All right. No apologies can cover the unacceptable amount of time that has passed since I updated this story. But suffice it to say that real life threw me a curveball over the past year, and if it weren't for the insistence of a few of you, my awesome, amazing readers, I might have just let sleeping dogs (or dragons, as the case may be) lie. However, here is another chapter. We aren't quite to the end yet, but rest assured that there won't be another agonizingly long wait til the end. Thank you so, so, so much for those of you that are still somehow, miraculously, with me. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated and humbly accepted.

-Arwen

"Shards," Lira breathed shakily. She pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes, shuddering as her mind involuntarily replayed the feeling of her blade sliding into the flesh of the man who had been attacking Arryn, trying to kill her best friend. In the background, she heard Plenneth crooning soothingly to the separated bronze. Baerth spread his wings for balance and covered the distance between his rider and himself in one small, awkward hop. Lira stifled a watery chuckle.

I am not a runner-beast, Baerth reminded her, pretending to be affronted but really just relieved that she was all right, that Arryn was safe, that no Benden blood had been spilled. The blue extended one wing and used the delicate membrane to gather Lira against him. Lira allowed herself to be herded away from the cooling bodies of Siena and the horrible fake-rider who had tried to kill Arryn. She pressed her face against Baerth's warm hide. He rumbled and lowered his great triangular head until she felt his breath upon her face. In moments like this they did not even need to touch minds for her to feel how much Baerth loved her, adored her—more than a man would love his sister or his lover or even his mother. Lira did not hide the fact that she knew her dragon loved her more than H'rath ever could; and H'rath had his Plenneth, so all was even. They still loved each other, no doubt about that; it was just a fact of life that the bond between rider and dragon ran deeper than two people could ever try to replicate. Lira's heart ached fiercely as Zakanth let out a desperate, sad, furious bellow. She rubbed her cheek against Baerth's nose once, and then nodded to him. He lifted his wing as she squared her shoulders.

Plenneth coaxed Zakanth down, landing delicately beside the frantic bronze. H'rath slid down the green dragon's neck. Next to both Baerth and Zakanth, she looked like a much younger dragon, despite the fact that she had Turns more experience than them both.

Lira strode over to meet H'rath. She let him kiss her once hard on the mouth, and then she pushed away from him, walking purposefully toward the mountains.

"Lira," said H'rath with a question in his voice. He was following her though; he had long ago learned that if he was to be her weyrmate, he had to understand that she was direct and impossible at times.

"Arryn made me promise that I would find Zakanth's rider," Lira said briskly, still striding toward the rocky face. "Those horrible people had him hostage, used him as leverage to keep his dragon from going between after they were separated." Without slowing, she turned and looked at H'rath. "Somehow they can be put back together."

H'rath took a deep breath. In all his years as a rider, he had never seen anything like the cruel and twisted evil of Siena and the dead would-be rider; then again, he thought with a wry half-smile, his years as a rider had been fairly uneventful before he had Searched Arryn, and before Maventh, and before Lira…

Lira stopped abruptly. "Maybe one of us should stay with Zakanth. To make sure."

H'rath grinned at her. "You think I'm going to let you go in there alone, woman? By the First Egg, there isn't anything we could say that Baerth and Plenneth can't say better anyway."

Lira nodded. "True." And with no more thought to that, she continued her march toward the now-close rock face.

It took them a moment to locate the awkward opening into the tunnels. Partially obscured by brush and scree, the hole was about waist-high, and when H'rath stood next to it the top of the opening was almost level with his head. Lira fervently hoped that the tunnel widened so that she could at least stand and not crawl.

They gathered some of the brush and bound it together with a small strip from H'rath's tunic, winding a larger piece of cloth about the top to serve as a makeshift torch. "What I wouldn't give for a glow-lantern right now," grumbled H'rath as they debated whether Baerth or Plenneth had enough firestone left in their stomach to light the torch for them.

"Well," said Lira contemplatively, "they probably do have them." Leaving H'rath with the makeshift torch held in one hand, she scrambled through the opening, sliding on her belly until she disappeared. H'rath dropped the bunch of sticks, rushing to the opening. Lira's face appeared, grinning; she triumphantly held aloft a lantern that emanated a soft glow. "See?" she said. And without waiting for him to answer, she disappeared again.

"Shards," H'rath muttered to himself, "why'd I have to choose the crazy one…"

Baerth rumbled.

"All right, the slightly crazy one," H'rath amended as he hoisted himself through the hole. The stone scraped his hands a bit, but not enough to bleed; and he found that the tunnel sloped down enough for him to get his feet underneath and stand up. Overall, it was quite roomy. Lira stood a few paces down the tunnel, the glow from the lantern making the sandy stone of the walls glimmer.

"What are you waiting for?" she said impatiently, clearly on edge.

"Lead the way," he replied.

He followed closely behind Lira as she padded noiselessly down the tunnel. There were several branches. Each time, Lira cautiously explored the branch-off, dagger in one hand and lantern in the other; and then she returned to H'rath, shaking her head. After the third branch-off, she paused, eyes unfocused as she bespoke Baerth. And then she said, "Zakanth is getting anxious. We have to find him soon." With that, she handed the lantern to H'rath, cupped one hand around her mouth and shouted, "T'naril! T'naril, we are here to help you! Zakanth needs you!"

They stood silently, straining their ears for a sound beyond the echoes of Lira's voice. And then Lira heard it—no more than a faint sound, something she could barely recognize as a human voice—but it was there and she seized H'rath's arm, running toward the sound.

They rounded a branch that sloped down to the left and stopped. Before them was a crude cell, the bars fashioned from sturdy branches wedged against the rock floor and ceiling. There was enough room between the bars to push through a chunk of bread or a dipper of water, but that was all. There was no door, only the bars and the half-circle indentation in the wall that had been fenced off into T'naril's prison.

Lira made a wordless sound of rage and closed her eyes for a moment as she saw T'naril for the first time. He was a few Turns younger than she, but he looked ten Turns older. He had been a broad-shouldered, muscular young man, she could tell from his now-emaciated frame; his cheeks were sunken and his eyes were haunted. Her heart broke for him. But she also felt a fierce exultation. They had found him. He was alive.

"We're here to help you," she said gently, trying to smooth the rage from her voice. Her words came out husky but soft.

T'naril's haunted eyes spoke of a hunger that she hoped never to experience. "Zakanth?" he whispered. It was clear that if his dragon was dead, he would die as well.

Lira knelt and reached between the bars and took the young rider's hand in her own, feeling the sharpness of his knuckles through the skin. She squeezed his hand earnestly. "Zakanth is alive."

A spark appeared in T'naril's eyes, but he still gazed at her warily. "Siena? Givral?" He spoke the names with such hate that Lira felt a shiver crawl down her spine. Hate rightfully placed, and yet it frightened her still.

"Look," H'rath said suddenly from behind her.

Without relinquishing T'naril's cold hand, Lira turned to look at H'rath. He held a wooden box in his hands, about two hands-breadths deep and four across. The lid hinged upward. He tilted the box forward so she could see its contents. Nestled inside on a bed of carefully folded linen were half a dozen ampoules: devices used by healers that Lira had only seen twice in her life. The Weyr healers used numbweed and other natural remedies; they saw little need to bother the glass-blowers with such a complicated little project. There were a few around, but their use was widely disdained.

Each ampoule was composed of a delicate glass tube, completely open on one end and rounded at the other, with a small hole for the long, wicked needle nestled in its own compartment to one side of the box. Lira saw that next to the needle, there was a kind of plug that she surmised would press down on the liquid in the tube, forcing it through the hollow needle. She shuddered. Who would waste time devising such a torturously delicate device? And what to what ends had that horrible woman resorted when she had procured the formula for the liquid, and the means by which to inject it?

"See if there's instructions," Lira said to H'rath quietly. She felt T'naril's hand tighten upon hers as he glimpsed the ampoules. She looked down at him to find him staring, tight-lipped, at the ampoules.

"That's what she used," he whispered. "That's what she used to take away Zakanth." A horrible sorrow shone in his hazel eyes.

"You listen to me, T'naril," Lira said fiercely, clasping his hand with both of her own, "Zakanth is not gone. He's still alive. He's still fighting to get back to you, and I swear by the First Egg that we'll do all we can to make sure that happens."

T'naril closed his eyes for a moment. Then he nodded. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.

"H'rath, let's get him out of here," Lira said, anger blazing through her eyes as she stood, giving T'naril's hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it.

Together, she and H'rath managed to remove two of the sturdy branches from their places. The space was enough for Lira to slip through. She ignored the unwashed sickly smell emanating from the young rider. He was too weak to stand up on his own; she slipped under his arm and helped him up, handing him through the bars to H'rath. H'rath glanced at the box with the ampoules and Lira nodded, picking it up and following behind H'rath and T'naril as they made their way toward the entrance of the tunnels.

Their trek back to the tunnel's entrance was long and arduous, taking more than three times as long as it had taken Lira and H'rath to discover T'naril. Even the mild exertion clearly took its toll on T'naril. He clearly tried to muster enough strength to make it to the entrance—but his face greyed, beads of sweat standing out on his brow. Lira saw his knees weakening. "H'rath, set him down," she said hurriedly, carefully placing the wooden box containing the ampoules on the ground.

H'rath lowered T'naril so that he was sitting against the wall. Lira set the lantern down. She dug in her flight vest and pulled out a carefully wrapped packet of sweet-bread. "What?" she asked H'rath innocently.

"You always carry a snack for Fall?" he asked with one eyebrow raised. She scowled at him playfully.

"A girl's gotta eat," she said. Then her face became serious as she knelt by T'naril. "Here." She pressed a small piece into the young rider's hand, but his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't even lift the bread to his mouth. Taking the piece from him, she fed him patiently, piece by piece, taking care to maintain a businesslike air because she knew as well as anyone the sting of a stranger's pity. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed H'rath taking out a many-times-folded piece of parchment from his vest. He opened it carefully, brow creasing as he read the contents in the dim light of the glow-lantern.

T'naril sighed as Lira gave him another piece of bread. He leaned his head back against the wall and took a deep breath. Lira saw his lower lip trembling. "H'rath," she said quietly, "would you meet us at the entrance, please?" She glanced at the parchment and said pointedly, "There's better reading light out there."

H'rath gave her a long look, then nodded and picked up the box with the ampoules and headed toward the entrance, sure enough of his way that he did not need a glow-lantern to light his path.

Lira watched her weyr-mate go. She settled down closer to T'naril, giving him another piece of bread. He chewed it slowly, eyes downcast. "T'naril," she said softly, surprised at how gently and motherly her own voice could sound, "it's all right. You're safe now."

T'naril let out a huge, shuddering breath, looking down determinedly as tears coursed down his face. He clenched his shaking hands in his lap. His gaunt face tightened as he clenched his jaw.

"I can't imagine what you've been through," Lira continued quietly. She heard her own voice shaking, and as she imagined the pain of being separated from Baerth, just the thought of it closed her throat with sorrow. So instead of trying to speak, she offered T'naril her water-skin. He took it and slowly drank, the sounds of his swallowing the only thing breaking the silence. Lira took care not to watch him, resting her elbows loosely on her knees and staring into the dusky shadows beyond the glow of their lantern.

T'naril handed her back an almost-dry water skin. She took it and hooked it back into its loop on her belt.

"Thank you," T'naril said, his voice still hoarse but a little stronger. Lira looked at him and he didn't look away. He held her eyes, even as his own filled up with tears. "I didn't think…anyone was coming."

Lira took a breath and swallowed. "The…two people….that had you, they tried to kidnap Benden's queen. The rider of Finneseth's dam Maventh is my best friend. So…" She shrugged. "That's how I got here. Arryn made me promise to find you. She found out from Zakanth that you were still alive. So don't thank me, thank her, when you see her."

T'naril nodded shakily, and hitched a breath. He started shaking again. "Sorry…I don't usually…I'm not…" He struggled to find words, and struggled even more to say them.

"There's no shame," Lira said softly but fiercely. "You survived when many others probably would not." Her fierce expression softened as T'naril leaned back against the wall, and the tremors worsened, his teeth chattering. She reached out to Baerth, told him the reaction of the young rider. I don't know what to do, Baerth.

It is too much for him to handle, Baerth replied. He lost almost all hope, and everything changed very suddenly. His body is weak and his mind is overwhelmed.

Some advice you give, Lira retorted, feeling a small measure of panic as T'naril seemed to be lost in his own world, clenching his eyes shut against the shivers wracking his body.

After a moment, Baerth replied, Plenneth said he is probably in shock. She says he needs warmth, the blue added with a devilish tone.

Lira rolled her eyes. Just make sure that Zakanth is all right.

"T'naril?" she said aloud. He opened his eyes and looked at her with such pain that the rest of her words died on her lips. She shifted and leaned forward, sliding her arms around him. For a brief moment he stiffened, resisting, and then with a strangled sound he leaned into her, as if he had forgotten the feeling of another's touch. She held him tightly, and after a while his tremors quieted to occasional shivers.

"I can't remember…the last time I was warm," T'naril said into her shoulder. Lira rubbed his back in soothing circles.

Since when are you the mothering type? Baerth asked pointedly.

Since this poor rider needs me to be, she replied.

I was saying it in jest, the blue replied with a hint of penitence.

Lira swallowed. I know, love, I do. It's just…this is hard for me to deal with too. Can you reach Maventh or Finneseth, to see how Arryn is doing? Her chest constricted with cold dread as she thought of the terrible wound Arryn had suffered at the hands of Siena.

I shall try, if you wish it, Baerth replied heavily. H'rath wishes to know when he may come back, or if you can manage to get to the entrance with the rider on your own.

"T'naril," Lira said gently, "do you think you can walk?"

T'naril nodded into her shoulder, but made no move to shift his position.

"Are you sure?" the blue-rider prompted.

With a sigh, the younger rider lifted his head from her shoulder. "Can't a man who was captive enjoy the embrace of a beautiful woman for just one more minute?" he said with half a smile. And even though his voice was hoarse and his face was gaunt, there was a spark in his eyes that warmed Lira's heart. Then she shook herself.

"Oh, don't you go getting ideas," she told him. He half-smiled again but made no reply. She shook her head and smiled. "Come on then."

He sat back and she stood, and with only a little bit of help from Lira, T'naril was soon on his feet. Declining her offer of help, he set his jaw and walked beside her down the passageway. As they made their way toward the entrance, only a little slower than the pace Lira would have set if she were by herself, Lira felt Baerth touch her mind tentatively, as he did when he wasn't sure if she wanted to hear what he had to say. Dread clenched her stomach again.

Yes? she asked the blue.

Arryn made it to Benden, Finneseth says, Baerth told her, but the grim tone of his words checked any jubilation she felt over the news.

But…? she prompted.

But they are not sure whether she will survive, Baerth said heavily. Maventh's wing is torn badly as well, and the dragon-healers are not sure whether she will fly again, if Arryn does not die.

She won't, Lira said fiercely. Don't you even say that, Baerth. Don't ever say that.

At the flash of her anger, the blue sent her a wave of affection and reassurance, tinged with sadness. Lira set her jaw and pushed away the grief choking her throat. T'naril stumbled, and she reached out to help him, letting the care of the young bronze-rider distract her.

Vell stood when the door of the healing-chamber opened. Finneseth, outside on the ledge, crooned comfort to Maventh as the dragon-healer Norin pieced together the green dragon's wing, a needle and thread in his deft fingers. Ereth, curled around the other side of Maventh protectively, rumbled low in his chest. If an observer were watching, they might almost think that the bronze was rumbling warningly at Finneseth. Vell knew it in the corner of her mind, but she was too tired and distraught to care.

Sh'len, the brown-rider that was so close to Arryn and T'ran, emerged from the open door. He saw her standing close to the wall, arms crossed protectively over her chest; and his mouth tightened. "You should go," he said, his voice strained.

"How..." Her voice broke. Vell cleared her throat and tried again. "How is she?"

Sh'len didn't answer, looking at her with hard eyes that were just short of hostile.

"Please," Vell said.

"You are Weyrwoman," he said tightly. "You can go see for yourself, if you so choose. No-one can stop you."

She swallowed and looked down. "I know. I know that. But I also know that it's my fault that Arryn was in danger in the first place, and I don't know if I could bear it if…"

"If she dies?" Sh'len said caustically, his normally calm and controlled voice rising in anger. He shook his head. "You are Weyrwoman of Benden Weyr," he said again. Then, with eyes hard as flint, he said, "Our last Weyrwoman wasn't perfect. No-one is. But at least she didn't run away from her mistakes."

The words, and the contempt behind them, stung Vell more than a physical slap. She raised her chin. "I'm not running away, Sh'len," she said firmly, ironing out the tremor in her voice by sheer force of will.

The brown-rider looked at her silently until the fast, purposeful tread of another rider approaching broke their gaze. Vell turned to face N'ral.

"The Fall is over, Weyrleader?" Sh'len asked.

"Out of Benden territory, yes," N'ral replied cursorily, but his full attention was focused on Vell. Sh'len inclined his head with stiff courtesy and then walked away, heading for the ledge outside.

As soon as the brown-rider was out of sight, N'ral swept Vell into a tight embrace. He smelled of sweat and smoke and charred Thread, but Vell pressed closer against him.

"Shards," he said shakily, "what were you thinking, Vell?"

"I wasn't," she whispered into the rough wher-hide of his riding vest. "And it's my fault, N'ral. I should be the one lying in there—"

"Don't you say that," N'ral cut her off, holding her at arm's length and shaking her just a little. "Vell, Arryn and Maventh knew perfectly well what they were doing." He shook his head. "Don't demean their sacrifice with self-pity." His voice and eyes softened as he brushed a strand of dark hair out of her face. "At least not in front of anybody other than me, all right?"

All she could do was nod, and she buried her face in his shoulder again.

I must go feed, Finneseth informed her suddenly, struck by strong hunger.

Go ahead, love. N'ral is with me, Vell replied. Then she looked up at N'ral. "Finneseth wants to go to the hunting grounds."

"Elianth will go with her," N'ral said with a nod, answering Vell's unspoken question. "Do you need to see a healer at all?"

Vell shook her head miserably.

"Then I think it would be best if you rested for a little bit," N'ral suggested gently. Still with his arm around her shoulders, he guided her in the direction of their weyr. Finneseth launched herself from the ledge, followed overhead by her bronze weyrmate, to satiate her anger and blood-lust on the hunting grounds. Vell wished that she could sink her claws into a writhing herd-beast, too—anything to break the hold of soul-numbing shame and worry that had settled onto her shoulders.

"Things will be better after you rest," N'ral said.

She wished she believed him.