The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [202]
“That cannot be proved!” Sograny pulled himself straight up, his eyes darting toward his assistants who suddenly found tasks far from F’lar and the Masterherdsman.
“By inference, yes. Because the similar characteristics are obvious. Seven fire lizards were Impressed on the sands of a beach at Southern. One by my Wing-second, F’nor, Canth’s rider . . .”
“F’nor? The man who fought those two thieving weyrmen at the Smithcrafthall?”
F’lar swallowed his bile and nodded. That regrettable incident had hatched an unexpected brood of benefits.
“The fire lizards exhibit undeniable draconic traits. Unfortunately, one of them is to stay close to their Impressor or I’d have proof positive.”
Sograny only grunted, but he was suddenly receptive.
“I was hoping that you, as Masterherdsman, might know something about the fire lizards. Igen certainly abounds with them . . .”
Sograny was cutting him off with an impatient wave of his hand.
“No time to waste on flitterbys. Useless creatures. No crafter of mine would . . .”
“There is every indication that they may be of tremendous use to us. After all, dragons were bred from fire lizards.”
“Impossible!” Sograny stared at him, thin lips firmly denying such an improbability.
“Well, they weren’t bred up from watch-whers.”
“Man can alter size but only so far. He can, of course, breed the largest to the largest and improve on the original stock,” and Sograny gestured toward the long-legged cow. “But to breed a dragon from a fire lizard? Absolutely impossible.”
F’lar wasted no further time on that subject but took the glove from his belt and emptied the grubs into the other, gloved palm.
“These, sir. Have you seen such as these . . .”
Sograny’s reaction was immediate. With a cry of fear, he grabbed F’lar’s hand, tumbling the grubs to the stone of the barn. Yelling for agenothree, he stamped on the squirming grubs as if they were essence of evil.
“How could you—a dragonman—bring such filth into my dwellings?”
“Masterherdsman, control yourself!” F’lar snapped, grabbing the man and shaking him. “They devour Thread. Like sandworms. Like sandworms!”
Sograny was trembling beneath F’lar’s hands, staring at him. He shook his skull-like head and the wildness died from his eyes.
“Only flame can devour Thread, dragonman!”
“I told you,” F’lar said coldly, “that those grubs devoured Thread!”
Sograny glared at F’lar with considerable animus.
“They are an abomination. You waste my time with such nonsense.”
“My deep apologies,” F’lar said, with a curt bow. But his irony was wasted on the man. Sograny turned back to his laboring cow as though F’lar had never interrupted him.
F’lar strode off, pulling on his gloves, his forefinger coming into contact with the wet, slippery body of a grub.
“See the Masterherdsman, eh?” he muttered under his breath, waving aside the services of the guide as he left the breeding barn. A bellow from a herdbeast followed him out. “Yes, he breeds animals, but not ideas. Ideas might waste time, be useless.”
As he and Mnementh circled upward, F’lar wondered how much trouble D’ram was having with that old fool.
CHAPTER IX
Afternoon at Southern Weyr: Same Day
It was a long flight, the straight way, from the western swamps to Southern Weyr’s headland. At first, F’nor rebelled. A short hop between would not affect his healing arm, but Canth became unexpectedly stubborn. The big brown soared, caught the prevailing wind and, with great sweeps of his wings, sped through the cooler air, high above the monotonous terrain.
As Canth settled down into long-distance flying, the rhythm began to soothe F’nor. What ought to have been a tedious journey became the blessing of uninterrupted time for reflection. And F’nor had much to think about.
The brown rider had noticed the widespread Thread-scoring. He had turned back bush after bush, heavily pitted by Threadmark, to find no trace of burrow at all in the swamp mud around them. Not once had he used his flame thrower. And the ground crews told him they had so little to do they wondered the Weyr called them