“Yes! And here we thought your timetables were the last word. To be relied on forever, especially since they were checked and approved by the Oldtimers.” Asgenar gave F’lar a sly look. “Oh, I’m not faulting you, F’lar. You’ve always been open in our dealings. I count myself lucky to be weyrbound to you. A man knows where he stands with Benden Weyr. My brother-in-law elect? Lord Larad, has had problems with T’kul of the High Reaches Weyr, you know. And since those premature falls at Tillek and Upper Crom, he’s got a thorough watch system set up.” Asgenar paused, suddenly aware of F’lar’s tense silence. “I do not presume to criticize weyrfolk, F’lar,” he said in a more formal tone, “but rumor can outfly a dragon and naturally I heard about the others. I can appreciate the Weyrs not wishing to alarm commoners but – well – a little forewarning would be only courteous.”
“There was no way of predicting today’s fall,” F’lar said slowly, but his mind was turning so rapidly that he felt sick. Why had nothing been said to him? R’mart of Telgar Weyr hadn’t been at the meeting about T’reb’s transgressions. Could R’mart have been busy fighting Thread at that time? As for T’kul of the High Reaches Weyr imparting any information, particularly news that might show him in a bad light, that one wouldn’t give coordinates to save a rider’s life.
No, they’d have had good reason not to mention premature falls to F’lar that night. If T’kul had confided in anyone. But why hadn’t R’mart let them know?
“But Benden Weyr’s not caught sleeping. Once is all we’d need in those forests, huh, F’lar?” Asgenar was saying, his eyes scanning the spongewoods possessively.
“Yes. All we’d need. What’s the report from the leading Edge of this Fall? Have you runners in yet?”
“Your queens’ wing reported it safe two hours past.” Asgenar grinned and rocked back and forth on his heels, his confidence not a bit jarred by today’s unpredicted event. F’lar envied him.
Again the bronze rider thanked good fortune that he had Lord Asgenar to deal with this morning instead of punctilious Raid or suspicious Lord Sifer. He devoutly hoped that the young Lord Holder would not find his trust misplaced. But the question haunted him: how could Threads change so?
Both Weyrleader and Lord Holder froze as they watched a blue dragon hover attentively above a stand of trees to the northeast. When the beast flew on, Asgenar turned to F’lar with troubled eyes.
“Do you think these odd falls will mean that those forests must be razed?”
“You know my views on wood, Asgenar. It’s too valuable a commodity, too versatile, to sacrifice needlessly.”
“But it takes every dragon to protect . . .”
“Are you for or against?” F’lar asked with mild amusement. He gripped Asgenar’s shoulder. “Instruct your foresters to keep constant watch. Their vigilance is essential.”
“Then you don’t know the pattern in the Thread shifts?”
F’lar shook his head slowly, unwilling to perjure himself to this man. “I’ll leave the long-eyed F’rad with you.”
A wide smile broke the thin troubled face of the Lord Holder.
“I couldn’t ask, but it’s a relief. I shan’t abuse the privilege.”
F’lar glanced at him sharply. “Why should you?”
Asgenar gave him a wry smile. “That’s what the Oldtimers carp about, isn’t it? And instant transportation to any place on Pern is a temptation.”
F’lar laughed, remembering that Asgenar, Lord of Lemos, was to take Famira, the youngest sister of Larad, Lord of Telgar Hold, to wife. While the Telgar lands marched the boundaries of Lemos, the Holds were separated by deep forest and several ranges of steep rocky mountains.
Three dragons appeared and circled above them, wingriders reporting on the ground activities. Nine infestations had been sighted and controlled with minimum loss of property. Sweepriders had reported that the mid-Fall area was clear. F’lar dismissed them. A runner came loping up the meadow to his Lord Holder, carefully keeping several dragonlengths between himself and the two beasts. For all that every Pernese knew the dragons would harm no human, many would never lose their fearfulness. Dragons were confused by this distrust so that F’lar strolled casually to his bronze and scratched the left eye ridge affectionately until Mnementh allowed one lid to droop in pleasure over the gleaming opalescent eye.
The runner had come from afar, managing to gasp out his reassuring message before he collapsed on the ground, his chest heaving with the effort to fill his starved lungs. Asgenar stripped off his tunic and covered the man to prevent his chilling and made the runner drink from his own flask
“The two infestations on the south slope are char!” Asgenar reported to the Weyrleader as he rejoined him. “That means the hardwood stands are safe.” Asgenar’s relief was so great that he took a swig on the bottle himself. Then hastily offered it to the dragonrider. When F’lar politely refused, he went on, “We may have another hard winter and my people will need that wood. Cromcoal costs!”
F’lar nodded. Free provision of fuelwood meant a tremendous saving to the average holder, though not every Lord saw it in this aspect. Lord Meron of Nabol Hold, for instance refused to let his commoners chop fuelwood, forcing them to pay the high rates for Cromcoal, increasing his profit at their expense.
“That runner came from the south slope? He’s fast.”
“My forest men are the best in all Pern. Meron of Nabol has twice tried to lure that man from me.”
“And?”
Lord Asgenar chuckled. “Who trusts Meron? My man had heard tales of how that Lord treats his people.” He seemed about to add another thought but cleared his throat instead, glancing nervously away as if catching a glimpse of something in the woods.
“What all Pern needs is an efficient means of communication,” remarked the dragonman, his eyes on the gasping runner.
“Efficient?” and Asgenar laughed aloud. “Is all Pern infected with Fandarel’s disease?”
“Pern benefits by such an illness.” F’lar must contact the Mastersmith the moment he got back to the Weyr. Pern needed the genius of the giant Fandarel now more than ever.
“Yes, but will we recover from the feverish urge for perfection?” Asgenar’s smile faded as he added, in a deceptively casual fashion, “Have you heard whether a decision has been reached about Bendarek’s guild?”
“None yet.”
“I do not insist that a Craftmaster’s Hall be sited in Lemos – ” Asgenar began, urgent and serious.
F’lar held up his hand. “Nor I, though I have trouble convincing others of my sincerity. Lemos Hold has the biggest stands of wood, Bendarek needs to be near his best source of supply, and he comes of Lemos!”
“Every single objection raised has been ridiculous,” Asgenar replied, his gray eyes sparkling with anger. “You know as well as I that a Craftmaster owes no allegiance to a Lord Holder. Bendarek’s as unprejudiced as Fandarel as far as loyalty to anything but his craft is concerned. All the man thinks of is wood and pulp and those new leaves or sheets or what-you-ma-callums he’s mucking about with.”
“I know. I know, Asgenar. Larad of Telgar Hold and Corman of Keroon Hold side with you or so they’ve assured me.”
“When the Lord Holders meet in Conclave at Telgar Hold, I’m going to speak out. Lord Raid and Sifer will back me, if only because we’re weyrbound.”
“It isn’t the Lords or Weyrleaders who must make this decision,” F’lar reminded the resolute young Lord. “It’s the other Craftmasters. That’s been my thought since Fandarel first proposed a new craft designation.”
“Then what’s holding matters up? All the Mastercraftsmen will be at the wedding at Telgar Hold. Let’s settle it once and for all and let Bendarek alone.” Asgenar threw his arms wide with frustration. “We need Bendarek settled, we need what he’s been producing and he can’t keep his mind on important work with all this shifting and shouting.”