F’lar stifled a laugh with a cough. Robinton was a genius.
“I must see that Ruathan tapestry,” Fandarel suddenly boomed out.
“I’m sure it will be in your hands very soon,” F’lar assured him with more confidence than he dared feel. “My Lords, there is much to be done. Now that you understand what we all face, I leave it in your hands as leaders in your separate Holds and crafts how best to organize your own people.
Craftsmen, turn your best minds to our special problems: review all Records that might turn up something to our purpose. Lords Telgar, Crom, Ruatha, and Nabol, I shall be with you in three days. Nerat, Keroon, and Jgen, I am at your disposal to help destroy any burrow on your lands. While we have the Masterminer here, tell him your needs. How stands your craft?”
“Happy to be so busy at our trade, weyrleader,” piped up the Masterminer.
Just then F’lar caught sight of F’nor, hovering about in the shadows of the hallway, trying to catch his eye. The brown rider wore an exultant grin, and it was obvious he was bursting with news. F’lar wondered how they could have returned so swiftly from the Southern Continent, and then he realized that F’nor again was tanned. He gave a jerk of his head, indicating that F’nor take himself off to the sleeping quarters and wait.
“Lords and Craftmasters, a dragonet will be at the disposal of each of you for messages and transportation. Now, good morning.”
He strode out of the Council Room, up the passageway into the queen’s weyr, and parted the still swinging curtains into the sleeping room just as F’nor was pouring himself a cup of wine.
“Success!” F’nor cried as the weyrleader entered. “Though how you knew to send just thirty-two candidates I’ll never understand. I thought you were insulting our noble Pridith. But thirty-two eggs she laid in four days. It was all I could do to keep from riding out when the first appeared.”
F’lar responded with hearty congratulations, relieved that there would be at least that much benefit from this apparently illfated venture. Now all he had to figure out was how much longer F’nor had stayed south until his frantic visit the night before. For there were no worry lines or strain in F’nor’s grinning, well-tanned face.
“No queen egg?” asked F’lar hopefully. With thirty-two in the one experiment, perhaps they could send a second queen back and try again. F’nor’s face lengthened. “No, and I was sure there would be. But there gre fourteen bronzes. Pridith out-matched Ramoth there,” he added proudly.
“Indeed she did. How goes the Weyr otherwise?”
F’nor frowned, shaking his head against an inner bewilderment. “Kylara’s … well, she’s a problem. Stirs up trouble constantly. T’bor leads a sad time with her, and he’s so touchy everyone keeps a distance from him.” F’nor brightened a little. “Young N’ton is shaping up into a fine wingleader, and his bronze may outfly Tbor’s Orth when Pridith flies to mate the next time. Not that I’d wish Kylara on N’ton … or anyone.”
“No trouble then with supplies?”
F’nor laughed outright. “If you hadn’t made it so plain we must not communicate with you here, we could supply you with fruits and fresh greens that are superior to anything in the north. We eat the way dragonmen should! F’lar, we must consider a supply Weyr down there. Then we shall never have to worry about tithing trains and …”
“In good time. Get back now. You know you must keep these visits short.”
F’nor grimaced. “Oh, it’s not so bad. I’m not here in this time, anyway.”
“True,” F’lar agreed, “but don’t mistake the time and come while you’re still here.”
“Hmmm? Oh, yes, that’s right. I forget time is creeping for us and speeding for you. Well, I shan’t be back again till Pridith lays the second clutch.” With a cheerful good-bye, F’nor strode out of the weyr.
F’lar watched him thoughtfully as he slowly retraced his steps to the Council Room. Thirty-two new dragons, fourteen of them bronzes, was no small gain and seemed worth the hazard. Or would the hazard wax greater?