Jaxom jumped to his feet, scanning the skies. «They wouldn't object to Ruth's return.»
«It must be someone they know!» The possibility was as improbable to Sharra as it was to Jaxom. «And he's not flying in!»
They both heard the noises of something large moving through the forest on the point. A muffled curse indicated the visitor was human but the first head that penetrated the screen of thick foliage was undeniably animal. The body that followed the head belonged to the smallest runner beast Jaxom had ever seen.
The muffled curses resolved into intelligible words. «Stop snapping the branches back in my face, you ruddy, horn nosed, flat footed, slab hided dragonbait! Well, Sharra, so this is where you got to! I was told, but I was beginning to doubt it! Hear you've been ill, Jaxom? You don't look it now!»
«Piemur?» Although the appearance of the young harper was the unlikeliest of events, there was no mistaking the characteristic swagger in the short, compact figure that limped jauntily down the beach. «Piemur! What are you doing here?»
«Looking for you, of course. Have you any idea how many coves along this stretch of nowhere in the world answer the description Master Robinton gave me?»
«Well, the Weyr's all organized,» F'lar told Lessa in a quiet voice as he joined her in the foreroom of the weyr which had been hastily vacated by its occupants so that the Master Harper of Pern could be accommodated. Master Oldive would not have him moved even as far as Ista Hold. The Healer and Brekke were with him now in the inner room as he slept, propped up in the bed, Zair perched above him, his glowing eyes never leaving the face of his friend.
Lessa held out her hand, needing her weyrmate's touch. He pulled a stool beside hers, gave her a quick kiss and poured himself a cup of wine.
«D'ram has the Weyrfolk organized. He's sent the older bronzes to help Canth and F'nor bring Ranilth back. The poor old thing will live only a few more Turns… if B'zon does.»
«Not another one today!»
F'lar shook his head. «No, he's just dead asleep. We've got the disappointed bronze riders drunk as winemakers' apprentices, and from every indication Cosira and G'dened are… so involved they haven't any notion of what else has been happening here in Ista.»
«That's as well,» Lessa replied, grinning from ear to ear.
F'lar stroked her cheek, grinning right back at her. «So when does Ramoth rise again, dear heart?»
«I'll remember to let you know!» As she saw F'lar glance in the direction of the inner room, she added, «He'll be all right!»
«Oldive wasn't hedging about his full recovery?»
«How could he? With every dragon on Pern listening in? Now that,» she paused in thoughtful reflection, «was totally unexpected. I know the dragons will call him by name but… linking?»
«More incredible to me was Brekke arriving on Ruth, alone!»
«Why ever not?» Lessa asked, piqued. «She's been a rider! And she's had a special touch with dragons ever since she lost Wirenth!»
«I can't quite see you offering her Ramoth under similar circumstances. Now don't soar over me, Lessa. That was a fine gesture of Jaxom's. Brekke told me that he hadn't realized till that moment that he couldn't fly between. It must have been a bitter discovery for him and it's greatly to his credit that he could respond so generously.»
«Yes, I see your point. It's a relief to have her here, too.» Lessa glanced toward the curtain and sighed. «You know, I could almost get to like fire lizards after today.»
«What brought about this change of heart?» F'lar stared at her in surprise.
«I didn't say I had. I said I could almost watching Brekke direct Grail and Berd to bring her things, and that little bronze of Robinton's. The creatures can get vicious when their friends are hurt but he just crouched there, watching Robinton's face and crooning till I thought he'd shake his bones loose. Not that I didn't feel much the same myself. When I think..» Lessa broke off, her face blotchy with tears.
«Don't think of it, dear heart.» F'lar squeezed her hand. «It didn't happen.»
«When Mnementh called me, I don't think I've ever moved so fast. I fell off the ledge onto Ramoth's back. Bad enough trying to get here before T'kul tried to kill you, but to find Robinton… If only you'd killed T'ron at Telgar Hold…»
«Lessa!» He gripped her fingers so tightly she winced. «T'ron's Fidranth was very much alive at Telgar Hold. I couldn't cause his death no matter what insult T'ron had given me. T'kul I could kill with pleasure. Though I admit, he nearly had me. Our Harper's not the only one who's Turning old.»
«So, thank goodness, are whoever's still left of the Oldtimers in Southern. And now, what are we to do with them?»
«I will go south and take charge of the Weyr,» D'ram said. He'd entered, quiet with weariness, while they were talking. «I am, after all, an Oldtimer…» He gave a deep sigh. «They will accept from me what they would not endure from you, F'lar.»
The Benden Weyrleader hesitated, appealing as this offer was. «I know you're willing, D'ram, but if it's going to overset you…»
D'ram raised his hand to cut off the rest of the sentence. «I'm fitter than I thought. Those quiet days in the cove worked a miracle. I will need help…»
«Any help we can give…»
«I'll take you at your word. I'll need some greens, preferably from R'mart at Telgar, or G'narish at Igen, for there are none to spare here at the moment. If they, too, are Oldtime, it will be easier for the Southerns. I'll need two younger bronzes, and enough blues and browns to make up two fighting wings.»
«The Southern dragonriders haven't fought Thread in Turns,» F'lar said with contempt.
«I know that. But it's time they did. That would give the dragons who remain purpose and strength. It would give their riders hope and occupation.» D'ram's face was stern. «I learned things from B'zon today that grieve me. I have been so blind…»
«The fault is not yours, D'ram. Mine was the decision to send them south.»
«I have honored that decision because it was the right one, F'lar. When… when Fanna died…"he got the words out in a rush, «I should have gone to the Southern Weyr. It would not have been disloyal to you if I had and it might have…»
«I doubt it,» Lessa said, angry that D'ram was blaming himself. «Once T'kul plotted to steal a queen egg…» and she gestured her condemnation of the man.
«If he had come to you…»
Lessa's harsh expression did not alter. «I doubt that T'kul would have come,» she said slowly. An expression of distaste crossed her mobile features and she made a sound of annoyance before she looked at D'ram again; this time her expression was rueful. «And I'd have probably sent him about his business. But you,» she pointed her finger at D'ram, «wouldn't have. And I imagine that F'lar would also have been more tolerant.» She grinned at her Weyrmate. «It wasn't in T'kul's nature to beg,» she went on more briskly. «Nor in mine to forgive! I will never forgive the Southerns for stealing Ramoth's egg! When I think they brought me to the point where I was willing to set dragon against dragon! That I can never forgive!»
D'ram drew himself up. «Do you disagree, Weyrwoman, with my decision to go south?»
«Great Shells, no!» She was astonished, and then shook her head. «No, D'ram, I think you're wise and kind, more generous than I could ever be. Why, that idiot T'kul might have killed F'lar today! No, you must go. You're quite right about their accepting you. I don't think I ever realized what might be happening in the South. I didn't want to!» she added in candid acknowledgment of her own shortcomings.
«Then I may invite additional riders to join me?» D'ram looked first at her and then at F'lar.
«Ask anyone you want from Benden, except F'nor. It wouldn't be fair to ask Brekke to return to Southern