For two centuries they had waited for this moment: centuries of training and lives lived so that dragons - and riders - would be here, right now, waiting to defend Pern.
Yet this was a first, too. For Pern had had no dragons the first time Thread had fallen. And the planet had been so close to total disaster before the first eighteen dragons had emerged from between above Fort Hold to flame the parasite from the skies and give hope to the beleaguered defenders. K’vin had always been struck by the courage - he should make P’tero read those entries - of the despairing Admiral Paul Benden in his diary written just prior to that magnificent triumph.
Even in his most recent reading of that journal, his throat closed over as he read the words: And then that young rogue had the temerity to salute and say, “Admiral Benden, may I present the Dragonriders of Pern?”
More spurts of fiery breath and every dragon head turned slightly northward.
It comes! Charanth said, rumbling deep in his chest, a vibration that K’vin felt through his legs. He was aware then that the only warm part of him was what was pressing against his dragon’s neck. His nose had no feeling of the fabric across it. Maybe they should drop down a thousand feet or so.
And K’vin looked towards the central block of the massed wings, where M’shall and Craigath waited. It was the Benden Weyrleader’s call, not his.
Then he saw it - or rather the mass of something lustrous against the black of night, like a banner spread from some distant source in the sky, a banner that rippled and spun. The pace of his heartbeat picked up. He felt an odd coldness in his guts, but it could simply be because it was very, very cold at this altitude.
Charanth’s rumble increased and a little spit of flame spilled from his mouth.
Steady, lad!
I’m not moving! It is! And I can flame this time!
K’vin could not reproach Charanth for that snide reminder.
And, oddly enough, he also felt no fear as he regarded the advance. There was this sense of inevitability, that he would be here, at this moment in time, to observe this phenomenon, to be part of this defense.
Closer and closer the waves of Thread came as the massed wings watched. The leading edge was now falling visibly on the mountainsides. In this cold air not even the steam of its dissolution was visible.
Thread was falling in a steady stream, freezing dead in the snow.
A steady stream, no tangles, no bare spots.
Craigath says we regroup at the second meeting point.
Agreed.
Oddly enough, K’vin did not like even to regroup, though there was nothing Thread could have done to harm the snowy mountainsides and it was foolish to waste time and flame here.
But it felt like retreat.
Charanth had broadcast the order and took them between.
The air was noticeably warmer at the altitude of the new position.
He rubbed at his nose and cheeks to bring blood to the surface. Even his fingertips felt numb from the cold.
False dawn began in the east, the Red Star paling slightly in the graying skies. And Thread suddenly looked more ominous. More dragons spewed flame and he told Charanth to warn them to conserve their breath.
Suddenly the wait was chafing. They had waited so long, hadn’t they? Two hundred years! When would they begin?
But Thread fell on snow, and K’vin was close enough to Leading Edge now to see the holes it made in the whiteness.
NOW! Craigath’s command reached K’vin’s mind in the same moment that Charanth roared, full flame erupting from his mouth, as he beat his wings to power his forward surge.
K’vin clutched at the flight strap, felt frantically for the rope that tethered the firestone sacks to the neck ridge in front of him, and clamped his knees as tight as he could to his bronze!
His right arm raised and pointed forward, as if any rider had missed Craigath’s command or the roars that emerged from dragon throats across the sky.
They were flying in ranks, Telgar being the second and slightly behind the uppermost wings which were from High Reaches. There was sufficient air between the two layers of dragons so that flame from one level would not interfere with another; and a corridor for maneuver as well. Every Weyr had drilled its wings for this strategy until it was instinctive to stay within the plane assigned them.
The moment when Charanth’s breath sizzled up descending Thread was a transcendental experience for both partners.
Charanth sustained his flame magnificently, crossing this cordon, and then they were out, beyond Thread’s fall and turning. K’vin spared a glance at the rest of his wings and saw them pivoting simultaneously, all those long, long hours and years of practice resulting in a perfect maneuver. His heart was like to burst in his chest with pride. Below and above him, other wings were turning, all now flaming to catch the next band of falling Thread. And the next. And the next.
Meranath and the others are here, Charanth announced, dropping his head to peer far below.
They are? Turn. K’vin looked below and saw the unmistakable arrow of golden bodies in their low-level position, the flame-throwers which the queen riders used spouting here and there as they disintegrated stray strands escaping the higher ranks.
Does Meranath fly well?
Meranath flies very well, Charanth said proudly.
Tell the wings it is time to execute the first change-over, K’vin said. He swiveled his body around to watch that maneuver, holding his right arm up high, sweeping his eyes across Telgar’s wings. He dropped his arm and counted nine or ten dragons still flaming. Then they, too, went off. He counted to five and suddenly full wings flew behind him. He raised his arm high in recognition of their arrival, which was all he had time for because the wall of Thread advanced to flaming distance and Charanth was ready with his fire. So far he could find no fault with the performance of Telgar’s wings.
It seemed no time after that when he realized his sacks of firestone were empty, and he had Charanth call for more. It surprised K’vin to notice that they had flown from night into day, for the sun slanted right into the eyes as they flew east again. There was good reason to use tinted glass in the goggles.
Z’gal and blue Tracath made the drop, swooping in neatly just above his head and depositing the new sacks across Charanth’s neck.
K’vin pulled the release knot of the empty sacks and saw Tracath swivel and dive beneath Charanth, Z’gal deftly catching the limp ones and disappearing instantly between.
Tell Tracath that was well done, K’vin said.
They were over the northern-most edge of Benden now, above pasture lands, forests and small farming holds. The need for accuracy and complete destruction of Thread was more crucial now. The queens’ wing was more visible, gold against the dark green or brown of fields not yet verdant with spring growth.
Sacks had to be replenished again. He called in the second change-over of wings, only then realizing that he was beginning to tire.
Are you all right, Charanth?
I flame well. My wings beat strongly. We are together. There is no problem.
The calm, strong tone of his bronze was like a tonic. Yes, they were together, doing what they had been bred and maintained to do.
Meranath says we are over Bitra Hold now. They were turning west again, back for another run. K’vin did notice that there seemed to be less Thread falling now, even gaps between the sheets of it. This Fall is nearly over?
K’vin wasn’t sure if Charanth was pleased, surprised or disappointed. He, for one, was enormously relieved! He had survived the ultimate test of the Weyrleader.
They did one more pass eastward and then there was no more Thread visible above. A cheer echoed from rider to rider, and all those within K’vin’s range pumped both arms in jubilation.