The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [284]
The still smoking hole of the nearest Thread entry was prodded with a metal rod. A brown fire lizard darted from the shoulder of one man and, chirping to himself, waddled over to the hole. He poked an inquisitive half-inch of nose into the ground. Then he rose in a dizzying movement and resumed his perch on the specially padded shoulder of his handler and began to preen himself fastidiously.
His master grinned at the other men.
“No Thread, F’lar. No Thread, Corman!”
The Benden Weyrleader returned Asgenar’s smile, hooking his thumbs in his broad riding belt.
“And this is the fourth Fall with no burrows and no protection, Lord Asgenar?”
The Lord of Lemos Hold nodded, his eyes sparkling. “No burrows on the entire slope.” He turned in triumph to the one man who seemed dubious and said, “Can you doubt the evidence of your eyes, Lord Groghe?”
The ruddy-faced Lord of Fort Hold shook his head slowly.
“C’mon, man,” said the white-haired man with the prominent, hooked nose. “What more proof do you need? You’ve seen the same thing on lower Keroon, you’ve seen it in Telgar Valley. Even that idiot Vincet of Nerat Hold has capitulated.”
Groghe of Fort Hold shrugged, indicating a low opinion of Vincet, Lord Holder of Nerat.
“I just can’t put any trust in a handful of squirming insects. Relying on dragons makes sense.”
“But you’ve seen grubs devour Thread!” F’lar persisted. His patience with the man was wearing thin.
“It isn’t right for a man,” and Groghe drew himself up, “to be grateful to grubs!”
“I don’t recall your being overgrateful to dragonkind either,” Asgenar reminded him with pointed malice.
“I don’t trust grubs!” Groghe repeated, jutting his chin out at a belligerent angle. The golden fire lizard on his shoulder crooned softly and rubbed her down-soft head against his cheek. The man’s expression softened slightly. Then he recalled himself and glared at F’lar. “Spent my whole life trusting dragonkind. I’m too old to change. But you’re running the planet now. Do as you will. You will anyhow!”
He stalked away, toward the waiting brown dragon who was Fort Hold’s resident messenger. Groghe’s fire lizard extended her golden wings, crooning as she balanced herself against his jolting strides.
Lord Corman of Keroon fingered his large nose and blew it out briskly. He had a disconcerting habit of unblocking his ears that way. “Old fool. He’ll use grubs. He’ll use them. Just can’t get used to the idea that it’s no good wanting to go to the Red Star and blasting Thread on its home ground. Groghe’s a fighter. Doesn’t sit well with him to barricade his Hold, as it were, and wait out the siege. He likes to charge into things, straighten them out his way.”
“The Weyrs appreciate your help, Lord Corman,” F’lar began.
Corman snorted, blew out his ears again before waving aside F’lar’s gratitude. “Common sense. Protect the ground. Our ancestors were a lot smarter than we are.”
“I don’t know about that,” Asgenar said, grinning.
“I do, young fellow,” Corman retorted decisively. Then added hesitantly, “How’s F’nor? And what’s his name—Canth.”
The days when F’lar evaded a direct answer were now past. He smiled reassuringly. “He’s on his feet. Not much the worse for wear,” although F’nor would never lose the scars on the cheek where particles had been forced into the bone. “Canth’s wings are healing, though new membrane grows slowly. He looked like raw meat when they got back, you know. There wasn’t a hand-span on his body, except where F’nor had lain, that hadn’t been scoured bare. He has the entire Weyr hopping to when he itches and wants to be oiled. That’s a lot of dragon to oil.” F’lar chuckled as much to reassure Corman who looked uncomfortable hearing a list of Canth’s injuries as in recollection of the sight of Canth dominating a Weyr’s personnel.
“Then the beast will fly