The White Dragon

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Well, I can’t keep them from following Ruth,” Jaxom said, too weary to be prudent. “Don’t think I haven’t tried!”

  “I’m sure you have, Jaxom,” Lessa said in a milder tone.

  A series of frightened wherry whistles was plainly heard from the killing ground. They saw Ruth swoop to dispatch a second fowl.

  “He certainly is neat,” Lessa remarked approvingly. “Doesn’t run a flock to bone making a choice. Can you stand, Jaxom? I think you’d best plan on spending the night here. Send one of those dratted fire-lizards of yours to Ruatha Hold, Menolly, and tell Lytol. It’ll take Ruth time to digest anyhow and I won’t permit this lad to risk between tired out of his mind and on a tired and sated dragon.”

  Jaxom got to his feet.

  “I’m all right now, thank you.”

  “Not when you’re leaning at that angle,” F’lar said with a snort as he slipped one arm around Jaxom. “Up to the weyr.”

  “I’ll bring a proper meal,” Manora promised and turned to go. “You can help me, Menolly. And send your message.”

  Menolly hesitated, obviously wanting to stay with Jaxom.

  “I don’t intend to eat him, girl,” Lessa said, shooing Menolly off. “Much less scold him when he’s reeling. I’ll save that for later. Come up to the weyr when you’ve sent word to Ruatha.”

  Jaxom felt obliged to protest their assistance, but they were convinced he needed it and by the time they’d reached the top of the weyrsteps, he ruefully sagged against their support. Mnementh regarded him kindly as Lessa and F’lar guided him into the weyr.

  This was not the first time Jaxom had been there, and, as they led him to the living corner, he wondered if he was always going to enter Ramoth’s weyr consumed with guilt. Could Ramoth perceive his thoughts? Her jeweled eyes turned idly without a trace of agitation as he was solicitously settled in a chair, and a foot rest positioned. When Lessa was spreading a fur over him, muttering about watching for chills after exertion, she paused, staring at him. She put her hand under his chin and turned his head slightly, then traced the line of Threadscore with a light finger.

  “Where did you acquire that, young Lord Jaxom?” she asked harshly, her eyes forcing him to look at her.

  F’lar, alerted by the tone in her voice, returned to the table with the wine and cups he’d taken from the wall chest.

  “Acquire what? Oh ho, the young man has trained his dragon to chew firestone but not to duck!”

  “I thought it was decided that Jaxom was to remain in Holding at Ruatha.”

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t scold him,” F’lar replied as he winked at Jaxom.

  “About timing it. But this . . .” she gestured angrily at Jaxom, “this is entirely different.”

  “Is it, Lessa?” F’lar asked in a tone that embarrassed Jaxom. They were momentarily unaware of him. “I seem to remember a girl wanting desperately to fly her queen.”

  “Flying was no danger. But Jaxom could be—”

  “Jaxom has evidently learned a lesson. Haven’t you? About ducking, that is.”

  “Yes, sir. N’ton’s put me in with the weyrlings at Fort.”

  “Why wasn’t I informed?” Lessa demanded.

  “Jaxom’s training is Lytol’s responsibility and we’ve no complaints on that score. As far as Ruth is concerned, I’d say that he too falls under N’ton’s jurisdiction. How long has this been going on, Jaxom?”

  “Not that long, sir. I asked N’ton because . . . well . . .” Here Jaxom’s conscience interfered with his glibness. Above all else, Lessa must not think he had any part in returning that blasted egg.

  F’lar rescued him. “Because Ruth is a dragon, and dragons ought to fight Thread with firestone? Right?” He shrugged at Lessa. “What did you expect? He’s Ruathan-blooded; like yourself. Just keep your hide and Ruth’s intact.”

  “We haven’t flown in a Threadfall yet,” Jaxom admitted, realizing as he spoke how much resentment showed in his voice.

  F’lar gave him a friendly clout on the shoulder.

  “He’s a sound lad, Lessa, stop glowering. If he’s singed himself once, he’s less likely to risk doing so again. Was Ruth hurt?”

  “Yes!” The anguish of that experience was plain in Jaxom’s admission.

  F’lar gave a laugh and waggled a finger at Lessa, who was still glaring at Jaxom. “There! That’s the best deterrent in the world. Ruth wasn’t badly hurt, was he? I can’t say I’ve seen you that often recently . . .” F’lar turned toward the killing ground as if conjuring up the white dragon.

  “No,” Jaxom said quickly and F’lar grinned again at the relief in his reply. “It’s well healed. You can barely see the scar. On his left thigh.”

  “I can’t say that I like all this,” Lessa said.

  “We would have asked you, Weyrwoman,” Jaxom began, not entirely truthful, “but there was so much trouble just then . . .”

  “Well . . .” she began.

  “Well,” echoed F’lar, “it really isn’t up to you, Lessa, but you do understand, Jaxom, how awkward it would be for you to be seriously hurt right now. We can’t afford to have a major Hold in contention.”

  “I appreciate that, sir.”

  “Nor, I’m afraid, is it wise to press your confirmation as Lord Holder—”

  “I don’t want Lytol to have to step down, sir. Not ever.”

  “Your loyalty does you credit but I really can understand and appreciate your ambiguous position. It’s never easy to be patient, my friend, but patience can be rewarding.”

  Again Jaxom was embarrassed by the look that Lessa and F’lar exchanged.

  “And,” the Weyrleader continued more briskly, as if he realized Jaxom’s discomfiture, “you’ve already proved your resourcefulness today, though, believe me, had I known you to be so thorough, I’d have been more explicit in my instructions.” F’lar’s expression was severe but Jaxom found himself grinning in relief. “Twenty-five Turns timing it . . .” The Weyrleader was both appalled and impressed.

  Lessa gave a snort.

  “It was your jumps, Lessa, that first gave me the notion,” Jaxom said, and when he saw her startled expression, explained: “Remember, you came forward in twenty-five Turn jumps when you brought the Oldtimers forward. So I thought it likely that D’ram would go back that interval. It left him time enough before the Pass started so he wouldn’t have to worry about Thread.”

  F’lar nodded approvingly, and Lessa appeared somewhat mollified.

  Ramoth turned her head toward the entrance.

  “Your meal is coming,” Lessa said, smiling. “No more talk till you’ve eaten. Ruth’s way ahead of you, just brought down his third wherry, Ramoth says.”

  “Don’t worry about a bird or three or four,” F’lar said, for Jaxom had winced at this report of Ruth’s greed. “The Weyr can support the meal.”

  Menolly entered, breathing heavily from the climb and, to judge by the beads of perspiration on her brow, her haste. When Lessa exclaimed that she’d brought enough food to feed a fighting wing, Menolly replied that Manora said it was nearly dinnertime and they might as well all eat in the Weyr.

  If anyone had told Jaxom that morning that he’d enjoy a comfortable dinner with the Benden Weyrleaders, he’d have told them to open their glow baskets. Despite the reassurances of Mnementh and Ramoth that they conveyed to him, he wouldn’t sit still and eat until he’d checked on Ruth. So Lessa permitted him to walk to the ledge and see the white dragon grooming himself by the lake. When Jaxom resumed his place at the table, he found himself shaking, and he applied himself to the roast meats to restore his energy.

  “Tell me again what those fire-lizards said about men,” F’lar asked when they were relaxing around the table.

  “You can’t always get fire-lizards to explain,” Menolly said, glancing first at Jaxom to see if he wished to answer. “They got so excited when Ruth asked them if they remembered men that their images made no sense. Actually,” Menolly paused, drawing
her brows together in concentration, “the images were so varied that you didn’t see much.”

  “Why would their images be varied?” Lessa asked, interested in spite of her present antagonism to fire-lizards.

  “Generally a group will come up with one specific image . . .”

  Jaxom inhaled wearily: she couldn’t be foolish enough to mention the egg pictures.

  “They echoed Canth’s fall from the Red Star. My friends will often come back with rather good images, I think each reinforcing the other, of places they’ve been.”

  “Men!” F’lar said thoughtfully. “They could mean men elsewhere in the South. It is a vast continent.”

  “F’lar!” Lessa’s voice was sharp and warning. “You are not exploring the Southern Continent. And, might I suggest that if there were men there, somewhere, they would certainly have ventured far enough north to be seen at some stage or another by F’nor when he was south, or by Toric’s groups. There would have been signs of them other than the unreliable recollections of some fire-lizards.”

  “You’re quite likely correct, Lessa,” F’lar said, looking so disappointed that Jaxom realized for the first time that being Benden’s Weyrleader and First Dragonrider of Pern might not be as enviable a position as he’d previously assumed.

  So often lately he’d come to realize that things were not as they seemed. There were hidden facets to everything. You’d think you had what you wanted in your grasp and, when you looked closely, it wasn’t what it had seemed to be from a distance. Like teaching your dragon to chew firestone—and getting caught at it, in one sense, as he had. Now he had to train earnestly with N’ton’s weyrlings, which was fine as far as it went but it didn’t go far enough to please Jaxom—flying high in a Fort Weyr wing so his holders wouldn’t even know he was there!

  “The problem is, Jaxom, that we,” F’lar indicated Lessa, himself and the entire Weyr, “have other plans for the South—before the Lord Holders start parceling it out to their younger sons.” He brushed his hair back from his face. “We learned a lesson from the Oldtimers, a valuable one. And I know what happens to a Weyr in a long Interval.” F’lar grinned broadly at Jaxom. “We’ve been mighty busy protecting land by seeding the grubs. By the next Pass of the Red Star, all the Northern Continent,” and the Weyrleader’s gesture was wide, “will be seeded. And safe at least from Thread burrowing. If the Holds thought dragonriders were superfluous before, they certainly will have more cause then.”

  “People always feel better seeing dragons flame Thread,” Jaxom said hastily, from a sense of loyalty although, from the expression on F’lar’s face, the Weyrleader didn’t seem to be in need of any reassurance.

  “True, but I’d prefer it if the Weyrs no longer needed the bounty of the Holds. If we had land enough of our own . . .”

  “You want the South!”

  “Not all of it.”

  “Just the best part of it,” said Lessa firmly.

  CHAPTER XI

  Late Morning at Benden Weyr, Early

  Morning at Harpercraft Hall, Midday

  at Fidello’s Hold, 15.7.5

  JAXOM AND RUTH spent the night in an empty weyr, but Ruth felt sufficiently uneasy in a full-sized dragon bed that Jaxom bundled his furs and curled up against his mount. Jaxom was conscious of having to pull himself out of a soft, black enfolding pit from which he was loath to move.

  “I know you must be flattened with fatigue, Jaxom, but you’ve got to wake up!” Menolly’s voice penetrated the comfortable darkness. “Besides, you’ll get a pain in your neck sleeping like that.”

  Menolly was upside down, Jaxom thought as he opened his eyes. Beauty was precariously perched, hind legs on the girl’s shoulder, her forepaws well down Menolly’s breast, peering anxiously at him. He felt Ruth stir.

  “Jaxom, wake up! I’ve brought you all the klah you can drink.” Mirrim moved into his line of vision. “But F’lar’s eager to go and he wants Mnementh to talk to Ruth first.”

  Menolly winked solemnly at Jaxom, turning her shoulder to mask her action from Mirrim. Jaxom groaned because he was never going to keep straight in his mind who knew what was to be kept secret or who could be told. He groaned again because his neck was indeed stiff.

  Ruth opened his inner lid just a crack, regarding his rider with displeasure. I am tired. I need to sleep.

  “You can’t sleep any longer now. Mnementh needs to speak to you.”

  Why didn’t he speak to me last night?

  “Because he probably wouldn’t have remembered today.”

  Ruth’s head came up and he turned one eye fully on Jaxom. Mnementh would. He is the biggest dragon on all Pern.

  “Just because he let you gorge yourself on his killing ground, you like him. But he wants to speak to you so you’d better. Are you awake?”

  If I am able to speak to you, I am not dreaming. I am awake.

  “You are a bold fellow today,” Jaxom said. In one massive heave, he pulled himself out of his impromptu bed. Dragging the furs about him, he half-fell toward the table where Menolly and Mirrim had politely withdrawn. The smell of klah was very welcome and he thanked the girls.

  “What time is it?”

  “Midmorning, Benden time,” Menolly said, her face expressionless but her eyes dancing as she lightly stressed the last two words.

  Jaxom grunted. They could all hear the creaks, groans and rumblings of Ruth as the dragon stretched himself in preparation for the day.

  “When did you get Threadscored, Jaxom?” Mirrim asked with her usual forthrightness. She leaned over and traced the scar with a light touch, flattening her lips together in patent disapproval of the disfigurement.

  “Teaching Ruth to chew firestone. At Fort Weyr,” he added, after a malicious pause as he saw her gathering herself to scold him.

  “Does Lessa know?” Mirrim asked, emphasizing the last word.

  “Yes,” Jaxom replied. Let Mirrim digest that truth. But Mirrim wouldn’t let some matters alone.

  “I don’t think much of N’ton’s weyrlingmaster then,” she said, sniffing disapproval, “letting you get scored that way.”

  “Not his fault,” Jaxom mumbled through half-chewed bread.

  “Wasn’t Lytol furious? You shouldn’t be risking yourself.”

  Jaxom shook his head vigorously. He did wish Menolly hadn’t brought Mirrim with her.

  “And I just don’t see what good it’s going to do you. You can’t expect to fight Ruth.”

  Jaxom choked. “I am too going to fight Ruth, Mirrim.”

  “He already has,” Menolly remarked, indicating the Threadscore. “Now shut your mouth and let the man eat.”

  “Man?” Mirrim’s voice took a derisive swoop and she gave Jaxom a scathing glance.

  Menolly made an exasperated sound. “If Path doesn’t fly soon, Mirrim, you’re not going to be on terms with anyone!”

  Surprised, Jaxom looked at Mirrim, who was flushing deeply red.

  “Oh ho, Path’s ready to be flown! That’ll sort out some of your high-headed notions.” He couldn’t resist crowing at her dismay. “Has Path shown a preference? Ha! Look at her blush! Never thought I’d see the day you’d lose the use of your tongue! And you’ll be losing something more soon. I hope it’s the wildest flight they’ve had at Benden since Mnementh first flew Ramoth!”

  Mirrim exploded, her eyes narrowed with her anger, hands clenched into fists at her sides. “At least my Path will be flown! That’s more than you’ll ever do, with that white runt of yours!”

  “Mirrim!” Menolly’ s sharp voice made the girl wince, but not soon enough to erase the angry retort that sank coldly into Jaxom’s mind. He stared at Mirrim, trying to reject her taunt. “You take too much on yourself, Mirrim,” Menolly was saying. “I think you’d better leave.”

  “You just bet I’ll leave. And I don’t care if you have to climb down from this weyr, Menolly. Indeed I don’t.” Mirrim ran from the room.

  “Shells and Shards, but it’ll be a relief w
hen that green of hers rises to mate. And it might even be today the way Mirrim’s reacting.” Menolly spoke in a casual tone, almost chuckling at her friend’s behavior.

  Jaxom swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. Rigidly he controlled his intense emotional reaction for Ruth’s sake. A surreptitious glance at the white dragon showed that his friend was still stretching and extending wings and legs. Jaxom only hoped that the dragon had been too sleepy to attend to what they had been saying. He leaned toward Menolly.

  “Do you know anything about . . .” he jerked his head at Ruth, “that I don’t know?”

  “About Path?” Menolly deliberately misconstrued his direction. “Well, if you’ve never seen a rider reaction to a proddy dragon, Mirrim’s given you a classic example.”

  Path is a well-grown dragon, Ruth said thoughtfully. Jaxom groaned, covering his face with one hand; he should have known that Ruth missed little.

  Menolly tapped his hand imperiously, her eyes demanding an explanation.

  “Would you like to fly Path?” Jaxom asked Ruth, his eyes meeting Menolly’s.

  Why should I fly her? I have already outflown her in every race we flew at Telgar. She isn’t as fast as I am in the air.

  Jaxom repeated to Menolly exactly what Ruth had said, trying to keep his voice as close to Ruth’s puzzled tone as possible.

  Menolly burst out laughing. “Oh, I wish Ruth had said that in Mirrim’s hearing. That would bring her down a peg or two.”

  Mnementh wishes to speak to me, Ruth said in a very respectful manner, raising his head and turning toward Mnementh’s ledge.

  “Do you know something I don’t? About Ruth?” Jaxom asked in a fierce whisper as he caught hold of Menolly’s hand to bring her closer to him.

  “You heard him, Jaxom.” Menolly’s eyes were bright with amusement. “He’s simply not interested in dragons, not that way yet.”

  Jaxom gave her hand a hard squeeze.

  “Just think logically, Jaxom,” she said, leaning over to him. “Ruth’s small, he’s maturing more slowly than other dragons.”