The White Dragon p-4

by Anne McCaffrey

  Ruth angled close to the tier, catching at the ledge with his claws and hovering long enough to permit Menolly and Jaxom to dismount.

  As Jaxom settled his tunic before seating himself, he got a good long look at Master Robinton. He could understand Menolly's entreaty. The Harper seemed different. Oh, he had greeted Jaxom and Menolly brightly enough with a smile for his journeyman and a buffet on the shoulder for Jaxom but he had turned back to his own thoughts which, to judge by his expression, were sad. The Masterharper of Pern had a long face, generally mobile with quick expressions and reaction. Now, while the Harper apparently watched the progress of the young candidates as they moved across the warm sands of the Hatching Ground, his face was lined, his deep set eyes shadowed with fatigue and worry, the skin of his cheeks and chin sagged. He looked old, tired, and bereft. Jaxom was appalled and looked quickly away, avoiding Menolly's gaze because his thoughts must have been all too apparent to the observant Harper girl.

  Master Robinton old? Tired, worried, yes. But aging? A cold emptiness assailed Jaxom's innards. Pern deprived of the humor and wisdom of the Master Harper? Even harder to contemplate was being without his vision and eager curiosity. Resentment replaced the sense of loss as Jaxom found himself, loyal to Robinton's precepts, trying to rationalize this wave of unpalatable reflection.

  An urgent thrumming brought his attention back to the Hatching Ground. He'd been to enough Hatchings to realize that Ramoth's presence, when there was no queen egg, was unusual; her attitude was daunting. He wouldn't have wanted to brave her red whirling eyes, or the stabs of her head as she kept poking toward the oncoming candidates. Instead of fanning out so that they loosely circled the rocking eggs, the boys were in a tight group, as if that way they stood a better chance against her attentions.

  «I don't envy them,» Menolly said to Jaxom in an undertone.

  «Will she let them Impress, sir?» Jaxom asked the Harper, momentarily forgetting his awareness of the man's mortality.

  «You'd think she was inspecting each one to see if he smelled of the Southern Weyr, wouldn't you?» the Harper replied, his voice light with humor.

  Jaxom glanced at him and wondered if there hadn't been some unflattering trick of lighting for the Harper grinned with mischief, very much his customary self.

  «I'm not sure I'd care for such a scrutiny right now,» he added, giving his left eyebrow a quirk upward.

  Menolly coughed, her eyes dancing. Jaxom supposed they'd been South recently and wondered what they had learned.

  Shells, he thought, in a sudden sweaty panic, the Southerners knew that none of them had returned the egg. Suppose Robinton had found that out?

  An angry hiss from the Hatching Ground brought such a reaction from the audience that Jaxom quickly transferred his attention. One of the eggs had split, but Ramoth had moved so protectively over it that none of the candidates dared approach. Mnementh bellowed from his ledge outside and the bronzes within thrummed. Ramoth's head went up, her wings, shimmering gold and green, extended and she warbled a defiant answer. The other bronzes answered her in conciliating tones but Mnementh's bugle was clearly an order.

  Ramoth is very upset, Ruth said to Jaxom. The white dragon had discreetly retired to a sunny spot by the Bowl lake. His absence did not keep him from knowing what was happening within the Ground. Mnementh tells her she is being silly. The eggs must Hatch; the Hatchlings must make Impression. Then she will not have to worry about them again. They will be safe with men.

  The croon of the bronzes deepened and Ramoth, still protesting an inevitable cycle of life, stepped slowly away from the eggs. Whereupon one of the older boys who had bravely led the first rank bowed formally to her and then stepped up to the split egg from which a young bronze was emerging, squealing as it tried to balance itself on wobbly legs.

  «That boy has good presence of mind,» Robinton said, nodding his approbation. He was intent on the scene below. «Just what Ramoth needed, that courtesy. Her eyes are slowing and she's retracting her wings. Good. Good!»

  Following the example set, two more of the older candidates bowed to Ramoth and moved quickly toward eggs that had begun rocking violently with the efforts of the Hatchlings to pierce their shells. If subsequent obeisances were jerky or skimped, Ramoth had been mollified although she emitted curious little barks as each dragonet made its Impression.

  «Look, he got the bronze! He deserved him!» Robinton said, applauding, as the newly linked pair moved toward the entrance of the Ground.

  «Who's the lad?» Menolly asked.

  «From Telgar Hold; he's got the build and coloring of the old Lord and his wits.»

  «Young Kirnety from Fort Hold has another bronze,» Menolly reported, delighted. «I told you he'd do it.»

  «I have been wrong before and will be again, my dear girl. Infallibility would be a bore,» Master Robinton replied equably. «Are there any lads here from Ruatha, Jaxom?»

  «Two, but I can't recognize them from this angle.»

  «It's a good sized clutch,» Robinton replied. «Plenty to choose from.»

  Jaxom was watching five boys who had circled one large egg covered with green splotches. He caught his breath as the dragonet's head emerged, turning to look at each of the boys as it shook shell fragments from its body. «And many boys disappointed,» Jaxom said as the little brown dragon pushed past the five boys, out into the sands, crooning piteously, swinging its head from side to side. What if, Jaxom thought with a pang of cold in his guts, Ruth had not found me suitable? Almost all the candidates had left the Ground when he'd freed Ruth from the overhard shell.

  The searching dragonet stumbled, its nose burying into the warm sand. It righted itself, sneezed and cried again. Ramoth called out in warning and the boys nearest her retreated hurriedly. One of them, a dark haired, long legged lad whose bony knees were scarred, almost stumbled over the little brown. He caught himself with a wild flailing of his arms, started to back away and then halted, staring at the brown dragon. Impression occurred!

  I was there. You were there. We are now together, said Ruth, responding to Jaxom's emotion at that scene. Jaxom blinked away an excess of moisture that collected in his eyes at that reaffirmation of their bond.

  «It's all over so soon,» Menolly said, her voice petulant with regret. «I wish it wouldn't all happen in such a rush!»

  «I'd say we'd had quite an afternoon,» Robinton stated, gesturing toward Ramoth. The queen was now glowering at the retreating pairs and shifting from foreleg to foreleg.

  «D'you suppose now that they're all safely Hatched and Impressed, her temper will improve?» Menolly asked.

  «And Lessa's as well?» Robinton's lips twitched to suppress his amusement. «No doubt once Ramoth can be persuaded to eat, both will feel more charitable.»

  «I hope so.» Menolly's reply was low and fervent, not meant, Jaxom thought, to be heard by Robinton, for the Harper had turned to the back of the tiers, evidently looking for someone.

  Robinton had heard, however, and gave his journeyman a warm grin. «Too bad we can't postpone this meeting until the happy restoration has occurred.»

  «Can't I come with you this once?»

  «To protect me, Menolly?». The Harper gripped her by the shoulder, smiling affectionately. «No, it's not a general meeting and I cannot offend by including you.»

  «He can come…» Menolly jerked her thumb at I Jaxom, glaring at him with resentment.

  «I can what?»

  «You hadn't learned from Lytol that a meeting's been called after the Impression?» the Harper asked.

  «Ruatha must attend.»

  «They couldn't exclude you as Masterharper,» said Menolly in a tight voice.

  «Why would they?» Jaxom asked, surprised by Menolly's uncharacteristic defensiveness.

  «Because, you dim glow..»

  «That's enough, Menolly. I appreciate your concern, but all things come to pass in the fullness of time. My head is neither bloodied or bowed. Once Ramoth has killed, I'll have n
o fear of being dragon bait, either.» Robinton patted her shoulder, reassuringly.

  The queen was making her way out of the Hatching Ground and, as they watched, she took wing.

  «There, you see. She's gone to feed,» the Harper said. «I have nothing to fear anymore.»

  Menolly gave him a long sardonic look. «I just wish I could be with you, that's all.»

  «I know. Ah, Fandarel,» The Harper raised his voice and waved to catch the eye of the big Mastersmith. «Come, Lord Jaxom, we've business in the Council Chamber.»

  This must be what Lytol had meant by his being required to attend the Hatching. But oughtn't Lytol to have been there if the meeting was as important as Menolly intimated? Jaxom was flattered by his guardian's confidence.

  The two Masters, having met on their way down the tiers, attached other Craftmasters who nodded greetings with more solemnity than a Hatching generally occasioned. Menolly's hint that this was to be an unusual meeting was reinforced. Again Jaxom wondered that Lytol was not here. He had, Jaxom knew, agreed to support Robinton.

  «Thought Ramoth was going to prevent Impression for a moment there,» Fandarel said, nodding at Jaxom. «Hear you've deserted me for your favorite pastime, huh, lad?»

  «Training only. Master Fandarel. All dragons must learn to chew firestone.»

  «Upon my soul,» Masterminer Nicat exclaimed. «Never thought he'd live long enough to do that.»

  Jaxom caught the Masterharper's warning expression as he was about to reply with some heat, and rephrased his answer. «Ruth is very good at it, thank you.»

  «One forgets the passage of time, Master Nicat,» Robinton said, smoothly, «and that growth and maturity come to those we remember first as very young. Ah, Andemon, how are you today?» The Harper beckoned to the Masterfarmer to join them as they made their way across the hot sands.

  Nicat fell in beside Jaxom, chuckling. «Teaching the little white to chew firestone, huh? That wouldn't happen to be why some of our supplies appear short in the morning?»

  «Master Nicat, I'm training at Fort Weyr and have all the firestone Ruth needs there.»

  «Training at Fort Weyr, are you?» Nicat's grin widened as his eyes flicked to Jaxom's cheek, stayed and moved on. «With dragonriders, huh, Lord Jaxom?» There was the barest stress of the title before Nicat looked ahead at the steps up to the queen's weyr and the ledge where Mnementh generally perched.

  The bronze had gone off to watch his queen feed in the meadow below. Jaxom looked for the white hide of Ruth by the lake and felt his dragon's mental presence.

  «Good Hatching, with a nice bit of suspense for starters, huh?» Nicat said conversationally.

  «Did you have any lads on the Ground today?» Jaxom asked politely.

  «Only one this time; Two lads had already gone to Telgar's last Hatching so no complaints. No complaints. Although, if you've a clutch of fire lizard eggs going a begging, I wouldn't say no to a couple.»

  Nicat's gaze was guileless, and it certainly would be no hair off his hide if Jaxom chose to teach Ruth to chew firestone and had appropriated sacks from the mines.

  «We've none presently, but you never can tell when a clutch'll be found.»

  «I only mention it in passing. They're pure death for those pesky, ruinous tunnel snakes, not to mention being very clever about discovering gas pockets we don't smell. And gas pockets is about all we're mining at present.»

  The Masterminer sounded depressed and worried. Jaxom wondered what was in the air these days to produce such a general atmosphere of anxiety and sorrow. He'd always liked Master Nicat and, during their lessons in the mines, had come to respect the short heavyset craftmaster whose face was still black pored from working as an apprentice below the ground. As they climbed the stone steps to the queen's weyr, Jaxom wished again that he wasn't bound by that promise to N'ton not to time it. He had too many demands on ordinary daytime to risk a hop between to the Southern beaches although Ruth might be lucky enough to locate a clutch quickly. He would like to oblige Master Nicat; he'd also like to find an egg for Corana. It also wouldn't hurt to indulge the disgruntled Tegger, who might have learned how to keep a fire lizard now. But there was no way, short of timing it, that Jaxom could complete a trip south right now.

  Just as they reached the entrance, a bronze dragon appeared above the Star Stones, bugling. The watch dragon replied. Jaxom noticed that everyone had stopped stock still to hear the exchange. Shells and shards, but they were nervous here in Benden. He wondered who had arrived.

  The Weyrleader from Ista, Ruth told him.

  D'ram? It wasn't incumbent on other Weyrleaders to attend Hatchings, though generally, unless Threadfall was imminent in their own area, they did come especially to Benden. Jaxom had already spotted N'ton, R'mart of Telgar Weyr, G'narish of Igen, T'bor of the High Reaches among those gathered. Then he remembered the Master Harper's talk about D'ram's Weyrwoman, Fanna. Was she worse?

  When they reached the Council Chamber, Nicat parted from him. Jaxom took one look at Lessa, seated in the Weyrwoman's huge stone chair, her face intense in its frown, and he quickly moved to the far comer of the room. Her keen eyes wouldn't be able to spot the score on his cheek at that distance.

  This was not to be a large meeting, the Harper had said. Jaxom watched the Mastercraftsmen file in, the other Weyrleaders, the major Lord Holders, but there were no weyrwomen or wing seconds except for Brekke and F'nor.

  D'ram arrived in the company of F'lar and a younger man Jaxom didn't recognize though he wore wing second colors. If Jaxom had been upset by the glimpse of the Masterharper's aging, he was shocked by the change in D'ram's appearance. The man seemed to have shrunk in the past Turn to a husk, dried up and frail. The Istan Weyrleader's step was jerky and his shoulders rounded.

  Lessa rose in one of her swift graceful gestures and went to meet the Istan, her hands outstretched, her expression unexpectedly compassionate. Jaxom had had the impression that she had been totally immersed in her brooding. Now, all her attention was centered on D'ram.

  «We're all assembled as you asked, D'ram,» Lessa said, pulling him to the chair beside her and pouring him a cup of wine.

  D'ram thanked her for the wine and welcome, took a sip but, instead of seating himself, he turned to face the meeting. Jaxom could see that his face was marred by lines of fatigue as well as of age.

  «Most of you already know my situation and Fanna's… illness,» he said in a low hesitant voice. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath. «I wish to step down now as Istan Weyrleader. None of our queens is due to mate but I have no heart to continue longer. My Weyr has agreed. G'dened,» and D'ram indicated the man who had accompanied him, «has led the past ten Falls on his Barnath. I should have stepped down sooner but…» he shook his head, smiling sadly, «we so hoped the illness would pass.» He straightened his shoulders with an effort. «Caylith is oldest queen and Cosira a good Weyrwoman. Barnath has flown Caylith already and there's been a large strong clutch to prove them.» Now he hesitated, glancing warily at Lessa. «It was the custom in the Oldtime, when a Weyr was leaderless, to throw open the first queen's flight in that Weyr to all young bronzes. In this fashion a new leader was fairly chosen. I would invoke that custom now.» He said it almost belligerently and yet his manner toward Lessa was entreating.

  «You must be very sure of G'dened's Barnath then,» R'mart of Telgar Weyr said in a disgusted tone of voice that rose over the startled murmurs.

  G'dened, grinning broadly, managed to avoid meeting anyone's glance.

  «I want the best leadership for Ista,» D'ram said, stiffly, resenting R'mart's implication of a token flight. «G'dened has proved his competence to my satisfaction. But he ought to prove it to everyone's.»

  «That's fairly put.» F'lar rose to his feet, holding up his hands for silence. «I don't doubt G'dened has a good chance, R'mart, but D'ram's offer is exceedingly generous at this critical time. I'll inform all my bronze riders but I, for one, will permit only those whose dragons haven't yet h
ad a chance to mate with a queen. I don't think it's fair to pile too many odds against Barnath, now is it?»

  «Isn't Caylith a Benden queen?» Lord Corman of Keroon Hold asked.

  «No, she's one of Mirath's laying. Parith is the Benden Hatched queen.»

  «Caylith's an Oldtimer queen?»

  «Caylith is an Istan queen,» F'lar said firmly but quickly.

  «And G'dened?»

  «I was born in the old time,» the man said in a quiet voice but the expression he turned to Lord Corman bore no trace of apology.

  «He is also a son of D'ram,» Lord Warbret of Ista Hold said, speaking directly to Lord Corman as if that qualification should ease the Holder's tacit objection.

  «Good man. Good blood,» Corman replied, not at all ruffled.

  «His leadership is in question, not his bloodline,» F'lar said. «The custom is a good one…»

  Jaxom clearly heard someone remark that it was the only good Oldtime custom he'd ever heard about, and he hoped that the low whisper hadn't carried far.

  «D'ram would be within his right to keep to the Weyr for leadership,» F'lar continued, addressing the craftmasters and Lord Holders. «I, for one, deeply appreciate his offer and the willingness of the Weyr to open the mating flight.»

  «I only want the best leadership for my Weyr,» D'ram repeated. «This is the only way to be certain Ista gets it. The only way, the only right way.»

  Jaxom suppressed the urge to cheer and glanced about the room, willing the reactions to be favorable. All the Weyrleaders seemed to agree. As they should, since one of their riders might gain from it. Jaxom hoped that G'dened's Barnath would fly Caylith anyhow. That would prove there was good metal in the younger Oldtimers. No one would be able to say anything against Ista leadership once it was proved by competition!

  «I have stated Ista's intention,» D'ram said, raising his tired voice over the murmur of individual conversations. «It is the will of my Weyr. I must go back now. My duty to you, Lords, Masters, Weyrleaders, all.»