The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [364]
“What’s the matter with him, Menolly? Is he ill?” F’lar strode to her assistance.
“He jumped back twenty-five Turns to find D’ram. He’s exhausted!”
The next few moments were a blank to Jaxom. He reestablished contact with the here and now when someone held a rank-smelling vial under his nose, the fumes of which cleared his head and made him back away from the stink. He realized that he was sitting on the steps to the queen’s weyr, his body braced between F’lar and Menolly, with Manora and Lessa in front of him, everyone looking extremely anxious.
A high-pitched squeal told him that Ruth had killed and, curiously, he felt better immediately.
“Drink this slowly,” Lessa ordered, curling his fingers about a warm cup. The soup was rich with meat juice, savory with herbs and just the right temperature for drinking. He took two long gulps and opened his mouth to speak when Lessa gestured him imperiously to keep drinking.
“Menolly’s given us the salient points,” the Weyrwoman said, pulling a disapproving grimace. “But you disappeared long enough to scare Menolly out of her harpered wits. How under the sun did you conclude he’d gone twenty-five Turns back? Don’t answer that yet. Drink. You’re transparent and I’d never hear the last of it from Lytol if you came to any harm over this numbwitted escapade.” She glared at her weyrmate. “Yes, I’ve been worried over D’ram but not to the point where I would risk a fingertip of Ruth’s hide to find him if he’s trying that hard to be lost. Nor am I very pleased to find fire-lizards involved.” She was tapping one foot now and her glare was divided equally between Menolly and Jaxom. “I still think they’re pests. Barging in where they’re not wanted. I suppose that unmarked fair that popped in followed you up from the South? I won’t sanction that.”
“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