Dragonsdoom

9th Pass, 38th Year

(October 2nd)

Telgar Weyr

"Are you entirely certain about this?" asked a very concerned Benden Weyrleader. He and the remaining seven Weyrleaders had all gathered at Telgar Weyr following an urgent summons by the SmithCraftMaster.

"As certain as we can be, Lord F'lar," MasterSmith Fandarel replied. "The StarMaster has checked his computations nearly a dozen times and they still bring up the same result. The comet passed through the center of the Oort Cloud. It is drawing a huge amount of Thread with it. The only good thing about this is that, when it intersects Pern's orbit, it will be in such a way that we will only pass through a flat plain of the tale. We will be moving through the thinnest concentration of Thread in the tail."

"If that's the case," Eastern's young Weyrleader inquired, "how bad do you think this Fall or group of Falls will be?"

"It appears that we will only be in the tale long enough for one event," Fandarel answered. "However, that event will likely be the heaviest concentration of Thread that Pern has ever seen."

The attendees sank into deep thought, considering the seriousness of what now appeared to be a crisis in the making. Several reached for the klah mugs before them.

"Do you have any idea as to where this fall will occur?" asked Eastern's young Weyrleader.

Fandarel shrugged. "We won't be certain until shortly before the event. However, our initial computations suggest that the fall will begin over the Eastern Ocean, making landfall near Ista Island and possibly southern Benden territory. We can't be certain yet."

F'lar sighed, his arms folding across his chest. "M'rand, would you be willing to host another conference fairly soon? I think we should let the MasterSmith explain this to our Weyrwomen as well.

Lyrissa, Telgar's Weyrwoman, spoke up. "I think that's an excellent idea, Lord F'lar." She turned a meaningful regard on M'rand. He caught her eyes and nodded. "We'll advise all of you as soon as we find a suitable date."

"Unless you have any other joyous news," the Telgar Weyrleader smirked, looking at the huge Smith, "I think a little wine might be in order."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ista Weyr

Three Days Later

(October 5th)

G'dened shrugged, indicating his own uncertainty with the developing situation. He had all of his wingriders and his Weyrwoman in the conference room. The beverage was limited to klah for this meeting.

"Alright," he continued, "we have at least a month before this event. We should have about four regular Falls, maybe five, before then. We're going to take advantage of them."

"We're going to take advantage of Threadfalls?" Tr'san questioned.

The Weyrleader nodded. "Poor choice of words," he chuckled. "We're going to put them to use."

He looked down the table to a young blonde wingleader. "P'ron, I want the 10th wing to fly high behind the 3rd flight. Essentially, you'll be flying the slot for the entire Weyr. Drill it into your riders that you are to function as a wing. I don't want anyone chasing stray clumps. We're going to need you back there."

"T'reril, I want the entire reserve wing in the air. Have them fly a low slot position, behind 1st wing, 3rd flight. Key off of Clarinath. He'll tell you what to do. Cosira, keep the queens under cover. We can't risk them in this."

The Weyrwoman looked at her mate, shaking her head in disagreement. "If we do that, our ground crews are going to get slaughtered."

"No," he assured her. "We're going to meet this Fall over the ocean. I don't want it to reach land. If it does, it will decimate the forest and Ista and Nerat Holds. We can't allow that."

"If it reaches land, you're going to need us under you. A lot of thread is going to get through."

G'dened frowned, turning to face his Weyrwoman. In a quiet but resolute voice he advised her, "Sira, I don't want to sound cruel, but if it does reach land, I would rather have our ground crews chewed up than your wing. It's a lot easier to replace ground personnel than queens."

"That does sound cruel," she replied, "because it is cruel. But I suppose you're right. We'll stay out of the way."

"Can we get above it?" K'trin asked. "We might be able to cut down on casualties if we attack the trailing edge at a flat angle."

"Not from what the smiths are telling us. There will be too much of it. We're going to attack in tight formation, inverted "V", flights fronts to back. We'll come in at a forty-five-degree angle at full speed, fly straight through it, reform and circle back, doing the same thing."

S'rel shook his head, heaving a loud sigh. "How many passes do you think we can make before the wings start to fall apart?"

"I'm hoping for four. By that time, some of the other Weyrs should start showing up. We're going to get a lot of help with this one."

"How much?" N'pol asked nervously.

The Weyrleader took a deep breath, again reaching for his klah. He noticed that several others were doing the same thing. "If the smith's computations are correct, the north-central diagonal will be flying regular falls at the time. Telgar, Igen and Southern won't be able to help. Fort will have to delay to ensure that none of them need help. So, we'll get immediate aid from Benden, Eastern and High Reaches."

"Will that be enough?" someone asked from down the table.

"It's going to have to be," came the obvious reply.

"Faranth help us," Tr'san whispered. "We're going to need her help."

G'dened nodded, letting out a long, slow breath. "We're going to have to fly tight and smart. We've got to keep this thing at sea, and we've got to hold it together until help gets here."

"Yeah," V'line added ominously, "and hope they get here before we're all dead."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ista Weyr

(November 10th)

G'dened sat astride his bronze's neck, surveying the sight before him. Eleven wings, just over three hundred dragons, hovered in position, waiting for the signal to move to the ocean and await the expected SuperFall.

'The first of our reinforcements has arrived,' Barnath advised him.

'Where?' the Weyrleader asked. 'I don't see anything.'

'Look next to Astaroth.'

Complying with the instruction, he turned his attention to the position the black dragon was normally in, behind and below the third flight until the order to stand-by was given. Then he would move to a nearby queen, brown or bronze for the journey between.

The black dragon was there, but he had a small escort. At first, G'dened thought D'rian was again next to his Cygnan teammate, but that wasn't likely. The winged rider was a wing-second and was where he was assigned, riding Tyranth in the 1st Wing of the 3rd Flight. It took a moment for the Weyrleader to realize that the small dragon was white.

'Ruth wants to fight with Astaroth,' Barnath advised his rider.

The bronze-rider nodded acceptance of the information. Despite the surprise, he was pleased to have Ruatha joining him this day. 'Well, he's the only one of us who might be fast enough to stay with Astaroith. I'm happy he's here.'

With a sigh, he told Barnath to give the 'stand-by' command. 'What are you using for a reference point?'

'The position of the sun. Do you want to go there now, or do you want me to time it?'

'No timing. We're going to be tired enough long before this is over. Just take us there now.'

The big bronze gave the reference image to his weyrmates, and the entire fighting dragon-strength of Ista Weyr vanished. They came out of between over open ocean, with roughly one hundred miles of salt water between themselves and the Istan coastline.

The sight that greeted G'dened brought a relieved smile to his lips. Well ahead of them, perhaps by ten or more miles, a huge cloud bank stretched across almost half of the distant horizon. It was dark blue, nearing black, and he could already see the raindrops bouncing off the surface of the water. 'This could really help us,' he advised his dragon. 'I didn't know we were expecting rain today.'

'Take a closer look,' the big bronze replied. 'That isn't rain.'

With a slightly confused frown, the Weyrleader stared at the cloud. To his horror, he realized that the ocean water wasn't bouncing, it was roiling. The falling substance wasn't water, it was Thread.

'Oh, shells. How are we going to stop that?'

'We can't. There aren't enough of us. We'd better hope that the other Weyrs get here soon.'

'Who have you alerted?'

'I haven't. Ruth has alerted Benden, Eastern, Fort and High Reaches.'

Staring at the ominous cloud, the bronzerider considered the best attack options. There didn't seem to be any. 'Can we get above it?'

'No. It's far too high. We can get to about 80% of its position.'

With a sigh, the rider replied, 'Then that will have to do. Tell the wings to fly tight formation, left and right, inverted V. Flights to fly front to back ascending. High speed attack, forty-five-degree entry angle. Fly through it, reform as needed, circle back and do it again. Tell me when they're ready.'

Barnath relayed the information. In less than a minute, all eleven wings were in position, with the black and white pair moving to a high slot position.

To G'dened's annoyance, he saw the queens wing below him, but before he could send a sharp message to Cosira via their dragons, the golden beasts disappeared. He released a slow sigh of relief. 'Well, at least we won't have to worry about them.'

'The Wings are ready.'

'Alright, Barnath. Take us to attack altitude and give the order to prepare.'

No sooner than the order had been relayed, the dragon led his mates to their highest practical fighting altitude. Riders tightened riding jackets, masks and gloves, preparing for the bitter cold of such heights. Then, the firestone sacks were opened and the great beasts started ingesting the phosphine-rich ore which allowed them to belch great gouts of flame, searing the thread from the sky.

'They're ready,'

'Then let's get this done.'

Barnath unleashed a loud below, the signal for the combined formation to attack. He winged over, leading his wing and flight into a fast, sharp attack. They blazed their way through the thread, but quickly discovered that the concentration was deeper and thicker than expected. Dragons and riders started to dart between.

'It won't take long to lose cohesion like this,' he advised his rider as the wing burst into clear air.

To G'dened's relief, only two dragons were missing, a green and a brown, and they quickly came back into view and resumed their positions in the wing. 'Alright, let's wait for the rest of the Weyr, then reform. We're going to have to do this with fewer casualties, or we're going to get torn to shreds.'

As the trailing flights came into view, he noticed only one dragon missing, but that was already one too many. With the reserve wing flying as the 11th Wing, he had no replacements to fall back on. Even as he considered the problem, Barnath resumed the attack.

Four times, the Weyr forced its way through and reformed, but it seemed as though they were making no difference in the huge concentration of thread. Worse, they were starting to lose dragons.

'There are queens below us,' Barnath informed his rider.

'Damn it,' G'dened started, but stopped in mid-curse. Well below his forces, at nearly wave top altitude, he saw a large formation of queens, certainly more than Ista could muster. 'What in the Shell?' he queried.

'There are fifteen of them,' Barnath replied. 'Caylith is there, but she does not lead. Ramoth is leading the wing.'

Even as he repeated the legendary name, the Weyrleader saw two full flights burst into view above him. More than one-hundred and fifty dragons were joining the fight.

'Benden is here,' the Istan bronze revealed. 'We have help.'

At nearly the same moment, another two flights appeared. 'Eastern,' Barnath reported.

'Alright then,' G'dened ordered, 'let's get back into this mess. Maybe we do have a chance.'

Shortly after the arrival of Benden and Eastern, High Reaches appeared. It was more than an hour before Fort joined the battle, but their assistance was still more than welcomed. The bitter struggle was now nearing twelve hundred dragons in combat. The dragonrider's were surprised to receive even more unexpected help.

Answering Ruth's call, thousands upon thousands of firelizards appeared, fighting around the edges, and darting in and out to help overwhelmed dragons and wings. Even the fast, agile dragonets were flashing in and out of between.

After boring through the massive Fall once again, G'dened asked his beast to hover so that he could assess the situation. To his dismay, he saw wing after wing missing riders and ragged formations everywhere. 'Tell the wingleaders to combine by flights and drop to two full wings per flight. We'll continue to fly flights front to back, but we need to be tighter and faster.'

'They're all tired,' Barnath rejoined. 'They may not be able to fly faster.'

'Tired is better than dead. Pass that order.' Looking downward, the Weyrleader thought he saw a strange sight. A ragged wing of dragons was trailing the queens wing, as though maintaining a slot position. He didn't have time to think too much, as Barnath bellowed the attack order and the entire Weyr resumed the fight.

The lethal waltz continued, with dragons, riders and firelizards trying to destroy the deadly parasite without being themselves overwhelmed. Most were achieving the desired goal but many were not. Far too often, wings appeared from within the threadbank with holes in their formations. Far too many dragons were failing to make it through.

Finally, after nearly ten hours of fighting, the battle was over. All of the Weyrs involved had suffered losses, Ista's by far the worst, but the Thread had been stopped short of the Island. The forests and the two main holds were safe.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

G'dened sat at a table in the main cavern, watching the ongoing flurry of action taking place. As soon as word of the disaster spread, help started arriving. Weyrlings from Fort carried in more than twenty healers, led by Master Oldive. The CraftMaster immediately broke the medical teams into three groups. D'rian was only too happy to hand over control to his Master.

The Weyr's small infirmary would be used for surgical cases only. The majority of the injuries would be treated in the weyrbowl. A small, improvised trauma center was placed at the entrance to the hatching grounds, affording shelter from the weather and additional warmth from the thermal source of the grounds.

Eastern shuttled in cavern and kitchen personnel, led by Betrella. She told her people firmly that they would take their instructions from Imala, and there would be no questioning her orders. They had five Weyrs to care for, so there would be no time for confusion.

The Weyrleader sat with his Weyrlingmaster, trying to determine the extent of the damage their weyrlings had suffered. The situation that D'phel described did not look promising.

"I don't know what our exact casualties are, Weyrleader. The masterhealer is still trying to put numbers together. We got hammered, though. We have at least two dead, maybe more."

"The other Weyrs didn't do too well, either," the senior bronzerider remarked. "They paid one hell of a price for helping us."

Glancing around the cavern to the tables at which other Weyrriders were gathered, D'phel saw many subdued people, many with heads held low and some in tears. It was not an encouraging sight.

"How bad were they hurt?"

Both riders reached for their klah mugs. G'dened took a slow drink before answering. "Benden has seven dead. Reaches and Fort lost four each. Eastern only lost one."

"Well, at least one of them came out pretty well."

"Not really. Look at the Eastern tables."

The Weyrlingmaster did as he was directed, turning to find a table at which a dark-haired bronzerider was seated, his head in his hands. Gathered around him were his Weyrleader, his Weyrwoman, a second queenrider and two other wingleaders.

D'phel's eyes widened with horrified realization as he quickly identified the rider and made the obvious conclusion. He turned back to his Weyrleader. His breath escaped in a strangled hiss. "Path?"

The Istan nodded. Seeing the masterhealer approaching, he reached for one of the many empty cups set as each table, along with several pitchers of klah. A mug was filled and handed to the Cygnan as he sat down.

"How bad?" the Weyrleader asked.

D'rian picked up the mug and took a deep drink. Setting it down, he picked up the ledger he had brought with him.

"It's bad," he began, "really bad. We're still functional, but we can only put two flights and one wing in the air. If you want a third flight, you'll have to use both the tenth wing and the reserve wing."

G'dened ran his hand through his hair, a deep frown forming on his face. "What are our losses?"

"Do you want a detailed report or just a breakdown."

"Just a breakdown. I'll ask for details when I need them."

The avion picked up his ledger and opened it to an earmarked page. He read down the columns and started. "I'll start with the queens. We have two scored and three laced. Only Caylith is still combat ready."

(Note that scores refer to simple burns inflicted by thread. These can be serious but they don't normally take the victim out of action. Lacing is a severe scoring resulting in a rider or dragon being unable to fight for a period of time. A lacing is considered severe if the victim will be out of action for more than a seven-day. Lacings are generally used in reference to dragons rather than riders.)

"Bronzes, 10 scored, 5 laced, 1 dead."

"Clarinath," the Weyrleader interjected. "Correct?"

"Yes."

"Masterhealer, I want you to take over as wingleader and flight leader for V'line."

"G'dened, I don't want to... "

The Weyrleader raised his hand, stopping the protest before it formed completely. "D'rian, please," he explained, "I'm down two wings and trying to rebuild a Weyr. I need a wingleader and you're the best I have. I know you're a masterhealer and you want to perform that job, but I need you and Tyranth. Please don't fight me on this."

The Cygnan crossed his arms lowering his head to rest his chin on them. He thought for only a moment before he sighed and answered. "Alright, I'll lead the flight. We may need to ask the Healer Hall for some help, at least temporarily."

"We can do that," the Istan agreed. "Thank you. What's the rest of the report?"

Glancing into the ledger, the avion continued. "Browns; 13 scored, 9 laced, no fatalities. Blues; 29 scored, 19 laced, 7 dead. Green; 39 scored, 29 laced, 21 fatals."

"Twenty-nine total dead," G'dened sighed. "Total disaster. One of the worst tallies in the history of Ista." He paused for a moment. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Lord Jaxom was badly scored. He's in the infirmary. Sharra is treating him."

A loud disturbance distracted them, a small, dark-haired woman in flying gear with the emblem of Benden Weyr on her collar, followed closely by the Weyrleader. "Where is that little idiot?" she demanded. "I want to speak to him!"

"Uh oh," D'phel whispered. "I think she wants to talk to M'noral."

"Then get him here," came the immediate reply.

As the Bendenites stepped up to the table at which the Istans were seated, all came to their feet. The woman immediately waved them down. She forcefully repeated her demand.

"We've summoned him, Lady Lessa," G'dened replied. "He'll be here momentarily. His name is M'noral."

Immediately, a slight blond youth in his mid-teens appeared. He wore a weyrling's knot and the insignia of a bronze dragon on his jacket.

"Were you leading those dragons that were trailing us today? What were you doing up there?"