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Prologue illustration by
Martin Vire
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 As
the Weyr quickened with activity in the early hours of a mid-summer
morning, a single bronze dragon watched from his ledge in
unblinking, unreadable silence.
He watched alone, as always: few dragons chose weyrs so far
up the steep walls of the Bowl, not with plenty of lower-level,
better-equipped caves to choose from. Empty caverns yawned
in every direction around him. He liked it that way. He liked
to spend his mornings in solitude.
"Watching again?"
The dragon did not turn to regard his companion, but moved
his head slightly to allow himself a better view of the killing
grounds. Far below, a golden form dived gracefully to dash
the life from her prey, and the bronze watched, silent and
inscrutable, as the queen broke her fast. He watched the teeth
gleam white and then red as they rent the flesh, the muscles
move fluidly under the shining hide, the sinuous tail lash
in an unconscious reflection of the instincts awoken by the
feed.
And he watched the burly bronze launch from the Weyrleader's
ledge to join the queen: not to feed, but to protect.
The quiet dragon's expression didn't change as he regarded
the other bronze, but his claws flexed unconsciously, biting
into the worn and scarred rock of his weyr ledge.
The harsh grate of talon against stone could not possibly
have carried to the senior bronze below, but nonetheless,
Pierdeth lifted his head to fix his observer with an arrogant
stare.
Shimpath fed on, oblivious, as the two males locked eyes over
her head in silent conflict.
Finally, Pierdeth tossed his head back in a challenging bugle,
daring his opponent to respond. The chorus of inquiring calls
that echoed off the walls of the Weyr meant nothing to either
dragon: the querulous voices of lesser colours questioning
the roar of their lead male. But the silence that remained
in their aftermath seemed louder by far than those cries.
Epherineth, the quiet bronze, simply watched: silent and motionless.
His superiority unchallenged, Pierdeth's gaze returned to
the queen, following her every movement until she returned
to her ledge, heavy with food.
T'kamen touched his dragon's fore-claw, bringing Epherineth
back to himself, but like the dragon himself, the lean rider
said nothing.
Epherineth gathered himself, shaking his head to ease the
tension in the long muscles of his sleek neck. Not yet,
was all he would reveal. Not yet.
  
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