Hold and Hall. When he could, he drummed to Benden Weyr and asked for F'lon's assistance – and listened to the dragonrider talking about his son, Fallamon, who was being fostered by Manora, the dignified weyr girl Robinton had noticed when S'loner and Maidir died. It was no surprise to Robinton to learn that, three Turns after Fallarnon's birth, she gave F'lon a second son: Famanoran.
F'lon had two worries. The first, and more important, was that the lazy Nemorth would never get off her couch in the queen's weyr for another mating flight so that he could become Weyrleader in place of the four-man leadership of C'vrel, C'rob, M'ridin and M'odon. The second was that no one would take him seriously about the threat posed by the 'upstart Lord Holder Fax'.
Jora seemed to favour C'vrel, which further infuriated F'lon.
'Ever since S'loner took Lord Maidir between, C'vrel's been afraid to 'annoy' the Lord Holders. I can understand him treading quietly around Raid – and there's another hide-bound idiot ...' He glared at Robinton when the harper made a mild protest. 'Well, he is. Does everything the way his father did ... only Maidir was not only far more tolerant but also fairer-minded. He does send a scrupulous tithe to the Weyr, for which we are all grateful.' F'lon grimaced. 'I hate being beholden to the man!'
'It is his duty,' Robinton said mildly.
F'lon scowled. 'Well, we'll teach him his duty when I've flown Nemorth.' Now his grimace was darker. 'I dread it, I do, Rob. Jora's a fat slug. We oversee what Nemorth eats so she'll be able to climb to a decent height for her flight... but she has to be bullied into the air. Jora!' He raised his hands skyward in disgust and frustration.
'Imagine having a Weyrwoman who's afraid of heights!'
'I've often wondered how that happened,' Robinton murmured.
F'lon snorted. 'My father fancied her over the other candidates. There were only four, so low has the Weyr sunk in the estimation of the people of Pern it is pledged to protect.'
That made Robinton sit up. 'The Red Star's returning ...'
'No.' F'lon pushed that notion away with one hand. 'Not yet. For which I am grateful. Not for another three decades, by my reckoning.'
'You'll be an old rider by then.'
'I'll have two sons to take over for me, should I happen to fail...' F'lon showed his white teeth in a challenging grin. Then his expression turned grim again. 'They'll know what the Weyr stands for. They'll know – from me-' he declared, prodding his chest, 'what dragonriders are meant to do.'
'What's the latest on Fax?' Robinton would never dignify the man with his assumed title. As it was, there never had been a Council of Lord Holders, CraftMasters and the Weyr to confirm his holding at High Reaches, usurping Bargen, if the young Lord Holder still lived.
'Oh, he's busy.' F'lon's grin turned wickedly malicious. 'Still can't get any male issue, and he's ploughing any pretty girl he can find. Isn't safe to be female in High Reaches any longer. And his duelling? Ha!' He raised both hands again. 'He's got a grand way to rid himself of any who'd oppose him. He insults a man to the point of a fight... and he always wins. Then he puts those oafs and dimwits of his in any prosperous hold... and continues to encroach whenever he can.'
'I'd heard.'
Robinton had spied Gennell's invisible minion from time to time in his travels and patently ignored him. They had met, more formally, in Master Gennell's office on two occasions.
'Call me Nip, if my lack of name offends you,' the runner had said with an amused grin. 'I nip in and out, you see!'
Master Gennell had smiled at their confrontation. 'And you're never to see him, Rob.'
'I know,' the young MasterHarper had replied.
But he also heard reports of Nip's forays.
'What had you heard, Rob?' F'lon asked.
'I know he's nibbling away on the borders of Crom and Nabol.
He daren't try his tricks in Tillek or Telgar. Both Melongel and Tarathel have mounted border guards with hill beacons to spread an alarm.'
'Good, good,' F'lon said, nodding approval. 'But tell me when the rest of our languid Lords are going to take action against him.
They will have to, you know.'
Robinton had had arguments with both Lord Grogellan of Fort and Lord Ashmichel of Ruatha. Groghe, fortunately, was more concerned than his father was. The Ruathan heir, Kale, had not been present when Robinton had sounded out Ashmichel. That Lord Holder had discounted Robinton's apprehensions, which worried him still more, since Ruatha not only bordered Nabol but was one of the most prosperous Holds, due to the fine runner- beasts it bred.
They would be a fine prize for Fax when he turned his covetous eyes to the grasslands of Telgar and Keroon. 'It's foreign to the nature of Lord Holders to distrust one of their number,' Robinton said flatly.
'And to ignore what they don't wish to admit.'
'True. I'm doing my best to worry them.'
'Did you know that he's espoused a Ruathan Blood?'
'No, I didn't.' Robinton leaned forward intently. 'Who?'
'Gemma.' And when Robinton frowned, unable to place her, F'lon identified her: 'She may be only a third cousin, but she's got Ruathan Blood if Fax wanted to use that as a pretext to Hold there. A come-down from being nephew or espousing a daughter.'
'How many has he espoused now?' Robinton demanded, having heard of far too large a number for any sane man to contend with.
'As many as he now has holdings, I suspect,' F'lon said, and added with a lascivious leer, 'The man's insatiable, and not just for land.'
'Surely there's a limit ...'
'Let us hope so,' agreed F'lon.
The Turn after the birth of Famanoran, Nemorth rose in a mating flight and it was Simanith who flew her. F'lon became Weyrleader at last. M'odon, the oldest of his riders, died quietly in his sleep.
This, too, was a bitter winter. Twenty-four dragonriders fell ill of a fever, and the Weyr echoed with the sounds of keening dragons.
Nemorth produced nineteen dragons in her second clutch – not enough to make up the losses.
The dissatisfaction with the Harper Hall was insidiously spreading.
There had been several cases of harpers being waylaid on their routes and beaten. The worst incident occurred in Crom where the young tenor, Evenek, had been specifically employed by the Lord Holder, Lesselden, to entertain. Evenek had had to audition for Lesselden and his Lady, Relna, who wished to have someone who could instruct instrumentalists to accompany her and to help put on the little evening plays she was fond of writing. Evenek sent back a runner message that he had accepted the position since Lady Relna had a good voice, was pleasant enough and he felt confident he could satisfy her requirement to train players. He added that he felt he would stick to the music and the musical training, since Lord Lesselden had made it quite clear that the contract did not require him to teach the 'usual harper nonsense'. Master Gennell had mentioned some concern for Evenek, but he and the other Masters agreed that the tenor would be clever enough to manage -especially since the terms of the contract had been so specific.
The runner – not Nip this time – came directly to Master Gennell, not even stopping at the Fort Runner Station as the messengers usually did. Immediately, Master Gennell called Robinton.
'Evenek's been severely beaten and thrown out of the Hold. In fact, if a runner hadn't found him he'd probably be dead by now. Go get a healer, and pick five of the biggest, strongest apprentices to go with you. The runners got him over the Crom border into Nabol to Station 193. D'you know its location?'
Robinton did, since he had often studied the disposition of Runner Stations. He gathered up the group, including the sturdiest healer out of the journeymen presently in the Healer Hall, and mounted them on the best of the runner-beasts available. They made it to the Station, riding hard and changing mounts at Ruatha.
Evenek had been very kindly attended by the Station Master, who had brought in the nearest healer he could reach.
'I've done what I can.' Germathen, the healer, shook his head clearly distressed by the incident. 'They broke
