The Smith put both hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet.

“Talk makes no miracles. To effect an end to Thread we must get the dragons to the source. Terry, pour a cup of that excellent klah for Wansor and let us attack the problem with good heart.”

As F’lar rose with Lessa, F’nor’s message rustled at his belt.

“Let me take a look at F’nor’s message, Lessa, before we go.”

He opened the closely written pages, his eye catching the repetition of “fire-lizard” before his mind grasped the sense of what he was reading.

“Impressing? A fire-lizard?” he exclaimed, holding the letter so that Lessa could verify it.

“No one’s ever managed to catch a fire-lizard,” Fandarel said.

“F’nor has,” F’lar told him, “and Brekke, and Mirrim. Who’s Mirrim?”

“Brekke’s fosterling,” the Weyrwoman replied absently, her eyes scanning the message as rapidly as possible. “One of L’trel’s by some woman or other of his. No, Kylara wouldn’t have liked that!”

F’lar shushed her, passing the sheets over to Fandarel who was curious now.

“Are fire-lizards related to dragons?” asked the Craft-second.

“Judging by what F’nor says, more than we realized.” F’lar handed Terry the last page, looking up at Fandarel. “What do you think?”

The Smith began to realign his features into a frown but stopped, grinning broadly instead.

“Ask the Masterherder. He breeds animals. I breed machines.”

He saluted Lessa with his mug and strode to the wall he had been contemplating when they entered, immediately lost in thought.

“A good point,” F’lar said with a laugh to his remaining audience.

“F’lar? Remember that flawed piece of metal, with that garble of words? The one with the scribble like last night’s. It mentioned fire-lizards, too. That was one of the few words that made sense.”

“So?”

“I wish we hadn’t given that plate back to Fort Weyr. It was more important than we realized.”

“There may be more at Fort Weyr that’s important,” F’lar said, gloomily. “It was the first Weyr. Who knows what we might find if we could search there!”

Lessa made a face, thinking of Mardra and T’ron.

“T’ron’s not hard to manage,” she mused.

“Lessa, no nonsense now.”

“If fire-lizards are so much like dragons, could they be trained to go between, as dragons can, and be messengers?” asked Terry.

“How long would that take?” asked the Smith, less unaware of his surroundings than he looked. “How much time have we got this Turn?”

CHAPTER VIII

Midmorning at Southern Weyr

“NO, RANNELLY, I’VE not seen Kylara all morning,” Brekke told the old woman patiently, for the fourth time that morning.

“And you’ve not taken a good look at your own poor queen, either, I’ll warrant, fooling around with these—these nuisancy flitterbys,” Rannelly retorted, grumbling as she limped out of the Weyrhall.