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N’ton’s words caused Jaxom to recall the inexplicable weakness that had overcome him in the Hatching Ground. Was it possible that at that very moment—
“I don’t think you can have realized, Jaxom,” Robinton began, interrupting Jaxom’s thoughts, “just how critical matters are in Pern right now. And you should know.”
“If you mean about the egg-stealing, Master Robinton, and how close it came to dragon attacking dragon, I was in Benden Weyr that morning . . .”
“Were you?” Robinton was mildly surprised and shook his head as if he ought not to have forgotten. “Then you can guess at Lessa’s temper today. If that egg hadn’t hatched properly . . .”
“But the egg was returned, Master Robinton.” Jaxom was confused. Why would Lessa still be upset?
“Yes,” the Harper replied, “apparently not everyone in Southern was blind to the consequences of the theft. But Lessa is not appeased.”
“An insult was given Benden Weyr, and Ramoth and Lessa,” N’ton said.
“Dragons can’t fight dragons!” Jaxom was appalled. “That’s why the egg was returned.” If his risk and Ruth’s injury had been futile . . .
“Our Lessa is a woman of strong emotions, Jaxom—revenge being one of those most highly developed in her. Remember how you came to be Lord here?” Robinton’s expression indicated regret for reminding Jaxom of his origin. “I do not belittle the Benden Weyrwoman when I say that. Such perseverance in the face of incredible odds is laudable. But her tenacity over the insult could have a disastrous effect on all Pern. So far, reason has prevailed but currently that balance is shaky indeed.”
Jaxom nodded, perceiving that he could never admit to his part, relieved that he had not blurted out his adventure to Lytol. No one must ever know that he, Jaxom, had returned the egg. Particularly Lessa. He sent a silent command to Ruth, who drowsily replied that he was too tired to talk to anyone about anything and couldn’t he please sleep?
“Yes,” Jaxom said in reply to Robinton, “I quite understand the need for discretion.”
“There is another event,” Robinton’s mobile face drew into a sorrowful grimace as he sought the proper word, “an event which will shortly compound our problems.” He glanced at N’ton. “D’ram.”
“I think you’re right, Robinton,” the bronze rider said. “He’s unlikely to remain Weyrleader if Fanna dies.”
“If? I’m afraid we must say when. And, according to what Master Oldive told me, the sooner it happens, the kinder it will be.”
“I didn’t know that Fanna was ill,” Jaxom said, and his thoughts leaped ahead to the sorrowful knowledge that Fanna’s queen, Mirath, would suicide when her Weyrwoman died. A queen’s death would upset every dragon—and Lessa and Ramoth!
Lytol’s expression was bleak, as it always was whenever he was reminded of his own dragon’s death. Jaxom swallowed the remainder of his pride and dismay about apprenticing as a weyrling; he would never risk injuring Ruth again.
“Fanna’s been declining gradually,” Robinton was saying, “a wasting sickness that nothing seems to halt. Master Oldive is at Ista with her now.”
“Yes, his fire-lizard will summon me when he’s ready to leave. I want to be available to D’ram,” N’ton said.
“Fire-lizards, yes, hmmm,” said Robinton. “Another sore subject at Benden Weyr.” He glanced at his bronze, perched contentedly on his shoulder. “I felt naked without Zair at that Hatching. Upon my word!” He stared at his somnolent bronze, then over to N’ton’s Tris, drowsy-eyed on the rider’s arm. “They’ve calmed down!”
“Ruth’s here,” N’ton said, stroking Tris. “They feel safe with him.”
“No, that isn’t it,” Menolly said, her eyes resting on Jaxom’s face. “They were worried even with Ruth. But that wild restlessness is gone. No more visions of the egg!” She peered sideways at her little queen. “I suppose that makes sense. It’s Hatched and healthy. Whatever was plaguing them hasn’t happened. Or,” she stared at Jaxom suddenly, “or has it?”
Jaxom affected surprise and confusion.
“They were worried about the egg Hatching, Menolly?” Robinton asked. “Too bad we can’t tell Lessa how concerned they’ve all been. It might help restore them to her good graces.”
“I think it’s high time something was done about fire-lizards,” Menolly said severely.
“My dear girl . . .” Robinton was surprised.
“I don’t mean ours, Master Robinton. They’ve proved to be extremely useful. Too many people take them for granted and make no effort to train them.” She gave a peculiar laugh. “As Jaxom can vouch. They congregate wherever Ruth goes till he’s driven between by their attentions. Isn’t that right, Jaxom?” There was a strange quality about her gaze that puzzled him.
“I wouldn’t say he objects . . . most of the time, Menolly,” he replied coolly, casually stretching his long legs under the table. “But a fellow likes a little time to himself, you know.”
Lytol gave a knowing snort which told Jaxom that Brand had had a word with the Warder about Corana.
“Why? To chew firestone?” N’ton asked, grinning.
“Was that what you were doing with your . . . time, Jaxom?” Menolly asked him, her eyes wide, affecting innocent inquiry.
“You might say so.”
“Do the fire-lizards really present you with problems?” Robinton asked, “in their preference for Ruth’s company?”
“Well, sir,” Jaxom replied, “no matter where we go, every fire-lizard in the vicinity pops in to see Ruth. Generally it’s no bother because they keep Ruth amused if I’m busy with Hold matters.”
“They wouldn’t by any chance have told Ruth why they’ve been troubled? Or did you know about those images?” Robinton leaned forward, eager to have Jaxom’s answer.
“You mean fire-lizards being flamed? The dark nothingness and the egg? Oh yes, they’ve been driving Ruth frantic with that nonsense,” said Jaxom. He scowled as if annoyed for his friend, and was careful not to look in Menolly’s direction. “But that seems to have passed. Perhaps the disturbance was connected with the stolen egg. But it’s Hatched now and look, they’re not the least bit as agitated as they’ve been, and they’re letting Ruth sleep by himself again.”
“Where were you when the egg was being Hatched?” Menolly pounced on Jaxom so swiftly with her question that Robinton and N’ton regarded her with surprise.
“Why,” and Jaxom laughed as he touched his scored cheek, “trying to sear Thread!”
His ready answer threw Menolly into quiet confusion while Robinton, Lytol and N’ton all had another go at him for his foolhardiness. He endured the scolding in good part because it kept Menolly from plaguing him. She’d been suspicious after all. He wished that he could tell her the truth. Of all the people on Pern, she was the only one he could trust now that he knew how infinitely wiser it was to let everyone else believe a Southern dragon-rider had returned the egg. He was discontented, though, because it would be a relief, a pleasure, to be able to tell someone what he’d done.
Food was served them and they kept the discussions to the problem of the fire-lizards—whether they were more nuisance than valuable—until Jaxom pointed out that everyone about the table was converted. What they needed was a way to pacify Lessa and Ramoth.
“Ramoth will forget her aggravation soon enough,” N’ton said.
“Lessa won’t, although I doubt there’ll be that much reason for me to send Zair to Benden Weyr.”
As N’ton and Lytol vigorously reassured the Harper, Jaxom realized there was a curious restraint about the man, an odd note in his voice when he mentioned Benden or the Weyrwoman. Robinton wasn’t worried simply that Lessa had prohibited fire-lizards at Benden.
“There’s another aspect of this affair that is nagging at the back of my overactive imagination,” Robinton said. “The matter has brought Southern to everyone’s attention.”
“Why is that a problem?” Lytol asked.
Robinton too
k a sip of his wine, delaying his answer as he savored the taste. “Just this: these recent events have made everyone realize that that huge continent is occupied by a mere handful of people.”
“So?”
“I know some restless Lord Holders whose halls are crowded, whose cots are jammed. And the Weyrs, instead of protecting the inviolability of the Southern Continent, were half-set to force their way in. What’s to prevent the Lord Holders from taking the initiative and claiming whole portions of it?”
“There wouldn’t be dragons enough to protect that much area, that’s what,” Lytol said. “The Oldtimers surely wouldn’t.”
“They don’t really need dragonriders in the South,” Robinton said slowly.
Lytol stared at him, aghast at such a statement.
“It’s true,” he said. “The land is thoroughly sowed by grubs. Traders have told me that they more or less ignore Falls; Holder Toric just makes certain everyone’s safe and all stock is under cover.”
“There will come a time when no dragonriders will be needed in the North either,” N’ton said slowly, compounding Lytol’s shock.
“Dragonriders will always be needed on Pern while there is Thread!” Lytol emphasized his conviction by banging the table with his fist.
“At least in our lifetimes,” Robinton said soothingly. “But I could have wished less interest in Southern. Think it over, Lytol.”
“More of your thinking ahead, Robinton?” Lytol asked, a sour note in his voice and a jaundiced expression on his face.
“Looking ahead is far more constructive than looking behind,” said Robinton. He held his clenched fist up. “I’d all the facts in my grasp and I couldn’t see the water for the waves.”
“You’ve been down to the Southern Continent often, Masterharper?”
Robinton gave Lytol a long considering look. “I have. Discreetly, I assure you. There are some things that must be seen to be believed.”
“Such as?”
Robinton idly stroked Zair as he gazed out, over Lytol’s head, at some distant view.
“Mind you, there are times when looking back can be helpful,” he said and then turned back to the Lord Warder. “Are you aware that we originally, all of us, came from the Southern Continent?”
Lytol’s first surprise at such a sudden turn of the conversation melded into a thoughtful frown. “Yes, that was implicit in the oldest Records.”
“I’ve often wondered if there aren’t older Records, moldering somewhere in the South.”
Lytol snorted at the notion. “Moldering is right. There’d be nothing left after so many thousands of Turns.”
“They had ways of tempering metal, those ancestors of ours, ways that made it impervious to rust and wear. Those plates found at Fort Weyr, the instruments, like the long-distance viewer that fascinates Wansor and Fandarel. I don’t believe that time can have erased all traces of such clever people.”
Jaxom glanced at Menolly, recalling hints that she’d let slip. Her eyes were sparkling with suppressed excitement. She knew something that the Harper wasn’t saying. Jaxom looked then at the Fort Weyrleader and realized that N’ton knew all about this.
“The Southern Continent was ceded to the dissident Oldtimers,” Lytol said heavily.
“And they have already broken their side of the agreement,” N’ton said.
“Is that any reason for us to break ours?” Lytol asked, drawing his shoulders back and scowling at both Weyrleader and Harper.
“They occupy only a small tongue of land, jutting out into the Southern Sea,” said Robinton in his smooth way. “They have been unaware of any activity elsewhere.”
“You’ve already been exploring in the South?”
“Judiciously. Judiciously.”
“And you’d not have your . . . judicious intrusions discovered?”
“No,” answered Robinton slowly. “I shall make the knowledge public soon enough. I don’t want every disgruntled apprentice and evicted small holder running about indiscriminately, destroying what should be preserved because they haven’t the wit to understand it.”
“What have you discovered so far?”
“Old mine workings, shored up with lightweight but so durable a material that it is as unscratched today as when it was put in place in the shaft. Tools, powered by who can guess—bits and pieces that not even young Benelek can assemble.”
There was a long silence which Lytol broke with a snort. “Harpers! Harpers are supposed to instruct the young.”
“And first and foremost, to preserve our heritage!”
CHAPTER VIII
Ruatha Hold, Fort Weyr, Fidello’s Hold,
15.6.3–15.6.17
JAXOM WAS DISAPPOINTED that all Lytol’s coaxing could not draw more facts from the Harper about his explorations in the South. At the point where Jaxom’s fatigue made it difficult for him to keep his eyes open, it occurred to him that Robinton had indeed succeeded in rousing Lytol to support his and N’ton’s desire to keep interest in the South to a minimum.
Jaxom’s last waking thought was one of admiration for the Harper’s devious methods. No wonder he had not objected to Jaxom training with N’ton when he saw Lytol was in favor of it. The Harper needed the older man as the Lord Holder at Ruatha. Training Ruth to chew firestone kept the young Lord from wanting to take Hold in Lytol’s place.
The next morning Jaxom was positive that he couldn’t have moved during the night. He was bindingly stiff, his face and shoulder stung with the Threadscore and that reminded him of Ruth’s injury. With no regard for his own discomfort, he whipped aside the furs and, grabbing the numbweed pot as he went, burst into Ruth’s weyr.
The faintest rumble told him that the white dragon was still sound asleep. He also seemed not to have moved for his leg was propped in the same position. That made it easier for Jaxom to work and he smeared a new coating of numbweed along the line of the score. Only then did it occur to Jaxom that he and Ruth might have to wait until they’d healed before they could join the weyrlings at Fort Weyr.
Lytol did not share his thought. The reason Jaxom was going to Fort Weyr was to avoid scoring, to learn how to take care of his dragon and himself during Threadfall. If he got teased because he hadn’t ducked fast enough, he deserved it. So, after breaking his fast, Jaxom flew Ruth to the Weyr.
Fortunately two of those in training were near his own age of eighteen Turns—not that being older would have bothered Jaxom as long as he could train Ruth properly. He did have to suppress the insidious urge to excuse Ruth’s scoring with the real reason for the supposed clumsiness. He took refuge in knowing that he had achieved more than they’d ever guess—a small consolation.
His first problem in the weyrling class was to relieve Ruth of the embarrassment of the endless fire-lizards that settled on him. No sooner was one group dislodged and sent off than another appeared, to the disgust and exasperation of K’nebel, the weyrlingmaster.
“Does this go on all day wherever you are?” the man asked Jaxom irritably.
“More or less. They just . . . come. Especially since . . . what happened at Benden Weyr.”
K’nebel snorted his aggravation even as he nodded his understanding. “I don’t like to put truth to these notions that dragons flamed fire-lizards, but you’ll never get Ruth going if the fire-lizards don’t leave him alone. And if they don’t leave him alone, one of ’em will get flamed!”
So Jaxom had Ruth shoo the fire-lizards away as quickly as they arrived. It took time before Ruth remained unencumbered for any appreciable period. Then, either all the fire-lizards in the vicinity had looked in, or Ruth had been sufficiently firm and the rest of the morning’s class was undisrupted.
Despite all the interruptions, K’nebel kept the weyrlings working until the noonday meal was called. Jaxom was invited to stay and, as a mark of his rank, was shown to the large table reserved for senior dragonriders.
The conversation was dominated by continued speculation about the return of the egg and
which one of the queen riders had returned it. The discussions served to reinforce Jaxom’s decision to remain silent. He cautioned Ruth, needlessly it appeared, since the white dragon was more interested in chewing firestone and dodging Thread than in past events.
The fire-lizards about him had lost all their previous agitation. Their primary concern now was eating, the secondary one was their hides. With the advent of the warmer weather, they had begun shedding and were plagued by itching. The images they projected to Ruth no longer had alarming content.
Since he was engaged at Fort Weyr in the mornings, Jaxom had to forego the classes at the Harper and Smith crafthalls. That meant he wouldn’t have to endure Menolly’s tendency to ask searching questions, and he was well pleased. He was also heartily amused when he realized that Lyton was leaving him several uncommitted hours in the afternoons. Obligingly he and Ruth took off for the Plateau Hold to see how the new wheat was prospering—of course.
Corana was about the Hold these days since her brother’s wife was near her time. When she showed a pretty concern for his healing score, he did not abuse her notion that he’d acquired it in a legitimate Fall, protecting the Hold from Thread. She rewarded him for that protection in a fashion that embarrassed him even as it relieved him. He’d as soon save his favors for honest endeavor. But he couldn’t be annoyed with her when, in the languor that followed their pleasure, she made several references to fire-lizards and asked if he’d ever had a chance to find a clutch when he was fighting Thread.
“Every beach in the North is well staked,” he told her and, noting her intense disappointment, added, “Of course, there are lots of empty beaches in the Southern Continent!”
“Could you fly in on your Ruth without those Oldtimers knowing?” Clearly Corana knew little of the most recent events, another relief to Jaxom, who was beginning to be bored by the Weyr’s preoccupation with that topic.
Fly in on Ruth made the whole thing seem simple enough; especially as Ruth would not upset strange fire-lizards since he had apparently made friends with them all.
