She was finally aware of a soft, smooth hand upon her arm, of a liquid, warm and savory, in her mouth. She rolled it around her tongue, and it trickled down her sore throat. A fit of coughing left her gasping and weak. Then she experimentally opened her eyes, and the images before her did not lurch and spin. «Whoare you?» she managed to croak. «Oh, my dear Lessa . . .»
«Is that who I am?» she asked, confused.
«So your Ramoth tells us,» she was assured. «I am Mardra of Fort Weyr.»
«Oh, F'lar will be so angry with me,» Lessa moaned as her memory came rushing back. «He will shake me and shake me. He always shakes me when I disobey him. But I was right. I was right. Mardra? . . . Oh, that . . . awful . . . nothingness,» and she felt herself drifting off into sleep, unable to resist that overwhelming urge. Comfortingly, her bed no longer rocked beneath her.
The room, dimly lit by wallglows, was both like her own at Benden Weyr and subtly different. Lessa lay still, trying to isolate that difference. Ah, the weyrwalls were very smooth here. The room was larger, too, the ceiling higher and curving. The furnishings, now that her eyes were used to the dim light and she could distinguish details, were more finely crafted. She stirred restlessly.
«Ah, you're awake again, mystery lady,» a man said. Light beyond the parted curtain flooded in from the outer weyr. Lessa sensed rather than saw the presence of others in the room beyond.
A woman passed under the man's arm, moving swiftly to the bedside.
«I remember you. You're Mardra,» Lessa said with surprise.
«Indeed I am, and here is T'ron, Weyrleader at Fort.»
T'ron was tossing more glows into the wallbasket, peering over his shoulder at Lessa to see if the light bothered her.
«Ramoth!» Lessa exclaimed, sitting upright, aware for the first time that it was not Ramoth's mind she touched in the outer weyr.
«Oh, that one,» Mardra laughed with amused dismay. «She'll eat us out of the weyr, and even my Loranth has had to call the other queens to restrain her.»
«She perches on the Star Stones as if she owned them and keens constantly,» T'ron added, less charitably. He cocked an ear. «Ha. She's stopped.»
«You can come, can't you?» Lessa blurted out.
«Come? Come where, my dear?» Mardra asked, confused. «You've been going on and on about our 'coming,' and Threads approaching, and the Red Star bracketed in the Eye Rock, and . . . my dear, don't you realize the Red Star has been past Pern these two months?»
«No, no, they've started. That's why I came back between times . . .»
«Back? Between times?» T'ron exclaimed, striding over to the bed, eyeing Lessa intently.
«Could I have some klah. I know I'm not making much sense, and I'm not really awake yet. But I'm not mad or still sick, and this is rather complicated.»
«Yes, it is,» T'ron remarked with deceptive mildness. But he did call down the service shaft for klah. And he did drag a chair over to her bedside, settling himself to listen to her.
«Of course you're not mad,» Mardra soothed her, glaring at her weyrmate. «Or she wouldn't ride a queen.»
T'ron had to agree to that. Lessa waited for the klah to come; when it did, she sipped gratefully at its stimulating warmth.
Then she took a deep breath and began, telling them of the Long Interval between the dangerous passes of the Red Star: how the sole Weyr had fallen into disfavor and contempt, how Jora had deteriorated and lost control over her queen, Nemorth, so that, as the Red Star neared, there was no sudden increase in the size of clutches. How she had Impressed Ramoth to become Benden's Weyrwoman. How F'lar had outwitted the dissenting Hold Lords the day after Ramoth's first mating flight and taken firm command of Weyr and Pern, preparing for the Threads he knew were coming. She told her by now rapt audience of her own first attempts to fly Ramoth and how she had inadvertently gone back between time to the day Fax had invaded Ruatha Hold.
«Invade . . . my family's Hold?» Mardra cried, aghast.
«Ruatha has given the Weyrs many famous Weyrwomen,» Lessa said with a sly smile at which T'ron burst out laughing.
«She's Ruathan, no question,» he assured Mardra. She told them of the situation in which Dragonmen now found themselves, with an insufficient force to meet the Thread attacks. Of the Question Song and the great tapestry.
«A tapestry?» Mardra cried, her hand going to her cheek in alarm. «Describe it to me!»
And when Lessa did, she saw-at last-belief in both their faces.
«My father has just commissioned a tapestry with such a scene. He told me of it the other day because the last battle with the Threads was held over Ruatha.» Incredulous, Mardra turned to T'ron, who no longer looked amused. «She must have done what she has said she'd done. How could she possibly know about the tapestry?»
«You might also ask your queen dragon, and mine,» Lessa suggested.
«My dear, we do not doubt you now,» Mardra said sincerely, «but it is a most incredible feat.»
«I don't think,» Lessa said, «that I would ever try it again, knowing what I do know.»
«Yes, this shock makes a forward jump between times quite a problem if your F'lar must have an effective fighting force,» T'ron remarked.
«You will come? You will?»
«There is a distinct possibility we will,» T'ron said gravely, and his face broke into a lopsided grin. «You said we left the Weyrs . . . abandoned them, in fact, and left no explanation. We went somewhere . . . somewhen, that is, for we are still here now.»
They were all silent, for the same alternative occurred to them simultaneously. The Weyrs had been left vacant, but Lessa had no way of proving that the five Weyrs reappeared in her time.
«There must be a way. There must be a way,» Lessa cried distractedly. «And there's no time to waste. No time at all!»
T'ron gave a bark of laughter. «There's plenty of time at this end of history, my dear.»
They made her rest then, more concerned than she was that she had been ill some weeks, deliriously screaming that she was falling and could not see, could not hear, could not touch. Ramoth, too, they told her, had suffered from the appalling nothingness of a protracted stay between, emerging above ancient Ruatha a pale yellow wraith of her former robust self.
The Lord of Ruatha Hold, Mardra's father, had been surprised out of his wits by the appearance of a staggering rider and a pallid queen on his stone verge. Naturally and luckily he had sent to his daughter at Fort Weyr for help. Lessa and Ramoth had been transported to the Weyr, and the Ruathan Lord kept silence on the matter.
When Lessa was strong enough, T'ron called a Council of Weyrleaders. Curiously, there was no opposition to going . . . provided they could solve the problem of time-shock and find reference points along the way. It did not take Lessa long to comprehend why the dragonriders were so eager to attempt the journey. Most of them had been born during the present Thread incursions. They had now had close to four months of unexciting routine patrols and were bored with monotony. Training Games were pallid substitutes for the real battles they had all fought. The Holds, which once could not do dragonmen favors enough, were beginning to be indifferent. The Weyrleaders could see these incidents increasing as Thread-generated fears receded. It was a morale decay as insidious as a wasting disease in Weyr and Hold. The alternative which Lessa's appeal offered was better than a slow decline in their own time.
Of Benden, only the Weyrleader himself was privy to these meetings. Because Benden was the only Weyr in Lessa's time, it must remain ignorant, and intact, until her time. Nor could any mention be made of Lessa's presence, for that, too, was unknown in her Turn.
She insisted that they call in the Masterharper because her Records said he had been called. But when he asked her to tell him the Question Song, she smiled and demurred.
«You'll write it, or your successor will, when the Weyrs are found to be abandoned,» she told him. «But it must be your doing, not my repeating.»
«A difficult assignment to know one must write a song that four hundred Turns later gives a valuable clue.»
«Only be sure,» she cautioned him, «that it is a Teaching tune. It must not be forgotten, for it poses questions that I have to answer.»
As he started to chuckle, she realized she had already given him a pointer.
The discussions-how to go so far safely with no sustained sense deprivations-grew heated. There were more constructive notions, however impractical, on how to find reference points along the way. The five Weyrs had not been ahead in time, and Lessa, in her one gigantic backward leap, had not stopped for intermediate time marks.
«You did say that a between times jump of ten years caused no hardship?» T'ron asked of Lessa as all the Weyrleaders and the Masterharper met to discuss this impasse.
«None. It takes . . . oh, twice as long as a between places jump.»
«It is the four hundred Turn leap that left you unbalanced. Hmmm. Maybe twenty or twenty-five Turn segments would be safe enough.»
That suggestion found merit until Ista's cautious leader, D'ram, spoke up.
«I don't mean to be a Hold-hider, but there is one possibility we haven't mentioned. How do we know we made the jump between to Lessa's time? Going between is a chancy business. Men go missing often. And Lessa barely made it here alive.»
«A good point, D'ram,» T'ron concurred briskly, «but I feel there is more to prove that we do-did will-go forward. The clues, for one thing-they were aimed at Lessa. The very emergency that left five Weyrs empty sent her back to appeal for our help-«
«Agreed, agreed,» D'ram interrupted earnestly, «but what I mean is can you be sure we reached Lessa's time? It hadn't happened yet. Do we know it can?»
T'ron was not the only one who searched his mind for an answer to that. All of a sudden he slammed both hands, palms down, on the table.
«By the Egg, it's die slow, doing nothing, or die quick, trying. I've had a surfeit of the quiet life we dragonmen must lead after the Red Star passes till we go between in old age. I confess I'm almost sorry to see the Red Star dwindle farther from us in the evening sky. I say, grab the risk with both hands and shake it till it's gone. We're dragonmen, aren't we, bred to fight the Threads? Let's go hunting . . . four hundred Turns ahead!»
Lessa's drawn face relaxed. She had recognized the validity of D'ram's alternate possibility, and it had touched off bitter fear in her heart. To risk herself was her own responsibility, but to risk these hundreds of men and dragons, the weyrfolk who would accompany their men?
T'ron's ringing words for once and all dispensed with that consideration.
«And I believe,» the Masterharper's exultant voice cut through the answering shouts of agreement, «I have your reference points.» A smile of surprised wonder illuminated his face. «Twenty Turns or twenty hundred, you have a guide! And T'ron said it. As the Red Star dwindles in the evening sky . ..»
Later, as they plotted the orbit of the Red Star, they found how easy that solution actually was and chuckled that their ancient foe should be their guide.
Atop Fort Weyr, as on all the Weyrs, were great stones. They were so placed that at certain times of the year they marked the approach and retreat of the Red Star, as it orbited in its erratic two hundred Turn-long course around the sun. By consulting the Records which, among other morsels of information, included the Red Star's wanderings, it was not hard to plan jumps between of twenty-five Turns for each Weyr. It had been decided that the complement of each separate Weyr would jump between above its own base, for there would unquestionably be accidents if close to eighteen hundred laden beasts tried it at one point.
Each moment now was one too long away from her own time for Lessa. She had been a month away from F'lar and missed him more than she had thought possible. Also, she was worried that Ramoth would mate away from Mnementh. There were, to be sure, bronze dragons and bronze riders eager to do that service, but Lessa had no interest in them.
T'ron and Mardra occupied her with the many details in organizing the exodus, so that no clues, past the tapestry and the Question Song that would be composed at a later date, remained in the Weyrs.
It was with a relief close to tears that Lessa urged Ramoth upward in the night sky to take her place near T'ron and Mardra above the Fort Weyr Star Stone. At five other Weyrs great wings were ranged in formation, ready to depart their own times.
As each Weyrleader's dragon reported to Lessa that all were ready, reference points determined by the Red Star's travels in mind, it was this traveler from the future who gave the command to jump between.
CHAPTER VII
The blackest night must end in dawn,
The sun dispel the dreamer's fear:
When shall my soul's bleak, hopeless pain
Find solace in its darkening Weyr?
They had made eleven jumps between, the Weyrleaders' bronzes speaking to Lessa as they rested briefly between each jump. Of the eighteen hundred-odd travelers, only four failed to come ahead, and they had been older beasts. All five sections agreed to pause for a quick meal and hot klah before the final jump, which would be but twelve Turns.
«It is easier,» T'ron commented as Mardra served the klah, «to go twenty-five Turns than twelve.» He glanced up at the Red Dawn Star, their winking and faithful guide. «It does not alter its position as much. I count on you, Lessa, to give us additional references.»
«I want to get us back to Ruatha before F'lar discovers I have gone.» She shivered as she looked up at the Red Star and sipped hastily at the hot klah. «I've seen the Star just like that, once . . . no, twice . . . before at Ruatha.» She stared at T'ron, her throat constricting as she remembered that morning: the time she had decided that the Red Star was a menace to her, three days after which Fax and F'lar had appeared at Ruatha Hold. Fax had died on F'lar's dagger, and she had gone to Benden Weyr. She felt suddenly dizzy, weak, strangely unsettled. She had not felt this way as they paused between other jumps.
«Are you all right, Lessa?» Mardra asked with concern. «You're so white. You're shaking.» She put her arm around Lessa, glancing, concerned, at her Weyrmate.
«Twelve Turns ago I was at Ruatha,» Lessa murmured, grasping Mardra's hand for support. «I was at Ruatha twice. Let's go on quickly. I'm too many in this morning. I must get back. I must get back to F'lar. He'll be so angry.»
The note of hysteria in her voice alarmed both Mardra and T'ron. Hastily the latter gave orders for the fires to be extinguished, for the Weyrfolk to mount and prepare for the final jump ahead.
Her mind in chaos, Lessa transmitted the references to the other Weyrleaders' dragons: Ruatha in the evening light, the Great Tower, the inner Court, the land at springtime. .. .
CHAPTER VIII
A fleck of red in a cold night sky,
A drop of blood to guide them by,
Turn away. Turn away. Turn, be gone,
A Red Star beckons the travelers on.
Between them, Lytol and Robinton forced F'lar to eat, deliberately plying him with wine. At the back of his mind F'lar knew he would have to keep going, but the effort was immense, the spirit gone from him. It was no comfort that they still had Pridith and Kylara to continue dragonkind, yet he delayed sending someone back for F'nor, unable to face the reality of that admission: that in sending for Pridith and Kylara, he had acknowledged the fact that Lessa and Ramoth would not return.
Lessa, Lessa, his mind cried endlessly, damning her one moment for her reckless, thoughtless daring, loving her the next for attempting such an incredible feat.
«I said, F'lar, you need sleep now more than wine.» Robinton's voice penetrated his preoccupation.
F'lar looked at him, frowning in perplexity. He realized that he was trying to lift the wine jug that Robinton was holding firmly down.
«What did you say?»
«Come. I'll bear you company to Benden. Indeed, nothing could persuade me to leave your side. You have aged years, man, in the course of hours.»
«And isn't it understandable?» F'lar shouted, rising to his feet, the impotent anger boiling out of him at the nearest target in the form of Robinton.
Robinton's eyes were full of compassion as he reached for F'lar's arm, gripping it tightly.
«Man, not even this Masterharper has words enough to express the sympathy and honor he has for you. But you must sleep; you have tomorrow to endure, and the tomorrow after that you have to fight. The dragonmen must have a leader. .. .» His voice trailed off. «Tomorrow you must send for F'nor and Pridith.»
F'lar pivoted on his heel and strode toward the fateful door of Ruatha's great hall.
CHAPTER IX
Oh, Tongue, give sound
to joy and sing
Of hope and promise
on dragonwing.
Before them loomed Ruatha's Great Tower, the high walls of the Outer Court clearly visible in the fading light.
The claxon rang violent summons into the air, barely heard over the earsplitting thunder as hundreds of dragons appeared, ranging in full fighting array, wing upon wing, up and down the valley.
A shaft of light stained the flagstones of the Court as the Hold door opened.
Lessa ordered Ramoth down, close to the Tower, and dismounted, running eagerly forward to greet the men who piled out of the door. She made out the stocky figure of Lytol, a handbasket of glows held high above his head. She was so relieved to see him that she forgot her previous antagonism to the Warder.
«You misjudged the last jump by two days, Lessa,» he cried as soon as he was near enough for her to hear him over the noise of settling dragons.
«Misjudged? How could I?» she breathed.
T'ron and Mardra came up beside her.
«No need to worry,» Lytol reassured her, gripping her hands tightly in his, his eyes dancing. He was actually smiling at her. «You overshot the day. Go back between, return to Ruatha of two days ago. That's all.» His grin widened at her confusion. «It is all right,» he repeated, patting her hands. «Take this same hour, the Great Court, everything, but visualize F'lar, Robinton, and myself here on the flagstones. Place Mnementh on the Great Tower and a blue dragon on the verge. Now go.»
Mnementh? Ramoth queried Lessa, eager to see her Weyrmate. She ducked her great head, and her huge eyes gleamed with scintillating fire.
«I don't understand,» Lessa wailed. Mardra slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders.
«But I do, I do-trust me,» Lytol pleaded, patting her shoulder awkwardly and glancing at T'ron for support. «It is as F'nor has said. You cannot be several places in time without experiencing great distress, and when you stopped twelve Turns back, it threw Lessa all to pieces.»
«You know that?» T'ron cried.
«Of course. Just go back two days. You see, I know you have. I shall, of course, be surprised then, but now, tonight, I know you reappeared two days earlier. Oh, go. Don't argue. F'lar was half out of his mind with worry for you.»
«He'll shake me,» Lessa cried, like a little girl. «Lessa!» T'ron took her by the hand and led her back to Ramoth, who crouched so her rider could mount.
T'ron took complete charge and had his Fidranth pass the order to return to the references Lytol had given, adding by way of Ramoth a description of the humans and Mnementh.
The cold of between restored Lessa to herself, although her error had badly jarred her confidence. But .then there was Ruatha again. The dragons happily arranged themselves in tremendous display. And there, silhouetted against the light from the Hall, stood Lytol, Robinton's tall figure, andF'lar.
Mnementh's voice gave a brassy welcome, and Ramoth could not land Lessa quickly enough to go and twine necks with her mate.
Lessa stood where Ramoth had left her, unable to move. She was aware that Mardra and T'ron were beside her. She was conscious only of F'lar, racing across the Court toward her. Yet she could not move.
He grabbed her in his arms, holding her so tightly to him that she could not doubt the joy of his welcome.
«Lessa, Lessa,» his voice raggedly chanted in her ear. He pressed her face against his, crushing her to breathlessness, all his careful detachment abandoned. He kissed her, hugged her, held her, and then kissed her with rough urgency again. Then he suddenly set her on her feet and gripped her shoulders. «Lessa, if you ever . . ."he said, punctuating each word with a flexing of his fingers, then stopped, aware of a grinning circle of strangers surrounding them.
«I told you he'd shake me,» Lessa was saying, dashing tears from her face. «But, F'lar, I brought them allall but Benden Weyr. And that is why the five Weyrs were abandoned. I brought them.»
F'lar looked around him, looked beyond the leaders to the masses of dragons settling in the Valley, on the heights, everywhere he turned. There were dragons, blue, green, bronze, brown, and a whole wingful of golden queen dragons alone.
«You brought the Weyrs?» he echoed, stunned.
«Yes, this is Mardra and T'ron of Fort Weyr, D'ram and»
He stopped her with a little shake, pulling her to his side so he could see and greet the newcomers.
«I am more grateful than you can know,» he said and could not go on with all the many words he wanted to add.
T'ron stepped forward, holding out his hand, which F'lar seized and held firmly.
«We bring eighteen hundred dragons, seventeen queens, and all that is necessary to implement our Weyrs.»
«And they brought flamethrowers, too,» Lessa put in excitedly.
«But-to cometo attempt it . . .» F'lar murmured in admiring wonder.
T'ron and D'ram and the others laughed. «Your Lessa showed the way»
» with the Red Star to guide us» she said.
«We are dragonmen,» T'ron continued solemnly, «as you are yourself, F'lar of Benden. We were told there are Threads here to fight, and that's work for dragonmen to do in any time!»
CHAPTER X
Drummer, beat, and piper, blow,
Harper, strike, and soldier, go.
Free the flame and sear the grasses
Till the dawning Red Star passes.
Even as the five Weyrs had been settling around Ruatha Valley, F'nor had been compelled to bring forward in time his southern weyrfolk. They had all reached the end of endurance in double-time life, gratefully creeping back to quarters they had vacated two days and ten Turns ago.
R'gul, totally unaware of Lessa's backward plunge, greeted F'lar and his Weyrwoman, on their return to the Weyr, with the news of F'nor's appearance with seventy-two new dragons and the further word that he doubted any of the riders would be fit to fight.
«I've never seen such exhausted men in my life,» R'gul rattled on, «can't imagine what could have gotten into them, with sun and plenty of food and all, and no responsibilities.»
F'lar and Lessa exchanged glances.
«Well, the southern Weyr ought to be maintained, R'gul. Think it over.»
«I'm a fighting dragonman, not a womanizer,» the old dragonrider grunted. «It'd take more than a trip between times to reduce me like those others.»
«Oh, they'll be themselves again in next to no time,» Lessa said and, to R'gul's intense disapproval, she giggled.
«They'll have to be if we're to keep the skies Threadfree,» R'gul snapped testily.
«No problem about that now,» F'lar assured him easily.
«No problem? With only a hundred and forty-four dragons?»
«Two hundred and sixteen,» Lessa corrected him firmly.
Ignoring her, R'gul asked, «Has that Mastersmith found a flamethrower that'll work?»
«Indeed he has,» F'lar assured R'gul, grinning broadly.
The five Weyrs had also brought forward their equipment. Fandarel all but snatched examples from their backs and, undoubtedly, every hearth and smithy through the continent would be ready to duplicate the design by morning. T'ron had told F'lar that, in his time, each Hold had ample flamethrowers for every man on the ground. In the course of the Long Interval, however, the throwers must have been either smelted down or lost as incomprehensible devices. D'ram, particularly, was very much interested in Fandarel's agenothree sprayer, considering it better than thrown-flame, since it would also act as a fertilizer.
«Well,» R'gul admitted gloomily, «a flamethrower or two will be some help day after tomorrow.»
«We have found something else that will help a lot more,» Lessa remarked and then hastily excused herself, dashing into the sleeping quarters.
The sounds that drifted past the curtain were either laughter or sobs, and R'gul frowned on both. That girl was just too young to be Weyrwoman at such a time. No stability.
«Has she realized how critical our situation is? Even with F'nor's additions? That is, if they can fly?» R'gul demanded testily. «You oughtn't to let her leave the Weyr at all.»
F'lar ignored that and began pouring himself a cup of wine.
«You once pointed out to me that the five empty Weyrs of Pern supported your theory that there would be no more Threads.»
R'gul cleared his throat, thinking that apologies-even if they might be due from the Weyrleader-were scarcely effective against the Threads.
«Now there was merit in that theory,» F'lar went on, filling a cup for R'gul. «Not, however, as you interpreted it. The five Weyrs were empty because theythey came here.»
R'gul, his cup halfway to his lips, stared at F'lar. This man also was too young to bear his responsibilities. Buthe seemed actually to believe what he was saying.
«Believe it or not, R'gul-and in a bare day's time you will-the five Weyrs are empty no longer. They're here, in the Weyrs, in this time. And they shall join us, eighteen hundred strong, the day after tomorrow at Telgar, with flamethrowers and with plenty of battle experience.»
R'gul regarded the poor man stolidly for a long moment. Carefully he put his cup down and, turning on his heel, left the weyr. He refused to be an object of ridicule. He'd better plan to take over the leadership tomorrow if they were to fight Threads the day after.
The next morning, when he saw the clutch of great bronze dragons bearing the Weyrleaders and their wingleaders to the conference, R'gul got quietly drunk.
Lessa exchanged good mornings with her friends and then, smiling sweetly, left the weyr, saying she must feed Ramoth. F'lar stared after her thoughtfully, then went to greet Robinton and Fandarel, who had been asked to attend the meeting, too. Neither Craftmaster said much, but neither missed a word spoken. Fandarel's great head kept swiveling from speaker to speaker, his deep-set eyes blinking occasionally. Robinton sat with a bemused smile on his face, utterly delighted by ancestral visitors.
F'lar was quickly talked out of resigning his titular position as Weyrleader of Benden on the grounds that he was too inexperienced.
«You did well enough at Nerat and Keroon. Well indeed,» T'ron said.
«You call twenty-eight men or dragons out of action good leadership?»
«For a first battle, with every dragonman green as a hatchling? No, man, you were on time at Nerat, however you got there,» and T'ron grinned maliciously at F'lar, «which is what a dragonman must do. No, that was well flown, I say. Well flown.» The other four Weyrleaders muttered complete agreement with that compliment. «Your Weyr is understrength, though, so we'll lend you enough odd-wing riders till you've gotten the Weyr up to full strength again. Oh, the queens love these times!» And his grin broadened to indicate that bronze riders did, too.
F'lar returned that smile, thinking that Ramoth was about ready for another mating flight, and this time, Lessaoh, that girl was being too deceptively docile. He'd better watch her closely.
«Now,» T'ron was saying, «we left with Fandarel's crafthold all the flamethrowers we brought up so that the groundmen will be armed tomorrow.»
«Aye, and my thanks,» Fandarel grunted. «Well turn out new ones in record time and return yours soon.»