“I’d say he was establishing the proper relationship,” Asgenar remarked. “It would be easier and faster to carry the little beast, but not wiser. Even a dragon that small has dignity.”
Raid of Benden Hold grunted, whether in acknowledgment or disagreement Lessa couldn’t tell. He began to fidget, rubbing the back of his head with one hand, so she stopped her “pushing.”
The whir of dragon wings back-beating to land caught her attention. She turned and saw the gleam of a bronze hide in the darkness by the new entrance to the Rooms.
Lioth brings the Masterfarmer, Ramoth told her rider.
Lessa couldn’t imagine why Andemon would be required, nor why N’ton would be bringing him. The Masterfarmerhall had its own beast now. She started to rise.
“D’you realize the trouble you’ve caused, young man?” Raid was asking in a stiff voice.
Lessa swung round, torn between two curiosities. It wasn’t as if Jaxom were without champions in Asgenar and Larad. But she did wonder how the boy would answer Raid.
Jaxom stood straight, his chin up, his eyes bright. Ruth’s head was pressed to his thigh as if the dragonet were aware that they stood on trial.
“Yes, my good Lord Raid, I am fully aware of the consequences of my actions and there may now be a grave problem facing the other Lord Holders.” Without a hint of apology or contrition, Jaxom obliquely reminded Raid that, for all his lack of years, he was a Lord Holder, too.
Old Raid sat straighter, pulling his shoulders back, as if . . .
Lessa stepped past her chair.
“Don’t . . .”
The whisper was so soft that at first Lessa thought she was mistaken. Then she saw the Harper looking at her, his eyes as keen as if he were cold sober. And he, the dissembler, probably was, for all that act he’d pulled earlier.
“Fully aware, are you?” Raid echoed, and suddenly launched himself to his feet. The old Lord Holder had lost inches as he gained Turns, his shoulders now rounding slightly, his belly no longer flat and his legs stringy in the tight hide of his trousers. He looked a caricature confronting the slim proud boy. “D’you know you’ve got to stay at Benden Weyr now you’ve Impressed a dragon? D’you realize that Ruatha’s lordless?”
“With all due respect, sir, you and the other Lords present do not constitute a Conclave since you are not two-thirds of the resident Holders of Pern,” replied Jaxom. “If necessary, I should be glad to come before a duly constituted Conclave and plead my case. It’s obvious, I think, that Ruth is not a proper dragon. I am given to understand that his chances of maturing are slight. Therefore he is of no use to the Weyr which has no space for the useless. Even old dragons no longer able to chew firestone are retired to Southern Weyr or were.” His slight slip disconcerted Jaxom only until he saw Asgenar’s approving grin. “It’s wiser to consider Ruth more of an overgrown fire lizard than an undersized dragon.” Jaxom smiled with loving apology down at Ruth and caressed the upturned head. It was an action so adult, so beautiful that Lessa felt her throat tightening. “My first obligation is to my Blood, to the Hold which cared for me. Ruth and I would be an embarrassment here in Benden Weyr. We can help Ruatha Hold just as the other fire lizards do.”
“Well said, young Lord of Ruatha, well said,” cried Asgenar of Lemos, and his applause started his lizard shrieking.
Larad of Telgar Hold nodded solemnly in accord.
“Humph. Shade too flip an answer for me,” Raid grumbled. “All you youngsters act before you think these days.”
“I’m certainly guilty of that, Lord Raid,” Jaxom said candidly. “But I had to act fast today – to save the life of a dragon. We’re taught to honor Dragonkind, I more than most.” Jaxom gestured toward Lytol. His hand remained poised and a look of profound sorrow came over his face.
Whether Jaxom’s voice had roused him or the position of his head was too uncomfortable was debatable, but the Lord Warder of Ruatha Hold was no longer asleep. He rose gripping the table, then pushing himself away from its support. With slow steps, as if he were forced to concentrate on each movement, Lytol walked the length of the table until he reached his ward. Lytol placed an arm lightly across Jaxom’s shoulders. As though he drew strength from that contact, he straightened and turned to Raid of Benden Hold. His expression was proud and his manner more haughty than Lord Groghe at his worst.
“Lord Jaxom of Ruatha Hold is not to blame for today’s events. As his guardian, I am responsible – if it is an offense to save a life. If I chose to stress reverence for Dragonkind in his education, I had good reason!”
Lord Raid looked uneasily away from Lytol’s direct gaze.
“If,” and Lytol stressed the word as though he felt the possibility was remote, “the Lords decide to act in Conclave I shall strongly urge that no man fault Lord Jaxom’s conduct today. He acted in honor and at the promptings of his training. He best serves Pern, however, by returning to his Hold. At Ruatha, young Ruth will be cared for and honored – for as long as he is with us.”
There was no doubt that Larad and Asgenar were of Lytol’s mind. Old Sifer sat pulling at his lip, unwilling to look toward Raid.
“I still think dragonfolk belong in Weyrs!” Raid muttered, glum and resentful.
That problem apparently settled, Lessa turned to leave and nearly fell into F’nor’s arms.
He steadied her. “A weyr is where a dragon is,” he said in a low voice rippling with amusement. The strain of the past week still showed in his face but his eyes were clear and his lips no longer thin with tension. Brekke’s resolution was evidently all in his favor.
“She’s asleep,” he said. “I told you she wouldn’t Impress.”
Lessa made an impatient gesture. “At least the experience snapped her out of that shock.”
“Yes,” and there was a wealth of relief in the man’s soft affirmative.
“So, you’d better come with me to the Rooms. I want to find out why Masterfarmer Andemon has just flown in. And it’s about time you got back to work!”
F’nor chuckled. “It is, if someone else has been doing my work. Did anyone bring F’lar his Threads?” There was a note in his voice that told Lessa he was concerned.
"N’ton did!”
“I thought he was riding Wing-second to F’lar at Fort Weyr!”
“As you remarked the other morning, whenever you’re not here to keep him under control, F’lar rearranges matters.” She saw his stricken look and caught his arm, smiling up at him reassuringly; he wasn’t up to teasing yet. “No one could take your place with F’lar – or me. Canth and Brekke needed you more for a while.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “But that doesn’t mean things haven’t been happening and you’d better catch up. N’ton’s been included in our affairs because F’lar had a sudden glimpse of his mortality when he was sick and decided to stop being secretive. Or it might be another four hundred Turns or so before we control Thread.”
She gathered her skirt so she could move more rapidly over the sandy floor.
“Can I come, too?” asked the Harper.
“You? Sober enough to walk that far?”
Robinton chuckled, smoothing his rumpled hair back into place at his neck. “Lytol couldn’t drink me drunk, my dear Lady Lessa. Only the Smith has the – ah – capacity.”
There was no doubt that he was steady on his feet as the three walked toward the glow-marked entrance to the Rooms. The stars were brilliant in the soft black spring sky, and the glows on the lower levels threw bright circles of light on the sands. Above, on weyr ledges, dragons watched with gleaming opalescent eyes, occasionally humming with pleasure. High up, Lessa saw three dragon silhouettes by the Star Stones: Ramoth and Mnementh were perched to the right of the watch-dragon, their wings overlapping. They were both smug tonight; she’d heard Ramoth’s tenor often that evening. It was such a relief to have her in an agreeable mood for a while. Lessa rather hoped there’d be a long interval before the queen felt the urge to mate again.