“My what? I’m coming …” The Harper’s long legs brought him quickly into the room by the end of the sentence. From the smiles of those standing by the flasks of decanted wine, the Harper had no trouble guessing what was afoot.
“Ah! You think to catch me out!” he cried, dramatically gesturing at the wine. “Well, I’m sure I can manage to maintain my reputation here! Just as long as you’ve marked the flasks correctly, Lytol.”
Lessa laughed and picked one up, exhibiting her choice to the assembled. She poured a glass of the deep red wine and held it out to Robinton. Aware that all eyes were on him, Robinton made his approach to the table, affecting a slow swaggering step.
His eyes caught Menolly’s and she gave him the barest wink, completely at her ease now in such prestigious company. Like the little white dragon, she was ready to fly on her own. She had certainly come a long Turn from the unsure, unappreciated girl of an isolated SeaHold. He really must get her out of the Harper Hall now and on her own.
Robinton made a proper show of wine-tasting, since this was obviously expected of him. He examined the color of the wine in the sunlight that streamed into the room, sniffed deeply of its aroma, then sipped ever so delicately and made a huge business of swishing the wine in his mouth. “Hmmm, yes, well. There’s no trouble in recognizing this vintage,” he said, a shade haughtily.
“Well?” Lord Groghe demanded, his thick fingers twitching a bit on the broad belt in which he had hooked his thumbs. He rocked on his booted feet with impatience.
“One never hastens a wine!”
“Either you know or you don’t,” Sangel said with a skeptical sniff.
“Of course I know it. It’s the Benden pressing of eleven Turns back, isn’t it, Lytol?”
Robinton, aware of the silence in the room, was surprised by the look on Lytol’s face. Surely the man couldn’t still be upset about Jaxom flying the little dragon, could he? No, the muscle twitch had gone from his cheek.
“I’m right,” Robinton said, drawling as he pointed an accusing finger at the Lord Warder. “And you know it, Lytol. To be precise, this is the later pressing as the wine is nicely fruity. Furthermore, this is from the first Benden shipment you managed to wheedle out of old Lord Raid, on the strength of Lessa’s Ruathan Blood.” He altered his voice to imitate Lytol’s heavy baritone. ” ‘The Weyrwoman of Pern must have Benden wine when she visits her former Hold.’ Am I not right, Lytol?”
“Oh, you’re right on all counts,” Lytol admitted with what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.
“About wines, Master Harper, you’re infallible.”
“What a relief!” F’lar said, clapping the Harper on the shoulder. “I could never have borne your loss of reputation, Robinton.”
“It is a proper wine to celebrate this occasion. I give you all Jaxom, young Lord of Ruatha Hold and proud rider of Ruth.” Robinton knew he’d put a dragon among wherries with his words, but there was no point hiding from the fact that, though Jaxom was Lord-elect of Ruatha Hold, he was also and undeniably a dragonrider. Lord Sangel cleared his throat abruptly before taking the required sip. Lessa’s scowl suggested she’d rather he made any other toast just then.
Then, after clearing his throat a second time, Sangel jumped in as Robinton had hoped he would. “Yes, about that, there must be some understanding as to how much of a dragonrider young Jaxom is to be. I was given to understand at his Hatching,” Sangel waved his hand in the vague direction of the stables, “that the little creature was not likely to survive. Only reason 1 didn’t protest at the time.”
“We didn’t deliberately mislead you. Lord Sangel,” Lessa began in a testy voice.
“There will be no problem, Sangel,” said F’lar diplomatically. “We’ve no shortage of large dragons in the Weyr. So he isn’t needed to fight.”
“We’ve no shortage of trained, Blooded men to take Hold here, either,” Sangel said, shooting his jaw out belligerently. Trust old Sangel to come to the point, thought Robinton gratefully.