Ista Weyr
(Next day, April 3rd)
Thread fell. Dragon after dragon, wing upon wing, Ista Weyr rose to meet it. Battle was joined over the plains of Nerat. Skilled and experienced, the island fighters seared the deadly parasite, clearing the Pernese skies. Two hundred and eight strong they fought. Magnificent bronzes, steady browns, dependable blues, dynamic greens, regal golds and a single black. Darting, twisting, diving, soaring, the rainbow of translucent wings painted the churning heavens. Everywhere, the red and orange of erupting flame and the acrid black smoke of charred Thread highlighted the aerial riot.
Perhaps he was becoming a dragonman after all. Eighteen hours of surgery had exhausted him. Less than three hours after falling asleep, he was awakened by the call to wing positions. Cosira didn't want him to fight. She said he needed rest. The thought of the queens flying without him revolted the avion. He wasn't about to expose them to additional danger if he could lift his sprayer.
Most of the Fall was routine. But four hours into the fight, the effects of a tiring morning and inexperience conspired to bring about near disaster. The young queen responded too slowly to the turn, sliding outside the protective umbrella of her wingmates. Watching from above, the slot rider charged immediately, followed closely by the avion. Now, back at the Weyr, he was tired, angry and in pain.
Darian dressed the throat score carefully. Although it was routine enough, another moment and the burrowing spore would have reached the trachea. Only the dragon's quickness in darting between had saved her rider's life. As it was, she would only carry a small scar. He heard the worried thoughts of the rider's dragon.
'She'll be alright,' he reassured the golden beast. 'You did a wonderful job protecting her. You're next.'
The healer walked out to the infirmary ledge. The same clump of Thread that had injured Elysina had damaged Valkryth's left wing. It was more singed than scored, but he coated it liberally with numbweed. As the gold crooned her relief, the slight rider watched with equal concern. Noticing the tears filming her eyes, Darian took her hand, pulling her beside him. "She's fine, little one. It's not that bad a score. Yours is a lot worse."
Tracing the line of the extensor, the masterhealer decided not to cover the wound. He stepped back from the dragon, sinking to a crouching position. A wave of nausea swept over him. One knee dipped into the sand. The world seemed to sway momentarily before he recovered his equilibrium. The fire in his shoulder and arm demanded attention.
He felt gentle hands unfastening his damaged vest, hissing as the hide pulled away from his shoulder. Shrugging out of the garment, he grimaced at the angry welt stretching across the top of his shoulder and arm. Once again, he'd been lucky. The queen had been right there, reappearing at his side and then taking them all smartly between. The burrowing Thread froze instantly and cracked off, harmless dust.
Soothing numbness spread across the damaged tissue. He watched tiny fingers trace the line of the wound, leaving a trail of creamy white paste. The queenrider looked at him, worry etched in the line of her mouth. "Feel any better?" she asked.
"Of course. You're going to make a good apprentice." He stood up as she prepared to apply a second coating. "That isn't necessary. This is the least of the three scorings. See if you can help some of the others."
The queenrider nodded, picking up the bowl of salve. She started to leave, looking back when he caught her hand.
"I'll want to look at that throat again this evening," he announced. His fingers squeezed hers gently.
She gave him a slight smile. "You know where to find me."
Injuries were not numerous, and all were minor. His and Elysina's were the worst scores. The Weyr had fared well. Moving among the remaining wounded in the Weyr bed and dressing the scores, Darian found himself working harder to control his temper than to treat his patients. He soon had no patients left.
'You alright?' a strong thought inquired.
'Yeah. It wasn't bad. You?'
'Thread can't hurt me. Doesn't penetrate the scales.'
The Cygnan snorted. 'Got a few to spare?'
'The way you flew today, all of mine wouldn't be enough.'
'Yeah, well, I had plenty of help. Where is that flaming idiot?'
'In the weyr. She's upset and frightened. I'm surprised.'
Darian looked up at the rim of the Weyrbowl, meeting Astaroth's steady gaze. He couldn't tell if the black was annoyed or amused. 'What could possibly surprise you?'
'Your mate. She must be getting smarter. She actually thinks you might be angry.'
'Score one for her. In about a minute, she's gonna know.'
'Temper, temper. Mustn't forget you're married to the idiot.'
'Stuff it, loudmouth. I don't need to be reminded.'
Spreading his wings, the avion launched. He gritted his teeth as the pumping wings pulled at the shoulder score. The tear in the anterior stabilizer didn't feel much better. Flying wasn't going to be much fun for the next week or two. Still, the wings and shoulders worked, even if they resented the effort. He decided to glide the rest of the way to the weyr ledge.
Scylenth was on her couch, eyes glowing a dull orange. She crooned hopefully at the avion, receiving an irritated glare as he strode toward the inner weyr. He heard the queen warn her rider.
Selana was sitting at the table when he walked in. She caught the censure in his eyes, swallowing as he moved toward her.
"What were you doing out there, Sel?" he demanded. "Why did you break formation?"
"There was a clump to our left. We thought it was ours. We didn't think the wing was going to break right." She shrank from his gaze, her voice that of a frightened child.
"You're flaming right you didn't think. You're not out there to think. You're to hold position. You unhinged the entire wing. Destroyed its integrity. What do you think you're doing, joy riding?"
"We were only out of position for a second," she whimpered.
"Only a second," he repeated. "Do you have any idea of what that second could have cost? You almost killed me, yourself, Elysina and two queens. Quite a price for a second, isn't it?"
"I didn't know," she said weakly. "I didn't mean to."
"I know you didn't mean to, but that doesn't make this score feel better. If Valkryth hadn't been right there, I'd be dead."
"I didn't know," she pleaded.
"Sel, you've been flying long enough to know better. Cosira is a perfectionist on formation flying. I know damned well she taught you better than that. I wouldn't have expected that stunt from a weyrling."
'You are being cruel,' Scylenth objected. 'You've upset her. Leave her alone.'
Darian spun on the queen. He could see her rapidly whirling red eyes staring back. 'Be quiet, Scylenth! You're as responsible as she is. You knew not to break formation. I know you're both new to this, but you know better. You follow Caylith, not stray clumps of Thread.'
The queen responded with a sorrowful whimper, drawing a variety of confused responses from other beasts across the Weyr.
"Don't yell at my dragon," Selana cried.
"I'm not yelling at her, Selana," he retorted. "Somebody has to talk some sense into both of you before you get yourselves or somebody else killed. You're lucky Cosira isn't down here right now. She'd turn you into wher-feed!"
