The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [107]
“Agreed.”
“One other detail, F’nor. Be very careful which times you pick to come back to see me. I wouldn’t jump between too close to any time you were actually here. I can’t imagine what would happen if you walked into your own self in the passageway, and I can’t lose you.”
With a rare demonstration of affection, F’lar gripped his half brother’s shoulder tightly.
“Remember, F’nor. I was here all morning and you did not arrive back from the first trip till midafternoon. And remember, too, we have only three days. You have ten Turns.”
F’nor left, passing Manora in the hall.
The woman could find nothing obviously the matter with Lessa, and they finally decided it might be simple fatigue; yesterday’s strain when Lessa had to relay messages between dragons and fighters followed by the disjointing between times trip today.
When F’lar went to wish the southern venturers a good trip, Lessa was in a normal sleep, her face pale, but her breathing easy.
F’lar had Mnementh relay to Ramoth the prohibition he wished the queen to instill in all dragonkind assigned to the venture. Ramoth obliged, but added in an aside to bronze Mnementh, which he passed on to F’lar, that everyone else had adventures while she, the Weyr queen, was forced to stay behind.
No sooner had the laden dragons, one by one, winked out of the sky above the Star Stone than the young weyrling assigned to Nerat Hold as messenger came gliding down, his face white with fear.
“Weyrleader, many more burrows have been found, and they cannot be burned out with fire alone. Lord Vincet wants you.”
F’lar could well imagine that Vincet did.
“Get yourself some dinner, boy, before you start back. I’ll go shortly.”
As he passed through to the sleeping quarters, he heard Ramoth rumbling in her throat. She had settled herself down to rest.
Lessa still slept, one hand curled under her cheek, her dark hair trailing over the edge of the bed. She looked fragile, childlike, and very precious to him. F’lar smiled to himself. So she was jealous of Kylara’s attentions yesterday. He was pleased and flattered. Never would Lessa learn from him that Kylara, for all her bold beauty and sensuous nature, did not have one tenth the attraction for him that the unpredictable, dark, and delicate Lessa held. Even her stubborn intractableness, her keen and malicious humor, added zest to their relationship. With a tenderness he would never show her awake, F’lar bent and kissed her lips. She stirred and smiled, sighing lightly in her sleep.
Reluctantly returning to what must be done, F’lar left her so. As he paused by the queen, Ramoth raised her great, wedge-shaped head; her many-faceted eyes gleamed with bright luminescence as she regarded the Weyrleader.
“Mnementh, please ask Ramoth to get in touch with the dragonet at Fandarel’s crafthall, I’d like the Mastersmith to come with me to Nerat. I want to see what his agenothree does to Threads.”
Ramoth nodded her head as the bronze dragon relayed the message to her.
She has done so, and the green dragon comes as soon as he can. Mnementh reported to his rider. It is easier to do, this talking about, when Lessa is awake, he grumbled.
F’lar agreed heartily. It had been quite an advantage yesterday in the battle and would be more and more of an asset.
Maybe it would be better if she tried to speak, across time, to F’nor . . . but no, F’nor had come back.
F’lar strode into the Council Room, still hopeful that somewhere within the illegible portions of the old Records was the one clue he so desperately needed. There must be a way out of this impasse. If not the southern venture, then something else. Something!
Fandarel showed himself a man of iron will as well as sinew;