are ready to go.’

He was probably right. D’gar guessed that it wouldn’t take much nudging from a rider to make a blue, brown or bronze more likely to want to chase. After all, H’sal and F’nerl’s dragons chased more often than average and when a Senior Queen flew, any bronze rider who wanted the Weyrleader’s job would send their dragon after her. ‘Well, all I can do now, is wait and see.’ And hope I don’t lose my mind too much, he thought.

Two more Falls went by. A couple of greens rose, but Herebeth showed no interest in them. The weather had turned dull, cold and showery, meaning the heights were clear of all but the watch dragon.

It was a chilly, grey afternoon when N’teren had all of the weyrlings assemble in the Bowl. He set the younger ones, from Suderoth’s clutch, various exercises to strengthen their dragons’ wings. Many of them had already started to fly short distances on their own and some looked large enough now to be almost ready to carry a rider. Herebeth hadn’t been much older when they’d flown for the first time, he reflected.

While N’teren supervised the youngsters and their dragons, M’nan was enjoying exerting his authority by inspecting the older ones. The dragons were kitted out in their fighting straps, the riders in full wherhide, as if ready for Fall. It wasn’t the most pleasant weather to be standing around, although, he supposed it could be worse. At least it wasn’t raining.

‘I hope we’re going to do some flying after all this,’ S’brin hissed, having thrown a small pebble at D’gar to attract his attention.

‘If Bilminth can be bothered to get off the ground.’ M’nan’s dragon squatted on his haunches nearby, looking as bored as most of Loranth’s and Kadoth’s clutches. His eyes were half-lidded and D’gar wondered if he might actually fall asleep.

M’nan was taking a long time about it. It had been almost an hour and he’d only got through six dragons. Word had passed along that he was being much more fussy than N’teren usually was. The fact that he was writing everything down on a slate as he went made the whole process even slower.

‘Apparently, he’s awarding points.’ J’rud ducked under Zurinth’s neck, pretending to be checking the fit of a strap. ‘Whoever gets the least points is on midden duty.’

‘What?’ It was stupid. They were all old enough to know what they were doing. None of the dragons had any dry or cracked patches on their hides and if they weren’t looking after their gear, then there’d have been problems during deliveries. D’gar felt himself becoming increasingly irritable as M’nan made his slow progress down the line. To make matters worse, Herebeth kept fidgeting, almost stepping on his foot a couple of times.

I know this is boring, he said to his dragon. But that’s not going to make it happen any faster.

But I want to see Carainth. Herebeth craned his neck to its full extent so that he could look over the top of Zurinth.

What’s so fascinating about her today? He really hoped this wasn’t what he thought it might be.

She is beautiful, Herebeth said, in a dreamy sort of way. His eyes whirled with an orange-y tinge D’gar had never seen before.

‘Hey, J’rud.’ J’rud was round the opposite side of Zurinth now.

He ducked back under. ‘What?’

‘Does Carainth look any… different. Say, glowing?’

‘I’ll have a look.’ J’rud disappeared for a few moments, then returned. ‘I think she’s a bit brighter than usual. Hard to say on a day like this. She’s moving around a lot, though.’

‘So’s Herebeth. In your opinion, would you say she’s close to rising?’

‘I’ll ask R’chol.’ He disappeared again.

‘What’s going on?’ S’brin had evidently noticed them talking.

‘I think Carainth is going to rise and I reckon Herebeth will chase her.’

‘Oh.’

At that moment J’rud reappeared. ‘He’s not sure, but he says her mind’s all over the place.’

Further down the line, there was a disturbance as Carainth suddenly opened her wings. The dragons to either side had to move aside fast to avoid being hit.

‘Keep your dragon still,’ M’nan shouted.

‘I can’t!’ R’chol shouted back. Carainth struck out with her wings again, moving forward from the line. ‘I’m going to take her straps off.’ He began undoing the clips and buckles, with some difficulty as she became more agitated.

‘Leave her alone,’ M’nan shouted. ‘Make her stand still.’

S’brin nudged D’gar. ‘Better do the same with Herebeth. Don’t want straps on a dragon for a mating flight. Might get caught up.’

‘She’s going to rise, you idiot!’ R’chol’s patience finally went. He threw the straps onto the ground as Carainth rose into the air, hopping forward a dragon’s length from the rest. Herebeth lurched forward at the same time, just as D’gar got the chest strap unfastened. Further down the line, several of the male dragons appeared to be equally restless.

N’teren obviously noticed the disruption. He stopped his group of weyrlings in what they were doing and began to walk over.

Carainth snorted loudly, tilting her head to one side as she surveyed the males who had suddenly become interested in her. D’gar touched Herebeth’s mind and found it very different from his usual placid, thoughtful self. He was totally focussed on Carainth. D’gar found himself being sucked in to his dragon’s consciousness. For a moment he saw Carainth through Herebeth’s eyes; irresistible and eminently desirable. He felt as if he could launch himself from the ground after her the moment she chose to fly and realised he could actually feel the muscles of non-existent wings flexing in readiness. It was an effort to bring himself back to his own body.

‘Are you all right?’ S’brin sounded concerned.

‘No.’ Speaking was difficult. He’d seen it in others, now he was experiencing it. Was it because dragons couldn’t vocalise in the same way as humans and his mind was now trying to insist that he inhabited a dragon’s body? Just standing on two feet - something he’d managed perfectly well for most of his life - felt suddenly strange and unnatural.

‘Don’t fight it,’ S’brin said. ‘It makes things worse.’

‘We’ll look after you,’ J’rud added.

N’teren had arrived by now. ‘Anyone who needs to, get over to the flight cave. Everyone else, stay where you are.’ He strode over to talk with M’nan. D’gar watched them from what felt like far away and a different angle than he was accustomed; looking through Herebeth’s eyes again. Carainth was glowing with a soft, diffuse light that seemed to enhance every plane of her body. He could hear J’rud and S’brin talking, but their voices sounded different, filtered through a dragon’s perception. The words made no sense any more, just background noise. All that mattered was Carainth, whose own voice now bugled a challenge to her suitors; to him, Herebeth. He watched as she preened and paced, humans and dragons alike scattering as she opened her wings. Every muscle in his body tensed as he prepared to fly but she settled again.

More dragons arrived. Rivals for Carainth. He hissed at one who got too close, mantling his wings. Neyrenth was no match for him; he might be slightly faster away, but he didn’t have the power or stamina. Kailarth, another brown, wasn’t very nimble. He’d outflown Kailarth in drills; he could certainly outfly him this time.

‘Here you are.’ A gentle nudge and a familiar voice dragged him away. They were inside, now, in a dimly lit place. Other people were there, too. He didn’t want to be inside; he wanted to be with Carainth, flying through the open sky!

Go away, he tried to say, but he couldn’t find words any more. In an instant, he was back with Herebeth, their minds fully merged right at the moment Carainth finally decided it was time and propelled herself into the air. Herebeth followed, not getting away as fast as the three blues, but with only them ahead. Behind him, he was aware of two other browns, Kailarth and Seventh, jostling each other for position. As they ascended, his powerful wings brought him closer to the rearmost blue - Cegorth - with every beat. He tried to dodge around to the right of Cegorth, but the dragon blocked him, lashing out with his tail. He ducked to the left with the same aim, but this time the tail caught him across his face. It stung, but he ignored the pain and tried again, feinting left, then going right as Cegorth went the opposite way to try and block him. The tantalising glowing green hide of Carainth drove him on, until he was alongside the light blue dragon. Cegorth tried to push him aside, but he wasn’t having it. He shoved back, using his larger size and weight to force the other dragon off course. But their struggle slowed them both down and Seventh - older and more experienced - overtook them. Infuriated, Herebeth barged Cegorth harder until he was forced to give up, banking away.

Carainth was well ahead of the pack now. While he’d been tussling with Cegorth, it seemed that Neyrenth and Mirlith had been having their own battle. Seventh had almost caught up to them already. He sensed Kailarth was still on his tail, too, but there was no point in worrying about who was behind him when there were other rivals in front.

Carainth had reached a good height now and glanced back at her suitors. Catch me if you can! she sent, just before she made a sharp turn, testing their mettle with a series of aerobatic moves only another green could have hoped to follow. Neyrenth overshot one turn and lost a lot of ground, Mirlith followed as best he could but Seventh simply predicted where she would end up and drew even closer. Carainth seemed to like that. Herebeth’s wings ached from the effort he was making to catch up, but no sooner had he closed some distance than she took off in another series of impossible-to-follow turns and dives. Seventh kept up with her better than a large dragon should be able to. Was she giving him clues to what she intended to do next? Herebeth couldn’t fly any better than he was already doing, yet each time she turned, he missed the cues and went the wrong way, or misjudged the radius of the turn, whereas Seventh always gained ground. It was as if they danced in a synchrony he wasn’t attuned to. Annoyance and frustration drove him on, past Neyrenth, closer to Mirlith. Then, abruptly, it didn’t matter any more. Seventh had got close enough to Carainth to grab at her and she decided to give in to him. Their tails twined together as they glided through the air…

As the dragons mated, D’gar found himself suddenly back in his own body. He could still feel air rushing over wings he didn’t possess, could still see the sky superimposed over the rocky interior of the cave. The sense of being in two places, two different bodies at once, left him disoriented. He staggered, having to lean on the wall for support.

We lost her, Herebeth said. She did not want us. He could feel his dragon’s raw emotions; disappointment, failure, rejection. Over by the bed, B’naj and R’chol were kissing frantically, tearing off each other’s clothes.

Never mind. We flew well. There will be other chances. He let his face touch the smooth, cool surface, realising his cheek hurt. Someone leaned next to him.

‘Sorry I hit you,’ K’dis said.

He remembered the lashing tail. ‘Not your fault,’ he managed to say.

K’dis shut his eyes briefly, letting his head rest back against the wall. ‘I hate losing flights.’ He moved closer to D’gar. ‘D’you fancy…?

For a moment, D’gar was confused. Dragon emotions and dragon’s thoughts still clouded his mind. Two things broke through; firstly that he was uncomfortably aroused and secondly why had he never noticed how attractive K’dis was before. The sounds of passion from the bed made his decision easy. He reached out and pulled K’dis closer. ‘Do you?’

‘That was a boring afternoon,’ S’brin said later, back in the barracks. ‘We were all standing out there another two hours. Bet you’re glad you missed it.’

‘Oh, er, yes.’ He willed himself not to glance towards K’dis. Now the dragonlust had passed, he felt guilty and ashamed. He could have just come back here, sorted himself out. But you didn’t, did you, his conscience nagged.

‘Herebeth didn’t catch her, then?’

‘No. She obviously fancied Seventh better.’

‘Good practice, though. Never know, he might chase Zemianth next time.’

Although it should have been obvious, D’gar suddenly realised something. S’brin would never know what it was like to lose a flight. Greens always got their mate; they’d never feel that sense of defeat or have to deal with the after effects of dragonlust. It wouldn’t be easy to explain, so it was best not to even try. It was no wonder, he thought, that some losing riders got drunk afterwards.