“The good of the Weyr,” she retorted.
“Furthermore, I’ll send you along with F’nor tomorrow to look. Only fair, since it is your idea.”
Lessa stood still. “You’re not going?”
“I feel confident I can leave this project in your very capable, interested hands,” he laughed and caught her against his uninjured side, smiling down at her, his eyes glowing. “I must play ruthless Weyrleader and keep the Hold Lords from slamming shut their Inner Doors. And I’m hoping,” he raised his head, frowning slightly, “one of the Craftmasters may know the solution to the third problem…getting rid of Thread burrows.”
“But…”
“The trip will give Ramoth something to stop her fuming.” He pressed the girl’s slender body more closely to him, his full attention at last on her odd, delicate face. “Lessa, you are my fourth problem.” He bent to kiss her.
At the sound of hurried steps in the passageway, F’lar scowled irritably, releasing her.
“At this hour?” he muttered, ready to reprove the intruder scathingly. “Who goes there?”
“F’lar?” It was F’nor’s voice, anxious, hoarse.
The look on F’lar’s face told Lessa that not even his half brother would be spared a reprimand and it pleased her irrationally. But the moment F’nor burst into the room, both Weyrleader and Weyrwoman were stunned silent. There was something subtly wrong with the brown rider. And, as the man blurted out his incoherent message, the difference suddenly registered in Lessa’s mind. He was tanned! He wore no bandages and hadn’t the slightest trace of the Thread mark along his cheek that she had tended this evening!
“F’lar, it’s not working out! You can’t be alive in two times at once!” F’nor was exclaiming distractedly. He staggered against the wall, grabbing the sheer rock to hold himself upright. There were deep circles under his eyes, visible despite the tan. “I don’t know how much longer we can last like this. We’re all affected. Some days not as badly as others.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your dragons are all right,” F’nor assured the Weyrleader with a bitter laugh. “It doesn’t bother them. They keep all their wits about them. But their riders…all the weyrfolk. We’re shadows, half-alive, like dragonless men, part of us gone forever. Except Kylara.” His face contorted with intense dislike. “All she wants to do is go back and watch herself. The woman’s egomania will destroy us all, I’m afraid.”
His eyes suddenly lost focus and he swayed wildly. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “I can’t stay. I’m here already. Too close. Makes it twice as bad. But I had to warn you. I promise, F’lar, we’ll stay as long as we can but it won’t be much longer…so it won’t be long enough, but we tried. We tried!”
Before F’lar could move, the brown rider whirled and ran, half-crouched, from the room.
“But he hasn’t gone yet!” Lessa gasped. “He hasn’t even gone yet!”
F’LAR STARED AFTER his half brother, his brows contracting with the keen anxiety he felt.
“What can have happened?” Lessa demanded of the Weyrleader. “We haven’t even told F’nor. We ourselves just finished considering the idea of exploring the southern continent; to see if we could send dragons back and give Pridith a chance to lay a few clutches. And he looked so tanned and healthy.” Her hand flew to her own cheek. “And the Threadmark—I dressed it myself tonight—it’s gone. Gone. So he’s been gone a long while.” She sank down to the bench.
“However, he has come back. So he did go,” F’lar remarked slowly in a reflective tone of voice. “Yet we now know the venture is not entirely successful even before it begins. And knowing this we have sent him back ten Turns, for whatever good it is doing.” F’lar paused thoughtfully. “Consequently we have no alternative but to continue with the experiment.”
“But what could be going wrong?”
“I think I know and there is no remedy.” He sat down beside her, his eyes intent on hers. “Lessa, you were very upset when you got back from going between to Ruatha that first time. But I think now it was more than just the shock of seeing Fax’s men invading your own Hold or in thinking your return might have been responsible for that disaster. I think it has to do with being in two times at once.” He hesitated again, trying to understand this immense new concept even as he voiced it.
Lessa regarded him with such awe that he found himself laughing with embarrassment.
“It’s unnerving under any conditions,” he went on, “to think of returning and seeing a younger self.”
“That must be what he meant about Kylara,” Lessa gasped, “about her wanting to go back and watch herself…as a child. Oh, that wretched girl!” Lessa was filled with anger for Kylara’s self-absorption. “Wretched selfish creature. She’ll ruin everything.”
“Not yet,” F’lar reminded her. “Look, although F’nor warned us that the situation in his time is getting desperate, he didn’t tell us how much he was able to accomplish. But you noticed that his scar had healed to invisibility, consequently some Turns must have elapsed. Even if Pridith lays only one good-sized clutch, even if just the forty of Ramoth’s are mature enough to fight in three days’ time, we have accomplished something. Therefore, Weyrwoman,” and he noticed how she straightened up at the sound of her title, “we must disregard F’nor’s return. When you fly to the southern continent tomorrow, make no allusion to it. Do you understand?”
Lessa nodded gravely and then gave a little sigh. “I don’t know if I’m happy or disappointed to realize, even before we get there tomorrow, that the southern continent obviously will support a Weyr,” she said with dismay. “It was kind of exciting to wonder.”
“Either way,” F’lar told her with a sardonic smile, “we have found only part of the answers to problems one and two.”
“Well, you’d better answer number four right now!” Lessa suggested. “Decisively!”
Weaver, Miner, Harper, Smith,
Tanner, Farmer, Herdsman, Lord,
Gather wingspeed, listen well
To the Weyrman’s urgent word.
They both managed to guard against any reference to his premature return when they spoke to F’nor the next morning. F’lar asked brown Canth to send his rider to the queen’s weyr as soon as he awoke and was pleased to see F’nor almost immediately. If the brown rider noticed the curiously intent stare Lessa gave his bandaged face, he gave no sign of it. As a matter of fact, the moment F’lar outlined the bold venture of scouting the southern continent with the possibility of starting a weyr ten Turns back in time, F’nor forgot all about his wounds.
“I’ll go willingly only if you send T’bor along with Kylara. I’m not waiting till N’ton and his bronze are big enough to take her on. T’bor and she are as…” F’nor broke off with a grimace in Lessa’s direction, “…well, they’re as near a pair as can be. I don’t object to being…importuned, but there are limits to what a man is willing to do out of loyalty to dragonkind.”
F’lar barely managed to restrain the amusement he felt over F’nor’s reluctance. Kylara tried her wiles on every rider and, because F’nor had not been amenable, she was determined to succeed with him.
“I hope two bronzes are enough. Pridith may have a mind of her own, come mating time.”
“You can’t turn a brown into a bronze!” F’nor exclaimed with such dismay F’lar could no longer restrain himself. “Oh, stop it!” And that touched off Lessa’s laughter. “You’re as bad a pair,” he snapped, getting to his feet. “If we’re going south, Weyrwoman, we’d better get started. Particularly if we’re going to give this laughing maniac a chance to compose himself before the solemn Lords descend. I’ll get provisions from Manora. Well, Lessa? Are you coming with me?”
Muffling her laughter, Lessa grabbed up her furred flying cloak and followed him. At least the adventure was starting off well.
F’lar grabbed the pitcher of klah and his cup and adjourned to the Council Room, debating whether to tell the Lords and Craftmasters of this southern venture or not. The dragon’s ability to fly between times as well as places was not yet well known. The Lords might not yet realize it had been used the previous day to forestall the Threads. If he could be sure that project was going to be successful, well, it would add an optimistic note to the meeting.