“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she assured him hastily, smiling. “Ramoth said you were thinking hard.”
He squeezed her and the gesture pulled the muscles, making him wince.
“You’re a trial to me,” she said with mock exasperation and led him into the tower room.
“Kylara came back, didn’t she?”
“Oh, yes,” and there was an edge to Lessa’s voice as she added, “she and Meron are as inseparable as their lizards.”
She’d had a standing tub brought in, the water steaming invitingly. She insisted on bathing him while she reported what had happened while he’d fought Thread. He didn’t argue, it was too pleasant to relax under her ministrations, though her gentle hands sometimes reminded him of other occasions and . . .
T’ron had been taken directly to Southern, swathed in heavy felt. Mardra had contested F’lar’s authority to exile them but her protests fell on the deaf and determined front of Robinton, Larad, Fandarel, Lords Sangel and Groghe. They’d all accompanied Lessa and Kylara when Mardra was escorted back to Fort. Mardra had been certain she’d only to appeal to her weyrfolk to ensure her position as Weyrwoman. When she discovered that her arrogance and shrewishness had robbed her of all but a few adherents, she’d retired meekly to Southern with them.
“We nearly had a fight between Kylara and Mardra but Robinton intervened. Kylara was proclaiming herself Fort Weyrwoman.”
F’lar groaned.
“Don’t worry,” Lessa assured him, briskly kneading the tight muscles across his shoulders. “She changed her mind directly she learned that T’kul and his riders were leaving the High Reaches Weyr. It’s more logical for T’bor and the Southerners to take over that Weyr than Fort since most of the Fort riders are staying.”
“That puts Kylara too near Nabol for my peace of mind.”
“Yes, but that leaves the way clear for P’zar, Roth’s rider, to take over as Fort Weyrleader. He’s not strong but he’s well-liked and it won’t upset the Fort people as much. They’re relieved to be free of both T’ron and Mardra but we oughtn’t to press our luck too far.”
“N’ton’d be a good Wing-second there.”
“I thought of him so I asked P’zar if he’d object and he didn’t”
F’lar shook his head at her tactics, then hissed, because she was loosening the old, dried numbweed.
“I’m not so sure but what I’d prefer the physician—” she began.
“No!”
“He’d be discreet but I’ll warn you, all the dragons know.”
He stared at her in surprise. “I thought it odd there were so many dragons shadowing me and Mnementh. I don’t think we went between more than twice.”
“The dragons appreciate you, bronze rider,” Lessa said tartly, encircling him with clean, soft bandages.
“The Oldtimers, too?”
“Most of them. And more of their riders than I’d estimated. Only twenty riders and women followed Mardra, you know, from Fort. Of course,” and she grimaced, “most of T’kul’s people went. The fourteen who stayed are young riders, Impressed since the Weyr came forward. So there’ll be enough at Southern . . .”
“Southern is no longer our concern.”
She was in the act of handing him the fresh tunic and hesitated, the fabric gathered up in her hands. He took it from her, pulling on the sleeves, ducking his head into the opening, giving her time to absorb his dictum.
She sat slowly down on the bench, her forehead creased with a slight, worried frown.
He took her hands and kissed them. When she still did not speak, he stroked the hair which had escaped the braids.
“We have to make the break clean, Lessa. They can do no harm there to any but themselves. Some may decide to come back.”
“But they can perpetuate their grievances . . .”
“Lessa, how many queens went?”
“Loranth, the Weyr queen at High Reaches and the other two . . . Oh!”
“Yes. All old queens, well past their prime. I doubt Loranth will rise more than once. The clutches at High Reaches have produced only one queen since they came forward. And the young queen, Segrith, stayed, didn’t she, with Pilgra?”
Lessa nodded and suddenly her face cleared. She eyed him with growing exasperation. “Anyone would think you’ve been planning this for Turns.”
“Then anyone could call me a triple fool for underestimating T’ron, closing my mind to the facts in front of me and defying fortune. What’s the mood among Holders and crafters?”
“Relief,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I admit the laughter has a slightly hysterical tinge, but Lytol and Robinton were right. Pern will follow Benden . . .”
“Yes, until my first mistake!”
She grinned mischievously at him, waggling a finger under his nose. “Ah-ha, but you’re not allowed to make mistakes, Benden. Not while . . .”
He caught her hand, pulling her into the crook of his arm, disregarding the stabbing pain at his waist for the triumph of her instant response, the surrender in her slender body. “Not while I have you.” The words came out in a whisper, and because he couldn’t express his gratitude to her, his pride in her, his joy of her any other way, he sought her lips, held them in a long, passionate kiss.
She gave a languorous sigh when he finally released her. He laughed down at her closed eyes, kissing them, too. She struggled to a sitting position and, with another reluctant sigh, rose determinedly to her feet.
“Yes, Pern will follow you, and your loyal advisers will keep you from making mistakes, but I do hope you’ve an answer for pop-eyed old Lord Groghe!”
“Answer for Groghe?”
“Yes,” and she gave him a stern look, “though I’m not surprised you’ve forgotten. He was going to demand that the dragonmen of Pern go directly to the Red Star and put an end to Thread forever.”
F’lar got slowly to his feet.
“I’ve always said that you solve one problem and five more appear from between.”
“Well, I think we’ve contrived to keep Groghe away from you tonight, but we promised to have a joint meeting of Hold and Craft at Benden Weyr tomorrow morning.”
“That’s a blessing.”
In the act of opening the door, he hesitated and groaned again.
“Isn’t the numbweed helping?”
“Not me. It’s Fandarel. Between fire lizards, Threads and T’ron, I can’t face him.”
“Oh, him!” Lessa pulled the door open, grinning up at her Weyrmate. “He’s already deep in plans to bury, coat or thicken those ungrateful wires. He’s planning installations with every Lord Holder and Craft. Wansor’s dancing like a suncrazed wherry to get his hands on the distance-viewer, all the time wailing that he needn’t’ve dismantled the first apparatus.” She tucked her arm in his, lengthening her stride to match his. “The man who’s really put out is Robinton.”
“Robinton?”
“Yes. He’d composed the most marvelous ballad and teaching songs and now there’s no reason to play them.”
Whether Lessa had deliberately saved that until now, F’lar didn’t know, but they crossed the courtyard, laughing, though it hurt his side.
Their passage would have been noted anyhow, but their smiling faces subtly reassured the diners seated at the makeshift tables about the yard. And suddenly F’lar felt there was indeed something to celebrate.
CHAPTER XI
Early Morning at Benden Weyr
“I W
ISH you’d give me fair warning the next time you rearrange the social and political structure of this planet,” F’nor told his half-brother when he strode into the queen’s weyr at Benden the next morning. There wasn’t, of course, a trace of resentment on his tanned, grinning face. “Who’s where now?”
“T’bor is Weyrleader at the High Reaches with Kylara as Weyrwoman . . .”
“Kylara at High Reaches?” F’nor looked dubious but F’lar waved aside his half-born protest.
“Yes, there are disadvantages to that, of course. All but fourteen of the folk at High Reaches Weyr went with T’kul and Merika. Most of the Fort Weyr people wanted to stay . . .”
F’nor chuckled nastily. “Bet that was hard for Mardra to swallow.” He looked expectantly at Lessa, knowing how often his Weyrwoman had mastered resentment and indignation at Mardra’s hands. Lessa returned his gaze with polite unconcern.
“So P’zar is acting Weyrleader until a queen rises . . .”
“Any chance of making that an open flight for any bronze?”
“That is my intention,” F’lar replied. “However, I think the biggest of the modern bronzes had better be conspicuous by their absence.”
“Then why have you assigned N’ton there as Wing-second?” demanded Lessa in surprise.
F’lar grinned at his Weyrmate. “Because by the time a Fort queen rises in flight, N’ton will be known and well-liked by the Fort Weyrfolk and they won’t mind. He’ll be considered a Fort rider, not a Benden replacement.”
Lessa wrinkled her nose. “He doesn’t have much choice at Fort Weyr.”
“He is quite capable of taking care of himself,” F’lar replied with a wicked grin.
“Well, you seem to have arranged everything to your satisfaction,” F’nor remarked. “I, however, resent having been yanked out of Southern. I’d spotted a very promising clutch of fire-lizard eggs in a certain Southern cove. Not quite hard enough to move with impunity. If you had held off a few more days, I’d—” He broke off, sliding into the chair Lessa motioned him to. “Say, F’lar, what’s the matter with you? You been time-betweening or something?”