The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [347]
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 eye 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 watchdragon 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 Masterharper’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 corner 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 ageing, he was shocked by the change in D’ram’s appearance. The man seemed