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.
F'lon let out an inarticulate cry of rage and rushed the captain.
'I'll see he regrets that, Rob!'
'Harpers, dragonwomen, much the same cowardly clutch.'
'Keep your head,' Robinton called to F'lon. He was too alarmed to feel pain and was grateful when someone wrapped a kerchief around the bleeding wound.
Simanith continued to bugle, and the other dragons picked up the challenge at the top of their lungs. If this didn't bring the other riders to help, surely the calls would alert the Lord Holder and he would be able to stop the fight before more blood was shed.
Perhaps that was why the captain surged forward, determined to finish before he could be interrupted. He was fast, he was clever with the blade, and he was determined. F'lon was equally quick on his feet, but he was livid with anger at the attack on the MasterHarper.
The captain drew first blood, slicing F'lon across the midriff through the loose shirt, causing a hiss of surprise and pain to escape F'lon's lips. At that F'lon lost all caution, rushing in to grapple his opponent's knife hand, trying to sink his blade in wherever he could. But the captain was stronger and far cooler.
F'lon was accustomed to fair fighting and opponents who would not risk the life of a dragonrider. The captain had no such inhibitions, and displayed a knowledge of tricks which had probably brought him victory in other brawls. He was also heavier and, letting fly a kick which had the crowd gasping out 'foul play', he unbalanced F'lon and flung him breathless to the dirt. Diving on the prone dragonrider, he brought his knife up under F'lon's guard and into his ribs.
F'lon gave one massive jerk and died.
Simanith let out a hideous shriek of anguish and pain, launching between before the last breath of life left his rider. Robinton was rocked to his soul by that sound and the death of his friend.
An awful silence fell over the Gather. Even those far from the scene and ignorant of what had just happened were stunned by the dragon's cry and his disappearance. Then the keening of the other dragons informed the entire Gather that a dragonrider had died.
'Seize him,' Robinton said, pointing to the captain before he, too, could slip away as Kepiru had done.
He knelt by F'lon, whose amber eyes were wide open in surprise, their light already fading. Robinton closed them and bowed his head, reeling emotionally and physically from the hideous end to a stupid, senseless encounter.
'I would have apologized,' a small, scared voice said beside him.
Robinton lifted his head and put his hand on Larad's shoulder.
'No, Larad, you were not at fault.'
'But he's dead,' Larad said, his voice breaking. 'A dragonrider's dead!'
'What this? What... Shards!' Lord Tarathel broke through the crowd and stumbled into the dusty circle. Larad ran to his father, burying his head against him and weeping.
'It was no accident, Lord Tarathel,' Robinton said quietly and for the Holder's ears only. 'No accident.'
The captain was struggling with those who were quite glad to hold him, and less than gently. If no one had wanted to interfere in a dagger duel, no one had wanted the death of a dragonrider – nor the ear-splitting sounds of the grieving dragons.
R'gul and S'lel, with C'gan right behind them, arrived, their faces anguished. Seeing F'lon's lifeless body, R'gul's face became a study in conflicting emotions, none of which did the dragonrider any credit in Robinton's eyes. S'lel was at least honestly distressed, while unashamed tears streaked down C'gan's homely face as he knelt, hands hovering hopelessly over his wingleader's body.
'I've warned him often enough,' R'gul murmured, shaking his head. 'He would never listen.'
Disgusted, Robinton turned away, and it was then that Tarathel noticed his bloody arm.
'For that alone, that man goes to the islands,' Tarathel said, his voice taut with anger. 'Surely he saw your Master's knots?'
'And disregarded them as easily as he ignored F'lon's rank,' Robinton said, scanning the faces in the crowd. Fax should be arriving to view the result of his scheme – and that could be a second disaster. The law stated unequivocally that any man who deliberately killed a dragonrider was to be transported to one of the islands in the Eastern Sea. No trial was required if there were witnesses ... which there were. 'R'gul, convey this man to the islands. Is that not correct, Lord Tarathel?'
'Yes, it most certainly is,' Tarathel agreed. He had just listened to his son's account of what had happened. 'Bronze rider, do you your duty.'
'But there's been no trial,' R'gul protested.
'By the First Egg, R'gul,' C'gan said, horrified at the hesitation.
'I'll take him myself.' He stepped forward to grab the captain by the arm.
'Release my captain!' cried Fax, shoving a rough path through the crowd. He caught the captain by the arm and started to pull him away from C'gan, glaring menacingly at the shorter blue rider.
C'gan had his knife drawn and, though he was much lighter than his would-be captive, his outrage provided him with greater strength: he did not relinquish his grip on the murderer.
'Your captain has just killed the Weyrleader,' Tarathel said, every bit as resolute as C'gan.
'Who no doubt deserved what he got,' Fax said, grinning and showing his teeth, and glancing about the crowd to gauge reactions.
