«What else would anyone dare serve you, Robinton?» Lessa asked, laughing.
Jaxom watched them filing up the steps and through the Hall doors. With a concert of shrieks, the fire lizards abandoned their aerial display and dove toward the entrance, narrowly missing the Harper's tall figure as they swarmed to get into the Hold.
The incident lifted Jaxom's spirits and he directed Ruth to their quarters. As his glance swept the windows, he saw people pulling back. He sincerely hoped that Dorse and all his pals had witnessed every moment, had noticed the handgrasp of F'nor and seen how he'd been talking to the three most important dragonriders on all Pern. Dorse would have to be more careful now that Jaxom was also going to be allowed to take his Ruth between. Dorse had never figured on that, had he? Nor, thought Jaxom, had he. Wasn't it just capital of N'ton to suggest it? And when Dorse heard, he'd just have to chew it raw and swallow!
Ruth answered his thoughts with a smug croon as the dragon paced into the old stable courtyard and dropped his left shoulder for Jaxom to dismount.
«We can fly now, and get away from here, Ruth. And we'll be able to go between, too, and go anywhere we want on Pern. You flew just beautifully, and I'm sorry I was such a poor rider, walloping you like that on your ridges. I'll learn. You'll see!»
Ruth's eyes wheeled affectionately in a brilliant blue as he followed Jaxom into the weyr. Then Jaxom kept telling Ruth how marvelous he was, turning on a wing tip and all, as he brushed away the worst of the ridge dust and hide fuzz that had accumulated on Ruth's bed overnight. Ruth settled himself, angling his head at Jaxom in a subtle bid for caresses. Jaxom obliged, somehow reluctant to join festivities at which the real guest of honor must be absent.
Warned by the shrieks of the fire lizards, Robinton moved quickly to flatten himself against the right hand leaf of the great metal doors, then put his hands across his face as a shield. He'd been caught too often in frantic fire lizard fairs not to take precautions. Generally speaking, however, the fire lizards at the Harper Hall, thanks to Menolly's teachings, were well behaved. He smiled as he heard Lessa's exclamation of surprise and dismay. After he had felt the wind of their passing, he remained where he was and, sure enough, the fair swept back through the doorway. He heard Lord Groghe call his little queen, Merga, to order. Then his own Zair found him and, scolding as if Robinton had deliberately tried to hide from him, the little bronze fire lizard settled on his padded left shoulder.
«There! There's a lad!» Robinton said, stroking the agitated bronze with his finger and receiving a head sweeping caress on his cheek in return. «I wouldn't leave you, you ought to know that. Were you flying with Jaxom, too?»
Zair stopped scolding and gave a happy cheep. Then he craned his neck to peer down the court. Curious, Robinton leaned forward to see what had attracted Zair and saw Ruth pacing toward the old stables. Robinton sighed. He almost wished Jaxom had not been allowed to fly Ruth. As he'd anticipated, Lord Sangel was still vehemently against the youngster enjoying dragonrider prerogatives. Nor would Sangel be the only one of the older generation of Lord Holders who would dispute that liberty. Robinton felt that he'd done a fair job of influencing Groghe toward the boy, but then Groghe was smarter than Sangel. Besides, he owned a fire lizard and that made him more charitably inclined toward Jaxom and Ruth. Robinton couldn't remember whether Sangel didn't want or had been unable to Impress a fire lizard. He must ask Menolly. Her queen. Beauty, ought to be clutching soon. Useful that his journeywoman had a queen fire lizard so that he could dispose of the eggs where he deemed it would do everyone the most good.
He watched a moment longer, rather touched by the sight. Between Jaxom and Ruth there was an aura of innocence and vulnerability, of dependence and protection of each for the other.
Jaxom had entered the world at a decided disadvantage, torn from his dead mother's body, with his father fatally wounded in a duel a half hour later. Bearing in mind what N'ton and Finder had disclosed to him just before Jaxom's flight, Robinton was annoyed with himself for not keeping a closer check on the boy. Lytol was not so stiff that he wouldn't take a hint, especially if it were for Jaxom's sake. But Robinton had so many claims on his time and his thinking, even with Menolly and Sebell in his confidence and as his devoted aides. Zair cheeped and brushed his head against the Harper's chin.
Robinton chuckled and stroked Zair. They weren't more than the length of a man's arm, these fire lizards. They weren't as intelligent as dragons, but they were utterly satisfying as companions and occasionally useful.
Now, he'd better join the others and see how he could insinuate his suggestion to Lytol. Young Jaxom would be a perfect addition to his scheme.
«Robinton!» F'lar called him from the doorway of the Hold's smaller reception room. «Hurry up here. Your reputation is at risk.»
«My what? I'm coming» The Harper's long legs brought him quickly into the room by the end of the sentence. From the smiles of those standing by the flasks of decanted wine, the Harper had no trouble guessing what was afoot.
«Ah! You think to catch me out!» he cried, dramatically gesturing at the wine. «Well, I'm sure I can manage to maintain my reputation here! Just as long as you've marked the flasks correctly, Lytol.»
Lessa laughed and picked one up, exhibiting her choice to the assembled. She poured a glass of the deep red wine and held it out to Robinton. Aware that all eyes were on him, Robinton made his approach to the table, affecting a slow swaggering step.
His eyes caught Menolly's and she gave him the barest wink, completely at her ease now in such prestigious company. Like the little white dragon, she was ready to fly on her own. She had certainly come a long Turn from the unsure, unappreciated girl of an isolated SeaHold. He really must get her out of the Harper Hall now and on her own.
Robinton made a proper show of wine tasting, since this was obviously expected of him. He examined the color of the wine in the sunlight that streamed into the room, sniffed deeply of its aroma, then sipped ever so delicately and made a huge business of swishing the wine in his mouth. «Hmmm, yes, well. There's no trouble in recognizing this vintage,» he said, a shade haughtily.
«Well?» Lord Groghe demanded, his thick fingers twitching a bit on the broad belt in which he had hooked his thumbs. He rocked on his booted feet with impatience.
«One never hastens a wine!»
«Either you know or you don't,» Sangel said with a skeptical sniff.
«Of course I know it. It's the Benden pressing of eleven Turns back, isn't it, Lytol?»
Robinton, aware of the silence in the room, was surprised by the look on Lytol's face. Surely the man couldn't still be upset about Jaxom flying the little dragon, could he? No, the muscle twitch had gone from his cheek.
«I'm right,» Robinton said, drawling as he pointed an accusing finger at the Lord Warder. «And you know it, Lytol. To be precise, this is the later pressing as the wine is nicely fruity. Furthermore, this is from the first Benden shipment you managed to wheedle out of old Lord Raid, on the strength of Lessa's Ruathan Blood.» He altered his voice to imitate Lytol's heavy baritone. «'The Weyrwoman of Pern must have Benden wine when she visits her former Hold.' Am I not right, Lytol?»
«Oh, you're right on all counts,» Lytol admitted with what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.
«About wines, Master Harper, you're infallible.»
«What a relief!» F'lar said, clapping the Harper on the shoulder. «I could never have borne your loss of reputation, Robinton.»
«It is a proper wine to celebrate this occasion. I give you all Jaxom, young Lord of Ruatha Hold and proud rider of Ruth.» Robinton knew he'd put a dragon among wherries with his words, but there was no point hiding from the fact that, though Jaxom was Lord elect of Ruatha Hold, he was also and undeniably a dragonrider. Lord Sangel cleared his throat abruptly before taking the required sip. Lessa's scowl suggested she'd rather he made any other toast just then.
Then, after clearing his throat a second time, Sangel jumped in as Robinton had hoped he would. «Yes, about that, there must be some understanding as to how much of a dragonrider young Jaxom is to be. I was given to understand at his Hatching,» Sangel waved his hand in the vague direction of the stables, «that the little creature was not likely to survive. Only reason 1 didn't protest at the time.»
«We didn't deliberately mislead you. Lord Sangel,» Lessa began in a testy voice.
«There will be no problem, Sangel,» said F'lar diplomatically. «We've no shortage of large dragons in the Weyr. So he isn't needed to fight.»
«We've no shortage of trained, Blooded men to take Hold here, either,» Sangel said, shooting his jaw out belligerently. Trust old Sangel to come to the point, thought Robinton gratefully.
«Not with Ruathan Blood,» Lessa said, her gray eyes flashing. «The whole point of my relinquishing my blood right to this Hold when I became Weyrwoman was to cede it to the one remaining male with any Ruathan Blood in his veins Jaxom! As long as I live, I will not permit Ruatha, of all the Holds on Pern, to be the prize for continent wide blood duels among younger sons. Jaxom remains as Lord Holder elect of Ruatha; he will never be a fighting dragonrider.»
«Just like to set matters straight,» Sangel said, stepping aside to avoid the icy stare Lessa gave him. «But you've got to admit, Weyrwoman, that riding dragons, no matter in how limited a fashion, can be dangerous. Heard about that weyrling at High Reaches»
«Jaxom's riding will be controlled at all times,» F'lar promised. He threw a warning glance at N'ton. «He will never fly to fight the Thread. The danger would be too great.»
«Jaxom is naturally a cautious lad,» Lytol joined the debate, «and I've made him properly aware of his responsibilities.»
Robinton saw N'ton's grimace.
«Too cautious, N'ton?» asked F'lar, who had also noticed the Fort Weyrleader's expression.
«Perhaps,» N'ton replied tactfully, with an apologetic nod to Lytol. «Or perhaps, inhibited is a better description. No offense meant, Lytol, but I noticed today that the lad finds himself isolated from others. Having his own dragon accounts for part of it, I'm sure. Since no lads his age have been allowed a chance to Impress fire lizards, the hold boys have no appreciation of his problems.»
«Dorse been nagging him again?» Lytol asked, pulling at his lower lip as he regarded N'ton.
«Then you're not unaware of the situation?» N'ton appeared relieved.
«Certainly not. It's one reason I myself have pressed you, F'lar, to permit the boy to fly. He would then be able to visit the Holds which have boys his age and rank.»
«But surely you've fosterlings?» Lessa cried, looking about the room as if she had somehow overlooked the presence of Holder younglings.
«I was about to arrange a half Turn fostering for Jaxom when he Impressed.» Lytol spread one hand to indicate an end to that plan.
«I can't support the notion of Jaxom leaving Ruatha for fostering,» Lessa said with a frown. «Not when he's the last of the Bloodline»
«Nor do I,» Lytol said, but it is necessary to reciprocate in fostering «
«Tis not,» Lord Groghe said, clapping Lytol on the shoulder. «In fact, it's a blessing not to. I've a lad Jaxom's age to be fostered. Be a relief not to have to take another boy back. When I see what you've done to put Ruatha back on its feet and so prosperous, Lytol, the lad would learn from you how to Hold properly. That is, if there should be anything for him to Hold when he gets his majority.»
«That's another matter I'd like to broach,» Lord Sangel said, stepping up to F'lar with a glance at Groghe for support. «What are we Holders to do?»
«To do?» asked F'lar, momentarily perplexed.
«With the younger sons,» Robinton said smoothly, «for whom there are no more holds to manage in South Boll, Fort, Ista, and Igen to name the Lords with the largest families of hopeful sons.»
«The Southern Continent, F'lar, when can we start opening the Southern Continent?» Groghe asked. «That Toric, who stayed behind in the Southern Hold, maybe he could use a strong, active, energetic, ambitious lad or two, or three?»
«The Oldtimers are in the Southern Continent,»
Lessa said sternly. «They can do no one harm there, since the land is protected by grubs.»
«I hadn't forgotten where the Oldtimers are, Weyrwoman,» Groghe remarked, raising his eyebrows. «Best place for 'em, they don't bother us, they do what they want, without making honest folk suffer.» There was a commendable lack of acrimony in Groghe's tone, Robinton noticed, considering how badly Fort Hold had suffered from T'ron's irresponsible conduct of Fort Weyr. «Point is. Southern's a fair size, grubbed, too, so it doesn't matter if the Oldtimers fly Thread or not, no real damage can be done.»
«Have you ever remained outside your Hold during Threadfall?» F'lar asked Lord Groghe.
«Me? No! What d'you think I am, crazy? Not but what that gaggle of young men, fighting at the drop of a glove Mind you, it's fists they fight with and I keep all weapons blunted, but their noise is enough to drive me between or outside Oh, I take your point, Weyrleader,» Groghe added gloomily and his fingers did a rapid dance on his broad belt. «Yes, makes it difficult, doesn't it? We're not geared to live holdless, are we? Toric's not looking to increase his Holding at all? Something's got to be done about the youngbloods. Not just in my Hold, either, eh, Sangel?»
«If I may make a suggestion,» Robinton broke in quickly when he saw F'lar hesitating. Considering the alacrity with which F'lar gestured him to proceed, he appeared grateful for the Harper's interruption. «Well, half a Turn ago. Lord Groghe's fifth son Benelek had an idea to improve a harvesting implement. The Fort Smithcraftmaster suggested that Fandarel ought to be interested. Indeed the good Mastersmith was. Young Benelek went to Telgar for special instruction and also talked one of the High Reaches' sons into joining him, that lad also having a mechanical bent. To shorten the tale, there are now eight Holder sons at the Smithcraft Hall, and three Crafthold boys who show an equal talent for the Smith's craft.»