"Well, that's it, I guess. Time to send out the Searchriders."

Miyah nodded in agreement. The clutch before her was fairly big. Many candidates would be required to give the hatchling dragons a good choice. The only way to get enough in time was to begin the Search immediately they were laid – now.

"Yes," she replied in a firm voice. "Yes, send out the riders at once. Direct them to holds we haven't Searched in for a while. Just don't let B'kef go anywhere too hospitable."

For another with a lighter heart, this final statement would have been a jest. B'kef had a way of accepting hospitality too much and drinking just a few too many goblets of wine. It was a joke all around the riders of Coast Weyr. But not for Miyah. She was just not very good with humour, and found it hard to make jokes that were actually funny.

Nonetheless, the man who had first spoken grinned at her. She did not look, but she could see it from the corner of her eye. In fact, she was sure she'd know when this man grinned from a thousand dragonlengths away, she knew him that well. And she let him grin. She was serious, but that didn't mean she was unhappy. Keeping her hazel eyes fixated upon the clutch in front of her, she spoke with somewhat less severity.

"I know this clutch has no gold, T'voc, but I have a good feeling about it nevertheless. Tell them to Search far and wide, and long, for good candidates. I want these ones to reach their full potential."

There had been some difficulty with the last clutch. A young holder by the name of R'mas had been Searched for the last one. He'd seemed like perfect bronzerider material: immense potential to be tall and strong, with an easygoing personality and quite a way with the ladies – in fact, he used to have a little too much fun with them. Then he'd gone and Impressed green Linth. R'mas loved his dragon of course, but was extremely upset with the Weyr as a whole for supposedly forcing him into homosexuality. His father, a close friend of Coast Hold's Lord Holder, had beseeched Lord Astaend to take action against Coast Weyr. Though none had been taken, it had been a tense time for all.

T'voc, of course, instantly caught his weyrmate's meaning and, still grinning, draped an easy arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, Mi. Things will go just fine. I'm sure those who love boys will get the girls this time, if you follow me."

She certainly did follow, and she grinned, leaning into his embrace. No, she couldn't make a jest herself, but she grasped the meanings of jokes and laughed at them, and loved them when they passed T'voc's lips. After a prolonged moment of silence, she sighed and spoke again, this time her voice soft.

"Marzgith's getting quite protective over this one."

T'voc frowned in his strangely cheerful way. "Doesn't she always get protective?" Miyah was about to reply when he spoke again. "Don't all queens get really protective of all their clutches all the time?"

Miyah looked up at him with a mock scowl on her face. Digging her elbow quite forcefully into his stomach, she retorted, "Rolkith's no better! He's always rumbling at any dragon who dares come anywhere near a clutch!"

"Yeah," he whined, rubbing his abdomen, "you didn't have to kill me, though."

Miyah laughed, rubbing his belly vigorously. Then she threw a playful punch at his shoulder, before settling her head back down in the crook of his neck.

"Seriously, though," she continued after a while, "I'm a little worried about this one. There's got to be a reason... she's treating them all like golds."

T'voc sighed heavily. "Maybe she's just wishing they were all golds."

"No!" Miyah replied, half-frustrated, half-amused. "T'voc, I'm concerned. What if some foolhardy candidate or weyrbrat comes a-wandering in, only to be killed by a particularly possessive queen?"

"All right," he replied with exaggerated resignation. "All right. I'll station a few watchdragons on this one. At all entrances," he added, gesturing with a nod of his head to two or three different gaps in the wall to the cavern. Miyah grinned, knowing full-well a weyrbred man like him would have sneaked about in there when he was a lad. His arm then lifted from her shoulders, and she automatically straightened from her reclined position.

"I'd best be off, if I'm supposed to send the Searchriders away immediately."

Miyah nodded silently, and T'voc took his leave. After an instant's pause, she braved the heat and moved out onto the sands. The beast in the centre, a massive golden dragon, lay curled up about a batch of twenty-odd largish eggs. Her huge membranous wings lay spread protectively over the rest, making the complete tally quite impossible to count. The approximated total was forty, however. A decently sized clutch.

As Miyah approached the dragon, Marzgith raised her golden head and fully unlidded her multi-faceted eyes. Miyah did not stop moving – the heat of the sands would have seeped through her shoes if she had – but she stayed in one spot as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. She watched the queen with a smile.

How many are there?

The golden dragon stirred a little, shifting her bulk from one side to the other. I do not know. I can not count.

Miyah laughed quietly. I'm sorry, she said as Marzgith gazed at her mournfully. Will you let me count, then?

All right then. The great white-gold wings were furled to Marzgith's sides to reveal a total of thirty-seven eggs, a great many small enough to be counted only as greens or tiny blues. Only one was large enough to be a bronze or particularly large brown, and there were few in the middling size range. Miyah frowned slightly.

I thought the clutch was better.

It is a good clutch, Marzgith replied testily.

But there is nothing that worthwhile. Why are you so protective?

It is a good clutch, Marzgith replied stoically, and withdrew her mind in that subtle way that signified the fact that she would say no more. With a heavy sigh, Miyah turned and made her way from the sands, partially for lack of any reason to be here, and partially to soothe her now burning feet. There was a lot of work to be done, and lingering around here without cause wasn't about to get them done.

R'til sat on the white sand, legs splayed out in front of him, reclining back on his arms with his hands spread palm-down for support. It was a fine morning with the promise of Thread-free skies, not that he was likely to be called for flight if Thread chose to fall. As little more than a last resort for replacement of riders if one too many were injured, he and Krigeleth weren't even part of a wing. It wasn't a matter of a lack of ability, but rather the presence of too much ability in a different field. Krigeleth was one of only six dragons in the entire Coast Weyr with the proven knack for finding potential candidates. R'til was a Searchrider.

"R'til! Hoy!"

R'til glanced back across the dunes to the advancing figure of none other than the Weyrleader, T'voc. A grin automatically appeared on his sun-darkened face. T'voc was a good Weyrleader, the best, in fact, according to those under his command. He was strong and intelligent, as well as a friend to all he met. He was fair and unbiased when his opinion was required, and generally knew how to inspire loyalty. His Weyrwoman, Miyah, also had the unwavering loyalty of her Weyr, but it was mainly because they never doubted she would make a right choice, not because they particularly liked her.

"Good morrow, Weyrleader." R'til was not normally very formal with T'voc, but it was a belief of his that respect should at least be shown in salutation and valediction.

"And a good morning to you, too." T'voc plopped down onto the sand with a sigh. "How's Krig?" It was a measure of their familiarity that the Weyrleader referred to R'til's dragon with such irreverence. But R'til only smiled, for it was the name he had told T'voc to use.

"He's fine," he replied nonchalantly, turning his gaze out to the water. A smallish brown dragon – Krigeleth – flopped lazily about in the foam, having just bathed himself. "He's itching to be out on Search, though. He knows about the new clutch, of course."

"Of course," T'voc laughed. All dragons about a Weyr knew immediately when a new clutch was laid there. "Well, actually, that's why I'm here."

"I thought it might be."

"Yeah. Miyah wants you all out right away again. I think she's planning to make it a bit of a habit. You know Southern Ridge's queen is going to be rising about the same time as Marzgith if she matures at a normal rate. We've worked out the charts."

"Miyah really wants to beat Southern Ridge, doesn't she?"

"Yeah. I think she wanted to be there at the start. I don't have the whole story from her, but that's what I've managed to pick up. And if she can't be Weyrwoman of Southern Ridge, I think she wants to make what she is just as good. Or better."

"I see."

There was a pause then, and silently the two men watched Krigeleth bathe. Then, out of nowhere, T'voc asked:

"What is it?"

R'til turned to the Weyrleader, blinking. "What is what?"

"What haven't you told me?"

R'til swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, rather weakly. He'd been hoping to perhaps sidestep this issue, to perhaps do this in secret.

"Oh, come on," T'voc said, grinning. "We've known each other forever. Don't think I can't see when there's something you want to say and you don't know how. Or, perhaps, there's a question you want to ask? And you think the answer will be no?"

R'til stared for a moment, then chuckled, shaking his head. "Sorry."

"No, really, speak."

"Oh! No, not that. I'm just sorry I tried to hide anything from you."

T'voc just waited patiently for R'til to continue.

"It's not that big, really," the Searchrider said defensively, withering mockingly under his nearly-cool gaze. "It's just that Krig wants to conduct his Search in Southern Ridge. He reckons he sensed someone there last time. I didn't see this person, but... yeah. He wants this guy to be at the next Hatching."

"I see," T'voc replied carefully. "A Ridger."

"Y... yes. I don't care either way," R'til assured the Weyrleader hurriedly, "It's just Krig."

"No, it's all right," T'voc said thoughtfully. "I think it's all very right, in fact." At R'til's confused stare, he explained. "I think it would be good to Miyah. I think the idea of stealing a potential candidate from Southern Ridge would appease her."

R'til nodded slowly, then broke into a grin. "You're right, I think." Standing, he brushed the sand from his palms and behind. T'voc stood as well. Krigeleth was emerging from the waves, dripping but looking very pleased.

"You'd better be off, then," the Weyrleader said with a sly wink.

"Yup. See you around then. Uh, Weyrleader." R'til chuckled at the near-deviation from the ordinary. "And I promise to bring only the best candidates for you."

"OK then," T'voc laughed and turned away, already striding up to the Weyr. Probably to fetch another Searchrider.

R'til watched as he left, then turned to face his saturated brown with fond exasperation. Krigeleth was a bit of a rebel in terms of dragons, never really adhering to laws or conventions, and always wanting what those things said he could not have. It was an interesting benefit for a rider of such a dragon because, though humans were almost always forced to follow such intangible things, dragons were almost always excused from them. It gave R'til unusual advantages and privileges. Krigeleth realised all this was happening, and took ruthless advantage of it. Whilst thoroughly enjoying himself, of course.

Now the petite brown bowed his wedge-shaped head to nudge his rider, leaving a large triangular wet patch on his wher-hide clothing. R'til laughed.

I need to be dry, Krig. We're going between.

I thought so. But I need to dry first.

R'til gave an exaggerated sigh. All right then. Hurry up.

Sehrem woke slowly, dreading yet another day of nothingness.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light that seeped in a rough c-shape around the heavy wooden door that marked the only opening into his small abode. With gradual, almost reluctant movements, he rose from his hard cot and shuffled to the single table that stood pushed against the far wall. He groped about in the semi-darkness until he found a loaf of partially moulded bread and a bowl of rotten fruit. He tore a stale chunk from the loaf and snatched away one of the firmest fruits before turning to the door. Placing both bread and fruit in one hand, he used the other to find the handle and turn it. He stepped back and pulled the door open, blinking as the light of the sun poured into the tiny room he called home.

He didn't even bother to close the door as he turned to the left and began making his way though the debris that was strewn about the alleyway. He tore a chunk of bread away with his teeth as he vacantly maneuvered his way around the rubbish. A broken chair lay here, a pile of rubbish lay spilt there. It was a dangerous and difficult path, with many rusted and sharp things protruding randomly all around, but Sehrem's eyes were not fixated on the ground as they perhaps should have been. They darted from window to lofty window above, constantly checking for random falling objects.

The richer holders lived high above, and it was from their houses that this trash came. Sehrem seriously doubted they even knew he, or the few others in his position, even existed. No, because they were completely insignificant. They may not have been in the past, but what was the past of poor rats to important aristocrats like them?

Soon he was in the clear of the windows and the alley, and was licking the breadcrumbs off his fingers. He was running out of food. He'd have to get some more soon. It was always a frightening thing, the knowledge that your next morsel of food could lead to your capture. But then, perhaps capture was underrated. He'd probably get more or better food in jail, and he wouldn't have to live under the noses of rich people. And if he was executed..? Well, he'd thought about killing himself many a time, but he'd refrained from it with the excuse that suicide was a reserved luxury for dragonless men.

He sat down on the curb facing the gather square, as he did most days, and began to eat his fruit. He thought it was an apple, but it may have been a plum. Regardless, it tasted all right.

A shout was raised, and a shadow passed over the sun. Sehrem thought for a moment it might be a cloud bearing Thread, but as he glanced up, the sun was once again uncovered, and he was forced to squint to discern the shape. Of course, it was a dragon, but of what sort, and why? His dark eyes followed the silhouette of dragon and rider as it circled overhead, overshooting the square before wheeling around to come to a lazy stop in the centre of the dusty field. It was a brown one, unless that shade was actually bronze and bronzes were smaller than Sehrem had always thought. No, he'd think of it as a brown.

The rider vaulted off the beast's neck and squinted through the dust his dragon had kicked up with his wings, looking from side to side. A crowd began to gather around him, men and women and a lot of children. They kept a respectable girth about him, but the hopeful look on their faces was unmistakable – the man was on Search. Suddenly the man looked sharply at one of the children in the circle. A young boy, probably no older than eleven Turns, stepped forward under the man's gaze, chin high, and said something in his high, youthful voice. There was a silent pause before the dragonman laughed, placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and nodded.

The cheering and general whispering that erupted made it obvious that this boy had just been elected as a candidate. Sehrem nodded silently, chewing on the soft flesh of the fruit that lay between his teeth. A Searchrider. Funny, he hadn't seen this one around here before. Perhaps the old one died? It didn't seem likely. He'd been young, perhaps only a Turn or two older than Sehrem himself.

The crowd dispersed then, all of them but the boy. The dragonman led the boy to his brown and helped him up to the neck, strapping him in before vaulting up and behind him. But for some reason or another the dragon did not take off, even when the rider actually kicked the creature's shoulder. Looking thoroughly irritated, the rider dismounted, said something to the boy, then began to walk away from them.

At first, the man's path only led vaguely in Sehrem's direction, but it wasn't long before his course had changed to heading straight in his direction. Sehrem watched wide-eyed as the man's eyes slowly focused on him and a slow smile formed on his face. This – this was not good. Not good at all. No, he didn't like this.

"Do you want to be a dragonman?"

Sehrem looked up at the man. He was now standing above him, towering over him, a knowing smirk on his wide lips.

"Well?"

Dumbly, Sehrem shook his head. What in sharding blazes was this? He couldn't be a dragonrider. He was Sehrem. He was short, dark, quiet and depressed. This man here showed what one had to be to Impress – tall, strong, fair and friendly. Not a thing like Sehrem.

"What do you mean, no?" The man's smile changed to a slight frown. "Of course you do. What could you possibly want more than a dragon of your own?"

Sehrem did not reply. He was so accustomed to holding his silence. Not that he could have spoken if he'd tried. He had no answer. He didn't want anything more than a dragon of his own, but he didn't want a dragon of his own at all. He just didn't want anything, really. What could possibly heal his past? Or take it away? The answer was, of course, nothing. So he wanted nothing.

The man was beginning to look profoundly irritated. He gave a short grunt, then his eyes lost focus. Sehrem thought for a moment he was going to faint, and stood quickly, ready to assist a dragonrider at need. But no, the rider remained standing. It was very confusing, and Sehrem did not sit back down. He didn't like feeling so short compared to this man. Sitting didn't help that particular cause.

The dragonman sighed, his eyes focusing once more. He ran a hand through his chestnut hair. "Well, Krig says you're the one we came here for. Not that Rowin kid, apparently. So really, you have to come."

Sehrem stared silently up at the man. Who was Krig? But... how could they have come here for him? He couldn't be a dragonrider! He just wasn't made for that stuff!

"Is there anything you particularly want to stay here for?" The guy sounded exasperated now.

An easy question. Sehrem emphatically shook his head.

"Well, why don't you want to come?" The man threw up his hands in resignation, though Sehrem knew he wouldn't be giving up that easily. "Look. We provide for our candidates, so you don't have to worry about us starving you or leaving you to sleep out in the open. You... ugh! Shards! You get a go at Impressing a dragon! I don't understand it! Why don't you want to be a dragonrider? If you don't succeed, you can stay on and try again. But you will Impress, because Krig brought me all the way here for you."

Sehrem paused. The food and shelter sounded tempting. He was about to agree when the man started off again.

"You get to be a dragonrider! There are so many... shells. Did you see that little gang that gathered by me when I landed? They all wanted their kids to be found on Search. Krig didn't want any of them to come, but I had to mollify them. That Rowin boy is just the most likely of that unlikely group. Maybe when he's a little older he might be a dragonman. But... I have to get to my point. Everyone wants to be a dragonrider. Why don't you?"

Finally he'd stopped talking. Maybe now Sehrem could get in a word or two edgewise. "I do."

The man looked puffed up, as if he'd been ready to explode. He blinked, then exhaled heavily. "Pardon?"

Sehrem took a deep breath, readying himself to repeat the lie. "I do."

"You want to be a dragonrider now?"

"Yes."

The man literally slapped himself on the forehead. Visibly attempting to calm himself, he nodded. "OK. All right then. You can be." He took a deep breath, let it out. Then he thrust his hand at Sehrem in official greeting. "I'm R'til."

Sehrem took the hand, letting the dragonman shake it and break the gesture. "Sehrem," he replied quietly.

"OK, Sehrem. Follow me."

He led Sehrem across the all-too-familiar square towards the waiting brown. The newest candidate could feel unfriendly eyes boring into him from all directions. He wasn't much liked about here, and here public enemy number one was found on Search.

The brown suddenly lowered his head and looked straight at the surprised Sehrem with bizarre blue compound eyes. Sehrem came to an abrupt halt and stared.

"Come on. This is Krigeleth. You need to get up on his neck now. That's where we ride dragons."

Sehrem nodded. He already knew this. R'til offered linked hands as a leg-up, and Sehrem clambered up onto the brown's neck, just behind the other boy. Rowin. The kid didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to him. In fact, he markedly ignored him. Seemed to make a point of it. Well, Sehrem was used to it.

R'til was behind him moments later, and suddenly the wings of the great brown beast were beating steadily downwards, and then they were aloft in a whirl of dust that choked all three riders.

Then it seemed as if the tiniest moment had passed and they were over the ocean, the Hold a speck to their right.

"Take a deep breath!" R'til shouted over the buffeting wind. It was hard to breathe in at all as the wind tried to force itself into his lungs, but somehow Sehrem managed to follow the orders. He could tell what was about to happen.

Then they were between.

At least, it had to be between. It fit the description in the song so perfectly.

Black, blacker, blackest,

Cold beyond all things...

And that's exactly what it was. Pitch blackness. Sehrem could not see a thing, not the boy before him, not the dragon under him. Not even his own nose. There was nothing except what a blind man would see. And there was no sound – he was deaf. No smell. No air! He was drowning! He couldn't feel the dragon between his legs, the boy in front of him, the man behind him. There was nothing!

And then suddenly, there was everything.

The world hit Sehrem like a blow. He squinted as his pupils contracted again, adjusting to the light. He was very nearly knocked off the dragon by the sudden wind – he wasn't fortunate enough to have the strapping Rowin did.

Strangely, he felt a sense of profound disappointment. The world – or whatever it was – of between was not a bad thing, not as such. It was the embodiment of emptiness, and Sehrem thought he might not mind dying there. Indeed, he'd thought for a moment he would die, and he hadn't been upset about it.

Nonetheless, they were now over the Weyr. He frowned. It was closer to the water than he'd been told.

"Welcome to Coast Weyr!" R'til called over the bluster.

Oh.