D'ram nodded.
«I think the other Weyrleaders will help. This matter touches the honor of all dragonriders. And…» F'lar broke off, clearing his throat, «and we do not want the Lord Holders precipitously taking charge in the South on the grounds that we cannot maintain order in the Weyrs.»
«They'd never…» D'ram began, frowning with indignation.
«They well might. For other very valid reasons to their ways of thinking,» F'lar replied. «I know,» he paused to emphasize that surety, «that the Southerns under T'kul and T'ron would never permit the Lord Holders to extend their holdings one dragonlength. Toric's settlement has been steadily growing over the past Turns, a few people now and then, craftsmen, the dissatisfied, a few young holder sons without hope of land in the North. All very quietly, so as not to alarm the Oldtimers.» F'lar rose, restlessly pacing. «This isn't common knowledge…»
«I knew that there were traders north and south,» said D'ram.
«Yes, part of the problem. Traders talk, and word has passed back that there's a lot of land south. Granted some of this may be exaggeration but I've reason to believe that the Southern Continent is probably as large as this one and one protected against Thread by thorough grubbing.» He paused again, rubbing forefinger and thumb down the lines from nose to chin, scratching absently under his jaw. «This time, D'ram, the dragonriders will have first choice of land. In the next Interval, I do not intend that any dragonrider will be beholden to the generosity of Hold and Craft. We will have our own places, without prejudice. I, for one, will never beg wine or bread or meat from anyone!»
D'ram had listened, at first with surprise and then with a gleam of delight in his tired eyes. He straightened his shoulders and with a curt nod of his head, looked the Benden Weyrleader straight in the eye.
«You may rely on me, F'lar, to secure the South for that purpose. A grand purpose! By the First Shell, that's a superb notion. That lovely land, soon dragonrider land!»
F'lar gripped D'ram's arm, affirming the trust. Then his face broke into a sly smile. «If you hadn't volunteered to go South yourself, D'ram, I was going to suggest it to you! You're the only man to handle the situation. And I don't envy you!»
D'ram chuckled at the Benden Weyrleader's admission and returned the arm grip firmly. Then his expression cleared.
«I have grieved for my weyrmate as is proper. But I still live. I liked being in that cove, but it wasn't enough. I was relieved when you came after me, and kept me busy, F'lar. It doesn't answer to give up the only life I've known. I couldn't. Dragonmen must fly/When Threads are in the sky I» He sighed once more, inclined his head respectfully to Lessa and then, turning smartly on his heel, strode from the weyr, his step firm, his stance proud.
«D'you think he can manage it, F'lar?»
«He's more likely to pull it off than anyone… except possibly F'nor. But I can't ask that of him. Or of Brekke!»
«I should think not!» She spoke sharply and, with a little cry as if regretting her asperity, she ran to embrace him. He put his arms about her, absently stroking her hair.
There are too many deep lines in his face, now, thought Lessa, lines that she hadn't noticed before. His eyes were sad, his lips thin with worry as he gazed after D'ram. But the muscles in his arm were as strong as ever, and his body lean and hard with the active life he led. He'd been fit enough to preserve his skin against a madman. There'd only been one time when weakness had frightened F'lar just after that knife fight at Telgar, when his wound had been slow to heal and he'd been sick with fever from foolishly going between. He'd learned a lesson then and had started delegating some of the strain of leadership to F'nor and T'gellan in Benden, to N'ton and R'mart in Pern, and to Lessa herself! Keenly sensible of her deep need of him, Lessa embraced F'lar fiercely.
He smiled down at her sudden demonstration, the tired lines smoothed away.
«I'm with you, dear heart, don't worry!» He kissed her soundly enough to leave her no room for doubt of his vitality.
The sound of boot heels thudding rapidly down the short corridor interrupted them and they moved apart. Sebell, face flushed from running, charged into the room, checking his pace when Lessa signaled him urgently to be quieter.
«He's all right?»
«He's asleep now, but see for yourself, Sebell,» Lessa replied and gestured toward the curtained sleeping chamber.
Sebell rocked on his heels, wanting to reassure himself with a glimpse of his Master and anxious with fear he might disturb him.
«Go on, man.» F'lar waved him forward. «Just be quiet.»
Two fire lizards winged into the room, squeaked when they saw Lessa and disappeared.
«I didn't know you had two queens.»
«I don't,» Sebell said, glancing over his shoulder to see where they'd gone. «The other one's Menolly's. She wasn't allowed to come!» His grimace told both Weyrleaders how Menolly had reacted to that restriction.
«Oh, tell them to come back. I don't eat fire lizards!» Lessa said, curbing her irritation. She didn't know which annoyed her more, the fire lizards themselves, or the way people cringed about her when the subject came up. «And that little bronze of Robinton's showed a commendable amount of common sense today. So tell Menolly's queen to come back. If the fire lizard sees, she'll believe!»
Smiling with intense relief, Sebell held up his arm. Two queens popped in, eyes huge and whirling madly in their perturbation. One of them, Lessa didn't know whose, since they all looked alike to her, chirped as if in thanks. Then Sebell, careful not to disrupt their balance and set them squeaking, walked with exaggerated care toward the sick man's quarters.
«Sebell takes over the Harper Hall?» Lessa asked.
«Well able for it, too.»
«If only the dear man had had the sense to delegate more to Sebell before this…»
«It's partly my fault, Lessa. Benden has asked much of the Harper Hall.» F'lar poured himself a cup of wine, looking at Lessa to see if she wanted some as well, and poured another when she nodded. They made an unspoken toast. «Benden wine!»
«The wine that kept him alive!»
«Miss a cup of wine? Not Robinton!» She drank quickly to ease the pressure in her throat.
«And he'll drink many more skins limp,» the quiet voice of Master Oldive said. He glided to the table, a curious figure with arms and legs apparently too long for his torso until his back was visible, with its hump. His handsome face was serene as he poured himself a cup of wine, regarding the rich crimson color a moment before he raised it, as Lessa had, and drank it down. «As you said, this helped keep him alive. It's seldom that a man's vice sustained life in his body!»
«Master Robinton will be all right?»
«Yes, with care and rest. He has rallied well. His pulse and heart are beating evenly again, if slowly. He cannot be fretted by any worries. I warned him repeatedly to reduce his activities. Not that I thought he'd listen! Sebell, Silvina and Menolly have done all they could to assist, but then Menolly took ill… There is so much to be done for his Hall and for Pern!» Oldive smiled, his long face lighting gently as he took Lessa's hand and put it in F'lar's. «You can do no more here, Weyrleaders. Sebell will wait to reassure Robinton when he rouses that all is well in his Hall. Brekke and I, and the good people of this Weyr, will nurse the Master Harper. You two need rest as well. Go back to your Weyr. This day has taken its toll of many. Go!» He gave them a shove toward the passage. «Go along now!» He spoke as to recalcitrant children, but Lessa was weary enough to obey and concerned enough to override the objections she saw rising in F'lar's eyes.
We do not leave the Harper alone, Ramoth said as F'lar helped Lessa mount her queen. We are with him.
All of us are with him, Mnementh said, his eyes slowly turning in quiet reassurance.