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him and slapped him heartily on the back. That was all he needed to flip over again, and he began careening through the sky above Larteyn in a mad cartwheel.
    Gwen was behind him, shouting something. Dirk blinked and noticed that he was about to crash into the side of a tall ebony tower. He played with his controls and shot straight up, still fighting to steady himself.
    He was high above the city and standing upright when she caught him. “Stay away,” he warned with a grin, feeling stupid and clumsy and playful. “Knock me over again and I’ll get the flying tank and laser you out of the sky, woman!” He tilted to one side, caught himself, then overcompensated and swung to the other side yelping.
    “You’re drunk,” Gwen shouted at him through the keening wind. “Too much beer for breakfast.” She was above him now, arms folded against her chest, watching his struggles with mock disapproval.
    “These things seem much more stable when you hang from them upside down,” Dirk said. He had finally achieved a semblance of balance, although the way he held his arms out to either side made it clear that he was dubious about maintaining it.
    Gwen settled down to his level and moved in beside him, surefooted and confident, her dark hair streaming behind her like a wild black banner. “How you doing?” she yelled as they flew side by side.
    “I think I’ve got it!” Dirk announced. He was still upright.
    “Good. Look down!”
    He looked down, past the meager security of the platform under his feet. Larteyn with its dark towers and faded glowstone streets was no longer beneath him. Instead there was a long
long
drop through an empty twilight sky to the Common far below. He glimpsed a river down there, a thread of wandering dark water in the dim-lit greenery. Then his head swam dizzily, his hands tightened, and he flipped over again.
    This time Gwen dipped underneath him as he hung upside down. She crossed her arms again and smirked up at him. “You sure are a dumb shit, t’Larien,” she told him. “Why don’t you fly right side up?”
    He growled at her, or tried to growl, but the wind took away his breath and he could only make faces. Then he turned himself over. His legs were getting sore from all of this. “There!” he shouted, and looked down defiantly to prove that the height would not spook him a second time.
    Gwen was beside him again. She looked him over and nodded. “You are a disgrace to the children of Avalon, and sky-scooters everywhere,” she said. “But you’ll probably survive. Now, do you want to see the wild?”
    “Lead me, Jenny!”
    “Then turn. We’re going the wrong way. We have to clear the mountains.” She held out her free hand and took his and together they swung around in a wide spiral, up and back, to face Larteyn and the mountain-wall. The city looked gray and washed-out from a distance, its proud glowstones a sun-doused black. The mountains were a looming darkness.
    They rode toward them together, gaining altitude steadily until they were far over the Firefort, high enough to clear the peaks. That was about top altitude for the sky-scoots; an aircar, of course, could ascend much higher. But it was high enough for Dirk. The chameleon cloth coveralls they wore had gone all gray and white, and he was thankful for their warmth; the wind was chill and the dubious day of Worlorn not much hotter than its night.
    Holding hands and shouting infrequent comments, leaning this way and that into the wind, Gwen and Dirk rode up over one mountain and down its far slope into a shadowed rocky valley, then up and down another and still another, past dagger-sharp outcroppings of green and black rock, past high narrow waterfalls and higher precipices. At one point Gwen challenged him to race, and he shouted his acceptance, and then they streaked forward as fast as the scoots and their skill could take them until finally Gwen took pity on him and came back to take his hand again.
    The range