That seemed to relieve F’lar, for he leaned back against the pillows with a deep sigh and closed his eyes. “He’s a good choice. For more than Fort Weyrleadership. He’d carry on. That’s what we need the most, Lessa. Men who think, who can carry on. That’s what happened before.” His eyes flew open, shadowed with a vague fear and a definite worry. “What time is it at Fort Weyr now?”

Lessa made a rapid calculation. “Dawn’s about four hours away.”

“Oh. I want N’ton here as soon as possible.”

“No, wait a minute, F’lar, he’s a Fort rider…”

F’lar grabbed for her hand, pulling her down to him. “Don’t you see,” he demanded, his voice hoarse, his urgency frightening, “he’s got to know. Know everything I plan. Then, if something happens…”

Lessa stared at him, not comprehending. Then she was both furious with him for frightening her, irritated with his self-pity, and terrified that he might indeed be fatally ill.

“F’lar, get a grip on yourself, man,” she said, half-angry, half-teasing; he felt so hot.

He flung himself back down on the bed, tossing his head from side to side.

“This is what happened before. I know it. I don’t care what he says, get F’nor here.”

Lioth is coming and a green from Telgar, Mnementh announced.

Lessa took consolation from the fact that Mnementh didn’t seem the least bit distressed by F’lar’s ravings.

F’lar gave a startled cry, glaring accusingly at Lessa.

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t send for N’ton. It isn’t even dawn there yet.”

The green is a messenger and the man he bears is very excited, Mnementh reported, and he sounded mildly curious.

Ramoth, who had taken herself to the Hatching Ground after Lessa awakened, rumbled a challenge to bronze Lioth.

N’ton came striding down the passageway, accompanied by Wansor, certainly the last person Lessa expected to see. The rotund little man’s face was flushed with excitement, his eyes sparkling despite red rims and bloodshot whites.

“Oh, Weyrlady, this is the most exciting news imaginable. Really exciting!” Wansor babbled, shaking the large leaf under her nose. She had an impression of circles. Then Wansor saw F’lar. All the excitement drained out of his face as he realized that the Weyrleader was a very sick man. “Sir, I had no idea—I wouldn’t have presumed…”

“Nonsense, man,” F’lar said irritably. “What brings you? What have you there? Let me see. You’ve found a coordinate for the dragons?”

Wansor seemed so uncertain about proceeding that Lessa took charge, guiding the man to the bed.

“What’s this leaf mean? Ah, this is Pern, and that is the Red Star, but what are these other circles you’ve marked?”