The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [125]
And if his suspicions were valid, what could he do? Write a scolding song? A satire? Robinton snorted. Lord Groghe was too literal a man to interpret satire and too righteous to take a scold. Furthermore, and Robinton pushed himself upright on his elbows, if Lord Groghe was neglectful, it was in protest at Weyr neglect of far greater magnitude. Robinton shuddered to think of Thread burrowing in the great stands of softwoods to the south.
He ought to sing his remonstrances to Mardra and T’ron as Weyrleaders—but that, too, would be vain effort. Mardra had soured lately. She ought to have sense enough to retire gracefully to a chair and let men seek her favors if T’ron no longer attracted her. To hear the Hold girls talk, T’ron was lusty enough. In fact, T’ron had better restrain himself. Lord Groghe didn’t take kindly to too many of his chattels bearing dragonseed.
Another impasse, thought Robinton with a wry smile. Hold customs differed so from Weyr morals. Maybe a word to F’lar of Benden Weyr? Useless, again. In the first place there was really nothing the bronze rider could do. Weyrs were autonomous and not only could T’ron take umbrage for any advice F’lar might see fit to offer, but Robinton was sure that F’lar might tend to take the Lord Holders’ side.
This was not the first time in recent months that Robinton regretted that F’lar of Benden Weyr had been so eager to relinquish his leadership after Lessa had gone back between to bring the five lost Weyrs forward in time. For a brief few months then, seven Turns ago, Pern had been united under F’lar and Lessa against the ancient menace of Thread. Every Holder, Craftmaster, landsman, crafter, all had been of one mind. That unity had dissipated as the Oldtime Weyrleaders had reasserted their traditional domination over the Holds bound to their Weyr for protection, and a grateful Pern had ceded them those rights. But in four hundred Turns the interpretation of that old hegemony had altered, with neither party sure of the translation.
Perhaps now was the time to remind Lord Holders of those perilous days seven Turns ago when all their hopes hung on fragile dragon wings and the dedication of a scant two hundred men.
Well, the Harper has a duty, too, by the Egg, Robinton thought, needlessly smoothing the wet sand. And the obligation to broadcast it.
In twelve days, Larad, Lord of Telgar, was giving his half-sister, Famira, to Asgenar, Lord of Lemos Hold. The Masterharper had been enjoined to appear with appropriate new songs to enliven the festivities. F’lar and Lessa were invited as Lemos Hold was weyrbound to Benden Weyr. There’d be other notables among Weyr, Lord and Craft to signalize so auspicious an occasion.
“And among my jolly songs, I’ll have stronger meat.”
Chuckling to himself at the prospect, Robinton picked up his stylus.
“I must have a tender but intricate theme for Lessa. She’s Legend already.” Unconsciously the Harper smiled as he pictured the dainty, child-sized Weyrwoman, with her white skin, her cloud of dark hair, the flash of her gray eyes, heard the acerbity of her clever tongue. No man of Pern failed of respect for her, or braved her displeasure, with the exception of F’lar.
Now a well-stated martial theme would do for Benden’s Weyrleader, with his keen amber eyes, his unconscious superiority, the intense energy of his lean fighter’s frame. Could he, Robinton, rouse F’lar from his detachment? Or was he perhaps unnecessarily worried about these minor irritations between Lord Holder and Weyrleader? But without the dragonriders of Pern, the land would be sucked dry of any sustenance by Thread, even if every man, woman and child of the planet were armed with flame throwers. One burrow, well established, could race across plain and forest as fast as a dragon could fly it, consuming everything that grew or lived, save solid rock, water or metal. Robinton shook his head, annoyed with his own fancies. As if dragonmen would ever desert Pern and their ancient obligation.
Now—a solid beat on the biggest drum for Fandarel, the