Lessa rose, her body taut She licked her lips. “I think,” she said in a low voice, “that’s what scares me most. He’s taking such precautions to be sure everyone knows. Just in case . . .”
She broke off and rushed out of the Weyr.
F’nor stared after her. That interpretation of F’lar’s overtness began to assume frightening significance. Disturbed, he turned to Brekke, surprised to see tears in the girl’s eyes. He took her in his arms.
“Look, I’ll get some rest, we’ll eat, and then I’ll go to Fort Weyr. See Meron myself. Better still,” and he hugged her reassuringly, “I’ll bring Grall along. She’s the oldest we’ve got. I’ll see if she’d take the trip. If any of the fire lizards would go, she’d be the one. There now! How’s that for a good idea?”
She clung to him, kissing him so urgently that he forgot Lessa’s disturbing idea, forgot he was hungry and tired, and responded with eager surprise to her ardent demands.
Grall hadn’t wanted to leave Berd where the bronze fire lizard was cuddled on the cushion by Brekke’s head. But then, F’nor didn’t much want to leave Brekke. She’d reminded him, after they’d loved each other deeply, that they had obligations. If Lessa had been worried enough about F’lar to confide in Brekke and F’nor, she was more deeply concerned than she’d admit. Brekke and F’nor must assume such responsibility as they could.
Brekke was a great one for assuming responsibility. F’nor thought with affectionate tolerance as he roused Canth. Well, it wouldn’t take long to check on Meron. Or to see if Grall would consider going to the Red Star. That certainly was a better alternative than F’lar making the trip. If the little queen lizard would consider it.
Canth was in high good humor as they wheeled first above Benden Weyr, then burst out of between above Fort Weyr’s Star Stones. There were glows along the crown of the Weyr rim and, beyond the Star Stones, the silhouettes of several dragons.
Canth and F’nor of Benden Weyr, the brown dragon announced in answer to the watchrider’s query. Lioth is here and the green dragon who must stay at Nabol, Canth added as he backwinged to a light landing. Grall swooped above F’nor’s head, waiting until Canth had taken off to join the other beasts before she took her shoulder perch.
N’ton stepped out of the shadows, his welcoming grin distorted by the path glows. He jerked his head back, toward the distance-viewer.
“He’s here and his lizard’s in a fine state. Glad you came. I was about to ask Lioth to bespeak Canth.”
The bronze Nabol lizard began to screech with a distress which Grall echoed nervously. Her wings extended. F’nor stroked them down to her back, emitting the human version of a lizard croon which usually calmed her. She tightened her wings but started to hop from one foot to the other, her eyes whirling restlessly.
“Who’s that?” demanded Meron of Nabol peremptorily. Meron’s shadow detached itself from the larger one of the rock on which the distance-viewer was mounted.
“F’nor, Wing-second of Benden Weyr,” the brown rider answered coldly.
“You’ve no business in Fort Weyr,” Meron said, his tone rasping. “Get out of here!”
“Lord Meron,” N’ton said, stepping in front of F’nor. “F’nor of Benden has as much right in Fort Weyr as you.”
“How dare you speak to a Lord Holder in that fashion?”
“Can he have found something?” F’nor asked N’ton in a low voice.
N’ton shrugged and moved toward the Nabolese. The little lizard began to shriek. Grall extended her wings again. Her thoughts were a combination of dislike and annoyance, tinged with fear.
“Lord Nabol, you have had the use of the distance-viewer since full dark.”
“I’ll have the use of the distance-viewer as long as I choose, dragonman. Go away. Leave me!”
Far too accustomed to instant compliance with his orders, Nabol turned back to the viewer. F’nor’s eyes were used to the darkness by now and he could see the Lord Holder bend to place his eye to the viewer. He also saw that the man held tight to his fire lizard though the creature was twisting and writhing to escape. Its agitated screeching rose to a nerve-twitting pitch.
The little one is terrified, Canth told his rider.
“Grall terrified?” F’nor asked the brown dragon, startled. He could see that Grall was upset but he didn’t read terror in her thoughts.
Not Grall. The little brother. He is terrified. The man is cruel.
F’nor had never heard such condemnation from his dragon.
Suddenly Canth let out an incredible bellow. It startled the riders, the other two dragons, and put Grall into flight. Before half the dragons of Fort Weyr roused to bugle a query, Canth’s tactic had achieved the effect he’d wanted. Meron had lost his hold on the fire lizard and it had sprung free and gone between.
With a cry of rage for such interference, Meron sprang toward the dragonriders, to find his way blocked by the menacing obstacle of Canth’s head.
“Your assigned rider will take you back to your Hold, Lord Meron,” N’ton informed the Lord Holder. “Do not return to Fort Weyr.”
“You’ve no right! You can’t deny me access to that distance-viewer. You’re not the Weyrleader. I’ll call a Conclave. I’ll tell them what you’re doing. You’ll be forced to act. You can’t fool me! You can’t deceive Nabol with your evasions and temporizing. Cowards! You’re cowards, the pack of you! Always knew it. Anyone can get to the Red Star. Anyone! I’ll call your bluff, you neutered perverts!”
The green dragon, her eyes redly malevolent, dipped her shoulder to Meron. Without a break in his ranting denunciation, the Lord of Nabol climbed the riding straps and took his place on her neck. She had not cleared the Star Stones before F’nor was at the distance-viewer, peering at the Red Star.
What could Meron have seen? Or was he merely bellowing baseless accusations to unsettle them?
As often as he had seen the Red Star with its boiling cover of reddish-gray clouds, F’nor still experienced a primitive stab of fear. Tonight the fear was like an extra-cold spine from his balls to his throat. The distance-viewer revealed the westward-pointing tail of the gray mass which resembled a featureless, backward Nerat. The jutting edge of the swirling clouds obscured it. Clouds that swirled to form a pattern—no lady braiding her hair tonight. Rather, a massive fist, thumb of darker gray curling slowly, menacingly over the clenched fingers as if the clouds themselves were grabbing the tip of the gray mass. The fist closed and lost its definition, resembling now a single facet of a dragon’s complex eye, half-lidded for sleep.
“What could he have seen?” N’ton demanded urgently, tapping F’nor’s shoulder to get his attention.
“Clouds,” F’nor said, stepping back to let N’ton in. “Like a fist. Which turned into a dragon’s eye. Clouds, that’s all he could have seen, over backward Nerat!”
N’ton looked up from the eyepiece, sighing with relief.
“Cloud formations won’t get us anywhere!”
F’nor held his hand up for Grall. She came down obediently and when she started to hop to his shoulder, he forestalled her, gently stroking her head, smoothing her wings flat. He held her level with his eyes and, without stopping the gentle caresses, began to project the image of that fist, lazily forming over Nerat. He outlined color, grayish-red, and whitish where the top of the imagined fingers might be sun-struck. He visualized the fingers closing above the Neratian peninsula. Then he projected the image of Grall taking the long step between to the Red Star, into that cloud fist.
Terror, horror, a whirling many-faceted impression of heat, violent wind, burning breathlessness, sent him staggering against N’ton as Grall, with a fearful shriek, launched herself from his hand and disappeared.