The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [52]
As soon as she could, she would get K’net aside. He was ripe for the idea she had just conceived. He was young, malleable, attracted to her anyway. He would serve her purpose admirably.
“Dragonman, avoid excess,” R’gul was intoning. “Greed will cause the Weyr distress.”
Lessa stared at the man, honestly appalled that he could clothe the Weyr’s moral defeat with hypocritical homily.
Honor those the dragons heed
In thought and favor, word and deed.
Worlds are lost or worlds are saved
From the dangers dragon-braved.
“What’s the matter? Noble F’lar going against tradition?” Lessa demanded of F’nor as the brown rider appeared with a courteous explanation of the wingleader’s absence.
Lessa no longer bothered to leash her tongue in F’nor’s presence. The brown rider knew it was not directed at himself, so he rarely took offense. Some of his half brother’s reserve had rubbed off on him.
His expression today, however, was not tolerant; it was sternly disapproving.
“He’s tracing K’net,” F’nor said bluntly, his dark eyes troubled. He pushed his heavy hair back from his forehead, another habit picked up from F’lar, which added fuel to Lessa’s grievance with the absent weyrman.
“Oh, is he? He’d do well to imitate him instead,” she snapped.
F’nor’s eyes flashed angrily.
Good, thought Lessa. I’m getting to him, too.
“What you do not realize, Weyrwoman, is that K’net takes your instructions too liberally. A judicious pilfering would raise no protest, but K’net is too young to be circumspect.”
“My instructions?” Lessa repeated innocently. Surely F’nor and F’lar hadn’t a shred of evidence to go on. Not that she cared. “He’s just too fed up with the whole cowardly mess!”
F’nor clamped his teeth down tightly against an angry rebuttal. He shifted his stance, clamped his hands around the wide rider’s belt until his knuckles whitened. He returned Lessa’s gaze coldly.
In that pause Lessa regretted antagonizing F’nor. He had tried to be friendly, pleasant, and had often amused her with anecdotes as she became more and more embittered. As the world turned colder, rations had gotten slimmer at the Weyr in spite of the systematic additions of K’net. Despair drifted through the Weyr on the icy winds.
Since D’nol’s abortive rebellion, all spirit had drained out of the dragonmen. Even the beasts reflected it. Diet alone would not account for the dullness of their hide and their deadened attunement. Apathy could—and did. Lessa wondered that R’gul did not rue the result of his spineless decision.
“Ramoth is not awake,” she told F’nor calmly, “so you do not need to dance attendance on me.”
F’nor said nothing, and his continued silence began to discomfit Lessa.. She rose, rubbing her palms on her thighs as if she could erase her last hasty words. She paced back and forth, glancing from her sleeping chamber into Ramoth’s, where the golden queen, now larger than any of the bronze dragons, lay in deep slumber.
If only she would wake, Lessa thought. When she’s awake, everything’s all right. As right as it can be, that is. But she’s like a rock.
“So . . .” she began, trying to keep her nervousness out of her voice, “F’lar is at last doing something, even if it is cutting off our one source of supply.”
“Lytol sent in a message this morning,” F’nor said curtly. His anger had subsided, but not his disapproval.
Lessa turned to face him, expectantly.
“Telgar and Fort have conferred with Keroon,” F’nor went on heavily. “They’ve decided the Weyr is behind their losses. Why,” and his anger flared hot again, “if you picked K’net, didn’t you keep a close check on him? He’s too green. C’gan, T’sum, I would have . . .”
“You? You don’t sneeze without F’lar’s consent,” she retorted.
F’nor laughed outright at her.
“F’lar did give you more credit than you deserve,” he replied, contemptuous of his own turn. “Haven’t you realized why he must wait?”
“No,” Lessa shouted at him. “I haven’t! Is this something I must divine, by instinct, like the dragons? By the shell