McCaffrey, Anne – DragonQuest. Chapter 9, 10

Now, if everyone on Pern could possess a fire lizard, wondered F’lar, would that really solve the problem?

More dragons in the sky. He glanced up and recognized T’ron’s Fidranth and Mardra’s queen, Loranth. He sighed. He wanted to see what Fandarel planned with his distance-writer before he had to tackle T’ron.

“Mnementh, what is happening at the Conclave?”

Talk. They await the other two Lord Holders.

F’lar tried to see if the Fort Weyrleaders had brought the missing Lords Groghe of Fort and Sangel of South Boll. Those two wouldn’t take kindly to a Conclave adjudicating without them. But if Lord Groghe had heard about High Reaches Hold …

F’lar suppressed a shudder, trying to smile with sincere apologies as he edged past a group of small Holders who apparently couldn’t see him. As if recognizing the smithcrafters as neutral, the Weyrwomen had gathered in a wary group to the right of the mass of equipment which Fandarel’s people were setting up. They were pretending great interest, but even G’narish’s pretty Weyrmate, Nadira, looked troubled and she was a sweet-tempered lady. Bedella, representing Telgar Weyr, looked completely confused but she wasn’t bright.

Just then Mardra broke through the guests, demanding to know what was going on. Had T’kul and Merika arrived? Where were their Hosts? Modern Holds were certainly lacking in plain courtesy. She didn’t expect traditional ceremonies any more but …

At that moment, F’lar heard the clang of steel against steel and saw Lord Groghe of Fort pounding the Hall door with his knife handle, his heavy featured face suffused with anger. The slighter, frosty Sangel, Lord of South Boll, was scowling darkly behind him. The door opened a slit, widened slightly to allow the two Lord Holders to enter. Judging by their expression, it would take time and more talk before these two were pacified.

“How much more needs to be done?” asked F’lar as he joined the Smith. He tried to remember how the distance-writer had looked in the Hall. This collection of tubes and wire seemed much too big.

“We need only attach this wire so,” Fandarel replied, his huge fingers deftly fitting word to action, “and that one, here. Now. I place the arm in position over the roll and we shall send out a message to the Hall to be sure all is in order.” Fandarel beamed down at his instrument as fondly as any queen over a golden egg.

F’lar felt someone rather too close behind him and looked irritably over his shoulder to see Robinton’s intent face. The Harper gave him an abstracted smile and nodded for him to pay attention.

The Smith was delicately tapping out a code, the irregular lengths of red lines appearing on the gray paper as the needle moved.

“ ‘Hook-up completed,’ “ Robinton murmured in F’lar’s ear. “ ‘Efficiently and on time.’ “ Robinton chuckled through that translation. “ ‘Stand by.’ That’s the long and the short of it.” The Smith turned the switch to the receive position and looked expectantly at F’lar. At that moment, Mnementh gave a squall from the heights. He and all the dragons began to extend their wings. The mass movement blotted out the sun which was lowering over the Telgar Cliffs and sent shadows over the guests to still their chatter.

Groghe told the Lords that T’ron has found a distance-viewer at Fort. He has seen the Red Star through it. They are upset. Be warned, said Mnementh.

The doors of the Great Hall swung wide and the Lord Holders came striding out. One look at Lord Groghe’s face confirmed Mnementh’s report. The Lord Holders ranged themselves on the steps, in a solid front against the Dragonmen gathered in the corner. Lord Groghe had lifted his arm, pointed it accusingly at F’lar, when a disconcerting hiss split the pregnant silence.

“Look!” the Smith bellowed and all eyes followed his hand as the distance-writer began receiving a message.

“Igen Hold reports Thread falling. Transmission broken off mid-sentence.”

Robinton reported the sounds as they were printed, his voice growing hoarser and less confident with each word.

“What nonsense is this?” Lord Groghe demanded, his florid face brick-red as attention was diverted from his proposed announcement. “Thread fell in the High Reaches at noon yesterday. How could it fall at Igen Hold this evening? What the Shells is that contraption?”