The White Dragon

CHAPTER I

«IF HE ISN'T clean enough now,» Jaxom told N'ton as he gave Ruth's neck ridge a final swipe with the oiled cloth, «I don't know what clean is!» He wiped his sweaty forehead on his tunic sleeve. «What do you think, N'ton?» he asked politely, suddenly aware that he had spoken without due regard for his companion's rank as Weyrleader of Fort.

N'ton grinned and gestured toward the grassy bank of the lake. They squelched through the mud created by rinsing soapsand from the little dragon and, as one, turned for a full view of Ruth gleaming wetly in the morning sun.

«I've never seen him cleaner,» N'ton remarked after due consideration, adding hastily, «not to imply that you haven't always kept him immaculate, Jaxom. However, if you don't ask him to move out of that mud, he won't stay clean long.»

Jaxom passed on the request hastily. «And keep your tail up, Ruth, till you are on the grass.»

From the comer of his eye, Jaxom noticed that Dorse and his cronies were creeping away, just in case N'ton had any further hard work for them. Jaxom had somehow managed to keep the smugness he felt under control all during Ruth's bath. Dorse and the others hadn't dared disobey the dragonrider when N'ton had blithely pressed them into service. To see them sweating over the «runt,» the «oversized fire lizard,» unable to tease and taunt Jaxom as they'd planned to do this morning, had raised Jaxom's spirits considerably. He entertained no hopes that the situation would last long. But, if today the Benden Weyrleaders decided Ruth was strong enough to bear his weight in flight, then Jaxom would be free to fly away from the taunts he'd had to endure from his milk brother and his cronies.

«You know,» N'ton began, frowning slightly as he folded his arms across his damp spattered tunic, «Ruth isn't really white.»

Jaxom stared incredulously at his dragon. «He's not?»

«No. See how his hide has shadows of brown and gold, and ripples of blue or green on the near flank.»

«You're right!» Jaxom blinked, surprised at discovering something totally new about his friend. «I guess those colors are much more noticeable because he's so clean and the sun's so bright today!» It was such a pleasure to be able to discuss his favorite topic with an understanding audience.

«He's… more… all dragon shades than the lack of any,» N'ton continued. He slanted one hand against the angle of Ruth's heavily muscled shoulder, then cocked his head as he stared at the powerful hind— quarters. «Beautifully proportioned, too. He may be small, Jaxom, but he's a fine looking fellow!»

Jaxom sighed again, unconsciously straightening his shoulders and pushing out his chest with pride.

«Not too much flesh, not too little, eh, Jaxom?» N'ton shot an elbow to catch Jaxom on the top of his shoulder, a sly grin on his face for all the tunes Jaxom had had to call on the Weyrleader to help him cope with Ruth's indigestion. Jaxom had erroneously concluded that if he could stuff the proper amount of food down Ruth's gullet, the little dragon would grow to match the size of his clutch mates. The results had not been good.

«Do you think he's strong enough to fly me?»

N'ton awarded Jaxom a thoughtful gaze. «Let's see, you Impressed him a Turn last spring, and we're into cool weather now. Most dragons achieve their full growth in their first Turn. I don't think Ruth's grown half hand in the last six months so we have to conclude that he has reached his full growth. Hey, now, N'ton reacted to Jaxom's sad sigh, «he's bigger than any runner beast by half a head, isn't he? They can be ridden for hours without tiring, right? And you're not exactly a heavyweight like Dorse there.»

«Flying's a different sort of effort, isn't it?»

«True, but Ruth's wings are proportionately large enough to his body to support him in flight…»

«So he is a proper dragon, isn't he?»

N'ton stared at Jaxom. Then he put both hands on the boy's shoulders. «Yes, Jaxom, Ruth is a proper dragon, for all he's half the size of his fellows! And he'll prove it today when he flies you! So let's get you and him back to the Hold. You've got to get yourself fancied up to match his beauty!»

«C'mon, Ruth!»

I would rather sit here in the sun, Ruth replied moving to Jaxom's left, his stride graceful as he kept pace with his friend and with the Fort Weyrleader.

«There's sun in our court, Ruth,» Jaxom assured him, resting a light hand on Ruth's headknob, aware of the happy blue tone of Ruth's lightly whirling; jewel faceted eyes.

As they walked on in silence, Jaxom raised his eyes to the imposing cliff face which was Ruatha Hold, the second oldest human habitation on Pern. It would be his to Hold when he came of age or when his guardian, Lord Lytol, former weaver journeyman, former dragonrider, decided that he was wise enough that is, if the other Lord Holders finally overcame their objections to his inadvertent Impression of the half sized dragon, Ruth. Jaxom sighed, resigned to the fact that he would never be allowed to forget that moment.

Not that he wanted to, but Impressing Ruth had caused all kinds of problems for the Benden Weyrleaders, F'lar and Lessa, for the Lord Holders, and for himself since he was not allowed to be a real dragonrider and live in a Weyr. He had to remain Lord Holder of Ruatha or every younger Holdless son of every major Lord would fight to the death to fill that vacancy. The worst problem he had caused was to the man he desperately wanted most to please, his guardian. Lord Lytol. Had Jaxom only paused a moment to think before he jumped onto the hot sands of Benden's Hatching Ground to help break the tough shell for the little white dragon, he'd have realized what anguish he would bring to Lord Lytol by a constant reminder of what the man had lost at the death of his brown Larth. Never mind if Larth had died Turns before Jaxom's birth at Ruatha Hold, that tragedy was vividly, cruelly fresh in Lytol's mind, or so everyone told Jaxom repeatedly. If this was so, Jaxom often wondered, why then hadn't Lytol protested when the Weyrleaders and Lord Holders agreed that Jaxom must try to raise the little dragon at Ruatha?

Looking up to the fire heights, Jaxom noticed that N'ton's bronze Lioth was nose to nose with Wilth, the elderly brown watch dragon. He wondered what the two dragons were talking about. His Ruth? The trial of the day? He noticed fire lizards, tiny cousins to the big dragons, executing lazy spirals above the two dragons. Men were driving wherries and runner beasts from the main stables out to the pastures, north of the Hold. Smoke issued from the line of smaller cotholds that bordered the ramp into the Great Court and along the edge of the main road east. To the left of the ramp, new cots were being built since the inner recesses of Ruatha Hold were considered unsafe.

«How many fosterlings does Lytol have at Ruatha Hold, Jaxom?» N'ton suddenly asked.

«Fosterlings? None, sir.» Jaxom frowned. Surely N'ton knew that.

«Why not? You've got to get to know the others of your rank.»

«Oh, I accompany Lord Lytol quite often to the other Holds.»

«I wasn't thinking of socializing so much as having companions here of your own age.»

«There's my milk brother. Dorse, and his friends from the cothold.»

«Yes, that's true.»

Something in the Weyrleader's tone made Jaxom glance at him but the man's expression told him nothing.

«See much of F'lessan these days? I remember that you two used to get into a lot of mischief at Benden Weyr.»

Jaxom could not control the flush that rose to his hairline. Was it possible that N'ton had somehow found out that he and F'lessan had squeezed through a hole onto Benden's Hatching Ground for a close look at Ramoth's eggs? He didn't think F'lessan would have told that! Not to anyone! But Jaxom had often wondered if touching that little egg had somehow destined its occupant to be his!

«I don't see much of F'lessan these days. I don't have much time, taking care of Ruth and all.»

«No, of course not,» N'ton said. He seemed about to say more and then changed his mind.

As they walked on in silence, Jaxom wondered if he'd said something wrong. But he couldn't think about it for long. Just then N'ton's fire lizard, brown Tris, whirled in for a landing on the padded shoulder of the Weyrleader, chirping excitedly.

«What's wrong?» asked Jaxom.

«He's too excited to make sense,» N'ton replied with a laugh, and he stroked the little creature's neck uttering a series of soothing noises until Tris, with a final chirp in Ruth's direction, folded his wings to his back.

He likes me, Ruth observed.

«All fire lizards like you,» Jaxom replied.

«Yes, I've noticed that too, and not just today when they were helping us wash him,» N'ton said.

«Why do they?» Jaxom had always wanted to ask N'ton that, but he had never had the courage. He didn't like to take up the Weyrleader's valuable time with silly questions. But, today, it didn't seem like such a silly question.

N'ton turned his head to his fire lizard and, in a moment, Tris gave a quick chirp and then busily cleaned his forepaw. N'ton chuckled. «He likes Ruth. That's all the answer I get from him. I'd hazard the notion that it's because Ruth is nearer their size. They can see him without having to back up several dragonlengths to do so.»

«I suppose so.» Jaxom still had reservations. «What ever it is, fire lizards come from all over to visit him. They tell him the most outrageous stories but that makes him happy, especially when I can't be right there with him.»

They had reached the roadway and were heading for the ramp into the Great Court.

«Don't be long dressing, will you, Jaxom? Lessa and F'lar ought to arrive soon,» N'ton said as he kept going straight on through the great gates toward the massive metal Hold door. «Finder'll be in his quarters at this hour?»

«He should be.»

Then, as Jaxom and Ruth turned toward the kitchen and the old stables, the youth began to worry about the trial set for today. N'ton surely would not have raised his hopes about getting permission to fly Ruth if he wasn't pretty sure the Benden Weyrleaders would be agreeable.

To fly Ruth would be so marvelous. Besides it would prove once and for all that Ruth was a real dragon and not just an overgrown fire lizard as Dorse so often teased him. And, too, he'd finally be able to get away from Dorse. Today was the first time in Turns he hadn't had to endure Dorse's teasing as he washed Ruth. Not that the boy was just jealous of Jaxom's having Ruth. Dorse had always taunted Jaxom, ever since he could remember. Before Ruth had come, Jaxom had managed to make himself scarce in the dark recesses of Ruatha's many levels. Dorse didn't like the dark, stuffy corridors and stayed away. But with Ruth's arrival, Jaxom no longer was able to disappear and avoid Dorse's attentions. He often wished that he didn't owe Dorse so much. But he was Lord of Ruatha and Dorse was his milk brother so he owed him his life. For if Deelan hadn't given birth to Dorse two days before Jaxom's unexpected arrival, Jaxom would have died in his first hours. Therefore, Jaxom had been taught by Lytol and the Hold harper, he must share everything with his milk brother. As far as Jaxom could see, Dorse benefited far more than he did. The boy, a full hand taller than Jaxom and heavier set, certainly hadn't suffered for sharing his mother's milk. And Dorse made sure he got the best part of anything else Jaxom had.

Jaxom waved cheerily to the cooks, busy preparing a fine midday meal to celebrate, he fervently hoped, the occasion of his first flight on Ruth. He and the white dragon continued past the gates to the old stables which had been refitted as their quarters. Small though Ruth had been when he first arrived at Ruatha a Turn and a half ago, it had been obvious that he would quickly grow too large to enter the traditional apartment of the Lord Holder within the Hold proper.

So Lytol had decided that the old stables, with the vaulted ceiling, could be refurbished suitably for sleeping quarters and a work room for Jaxom and a fine spacious Weyr for the little dragon. New doors had been specially designed by Mastersmith Fandarel and hung with such ingenuity that a slightly built lad and an awkward hatchling could manage them.

I will sit here in the sun, Ruth told Jaxom, poking his head past the entrance to their quarters. My bed hasn't been swept.

«Everyone's been so busy cleaning for Lessa's visit,» Jaxom said, giggling as he remembered the terror in Deelan's face when Lytol had told her that the Weyrwoman was coming. In his milk mother's eyes, Lessa was still the only full blooded Ruathan left alive after Fax's treacherous attack on the Hold over twenty Turns ago.

Jaxom stripped off his damp tunic as he entered his own room. The water in the jar by his sink was tepid and he grimaced. He really ought to be as clean as his dragon but he didn't think he'd have time to get to the Hold's hot baths before the Weyrleaders came. It wouldn't do for him to be absent when they arrived. He washed with soapsand and the tepid water.

They come, Ruth announced the words in Jaxom's mind just before old Wilth and Lioth heralded the visitors with appropriate trumpetings.

Jaxom rushed to the window and peered out, catching a glimpse of huge wings as the newcomers settled into the great courtyard. He didn't wait long enough to see the Benden dragons remove themselves to the fire heights, accompanied by excited fairs of fire lizards. Drying himself hurriedly, he wriggled out of his wet trousers. It didn't take him long to don his good new clothes and stamp into the boots made especially for this occasion and lined with downy wherry hide for warmth in flight. Recent practice made it easy for him to rig the riding straps on the eager little dragon.

As Jaxom and Ruth emerged from their quarters, Jaxom was again assailed by apprehension. What if N'ton had been wrong? What if Lessa and F'lar decided to wait just a few more months to see if Ruth would grow? What if Ruth, being such a small dragon, didn't have enough strength to fly him? Supposing he hurt Ruth?

Ruth crooned encouragingly. You couldn't hurt me. You are my friend. And he butted Jaxom affectionately, whiffling against his face with warm sweet breath.

Jaxom inhaled deeply, hoping to settle his agitated belly. He then became aware of the gathering on the steps of the Hold. Why did there have to be so many people here today?

There are not many, Ruth told him, his tone surprised as he lifted his head to observe the gathering. And many fire lizards to see me, too. I know everyone here today. So do you.

Jaxom realized that he did. Taking courage from his dragon's acceptance of such a large audience, he straightened his shoulders and strode forward.

F'lar and Lessa, as the chief dragonriders, were the most important guests. F'nor, brown Canth's rider and mate of the sad Brekke, was also present but he was a good friend to Jaxom. N'ton, of course, was there since he was Fort's Weyrleader and Ruatha was beholden to Fort Weyr. Master Robinton as Harper of Pern was here and, beside him, Jaxom was glad to see Menolly, the Harper girl who had often been his champion. Jaxom reluctantly admitted the right of Lord Sangel of South Boll and Lord Groghe of Fort to be present as representatives of the Holders.

At first Jaxom couldn't see Lord Lytol. Then Finder moved to say something to Menolly and Jaxom spotted his guardian. He hoped Lytol would really look at Ruth this once, if never again.

They had crossed the courtyard now and stood before the steps, Jaxom resting his right hand on Ruth's strong, gracefully curved neck, and squarely faced the judges.

Extending one hand in greeting towards Ruth, Lessa smiled at Jaxom as she stepped down to welcome him. «Ruth has filled out a great deal since last spring, Jaxom,» she said, her manner reassuring as well as appreciative. «But you ought to eat more. Lytol, does Deelan never feed the child? He's nothing but bones.»

Jaxom was shocked when he realized that he now was taller than Lessa, and she was cocking her head to look up at him. He'd always thought of Lessa as big. To be looking down on the Weyrwoman of Benden was somehow embarrassing.

«I'd say you've the advantage of F'lessan still, and he's getting longer every time I look,» she added.

Jaxom began to stammer an apology.

«Nonsense, Jaxom, stand up to your inches,» F'lar said, coming up beside his weyrmate. His attention was centered on Ruth, and the white dragon raised his head slightly to be at eye level with the tall Weyrleader. «You've made more hands of height, Ruth, than I'd have given you at your Hatching! You've done well by your friend. Lord Jaxom.» The Benden Weyrleader put a slight emphasis on the title as he turned his gaze from dragon to rider.

Jaxom winced, disliking the reminder of his equivocal position.

«However, I can't see that you'll ever reach the stature of our good Mastersmith, so I don't think you'll overburden Ruth in flight.» F'lar glanced at the others on the steps. «Ruth's a full head higher in the shoulder than runner beasts. Sturdier, too.»

«What's his wingspan now?» Lessa asked, her brows drawn in a thoughtful frown. «Jaxom, please ask him to extend?»

Lessa could easily have asked Ruth directly since she was able to speak to any dragon. Jaxom was considerably heartened to be accorded such a courtesy and he passed the request on to Ruth. Eyes whirling with excitement, the white dragon raised himself to his haunches and spread his wings, the muscles rippling through chest and shoulder with the clouded shades of all dragon colors.

«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 towards 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 Weyr leaders speak without thinking? Lord Lytol was al ways 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 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 what? 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?»

«Oh, you're right on all counts,» Lytol admitted with what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

«About wines, Master Harper, you're infallible.»

«What a relief!» F'lar said, clapping the Harper on the shoulder. «I could never have borne your loss of reputation, Robinton.»

«It is a proper wine to celebrate this occasion. I give you all Jaxom, young Lord of Ruatha Hold and proud rider of Ruth.» Robinton knew he'd put a dragon among wherries with his words, but there was no point hiding from the fact that, though Jaxom was Lord elect of Ruatha Hold, he was also and undeniably a dragonrider. Lord Sangel cleared his throat abruptly before taking the required sip. Lessa's scowl suggested she'd rather he made any other toast just then.

Then, after clearing his throat a second time, Sangel jumped in as Robinton had hoped he would. «Yes, about that, there must be some understanding as to how much of a dragonrider young Jaxom is to be. I was given to understand at his Hatching,» Sangel waved his hand in the vague direction of the stables, «that the little creature was not likely to survive. Only reason 1 didn't protest at the time.»

«We didn't deliberately mislead you. Lord Sangel,» Lessa began in a testy voice.

«There will be no problem, Sangel,» said F'lar diplomatically. «We've no shortage of large dragons in the Weyr. So he isn't needed to fight.»

«We've no shortage of trained, Blooded men to take Hold here, either,» Sangel said, shooting his jaw out belligerently. Trust old Sangel to come to the point, thought Robinton gratefully.

«Not with Ruathan Blood,» Lessa said, her gray eyes flashing. «The whole point of my relinquishing my blood right to this Hold when I became Weyrwoman was to cede it to the one remaining male with any Ruathan Blood in his veins Jaxom! As long as I live, I will not permit Ruatha, of all the Holds on Pern, to be the prize for continent wide blood duels among younger sons. Jaxom remains as Lord Holder elect of Ruatha; he will never be a fighting dragonrider.»

«Just like to set matters straight,» Sangel said, stepping aside to avoid the icy stare Lessa gave him. «But you've got to admit, Weyrwoman, that riding dragons, no matter in how limited a fashion, can be dangerous. Heard about that weyrling at High Reaches…»

«Jaxom's riding will be controlled at all times,» F'lar promised. He threw a warning glance at N'ton. «He will never fly to fight the Thread. The danger would be too great.»

«Jaxom is naturally a cautious lad,» Lytol joined the debate, «and I've made him properly aware of his responsibilities.»

Robinton saw N'ton's grimace.

«Too cautious, N'ton?» asked F'lar, who had also noticed the Fort Weyrleader's expression.

«Perhaps,» N'ton replied tactfully, with an apologetic nod to Lytol. «Or perhaps, inhibited is a better description. No offense meant, Lytol, but I noticed today that the lad finds himself… isolated from others. Having his own dragon accounts for part of it, I'm sure. Since no lads his age have been allowed a chance to Impress fire lizards, the hold boys have no appreciation of his problems.»

«Dorse been nagging him again?» Lytol asked, pulling at his lower lip as he regarded N'ton.

«Then you're not unaware of the situation?» N'ton appeared relieved.

«Certainly not. It's one reason I myself have pressed you, F'lar, to permit the boy to fly. He would then be able to visit the Holds which have boys his age and rank.»

«But surely you've fosterlings?» Lessa cried, looking about the room as if she had somehow overlooked the presence of Holder younglings.

«I was about to arrange a half Turn fostering for Jaxom when he Impressed.» Lytol spread one hand to indicate an end to that plan.

«I can't support the notion of Jaxom leaving Ruatha for fostering,» Lessa said with a frown. «Not when he's the last of the Bloodline…»

«Nor do I,» Lytol said, but it is necessary to reciprocate in fostering «

«Tis not,» Lord Groghe said, clapping Lytol on the shoulder. «In fact, it's a blessing not to. I've a lad Jaxom's age to be fostered. Be a relief not to have to take another boy back. When I see what you've done to put Ruatha back on its feet and so prosperous, Lytol, the lad would learn from you how to Hold properly. That is, if there should be anything for him to Hold when he gets his majority.»

«That's another matter I'd like to broach,» Lord Sangel said, stepping up to F'lar with a glance at Groghe for support. «What are we Holders to do?»

«To do?» asked F'lar, momentarily perplexed.

«With the younger sons,» Robinton said smoothly, «for whom there are no more holds to manage in South Boll, Fort, Ista, and Igen to name the Lords with the largest families of hopeful sons.»

«The Southern Continent, F'lar, when can we start opening the Southern Continent?» Groghe asked. «That Toric, who stayed behind in the Southern Hold, maybe he could use a strong, active, energetic, ambitious lad or two, or three?»

«The Oldtimers are in the Southern Continent,»

Lessa said sternly. «They can do no one harm there, since the land is protected by grubs.»

«I hadn't forgotten where the Oldtimers are, Weyrwoman,» Groghe remarked, raising his eyebrows. «Best place for 'em, they don't bother us, they do what they want, without making honest folk suffer.» There was a commendable lack of acrimony in Groghe's tone, Robinton noticed, considering how badly Fort Hold had suffered from T'ron's irresponsible conduct of Fort Weyr. «Point is. Southern's a fair size, grubbed, too, so it doesn't matter if the Oldtimers fly Thread or not, no real damage can be done.»

«Have you ever remained outside your Hold during Threadfall?» F'lar asked Lord Groghe.

«Me? No! What d'you think I am, crazy? Not but what that gaggle of young men, fighting at the drop of a glove… Mind you, it's fists they fight with and I keep all weapons blunted, but their noise is enough to drive me between or outside… Oh, I take your point, Weyrleader,» Groghe added gloomily and his fingers did a rapid dance on his broad belt. «Yes, makes it difficult, doesn't it? We're not geared to live holdless, are we? Toric's not looking to increase his Holding at all? Something's got to be done about the youngbloods. Not just in my Hold, either, eh, Sangel?»

«If I may make a suggestion,» Robinton broke in quickly when he saw F'lar hesitating. Considering the alacrity with which F'lar gestured him to proceed, he appeared grateful for the Harper's interruption. «Well, half a Turn ago. Lord Groghe's fifth son Benelek had an idea to improve a harvesting implement. The Fort Smithcraftmaster suggested that Fandarel ought to be interested. Indeed the good Mastersmith was. Young Benelek went to Telgar for special instruction and also talked one of the High Reaches' sons into joining him, that lad also having a mechanical bent. To shorten the tale, there are now eight Holder sons at the Smithcraft Hall, and three Crafthold boys who show an equal talent for the Smith's craft.»

«What are you suggesting, Robinton?»

«Mischief needs idle hands. I'd like to see a special group of young people, recruited from all Crafts and Holds, exchanging ideas instead of insults.»

Groghe grunted. «They want land to hold, not ideas. What about Southern?»

«That solution can surely be investigated,» Robinton said, treating Groghe's insistence as offhandedly as he dared. «The Oldtimers won't live forever.»

«In truth, Lord Groghe, we're by no means against expanding holds in the Southern,» F'lar said. «It's just that…»

«The time must be chosen,» Lessa finished when he faltered. There was a curious gleam in her eyes that suggested to the Harper she had other reservations as well.

«We'll not have to wait until the end of this Pass, I hope,» Sangel said peevishly.

«No, just until we are in no danger of dishonoring our word,» F'lar said. «If you'll think back, the Weyrs have agreed to explore the Southern Continent…»

«The Weyrs agreed to get rid of Thread and the Red Star, too,» Sangel said, irritated now.

«F'nor here and Canth still bear the scars of that Star,» Lessa reminded him, indignant at having the Weyrs criticized.

«Meaning no offense, Weyrwoman, F'lar, F'nor,» Sangel said, mumbling and not very subtly masking his annoyance.

«Another reason why it might be salutary to have young minds trained to discover new ways of doing things,» Robinton said, smoothly diverting Lord Sangel.

Robinton was no end pleased at Sangel's attitude. He'd reminded F'lar and Lessa recently that the older Lord Holders persisted in believing that the dragonriders could, if they would put their minds to it, char Thread at its source on the Red Star and end forever the menace that kept people hold fast. Mention, however, he deemed sufficient and quickly changed the subject.

«My archivist. Master Arnor, is going blind from trying to decipher eroding Record hides. He does well, but sometimes I think he doesn't at all understand what it is he is saving and thus unwittingly miscopies blurred words. Fandarel has commented on this problem, too. He's of the firm opinion that some of the mysteries from those old Records stem from miscopying. Now, if we had copyists who knew the discipline «

«I'd like Jaxom to have some training that way,» Lytol said.

«I was hoping you'd suggest him.»

«Don't go back on your offer to take my son, Lytol,» Groghe said.

«Well, if Jaxom's…»

«I see no reason why both solutions cannot be used,» Robinton said. «We'd have boys his own age and rank fostering here where Jaxom must learn to Hold, but Jaxom would also learn skills with others of different rank and background.»

«After the famine, a feast?» N'ton said in so low a voice that only Robinton and Menolly heard him. «And speaking of feasts, here's our honored guest!»

Jaxom stood, hesitating, on the threshold, remembering his manners sufficiently to swing a bow to the assembled.

«Ruth's settled, has he, Jaxom?» Lessa asked in a kind voice, gesturing the boy to come to her side.

«Yes, Lessa.»

«Some other settlings been done, too, kinsman,» she went on, smiling when she saw his apprehensive look.

«You know my son, Horon, don't you? Your age?» Groghe asked.

Jaxom nodded, startled.

«Well, he's going to foster here as company for you.»

«And possibly some other lads,» said Lessa. «Would you like that?»

Robinton noticed the incredulous widening of Jaxom's eyes as he glanced from Lessa to Groghe and back to Lytol where his glance remained until Lytol had nodded solemnly.

«And, when Ruth is flying well, how about coming to my Hall to see what I can teach you about Pern that Lytol doesn't know?» Robinton asked.

«Oh, sir,» and Jaxom looked again to his guardian, «may I really do all this?» There was unadulterated relief and joy in Jaxom's voice.