He glanced below, squeezing his lids shut briefly as the dizzying speed affected his unfocusing eyes. Yes, N’ton was already directing a crew of men and dragons in the removal of the sealed entrance. With more light and fresher air flooding the abandoned corridors, exploration could go on effectively. They’d keep Ramoth out of the way so she’d not complain that men were coming too close to her maturing clutch.

She knows, Mnementh informed his rider.

“And?”

She is curious.

They were now poised above the Star Rocks, above and beyond the watchrider, who saluted them. F’lar frowned at the Finger Rock. Now, if a man had a proper lens, fitted into the Eye Rock, would he be able to see the Red Star? No, because at this time of year you did not see the Red Star at that angle. Well…

F’lar glanced down at the panorama, the immense cup of rock at the top of the mountain, the tail-like road starting at a mysterious point on the right face, leading down to the lake on the plateau below the Weyr. The water glittered like a gigantic dragon eye. He worried briefly about haring off on this project with Thread falling so erratically. He had set up sweep patrols and sent the diplomatic N’ton (again he regretted F’nor’s absence) to explain the necessary new measures to those Holds for which Benden Weyr was responsible. Raid had sent a stiff reply in acknowledgment, Sifer a contentious rebuke, although that old fool would come round after a night’s thought on the alternatives.

Ramoth dipped her wings suddenly and disappeared from sight. Mnementh followed. A cold instant later they were wheeling above Telgar’s chain of brilliant stair lakes, startlingly blue in the early morning sun. Ramoth was gliding downward, framed briefly against the water, sunlight unnecessarily gilding her bright body.

She’s almost twice the size of any other queen, F’lar thought with a surge of admiration for the magnificent dragon.

A good rider makes a good beast, Mnementh remarked voluntarily.

Ramoth coyly swooped into a high banking turn before matching her speed with her Weyrmate’s. The two flew, wingtip to wingtip, up the lake valleys to the Smithcrafthall. Behind them the terrain dropped slowly seaward, the river which was fed by the lakes running through wide farm and pasturelands, converging with the Great Dunto River which finally emptied into the sea.

As they landed before the Crafthall, Terry came running out of one of the smaller buildings set back in a grove of stunted fellis trees. He urgently waved them his way. The Craft was getting an early start today, sounds of industry issued from every building. Their riders aground, the dragons said they were going to swim, and took off again. As F’lar joined Lessa, she was grinning, her gray eyes dancing.

“Swimming, indeed!” was her comment and she caught her arm around his waist.