F'lar countered, ducking low under Fax's flailing arm and slashing obliquely across his side. Fax caught at him, yanking savagely, and F'lar was trapped against the other man's side, straining desperately with his left hand to keep the knife arm up. F'lar brought up his knee, at the same time making himself collapse. As Fax gasped from the blow to the groin, F'lar danced away; but Robinton could see blood welling up on his left shoulder.
Red with fury and wheezing from pain and shock, Fax straightened up and charged. F'lar was forced to sidestep quickly, putting the meat table between them and circling warily, flexing his shoulder to assess the damage.
Suddenly Fax seized up a handful of fatty scraps from the meat tray and hurled them at F'lar. The dragonrider ducked, and Fax closed the distance around the table with a rush. Robinton nearly cheered when F'lar instinctively swerved out of the way just as
Fax's flashing blade came within inches of his abdomen. At the same moment, the bronze rider's knife sliced down the outside of Fax's arm. Instantly the two pivoted to face each other again, but Fax's left arm hung limply at his side.
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, trying 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 re-emerged 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 seize 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 that 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. 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. Thread would be falling any time now. 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 odours 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 out the name 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 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?"