“D’you think there’ll be a queen egg this time?” Warbret asked eagerly.
“I would never make the error of counting eggs this soon, my Lord Warbret,” the Harper said, trying to keep his countenance bland.
“Oh, yes, of course. I mean it would be quite an accomplishment for Barnath, wouldn’t it? Having his queen lay a golden egg this flight?”
“It would indeed. That is, if … Barnath succeeds in flying her.”
“Really, Master Harper, of course he will. Where’s your sense of justice?”
“Where it generally is, but I doubt that Caylith is attuned to justice right now.”
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than Zair, his eyes the bright yellow of distress, gave a frightened, gibbering squeak at the Harper. Mnementh erupted into the air just above the ground of the Bowl, bugling in alarm.
Robinton was on his feet and running glancing about him for Baldor. The Istan Harper was equally alert to the danger. He and four large riders began pelting toward the Weyr.
“What’s the matter?” Warbret demanded.
“Stay there,” Robinton shouted.
The air was suddenly full of dragons, bugling and keening, barely avoiding midair collisions as they swept about, riderless, disturbed. Robinton pumped his long legs as fast as he could, regardless of the fierce pain in his side that he eased somewhat by digging the heel of his hand into his flesh. The weight on his chest seemed worse; it kept breath which he needed for running.
Zair began squealing over Robinton’s head, projecting an image of a falling dragon and fighting men. Unfortunately the little bronze could not project the information Robinton most wanted-which dragon, which men! F’lar must be involved or Mnementh would not be here.
The huge bronze was landing on the queen’s weyr ledge, preventing Baldor’s men from entering the weyr. They flattened themselves against the wall, trying to avoid the frantic sweeps of his wide wings.
“Mnementh! Listen to me! Let us pass! We’re going to aid F’lar. Listen to me!”
Robinton charged right up the steps, past Baldor and his men, and grabbed one wing tip. He was all but hauled off his feet as Mnementh pulled it back, bending his head to hiss at the Harper. The great eyes whirled violently yellow.
“Listen to me, Mnementh!” the Harper roared. “Let us pass!”
Zair flew at the bronze dragon, screaming at the top of his lungs.
I listen. Salth is no more. Help F’lar!
The great bronze dragon folded his wings, lifted his head, and Robinton thankfully waved Baldor and his men to go ahead. He needed a moment to catch his breath.
As Robinton turned to enter the passage, hand pressed against his side, Zair zipped in front of him, his cries full of encouragement now. The Harper wondered fleetingly if the tiny creature thought that he, and he alone, had turned aside the great bronze. Robinton could only be grateful that the bronze dragon would listen to him.
As Robinton entered the weyr, he could hear the sounds of fighting in the Weyrwoman’s sleeping chamber. The curtain across the entrance was suddenly ripped from its pole as two struggling bodies staggered out into the larger room. F’lar and T’kul! Baldor and two of his helpers were close behind, trying to separate the men. In the room beyond them, locked in the mating flight contact with their beasts, were the rest of the bronze riders and the Weyrwoman, oblivious to the combat. Someone had collapsed on the floor. B’zon, probably, he thought as the scene registered in his mind in one split second.
What caught Robinton’s horrified attention was the fact that F’lar had no knife in either hand. His left was closed about T’kul’s right wrist, straining to keep the man’s long knife-no short-bladed belt but a skinning tool-away from his collarbone. His fingers began digging into the tendons of T’kul’s wrist, trying to force the fingers open, or to deaden the nerves. His right hand held T’kul’s left arm down and out from their sides. T’kul writhed savagely; the maniacal gleam in his reddened eyes told Robinton that the man was beyond himself. As he must have intended, thought Robinton.
One of Baldor’s men was trying to shove a knife in F’lar’s hand but F’lar had to keep T’kul’s left hand engaged.