"Such a good day," she said with quiet satisfaction.
"You must be proud of them."
"I am," she said. With her usual understated dignity she moved off to take a seat by Jora, who had been left more or less to herself at the high table. The Weyrwoman was paying absolutely no attention to anything but clearing the food from the overflowing plate in front of her. Manora ate slowly and with relish, as dignified as she had been as a young girl.
Robinton took advantage of the fine Benden white which was being served. Lord Raid was present, as he should be for a Benden Hatching, and he was quite relaxed and pleasant to Robinton when they exchanged greetings and remarked on F'lon's double joy.
When he got back to the Hall, Nip had been there and left him a message.
"And what do you bet me that Nabol will fall to him next?"
That was one bet that Robinton would never have taken. Even a Bitran would have passed it up.
Perhaps that acquisition was another reason why Tarathel scheduled an ambitious Gather, inviting everyone, including Fax.
Vendross, Tarathel's invaluable guard captain, had flushed out a large group of Fax's men in the foothills of Telgar where such a party should not have been. Since he was commanding a much larger patrol, he had the advantage. Their excuse that they had had to detour from winter-damaged tracks to get back to the High Reaches was not well received by Vendross who escorted them as fast as possible back to the main Crom road. Tarathel was determined to have a few private words with this self-styled Lord of Five Holds to ensure Fax did not try to encroach on Telgar lands.
Nip was as surprised as Robinton that Fax accepted.
"As you can see, I maintain several fully trained companies of guards, Master Robinton," Tarathel told Robinton and F'lon who had arrived early in the Gather morning. Indeed, the Hold and its grounds seemed to be swarming with men in Telgar liveries.
F'lon nodded approvingly. "The man has got to be stopped, Tarathel."
The Telgar Holder scowled, unused to such familiarity from a much younger man, even if a Weyrleader was equal in rank to a
Lord holder Robinton nudged the bronze rider in the ribs, hoping to jar him into more discretion. F'lon ignored the hint.
"And it's up to you Lord Holders to set him right. When Thread comes, he'll be unable to provide adequate help to the holds he's taken over."
Tarathel raised the black and bushy eyebrows which gave him such a formidable appearance. "Really, Weyrleader? I had no idea the return was so imminent. May I ask what Benden Weyr will be able to do to provide adequate help to us?"
F'lon stiffened and Robinton kept his expression bland with an effort. As far as the MasterHarper knew, this was the first time a Lord Holder had openly challenged the Weyr. Clearly F'lon didn't like it one bit.
"Benden Weyr will be ready to meet Thread when it comes, Lord Tarathel. On that you can rely," he said with such dignity and purpose that Tarathel nodded approval.
"When it comes," he murmured as he moved off to greet the next wave of guests arriving by dragon.
"Look, F'lon, I've been your ffiend since we were boys," Robinton said, drawing the dragonrider to one side for privacy, "but you've as much tact as a tunnel snake. It doesn't do the Weyr, or you, any good to antagonize all the Lord Holders."
"I don't, but Tarathel's as hide-bound as Raid, and that's saying a lot."
"Tarathel will be long dead before Thread comes. Were I you, I'd start right now getting young Larad on your side. Unless, of course,
Fax decides to duel with him and remove competition." "Humph!"
Robinton was relieved to note that F'lon did not dismiss that suggestion out of hand. In fact, the bronze rider made a point of seeking out the lad who, like any male his age, was gratified to be in a Weyrleader's company.
What happened later that afternoon was so grotesque that afterwards Robinton cursed himself, plagued with a sense of guilt that his idle remark could have had such devastating consequences.
He saw the beginning: a lad wearing Fax's colours knocking into Larad, at F'lon's side, and then irritably demanding an apology.
Larad was surprised and started to comply, but F'lon stopped him.
"You knocked into Larad, boy," F'lon told the lad. "You will apologize to young Lord Larad. He ranks you."
"I'm with Lord Fax, Dragonrider." The boy's tone and sneer were contemptuous.
Robinton had not yet reached the little group when F'lon backhanded the boy, cutting his lip.
"You will keep a civil tongue in your head and you will apologize to Lord Larad, who is of Telgar Blood. I doubt you can claim even half-Blood rights."
"Kepiru? Who gave you a bloody lip?" And a heavyset man, also wearing Fax's colours and the shoulder knot of a captain – though generally those were reserved for ships' captains – pushed through those watching the encounter.
Robinton felt the tension in the air as he reached F'lon. "Now, what appears to be the problem?" he said in his best conciliatory manner.
Larad gratefully turned to the MasterHarper. He was confused and highly embarrassed.
"That... dragonrider' – the captain's tone was as contemptuous as Kepiru's had been – "has struck my young brother, insulting our Blood. The matter requires redress."
"Redress from your brother to Lord Larad most certainly," F'lon said, bristling.
Robinton caught F'lon by the arm, pressing it hard to cool him down. He was beginning to fear that this trivial incident had been contrived. The underfed lad looked no more like a brother to the captain than Larad did.
"That's right. I observed the whole thing as I came," the harper said, smiling pleasantly. "An accident." He leaned heavily on that word, pulling at F'lon even as he felt the tension and anger building in the dragonrider's body. "This is a Gather, a meeting of folk in good faith and for pleasant purposes." He smiled winningly at the two in Fax's colours, but they were having no more of his mediation than F'lon was.
Then, to emphasize F'lon's indignation, Simanith rose from his perch on the heights and spread his wings, bugling.
"Larad requires an apology," F'lon insisted. "That lout deliberately knocked into him."
"This is a Gather, F'lon," Robinton said urgently, scanning the growing crowd for anyone he could call upon for assistance.
Looking beyond to see if he could spot Lord Tarathel near by, he was relieved to catch a glimpse of Nip and jerked his head. He saw Nip raise a hand in reply and dash off. "Accidents can occur when folk are sometimes less careful in this relaxed atmosphere."
"Enough," F'lon said, shaking off Robinton's restraining hand.
"It was as deliberate as the slurs on dragonriders."
"Ha! Dragonwomen!" the captain said in a scathing tone.
That insult inflamed F'lon. "I'll show you dragonwomen," he said and drew the knife from his belt.
The captain's knife seemed to appear in his hand with uncanny speed and Robinton's fears increased. He made another attempt to gain control of the situation.
"This is a Gather," he repeated, stepping between the two men who had eyes for no one but each other.
"Out of the way, Harper," the captain snarled. "Your colour doesn't protect you or him."
The crowd had backed away the moment the flash of steel was seen and formed a circle around the five. The next moment, Kepiru barged out of the way and disappeared from sight.
"Move off, Robinton. This is not your fight," said F'lon, crouching as he shoved Robinton out of the way.
"Wait! The Lord Holder has been summoned!"
"Then let him watch the Weyrleader die!" the captain cried, a wild smile on his face. Crouching, he stepped sideways, not towards the dragonrider but close enough to Robinton so that when he moved, it was the MasterHarper his blade scored. Robinton clutched at his arm, blood oozing out of the long gash.