Still, Fiona couldn’t quite shake off her unease. She took a slow, calming breath and carefully pushed the thought deep inside herself: The last thing she wanted was to worry Lorana with her own fears. She could tell that she was successful because she felt no resonance from the ex–queen rider but, even so, she couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that something would go horribly wrong.

Memories of her fevered chanting came back to her: Can’t lose the baby, can’t lose the baby, can’t lose the baby! It mixed with Lorana’s nightmare cry, her sweaty, gasping breaths and as Fiona fought to quench her fears she had raked over one horrifying thought—whose baby? Or babies?

That’s it? T’mar thought in surprise as they came to the end of the Fall. Like the Upper Bitra Fall, this one had started way up north in the Snowy Wastes, where Thread could only freeze and die—a pleasant thought—and had crossed into the mountains above Crom, ending a good half hour’s flight from the Hold itself.

The air had been steady if mildly turbulent and the Weyrs had no trouble picking up the Thread and following it as it crossed into the higher mountains and then ended at the foothills and high plains above Crom.

An easy Fall. T’mar snorted derisively. Easy enough: Telgar and High Reaches had each lost two dragons, and both had the same number of injuries. High Reaches had only two dragons badly mauled against Telgar’s three, but while Telgar had the same number of slighter injuries, High Reaches had four dragons and riders who would not fly again for the next month or more.

Zirenth, have C’tov—T’mar cut himself short: C’tov had been one of the injured with another score on his left side. This time, fortunately, it had been his left thigh that had borne the brunt of it, even as Sereth’s neck had been lightly nicked just below—protected by the extra bulk of his rider’s leg. Have C’tov’s wing fly sweep.

Very well, the bronze said. Winurth leads.

J’gerd? T’mar thought in surprise. He hadn’t realized that the brown rider was C’tov’s wingsecond; he’d been injured not all that long ago. T’mar snorted to himself; it was hard to keep track of who flew where these days.

Let’s go back, T’mar thought even as he waved farewell to D’vin and the High Reaches riders.

Even with C’tov’s injuries and the other five injured dragonpairs, the mood at the Weyr that night was one of relief, almost festive.

“Not bad,” F’jian said, sounding very pleased with himself as he raised his glass to Terin for a refill. “If I do say so myself, not bad at all.”