Later, T’mar could never remember issuing any orders, but somehow he reoriented his wings upward and in an instant they were far above the Istan riders, dragon flames reaching even higher to sear the steady line of Thread that could just be discerned against the glare of the sun.

Have them get above us! T’mar told Zirenth, who relayed the order to the recovering Istan riders. They went between, returning almost immediately above and behind the Telgar riders. A moment later he issued the same order to his dragons and the two Weyrs leapfrogged until they were as high as they could fly and T’mar could feel his lungs straining for air, his cheeks tingling with the lack, and the color in his eyes wavering, threatening to turn gray.

High enough, T’mar said. He gazed at the Thread in front of them and grunted as he saw it falling in steady, predictable streams.

Some must have gotten through, he reminded himself. We’ll have to send sweepriders later.

But for the moment they could fight Thread, teetering at the very heights at which a man could breathe, every moment wary of going too high or straying too low.

T’mar could sense Zirenth’s concern and felt an echo come in from H’nez through Ginirth, It’s hard to fly this high.

T’mar chuckled at the understatement and then laughed aloud as he saw the Wings tearing into Thread, flaming it into nothingness.

At least we’re on top of the Thread, T’mar said, patting Zirenth lightly on the neck and peering around him to assure himself that the fight was now firmly in hand.

“They’re flying high,” Fiona remarked absently as she and Lorana found a moment alone together. “It will wear the riders out even more.”

Lorana nodded lightly and Fiona narrowed her eyes speculatively. She gestured to Shaneese. “Lorana needs to sit.”

The headwoman nodded and sent a weyrgirl sprinting off with a wave of her finger. The girl came back just as quickly, puffing under the load of one of the canvas chairs, but she smiled brightly as she set it up and conscientiously guided Lorana into it.

“How are the eggs, my lady?” the girl asked, greatly daring.

“They’re doing well,” Fiona told her with a smile. “Perhaps after this Fall is over, we’ll let you have a look.”

“I’m only a girl,” the youngster replied, deflated. “I can’t imagine a queen will want me.”

“It still doesn’t hurt to look, does it?” Fiona asked.

The girl thought it over and shrugged. “It’d be better if I was a boy,” she said after a moment, frowning. “And even if I were, I’d be too young yet.”

“Dragons pick who they will,” Fiona said, gesturing to herself with a grin and then glancing significantly toward Lorana.

“Yes, Weyrwoman,” the girl agreed dutifully.