The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [31]
“Lytol was overwhelmed by the summons,” F’nor remarked, “and sends you all honor and respect. He will do well at Ruatha.”
“The reason he was chosen,” grunted F’lar, nonetheless gratified by Lytol’s reaction. Surrogate Lordship was no substitute for loss of one’s dragon, but it was an honorable responsibility.
“There was much rejoicing in the High Reaches,” F’nor continued, grinning widely, “and honest grief at the passing of Lady Gemma. It will be interesting to see which of the contenders takes title.”
“At Ruatha?” F’lar queried, frowning down at his half brother.
“No. At the High Reaches and the other Holds Fax conquered. Lytol will bring his own people to secure Ruatha and to give any soldiery pause before they might attempt that Hold. He knew of many in the High Reaches who would prefer to make a change of Hold, even though Fax no longer dominates the High Reaches. He intended to make all haste to Ruatha so that our men will soon rejoin us.”
F’lar nodded approval, turning to salute two more of his wing, blue riders, who dropped with their beasts to the feeding ground. Mnementh went back for another fowl.
“He eats light,” F’nor commented. “Canth’s still gorging.”
“Browns are slow to get full growth,” F’lar drawled, watching with satisfaction as F’nor’s eyes flashed angrily. That would teach him to withhold news.
“R’gul and S’lel are back,” the brown rider finally announced.
The two blues had the herd in a frenzy, stampeding and screaming in fright.
“The others are recalled,” F’nor continued. “Nemorth is all but rigid in death.” Then he could no longer contain himself. “S’lel brought in two. R’gul has five. Strong-willed, they say, and pretty.”
F’lar said nothing. He had expected those two would bring in multiple candidates. Let them bring hundreds if they chose. He, F’lar, the bronze rider, had in his one choice the winner.
Exasperated that his news elicited so little response, F’nor rose.
“We should have backtrailed for that one in Crom and the pretty . . .”
“Pretty?” F’lar retorted, cocking one eyebrow high in disdain. “Pretty? Jora was pretty,” he spat out cynically.
“K’net and T’bor bring contenders from the west,” F’nor added urgently, concerned.
The wind-torn roar of homecoming dragons crackled through the air. Both men jerked their heads skyward and saw the double spirals of two returning wings, twenty strong.
Mnementh tossed his head high, crooning. F’lar called him in, pleased the bronze one made no quarrel at recall, although he had eaten very lightly. F’lar, saluting his brother amiably, stepped onto Mnementh’s spread foot and was lifted back to his own ledge.
Mnementh hiccuped absently as the two walked the short passage to the vaulted inner chamber. He lumbered over to his hollowed bed and settled himself into the curved stone. When Mnementh had stretched and comfortably laid down his wedge-head, F’lar approached him. Mnementh regarded his friend with the near eye, its many facets glinting and shifting, the inner lids gradually closing as F’lar scratched the eye-ridge soothingly.
Those unfamiliar with it might find such a regard unnerving. But since that moment, twenty Turns before, when the great Mnementh bad broken through his shell and stumbled across the Hatching Ground to stand, weaving on weak legs, before the boy F’lar, the dragonman had treasured these quiet moments as the happiest of a long day. No greater tribute could man be paid than the trust and companionship of the winged beasts of Pern. For the loyalty that dragonkind gave their chosen one of mankind was unswerving and complete from the instant of Impression.
Mnementh’s inner content was such that the great eye quickly closed. The dragon slept, only the tip of his tail erect, a sure sign that he would be instantly on the alert if the need arose.
By the Golden Egg of Faranth
By the Weyrwoman, wise and true,
Breed