Up you go!"
"Good day, Tagath," Robinton said, stroking the blue shoulder as he settled himself between neck ridges. He tried to find the best place for his gitar and ended up cradling it in his arms behind C'gan.
Tagath turned his head round to look at Robinton. Hatching is always a good day, Harper.
"He answered me!" Robinton said, delighted. He grinned at C'gan.
"Ah, he's not much of a talker, is Tagath. Even to me. I think you surprised him, Harper. Does him good."
Robinton felt his neck snap, and his nose connected with the tuning knobs of the gitar as Tagath made a mighty leap skyward. The power in those blue haunches was formidable. Robinton had time to finger his nose and establish that it wasn't bleeding before he heard C'gan give the command to go between.
Then they were hanging above Benden Weyr and Robinton caught his breath. The Bowl was alive with people streaming into the Hatching Ground and dragons weaving up to and disappearing down the upper tunnel to where they could watch Impression.
Dragon eyes gleamed with the brightest of blues and greens, flashed with the yellows of excitement.
Tagath landed neatly quite close to the entrance to the Hatching Ground, deftly avoiding two groups of holders running in. A hum warned both Harper and dragonrider that the event was almost upon them.
Robinton slid down the blue's side, thanking him and C'gan, then joined those streaming in.
"Over here, Rob!" F'lon roared, vigorously beckoning the Harper to join him on the raised section of the Ground where Nemorth was hunched. "I've been waiting for you!" Robinton could not fail to notice Jora on the other side of her queen, a large bulk in a vivid green gown which did nothing to hide her obesity or enhance what had once been a pretty face. He bowed ceremoniously to her and then to Nemorth, whose attention was on the small clutch of eggs in the centre of the hot Hatching Sands.
Jora gave him a nervous grin, her fat fingers making wet creases in the stuff of her gown. He always tried to be nice to her, knowing that F'lon gave her a difficult time.
"I was beginning to think you might not be at the Hall," F'lon said, grabbing Robinton by the hand and shaking it so hard that Robinton exclaimed.
"I'll need it to play for you, F'lon," he said, pulling back his hand and making a show of examining it for injury.
"Yes, yes, of course, and you'll make a song for my sons" Impression?"
Robinton did not laugh at the proud and eager father. F'lon's emotions were so obvious: he was torn between the certainty that both his sons must Impress and the fear that neither would.
"Point them out to me, will you?" Rob asked. "Lads grow so fast at this time of their lives ..."
"The two there to the left ... See? In white of course, but Fallamon has my hair. And Famanoran resembles his mother. You remember Manora? The one who kept her head the night S'loner died?"
"They also resemble each other," Robinton remarked, having identified the two by that more than by F'lon's excited description.
"Well-grown lads."
"Fallamon's the taller," F'lon added nervously.
"Relax, F'lon," Robinton said. "They'll Impress."
"Are you sure?" F'lon's query was anxious.
"You're asking me?"
"Yes, I'm asking you."
He really is asking you, Simanith's voice echoed in Robinton's ears.
"Of course they will. How could they not, F'lon? Relax. Enjoy this moment."
F'lon rubbed hands nearly as nervous as Jora's. She kept peeking around her dragon's neck and she certainly looked agitated.
Robinton felt more sympathy for the poor woman.
"Simanith says they will," Robinton added mendaciously, glancing up at the bronze who was crouched on the ledge above his queen. Simanith blinked.
"He would know, wouldn't he?" F'lon said and, at the first sharp cracking sound, took hold of Robinton's arm in a vice-like grip.
Robinton tried not to wince, highly amused by the spectacle of the usually supremely confident, proud and aggressive Weyrleader in such a state.
"It's a bronze!" F'lon cried, his hands tightening perceptibly on Robinton's forearm.
"I'll need this to play," Robinton said again, peeling the drug-onrider's fingers free.
"A bronze first is a good sign," F'lon told him urgently. "There're only nine of them, you know."
"Easy!"
The little bronze shattered its shell with a second decisive blow of its nose.
"Oh, well done!" F'lon cried. "Do you see that, Robinton?"
Robinton nodded, but he'd also seen the expression on Jora's flushed and frantic face. The outcome of this Impression was possibly even more important to her.
The little bronze creeled his hunger, nodding his head in a semicircle, then without another moment's hesitation he lurched directly at F'lon's two sons. Imperiously he butted the taller lad as the young boy stepped out.of the way.
"His name is Mnementh!" the boy cried exultantly, clasping the wet head to his chest.
F'lon let out a gasp that was as much a sob as a cheer. "He's done it. He's done it. He's done it!"
Robinton was now seized by the arms and shaken, and dropped back on to his own feet in the next instant as F'lon ran across the hot sands to assist the newly Impressed pair.
Jora gave a mewling sound and tears streamed down her face.
She gave Robinton a glance both piteous and triumphant.
Three other eggs cracked and bronze dragons emerged.
Robinton wondered just how good an omen for the Weyr that was.
Then he paid more attention to the pairing of the lads. In their white, it was difficult to know if all the candidates were weyrbred or not. Then loud cheers and shrieks of delight from one group informed him that at least one new rider was hold-bred. And so were the newly Impressed blue and the three greens. A brown dragon broke his shell, and suddenly he was the only dragonling left.
He cried out, craning his neck as high as he could to see around the others. Then, with a sort of hiccuping yip, he veered and stumbled towards the youngest boy on the sands: Famanoran, F'lon's second son. Famanoran had been just standing there quietly, watching, his expression blank, but once he realized that the little brown dragon was heading towards him, and him alone, he raced across the sands to meet him.
"F'lon!" Robinton shouted over the din made by new dragons and riders, and pointed towards this final pairing.
F'lon swivelled about, his mouth dropping open, and caught the moment of Impression.
"His name is Canth!" Famanoran cried, tears of joy marking his face as he patted and stroked his new friend.
"I told you so," Robinton remarked frequently to the exultant Weyrleader father that evening at the feasting. He also had a chance to speak to F'lar and F'nor, for that was how they decided to shorten their names in the dragonrider tradition.
"I don't think F'lon would have forgiven us if we hadn't Impressed," F'lar admitted to the Harper with a rueful grin.
"You had to, F'lar ..." F'nor began, and then added loudly, "It didn't matter that much about me ..."
"Of course it did," Robinton contradicted him immediately.
"Canth is rather large for a brown, isn't he?"
"Yes, he is," F'nor said with soft pride, grinning foolishly.
Robinton located Manora, already busy making sure that food was reaching the various tables and that everyone had a seat. He congratulated her and she smiled almost absently, her eyes darting from one corner of the Lower Cavern to the other, checking on servers and the served.