Dragonquest

“Won’t see what?”

“Well, those rocks are situated to catch the Red Star only at winter solstice, so of course the angles are wrong for any other time of year. But then, I could – no,” Wansor’s face was puckered with his intense frown. Only his eyes moved, restlessly, as the myriad thoughts he was undoubtedly sifting were reflected briefly. “I will think about it. But I am sure that I can devise a means of your seeing the Red Star, Weyrleader, without moving from Benden.”

“You must be exhausted, Wansor,” Lessa said, before F’lar could ask another question.

“Oh, not to mention,” Wansor replied, blinking hard to focus on her.

“Enough to mention,” Lessa said firmly and took the cup from his hand. half-lifting him from the stool. “I think Master Wansor, that you had better sleep here at Benden a little while.”

“Oh, could I? I’d the most fearful notion that I might fall off the dragon between. But that couldn’t happen, could it? Oh, I can’t stay. I have the Craft’s dragon. Really, perhaps I’d just better . . .”

His voice trailed off as Lessa led him down the corridor.

“He was up all last night too,” N’ton said, gri

“There is no way to go between to the Red Star?”

N’ton shook his head slowly. “Not that we could see tonight – last night. The same features of dark, reddish masses were turned toward us most of the time we watched. Just before we decided you should know about the other planets, I took a final look and that Nerat-like promontory had disappeared, leaving only the dullish gray-red coloration.”

“There must be some way to get to the Red Star.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it, sir, when you’re feeling better.”

F’lar grimaced, thinking that “unobtrusive” was an apt description of this young man. He had deftly expressed confidence in his superior, that only ill-health prevented immediate action, and that the ill-health was a passing thing.

“Since that’s the way matters stand in that direction, let us proceed in another. Lessa said that you procured Thread for us. Did you see how those swamp grubs dealt with Thread?”

N’ton nodded slowly, his eyes glittering.

“If we hadn’t had to cede the dissidents the continent, I’d’ve had a straight-flown Search discover the boundaries of the southern lands. We still don’t know its extent. Exploration was stopped on the west by the deserts, and on the east by the sea. But it can’t be just the swampy area that is infested with these grubs.” F’lar shook his head. He sounded querulous to himself. He took a breath, forcing himself to speak more slowly and therefore less emotionally. “There’s been Threadfall in the Southern Weyr for seven Turns and not a single burrow. The ground crews have never had to flame out anything. Now, even with the most careful, most experienced, sharpest-eyed riders, some Thread gets to the ground. T’bor insists there were never any burrows to be found anywhere after a Threadfall,” F’lar grimaced. “His wings are efficient and Threadfall is light in the south, but I wished I’d known.”

“And what would you have thought?” asked Lessa with her usual asperity as she rejoined them. “Nothing. Because until Thread started falling out of phase, and you had been at the swampfall, you’d never have correlated the information.”

She was right, of course, but N’ton didn’t have to look so torn between agreement with her and sympathy for him. Silently F’lar railed at this infuriating debility. He ought to be up and around, not forced to rely on the observations of others at a critical time like this.

“Sir, in the Turns I’ve been a dragonrider,” said N’ton, considering his words even as he spoke, “I’ve learned that nothing is done without purpose. I used to call my sire foolish to insist that one ta

“You mean, that if the ancients knew they couldn’t get to the Red Star,” Lessa exclaimed, “they developed the grubs to protect growing fields?”

“They developed the dragons from fire lizards, didn’t they? Why not grubs as ground crews?” And N’ton gri

“That makes sense,” Lessa said, looking hopefully at F’lar. “Certainly that explains why the dragons haven’t jumped between to the Red Star. They didn’t need to. Protection was being provided.”

“Then why don’t we have grubs here in the north?” asked F’lar contentiously.

“Ha! Someone didn’t live long enough to transmit the news, or sow the grubs, or cultivate them, or something. Who can tell?” Lessa threw wide her arms. It was obvious to F’lar that she preferred this theory, subtle as she may have been in trying to block his desire to go to the Red Star.

He was willing to believe that the grubs were the answer, but the Red Star had to be visited. If only to reassure the Lord Holders that the dragonmen were trustworthy.

“We still don’t know if the grubs exist beyond the swamps,” F’lar reminded her.

“I don’t mind sneaking in and finding out,” N’ton said. “I know Southern very well, sir. Probably as well as anyone even F’nor. I’d like permission to go south and check.” When N’ton saw F’lar hesitate and Lessa frown, he went on hurriedly. “I can evade T’kul. That man’s so obvious, he’s pathetic.”

“All right, all right. N’ton. Go. It’s the truth I’ve no one else to send,” and F’lar tried not to feel bitter that F’nor was involved with a woman; he was a dragonrider first, wasn’t he? Then F’lar suppressed such uncharitable thoughts. Brekke had been a Weyrwoman; through no fault of hers (and F’lar still berated himself that he had not thought of keeping a closer check on Kylara’s activities – he’d been warned), Brekke was deprived of her dragon. If she found some comfort in F’nor’s presence, it was unforgivable to deprive her of his company. “Go, N’ton. Spot-check. And bring back samples of those grubs from every location. I wish Wansor had not dismantled that other contraption. We could look closely at the grubs. That Masterherder was a fool. The grubs might not be the same in every spot.”

“Grubs are grubs,” Lessa mumbled.

“Landbeasts raised in the mountains are different from landbeasts raised on the plains,” N’ton said. “Fellis trees grown south are larger with better fruit than Nerat’s best.”

“You know too much,” Lessa replied, gri

N’ton gri

“You’d best be off. No, wait. Are you sure Fort is not going to need you and Lioth for Thread?” F’lar asked, wanting to be rid of this very healthy youngster who only emphasized his illness.

“Not for a while, sir. It’s full night there still.”

That underscored his youthfulness and F’lar waved him out, trying to suppress jealousy with gratitude. The moment he’d gone, F’lar let out a sudden exasperated oath that brought Lessa, all consideration, to his side.

“I’ll get well, I’ll get well,” he fumed. He held her hand against his cheek, grateful, too, for the cool of her fingers as they curved to fit against his face.

“Of course you’ll get well. You’re never sick,” she murmured softly, stroking his forehead with her free hand. Then her voice took on a teasing note. “You’re just stupid. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gone between, let cold into a wound, and developed fever.”