Debera pushed away to stare up at him - he thought she had never looked so lovely. "You heard Morath?"

"Hmmm, yes."

"You mean, that wasn't the first time?" She was even more startled.

"Hmmm. She knows my name, too," he said, plunging in with a bit of information that he knew might really distress her, but now was the time to be candid.

Debera's eyes widened even more and her face had paled in the glow light of the corridor. She leaned weakly against him.

"Oh, what do I do now?" He stroked her hair, relieved that she hadn't just stormed off, leaving all his hopes in crumbs.

"I don't think we upset Morath with that little kiss," he said softly.

"Little kiss?" Her expression went blank. "I've never been kissed like that before in my life." Iantine laughed. "Me neither. Even if you didn't want to kiss me back." He hugged her, knowing that the critical moment had pa.s.sed. "I have to say this, Debera, I love you. I can't get you out of my mind. Your face... and..." and he added tactfully because it was also true, "Morath's decorate the margin of every sketch I draw. I'm going to miss you like... like you'd miss Morath." She caught in her breath at even the mention of such a possibility.

"Iantine, what can I say to that? I'm a dragon rider. You know that Morath is always first with me," she said gently, touching his face.

He nodded. "That's as it should be," he said, although he heartily wished he could be her sole and only concern.

"I'm glad you do know that but I don't know what I feel about you, Ian, except that I did like your kiss." Her eyes were tender and she glanced shyly away from him. "I'm even glad you did kiss me. I've sort of wanted to know - - -" she said with a ripple in her voice, but still shy.

"So I can kiss you again?"

She put her hand on his chest. "Not quite so fast, Iantine! Not quite so fast. For my sake as well as Morath's. Because," and then she blurted out the next sentence, "I know I'm going to miss you... almost... as much as I'd miss Morath. I didn't know a rider could be so involved with another human.

"Not like this. And," she increased her pressure on the hand that held them apart because he wanted so to kiss her for that, "I can't be honestly sure if it's not because Morath rather likes you, too, and is influencing me."

I am not, said Morath firmly, almost indignantly.

"She says..." Debera began as Iantine said, "I heard that."

They both laughed and the sensual tension between them eased. He made quick use of the opportunity to kiss her, lightly, to prove that he could and that he did understand about Morath. He had also actually asked as many questions about rider liaisons as discretion permitted.

What he'd learned had been both rea.s.suring and unsettling. There were more ramifications to human affairs than he had ever previously suspected. Dragonrider-human ones could get very complicated and the green dragons, being so highly-strung and s.e.xually oriented, were the most complex.

"I guess I'm lucky she talks to me at all," Iantine said. "Look, love, I've said what I've wanted to say. I've heard what Morath has to say, and we can leave it there for now. I've got to go to Benden Hold and Morath has to... mature." He gently tightened his arms around his beloved. "If I'm welcome to come back... to the Weyr, I will return. Am I welcome?"

"Yes, you are," Debera said as Morath also confirmed it.

"Well, then," and he kissed her lightly, managing to break it off before the emotion that could so easily start up again could fire, "let us dance, and dance and dance. That should cause no problems, should it?"

"Of course," the words were no sooner out of his mouth than he knew that having her so close to him all evening was going to be a trial of his self-control.

His lips tingled as he led her back, her fingers trustingly twined into his. The dance was ending as he put his arms around her, so they managed just one brief spin. Since he now felt far more secure, he did let Leopol partner Debera for one fast dance, or he'd never hear the last of it from the boy.

Other than that surrender, he and Debera danced together all night, cementing the bond that had begun: danced until the musicians called it a night.

He was going to hate to be parted from her, more now because they did have an understanding - of sorts - but there was no help for it.

He had the duty to Benden Hold.

New Year 258 After L(anding) - College, Benden Hold, Telgar Weyr

On the first official day of the New Year, 258 AL, Clisser had a chance to review the four days of Turn's End. Frantic at times, certainly hectic despite the most careful plans and the wealth of experience, the main performances - the First Day 'Landing Suite', and Second Day Teaching Songs and Ballads - had gone very well: far better than he had antic.i.p.ated given the scanty rehearsals available for some of the performers. The tenor, for instance, had been a bit ragged in his big solo; he really should have held that final note the full measure. Sheledon glowered from the woodwind section: he'd've sung the part himself, but he hadn't the voice for it.

But then, the only solos which Sheledon wouldn't find fault with would be Sydra's, and she never failed to give a splendid performance.

Bethany's flute obbligatos had been remarkable, matching Sydra's voice to perfection.

Paulin had been on his feet time after time, applauding the soloists and, at the finale, surrept.i.tiously brushing a tear from his eye. Even old S'nan looked pleased - also fatuous, but on the whole Clisser was relieved at the reception. He hoped the two performances had been popular elsewhere on the continent. A great deal of work had been put into rehearsals by folks who had little spare time as it was.

The Teaching Songs and Ballads had been just as well received, with people going about humming some of the tunes. Which was exactly what the composers had hoped for. Fortunately, honors were even between Jemmy and Sheledon for catchy tunes. He caught himself humming the 'Duty Song' chorus, which had gone particularly well. He wouldn't have to deal with a laborious copying of the Charter once youngsters learned those words off by heart. It certainly fitted the bill.

Copies of all the new songs were being made by the teachers themselves, who would then require their students to transcribe them, and that saved a lot of effort for his College.

Really, a printing press of some kind must be put high on the list of Kalvi's engineering staff. They'd managed quite a few small motor-driven, solar panel gadgets; why not a printing press? But a printing press required paper and the forests were going to be vulnerable for the next fifty years no matter how a.s.siduous the Weyrs were in their protective umbrella.

One tangle of Thread could destroy acres of trees in the time it took to get a ground crew to the affected area.

He sighed. If only the organics plastic machinery were still operating... but the one unit housed in the Fort storage had rusted in the same flooding that had ruined so much else.

"Ours not to wonder what were fair in life," he quoted to himself, "which is a saying I should have made up to remind me that we've got what we've got and have to make do." He couldn't help but feel somewhat depressed, though.

There had been some high moments these last few days, and it was hard to resume normal routine. Not everyone on the teaching staff was back, though all should have checked in by late evening. He'd hear then how the performances went elsewhere. He'd have to wait to learn how the new curriculum was working. By springtime he'd know what fine tuning would be needed. He could count on Sallisha for that, he was sure.

By springtime, Thread would fall and the easy pace they had all enjoyed would be a memory.

Ah, that was what he had to do - he'd put it off long enough write up the roster for ground crews drafted from students over fifteen and teachers. He'd promised that to Lord Paulin and, what with everything else, never produced it. He pulled a fresh sheet of paper from the drawer, then stopped, put it back and picked up a sheet from the re-use pile. A clean side was all he needed. Mustn't waste, or he'd want soon enough.

Lady Jane herself led Iantine to his quarters, asking all the gracious questions a hostess did: Where had he been for Turn's End? Had he enjoyed himself? Had he had the opportunity to hear the splendid new music from the College? What instrument did he play? What did he hear from his parents?

He answered as well as he could, amazed at the difference between his reception here and the one he'd had at Bitra. Lady Jane was a fluttery sort of woman, not at all what he would have expected as the spouse of a man like Bridgely. She must be extremely efficient under all that flutter, he thought, contrasting the grace, order and appearance of the public rooms with those at Bitra, and seeing a vast difference between the two.

No low-level living for him here, either. Lady Jane led him on to the family's floor, urging the two drudges who were carrying the canvases and sky broom wood panels to mind their steps and not damage their burdens.

She opened the door, presenting him with the key, and he was bemused as he followed her into a large day room, at least ten times larger than the cubicle at Bitra, on the outside of the Hold so that it had a wide, tall window facing northeast. It was a gracious room, too, the stone walls washed a delicate greeny-white, the furnishings well-polished wood, with a pleasing geometric pattern in greens and beige on the coverings.

I do know that artists prefer a north light, but this is the best we can do for you on that score Benden's Lady fluttered her hands here and there. They were graceful, small hands, with only the wide band of a spousal ring on the appropriate finger. Another contrast to the Bitran tendency to many gaudy jewels.

"It's far more than I expected, Lady Jane," he said as sincerely as he could.

"And I'm sure it's far more than you had at Bitra Hold," she said with a contemptuous sniff. "Or so I've been told. You may be sure that Benden Hold would never place an artist of your rank and ability with the drudges. Bitrans may lay claim," and her tone expressed her doubt, "to having a proper Bloodline, but they have never shown much couth!" She noticed him testing the st.u.r.diness of the easel. "That's from stores. It belonged to Lesnour. D'you know his work?"

"Lesnour?"

"Indeed."

Iantine dropped his hand from the smoothly waxed upright. Lesnour, who'd lived well past the hundred mark, had designed and executed Benden Hold's murals and had been famed for his use of color.

He'd also compiled a glossary of pigments available from indigenous materials, a volume which Iantine had studied and which had certainly helped him at Bitra.

Lady Jane pushed open the wooden door into the sleeping room, which was not large but still generous in size. He could see the large bed, its four posts carved with unusual leaves and flowers: probably taken from Earth's botany. She pointed at the back to the third room of the suite: a private toilet and bath. And the whole suite was warm. Benden had been constructed with all the same conveniences that Fort Hold boasted.

"This is much more than I need, Lady Jane," Iantine said, almost embarra.s.sed as he dropped his carisak to the floor of the day room.

"Nonsense! We know at Benden what is due a man of your abilities. s.p.a.ce," and she gave a graceful sweep of her hand about the room, "is so necessary to compose the thoughts and to allow the mind to relax."

She did another complicated arabesque with her hands and smiled up at him. He smiled back at her, trying to act gracious rather than amused at her extravagant manner. "Now, the evening meal will be served in the Great Hall at eight, and you'll dine at the upper table," she said with a firm smile to forestall any protests. Would you care to have someone put at your disposal to help with your materials?"

"No, thank you most kindly, Lady Jane, but I'm used to doing for myself." Maybe he could have borrowed Leopol for a few weeks? There was certainly enough s.p.a.ce for the boy to be accommodated in with him.

So she left, after he had once again expressed his profuse thanks for the courtesies.

He prowled about the rooms, then washed his hands and face, learning that the water came very hot out of the spigot.

The bath had been carved out of the rock, deep enough for him to immerse himself completely and sufficiently long to lie flat out in the water. Even the Weyr had not such elegant conveniences.

He unpacked his clothing so that the wrinkles would hang out of his good green shirt and began setting up his workplace.

And then sat down in one of the upholstered chairs, plunked his feet down on the footstool, leaned back and sighed. He could get accustomed to this sort of living, so he could! Except for the one lack - Debera.

He wondered briefly if Lady Jane would flutter while she posed for him. And how would he pose her? Somehow he must put in the flutter of her, but also her grace and charm.

He wondered what instrument she played with those small hands. If only Debera weren't so far away Iantine might not have been pleased to know that Debera was at that very moment the subject of discussion between the Weyrleaders at Telgar.

"No," Zulaya was saying, shaking her head, she has now retrieved the relevant chart from the storage cabinet and brought it to the table. K'vin hastily cleared a s.p.a.ce.

"Then look along the Kahrainian coast where the Armada had a long stop for repairs." That's all been gone over so often."

"And not much retrieved. Anyway, it's not so much what we find but more that we went for a look," Zulaya said with a droll grin.

"The entire Weyr?"

"Well, the fighting wings, certainly. Leave the training ones here, give them responsibility... and see how they like it."

"J'dar had better be in charge," K'vin said, glancing to see if she agreed.

She shrugged. "J'dar or O'ney."

"No, J'dar." Oddly enough, she gave him a pleased smile. He hadn't expected that, since she had specifically named O'ney, one of the oldest bronze riders. He tried to defer to her judgment whenever possible, but he'd noticed that O'ney tended to be unnecessarily officious.

"Now, this is as far as grubs had migrated on last winter's check," she said, running her finger along Rubicon River.

"How're the grubs supposed to get across that?" K'vin asked, tapping the contour lines for the steep cliffs which lined the river, gradually tapering down above the Sea of Azov.

"The Agric guys say they'll either go around or be carried across the river as larvae in the digestive tracts of wherries and some of those sport animals that were let loose. They have been breeding, you know."

Zulaya was teasing now, since she knew very well that Charanth had had to rescue him from a very large, hungry orange and black striped feline. Charanth had been highly insulted because the creature had actually then attacked him, a bronze dragon! The incident had been a leveling one for both rider and dragon.

"Oh, and don't I know it! I'll not be caught that way twice."

"It grew a mighty fine hide," she said, her eyes dancing with challenge.

"Catch your own, Zu. Now, let's see... should we check and see if any of the other Weyrs want to come? Make this a joint exercise?"

"Why?" she countered with a shrug. "The whole idea is to get our wings away for a bit for something besides Fall readiness."

"Meranath," and she turned to her queen, who was lounging indolently on her couch, her head turned in their direction and her eyes open, "would you be good enough to spread the word that the Weyr's going off on exercise," and she grinned at K'vin, "tomorrow, first light? That should startle a few."

"Undoubtedly," and glancing at Zulaya for permission, K'vin made a second request of Meranath. "And ask J'dar and T'dam to step up here, please?"

The sun will be much warmer in the south, Meranath said, and we will all like that, K'vin.

"Glad you approve," he told her, giving the gold queen a little bow. He was also considerably gratified that she was using his name more. Could that mean that Zulaya was thinking of him more often? He kept that question tight in his mind, where even Charanth wouldn't hear it. Did she really approve of his leadership? Zulaya never gave him any clues despite her courtesies to him in public; though he certainly appreciated that much. He didn't seem any closer to a real intimacy with her, and he wanted one badly. Would he ever figure out how to achieve that? Could that be why she had suggested this excursion?

"How long has it been since there was an update on the grubs?"

She shrugged. "That's not the point. We need a diversion, and this makes a good one. Also, someone should do it for the Agric records. And we'll probably have to go down during Fall to see if the grubs really do what they're supposed to do."

"Do you want to put us out of business?" he asked.

Zulaya shook her head. "As long as Thread falls from Pernese skies, we won't be out of business. Psychologically, it's imperative that we keep as much of the stuff as possible off the surface of the planet. The grubs are just an extra added precaution; not the total answer."

The two Weyrleaders had forgotten to caution their dragons against mentioning the destination, and it was all over the Weyr by dinner-time. They were besieged by requests from weyrfolk to be taken along. Even Tisha was not shy about requesting a lift.

"Some of the bronzes would need to carry two pa.s.sengers," K'vin said, doing some quick calculations.

"The weyrlings would have to stay," Zulaya told him, that necessity causing a brief hitch to the euphoria. But she shrugged.

"We'll make an occasion for T'dam to take them down once they are flighted, but they're weyrbound this time."

"That wouldn't be until after Thread has started," K'vin said, looking doubtful.

"Sure, we know when it falls, north or south, and a day off for the auxiliaries is no big thing. Plan it for a rainy day, here," Zulaya said, "and they won't mind for the sun down south." So that issue was settled.

The entire Weyr a.s.sembled, loading pa.s.sengers and supplies for an outing that was now scheduled for three days.

K'vin allowed they would need that long to make a diligent survey of grub penetration. He brought with him maps and writing material so he could make accurate records.

The morning had its moment of humor: getting Tisha aboard brown Branuth had been a struggle, involving not only Branuth's rider, T'lel (who laughed so hard he had hiccups), but four other riders, the strongest and tallest.

Branuth, an extremely quizzical expression on his long face, craned his head around to watch and got a bad cramp in his neck muscles doing so. T'lel and Z'ran had to ma.s.sage him.

"Stop that and get up here, T'lel," Tisha was yelling, her thick legs stuck out at angles from her perch between the neck ridges. "I'll be split. And if I'm split, you'll suffer. I never should have said I'd come. I should know better than to leave my caverns for any reason whatsoever. This is very uncomfortable. Stop that guffawing, T'lel. Stop it right now. It isn't funny where I'm sitting. Get up here and let's go!" Getting Tisha aboard Branuth had taken so much time that everyone else was in place and ready to go by the time T'lel did manage to take his place in front of Tisha.