“No one’s flying Ramoth but Mnementh,” she cried, her eyes sparkling fiercely.
F’lar crushed her against him, his mouth bruising hers as if all her sweetness and strength must come with him. He released her so abruptly that she staggered back against Ramoth’s lowered head. She clung for a moment to her dragon, as much for support as for reassurance.
That is, if Mnementh can catch me, Ramoth amended smugly.
Wheel and turn
Or bleed and bum.
Fly between,
Blue and green.
Soar, dive down,
Bronze and brown
Dragonmen must fly
When Threads are in the sky.
As F’LAR raced down the passageway to the ledge, fire-sacks bumping against his thighs, he was suddenly grateful for the tedious sweeping patrols over every Hold and hollow of Pern. He could see Nerat clearly in his mind’s eye. He could see the many-petaled vineflowers which were the distinguishing feature of the rainforests at this time of year.
Their ivory blossoms would be glowing in the first beams of sunlight like dragon eyes among the tall, wide-leaved plants. Mnementh, his eyes flashing with excitement, hovered skittishly over the ledge. F’lar vaulted to the bronze neck.
The Weyr was seething with wings of all colors, noisy with shouts and countercommands. The atmosphere was electric, but F’lar could sense no panic in that ordered confusion.
Dragon and human bodies oozed out of openings around the Bowl walls. Women scurried across the floor from one Lower Cavern to another. The children playing by the lake were sent to gather wood for a fire. The weyriings, supervised by old C’gan, were’ forming outside their barracks. F’lar looked up to the Peak and approved the tight formation of the wings assembled there in close flying order. Another wing formed up as he watched. He recognized brown Canth, F’nor on his neck, just as the entire wing vanished.
He ordered Mnementh aloft. The wind was cold and carried a hint of moisture. A late snow? This was the time for it, if ever.
R’gul’s wing and T’bor’s fanned out on his left, T’sum and D’nol on his right. He noted each dragon was well-laden with sacks. Then he gave Mnementh the visualization of the early spring rainforest in Nerat, just before dawn, the vineflowers gleaming, the sea breaking against the rocks of the High Shoal….
He felt the searing cold of between. And he felt a stab of doubt. Was he injudicious, sending them all possibly to their deaths between times in this effort to outtime the Threads at Nerat?
Then they were all there, in the crepuscular light that promises day. The lush, fruity smells of the rainforest drifted up to them. Warm, too, and that was frightening. He looked up and slightly to the north. Pulsing with menace, the Red Star shone down.
The men had realized what had happened, their voices raised in astonishment. Mnementh told F’lar that the dragons were mildly surprised at their riders’ fuss.
“Listen to me, dragonriders,” F’lar called, his voice harsh and distorted in an effort to be heard by all. He waited till the men had moved as close as possible. He told Mnementh to pass the information on. to each dragon. Then he explained what they had done and why. No one spoke, but there were many nervous looks exchanged across bright wings.
Crisply he ordered the dragonriders to fan out in a staggered formation, keeping a distance of five wings spread up or down.
The sun came up.
Slanting across the sea, like an ever-thickening mist, Threads were falling, silent, beautiful, treacherous. Silvery gray were those space-transversing spores, spinning from hard frozen ovals into coarse filaments as they penetrated the warm atmospheric envelope of Pern. Less than mindless; they had been ejected from their barren planet toward Pern, a hideous rain that sought organic matter to nourish it into growth.
One Thread, sinking into fertile soil, would burrow deep, propagating thousands in the warm earth, rendering it into a blackdusted wasteland. The southern continent of Pern had already been sucked dry. The true parasites of Pern were Threads.
A stifled roar from the throats of eighty men and dragons broke the dawn air above Nerat’s green heightsas if the Threads might hear this challenge, F’lar mused.