(No-one had found Chalkin's treasury; nor had he taken it with him into exile. Nadona had denied any knowledge of its whereabouts and moaned that he had left her without a mark to her name.) Altering a previously made decision, the Teachers' College planned now to supply a Turn's End concert to Bitra. They would bring the copies of the Charter which Vergerin had requested, to be given to each small holder. That would deplete to a few dozen the printed copies left in the College Library, but Clisser felt it to be in a very good cause.

The Turn's End music featured Sheledon's ambitious 'Landing Suite' - which made mention of the Charter - the audience would have a better understanding of what the music, and indeed, the printed Charter, was all about. Bitran holders would no longer be kept in abysmal ignorance of their Charter-given rights.

Consequently when the Conclave sat, the first order of business was to confirm Vergerin as Lord Holder of Bitra. He was not abjured to train his young relatives, Chalkin's sons - to succession although he was in conscience bound to see them well taken care of, educated and prepared to make their own living as adults. He was relieved of his promise to forego having legitimate heirs and promptly installed at Bitra a nine-year-old son and a five-year-old daughter. No-one ever knew who their mother had been. Vergerin made it plain that he was interested in acquiring a spouse suitable to hold as his Lady.

Clisser was called on to report on the matter of an indestructible and unambiguous method of confirming a Pa.s.s, and said that Kalvi and he had agreed on the mechanism and it would be installed on the eastern face of every Weyr. Kalvi looked suitably smug and nodded wisely, so Paulin allowed himself to be rea.s.sured. He wanted no more problems like Chalkin to arise again! Ever! And now was the moment to prevent them.

The matter of a new hold being established and named CROM came up, and there was considerable discussion.

"Look, they are ent.i.tled to use their Charter-granted acres, and that amounts to a fair whack of land," Bastom said, unexpectedly coming down on the side of the applicants. "Let 'em call it a hold."

"Yes, but they want autonomy and besides, they're too far from any other Hold up there in the hills," Azury put in.

"It'll have to prove it's self-sufficient," Tashvi said, looking reluctant to admit that much. Which was understandable since Telgar was also a mining Hold.

"They have to follow the rules, same as everyone else," Paulin said in a neutral manner. "And supply basic needs to Contract workers."

"They're in good shape to do so," Azury remarked dryly, "what with the profit they can expect from supplying high grade ore at the start of a Pa.s.s."

"Consider them on probation," was Bridgely's suggestion, and that was the motion which was carried.

There were a few more minor details to be discussed but these were carried as well. This year there was no referendum to be presented to the population.

"However, I want every one of you to give a fitly report of the trials and Chalkin's impeachment to the a.s.sembled," Paulin reminded the Lord Holders. "We want the truth circulated and believed: not a mess of rumors."

"Like the cannibalism!" Bridgely had been highly indignant over that one. "s.a.d.i.s.tic Chalkin was, but let's squash that one now!"

"How under the sun did such a rumor ever get started?" Paulin asked, appalled. S'nan looked in a state of shock, staring incredulous at the Benden Lord Holder.

"The 'cold storage', I suspect," Bridgely said, disgusted.

"We didn't coin the term," said Azury with a shrug.

"Well, we don't want it circulated," M'shall said angrily. "Bad enough having to live with the facts without having to debunk the fantasies."

"We do want the swift justice meeted out to the rapists and the murderers to be well publicized, though," Richud put in.

"That, yes! Speculation, no," Paulin said. He rose, and tapped the gavel on its block. "I declare this session of the Conclave dismissed. Enjoy Turn's End and we'll meet in three days' time."

He intended to enjoy every moment of it for the year he'd put in.

He noticed a similar determination on other faces, especially young Gallian's. Apart from the Chalkin affair, Jamson had no need to fault his son's management of High Reaches. Though maybe that bit about cannibalism could be whispered in Jamson's presence. That would certainly alter his opinion about impeachment. Somehow Thea was still 'ailing' and had persuaded her spouse to stay on in Ista for Turn's End. That gave more opportunity for the Chalkin affair to die a natural death.

Turn's End was a holiday for everyone except for those involved in the ambitious 'Landing Suite' debut at all the Weyrs and the major Holds. Clisser was run ragged with rehearsals and last-minute a.s.signments, and understudies for those with winter colds. Then he had the extra burden of preparing for the precise calculations needed to set up the fail-safe mechanism to predict a Pa.s.s. Torn between the musical rehearsals and observing the installation of a permanent Thread-Fall warning device, he opted for the latter. Of course, his role was supervisory, as the more precise location had to be conducted by teams of astronomers, engineers and Weyrleaders on the eastern rim of all six establishments. He, Jemmy and Kalvi were to set the mechanism at Benden, the first Weyr to see the phenomenon, then skedaddle on dragon back to each of the other five Weyrs to be sure all went smoothly.

It was imperative that the first installation, at Benden, had to be spot on in case there might be a distortion at any other.

Though Clisser doubted it, not with Kalvi fussing and fussing over the components. Clisser had been over and over the requisite steps to pinpoint the rise of the Red Star. Once that 'circular eye' was set on the Rim, they could install the pointer, the finger. But the 'eye' had to be spot on! The teams had been in place for the past week, with pre-dawn checks on the Red Planet's position at dawn. All that was necessary now was a clear morning, and that seemed to be possible across the continent which had enjoyed some bright clear, if wintry, skies. Fine weather was critically important at Benden, for the other Weyrs could take adjusted measurements from that reading if necessary.

Kalvi was still fiddling with the design of what he was calling the Eye Rock, which would bracket the Red Planet at dawn on Winter Solstice. His main problem was adjusting the pointer... the position at a distance from the Eye itself at which the viewer would stand to see the planet. The pointer had to accommodate different physical heights. Old diagrams of Stonehenge and other prehistoric rings had surfaced.

Actually Bethany's students had found them after an intensive search of long-unused doc.u.ments. Fortunately for Clisser's peace, Sallisha had gone to Nerat for the Turn's End celebration, ready to start her next year's teaching Contract. He was spared any reminder from her of how important it was to keep such ancient knowledge viable.

He had rehea.r.s.ed arguments, in case he had a letter from her, about the fact that, in the crunch, someone had remembered.

He was quite excited - if freezing - to be on Benden Weyr's Rim with the others, telescopes set up, aimed in the appropriate direction while Kalvi and Jemmy fiddled with their components. Kalvi had put up a cone for the pointer; the notion being that a person resting their chin on the cone's tip would see the Red Planet bracketed just as it cleared the horizon. They'd have to try it with folks of various statures to be sure that the device worked, but technically, Clisser thought it would. Kalvi was the shortest, he was tallest, M'shall was a half-head shorter, and Jemmy between the Weyrleader and Kalvi. If all could see the Red Planet in the Eye, the device would be proven.

Well, it would really be proven in another two hundred and fifty years or so with the Third Pa.s.s!

But this moment was exciting. He slapped his body with his arms, trying to warm himself. His feet, despite the extra lining, were frozen; he could barely feel his toes, and his breath was so visible he worried that it might cloud his chance to see the phenomenon.

"Here it comes," said Kalvi, though Clisser could see nothing in the crepuscular dawn light. Kalvi was looking at his instrument, not the sky.

A tip of red appeared just over the bottom of the Eye a breath or two later. A redness that seemed to pulsate. It wasn't a very large planet - from this distance, it wouldn't be, Clisser thought, though they had the measurements of it from the Yokohama observations. It was approximately the same size as Earth's old sister, Venus. And about as hospitable.

Somehow, Clisser thought - and told himself to breathe as he watched, the wanderer managed to look baleful in its redness. "Hadn't one of the other Sol satellites been called the red planet"?

"Oh, yes, Mars. Suitable, too, since it had been named after a war G.o.d."

"And equally a suitable color for a planet that was about to wreak havoc on us. How could such an avaricious organism develop on a planet that spent most of its...o...b..t too far away from Rubkat's warmth to generate any life form?" Of course, he was aware that very odd Life forms had been found by the early s.p.a.ce explorers. Who had blundered into the Nathi, to name another vicious species?

But the reports on this mycorrhizoid gave it no intelligence whatsoever. A menace without malice. Clisser sighed. Well, that was some consolation: it didn't really mean to eat everything in sight, people, animals, plants, trees; but that was all it could do.

Which was more than enough, Clissser thought grimly, remembering the visuals of recorded incidents. That's another thing he ought to have done - a graphic record - even a still picture would make vividly plain how devastating Thread could be. Iantine's sketches done at the Bitran borders had impressed the Teacher immensely. Though it was a shame to waste Iantine's talents on a copy job. Anyone could copy; few could originate.

Meanwhile, the red edge crept up over the Rim of Benden Weyr. "THAT'S IT!" Kalvi cried. He was lying on his stomach, the iron circle in his hands. "I got it. Cement it in place now. Quickly. You there at the Finger Rock. Eyeball the phenomenon. All of you should see it bracketed by this circle." The viewers had lined themselves up and each took a turn even as Kalvi raced back to grab a look from this vantage point.

"Yup, that'll do it. You got that solidly in place? Good," and the energetic engineer turned to M'shall. "As you love your dragon, don't let anyone or anything touch that iron rim. I've used a fast-drying cement, but even a fraction out of alignment and we've lost it."

"No-one'll be up here after we leave," M'shall promised, eyeing the metal circle nervously. For all he knew that the ring was iron, it looked fragile sitting there, the Red Planet slowly rising above it.

"But that's going to be replaced, isn't it? With stone?"

"It is, and don't worry about us messing up the alignment later. We won't," Kaivi said, blithely confident, rubbing his hands together and grinning with success. "Now, we've got some more dawns to meet."

"Yes, surely, but take time for breakfast."

"Ha! No time to pamper ourselves. But I was indeed grateful for the klah." Kalvi was gathering up his equipment, including five more iron circles, and gesturing to his crew to hurry up. "Not with five more stops to make this morning. The things I talk myself into!" He looked around now in the semi-dark of false dawn.

"Where's our ride?"

"That way," M'shall said, pointing to the brown dragons and riders waiting around on the Rim.

"Oh, good. Thanks, M'shall" And rings clanging dully where they rode on his shoulder, Kalvi gathered up his packs and half-ran, his crew trailing behind. Clisser sighed and followed.

Well, he thought, he'd be well inured to the cold of between.

They'd have an hour and a half between Benden and Igen, but then only half an hour from Igen to Ista to Telgar, where they'd have a little over an hour and time for something hot to eat before going on to Fort. High Reaches was actually the last Weyr to be done, which really didn't salve S'nan's pride all that much, but sunrise came forty-five minutes later in the northernmost Weyr due to the longitudinal difference. However, S'nan couldn't argue the point that Benden had to have its equipment installed first since it was the most easterly.

Clisser had heard the talk about S'nan's continued distress over Chalkin's impeachment. The Fort Weyrleader was not the oldest of the six: G'don was, but no-one worried about his competence to lead the Weyr. S'nan had always been inflexible, literal, didactic, but that wouldn't necessarily signify poor leadership during the Pa.s.s. Clisser sighed. That was a Weyr problem, not his. Thank goodness! He had enough of them.

He'd catch some rest when they finished at Fort Weyr so he'd be fresh for the final rehearsal at the Hall. If Sheledon had altered the score again during his absence, he'd take him to task. No-one would know what to play with all the changes.

Get this performance over with and then refine the work. It was, Clisser felt, quite possibly Sheledon's masterpiece.

"You're riding with me, Teacher," a voice said. "Don't want you walking off the Rim!"

Clisser shook himself to attention and smiled up at the brown rider. "Yes, yes, of course."

"Here's my hand," and Clisser reached up to it.

"Oh, thank you," he added to the dragon who had not only turned his head but helpfully lifted his forearm to make an easier step up.

Then he was astride the big dragon, settling himself, snapping on the safety strap.

"I'm ready." Clisser did catch his breath though when the dragon seemed to just fall off the Rim into the blackness of Benden's Bowl.

He grabbed at the security of the safety strap and then almost cracked his chin on his chest as the dragon's wings caught the air and he soared upward.

They were facing east, and the malevolence of the Red Star was dimmed by the glow of Rukbat rising, altering the rogue planet's aspect to one of almost negligible visibility, almost anonymity, in the brightening sky.

Amazing! thought Clisser. I must remember to jot that down.

But he knew he never would. And Pernese literature was thus saved another diarist, he amended. Clisser saw that the rider, too, had his eyes fastened on the magnificent spectacle. He must savor this ride.

The dragon veered northward, pivoting slowly on his left wing-tip. The dragons would soon have more important journeys to make. Clisser did observe the majestic snow capped mountains of the Great Northern Range, tinted delicate shades of orange by the rising sun. What Iantine could make of such a scene! Then abruptly all he could see was the black nothingness of between.

"What happens if you wear your fingers out?" Leopol asked Iantine.

The artist hadn't even been aware of the lad's presence but the comment - because Iantine was sketching the scene of the dragonets so fast that his elbow was actually aching - caused him to burst out laughing, even though he didn't pause for a moment.

"I don't know. I've never heard of it happening, though, if that's any consolation."

"Not to me, but for you," Leopol said, c.o.c.king his head in his characteristically impudent fashion.

"I'll miss you, you know," Iantine told him, grinning down at the sharp expression on Leopol's face.

"I should hope so, when I've been your hands, feet and mouth for months now," was the irrepressible answer. "You could take me with you. I'd be useful," and Leopol's expression was earnest, his grey eyes clouded. "I know how you like your paints mixed, your brushes cleaned, and even how to prepare wood or canvas for portraits." His pathetic stance could have persuaded almost anyone.

Iantine chuckled and ruffled the boy's thick black hair. "And what would your father do?"

"Him? He's winding himself up for Threadfall." A discreet question to Tisha had produced the information that a bronze rider, C'lim, was the boy's father; the mother had died shortly after Leopol's birth. But he, like every other child of the Weyr. had become everyone's child, loved and disciplined as the need arose. "He doesn't half pay attention to me any more."

Which was fair, Iantine thought, since Leopol had become his shadow. "Tisha?"

"Her? She'll find someone else to mother."

"Well, I will ask, but I doubt you'd be allowed. The other riders think you'll Impress a bronze when you're old enough."

Leopol tossed off that future with a shrug. What he could do now was more important than what might be three or four years in the future. "D'you have to go?"

"Yes, I have to go. I'm in grave danger of overstaying my welcome here."

"No, you're not," and Leopol looked significantly towards the lake where the weyrlings were having their customary bath. "And you haven't drawn all the riders yet."

"Be that as it may, Leo, I'm due at Benden to do the Holders, and that's a commission I've been owing since I started my training at Hall Domaize."

"When you do those, will you come straight back? You haven't done Chalkin's face like he really is, you know, and it isn't as if you were doing anyone else out of a place to sleep." Leopol's face was completely contorted now by his dismay. "Debera really wants you to stay, you know." Iantine shot him an almost angry look.

"Leopol?" he said warningly.

"Aw," and the boy screwed his boot toe into the dirt, everyone knows you fancy her, and the girls say that she's gone on you. It's only Morath who's the problem. And she doesn't have to be. Soon as she can fly, she'll have a weyr and you'll have some privacy."

"Privacy?" Iantine knew that Leopol was precocious but...

Leopol c.o.c.ked his head and had the grace not to grin.

"Weyrs're like that. Everyone knows everyone else's secrets." Iantine hung amid irritation to relief in the information about Debera and amus.e.m.e.nt that his carefully hidden interest was so transparent.

He had never thought about loving someone so much that their absence could cause physical discomfort. He never thought he would spend sleepless hours reviewing even the briefest of conversations; identify a certain voice in a crowded cavern; have to rub out sketches of imagined meetings and poses which his fingers did of their own accord.

He kept close guard on his sketch-pads because there were far too many of Debera - and the ever-present Morath. Morath liked him, too. He knew that because she'd told him she did.

That, actually, had been the first encouraging sign he'd had.

He had tried, adroitly, to figure out how significant that might be, as far as Debera's awareness of him was concerned. He'd ask while he was sketching a rider, as if he was only politely enquiring about what was closest to his model's heart anyway.

It appeared that a dragon could talk to an yon she/he wished to.

They did so for reasons of their own, which sometimes they did not discuss with their riders. Or they did. None of the other weyrlings, even the greens with whom Iantine was now quite familiar, spoke to him.

It was Morath who counted.

Not that the green dragon - who was the largest of that color from that clutch - ever explained herself. Nor did Iantine ask.

He merely treasured the immense compliment of her conversation.

She did ask to see his sketch-pad once. He noticed the phenomenon of the pad reflected in every one of the many facets of her eyes.

They'd been bluey-green at the time, their normal shade, and whirling slowly.

"Do you see anything?"

Yes. Shapes. You put the shapes on the pad with the thing in your hand?

"I do." How much could a dragon see with that kind of optical equipment? Still, Iantine supposed it would be useful when Thread was falling from all directions. As the dragon eye protruded out from the head, it obtained overhead images, too. Good design. But then, dragons had been designed, though no-one nowadays knew who could have managed the genetic engineering. It was one thing to breed animals for specific traits, but to begin from the first cell to create a totally new creature? Do you like this one of Debera oiling you?" He tapped his pencil on the one he'd done that morning.

It looks like Debera. It looks like me? and there was plaintive surprise in Morath's contralto voice. That was when Iantine realized that Morath sounded very much like her rider.