Dragonsfate

9th Pass 44th Year

Fort Weyr

October 14th

The Pass was supposed to be winding down. There were only six turns left. But the thread kept reminding the DragonRiders that it could be very, very dangerous. Accordingly, five riders sat in a subdued conference: the Fortian and Istan Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen, and a bronze-riding masterhealer.

Both klah and wine adorned the table. Three were drinking the klah, two the wine. As they took small drinks, all attention was focused on the masterhealer. He shrugged and spread his hands.

"I'm sorry, Weyrleader, but I agree with the Masterherder. Tardeth will never fly again. The sail is mangled. From mid-wing to tip, there's nothing left. The two distal extensors are completely destroyed. The anterior stabilizer is mangled beyond repair from mid-wing out. He has half a wing, and he's lucky to have that."

N'ton took another sip of his wine, frowning as he considered the situation. If he was going to live but he couldn't fly, what was the dragon going to do? Casualties like this in the past usually hadn't ended well. "Well, what can we offer him to do? I don't want him dying of boredom. He's a good dragon, and D'stin's a good rider. We've got to find something to keep them involved."

"He can't fly, but he's not immobile. He can still move between. He can be a messenger, transport, an airborne ambulance and who knows what else? We need to let both of them know that they're still important members of the Weyr and we're going to find important work for them."

The Weyrleader grimaced, shaking his head. "I don't know, D'rian. If he comes out of between with that wing, how does he avoid just crashing to the ground. He'll either kill himself or be even more seriously injured."

D'rian reached for his klah. The Cygnan masterhealer and wingleader took a deep drink. He lifted an eyebrow. "We teach him how to land with an injured wing. It'll take a little time, but it's not all that hard. I can have Astaroth and Ty start training him as soon as we can get him to Ista."

"Why Ista?" G'dened asked, reaching for his own wine.

"Simplicity," the avion replied. "It's going to be easier to move one dragon and one rider than it will be to constantly have to shuttle two dragons back and forth. We can just put Tardeth and D'stin in one of the lower level weyrs. He can train from the ground or from a low ledge. It's safer."

"Okay," N'ton allowed. "I'll agree to that. But what can you teach him that's going to help him land safely with only half a wing?"

"It's called a half-wing spiral or a back-wing spiral. It's a technique that all Cygnan dragons learn as soon as they start flying. They can't fly between, so if they get hurt while they're in the air, they're on their own."

"Is that that crazy maneuver Ruth's been teaching Kelth?" the Istan Weyrleader asked.

"Yep, that's it. Kelth's catching on fast. When he's done, we'll have four dragons trained in the move."

Deena, Fort's Weyrwoman, reached for the tray of sweet rolls in the center of the table and picked up a cookie. She passed the tray to Cosira. "Let me guess; Ruth, Astaroth, Kelth and Tyranth."

The avion nodded. "That's them. Until he moved up here last month, Trenth wanted to learn. The spiral teaches a dragon how to use a circling approach to reduce his or her speed, to pick out where it wants to land, and to make as soft a landing as possible."

"Doesn't seem to make much sense to train just a handful of dragons in this new move."

D'rian shrugged again. "Who says we have to restrict it to four dragons? There's no reason not to train all of our dragons."

N'ton reached into the tray, pulling back a roll. "The Pass is almost over. Seems like it's a little late now."

"Six turns is still a lot of time," the healer replied. "Besides, Thread isn't the only thing on Pern that can injure a wing. We haven't had time before now to try to add additional training to either weyrlings or wingriders. With the falls becoming more sporadic, we have more time to work with."

G'dened nodded, shrugging. "Okay. If we do decide to do this, how would we train them? Bronzes first, then down by size? Doesn't seem like there's really any need to train the queens."

"The queens, no," the avion agreed. "With the others, though, just the opposite. Weight is the critical factor in a spiral approach, so we'll train from small to large. Ruth will teach a group of greens, one or two per Weyr. Then he and the greens will teach the blues. Then Astaroth and the blues will teach the browns. Then Tyranth or Astaroth and the browns will teach the bronzes. It will take time, but it's worth the effort."

N'ton munched on his roll, pursing his lips as he considered the suggestion. "Well, I'll run it by the other Weyrleaders, but it might have to wait until the end of the pass. Then again, individual Weyrs may ask to train while others say no. I'm interested."

"So am I," G'dened allowed. "I'd guess that both Benden and High Reaches will be interested."

"In the meantime," the Fortian continued, "I've got to replace a wingleader, which leads us to the next item of business for this meeting."

His Istan counterpart took another sip of wine. "How's he doing here?"

"Great," N'ton answered. "He's fit right in. The older riders are glad to have him back. The younger ones don't remember him. They are curious, though. He's kind of a living legend here. I'm going to assign D'stin's wing to him if you approve the transfer."

"Oh, I'll approve it. He came to me directly to ask for it. Says he still feels some loyalty to Fort. He wants to help."

"That's good. Still, will that leave you down a wingleader?"

G'dened shook his head. "No. K'trin had two bronze wingseconds. Either of them can take the wing. We're still bronze heavy. I've even been thinking about releasing the masterhealer back to the healer hall."

"What do you think of that, D'rian?" Deena asked.

"I'd like it. I would like to go back to being a masterhealer. Don't have much time as a wingleader."

"It might only be temporary, and it's not going to happen right away." the Istan Weyrleader pointed out. "You're still one of my best. I may have to turn to you again."

Everyone heard a deep sigh from the Cygnan. N'ton turned to face him, tilting his head in a curious frown. "Something wrong, masterhealer?"

"No," the avion responded. "I just feel a little guilty. K'trin's doing this for me and Selana." He looked into his mug of klah. He knew that the huge brownrider had requested transfer so that he and Selana could live as husband and wife again. He felt a bit uncomfortable about it, as the green-eyed queenrider had been K'trin's weyrmate.

"Well," Deena smiled, "don't feel too badly, D'rian. He's pretty much laid claim to a new weyrmate here in the past month."

"Nitali?" the Fort Weyrleader asked, turning conspiratorial eyes on his mate.

"No," she denied, returning the expression with a tiny smile. "Nitali already has an occasional weyrmate, some bronzerider out of Ista, I believe." She glanced across the table, seeing the thunderstorm brewing in the other Weyrwoman's eyes as Cosira turned a suspicious regard on G'dened.

"Well, if it's not Nitali," N'ton continued, "who does that leave, dear one?" His smile became markedly suggestive.

"Don't look at me like that, bronzerider," Deena rejoined. "If you can have Cosira, I can have K'trin."

Now it was the Istan Weyrleader whose eyes snapped towards his Weyrwoman. Cosira's mouth dropped open as N'ton began to chuckle.

Deena started laughing openly. "Shells! You two are so easy to put one over on. We're just teasing you."

G'dened looked toward the Fort queenrider. He noticed that D'rian had also started to laugh. "Well, if it's not you, and it's not Nitali, who does that lea..."

At the same time, Cosira lowered her head into her hands. "Oh, no," she groaned.

"You should have been here the day before yesterday," N'ton laughed. "Something or other set her off and she started screaming at him. He picked her up, threw her over his shoulder and carried her all the way across the Weyrbowl to her weyr, spanking her every step of the way. There were some strange sounds coming out of that weyr the rest of the night."

"Definitely your little sister," the Cygnan laughed.

Cosira turned bright crimson and buried her face.

- - - - - - - - - -

Ista Weyr

October 18th

"Okay," N'pol allowed, "one green per wing sounds like a good way to start. But who's going to choose the green? The wingseconds?"

G'dened lifted an eyebrow, considering that. "I don't know. Probably depends on the wing. Could be the wingseconds, the wingleader, or even the greenriders themselves. I don't know that we should set up a specific process." The idea of training Ista's dragons in the half-wing spiral was picking up steam, and now the wingleaders were directly involved in the planning.

"I wouldn't do it that way," D'rian interjected, shaking his head as he reached for his klah. All eyes in the conference room turned to him. He took a deep drink.

G'dened waited politely, then asked, "What do you suggest?"

"Let the instructors choose the students."

Several of the gathered wingleaders looked at him with mild confusion. Tr'san and D'phel started to laugh.

"What are you suggesting?" B'dor asked.

The Cygnan returned his mug to the table. "Let Astaroth and Ruth choose. They have to teach them and they know what they're looking for. Astaroth's been flying with these dragons for turns. He knows who is or isn't ready. Besides, why have the riders whose dragons aren't chosen angry with their wingleader or wingsecond. Let them be angry with Astaroth. I'm sure he'd be terribly concerned."

A round of laughter met that assertion, along with unanimous agreement. The thought of anyone trying to contend with the black dragon was a comical absurdity. "That'll work." G'dened concurred. "We'll let Astaroth tell us when he's ready."

He reached for his own mug, taking a deep drink. "So far as tomorrow's Fall, the weather guessers are telling me that they expect heavy rain throughout our region, so it will probably be a washout. Have your wings ready, but I expect we'll know by early morning if we're really going to have to fly. D'phel, let your senior weyrlings do the scouting for us. T'marek and Kelth have already volunteered to supervise the patrol." He glanced at the Weyrlingmaster, seeing his nod of concurrence. Taking a roll from the platter in the center of the table, he looked to his right and about three riders down. "T'reril, you said earlier that you had a question?"

"Yes, sir," the dark-skinned rider acknowledged. "The Reserve Wing is getting very thin. We can't afford to donate any greens to the training program."

"That shouldn't be a problem," D'rian explained. "The training will only take place on off days. It won't take any of the dragons out of a fighting wing, not even the weyrlings."

"I'd still rather not have the reserve dragons involved, at least not right now. If even one or two of them gets hurt in training, we're going to be critically short if reserve greens are needed."

The Weyrleader took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "Hmmm. Hadn't thought of that. D'rian, tell Astaroth that the Reserve Wing is ineligible for the training program. D'phel, get with T'reril and see if you can promote any of your greens into his wing. I'll see about trading another bronze or two for a half-dozen greens. Telgar and High Reaches were asking about that last seven-day. Maybe I can get you some help."

"If you're going to do that," the Weyrlingmaster asked, "please get me a blue. We're getting thin there, too."

"Okay. I'll take that under advisement. Anything else? If not, see to whatever training you think is needed today, then let your dragons and riders have a day off. They've earned it."

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

October 19th

D'rian stood at the entry to the junior queens' weyr, staring at the dark clouds and the pouring rain. The sun wasn't going to break through these storm clouds, but it was already daylight, if only a dim daylight. Astaroth looked up at him, glanced at the weather and just closed his eyes again. The Cygnan grinned, turning back toward the sleeping chamber.

"We're not going to be flying Thread today," he announced as he walked back through the curtain.

"Then get back in here," Elysina grumped. "It's too chilly to be standing out there." She slid out of the bed, lifting the fur so that her weyrmate could get in. When they were both back under the covering, she turned to the avion with a devilish light in her eyes. "Now that we're both awake," she chuckled, "whatever shall we do about it?"

Sliding his arm under the queenrider's side, the masterhealer pulled her against him. "Oh, we should be able to think of something," he chuckled. He drew the raven-haired rider into a long, passionate kiss, his hand sliding up her side. She moved on top of him as a sudden surge of arousal struck her.

"Alright you two," grumped a sleepy voice from the other side of the bed. "If you're gonna start he'in' and she'in', get a room."

"This is a room," D'rian reminded her. He winked at the dark-haired rider.

"Then get another room," Selana specified. "I'm trying to sleep here."

"You really should watch," Elysina snickered. She delighted in teasing Selana, and this was too good a chance to pass up. "You might learn something."

"Oh, shells," the Cygnan groaned. "Not again!" He wanted to run and hide but, caught between his two wives, there was no chance of escape.

Selana turned toward the other woman, lifting herself on an elbow. "Alright, number two, what exactly do you think you can teach me?"

"You can't be serious. It would take all day to list it. Ask him. He knows."

"Hey!" the masterhealer objected. "Don't get me in the middle of this."

"You are in the middle of this," Selana pointed out. "I'm over here, she's over there."

"Okay, then," Elysina snickered, "let's leave it to him. D'rian, who's the better lover? Me or Selana?"

The Cygnan closed his eyes. He wanted to hide inside his wings, but they were trapped under him at the moment. No matter what he said, he knew that one or both of the women would not be happy. "Do I really have to answer that?" he whimpered.

"Yes!" both women demanded.

Quickly searching for any possible solution, he suggested, "Um, Cosira?"

The queenriders looked at each other, irritated frowns on both faces. Both knew that their husband had been Weyrleader for several turns and that the golden-haired queenrider had been his Weyrwoman, but they didn't really want to be reminded of it.

"Okay," Selana directed. "Roll him over. You spank, I'll tickle."

"Hey," D'rian chirped, hoping to somehow salvage the situation, "I'm up for a threesome. Sounds like fun!"

"You know what's wrong, don't you?" Selana asked, looking to her sister wife.

"Not sure. What exactly?" Elysina queried.

"We're just too nice to him." A sadistic grin adorned her face as she slid her arms across the avion, pinning him into the bed.

"That can change," Elysina giggled. "Hang onto him. I'll get the ropes."

- - - - - - - - - - -

October 23rd

It had been yet another deadly Fall. The concentration of thread hadn't been too bad, but the high winds ahead of the storm front had driven the spores at an abnormal rate of speed. It had been nearly impossible to avoid, and the Weyr had taken a lot of casualties. Most were either minor or intermediate in nature. The Weyrhealer was working on them as quickly as she could.

One injury, however, had been gruesomely serious. Two masterhealers and two journeymen worked feverishly on the critically injured rider.

D'rian stared into the horrid chasm of what had only recently been a left breast. The heart was still beating, but it was feeble and slowing. He was fighting his own desperation and the tears clouding his eyes. "Elysina, cardiac needle. One milliliter atropine."

Beside him, Masterhealer Oldive tried to close a torn trachea, hoping to allow the rider to breathe again. He wasn't having much success. The spore had destroyed almost the entire airway. There was precious little organic material left to work with.

The dark-haired queenrider moved quickly to the supply cabinets to get the requested items. Across the surgical table, a second journeymen announced tensely, "I'm losing the pulse. She's failing."

The requested hypodermic was handed to the Cygnan physician. He inserted the long needle into the patient's heart and injected the medication. He looked to the second woman.

She shook her head. "No pulse. I don't have anything."

The avion placed his hands over the sternum and started to compress the heart. He pushed solidly but not so hard as to fracture the breastbone. That, he knew, would likely be fatal. After a series of fifteen compressions, he looked back to Selana.

She shook her head. Her eyes were dark with fear. "Nothing."

"El, give me another milliliter of atropine." Even as the avion spoke the order, he felt a strong hand on his wrist. He looked up to see Masterhealer Oldive shaking his head.

"It won't help, masterhealer. I can't restore the airway. Let her go."

Even as he looked back down at the prostrate woman, they heard a terrible, anguished roar from the infirmary ledge. Both queenriders squeezed their eyes closed.

Elysina reached out to take her husband's arm. "Caylith just went between, love. It's over."

Fighting down the panic he felt forming, D'rian turned and walked away. He moved to the infirmary ledge and sat down with Tyranth. His mind was being flooded with images he couldn't reconcile with each other. The ravaged heart seemed somehow unreal. How many times had he felt it gently beating against his chest as he held the woman to him? How many times had he tasted the soft, sweet lips that were now drawn and pale in death? He wanted to scream.

Oldive sighed. He looked at the journeymen. "Elysina, Selana, it's okay. Go to him. But let him cry it out." He turned as his third journeyman entered the infirmary. "Rubia, please stay with me. We need to talk." He noted that the woman had clamped her hands over her ears. He agreed. The dragons' eerie keening was enough to turn one's stomach, both physically and emotionally.

Waiting for the queenriders to leave the infirmary and join their husband, the remaining pair walked into the inner tunnel before starting to talk.

"How bad were the other casualties?"

"Not bad," the Weyrhealer replied. "Mostly simple scores. One eye injury, but it won't blind the rider. A separated shoulder on one of the weyrlings. A few laced dragons. Considering what the riders told me about the wind out there, it really wasn't bad at all."

Oldive nodded. "Well, that's something good, at least. "We need to put Cosira's body in a shroud so that G'dened can take her between. Can you help me with that?"

"Of course. I'll get her spare riding clothes from her weyr. I think that's how she would want to be buried."

"Yes," the Masterhealer agreed. "Have Elysina and Selana help you with dressing her. I'll try to talk to D'rian while you're doing that. Don't want to be in here at the time."

"Thank you, Masterhealer. We all appreciate that."

"When you finish, I want to set the infirmary up as a cardiac theatre. I'm very concerned about D'rian's heart. He looks terrible. I don't know how much more he can take."

The journeyman looked down, releasing a pent-up breath. "What do you think will happen?"

"My guess would be myocardial infarction. Probably stress induced. If it happens, we'll have to watch for two things. Tachycardia we can handle with ease. The bigger risk may be stress induced stroke. So, we'll need to get fellis into him fast to keep his blood pressure down."