The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [287]
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 milkbrother, 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.