He stood in the stables, leaning on Decepshun as he fought for control.

So this was what a hangover felt like…

He’d heard Swayy’s scream when she had come into the kitchen early in the morning in the hope of leftover mushroom pie, and remembered Cain shielding him from view as she rushed out of the room, presumably to spread the gossip to the other Dragon Eyes about Cain’s new girlfriend.

He had a headache. He’d been stupid, and for some reason Cain must’ve been upset with him as well as with Swayy, because he hadn’t followed him out here and offered some help.

It was the race today, damnit. He was going to lose and it wasn’t fair and he just wanted to go sleep for a week and Cain couldn’t be bothered to help out…

Did the Dragon Booster ever have days like this? Or bloody Wann, who was going to make him look like an idiot on the track yet again, even if he wasn’t strictly him right now?

Probably not, he concluded grumpily, though he’d seen Wann celebrating with Pyrrah and the Flares a few times, comfortably after races she’d won. But thinking of the Dragon Booster, that gave him an idea…

Meorganna Syntence, he told himself. Perfect beautiful Meorganna, Stone City Champion who thinks Down City brats are nothing…

“Pink Transformation Magic, Sparkles Unite,” he said reluctantly, and felt the armour gather around her.

That felt better. A great power boost, getting him awake and ready to face the world. Now if it only lasted, it’d be perfect.

Decepshun roared, as though echoing his mood change; Moordryd turned to stroke her, and saw the unintended side effect.

Gold-pink spikes grew out of Decepshun’s forehead, and the red designs she’d chromo-shifted on her had disappeared, replaced by bright pink-and-purple streaks along her side; even her claws were perfectly manicured, in palest pastel turquoise. She looked like some Sun City fashion dragon, for Drakkus’ sake.

But if he changed her back, the altered design wouldn’t be there any more, and he was running out of time.

“Pretty Sparkly Pink Dragon,” she improvised (Magna Draconis, this sucked, the Dragon Booster couldn’t talk anyway and probably just had to get dressed up, lucky bastard), “Magic Paint Alteration and at least get rid of the manicure pleasepleaseplease nice armlet lovely armlet good armlet…”

Decepshun flicked out her tail (why was there apparently a flower design on the end of it!), stretching; and then as Meorganna watched, she seemed to shrink, the spikes shrinking to small nubs as her design settled to something more akin to the original paint job. Albeit with pink rather than red. They’d think Decepshun was a weak dual-breed at first glance, unstable and fragile light red combined with often own-willed and fickle black.

Ah well. At least they’ll underestimate me for a little while.

“Thanks, armlet,” he said, patting her shoulder approximately where it was normally stuck. “Now, maybe you could try some Magic Dragon Stasis while I get back to racer form? Pretty please?”

She furrowed his brow, trying to remember the combination that had finally gotten rid of the armour the last time. “Pretty Sparkly Pink Armour,” he began, trying very hard not to grimace, “Magic…”

It changed by itself before he finished, moving around his body as though it had a mind of its own, manipulating him in some rather questionable locations.

Meorganna looked down at herself; a mostly-black jumpsuit, she noticed in awe, with only a little ornamentation on boots and belt. Even with his small hand mirror hanging on the belt.

It’d changed her hair, too, a shade of, ah, pale red. It made him look very like her mother (uh, other father). But the more disguise the better, he supposed; he could definitely forgive the armlet for that small detail.

“Much appreciated,” he said, stroking her shoulder again, which seemed to send a slight shudder through the jumpsuit. “Come on, Decepshun—er, Subvershun for now. Let’s ride.”

--

“Cain? Talk to me, I’m nearing drop-off point.” He was running fourth, Wann just in front of him; she’d actually tried to be friendly to the new girl, which had been terribly disorienting until she’d told her to fuck off and quit trying to sabotage her. The snide retort to that had been almost refreshing.

No reply. He looked back to Wann. They’d briefly exchanged blows once, enough to convince her he was serious without spending too long in case she’d win; right now they were both concentrating on the narrow hairpin bends as the track spun around like a corkscrew.

Good, they were nearly there. He accelerated suddenly, ahead of her, and reached out to mag the rocket at the side of the track. A trick he’d used before, and she was too much of an old hand to not guard against it; but he stared in the hand mirror to precisely mag it, pursuing her until she finally leaped away, drawing level with him as the rocket crashed harmlessly to the ground.

He cursed. They had to…

She rammed him, pushing him and Decepshun to the side of the track. He took a deep breath. He could—

Risky, but no choice. Thruster on one side, and activate Aero gear to rip across the dragon’s back—

Wann’s dragon roared in pain, and he was free, dashing ahead; they surely hadn’t passed it yet. Thank the Magna Draconis Cain had done enough research and bribery to know the track obstacles ahead of time.

A quick mag-bolt to the concealed target to the side, and she mock-saluted Wann as mining-use webbing spread across the trap to pin her within it.

Meorganna took the first jump, harder with only thruster gear to rely on now her Aero had been damaged, but nothing she couldn’t handle; they took a flawless landing, passing Wulph and then Pyrrah, easy after a mag-bolt sent Phorrj skidding off the track.

Halfway there by his reckoning. Why wasn’t Cain answering? He switched the comm off; screw him if he wasn’t going to bother.

And then Wann behind him, riding hard and fast as she caught up, the determined look on her face that he knew all too well.

“Long time no see!” he called cheerily to her. “Want to go down again?”

“Sorry, I have better taste in women!” she yelled back, sailing past him; Moordryd blushed slightly, realizing what he’d said.

He fell forward as Decepshun sped up, noting too late that the track was narrowing, a sharp slope to the jump.

Time for plan two.

They leaped together, almost flying through the air, Decepshun’s claws scraping across the wall to stabilise her; she magged him off, and Wann met her midair.

She sent him spinning back, though Decepshun still held him up; and he cloaked what he held in her hand in a shimmering mag-field. She didn’t see it. Not soon enough.

Not until the level seven disrupter blast exploded over Wann’s Aero gear just before she reached the other side of the jump, and she was falling, too far down to continue the race. He saw her chute gear blossoming above her just before he leaped safely to the track.

Did you see that, Cain? I’m going to win this!

“Kitt Wann, down halfway through!” he heard Budge screaming from the stands as he passed through. “I don’t believe it! Ladies and gentlemen, the Stone City champion has point leader Kitt Wann out of the race!”

More corkscrew curves and daring leaps greeted him as she and Decepshun kept to the track, cheered by the victory.

“Hey, you!”

The Penn brat with his thrusters on full, finally catching up just a few minutes before the final jump.

“What? Oooh, was that your girlfriend I just got rid of?” Meorganna said, noting that the girly voice rather improved the mock.

“She’s my friend!” Penn retorted, displaying considerably more stubbornness than originality, and sent a mag-bolt at her.

“That was great, Penn! I almost felt that!” To tell the truth, he’d managed to deflect it only by pure instinct, and it was news to him that Penn was that good.

But she was, of course, better. Decepshun magged her up again, and she sent a flurry of mag-bolts in Penn’s direction. She couldn’t afford to power down now, and truth be told with the armlet around her and the adrenaline rush of actually winning, he felt ready to face five of him at once head-on. And at least one of Wann.

Penn was good. They fought in the air, shielding and throwing mag-attacks at each other, Penn getting in a few good hits.

What, did the Dragon Booster give him extra training or something? He’s getting too good!

He’d have to stop it soon. Meorganna couldn’t be seen losing at something.

Of corse, he had a plan for this as well. The last leap, approaching; Moordryd spun, dodging a flurry of Penn’s mag-bolts, and launched just one.

At his thruster gear, which fell satisfactorily into the depths of the city below.

“Enjoy losing, loser!” he called, more out of elation than any desire for imaginative taunts, and took the jump, making the longest leap his best as she and Decepshun glided through the air. He could see the finish line, now.

And hear screaming. That was promising. Was Penn really stupid enough to try it anyway? He risked a glance behind himself; a second wouldn’t make any difference to her first place.

And gaped in shock. Penn was screaming, but his dragon sure wasn’t; mag-energy extended below them, taking them past the leap in full style.

“And Artha Penn on Sharpfyr performs a full mag-push to get him past the jump! I think we’ve seen it all today! Now Penn’s racing forward—and will he get a first place after that amazing move? No—Meorganna’s too far ahead—but was that a stunt!”

Thruster gear giving her a last-minute push. Finish the race, think about it later. Artha Penn, only two dragons behind her—and now a first place, to the crowd’s cheers and Budge’s continuous carrying-on.

“Winner, Meorganna Syntence! Second place, Artha Penn! You heard it first from me, race fans—Meorganna’s record and this put her top of the points table, ahead of Kitt Wann! Artha Penn slides up to fifth place, a racer to watch, fans, as the Academy competition tightens!”

Meorganna opened, and then shut, her mouth. She’d actually done it.

“Yay!”

He flung up her arms in jubilation, taking every bit of congratulations flung her way. Sponsor offer, Crew-opening spot, welcome to Dragon City…

--

Meorganna gave a yawn as the fans and reporters drifted away, their curiosity sated. He walked aimlessly to the med-tent; nothing like a good gloat, and chances were Wann would be there getting her dragon fixed up.

She was, gently stroking his neck as she talked to him; white bandages were being laid across his back by one of the med-techs.

And in a corner of it, Cain, sitting next to a bucket and looking up at the VIDD-replays of the race.

“Why didn’t you answer me, Cain?” he called out, walking up to his so-called friend. “I thought I could rely on you to be there in the race!”

Cain turned to answer, looking pale for him. “I tried to call when I couldn’t make it,” he said weakly. “But you weren’t answering.”

Yeah, he’d switched it off after Cain hadn’t answered. Didn’t explain anything, though.

“I called you first! You should have been there from the start!” he yelled, jabbing a finger into Cain’s shoulder. “I was depending on you!”

Cain winced. “Stop, that hurts…”

Moordryd watched in horror, taking several steps backward as Cain leaned forward and vomited into the bucket.

“Cain? What’s wrong with…”

“Food poisoning,” a med-tech flipping through a magazine said, looking up. “A trace of mould in some macadamia-nut biscuits, apparently. He shouldn’t have even been here today.”

‘I did try to call,” Cain said weakly and indistinctly. “But, you know. Congrats anyway. You’re a real friend, Meorganna. Thanks so very much.”

Sounded like sarcasm. Moordryd frowned. He’d only made a reasonable assumption. And why food poisoning, anyway?

“He can’t have food poisoning,” Moordryd said to the med-tech. “I ate the cookies too last night.”

“Maybe it was an allergic reaction, then,” she said, continuing to flip through the pages. “Nothing we can do, just a twenty-four hour thing. Get him home, will you? Normally we just fix up racers here.”

“All right, Cain,” Moordryd said, averting his eyes as Cain wiped his hand across his mouth. “Just follow me, all right? Try not to puke on anything. We’ll discuss your definition of friendship later.”

Kitt Wann was blocking their exit.

“Get out of my way,” Moordryd sneered, making to push her aside; but she stood her ground.

“Meorganna from Stone City, huh?” she said. “I heard you were related to Word Paynn.”

“He’s my uncle,” Meorganna answered. “Push off.”

“And you don’t have a Stone City accent,” Wann continued.

“My parents were immigrants and I was homeschooled and Uncle doesn’t like the accent,” Meorganna answered, the backstory coming easily enough to her.

“And your hair is kind of obviously dyed—”

“Yeah, I’m guessing you know all about hair dye—” Moordryd said; he knew there were viddgraphs out there, from her early racing days back when she’d had straw-coloured hair in pigtails and acne like you wouldn’t believe. Too bad Meorganna wouldn’t be able to put them somewhere really embarrassing, like the race bulletin board. Great Fashion Disasters Of The Ages, starring Kitt Wann, losing dragon racer…

“And in spite of apparently only arriving, like, two days ago, and being the reason why the race was delayed, you’re acting like you and Cain are old friends or something.”

“Yeah. We’ve been, uh, pen pals.”

“Moordryd,” Kitt Wann said, taking another step towards him. He felt like he was about to be torn apart by a pink-and-blue avalanche.

“Uh, yes?” he said, then realised the mistake. “I mean, yeah, Moordryd’s back with my uncle right now…”

She stepped too close to him, and ripped open the front of his outfit.

Moordryd liked to assume her ensuing reaction was at least equal parts jealousy and horror.

“Oh shit I’m sorry I thought you were Moordryd I didn’t mean to—“

--

A five-race suspension from the major Academy competitions for sexual assault. Of a minor no less, thanks to Meorganna’s faked birth certificate. To be allowed back only on strict probation. He saw the headline spreading across the news boards as he returned happily to the Citadel, humming happily and barely caring that Racer Rock sounded odd set five tones above his normal pitch.

“Brilliantly manoeuvred, Meorganna,” her father said, hearing her footsteps as he gazed at his screens. “You’ve knocked your strongest competitor out of the running and gained a first place. Only deal with the Penn brat and the Academy position will be all but yours.”

“He’s only in fifth place,” Meorganna reminded him. “And I have something else to show you, Father.”

--

“Um. Sorry I’m late?” Kitt says weakly as we return to Mortis’ temple. “It wasn’t what it looked like, I really thought she was—”

“We know what it looked like,” Mortis says, without turning around. “Artha, you did extremely well in the race today. Your father would be proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he says, shooting Kitt a guilty glance in spite of the compliment. “You know, I really should go. Apparently I have an interview for one of the news broadcasts, don’t know if it’ll make it on there or not but…”

He and the ex-Red head for the exit; I glare at the dragon.

You were lucky today. Congratulations.

He only flicks his tail in reply as he exits.

“And I’ve got to go do some work on the—thing,” Parmon adds. “Lance, you’ve got homework, right?”

“A little, but—”

“No buts, I’ll help you with it,” he says. “Come on, Lance. Kitt, I thought you didn’t do—so badly, in the race…”

She sighs as they follow Artha out. “Okay, Mortis. Let’s go straight into the lecture.”

“You should not take this lightly.” He still doesn’t turn around. “You were meant to end crime. Today you committed one.”

“I know,” she says. “And...to be honest, if a guy did that to me, I’d be mad they only got a five-race suspension. But…” She stops. “No, no buts. I did something wrong. I won’t stand here and make excuses.”

“Furthermore, Beau was harmed.”

“I know.” Her hand rests on my bandages. “Actually I feel worse about it than stripping Meorganna. I needed to be better. He shouldn’t have been hurt because of me.”

I don’t mind so much; it was not too bad a hurt. Though admittedly she is usually better than that.

He turns on her, at last. “You’re becoming impulsive. Overconfident. How many times did you practice that track, compared to Artha?”

“Not as much. You’re right.”

She’s cold inside, all frozen anger that just wants to hide itself. I feel like protecting her.

Mortis shakes his head, his lips tightening. “I ask that you refrain from being the Dragon Booster for the same time period as your race suspension,” he says. “Beau will certainly need time to heal.”

“Of course. I know I was wrong. I know I—”

He holds up a hand. “I won’t discuss with this you any further. Reflect on your errors, Kitt. Consider that you have been entrusted with more power than you appear able to use well.”

She sits with me, resting on me like usual, though the mood is not like it has been before.

“I’m sorry, Beau,” she tells me, not for the first time after the injury, and we remain in silence.

--

Various codenames rejected. Daughter of Drakkus was obviously too long. Crimson Sun sounded silly, Pink Muhorta doubly so. Eventually he’d just gone.

He was still trying to come to terms with the ancient armour her father had just, you know, happened to have around, and incidentally rather resembling an old Elite-class champion about whom he thought he’d heard a few vague rumours.

All right, so her father did like to wander the nights as a suitably armoured vigilante/villain. So he could have helped him out before in fighting the Dragon Booster, although admittedly he had given Moordryd use of the technologies he’d felt were useful (and for the really crazy plans like trapping him and the Dragon Booster in the Shadow Track or freezing the city in black draconium, Moordryd would’ve regretted it if Drakkus had made an appearance, though he usually tried very hard to forget those things).

It wasn’t a bad thing, right? And even better, her father said his sensors had detected a vast concentration of black draconium somewhere in Old City.

Power. That sounded good.

--

“We have already dealt with one marauder tonight,” what was presumably the High Dragon Priest announced, over a mountain with a black door set in it. “Two more will be a simple matter.”

His staff suddenly lit up, glowing gold, and a mag-board grew under him; his fellows did the same, and swooped down to attack Drakkus and his daughter.

“Stay close!” her father called to her, and she and Decepshun went in next to Abandonn’s bulk. She watched as a mag-shield sprang up around them; she gloried in the energy rushing through her, power she hadn’t even imagined was possible, and watched as the priests went down one by one.

--

The beeping continued. Kitt shuffled up from where she had rested on Beau, and felt around in the dark to try to shut it off; finally, her gauntlet seemed to catch on something helpful, and Mortis’ communication screen came into view.

“He’s not here,” she said flatly.

“Who are you?” the Dragon Priest asked. “I cannot reach him on his personal communicator, and we are in desperate need—”

“I’m sorry. Mortis left, I don’t know where he went. I can’t—”

I ask that you refrain from being the Dragon Booster. Beau will certainly need time to heal.

A loud noise broke from somewhere in the background. The priest looked horrified. “Mag-attack—“ he called, and the image began to fizzle. Beau walked up behind her, staring at it. “Wastelands of Loane—help—any—please—“

Beau and Kitt exchanged a long glance.

“Beau, forgive me,” she said; he shook his head, and magged her to his back. They couldn’t not go to a summons like that, after all.

--

It still hurts, in this form; but looking down at Drakkus and a strange pink-armoured figure beside him furiously battling Dragon Priests, I know there was no other choice we could have made. We charge down, facing them both defiantly. No time to waste for strategy, when the priests strewn about the ground being helped by their brothers could already be permanently injured or worse.

“The pitiful Dragon Booster,” Drakkus drawls. “Feel free to finish him, daughter.”

--

The Dragon Booster just leaped at her, on a mag-board discarded by one of the fallen priests, apparently in a horrible temper. Moordryd dodged just before it sheared into him, rising in the air and preparing for battle; Meorganna had won today, and she wasn’t about to let go of that.

He glimpsed her father as the mag-stream flung her this way and that, fleeing from the Dragon Booster’s attack; he and Abandonn both fired into what looked like a strange door, lifting it inch by inch.

She looked across at the dragon of legend. He looked smaller than he’d expected, but this strategy would work, he vowed.

“Father? If you can spare it, mag-blast the Dragon Booster in the next minute or so,” he called through his wrist-comm, running along the rockface as the Dragon Booster’s blasts hit home, and then leaped back across Decepshun. “Now, girl!”

The mag-stream flung him under the dragon’s legs, the rappel gear he held tangling it up; she threw himself from under the dragon just as he reared, struggling to break free. Decepshun released the gear at the perfect moment, letting it snap around and tangle still more around the dragon as he swept around to get rid of the handicap.

Her father broke his pace to fire at the Dragon Booster, sending him down as Meorganna got up again. She felt almost drunk on power, and seared the ground with her mag-bolts as the Dragon Booster tried desperately to avoid her.

Hitting him while he was down, she thought—but the Dragon Booster had hit him many times before, and her father was going to be so pleased.

“Decepshun, attack!” he called to her, and saw the dragon of legend teeter and overbalance as she rammed him. The Dragon Booster looked agonized as he glanced towards his dragon; but without a mag-stream there was no way he could compete with someone in the air. Two more shots, one a dead-on hit that had him hitting the rock wall with a sickening clunk; this was a good night, Moordryd thought.

And then suddenly the Dragon Booster was up again, somehow managing to power himself through the air. He hit Moordryd dead-on, knocking the wind out of him, and drew back, balancing against the rockface.

Meorganna looked behind at her father. The gate looked about three-quarters of the way open, glowing purple-black. Whatever it was, it was powerful.

“Give the Dragon Booster and his dragon to me now,” her father commanded. “You’ve done well.”

She went back, beckoning the Dragon Booster to attack her again; he went to his dragon instead, though, and avoiding her mag-blasts took out the rappel gear entangling him.

Decepshun stepped back, growling. Moordryd raised his blocking staff as though about to commence a joust. She stood in front of her father, protecting him; the Dragon Booster took the bait, and rushed in to get her out of the way.

Decepshun sidestepped neatly as she magged her out of the way. The Dragon Booster leaped at Word with blocking staff raised; but he suddenly turned, and activated a mag-drain as Abandonn did the same.

Meorganna watched her father hold him pressed to the rock, his teeth gritted as though to prevent a silent scream, as the dragon did the howling for him.

“Thank you, Dragon Booster,” Word said. “I needed your energy to access the treasures of this cave.”

The door was nearly open. Moordryd could sense the energies from it, dark and ancient and something he felt very scared of, chilling his bones to cold milk. The black-and-gold dragon was on his knees now, the roar a faint whimper.

Whatever it—they—were, they were something deadly…

Her father would use them well. Only a crack of the gate remaining to be pushed open, the Dragon Booster’s energy shuddering into the stone to raise it.

And then a rockfall, blocking the cave. He looked up in shock and saw a giant red-gold dragon standing tall on its hind legs, ridden by a priest.

“Stay away from those bonemarks, Drakkus!”

He watched the giant dragon leaping down, driving her father away from the cave. The Dragon Booster fell to the ground, collapsed over himself as though the falls he’d taken had damaged a rib or few.

She dodged out of the way as Abandonn was flung back, the new dragon rearing and roaring.

“Father…”

“Never mind; Mortis is an old friend of mine, daughter. Seize the Dragon Booster!”

“All right,” Meorganna said, staring down at the defeated figure on the ground. “I’m going to find out who you really are if I have to blast off the armour bit by bit!”

Not one of her better threats. Decepshun pulled him up in a mag-lock, suspending him in the air; Moordryd prepared his first bolt.

“Does it hurt when I laugh?”

She fired, deliberately aiming for his ribs; the Dragon Booster’s body shook, but the armour wasn’t coming off. She fired a second time, flinging him back within the confines of the mag-lock; the dragon howled, sending out a mag-stream, and the lock shattered.

He was already as good as defeated, Moordryd vowed, watching him struggle to stay upright on his dragon. She glanced up; her father and Mortis were in the air, engaged in a mag-battle more powerful than any she had ever seen. He could well imagine that a single one of their stray mag-bolts, ripping holes in the rocks, would fry them both.

“You’re already exhausted from your expenditure of mag-energy, Drakkus,” Mortis said. “The League of Eight are not for you!”

League of Eight. Sounded vaguely familiar, as though he’d heard the name once before. Some ancient death-and-destruction thing.

The Dragon Booster turned tail, running to his friend Mortis to protect him. Meorganna laughed, though truth-be-told she was starting to feel drained herself after a long day. She went after him, avoiding the explosions her father and his enemy were busying themselves with, up there in their battle.

Mortis broke, diving upwards, and aimed another bolt at the rocks above the tunnel; she heard her father curse as the gate was blocked still more.

He stood next to her father, ready to help defend him; the Dragon Booster looked up at Mortis, and reached a glowing hand to the sky.

“Daughter! Shield—“ her father began, but he was too exhausted to do so instantly, and gold sprang up around them as Mortis’ powers joined with the Dragon Booster’s to create some sort of mag-wash, beating over them like greenish pancake batter mixed with smoke.

Cain’s pancakes, she thought, dazed as she looked up.

“The ancient mag-escape combined with the mag-shield,” her father said, and then started to laugh at Mortis, now holding the unconscious Dragon Booster in his arms. “Evidently you failed utterly.”

“Father—“ she began, looking around them; but he ignored him.

“I will turn the cliff into dust if I must, and retrieve those bonemarks as you retire to protect your precious hero,” Drakkus continued. “You should have learned long ago that you cannot defeat me.”

The Dragon Priest seemed to smile under his cowl, looking down at her for a brief instant.

“Listen to your daughter,” he said, and then he moved his right hand through the air in a quick striking pattern; when the smoke cleared again, both he and the Dragon Booster had disappeared.

“What is it, Meorganna? What?” he asked angrily; and then he saw it.

“Father, I think…his mag-escape worked,” Moordryd said redundantly, trying to recognize the landscape. “Only it took us with him…far away from the bonemarks…”

Her father launched into a fairly impressive torrent of profanity, some of which Moordryd filed away for future use and possible research into whether that was physically feasible. “Let us return to the Citadel, Meorganna,” he said eventually. “You fought well in your battle against the Dragon Booster. I will train you further.”

--

Yeah. She was really drained now her father had finally managed to get them out of the Wastelands. He hoped Word hadn’t noticed, and tried to stand straight-backed as she walked along the darkened corridors to his room.

He stood in front of the mirror, admiring the armour. He’d been served well today by the armlet, and he appreciated it.

“Thanks,” he said, petting the thing for good measure. “Now, could we try Pretty Sparkly Pink Armour Magic Reversal, if you wouldn’t mind? Please?”

He hadn’t prepared for it to hurt this much, he thought in the first twenty seconds of blinding pain. He grit his teeth as he reached for his VIDDcomm.

“Cain? Please…help me…”

--

She finally wakes. I too have been half-dreaming, drifting through consciousness as the pain in my back and the hurts of the battle rage through this form; it was a hard battle, and perhaps we should not have rushed in.

No. Almost definitely, for Mortis is not pleased at all with our night’s work.

“Where—” she begins. “Oh. Good. Mortis, thank you for saving me. I’m sorry we went, they couldn’t reach you and so…”

“You were impulsive and reckless, for the second failure in a row,” Mortis says to her, not even a trace of redeeming softness in his voice.

“There were people in danger. I know I disobeyed, but I—“

“Your actions put them further in danger!” Mortis yells. “Drakkus used your energy to nearly release the League of Eight! Do you know what the consequences of that could have been?”

“No, but I had to try—”

Mortis’ screen comes down, showing a small portion of the war’s devastation, some of it truly copied from many-years-ancient recordings.

“The League of Eight belonged to the warrior called Armeggaddon,” he says. “Surely you have heard that name before.”

A boogieman, a dream, though it stirs more memories than that inside me. The name means only vague darkness to Kitt, and she shivers slightly.

“No. I must correct that. They were the dragons who ruled the Black Empire with him. The dragons responsible for starting the war by urging other dragons to fight.”

She gasps.

“They would have destroyed both you and Beau before you could so much as tell them your identity!” Mortis continues.

“But—“

She’s making things worse, I can tell, but I haven’t the voice to tell her to be quiet.

“The original Dragon Booster defeated them, didn’t he? Why can’t I? And why didn’t you tell me about them? Why—“

“Because you are still learning!” He continues, taming his rage. “Learn not to make excuses, Kitt. Accept that your reckless actions would have destroyed far more Dragon Priests than if you had waited just a little longer for me.” He gives her a cold stare. “Your Red Draconium gets in your way, I believe. Perhaps you should have never tried to be the Dragon Booster in the first place.”

“But I—” Disappointment rages through her.

“Just look at Beau,” Mortis says, and she does, taking account of my bandages.

“I know. I am sorry. If it was possible, I’d go back and undo it. But—“

But we needed to go?

“But Beau wanted equally to go, you were about to say?” Mortis says, his voice thundering through the caves; she actually cringes. “You blame him for his injuries!”

“No! No, of course not. I—“

“You are Red, and you are his rider,” Mortis continues, the deadly words coming easily to him. “Do you imagine that you have no influence at all on him?”

She lets out a small shock of breath as the full impact of his words hit her, as though she’s drained entirely of air.

“Yes. We were reckless…” she whispers. “I—I’m sorry—”

We were I remember, after the disastrous race, her wanting too desperately to win, rushing the new warrior and Drakkus when if we had waited, tried some different strategy perhaps, we would not have been used to open the door…

“It was impossible for the Dragon Priests to close that gate,” Mortis continues brutally. “The bonemarks continue to try to release their dark energy, unable to be controlled or hidden elsewhere. They have been labouring all night to block it while you have rested, and their task will never be over. Drakkus may well come back for them, along with the new warrior who must have taken her power right under your nose, and then…” He makes a gesture. “They will rip this world apart a second time.”

“Can I…help the priests seal it?” Kitt asks. “I know it won’t fix things. But I—”

“You will not be using any of your powers, as I said before!” Mortis whirls on her. “Go home. Give me the gauntlet and amulet. Stay away from the training area. You have proved that I can’t trust you otherwise.”

She gives a small nod, and obeys him, as though she’s just on the brink of tears. She will not cry, though; I know her that well.

“Where were you?” she asks in a half-whisper, her voice cracking slightly.

“In a brief meeting with another Order of Dragon Priests,” he says, turning away. “Don’t assume that everything concerns you.”

“I didn’t—“ she begins, but he has gone; she sits down, placing her head in her hands. “Did I change you, Beau? Probably he’s right; I’m Red and you’re supposed to not have my flaws, you’re the dragon of legend and I’m…well, I’m gonna have to tell everyone I date now that I’m a sex offender.” She half-laughs, shaking her head as though she’s gone mad. “Anyway. I do understand if you want to Choose again. But you’ve been hurt, and until then I’m just going to look after you. Drakkus…didn’t win today. There’s a chance to make this right, and I want to do that…”

She is probably…correct. She is Red, and I wanted her courage and fire to help me battle; we have merged, and I had thought we changed each other. And yet Mortis must have a point.

But I’m tired and hurt; best not to think about this. I let her fix my bandages and soothe me, and fall to sleep.

--

He couldn’t stop throwing up. His spleen felt like it was attempting to eat him from the inside. Perhaps worst of all, he couldn’t even collapse to sleep through it all, enormous effort though it was to so much as open his eyes and vaguely try to aim for the sink.

Until Cain had helped him up, though still looking pale himself after the food poisoning he’d been through himself. Moordryd guessed the armlet must have held back everything wrong with him, releasing it all at once. Along with the blood and cramps marking a particularly uncomfortable aspect of feminine existence he really wished he’d never had to know about. Talk about eww.

Fuck you, armlet, put me back I hate this… he thought as he tossed and turned, sleeping only when he wasn’t vomiting or getting repeatedly punched with a spiked bat on the, um, whateveritwascalled. (Was he expected to know the finer points of female anatomy? Honestly, this really, really—hurt—) In a few days, though, with Cain’s help and the strongest painkillers he’d been able to force him to get (and paying a professional hypnotist to suppress the memory of her father’s take on the magikal spirituality inherent to the feminine moon cycle), he began to regain energy, and mercifully what he’d decided to think of as merely It was starting to cease.

“So. Wanna tell me what happened, Moordryd?” Cain asked, sitting on the foot of his bed. “Looks like you’re not that sick any more.”

“I’d like to see you try it,” Moordryd retorted. “It was just a night out with my father, you know how it is—beating up random old guys, beating up the Dragon Booster, trying to take over the world—”

Cain shrugged. “There’s word on the streets about that,” he said. “They’re calling you the Pink Booster.”

“Oh great.” Moordryd scowled. And our winner for the Stupidest Codename In The History Of Codenames is… “But at least I beat him!”

“Yeah. Well done.” Cain stood up. “Right. I’m going out for lunch with the others. You don’t need me any more.”

Moordryd frowned. Wasn’t there something, before he’d been out? Something about Cain not answering the call, and the food poisoning and something about friendship…

“No, stay a bit, Cain,” he said. “Is there something we should, like, talk about?”

“What sort of something?” Cain asked.

“Well, um…” Moordryd began. “There’s something, isn’t there? You’re not really talking to me so much and it feels kind of strange…”

Cain cocked his head as he looked down at him. “You don’t realise it, do you Moordryd?” He sighed. “Look, I know you like girls. I’m fine with that, I’ve known you since back when you still thought they were some weird species with cooties. And I know it was probably—no, probably more on the probably-definite side—unethical for me to only, you know, fancy you as a girl—”

“That’s all right, I think I’m hot too,” Moordryd supplied.

Cain rolled his eyes. “Leaving your extreme narcissism out of this, I totally understand that you don’t like guys.”

“It’s all about you, isn’t it?” Moordryd muttered. “I’m fine with that, I’ve known you, I know, I know, I know—“

“I thought you were bi enough to be into it, and that was okay with me,” Cain said. “But you didn’t have to say that I turned you off men forever, Meorganna!”

“What?” Moordryd paused. “I didn’t say that. I just said I was a lesbian. What’s the big deal?”

“You implied it!” Cain almost yelled. “Like I said. I don’t care if you like girls, I knew you liked girls, but you’re not supposed to suddenly decide to shop at the manmeat side of Dracomart and then dump it on me you’re not interested!”

Moordryd folded his arms. “That figure of speech aside, newsflash, Cain, oldest friend? Just because I like girls doesn’t mean I don’t like you!”

“Uh, can we get a definition of lesbian, aisle three?”

She sniffed haughtily; unlike Cain, he’d passed Draconian class before leaving school, and therefore needed no definitions. “I’m allowed to experiment, Cain!” He patted the bed beside her. “C’mon, sit down, what’s the point of having a hot lesbian body if you can’t share with your friends? Just don’t tell my father, I’m totally not gay or anything.”

“…Except for the part where you are.”

“Wasn’t gay. Scale it.”

“Yeah, I suppose that sucks. So do I get makeup sex?”

“Oh, all right. And later let’s check out the race photographs. I wanna know if they got Wann ripping my clothes off, that’s hot…”

“Moordryd, it wasn’t like that. Now quit fantasising about Kitt Wann or else I won’t cancel lunch.”

“All right. Mmm.”

--

“All right, I admit it—Kitt Wann’s pretty okay-looking and a good racer—now stop tickling me, Moordryd—”

--

If it wasn’t for that Red (his temperament makes him still count!) and the dragon flu he brought home that had everyone bar Kitt and Mortis coughing and wheezing for several days, I would have recovered far more quickly; but I remain still weak, cared for in Penn Stables.

Kitt comes every day to look after me, and often falls asleep in her chair; she pores over near-encyclopaedias of track information and Academy-recommended racing techniques, alongside Parm preparing Artha and the Red for their races with an effort that has her drowsing buried in papers of race information.

And yet despite the double effort, Meorganna Syntence still leads the points tables, relying on mag-moves for Artha to counter them as best he can in each race he enters, and coming out ahead as though she’s the favoured daughter of one of the old dragon gods.

It’s not just planning the races that keeps Kitt tired, black circles under her eyes as she comes in; she’s volunteered for the late shifts at the dragon shelter from which she adopted the Red, and spends much of her time there.

Improving the city, I suppose. She is a good person, and works for what she wants.

But the third thing that takes up her time is, I think, going too far. Perhaps especially for Red recklessness.

--

Her father was terribly pleased. A first place in the Heart of the Dragon survival race, a row of firsts in those little Skills and trial races that played into her average point standing, and no Kitt Wann to get in his way.

Of course, the Penn brat was annoying, apparently with mag-moves from some source like the Dragon Booster, and although he was still hovering on fifth in the points standings he was the only one who could match the armlet’s powers. Just as well it shifted into normal-looking clothing to give her the energy boosts she needed in races.

And the Dragon Eyes with the Pink Booster to assist them had escaped with enough dragons to satisfy her father, although most recently another vigilante’s intervention had meant a theft abandoned. Too bad; it didn’t count, though. The Dragon Booster was probably still away licking his wounds, and the priest hadn’t been seen either. Perfect.

“I got another first in the Skills race today, Father,” she said, entering with Cain at his side. “Cain picked up some psi-gear in third.”

“Well done. Now don’t move—”

Word carefully put down the thing he was examining into a test tube, and sealed it firmly.

“What is that?” Cain asked curiously. “It looks like a flower petal.”

Word turned abruptly. “Very good, Cain,” he said to Moordryd’s surprise, as his claws tapped the glass. “It is indeed a flower petal. One I no longer have occasion to use.”

“Use?” Moordryd asked.

“It is called Dragon’s Bane, Meorganna. An extremely rare flower. A single petal could turn an army of your enemies to obeying your commands.”

“So you were planning to use it on Sharp Edge and the Dragon Booster?” Meorganna brightened. “Sounds like fun!”

“You don’t need it.” Word placed the test tube inside a drawer, alongside what was probably the rest of the flower. “Congratulations, daughter. Now why don’t you two run along and steal some dragons?”

--

She usually returns in the mornings, a black-clad figure spitting blood and filching med-tape from Mortis’ cupboard to bind her wounds.

When she sees my look of concern, she manages a smile. It doesn’t quite stop her from looking like death warmed over. “Don’t worry, Beau. Just a bit of a rough night, that’s all.”

You have been disobeying Mortis and fighting.

“Yeah, I know,” she says, sitting down across me. “And I know the reason why I’m doing it is to prove myself. But I was doing security at the dragon shelter when I saw that mugging, and I didn’t do anything about that and she was stabbed, Beau, in the news it said she was really badly hurt. And the Pink Booster is helping the Dragon Eyes steal dragons.”

I can’t believe she’s doing something so stupid!

“Mortis was right about strategy,” she says wearily. She shows me her mask, a simple swathe of black cotton that covers her face and hair. “I come from the shadows and take them out, one by one until they give up. I’m calling myself Dual.”

Parmon told you? I quirk my head.

“Yup. After the original pink not-actually-a-Booster, apparently a good guy way back in the day. The Dual, like Parm told me from Mortis’ briefing.”

She smiles that quick devil-may-care smile, a gash opening and closing on her face.

“I know. I’m messed up and I’m doing it for power and I’m doing it for revenge and I’m doing it without my friends.”

And are you…doing the better thing? My tail flickers around her, brushing her legs.

“I have no idea if it’s the right thing. I just know that Security isn’t going to handle it, and I can’t walk through my home without wanting to clean it up. That’s all.” She coughs, more blood dripping from her lips; she wipes it away with a black glove. “I’d better get started going through the trial race. It’s on the Hazard track, oil slicks and turnstiles, Artha’ll have to use balance gear and go light on the thrusters, in some ways the Slider’s a lot tougher than Heart of the Dragon…”

I nudge her. I’ll go with you as soon as I’m well. Even if it is wrong.

Because I do not think anyone else will do it.

--

They went through the night. Moordryd-as-himself had secured the five dragons of tonight’s work in the transport, held so tight with green shielding gear he considered even the Dragon Booster would have difficulty breaking through it. They had carried out the raids working together, Swayy and Cain posted on observation while he, Rancydd and Blarre had carried out the actual thefts; so far, their new vigilante hadn’t tried to take on more than one of them at a time, and tonight had not yet appeared.

And according to the cosmic laws of the universe, that implied he would make his regular visit quite soon.

Moordryd looked up, and saw the dark figure leaping from the rooftop to the transport, moving almost too quickly to track.

Right on schedule, then.

A disrupter mine fell at Moordryd’s feet, and two more scattered around the transport; he jumped back, firing trapping gear at the weirdo marauder. The guy was just a guy, without armour or even a dragon; they could easily fight him.

The mines hadn’t gone off. The other Eyes’ trapping gear went through the air in almost perfect coordination, and yet the vigilante somehow dodged.

Moordryd laughed. “You got your gear from Rust Johney, right? Maybe you shouldn’t play with the big boys!”

He fired a mag-burst at him; the black-clad figure leaped off the transport to crouch opposite them, his blocking staff raised.

An oddly thick blocking staff. Flash stick, Moordryd realised too late, and then the mines went off as their timer must have come to a halt. He heard Rancydd cry out.

“Get out of the way!” he heard someone yell. Thruster gear fired up, and just as he blinked and flung himself and Decepshun aside the transport raced past him of its own accord, the vigilante on the back of it trailing flame into the darkness.

Meorganna clenched her fists. Nobody made a fool of her and lived to tell of it. “Dragon Eyes, spread out and search for where he’s headed! I’m calling in the Pink Booster—” Magna Draconis, he still hated the name—“to take care of this!”

She and Decepshun ran across the rooftops, catching up fast. The vigilante was still at the back of it, somehow powering Rancydd’s thruster with human energy as he used his blocking staff to throw them around corners; whoever he was, he knew Down City, Moordryd had to admit, navigating from behind like that.

The Penn brat, from the human energy powering the gear? It developed gradually as you practiced mag-skills, until you could use your own energy to even supplement your dragon’s. But Penn wasn’t that good, and too much of a Mid-City kid besides.

No, it was probably just some street kid with a few extra tricks who thought they could imitate the Dragon Booster. Which the other Booster, of course, was only too willing to prove the stupidity of.

The transport hurtled down a sloping street, picking up speed that Meorganna found it almost hard to match. Maybe the idiot would even crash.

Somehow he managed to turn the corner, his staff sending up bright sparks as he pushed along the buildings; and then the thruster gear suddenly went dark as the rider leaped up in the turn’s force, pulling off a perfect vault to the rooftops to face Meorganna.

She laughed at the figure striking a pose before her, as though he expected Meorganna to come off the dragon and fight him hand-to-hand.

Not a scalin’ chance.

Except his next move was faster than she’d predicted, diving towards her and actually bringing her off her dragon. She kicked away, feeling her boot satisfactorily hit home, and summoned up mag-energy to fry the fool.

He dodged. Leaping and twirling through the air like he could fly, fending each shot off with his blocking staff.

Pretty…impressive, actually.

He cartwheeled off the roof; she rushed to look down, and saw him back on the transport again as it turned another corner, and next he was two rooftops beyond, waving to her.

“Mag me!” she called to Decepshun. Nobody, nobody gets away…

He was pretty good with a blocking staff, but armour took hits so much better than cloth, and she wouldn’t feel anything until it came off. She forced him back to the edge of the roof, inch by inch; it was training, she told herself. She wasn’t going to just fry him when beating him little by little was the most interesting way—

—He jumped again, down onto the transport’s roof, and she followed him. “They call me the Pink Booster. What do they call you, the Black Blunder?”

He didn’t respond, at first.

“You know, if you want to save the dragons, you’re going to have to do better than crashing this thing somewhere—”

The wall loomed up towards them.

“Turn!” Moordryd cried, and they both leaned on the roof and thrust out their staffs to force themselves not to crash.

They returned to the fight. He grunted as she hit him in the ribs, and returned the attack with a strong flurry of blows doing nothing against armour. Meorganna fought back, and they glared at each other over crossed staffs as the transport hurtled through the streets.

“They call me Dual,” he said softly in a voice that could have been either male or female, and vaulted up to the nearest roof.

Moordryd stared after the slim figure, up there and running fleet-footedly away. She’d won this round, she figured; knowing this street, the turn was way far away—

The transport hit something. Soft, not enough to hurt it, but enough to make her fall to her knees; two more barriers, and it slid to a complete stop.

“What—”

She looked down.

Fist-head.

He actually smiled at her. “Pink Booster. Thanks for tipping me off. I’ll make sure these dragons are restored to their owners.”

“Ah…”

I’ve been framed as a good guy!

Three of his Crew stood around him, Kudgyl, Brawwnn and Clobber; she wasn’t going to take on all four Dragon Fists on at once, not in their territory.

“Yeah. You, um, wanted those dragons back, right?”

Phistus brought his hammer down on the transport; it didn’t break, Meorganna was pleased to notice, though it did shudder.

“We’ll get it open eventually. Klynch, Thumpp? You think you could help us get this in?”

The other two Fists came up to look at it, Thumpp examining the gear arrangement.

“I’ll open it right here. Typical amateur gear-lock; get me some Red soldering gear and I’ll have this off in no time…”

Meorganna scowled beneath her helmet.

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks, Klynch…”

They barely noticed as she walked away, fuming.

“Cain? Get the word out. The Fists took the dragons from me, if you hear anything different tell the others it wasn’t the Pink Booster’s fault. I’m going home.”

And in tonight’s news we have no recent sightings of the Dragon Booster, although the Pink Booster is credited with stopping several dragon thefts. These good-doers are quietly rumoured to have given rise to other vigilantes patrolling the shadows, but as yet any new masked figures remain mysteries of the night…

She cursed as she flipped her VIDDcomm off, not caring to hear any more of the news.

--

“Kitt, I went down to your place last night and they said you’d moved out! Or that they’d thrown you out…with you not being there much and the suspension and everything…”

“Old news, Professor. Why’d you go, anyway?”

“Well, we are supposed to be your friends, you know. And you did say you’d look at the Slider Track.”

“Oh yeah—I glanced at it, just got distracted—but I’ve raced on it before, I’ll VIDDmail you all about it and be there for Artha tomorrow—”

“Maybe we should be there for you. I appreciate you helping me race, but you’ve got to look after yourself as well.”

“Yeah. You need to find a nice boyfriend, Kitt.”

“Lance, that’s enough.”

“Look, it’s okay—I’m just looking over the tracks and volunteering at the dragon shelter, doing a little training by myself every so often, it’s all enough for me—”

“And you’re tired all the time and I can see at least two bruises. And you’re apparently not sleeping at either Penn Stables or the collective.”

“Mortis told me to go home, so I thought I shouldn’t stay for a while—it’s okay—”

“Not when you fall asleep all the time in the daytime while you’re checking up on Beau.”

“I’m just…tired. I’m sorry, I just…”

“Well, you can stay with me if you don’t feel like you belong with Mortis, you know. My mother has a very nice spare room.”

“It’s okay, I’m on night shifts at the shelter. I just need a bit more time to work things out—by myself—”

“Kitt, wait!”

“That was sudden. Perhaps we should let her go, though. She’s certainly had a lot on her saddle lately.”

“S’pose so.”

--

She turned up late.

“Kitt! The race is about to start!”

“Don’t worry. I VIDDmailed you the track, didn’t I?”

“Yes—but—“

She looked through her binocs at the starting line below. “Hey, stableboy? Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

The large caterpillars at the side of the track made their final crawl, and the boards flashed. The starter horn sounded as Budge cheered.

“And they’re off! Meorganna Syntence takes an early lead, with Artha Penn still lurking in fifth place at this stage in the race, right behind Marianis—”

“Take this part with your sledding gear, Artha! Blue balance gear, thrusters should keep you making the turns—“ Kitt began.

“—and optimise your path for speed while the irregularity enables you to acquire a promising position!” Parm finished.

“I think he means just go fast!”

“Uh, thanks for the advice!”

They watched Artha sit low in the saddle as Wyldfyr’s sledding gear activated; he seemed a little nervous as he zipped through the track, but the other riders slowed to avoid him as he quickly changed directions.

Bar Wulph, imitating his strategy.

“Turnstile hazard coming up!” Parm called. “Jump up and—”

“Purple-gear him!” Kitt finished. “Er—I mean fight him…”

“The mag-rack we prepared will be to your left once you exit the obstacle section,” Parm said. “Take green ramming gear!”

“I have an idea!” Artha responded, and magged out the ramming gear to knock out Wulph’s dragon.

Kitt bit her lip. “Then you’re…gonna have to leap past the barrier section. If you’re fast enough, it shouldn’t matter. Got Aero and thruster handy?”

“Absolutely.”

Wyldfyr slid past Marianis and Poseidos, dodging between the turnstiles.

“Look out—” Parm called as one seemed to come too close to Artha, but mag-energy appeared around his hand as he fired.

“Artha, you stopped the machine with giga-dracs of energy!” Parm yelled in surprise. “Where are you getting it from—”

“Training with Mortis, remember? Sharpfyr’s going great. Now—”

He did the jump with thrusters firing, activating Aero gear only at the last minute to get a fast jump above a more showy one, and landed just behind Meorganna at the beginning of one of the long tubes that distinguished the Slider Track.

They both reactivated sledding gear, their dragons skipping the cutaway sections as they flew along the smooth path. The two lead racers flew from their dragons’ backs, and went at each other with mag-fire.

Kitt nodded, impressed. Wyldfyr and Artha were doing well, battling Meorganna and her dragon very effectively—

Pyrrah, catching up to them fast, muscle balance gear combined with thruster and sledding. She’d probably be able to overtake them as they fought, easily.

“Behind you—” Kitt called to Artha, and then to her shock he reached across and fired down a mag-bolt at Phorrj’s sledding gear. It exploded; the dragon fell back, and Pyrrah was trapped beneath him.

“Artha! What—”

He flung himself beyond Meorganna, and swung himself over the ledge to hit a target with his feet. Meorganna’s dragon careered around as she narrowly missed the obstacle, and Meorganna herself fell back to the saddle as the mag-energy refused to hold her up any longer.

“Artha Penn overtakes the Stone City champion!” Budge called. “They’re really playing with fire out here on the race tracks, the bets have already started to give great odds for these two as this year’s main competitors! Oh—“

Artha’s turn to skid as Meorganna rappelled a target in front of him. He faltered just before a jump, desperately activating thrusters to stay in the air while she leaped past him, waving cheerily. Kitt forced herself to play close attention to his position on the track, to tell him the exact right place to jump.

“And Meorganna once again takes the lead! She’s activated green ramming gear, level seven as she enters the barrier, very nice, and she’s not holding back as she shoots her way through it. Ooh, nice ricochet there, taking out four barriers at once as her point score climbs higher and higher—”

“Artha, now!” Kitt called to him, and he took the jump above the barriers. She could see the extra mag-energy pushed to his gear, and watched him fly past the track. He even reached down to blast the barriers as he went, netting himself a few extra points for it.

“Artha Penn’s having it both ways, jumping ahead as he fires at the barriers; Meorganna’s seen, she’s—oh, that’s one powerful mag—and they’re both through, coming into the final slide—”

“Wyldfyr’s faster, stableboy. Give it all the juice you’ve got!” Kitt called.

The dragons battled as much as the humans, Meorganna’s dragon trying to shove Wyldfyr into the walls as the humans battled from saddleback.

“Artha, if you just get out of Meorganna’s way—twist, use the air currents—you can get ahead and win—”

“I can’t!”

She clenched her fists. There were openings, Artha and Wyldfyr could win it—

“Wyldfyr, stop fighting and get through!” she called—he was being pretty aggressive as he snapped at the Psi-blend, but she supposed Meorganna’s dragon was as annoying as its rider.

Meorganna seemed to explode in light, and ran on to first place while Artha and Wyldfyr stumbled behind her in the wake of the mag-shield’s passing.

Budge’s gong sounded. “Meorganna Syntence, in first place again—is it getting to be a habit or what? And second we have Artha Penn, rising to fourth place in the overall point standings, perhaps Down City’s hope, and in third Pyrrah of the Dragon Flares, after a stunning recovery!”

Kitt and Parm turned to each other and shrugged, smiling. Second was good, and Artha and Wyldfyr had done well.

“Not bad, stableboy,” she said as they walked back to the Sharp Edge tent. “Brilliant racing, Wyldfyr!”

They both snorted; Wyldfyr flicked the dragon treat from her pocket with his tail and neatly grabbed it from the air. “I totally feel appreciated,” Artha said. “So what was that thing you were telling me to do? I could’ve won.”

“You just needed to…twist a bit, it’s hard to explain in words.” Why was she feeling so slow today? She was tired, she should’ve been better at helping him… “You slip back to throw them off guard, then speed forward, a bit like the tip I showed you back in the Dashyrr Championship.”

He frowned. ‘You could’ve said so.”

“Sorry. Anyway, I am glad you did well, but that mag you did on Pyrrah—”

“What about it?”

“Well, it wasn’t very nice,” Parm said. “Pyrrah has been honourable to us, when not under Word’s influence.”

“And nobody else knows the mag-moves other than Meorganna,” Kitt said. “It’s a bit like…”

“Like cheating?” Lance asked.

“It’s not like cheating!” Artha turned on them. “And if it is, then riding the Dragon of Legend counts!”

Kitt held up her hands. “You have a point there. But I’ve known Pyrrah for a while, and that mag was pretty brutal. I understand why you did it, and Pyrrah did make third—” would she do something far more terrible if she got Red-angry, with the powers of legend? Actually she already had“—but I don’t think you should do something like that again.”

“We need to get into the Academy and release the dragon,” Artha said, his lip curling. “Did you miss Mortis saying that?”

Like you missed everything else Mortis has been saying since you got banned from being the Dragon Booster, he didn’t say, and she was thankful for that.

“No,” she said. “But if we get into the Academy just by beating everyone up with mag-moves, then maybe it’s no use at all.”

“If you get into the Academy by me beating people up, you mean,” he said, and sighed. “Look. Kitt. I didn’t start out as the legendary hero who’s been racing since forever, and now I’m having to go on in your place.”

She nodded. He was right about that, but still…

“I won’t use mag-moves unless Meorganna starts it,” he said. “Deal?”

“Oh yeah. You got to beat her next time, stableboy.”

Lance put an arm around both their waists. “Let’s go get something to eat now you’ve decided it. I’m hungry.”

“That is a very good idea, Lance. Who’s for it?”

“Yes—”

A nod and hungry growl from Wyldfyr.

“Totally—“

Her VIDDcomm beeped.

“Hello?”

“Kitt, it’s Becca here. I’m just finishing off the mid-afternoon feeding on my own. Vete had to leave early and Neale can’t make it today, and I have to pick up the children—I don’t mind that you didn’t turn up earlier, but can you please stay for Neale’s shift instead? You’re the only one we have to administer little Gyrro’s medication on the clock…”

“Sorry, Becca, Artha had a race.” She should’ve told them; she’d thought she was too tired to pencil in a note two shifts ago and put it off, and had then completely forgotten about it. “I’ll be in soon.” She looked up apologetically. “Sorry, guys…”

“No problem,” Artha said. “Come on, guys. See you ‘round, Kitt.”

--

“First place!” Parm beams. “And at least you only used mag-moves on yourself!”

“They’re something I learned.” Artha hits his friend playfully on the shoulder.

It seems Kitt wanes as Artha waxes, though I manage a laugh at myself for the silliness of the phrase.

“You did very well on the Horn Trail,” Mortis tells him.

“Yeah. I even got almost the exact same score as Meorganna and Cain, can you believe it? It’s a way harder track than the partnered one because they want riders who can work together with other people, but I guess if you do as well as me—” He grins proudly, but then he slumps a little. “She’s still ahead in the standings, though.”

“Technically, though, you did work together,” Parm points out, reaching for a slice of scaleroot pizza; I trip him with my tail, and pretend to have been uninvolved in the accident as I helpfully save the slice from falling to the ground. There are dragons starving in the White Cliffs, after all. I hope it doesn’t upset my stomach, though, I think as I chew; I need to return to action.

“Yeah, you and Lance and Kitt,” Artha says. “Thanks, Parm.”

“She’s gone down to the dragon shelter,” Lance explains to Mortis. “When’s she coming back?”

Mortis bends down, speaking gently to him. “Kitt has…made mistakes,” he says. “She may return when she has worked past them.”

She will return, I tell myself.

--

Black-clad Dual comes in for the day as every day, unrolling the mask and doing the most elementary treatment of injuries she’s received. I see her cake her face with solid foundation to hide bruises, and watch her grant herself small moments of sleep in the chair beside me.

And I sigh.

--

A/N: Feedback is love.