The Best Military Science Fiction of the 20th Century (77 page)

“A good point, D’ram,” M’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 which left five Weyrs empty that 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?”

M’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 further 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 could accompany their men…?

M’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 believe I have your reference points.” A smile of surprised wonder illuminated his face. “Twenty Turns or twenty-hundred, you have a guide! And M’ron said it. ‘As the Red Star dwindles in the evening sky…’”

L
ATER, 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 their 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 could be 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.

M’ron and Mardra occupied her with the many details in organizing the exodus so that no clues, past the tapestry and the Question Song which 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 M’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
.

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,” M’ron commented as Mardra served around 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 M’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 Ruath 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 M’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, and the land at springtime…

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 he 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 your 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…” and his voice trailed off. “Tomorrow you must send for F’nor…and Pridith.”

F’lar pivoted on his heel and strode towards the fateful door of Ruatha’s Great Hall.

Oh, Tongue, give sound to joy and sing

Of hope and promise on dragon-wing.

Before them loomed Ruatha’s Great Tower, the high walls of the Outer Court clearly visible in the fading light.

The klaxon rang violent summons into the air, barely heard over the ear-splitting 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 about his head. She was so relieved to see him, 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.

M’ron and Mardra came up beside her.

“It is not to worry,” Lyton 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 M’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?” M’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!” M’ron took her by the hand and led her back to Ramoth, who crouched so her rider could mount.

M’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.

T
HE 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 and…F’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 M’ron were beside her. She was conscious only of F’lar, racing across the Court towards her as fast as he could. Yet she could not move.

He swung her up in his arms, hugging her so tightly she could not doubt the joy of his welcome.

“My darling, my love, how could you gamble so? I have been lost in an endless
between
, fearing for you.” 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, and 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 all…all 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 M’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.

M’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 come…to attempt it…” F’lar murmured in admiring wonder.

M’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,” M’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!”

Drummer, beat, and piper, blow,

Harper, strike, and soldier, go.

Free the flame and sear the grasses

’Til 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.

“Never seen such exhausted men in my life,” R’gul rattled on, “can’t imagine what could have got 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.