Dragonquest

“You re a damned wherry fool, Nessel,” Lord Groghe said, pulling him to one side and waving Wansor in.

“Tillek’s the fool.”

“I saw enough to know there’s not as much dark as there is that gray,” Oterel said, defensively. “Pern’s more water than land. So’s the Red Star.”

“From one look you can tell so much, Oterel?” Meron’s malicious drawl from the shadows distracted everyone.

Lessa moved pointedly aside as he strolled forward, stroking his bronze lizard possessively. It affronted Lessa that the little creature was humming with pleasure.

“It will take many observations, by many eyes,” Fandarel said in his bass rumble, “before we will be able to say what the Red Star looks like with any certitude. One point of similarity is not enough. Not at all.”

“Oh, indeed. Indeed.” Wansor seconded his Craftmaster, his eyes glued to the piece as he slowly swung it across the night sky.

“What’s taking you so long?” Nessel of Crom demanded irritably. “There’s the Star. We can all see it with our naked eyes.”

“And it is so easy to pick out the green pebble you drop on the sands of Igen at high noon?” asked Robinton.

“Ah. I’ve got it,” Wansor cried. Nessel jumped forward, reaching for the tube. He jerked his hand back, remembering what an unwise movement could do. With both hands conspicuously behind him, he looked again at the Red Star.

Nessel, however, did not remain long at the distance-viewer. When Oterel stepped forward, the Masterharper moved quicker.

“My turn now, I believe, since all the Lord Holders have had one sighting.”

“Only fair,” Sangel said loudly, glaring at Oterel.

Lessa watched the Masterharper closely, saw the tightening of his broad shoulders as he, too, felt the impact of that first sight of their ancient enemy. He did not remain long, or perhaps she was deceived, but he straightened slowly from the eyepiece and looked thoughtfully toward the Red Star in the dark heavens above them.

“Well, Harper?” asked Meron superciliously. “You’ve a glib word for every occasion.”

Robinton regarded the Nabolese for a longer moment than he had the Star.

“I think it wiser that we keep this distance between us.”

“Ha! I thought as much.” Meron was gri

“I wasn’t aware you thought,” Robinton remarked quietly.

“What do you mean, Meron?” Lessa asked in a dangerously edged voice, “you thought as much?”

“Why, it should be obvious,” and the Lord of Nabol had not tempered his attitude toward her much since his first insult.

“The Harper does as Benden Weyr decrees. And since Benden Weyr does not care to exterminate Thread at source . . .

“And how do you know that?” Lessa demanded coldly.

“And, Lord Nabol, on what grounds do you base your allegation that the Harper of Pern does as Benden Weyr decrees? For I most urgently suggest that you either prove such an accusation instantly or retract it.” Robinton’s hand was on his belt knife.

The bronze lizard on Meron’s arm began to hiss and extend his fragile wings in alarm. The Lord of Nabol contented himself with a knowing smirk as he made a show of soothing his lizard.

“Speak up, Meron,” Oterel demanded.

“But it’s so obvious. Surely you can all see that,” Meron replied with malicious affability and a feigned surprise at the obtuseness of the others. “He has a hopeless passion for – the Benden Weyrwoman.”

For a moment Lessa could only stare at the man in a stu

Robinton’s hearty guffaw startled her. And wiped the smile from Nabol’s face.

“Benden’s Weyrwoman has not half the attraction for me that Benden’s wine has!”

There was such intense relief in the faces around her that Lessa knew, in a sinking, sick way, that the Lord Holders had been halfway to believing Meron’s invidious accusation. If Robinton had not responded just as he had, if she had started to protest the accusation . . . She gri

“Furthermore,” the Harper went on, “the Masterharper of Pern has no opinion, one way or another, about the Red Star – not even a verse. Because that – that – child’s miggsy scares him juiceless and makes him yearn for some of that Benden wine, right now, in limitless quantity.” Robinton had not the slightest trace of laughter in his voice now. “I’m too steeped in the history and lore of our beloved Pern, I’ve sung too many ballads about the evil of the Red Star to want to get any closer to it. Even that – ” and he pointed to the distance-viewer, “brings it far too near me. But the men who have to fight Thread day after day, Turn after Turn, can look upon it with less fearfulness than the poor Harper. And, Meron, Lord Holder of Nabol, you can wager every field and cot and hall upon your lands that the dragonmen of every Weyr would like to be quit of any obligation to keep your hide Threadfree even if it means wiping Thread from every squared length of that Star.” The vehemence in the Harper’s voice caused Meron to take a backward step, to clap a hand on the violently agitated fire lizard. “How can a you, any of you,” and the Harper’s opprobrium fell equally now on the other four Lords, “doubt that the Dragonriders wouldn’t be as relieved as you to see the end of their centuries of dedication to your safety. They don’t have to defend you from Thread. You, Groghe, Sangel, Nessel, Oterel, you all ought to realize that by now. You’ve had T’kul to deal with, and T’ron.

“You all know what Thread does to a man. And you know what happens when a dragon dies. Or must I remind you of that, too? Do you honestly believe that the Dragonriders wish to prolong such conditions, such occurrences? What do they get out of it? Not much! Not much! Are the scores they suffer worth a few bags of grain, or a blade from the Smith’s? Is a dragon’s death truly recompensed by a length of goods or a scrawny herdbeast?

“And if there have been instruments for man with his puny eyes to view that bauble in the sky, why do we still have Thread? If it’s just a question of finding coordinates and taking that jump? Could it be that it has been tried by Dragonriders before? And they failed because those gray masses we see so clearly are not water, or land, but uncountable Threads, seething and writhing, until the topmost can, by some mysterious agency, win free to plague us? Could it be because, although there are clouds, they do not consist of water vapor as Pern’s clouds, but something deadly, far more inimical to us than Thread? How do we know we will not find the bones of long-lost dragons and riders in the dark blots of the planet? There is so much we do not know that, yes, I think it wiser that we keep this distance between us. But I think the time for wisdom is now past and we must rely on the folly of the brave and hope that it will suffice them and us. For I do believe,” and the Harper turned slowly toward Lessa, “though my heart is heavy and I am scared soulless, that the dragonmen of Pern will go to the Red Star.”

“That is F’lar’s intention,” Lessa said in a strong, ringing voice, her head high, her shoulders straight. Unlike the Harper, she could not admit her fear, even to herself.

“Aye,” rumbled Fandarel, nodding his great head slowly up and down, “for he has enjoined me and Wansor to make many observations on the Red Star so that an expedition can be sent as soon as possible.”