The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [226]
“No, he’s been knifed between his top and bottom,” Lessa answered with a sour glance at her Weyrmate. “And it is with exceptional difficulty that I can keep him in a chair. He belongs in a bed.”
F’lar waved her recriminations aside good-humoredly.
“If you’re—” F’nor half-rose, his face concerned.
“If you’re—” mocked F’lar, his look indicating a growing irritation with his disability and their protectiveness.
F’nor laughed, reseating himself. “And Brekke said I was a cantankerous patient. Ha! How bad is it? I heard various tales about that duel, well embroidered already, but not that you’d been clipped. Must it always be belt knives—for our Blood? And the other man armed with a wherry-skewer?”
“And dressed in wherhide,” Lessa added.
“Look, F’lar, Brekke has pronounced me fit to fly between,” and F’nor flexed his arm, fully but carefully. “I can appreciate your wanting to keep quiet about your injury, so I’ll do all your popping about”
F’lar chuckled at his half-brother’s eagerness. “Back a-neck and ready to go, huh? Well, resume your responsibilities then, They’ve changed.”
“Noticeably, O exalted one.”
F’lar frowned at that and brushed his forelock back irritably.
“Not that much. Did you see T’kul when he arrived from High Reaches at Southern?”
“No, nor did I want to. I heard him.” F’nor’s right hand clenched. “The fighting wings had already gone to join you at Igen for the Threadfall. T’kul ordered everyone, including the wounded, out of Southern in an hour’s time. What they couldn’t pack and take, he confiscated. He made it clear that the southern continent was his to have and hold. That his sweepriders were challenging any dragon and would flame them down like Thread if they didn’t get the proper response. Some of those Oldtimer dragons are stupid enough to do it, too.” F’nor paused. “You know, I’ve been noticing lately . . .”
“Did the Fort Weyr people arrive?”
“Yes, and Brekke checked T’ron to be sure he’d survived the trip.” F’nor scowled.
“He’ll live?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Good. Now, I rather suspected that T’kul would react in that fashion. To be sure we’ve all of Igen, Ista and Southern Boll as breeding ground for fire lizards, but I want you to get Manora to rig you something for those other lizard eggs you found and bring them back here. We need every one we can find. Where’s your little queen? They go back to their first feeding place, you know . . .”
“Grall? She’s with Canth, of course. She heard Ramoth grumbling on the Hatching Ground.”
“Hmm, yes. Fortunately, those eggs’ll hatch soon.”
“Going to invite all Pern’s notables as you did before the Oldtimers got stuffy?”
“Yes,” F’lar replied so emphatically that F’nor pretended alarm. “That courtesy did more good than harm. It’ll be standard procedure at all the Weyrs now.”
“And you’ve talked the Leaders into assigning riders to Hold and Hall?” F’nor’s eyes gleamed when F’lar nodded.
“Can you slip through whatever patrol T’kul has mounted in Southern?” F’lar asked.
“No problem. There isn’t a bronze there that Canth can’t outfly. Which reminds me . . .”
“Good. I’ve two errands for you. Pick up those fire-lizard eggs and, do you remember the coordinates for the Threadfall in the western swamp?”
“Of course, but I wanted to ask you . . .”
“You saw the grub life in the soil there?”
“Yes . . .”
“Ask Manora for a tightly covered pot I want you to bring me back as many of those grubs as you can. Not a pleasant job, I know, but I can’t go myself and I don’t want this—ah—project discussed.”
“Grubs? A project?”
Mnementh bellowed a welcome.
“I’ll explain later,” F’lar said, gesturing toward the weyr entrance.
F’nor shrugged as he rose. “I’ll fly the hazard, O inscrutable one!” Then he laughed as F’lar glared at him in angry reproach. “Sorry. Like the rest of Pern—the north, that is—I trust you.” He gave them both a jaunty salute and left.
“The day F’nor doesn’t tease you I’ll start to worry,” Lessa said, encircling his neck with her arms. She