“Once before we found answers in old Records, in the helpful recollections of Masterweaver Zurg, Masterfarmer Andemon, Masterharper Robinton, and the efficiencies of Mastersmith Fandarel. You know what we’ve found in abandoned rooms at Benden and Fort Weyrs—objects made long Turns ago when we had not lost certain skills and techniques.

“Frankly,” and F’lar grinned suddenly, “I’d rather rely on skills and techniques we, in our Turn, right now, can develop.”

There was an unexpected ripple of assent to that.

“I speak of the skill of working together, the technique of crossing the arbitrary lines of land, craft and status, because we must learn more from each other than the simple fact that none of us can stand alone and survive!”

He couldn’t go on because half the men were on their feet, suddenly cheering. D’ram was pulling at his sleeve, G’narish was arguing with the Telgar Weyr Second, whose expression was grievously undecided. F’lar got a glimpse of Groghe’s face before someone stood in the way. Fort’s Lord, too, was plainly anxious but that was better than overt antagonism. Robinton caught his eye and smiled broad encouragement. So F’lar had no choice but to let them unwind. They might as well infect each other with enthusiasm—probably with more effect than his best-chosen arguments. He looked around for Lessa and saw her slipping toward the hallway where she stopped, evidently warned of a late arrival.

It was F’nor who appeared in the entrance.

“I’ve fire-lizard eggs,” he shouted. “Fire-lizard eggs,” and he pushed into the room, an aisle opening for him straight to the Council Table.

There was silence as he carefully placed his cumbersome felt-wrapped burden down and glanced triumphantly around the room.

“Stolen from under T’kul’s nose. Thirty-two of them!”

“Well, Benden,” Sangel of Southern Boll demanded in the taut hush, “who gets preference here?”

F’lar affected surprise. “Why, Lord Sangel, that is for you,” and his gesture swept the room impartially, “to decide.”

Clearly that had not been expected.

“We will, of course, teach you what we know of them, guide you in their training. They are more than pets or ornaments,” and he nodded toward Meron who bristled, so suspicious of attention that his bronze hissed and restlessly fanned his wings. “Lord Asgenar, you’ve two lizard eggs already. I can trust you to be impartial. That is, if the Lords share my opinion.”

As soon as they fell to arguing, F’lar left the Council Room. There was so much more to do this morning but he’d do it the better for a little break. And the eggs would occupy the Lords and Craftsmen. They wouldn’t notice his absence.

CHAPTER XII

Morning at Benden Weyr

Predawn at High Reaches Weyr