Action chapter! Yay! But just to forewarn you, I might not be a very popular author when this chapter is over. (Bwahaha). Just remember, throwing things at your computer screen will only result in a broken computer. And it will probably make you angrier at me. Anyway, I enjoyed writing this chapter, I hope you enjoy reading it as well! Oh, and if you do...take five seconds and hit the little button down at the bottom of the page. I'm begging you. Please.
Arwen, over and out!
Oh, ps--wasn't quite sure how to spell the substance that runs the flamethrowers--took a stab at it, but it's probably not right. Please don't eat me.
The briefing before the Fall was much more solemn than usual. The riders were silent and stone-faced. Arryn, her headgear held under her arm, listened with a heavy heart as her wingleader went over the risks and dangers specific to a Fall at this time of year. Last night had been their first frost, and so the weather would be a detrimental factor in their flight…wear extra layers…Arryn frowned. It was so hard to focus, despite the subdued atmosphere. Her mind kept wandering to the events of the previous day, but she couldn't think about it directly. Every time someone began to speak of it, or even think of it, it felt like skidding on ice, waving her arms frantically to regain balance. She supposed the whole weyr felt it, especially the older riders.
The early morning sunlight filtered through the windows of the Gathering Hall. It was a new addition, built in the last Threadless Turns before this Fall had begun, when a few ingenious riders had taken it upon themselves to design a great hall large enough to hold all the riders of the weyr, where the briefings before Falls could take place. She mentally thanked them; if not for the Hall, they would all be huddled about their wingleaders in the Weyrbowl, the rime of early frost crunching under their boots. Glancing about, she picked out her friends among the gathered weyr: Lira, her golden hair braided and wrapped about her head like a warrior's helm, listening grimly to I'tar; Sh'len, the calm one, his face devoid of emotion, wearing the shoulder-knots of an upper-wing brownrider; P'tar, in the same wing as Lira, pale and composed, for once; and T'ran, his grey eyes dark with emotion but standing carefully still and straight.
Everyone is looking at the bronze-riders now, Arryn realized, whether they mean to or not, and that includes the youngest ones. What a responsibility to bear. She sighted V'remnar, his face unusually bleak, and T'rellan, who as she watched bit his lower lip and tightened his grip on his headgear. They must be nervous, she thought, because I know I am. This was their real test, the test of the weyr, because they were needed desperately. But at the same time it was painful for the other riders to even look at them; Arryn understood the reason, but it was simply a harsh truth that she found hard to accept.
"All right," Arryn's wingleader finished. "We've about two hours until the Fall starts. I expect everyone to be formed up, ready to fly preliminaries in an hour. Dismissed."
With a murmur, the riders of her wing drifted away. She turned to go, but the wingleader started toward her.
"Greenrider Arryn," he said.
She halted obediently, carefully wiping all emotion from her face, blanking it out like erasing practice letters on a sand-table. Even so, she felt a twinge of compassion: K'lin had obviously taken the events of the previous day very hard, for he was paler than she'd ever seen him, and his eyes were bloodshot from sorrow and lack of sleep.
"Yes, wingleader?" she replied with quiet courtesy.
"I wanted to speak to you privately about the Fall today," K'lin said. "Concerning your particular ability."
A small knot of dread formed in Arryn's stomach. She hadn't attempted to use her ability since the fateful day of M'ran's first heart attack, and the raw pain and failure was still too fresh to think about comfortably. But she lifted her chin. She would not back down. They were part of M'ran and Orlith's legacy. "What do you need me to do?"
"Nothing too overpowering," K'lin assured her quickly. "It's just that, with…with the current circumstances, and the queen not exactly being up to her best…" He had to pause and clear his throat before continuing. "It would be a great help if you could assist the Weyrwoman and I in keeping count."
"Keeping count?" Of what? Arryn wanted to ask.
"Of the casualties," K'lin explained. "Only dragons out of action," he amended hastily as her eyes widened. "We need an accurate count of how many in each wing are still in fighting form by the end of the Fall. That way, if any one wing is hit too hard during the Fall, we know which wing can spare dragons, and what color, and so on and so forth." He paused. "I'm not asking you to speak to every dragon. I'm just asking you to keep an ear open, so to speak. Usually it's very apparent when a dragon is injured."
"I know," Arryn said, almost snapping. Of course she knew. She'd had to figure out a way to block the cries of the scored dragons and riders from her mind during the last Fall. "Of course. Of course I can do that. Do you want me to report to Narenth…or…"
"Report to Pertanth, please," K'lin said grimly, and Arryn realized just how much help the great golden queen would be this Fall. "I don't think the Queen's wing should even be fighting this Fall," he continued unhappily, "but Linnara is insisting upon it. The greens and blues could well be used in other places, but she won't listen to reason." Then K'lin realized he was criticizing the leadership of the weyr in front of a mere green-rider, and closed his mouth hastily. "None of that is to be repeated."
"I understand, wingleader," Arryn replied with formal courtesy.
"Shells, you can drop the formality," K'lin snapped. Then he rubbed a hand wearily over his face. "I apologize, Arryn. Really, it's just been hard." He looked at her thoughtfully. "Your class had better fly brilliantly, you know. I think it will help some of the older riders, and Linnara, to see Orlith's last clutch do well."
Arryn's voice was tight with tears when she answered. "We will, K'lin. We'll fly well."
He gave her a nod. "Greenrider."
She bowed her head, not trusting her self-control. "Wingleader."
His footsteps echoed down the emptying hall. Arryn stood looking at the ground for another moment. Someone touched her arm.
"All right there, Arryn?" Sh'len asked, his brown eyes kind.
"I suppose," Arryn replied. "How's Kelath?"
"A little sad, just like everyone," said Sh'len as they began to walk from the Hall. "But I think the dragons understand better that it's no-one's fault and there's no use moping. They understand we need to concentrate on the Fall."
Arryn nodded. "Maventh was pretty upset yesterday, when…when it happened." Unwillingly, she remembered hearing the heartrending keen of the queen first—her shriek when Orlith rose to go between for the last time. The wave of sorrow had hit her like a punch to the stomach. For a few hours the weyr had been in chaos, almost like the first time…except this time it was raw and real…She remembered the roaring cheer that had accompanied M'ran when his great bronze had taken to the air again, after his first illness. It seemed unfair, that he should be taken after battling back so spectacularly. She shivered.
"Cold?" Sh'len asked.
"Yes," Arryn answered. There were so many questions hanging over their heads now: who was to be the next Weyrleader? Would that mean that Narenth would clutch a queen egg, when she rose next? It had been over a turn, and some had speculated that the queen had not risen precisely because of M'ran's illness, but her last clutch, now almost full-grown, were magnificent enough to pass over the delay. No-one wanted to think it, much less say it, but perhaps the male had been at fault for not being virile enough to place a gold egg within Narenth. After all, they knew very little of those matters when it came to the technical side of dragon genetics.
"Hm?" She realized belatedly that Sh'len had asked her a question.
"I said, are you nervous?"
"About what?"
He looked surprised. "Well, I was talking about the fall today, but I suppose you've other things to be nervous about too."
"Like Maventh rising," Arryn said frankly. By now she'd accepted it as a fact of life.
"Don't worry about that today," Sh'len advised in his calm, collected way. He was well-respected, even among the older riders, for his cool head, even when things were particularly stressful.
"I'll try not to," agreed Arryn. She couldn't afford to be distracted.
"C'mon, let's go grab a last cup of klah before prelims," suggested Sh'len.
"Good idea." Arryn followed him through the great double doors of the Hall, her stomach twisting uncomfortably at the thought of the Fall.
It was cold outside, even though the sun was approaching its zenith, hanging over the Weyrbowl and the assembled riders like a great coin. Arryn exchanged polite conversation with the greenrider beside her, her fingers traveling across Maventh's green hide by rote, checking each strap once and then again, pulling and tugging at the leather that would be her safety-stay up in the perilous world of the sky, where anything could happen in an instant. Experimentally, she let down the mental defenses she had long ago learned to build around her mind, and was rewarded by a tide of emotion from the gathered riders and dragons. She whittled the opening in her mind down until she could tune out the words and feelings of the other dragons, when she needed, and then turn back to them whenever necessary. It was almost like carrying on two conversations at once, or trying to watch two scenes in different plays simultaneously.
I am always here for you, Maventh said, swinging her head about to gaze at Arryn lovingly. If you need help, I am here.
I know, Arryn replied, stroking her dragon's eyeridge in an unconscious gesture that comforted both of them. And you know I'm always here for you.
Maventh gave a little croon, bunted at Arryn carefully—oftentimes she still didn't realize her own strength—and then shifted her wings in a way that said, Let's get down to business.
At the signal from the wingleader, the riders of the upper sweeps mounted. This included mostly all the greens, but Arryn merely adjusted her cap again, tucking a flyaway back into her braid. She tugged on her gloves and waited, watching as the upper sweeps launched into the sky. Someone handed her a sack of firestone—she looked down and noted with surprise that it was a child. Well, not really a child, the lad looked to be about fourteen…but it still startled her that they had begun Searching for the next clutch already. And it reminded her that they were currently without a Weyrleader. With a smile at the lad, who grinned at her and bobbed his head in respect, she swung herself up onto Maventh's neck.
Make yourself comfortable, advised Maventh. It's going to be a long Fall.
Aren't you the optimist, replied Arryn. Nevertheless, she squirmed around until she was sure her legs wouldn't go numb for a few hours at least, and she situated the sack of firestone in her lap as well. All right, I'm good.
Good, because they just signaled us, Maventh said with barely concealed glee. They both still got excited when it came to flying and flaming and Falls. For a moment the pall of reservation and aloofness that Arryn had sensed over the dragons lifted as they sprang into the air, her ears filling with the sound of rushing wings. She tightened her grip on her riding straps as the cold air nipped at her lungs.
The wings were aloft and organized, and the wingleader of each section broadcasted the image of their starting point to all the riders. They blinked between and arrived at the starting point with no mishaps. Arryn's teeth were chattering despite her heavy wher-hide vest and the extra fleece-lined tunic she'd decided to wear at the last minute. She was grateful that she had decided to spend the coin to get good, fleece-lined boots and thick riding gloves, as well as gauntlets that protected her forearms from the cold, as well as chafing and perhaps Thread. Though a bit unconventional, no-one could deny that her riding gear wasn't tailored for protection.
Arryn strained her eyes and sighted the silvery cloud approaching on the horizon, and the wheeling dragons of Ista Weyr flaming magnificently, winking in and out with practiced ease. She knew that Benden, though, still had the most dragons of any northern Weyr, with Narenth's latest clutch. A small swell of pride warmed her chest as she surveyed the gleaming colors surrounding her: green and blue above her, hovering in their sweep positions, and the green and brown and bronze below and beside her, their great wings moving in long, almost lazy strokes as the dragons eagerly awaited the arrival of their age-old nemesis in Benden territory.
From just to her left, R'sen, astride his green Rilith, pumped his fist in anticipation as the Thread neared. With a grin Arryn returned his gesture and Maventh had to restrain herself from bugling. The older riders shook their heads at the excitability of youth.
"Well, this is it," Arryn muttered as the front ranks readied themselves, riders passing chunks of firestone to their dragons. Maventh turned her head and Arryn obligingly supplied her with a large piece of stone. She'd been alarmed at how much stone Maventh had consumed at first, in the last Fall, but Maventh informed her primly that since she was as big as a brown, she would be eating as much stone as a brown, and it took a bit to get the fire hot anyway. After that, she would eat less stone.
Beneath her legs, she felt the rumblings deep within Maventh that signaled her dragon's readiness to flame. And just in time, for the silvery cloud engulfed the front ranks and swept back towards them. An ovoid of Thread tumbled toward them.
Flame it before it bursts, she said to Maventh, who obligingly produced a long, clean flame, incinerating the small pocket of Thread. The green dragon pumped her wings once so that the still-hot ashes of the Thread would not hit her rider. Arryn smiled a little at Maventh's over-protective thoughts, but then drew herself back to the task at hand and concentrated. She spread her net of awareness a little farther; it was harder than she'd expected, keeping track of the constantly moving dragons, each one like a small dot of light swimming behind her eyes. Maventh, I need you to keep an eye out, she told her dragon, who rumbled in acquiescence before flaming another patch of Thread.
She could feel the Queen's Wing down below with their agenothree flamethrowers, cleaning up the few wriggling strands of Thread that managed to evade the flames of the fighting dragons. Linnara and Narenth were certainly distracted; the queen was a tired, pale gold, and her flight was sometimes erratic, Arryn noted with concern. And two of the greenriders that had flown with the Queen's Wing for a few months were too heavy with child to even consider riding. But she could do nothing about it, and so she focused on the Thread at their level, digging in the sack for another piece of firestone when Maventh turned her head.
The Fall was going passing well. She kept track of most of the casualties, learning to differentiate between the dragons that winked between to the Weyrbowl for a rest or a quick patch-up, and those who would likely not be able to return for the rest of the Fall. Almost halfway through the Fall, she reported to Pertanth that in all, there were four greens, five blues, three browns and two bronzes that would not be returning to action—fourteen in all, and none very badly wounded; not a bad number for such a prodigious amount of dragons in the sky.
Do you need a rest, love? she asked Maventh, hanging on tight as her dragon executed a quick spin to avoid a stray Thread.
No, Maventh replied shortly, folding her wings abruptly and plunging into a short dive, pulling up to help Rilith flame a particularly large patch of Thread. R'sen and Rilith had taken one short break already, but Arryn still didn't like the green's color. With hand signals, she suggested to R'sen that they take another break, and he nodded in agreement, much to her relief. She inspected her own dragon, searching for signs of fatigue. Maventh was tired, yes, they all were, but she wasn't near a dangerous level of exhaustion yet. Arryn trusted that she knew her own limits.
Catching a firestone sack from one of the riders taking a turn ferrying, she tried to untie the knot keeping the sack closed, but her fingers were stiff and clumsy in their gloves. Muttering under her breath, she bent over the sack and pulled at the string, giving a little exclamation of triumph when the sack finally opened. Then, without warning, Maventh rolled, flattening her wings tight against her back and corkscrewing to avoid several ovoids that had erratically coalesced near their position. Arryn yelped and almost dropped the firestone entirely as she grabbed for her riding-straps, feeling the heat of Maventh's flames on her face as she pressed herself against her dragon's neck.
"All right, Mav?" she gasped as they pulled out of the dizzying maneuver. "
Only doing what needs to be done, replied Maventh. More stone, please.
As Arryn tossed a chunk of stone into Maventh's waiting jaws, she felt a prick of alarm from the Queen's Wing. She frowned.
"Oy! Arryn!"
She glanced to the side and caught an eyeful of bronze. Ereth and T'ran. The wings must really be getting mixed up, she thought ruefully, but then again Falls depended on each individual's skill as much as the cohesiveness of the riders as a unit. Instead of shouting back at T'ran, she bespoke Ereth. Are you both all right or is there something wrong?
There is nothing wrong with us, Ereth replied after flaming a patch of Thread. T'ran merely wanted to ask after you. He saw you caught unawares by Maventh's excellent maneuvering.
Maventh fairly glowed at the admiration in the bronze's comment.
I'm fine, Arryn told the bronze. But I think something is wrong down in the Queen's Wing. Can you tell what it is, Ereth?
The big bronze paused for a moment, implementing the bond that all the bronzes shared with their queen. One of the wings is not flaming as they should, and the Queen's Wing is being overwhelmed, but Narenth and Linnara are too..distraught to notify K'lin.
Then I'll do it for them, Arryn said grimly, finding Pertanth. She told K'lin of the troubles in the lower levels, then turned back to Ereth. Can you and T'ran be spared from your wing for a bit? If the two of us run sweep just above the Queen's Wing that should take some pressure off until they're able to find reinforcements. She told Pertanth of their plan and got K'lin's approval. K'lin approves. He says he will send two others to help us.
There was a pause as Ereth conferred with T'ran. Very well.
T'ran gave her an affirmative signal. She nodded and visualized the air just above the Queen's Wing. They slid into between for just long enough for her to start shivering again, and then popped out above the Queen's Wing. A few riders looked up in surprise, but then the expressions on their faces changed to that of relief. Looks like they know what's going on as well as I do, thought Arryn grimly as Ereth appeared beside them.
They worked well together. A blue arrived to help them, and for a moment Arryn thought in excitement that it was Baerth, but it turned out to be an old blue, his hide crossed and crossed again by the white scars of Threadscores. Glancing down, Arryn saw the small figure of the Weyrwoman astride her great golden dragon, and when Linnara's face turned upward she somehow knew with complete certainty that the Weyrwoman was scowling angrily. She could feel the queen's dissatisfaction, and her deep sorrow and pain.
Narenth sighted a patch of Thread and winged toward it, faster than the other dragons of the wing could follow. In a moment of clarity and horror Arryn realized her intention. A glance at Linnara as they winged low proved her macabre thought right: the nozzle of Linnara's flamethrower was pointed downward, the safety catch still on, the Weyrwoman's face terribly pale and composed. The queen raced toward the Thread.
Maventh! Ereth! Chirath! she called the dragons by name desperately. We have to stop them! Maventh flattened her wings to her back and they dove like an arrow. Bronze Ereth had sensed his queen's intentions at the same instant as Arryn, and he was already almost to the queen. Another terrible thought raced through Arryn's mind: would Ereth simply throw himself in front of Narenth, sacrifice himself for the great golden dragon? No, Ereth and T'ran were much smarter than that—they were angling so that they would cut below the Thread and block Narenth, able to flame the Thread safely without any danger to the queen or the rest of the dragons in the Queen's Wing. She hoped desperately that none of them would blink between and emerge in front of T'ran and Ereth—that would be stupid, because Thread, especially Thread still in ovoids like this, was infinitely unpredictable.
She held her breath. They continued to dive after Ereth. The moment seemed to last forever, stretching taut with suspense and fear.
Ereth executed their intended move superbly, cutting off Narenth even as the great dragon bellowed in fury, flaming the Thread that had posed such a danger to the very future of Benden Weyr. Maventh pulled out of her dive and banked, flaming the Thread that had escaped Ereth's blast as she circled back toward the bronze. However, Chirath, the elderly blue, had other ideas. He sighted another pocket of Thread falling toward the Queen's Wing, and even as Narenth was still roaring her anger at Ereth, the blue blinked between.
"Oh, shards," said Arryn in shock. She could see it playing out in her head but was powerless to stop it. Ereth, uncowed by the queen's wrath, swung around to face the very pocket of Thread that Chirath intended to flame. As the bronze turned his head, Arryn screamed with all her might, "Ereth! Don't flame!"
T'ran's head jerked up toward her in surprise—then, in the next instant, all she could see what Chirath, blinking back into existence in the exact space that Ereth occupied. The blue crashed into the other dragon, and there was a chorus of bellows and screams—Arryn couldn't tell human from dragon, and she knew one was her own.
Hold on, Maventh advised her grimly, and they were diving again, toward the entangled pair, desperately trying to reach them before the Thread. Chirath hadn't suffered the worst fate, he hadn't been flamed by Ereth, she thought in relief.
They reached the Thread and Maventh drew back her head to flame, but then suddenly threw herself into a roll, rapidly corkscrewing away from the Thread when she should have been flaming it. Something hissed by Arryn's ear. She wanted to scream in despair, but it was all she could do to clutch at the riding straps and not vomit. Faster than her rider could adjust, Maventh pulled out of the roll and was again winging toward Ereth and Chirath…dizzily Arryn blinked, and realized that something was horribly, horribly wrong with the two dragons. When in an instant it was clear, she screamed.
Some addle-headed rider had pointed their flamethrower at the Thread, not thinking of the backsplash of the deadly agenothree, not thinking of the stray Thread that would be missed by the flamethrower's sloppy flame. Not thinking. Not thinking of the damage it would do to the two dragons rendered immobile so close to the Thread.
Chirath was falling, green ichor dripping from his wings. His rider was unconscious. Or dead. Ereth had fared better, or at least she thought so from what she could see through her wind-blurred vision, but he was still entangled with the blue, being dragged down by the dead weight. Go, Mav, go, she urged her dragon while frantically reaching out to Pertanth, telling K'lin of the desperate situation in a few short words.
Narenth could have helped them. Her great size could have helped to slow the descent of the two doomed dragons. But the queen had winked between—not for good, Arryn thought with an amount of bitterness that surprised even herself. Then she shouted. Ereth had managed to free himself from Chirath. With a heartrending croon for his rider, the blue slipped into between for the last time.
Ereth was in bad shape. Maventh reached him as Arryn managed to make contact with the bronze. She waded through the pain and confusion, persuading him not to go between until she talked to T'ran. Her heart lurched. T'ran was unconscious, limp against his dragon's neck—and even worse, his riding straps flapped loose, shorn through by Thread or flame or both. It was unbelievable that he hadn't fallen.
Ereth, Arryn said urgently. Ereth, you must listen to me. You can't go between You can't. If you do, you'll lose T'ran. You'll lose him between forever.
Then I'll go between forever, the bronze countered weakly, his head dropping and his wings faltering.
He's still alive, Arryn said fiercely. You'll kill him if you do that. Do you want to kill him?
NO.
The dragon's reply almost knocked Arryn senseless. Then she saw T'ran, listing to one side, very close to falling from his dragon. Maventh, Maventh, love, we have to do something!
We can catch T'ran when he falls, Maventh said.
What if I miss? Arryn asked frantically.
I won't let you miss, Maventh said, but there was none of her usual confidence in her voice.
I have an idea, Arryn said suddenly. It was risky, but given the condition of both rider and dragon, anything was risky.
Tell me what needs to be done, Maventh said promptly.
At Arryn's direction, Maventh quickly dove beneath Ereth. Arryn encouraged the bronze as he labored to keep himself in the air. When they were as far below the injured pair as possible, Maventh pumped her wings, flying upward with as much speed as possible.
This might hurt, but I'm going to get T'ran, Arryn assured Ereth.
Do it, the bronze replied wearily the instant before Maventh hit him.
The impact wasn't enough to injure either of them, but it was enough to push Ereth upward a small distance. Maventh flipped over—she'd rolled at the last second so Arryn wouldn't be crushed between the two dragons—and spread her wings, sliding one beneath Ereth in order to get as close as possible. Arryn stood in her riding straps, straining upward. I can't reach him—Ereth is too big!
Have Ereth roll toward you, Maventh suggested, her voice tight with strain. They were falling fast, the air rushing past at an alarming rate.
Ereth! Tilt yourself toward me! Arryn called. The bronze summoned his remaining strength and obeyed. T'ran's limp form slid toward her—she caught hold of his shoulders—and then his foot caught, and Ereth was bellowing in pain, and Maventh was starting to flutter her wings anxiously—the ground was getting close, the treetops threatening—they needed to go between. But where? Arryn thought fast. If they merely went between and emerged higher, that would solve their problems for a little while, but there was no guarantee of safety for any of them, in this risky of a jump—and with T'ran suspended, he could easily fall when they reemerged.
Maventh, Arryn said desperately as they hurtled toward the treetops. Then with a colossal effort she shoved the image into Ereth's mind, shared it with Maventh, and just before they hit the trees, they blinked between.