I cant sort this all out right now, Tbor. Please mount guards and let me know the instant youve any news of any kind. If you do uncover another clutch, I would very much appreciate some of the eggs. Let me know, too, if that little queen returns to Kylara. I grant the creature had reason, but if they frighten between so easily, they may be worthless except as pets.
Flar mounted Mnementh and saluted the Southern Weyrleader, reassured by nothing in this visit. And hed lost the advantage of surprising the Lord Holders with fire lizards. In fact, Kylaras precipitous donation would undoubtedly cause more trouble. A Weyrwoman meddling in a Hold not bound to her own Weyr? He almost hoped that these creatures would be nothing more than pets and her action could be soft-talked. Still, there was the psychological effect of that miniature dragon, Impressionable by anyone. That would have been a valuable asset in improving WeyrHold relations.
As Mnementh climbed higher, to the cooler levels. Flar worried most about that Threadfall. It had fallen. It had pierced leaf and grass, drowned in the water, and yet left no trace of itself in the rich earth. Igens sandworms would devour Thread, almost as efficiently as agenothree. But the grub life that had swarmed in the rich black swamp mud bore little resemblance to the segmented, shelled worms.
Unable to leave Southern without a final check, Flar gave Mnementh the order to transfer to the western swamp. The bronze obediently brought him right to the trench his claw had made. Flar slid from his shoulder, opening the wher-hide tunic as the humid, sticky, sun-steamed swamp air pressed against him like a thick wet skin. There was a ringing, rasping chorus of tiny sound all around him, splashings and burblings, none of which hed noted earlier in the day. In fact, the swamp had been remarkably silent, as if hushed by the menace of Thread.
When he turned back the hummock of grass by the roots of the berry bush, the earth was untenanted, the gray roots sleekly damp. Kicking up another section, he did find a small cluster of the larvae, but not in the earlier profusion. He held the muddy ball in his hand, watching the grubs squirm away from light and air. It was then that he saw that the foliage of that bush was no longer Threadscored. The char had disappeared and a thin film was forming over the hole, as if the bush were mending itself.
Something writhed against the skin of his palm and he hastily dropped the ball of dirt, rubbing his hand against his leg.
He broke off a leaf, the sign of Thread healing in the green foliage.
Could the grubs possibly be the southern continents equivalent of sandworms?
Abruptly he gave a running jump to Mnemenths shoulder, grabbing the riding straps.
Mnementh, take me back to the beginning of this Fall. Thatd make it six hours back. The sun would be at zenith.
Mnementh didnt grumble but his thoughts were plain. Flar was tired, Flar ought to go back to Benden and rest, talk to Lessa. Jumping between time was hard on a rider.
Cold between enveloped them and Flar hastily closed the tunic hed opened, but not before the cold seemed to eat into his chest bone. He shivered, with more than physical chill, as they burst out over the steamy swamp again. It took more than a few minutes under that blazing sun to counteract the merciless cold. Mnementh glided briefly northward and then hovered, facing due south.
They didnt have long to wait. High above, the ominous grayness that presaged Threadfall darkened the sky. As often as he had watched it, Flar never rid himself of fear. And it was harder still to watch that distant grayness begin to separate into sheets and patches of silvery Thread. To watch and to permit it to fall unchecked on the swamp below. To watch as it pierced leaf and green, hissing as it penetrated the mud. Even Mnementh stirred restlessly, his wings trembling as he fought every Instinct to dive, flaming, at the ancient menace. Yet he, too, watched as the leading Edge advanced southward, across the swamp, a gray rain of destruction.