The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [213]
“Fascinating. What’s the feeling about Threadfall?”
Brudegan bent his head to the gitar, twanged strings discordantly. He drew his hand across all eight in a dissonant chord that ran a chill down the Masterharper’s spine. Then Brudegan turned away with a gay song.
Robinton wished that F’lar and Lessa would arrive. He did see D’ram of Ista Weyr talking earnestly to Igen’s Weyrleader, G’narish. He liked that pair best of the Oldtimers, G’narish being young enough to change and D’ram essentially too honest to deny a truth when his nose was in it. Trouble was, he kept his nose inside Ista Weyr too much.
Neither man looked at ease, as much because there was an island of empty space around them—an obvious ostracization with the Court so crowded—as anything else. They greeted Robinton with grave relief.
“Such a happy occasion,” he said and, when they reacted with surprise, he hurried on. “Have you heard from F’lar?”
“Should we? There’s been more Thread?” G’narish asked, alarmed.
“Not that I know of.”
“Have you seen T’ron or T’kul about? We just arrived.”
“No, in fact, none of the western people seem to be here except Lord Warder Lytol of Ruatha.”
D’ram clenched his teeth with an audible snap.
“R’mart of Telgar can’t come,” the Oldtimer said. “He took a bad scoring.”
“I’d heard it was wicked at Crom Hold,” Robinton murmured, sympathetically. “No way to predict it’d fall there at that time, either?”
“I see Lord Nessel of Crom and his Holders are here in strength, though,” D’ram said, his voice bitter.
“He could scarcely stay away without insulting Lord Larad. How bad were the Telgar Weyr’s casualties? And if R’mart’s out of action, who’s leading?”
D’ram gave the Harper the distinct feeling that he’d asked an impertinent question, but G’narish answered easily.
“The Wing-second, M’rek, took over but the Weyr is so badly understrength that D’ram and I talked it over and sent replacements. As it happens, we’ve enough weyrlings who’ve just started chewing stone so we’re wing-full.” G’narish glanced at the older dragonman as if he suddenly realized that he was discussing Weyr affairs with an outsider. He gave a shrug. “It makes more sense with Thread falling out of phase and the Crom Hold demoralized. We used to do it in the Oldtime when a Weyr was understrength. In fact, I flew with Benden one season as a weyrling.”
“I’m certain that Crom and Telgar Holds will appreciate your cooperation, Weyrleaders,” Robinton said. “Tell me, though, have you had any luck Impressing some fire lizards? Igen and Ista ought to be good hunting grounds.”
“Impressing? Fire lizards?” D’ram snorted with as much incredulity as Robinton had expressed earlier.
“That’d be a trick,” G’narish laughed. “Look, there’s Ramoth and Mnementh now.”
There was no mistaking the two beasts who were gliding to the fire heights. It was also unmistakable that the dragons already perched on the pinnacle moved aside to make room for them.
“Now, that’s the first time—” G’narish muttered under his breath and stopped, because a sudden lull in the conversation had swept through the assembly, punctuated by audible hushings and scrapings as people turned to the Gate.
Robinton watched, with fond pride, as Lessa and F’lar mounted the steps to their hosts. They were both wearing the soft green of new leaves and the Harper wanted to applaud. However, he restrained himself and, signaling to the dragonmen, began to thread his way toward the new arrivals. Another dragon, closely followed by a bronze, swept in at dangerously low altitude. Gold wingtips showed above the outer wall of the Court and the wind from her backstrokes flung up