“Peter, calm down and make sense.”

“How can I make sense when I don’t believe what I saw anyhow!”

“Who was there? Tarrie and who else?”

“Them. The ones who ride dragons. They’ve gone to Fort. To fight Thread!”

Paul picked up the comm unit. Any occupation was preferable to sitting like a barnacle on a hull in a shuttered room while a voracious organism rained down outside.

“Admiral?” Excitement tingled through Ongola’s single word. “We’ve had word that the dragonriders are on their way here.”

“Sean and his group?” Paul wondered why that would excite Ongola. “When did they start?”

“Whenever they started, sir, they’re already here.” Paul wondered if disappointment had got the better of his imperturbable second-in-command, for he could swear the man was laughing. “The seaport asks should they join the aerial defense of the harbor? And, Admiral, sir, I’ve got it on visuals! Our dragons are fighting Thread! I’ll patch it in to your screen.”

Paul watched as the picture cleared and the focus lengthened to show him the unbelievable vision of tiny flying creatures, undeniably spouting flame from their mouths at the silver rain that fell in a dreadful curtain over the harbor. He had that one view before the picture was interrupted by a sheet of Thread. He waited no longer.

Afterward Paul wondered that he had not broken his neck, going down stone steps three at a time. He ran full pelt across the Great Hall and down the metal stairway leading to the garage where the sleds and skimmers were stored. Fulmar and one mechanic were bent over a gyro, and stared in surprise at him.

“You there, get the doors open. Fulmar, you’d better come with me. They may need help.” He all but fell into the nearest sled, fumbling with the comm unit. “Ongola, tell Emily and Pol and Bay that their protégés have made it. Record this, by all that’s holy, get as much of this on film as you can.”

Paul had the sled motor turning over before Fulmar had shut the canopy. He slipped the sled under the door before it was fully open, a maneuver he would have reamed anyone else for attempting, and then, turning on the power, he made an arrow ascent straight up out of the valley. Emerging from the shelter of the cliffs of Fort, he could see the ominous line of Thread.

“Admiral, have you gone mad?” Fulmar asked.

“Use the screen, high magnification. Hell, you don’t need it, Fulmar, you can see it with your bare eyeballs!” Paul pointed wildly. “See. Flame. See the bursts. I count fourteen, fifteen emissions. The dragons are fighting Thread!”

It was frightening, Sean thought. It was wonderful! It was the finest moment in his life, and he was scared stiff. They had all emerged right on target, just above the harbor, dragon-lengths ahead of the Fall.