“If we need any more help, we’ll call up the reserves,” M’tal said, referring to the half-wing that he’d decided to leave behind in reserve at the Weyr.

“Well, it’s not like they’ll be shirking,” S’maj said, “seeing as they’re hauling our firestone.”

“All the work and none of the glory,” J’lian said, shaking his head and glancing pointedly at the older wingleader.

“It’s enough to fly, dragonrider,” S’maj said, picking up on the bronze rider’s implied gibe.

M’tal smiled at the banter. He waved for the others to precede him onto the warm sands of the Weyr Bowl where all the fighting dragons clustered in a small portion of the vast expanse.

Thread would be falling over Igen, roiled and tossed by the turbulent air rising from the hot desert sands below. M’tal was worried about that turbulent air, but he kept his fear to himself, projecting a carefully schooled air of professional nonchalance.

“Fly well,” two voices called from behind him. He turned and spied Salina with Dalia by her side. M’tal smiled and sketched a salute to the two women. As he turned away from the two very different women in his life, M’tal found time to send a stray hope in Fiona’s direction that she, Kindan, and Lorana had managed to cement their relationship as well as he had with Dalia and Salina. It helped that both were mature women and not given to fits of jealousy. He couldn’t imagine Tullea in a similar situation but, he reflected as he clambered up Gaminth’s side, perhaps the Benden Weyrwoman would come to surprise him as well.

What! M’tal thought as Gaminth bucked and dipped the moment they came out of between over Igen. He was thrown first forward and then backward violently as Gaminth searched for an altitude where the winds were calmer. The hot air roiling up from the roasting sands below churned and swirled unpredictably, making it impossible to keep formation. The turbulence was far worse than he’d feared.

Spread out! M’tal ordered. Gaminth, have S’maj’s Wing go high as lookout.

The bronze dragon rumbled in agreement as he relayed the messages and the three fighting Wings spread out, seeking desperately to maintain what little formation they could in the fierce winds. Dimly, M’tal had the impression of S’maj’s Wing clawing upward, searching for a less turbulent level from which to scan for Thread.

This is going to be rough, M’tal thought.

The air is troubled, hot, Gaminth thought. Perhaps too hot for Thread?

No, I don’t think so, M’tal responded even as he heard a dragon bugle warningly, its voice distant and thin in the rough air.

S’maj has spotted it, Gaminth said. M’tal nodded, craning his neck upward and twisting from side to side to spy the thin wisps of deadly Thread.