The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [208]
He glanced out of his window, checking the sun’s position. It was above the Fort range now. That meant midafternoon at Telgar Hold and the guests would be gathering. He’d been promised transport. T’ron of Fort Weyr had grudgingly acceded to that request, though it was a tradition of long standing that the Harper could request aid from any Weyr
A dragon appeared in the northwest sky.
Robinton grabbed up his overcloak—the dress tunic would never keep out the full cold of between—his gloves and felted case that contained the best gitar. He’d hesitated about bringing it. Chad had a fine instrument at Telgar Hold, but fine wood and gut would not be chilled by those cold seconds of between as mere flesh would.
When he passed the window, he noticed a second dragon winging down, and was mildly surprised.
By the time he reached the small court of the Harpercrafthall, he gave a snort of amusement. A third dragon had appeared from due east.
Never around when you want ’em, though. Robinton sighed, for it seemed the problems of the day had already begun, instead of waiting dutifully for him (as what trouble does?) at Telgar Hold, where he’d expected it.
Green, blue—and ah-ha—bronze dragon wings in the early morning sun.
“Sebell, Talmor, Brudegan, Tagetarl, into your fine rags. Hurry or I’ll skin you and use your lazy innards for strings,” Robinton called in a voice that projected into every room facing the Court.
Two heads popped out of an upper window of the apprentice barracks, two more at the journeyman’s Hold.
“Aye, sir.” “Coming, sir.” “In a moment!”
Yes, with four harpers of his own, and the three at Telgar Hold—Sebell played the best bass line, not to mention Chad the Telgar Harper improvising in the treble—they’d have a grand loud group. Robinton tossed his overcloak to his shoulder, forgetting that the pile of the green tunic might crush, and grinned sardonically at the wheeling dragons. He half-expected them all to wink out again at the discovery of this multiplicity.
He should pick the Telgar Weyr blue on the grounds that he appeared first. However, the green dragon came from Fort Weyr, to whom his Craft was weyrbound. Yet Benden Weyr did the honor of sending a bronze. Perhaps I should take the first to land, though they’re all taking their time about it, he thought.
He stepped out of the Court quadrangle to the fields beyond, since it was obvious that’s where the beasts were landing.
The bronze landed last, which canceled that method of impartial choice. The three riders met mid-field, some few dragonlengths from the disputed passenger. Each man began arguing his claim at once. When the bronze rider became the target of the other two, Robinton felt obliged to intervene.
“He’s weyrbound to Fort Weyr. We have the right,” said the green rider indignantly.
“He’s guest of Telgar Hold. Lord Holder Larad himself requested . . .”
The bronze rider (Robinton recognized him as N’ton, one of the first non-weyrbred to Impress a dragon at Benden Weyr Turns ago) appeared neither angry nor disconcerted.
“The good Masterharper will know the right of it,” and N’ton bowed graciously to Robinton.
The others gave him scarcely a glance but renewed their quarrel.
“Why, there’s no problem at all,” Robinton said in the firm, decisive tone he rarely employed and which was never contradicted.
The two wranglers fell silent and faced him, the one sullen, the other indignant.
“Still, it does the Craft honor that you vie to serve it,” and Robinton accorded the two dissidents an ironic bow. “Fortunately, I have need of three beasts. I’ve four more harpers to transport to Telgar Hold to grace the happy occasion.” He emphasized the adjective, noticing the glares that passed between blue and green riders. Young N’ton, though not weyrbred, had excellent manners.
“I was told to take you,” the Fort Weyr man said in a sour voice.
“And took such joy of the assignment,