Weyrlings - 5. Cold Bargains

Suderoth’s clutch of twenty-three eggs raised everyone’s spirits, coming almost two sevendays after Valli and Kadoth had gone between. One of the eggs had the unmistakeable golden sheen that meant there was a young queen dragon inside.

‘And thank goodness for that.’ Agarra carried on chopping root vegetables, the knife flashing as she worked. Sitting in the kitchen took D’gar back to his younger days. Life had been so much simpler then. ‘That should shut them all up.’

After Valli had gone, it hadn’t taken long for word to get around that he and S’brin had helped her. They weren’t exactly in trouble for it - Valli had, after all, been a weyrwoman and could have ordered them to assist - but D’gar felt cold disapproval radiating from T’ron and several of the other bronze riders when they were summoned to give an account of what had taken place that morning.

‘Are they still bothering you and S’brin?’ she continued, when he stayed silent.

‘A bit.’

‘I know you were both fond of Valli. i’m glad you did the right thing by her.’

‘No-one else seems to feel that way.’

‘They do, only they won’t admit it. The Weyrleader knew she was going to die. Your help just meant it happened a few sevendays earlier and more importantly, she went the way she wanted to.’

‘None of them will want us in their Wing, when it comes to the time.’

‘Nonsense. They’ll have forgotten about it by then. Remember one thing. Weyr gossip lasts less time than a Hatching. Anyway, would you go back and change what you did?’

He looked down at the scarred surface of the ancient table. ‘No.’

‘Well, there you are, then.’

The weather became colder. Each morning, frost made the Weyr white. The edges of the lake turned to ice. In the feeding grounds, herdbeasts huddled together for warmth. The sun took longer each day to rise above the rim and even at midday, cast long shadows and provided only a memory of summer’s heat. For the wing riders, it came as a relief. Many of the expected Falls never materialised; Thread froze to death long before it reached the ground.

Weyrling training continued as usual, with regular patrols and flying drills. The dragons kept warm enough, but D’gar soon found that his feet became numb after a fairly short time in the air, no matter how many pairs of socks he wore. Jumping off Herebeth at the end of each session shocked them back into life and the process of thawing out his toes was slow and painful. He wasn’t alone, though. Many dragonriders suffered from the same problem. Remedies for chilblains were always doing the rounds in winter at the Weyr.

The bright and bitter days gave way to low, grey cloud. An icy wind seemed to promise snow later as they assembled on the landing area after breakfast. No-one else was flying today. Not many dragons were to be seen at all; they were back inside on their heated couches rather than sitting out on the ledges as they did on even the coldest sunny morning. It was similar, D’gar thought, to the day Kadoth’s last clutch had decided to hatch.

N’teren was well wrapped up, with his flying cap pulled down and a scarf around his neck. ‘Today, you’ll be glad to hear, we’re going to learn how to fly between. It should be warmer there than it is at the Weyr…’

The rest of his words were lost. D’gar glanced across to S’brin. He shivered, not just from the cold. If it went wrong, then they might not come back. He began to feel sick with nerves.

Zemianth assures us we will be fine. I know what I need to do. You have studied the theory in classes. Now is our chance to prove how clever we are. D’gar wished he could share Herebeth’s confidence.

‘Some of you will also be glad to hear that now your dragons are grown enough to embark on this last important stage of their training, they should also be sufficiently mature not to be worried by any sexual behaviour you wish to inflict on each other - or anyone else who’s foolish enough to want to jump into bed with you.’ He looked pointedly at S’brin and D’gar as he spoke. Little did he know they’d already experimented a few times, waiting until their dragons were asleep and trying not to let any excitement bleed through the mental link.

‘Well, that’s a good enough reason to come back in one piece,’ S’brin hissed out of the side of his mouth. ‘Can’t wait to get our clothes off and get my hands all over you later.’

‘Stop it. If I’m thinking about that, how am I going to be able to concentrate on visualising where I want Herebeth to go?’

‘Pay attention, please.’ N’teren fixed them with a steely glare. ‘You’ve all done the theory plenty of times. You’re also aware of the dangers of not getting it right. However, you’re a bright class and I’m confident we'll have a hundred percent success rate just as we did with Loranth’s clutch.’

Everyone was unusually quiet and solemn as they prepared to set off. D’gar checked everything twice, hoping his stomach would settle down. If he’d known what they would be doing this morning, he’d not have eaten so much for breakfast.

‘You all right?’ S’brin asked.

‘No. I think I’m going to throw up.’

‘Well, best do it here rather than in the air. Imagine some poor Holder getting a face full of your scrambled eggs.’

That was it. The mention of what he’d eaten made his stomach heave and he stepped away from the dragons to avoid making a mess where someone might tread in it. Afterwards, he felt no less nervous, shaking slightly as he climbed up Herebeth’s side and settled himself between the last two neck ridges. I’m sorry, he reassured Herebeth. It’s not that I don’t think we can do it or anything. I always get like this when I’m nervous. I nearly threw up the day I Impressed you.

Do not worry. I always vomit after chewing firestone. It is nothing to be ashamed of.

By the time they were ready to take off, a few riders and dragons were peering out from their weyrs and several of the Lower Cavern workers had gathered outside the kitchen door. Word spread fast.

D’gar saw Agarra among them and tried to put on a brave face for her. He remembered the summer day he and Herebeth had first flown together, when Valli and Kadoth had cheered them on. He wished they could be here today, instead of somewhere in the middle of black between. He couldn’t help but recall how he’d wondered whether frozen corpses remained there forever. No, he had to stop that. It was probably more likely to cause mistakes than thinking about what he’d like to be doing with S’brin when they got back.

The first jump was always from the end of the valley to just above the Star Stones. They’d all seen that landmark from the air often enough that it was imprinted on their minds. In turn, each had to visualise the scene and send it to their dragon. He or she then passed it to N’teren’s Chareth. If the Weyrlingmaster was happy, he would send back a confirmation, then signal for them to make the jump. Just as with the first flights, they went in colour order. That was a relief; it meant there wasn’t too much waiting around. Herebeth circled with the others as Kailarth went first, blinking out as if he’d never existed at all. It seemed a very long time before they saw him reappear over the distant Star Stones; a mere speck against the grey sky. Everyone cheered.

We are next, Herebeth said.

D’gar concentrated on that picture of the Star Stones. Detailed, but not too specific. Forget the watch dragon; he might not be exactly where you remembered. Concentrate on things that don’t change; the shape of the rocks against the sky, Tooth Crag in the background. Pass that to Chareth, please.

In just a few moments, Herebeth replied, Chareth says that is fine. On his signal, we jump.

D’gar looked across, waiting, keeping that image in his mind. He saw N’teren give the signal, shut his eyes and said, go.

Even the chill of a bleak winter day didn’t compare with the utter cold of between. It was a cold that seeped into your very bones; it made you feel as if you’d never be warm again. He forgot to count, so intent on keeping that perfect image in his head; their lifeline back to the world. When he felt the wind against his face again and opened his eyes to see Kailarth circling and the Weyr Bowl below, he whooped with joy. Yes! We did it.

In the next few minutes he discovered waiting for someone else to do something potentially life-threatening was much worse than doing it yourself. As the blue dragons followed - and all reappeared successfully - he began to worry. Then the first of the greens arrived; J’rud’s Zurinth. One by one, each came through. N’teren must be deliberately making S’brin go last; another of those petty slights they’d both experienced since helping Valli. Finally, after an eternity, he saw Zemianth blink out in the far distance. He counted slowly, willing them to re-appear, feeling his heart sink with every passing second. If anything happened to them, how would he manage to go on? Life without S’brin seemed inconceivable; like not breathing. Like black between, cold and empty.

Then, as suddenly as they’d gone, the pale green dragon and her rider emerged. S’brin was grinning as he punched the air. D’gar felt a profound sense of relief and realised he’d been holding his breath until they came back safely. A few moments later, N’teren and Chareth joined them all. He looked as relieved as anyone and called them back into formation for the next part of the lesson.

During the next couple of hours they went between several more times to and from the Star Stones, then finally to Keroon’s Red Butte, a famous landmark traditionally used for weyrling training. By then, everyone was freezing, both from all the between jumps and the weather. They made the final jump back to the Weyr in formation, then descended to the Bowl.

‘Well done, everyone,’ N’teren told them. ‘Get your dragons settled then you can all have the rest of the day to do as you please.’

They made their way back into the barracks to hang up flying straps and to get rid of the bulky wherhide riding gear.

‘Bet I know what you two will be up to,’ T’mudra commented. ‘Just don’t make too much noise and disturb Jassainth.’

‘Disturb you, you mean,’ S’brin said. ‘Don’t worry. I know the ideal place where we can go and not annoy anyone.’

‘As long as it’s warm.’ D’gar was trying to massage some feeling back into his toes, having hobbled all the way from the landing area.

‘It’s lovely. And private.’ S’brin pulled some of the covers off his bed. ‘Come on. I’ll soon make you forget about your feet.’

It turned out to be a plant room, deep under the Weyr, where heat was channelled through ducts to the individual weyrs and the Hatching Ground. As promised, it was very warm.

‘Are you sure no-one comes in here?’

‘Only when there’s a problem with the heating. And even then, no-one gets into this place. I only found it by accident.’ He led the way past a complex network of pipes into a smaller cavern, picking up a glow basket on the way. The walls here were smooth, which meant it dated from the most ancient times, when their ancestors still had the machinery to tunnel through rock. S’brin turned sideways to squeeze through a gap between two huge metal ducts, into a small, rectangular space. ‘Until we have our own weyr this is as private as it gets.’ He unfolded the covers on the floor and spread them out.

D’gar caught him around the waist and pulled him close, then leaned in for a kiss. ‘I’ve missed this.’ They’d had to be furtive and quick while it was forbidden and he’d always been concerned about disturbing the dragons. Now, they could take their time and enjoy learning their way around each other’s bodies all over again. Even then, D’gar couldn’t help checking on Herebeth. Are you all right about this?

You are happy. Zemianth’s rider is happy. Why should I mind you doing anything that makes you feel good?

S’brin stopped what he’d been doing. ‘I can’t believe you were talking to your dragon just then.’

‘I just wanted to make sure he was fine with it. Aren’t you concerned about Zemianth?’

S’brin’s eyes unfocussed as he talked briefly with her. ‘She says dragons are much more sensible about mating.’ He grinned. ‘She says why don’t we just get on with it.’

So they did.

The cold weather stayed for a sevenday, then turned to mist and drizzle; the worst possible conditions in which to fight Thread. There were a few bad Falls, when several pairs died, darkening the mood of everyone in the Weyr. Meanwhile, Suderoth guarded her clutch on the Sands and the weyrlings flew between, learning all the major reference points on Pern. The Weyrs first; High Reaches, shrouded in snow and with its spiky crown of seven spires above the Bowl. Next, Benden, a forbidding presence in black and grey rock and almost as cold as High Reaches. Telgar, in the midst of mining country, with the plains below, rich in grain during the summer, but bleak and flat at this time of the Turn. Lastly, the southerly Weyrs; Igen, surrounded by desert and ocean Ista, where the warm, turquoise seas lapped invitingly. They visited the Holds protected by Fort Weyr first, then the other major Holds around Pern. Finally, they began to learn the lie of the land around Fort, Boll and Ruatha Hold, where one day they would fly and fight Thread.

‘Not for a while though,’ N’teren warned them. ‘Your dragons still have some growing to do and we need to slowly build up their endurance. You’ll be on firestone duty and deliveries until the next clutch behind you is ready to take over your duties.’ As there would be a gap of almost a Turn, that meant they’d not be joining a Wing for some time yet.

Just before Turn’s End, a couple of bright, frosty days made several greens ready to rise, R’chol’s Carainth among them. Despite having requested a restricted flight, the chaos of a multiple mating flight meant that she was eventually caught by an older blue dragon.

‘It was crazy,’ R’chol said afterwards. ‘So many riders, all jostling each other aside in the flight cave. There weren’t even enough beds for everyone. I don’t know how anyone knew who belonged with which dragon, but then I don’t remember that much about it at all. Only good thing was, he treated me decently, as much as anyone could in that scrum. And Carainth got what she wanted, so that’s what counts.’

Bets went on as to when Mardra’s Loranth would rise again. It was well over a Turn since her last mating flight and she was still relatively young.

‘Shows that we’re getting closer to the end of the Pass,’ N’teren said. ‘A few Turns ago she was rising every nine or ten months. It’ll be a smaller clutch, too, I’ll put a bet on that.’

As senior queen, Loranth’s flight would be restricted to Wingleaders’ bronzes. Most people expected T’ron’s Fidranth to fly her again; he was a good Weyrleader and the feelings within the Weyr were often sufficient to influence the results.

‘Would that work with green flights, too?’ D’gar asked the Weyrlingmaster. ‘I mean, if you want a certain dragon to win, or lose?’

‘Not enough people care one way or another who catches a green. And when it’s a mass flight like the one we’ve just had, it’s a free-for-all.’

The next green to rise was J’rud’s Zurinth. One of the brown dragons from Suderoth’s clutch caught her after a flight in which there were only five suitors. J’rud seemed relieved. ‘Not as bad as I thought it would be,’ he said later. ‘I knew what was happening - more or less - and so did he. Enough that we didn’t maul each other. Then afterwards, we had a second round. That was pretty good.’

It reminded D’gar of what Valli had said; just after a mating flight, when the dragonlust was still firing you up but had faded sufficiently so that you knew what you were doing was the best time for sex. Some day, he’d share that with S’brin. Just not this time. Herebeth wasn’t yet old enough to be interested in mating; that was a simple fact of life.

Turn’s End passed by. As always, the Weyrleader recited the names of all the riders and dragons lost during the previous Turn. When he got to Valli and Kadoth, D’gar knew that quite a few people in the room were staring at S’brin and himself. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

‘Ignore them,’ S’brin whispered. ‘They can’t do anything to us. It’s what she wanted.’

‘I know. Still don’t like it, though.’ Thankfully, the moment passed quickly as the roll call went on. After the feast and dancing, it was back to normal work the next day. Thread didn’t care about festivities and it was due to fall over Ruatha later in the afternoon.

Are we flying today? Herebeth asked. He seemed to enjoy all the drills.

I doubt it. I have to go and bag up firestone for this afternoon. You can stay in your nice, warm quarters.

I want to fly.

No one’s stopping you if you need to stretch your wings. Just don’t shake the rain off all over me again.

Zemianth wants to fly, too.

Well, go on, then. You can get some exercise together.

Herebeth huffed. She is in a strange mood.

Really? Moodiness was one of the signs that a green was going to rise. Colour change was another, although he didn’t recall Zemianth had looked any brighter this morning. Mind you, in this weather, it probably wouldn’t show that much.

She is not about to rise. Not yet, anyway.

That was a relief. D’gar had seen the way H’sal and F’nerl eyed up the young riders, as if deciding which ones they were going to put their dragons after. Zemianth might be the next green to rise, even if it wasn’t for a few sevendays yet. He decided to talk to S’brin about opting for a restricted flight, as Valli had suggested.

The firestone sacks were even heavier when soaked. It was a miserable job getting ready for Fall in the rain. ‘Worse when you’re up in it,’ N’teren told them. ‘Especially when it’s like this. Not heavy enough to drown Thread, bad visibility and you end up wet through.’ He would be taking up a couple of the weyrlings from Suderoth’s clutch who hadn’t yet graduated to the Wings, trying to give them an easier introduction to fighting Thread.

‘Why doesn’t he wait until the weather’s better? T’mudra dropped a shovel full of firestone into the sack D’gar was holding open as the Weyrlingmaster walked away.

‘Don’t be daft. They’ll have to ride Fall whatever the weather’s doing, so they might as well learn in the same conditions.’ Sometimes, D’gar wondered if T’mudra ever actually thought much before he opened his mouth. ‘That’s enough in that sack.’ He passed it along to S’brin, who was tying and stacking them.

From out of the grey murk over the Weyr, two brighter shapes emerged. Zemianth and Herebeth were performing a barrel roll together, their wings almost touching. D’gar watched them, full of admiration for the power and grace of his dragon.

‘They fly like they were made for each other.’ S’brin craned his neck upwards as they disappeared into low cloud.

‘Pity Herebeth won’t be chasing her, then.’ T’mudra scraped up another shovel full.

‘Not this time, maybe.’ T’mudra could be so annoying.

‘Doesn’t lover boy mind someone else is going to be having you?’ he said to S’brin, giving a sideways glance to D’gar.

‘Shut up.’ D’gar felt like putting the sack over his head if he carried on. ‘What’s got into you today?’

‘Maybe he’s proddy,’ S’brin suggested. ‘Perhaps Jassainth is actually going to fly for once.’

She was a lazy dragon, who very rarely took to the air for the sheer pleasure of it. ‘She’ll not get very far, fat and unfit like she is.’

‘Don’t call my dragon fat.’

‘Definitely proddy.’ S’brin smiled. ‘So, got anyone in mind?’

‘I’m not bothered.’ He tried to sound casual about it. ‘I’ve asked for a restricted flight, naturally.’

‘Well, you would.’

T’mudra made a face. ‘I don’t fancy having any of those old men after me. Or their dragons chasing Jassainth.’

‘Yeah, because they might catch her, the speed she flies.’ S’brin dumped another sack down. ‘Zemianth won’t let just anyone mate with her. They’ll have to be fast, clever and agile. So I’m throwing it open to give her the best choice. After all, a mating flight’s about your dragon, not you.’

D’gar’s heart sank. This was what he’d feared. ‘It’s fine to ask for a restricted flight, the first time,’ he said. He’d wanted to bring the subject up when they were alone, not like this.

‘And have half the Weyr laugh at you for being timid?’ S’brin shook his head. ‘That’s not for Zemianth or me. She’ll show ‘em.’

‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’ he asked later, after Fall had finished and they were clearing up, alone. ‘To throw the flight open?’

‘You worry too much. I have complete faith in Zemianth’s ability.’

‘You’re bothered about what people will say, aren’t you?’ S’brin shrugged and shook his head in a way which made D’gar realise he was. ‘Don’t let them make your choices for you.’

You don’t understand,’ he said. ‘You’re not a green rider.’

‘Is this to do with all that secret stuff that goes on in your meetings?’

‘No! Just leave it. I’m all right.’

Over the next few days, he thought about the situation and tried to work out who might go after Zemianth. When they were at dinner, or relaxing afterwards he watched to see who was eyeing up S’brin. The usual suspects, obviously; all of those older riders who liked to go after someone new, and young. F’nerl, he decided, wasn’t much of a threat. Zemianth was fast enough and nimble enough to elude a bronze. Besides, he’d caught one of the greens from Loranth’s clutch just two months previously, so no matter how much F’nerl wanted it, his dragon would be less interested. H’sal was a different matter. He’d caught Sh’bul’s Berith back in the summer and D’gar wouldn’t easily forget the state Sh’bul had been in afterwards. There was no way he was going to risk anything like that happening to S’brin.

If S’brin was so heedless of the danger, then D’gar would have to make sure he was safe. Firstly, he tried the official channels. It was the proper thing to do, as befitted a responsible brown rider. He went to see N’teren in his weyr one afternoon, when they’d returned from their drills.

‘In here voluntarily?’ The Weyrlingmaster said with a wry smile. ‘That has to be a first.’

‘Well, yes. There’s something I need to ask.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s about S’brin. Zemianth’s first flight. We all know it’s going to happen soon and I’m worried.’

’S’brin doesn’t seem to be.’

‘No, but that’s how he always is. What I’m concerned about is that some of the older riders -‘ he didn’t want to name names, but they both knew who he meant - ‘might take advantage of him.’

‘He’s not exactly a blushing Holdbred lass, is he. He knows what it’s about.’

‘Yes. But no-one can tell how he’s going to be when Zemianth rises. If he’ll even know what he’s doing. Or letting anyone else do to him. I know he’s said he doesn’t want any restrictions, but can’t you talk to him? Persuade him it’s for the best, at least until he knows how he’s going to react. I’ve tried, but he keeps saying he’ll be fine.’

‘Well, I’ve already had “the talk” with him. And he’s attended enough green meetings to know what he’s letting himself in for.’ N’teren sighed. ‘He’s a stubborn one when he has his mind set.’

‘Could you try again, though. Please.’

‘I’ll give it a try. Don’t expect he’ll change his mind, though.’

He didn’t. ‘That N’teren must think I’m an idiot,’ he said, after breakfast the following morning. ‘He wanted to know, yet again, if I was really sure about having an open flight. I’m not a sharding baby. I don’t need looking after.’

‘You don’t want people to think you’re scared, that’s what it is. Well, I’m scared. I’ve seen the way some of those lecherous old men look at you.’

‘Yes, but that’s not to say their feeble old dragons can catch my Zemianth.’

‘They haven’t done too badly catching other greens. Zemianth’s young and fast, but it’s her first flight too, remember. She doesn’t know all the tricks yet. They do.’

S’brin did what he usually did when something was worrying D’gar; practically crushed him in a bear hug. ‘I can take care of things. So can she. I know you’re bothered that Herebeth won’t be in this one, but we’ll have lots of other chances. We’ve got Turns and Turns.’

He needed to get on with plan ‘B’ before Zemianth beat him to it. It wasn’t very responsible at all; yet he’d lived in the Weyr long enough to know that you sometimes had to take matters into your own hands. Like Valli had done, in the end. There was still no guarantee it would work, but if he didn’t try, he’d never know.

It was a rest day; no Fall until late tomorrow afternoon. Most of the wing riders were spending the day lazing around, playing cards, drinking and socialising. The more conscientious were busying themselves cleaning and checking fighting straps. H’sal’s Nalth was on his weyr ledge, watching the Bowl. S’brin was busy with Zemianth, cutting a new set of straps as the old ones had been stretched by some crazy aerobatic manoeuvres he’d been practising with the other greens.

Can you drop me off at Nalth’s weyr? he asked Herebeth.

Why do you want to see Nalth’s rider? Herebeth sounded curious. He is not your friend.

No, but I need to ask him something. It’s important. But you mustn’t say anything to Zemianth about it. He felt bad just asking that. Dragons, however, didn’t understand a lot about human interactions, so it was pointless trying to explain any further.

What if she asks me?

She won’t. Why did he have to have such a difficult dragon? Don’t think about it anymore. Just drop me off then go and catch yourself a wherry or something. That would distract him. Herebeth always seemed to be able to eat more often than his clutchmates, even Jassainth. Mind you, unlike Jassainth, he burned it off flying.

I could manage a wherry. Or maybe two.

Good.

Nalth seemed surprised when Herebeth landed beside him. He drew back slightly and snorted. D’gar slid down quickly and sent him away before anyone noticed, watching his dragon turn easily before making his way towards the feeding grounds. Herebeth’s flight was precise and graceful, not at all lumbering like some of the larger dragons.

‘What do you want?’

He turned to see H’sal pulling aside the curtain to the inner weyr. Evidently Nalth had informed him he had a visitor.

‘I’d like to have a chat with you about something. If you aren’t too busy.’ He didn’t look busy. In fact, as D’gar got closer, he smelled alcohol on H’sal’s breath. He was still wearing the same crumpled shirt from the day before and he’d not bothered to shave.

‘Best come in, then.’

He followed H’sal through into the weyr. It was fairly dark; just one glow basket uncovered. A skin of wine and a stained cup was on the table. The bed was unmade. The air smelled slightly musty as if somewhere, food had gone off.

‘Want a drink?’

‘Er, no. It’s a bit early…’ he thought that might sound as if he disapproved, so he quickly added. ‘For me, that is. I don’t really drink much.’

‘That’ll change, once you’re in a Wing.’ He poured himself some more. ‘Sit down, then. you’re making the place look untidy.’

The other chair was covered in dirty clothes. The only place to sit was on the bed. The furs felt slightly greasy as he perched uneasily on the edge of the mattress.

‘So what brings you here?’ H’sal eyed him up in a way that reminded him of how Herebeth looked at food. He didn’t like it much.

‘Well, my friend’s dragon is going to rise shortly. Zemianth.’

He slurped some wine. ‘Pretty, pale green. I know the one. He’s a strapping lad too. Nice body.’

Although he agreed with the description, hearing it from H’sal just felt plain wrong. ’That’s him. Well, I just wanted to find out if you were planning on… if Nalth was… going to chase her.’

‘You and him are weyrmates, aren’t you?’

‘Well, we would be, if we had a weyr. We’ve been together for a couple of Turns now.’

‘Guess you care about him then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm. Well, the answer to your question is yes. Nalth’s not caught anything since summer. He’s feeling a bit randy, poor old sod.’

Like his rider, no doubt, D’gar thought. Although the Teaching Ballads said that male dragons needed to chase females occasionally as part of their natural instinct, there was no doubt that some did far more often than others. And although it also said that the decision was down to the dragon, he wondered if that was the whole story. ‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ he said quickly, before he had a chance to back out.

‘Really. Well, that’s up to Nalth. And your… friend hasn’t asked for a restricted flight, so he obviously doesn’t mind.’

‘He’s not thought about it enough.’

‘It’s up to him, though. If he reckons he’s up for it and his dragon is, then it’s no-one else’s business.’

All true. But not what he wanted to hear. Best get to the point. ‘I saw the state Sh’bul was in afterwards. I don’t want that to happen to S’brin.’

H’sal leered. ‘Well, it was the lad’s own fault. He fought a bit.’

‘He was out of his mind.’

‘Some of ‘em are. That’s how it goes.’

‘So don’t you have a duty to be… careful? Kind?’

‘Listen lad,’ he leaned forward, pointing a finger. ‘What goes on in a flight cave can be a bit rough. You’ll find that out for yourself soon enough. And your friend. Still, if you two have been at it regularly, he’ll be good and ready. Probably won’t even hurt him much.’

D’gar wanted to wipe that look off his face. But that wouldn’t help S’brin at all. It might even make things worse.

H’sal must have noticed his look. ‘Oh, I see. You’re the jealous type. Want him all to yourself. Well, that’s not how it works.’

‘I’m not jealous! I know Herebeth won’t be interested this time around and I don’t mind one of the other weyrlings, or a younger rider being with him. I just don’t want…’ I don’t want you touching him, he wanted to say. ‘Don’t want to see him hurt, that’s all.’ Was there any point appealing to H’sal’s better nature? Did the man even have one? Maybe this had all been a waste of time, after all.

H’sal drank some more, then refilled his cup. Smiled slowly. ‘Well, I might be persuaded not to let Nalth fly this time around. See, your S’brin’s a good looking young man, but not really my type. Bit too burly. I prefer ‘em more like… well, like you.’

All of a sudden, the weyr seemed darker. D’gar’s mind raced frantically. He knew he should walk out, right now. Yes, but that wouldn’t help S’brin, would it? And at least he was in full control of his senses. He could agree, or not, to whatever it was H’sal wanted. Yes, but the man was disgusting. Only, if it stopped him going after S’brin… ’How do I know I can trust your word,’ he said.

‘I’ll swear on my dragon’s egg. And if I lie, may Thread get me next Fall.’

‘It was about as serious a promise as anyone could make. ‘Well then, we have a deal. But just this once, mind, as if it was a flight.’

‘Done.’ He spat in his hand and held it out to shake.

D’gar only hesitated a moment. Then he closed his mind off to Herebeth, the way he had when he and S’brin had still not been sure if what they were doing would affect their dragons. ‘So, what do you want to do, then?’

‘You can start by getting your clothes off.’

Afterwards, he called Herebeth. Come and get me, please. Now.

You are upset. Why are you upset?

He must have let something of how he felt through to Herebeth. Unpleasant images flashed across his mind.

Why did you let that man mate with you? You do not like him. The dragon sounded distressed in a way he’d never been when he and S’brin had sex.

It’s complicated. He finished dressing, trying not to look at H’sal, who was leaning back on his grubby bed, looking content as a feline who’d just raided the larder.

‘Pity you didn’t Impress a green,’ he said. ‘Your weyrmate’s a lucky man.’

D’gar turned on him. ‘Remember our deal.’

‘Don’t you trust me? I had a good time. I’ll honour what I said before. Although, if you fancy doing it again, you know where to find me.’

It would be a warm day between before he ever did that, but he didn’t say so. He turned away and went out to the ledge, waiting for Herebeth. It hadn’t been that bad, really, he told himself. It was only sex, nothing that he hadn’t done before. He just felt dirty.

Thankfully, Herebeth soon arrived. His talons clattered on the ledge, startling Nalth. Herebeth mantled his wings and hissed at the other dragon, who cowered back.

It’s not his fault. Leave him be.

His rider hurt you. That makes me angry.

D’gar tried to calm his mind, not to let the strong emotions break through. It’s over now. Let’s get out of here. I want to go to the baths.

Herebeth ferried him down to the Bowl, still obviously confused and upset. He couldn’t just leave it like this. I’ll try to explain. Would you like it if that dragon caught Zemianth? Mated with her?

No. He is not a nice dragon.

Well, I’ve just made sure he won’t even try. Do you understand that?

I think so.

So, everything’s fine. Zemianth can mate with whoever she wants to.

That is good. I like Zemianth. He sounded slightly calmer now.

How was your wherry?

Tasty. The second one was better.

Leaving Herebeth thinking about his meal, he went into the baths. At this time of day, most of the pools were empty. He quickly stripped off and got in to the nearest one. The hot water was soothing. He lay back and floated for a while, staring at the ceiling. Apart from the fact that he’d been fully aware of what was happening, was it that different than what a green rider had to go through every three months or so? They didn’t have much choice, either, as to who they ended up with. Except, in their case, dragonlust meant that they didn’t really have a clear recollection of what they’d been doing. That didn’t apply in his case. All the hot water in the Weyr couldn’t wash away memories.

‘Are you all right?’ S’brin asked for the second time, in the dining hall, later on.

He didn’t feel hungry. He stirred the stew round the bowl. ‘I don’t feel too good, actually.’ That was true.

‘Maybe you’ve caught that thing that’s going round.’

Half of the Weyr were coughing and spewing with some kind of winter sickness. ‘Maybe.’ He kept his head down, looking at the table. He didn’t want to accidentally make eye contact with H’sal, who was sitting with the rest of his Wing, too close for comfort. ‘Think I’m going to go back to the barracks. A good night’s sleep might help.’

‘I’ll be over shortly.’

‘Don’t hurry. Finish your food. I’ll be fine.’ He walked slowly across the Bowl. A light drizzle had begun to fall, matching his gloomy mood. Had it been worth it? Could he really trust a man like H’sal? Maybe he should have thought things through for a while longer before he’d agreed. He knew this was all pointless speculation, but he couldn’t help it, just as he couldn’t help recalling scenes he’d rather forget.

The young dragons were all resting on their couches. Most were sleeping. On his way past, Zemianth opened her inner eyelid and looked at him, her eye whirling a placid blue. He wondered if Herebeth had told her anything; if she’d pass it on to S’brin? If he found out, he’d probably go and do something really stupid, like throw H’sal off his ledge. And if he did, that would be D’gar’s fault too.

He lay down on his narrow bed, wishing he could stop thinking. trying to still his mind and concentrate instead on the soft breathing of the dragons, the patterns in the rocky walls. After a while, he fell asleep.

Some greens turned colour a few days before they rose to mate. Some started to show an interest in other dragons. Some riders became irritable, or amorous as their dragon’s heightened emotions affected their own mental state. The weyrlings had often been told that the first couple of times a green dragon rose, it might happen without much warning. However, it still came as a surprise when three mornings later, as they were about to go for breakfast, Zemianth did.

S’brin was never at his best first thing, so D’gar couldn’t really tell if he was anymore snappy than usual. Herebeth was stretching and thinking about food. Zemianth was sleeping deeply, only her tail twitching when abruptly she shook awake and made for the door, in such a hurry she almost pulled the hide curtain off its runners.

‘What’s up with her?’ D’gar asked.

S’brin had an odd expression on his face. ‘She’s… oh. Shards! She’s going to do it.’ He rushed out after her, D’gar following closely.

Zemianth had already taken to the air and was flying toward the feeding grounds. She swept over the pens, picked out a medium sized ovine and broke its neck swiftly. She crouched over the carcass, shrieking and laid its belly open with a talon.

‘Don’t let her eat.’ It was all D’gar could think to say.

S’brin’s eyes were unfocussed. ‘Eh, what?’

‘If she eats, she won’t fly far. Blood only, remember?’

‘Oh, er, yes.’

Zemianth’s head rose, entrails already in her mouth. For a moment it looked as if she’d defy S’brin, then, reluctantly she spat them out, pierced the dead beast’s throat with her sharp teeth and sucked the blood from it. It was only then that she began to glow softly.

Attracted by her growing lust, blue and brown dragons started to launch from their weyr ledges, their riders dropping to the Bowl floor. A few dragons from Suderoth’s clutch and even two of the blues from Loranth’s burst out of the barracks, flying up to station themselves where they could watch her every move.

S’brin laughed. ‘See, told you we’d get a good crowd.’

A couple of bronzes had joined the waiting males. One was a slender youngster, the other was a big, deep bronze dragon; Tiriorth, whose rider was the Wingsecond in ‘C’ Wing. D’gar couldn’t remember the man’s name, although he’d seen him in the dining hall many a time.

Zemianth took her time, looking around at all her prospective suitors as if sizing them up. Some of them shook their wings in impatience. Their riders started to close in on S’brin, but he seemed totally unaware of them.

D’gar realised his mind must be linked with Zemianth to the extent he wasn’t seeing his own surroundings at all. ‘Stay with her,’ he whispered. Maybe it was best not to know what was happening.

It seemed like forever before Zemianth finally made up her mind and launched herself skywards. Her pale green hide appeared almost silvery; she really did look like a miniature Kadoth now, D’gar thought. Almost at once, the male dragons took off after her while several of their riders grabbed S’brin and started to hurry him away toward the flight cave. D’gar knew there was nothing more he could do. At least H’sal had kept his word and was nowhere to be seen.

It was a long flight for a green, particularly a green who had never risen before. Several of the male dragons returned to the Weyr, looking worn out long before she was caught. D’gar watched their riders slinking out of the flight cave, looking equally as defeated. One of them had a bloody nose.

‘Are you all right?’ J’rud came over to stand next to him.

‘Yes.’

‘He’ll be fine, you know. And by next time, you might be in there with him.’

‘Maybe.’ A couple more riders left the cave. One was the rider of the young bronze. ‘Who’s left? Did you notice?’ He’d not been paying enough attention to see exactly who’d been there when they’d swept S’brin away. He’d been more concerned to make sure who wasn’t.

‘Er, M’ta, T’garrin, I’grast. I think that’s it. Wonder if T’garrin put marks on his own dragon to win?’

‘Does it seem like this long when you’re in the thick of it?’

J’rud smiled. ‘Not sure, really. Your head’s up there, with your dragon. After Zurinth took off, next thing I remember is lying in that bed, all sticky. Don’t even recall when my clothes came off.’

‘Lovely image you’ve just put in my head.’

‘Made you smile, though. Oh, look. I think it’s over.’

Two more riders were emerging; T’garrin and M’ta.

‘She’s gone for the bronze,’ J’rud said. ‘Well, who’d have thought. Must have been his lucky day. She could have run rings round him if she’d wanted. Come on, let’s go and get some klah. It’ll be ages before they come out.’

It was half way through the morning before S’brin and I’grast came into the dining hall together. Most of ‘C’ Wing were at their usual table and made a lot of noise, as was always the way. The rest of Kadoth’s clutch - even T’mudra - joined in. D’gar did too, just because that was what you were expected to do. S’brin gave him a quick wave before heading over to the other table.

‘Maybe he’s forgotten about you,’ T’mudra said. ‘Bowled over by a bronze.’

‘Oh, shut up.’ It was customary for a green rider to have a drink or two with the wingmates of whoever had caught his dragon. Still, it wasn’t until S’brin joined them all and put his arm around D’gar that he felt as if life had returned - more or less - to normal.

‘That was all right,’ S’brin said. ‘Don’t know what you were getting yourself all worried about. I told you it would be fine.’