The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [175]
“Yes, we must remind everyone of that,” Robinton said with an ominous grin.
“I shall, of course, agree to whatever T’ron orders me to do, now I have hopes of a surer deliverance.” Lytol bowed to Lessa. “My duty to you, my lady. I’ll collect Lord Jaxom and beg the favor of a return flight . . .”
“You’ve missed your lunch, stay for our dinner.”
Lytol shook his head regretfully. “There’ll be much to set in motion.”
“In the interests of conserving dragon strength, I’ll ride with Lytol and Jaxom,” Robinton said, swallowing the rest of his wine after a rueful toast to such haste. “That will leave you two beasts to share the burden of Fandarel.”
Fandarel stood up, a tolerantly smiling giant, his massive bulk dwarfing the Harper, who was by no measure a short man. “I sympathize with dragons, forced to endure the envy of frail, small creatures.”
None of them left, however, because neither Jaxom nor Felessan could be located. One of Manora’s women remembered seeing them pilfering vegetables and thought they’d gone to join the boys playing miggsy. On questioning, one of the children, Gandidan, admitted seeing them go toward the back corridors.
“Gandidan,” Manora said sternly, “have you been teasing Felessan about the peekhole again?” The child hung his head and suddenly the others couldn’t look at anyone. “Hmmm,” and she turned to the anxious parents. “I’ve been missing used glows again, F’lar, so I imagine there’ve been some trips to look at the eggs.”
“What?” Lessa exclaimed, as startled as the boys who had turned to guilty statues.
Before she could berate them, F’lar laughed aloud. “That’s where they are, then.”
“Where?”
The boys huddled together, terrified by the coldness in her voice, even if it was directed toward the Weyrleader.
“In the corridor behind the Hatching Ground. Oh, don’t fuss, Lessa. That’s all part of growing up in the Weyr, isn’t it, Lytol? I did it when I was Felessan’s age.”
“You’ve been aware of these excursions, Manora?” Lessa demanded imperiously, ignoring F’lar.
“Certainly, Weyrwoman,” Manora replied unintimidated. “And kept track to be sure they all returned. How long ago did they set out, Gandidan? Did they play with you for a time?”
“No wonder Ramoth’s been so upset, I kept thinking she was only being broody. How could you allow such activities to continue?”
“Come now, Lessa,” F’lar said soothingly. “It’s a matter of adolescent pride,” and F’lar dropped his voice to a whisper and widened his eyes dramatically, “not to shrink from the challenge of dark, dusty corridors; dim, flickering glows. Will the glows last long enough to get us to the peekhole and back? Or will we be lost forever in the blackness of the Weyr?”
The Harper was grinning, the boys stunned and open-mouthed. Lytol was not amused, however.
“How long ago, Gandidan?” Manora repeated, tipping the boy’s face up. When he seemed unable to speak, she glanced at the scared expressions of the others. “I think we’d better look. It’s easy to take the wrong turning if you have inadequate glows. And they did.”
There was no lack of searchers, and F’lar quickly split them up into sections to explore each corridor segment. Sounds echoed through halls undisturbed for hundreds of Turns. But it was not long before F’lar and Lytol led their group to the guiding light. Once they saw the figures lying in the patch of light, F’lar sent for the others.
“What’s the matter with them?” Lytol demanded, supporting his ward against him, and anxiously feeling for his pulse.
“Blood?” He held up stained fingers, his face bleak, cheek a-twitch.
So, thought F’lar, Lytol’s heart had unfrozen a little. Lessa was wrong to think Lytol too numb to care for the boy. Jaxom was a sensitive boy and children needed affection, but there are many ways of loving.
F’lar gestured for more glows. He turned back the dusty linen of the boy’s shirt, baring the horizontal scratches.
“Doesn’t look to me like more than scrapes. Probably stumbled against the