More Thread! Orlith was off at another tangent. Lidora had also seen the Thread and she was nearer. Orlith desisted. Kadith is diverting from cross-over. The others are coming.

The queens' wing reformed, flying north, fanning out as gobbets of loose Thread Fell in a curious order caused by the dragon's distortions of the air currents. That was work indeed for the queens!

Moreta and Orlith were flying hard after this tangle, that patch, aware that Sh'gall had quickly redeployed sections of several wings to cover the upper levels. Cross-overs were hard to avoid, with the different stacks of dragons flying at varying speeds, especially when the prime requirement was that wings maintain the proper altitude and interval. Then Sh'gall sent sweep riders north to make sure there had been no burrowing.

The Fall continued as the wings reestablished their far-ranging patterns. Riders called for more firestone and set meetings with the weyrlings riding supply. Moreta checked her flamethrower and found half a tank. And Fall continued.

More casualties were reported by Orlith, none serious-wing tips and tails. Orlith and Moreta flew a watching level over the first of the snow-tipped mountains along the irregular border between Crom and Nabol. Thread would freeze and shrivel on those slopes but the queens ranged while Sh'gall and Kadith ordered the wings between to the far side and Nabol.

Haura said that she and Leri needed new fuel cylinders for their flamethrowers and were dropping down at the mine hold.

"Leri, please check with the watchwher!"

Holth says that the watchwhers are all stupid and know nothing of any use to us. I'll keep on asking.

Any landing was a strain for Holth, who was no longer agile. Moreta watched anxiously, but Leri had allowed for Holth's incapacity and directed the old queen to a wide ledge close to the mine hold. A green weyrling arrived from between, cylinders hanging on both sides of her neck. She landed daintily. Her rider detached one tank and dismounted. He ran toward Holth, up her forearm, clinging to the cylinder straps with one hand and the fighting leather with the other. The exchange of tanks was made as Moreta and Orlith glided over. Holth took several steps forward, leaning into the free air and got in her first downward sweep.

They pace themselves. AH is well, Orlith said.

"Take us to Kadith!"

They went between and emerged above a rough valley just as a mass of Thread split across the nearest ridge.

Tapeth follows!

The green dragon, her wings flat against her dorsal ridge, fell toward the point of impact, her flaming breath searing the crest. Just when it looked as if the dragon would collide with the ridge, she unfolded her wings and swerved off.

Take us there! Moreta glanced down at the tank gauge. She'd need more to flood the ridge. No ground crew could get into the blind valley.

Then they were above the sooted stone. Obedient to her rider's mental directions, Orlith hovered so that Moreta could flame the far side of the ridge. Tendrils of Thread hissed and writhed into black ash. Methodically she pumped flame into the area, widening the arc to be sure that not a finger-length of the parasite escaped.

"We'll land a bit away, Orlith. I'll need another tank now."

It comes! Orlith landed easily.

"I want to check that ridge. I couldn't see if it was shelf, sheet, or shale."

Moreta released her fighting straps and slid down. Her feet, sore from the long ride and slightly numb despite the thick lining of her boots, were jarred by the impact of her jump. She slowly clambered on insensitive soles toward the blackened area, her finger ready on the flamethrower's ignition button. She began to sense the residual heat of the two flame attacks on the rock and moved forward more slowly as much to revive her cold feet as to be cautious. She never liked to rush in on a Thread site, not on foot. However, it had to be done and the sooner the better. Thread burrowed into any crevice or cranny.

The eastern side of the ridge was sheer rock, unmarred by a split or crack to harbor Thread. The western face was also a solid mass. Tapeth's flame must have caught the stuff on landing.

Her feet were beginning to warm up as she made her way back to Orlith. Just then a blue weyrling emerged. His claws were no more than a finger-length from the top of the protruding rock thrust. The next instant the blue backfanned his wings to land. Orlith rumbled and the blue shuddered at the queen's reprimand. The rider's expression altered abruptly from delight to apprehension.

"Don't be clever T'ragel! Be safe!" Moreta shouted at him. "You could have come out in the ridge, not on it! You've never been here before. Hasn't F'neldril drilled it in your skull to have air space landing as well as taking off?"

The young rider fumbled with the straps holding the tank to his blue dragon's side as Moreta stormed over to him, still seething with the fright he had given her. "Caution pleases me much more than agility."

She almost wrenched the tank from his hand.

"Get down. To make up for your error in judgment, stay until the ridge cools. Check for infestation. There's moss just below. You know how to use a flamethrower? Good. What's left in my tank should suffice. But have your dragon call if you see anything moving on that ridge. Anything!"

An hour or so's cold watch with fear as his companion would cool the young rider's ardor for fancy landings. No matter how often they were cautioned by the Weyrlingmaster and Weyrleader, weyrlings inexplicably disappeared and the older dragons grieved. The casualties were such a waste of the Weyr's resources.

She remounted Orlith, aware that the boy had taken a sentry's stance, but as close to the comfort of his blue dragon as possible. They looked shaken and forlorn.

Kadith calls!

"We must be nearing the end of Fall!" Moreta clipped back her fighting straps, remembering to tug them secure. Her harangue would lose its force if she came adrift on take-off.

B'lerion rides!

Moreta smiled as she told Orlith to get them airbound, to take them between to join the wings. She wondered, in the blackest of cold, just how B'lerion had fared with Oklina.

Then they were on the western side of the Nabol Range with Thread falling thick and fast. Moreta had no time to express gratitude for the presence of the fresh dragons and their riders. Moreta and Orlith had just dispatched a low snarl of Thread when Orlith announced abruptly. The Fall is over!

As the queen slowed her forward motion into a leisurely glide, Moreta leaned wearily into the fighting straps, the nozzle heavy in her tired hand. She felt the dull ache in her head from having to see too much at once, from having to concentrate on drift, and glide, and angle of the flame.

"Casualties?"

Thirty-three, mostly minor scorings. Two badly damaged wings. Four riders with cracked ribs and three with dislocated shoulders.

"Ribs and shoulders! That's bad flying!" Yet Moreta was relieved at the total. But two wings! She hated having to mend wings, but she'd had lots of practice.

B'lerion hails us. Bronze Nabeth flew well. Orlith was admiringly craning her neck as the High Reaches bronze matched their speed and level. B'lerion waved his arm in greeting.

"Ask him if he had a good Gather." Any diversion not to think of the Thread-laced wings to be mended.

He did. Orlith sounded amused. Kadith says we should get back to the injured wings at the Weyr.

"First ask B'lerion what he's heard of the epidemic."

Only that it exists. Then she added, Kadith says Dilenth is very badly injured.

Moreta waved farewell to B'lerion, wishing that Sh'gall or Kadith, or both, did not consider B'lerion and Nabeth rivals. Perhaps they were. Orlith liked B'lerion's bronze, and Moreta thought it would be far more pleasant spending the Interval with someone as merry as B'lerion.