“You did say that a between times jump of ten years caused no hardship?” T’ton 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 imbalanced. 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’ton 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’ton 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’ton’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’ton 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.