Masterharper of Pern (48 page)

F’lar darted in, pressing his luck as Fax staggered. But the older man must not have been hurt as badly as F’lar assumed: the dragonrider suffered a terrific kick in the side as he tried to dodge under the feinting knife. Robinton’s throat closed. Doubled with pain, F’lar rolled frantically away from his charging adversary. Fax lurched forward, flying to fall on him for a final thrust. F’lar somehow got to his feet, attempting to straighten up to meet Fax’s stumbling charge. His movement took Fax by surprise. Fax overreached his mark and staggered off balance. F’lar brought his right hand over in a powerful thrust, his knife blade plunging deep into Fax’s unprotected back.

Fax fell flat to the flagstones, the force of his descent dislodging the dagger so that an inch of the bloody blade reemerged from the point of entry.

A thin wailing penetrated the silence. Robinton looked up to the top of the stairs, where a woman stood, cradling a swathed bundle in her arms.

“The new Lord Holder,” Robinton murmured. The guards on either side of him regarded him with surprise.

Do I come forward as MasterHarper now? he wondered, looking about to see who would take charge. F’nor, C’gan, and K’net strode forward, ready to ring F’lar in case any of the guards wished to retaliate.

F’lar, wiping his forehead on his sleeve, half-stumbled to the still-unconscious drudge. He gently turned her over, and even from where Robinton stood, he could see the terrible bruise from Fax’s fist spreading across her filthy cheek.

“Do any of you care to contest the outcome of this duel?” F’nor challenged. His hand carefully remained at his side, but he stood as if ready to grab his dagger at the first sign of attack.

Something about the drudge—her thin face, the set of her eyes—caught Robinton’s attention. F’lar gathered the limp body up in his arms, the clump of dirty hair dropping downward. As the bronze rider swung her around, Robinton got a second good look at her face, and something stirred in his memory.

He blinked. No, he had to be mistaken. They’d all died. Everyone with any trace of Ruathan Blood had been killed that day. The girl couldn’t possibly . . . incredibly . . . be Lessa?

And yet . . . Ruathan Blood had produced many dragonriders and a few weyrwomen, too. They had strong minds, strong . . . powers? And Robinton blinked again. That was what he had felt pulsing through the Hall, what had caused the dragons to roar and F’lar to act so outrageously in challenging Fax. And it made sense to the MasterHarper. Very good sense.
She
was why Nip thought Ruatha was subtly rebelling against Fax.
She
was a full Ruathan, and they had always had strong women in the Bloodline. Strong enough to be weyrwomen, especially now, at this crucial time for Pern.

It was all Robinton could do to restrain the shout of triumph that swelled within him. C’gan! He’d have to tell C’gan so the blue rider could watch out for her at the Weyr, keep her from being manipulated by that other do-nothing, R’gul. They had to be sure that it was F’lar’s dragon Mnementh who flew the new queen, so that F’lar would be Weyrleader. Thread would be falling any time now. Of course, they’d know when the Red Star was framed by the Eye rock in the Star Stones on Benden’s rim, when the rising sun balanced on the Finger Rock at Solstice. Maybe not this Turn, but in the next few, that warning sign would be obvious to all who witnessed it. As today’s event had been witnessed. And, as MasterHarper, he should add his voice to those of the dragonriders. His was the more important, even though he was not supposed to be here.

“You got here, I see.” The voice was a soft whisper at his side.

“Nip, you’ll frighten the heart out of me one of these days, appearing like that.” Robinton leaned back against the wall, sighing with relief. “Where’ve you been?”

Nip pointed to the kitchen, and indeed, now that Robinton got a good whiff of the man, he recognized the odors of singed bone and stale food.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry and there’s— well, some bread . . .” Robinton strode to the table and grabbed a slice in each hand, chewing vigorously.

“Where’d he take her?” Nip asked.

“Lessa?”

“Lessa?”

Fortunately Nip was so astonished that he had gasped the name out in a startled whisper.

“Ssshhh. Only person I know of who could do what she did today . . .” And Robinton grinned.

“What about F’lar? That was a grand fight he fought. Got hurt, too, I think.”

“Didn’t seem to hinder him.” Robinton kept looking up the stairs, waiting for F’lar to reappear. “And I think it’s about time one of us started taking charge here, don’t you?”

“Indeed, though I think the dragonriders have it well in hand. Fax bought loyalty. His death has lost the marks they need. They’ll scatter at your command.”

The MasterHarper was glad enough to shed the helmet, which had worn a sore ridge around his brows.

“You’ll be wanting to make your way back to Nabol or Crom or High Reaches,” he said, addressing Fax’s soldiers. “I don’t think the dragonriders will detain you.”

“Who the shard are you?” demanded the underleader whom Robinton had encountered in the barracks.

“MasterHarper Robinton, and this is my colleague, Journeyman Harper Kinsale,” Robinton said in a firm commanding voice.

“The MasterHarper?” the armsman repeated, dumbfounded, looking from one ragged man to the other. “Now, wait just a minute,” he began, suddenly with a new lease on his authority.

Just then the drums in the tower started.

So Tuck had been here, too, Robinton thought, delighted. This sort of thing could be rather a lot of fun—if it didn’t involve quite so much hard physical work.

“By the Egg!” the underleader snarled. “It’ll be all over if we can’t silence those drums . . .”

Two dragonriders immediately took positions at the stairs, hands on their knives.

“I’d advise you all to make a sudden departure,” Nip-Kinsale said, nodding at C’gan, who was quick enough to pick up the message.

“Lord Groghe’s men will be arriving soon enough from his border posts,” Robinton added. “I spoke with them on my way here. Were I you, I’d be well gone by the time they get here.”

His advice caused the soldiery to reconsider their positions. They could scarcely fail to understand that Fax’s protection had died with him. Most of them looked worried and glanced anxiously about the Hall.

“B’rant, B’refli,” Robinton said, picking out riders whose names he knew, “accompany them to the barracks so they can pack. I suppose the runners have had enough of a rest to go through the night. At least as far as the Nabol border.” Then he turned to K’net. “How long do you think it will take Lord Groghe’s men to make it here?”

“Not long,” K’net said amiably. “Of course we riders could go get a few if we needed them.” He made to signal F’nor, who was walking toward the door.

“We’ll go,” the underleader said.

“I’d like you to send someone to collect Bargen from the High Reaches Weyr,” Robinton said to F’nor, who was staring at him. “He’s the legitimate heir to that Hold, and we’ll have to see if there’s any of the Bloodlines left alive in the other ones Fax took over.”

“I didn’t know he survived,” F’nor said, surprised.

“I’ve a list of where the other survivors got to,” Nip said. “Oterel at Tillek Hold has given refuge to several, you know.”

“No, I didn’t, but it’s like him. We’ve a lot of work to do, then, haven’t we?” Robinton smiled happily at the thought. One hold, one holder. That point had been well proven over the past Turns. He hoped it could be a moral lesson for a long time. “And we must do something about—” He stopped, realizing that Fax’s dead body had already been removed from the Hall.

“First thing I had my fellow drudges do,” Nip said. “They took an uncommon pleasure in dumping him into the midden. In the old days, he could have been left out for Thread to dissolve. Neater that way.” Then he added, as the MasterHarper shuddered, “Well, that was a deterrent, you know.”

A hungry wail alerted them to another problem that required an immediate solution.

“And a wet nurse for the new young Lord of Ruatha Hold,” Robinton said, trying to remember if there were any nursing women back at Harper Hall.

The others regarded him blankly.

“I doubt any female here has succor for him, and I intend to keep the babe alive, since he had such trouble getting here,” Robinton said.

“We’ll find one, somewhere,” F’nor said firmly.

“Get Tuck to send another message,” Nip suggested.

Before they could start that search, F’lar appeared on the steps, racing down them.

“Has that creature come this way?” he demanded, catching F’nor by the arm.

F’nor seemed to know that F’lar was referring to the drudge.

“No. Is she the source of power, after all?” F’nor was astonished.

“Yes, she is.” F’lar looked angrily about him. “And of Ruathan Blood, at that!”

Robinton grinned with intense satisfaction.

“Oh-ho! Does she depose the babe, then?” F’nor asked, gesturing to the birthing-woman who occupied a seat close to the blazing hearth.

F’lar looked blank, his body half-turned to go about his search for the missing Lessa. “Babe? What babe?”

“The male child Lady Gemma bore,” F’nor replied, surprised by F’lar’s uncomprehending look.

“It lives?”

“Yes. A strong babe, the woman says, for all that he was premature and taken forcibly from the dead dame’s belly.”

F’lar threw back his head with a shout of laughter. Then they all heard Mnementh’s roar, followed by the curious warble of the other dragons.

“Mnementh has caught her,” the bronze rider cried, grinning with jubilation. He strode down the steps and into the darkness of the main Court.

Robinton could just see the huge bulk of the bronze dragon, settling awkwardly onto his hind legs, his wings working to keep him balanced. Carefully Mnementh set the girl on her feet and formed a cage around her with his huge talons. Robinton could see that she was facing the wedge-shaped head that swayed above her.

Not afraid of a thing, that one, the MasterHarper thought, and wisely he decided to let F’lar handle the interview with the recaptured Lady of Ruatha.

The two fragments of bread that he’d managed to eat were insufficient to calm his growling stomach, and for once, hunger got the better of his harperly curiosity. There had to be something edible on that roast carcass and he meant to have it before he expired of starvation. Besides, F’lar had better learn to handle the girl now, before she Impressed a queen. Then he grinned to himself. He rather thought the young bronze rider up to the task.

He did find some edible if tough bits off the roast, quite a few, and he shared them with Nip and Tuck, who had descended from the drum tower.

“Good lad,” Robinton mumbled, his mouth full of the hard-to-chew meat.

“Where were you hiding, Master Robinton?” Tuck asked, accepting slices from the harper’s knife.

“I was a drudge during the day, before I changed into soldier,” Robinton said with a sigh. “I never understood the word ‘drudge’ properly before now. I shan’t be one again, I assure you.”

Nip and Tuck smothered their chuckles at his vehemence.

“All well and good for you two. You’re used to it,” the MasterHarper went on, finding yet another not-too-scorched bit.

A sudden bestial scream startled them and brought them to the Hold door. Then Lessa’s cry: “Don’t kill! Don’t kill!” They raced to the front door. F’lar was on the stones, where evidently the watch-wher had pushed him. They saw the beast, launching a second attack on the fallen dragonrider. But Mnementh’s great head swung around to knock the watch-wher out of the air. Motivated by Lessa’s shriek, the watch-wher, trying to avoid F’lar, performed an incredible twist midair and fell heavily to the ground. They all heard the dull crack as the force of its landing broke its back. Before F’lar could get to his feet, Lessa was cradling the hideous head in her arms, her face stricken.

“It was truly only defending me,” Lessa said, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat. “It was the only one I could trust. My only friend.”

Robinton watched F’lar pat the girl’s shoulder awkwardly. The bronze rider would have to do better than that and yet the awkwardness was appealing.

“In truth a loyal friend,” F’lar said. The light in the watch-wher’s green-gold eyes dimmed and died.

All the dragons gave voice to the eerie, hair-raising, barely audible high keening note that signified the passing of one of their kind.

“He was only a watch-wher,” Lessa murmured, obviously stunned by the tribute.

“The dragons confer honor where
they
will,” F’lar said drily.

Lessa looked down for one more long moment at the repulsive head. She laid it down on the stones, caressed the clipped wings. Then, with quick fingers, she undid the heavy buckle that fastened the metal collar around its neck. She threw the collar violently away.

She rose in a fluid movement and walked resolutely to Mnementh without a backward glance at Ruatha Hold.

So, thought Robinton, F’lar did manage to persuade her to abandon Ruatha Hold and become weyrwoman. He was not surprised, though he did wonder just what F’lar had said—or done—to convince her to leave her beloved Ruatha Hold.

F’nor, C’gan, and four others remained on the steps as the other riders strode into the Court to wait for their dragons.

“We need to get Lytol from High Reaches,” F’nor said as one by one the riders mounted their dragons. “To take charge here.”

“Good idea,” Robinton said.

“And who might you be?” F’nor spoke without rancor, but he had clearly not missed the fact that Robinton was wearing Fax’s colors.

C’gan chuckled. “The MasterHarper of Pern, F’nor.” He turned to Robinton. “I thought I recognized you standing on guard at the wall, but the light was poor and I couldn’t imagine how you’d been able to sneak yourself into Ruatha.”

While F’nor regarded Robinton with growing respect and interest, Mnementh launched himself up and out of the courtyard, the other dragons following in quick succession.

“Do you think I would have missed tonight for anything?” Robinton asked. Then he looked past the others, to the dining tables in the Hall, and asked wistfully: “There wouldn’t be any decent wine, would there?”