The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [225]
She gave a languorous sigh when he finally released her. He laughed down at her closed eyes, kissing them, too. She struggled to a sitting position and, with another reluctant sigh, rose determinedly to her feet.
“Yes, Pern will follow you, and your loyal advisers will keep you from making mistakes, but I do hope you’ve an answer for pop-eyed old Lord Groghe!”
“Answer for Groghe?”
“Yes,” and she gave him a stern look, “though I’m not surprised you’ve forgotten. He was going to demand that the dragonmen of Pern go directly to the Red Star and put an end to Thread forever.”
F’lar got slowly to his feet.
“I’ve always said that you solve one problem and five more appear from between.”
“Well, I think we’ve contrived to keep Groghe away from you tonight, but we promised to have a joint meeting of Hold and Craft at Benden Weyr tomorrow morning.”
“That’s a blessing.”
In the act of opening the door, he hesitated and groaned again.
“Isn’t the numbweed helping?”
“Not me. It’s Fandarel. Between fire lizards, Threads and T’ron, I can’t face him.”
“Oh, him!” Lessa pulled the door open, grinning up at her Weyrmate. “He’s already deep in plans to bury, coat or thicken those ungrateful wires. He’s planning installations with every Lord Holder and Craft. Wansor’s dancing like a suncrazed wherry to get his hands on the distance-viewer, all the time wailing that he needn’t’ve dismantled the first apparatus.” She tucked her arm in his, lengthening her stride to match his. “The man who’s really put out is Robinton.”
“Robinton?”
“Yes. He’d composed the most marvelous ballad and teaching songs and now there’s no reason to play them.”
Whether Lessa had deliberately saved that until now, F’lar didn’t know, but they crossed the courtyard, laughing, though it hurt his side.
Their passage would have been noted anyhow, but their smiling faces subtly reassured the diners seated at the makeshift tables about the yard. And suddenly F’lar felt there was indeed something to celebrate.
CHAPTER XI
Early Morning at Benden Weyr
“I wish you’d give me fair warning the next time you rearrange the social and political structure of this planet,” F’nor told his half-brother when he strode into the queen’s weyr at Benden the next morning. There wasn’t, of course, a trace of resentment on his tanned, grinning face. “Who’s where now?”
“T’bor is Weyrleader at the High Reaches with Kylara as Weyrwoman . . .”
“Kylara at High Reaches?” F’nor looked dubious but F’lar waved aside his half-born protest.
“Yes, there are disadvantages to that, of course. All but fourteen of the folk at High Reaches Weyr went with T’kul and Merika. Most of the Fort Weyr people wanted to stay . . .”
F’nor chuckled nastily. “Bet that was hard for Mardra to swallow.” He looked expectantly at Lessa, knowing how often his Weyrwoman had mastered resentment and indignation at Mardra’s hands. Lessa returned his gaze with polite unconcern.
“So P’zar is acting Weyrleader until a queen rises . . .”
“Any chance of making that an open flight for any bronze?”
“That is my intention,” F’lar replied. “However, I think the biggest of the modern bronzes had better be conspicuous by their absence.”
“Then why have you assigned N’ton there as Wing-second?” demanded Lessa in surprise.
F’lar grinned at his Weyrmate. “Because by the time a Fort queen rises in flight, N’ton will be known and well-liked by the Fort Weyrfolk and they won’t mind. He’ll be considered a Fort rider, not a Benden replacement.”
Lessa wrinkled her nose. “He doesn’t have much choice at Fort Weyr.”
“He is quite capable of taking care of himself,” F’lar replied with a wicked grin.
“Well, you seem to have arranged everything to your satisfaction,” F’nor remarked. “I, however, resent having been yanked out of Southern. I’d spotted a very promising clutch of fire-lizard eggs in a certain Southern cove. Not quite hard enough to move with impunity. If you had held off a few more days, I’d—” He broke off, sliding into the chair