“No, F’lar, I’ve no objections,” the Istan Weyrleader replied, slowly, not looking at anyone. “After yesterday—” He stopped and, turning his head, looked at F’lar with troubled eyes. “Yesterday, I think I finally realized just how big Pern is and how narrow a man can get, worrying so much about what he ought to have, forgetting what he’s got. And what he’s got to do. Times have changed. I can’t say I like it. Pern had got so big—and we Oldtimers kept trying to make it small again because, I guess, we were a little scared at all that had happened. Remember it took us just four days to come forward four hundred Turns. That’s too much time—too much to sink into a man’s thinking.” D’ram was nodding his head in unconscious emphasis. “I think we’ve clung to the old ways because everything we saw, from those great, huge hour-long sweeps of forests to hundreds and hundreds of new Holds and Crafthalls was familiar and yet—so different. T’ron was a good man, F’lar. I don’t say I knew him well. None of us ever really got to know each other, you know, keeping to our Weyrs mostly and resting between Threadfalls. But all dragonmen are—are dragonmen. For a dragonman to go to kill another one—” D’ram shook his head slowly from side to side. “You could’ve killed him.” D’ram looked F’lar straight in the eye. “You didn’t. You fought Thread over Igen Hold. And don’t think I didn’t know T’ron’s knife got you.”
F’lar began to relax.
“Nearly made two of me, in fact.”
D’ram gave another one of his snorts but the slight smile on his face as he leaned back in his chair indicated his approval of F’lar.
Mnementh remarked to his rider that everyone was arriving at once. A bigger ledge was needed. F’lar swore softly to himself. He’d counted on more time. He couldn’t jeopardize the fragile new accord with D’ram by springing distasteful innovations on the man.
“I don’t believe the Weyrs can remain autonomous these days,” F’lar said, discarding all the ringing, smooth words he’d been rehearsing. “We nearly lost Pern seven Turns ago because dragonmen lost touch with the rest of the world; we’ve seen what happens when dragonman loses touch with dragonman. We need open mating flights, the exchange of bronzes and queens between Weyrs to strengthen Blood and improve the breed. We need to rotate the wings so riders get to know each other’s Weyrs and territories. A man grows stale, careless, riding over ground he knows too well. We need public Impressions . . .”
They could all hear the rumble of greetings and the scuffling of heavy boots in the corridor.
“Ista Weyr followed Benden Weyr yesterday,” D’ram interrupted him, his slow smile reaching his dark eyes. “But have a care which traditions you overset. Some cannot be discarded with impunity . . .”
They rose then as Lord Holders and Craftmasters strode into the weyr. Lord Asgenar, Mastersmith Fandarel and his wood Craftmaster, Bendarek, were first; Lord Oterel of Tillek Hold and Meron, Lord Holder of Nabol, his fire lizard squawking on his arm, arrived together, but Lord Oterel immediately sought Fandarel. A restless, eager atmosphere began to build, palpable with questions unanswered the previous evening. As soon as most were assembled, F’lar led the way into the Council Room. No sooner had the Weyrleaders ranged themselves behind him, facing the gathering of Lords and Craftsmen, than Larad, Lord of Telgar Hold, rose.
“Weyrleader, have you established where the next Thread is likely to fall?”
“Where you’ve evidently placed it, Lord Larad, on the western plains of Telgar Hold and Ruatha Hold.” F’lar nodded toward Lord Warder Lytol of Ruatha. “Probably later today. It’s early hours now in that part of the country and we don’t intend to hold you here long . . .”
“And how long will we have riders assigned us?” asked Lord Corman of Keroon, staring pointedly at D’ram on F’lar’s left.
“Until every Hold and Craft has an efficient communications system.”
“I’ll need men,” Mastersmith Fandarel rumbled from his cramped position in the far corner. “Do you all really want those flame throwers you’ve been plaguing me for?”
“Not if the dragonmen come when we call.” It was Lord Sangel of Boll Hold who answered, his face grim, his voice bitter.
“Is Telgar Weyr prepared to ride today?” Lord Larad went on, still holding the floor.
M’rek, the Telgar Weyr Wing-second, rose, glanced hesitantly at F’lar, cleared his throat and then nodded.
“High Reaches Weyr will fly with Telgar riders!” T’bor said.
“And Ista!” D’ram added.
The unexpected unanimity sent a murmurous ripple through the meeting, as Lord Larad sat down.
“Will we have to burn the forests?” Lord Asgenar of Lemos rose to his feet. The quiet question was the plea of a proud man.
“Dragonriders burn Thread, not wood,” F’lar replied calmly but there was a ring in his voice. “There are enough dragonriders,” and he gestured to the Weyrleaders on either side of him, “to protect Pern’s forests . . .”
“That’s not what’s needed most, Benden, and you know it,” Lord Groghe of Fort shouted as he rose to his feet, his eyes bulging. “I say, go after Thread on the Red Star itself. Enough time’s been wasted. You keep saying your dragons’ll go anywhere, anywhen you tell ’em to.”
“A dragon’s got to know where he’s going first, man,” G’narish, the Igen Leader, protested, jumping up excitedly.
“Don’t put me off, young man! You can see the Red Star, plain as my fist,” and Lord Groghe thrust out his closed hand like a weapon, “in that distance-viewer! Go to the source. Go to the source!”
D’ram was on his feet beside G’narish now, adding his angry arguments to the confusion. A dragon roared so loudly that all were deafened for a moment.
“If that is the desire of the Lords and Craftsmen,” F’lar said, “then we shall mount an expedition to fly on the morrow.” He knew D’ram and G’narish had turned to stare at him, dumbfounded. He saw Lord Groghe bristle suspiciously, but he had the attention of the entire room. He spoke quickly, clearly. “You’ve seen the Red Star, Lord Groghe? Could you describe the land masses to me? Would you estimate that we had to clear as large an area as, say, the northern continent? D’ram, would you agree that it takes about thirty-six hours to fly straight across? More? Hmmm. Tip-to-tip sweeps would be most effective since we couldn’t count on ground-crew support. That would mean dragonweights of firestone. Masterminer, I’ll need to know exactly what supplies you have processed for use. Benden Weyr keeps about five dragon-weights on hand at all times, the other Weyrs about the same, so we’d probably need all you’ve got. And every flame thrower on the continent. Now, dragonmen, I admit we don’t know if we can traverse such a distance without harm to ourselves and the dragons. I assume that since Thread survives on this planet, we can exist on that one. However . . .”
“Enough!” Groghe Of Fort Hold bellowed, his face flushed, his eyes protruding from their sockets.
F’lar met Groghe’s eyes steadily so that the choleric Lord Holder would realize that he was not being mocked; that F’lar was in earnest.
“To be at all effective, Lor
d Groghe, such an undertaking would leave Pern totally unprotected. I could not in conscience order such an expedition now that I see how much is involved. I hope you will agree that it is far more important, at this time, to secure what we have.” Better to risk Groghe’s pride if necessary to defeat that premature ambition. He couldn’t afford to evade an issue that could become a convenient rallying cry for the disaffected. “I’d want to get a good look at the Red Star before I took such a leap, Lord Groghe. And the other Leaders would too. I can promise you that once we are able to distinguish some jumping coordinates acceptable to the dragons, we can send a volunteer group to explore. I’ve often wondered why no one has gone before now. Or, if they have, what happened.” He had dropped his voice on those last words and there wasn’t a sound in the Chamber for a long moment.
The fire lizard on Lord Meron’s arm squawked nervously, causing an instant, violent reaction from every man.
“Probably that Record deteriorated, too,” F’lar said, raising his voice to a level audible above the restless scraping and throat-clearing. “Lord Groghe, Fort is the oldest of the Holds. Is there a chance that your back corridors, too, hide treasures we can use?”
Groghe’s reply was a curt nod of his head. He seated himself abruptly, staring straight ahead. F’lar wondered if he had alienated the man beyond reconciliation.
“I don’t think I’d ever fully appreciated the enormity of such a venture,” Corman of Keroon Hold remarked in a thoughtful drawl.
“One jump ahead of us, again, Benden?” asked Larad of Telgar Hold with a rueful grin.
“I shouldn’t say that, Lord Larad,” F’lar replied. “The destruction of all Thread at its source has been a favorite preoccupation of dragonmen Turn after Turn. I know how much territory one Weyr can cover, for instance; how much firestone is used by a Weyr in a Fall’s span. Naturally we,” and he gestured to the other Leaders, “would have information unavailable to you just as you could tell us how many guests you can feed at a banquet” That elicited a chuckle from many.