Dragonquest by Anne McCaffrey
“Yes, he’s there all right if he weren’t a Lord Holder—” and N’ton shrugged.
“Why? Does he say why?”
N’ton shrugged again. “He says he’s looking for coordinates. But so are we. There aren’t any features distinct enough. Just shapeless masses of gray and dark gray-greens. They don’t change and while it’s obvious they’re stable, are they land? Or sea?” N’ton began to feel the accusatory tension in the room and shifted his feet. “So often the face is obscured by those heavy clouds. Discouraging.”
“Is Meron discouraged?” asked F’lar pointedly.
“I’m not sure I like your attitude, Benden,” Larad said, his expression hard. “You don’t appear eager to discover any coordinates.”
F’lar looked Larad full in the eyes. “I thought we’d explained the problem involved. We have to know where we’re going before we can send the dragons.” He pointed to the green lizard perched on Larad’s shoulder. “You’ve been trying to train your fire lizard. You can appreciate the difficulty.” Larad stiffened defensively and his lizard hissed, its eyes rolling. F’lar was not put off. “The fact that no Records exist of any previous attempt to go there strongly indicates that the ancients—who built the distance-viewer, who knew enough to plot the neighbors in our sky—did not go. They must have had a reason, a valid reason. What would you have me do, Larad?” F’lar demanded, pacing in his agitation. “Ask for volunteers? You, you and you,” F’lar whirled, jabbing a finger at an imaginary line of riders, “you go, jump between to the Red Star. Coordinates? Sorry, men, I have none. Tell your dragons to take a long look halfway there. If you don’t come back, we’ll keen to the Red Star for your deaths. But men, you’ll die knowing you’ve solved our problem. Men can’t go to the Red Star.”
Larad flushed under F’lar’s sarcasm.
“If the ancients didn’t record any intimate knowledge of the Red Star,” said Robinton quietly into the charged silence, “they did provide domestic solutions. The dragons, and the grubs.”
“Neither proves to be effective protection right now, when we need it,” Larad replied in a bitter, discouraged voice. “Pern needs something more conclusive than promises—and insects!” He abruptly left the Rooms.
Asgenar, a protest on his lips, started to follow but F’lar stopped him.
“He’s in no mood to be reasonable, Asgenar,” F’lar said, his face strained with anxiety. “If he won’t be reassured by today’s demonstrations, I don’t know what more we can do or say.”
“It’s the loss of the summer crops which bothers him,” Asgenar said. “Telgar Hold has been spreading out, you know. Larad’s attracted many of the small Holders who’ve been dissatisfied in Nerat, Crom and Nabol and switched their allegiances. If the crops fail, he’s going to have more hungry people—and more trouble—than he can handle in the winter.”
“But what more can we do?” demanded F’lar, a desperate note in his voice. He tired so easily. The fever had left him little reserve strength, a state he found more frustrating than any other problem. Larad’s obduracy had been an unexpected disappointment. They’d been so lucky with every other man approached.
“I know you can’t send men on a blind jump to the Red Star,” Asgenar said, distressed by F’lar’s anxiety. “I’ve tried to tell my Rial where I want him to go. He gets frantic at times because he can’t see it clearly enough. Just wait until Larad starts sending his lizard about. He’ll understand. You see, what bothers him most is the realization that you can’t plan an attack on the Red Star.”
“Your initial mistake, my dear F’lar,” and the Harper’s voice was at its drollest, “was in providing salvation from the last imminent disaster in a scant three days by bringing up the Five Lost Weyrs. The Lord Holders really expect you to provide a second miracle in similar short order.”
The remark was so preposterous that F’nor laughed out loud before he could stop himself. But the tension and anxiety dissolved and the worried men regained some needed perspective.
“Time is all we need,” F’lar insisted.
“Time is what we don’t have,” Asgenar said wearily.
“Then let’s use what time we have to the best possible advantage,” F’lar said decisively, his moment of doubt and disillusion behind him. “Let’s work on Telgar. F’nor, how many riders can T’bor spare us to hunt larval sacks between time at Southern? You and N’ton can work out coordinates with them.”
“Won’t that weaken Southern’s protection?” asked Robinton.
“No, because N’ton keeps his eyes open. He noticed that a lot of sacks started in the fall get blown down or devoured during the winter months. So we’ve altered our methods. We check an area in spring to place the sacks that survive, go back to the fall and take some of those which didn’t last. There were a few wherries who missed a meal but I don’t think we disturbed the balance much.”
F’lar began to pace, one hand absently scratching his ribs where the scar tissues itched.
“I need someone to keep an eye on Nabol, too.”
Robinton let out a snort of amusement. “We do seem beholden to the oddest agencies. Grub life. Meron. Oh yes,” and he chuckled at their irritation. “He may yet prove to be an asset. Let him strain his eyes and crick his neck nightly watching the Red Star. As long as he is occupied that way, we’ll know we have time. The eyes of a vengeful man miss few details he can turn to advantage.”
“Good point, Robinton. N’ton,” and F’lar turned to the young bronze rider. “I want to know every remark that man makes, which aspects of the Red Star he views, what he could possibly see, what his reactions are. We’ve ignored that man too often to our regret. We might even be grateful to him.”
“I’d rather be grateful to grubs,” N’ton replied with some fervor. “Frankly, sir,” he added, hesitant for the first time about any assignment since he’d been included in the council, “I’d rather hunt grubs or catch Thread.”
F’lar eyed the young rider thoughtfully for a moment “Think of this assignment then, N’ton, as the ultimate Thread catch.”
Brekke had insisted on taking over the care of the plants in the Rooms once she was stronger. She argued that she was farmcraftbred and capable of such duties. She preferred not to be present during the demonstrations. In fact she went out of her way to avoid seeing anyone but weyrfolk. She could abide their sympathy but the pity of outsiders was repugnant to her.
This did not affect her curiosity and she would get F’nor to tell her every detail of what she termed the best-known Craft secret on Pern. What F’nor narrated the Telgar Lord’s bitter repudiation of what the Weyrs were trying to accomplish, she was visibly disturbed.
“Larad’s wrong,” she said in the slow deliberate way she’d adopted lately. “The grubs are the solution, the right one. But it’s true that the best solution is not always easy to accept. And an expedition to the Red Star is not a solution, even if it’s the one Pernese instinctively crave. It’s obvious. Just as two thousand dragons over Telgar Hold was rather obvious seven Turns ago.” She surprised F’nor with a little smile, the first since Wirenth’s death. “I myself, like Robinton, would prefer to rely on grubs. They present fewer problems. But then I’m craftbred.”
“You use that phrase a lot lately,” F’nor remarked, turning her face toward him, searching her green eyes. They were serious, as always, and clear in the candid gaze was the shadow of a sorrow that would never lift.
She locked her fingers in his and smiled gently, a smile which did not disperse the sorrow. “I was craftbred,” she corrected herself. “I’m weyrfolk now.” Berd crooned approvingly and Grall added a trill of her own.
“We could lose a few Holds this Turn around,” F’nor said bitterly.
“That would solve nothing,” she said. “I’m relieved that F’lar is going to watch that Nabolese. He has a warped mind.”
Suddenly she gasped, gripping F’nor’s fingers so tight that her fingernails broke the skin.
“Wh
“He has a warped mind,” Brekke said, staring at him with frightened eyes. “And he also has a fire lizard, a bronze, as old as Grall and Berd. Does anyone know if he’s been training it? Training it to go between?”
“All the Lords have been shown how—” F’nor broke off as he realized the trend of her thought. Berd and Grall reacted to Brekke’s fright with nervous squeals and fanning wings. “No, no, Brekke. He can’t,” F’nor reassured her. “Asgenar has one a week or so younger and he was saying how difficult he found it to send his Rial about in his own Hold.”
“But Meron’s had his longer. It could be further along . . .”
“Nabol?” F’nor was skeptical. “That man has no conception of how to handle a fire lizard.”
“Then why is he so fascinated with the Red Star? What else could he have in mind but to send his bronze lizard there?”
“But he knows that dragonmen won’t attempt to send dragons. How can he imagine that a fire lizard could go?”
“He doesn’t trust dragonmen,” Brekke pointed out, obviously obsessed with the idea. “Why should he trust that statement? You’ve got to tell F’lar!”
He agreed to because it was the only way to reassure her. She was still so pathetically thin. Her eyelids looked transparent though there was soft flush of color in her lips and cheeks.
“Promise you’ll tell F’lar.”
“I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him, but not in the middle of the night.”
With a wing of riders to direct between time for larval sacks the next day, his promise slipped F’nor’s mind until late that evening. Rather than distress her with his forgetfulness, he asked Canth to bespeak N’ton’s Lioth to pass the theory on to N’ton. If the Fort Weyr bronze rider saw anything that gave Brekke’s premise substance, then they’d tell F’lar.
He had a chance to speak to N’ton the following day as they met in the isolated valley field which Larad of Telgar Hold had picked to be seeded by grubs. The field, F’nor noticed with some jaundice, was planted with a new hybrid vegetable, much in demand as a table luxury and grown successfully only in some upland areas of Telgar and the High Reaches Hold.
“Brekke may have something, F’nor,” N’ton admitted. “The watchriders have mentioned that Nabol will stare for a long time into the distance-viewer and then suddenly stare into his fire lizard’s eyes until the creature becomes frantic and tries to rise. In fact, last night the poor thing went between screaming. Nabol stalked off in a bad mood, cursing all dragonkind.”
“Did you check what he’d been looking at?”
N’ton shrugged. “Wasn’t too clear last night. Lots of clouds. Only thing visible was that one gray tail—the place that resembles Nerat but points east instead of west. It was visible only briefly.”
F’nor remembered that feature well. A mass of grayness formed like a thick dragon tail, pointing in the opposite direction from the planet’s rotation.
“Sometimes,” N’ton chuckled, “the clouds above the star are clearer than anything we can see below. The other night, for instance, there was a cloud drift that looked like a girl,” N’ton made passes with his hands to describe a head, and a few to one side of the air-drawn circle, “braiding her hair. I could see her head, tilted to the left, the half-finished braid and then the stream of free hair. Fascinating.”
F’nor did not dismiss that conversation entirely for he’d noticed the variety of recognizable patterns in the clouds around the Red Star and often had been more absorbed in that show than in what he was supposed to be watching for.
N’ton’s report of the fire lizard’s behavior was very interesting. The little creatures were not as dependent on their handlers as dragons. They were quite apt to disappear between when bored or asked to do something they didn’t feel like doing. They reappeared after an interlude, usually near dinnertime, evidently assuming people forgot quickly. Grall and Berd had apparently matured beyond such behavior. Certainly they had a nice sense of responsibility toward Brekke. One was always near her. F’nor was willing to wager that Grall and Berd were the most reliable pair of fire lizards on Pern.
Nevertheless, Meron would be watched closely. It was just possible that he could dominate his fire lizard. His mind, as Brekke said, was warped.
As F’nor entered the passageway to his weyr that evening, he heard a spirited conversation going on although he couldn’t distinguish the words.
Lessa is worried, Canth told him, shaking his wings flat against his back as he followed his rider.
“When you’ve lived with a man for seven Turns, you know what’s on his mind,” Lessa was saying urgently as F’nor entered. She turned, an almost guilty expression on her face, replaced by relief when she recognized F’nor.
He looked past her to Brekke whose expression was suspiciously blank. She didn’t summon even a welcoming smile for him.
“Know what’s on whose mind, Lessa?” F’nor asked, unbelting his riding tunic. He tossed his gloves to the table and accepted the wine which Brekke poured him.
Lessa sank awkwardly into the chair beside her, her eyes darting everywhere but toward him.
“Lessa is afraid that F’lar may attempt to go to the Red Star himself,” Brekke said, watching him.
F’nor considered that as he drank his wine. “F’lar’s not a fool, my dear girls. A dragon has to know where he’s going. And we don’t know what to tell them. Mnementh’s no fool either.” But as F’nor passed his cup to Brekke to be refilled, he had a sudden flash of N’ton’s hair-braiding cloud lady.
“He can’t go,” Lessa said, her voice harsh. “He’s what holds Pern together. He’s the only one who can consolidate the Lord Holders, the Craftmasters and the dragonriders. Even the Oldtimers trust him now. Him. No one else!”
Lessa was unusually upset, F’nor realized. Grall and Berd came gliding in to perch on the posts of Brekke’s chair, chirping softly and preening their wings.
Lessa ignored their antics, leaning across the table, one hand on F’nor’s to hold his attention. “I heard what the Harper said about miracles. Salvation in three days!” Her eyes were bitter.
“Going to the Red Star is salvation for no one, Lessa!”
“Yes, but we don’t know that for certain. We’ve only assumed that we can’t because the ancients didn’t. And until we prove to the Lords what the actual conditions there are, they will not accept the alternative!”
“More trouble from Larad?” F’nor asked sympathetically, rubbing the back of his neck. His muscles felt unaccountably tight.
“Larad is bad enough,” she said bitterly, “but I’d rather him than Raid and Sifer. They’ve somehow got hold of rumors and they’re demanding instant action.”
“Show ’em the grubs!”
Lessa abruptly released F’nor’s hand, pursing her lips with exasperation. “If grubs didn’t reassure Larad of Telgar, they’ll have less effect on those old blow-hards! No, they,” and in emphasizing the pronoun she underscored her contempt for the old Lord Holders, “are of the opinion that Meron of Nabol has found coordinates after nights of watching and is maliciously withholding them from the rest of Pern.”
F’nor grinned and shook his head. “N’ton is watching Meron of Nabol. The man has found nothing. He couldn’t do anything without our knowledge. And he certainly isn’t having any luck with his fire lizard.”
Lessa blinked, looking at him without comprehension.
“With his fire lizard?”
“Brekke thinks Meron might attempt to send his fire lizard to the Red Star.”
As if a string in her back had been pulled, Lessa jerked up in her chair, her eyes huge and black as she stared first at him, then at Brekke.
“Yes, that would be like him. He wouldn’t mind sacrificing his fire lizard for that, would he? And it’s as old as yours.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “If he . . .”
F’nor laughed with an assurance he suddenly didn’t honestly
Lessa clenched her fists in an excess of frustration.
“There’s got to be something we can do. I tell you, F’nor, I know what F’lar has on his mind. I know he’s trying to find some way to get to the Red Star if only to prove to the Lord Holders that there is no other alternative but the grubs!”
“He may be willing to risk his neck, my dear Lessa, but is Mnementh willing?”
Lessa flashed F’nor a look of pure dislike. “And put the notion in the poor beast’s head that this is what F’lar wants? I could throttle Robinton. Him and his three-day salvation! F’lar can’t stop thinking about that. But F’lar is not the one to go” and she broke off, biting her lip, her eyes sliding toward Brekke.
“I understand, Lessa,” Brekke said very slowly, her eyes unwinking as she held Lessa’s. “Yes, I understand you.”
F’nor began to massage his right shoulder. He must have been between too much lately.
“Never mind,” Lessa said suddenly, with unusual force. “I’m just overwrought with all this uncertainty. Forget what I said. I’m only imagining things. I’m as tired as—as we all are.”
“You’re right there, Lessa,” F’nor agreed. “We’re all seeing problems which don’t exist. After all, no Lord Holder has come to Benden Weyr and thrown down any ultimatum. What could they do? F’lar certainly has been forthright, explained the project of grub protection so often I’ll be ill if I have to listen to it once more. Certainly he’s been open with the other Weyrleaders, the Craftmasters, being sure that everyone knows exactly what the over-all plan is. Nothing will go wrong this time. This is one Craft secret that won’t get lost because someone can’t read a Record skin!”