The terror in her voice echoed his own feelings perfectly.
“Those fool Oldtimers must be desperate,” Finder said grimly.
“How could they get away with such bare-faced thievery?” Jaxom wanted to know. “Ramoth never leaves a clutch.” Not since the time F’lessan and I disturbed her eggs, he added guiltily to himself.
“F’nor brought us the news,” Menolly said. “He said she’d gone to feed. Half the Benden firelizards were in the Ground. They always are-”
“With an odd one or two visiting from the Southern Weyr, no doubt,” Finder added.
Menolly nodded. “That’s what F’nor said. So the Oldtimers would have known when she wasn’t there. F’nor said she’d just killed when three bronzes appeared, passed the watchdragon. … I mean, why would the watchdragon question bronze dragons. They ducked in the upper tunnel to the Hatching Ground, Ramoth gave an almighty shriek and went between. The next thing three bronzes came flying out of the upper entrance, they had heard Ramoth scream. She came charging out of the Hatching Ground but they had gone between before she’d got a winglength off the ground.”
“Didn’t they send dragons after them?”
“Ramoth went after! With Mnementh but a breath behind her. Not that it did any good.”
“Why not?”
“The bronzes went between time.”
“And not even Ramoth would know when.”
“Exactly. Mnementh checked the Southern Weyr and Hold and half the hot beaches.”
“Not even the Oldtimers could be stupid enough to take a queen egg straight back to Southern.”
“But surely the Oldtimers would not know,” Finder added wearily, “that we know they took the egg.”
By that time they had reached the outskirts of the crowd, where dragonriders from other Weyrs as well as Lords Holder and Craftmasters had gathered. Lessa stood on the ledge of her weyr, F’lar beside her along with Fandarel and Robinton, who both looked extremely grim and anxious. N’ton stopped hallway down the steps, talking earnestly and with angry gestures to two other bronze riders. Slightly to one side were the three other Benden weyrwomen, and several other women who must be queenriders from the other Weyrs. The atmosphere of outrage and frustration was oppressive. Dominating the entire scene was Ramoth, who paced up and down in front of the Hatching Ground, pausing now and again to peer in at the eggs remaining on the hot sands. Her tail started lashing and she let out angry buglings that obscured the discussions going on above her on the ledge.
“It’s dangerous to take an egg between,” someone in front of Jaxom and Menolly said.
“I suppose it could go a ways, so long as the egg was good and warm to start and took no hurt.”
“We ought to just mount up and go down and run those Oldtimers out of the Weyr.”
“And have dragon fight dragon? You’re as bad as the Oldtimers.”
“But we can’t have dragons stealing our queen eggs! This is the worst insult Benden’s ever taken from the Oldtimers. And I say, make them pay for it.”
“The Southern Weyr is desperate,” Menolly said in an undertone to Jaxom. “None of their queens has risen to mate. The bronzes are dying, and they don’t even have any young greens.”
Just then Ramoth gave a piteous cry, throwing her head up toward Lessa. Every dragon in the Weyr answered her call, deafening the humans. Jaxom could see Lessa leaning over the ledge, one hand outstretched toward the despairing queen. Then, because he was a good head above most of the crowd and looking that way, Jaxom saw something dark fluttering in the Hatching Ground. He heard a muffled cry of pain.
“Look! What’s that? In the Hatching Ground!” Only those around him heard his exclamation or noticed him pointing. All Jaxom could think of was that if the Southern bronzes were indeed dying, the Oldtimers might use this confusion to try and steal a bronze egg as well.
He took to his heels, followed by Menolly and Finder, but he was overcome by such a wave of weakness that he was forced to stop. Something seemed to be sapping his strength, but Jaxom had no idea what it could be.