“An entry? What is it?”
“Mind you, the Thread attacks had just lifted and the Masterharper was called one late evening to Fort Weyr. An unusual supimons. However,” and Robinton emphasized the distinction by pointing a long, calloustipped finger at F’lar, “no further mention is ever made of that visit. There ought to have been, for all such summonses have a purpose. All such meetings are recorded, yet no explanation of this one is given. The record is taken up several weeks later by the Masterharper as though he had not left his crafthall at all. Some ten months afterward, the Question Song was added to compulsory Teaching Ballads.”
“You believe the two are connected with the abandonment of the five Weyrs?”
“I do, but I could not say why. I only feel that the events, the visit, the disappearances, the Question Song, are connected.” F’lar poured them .both cups of wine.
“I have checked back, too, seeking some indications.” He shrugged. “All must have been normal right up to the point they disappeared. There are Records of tithing trains received, supplies stored, the list of injured dragons and men returning to active patrols. And then the Records cease at full Cold, leaving only Benden Weyr occupied.”
“And why that one Weyr of the six to choose from?” Robinton demanded. “Island Ista would be a better choice if only one Weyr was to be left. Benden so far north is not a likely place to pass four hundred Turns.”
“Benden is high and isolated. A disease that struck the others and was prevented from reaching Benden?”
“And no explanation of it? They can’t all dragons, riders, weyrfolk have dropped dead on the same instant and left no carcasses rotting in the sun.”
“Then let us ask ourselves, why was the harper called?
Was he told to construct a Teaching Ballad covering this disappearance?”
“Well,” Robinton snorted, “it certainly wasn’t meant to reassure us, not with that tuneif one cares to call it a tune at all, and I don’tnor does it answer any questions! It poses them.”
“For us to answer?” suggested F’lar softly.
“Aye.” Robinton’s eyes shone. “For us to answer, indeed, for it is a difficult song to forget. Which means it was meant to be remembered. Those questions are important, F’lar!”
“Which questions are important?” demanded Lessa, who had entered quietly.
Both men were on their feet. F’lar, with unusual attentiveness, held a chair for Lessa and poured her wine. .
“I’m not going to break apart,” she said tartly, almost annoyed at the excess of courtesy. Then she smiled up at F’lar to take the sting out of her words. “I slept and I feel much better. What were you two getting so intense about?”
F’lar quickly outlined what he and the Masterharper had been discussing. When he mentioned the Question Song, Lessa shuddered.
“That’s one I can’t forget, either. Which, I’ve always been told,” and she grimaced, remembering the hateful lessons with R’gul, “means it’s important. But why? It only asked questions.” Then she biinked, her eyes went wide with amazement.
” ‘Gone away, gone … ahead!’ ” she cried, on her feet. “That’s it! All five Weyrs went … ahead. But to when?”
F’lar turned to her, speechless.
“They came ahead to our time! Five Weyrs full of dragons,” she repeated in an awed voice.
“No, that’s impossible,” F’lar contradicted.
“Why?” Robinton demanded excitedly. “Doesn’t that solve the problem we’re facing? The need for fighting dragons? Doesn’t it explain why they left so suddenly with no explanation except that Question Song?”
F’lar brushed back the heavy lock of hair that overhung his eyes.
“It would explain their actions in leaving,” he admitted, “because they couldn’t leave any clues saying where they went, or it would cancel the whole thing. Just as I couldn’t tell F’nor I knew the southern venture would have problems. But how do they get hereif here is when they came? They aren’t here now. How would they have known they were neededor when they were needed? And this is the real problemhow can you conceivably give a dragon references to a when that has not yet occurred?”
“Someone here must go back to give them the proper references,” Lessa replied in a very quiet voice.
“You’re mad, Lessa,” F’lar shouted at her, alarm written on his face. “You know what happened to you today. How can you consider going back to a when you can’t remotely imagine? To a when four hundred Turns ago? Going back ten Turns left you fainting and half-ill.”
“Wouldn’t it be worth it?” she asked him, her eyes grave.
“Isn’t Pern worth it?”
F’lar grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her, his eyes wild with fear.
“Not even Pern is woyth losing you, or Ramoth. Lessa, Lessa, don’t you dare disobey me in this.” His voice dropped to an intense, icy whisper, shaking with anger.
“Ah, there may be a way of effecting that solution, momentarily beyond us, Weyrwoman,” Robinton put in adroitly.
“Who knows what tomorrow holds? It certainly is not something one does without considering every angle.”
Lessa did not shrug off F’lar’s viselike grip on her shoulders as she gazed at Robinton.
“Wine?” the Masterharper suggested, pouring a mug for her. His diversionary action broke the tableau of Lessa and F’lar.
“Ramoth is not afraid to try,” Lessa said, her mouth set in a determined line.
F’lar glared at the golden dragon who was regarding the humans, her neck curled around almost to the shoulder joint of her great wing.
“Ramoth is young,” F’lar snapped and then caught Mnementh’s wry thought even as Lessa did. She threw her head back, her peal of laughter echoing in the vaulting chamber.
“I’m badly in need of a good joke myself,” Robinton remarked pointedly.
“Mnementh told F’lar that he was neither young nor afraid to try, either. It was just a long step,” Lessa explained, wiping tears from her eyes.
F’lar glanced dourly at the passageway, at the end of which Mnementh lounged on his customary ledge. A laden dragon comes, the bronze warned those in the Weyr. it is Lytol behind young B’rant on brown Fanth.
“Now he brings his own bad news?” Lessa asked sourly.
“It is hard enough for Lytol to ride another’s dragon or come here at all, Lessa of Ruatha. Do not increase his torment one jot with your childishness,” F’lar said sternly.
Lessa dropped her eyes, furious with F’lar for speaking so to her in front of Robinton.
Lytol slumped into the queen’s weyr, carrying one end of a large rolled rug. Young B’rant, struggling to uphold the other end, was sweating with the effort. Lytol bowed respectfully toward Ramoth and gestured the young brown rider to help him unroll their burden. As the immense tapestry uncoiled, F’lar could understand why Masterweaver.Zurg had remembered it. The colors, ancient though they undoubtedly were, remained vibrant and undimmed. The subject matter was even more interesting.
“Mnementh, send for Fandarel. Here’s the model he needs for his flamethrower,” F’lar said.
“That tapestry is Ruatha’s,” Lessa cried indignantly. “I remember it from my childhood. It hung in the Great Hall and was the most cherished of my Blood Line’s possessions. Where has it been?” Her eyes were flashing.
“Lady, it is being returned to where it belongs,” Lytol said stolidly, avoiding her gaze. “A masterweaver’s work, this,” he went on, touching the heavy fabric with reverent fingers.
“Such colors, such patterning. It took a man’s life to set up the loom, a craft’s whole effort to complete, or I am no judge of true craftsmanship.”