“See, this phrase here is partly missing, but if you put ‘unpredictable shifts’ here, it makes sense.”
Lessa, her gray eyes wide with an expression of unfeigned awe (her dissembling nearly choked F’lar), looked up from the Record at T’ron.
“He’s right, F’lar. That would make sense. See – ” and she deftly slipped the Record from T’ron’s reluctant fingers and passed it to F’lar. He took it from her.
“You’re right, T’ron. Very right. This is one of the older skins which I had to abandon, unable to decipher them.”
“Of course, it was much more readable when I first studied it four hundred Turns back, before it got so faded.” T’ron’s smug manner was hard to take, but he could be managed better so than when he was defensive and suspicious.
“But that doesn’t tell us how the shift changes, or how long it lasted,” F’lar said.
“There must be other clues, T’ron,” Lessa suggested, bending seductively toward the Fort Weyrleader when he began to bristle at F’lar’s words. “Why would Thread fall out of a pattern they’ve followed to the second for seven mortal Turns this Pass? You yourself told me that you followed a certain rhythm in your Time. Did it vary much then?”
T’ron frowned down at the blurred lines. “No,” he admitted slowly, and then brought his fist down on the offending scrap. “Why have we lost so many techniques? Why have these Records failed us just when we need them most?”
Mnementh began to bugle from the ledge, with Fidranth adding his note.
Lessa “listened,” head cocked.
“D’ram and G’narish,” she said. “I don’t think we need expect T’kul, but R’mart is not an arrogant man.”
D’ram of Ista and G’narish of Igen Weyrs entered together. Both men were agitated, sparing no time for amenities.
“What’s this about premature Threadfall?” D’ram demanded. “Where are T’kul and R’mart? You did send for them, didn’t you? Were your wings badly torn up? How much Thread burrowed?”
“None. We arrived at first Fall. And my wings sustained few casualties, but I appreciate your concern, D’ram. We’ve sent for the others.”
Though Mnementh had given no warning, someone was running down the corridor to the Weyr. Everyone turned, anticipating one of the missing Weyrleaders, but it was a weyrling messenger who came racing in.
“My duty, sirs,” the boy gasped out, “but R’mart’s badly hurt and there’re so many wounded men and dragons at Telgar Weyr, it’s an awful sight. And half the Holds of High Crom are said to be charred.”
The Weyrleaders were all on their feet.
“I must send some help – ” Lessa began, to be halted by the frown on T’ron’s face and D’ram’s odd expression. She gave a small impatient snort. “You heard the boy, wounded men and dragons, a Weyr demoralized. Help in time of disaster is not interference. That ancient lay about Weyr autonomy can be carried to ridiculous lengths and this is one of them. Not to help Telgar Weyr, indeed!”
“She’s right, you know,” G’narish said, and F’lar knew the man was one step closer to gaining a modern perspective.
Lessa left the chamber, muttering something about personally flying to Telgar Weyr. The weyrling followed her, dismissed by F’lar’s nod.
“T’ron found a reference to unpredictable shifts in this old Record Skin,” F’lar said, seizing control. “D’ram, do you have any recollections from your studies of Istan Records four hundred Turns ago?”
“I wish I did,” the Istan leader said slowly, then looked toward G’narish who was shaking his head. “Before I came here, I ordered immediate sweepwatches within my Weyr’s bounds and I suggest we all do the same.”
“What we need is a Pern-wide guard,” F’lar began, carefully choosing his words.
But T’ron wasn’t deceived and banged the table so hard that he set the crockery jumping. “Just waiting for the chance to lodge dragons in Holds and Crafthalls again, huh F’lar? Dragonfolk stick together . . .”
“The way T’kul and R’mart are doing by not warning the rest of us?” asked D’ram in such an acid tone that T’ron subsided.
“Actually, why should dragonfolk weary themselves when there is so much more manpower available in the Holds now?” asked G’narish in a surprised way. He smiled slightly with nervousness when he saw the others staring at him. “I mean, the individual Holds could easily supply the watchers we’ll need.”
“And they’ve the means, too,” F’lar agreed, ignoring T’ron’s surprised exclamation. “It’s not so very long ago that there were signal fires on every ridge and hill, across the plains, in case Fax began another of his acquisitive marches. In fact, I shouldn’t be surprised if most of those beacon fireguards are still in place.”
He was faintly amused by the expressions on the three faces. The Oldtimers never had recovered from the utter sacrilege of a Lord attempting to hold more than one territory. F’lar had no doubt this prompted such conservatives as T’kul and T’ron to impress on the commoners at every opportunity just how dependent they were on dragonfolk; and why they tried to limit and curtail contemporary freedoms and licenses. “Let the Holders light fires when Thread masses on the horizon – a few strategically placed riders could oversee great areas. Use the weyrlings; that’d keep them out of mischief and give ‘em good practice. Once we know how the Thread falls now, we’ll be able to judge the changes.” F’lar forced himself to relax, smiling. “I don’t think this is as serious a matter as it first appears. Particularly if shifts have occurred before. Of course, if we could find some reference to how long the shift lasted, if Thread went back to the original pattern, it’d help.”
“It would have helped if T’kul had sent word as you did,” D’ram muttered.
“Well, we all know how T’kul is,” F’lar said tolerantly.
“He’d no right to withhold such vital information from us,” T’ron said, again pounding the table. “Weyrs should stick together.”
“The Lord Holders aren’t going to like this,” G’narish remarked, no doubt thinking of Lord Corman of Keroon, the most difficult one of the Holders bound to his Weyr.
“Oh,” F’lar replied with more diffidence than he felt, “if we tell them we’ve expected such a shift at about this time in the Pass . . .”
“But – but the timetables they have? They’re not fools,” T’ron sputtered.
“We’re the dragonfolk, T’ron. What they can’t understand, they don’t need to know – or worry about,” F’lar replied firmly. “It’s not their business to demand explanations of us, after all. And they’ll get none.”
“That’s a change of tune, isn’t it, F’lar?” asked D’ram.
“I never explained myself to them, if you’ll think back D’ram I told them what had to be done and they did it.”
“They were scared stupid seven Turns ago,” G’narish remarked. “Scared enough to welcome us with wide-open arms and goods.”
“If they want to protect all those forests and croplands, they’ll do as we suggest or start charring their profits.”
“Let Lord Oterel of Tillek or that idiot Lord Sangel of Boll start disputing my orders and I’ll fire their forests myself,” said T’ron, rising.
“Then we’re agreed,” said F’lar quickly, before the hypocrisy he was practicing overcame him with disgust. “We mount watches, aided by the Holders, and we keep track of the new shift. We’ll soon know how to judge it.”
“What of T’kul?” G’narish asked.
D’ram looked squarely at T’ron. “We’ll explain the situation to him.”
“He respects you two,” F’lar agreed. “It might be wiser, though, not to suggest we knew about . . .”
“We can handle T’kul, without your advice, F’lar,” D’ram cut him off abruptly, and F’lar knew that the momentary harmony between them was at an end. The Oldtimers were closing ranks against the crime of their contemporary, just as they had at that abortive meeting a few nights ago. He could console himself with the fact that they hadn’t been able to escape all the implications of this incident.