Race

"Last couple of minutes before race start, Bob, what's your prediction? Can Aelschu challenge Andoal off the perch?"

"She has to if she wants anything from this race."

"You don't think she might play it safe, settle for defending against Tenryuu and try to hold on to second? There's a lot of races ahead and she's only three points behind in the championship."

"I don't think that will slow her down for a second. That's not how a champion thinks, Sam."

"Isn't it a foolish risk, though? She can't possibly hope to keep Feran behind her for the full race distance, surely?"

"Well, imagine for a second she gets ahead and Soot gets a run at Corredeira."

"You think Phoebe's a genuine threat here?"

"Can't count her out. Lucia certainly can’t. Even if she doesn't beat Andoal, she could really do with keeping Tenryuu between her and the Lautern kids. It's got to be eating her to be a point behind Coro, maybe even more than trailing Feran."

"True. Well, it's got all the makings of a classic race. Hope you're with us for the duration, dear viewer, it's time for the Grand Prix of the Latenian Mountains."

Phoebe barely felt the mountain cold as Soot clambered out onto his starter perch. The high meadow around the stadium building was the mint-green of grass dusted with the last of the winter's snow, and up above, the peak of Leukerhorn was a dagger of ice blazing in the afternoon sun, but inside her race suit, she felt like a bottle of pure, fizzing energy.

The stadium roof had a twenty-degree slope to it. Seventy-five feet away to Phoebe's left, but already twenty-five feet above her, Feran Andoal sat proud on Corredeira's back, the champion silver almost as hard to look at as the mountaintop above. Somehow the height difference made the race seem all the more hopeless. There would be no chance of getting above them off the start, she had to focus all her attention on second.

That was the great gold shape of Olympia, stretching his neck and settling on his perch on the opposite side of the stadium. Old though he was, with scales hardening to a dull beard and horns around his shimmering face, he was a powerful launcher, and while the perches didn't give him quite the height advantage that Corredeira had, it was going to take everything Soot could do to get past him quickly.

She barely thought about Arden Markwe and Fleet, to the right as she looked at Olympia. Although Fleet was silver, she was as old as her golden stablemate and not nearly as strong. In qualifying she hadn't gotten within a second of Soot. Below Phoebe on the fifth starter perch was Niki, and ze might as well have been in a different race. It was all about the dragons ahead.

One by one, the red starter lights lit up on the bank inset into the roofline of the grandstand opposite. Phoebe lifted her weight off Soot's neck and wormed her feet firmly into her stirrups. Soot settled deep into his crouch. The other dragons did the same. There would be no shenanigans off the perch here, the slope of the stadium precluded most of the common tricks.

Five lights. A long, hanging second's hold.

The lights went out. Soot leapt, his first downstroke hammering the air, throwing them sideways and up towards the red-and-white circle of the first ring. Phoebe let the beat of his wings rise through her knees, keeping her own weight as steady as she could, square in the middle of his back for the sake of the dragon's balance. Cold mountain air turned to daggerlike wind as they cruised up through the ring.

Ahead, she caught glimpses of Corredeira past the larger shape of Olympia. The gold was pushing hard, a clear length ahead of Soot's snout. That was already bad. The course rose steadily here with the land, up and up to the second ring, the third tucked just under the ridge above it, and the fourth right on the crest.

Soot beat the air doggedly, but Olympia was pulling fractionally away already, maybe eager with Corredeira so closely in his sight. Phoebe couldn't see enough of Andoal to tell whether he'd gotten a bad start or was just managing his pace. Glittering meadow raced by beneath them. Behind, at least, she had clear air, with Fleet several lengths behind.

Olympia went through the second ring and despite herself Phoebe counted, almost two seconds before it was passing over her own head. How had Lucia done it? Bitterly distracted, Phoebe was late to shift her stance as Soot braced for the sharp upward surge through the third. She dropped back, knees pinching, cursing herself as she felt Soot's stroke stretch, off rhythm.

It was enough, bouncing them up through the ring for the horrible, twisting climb to the fourth, right up on top of the mountain ridge, almost directly above the third. Recovering her balance, she looked for Olympia and – where was he? Further up than she'd expected, and Corredeira was a blaze of reflected daylight, neck and back arching to come around and Phoebe saw Feran realise Lucia was trying something wild, some sort of desperate rising stall to make the turn tighter than it ever could be and she couldn't really mean for Olympia to do that, could she?

Phoebe ducked flat along Soot's back, feeling the gold above like the weight of a collapsing building. Soot kept his pace, spreading his turn wide to make room for the leaders, the ground below plunging away as they crested the ridge. All Phoebe could do was concentrate on her own course for a desperate, taut second.

"What's she doing, that can't possibly-"

"This is too rash from Lucia, Olympia will stall-"

"How does he have the strength to climb like that, look out Feran! He's going to have to- there, that's so wide, can Corry-"

"Oh my god, they're both going to miss the ring!"

"That's a dead stop, Olympia's going to fall right out of the- oh, thank the emperor, he made it into a dive, but that'll be him out of the race, surely?"

By the time Soot made the turn, it was all over and Phoebe had to piece it together from the aftermath. Hundreds of feet below on the far side of the ridge, Olympia was pulling out of a near-death dive. The jagged rocks of the ridge's north face tore through Phoebe's imagination at the thought of what might have happened if the old gold had struck them.

She pulled her attention away from Lucia as Soot drove hard through the fourth ring. The course dropped from here into the narrow, torturous gorge of the Leuk cascade, she only had a moment to catch a glimpse of silver scales shining in the sun out in open air well off to the north. Lucia's wild move must have blocked Feran from making it to the ring.

Somehow, Soot was leading.

"Oh, thank god, she kept it off the rocks, that was crazy!"

"Daftest thing I've ever seen a rider try."

"You said she had to try something."

"Not that! I don't know what got into her."

Black wings folded and they plunged down between the ancient gorge walls together. Phoebe felt laughter in her gut for the first time in days as waterfall spray spattered her cheeks. She was hanging by her stirrups, stretching out to minimise drag as Soot half-opened his wings and guided them over the bottom of the fifth ring, then dove again.

The river pooled below them, water so clear that Phoebe could see the mineral glittering of the rocks of its bed. The gorge made the breeze stern and grasping, and she had to stiffen her arms against Soot's neck to manage the buffeting. Falling water roared, echoing back from the rocks around them.

The river doglegged and the course went with it, the sixth ring perched over the waterfall at a right-angle to the fifth above. Phoebe braced herself and Soot snapped his wings open, swooping smoothly through, almost half-rolling in the air to keep from slamming into the opposite gorge wall. The manoeuvre swung Phoebe's weight around like a yoyo, but she yielded with it and Soot's body was there to steady herself against as he settled into the next, even faster dive.

For a second, the gorge widened, clear blue sky above, and then it was the seventh ring, only there to force the dragons into the tightly over-closed Shogun's Pocket. Phoebe threw her weight right as the furious downstroke of Soot's wings slammed them round the first twist, under the monolithic slab of rock whose ancient collapse had wedged it in as the roof of this deadly chamber.

Deceleration dragged Phoebe's legs straight but she was ready for it, hands firm on Soot's scales as the dragon twisted, the movement impossible to countenance if you looked at it, and closed his wings again to bounce them through the right-left exit. When he opened to his full span again, his wings were almost vertical, Phoebe's weight all on her left stirrup as they heeled over the eighth ring and out into daylight again.

"Is that Intentional Endangerment by Lucia, do you think, or just Blocking?"

"Hmm. There's no regulation for damnfool rookie behaviour."

"Haha, imagine what she'll say when she hears you say that."

"I think she'll keep her mouth shut. Look, she's not even trying to rejoin the race."

"Will there be a penalty, maybe at the next race?"

"I don't think so. The stewards would have to prove there was no attempt to make the ring, and a deliberate attempt to prevent Corredeira making a stroke, I don't think the dragons were close enough for that."

"Blocking, then."

"Yeah, and a bad case at that, shameful really."

Soot cruised out over the long, narrow strip of Lake Gibidum, head up and stroke strong as he approached the eleventh ring. Sunlight off the choppy water stung Phoebe's eyes every time she glanced down, but there wasn't much to look for down there. She held her stance, rising and falling with the beat of Soot's wings.

Into her throat mic, she said, "Okay, what's it look like back there?"

"The gap's two seconds back to Markwe, behind him it's another second and a half to Niki, then Ertku, Idcoulh, Ipemas, Calwehr-"

"None of those matter, Petunia, where's Feran?"

Soot swept round, slewing almost sideways in the air, his left wing rising sharply to carry them through the ring, and then he was heaving hard to lift them up across the lakeshore for the climb back to the horizon.

"Uh, fourteenth, just behind, uh, Muiko. Coming down to the Sentry."

"The time, Petunia, what's the time gap?"

"Eighteen seconds."

Phoebe tried to do the math. Corry had been three tenths faster than Soot in qualifying. The difference wouldn't be that big in the race, but there were sixty-five laps still to go. She certainly couldn't afford to take it easy, or rely on Andoal running into trouble with the traffic. They'd have to get everything right with the strategy, too.

They rose through the thirteenth ring into the stadium, to a ferocious roar from the crowd. Keeping her stance, Phoebe waited until she could hear again, and asked, "How's Olympia? Are they safe?"

"They're pulling out of the race, I think."

"Injury?" The thought of Olympia taking another serious injury made something twist in Phoebe's gut.

"The commentators don't think so."

That was a relief at least. Soot corkscrewed up through the third ring to the fourth, much more straightforwardly than the chaos of the first lap. Phoebe focussed on her balance, not craning her neck to see if she could see Aelschu and Olympia making their return. Them being out of the race was one less dragon and rider who could give Andoal trouble catching up.

"Oh, look at that. 'Incident on lap 1, at ring 4, between riders Lucia Aelschu and Feran Andoal will be subject to a Steward's Investigation.' I wondered if they might let it go, with Lucia out of the race."

"Gotta cross the 'i's and dot the 't's, Sam. Can't have champions behaving like that."

"What do you think, then, Blocking? They can't impose a penalty for the next race for Blocking."

"I think it'll be a slap on the wrist, just to draw a line under this."

"Will Feran be satisfied with that?"

"Feran cares about results. Look, he's already up to twelfth."

"Tenryuu's making good time out in front, though, her gap to Markwe's out to over four seconds in five laps."

Phoebe threw her weight hard left, heaving at Soot's harness as they wove around the seventy-foot finger of rock known as the Sentry. Sparkling off-white cliff, streaked with rust-brown, whirled as Soot dropped his right wing, and Phoebe let herself fall with it, trusting his strength for the rightward cutback. Black wings unfurled their full width, forty-five degrees to the ground, then pounded the air and they were out and level with the lake glittering ahead of them.

"Where is he?" Phoebe asked the mic.

"Twenty-one seconds, fighting with Idrin Felvan for tenth." Petunia had stopped offering information on anyone else. Phoebe didn't need the numbers on Arden Markwe in second, she could see the Royal Hermeia rider and the dull silver shape of Fleet getting smaller behind her with every lap. He was only now emerging from the rocks around the Sentry while the river spilled out to the flat, glittering lake surface below Soot's belly.

"Okay, start watching for gaps opening up." Phoebe knew she didn't really need to tell Petunia that. She waited while Soot hung the sharp turn through the eleventh ring, settled low again, and finished, "We've gotta get the perch stop right."

"Corredeira's got the run on Anelace now, look, up through the second-ring, they're going to be neck-and-neck and Corry's got the altitude, that's a tight, tight line that Feran's taking him up through the third, Idrin's doing his best but Anelace just doesn't quite have the strength, can Corry make the turn for fourrrrrrrr- yes, whew, that was neat."

"Beautiful flying, Felvan put up a good fight there but you can't stop Feran Andoal on a charge."

"Yes, he must be fuming, that fight's cost him a good seven or eight seconds to the lead."

"I don't think Tenryuu can breathe easy just yet, Sam, her pace is good and she's building a gap to Markwe in second, but we're about to-"

"Hang on, Bob, we're going to go to the teams' concourse, Lucia Aelschu's speaking to our reporter Tonia Davitz."

"Feran's going to get Nioli this lap too."

"What? Anyway, Tonia, down to you."

"Thanks Sam. Lucia Aelschu, thanks for speaking to us so soon. What happened out there?"

"I want to start by apologising to Feran and Corry, I got carried away and took a chance I shouldn't have. Sorry to the team, as well, and the fans, the rest of the racers. You all deserved better from me."

"What went wrong up there? Did you try to make it, was Olympia struggling?"

"My eyes were just… bigger than my stomach. Olympia trusted me but it was a bad call."

"Thinking too much of the championship and not enough of the race?"

"Hm, as you say."

"This sets you back pretty badly, doesn't it? I know it's early days yet but can you come back from this?"

"Of course. It will be harder, but the season is young."

"What will you do for the rest of the afternoon now? Stay with the team and help support Arden? Or rest up somewhere?"

"We'll be checking Olympia very carefully. His shoulder, you know."

"I'll let you get back to it, thanks for speaking to us."

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"Hm."

"Not the typical Lucia Aelschu, that, was it?"

"Performing for the stewards, I think. Look, Andoal did get Nioli, down out of the ninth ring. Not far to catch up to Ipemas, either."

"That was a foregone conclusion, right? You'd have to say that Gerry Ipemas, up next, will be easy too, he's only a couple of seconds up the road."

"Feran's taken a second out of the lead this lap, too, he was really penned up behind Felvan."

"Indeed, he's still only twenty-eight seconds behind Phoebe Tenryuu, he could win this race yet."

"That depends what Phoebe does."

"Twenty-eight seconds, in ninth." Petunia said as Soot hauled himself up through the first ring and attacked the ascent again.

Phoebe hadn't asked. "How's our pace?"

"It looks steady, it goes up and down a tenth or two most laps."

Between her knees, Soot's body was hot with the effort of the race. It was nothing Phoebe wasn't used to, but at the same time, she wasn't used to it enough. She didn't know Soot well enough, still, to read him by touch alone, and they didn't even have a basic thermometer on him anywhere to warn if he was overdoing it. She didn't think she was pushing him, she was trying to keep some of his strength in reserve, but with the official timers the only data they had to go on…

Soot swept through the second ring and Phoebe hunkered in to set herself for the third. "Let me know the second it starts to drop. We'll have to take our chances with traffic if need be."

"Okay, Bob, let's take stock for a moment. Lap twenty-nine, we're starting to look towards the perch stop phase. Phoebe Tenryuu leading the race after a dramatic lap one incident between Lucia Aelschu and Feran Andoal – if you're just joining us, dear viewer, you missed a pretty hairy near miss on lap one, that'll be the talk of the concourse tonight. Six seconds behind Phoebe is Arden Markwe, the last remaining rider for Royal Hermeia after Aelschu dropped out, then it's another four seconds back to Nikita Coro for Lautern. Zir teammate Lyonne Ertku is seven seconds back from Coro, having a very quiet race, we're still waiting to see Lyonne's promise, really.

"Then behind him it's Jenny Arlofis, riding Vision for the Reubas team, she was on a bit of a charge but that seems to have petered out now. It's good to see Jenny running in the points. Another five seconds back from that is Queru Idcoulh of Augir, then it's Feran Andoal, who's already recovered to seventh, twenty-six seconds down on the lead."

"He's about to get Idcoulh, too, next lap if not this one. Acciptrea can't hold a candle to Corredeira down the ravine."

"So looking towards the perch stop phase – if you're new to the Imperial League, viewers, and if you are, welcome, it's great to have you – every dragon must stop once during the race for fluids – looking towards the perch stop phase, what are you expecting, Bob?"

"I think a lot depends on if Phoebe holds her nerve. She's taking it easy out the front right now, lapping in the one minute forty-sevens, we know she can do faster than that."

"Indeed, qualification laps this year were in the low forty-threes."

"So she's got control of the race, really, while Feran fights his way through the traffic. But she's had a habit of perching early, and it's hurt her in the past."

"Right, in the first race she missed a ring fighting with Gerald Ipemas out of the perches and it cost her a couple of places."

"No room for that kind of mistake here."

"How's that space around Muiko looking?" Phoebe asked as Soot levelled out for the descent to the Sentry.

"It's really starting to open up, she's fifty-eight seconds behind us and dropping a second a lap." Petunia actually sounded relaxed. "I think if you give it a couple more laps we can drop in in front of her and there's ten seconds of clear air ahead of her to play with."

Phoebe let Soot's weaving between the rocks throw her around for a moment, relishing the stomach-flipping grace of it. Her legs burned warmly with the long, steady hold that kept her weight from straining the drake's wing joints. As he levelled out, she said, "Gimme our last three lap times."

"Uh, hang on a sec," Petunia said. "One forty-seven point four last lap, forty-seven three before that, forty-seven one before that."

Behind her goggles, Phoebe frowned, and not just at the stinging reflections of daylight off the lake below. She'd been targeting 1:47.0 for a lap time. "What's the gap to Feran right now?"

"Twenty-two seconds. Point…. three at the ninth ring."

"We should perch."

"What? No, it's too early!" Phoebe could almost hear Petunia checking herself. "Aren't we? I mean, if you perch now won't you come out behind Muiko?"

"I'm not worried about that, let's not take any chances."

"Are you sure? You haven't been pushing, shouldn't we wait and see what Feran does?"

"That's not Soot coming in to perch, is it?"

"Looks like Phoebe's nerve broke again, then."

"She really only needed one, maybe two more laps, this is going to bring her out right on top of Sam Muiko and Pil, that's not where she wants to be."

"Maybe Soot really couldn't push the extra distance, we're past half-way now."

"Their pace didn't look too bad, last few laps, down a tenth or two maybe."

"I don't like this, Sam, it's one thing to be cautious with a young dragon's stamina, but throwing him into traffic like this, it would have been better to come in early and be out cleanly behind Muiko than this."

"What does Feran do now, then? He's still got Ertku and Arlofis only a couple of seconds ahead but he could steal a march here with good strategy."

"If he gets lucky and those two react to Phoebe perching, Feran could really push the pace."

Soot finished drinking, lunging back towards the open air of the perch lane even before the weight of his drinking hose had landed on Adelie's shoulders. Braced and ready, Phoebe rolled with the dragon's movement, hanging her weight on her right stirrup. Midnight wings clapped downwards and they were underway, borne uphill on the cheers of the crowd below.

A shadow fell over them and was gone just as quickly. Phoebe looked up to identify the drake passing overhead – silver, her underside shaded dull, with only a hint of cresting, it was probably Temer Otts riding Rainka. Not Phoebe's immediate concern.

Holding her stance as steady as she could, she craned to look behind, towards the thirteenth ring. Sure enough, there was the golden shape of Pil sweeping up the hill, twice as fast as Soot was allowed to fly until the end of the perch lane. It was going to be close.

The crowd was too loud to hear the other dragon's wings over. Phoebe rose and fell with Soot's steady, disciplined beat, waiting for Pil's shadow, eyes focussed on the green ring ahead. If they did come out behind the other dragon, it would be easy to pass at the corkscrew up to the ridge. Pil wasn't big for a gold but she was bulky enough to be much, much slower in tight manoeuvres.

For a moment Phoebe thought they'd make it, but the shadow swallowed them less than a length from the ring. Soot accelerated up into the bigger dragon's wake, and Phoebe felt turbulence tweak the precision out of his next couple of strokes. All she could do was hold steady, balanced between the wobbles, until they were up into the chase.

Pil had a couple of lengths on them, her tail waving and glittering in the sun. Even here, in the gentle curve to the second ring, the gold took a slightly wider line than Soot, weaving across their flight path as they closed the gap. Phoebe felt Soot's stroke tighten, slightly, a hint of eagerness in his pace.

That was dangerous; there was no chance of a pass at the second ring and Phoebe couldn't afford to trip over the gold before they gained clear advantage. At the same time, she didn't want to damp Soot's enthusiasm. He still knew his strength better than she did. Loading her calves heavier, she shifted her weight backward, urging him to climb rather than accelerate.

He did as bidden, pushing himself steadily higher, one yard and then another above Pil's course but no closer to the bigger dragon's tail. Phoebe could see the third ring, barely a hundred yards beyond the second and much higher, the ridge a steep sheet of grey rock behind it. That ascent was where they'd get the pass.

Pil leaned out to the right as she went through the second ring, setting up for the standard sharp left into the third. Soot started to follow but Phoebe reared up from his back, arms fully extended under her, and held him much straighter. The dragon responded with a full-body duck, running down his length from neck to tail, and then a bigger dip as the third approached.

Soot flapped his wings once, snapping them closed at the bottom of the stroke, and they went through the very top of the ring – Phoebe almost felt like the plastic brushed her opened crownfeathers, though it couldn't have been that close – almost crosswise over Pil's tail. Phoebe dropped her weight all the way back as Soot heaved into steep ascent.

It was a more measured version of what Lucia had tried on the opening lap, but Soot had weight and flexibility advantages over Pil that Olympia had lacked relative to Feran's Corredeira. Soot rose, twisting, with the fourth ring above them and the ridge dropping away, his body fully between Phoebe and Pil so she could only see the upper tip of the gold's left wing as she turned.

The climb dragged, and Phoebe could feel the architectural strain in the joints and muscles between her ankles as Soot pulled them up to the fourth ring. By the time they reached its level, they had no airspeed to speak of, and Phoebe tipped over the bottom of the red-and-white plastic into a hanging moment's fall before he could control the dive.

"Neatly done."

"Look at what it cost her, though. While she was doing that Andoal was lapping in a minute thirty-five."

"He's on the charge, then. When do you think we can expect him to perch?"

"Lap thirty-seven, can't be long now. But he's got all the free air he could want when he does, and if he keeps lapping like that…"

"Phoebe's going to have to push Soot a lot harder than she did in the first stint. Can he take it?"

"We know he's got the speed, Sam. It's always a question of stamina with smaller dragons."

Soot swept out of the Shogun's Pocket and settled into his stroke down to the ninth ring. He was happy to be through the stops and chasing Rainka, his wings wide and his head steady. Feeling refreshed herself, Phoebe took a moment to relish the fast, sweeping turn, the graceful curve of Soot's back.

Then she said, "How are we doing?"

"Thirteenth, fifty-two seconds behind the lead." The whoosh of the ninth ring passing cut through the end of Petunia's reply.

"Arden hasn't come in yet?"

"He went through this time."

"Did anyone perch?"

"Uh… Arlofis, I think? She's twenty-one seconds behind you."

A stone settled in Phoebe's gut. She hunched down and forward, and Soot accelerated towards the last wrinkle of the gorge around the Sentry. "Gap to Feran?"

"Forty-one."

"Fuck." The word seemed to lunge out of Phoebe's throat as Soot rolled left and dropped through the tenth ring. She could do the math. He'd gained at least three seconds on her in the last two laps. There were still twenty-eight laps to go.

"Here comes Markwe and yes, look, he's through the green ring, Markwe perches from the lead on lap thirty-eight, and Nikita Coro is steady behind him, too, probably coming in, do you think, Bob?"

"Looks like – hang on, Andoal's on an absolute steamer, look at the sector times!"

"Thirty-two to the waterfall, another thirty-six point four to the Sentry, that's almost qualifying pace! Is he coming in this lap?"

"He must be, pushing like that, that'll give him another couple of seconds on Tenryuu, looks like."

"There goes Coro and Olympia through the green and up the stadium – wait, where's Fleet?"

"Still on the perch, look, what happened?"

"Something wrong in the stable?"

"Must be, yeah, look – the hose isn't ready and here comes Corredeira up the perch lane."

"They're going to be really close on timing, this is incredible, what are Royal Hermeia doing? This has already cost Markwe second, it's going to cost him third too at this rate!"

Soot drove himself forward, wings heaving in great diagonal sweeps to maintain speed through the climb into the stadium to start the thirty-ninth lap. Ahead and below were several dragons on the crawl up the perch lane, looking painfully slow relative to Soot's steady sixty-five knot pace. She didn't try to identify them.

Instead, her eyes were fixed on the far end of the stadium, Temisia's stable at the head of the line and Royal Hermeia's right before that. Those were where the dragons she had to worry about were already on their perches. Cheers followed her but she ignored them; her body felt like concrete, an unfeeling burden on Soot's stroke.

The pause dragged and she tried to guesstimate the maths in her head. She should be seeing the venerable silver shape of Fleet pushing off again any moment – where was she? Soot couldn't have been so fast round the last lap as to stretch the gap this long, surely, it had only been about eight seconds before…

Gold flashed below and she looked down to see a sage-green figure perched high on the dragon's back. Niki? It had to be, but ze'd been in third, behind Fleet. Phoebe was about to ask Petunia when Soot wavered left. Phoebe realised she was craning to watch Niki behind them and recentred herself. The last thing she needed was to slow Soot down with confusion.

They were almost up to the first ring when frantic motion exploded from the stables, already below them. She couldn't see it clearly but there were too many wings down there, and the pitch of the crowd noise crept upward as it receded in Soot's wake.

"Fleet finally comes off her perch, and not a moment too- no wait, there's Corry, they're going to be right on top of one another and oh my goodness that was some sharp wits from Arden but he's not going to keep the place, Andoal's got it and is out of the perches in third! Can you believe it?"

"That's shocking from Royal Hermeia, Sam, honestly, really embarrassing."

"I hope we get to find out what went wrong there, maybe we can grab a word with the team principal later. I'm sure Feran will have some words about it too, that's both of their riders he's tangled with today."

"Aye, and come off markedly better both times, he's flying an amazing recovery race after that first-lap incident."

"Well he's on the podium now, with seven seconds to Niki Coro in second and every advantage in size and pace."

"I don't think Feran's thinking about second, Sam."

"Nor do I, Bob."

"Talk to me, Petunia." The steady descent over the lake to the eleventh ring was becoming the only time Phoebe dared distract herself enough to speak. Five laps after the perch, Soot's pace was holding, but he needed everything she could do to help. Now she stretched out low along his neck, waiting for the moment to throw her weight rightward into the next turn.

"He's sixteen seconds behind, just catching up to Niki."

That put them maybe six hundred yards back up the gorge, on their way to the Sentry. Phoebe leaned hard right, opening her crownfeathers, and Soot slewed tightly round the inside of the eleventh ring into the climb. If Niki could hold Andoal through here, ze'd be faster in the climb and maybe cost the champion some time.

"How's our pace?"

"It looks like you're on for another one minute forty-five."

Soot's stroke was perfect. Phoebe could rise and fall with it without his scales so much as tugging at her flight suit's leggings, the muscles just over his shoulders hot against her calves. The hillside rushed past beneath.

Then, Petunia's voice again, quiet, as Soot climbed towards the roar of the stadium: "Andoal passed Niki at eleven."

"Now we'll see Corredeira's true pace."

"We will indeed, Bob. Twenty laps to go, the gap's going to be, what, fifteen, sixteen seconds? Can Phoebe hold him off?"

"Difficult to say from here, Sam. I don't think it's hopeless but if there are any nails left in the Tenebrae stable they'll be bitten to the quick in the next half hour."

"Yes, there's a long way still to go. Oh, look at this, from the stewards: Lucia Aelschu, incident on lap 1, Blocking, no further action."

"Sounds about right. Not really anything they can do when it's just blocking and she's already out of the race."

"We'd better make sure we get that chat with Marie Antod, their Team Principal, Royal Hermeia's had an absolutely torrid afternoon."

Soot blasted up through the first ring to start lap fifty-two. Phoebe let her whole body ripple with every stroke of the dragon's wings. Despite the dread creeping up behind, this felt good. Soot really was giving his all, and if he sensed the churning of his rider's gut it didn't show at all. She'd been worried he'd tire and start to waver but there was no sign of it yet.

"One forty-five point three," was Petunia's terse update. Not their best lap.

Struggling to squeeze words out as she rose and fell with Soot's wingbeats, Phoebe managed, "Where?"

The second ring swallowed them and Phoebe hunched back, ready for the twist up to the third. Soot's stroke changed to match, and Phoebe closed her eyes for a second, trying to feel for any hint of unsteadiness. Opening them again was a rush of disorientation at the whirling rock face ahead before they rose above the ridge and she could find the horizon.

"Andoal: one forty-four point eight, trailing you by eleven point nine seconds."

No time to do math now as Phoebe rolled with the wicked twist of Soot's spine and the heaving clap of wings that hauled him up over the fourth ring already primed for the plunge into the gorge. Her thighs sang with the effort of righting herself even as the drop plucked at her stomach.

"Eight laps to go, Bob, it's starting to look like Phoebe might have this in the bag."

"She's got seven and a half seconds to play with. If Soot doesn't hit the wall and she doesn't panic when Feran gets right up behind her she might hold out. Those are big ifs for a small dragon and rookie rider."

"They are, but if you had free choice, which saddle would you be in right now?"

"Hah, I like this seat just fine."

"Anyway, while we've got a moment, let's go back to Tonia on the concourse, she's managed to get a word with Marie Antod, team principal of Royal Hermeia."

"Thanks Sam. Marie, a difficult day for the team?"

"Obviously, this is not the result we would have chosen. I'm very sorry to the fans, and to our competitors, we will come back stronger next time."

"Talk me through Arden's perch, what went wrong?"

"It was a simple mistake, a missed communication."

"He was supposed to come in a lap later?"

"As you say."

"And Lucia? Have you spoken to her about that first-lap incident?"

"Obviously, we have already had a conversation about what happened. We've accepted the judgement of the stewards and Lucia will be apologising personally to Feran after the race. Lucia is a very hungry competitor, she will never leave an opportunity on the table, but this is not the way to win another championship."

"Will she be more cautious in future?"

"I think we will all learn some lessons from this afternoon."

"Marie, thanks for speaking with us. Sam, back to you."

"A humbling day for Royal Hermeia, Bob."

"Embarrassing."

"Every team has bad days."

"They do, but you expect better from a team in gold, with that pedigree."

"Well, let's talk about the teams that are still in the race. Feran Andoal's on an absolutely mighty lap right now, look at that, green in the first sector, green in the second."

"Really showing Corry's stamina, putting in a lap this fast this late in the day."

"Meanwhile Soot was a little slow that time round, a one forty-five five to Feran's… One forty-four seven, good grief, just a tenth off the fastest lap of the race."

"Seven laps remaining, the gap's only six point six seconds."

Grey stone and blue sky whirled as Soot dove past the Sentry to the tenth ring. Phoebe's calves burned, but she held steady, pulling her crownfeathers in and stretching forward. She could feel sweat cold on the small of her back.

"Where am I losing time?" She grunted, hoping Petunia would understand.

The light striking off the lake below seemed brighter somehow, she had to squint to make out the shape of the eleventh ring ahead.

"It's showing in the last sector, I think it's just the climb." The team manager's voice was grim, the lack of her usual brightness paradoxically making her sound more certain.

Phoebe set her jaw and her stance for the fast-approaching ring. "Pace overall? Are we tiring?"

That was the only question. With five laps to go, could Soot maintain the flat-out pace they were pushing? Could she push him any harder, if needed? His stroke felt steady still as he ducked and swerved and-

there was a hint, his left wing sluggish on the down-stroke that carried them through the eleventh so that they slid wider than intended, wavering left to right and back before Soot was able to pull into the climb.

A tiny mistake, costing perhaps a tenth of a second extra. But Petunia's quiet, "The times still look good," rang just that fraction hollower. Phoebe's pulse pounded in her head.

"Okay, Bob, you're always saying that smaller dragons have questionable stamina. Where's the evidence of that in Soot? Three laps to go, still three and a half seconds ahead, is he flagging?"

"It's a mighty fight he's putting up, Sam, it really is, but you have to admit he's wavered a couple of times these last few turns round the course."

"Is he doing enough?"

"The question now is Phoebe. If she doesn't panic with Feran getting close, they could do it."

"She was never much prone to panicking in the junior series, she was always the one winding the others up."

"The stakes are different here, though."

Don't look back. Don't look back. If the times Petunia had just read off were accurate, then Phoebe was only hallucinating the sound of Corredeira's wings, barely two seconds – eighty yards, at these speeds – behind. Soot hauled them up over the fourth ring and Phoebe folded with him into the dive to the gorge.

Don't look back. Doing so couldn't provide any useful information here as the descent ramped them up to seventy-five knots, the air thick in her crownfeathers. Worse, any twist she made in her own spine to try to get a look back at Feran might unbalance or distract Soot, and they couldn't afford that in the slightest.

Don't look back. Soot beat his wings to bounce them through the fifth ring. Spray from the gully below stung Phoebe's cheeks and she focussed on the awkwardly-angled sixth, the crystal-clear water with its dead-end edge over the waterfall.

Don't look back. The snap of Soot's wing's opening catapulted them sideways and swirling down the cataract, perfectly smooth this time after a terrifying falter the previous lap. He was fearless, while Phoebe felt Andoal's pursuit like the shadow that chases you up your garden path to your front door on a dark night.

She held her nerve, bending her back only with the arc of Soot's as he shot into the Shogun's pocket.

"Final lap, Bob. Rider of the day?"

"It's gotta be Feran."

"Even if Phoebe wins?"

"She hasn't won yet."

"Gap's still one point four."

"That last lap Soot put in was a beauty, but even if he only comes second Feran's given us an absolute masterclass today."

The sun had cleared the last of the frost from the meadow and the grass sparkled with melt as Soot cleared the twelfth ring. Phoebe could barely look at it. All her senses were inward, desperately searching for ways to keep her legs steady so she didn't slip weight onto Soot's shoulders in these last ten seconds.

Ten seconds, up and through the thirteenth ring to a roar from the crowd that eclipsed all that had gone before it, and finally she could relax the fire in her thighs and calves and ankles and even the bridges of her feet where they hung in her stirrups. If the cameras caught her supine along Soot's back it would be fine, her goggles would hide how tightly shut her eyes were, the heat that threatened to turn to tears, the thundering hollowness in her chest.

For his part, Soot all but fell out of the sky, dropping into a thudding run that shook Phoebe's bones for a few steps before he came to a halt. Phoebe's legs were almost too tired to shake free of the stirrups, and she slid rather than jumped down, the fall planting her flat on her backside on the damp grass.

Soot's neck swung around to peer down at her, and she let herself flop back to lie flat for a moment, pulling off her goggles. Above, the vast purple jewels that were the dragon's eyes narrowed, and then he snorted and started to look around for Adelie and the water hose he probably desperately needed.

Phoebe's chest shook, a full-body convulsion that for a second she took for a sob. Then another followed it, and another, and she let the laughter come.