Jaxom with amazement.
Jaxom jumped to his feet, scanning the skies. "They wouldn't object to Ruth's return."
"It must be someone they know!" The possibility was as improbable to Sharra as it was to Jaxom. "And he's not flying in!"
They both heard the noises of something large moving through the forest on the point. A muffled curse indicated the visitor was human but the first head that penetrated the screen of thick foliage was undeniably animal. The body that followed the head belonged to the smallest runner beast Jaxom had ever seen.
The muffled curses resolved into intelligible words. "Stop snapping the branches back in my face, you ruddy, horn-nosed, flat-footed, slab-hided dragon- bait! Well, Sharra, so this is where you got to! I was told, but I was beginning to doubt it! Hear you've been ill, Jaxom? You don't look it now!"
"Piemur?" Although the appearance of the young harper was the unlikeliest of events, there was no mis- taking the characteristic swagger in the short, compact figure that limped jauntily down the beach. "Piemurl What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you, of course. Have you any idea how many coves along this stretch of nowhere in the world answer the description Master Robinton gave me?"
"Well, the Weyr's all organized," F'lar told Lessa in a quiet voice as he joined her in the foreroom of the weyr which had been hastily vacated by its oc- cupants so that the Master Harper of Pern could be accommodated. Master Oldive would not have him moved even as far as Ista Hold. The Healer and Brekke were with him now in the inner room as he slept, propped up in the bed, Zair perched above him, his glowing eyes never leaving the face of his friend.
Lessa held out her hand, needing her weyrmate's touch. He pulled a stool beside hers, gave her a quick kiss and poured himself a cup of wine.
"D'ram has the Weyrfolk organized. He's sent the older bronzes to help Canth and F'nor bring Ranilth back. The poor old thing will live only a few more Turns... if B'zon does."
"Not another one today!"
F'lar shook his head. "No, he's just dead asleep. We've got the disappointed bronze riders drunk as winemakers' apprentices, and from every indication Cosira and G'dened are... so involved they haven't any notion of what else has been happening here in Ista."
"That's as well," Lessa replied, grinning from ear to ear.
F'lar stroked her cheek, grinning right back at her. "So when does Ramoth rise again, dear heart?"
"I'll remember to let you know!" As she saw F'lar glance in the direction of the inner room, she added, "He'll be all right!"
"Oldive wasn't hedging about his full recovery?"
"How could he? With every dragon on Pern listen- ing in? Now that," she paused in thoughtful reflection, "was totally unexpected. I know the dragons will call him by name but... linking?"
"More incredible to me was Brekke arriving on
Ruth, alone!"
"Why ever not?" Lessa asked, piqued. "She's been a rider! And she's had a special touch with dragons ever since she lost Wirenth!"
"I can't quite see you offering her Ramoth under similar circumstances. Now don't soar over me, Lessa. That was a fine gesture of Jaxom's. Brekke told me that he hadn't realized till that moment that he couldn't fly between. It must have been a bitter discovery for him and it's greatly to his credit that he could respond so generously."
"Yes, I see your point. It's a relief to have her here, too." Lessa glanced toward the curtain and sighed. "You know, I could almost get to like fire-lizards af- ter today."
"What brought about this change of heart?" F'lar stared at her in surprise.
"I didn't say I had. I said I could almost—watch- ing Brekke direct Grail and Berd to bring her things, and that little bronze of Robinton's. The creatures can get vicious when their friends are hurt but he just crouched there, watching Robinton's face and croon- ing till I thought he'd shake his bones loose. Not that I didn't feel much the same myself. When I think..." Lessa broke off, her face blotchy with tears.
"Don't think of it, dear heart." F'lar squeezed her hand. "It didn't happen."
"When Mnementh called me, I don't think I've ever moved so fast. I fell off the ledge onto Ramoth's back. Bad enough trying to get here before T'kul tried to kill you, but to find Robinton... If only you'd killed T'ron at Telgar Hold..."
"Lessa!" He gripped her fingers so tightly she winced. "T'ron's Fidranth was very much alive at Telgar Hold. I couldn't cause his death no matter what insult T'ron had given me. T'kul I could kill with pleasure. Though I admit, he nearly had me. Our Harper's not the only one who's Turning old."
"So, thank goodness, are whoever's still left of the Oldtimers in Southern. And now, what are we to do with them?"
"I will go south and take charge of the Weyr," D'ram said. He'd entered, quiet with weariness, while they were talking. "I am, after all, an Oldtimer..." He gave a deep sigh. "They will accept from me what they would not endure from you, F'lar."
The Benden Weyrleader hesitated, appealing as this offer was. "I know you're willing, D'ram, but if it's going to overset you..."
D'ram raised his hand to cut off the rest of the sen- tence. "I'm fitter than I thought. Those quiet days in the cove worked a miracle. I will need help..."
"Any help we can give..."
"I'll take you at your word. I'll need some greens, preferably from R'mart at Telgar, or G'narish at Igen, for there are none to spare here at the moment. If they, too, are Oldtime, it will be easier for the South- erns. I'll need two younger bronzes, and enough blues and browns to make up two fighting wings."
"The Southern dragonriders haven't fought Thread in Turns," F'lar said with contempt.
"I know that. But it's time they did. That would give the dragons who remain purpose and strength. It would give their riders hope and occupation." D'ram's face was stem. "I learned things from B'zon today that grieve me. I have been so blind..."
"The fault is not yours, D'ram. Mine was the de- cision to send them south."
"I have honored that decision because it was the right one, F'lar. When... when Fanna died..."he got the words out in a rush, "I should have gone to the
Southern Weyr. It would not have been disloyal to you if I had and it might have..."
"I doubt it," Lessa said, angry that D'ram was blaming himself. "Once T'kul plotted to steal a queen egg..." and she gestured her condemnation of the man.
"If he had come to you..."
Lessa's harsh expression did not alter. "I doubt that T'kul would have come," she said slowly. An expres- sion of distaste crossed her mobile features and she made a sound of annoyance before she looked at D'ram again; this time her expression was rueful. "And I'd have probably sent him about his business. But you," she pointed her finger at D'ram, "wouldn't have. And I imagine that F'lar would also have been more tolerant." She grinned at her Weyrmate. "It wasn't in T'kul's nature to beg," she went on more briskly. "Nor in mine to forgive! I will never forgive the Southerns for stealing Ramoth's egg! When I think they brought me to the point where I was willing to set dragon against dragon! That I can never forgive!"
D'ram drew himself up. "Do you disagree, Weyr- woman, with my decision to go south?"
"Great Shells, no!" She was astonished, and then shook her head. "No, D'ram, I think you're wise and kind, more generous than I could ever be. Why, that idiot T'kul might have killed F'lar today! No, you must go. You're quite right about their accepting you. I don't think I ever realized what might be happening in the South. I didn't want to!" she added in candid acknowledgment of her own shortcomings.
"Then I may invite additional riders to join me?" D'ram looked first at her and then at F'lar.
"Ask anyone you want from Benden, except F'nor. It wouldn't be fair to ask Brekke to return to South- the South on the grounds that we cannot maintain order in the Weyrs."
"They'd never..." D'ram began, frowning with indignation.
"They well might. For other very valid reasons— to their ways of thinking," F'lar replied. "I know," he paused to
emphasize that surety, "that the South- erns under T'kul and T'ron would never permit the Lord Holders to extend their holdings one dragon- length. Toric's settlement has been steadily growing over the past Turns, a few people now and then, craftsmen, the dissatisfied, a few young holder sons without hope of land in the North. All very quietly, so as not to alarm the Oldtimers." P'lar rose, rest- lessly pacing. "This isn't common knowledge..."
"I knew that there were traders north and south," said D'ram.
"Yes, part of the problem. Traders talk, and word has passed back that there's a lot of land south. Granted some of this may be exaggeration but I've reason to believe that the Southern Continent is prob- ably as large as this one—and one protected against Thread by thorough grubbing." He paused again, rubbing forefinger and thumb down the lines from nose to chin, scratching absently under his jaw. "This time, D'ram, the dragonriders will have first choice of land. In the next Interval, I do not intend that any dragonrider will be beholden to the generosity of Hold and Craft. We will have our own places, without prejudice. I, for one, will never beg wine or bread or meat from anyone!"
D'ram had listened, at first with surprise and then with a gleam of delight in his tired eyes. He straight- ened his shoulders and with a curt nod of his head, looked the Benden Weyrleader straight in the eye.
"You may rely on me, F'lar, to secure the South for that purpose. A grand purpose! By the First Shell, that's a superb notion. That lovely land, soon dragon- rider land!"
F'lar gripped D'ram's arm, affirming the trust. Then his face broke into a sly smile. "If you hadn't volun- teered to go South yourself, D'ram, I was going to suggest it to you! You're the only man to handle the situation. And I don't envy you!"
D'ram chuckled at the Benden Weyrleader's admis- sion and returned the arm grip firmly. Then his ex- pression cleared.
"I have grieved for my weyrmate as is proper. But I still live. I liked being in that cove, but it wasn't enough. I was relieved when you came after me, and kept me busy, F'lar. It doesn't answer to give up the only life I've known. I couldn't. Dragonmen must fly/When Threads are in the sky I" He sighed once more, inclined his head respectfully to Lessa and then, turning smartly on his heel, strode from the weyr, his step firm, his stance proud.
"D'you think he can manage it, F'lar?"
"He's more likely to pull it off than anyone... ex- cept possibly F'nor. But I can't ask that of him. Or ofBrekke!"
"I should think not!" She spoke sharply and, with a little cry as if regretting her asperity, she ran to em- brace him. He put his arms about her, absently strok- ing her hair.
There are too many deep lines in his face, now, thought Lessa, lines that she hadn't noticed before. His eyes were sad, his lips thin with worry as he gazed after D'ram. But the muscles in his arm were as strong as ever, and his body lean and hard with the active life he led. He'd been fit enough to pre- serve his skin against a madman. There'd only been one time when weakness had frightened F'lar—just after that knife fight at Telgar, when his wound had been slow to heal and he'd been sick with fever from foolishly going between. He'd learned a lesson then and had started delegating some of the strain of lead- ership to F'nor and T'gellan in Benden, to N'ton and R'mart in Pern, and to Lessa herself! Keenly sensible of her deep need of him, Lessa embraced F'lar fiercely.
He smiled down at her sudden demonstration, the tired lines smoothed away.
"I'm with you, dear heart, don't worry!" He kissed her soundly enough to leave her no room for doubt of his vitality.
The sound of boot heels thudding rapidly down the short corridor interrupted them and they moved apart. Sebell, face flushed from running, charged into the room, checking his pace when Lessa signaled him urgently to be quieter.
"He's all right?"
"He's asleep now, but see for yourself, Sebell," Lessa replied and gestured toward the curtained sleep- ing chamber.
Sebell rocked on his heels, wanting to reassure him- self with a glimpse of his Master and anxious with fear he might disturb him.
"Go on, man." F'lar waved him forward. "Just be quiet."
Two fire-lizards winged into the room, squeaked when they saw Lessa and disappeared.
"I didn't know you had two queens."
"I don't," Sebell said, glancing over his shoulder to see where they'd gone. "The other one's Menolly's. She wasn't allowed to come!" His grimace told both
Weyrleaders how Menolly had reacted to that restric- tion.
"Oh, tell them to come back. I don't eat fire- lizards!" Lessa said, curbing her irritation. She didn't know which annoyed her more, the fire-lizards them- selves, or the way people cringed about her when the subject came up. "And that little bronze of Robin- ton's showed a commendable amount of common sense today. So tell Menolly's queen to come back. If the fire-lizard sees, she'll believe!"
Smiling with intense relief, Sebell held up his arm. Two queens popped in, eyes huge and whirling madly in their perturbation. One of them, Lessa didn't know whose, since they all looked alike to her, chirped as if in thanks. Then Sebell, careful not to disrupt their balance and set them squeaking, walked with exag- gerated care toward the sick man's quarters.
"Sebell takes over the Harper Hall?" Lessa asked.
"Well able for it, too."
"If only the dear man had had the sense to dele- gate more to Sebell before this..."
"It's partly my fault, Lessa. Benden has asked much of the Harper Hall." F'lar poured himself a cup of wine, looking at Lessa to see if she wanted some as well, and poured another when she nodded. They made an unspoken toast. "Benden wine!"
"The wine that kept him alive!"
"Miss a cup of wine? Not Robinton!" She drank quickly to ease the pressure in her throat.
"And he'll drink many more skins limp," the quiet voice of Master Oldive said. He glided to the table, a curious figure with arms and legs apparently too long for his torso until his back was visible, with its hump. His handsome face was serene as he poured himself a cup of wine, regarding the rich crimson color a moment before he raised it, as Lessa had, and drank it down. "As you said, this helped keep him alive. It's seldom that a man's vice sustained life in his body!"
"Master Robinton will be all right?"
"Yes, with care and rest. He has rallied well. His pulse and heart are beating evenly again, if slowly. He cannot be fretted by any worries. I warned him repeatedly to reduce his activities. Not that I thought he'd listen! Sebell, Silvina and Menolly have done all they could to assist, but then Menolly took ill... There is so much to be done for his Hall and for Pem!" Oldive smiled, his long face lighting gently as he took Lessa's hand and put it in F'lar's. "You can do no more here, Weyrleaders. Sebell will wait to re- assure Robinton when he rouses that all is well in his Hall. Brekke and I, and the good people of this Weyr, will nurse the Master Harper. You two need rest as well. Go back to your Weyr. This day has taken its toll of many. Go!" He gave them a shove toward the ' passage. "Go along now!" He spoke as to recalcitrant children, but Lessa was weary enough to obey and concerned enough to override the objections she saw rising in F'lar's eyes.
We do not leave the Harper alone, Ramoth said as Mar helped Lessa mount her queen. We are with him.
All of us are with him, Mnementh said, his eyes slowly turning in quiet reassurance.
Chapter XVI At the Cove Hold, 15.8.28-15.9.7
WHEN JAXOM AND SHARRA blurted out to Piemur the events at Ista Weyr, including the news of the Harper's illness, the young journeyman treated them to a color- ful description of his Master's follies, shortcomings, stupid loyalties and altruistic hopes that quite stunned the listeners until they saw the tears leaking down
Piemur's cheeks.
At that moment, Ruth returned, scaring Piemur's runner beast into the forest. Piemur had to coax the animal, cheerfully called Stupid, to come out again.
"He's really not stupid, you know," Piemur said, wiping sweat and tears from his face. "He knows that yon," Piemur jerked his thumb surreptitiously in Ru
th's direction, "like his sort for eating." He tested the knot on the rope with which he had secured
Stupid to a tree trunk.
/ wouldn't eat him, Ruth replied. He's small and not very plump.
Laughing, Jaxom passed the message to Piemur, who grinned and bowed his gratitude to Ruth.
"I wish I could make Stupid understand that," Piemur said with a sigh, "but it's difficult for him to make distinctions between friendly dragons and hun- gry ones. As it is, his tendency to disappear into the nearest thicket when dragons come within his senses has saved my skin any number of times. You see, I'm not supposed to be doing exactly what I've been doing. Most of all, I'm not supposed to be caught doing it."
"Go on," Jaxom urged when Piemur stopped to assess the effect of his cryptic statement. "You wouldn't have told us this much if you didn't intend to say more. You did mention that you'd been look- ing for us?"
Anne McCaffrey - Pern06 White Dragon Page 30