The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [50]
“It is reassuring to know we have Ruatha’s loyalty as well as its full measure,” F’lar assured him. “Roads were clear?”
“Aye, and there’s a funny thing this time of year. Cold, then suddenly warm like the weather couldn’t remember the season. No snow and little rain. But winds! Like you’d never believe. They do say as how the coasts have been hit hard with high water.” He rolled his eyes expressively and then, hunching his shoulders, confidentially added, “They do say Ista’s smoking mountain that does appear and then . . . phffst . . .disappears . . . has appeared again.”
F’lar looked properly skeptical, although Lessa did not miss the gleam of excitement in his eyes. The man sounded like one of R’gul’s ambiguous verses.
“You must stay a few days for a good rest,” F’lar invited Tilarek genially, guiding him out past sleeping Ramoth.
“Aye and grateful. Man gets to the Weyr maybe once or twice in his life,” Tilarek was saying absently, craning his neck to keep Ramoth in sight as F’lar led him out. “Never knew queens grew so big.”
“Ramoth is already much larger and stronger than Nemorth,” F’lar assured him as he turned the messenger over to the weyrling waiting to escort him to quarters.
“Read this,” Lessa said, impatiently shoving the skin at the bronze rider as soon as they were again in the Council Room.
“I expected little else,” F’lar remarked, unconcerned, perching on the edge of the great stone table.
“And . . .?” Lessa demanded fiercely.
“Time will tell,” F’lar replied serenely, examining a fruit for spots.
“Tilarek implied that not all the holders echo their Lords’ seditious sentiments,” Lessa commented, trying to reassure herself.
F’lar snorted. “Tilarek says ‘as will please his listeners,’ ” he said in a passable imitation of the man’s speech.
“You’d better know, too,” F’nor said from the doorway, “he doesn’t speak for all his men. There was a good deal of grumbling in the escort.” F’nor accorded Lessa a courteous if absentminded salute. “It was felt that Ruatha has been too long poor to give such a share to the Weyr its first profitable Turn. And I’ll say that Lytol was more generous than he ought to be. We’ll eat well . . . for a while.”
F’lar tossed the messageskin to the brown rider.
“As if we didn’t know that,” F’nor grunted after he had quickly scanned the contents.
“If you know that, what will you do about it?” Lessa spoke up. “The Weyr is in such disrepute that the day is coming when it can’t feed its own.”
She used the phrase deliberately, noticing with satisfaction that it stung the memories of both dragonmen. The look they turned on her was almost savage. Then F’lar chuckled so that F’nor relaxed with a sour laugh.
“Well?” she demanded.
“R’gul and S’lel will undoubtedly get hungry,” F’nor said, shrugging.
“And you two?”
F’lar shrugged, too, and, rising, bowed formally to Lessa. “As Ramoth is deep asleep, Weyrwoman, your permission to withdraw.”
“Get out!” Lessa shouted at them.
They had turned, grinning at each other, when R’gul came storming into the chamber, S’lel, D’nol, T’bor, and K’net close on his heels.
“What is this I hear? That Ruatha alone of the High Reaches sends tithes?”
“True, all too true,” F’lar conceded calmly, tossing the messageskin at R’gul.
The Weyrleader scanned it, mumbling the words under his breath, frowning at its content. He passed it distastefully to S’lel, who held it for all to read.
“We fed the Weyr last year on the tithings of three Holds,” R’gul announced disdainfully.
“Last year,” Lessa put in, “but only because there were reserves in the supply caves. Manora has just reported that those reserves are exhausted . . .”
“Ruatha has been very generous,” F’lar put in quickly. “It should make the difference.”
Lessa hesitated a moment, thinking she hadn’t heard him right.
“Not that generous.” She rushed on, ignoring the remanding glare F’lar shot her way.
“The dragonets require more this year, anyway. So there’s only one solution. The