Won’t matter. Simanith fancies Nemorth, and I’d rather have a plump body than the rack of bones Carola’s become.”
“You don’t think your father’s bronze will give way to yours?” Robinton asked, startled. He knew how ambitious F’lon was, and how competitive bronze riders always were about mating flights, but wasn’t F’lon ignoring the fact that his father was a good deal more experienced?
F’lon had the grace to look abashed. “Well, even S’loner can’t
last for ever, you know. And Simanith is a very good bronze!” “I’m sure of that,” Robinton replied quickly.
Thank you, Harper.
Robinton beckoned for F’lon to lean closer. “Doesn’t it upset him?”
“It won’t until it happens. Dragons don’t much worry about tomorrow, you know. It’s why they need riders.”
Three days before Turn’s End, the Weyrwoman died, having valiantly fought to live. In the Harper Hall, Robinton was instantly aware of Simanith’s grief at the loss of Feyrith, although he said nothing until the drums confirmed the deaths. It certainly was grim news for all the celebrations. Everyone mourned the loss of both dragon and rider. Robinton was especially devastated, as he was one of the few people in High Reaches Hold who had known both Weyrwoman and dragon in the prime of life. But he didn’t have much time to mourn, for Lobira told him that Master Gennell wished him back in the Harper CraftHall for a new assignment.
“You’ve learned a lot here, Rob, and I’m sorry to see you go, but you’ve more talent – both as a teacher and a musician – than is needed here. And there are other places where you can do more,” Master Lobira said when F’lon and Simanith arrived to convey
Robinton and his effects. Then he embraced the young man firmly, despite the disparity of their heights, and turned quickly away.
Lotricia also hugged him, weeping and telling him to be careful, and to come back and visit whenever he could.
Robinton had already taken formal leave of Lord Faroguy, who had unexpectedly given him a fat purse of marks.
“You’ve been a fine worker, and all reports of your conduct and effectiveness have been full of praise. You deserve something to see you comfortable in your next position. Give my regards to Master Gennell, and of course to MasterSinger Merelan.” Faroguy had extended his hand, and Robinton had been happy to shake it enthusiastically, even though he had to soften his grip when he noted Faroguy wincing.
Now Mallan shook his hand, grinning, and at last Robinton was ready to leave.
“When’s the mating flight?” he asked F’lon when he settled on Simanith’s back behind his old friend. He spoke teasingly.
“I’m not sure Nemorth’ll ever get off the ground the way Jora acts,” he said in disgust. “The girl is afraid of heights. She only takes the steps to her weyr if someone walks on the outside to keep her’ – he altered his voice to a squeaky falsetto – “from tipping off.”
“But doesn’t she …”
“Fortunately,” F’lon went on, “when Nemorth’s lust is up, it won’t matter a pile of old ashes what Jora wants.” He grinned wickedly back at the harper. “Nemorth’s blood will be up, and
nature will take its course.”
“And S’loner?”
“He’ll take his chances with the rest of us.”
Just then Simanith, who had surprised Robinton by walking to the edge of the High Reaches court, scared him half to death by falling off the edge into the long drop down to the valley floor. His stomach lurched and he clutched frantically at F’lon, wondering what ailment had taken the dragon so suddenly.
F’lon was howling with laughter at his reaction, and then they were between and the chill was almost welcome as the alternative to being dashed on the rocks.
“That was a damned nasty trick,” Robinton said, leaning forward so that F’lon could hear him as they circled above the Harper Hall.
He also gave F’lon an angry punch between the shoulder-blades to show his displeasure.
“Why should Simanith waste energy leaping when he can glide off?.”
“You might have warned me.”
F’lon’s chuckle whipped back to Robinton’s ears and he knew it was useless to complain.