Ruth will prosper, Ramoth said.
Mnementh crooned from the ledge and Lessa stared up at them, their eyes glowing in the shadows over the glow-lit Bowl.
Did the dragons know something she didn’t? They often seemed to these days, and yet, how could they? They never cared about tomorrow, or yesterday, living for the moment. Which was not a bad way to live, Lessa reflected, a trifle enviously. Her roving eyes fastened on the white blur of Ruth. Why had those two Impressed? Didn’t she have troubles enough?
“Why should I mind? Why should I?” demanded Lytol suddenly in a loud, belligerent voice.
The Harper beamed up at him in an idiotish way. “Tha’s what I say. Why should you?”
“I love the boy. I love him more than if he were flesh and blood of me, of me, Lytol of Ruatha Hold. Proved I love him, too. Proved I care for him. Ruatha’s rich. Rich as when the Ruathan Bloodline ruled it. Undid all Fax’s harm. And did it all, not for me. My life’s spent. I’ve been everything. Been a dragonrider. Oh, Larth, my beautiful Larth. Been a weaver so I know the Crafts. Know the Holds now, too. Know everything. Know how to take care of a white runt. Why shouldn’t the boy keep his dragon? By the First Shell, no one else wanted him. No one else wanted to Impress him. He’s special, I tell you. Special!”
“Now, just a moment, Lord Lytol,” Raid of Benden said, rising from his end of the table and stalking down to confront Lytol. “Boy’s Impressed a dragon. That means he must stay in the Weyr.”
“Ruth’s not a proper dragon,” Lytol said, neither speaking nor acting as drunk as he must be.
“Not a proper dragon?” Raid’s expression showed his shock at such blasphemy.
“Never been a white dragon ever,” Lytol said pontifically, drawing himself up to his full height. He wasn’t much taller than the Lord Holder of Benden but he gave the impression of greater stature. “Never!” He appeared to feel that required a toast but found his cup empty. He managed to pour wine with creditable deftness for a man swaying on his feet. The Harper motioned wildly for his own glass to be filled but had trouble keeping it steady under the flow of wine.
“Never a whi’ dragon,” the Harper intoned and touched cups with Lytol.
“May not live,” Lytol added, taking a long gulp.
“May not!”
“Therefore,” and Lytol took a deep breath, “the boy must remain in his Hold. Ruatha Hold.”
“Absolutely must!” Robinton held his cup high, more or less daring Raid to contradict him.
Raid favored him with a long inscrutable look.
“He must remain in the Weyr,” he said finally, though he didn’t sound as definite.
“No, he must come back to Ruatha Hold,” said Lytol, steadying himself with a firm grip on the table edge. “When the dragon dies, the boy must be where obligations and responsibilities give him a hold on life. I know!”
To that Raid could give no answer, but he glowered in disapproval. Lessa held her breath and began to “lean” a little on the old Lord Holder.
“I know how to help the boy,” Lytol went on, sinking slowly back into his chair. “I know what is best for him. I know what it is to lose a dragon. The difference in this case is that we know Ruth’s days are numbered.”
“Days are numbered,” echoed the Harper and put his head down on the table suddenly. Lytol bent toward the man, curiously, almost paternally. He drew back, startled when the Harper began to snore gently.
“Hey, don’t go to sleep. We haven’t finished this bottle.” When Robinton made no response, Lytol shrugged and drained his own cup. Then he seemed to collapse slowly until his head was on the table, too, his snores filling the pause between Robinton’s.
Raid regarded the pair with sour disgust. Then he turned on his heel and walked back to his end of the head table.
“I don’t know but what there isn’t truth in the wine,” Larad of Telgar Hold commented as Raid reseated himself.
Lessa “leaned” quickly against Larad. He was nowhere near as insensitive as Raid. When he shook his head, she desisted and turned her attentions to Sifer. If she could get two of them to agree . . .
“Dragon and his rider both belong in the Weyr,” Raid said. “You don’t change what’s natural for man and beast”
“Well now, take these fire lizards,” Sifer began, nodding toward the two across the table from him, in the arms of the Lord and Lady of Lemos Hold. “They’re dragons of a sort, after all.”
Raid snorted. “We saw today what happens when you go against natural courses. The girl—whatever her name is lost her queen. Well, even the fire lizard warned her off Impressing a new one. The creatures know more than we think they do. Look at all the years people’ve tried to catch ’em . . .”
“Catch ’em now, in nestsful,” Sifer interrupted him. “Pretty things they are. Must say I look forward to mine hatching.”
Somehow their quarreling reminded Lessa of old R’gul and S’lel, her first “teachers” in the Weyr, contradicting themselves endlessly as they purportedly taught her “all she’d need to know to become a Weyrwoman.” It was F’lar who had done that.
“Boy has to stay here with that dragon.”
“The boy in question is a Lord Holder, Raid,” Larad of Telgar reminded him. “And the one thing we don’t need is a contested Hold. It might be different if Lytol had male issue, or if he’d fostered long enough to have a promising candidate. No, Jaxom must remain Lord at Ruatha Hold,” and the Telgar Lord scanned the Bowl in search of the boy. His eyes met Lessa’s and he smiled in absent courtesy.
“I don’t agree, I don’t agree,” Raid said, shaking his head emphatically. “It goes against all custom.”
“Some customs need changing badly,” said Larad, frowning.
“I wonder what the boy wants to do,” interjected Asgenar in his bland way, catching Larad’s eye.
The Telgar Lord threw back his head with a hearty laugh. “Don’t complicate matters, brother. We’ve just decided his fate, will-he, won’t-he.”
“The boy should be asked,” Asgenar said, no longer mildspoken. His glance slid from Larad to the two older Lord Holders. “I saw his face when he came out of the Hatching Ground. He realized what he’d done. He was as white as the little dragon.” Then Asgenar nodded in Lytol’s direction. “Yes, Jaxom’s all too aware of what he’s done.”
Raid harumphed irritably. “You don’t ask youngsters anything. You tell ’em!”
Asgenar turned to his lady, touching her shoulder lightly, but there was no mistaking the warmth of his expression as he asked her to request young Jaxom’s presence. Mindful of her sleepy green lizard, she rose and went on her errand.
“I’ve discovered recently that you find out a great deal by asking people,” Asgenar said, looking after his wife with an odd smile on his face.
“People, yes, but not children!” Raid managed to get a lot of anger into that phrase.
Lessa “leaned” against him. He’d be more susceptible in this state of mind.
“Why doesn’t he just pick the beast up?” the Benden Lord Holder demanded irritably as he watched the stately progress of the Lady of Lemos Hold, the young Lord of Ruatha and the newly hatched white dragon, Ruth.
“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, rub 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.”