The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [66]
“I do not believe we are parasites,” F’lar said, breaking the silence with a soft, persuasive voice. “Nor anachronistic. There have been long Intervals before. The Red Star does not always pass close enough to drop Threads on Pern. Which is why our ingenious ancestors thought to position the Eye Rock and the Finger Rock as they did . . . to confirm when a Pass will be made. And another thing”—his face turned grave—“there have been other times when dragonkind has all but died out . . . and Pern with it because of skeptics like you.” F’lar smiled and relaxed indolently in his chair. “I prefer not to be recorded as a skeptic. How shall we record you, R’gul?”
The Council Room was tense. R’gul was aware of someone breathing harshly and realized it was himself. He looked at the adamant face of the young Weyrleader and knew that the threat was not empty. He would either concede to F’lar’s authority completely, though concession rankled deeply, or leave the Weyr.
And where could he go, unless to one of the other Weyrs, deserted for hundreds of Turns? And—R’gul’s thoughts were savage—wasn’t that indication enough of the cessation of Threads? Five empty Weyrs? No, by the Egg of Faranth, he would practice some of F’lar’s own brand of deceit and bide his time. When all Pern turned on the arrogant fool, he, R’gul, would be there to salvage something from the ruins.
“A dragonman stays in his Weyr,” R’gul said with what dignity he could muster.
“And accepts the policies of the current Weyrleader?” The tone of F’lar’s voice made it less of a question and more of an order.
So as not to perjure himself, R’gul gave a curt nod of his head. F’lar continued to stare at him and R’gul wondered if the man could read his thoughts as his dragon might. He managed to return the gaze calmly. His turn would come. He’d wait.
Apparently accepting the capitulation, F’lar stood up and crisply delegated patrol assignments for the day.
“T’bor, you’re weather-watch. Keep an eye on those tithing trains as you do. Have you the morning’s report?”
“Weather is fair at dawning . . . all across Telgar and Keroon . . . if all too cold,” T’bor said with a wry grin. “Tithing trains have good hard roads, though, so they ought to be here soon.” His eyes twinkled with anticipation of the feasting that would follow the supplies’ arrival—a mood shared by all, to judge by the expressions around the table.
F’lar nodded. “S’lan and D’nol, you are to continue an adroit Search for likely boys. They should be striplings, if possible, but do not pass over anyone suspected of talent. It’s all well and good to present, for Impression, boys reared up in the Weyr traditions.” F’lar gave a one-sided smile. “But there are not enough in the Lower Caverns. We, too, have been behind in begetting. Anyway, dragons reach full growth faster than their riders. We must have more young men to Impress when Ramoth hatches. Take the southern holds, Ista, Nerat, Fort, and South Boll where maturity comes earlier. You can use the guise of inspecting Holds for greenery to talk to the boys. And take along firestone and run a few flaming passes on those heights that haven’t been scoured in—oh—dragon’s years. A flaming beast impresses the young and arouses envy.”
F’lar deliberately looked at R’gul to see the ex-Weyrleader’s reaction to the order. R’gul had been dead set against going outside the Weyr for more candidates. In the first place, R’gul had argued that there were eighteen youngsters in the Lower Caverns, some quite young, to be sure, but R’gul would not admit that Ramoth would lay more than the dozen Nemorth had always dropped. In the second place, R’gul persisted in wanting to avoid any action that might antagonize the Lords.
R’gul made no overt protest, and F’lar went on.
“K’net, back to the mines. I want the dispositions of each firestone-dump checked and quantities available, R’gul, continue drilling recognition points with the weyrlings. They must be positive about their references. If they