Then Robinton recalled the pulsing hatred for F’lar in T’kul’s eyes. It was malice and spite that motivated the former High Reaches Weyrleader-and haired for an exile not of his choosing.
The queens might be too old to rise, but that was only a recent occurrence, Robinton thought, and the bronzes could not be in that hard a case. They were aging as well and the blood did not so easily quicken, so the old urgencies surely could be contained.
There was also the point that T’kul need not have gone South with Mardra, T’ron and the other obstinate and inflexible Oldtime weyrfolk. He could have accepted the leadership of Benden, acknowledged that Craft and Hold had earned rights for themselves in the four hundred Turns since the last Pass and conducted himself and his Weyr affairs accordingly.
Had any of the Southerners come forward, acting in honor, asking the assistance of the other Weyrs, he was certain such would have been forthcoming. He didn’t doubt D’ram’s sincerity, and he would have pressed for their requests himself, by the Shell he would have!
Looking at the worst possible conclusion to the day’s events, what would happen to T’kul if Salth did overfly himself? The Harper sighed deeply, not liking to consider that possibility at all, but he’d better. The possibility meant that … Robinton glanced toward the Weyrwoman’s quarters. T’kul had been wearing a belt knife. Everyone wore belt knives. Robinton felt his heart pounding. He knew it wasn’t proper, but shouldn’t he suggest to D’ram that someone be in the queen’s weyr in case of trouble? Someone uninvolved in the mating flight. When a man’s dragon died he could become insane, not know what he was doing. A vision of T’kul’s hatred flashed vividly before the Harper’s eyes. Robinton had many prerogatives but entering the chambers of a Weyrwoman whose dragon was mating was not one of them. Still…
Robinton blinked. F’lar was no longer seated at the table. The Harper glanced about the cavern, but caught no glimpse of the tall figure of the Benden Weyrleader. He rose, struggling to keep his progress casual, managed to nod pleasantly to D’ram and Warbret as he sauntered toward the entrance. The Istan Harper intersected his path.
“F’lar took two of our strongest riders with him, Master Robinton.” The man nodded toward the Weyrwoman’s quarters. “He’s afraid of trouble.”
Robinton nodded, blowing out with relief, then halted.
“How did he manage it? I saw no one using the steps.”
Baldor grinned. “This Weyr is full of odd tunnels and entrances. It wouldn’t do to compound the problem,” he added, gesturing toward the guests in the cavern, “now would it?”
“Indeed not. Indeed not.”
“We’ll know what happens soon enough,” Baldor said with a worried sigh. “Our firelizards’ll tell us.”
“True,” and Zair on his shoulder cheeped at Baldor’s brown. Robinton was somewhat relieved by the precautions and made his way back to the table. He filled his cup again, and D’ram’s. Not Benden wine, but it wasn’t altogether unpalatable, if a trifle sweeter than he liked. Why was it that happy occasions seemed to fly past and one like today dragged interminably?
The watchdragon bugled, a fearful, unhappy sound. But not a keen! Not a death knell! Robinton felt the muscles in his chest relax. His relief was premature for there was a rustle of worried whispers sweeping through the living cavern. Several weyrfolk hurried out, looking up at the blue watchdragon, his wings extended. Zair crooned softly but Robinton sensed nothing definite from the creature. The little bronze merely repeated the dragon’s muddled thoughts.
“One of the bronzes must have faltered,” D’ram said, swallowing nervously, his face tinged gray under his tan. He looked hard at Robinton.
“One of those older ones, I’ll wager,” Warbret said, pleased at this justification of his opinion.
“You’re likely right,” Robinton said easily, “but the flight was declared open, so they had to be admitted.”
“Aren’t they taking a long time of it?” Warbret asked, frowning out at the sky just visible from their table.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Robinton replied with what he hoped was a casual air, “though it sometimes seems that way. I expect that’s because the outcome of this particular flight will have such consequences for the Weyr. Caylith is at least giving the bronzes a good run for her!”