Dragonquest

“I’m certain that Crom and Telgar Holds will appreciate your cooperation, Weyrleaders,” Robinton said. “Tell me, though, have you had any luck Impressing some fire lizards? Igen and Ista ought to be good hunting grounds.”

“Impressing? Fire lizards?” D’ram snorted with as much incredulity as Robinton had expressed earlier.

“That’d be a trick,” G’narish laughed. “Look, there’s Ramoth and Mnementh now.”

There was no mistaking the two beasts who were gliding to the fire heights. It was also unmistakable that the dragons already perched on the pi

“Now, that’s the first time – ” G’narish muttered under his breath and stopped, because a sudden lull in the conversation had swept through the assembly, punctuated by audible hushings and scrapings as people turned to the Gate.

Robinton watched, with fond pride, as Lessa and F’lar mounted the steps to their hosts. They were both wearing the soft green of new leaves and the Harper wanted to applaud. However, he restrained himself and, signaling to the dragonmen, began to thread his way toward the new arrivals. Another dragon, closely followed by a bronze, swept in at dangerously low altitude. Gold wingtips showed above the outer wall of the Court and the wind from her backstrokes flung up dust, dirt and the skirts of the ladies nearest the Gate. There was a spate of screams and angry protests from those discommoded which settled into an ominous murmur.

Robinton, his height giving him an advantage, noticed Lord Larad hesitate in the act of bowing to Lessa. He saw Lord Asgenar and the ladies staring intently beyond. Irritated that he was missing something. Robinton pushed urgently on.

He broke through to the corner of the stairs, took the first four in two big strides and halted.

Resplendent in red, her golden hair unbound like a maiden’s, Kylara approached the Hall entrance, her smile composed of pure malice, not pleasure. Her right hand rested on the arm of Lord Meron of Nabol Hold, whose red tunic was slightly too orange in cast to blend with hers. Such details Robinton remembered at another time. Now all he saw were the two fire lizards, wings slightly extended for balance; a gold one on Kylara’s left arm, a bronze on Meron’s. “Regular miniature dragons,” beautiful, evoking a feeling of envy and desire in the Harper. He swallowed hastily, firmly suppressing such unbecoming emotions.

The murmur grew as more people became aware of the newest arrivals.

“By the First Shell, they’ve got fire lizards!” Lord Corman of Keroon Hold bellowed. He stepped out of the crowd into the aisle that had been opened to the Hall entrance, and stalked forward to have a good look.

The golden lizard screamed at his approach, and the little bronze hissed in warning. There was an irritatingly smug smirk on Meron’s face.

“Did you know Meron had one?” D’ram demanded in a harsh whisper at the Harper’s elbow. Robinton raised a hand to still further questions.

“And here come Kylara of Southern and Lord Meron of Nabol Hold with living examples of this small token of our best wishes for the happy couple,” F’lar’s voice rang out.

Utter silence fell as he and Lessa presented felt-wrapped round bundles to Lord Asgenar and his bride, Lady Famira.

“They are just now hard,” F’lar said in a loud voice that carried over the murmurings, “and must be kept in heated sands to crack, of course. They come to you through the generosity of one Toric, a seaholder at Southern Weyr, from a clutch he discovered only hours ago. Weyrleader T’bor brought them to me.”

Robinton glanced back at Kylara. Her flushed face now matched Meron’s tunic while he looked ready to kill. Lessa, smiling graciously, turned to Kylara.

“F’lar told me he’d seen your little pet . . .”

“Pet nothing!” Kylara blazed with anger. “She ate Thread yesterday at High Reaches . . .”

What else she’d had to say was lost as her words, “ate Thread,” “ate Thread,” ricocheted back through the assembly. The raucous screams of the two lizards added cacophony and Kylara and Meron had all they could do to soothe their creatures. To Robinton it was plain that whatever effect Meron of Nabol had pla

Two minor Holders, from Nerat to judge by their devices, bore down on D’ram and G’narish.

“As you love your dragons, pretend you knew about the lizards,” Robinton said in an urgent undertone to the two. D’ram started to protest but the anxious Holders closed in with a barrage of eager questions on how to acquire a fire lizard just like Meron’s.

Recovering first, G’narish answered with more poise than Robinton thought he’d have. Pressing against the stone wall, the Harper inched his way up the stairs, to push in around the women clustered about Lord Asgenar, his lady Famira and F’lar.

“LORD HOLDERS, OF MAJOR AND MINOR DEGREE, PRESENT YOURSELVES FOR THE CONCLAVE, boomed out the Telgar Hold guard captain. A brass chorus of dragons echoed from the heights, satisfactorily stu

The Captain repeated his summons and abjured the crowd to make room.

Lord Asgenar handed Famira his egg, murmuring something in her ear and pointing into the Hall. He stepped aside, gesturing for Lessa and Famira to pass inside. As well they did for the Holders were now massing up the stairs. Robinton tried to signal F’lar but the dragonman was struggling toward Kylara, against the current. She was arguing heatedly with Meron who gave an angry shrug, left her and began shoving roughly into the Hall, past more polite Holders.

There was another exodus, Robinton noticed, of Craftmasters who congregated near the kitchen.

F’lar needs the Harper.

Robinton glanced around him, wondering who had spoken amazed that so soft a voice had reached him over the gabbling. He was alerted by a dissonant twang of strings and turning his head unerringly toward the sound, spotted Brudegan up on the sentry walk with Chad, from the look of him. Had the resident Harper of Telgar Hold found a way to over hear the Conclave?

As Robinton changed his direction for the tower steps, a dragonrider confronted him.

“F’lar wants you, Masterharper.”

Robinton hesitated, looking back to the two harpers who were urgently signaling him to hurry.

Lessa listens.

“Did you speak?” Robinton demanded of the rider.

“Yes, sir. F’lar wants you to join him. It’s important.”

The Harper looked toward the dragons and Mnementh dipped his head up and down. Robinton shook his, trying to cope with another of this day’s astonishing shocks. A piercing whistle reached him from above.

He pursed his lips and gave the “go-ahead” sequence, adding in its different tempo the tune for “report later.”

Brudegan strummed an “understand” chord with which Chad apparently disagreed. Marks for the journeyman, Robinton thought, and whistled the strident trill for “comply.” He wished the harpers had as flexible a code as the one he’d developed for the Smith – and where was he?

That was one man easily spotted in a crowd but, as Robinton followed the dragonrider, he didn’t see a Smithcrafter anywhere. Of course, the impact of the distance-writer would be anticlimactic to the introduction of the lizards. Robinton felt sorry for the Smith, quietly perfecting an ingenious means of communication only to have it overshadowed by Thread-eating miniature dragons. Creatures who could be Impressed by non-weyrfolk. The average Pernese would be far more struck by a draconic substitute than by any mechanical miracle.

The dragonrider had led him to the watchtower to the right of the Gate. When Robinton looked back over his left shoulder, Brudegan and Chad were no longer visible on the sentry walk.

The lower floor of the tower was a single large room, the stone stairs which rose to the right side of the sentry walk were on the far wall. Sleeping furs were piled in one corner in readiness for such guests as might have to be lodged there that night. Two slit windows, facing each other on the long sides of the room, gave little light. G’narish, the Igen Weyrleader, was unshielding the glow basket in the ceiling as the Harper entered. Kylara was standing right under it, glaring furiously at T’bor.