Part 9 (1/2)
”Time will tell,” F'lar replied serenely, examining a fruit for spots.
”Tilarek implied that not all the holders echo their Lords' seditious sentiments,” Lessa commented, trying to rea.s.sure herself.
F'lar snorted. ”Tilarek says 'as will please his listeners,' ” he said in a pa.s.sable imitation of the man's speech.
”You'd better know, too,” F'nor said from the doorway, ”he doesn't speak for all his men. There was a good deal of grumbling in the escort.” F'nor accorded Lessa a courteous if absentminded salute. ”It was felt that Ruatha has been too long poor to give such a share to the Weyr its first profitable Turn. And I'll say that Lytol was more generous than he ought to be. We'll eat well... for a while.”
F'lar tossed the messageskin to the brown rider.
”As if we didn't know that,” F'nor grunted after he had quickly scanned the contents.
”If you know that, what will you do about it?” Lessa spoke up. ”The Weyr is in such disrepute that the day is coming when it can't feed its own.”
She used the phrase deliberately, noticing with satisfaction that it stung the memories of both dragonmen. The look they turned on her was almost savage. Then F'lar chuckled so that F'nor relaxed with a sour laugh.
”Well?” she demanded.
”R'gul and S'lel will undoubtedly get hungry,” F'nor said, shrugging.
”And you two?”
F'lar shrugged, too, and, rising, bowed formally to Lessa. ”As Ramoth is deep asleep, Weyrwoman, your permission to withdraw.”
”Get out!” Lessa shouted at them.
They had turned, grinning at each other, when R'gul came storming into the chamber, S'lel, D'nol, T'bor, and K'net close on his heels.
”What is this I hear? That Ruatha alone of the High Reaches sends t.i.thes?”
”True, all too true,” F'lar conceded calmly, tossing the messageskin at R'gul.
The Weyrleader scanned it, mumbling the words under his breath, frowning at its content. He pa.s.sed it distastefully to S'lel, who held it for all to read.
”We fed the Weyr last year on the t.i.things of three Holds,” R'gul announced disdainfully. ”Last year,” Lessa put in, ”but only because there were reserves in the supply caves. Manora has just reported that those reserves are exhausted....” year,” Lessa put in, ”but only because there were reserves in the supply caves. Manora has just reported that those reserves are exhausted....”
”Ruatha has been very generous,” F'lar put in quickly. ”It should make the difference.”
Lessa hesitated a moment, thinking she hadn't heard him right.
”Not that generous.” She rushed on, ignoring the remanding glare F'lar shot her way.
”The dragonets require more this year, anyway. So there's only one solution. The Weyr must barter with Telgar and Fort to survive the Cold.”
Her words touched off instant rebellion.
”Barter? Never'”
”The Weyr reduced to bartering? Raid!”
”R'gul, we'll raid first. Barter never!”
That had stung all the bronze riders to the quick. Even S'lel reacted with indignation. K'net was all but dancing, his eyes sparkling with antic.i.p.ation of action.
Only F'lar remained aloof, his arms folded across his chest, glaring at her coldly.
”Raid?” R'gul's voice rose authoritatively above the noise. ”There can be no raid!”
Out of conditioned reflex to his commanding tone, they quieted momentarily.
”No raids?” T'bor and D'nol demanded in chorus.
”Why not?” D'nol went on, the veins in his neck standing out.
He was not the one, groaned Lessa to herself, trying to spot S'lar, only to remember that he was out on the training field. Occasionally he and D'nol acted together against R'gul in Council, but D'nol was not strong enough to stand alone.
Lessa glanced hopefully toward F'lar. Why didn't he speak up now?
”I'm sick of stringy old flesh, of bad bread, of wood-tasting roots,” D'nol was shouting, thoroughly incensed. ”Pern prospered this Turn. Let some spill over into the Weyr as it ought!”
T'bor, standing belligerently beside him, growled agreement, his eyes fixing on first one, then another of the silent bronze riders. Lessa caught at the hope that T'bor might act as subst.i.tute for S'lan.
”One move from the Weyr at this moment,” R'gul interrupted, his arm raised warningly, ”and all the Lords will move-against us.” His arm dropped dramatically.
He stood, squarely facing the two rebels, feet slightly apart, head high, eyes flas.h.i.+ng. He towered a head and a half above the stocky, short D'nol and the slender T'bor. The contrast was unfortunate: the tableau was of the stern patriarch reprimanding errant children.
”The roads are clear,” R'gul went on portentously, ”with neither rain nor snow to stay an advancing army. The Lords have kept full guards under arms since Fax was killed.” R'gul's head turned just slightly in F'lar's direction. ”Surely you all remember the scant hospitality we got on Search?” Now R'gul pinned each bronze rider in turn with a significant stare. ”You know the temper of the Holds, you saw their strength.” He jerked his chin up. ”Are you fools to antagonize them?”
”A good firestoning ...” D'nol blurted out angrily and stopped. His rash words shocked himself as much as anyone else in the room.
Even Lessa gasped at the idea of deliberately using firestone against man.
”Something has to be done ...” D'nol blundered on desperately, turning first to F'lar, then, less hopefully, to T'bor.
If R'gul wins, it will be the end, Lessa thought, coldly furious, and reacted, turning her thoughts toward T'bor. At Ruatha it had been easiest to sway angry men. If she could just... A dragon trumpeted outside.
An excruciatingly sharp pain lanced from her instep up her leg. Stunned, she staggered backward, unexpectedly falling into F'lar. He caught her arm with fingers like iron bands.
”You dare control ...” he whispered savagely in her ear and, with false solicitude, all but slammed her down into her chair. His hand grasped her arm with vise-fingered coercion.
Swallowing convulsively against the double a.s.sault, she sat rigidly. When she could take in what had happened, she realized the moment of crisis had pa.s.sed.
”Nothing can be done at this time,” R'gul was saying forcefully. can be done at this time,” R'gul was saying forcefully.
”At this time ...” The words ricocheted in Lessa's ringing ears.
”The Weyr has young dragons to train. Young men to bring up in the proper Traditions.”
Empty Traditions, Lessa thought numbly, her mind seething with bitterness. And they will empty the very Weyr itself.