The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [65]
R’gul, his handsome features stubbornly set, made no reply to the Weyrleader’s taunt. He ground his teeth together as if he could grind away F’lar’s authority over him.
“There have been no Threads in Pern’s skies for over four hundred Turns. There are no more!”
“There is always that possibility,” F’lar conceded amiably. There was not, however, the slightest trace of tolerance in his amber eyes. Nor the slightest hint of compromise in his manner.
He was more like F’lon, his sire, R’gul decided, than a son had any right to be. Always so sure of himself, always slightly contemptuous of what others did and thought. Arrogant, that’s what F’lar was. Impertinent, too, and underhanded in the matter of that young Weyrwoman. Why, R’gul had trained her up to be one of the finest Weyrwomen in many Turns. Before he’d finished her instruction, she’d known all the Teaching Ballads and Sagas letter-perfect. And then the silly child had turned to F’lar. Didn’t have sense enough to appreciate the merits of an older, more experienced man. Undoubtedly she felt a first obligation to F’lar for discovering her on Search.
“You do, however,” F’lar was saying, “admit that when the sun hits the Finger Rock at the moment of dawn, winter solstice has been reached?”
“Any fool knows that’s what the Finger Rock is for,” R’gul grunted.
“Then why don’t you, you old fool, admit that the Eye Rock was placed on Star Stone to bracket the Red Star when it’s about to make a Pass?” burst out K’net.
R’gul flushed, half-starting out of his chair, ready to take the young sprout to task for such insolence.
“K’net!” F’lar’s voice cracked authoritatively. “Do you really like flying the Igen patrol so much you want another few weeks at it?”
K’net hurriedly seated himself, flushing at the reprimand and the threat.
“There is, you know, R’gul, incontrovertible evidence to support my conclusions,” F’lar went on with deceptive mildness. ‘The Finger points/At an Eye blood-red . . .’ ”
“Don’t quote me verses I taught you as a weyrling,” R’gul exclaimed heatedly.
“Then have faith in what you taught,” F’lar snapped back, his amber eyes flashing dangerously.
R’gul, stunned by the unexpected forcefulness, sank back into his chair.
“You cannot deny, R’gul,” F’lar continued quietly, “that no less than half an hour ago the sun balanced on the Finger’s tip at dawn and the Red Star was squarely framed by the Eye Rock.”
The other dragonriders, bronze as well as brown, murmured and nodded their agreement to that phenomenon. There was also an undercurrent of resentment for R’gul’s continual contest of F’lar’s policies as the new Weyrleader. Even old S’lel, once R’gul’s avowed supporter, was following the majority.
“There have been no Threads in four hundred Turns. There are no Threads,” R’gul muttered.
“Then, my fellow dragonman,” F’lar said cheerfully, “all you have taught is falsehood. The dragons are, as the Lords of the Holds wish to believe, parasites on the economy of Pern, anachronisms. And so are we.
“Therefore, far be it from me to hold you here against the dictates of your conscience. You have my permission to leave the Weyr and take up residence where you will.”
Someone laughed.
R’gul was too stunned by F’lar’s ultimatum to take offense at the ridicule. Leave the Weyr? Was the man mad? Where would he go? The Weyr had been his life. He had been bred up to it for generations. All his male ancestors had been dragonriders. Not all bronze, true, but a decent percentage. His own dam’s sire had been a Weyrleader just as he, R’gul, had been until F’lar’s Mnementh had flown the new queen.
But dragonmen never left the Weyr. Well, they did if they were negligent enough to lose their dragons, like that Lytol fellow at Ruath Hold. And how could he leave the Weyr with a dragon?
What did F’lar want of him? Was it not enough that he was Weyrleader now in R’gul’s stead? Wasn’t F’lar’s pride sufficiently swollen by having bluffed the Lords of Pern into disbanding their army when they were all set to coerce the Weyr and dragonmen? Must