“There’ll be cooperation from the Weyrs, I can guarantee it,” F’lar told Lytol. He must rouse the man from his dejection. “The Oldtimers were shaken men this morning. Ruatha Hold’s weyrbound to Fort and T’ron’s setting up sweepriders. You’re to man the watch fires on the heights and light them when Thread mass is sighted. You’ll get prompt action the instant a watch fire is seen.”
“I’m to rely on shaken men and fires on the heights?” Lytol demanded, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Fire is not efficient,” Fandarel intoned. “Rain puts it out. Fog hides it.”
“I’ll gladly assign my drummers to you if you think they’d be of help,” Robinton put in.
“F’lar,” Lytol said urgently. “I know Benden Weyr sends messengers ahead to Holds under Threadfall. Won’t the other Weyrleaders agree now to assign riders to the Holds? Just until we know about the shifts and learn to anticipate them? I don’t like most of the Fort Weyr riders, but at least I’d feel secure knowing there was instant communication with the Weyr.”
“As I was saying,” Fandarel boomed in such a portentous voice that they all turned to him a little startled, “there has been a regrettable lack of efficient communication on this planet which I believe my craft can effectually end. That is the news I brought.”
“What?” Lytol was on his feet.
“Why didn’t you speak up sooner, you great lout?” demanded the Harper.
“How long would it take to equip all major Holds and Weyrs?” F’lar’s question drowned the others.
Fandarel looked squarely at the Weyrleader before he answered what had been almost a plea.
“More time, unfortunately, than we apparently have as margin in this emergency. My halls have been overbusy turning out flame throwers. There’s been no time to devote to my little toys.”
“How long?”
“The instruments which send and receive distance writing are easy to assemble, but wire must be laid between them. That process is time-consuming.”
“Man-consuming, too, I warrant,” Lytol added and sat down, deflated.
“No more than watch fires,” Fandarel told him placidly. “If each Lord and Weyr could be made to cooperate and work together. We did once before,” and the Smith paused to look pointedly at F’lar, “when Benden called.”
Lytol’s face brightened and he grabbed F’lar urgently by the arm.
“The Lord Holders would listen to you, F’lar of Benden, because they trust you!”
“F’lar couldn’t approach other Lords, not without antagonizing the Weyrleaders,” Lessa objected, but she too was alert with hope.
“What the other Weyrleaders don’t know—” Robinton suggested slyly, warming to the strategy. “Come, come, F’lar. This is not the time to stick at principles—at least ones which have proved untenable. Look beyond affiliations, man. You did before and we won. Consider Pern, all Pern, not one Weyr,” and he pointed a long callused finger at F’lar, “one Hold,” and he swiveled it to Lytol; “or one Craft,” and he cocked it at Fandarel. “When we five combined our wits seven Turns ago, we got ourselves out of a very difficult position.”
“And I set the stage for this one,” Lessa said with a bitter laugh.
Before F’lar could speak, Robinton was waggling his finger at her. “Silly people waste time assigning or assuming guilt, Lessa. You went back and you brought the Oldtimers forward. To save Pern, Now we have a different problem. You’re not silly. You and F’lar, and all of us, must find other solutions. Now we’ve that so conveniently scheduled wedding at Telgar Hold. There’ll be a bevy of Lords and Craftmasters doing honor to Lemos and Telgar. We are all invited. Let us make very good use of that social occasion, my Lady Lessa, my lord F’lar, and bend them all to Benden’s way of thinking. Let Benden Weyr be a model—and all the other Holds and Crafts will follow those weyrbound to Benden . . .”
He leaned back suddenly, smiling with great anticipation.
F’lar said quietly, “Disaffection is apparently universal. We are going to need more than words and example to change minds.”
“The Crafts will back you, Weyrleader, to the last Hall,” Fandarel said. “You champion Bendarek. F’nor defended Terry, and against dragonmen because they were in the wrong. F’nor is all right, is he not?” The Smith turned questioningly to Lessa.
“He’ll be back in a week or so.”
“We need him now,” Robinton said. “He’d be useful at Telgar Hold, the commoners account him a hero. What do you say, F’lar? We’re yours to command again.”
They all turned to him, Lessa slipping a hand to his knee, her eyes eager. This was what she wanted, all right; for him to assume the responsibility. It was what he knew he had to do, finishing the task he had relinquished, hopefully, to those he thought better qualified than he to protect Pern.
“About that distance-writer of yours, Fandarel, could you rig one to Telgar Hold in time for the marriage?” F’lar asked.
Robinton let out a whoop that reverberated through the chamber, causing Ramoth to grumble from the Hatching Ground. The Smith showed all his stained tusks and clenched his huge fists on the table as if choking any opposition a-borning. The tic in Lytol’s cheek gave a spasmodic leap and stopped.
“Marvelous idea,” Robinton cried. “Hope’s a great encourager. Give the Lords a reliable means of keeping in touch and you’ve undone much of the Weyrs’ isolation policies.”
“Can you do it, Fandarel?” F’lar asked the Smith.
“To Telgar I could lay wire. Yes. It could be done.”
“How is this distance writing done? I don’t understand.”
Fandarel inclined his head toward the Masterharper. “Thanks to Robinton, we have a code that permits us to send long and complicated messages. One must train a man to understand it, to send and receive it. If you could spare an hour of your time . . .”
“I can spare you as much time as you need, Fandarel,” F’lar assured him.
“Let’s go tomorrow. There’s nothing could fall here tomorrow,” Lessa urged, excited.
“Good. I shall arrange a demonstration. I shall put more people to work on the wire.”
“I shall speak to Lord Sangel of Southern Boll and Lord Groghe of Fort Hold,” Lytol said. “Discreetly, of course, but they know Ruatha is not favored by the Weyt” He got to his feet. “I have been a dragonrider, and a craftsman, and now I am a Holder. But Thread makes no distinction. It sears wherever, whatever it touches.”
“Yes, we must remind everyone of that,” Robinton said with an ominous grin.
“I shall, of course, agree to whatever T’ron orders me to do, now I have hopes of a surer deliverance.” Lytol bowed to Lessa. “My duty to you, my lady. I’ll collect Lord Jaxom and beg the favor of a return flight . . .”
“You’ve missed your lunch, stay for our dinner.”
Lytol shook his head regretfully. “There’ll be much to set in motion.”
“In the interests of conserving dragon strength, I’ll ride with Lytol and Jaxom,” Robinton said, swallowing the rest of his wine after a rueful toast to such haste. “That will leave you two beasts to share the burden of Fandarel.”
Fandarel stood up, a tolerantly smiling giant, his massive bulk dwarfing the Harper, who was by no measure a short man. “I sympathize with dragons, forced to endure the envy of frail, small creatures.”
None of them left, however, because neither Jaxom nor Felessan could be located. One of Manora’s women remembered seeing them pilfering vegetables and thought they’d gone to join the boys playing miggsy. On questioning, one of the children, Gandidan, admitted seeing them go toward the back corridors.
“Gandidan,” Manora said sternly, “have you been teasing Felessan about the peekhole again?” The child hung his head and suddenly the others couldn’t look at anyone. “Hmmm,” and she turned to the anxious parents. “I’ve been missing used glows again, F’lar, so I imagine there’ve been some trips to look at the eggs.”
“What??
? Lessa exclaimed, as startled as the boys who had turned to guilty statues.
Before she could berate them, F’lar laughed aloud. “That’s where they are, then.”
“Where?”
The boys huddled together, terrified by the coldness in her voice, even if it was directed toward the Weyrleader.