“You’re not the only one grieving, but at least you’re entitled,” he said after taking half the glass.
“Oh?”
“L’tol – or should I now call him lytol – lost larth. Just about the time Kasia …” And even brash F’lon could not continue. He
downed the rest of that glass and poured another, right to the brim.
“L’tol? Lost Larth?” That much penetrated.
“Yes, and he shouldn’t have.” F’lon slammed the glass down on the table so hard that it broke at the stem. He cursed as the glass cut into the web of finger and thumb, and sucked it.
“How?” Robinton asked. Dragons seldom died in an Interval.
“C’vrel decided we should straighten up and get in some firestone practice,” F’lon said in a sarcastic tone. “We’d fly wing against wing. M’ridin’s Spakinth came out of between flaming and caught Larth all along his side. There were enough of us in the air to cushion Larth back to earth, screaming his head off.” F’lon gave himself a sudden shake as if the memory of that agony was etched in his mind. “L’tol fell off and the weyrfolk grabbed him, but larth was too badly burned. He went between right there on the ground.”
Robinton saw the tears coursing down the dragonrider’s cheeks.
He reached out to lay his hand on F’lon’s arm, unable to bear his friend’s pain.
F’lon brushed him aside. “You aren’t the only one bearing a terrible loss right now.”
“No, I’m not. But I don’t seem to be able to bear it either.” “No, you don’t. If you want, you can go too.”
“Go, too?” Robinton looked up at F’lon. “What do you mean?” “Couldn’t be simpler,” the dragonrider said drolly. “We go out to Simanith, he takes you in his arms, we go between and Simanith opens his arms’ – which F’lon demonstrated with an upward flourish – “and only the two of us go on to Benden. Simple.”
“Yes, simple,” Robinton agreed, thinking almost wistfully of the cold black nothingness of between where one felt nothing, heard nothing, was shortly nothing.
Tears filled his eyes and his heart seemed to burst. He’d been cold so long now. It would be simple … but … it wasn’t simple.
“No, it isn’t simple,” F’lon said gently, and Robinton realized he had spoken aloud. “There’s something in us humans that clings to life even when the most beloved one we have leaves us. Lytol couldn’t go when we gave him the option. He was badly burned, and too full of fellis and numbweed to be able to decide. And when he could, he decided to go back to High Reaches with his family.”
Robinton gave a start. “That’s not a wise place for anyone to be right now, I think. Much less a… former dragonrider.”
F’lon shrugged. “His choice. He needs his family right now. I saw your mother is still here.”
“Yes, she’s been wonderful. Everyone has.”
“So, let’s get on with life, shall we?” The kindness in that soft gentle suggestion reached and thawed the cold “nothingness” Robinton had been enduring.
“Thank you, F’lon,” he said and rose. “I think I’d better eat something, and you look as if you could stand a good meal too.”
Indeed, F’lon looked haggard as well as weary, but at Robinton’s suggestion his smile flickered. Stretching an arm across the harper’s shoulder, he wheeled him to face the door and then accompanied him out of the room and down to the warm kitchen to ask for a meal. It was ironic that the grip of terrible weather broke shortly afterwards, and milder weather not only improved those who had been stricken by the feverish cough but also allowed everyone’s normal duties to be resumed.
Living in Tillek Hold was hard on Robinton for it was filled with memories: one moment he would think he saw Kasia, just turning that corridor; the next, he would hear the echo of her voice in the room. Still numb with his grief, he tried very hard to overcome it with work and just living.
He briefly roused when Minnarden and Melongel told him that they had proof now of Lord Faroguy’s death. “We asked for confirmation of Faroguy’s well-being,” Melongel said. “Gave the inaccuracy of the last message as our excuse.”