The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [230]
The fire lizard on Lord Meron’s arm squawked nervously, causing an instant, violent reaction from every man.
“Probably that Record deteriorated, too,” F’lar said, raising his voice to a level audible above the restless scraping and throat-clearing. “Lord Groghe, Fort is the oldest of the Holds. Is there a chance that your back corridors, too, hide treasures we can use?”
Groghe’s reply was a curt nod of his head. He seated himself abruptly, staring straight ahead. F’lar wondered if he had alienated the man beyond reconciliation.
“I don’t think I’d ever fully appreciated the enormity of such a venture,” Corman of Keroon Hold remarked in a thoughtful drawl.
“One jump ahead of us, again, Benden?” asked Larad of Telgar Hold with a rueful grin.
“I shouldn’t say that, Lord Larad,” F’lar replied. “The destruction of all Thread at its source has been a favorite preoccupation of dragonmen Turn after Turn. I know how much territory one Weyr can cover, for instance; how much firestone is used by a Weyr in a Fall’s span. Naturally we,” and he gestured to the other Leaders, “would have information unavailable to you just as you could tell us how many guests you can feed at a banquet” That elicited a chuckle from many.
“Seven Turns ago, I called you together to prepare to defend Pern against its ancient scourge. Desperate measures were in order if we were to survive. We are in nowhere as difficult a condition as we were seven Turns ago but we have all been guilty of misunderstandings which have deflected us from the important concern. We have no time to waste in assigning guilt or awarding compensation. We are still at the mercy of Thread though we are better equipped to deal with it.
“Once before we found answers in old Records, in the helpful recollections of Masterweaver Zurg, Masterfarmer Andemon, Masterharper Robinton, and the efficiencies of Mastersmith Fandarel. You know what we’ve found in abandoned rooms at Benden and Fort Weyrs—objects made long Turns ago when we had not lost certain skills and techniques.
“Frankly,” and F’lar grinned suddenly, “I’d rather rely on skills and techniques we, in our Turn, right now, can develop.”
There was an unexpected ripple of assent to that.
“I speak of the skill of working together, the technique of crossing the arbitrary lines of land, craft and status, because we must learn more from each other than the simple fact that none of us can stand alone and survive!”
He couldn’t go on because half the men were on their feet, suddenly cheering. D’ram was pulling at his sleeve, G’narish was arguing with the Telgar Weyr Second, whose expression was grievously undecided. F’lar got a glimpse of Groghe’s face before someone stood in the way. Fort’s Lord, too, was plainly anxious but that was better than overt antagonism. Robinton caught his eye and smiled broad encouragement. So F’lar had no choice but to let them unwind. They might as well infect each other with enthusiasm—probably with more effect than his best-chosen arguments. He looked around for Lessa and saw her slipping toward the hallway where she stopped, evidently warned of a late arrival.
It was F’nor who appeared in the entrance.
“I’ve fire-lizard eggs,” he shouted. “Fire-lizard eggs,” and he pushed into the room, an aisle opening for him straight to the Council Table.
There was silence as he carefully placed his cumbersome felt-wrapped burden down and glanced triumphantly around the room.
“Stolen from under T’kul’s nose. Thirty-two of them!”
“Well, Benden,” Sangel of Southern Boll demanded in the taut hush, “who gets preference here?”
F’lar affected surprise. “Why, Lord Sangel, that is for you,” and his gesture swept the room impartially, “to decide.”
Clearly that had not been expected.