The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [404]
“D’ram has the weyrfolk organized. He’s sent the older bronzes to help Canth and F’nor bring Ranilth back. The poor old thing will live only a few more Turns if . . . B’zon does.”
“Not another one today!”
F’lar shook his head. “No, he’s just dead asleep. We’ve got the disappointed bronze riders drunk as wine-makers’ apprentices, and from every indication Cosira and G’dened are . . . so involved they haven’t any notion of what else has been happening here in Ista.”
“That’s as well,” Lessa replied, grinning from ear to ear.
F’lar stroked her cheek, grinning right back at her. “So when does Ramoth rise again, dear heart?”
“I’ll remember to let you know!” As she saw F’lar glance in the direction of the inner room, she added, “He’ll be all right!”
“Oldive wasn’t hedging about his full recovery?”
“How could he? With every dragon on Pern listening in? Now that,” she paused in thoughtful reflection, “was totally unexpected. I know the dragons will call him by name but . . . linking?”
“More incredible to me was Brekke arriving on Ruth, alone!”
“Why ever not?” Lessa asked, piqued. “She’s been a rider! And she’s had a special touch with dragons ever since she lost Wirenth!”
“I can’t quite see you offering her Ramoth under similar circumstances. Now don’t soar over me, Lessa. That was a fine gesture of Jaxom’s. Brekke told me that he hadn’t realized till that moment that he couldn’t fly between. It must have been a bitter discovery for him and it’s greatly to his credit that he could respond so generously.”
“Yes, I see your point. It’s a relief to have her here, too.” Lessa glanced toward the curtain and sighed. “You know, I could almost get to like fire-lizards after today.”
“What brought about this change of heart?” F’lar stared at her in surprise.
“I didn’t say I had. I said I could almost—watching Brekke direct Grall and Berd to bring her things, and that little bronze of Robinton’s. The creatures can get vicious when their friends are hurt but he just crouched there, watching Robinton’s face and crooning till I thought he’d shake his bones loose. Not that I didn’t feel much the same myself. When I think . . .” Lessa broke off, her face blotchy with tears.
“Don’t think of it, dear heart.” F’lar squeezed her hand. “It didn’t happen.”
“When Mnementh called me, I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast. I fell off the ledge onto Ramoth’s back. Bad enough trying to get here before T’kul tried to kill you, but to find Robinton . . . If only you’d killed T’ron at Telgar Hold . . .”
“Lessa!” He gripped her fingers so tightly she winced. “T’ron’s Fidranth was very much alive at Telgar Hold. I couldn’t cause his death no matter what insult T’ron had given me. T’kul I could kill with pleasure. Though I admit, he nearly had me. Our Harper’s not the only one who’s Turning old.”
“So, thank goodness, are whoever’s still left of the Oldtimers in Southern. And now, what are we to do with them?”
“I will go south and take charge of the Weyr,” D’ram said. He’d entered, quiet with weariness, while they were talking. “I am, after all, an Oldtimer . . .” He gave a deep sigh. “They will accept from me what they would not endure from you, F’lar.”
The Benden Weyrleader hesitated, appealing as this offer was. “I know you’re willing, D’ram, but if it’s going to overset you . . .”
D’ram raised his hand to cut off the rest of the sentence. “I’m fitter than I thought. Those quiet days in the cove worked a miracle. I will need help . . .”
“Any help we can give . . .”
“I’ll take you at your word. I’ll need some greens, preferably from R’mart at Telgar, or G’narish at Igen, for there are none to spare here at the moment. If they, too, are Oldtime, it will be easier for the Southerners. I’ll need two younger bronzes, and enough blues and browns to make up two fighting wings.”
“The Southern dragonriders haven’t fought Thread in Turns,” F’lar said with contempt.
“I know that. But it’s time they did. That would give the dragons who remain purpose and strength. It would give their riders hope and