The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [110]
“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 blinked, 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 here—if here is when they came? They aren’t here now. How would they have known they were needed—or when they were needed? And this is the real problem—how 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 worth 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