“Marvelous idea,” Robinton cried. “Hope’s a great encourager. Give the Lords a reliable means of keeping in touch and you’ve undone much of the Weyrs’ isolation policies.”

“Can you do it, Fandarel?” F’lar asked the Smith.

“To Telgar I could lay wire. Yes. It could be done.”

“How is this distance writing done? I don’t understand.”

Fandarel inclined his head toward the Masterharper. “Thanks to Robinton, we have a code that permits us to send long and complicated messages. One must train a man to understand it, to send and receive it. If you could spare an hour of your time…”

“I can spare you as much time as you need, Fandarel,” F’lar assured him.

“Let’s go tomorrow. There’s nothing could fall here tomorrow,” Lessa urged, excited.

“Good. I shall arrange a demonstration. I shall put more people to work on the wire.”

“I shall speak to Lord Sangel of Southern Boll and Lord Groghe of Fort Hold,” Lytol said. “Discreetly, of course, but they know Ruatha is not favored by the Weyr.” He got to his feet. “I have been a dragonrider, and a craftsman, and now I am a holder. But Thread makes no distinction. It sears wherever, whatever it touches.”

“Yes, we must remind everyone of that,” Robinton said with an ominous grin.

“I shall, of course, agree to whatever T’ron orders me to do, now I have hopes of a surer deliverance.” Lytol bowed to Lessa. “My duty to you, my lady. I’ll collect Lord Jaxom and beg the favor of a return flight…”

“You’ve missed your lunch, stay for our dinner.”

Lytol shook his head regretfully. “There’ll be much to set in motion.”

“In the interests of conserving dragon strength, I’ll ride with Lytol and Jaxom,” Robinton said, swallowing the rest of his wine after a rueful toast to such haste. “That will leave you two beasts to share the burden of Fandarel.”

Fandarel stood up, a tolerantly smiling giant, his massive bulk dwarfing the Harper, who was by no measure a short man. “I sympathize with dragons, forced to endure the envy of frail, small creatures.”

None of them left, however, because neither Jaxom nor Felessan could be located. One of Manora’s women remembered seeing them pilfering vegetables and thought they’d gone to join the boys playing miggsy. On questioning, one of the children, Gandidan, admitted seeing them go toward the back corridors.

“Gandidan,” Manora said sternly, “have you been teasing Felessan about the peekhole again?” The child hung his head and suddenly the others couldn’t look at anyone. “Hmmm,” and she turned to the anxious parents. “I’ve been missing used glows again, F’lar, so I imagine there’ve been some trips to look at the eggs.”

“What?” Lessa exclaimed, as startled as the boys who had turned to guilty statues.

Before she could berate them, F’lar laughed aloud. “That’s where they are, then.”

“Where?”