The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [60]
“I rely on your discretion,” he said emphatically, “and intelligence to handle the assignment adroitly.” He caught her glance, held it until she briefly inclined her head in acknowledgement of his admonition. As she left, he sent a word ahead to Mnementh to keep an eye on her.
Mnementh informed him that that would be wasted effort. Hadn’t Lessa shown more wit than anyone else in the Weyr? She was circumspect by instinct.
Circumspect enough to have precipitated today’s invasion, F’lar reminded his dragon.
“But . . . the . . . Lords,” R’gul was sputtering.
“Oh, freeze up,” K’net suggested. “If we hadn’t listened to you for so long, we wouldn’t be in this position at all. Shove between if you don’t like it, but F’lar is Weyrleader now. And I say about time!”
“K’net! R’gul!” F’lar called them to order, shouting over the cheers K’net’s impudent words produced. “These are my orders,” he went on when he had their complete attention. “I expect them to be followed exactly.” He glanced at each man to be sure there was no further question of his authority. Then he outlined his intentions concisely and quickly, watching with satisfaction as uncertainty was replaced with admiring respect.
Assured that every bronze and brown rider understood the plan perfectly, he asked Mnementh for the latest report.
The advancing army was streaming out across the lake plateau, the foremost units on the Tunnel road, the one ground entrance to the Weyr. Mnementh added that the Holders’ women were profiting from their stay in the Weyr.
“In what way?” F’lar demanded immediately.
Mnementh rumbled with the dragon equivalent of laughter. Two of the young greens were feeding, that was all. But for some reason such a normal occupation appeared to upset the women.
The woman was diabolically clever, F’lar thought privately, careful not to let Mnementh sense his concern. That bronze clown was as besotted with the rider as he was with the queen. What kind of fascination did the Weyrwoman have for a bronze dragon?
“Our guests are at the lake plateau,” he told the dragonmen. “You have your positions. Order your wings out.” Without a backward look, he marched out, conquering an intense urge to hurry to the ledge. He absolutely did not want those hostages scared witless.
Down the valley by the lake, the women were lightly attended by four of the smallest greens—big enough, for the uninitiated—and the women were probably too scared at having been seized to notice that all four riders were barely out of adolescence. He spotted the slight figure of the Weyrwoman, seated to one side of the main group. A sound of muffled weeping drifted up to his ears. He looked beyond them, to the feeding grounds, and saw a green dragon single out a buck and run it down. Another green was perched on a ledge above, eating with typical messy, dragon greed. F’lar shrugged and mounted Mnementh, clearing the ledge for the hovering dragons who waited to pick up their own riders.
As Mnementh circled above the confusion of wings and gleaming bodies, F’lar nodded approvingly. A high, fast mating flight coupled with the promise of action improved everyone’s morale.
Mnementh snorted.
F’lar paid him no attention, watching R’gul as he assembled his wing. The man had taken a psychological defeat. He would bear watching and careful handling. Once the Threads started to fall and R’gul’s faith was restored, he’d come around.
Mnementh asked him if they should pick up the Weyrwoman.
“She doesn’t belong in this,” F’lar said sharply, wondering why under the double moons the bronze had made such a suggestion. Mnementh replied that he thought Lessa would like to be there.
D’nol’s wing and T’bor’s rose in good formation. Those two were making good leaders. K’net took up a double wing to the Bowl lip and winked out neatly, bound to reappear behind the approaching army. C’gan, the old blue rider, had the youngsters organized.
F’lar told Mnementh to have Canth tell F’nor to proceed.