Race

The wind seemed stronger on the stadium rooftop than it had high above the palace. Colder, too, but Phoebe could tell that was the shiver of nerves swirling through her. She felt bone tired, yawning and screwing up her eyes what seemed like every other second. It was another effect of the adrenaline, familiar even as it was terrifying.

She had three seasons of race starts just like this one under her belt from the junior formats, including one race here two years prior, and the nerves were familiar but worse than anything she remembered. She sat steadily on Soot's back, and hopefully if a camera panned over her – and they might, fifth was extraordinary for an independent rookie – she'd look professional, if not quite relaxed. She knew, though, that her legs were too tense against his stirrups.

The starter perches stood at the edge of the stadium roof like lopsided, oversized aerials, leaning out over the start-finish lane and angled towards the first ring. When vacant they looked a long way apart, but with the huge shape of Lyonne's golden Phosphora on the perch to Phoebe's left, wings half-open and ready for the launch, it almost felt cramped. It was the first time Phoebe had seen Lyonne and his dragon not surrounded by Lautern techs.

It wasn't the dragon to her left that she had to worry about, though. Opposite was another massive gold dragon, his head crowned with a neat pair of horns, his jaw bearded. Olympia, with Lucia Aelschu on his back. Lucia Aelschu, who had won the first full race Phoebe had watched on TV as a child. Who had won the first race Phoebe had attended in person. Who had won more championships than anyone else on the starting grid.

Lucia Aelschu, who had sought her out in the race stables down below the previous evening to congratulate her on her qualifying performance and wish her well for the race. Phoebe forced herself to take a long breath, feeling it wobble in her throat. Olympia was eighty pounds heavier than Soot and well-crested, which would make him relatively slow off the mark. The grid layout gave him a thirty-foot head-start, but it was a real possibility that Selen could go into the second ring ahead of Lucia Aelschu.

Because that thought wasn't worrying enough, the ready klaxon blew. Phoebe felt as if her vision would cloud over, but she shook her head and that seemed to help a bit. Her legs were so tense she worried they might twitch at any moment. No chance of relaxing as, under the edge of the roof directly opposite, a row of red lights started to come on one-by-one.

Phoebe stared at the lights, almost forgetting to ready her stance forward on Soot's shoulders, one hand on the center of his back. They didn't have anywhere at the farm to practice starts. In theory he'd been trained for this. Even if his training was rusty, she trusted him to take her cues. She did.

The lights went out.

Soot launched at the first touch of Phoebe's lunge, even before she was conscious of moving herself. Below in the stands, the crowd roared, and the sound was nothing compared to the ferocious clap of wings unfurling. There was an instant of near freefall, Phoebe deliberately plunging them extra low to see if she could get under Olympia as the big old gold's first wingbeat hammered the air.

Soot's own first stroke caught them and Phoebe jerked in the saddle, not quite ready for the sharp rise. She felt it unsettle him, his next beat just a little slow to lift them into Olympia's tail. Soot had to duck as the gold tailspines swung past his head. The first ring passed in a blur and Phoebe looked back, dreading trouble, but there was a clear length of open air behind to where two more gold dragons where fighting almost neck-and-neck in the climb. Queru Idcoulh on Acciptrea must have got a bad launch and Gerald Ipemas' Renner was all over them.

Phoebe faced forward again and hesitated. Soot was still in touch with Olympia, the gold barely pulling a few feet ahead. If they could get enough clear air to get a good run through the second and third ring they could clear the former champion, but she needed to decide whether to go high or low and either way, Lucia was canny enough to squeeze them if they didn't get the positioning exactly right.

High. It had to be high, if they went low then there was the risk that when Olympia squeezed them they'd miss the ring altogether, and circling back round to get through it would drop them right to the back of the field. High meant more of a climb, but was safer overall.

Carefully, she shifted her weight again, just slightly backwards. For a moment, Soot didn't catch the hint, hanging low in Olympia's wake. Phoebe rocked slightly, trying to emphasise the point, and that was enough to persuade Soot to strengthen his next stroke.

The second ring was already swelling into view ahead, and it was only a moment before Phoebe could tell she'd left it too late. Olympia was stretching his lead and she could feel Soot straining at the sharper angle of ascent. She wanted to urge him higher still, but would that risk overtiring him early?

Behind, at least, it looked as if Renner and Acciptrea were sliding further back in their own tussle. Consciously managing her emotions, fighting not to tense too much in her stance, Phoebe focussed on the ring. She could see Lucia glancing back at her, trying to counter-guess her guesswork.

Wait, maybe there was a chance here still. The gap to Olympia was growing but he was having to widen his angle to Soot's left, to take the second ring more head-on. He was going to take up a lot of the space she needed, but if Soot was a small dragon, maybe that worked in his favour for once.

Phoebe let Soot rise further, clearly above where Lucia was going to have to commit. Olympia swept his wings backwards and lunged, and from her vantage Phoebe saw for the first time up close how awkward these tight corners were for such a big dragon.

Grinning, she leaned forwards and felt her own exhilaration mingle with Soot's as he dove, wings folding for a heart-stopping second as the second ring flashed past, and then his vicious midair roll as he stretched left again wrenched Phoebe over and she let herself hang where he needed her weight to hold them left and left harder and there was the third ring and Olympia's tail was beneath them and Phoebe couldn't see Lucia but the old champion had to feel their shadow falling across her.

Soot beat his wings and Phoebe could see Olympia dip for a second in the downdraft before his own stroke steadied. Ahead it was ten long seconds to the fourth ring and Phoebe could see the tails of the two Lautern golds already pulling away in pursuit of Feran Andoal in the lead and below her was four-time-world-champion Lucia Aelschu. Phoebe found herself shaking, rocking with every stroke of Soot's wings, more than she should, the wind ripping icy moisture from her teeth as she grinned.

Soot felt it too, even as Olympia edged ahead again, his shoulders creeping into Phoebe's field of vision. Sunlight off the edges of his scales knifed Phoebe's eyes, but she could see Lucia in her imperial-gold race suit, not looking up now to check on Soot's position but pressing as flat as possible on her dragon's neck, giving him every inch of speed. Phoebe matched the position, got her overeager jerking under control, settled into Soot's rhythm. The hairpin through rings four, five and six was another place where Soot's size favoured them.

Olympia pulled out another few feet of lead despite Soot's best efforts, his tail waving gently with his racing stroke below Soot's neck. The fourth ring swelled to meet them at the high side of seventy knots. Phoebe's race suit was theoretically wind-proof, but chills raced through her all the same.

It was hard to judge exactly when to make her move, but she had to wait for Olympia. The bigger drake would need to brake first, and Soot would have only a fraction of a second to react. Despite the speed, the moment seemed frozen, the distance to the shimmering city roofs below giving the illusion of stillness.

Then, there. Phoebe saw Olympia's shoulders tense and tightened her legs. Soot felt it and threw a huge, sweeping, lopsided stall, almost like he was attempting to cartwheel, left wing rising almost vertically with Phoebe flattened against his curving neck as below, Olympia's turn wallowed and Phoebe got ready for the driving thrust of Soot's wings that would kick them back through the fifth ring and over into a dive-

-something in Olympia's posture, or maybe even the tiny figure of Lucia, tipped Phoebe off as the big drake's wings slammed downward mid-corner and she threw herself against Soot's harness, warning him to widen his slide because ­­– yes, dammit – Olympia bounced upward almost into their path by raw, ugly strength and now Soot had to correct and Olympia was in the way of where he'd wanted to clamp his wings closed for the dive to the seventh ring and Lucia was through the sixth first and clearly still ahead.

"Wow."

"That was quite something."

"Do you think maybe no-one actually gave Phoebe the memo that smaller dragons can't compete?"

"Mighty impressive flying from both of them. Clean, safe, brilliant competition."

"Was Lucia a bit rough there, do you think, Bob?"

"I don't think so, Sam. That wasn't an old hand bullying the rookie. That was a world champion using every trick she knew to stay ahead of a serious challenge for fourth."

"It's a great time to be a fan of the sport."

"That it is."

"Well, we're coming up on half distance, now, Bob. Andoal looks comfortable in the lead, wouldn't you say?"

"Absolutely. Time was, a stellar ahead of three solars at this course would look like a hare before hounds, but none of them can catch Feran in that first sector."

"Yes, and Phoebe Tenryuu's hanging on to the back of that leading pack, too, they're really dropping Ipemas on Renner."

"Real gap opening up there, that sets the leaders up beautifully for the perch phase."

"Yes, what Bob's talking about there, viewers, if you're just joining us for the IL for the first time – and if you are, welcome, it's great to have you, hope you're enjoying the show – is the dragons coming in for their mid-race perch. It used to be a lot more varied, but now the rules require every rider to bring their dragon in to rehydrate and replenish electrolytes and blood sugar at least once per race."

"Basically always once these days."

"Very rarely you'll see someone stop twice if there's tough conditions, but yes, typically dragons will come in once somewhere close to the middle of the race, and the reason for that is that with flying in to perch at controlled speeds – race perching is still one of the most common times for a dragon to get injured – and the length of the stop itself, it costs riders around a minute, so it's important they pick the right time, come out with open space around them, that sort of thing."

"Yeah, you don't want to rejoin the race right under another dragon while you're heavy and still getting back up to speed."

"Yes, a dragon typically drinks about four litres of energy drink – it's basically a sort of thin honey, I tasted it once for a programme a few years ago, I've drunk worse – at the perch, takes about twenty seconds, and they come back into the race ten, eleven pounds heavier."

"Lose all that weight again by the finish, of course."

"Yes, well, gaining and losing ten pounds every hour would be a lot to you and me but it's a bit different when your typical meal is two or three times that much. Anyway, who's sitting pretty for the perches? Feran must be safe and the field's pretty strung out already. What about the rest of the leading pack?"

"I'd think they'll be safe to stop when they want. There's not been a lot of scrapping since the opening lap, so they can probably run their opening stints long and let the midfield stop first, open up more space. Not sure about Soot, it'll depend how his stamina holds up."

"Do you think there's a concern there?"

"Always a worry for smaller dragons, stamina."

"This again? There's no mathematical reason to think a smaller dragon will be weaker or slower over long distance."

"And yet the average size of winning dragons has been creeping upward for a century."

"We'll see, it's a smaller dragon that's leading the race right now."

Soot swooped through the ninth ring, straightened up and pumped into the climb, chasing the slowly-receding shape of Olympia. A four-second gap was a long distance at seventy knots, Phoebe could do the math in her head if she wanted to but she didn't try. Time, not distance, was what mattered for their race strategy.

To her throat mic, she said, "How are we looking for the perch?"

"Everything's on course so far." Petunia started brightly, but then hesitated. "The commentary is saying we should stretch the stint, ah, what do you think?"

"What's the gap behind?" Phoebe looked over her shoulder as she said it. Renner was just weaving through the ninth ring, his turn a little wild as Acciptrea pursued him.

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"Six point four seconds."

"That sounds pretty safe."

"I don't know, it looks pretty crowded a minute back, Ormald and Rainka are like four tenths apart, neck and tail."

Phoebe tried to measure Soot's rhythm. Was there any sign of weakening or fatigue? She just didn't know him well enough. The big teams had all sorts of sensors built into their racing harnesses to track that sort of thing but Phoebe couldn't afford anything like that. There was nothing Adelie could tell her now that might help. "How's our pace?"

"Looks solid. I think we can go a bit longer."

Ahead, Olympia was through the tenth ring and descending again, stretching his lead through the part of the lap where he was fastest. The last hundred yards of Soot's climb felt long, too long. They'd done race stint distances in practice, but there hadn't been time for many and it was tough to compare practice pace with the real thing. She just didn't know.

"I'm going to come in soon, we'll have to chance it with the pack."

"Is that Phoebe coming in?"

"Can't be, that's much too early."

"It is, I think she's dropping too low for the eighteenth ring – yes, look, there's Soot through the perch ring."

"Problem? Injury? She's been pushing that dragon pretty hard."

"He's flying steady, look, that's slow but it's fully controlled."

"This is bad strategy, then."

"Maybe they're just being careful."

"Not going to do them any good if they come out in traffic and wreck themselves squabbling."

"Where's this going to put them?"

"Right in the middle of that pack around, what, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth?"

"It does look like a misstep, I'll give you that. We know Tenebrae don't have a lot of the high-tech tools that the established teams have, I went by their stable last night and they have one laptop in there between the three of them."

Soot cruised up the perch lane at thirty-five knots, dipped briefly, backwinged and stalled onto the race perch, neat as anything. Adelie was waiting with the feeding tube, struggling with its weight as Soot bent to grab it. Phoebe pushed up her goggles and rubbed her eyes, then quickly brought her hand down again as Petunia threw her a water bottle.

She drank almost as thirstily as Soot, subconsciously matching her rhythm to the heavy pulse of his gulps. It took remarkable effort and training for the drake to squeeze fluid down his ten-foot neck as fast as the race demanded. Adelie stood by with the hose across her shoulders, swaying with the motion of Soot's head.

Shadows shot by over them, other dragons still in the race going past. Phoebe didn't try to count them, but they stretched every second of the twenty-second stop. Petunia was probably right, they probably should have waited, but it was too late to change the decision now.

Then Soot was tossing the hose aside with a flick of his head, sending Adelie staggering, and the world whirled as he threw himself off the perch. Phoebe threw the half-empty water bottle onto the stable deck with an awkward twist of her arm and swung her weight to get back in position. It was a clumsy launch, not what they'd practiced, but Soot beat his wings and they were off again, accelerating up the channel towards the green perch exit ring.

Phoebe looked back and up, straining at the full limit of her neck's flexibility, and saw two silver drakes swooping up the stadium behind her. They'd be doing over seventy knots, double the max that Soot was allowed until he crossed the green ring. There was nothing to do but let them go.

Soot felt it too, she could tell in the ferocity with which he threw himself through the ring and powered into the climb towards the second. The pair of silvers, the rear of the two weaving back and forth in search of an opening, were a good few lengths ahead. Phoebe clenched her teeth and leaned into her stance, resisting the urge to try to push Soot any harder. He didn't need any encouragement.

"Ok, we're in seventeenth, that's Ormald and Rainka ahead," Petunia sounded grim. "I don't know when they'll perch, none of the leaders have come in yet."

"Just keep me up to date on our pace, I can get those two easy."

"Is that Coro coming in to perch?"

"Looks that way. Well, that's giving Andoal the race, then."

"Certainly puts him in the driving seat. But it'll pull the trigger for the field – yes, look, that's Aelschu following zir in."

"Looks like Renner's steadying to come in too."

"That's too soon for Ipemas, isn't it? What's the gap to… they're going to come out right on top of Tenryuu."

"Really? That gap was six seconds before the pits."

"Well it's not anymore, Bob. Phoebe must have had it worse fighting for fourteenth than we thought. A minute for Renner to come up the lane, perch, drink and get out again is exactly the gap to Soot."

"This is a poor move all round. Soot came in too early, now Renner is too."

"Well, Phoebe showed she's not afraid to mix it up with the veterans. Can she get past Gerald while he's still getting up to speed?"

"It'll be a test of her maturity. Not convinced there just yet, myself."

"Phoebe, you've gotta push now." Petunia's voice cut through Phoebe's concentration as Soot squirmed out of the ninth ring and struck for the ascent of the back straight. They were finally clear of Sam Muiko and Pil in fifteenth, the gold still straining to get round the twist of the eighth. It had taken too long, and she knew what Petunia's tone meant.

"Gerry's perching?" Phoebe leaned lower on Soot's back, working her legs harder to minimise her drag on his shoulders.

"It's going to be really close."

Phoebe looked ahead, to four hundred yards of empty sky that all the leaders would be aiming to drop into after they perched. There was so little she could do. This was Soot's weak part of the course, and the next forty seconds really were all about his wing strength. To their right, the pale stone of the Palace gleamed under the sun, the far wall and the rock under it hiding the stadium where their fate was being tossed in Renner's slow perch-lane wingbeats.

Dimly, Phoebe listened to Petunia listing off the other drakes taking the green ring, but none of them had any bearing on her strategy. It was all about Renner and Ipemas. Soot hauled himself up and onwards, and again Phoebe wished she'd had more time to get to know him. She should be able to tell his mood from his posture, but all she felt was her own grim determination.

They crested the tenth ring and Phoebe flattened right down to minimise her profile for the wind. Her crownfeathers managed the worst of it around her head but with Soot beating his wings now for pure speed rather than altitude she could afford to change how she loaded his joints. The rings raced past until she could see the stadium again.

Distance made the dragons going to and from their perches small and delicate, wings fluttering as they shuttled to a stop and launched again. The shadows of the grandstands played tricks with the colours, mixing silver and gold. She began to hear the crowd, too, low waves of roaring with each perch and launch as this crucial phase of the race unfolded.

Then the eighteenth ring swept past Soot's wingtips and the roars were for her but her eyes were narrowed, scanning the perch lane for the golden shape of Renner, and there he was, the light making a dark blob of Ipemas' blue race suit on his back, and she felt Soot see him too, the dragon more than able to judge relative speeds, and they were closing fast while the gold was bound to the perch lane speed limit but it wasn't quite going to be enough and-

Renner hit the green perch exit ring a neck ahead of Soot and the first full stroke of his wings catapulted him upward. Soot swerved, barely avoiding the return swing of a golden wing, the glare from it dazzling Phoebe as she fought for balance against the wild manoeuvre. They lost height and time as Renner rose, and by the time Soot was steady in his rhythm again the gap was over a length.

Phoebe almost let out a growl. If that was how Ipemas wanted to play it…

With his belly freshly full of race drink, Renner was sluggish on the climb. Soot sensed it, Phoebe could tell by the full-power surge of his shoulders between her ankles with every wing stroke. It was all she could do to match her movements to manage the recoil from the dragon's.

They gained steadily in the ascent, until Renner's long, clawed feet were over Phoebe's head. Safety and the race meant not getting any closer until the perfect moment, or else be buffeted by Renner's downdraft. It also kept their options open in case the bigger dragon got tricky at the second ring. Having the lead and the altitude advantage gave Ipemas the first move.

Phoebe tried to settle Soot, just slightly, a few feet wouldn't hurt with the advantage they'd have as soon as they hit the rings, but the drake was having none of it, his head angled slightly upwards to fix his glare on the golden shape above. Beyond, Phoebe could see the flattened shape of the second ring approaching fast. Renner would have to swing out wide to make the turn, and all she and Soot had to do was spring up into the gap that opened-

Downdraft washed over them, the timing all wrong for Renner to be turning. Phoebe looked up and then threw herself flat on Soot's back out of reflex even before she recognised the descending shape as Renner's foot. The gold had pulled up in a vicious stall, his body halfway to vertical and his wings crashing forward, the clumsiest, bluntest way to cut airspeed.

Soot took the safe cue from Phoebe's movement and ducked, but the ring was too close and up to their right, they needed to climb but there was no room with Renner sitting down on top of them even as he wallowed out of his stall and lunged rightward and Phoebe hauled back upright, felt Soot craning with the same motion, his head up but his wings were at the end of their stroke and they started to climb but it wasn't enough and before they could start the turn the ring sailed past the tip of Soot's right wing.

On the other side of the ring, Renner flapped scrappily, like a goose coming in to land, galumphing through the third ring and away, and Phoebe leaned bitterly left to bring Soot's heading back around to the second.

"Whew, welcome to the Imperial League, Phoebe Tenryuu."

"That was rude."

"Well, it was certainly pretty vigorous racing, Bob. Anything for the stewards to look at, do you think?"

"I don't think so. It was ugly flying and unnecessary, and look, it's cost Ipemas a good five seconds to Aelschu, but it's not illegal, no-one collided."

"Was it unnecessary? Soot would have taken the place either there or at the fifth, that probably secured sixth place overall for Ipemas when it all shakes out."

"I just don't like to see a rider physically block another like that, it's never as safe as it should be. And just look what it's done to Phoebe's race."

"Ah, mm. If you're new to the IL, viewers, regulation 7, clause 1b of the ICDA rulebook states that a dragon must fly through all rings of the lap in the assigned numerical order and direction. Failure to do so will be penalised with a perch-and-go penalty, which costs about forty seconds in total while they fly through the perch lane, stop and launch again. So as you can see, it's quicker for Phoebe to loop back around and make sure she goes through the second ring in order."

"That's a good recovery at least, very neat."

"He's a nimble little dragon, we've said that many times already. Typically we estimate about four seconds per quarter-turn that a dragon needs to make to get back round to a missed ring, but it certainly doesn't look like she lost that much ground, where's she ended up in the running order?"

"Tenth behind Squillo, looks like, about two seconds back."

"Can she get back in the points from there?"

"There's a lot of race left. I dunno how she'll be feeling after that, or Soot for that matter, but if they can keep their heads down, maybe."

"Yes, it's easy for an inexperienced rookie to lose their cool in situations like that."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Hah, more than I care to admit. Tomas Nyherb did something like that to me in my fourth ever race in the IL, I had steam coming out of my ears for weeks."

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Petunia's voice was plaintive in Phoebe's ears. "That was so dangerous!"

"Don't make a fuss, Petunia, we need to concentrate now if we want to get anything out of this. Any point we get comes with prize money, remember." Phoebe's head felt placid, a bubble inside the burning shame heating her cheeks against the wind, and they needed that prize money to keep the team afloat. She didn't want to think about what Mr. Castelloro might say if he saw her missing a ring on her first race.

"But but but bubububu-"

"Just give me the times, Petunia, I need to know where we're gaining ground."

"Is it really going to be ok?"

Soot swung and slid through the fifth ring, one sharp, beautiful sweep of his wings throwing them back through the sixth and into the dive, towards the distant silver shape of Marca Calwehr's Squillo. Phoebe set her stance to match Soot's narrow-winged plunge. "Trust me, Petunia, trust Soot. We can do this."

It was almost too easy. Soot caught Squillo in two laps, taking wily old Marca Calwehr off guard from overhead at the bottom of the dive to the seventh ring. Even as deft as Squillo could be, Soot only needed half the braking to wriggle through the chicane and out clearly in the lead. Teda Nioli's slender gold, Vanguard, took a little longer to catch but flinched as Soot cut inside him at the fifth and they were away.

Petunia's mood improved the moment they were in the points in eighth, eagerly listing off sector times as Phoebe reeled in Acciptrea, the other drake from team Augir. A big solar dragon, Acciptrea did just about have the edge over Soot around the back half of the circuit, but this late in the race the tight turns of the first sector were clearly wearing him out and it wasn't long before Phoebe could see him, flashing in the sun.

By lap sixty-two, Phoebe could count Acciptrea's claws. Soot got even faster, sensing the older dragon's fatigue. Phoebe watched his wings, felt the temperature of his hide against her legs, the rhythm of his stroke, and couldn't find any hint of weakening. By sixty-four they were dropping into the bigger dragon's wake at the tenth ring for the long swing down to the stadium.

Soot actually had to brake slightly as they began the climb from the first ring to avoid the swing of Acciptrea's tail. Phoebe grinned as she watched Queru glance back at her again, the twist setting the more experienced rider's balance slightly off and causing Acciptrea to weave, just a touch. He really was tired.

She leaned back, and this time Soot took the suggestion, climbing to put his head over the base of the bigger dragon's spine. Acciptrea held them there for the ascent, fast enough in the power segment that they couldn't gain any more ground, but the second ring swelled ahead, and with it Phoebe felt her pulse rising. Soot almost felt like he was humming with the excitement.

Remembering Renner, Phoebe backed Soot off a few feet more, and again, he did as bidden. He was learning too. Not a moment too soon, as Queru reared sharply in her saddle, bringing Acciptrea's gold-crowned head up and his wings round in a rising stall. Soot was ready, though, and Acciptrea did have to widen his angle at least a bit, even with the stall, and Soot could just dive through a carefully-timed wing-fold, weave, and they were away, swerving through the third almost without noticing.

"Look at that! Look at that move! Cor, it's been too long since we've had a lunar dragon in the Imperial League, hasn't it, Bob?"

"Don't get too carried away over one race, Sam, it's beautiful flying but we don't even know if they can afford to travel to the next event yet."

"Well, that's seventh place for them at least. There's ten thousand Royals for every championship point, and they're on two at the moment."

"Won't catch Ipemas, though."

"You almost sound like you wish she would."

"Just being a realist, Sam. It'd be a nice story for her to come back at him after that missed ring but there just isn't time."

"You're right, of course. Still, this is a strong showing from Phoebe."

"It is. Strong showing from all the rookies."

"Yes, she's stolen the show but it looks like Coro will make the podium and Ertku will be in the points too, both in their first race."

Soot opened his wings to a glide at the fifteenth ring, picking up on Phoebe already relaxing through his harness. Renner was a dagger of gold already sweeping through the final ring of the race, too far ahead to catch, but they had four and a half seconds behind to the flagging Acciptrea. Soot deserved the gentle finish.

They cruised down sixteen and seventeen, watching as the dragons ahead pulled up to circle back round to their stables. Then it was through the eighteenth and past waving chequered flags to the roar of the crowd like a hammer-blow, and Soot beating weary wings to pull them up out of the noise to circle with current and former champions, exchanging waves and laughter and catching an apologetic bowed head from Gerald Ipemas and waving it away and then back down again, into the shady perch lane and back to the stables and down.

Phoebe kicked free of her stirrups as soon as Soot stepped from the perch to solid floor and leapt down from his back. Featherfall took the force out of her landing but her legs were so stiff that she staggered anyway, almost slumping into Petunia's waiting hug as Adelie dragged the drinking hose over to Soot.

Soot, for his part, was already settling to his haunches. Phoebe went around to his head, stripping off her goggles and seizing his jaw in an embrace as he swung to look at her. Laughter bubbled up through her. His breath still smelled but she didn't care. They'd done it.

The dragon flexed his neck, brushing her off quickly to reach for the hose as Adelie offered it. He drank deeply, and Phoebe looked around to see Petunia holding out the same water bottle as from the perch stop, presumably refilled from the tap in the corner of the stable. Still, she needed it. She opened the bottle and drank, gently rubbing the ridge over Soot's eye and trying not to lean on him too hard. Soon they'd need to rub him down and start checking his ankles, but for now they could take a moment to relax.