The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [58]
Mnementh forewarned him that R’gul was at the ledge. R’gul was all chest and indignant eye, the dragon commented, which meant he was feeling his authority.
“He has none,” F’lar snapped out loud, thoroughly awake and pleased with events, despite their precipitation.
“R’gul?”
She was quick-witted all right, F’lar admitted.
“Come, girl.” He gestured her toward the queen’s weyr. The scene he was about to play with R’gul ought to redeem that shameful day in the Council Room two months back. He knew it had rankled in her as in him.
They had no sooner entered the queen’s weyr than R’gul, followed by an excited K’net, stormed in from the opposite side.
“The watch informs me,” R’gul began, “that there is a large body of armed men, with banners of many Holds, approaching the Tunnel. K’net here”—R’gul was furious with the youngster—“confesses he has been raiding systematically—against all reason and most certainly against my distinct orders. Of course, we’ll deal with him later,” he informed the errant rider ominously, “that is, if there is a Weyr left after the Lords are through with us.”
He turned back to F’lar, his frown deepening as he realized F’lar was grinning at him.
“Don’t stand there,” R’gul growled. “There’s nothing to grin about. We’ve got to think how to placate them.”
“No, R’gul,” F’lar contradicted the older man, still grinning, “the days of placating the Lords are over.”
“What? Are you out of your mind?”
“No. But you are out of order,” F’lar said, his grin gone, his face stern.
R’gul’s eyes widened as he stared at F’lar as if he had never seen him before.
“You’ve forgotten a very important fact,” F’lar went on ruthlessly. “Policy changes when the leader of the Weyr is replaced. I, F’lar, Mnementh’s rider, am Weyrleader now.”
On that ringing phrase, S’lel, D’nol, Thor, and S’lan came striding into the room. They stopped, shock-still, staring at the motionless tableau.
F’lar waited, giving them a chance to absorb the fact that the dissension in the room meant that authority had indeed passed to him.
“Mnementh,” he said aloud, “call in all wingseconds and brown riders. We’ve some arrangements to make before our . . . guests arrive. As the queen is asleep, dragonmen, into the Council Room, please. After you, Weyrwoman.”
He stepped aside to permit Lessa to pass, noticing the slight flush on her cheeks. She was not completely in command of her emotions, after all.
No sooner had they taken places at the Council Table than the brown riders began to stream in. F’lar took careful note of the subtle difference in their attitudes. They walked taller, he decided. And—yes, the air of defeat and frustration was replaced by tense excitement. All else being equal, today’s events ought to revive the pride and purpose of the Weyr.
F’nor and T’sum, his own seconds, strode in. There was no doubt of their high, proud good humor. Their eyes flashed around daring anyone to defy their promotion as T’sum stood by the archway and F’nor marched smartly around to his position behind F’lar’s chair. F’nor paused to make a deeply respectful bow to the girl. F’lar saw her flush and drop her eyes.
“Who’s at our gate, F’nor?” the new Weyrleader asked affably.
“The Lords of Telgar, Nabol, Fort, and Keroon, to name the principal banners,” F’nor answered in a similar vein.
R’gul rose from his chair; the half-formed protest died on his lips as he caught the expression in the faces of the bronze riders. S’lel, beside him, started to mumble, picking at his lower lip.
“Estimated strength?”
“In excess of a thousand. In good order and well-armed,” F’nor reported indifferently.
F’lar shot his second a remonstrating look. Confidence was one thing, indifference preferable to defeat, but there was no wisdom in denying the situation was very tight.
“Against the Weyr?” S’lel gasped.
“Are we dragonmen or cowards?” D’nol snapped, jumping up, his fist pounding