“Well, you’d better answer number four right now!” Lessa suggested. “Decisively!”
Weaver, Miner, Harper, Smith, Tanner, Farmer, Herdsman, Lord, Gather, wingsped, listen well ‘
To the Weyrman’s urgent word.
THEY BOTH managed to guard against any reference to his premature return when they spoke to F’nor the next morning. F’lar asked brown Canth to send his rider to the queen’s weyr as soon as he awoke and was pleased to see F’nor almost immediately. If the brown rider noticed the curiously intent stare Lessa gave his bandaged face, he gave no sign of it. As a matter of fact, the moment F’lar outlined the bold venture of scouting the Southern Continent with the possibility of starting a Weyr ten Turns back in time, F’nor forgot all about his wounds.
“I’ll go willingly only if you send T’bor along with Kylara. I’m not waiting till N’ton and his bronze are big enough to take her on. T’bor and she are as” F’nor broke off with a grimace in Lessa’s direction. “Well, they’re as near a pair as can be. I don’t object to being … importuned, but there are limits to what a man is willing to do out of loyalty to dragonkind.”
F’lar barely managed to restrain the amusement he felt over F’nor’s reluctance. Kylara tried her wiles on every rider, and, because F’nor had not been amenable, she was determined to succeed with him.
“I hope two bronzes are enough. Pridith may have a mind of her own, come matingtime.”
“You can’t turn a brown into a bronze!” F’nor exclaimed with such dismay that F’lar could no longer restrain himself.
“Oh, stop it!” And that touched off Lessa’s laughter.
“You’re as bad a pair,” F’nor snapped, getting to his feet. “If we’re going south, Weyrwoman, we’d better get started. Particularly if we’re going to give this laughing maniac a chance to compose himself before the solemn Lords descend. I’ll get provisions from Manora. Well, Lessa? Are you coming with me?”
Muffling her laughter, Lessa grabbed up her furred flying cloak and followed him. At least the adventure was starting off well.
Carrying the pitcher of ktah and his cup, F’lar adjourned to the Council Room, debating whether to tell the Lords and Craftmasters of this southern venture or not. The dragons’ ability to fly between times as well as places was not yet well-known. The Lords might not realize it had been used the previous day to forestall the Threads. If F’lar could be sure that project was going to be successful well, it would add an optimistic note to the meeting. Let the charts, with the waves and times of the Thread attacks clearly visible, reassure the Lords.
The visitors were not long in assembling. Nor were they all successful in hiding their apprehension and the shock they had received now that Threads had again spun down from the Red Star to menace all life on Pern. This was going to be a difficult session, F’lar decided grimly. He had a fleeting wish, which he quickly suppressed, that he had gone with F’nor and Lessa to the Southern Continent. Instead, he bent with apparent industry to the charts before him.
Soon there were but two more to come, Meron of Nabol (whom he would have liked not to include, for the man was a troublemaker) and Lytol of Ruatha. F’lar had sent for Lytol last because he did not wish Lessa to encounter the man. She was still overly and, to his mind, foolishlysensitive at having had to resign her claim to Ruatha Hold for the Lady Gemma’s posthumous son. Lytol, as Warder of Ruatha, had a place in this conference. The man was also an ex-dragonman, and his return to the Weyr was painful enough without Lessa’s compounding it with her resentment. Lytol was, with the exception of young Larad of Telgar, the Weyr’s most valuable ally.
S’lel came in with Meron a step behind him. The Holder was furious at this summons; it showed in his walk, in his eyes, in his haughty bearing. But he was also as inquisitive as he was devious. He nodded only to Larad among the Lords and took the seat left vacant for him by Larad’s side. Meron’s manner made it obvious that that place was too close to F’lar by half a room.