Brand sat up, a look of consternation on his face. “What are you talking about, Jaxom?” he scolded, in the tone he had used to scold the erring boy that Jaxom had once been. “There’s not a thing wrong with you, and you’ve two fine sons and probably more to come.” He scowled. “What exactly was said? Have you told Lytol?”
“No, and you’re not to either. This is between us, Holder to Steward, as well as friend to friend, Brand. I want that understood.”
“Yes, of course,” Brand hastily assured him, then waggled a finger. “But only if you tell me what you heard.”
It was a relief to unburden himself, for Jaxom trusted Brand completely. He had hoped that, in the telling, the sentences would lose their burden of dread, but Brand took the implications quite seriously.
“Could anyone plan an accident for you or Ruth up there?” Brand asked.
Jaxom gave a snort. “I assure you that from now on, I intend to pick my companions carefully. But I don’t think an accident could be easily contrived.”
“The two trips you’ve already made were not without dangers.”
Jaxom shook his head vigorously. “Not with Ruth so close at hand. Not with Aivas in constant communication with me. Piemur, and Farli and Trig, as well, were with us the first time. Sharra’s to go up tomorrow—you knew that? Good. Mirrim and S’len are scheduled for the day after. None of them would conspire against me. Besides which, Ruth wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”
You may be very sure of that!
Jaxom grinned, and Brand, recognizing the signs of a Ruth-Jaxom exchange, began to relax and even allowed himself a slight smile.
“Clearly they underestimate both you and Ruth, and now that you’re forewarned . . .” Brand frowned, his eyes narrowing into slits. “I’ll have a word or two with young Pell. And young he is, proud of his heritage but not so foolish as to wish to become Holder by way of your demise. Besides you and your sons, there’re also those three lads of F’lessan’s. Their claim to Ruatha is direct through Lessa, even if she did defer to you at your birth. I can’t see the older Lord Holders denying their claim because F’lessan’s a dragonrider. The Bloodline would be the important aspect, so I don’t think Pell would have a chance. At least not with the present composition of the Council. Not that the circumstance will ever arrive!” Brand’s conviction did much to assuage the niggling anxiety in Jaxom’s mind.
Then Brand squared his shoulders the way he always did when he was about to change the topic. “That was quite an inauguration,” he commented. As Chief Steward of Ruatha, he had also attended the festivities at Tillek Hold. “Can’t say as how Tillek Hold ever looked as inviting. We’ll see some grand changes now Ranrel’s Lord Holder. Good for you to have another Holder nearer your age.”
Jaxom grimaced. “Yes, maybe then I can speak now and again at these Councils.”
Brand smiled broadly. “I heard that Toric finally got your message.”
“Hmm, yes, even if it was Groghe who delivered it. Now, what have you for me? I’ve Fall after the noon meal.”
“More or less minor details to be discussed, Lord Jaxom. Let’s see.” Brand lifted the top sheet from the pile he had brought with him.
As Jaxom and Ruth circled down to Fort Weyr, Jaxom once again wondered what it had been like for the first dragonriders who had inhabited the old crater. Had they ranged themselves in preparation for their leader’s commands as this century’s dragons did, along the rim from the Star Stones to where Fort Weyr’s bowl had crumbled in an ancient landslide? How many dragonriders had there been before they had needed to expand into Benden Weyr? There was no way of knowing—and Jaxom felt a pang of regret for the lost history, a regret made all the more bittersweet for the history they
had
been able to reclaim through Aivas. Still, whatever the glory of the past, the sight of the Weyr displayed was as breathtaking as ever. And Fort was right now at full strength, with this Turn’s young riders taking their places in the wings. Green, blue, brown ranked in their wings beyond the bronze Wingseconds, every hide glistening with health in the midday sun.
Bronze Lioth, carrying N’ton, stood statuesquely in front of the Star Stones. Ruth answered Lioth’s bugle of welcome and neatly took his customary position to the right of the Fort Weyrleader. N’ton gave Jaxom a salute and pointed down to the Bowl, where four queenriders were being accoutered with flamethrowers.
A blue rider, returning from a preliminary sweep, emerged abruptly into the air, giving the ancient two-armed signal that Thread was imminent. N’ton acknowledged that even as the assembled dragons, almost simultaneously, turned their heads to receive firestone from their riders. The queens bellowed their readiness and one by one lifted from the floor of the Bowl and spiraled up to take their positions to the left of N’ton and Lioth. The big bronze was carefully masticating the first of the many lumps of firestone that he would chew before the end of the Fall. Jaxom offered Ruth his hunk and listened, awed as ever to the sound of draconic teeth chomping on the phosphine-bearing rock. Knowing as he did now the scientific explanation for the process by which dragons digested the rock in their second stomach and belched the phosphine gas forth in flame did not in the least destroy his reverence for dragonkind.
Jaxom carefully watched Ruth chew, for now and then every dragon bit his own tongue or cheeks, a minor accident that nevertheless would disqualify him from flying that Fall.
When Lioth had finished his chewing, he let out another roar, and N’ton pumped his arm in the age-old signal to take to the skies. With a powerful upward lunge, Lioth left the Rim, Ruth a breath behind him. The queens with effortless grace were airborne the next second. Making height, Lioth veered to the southeast, and one by one the wings rose into the air, maneuvering into their fighting positions: three on the level above, three just behind N’ton and Ruth, and the third carefully on a lower level with the queens’ wing just below them.
All human eyes were trained on N’ton; all dragons listened for Lioth’s word. As often as Jaxom had seen the flights of dragons go
between,
as often as he had himself been a part of that transfer, it never ceased to thrill him.
Between is
colder than space,
he told Ruth. A breath later they were above Ruatha’s southern border, the expanse of the river a silver snake below them. And to the east was the silver rain they had come to destroy.
The wings met Thread, breathing fire on the thick strands and watching them curl and twist in flame and drop harmlessly as ash on the ground far below. The upper wings streaked across the sky, and at the lowest level, the queenriders sent flaring gouts of liquid fire after those few Threads that escaped the upper wings.
Once again, Jaxom and Ruth were part of the ancient defense of Pern, falling into its rhythm, escaping its hazards, flicking in and out of
between
, weaving across the breadth of Thread, flaming swathes through the deadly rainfall. Together they acted by reflex born of long practice, quite apart from conscious direction of either partner.
They had done at least eight traverses of the Fall, drifting farther and farther south and east, when a blue dragon just ahead of them screamed and ducked
between
. Jaxom tensed and waited a heartbeat, scanning for the blue’s return. The blue reentered hundreds of lengths below his point of exit. His left wingsail was dotted with Threadchar.
He’s badly hit,
Ruth told Jaxom as the blue winked out again, no doubt to return to the Weyr and the waiting weyrfolk who would drench his injury in numbweed, ending his pain.
One of the new young riders. There’s always one who doesn’t keep his eyes open.
Jaxom wasn’t sure if Ruth meant the rider or the dragon. Suddenly Ruth veered, the riding straps cutting into Jaxom’s left thigh as the white dragon evaded a thick clump. He did a reverse turn, almost on his tail, and flung himself down at the receding cluster, blowing mightily. Righting himself, he turned his head peremptorily to his rider, and Jaxom obediently offered more firestone. Chomping as he rose to see where his flame would next be useful, Ruth swerved to his right, once again throwing Jaxom’s weight against the riding straps. Abruptly Jaxom felt the front strap stretch, leaving him far too loose in the saddle. Quickly he grabbed a neck ridge with his right hand, clamped his legs tight to the saddle, and hung on tight to the left-hand straps.
Ruth reacted on the instant, halting midair to allow Jaxom to regain his balance. A dribble of flame escaped his lips as he turned wondering eyes on his rider.
The strap broke?
Ruth’s query was laced with astonishment.
Jaxom felt along the length of it with gloved fingers. The worn spot was easy to locate, right below the belt clip, the leather stretched but not parted. It had been a very near thing. A little more pressure, and the strap would have snapped, flinging the rider dangerously out of the saddle.
All too clearly now, Jaxom remembered the ominous conversation he had overheard. Surely they could not have implemented their plan overnight? “An accident,” they had said. What would be less suspicious than a rider’s faulty harness?
A dragonman maintained his own riding straps, renewing them frequently, testing them every Fall for signs of wear or strain. Jaxom cursed himself. He hadn’t actually looked at his harness that morning, merely lifted it from its peg in Ruth’s weyr, a place open to anyone in Ruatha. And to any casual visitor.
One thing was colder than
between
or space. Fear!
It’s not broken, Ruth. But the leather is badly stretched. Let’s get back to Fort, and I’ll cadge a replacement from the Weyrlingmaster. Tell Lioth why we’re leaving. We won’t be long.
Jaxom endured a well-deserved scolding from H’nalt, the Weyrling-
master, for when they examined the leather strap, they found it to be plainly cold-hardened, brittle enough to stretch and crack. At least the metalwork of the toggles was bright enough to pass old H’nalt’s scrutiny. Relieved that in this instance the problem had been caused by ordinary wear and tear, Jaxom and Ruth rejoined the Weyr and fought till the end of the Fall.
The first thing Jaxom did when he reached Ruatha was to cut new straps from the thick well-tanned leather made in his own Hold. That evening, with Jarrol’s assistance, he oiled and sewed the straps onto the turnbuckles. He said nothing about the close call to Sharra, who, fortunately, was accustomed to seeing Jaxom spending an evening mending riding straps. Later, when he saw that Ruth was comfortably bedded down in his weyr, Jaxom put the mended harness on the peg, but thereafter he concealed the one he was using, as well as the double harness he and Sharra shared. Forewarned is forearmed, he told himself.
Waking hours before dawn in Ruatha for the trip to Landing, Jaxom helped Sharra wrap a sleeping Jarrol in his warm flying gear. Shawan was far too young to be exposed to the cold of
between
and would be tended by his nurse during his mother’s absence. There were enough enticements on this trip to pry Sharra from her maternal duties: she would see firsthand why Jaxom was so preoccupied with this venture; she would have a chance to practice her profession; and she would see her dearest friends; Jancis had agreed to mind Jarrol along with her own Pierjan while Sharra was on the
Yokohama
. Her two fire-lizards, bronze Meer and brown Talla, were even more excited than she was and were rebuked for their agitation by Ruth as he launched himself from the dark courtyard at Ruatha.
The weather at Landing was chilly, as the Southern Continent was in its winter season, but the land was never as bleakly brown and bare as Ruatha in winter. Sharra loved Ruatha—it was Jaxom’s home and where her children had been born—but Southern was where she had spent her youth.
As soon as they entered the Aivas building, Mirrim, who had been chatting with D’ram, ran to greet them.
“I’m ready when you are,” she announced.
“Easy, girl!” Jaxom laughed. Her association with T’gellan had calmed her considerably, but she still tended to become a bit overzealous in her enthusiasms. Not necessarily a bad trait, Jaxom realized, but it could be wearing on her companions.
“Well I
am
ready, with only the two barrels and tanks to be positioned on my green Path. And if we don’t know what we’re supposed to do by now”—she shot a glance at Sharra—“we never will. It’s so simple. Open the packets, add water, and stir.”
“Not quite,” Sharra said with a grin. “It’s the setting of the mirrors that’ll take time, and their positioning is crucial to the success of the algae propagation.”
“I know, I know.” Mirrim impatiently dismissed that with a flick of her fingers.
“Is S’len ready, too?” Jaxom asked.
“Him!” Mirrim gave an amused grunt. “He’s studying the photos of the bridge area in spite of the fact that we’re supposed to get our placement directly from Ruth.”
“Who’s to carry the water barrels?” Sharra asked. Taking Mirrim by the hand, she led her away to check on that detail.
“Heard you told Toric what to do,” D’ram commented to Jaxom, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“No,” Jaxom replied smoothly. “Lord Groghe told Toric. Anything else I should know about Landing?” he asked pointedly.
“Aivas will tell you what you need to know about Landing.” D’ram shooed him down the corridor. “He’s expecting you.”
Just as if Jaxom had not been absent for several days, Aivas outlined the schedule.
“There is sufficient oxygen in the Environment Sector now, but the duties are nevertheless to be carried out as expeditiously as possible. The fire-lizards are to accompany Lady Sharra and Greenrider Mirrim, as they would be sensitive to any sudden drop in pressure or in oxygen level. It is also an integral part of these exercises to accustom as many fire-lizards as possible to the act of transferring from the planet to the
Yokohama
.”
“When will you explain
that
particular wrinkle in your master plan?” Jaxom asked. Silently he mouthed the response he had come to expect.