“I’m honored, my lady, but I’ve work to oversee, and the investigations I ought to conduct.” He pulled away from her.
“Surely one drink?” Lessa pleaded, smiling in her most winning way.
The Masterfarmer ran his hand through his hair, clearly reluctant to refuse.
“One drink then.”
“To seal the bargain of Pern’s fate,” said the Harper, dropping his voice to a sepulchral bass and looking solemnly portentous and amazingly like Lord Groghe of Fort.
As they all trooped out of the Rooms, Andemon looked down at Lessa.
“If it isn’t presumptuous of me, the young woman, Brekke, who lost her queen – how is she?”
Lessa hesitated only a second. “F’nor here can answer you better than I They’re Weyrmates.”
F’nor was forced to step up. “She’s been ill. Losing one’s dragon is a tremendous shock. She has made the adjustment. She won’t suicide now.”
The Masterfarmer halted, staring at F’nor. “That would be unthinkable.”
Lessa caught F’nor’s eye and he remembered he was talking to a commoner.
“Yes, of course, but the loss is unsettling.”
“Certainly. Ah, does she have any position at all now?” The words came slowly from the Farmer, then he added in a rush, “she is from my Crafthall you see, and we . . .”
“She is well loved and respected by all Weyrs,” Lessa broke in when Andemon faltered. “Brekke is one of those rare people who can hear any dragon. She will always enjoy a unique and high position with dragonfolk. She may, if she chooses, return to her home . . .”
“No!” The Masterfarmer was definite about that.
“Brekke is weyrfolk now,” F’nor said on the heels of that denial.
Lessa was a little surprised at such vehemence from both men. She’d had the notion from Andemon’s attitude that perhaps her Craft wanted her back.
“My apologies for being so brusque! my lady. It would be hard for her to live simply again.” His voice turned hard and lost all hesitancy. “What of that adulterous transgressor?”
“She – lives,” and there was an uncompromising echo of the Farmer’s coldness in Lessa’s voice.
“She lives?” The Masterfarmer stopped again, dropping Lessa’s arm and staring at her with anger. “She lives? Her throat should be cut, her body . . .”
“She lives, Masterfarmer, with no more mind or wit than a babe. She exists in the prison of her guilt! Dragonfolk take no lives!”
The Farmer stared hard at Lessa for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. With great courtesy he offered Lessa his arm when she indicated they should continue.
F’nor did not follow for the events of the day were taking a revenge of fatigue on him.
He watched as Andemon and Lessa joined the others at the main table, saw the Lemos and Telgar Lords come over. Lytol and young Jaxom with his white Ruth were nowhere to be seen. F’nor hoped Lytol had taken Jaxom back to Ruatha. He was more grateful to his discovery of fire lizards than at any other single time since Grall had first winked at him. He walked quickly toward the steep flight to his weyr, wanting to be with his own. Canth was in his weyr, all but one lid closed over his eyes. When F’nor entered, the final lids sagged shut. F’nor leaned his body against the dragon’s neck, his hands seeking the pulsespots in the soft throat, warm and steadying. He could “hear” the soft loving thoughts of the two lizards curled by Brekke’s head.
How long he stood there he couldn’t gauge, his mind rehearsing the Impression, Brekke’s release, Jaxom’s performance, the dinner, everything that had jammed into one eventful afternoon.
There was much to be done, certainly, but he felt unable to move from the presence of Canth. Most vividly he recalled Andemon’s shock when the man realized that F’lar had proposed the end of dragonmen. Yet – F’lar hadn’t. He certainly had some alternate in mind.
Those grubs – yes, they devoured Thread before it could burrow and proliferate. But they were repulsive to look at and commanded neither respect nor gratitude. They weren’t obvious, or awesome, like dragons. People wouldn’t see grubs devouring Thread. They wouldn’t have the satisfaction of watching dragons flame, sear, char, destroy Thread mid-air before the vicious stuff got to earth. Surely F’lar realized this, knew that men must have the visible proof of Thread’s defeat. Would dragonmen become tokens? No! That would make dragonfolk more parasitic than Thread. Such an expedient would be repugnant, insupportable to a man of F’lar’s integrity. But what had he in mind?
The grubs might be the ultimate answer but not – particularly after thousands of Turns of conditioning – not an answer acceptable to Pernese, Holder, Crafter, commoner and dragonman.
CHAPTER XVI
Evening at Benden Weyr
Later Evening at Fort Weyr
FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS, F’nor was too busy to worry. Brekke was recovering her strength and insisted that he return to his duties. She prevailed on Manora to permit her to come down to the Lower Caverns and be of some use. So Manora put her to tying off the woof ends of some finished wall hangings where Brekke could also be part of the busy Cavern activities. The fire lizards rarely left her side. Grall twittered with conflicting wishes when F’nor went off on errands, so he would order her to stay with Brekke.
F’lar estimated correctly that Asgenar and Bendarek would accept any solution that might preserve the forests. But the incredulity and initial resistance he encountered showed him what a monumental task he had undertaken. Both Lord Holder and Craftmaster were frankly contemptuous of his claims until N’ton came in with a panful of live Thread – it could be heard hissing and steaming – and dumped it over a tub of verdant growths. Within a matter of moments, the tangle of Thread which they had seen poured over the fellis saplings had been completely consumed by grubs. Dazed, they even accepted F’lar’s assertion that the pierced and smoking leaves would heal in a matter of days.
There were many things about grubs that the dragonmen did not know, as F’lar was careful to explain. How long it would take them to proliferate so that a given area could be considered “Threadproof”; the length of the grub life cycle, what density of grub life would be necessary to ensure the chain of protection
But they did decide where to start in Lemos Hold: among the precious softwoods so in demand for furniture, so vulnerable to Thread incursion.
Since the former residents of the Southern Weyr had not been farmcraft trained they had been oblivious to the significance of the larval sacks in the southern woods. It was fall now in the southern hemisphere but F’nor, N’ton and another rider had agreed to jump between to the previous spring. Brekke helped, too, knowing as she did so many facets of the Southern management that she was able to tell them where they would not collide with others in the past. Though farmcraftbred, Brekke had been occupied with nursing during her tenure at Southern, and had deliberately stayed away from the farming aspects of the Weyr to sever connections with her past life.
Although F’lar did not press Masterfarmer Andemon, he proceeded with his plans as if he had Farmcraft cooperation. Several times, Andemon requested Thread and grubs which would be rushed to him, but he issued no progress reports.
Mastersmith Fandarel and Terry had been informed of the project and a special demonstration arranged for them. Once he’d conquered the initial revulsion over the grubs and horror at being so close to live Thread, Terry had been as enthusiastic as anyone could wish. The performance of the grubs elicited only a deep grunt from the Mastersmith. He had limited his comments to a scornful criticism of the long-handled hearthpan in which the Thread was captured.
“Inefficient. Inefficient. You can only open it once to catch the things,” and he had taken the pan, stalking off toward his waiting dragon-messenger.
Terry had been profuse in his assurances that the Mastersmith was undoubtedly impressed and would cooperate in every way. This was indeed a momentous day. His words were cut off by Fandarel’s impatient bellow and he’d bowed his way out, still reassuring the some what disconcerted Dragonriders.