The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [396]
“One of the bronzes must have faltered,” D’ram said, swallowing nervously, his face tinged gray under his tan. He looked hard at Robinton.
“One of those older ones, I’ll wager,” Warbret said, pleased at this justification of his opinion.
“You’re likely right,” Robinton said easily, “but the flight was declared open, so they had to be admitted.”
“Aren’t they taking a long time of it?” Warbret asked, frowning out at the sky just visible from their table.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Robinton replied with what he hoped was a casual air, “though it sometimes seems that way. I expect that’s because the outcome of this particular flight will have such consequences for the Weyr. Caylith is at least giving the bronzes a good run for her!”
“D’you think there’ll be a queen egg this time?” Warbret asked eagerly.
“I would never make the error of counting eggs this soon, my Lord Warbret,” the Harper said, trying to keep his countenance bland.
“Oh, yes, of course. I mean it would be quite an accomplishment for Barnath, wouldn’t it? Having his queen lay a golden egg this flight?”
“It would indeed. That is, if . . . Barnath succeeds in flying her.”
“Really, Master Harper, of course he will. Where’s your sense of justice?”
“Where it generally is, but I doubt that Caylith is attuned to justice right now.”
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than Zair, his eyes the bright yellow of distress, gave a frightened, gibbering squeak at the Harper. Mnementh erupted into the air just above the ground of the Bowl, bugling in alarm.
Robinton was on his feet and running, glancing about him for Baldor. The Istan Harper was equally alert to the danger. He and four large riders began pelting toward the Weyr.
“What’s the matter?” Warbret demanded.
“Stay there,” Robinton shouted.
The air was suddenly full of dragons, bugling and keening, barely avoiding midair collisions, as they swept about, riderless, disturbed. Robinton pumped his long legs as fast as he could, regardless of the fierce pain in his side that he eased somewhat by digging the heel of his hand into his flesh. The weight on his chest seemed worse; it kept breath which he needed for running.
Zair began squealing over Robinton’s head, projecting an image of a falling dragon and fighting men. Unfortunately the little bronze could not project the information Robinton most wanted—which dragon, which men! F’lar must be involved or Mnementh would not be here.
The huge bronze was landing on the queen’s weyr ledge, preventing Baldor’s men from entering the weyr. They flattened themselves against the wall, trying to avoid the frantic sweeps of his wide wings.
“Mnementh! Listen to me! Let us pass! We’re going to aid F’lar. Listen to me!”
Robinton charged right up the steps, past Baldor and his men, and grabbed one wing tip. He was all but hauled off his feet as Mnementh pulled it back, bending his head to hiss at the Harper. The great eyes whirled violently yellow.
“Listen to me, Mnementh!” the Harper roared. “Let us pass!”
Zair flew at the bronze dragon, screaming at the top of his lungs.
I listen. Salth is no more. Help F’lar!
The great bronze dragon folded his wings, lifted his head, and Robinton thankfully waved Baldor and his men to go ahead. He needed a moment to catch his breath.
As Robinton turned to enter the passage, hand pressed against his side, Zair zipped in front of him, his cries full of encouragement now. The Harper wondered fleetingly if the tiny creature thought that he, and he alone, had turned aside the great bronze. Robinton could only be grateful that the bronze dragon would listen to him.
As Robinton entered the Weyr, he could hear the sounds of fighting in the Weyrwoman’s sleeping chamber. The curtain across the entrance was suddenly ripped from its pole as two struggling bodies staggered out into the larger room. F’lar and T’kul! Baldor and two of his helpers were close behind,