«What?» Lessa exploded, but F'lar touched her shoulder.
«I'd wondered about that, Toric.»
«How dare they?» Lessa continued, her gray eyes flashing. Ramoth stirred on her couch.
«They dare, all right,» Toric said, looking nervously at the queen.
However, Robinton could see that Lessa's appalled reaction to the Oldtimers' delinquency gratified the man.
«But… but…» Lessa spluttered with indignation.
«Are you able to manage, Toric?» F'lar asked, calming his weyrmate with a firm hand.
«I've learned,» he said. «We've plenty of flamethrowers, F'nor made sure they were left in my care. We maintain our holds grass free and keep the beasts in the stone stables during Fall.» He gave a diffident shrug, then grinned slightly at the indignant expression of the Weyrwoman. «They don't do us any harm, Lessa, even if they don't do us any good. Don't worry. We can handle them.»
«That isn't the point,» Lessa said angrily. «They are dragonmen, sworn to protect «
«You sent them south because they weren't,» Toric reminded her. «So they couldn't injure people here.»
«That still doesn't give them any right to «
«I told you, Lessa, they're not harming us. We manage fine without them!»
A sort of challenge in Toric's tone made Robinton hold his breath. Lessa had a quick temper.
«Is there anything you need from the North?» asked F'lar, in oblique apology.
«I was hoping you'd ask,» the Southerner said, grinning. «I know you can't break your honor by interfering with the Oldtimers in the South. Not that I mind…» he added quickly as he saw Lessa about to protest again. «But we are running out of some things, like properly forged metal for my Craftsmith, and parts for the flamethrowers that he says only Fandarel can make.»
«I'll see that you get them.»
«And I'd like a young sister of mine, Sharra, to study with that healer the Harper was telling me about, a Master Oldive. We've some odd sorts of fevers and curious infections.»
«Naturally she's welcome,» Lessa said quickly. «And our Manora is adept in herb brews.»
«And…» Toric hesitated a moment, glancing at Robinton, who quickly reassured him with a smile and an encouraging gesture, «if there were some adventurous men and women who'd be willing to make do at my Hold, I think I could absorb them without the Oldtimers' knowing. Just a few, mind, because though we've all the space in the world, some people become unsettled when there aren't dragons in the sky during Threadfall!»
«Why, yes,» F'lar said with a nonchalance that caused Robinton to stifle a laugh, «I believe there are a few hardy souls who would be interested in joining you.»
«Good. If I've enough to Hold properly, then I can see my way clear to extending beyond the rivers next cool season.» Toric's relief was visible.
«I thought you said it was impossible…» F'lar began.
«Not impossible. Just difficult,» Toric replied, adding with a smile, «I've some men keen to continue despite the odds, and I'd like to know what's out there.»
«So would we,» Lessa said. «The Oldtimers won't last forever.»
«That fact often consoles me,» Toric replied. «One thing, though…» He paused, looking through narrowed eyes at the two Benden Weyrleaders.
So far, Toric's audacity had delighted Robinton. The Harper was very pleased at how he'd managed to prime the man into requesting the very thing that the North needed the most a place to send the independent and capable men who had no chance of attaining holds in the North. The big Southerner's manner was quite a change for the Benden Weyrleaders: neither subservient and apologetic nor aggressive and demanding. Toric had become independent as a result of having no one, dragonmen, Craftmasters or Lord Holders, to fall back on. Because he had survived, he was self confident and he knew what he wanted, and how to get it. Therefore he was addressing Lessa and F'lar as equals.
«One small matter,» he continued, «which I'd like clarified?»
«Yes?» F'lar prompted him.
«What happens to Southern, to my holders, to me, when the last of those Oldtimers is gone?»
«I'd say that you will have more than earned the right to Hold,» F'lar said slowly, with an unmistakable accent on the final word, «what you have managed to carve out of that jungle for yourself!»
«Good!» Toric gave a decisive nod of his head, his eyes never leaving F'lar's. Then, suddenly, his tanned face dissolved into a smile. «I'd forgotten what you Northerners can be like. Send me some more «
«Will they hold what they have carved?» Robinton asked quickly.
«What they hold, they have,» Toric replied in a grave manner. «But don't flood me with people. I've got to sneak them in when the Oldtimers aren't looking.»
«How many can you sneak in… comfortably?» asked F'lar.
«Oh, six, eight, the first time. Then when we've got holds, the same again.» He grinned. «The first ones build for themselves before the new ones come. But there's lots of room in the South.»
«That's comforting because I've plans for the South myself,» said F'lar. «That reminds me, Robinton, how far to the east did you and Menolly go?»
«I wish I could answer you. I know where we got to, when the storm finally blew out. The most beautiful place I've ever seen, a perfect semicircle of a white sanded beach, with this huge cone shaped mountain far, far in the distance, right in the center of the cove…»
«But you came back along the shore, didn't you?» F'lar was impatient. «What was it like?»
«It was there,» Robinton said uninformatively. «That's all I can say…» He glared at Toric, who was chuckling at his discomfiture. «We had a choice Of sailing very close to land which Menolly said was impossible as we didn't know the bottom, or with sufficient searoom to keep beyond the Western Current which would evidently have brought us right back to the cove. It is, as I've said, a very beautiful spot, but I was glad to leave it for a while. Consequently, while land was there, it was not close enough for any inspection by me.»
«That's too bad.» F'lar looked very unhappy.
«Yes and no,» replied Robinton. «It took us nine days to sail back along that coast. That's a lot of land for Toric to explore.»
«I'm willing, and I'll be ready if I get the supplies I need…»
«How do we get shipments to you, Toric?» F'lar asked. «Don't dare send them on dragonback, though that would be easiest and best from my point of view.»
Robinton chuckled and gave a broad wink to the others. «As to that, if another ship should by chance be blown off course, south from Ista Hold… I had a word or two with Master Idarolan recently and he mentioned how bad the storms have been this Turn.»
«Is that how you chanced to be South in the first place?» asked Lessa.
«How else?» Robinton said, assuming a very innocent expression. «Menolly was attempting to teach me to sail, a storm came up unexpectedly and blew us straight into Toric's harbor. Didn't it, Toric?»
«If you say so. Harper!»
CHAPTER III
Morning at Ruatha Hold, and Smithcrafthall at Telgar Hold, Present Pass, 15'. 5.9
WITH A FORCE that set all the cups and plates bouncing, Jaxom brought down both fists on the heavy wooden table.
«That is enough,» he said into the stunned silence. He was on his feet, jerking his broad, bony shoulders back because his arms had been jarred by the blows. «That is quite enough!»
He didn't shout, he was oddly pleased to recall later, but his voice was deepened by this explosion of long suppressed anger and carried clearly to the edge of the Hall. The drudge who was bringing in another pitcher of hot klah paused in confusion.
«I am the Lord of this Hold,» Jaxom went on, staring first at Dorse, his milk brother. «I am Ruth's rider. He is unmistakably a dragon.» Jaxom now bent his gaze on Brand, the head steward whose jaw had dropped in surprise. «He is, as usual,» and Jaxom's glance flickered across Lytol's blankly puzzled face, «in the
very good health he has enjoyed since his Hatching.» Jaxom passed over the four fosterlings who were all too new at Ruatha Hold to have started jibing at him. «And yes,» he said directly to Deelan, his milk mother whose lower lip was quivering at her nursling's startling behavior, «this is the day when I go to the Smithcrafthall where, as you all well know, I shall be served with the food and courtesy adequate to my needs and station. Therefore,» and his glance swept the faces around the table, «the subjects of this morning's conversation do not need to be aired again in my presence. Have I made myself clear?»
He didn't wait for an answer but strode purposefully from the Hall, elated at having finally said something and half guilty because he had lost control of his temper. He heard Lytol call his name but for once that summons did not exact obedience.
This time it would not be Jaxom, however young a Lord or Ruatha Hold he still was, who apologized for his behavior. The enormous backlog of similar incidents, manfully swallowed or overlooked for any number of logical reasons, swept aside every consideration except to put as much distance between himself and his invidious position, his too reasonable and conscientious guardian and the obnoxious group of people who mistook daily intimacy for license.
Ruth, picking up his rider's distress, came charging out of the old stable which made his weyr at Ruatha Hold. The white dragon's fragile seeming wings were half spread as he rushed to give whatever aid his mate needed. With a breath that was half a sob, Jaxom vaulted to Ruth's back and urged him up out of the courtyard just as Lytol appeared at the massive Hold doors. Jaxom averted his face so that later he'd be able to say truthfully that he hadn't seen Lytol waving.
Ruth beat strongly upward, his lighter mass launched more readily than that of the regular sized dragons.
«You're twice the dragon the others are. Twice! You're better at everything! Everything!» Jaxom's thought was so turbulent that Ruth trumpeted defiance.
The startled brown watchdragon queried them from the fire heights and the entire Hold population of fire lizards materialized around Ruth, dipping and swooping, chirping in echoed agitation.
Ruth cleared the fire heights and then winked into between, unerringly going to the high mountain lake above the Hold which had become their special retreat.
The penetrating cold of between, brief passage though it was, reduced Jaxom's temper. He began shivering, since he wore only his sleeveless tunic, as Ruth glided down effortlessly to the water's edge.
«It's completely and utterly unfair!» he said, slamming his right fist into his thigh so hard that Ruth grunted with the impact.
What is troubling you today? the dragon asked as he landed daintily on the lake verge.
«Everything! Nothing!»
Which? Ruth reasonably wanted to know and turned his head to gaze at his rider.
Jaxom slid from the soft skinned white back and encircled the dragon's neck with his arms, pulling the wedge shaped head against him, for comforting.
Why do you let them upset you? Ruth asked, his eyes whirling with love and affection for his weyrmate.
«A very good question,» Jaxom replied after a full moment's consideration. «But they know exactly how.» Then he laughed. «This is where all that objectivity Robinton talks about ought to operate… and doesn't.»
The Masterharper is honored for his wisdom. Ruth sounded uncertain, and his tone made Jaxom smile.
He was always being told that dragons had no ability to understand abstract concepts or complex relationships. Too often Ruth surprised him by remarks that cast doubt on the theory. Dragons, particularly Ruth in Jaxom's biased opinion, obviously perceived far more than others credited to them. Even Weyrleaders like F'lar or Lessa and even N'ton. Thinking about the Fort Weyrleader reminded Jaxom that he now had a particular reason for going to the Mastersmithhall this morning. N'ton, who would be there to hear Wansor, was the only rider Jaxom felt would be likely to help him.
«Shells!» Jaxom kicked rebelliously at a stone, watching the ripples it caused when it skittered across the surface of the lake and finally sank. Robinton had often used the ripple effect to demonstrate how a tiny action produced multiple reactions. Jaxom let out a snort, wondering how many ripples he'd caused this morning by storming out of the Hall. And just why had this morning bothered him so much? It had begun like other mornings, with Dorse's trite comments about oversized fire lizards, with Lytol's habitual query about Ruth's health as if the dragon were likely to deteriorate overnight and with Deelan snidely repeating that sickeningly old hoot about visitors starving at the Smithcrafthall. To be sure, Deelan's mothering had lately begun to irritate Jaxom, especially when the dear soul invariably fondled him in front of her seething natural son, Dorse. All the time honored, worn out nonsense that started a day, every day, at Ruatha Hold. Why, today, should it jerk him to his feet in a fury and drive him from the Hall he was Lord of, fleeing from people over whom, in theory, he had all control and right?
And there was nothing wrong with Ruth. Nothing. No. I am fine, Ruth said, then added in a plaintive tone, except that I didn't have time for my swim.
Jaxom stroked the soft eye ridges, smiling indulgently. «Sorry to spoil your morning, too.»
You haven't. I'll swim in the lake. Quieter here, Ruth said and nuzzled Jaxom. It's better here for you, too.
«I hope so.» Anger was foreign to Jaxom and he resented the violence of his inner feelings and those who had driven him to such a point of fury. «Better swim. We've got to go on to the Smithcrafthall, you know.»
Ruth had no sooner spread his wings than a clutch of fire lizards appeared in the air above him, wildly cluttering and loudly broadcasting thoughts of smug satisfaction at their cleverness in finding him. One winked out immediately and Jaxom felt another stab of resentment. Keeping track of him, huh? That'd be one more order from him when he got back to the Hold. Who did they think he was, an unbreeched child or an Oldtimer?
He sighed, repentant. Of course, they'd be worried about him when he'd stormed out of the Hold like that. Not that he was likely to go anywhere but to the lake. Not that he could possibly come to harm with Ruth, and not that he and Ruth could go anywhere on Pern where fire lizards couldn't find them.
His resentment flared anew, this time against the silly fire lizards. Why, of all dragons, did every fire lizard have an insatiable curiosity about Ruth? Wherever they went on Pern, every fire lizard in the neighborhood came popping in to gawk at the white dragon. This activity used to amuse Jaxom because the fire lizards would give Ruth the most incredible images of things they remembered, and Ruth would pass the more interesting ones to him. But today, as with everything else, amusement had soured to irritation.
«Analyze,» Lytol was fond of directing him. «Think objectively. You can't govern others until you can control yourself and see the broader, forward looking view.»
Jaxom took a couple of deep breaths, the kind Lytol recommended he take before speaking, to organize what he was going to say.
Ruth had winged over the deep blue waters of the little lake now, fire lizards outlining his graceful figure. He suddenly folded his wings and dove. Jaxom shuddered, wondering how Ruth could enjoy the biting cold waters fed by the snowcapped peaks of the High Ranges. In the muggy midsummer heat, Jaxom often found it refreshing, but now, with winter barely past? He shuddered again. Well, if dragons didn't feel the three times more intense cold of between, a plunge in an icy lake would not be bothersome.
Ruth surfaced, waves lapping against the bank at Jaxom's feet. Jaxom idly stripped a branch of its thick needles and launched them one after another into the incoming ripples. Well, one wave of reaction to this morning's outburst was the dispatch of fire lizards to find him.
Another, the look of stunned amazement on Dorse's face. That had been the first time Jaxom had ever rounded on his milk brother, though, Shells, it was only the thought of Lytol's displeasure at his loss of control that had kept Jaxom's temper in check so long. Dorse loved nothing better than to taunt Jaxom about
Ruth's lack of stature, masking his malicious jibes in mock brotherly quarrels, knowing all too well that Jaxom could not retaliate without a rebuke from Lytol for conduct unbecoming his rank and station. Jaxom had long outgrown the need for Deelan's fussing but innate kindness and gratitude to her for the milk which had nourished him after his premature birth had long prevented Jaxom from asking Lytol to retire her.
So why, today, had all this suddenly come to a boil? Ruth's head emerged from the waters again, the many faceted eyes reflecting the bright morning sun in greens and brilliant clear blues. The fire lizards attacked his back with rough tongues and talons, scrubbing off infinitesimal motes of dirt, splashing water over him with their wings, their own hides darkened by the wetting.
The green turned to batter her nose at one of the two blues and swatted the brown with her wing to make him work to her satisfaction. Despite himself, Jaxom laughed to see her scolding. She was Deelan's green and so much in manner like his milkmother that he was reminded of the weyr axiom that a dragon was no better than his rider.
In that way, Lytol had done Jaxom no disservice. Ruth was the best dragon in all Pern. If and now Jaxom recognized the underlying cause of his rebellion Ruth was ever allowed to be. Immediately all the frustrated anger of the morning returned, disrupting what little objectivity he had gained at the peaceful lakeside. Neither he, Jaxom, Lord of Ruatha, nor Ruth, the white runt of Ramoth's clutch, were allowed to be what they really were.
Jaxom was Lord Holder in name only, because Lytol administered the Hold, made all its decisions, spoke in Council for Ruatha. Jaxom had yet to be confirmed by the other Lord Holders as Lord of Ruatha. True, a matter of form only since there was no other male on Pern with Ruathan Blood. Besides, Lessa, the only living full blooded Ruathan, had relinquished her blood right to Jaxom at the moment of his birth.
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