“So we do nothing until the egg has Hatched?” N’ton asked.
“Except to assemble the girls found on Search. Lessa will want them here as soon as possible, to accustom Ramoth to their presence. We’ll all assemble again for the Hatching, Weyrleaders.”
“A good Hatching,” D’ram said with a fervor that was sincerely seconded by everyone.
Robinton half-hoped that F’lar might hold him back as the others dispersed. But F’lar was in conversation with D’ram, and Robinton sadly decided that his absence would be appreciated. It grieved Robinton to be at odds with the Benden Weyrleaders and he felt weary as he made his way back to the weyr entrance. Still, F’lar had supported Robinton’s plea for deliberation. As he reached the last turning of the corridor, he saw Mnementh’s bronze bulk on the ledge, and he hesitated, suddenly reluctant to approach Ramoth’s mate.
“Don’t fret so, Robinton,” N’ton said, stepping to his side and touching his arm. “You were so right and wise to speak out as you did, and probably the only one who could stop Lessa’s madness. F’lar knows it.” N’ton grinned. “But he does still have to contend with Lessa.”
“Master Robinton,” F’nor’s voice was low as if he didn’t wish to be overheard, “please join Brekke and me in my weyr. N’ton, too, if you’re not pressed to return to Fort Weyr.”
“I can certainly spare any time you need today,” the younger bronze rider replied with cheerful compliance.
“Brekke will be right along.” Then the wing second led the way across the Bowl, unnaturally silent except for the moans and mutters that issued in muffled echoes from Ramoth in the Hatching Ground. On his ledge, Mnementh swung his great head constantly so that every portion of the rim was scrutinized.
No sooner had the men entered the weyr than they were assaulted by four hysterical firelizards that had to be petted and reassured that no dragon would flame them-a fear which seemed to be common and persistent.
“What is this large darkness that I get from Zair’s images?” Robinton asked when he had caressed his little bronze into a semblance of order. Zair shivered frequently and, whenever the Harper’s gentle strokes lapsed, the bronze pushed imperiously at the negligent hand.
Meanwhile Berd and Grall were perched on F’nor’s shoulders, stroking his cheeks, their eyes bright yellow with anxiety and still whirling at a frantic rate. “When they’re calmer, Brekke and I will try to sort the whole thing out. I get the impression that they are remembering something.”
“Not something like the Red Star?” N’ton asked.
At his unfortunate reference, Tris, who had been lying quietly on his forearm, began to bat his wings and the others squealed in fright. “I’m sorry. Calm down, Tris.”
“No, not something like that,” F’nor said. “Just something … something they remembered.”
“We do know that they communicate instantly with one another and apparently broadcast anything seen that is strongly felt or experienced,” Robinton said, picking his words as he vocalized his thoughts. “So this could be evidence of a mass reaction. But picked up from which firelizard or firelizards? However, Grail and Berd, and certainly that little creature of Meron’s, could not have known through one of their own kind that the … you know what … was dangerous to them. So how did they know to the point of hysterics? How could it be something they remembered?”
“Runner beasts seem to know when to avoid treacherous ground …” N’ton offered.
“Instinct.” Robinton pondered. “Could be instinct.” Then he shook his head. “No, avoiding treacherous ground is not the same use of an instinctive fear: that’s a generality. The … R-E-D-S-T-A-R,” he spelled letter by letter, “is a specific. Ah, well!”
“Firelizards are basically gifted with the same skills as dragons. Dragons, however, have no memories to speak of.”
“Which, let us fervently hope,” F’nor said, raising his eyes toward the ceiling, “wipes out what happened today in record time.”
“Lessa does not suffer that gift,” Robinton said with a heavy sigh.
“She’s not stupid either, Masterharper,” N’ton said, adroitly reaffirming his respect for the man by the use of his title. “Nor is F’lar. Just worried. They’ll both come round and appreciate your intervention today.” Then N’ton cleared his throat and looked the Masterharper squarely in the eyes. “Do you know who took the egg?”