Dragonseye (Red Star Rising)

Fort Hold

Classes were also being held that same day in Fort Hold. in the College assembly room, Corey, as Head Medic, was conducting a seminar for healers from all over Pern who had been flown in for a three-day clinic. This included a first-aid session dealing with both human and dragon injuries. She was assisted by the Fort Weyr medic, N’ran, who had originally studied animal medicine before he had inadvertently Impressed brown Galath. Galath, on this occasion, was outside, enjoying the sun, while a green dragon, who was small enough to fit in the Hall, was being used for demonstration purposes much as Ormonth was at Telgar Weyr.

“Now we have been able to duplicate the records of Doctors Tomlinson, Marchane and Lao which include some fading photos of actual injuries. Lunch is fortunately sufficiently in the future,” she said with a quirky smile. Then her expression turned sober. “The verbal descriptions are worse, but it’s necessary to impress on all those who have to deal with a man began and his ground injuries how incredibly fast,” she ticked off one finger, how horrendous Thread is,” another and then with a sigh, “and how quickly we must act to…” her pause was longer now, “…to limit suffering.”

Murmurs answered her and she could see that some of the audience had paled. Others looked defiant.

“From what I, and my staff,” and she indicated those in the front seat, “have determined, there is little option. The alternative of getting into cold between as the dragons can is not available to us.”

“Yes?”

“Why not? If that’s an alternative…”

“For them, not us,” she said firmly. “Because all the records emphasize the speed with which Thread consumes organic material. Too swiftly to call a dragon, even if any were available, in your locale. A whole cow goes in less than two minutes.”

“Why, that’s not even time to…” voice trailed off.

“Precisely,” Corey agreed. “If a limb is scored, there’s the chance it could be amputated before the organism spreads over the body.”

“Shards! You can’t just…” another man began.

“If survival means loss of just a limb, it can be done.”

“But only if you’re right there.” Corey recognized him as a practitioner in a large hold in Nerat.

“And many of us will be right there,” Corey said firmly, “with the ground crews, sharing their dangers and hopefully saving as many as we can.”

She managed a wry smile. “Any body of water handy is useful since Thread drowns. Quickly, according to reports. Depending on the site of the injury, water can impede the ingestion long enough for an amputation to be performed. Even a trough is sufficient.” She glanced down at her notes. “Thread needs oxygen as well as organic material. It drowns in three seconds.”

“What if it’s burrowed into flesh?”

“Three seconds. Flesh does not have the free oxygen necessary for Thread life. Ice, too, can retard progress, but that isn’t always available either.

“Let us assume that we have, somehow, halted the organism’s progress but we have a bad scoring and/or an amputation. Numbweed, numb weed numb weed And bless this planet for inventing something it didn’t know we’d need so badly. In the case of an amputation, of course, proceed with standard practices, including cautery. That at least would eliminate any final vestige of Thread. There will be significant trauma so fellis recommended if the patient is still conscious.

She glanced down at her notes. “Tomlinson and Marchane also indicate that the mortality rate, due to heart failure or stroke, is high in Thread injuries. Lao, who practiced until the end of the First Pass, notes that often patients who had received slight scores, successfully treated, died from the pathological trauma of being scored. In preparing our groups for this problem, do stress that Threadscore can be successfully treated.”

“If we can move fast enough,” a man said facetiously.

“That’s why it’s important for a medic to accompany as many ground-crew teams as possible. And why first-aid procedures must be taught to every Hold and Hall within your practice. There are only so many of us, but we can teach many what to do and cut down on fatalities.

“And,” Corey went on, “we must emphasize that all nonessential personnel is to STAY safely indoors until ground crews report the area safe.

“Now, we will go on to dragon injuries since these, too. will occur and those of us on the spot may need to assist the dragon and rider. They will have the one advantage we can’t provide - the chance to go between and freeze the attacking organism.

“But the score will be just as painful.

“The larger proportion of draconic injuries are to the wing surfaces… if you please, Balzith,” and she turned to the patient green dragon and she obediently extended her wing as the medic conducted that section of her lecture.

When they had adjourned for lunch, prior to discussing other problems - such as hygiene and sanitation within small and medium holds where the amenities were not as efficient as in the larger population centers, Corey was approached by Joanson of South Boll and Frenkal of Tillek Hold, both senior medics.

“Corey, what is your position on… mercy?” asked Joanson in a very thoughtful tone.

She regarded the tall man for a long moment. “What it has always been, Joanson. We have, as you realize, quite a few persons in this audience who have not received full medical training. I cannot ask them to do what I would find very, very difficult to do: administer mercy.” She gave Joanson a long stare, then glanced at Frenkal who seemed to enjoy the ethical spot she was in.

“We are sworn to preserve life. We are also sworn to maintain a decent quality of life for those under our care.” She felt her lips twitch, remembering that there were occasions when those two aims were in conflict. “We must, each of us, reflect on how we will face such a desperate situation: whether to cut short a final agony is necessary, even ethical. I don’t think there will be much time to consider morals, ethics, kind or cruel, at the time we are forced to take action.”

She paused, took a deep breath. “I do remember seeing the tapes the Infirmary used to have, showing very graphically an animal being eaten alive by Thread…” She noticed Joanson’s wince.

“Yes, eaten alive because Thread caught the hind end of it. I think, if it was someone you knew, you’d opt for the quickest possible end to that.” Since they were not the only two who approached her on that subject, she was almost glad when the lunch break ended and she could address the less vexious matter of amputation.

Everyone needed a refresher on that procedure, especially an emergency type of operation when there might not be time for all the preliminaries that made for a neat stump. She did have the new bone cutters - well, more axes than the traditional surgical tool - for distribution afterwards. Kalvi had brought them with him.

“Best edge we’ve ever been able to make on a surgical tool, Corey,” he told her with some pride. Had them tested at the abattoir. Cut through flesh and bone like going through cheese. Gotta keep ’em honed, though. And I’ve made eases for the blades so no-one slices off a finger by mistake.”

Surgeons were not the only ones with a ghoulish sense of humor, Corey decided.

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall of Fort Hold, with Lord Paulin seated in the front row, Kalvi himself was demonstrating to those who would form the Fort ground crews how to use and service the HNO3 cylinders, taking his audience from assembly of the parts and then a quick rundown of common problems likely to be encountered in the field, Every small holder within Fort’s authority was present; many had brought their elder children. All had come on foot, their own or on horseback. Fort Weyr, like the other five, was beginning to restrict dragon rides.

Lord Paulin understood and approved.

“We’ve had it far too easy, using the dragons the way our ancestors would have used the sleds and airborne vehicles,” he was heard to say when one of his holders complained that he had been denied his right to a dragon ride. “We haven’t been breeding horses just to run races, you know. And the dragon riders have been far too accommodating.

“Do us all good to walk or ride. You have, of course, extended your beast holds to shelter all your livestock?” There had been moaning over that necessity, too, with complaints that the engineers should really have spent more time trying to replicate the marvelous rock-cutting equipment with which their ancestors had wrested living quarters out of cliff-sides.

Kalvi had come in for considerable harangue over that, which he shrugged off.

“We have a list of priorities: that’s not one. Nor could be.”

“We still have two sleds in the north, but no power to run em.”

“Never did find out what they used,” he said. “No way of duplicating such power packs either, or I’m sure our ancestors would have. Otherwise why did they engineer the dragons?

“Anyway, renewable resources make more sense than erudite or exotic imports.”

When the main lecture was concluded, everyone was told to reassemble after the noon meal for target practice. This was vastly more interesting than having to listen to Kalvi waffle on about how to adjust the wands of the HNO3 throwers to give a long, narrow tongue of fire or a broader, shorter flame. Or how to clear the nozzle of clogged matter.

“You’ve got almost as much variation in flame as a dragon has…” Kalvi said as he slung the tanks to his back, his voice slightly muffled by his safety gear. “You, there, the hard hat has a purpose. Put it on your head! Lower the face screen!” The offender immediately complied, Kalvi scowling at him.

“The effective range of this equipment is six meters on the narrowest setting, two on the broader. You wouldn’t want it to get closer to you…” He was fiddling with his wand. “Damn thing’s stubborn.”

He took out a screwdriver and made a slight adjustment.

“ALWAYS…” he said loudly and firmly as he held the wand away from his body, “keep the nozzle of the wand pointed away from YOU and anyone in your immediate vicinity. We’re flaming Thread, not folks.

“NEVER…never… engage the flow of the two gases without looking in what direction the wand is pointing. You can also burn, scorch, sear things without meaning to. CAN’T YOU, Laland?” he said, aiming his remark at one of his students.

The man grinned and shifted his feet nervously, looking anywhere but at his Master.

“Now, signal the topside crews, will you, Paulin?” said Kalvi, setting himself firmly on both feet and aiming the wand up.

Paulin waved a red kerchief and suddenly a tangle of ‘something’ catapulted off the cliff, startling everyone in the crowd behind Kalvi.

Those with wands raised them defensively and others gasped as the tangle separated into long silver strands - some fine, some thick and falling at slightly different rates. As soon as they were within range, Kalvi activated his flame-thrower.

There was a brief second when the fire seemed to pause on the ends of the launched strands before the flame raced along the material and consumed it so that only bits of smoking char reached the ground and the rock that had been tied to the leading edge. There was a roar of approval and great applause.

“Not bad,” Paulin said, grinning as he noted the new alertness in the crowd.

“Well, we tried for the effect we just delivered,” said Kalvi, turning off both tanks. “Used a retardant on the rope, too. Had plenty of description of how Thread falls, and this is as near as we can get.

“Now,” and he turned back to his students, “it’s best to get Thread before it gets to you or to the ground. We know there are two kinds: first the ones that eat themselves dead - they’re not a problem, even if they are in the majority and messy.

“Records tell us that the second kind find something in what they ingest that allows them to progress to the second step of their life-cycle; our ancestors never could do much with investigating this type. They only knew that it existed. We know it existed, too, because there are areas here in the north which are still sterile two hundred-odd years since the last Fall. If this type gets the nourishment it needs, above and beyond organic materials, then it can propagate, or divide or whatever it is Thread does. This is what ground crews were needed for. This is the type we don’t want hanging around and burrowing out of sight. Our ancestors thought Thread had to have some trace minerals or elements in the dirt but, as they never figured out what, we’re not likely to now.” Kalvi heaved a sigh of regret.

“So,” and with a wide sweep of his arm, “we incinerate all the buggers the dragon riders miss!” He paused and looked up the cliff-side where the catapult crews were waiting.

“OK UP THERE?” he yelled, hands bracketing his mouth.

Immediately in response, red flags were waved at intervals along the cliff.

“All right, in groups of five, range yourself parallel to the red flags you now see. When we’re all in place - and out of range of anyone’s wand,” and Kalvi gave a wry grin, “I’ll give the signal and we’ll see how you manage.”

The results were somewhat erratic: some men seemed to get the hang of their equipment immediately, while others couldn’t even get the right mix on the gases to produce flame.

“Well, it happens,” Kalvi said in patient resignation. Should make ’em climb the thread back up the cliff he added.

“Do ’em good.”

“Take too much time. THROW DOWN THE NETS,” Kalvi roared and then grinned at Paulin. “Thought we’d have some trouble. We’ll get our mock threads back up and in use.” “How much did you bring?”

“Yards,” was all Kalvi said with another grin.

By the time the short winter afternoon was closing into darkness, all the holders had had a chance to sear thread despite hiccups and misses. The mock thread supply ran out before they lost interest in the practice.

“Now I don’t want you to overdo it on your own,” Paulin said to those nearest him as they walked back to the Hold.

The practice area had been some distance up the North Road from Fort Hold, where there were neither beasts nor cot holds that could be affected.

“HNO3 isn’t all that hard to manufacture, but the equipment is. Don’t wear it out before it’s needed.”

During their practice, the main Hall had been rearranged for the evening meal and the trainees were as hungry as gatherers.

“Tomorrow we’ll clean the gear,” Kalvi announced while klah was being served, “and you’ll strip down and reassemble the units so I’m sure you know what you’re doing. The man who does it fastest and best will get Lord Paulin’s reward.” A loud cheer resounded through the Hall.

“Morale’s good,” Paulin said to Kalvi who nodded, well satisfied with the way this first instruction session had gone.

If all of those meetings planned for the Head Engineer at the other major holds went as smoothly, Kalvi thought he might even get a chance for a few days off to fish in Istan waters. In the frantic search during the run-up to the Second Pass for materials long left in storage, some reels of stout nylon fishing line had been found. The bar-coding on the carton had been damaged so there was no way of knowing how long ago the line had been manufactured, but Kalvi was eager to put it to the test with some of the big ones that swam in the tropical waters. This sort of synthetic material was extremely durable and would certainly take the weight of pack fish which could sometimes be quite substantial.

A third group made up of teachers - novices and experienced were gathered in the College’s spacious refectory.

Today this convocation had the happier task, learning and rehearsing the new Ballads which were to be used in teaching the young.

On the second day the Fort Weyrleader would instruct the peripatetic teachers on how best to shelter themselves if they should be caught out during Threadfall.

Clisser had been inundated with complaints that the Weyrs were restricting rides which had been the accustomed mode of transport. Not all the teachers were familiar with, nor competent to ride, the sturdy horses that had been bred for long-distance and mountain travel. He was going to have to reassign a lot of his older teachers, yet another headache.

But for this three-day period at least, the emphasis would be on the music and the new curriculum. Not that he hadn’t had contentious reactions to that. He was beginning to think that Bethany had had the right of it when she suggested that they, like the first Settlers, had relied too heavily on easy access to information. Oddly enough, some of the older teachers loudly approved the new curriculum.

“High time we brought things up to date, with relevance to the life we’re leading here, not what folks had there,” Layrence of Tillek said, “stuff we’ll never have, so what’s the point of quizzing them on it?”

“But we have traditions we must uphold,” Sallisha said, her brow creased in a frown. Which made Clisser realize once again that her reputation for being a ‘right wagon’ was not without merit. Traditions which they must understand to appreciate what we have.”

“Oh, Sallisha,” and Bethany smiled in her soothing way, “we’re incorporating all those traditions in the Ballads but stressing what they need to understand of the life they have here.”

“But our glorious past…” Sallisha began.

“Is past,” Sheledon said forcefully, scowling right back at her.

“All past, all gone, and why dwell on contacts our ancestors severed for their own good reasons?”

“But - - but - - - they should know - - -“ Sallisha began again.

“If they wish to know more, they can read it” Sheledon said, “for advanced study. Right now, they have to cope with the problem of Threadfall.”

“And that’s far more important than which planets outlasted the Nathi bombardments and who was World Leader in 2089,” said Shulse. “Or how to plot a parabolic course around a primary.”

Sallisha glared implacably at the maths teacher.

“Of course,” Shulse went on, “I do approve of mentioning such history where it pertains to Emily Boll as Governor, or Paul Benden as Admiral of the Fleet, because they are part and parcel of Pernese history.”

“But you have to show students the overall picture - - -.” Sallisha was persistence itself.

“And some students will be vitally interested, I’m sure,” Shulse said, “but I agree with Clisser that we have to streamline the material to be studied to the point where it has relevance to this world and our civilization.”

“Civilization?” Sallisha said at her most scornful.

“What? You don’t call what we’ve made here ‘civilized’?” Sheledon loved to tease the literal-minded Sallisha.

“Not in terms of what our ancestors had.”

“And all that went with a high-tech society - like prepubescent addicts, city gangs, wild plagues, so much tech fraud that people were stuffing credits in their mattresses to protect their income, the…”

“Spare me,” Sallisha said contemptuously, “and concentrate on the good that was done.”

Sheledon gave a chuckle. “D’you know how dangerous it was to be a teacher on old Earth?”

“Nonsense, our civilization,” and she emphasized the word, “revered professors and instructors on every level.”

“Only after they were allowed class-room discipline.” Sheledon began.

“And the use of stunners,” added Shulse.

“That is not a problem on Pern,” Sallisha said loftily.

“And we’ll keep it that way,” said Clisser firmly, “ by adjusting what interests our classes and dispensing with irrelevancies.”

Sallisha whirled on Clisser. “What you decide is relevant?”

Clisser pointed to the files along one wall of the library in which they were talking. “I sent out questionnaires to every teacher on the rolls, and to holders, major and minor, asking for input. I got it, and this curriculum,” he lifted the thick volume, “is the result. You’ve all received copies.

“And the Teaching Ballads will be part of the package you receive during the conference.”

Sallisha retired with poor grace, sulking as obviously as any intractable student would. He wondered if she saw the resemblance in attitude. However, Sallisha was a very good teacher, able to impart knowledge at the level needed, and was therefore supervisor of Southeastern Pern. But she had her little quirks - like everyone else in the world.

Making the children memorize the Teaching Ballads would improve their retention of words: a skill that Clisser realized he had lost with his dependence on technology. But then, one of the reasons the Colonists had come to Pern with its limited resources was to revert to a society that was not so dependent on technology. He read accounts of persons who never left their home place, contacting others only by electronics, living as teremites. Not so much out of fear of the outside world as indolence.

No-one could be indolent on Pern, Clisser told himself, and smiled. What a wasted life to remain in one place all one’s days! Well, perhaps here on Pern, events - like Threadfall had forced them a little lower on the technological scale than the Settlers had anticipated, but they had adapted to Pern and were adapting it to their own use. And would meet the menace with a fully developed, renewable air defense force, He hoped.

Clisser sucked in his breath in a sort of reverse whistle. Everyone on the planet - with one notable exception - was girding their loins and securing their premises against that attack.

Preparing was one thing, but enduring fifty years of an aerial attack was another. Briefly he reviewed the accounts published by the besieged colonists on Sirius III and Vega IV when the Nathi started bombarding the planets. Day after day, according to the history tapes, the worlds had been shelled with dirty missiles, rendering the surface uninhabitable. Whole generations had grown up on colonial planets, living in deep shelters.

Clisser smiled to himself - not much different from the cave holds in which the Pernese now lived. And indeed those accommodations had benefited by the Sirian and Vegan experiences - using the magma core taps to provide heat and solar panels for power. Humans had survived under far worse conditions than pertained on this planet. At least on Pern, you knew when and where Thread would fall and could mount effective defenses And yet, the scale of Threadfall was awesome and failure had appalling consequences. Failure usually did.

Therefore, Clisser hoped that the music which had been composed as psychologically uplifting would have the desired effect: developing the morale and encouraging the effort.

Briefly he wondered what would have happened on old Earth, during the National period, if there’d been a common extraterrestrial enemy to unite the diverse races.

Jemmy and Sheledon had certainly written some stirring music, martial as well as hopeful. Some of the less ambitious tunes had a tendency to stay in the mind so that you woke up in the morning whistling one or hearing it in your head: the mark of a good melody to Clisser’s way of thinking. And they had scored the music for various solo instruments or combinations of those readily available, so that even inexperienced players in the most isolated Hold or Hall would be able to accompany singers.

Jemmy’s riddling song was a delight and Clisser hadn’t quite got all the answers yet, but it would prove useful during the hours of a Fall to distract folk about what was happening outside. Bethany’s lament - the first song she had ever composed - was next on the program and he settled back to listen to it.

But his mind, working overtime in anxiety over the success of his new program, refused to be caught up in the music.

Among other things, WHAT was he going to do about Bitra Hold? The last teacher he’d sent there had left, voiding his contract with Chalkin - not that Clisser blamed Issony when he’d heard the way the man had been humiliated and threatened by unruly holder children - but children had to receive rudimentary education. You couldn’t afford to let one whole province lapse into illiteracy.

To be sure, children learn at different rates; he knew that, and learning should be made as interesting as possible, to lay the foundations for further study and for life itself, for that matter.

That was the purpose of education: to develop the skills required to solve problems. And to utilize the potential that existed in everyone - even a Bitran, he added sourly.

Maybe he should reappoint Sallisha to that area? Then he chuckled. Not much chance of that. She had enough Seniority to refuse point blank.

He made up his mind then, with the lovely phrases of Bethany’s song soothing him, to bring up the problem of Chalkin, Lord Holder of Bitra, in the next Conclave. Something had to be done about the man.

During the final evening meal in which all three groups joined up on the Fort court for a dinner featuring three whole roasted steers, Clisser heard Chalkin’s name come up and homed in on the group discussing the man.

“That’s not all,” M’shall was saying, a deep frown on his usually amiable face, “he’s put up guards at the borders, and anyone who wants to leave can take only their clothes with them. Nothing else, not even the animals which they may have raised themselves.”

Clisser had not realized that the Benden Weyrleader had arrived, but his presence was certainly fortuitous.

“You’re speaking of Chalkin?” he asked when the others acknowledged his presence and made room for him in their circle.

M’shall gave a scornful laugh. “Who else would turn folks out of their holds right now?”

“I’ve just heard from one of my travelling teachers, Issony, and he’s quit and nothing would persuade him to go back to Bitra. But even they have to grow up literate.”

“Ha!” M’shall’s scoffing was echoed by the others.

“School hours keep Bitrans from other jobs which earn their Holder more marks. What did he do to Issony?”

“He’ll give you chapter and verse if you ask him. In fact, it would do him good. I understand one of your riders rescued him.”

“We do a lot of rescue work in Bitra,” M’shall said, not at all pleased by the necessity.

“But only non-Bitrans,” he added.

“Now, look,” and Bridgely seemed about to explode, “I will not succor all his refugees. And I will not lift a hand to help him when his Hold is overrun by Thread.”

“Ah,” and M’shall raised one finger in a sardonic gesture, “but you see, he doesn’t believe Thread’s coming.”

“Wouldn’t we feel silly if he was right after all?” said Farley, one of the other minor Fort holders. “Oops, wrong thing to say,” he added when coldly repressive stares rejected his witticism.

“Chalkin has always been contrary by nature,” Clisser said.

“But never such an outright fool.”

“Well, he’s exceeded even ‘damned fool’,” Bridgely said. “Is your teacher, Issony, here now?”

“Well, then, bring him up to Fort. We’re about to do something definitive about Chalkin.”

“Right now?” Clisser couldn’t help looking over at the roasting carcasses and sniffing at the succulent odors they were producing.

“I expect to eat, too,” said Bridgely, relenting.

“I just finished eating at Benden,” M’shall said, but his nose was twitching at the aromas. “Ah, well, we could have a slice to allow you to enjoy your meal.”

“Timed it just right, didn’t you?” Farley said with a grin for their obvious interest in the roasting meats. “Can something be done about an irresponsible Lord Holder?”

“Read your copy of the Charter, Farley,” Clisser advised.

“And how long have border guards - - -“ and Paulin paused, made indignant by such a measure “been in place?”

He’d assembled those concerned in his office at the Hold when they’d finished eating.

Issony was on call if his testimony was required.

“As near as we can figure out, about seven days,” M’shall said.

“As you know, we’ve been canvassing all the holds to see who, if any, of Chalkin’s people has been told about the imminence of Thread.”

“Surely they’d have heard that much at Gathers” Paulin began.

“Ha!” Bridgely put in. “Very few of his folk hear where or when Gathers are being held, much less attend them.”

“That isn’t right,” said Paulin, shaking his head.

“Frankly, Paulin, I’d say his tithing of them is punitive. None of them ever seem to have a mark to spend even when they do bring work to sell at a Benden Gather. Not that they’re encouraged to travel at all.”

“Even to Gathers?” Paulin answered his own query. “No, he wouldn’t encourage them, would he?”

“Not if he’s afraid they’ll compare conditions in another Hold. Also, he doesn’t like Bitran marks to go past his borders. And gets every one those high rollers have when they attend those friendly little games he runs,” M’shall said.

“I must confess I hadn’t known how restrictive he is.” Paulin spoke in a very thoughtful tone of voice.

“Well, how would you?” Bridgely replied, absolving him. “You’re west coast. We know because we see so few Bitrans at east coast gathers. Oh, his gamesters attend every one.”

“Hmm, yes, they’re ubiquitous, you might say,” Paulin murmured under his breath. “So, if he’s had to close the it would appear that some holders panicked when they learned Threadfall is indeed expected?”

“Indeed,” Bridgely agreed with a grim expression, “and when delegation got the nerve to approach him, he had them beaten out of the Hold. I saw the lash marks so I know they aren’t lying. They said they’d never seen him in such a temper.

“He announced that the dragon riders are trying to get extra tithing on false pretences by spreading such rumors. He was also quite damning about the new mine being opened above Ruatha when good Bitrans could have worked the Steng Valley ones.

“The world is against Bitrans?” Paulin asked in a droll tone.

“You got it,” M’shall agreed.

“Chalkin also refused to accept delivery of HNO3 tanks.” added Kalvi.

“Wouldn’t pay for them, you mean” M’shall said. “That’s what Telgar riders told mine.”

“Either way, there’ll be no ground crews.”

“I think he’s gone far enough to warrant impeachment,” Paulin said with slow deliberation.

“As a Lord Holder, it’s his duty to inform, and prepare his folk, for Threadfall. That’s why the Holder system was adopted: to give people a strong leader to supply direction during a Fall and to provide emergency assistance. By closing his borders, he’s also abrogated one of the basic tenets vouchsafed in the Charter: freedom of movement. He’s turned autonomy into despotism. I’ll send all Lord Holders and Professional Heads particulars…”

“Oh,” and he glanced at - Clisser in dismay, “we can’t make quick copies any more, can we?”

“One dragon rider could contact all the other Lord Holders,” M’shall suggested. “Or one messenger on this coast and another on ours. That makes only two copies needed.”

“I’ll request a rider from S’nan,” said Paulin, reaching for a pad.

“That’ll please S’nan no end,” M’shall said. He’s not been least bit pleased with Chalkin’s defiance. Simply isn’t done, you know,” and M’shall grinned as he mimicked S’nan’s prim tones.

“We must take action against Chalkin now,” Paulin stated, “rather than leave it until the next formal Conclave at Turn’s End. Time’s running out.”

Then he turned to Clisser. “Which reminds me, Clisser, any luck on finding some method of irrefutably determining the return of Thread?” Clisser jerked himself into alertness. “We’ve several possibilities,” he replied, trying to sound more positive than he was.

“What with the loss of computer access, it’s taking longer to sift through ways and means.”

“Well, keep at it…” and then Paulin touched Clisser’s shoulder and smiled, “along with everything else you’re doing.

“By the way, the teaching songs are very good indeed.” Then he put a finger in his ear, drilling it briefly as he grinned more broadly.

“The kids sing ’em all the time, not just in class.”

“That’s what we intended,” Clisser said with droll satisfaction. “Shall I wait for your message?”

“No need for that, my friend, but thanks for offering.”

“This I will take pleasure in penning.” And Fort’s Lord Holder grinned. “And I’ll remember to keep a copy for the Archives.

“By the way, wasn’t there some ancient way of making copies… something that would transfer the writing to the next page under?”

Clisser bowed his head briefly in thought. “Carbon copying, I think you mean. We don’t have it, but Lady Salda might have some ideas. We’ve got to figure a way to make multiple copies or else spend hours copying.” He gave a heavy sigh of regret.

“I’ll leave it to you then, Clisser,” said Paulin. “Thank you all. Now get out here, the lot of you,” and he grinned at the Benden leaders and Kalvi, “and enjoy the rest of the evening while I get on with this task. Not that I won’t enjoy it in some respects,” he added, picking up his pen and examining the tip.

At that polite dismissal, they all filed out of the office.

Clisser thought that Issony looked disappointed at not being able to recite his catalogue of complaints against Lord Chalkin; so he made sure that Issony had as much of the good wine as he wanted.