“He’s completely in proportion to himself,” F’lar said, dipping under the wing to inspect the upper side of the broad, transparent membrane. “Oh, thank you, Ruth,” he added as the white dragon obligingly tilted his wing. “I take it he’s as eager to fly you as you are!”
“Yes, sir, because, sir, he is a dragon, and dragons all fly!”
The look F’lar shot him caused Jaxom to hold his breath, wondering if his quick answer had been too bold.
When he heard Lessa laugh, he looked over at her. But she wasn’t laughing at him, or at Ruth. Her eyes rested on her weyrmate. F’lar’s right eyebrow arched as he grinned back at her. Jaxom felt they weren’t aware of him or Ruth at all.
“Yes, dragons do fly, don’t they, Lessa?” the Weyrleader said softly, and Jaxom realized they were sharing some private joke.
Then F’lar raised his head to the fire-heights where golden Ramoth, bronze Mnementh, and the two browns, Canth and Wilth, maintained keen interest in the scene in the courtyard below.
“What does Ramoth say, Lessa?”
Lessa grimaced. “You know she’s always said Ruth would do well.”
F’lar glanced first at N’ton, who grinned, and then at F’nor, who shrugged acquiescence. “It’s unanimous, Jaxom. Mnementh doesn’t understand why we’re all making such a fuss. Mount then, lad.” F’lar stepped forward as if to give Jaxom a leg up to the neck of the white dragon.
Jaxom was torn between pleasure at having the Weyrleader of all Pern to assist him and indignation that F’lar thought him incapable of mounting unaided.
Ruth intervened by swinging his wings out of the way and bending his left knee. Jaxom stepped lightly on the proffered limb and swung to the proper position between the last two neck ridges. Those protuberances in a full dragon were sufficient to keep a man steady in ordinary flight, but Lytol had insisted that Jaxom use riding straps as a safety measure. As Jaxom secured the strap buckles to his belt’s metal loops, he cast surreptitious glances at the crowd. But no one showed a trace of surprise or contempt for this precaution. When he was ready, that awful coldness of doubt rose once more in his belly. Supposing that Ruth couldn’t . . .
He caught the confident grin on N’ton’s face and saw Master Robinton and Menolly hold up their hands in salute. Then F’lar lifted his fist above his head in the traditional signal to rise.
Jaxom took a deep breath. “Let’s fly, Ruth!”
He felt the bunching of muscle as Ruth assumed a semi-crouch, felt the tension through the back, the shift of musculature under his calves as the huge wings lifted for the all-important first downsweep. Ruth deepened his crouch slightly just as he kicked away from the ground with his powerful hind legs. Jaxom’s head snapped on his neck. Instinctively he grabbed for the security of the straps, then hung on tightly as the little white dragon’s powerful wing strokes lifted them upward, past the first rank of windows and the startled faces of the holders, up so quickly to the fire-heights that Jaxom saw the other tiers of windows in a blur. Then the great dragons extended their wings, bugling encouragement to Ruth. Fire-lizards swirled about them, adding their silvery voices. Jaxom just hoped they wouldn’t startle Ruth or get in his way.
They are pleased to see us in the air together. Ramoth and Mnementh are very happy to see you on my back at last. I am very happy. Are you happier now?
The almost plaintive question caused a lump to lodge in Jaxom’s throat. He opened his mouth to respond, only to have sound torn from his lips by the press of wind against his face.
“Of course, I’m happy. I’m always happy with you,” he said joyfully. “I’m flying with you, just like I wanted to. This’ll show everyone that you’re a right dragon!”
You’re shouting!
“I’m happy. Why shouldn’t I shout?”
I’m the only one to hear you and I hear you very well indeed.
“You ought to. You’re the one I’m happiest for.”
They began a glide turn now and Jaxom leaned back away from the curve, holding his breath. Not that he hadn’t flown on a dragon innumerable times before. But then he had been a passenger, usually crammed between two adult bodies. The intimacy of this flight was another sensation entirely, exhilarating, pleasantly scary and utterly marvelous.
Ramoth says you must grip more tightly with your legs as you do on runners.
“I didn’t want to interfere with your breathing.” Jaxom pressed his legs tightly into the warmth of the silken neck, heartened by the security the grip gave him.
That’s better. You can’t hurt my neck. You can’t hurt me. You’re my rider. Ramoth says we must land. Ruth sounded rebellious.
“Land? We just got airborne!”
Ramoth says I must not strain. Flying you is no strain. It is what I want to do. She says we may fly a little farther every day. I like that idea.
Ruth corrected his descending plane so that they approached the court from the southeast. People on the roadway stopped to stare and then to wave. Jaxom thought he heard cheers but the wind rushed past, making it difficult to be sure. Those in the court turned to follow his path. Every window on the second and first tier of the Hold had its observers.
“They’ll all have to admit you’re a proper flying dragon now, Ruth!”
The only thing Jaxom regretted was that this flight was so brief. A little longer every day, huh? Not Fall, fire or fog would keep him from flying every single day, longer and farther away from Ruatha.
Abruptly he was thrown forward, bruising his chest on a neck ridge as Ruth backwinged to settle neatly on the spot he had so recently vacated.
Sorry about that, Ruth said contritely. I see that there are things I must learn now.
Savoring the triumph of the airborne experience, Jaxom sat for a moment, rubbing his chest and reassuring Ruth. Then he was aware of F’lar, F’nor and N’ton coming toward him with expressions of approval. But why was the Harper looking so thoughtful? And why was Lord Sangel frowning?
The dragonriders say we can fly. They are the ones who matter, Ruth told him.
Jaxom could discern no expression at all on the face of Lord Lytol. That dulled Jaxom’s pride in their achievement. How he had hoped that today of all days he might receive some flicker of approval, some kindly response from his guardian.
He never forgets Larth, Ruth said in his softest tone.
“See, Jaxom? I told you,” N’ton cried as the three dragonriders ranged themselves by Ruth’s shoulder. “Nothing to it.”
“Very good first flight, Jaxom,” F’lar said, running his eyes over Ruth for any signs of stress. “No bother to him at all.”
“This fellow’ll turn on a wing tip. Make sure you keep the straps on till you’re used to each other,” F’nor added, reaching up to grab Jaxom’s forearm. It was the greeting gesture of equals, and Jaxom was enormously gratified.
“You’ve been mistaken then, Lord Sangel,” Lessa’s voice rang clearly to Jaxom. “There’s never been any doubt that the white dragon could fly. We merely postponed the event until we were sure Ruth had reached his full growth.”
F’nor winked at Jaxom and N’ton grimaced, while F’lar raised his eyes upward, indicating the need for patience. That intimacy made Jaxom realize that he, Jaxom of Ruatha, had indeed been admitted to a kinship with the three most powerful dragonriders of Pern.
“You’re a dragonrider now, lad,” N’ton said.
“Yes.” F’lar frowned as he lengthened the word. “Yes, but you may not fly all over the world tomorrow, nor may you try going between. Not yet. You do realize that, I trust. Fine! You’re to exercise Ruth in flight every day. Do you have a slate on those drills, N’ton?” F’lar passed N’ton’s slate over to Jaxom. “Those wing muscles have got to be strengthened slowly, carefully, or you will place too great a strain on them. That’s the danger. The time might come when you’d need speed or maneuverability and those unfit muscles wouldn’t respond! You heard about that tragedy at High Reaches?” F’lar’s expression was stern.
“Yes, sir. Finder told me.” Jaxom didn’t bother to mention that Dorse and his friends, once they’d heard of the incident, never let Jaxom forget the weyrling who had been dashed to death on the mountain slopes because he’d overflown his young dragon.
“You’ve a double responsibility at all times, Jaxom, to Ruth and to your Hold.”
“Oh, yes sir; I know it, sir.”
N’ton laughed and clapped Jaxom on the knee. “I’ll wager you do, young Lord Jaxom, right up to the teeth!”
F’lar turned to the Fort Weyrleader, surprised at the tone of the rejoinder. Jaxom held his breath. Did Weyrleaders speak without thinking? Lord Lytol was always after Jaxom to think before he opened his mouth.
“I’ll oversee Jaxom’s initial training, F’lar, no need to worry about his sense of responsibility on that score. It’s well ingrained,” N’ton went on. “And, with your permission, I’ll instruct him on flying between when I feel he’s ready. I think,” he gestured toward the two Lord Holders arguing with Lessa, “the less publicity for that phase of training, the better.”
Jaxom could feel the slight tension in the air as N’ton and F’lar regarded each other. Suddenly Mnementh and then Ramoth bugled from the heights.
“They agree,” N’ton said in a soft voice.
F’lar shook his head slightly and brushed away the lock of hair that fell into his eyes.
“It’s obvious, F’lar, that Jaxom deserves to be a dragonrider,” F’nor said in the same persuasive tone. “It’s a question of Weyr responsibility in the final analysis. But it’s not for those Lord Holders to decide. Besides Ruth is a Benden dragon.”
“Responsibility is the overriding factor,” F’lar said, frowning at the two riders. He glanced up at Jaxom, who wasn’t certain exactly what they were talking about except that he knew he and Ruth were under discussion. “Oh, very well. He’s to be trained to fly between. Otherwise, I suppose you’d try it on your own anyhow, wouldn’t you, young Jaxom, being of Ruathan Blood?”
“Sir?” Jaxom really didn’t quite believe his good fortune.
“No, F’lar, Jaxom wouldn’t try such a thing on his own,” N’ton replied in a curious tone. “That’s the trouble. I think Lytol has done his job too well.”
“Explain,” F’lar said curtly.
F’nor held up his hand. “Here’s Lytol himself,” he said in quick warning.
“Lord Jaxom, if you would settle your friend in his quarters, and then join us all in the Hall?” The Lord Warder bowed politely to everyone. A muscle in his face started to twitch as he quickly turned and walked back to the steps.
He could have said something then . . . if he’d wanted to, Jaxom thought, staring sadly at his guardian’s broad back.
N’ton gave him another clout on his knee and, when Jaxom looked at the Fort Weyrleader, he winked. “You’re a good lad, Jaxom, and a good rider.” Then he sauntered after the other dragonriders.
“You wouldn’t by any chance be serving a Benden wine on this auspicious occasion, would you, Lytol?” the Masterharper’s voice rang across the court.
“What else would anyone dare serve you, Robinton?” Lessa asked, laughing.
Jaxom watched them filing up the steps and through the Hall doors. With a concert of shrieks, the fire-lizards abandoned their aerial display and dove toward the entrance, narrowly missing the Harper’s tall figure as they swarmed to get into the Hold.
The incident lifted Jaxom’s spirits and he directed Ruth to their quarters. As his glance swept the windows, he saw people pulling back. He sincerely hoped that Dorse and all his pals had witnessed every moment, had noticed the handgrasp of F’nor and seen how he’d been talking to the three most important dragonriders on all Pern. Dorse would have to be more careful now that Jaxom was also going to be allowed to take his Ruth between. Dorse had never figured on that, had he? Nor, thought Jaxom, had he. Wasn’t it just capital of N’ton to suggest it? And when Dorse heard, he’d just have to chew it raw and swallow!
Ruth answered his thoughts with a smug croon as the dragon paced into the old stable courtyard and dropped his left shoulder for Jaxom to dismount.
“We can fly now, and get away from here, Ruth. And we’ll be able to go between, too, and go anywhere we want on Pern. You flew just beautifully, and I’m sorry I was such a poor rider, walloping you like that on your ridges. I’ll learn. You’ll see!”
Ruth’s eyes wheeled affectionately in a brilliant blue as he followed Jaxom into the weyr. Then Jaxom kept telling Ruth how marvelous he was, turning on a wing tip and all, as he brushed away the worst of the ridge dust and the hide fuzz that had accumulated on Ruth’s bed overnight. Ruth settled himself, angling his head at Jaxom in a subtle bid for caresses. Jaxom obliged, somehow reluctant to join festivities at which the real guest of honor must be absent.
Warned by the shrieks of the fire-lizards, Robinton moved quickly to flatten himself against the right-hand leaf of the great metal doors, then put his hands across his face as a shield. He’d been caught too often in frantic fire-lizard fairs not to take precautions. Generally speaking, however, the fire-lizards at the Harper Hall, thanks to Menolly’s teachings, were well behaved. He smiled as he heard Lessa’s exclamation of surprise and dismay. After he had felt the wind of their passing, he remained where he was and, sure enough, the fair swept back through the doorway. He heard Lord Groghe call his little queen, Merga, to order. Then his own Zair found him and, scolding as if Robinton had deliberately tried to hide from him, the little bronze fire-lizard settled on his padded left shoulder.
“There! There’s a lad!” Robinton said, stroking the agitated bronze with his finger and receiving a head-sweeping caress on his cheek in return. “I wouldn’t leave you, you ought to know that. Were you flying with Jaxom, too?”
Zair stopped scolding and gave a happy cheep. Then he craned his neck to peer down the court. Curious, Robinton leaned forward to see what had attracted Zair and saw Ruth pacing toward the old stables. Robinton sighed. He almost wished Jaxom had not been allowed to fly Ruth. As he’d anticipated, Lord Sangel was still vehemently against the youngster enjoying dragonrider prerogatives. Nor would Sangel be the only one of the older generation of Lord Holders who would dispute that liberty. Robinton felt that he’d done a fair job of influencing Groghe toward the boy, but then Groghe was smarter than Sangel. Besides, he owned a fire-lizard and that made him more charitably inclined toward Jaxom and Ruth. Robinton couldn’t remember whether Sangel didn’t want or had been unable to Impress a fire-lizard. He must ask Menolly. Her queen, Beauty, ought to be clutching soon. Useful that his journeywoman had a queen fire-lizard so that he could dispose of the eggs where he deemed it would do everyone the most good.
He watched a moment longer, rather touched by the sight. Between Jaxom and Ruth there was an aura of innocence and vulnerability, of dependence and protection of each for the other.
Jaxom had entered the world at a decided disadvantage, torn from his dead mother’s body, with his father fatally wounded in a duel a half-hour later. Bearing in mind what N’ton and Finder had disclosed to him just before Jaxom’s flight, Robinton was annoyed with himself for not keeping a closer check on the boy. Lytol was not so stiff that he wouldn’t take a hint, especially if it were for Jaxom’s sake. But Robinton had so many claims on his time and his thinking, even with Menolly and Sebell in his confidence and as his devoted aides. Zair cheeped and brushed his head against the Harper’s chin.
Robinton chuckled and stroked Zair. They weren’t more than the length of a man’s arm, these fire-lizards. They weren’t as intelligent as dragons, but they were utterly satisfying as companions—and occasionally useful.
Now, he’d better join the others and see how he could insinuate his suggestion to Lytol. Young Jaxom would be a perfect addition to his scheme.
“Robinton!” F’lar called him from the doorway of the Hold’s smaller reception room. “Hurry up here. Your reputation is at risk.”
“My wh
at? I’m coming . . .” The Harper’s long legs brought him quickly into the room by the end of the sentence. From the smiles of those standing by the flasks of decanted wine, the Harper had no trouble guessing what was afoot.
“Ah! You think to catch me out!” he cried, dramatically gesturing at the wine. “Well, I’m sure I can manage to maintain my reputation here! Just as long as you’ve marked the flasks correctly, Lytol.”
Lessa laughed and picked one up, exhibiting her choice to the assembled. She poured a glass of the deep red wine and held it out to Robinton. Aware that all eyes were on him, Robinton made his approach to the table, affecting a slow swaggering step. His eyes caught Menolly’s and she gave him the barest wink, completely at her ease now in such prestigious company. Like the little white dragon, she was ready to fly on her own. She had certainly come a long Turn from the unsure, unappreciated girl of an isolated SeaHold. He really must get her out of the Harper Hall now and on her own.
Robinton made a proper show of wine-tasting, since this was obviously expected of him. He examined the color of the wine in the sunlight that streamed into the room, sniffed deeply of its aroma, then sipped ever so delicately and made a huge business of swishing the wine in his mouth.
“Hmmm, yes, well. There’s no trouble in recognizing this vintage,” he said, a shade haughtily.
“Well?” Lord Groghe demanded, his thick fingers twitching a bit on the broad belt in which he had hooked his thumbs. He rocked on his booted feet with impatience.
“One never hastens a wine!”
“Either you know or you don’t,” Sangel said with a skeptical sniff.
“Of course I know it. It’s the Benden pressing of eleven Turns back, isn’t it, Lytol?”
Robinton, aware of the silence in the room, was surprised by the look on Lytol’s face. Surely the man couldn’t still be upset about Jaxom flying the little dragon, could he? No, the muscle twitch had gone from his cheek.
“I’m right,” Robinton said, drawling as he pointed an accusing finger at the Lord Warder. “And you know it, Lytol. To be precise, this is the later pressing as the wine is nicely fruity. Furthermore, this is from the first Benden shipment you managed to wheedle out of old Lord Raid, on the strength of Lessa’s Ruathan Blood.” He altered his voice to imitate Lytol’s heavy baritone. “ ‘The Weyrwoman of Pern must have Benden wine when she visits her former Hold.’ Am I not right, Lytol?”
The Dragonriders of Pern Page 67
