“Your captain has just killed the Weyrleader,” Tarathel said, every bit as resolute as C’gan.
“Who no doubt deserved what he got,” Fax said, grinning and showing his teeth, and glancing about the crowd to gauge reactions.
“You know the law regarding murder, Fax,” Tarathel replied.
“There is no recourse if a dragonrider has been slain. C’gan, since you have—”
“There’s been no trial,” Fax said.
“Since when did you reinstate trials?” Tarathel said ominously, his hand going to his knife hilt. “I am Lord Holder here. The death occurred on my lands and at my Gather. I judge your man guilty of unprovoked attack: first against my son, second against the MasterHarper, and finally and most outrageously against the Benden Weyrleader – an attack that ended in murder. For either of
the two second counts, he merits banishment.”
“I think not,” Fax said. “Release him!”
Suddenly there were other men ruthlessly penetrating the crowd and stepping up to Fax, their aggression obvious in their eyes and manner. They all wore Fax’s colours. Tarathel’s eyes widened with fury.
“No!” Robinton cried, gesturing to the crowd. Fax’s crew might be armed and dangerous, but there were only eight of them, while the crowd must number close to a hundred. “Telgar. Defend your Holder!”
With a roar of protest, Fax and his men were overwhelmed by those around him, grabbing at their arms and bodies and preventing them from drawing their weapons. Even R’gul and S’lel assisted while C’gan somehow tried to keep a firm grip on the murderer. Suddenly the blue rider cried for assistance as the man
sagged and collapsed, a dagger through one eye.
And the dragons bellowed with triumph.
One look at the hilt of that slender throwing knife and Robinton knew who had cast it. He marvelled that Nip had been able to fling it so accurately through the milling crowd.
Fax and his men were hurried away to their camp, where they were forced to pack up. A force of fifty willing holders and crafters assembled to escort the unwelcome guests all the way back to their borders. Lord Tarathel supplied food and runner-beasts to those who had none.
R’gul, S’lel and the other dragonriders took the body of their dead Weyrleader back to Benden. With a fresh wound, Robinton was prevented by the Hold’s healer from accompanying his friend, but he drummed the awful message to every Hold and Hall. Only when he had completed that task could he rest. Nip slipped into Robinton’s guest room late that night, rousing the MasterHarper from a restless sleep.
“Bad wound?” Nip asked solicitously.
“Annoying,” Robinton replied, pulling himself carefully up in the bed as Nip kindly stuck pillows behind him. He grimaced at the pain of resettling the arm. The Hold’s healer had given him quite a lecture on the stupidity of drumming messages with an arm in that condition. It shouldn’t have required stitching if it had been attended to immediately, he was told in a sour voice. So he had endured the process, well fortified by a hefty fellis draught. “Good throw.”
“You saved my knife? I’m fond of that blade. Superb balance,” said Nip.
“Over there in the first drawer,” Robinton said, nodding to the chest opposite the bed. “You’d no idea what Fax had planned?”
“None.” Nip shook his head sadly as he retrieved his knife. “You may be sure I would have warned you had I had any idea. It must have been planned before they got here. I’ve been lurking’ – he grinned – “where I might overhear something of value. My personal opinion is that they were just waiting for an opportunity. And they were taking no chances. I saw several other unlikely pairs – a lad and a bruising fighter – circulating the Gather. Wondered at such a pairing for Fax’s men. They were after F’lon, no doubt about it.”
“My feeling, too. Shards, they may have been planning such an assault since the last Telgar Gather was cancelled when Grogellan died.” Robinton sighed heavily and reached for the numbweed salve.
As he fumbled with the sling around his arm, Nip took over and, with unusually gentle fingers, daubed the sewn wound with the salve. The relief was intense.