The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [151]
“It would have helped if T’kul had sent word as you did,” D’ram muttered.
“Well, we all know how T’kul is,” F’lar said tolerantly.
“He’d no right to withhold such vital information from us,” T’ron said, again pounding the table. “Weyrs should stick together.”
“The Lord Holders aren’t going to like this,” G’narish remarked, no doubt thinking of Lord Corman of Keroon, the most difficult one of the Holders bound to his Weyr.
“Oh,” F’lar replied with more diffidence than he felt, “if we tell them we’ve expected such a shift at about this time in the Pass . . .”
“But—but the timetables they have? They’re not fools,” T’ron sputtered.
“We’re the dragonfolk, T’ron. What they can’t understand, they don’t need to know—or worry about,” F’lar replied firmly. “It’s not their business to demand explanations of us, after all. And they’ll get none.”
“That’s a change of tune, isn’t it, F’lar?” asked D’ram.
“I never explained myself to them, if you’ll think back, D’ram. I told them what had to be done and they did it.”
“They were scared stupid seven Turns ago,” G’narish remarked. “Scared enough to welcome us with wide-open arms and goods.”
“If they want to protect all those forests and croplands, they’ll do as we suggest or start charring their profits.”
“Let Lord Oterel of Tillek or that idiot Lord Sangel of Boll start disputing my orders and I’ll fire their forests myself,” said T’ron, rising.
“Then we’re agreed,” said F’lar quickly, before the hypocrisy he was practicing overcame him with disgust. “We mount watches, aided by the Holders, and we keep track of the new shift. We’ll soon know how to judge it.”
“What of T’kul?” G’narish asked.
D’ram looked squarely at T’ron. “We’ll explain the situation to him.”
“He respects you two,” F’lar agreed. “It might be wiser, though, not to suggest we knew about . . .”
“We can handle T’kul, without your advice, F’lar,” D’ram cut him off abruptly, and F’lar knew that the momentary harmony between them was at an end. The Oldtimers were closing ranks against the crime of their contemporary, just as they had at that abortive meeting a few nights ago. He could console himself with the fact that they hadn’t been able to escape all the implications of this incident.
Lessa came back into the weyr just then, her face flushed, her eyes exceedingly bright. Even D’ram bowed low to her in making his farewells.
“Don’t leave, D’ram, T’ron. I’ve good word from Telgar Weyr,” she cried, but catching F’lar’s glance, did not try to keep them when they demurred.
“R’mart’s all right?” G’narish asked, trying to smooth over the awkwardness.
Lessa recovered herself with a smile for the Igen leader. “Oh that messenger—he’s only a boy—he exaggerated. Ramoth bespoke Solth the senior queen at Telgar Weyt. R’mart is badly scored, yes. Bedella evidently overdosed him with numbweed powder. She hadn’t the wit to send word to anyone. And the Wing-second assumed that we’d all been informed because he’d heard R’mart telling Bedella to send messengers, never dreaming she hadn’t. When R’mart passed out, she forgot everything.” Lessa’s shrug indicated her low opinion of Bedella. “The Wing-second says he’d be grateful for your advice.”
“H’ages is Wing-second at Telgar Weyr,” G’narish said. “A sound enough rider but he’s got no initiative. Say,