The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [227]
The man looked as if he hadn’t slept enough but he carried his shoulders back and his head high which made the Benden Weyrleader more aware of the worried and wary expression on his face.
“Kylara’s—” F’lar began, remembering that she and Meron had been gabbling together all the last night.
“Not Kylara. It’s that T’kul who thought himself such a great Weyrleader,” T’bor said with utter disgust. “As soon as we brought our people up from Southern, I had the wings do a sweep check, really more to familiarize themselves with the coordinates than anything else. By the first Egg, I don’t like seeing anyone run from dragonmen. Run. And hide!” T’bor sat down, automatically taking the cup of klah Lessa handed him. “There wasn’t a watch fire or a watchman. But plenty of burn sign. I don’t see how that much Thread could have got through. Not even if smokeless weyrlings were riding the sweep. So I dropped down to Tillek Hold and asked to see Lord Oterel.” T’bor gave a low whistle. “That was some greeting I got, I want to tell you. I nearly had an arrow through my belly before I convinced the guard captain that I wasn’t T’kul. That I was T’bor and there’d been a change of Leaders at the Weyr.”
T’bor took a deep breath. “It took time to calm Lord Holder Oterel down to the point where I could tell him what had happened. And it seemed to me,” and the Southerner looked nervously first at Lessa and then at F’lar, “that the only way to restore his confidence was to leave him a dragon. So—I left him a bronze and stationed two greens in those minor Holds along the Bay. I also left weyrlings at vantage heights along the Tillek Hold range. Then I asked Lord Oterel to accompany me to Lord Bargen’s Hold at High Reaches. I’d a good idea I might not get past his guard at all. Now, we’d six eggs left over from that clutch Toric of the Seahold unearthed and so—I gave two each to the Lords and two to the Master-fisherman. It seemed the only thing to do. They’d heard Lord Meron had one—at Nabol Hold.” T’bor straightened his shoulders as if to endure F’lar’s opprobrium.
“You did the right thing, T’bor,” F’lar told him heartily. “You did exactly the right thing. You couldn’t have done better!”
“To assign riders to a Hold and a Craft?”
“There’ll be riders in all Holds and Crafts before the morning’s over,” F’lar grinned at him.
“And D’ram and G’narish haven’t objected?” T’bor glanced at Lessa, incredulous.
“Well,” Lessa began, and was saved from answering by the arrival of the other Weyrleaders.
D’ram, G’narish and the Wing-second from Telgar Weyr entered first, with P’zar, the acting Weyrleader from Fort, very close behind them. The Telgar Weyr Wing-second introduced himself as M’rek, Zigeth’s rider. He was a lanky, mournful-looking man, with sandy hair, about F’lar’s age. As they settled themselves at the big table, F’lar tried to read D’ram’s mood. He was the crucial one still, the oldest of the remaining Oldtimers and, if he’d cooled down from the stimulus of yesterday’s tumultuous events and had changed his mind after sleeping, the proposal F’lar was about to suggest might die a-hatching. F’lar stretched his long legs under the table, trying to make himself comfortable.
“I asked you here early because we had little chance to talk last night, M’rek, how’s R’mart?”
“He rests easily at Telgar Hold, thanks to the riders from Ista and Igen.” M’rek nodded gravely to D’ram and G’narish.
“How many at Telgar Weyr wish to go south?”
“About ten, but they’re old riders. Do more harm than good, feeding nonsense to the weyrlings. Speaking of nonsense, Bedella came back from Telgar Hold with some mighty confusing stories. About us going to the Red Star and fire lizards and talking wires. I told her to keep quiet. Telgar Weyr’s in no shape to listen to that kind of rumor.”
D’ram snorted and F’lar looked at him quickly, but the Istan leader’s head was turned toward M’rek. F’lar caught Lessa’s eye and nodded imperceptibly.