


The White Dragon

serve these unusual animals. These dragons—named
for the mythical Terran beast they resembled—had
two valuable characteristics: they could get from one
place to another instantaneously and, after chewing a
phosphine-bearing rock, they would emit a flaming
gas. Because the dragons could fly, they were able to
char Thread in midair, and then escape from its
ravages.

It took generations to develop to the fullest the
potential of these dragons. The second phase of the
proposed defense against the deadly incursions would
take even longer. For Thread, a space-traveling my-
corrhizoid spore, with mindless voracity devoured aU
organic matter and, once grounded, burrowed and
proliferated with terrifying speed. So a symbiote of the
same strain was developed to counter this parasite, and
the resulting grub was introduced into the soil of the
southern continent. The original plan was that the
dragons would be a visible protection, charring Thread
while it was still skyborne and protecting the dwellings
and the livestock of the colonists. The grub-symbiote
would protect vegetation by devouring any Thread
that managed to evade the dragons' fire.

The originators of the two^stage defense did not
allow for change or for hard geological fact. The
southern continent, overtly more attractive than the
harsher northern land, proved unstable and the entire
colony was eventually forced to move north to seek
refuge from the Threads in the natural caves on the
continental shield rock of the north.

The original Fort, constructed in the eastern face
of the Great West Mountain Range, soon grew too
small to hold the colonists. Another settlement was
started slightly to the north, alongside a great lake
conveniently formed near a cave-filled cliff. But Ruatha
Hold, as the settlement was called, became overcrowded
within a few generations.

Since the Red Star rose in the east, the people of
Pem decided to establish a holding in the eastern
mountains, provided a suitable cavesite could be found.
Only solid rock and metal, both of which were in dis-
tressingly short supply on Pem, were impervious to
the burning score of Thread.

The White Dragon

The winged, tailed, fire-breathing dragons had by
then been bred to a size that required more spacious
accommodations than the cliffside holds could provide.
But ancient cave-pocked cones of extinct volcanoes,
one high above the first Fort, the other in the Benden
mountains, proved to be adequate and required only a
few improvements to be made habitable. However, such
projects took the last of the fuel for the great stone-
cutters, which had been programed only for regular
mining operations, not for wholesale cliff excavations.
Subsequent holds and weyrs had to be hand-hewn.

The dragons and their riders in their high places and
the people in their cave holds went about their separate
tasks, and each developed habits that became custom,

which solidified into tradition as incontrovertible as
law.

Then came an interval of two hundred Turns of the
planet Pern around its primary—when the Red Star
was at the other end of its erratic orbit, a frozen,
lonely captive. No Thread fell on Pern. The inhabitants
erased the depredations of Thread and grew crops,
planted orchards from precious seed brought with them,
thought of reforestry for the slopes denuded by Thread.
They even managed to forget that they had once been
in grave danger of extinction. Then the Threads fell
again when the wandering planet returned for another
orbit around Pern, bringing fifty years of attack from
the skies. The Pernese once again thanked their ances-
tors, now many generations removed, for providing the

dragons who seared the dropping Thread midair with
their fiery breath.

Dragonkind, too, had prospered during that interval
and had settled in four other locations, following the
master plan of interim defense.

The significance of the southern hemisphere—and
of the grub—had been lost in the immediate struggle
to establish new settlements. Recollections of Earth re-
ceded further from Pernese history with each successive
generation until memory of their origins degenerated
into legend or myth and passed into oblivion.

By the Third Pass of the Red Star, a complicated
socio-political-economic structure had been developed
to deal with this recurrent evil. The six Weyrs, as the

The White Dragon

old volcanic habitations of the dragonfolk were called,
pledged themselves to protect Pern, each Weyr haying
a geographical section of the northern continent liter-
ally under its wing. The rest of the population agreed
to tithe to support the Weyrs since these fighters, these
dragonmen, did not have arable land in their volcanic
homes. They could not afford to take time away from
nurturing their''dragons to learn other trades during
peacetime, nor could they take time away from pro-
tecting the planet during Passes.

Settlements, called Holds, developed wherever natu-
ral caves were found—some, of course, more extensive
or strategically placed than others. It took a strong
man to hold frantic, terrified people in control during
Thread attacks; it took wise administration to conserve
victuals when nothing could be safely grown, and it
took extraordinary measures to control population and
keep it productive and healthy until such time as the
menace passed.

Men with special skills in metalworking, weaving,
animal husbandry, farming, fishing, mining formed
CrafthaUs in each large Hold and looked to one
Mastererafthall where the precepts of their craft were
taught and craft skills were preserved and guarded
from one generation to another. One Lord Holder
could not deny the products of the Crafthall situated
in his Hold to others, since the Crafts were deemed
independent of a Hold affiliation. Each Craftmaster
of a hall owed allegiance to the Master of that par-
ticular craft—an elected office based on proficiency in
that craft and administrative ability. The Mastercrafts-
man was responsible for the output of his halls and
the distribution, fair and unprejudiced, of all craft
products on a planetary rather than parochial basis.

Certain rights and privileges accrued to different
leaders of Holds and Masters of Crafts and, naturally,
to the dragonriders whom all Pern looked to for pro-
tection during the Threadfalls.

On occasion, the conjunction of Rukbat's five natural
planets would prevent the Red Star from passing close
enough to Pern to drop its fearful spores. To the
Pernese these were Long Intervals. During one such
Interval, the grateful people prospered and multiplied,

The White Dragon

spreading out across the land, carving more holds on
of solid rock, just in case Thread returned. But the;

became so busy with their daily pursuits that they pre
ferred to think that the Red Star had indeed passec
beyond any danger to them.

No one realized that only a few dragons remainec
to take to the skies and that only one Weyr of dragon-
riders was left on Pern. Since the Red Star wasn't due
to return for a long, long while, if ever, why worry?
Within five generations, the descendants of the heroic
dragonmen fell into disfavor; the legends of past bra-
veries and the very reason for their existence fell into
disrepute.

Volume One of THE DRAGONRIDERS OF PERN:

DRAGONFLIGHT begins when the Red Star, obeying
natural forces, began to spin closer to Pem, winking
with a baleful red eye on its ancient victim. One man,
P'lar, rider of the bronze dragon Mnementh, believed
that the ancient tales had truth in them. His half-
brother, F'nor, rider of brown Canth, listened to his
arguments and believed in them. When the last golden
egg of a dying queen dragon lay hardening on the
Benden Weyr Hatching Ground, F'lar and F'nor saw
an opportunity to gain control of the Weyr. Searching
for a strong-minded woman to ride the soon-to-be-
hatched queen, F'lar and F'nor discovered Lessa, the
only surviving member of the proud Bloodline of
Ruatha Hold. She Impressed young Ramoth, the new
queen, and became Weyrwoman of Benden. Then F'lar's
bronze Mnementh flew the young queen in her first

mating, and F'lar became Weyrieader of Pern's re-
maining dragonriders.

The three—Lessa, F'lar and F'nor—then forced the
Lord Holders and Craftsmen to recognize their im-
minent danger and to prepare their almost defenseless
planet against Thread. Obviously the scant two hundred
dragons of Benden Weyr would not be able to defend
the sprawling settlements. Six full Weyrs had been
needed in the olden days when the settled land had
been more limited in area than it now was. An abortive
attempt was even made to develop the by-now almost
forgotten southern continent. But that didn't work.
However, in learning to direct her queen dragon




The White Dragon

between one place and another, Lessa discovered that
dragons could also move between one time and an-
other. Risking her life as well as Pern's only queen
dragon, Lessa and Ramoth went back in time, four
hundred Turns, before the mysterious disappearance of
the other five Weyrs, and just after the last Pass of the
Red Star had been completed. The five Weyrs of that
ancient time, seeing only the decline of their prestige and
bored with inactivity after a lifetime of exciting combat,
agreed to help Lessa's Weyr. These people from the
past came forward to her time and saved Pern.

Volume Two of THE DRAGONREOERS OF PERN:

• DRAGONQUEST picks up the story seven Turns later,
whea the initial gratitude and relief of Holds and
Crafts had faded and soured. The Oldtimers themselves
did not like the Pern of the future in which they were
now living. Four hundred Turns had brought too many
subtle changes. The Oldtimers, used to a more sub-
servient and grateful population, found themselves at
odds with the Lord Holders and the Crafthalls—and
especially with Benden Weyr and its liberal leaders.

Tensions between the two factions came to a head
in a petty quarrel involving F'nor and an Oldtimer Fort
dragonrider. F'nor was sent off to the newly resettled
southern continent to recover from his wound. Mean-
while P'lar confronted the Oldtimer, T'ron of Port
Weyr, in a meeting of all but two Weyrleaders. Little
was decided at the meeting but it became apparent that
the Oldtimers were not taking as much responsibility for
their duties as they should. F'lar's arguments caused
D'ram, Ista's Weyrleader, and G'narish of Igen Weyr,
both Oldtimers, to take a good look at their con-
temporaries. Thread had begun to fall at unexpected
times and the charts, carefully prepared by F'lar from
the old Records, had somehow lost their validity. At
that point Robinton, the Master Harper of Pern, and
the Mastersmith, Fandarel, joined forces with the
Benden leaders to try to cope with the new emergency.
To help matters Fandarel developed a device that he
hoped would provide communication among the Holds

and Halls.

Meanwhile in the Southern Weyr, F'nor was being
nursed by a young queenrider, Brekke, when he acci-

The White Dragon

dentally discovered that fire-lizards, previously dismissed
as mere legends or fantasies, actually existed and could
also be Impressed at Hatching in the same way their
genetic cousins, the dragons were. Kylara, a passionate
and disgruntled Weyrwoman of Southern, found a
clutch of fire-lizard eggs which she took to Lord Meron
of Nabol, one of the most troublesome of the Lord
Holders.

Summoned by F'nor's message about the fire-lizards,
F'lar headed for Southern Weyr where he observed that
T'bor, the young Leader, was having trouble with his
Weyrwoman, the sensuous Kylara. When Threadfall
came to Southern, F'lar joined in the fight. Observing
a very curious phenomenon in the dense vegetation, he
discovered a curious and very active insect in the soil
and brought samples back to the Masterherdsman,
Sograny, an opinionated man to whom the grubs were
anathema. F'lar, remembering what he had observed,
took issue with the man and pursued his investigation
of the grubs with the aid of F'nor, now returned to the
Weyr, and N'ton, craftbred young rider of bronze
Uoth.

Soon Lord Lytol, guardian of the young Jaxom,
the youth to whom Lessa had ceded her Bloodright to
Ruatha Hold, visited Benden Weyr to discuss the tense
situation with F'lar, Lessa, Robinton and Fandarel. He
brought Jaxom with him as his ward was friendly with
Felessan, only son of F'lar and Lessa. While the adults
were talking, the two boys sneaked into the unused
passageways of Benden Weyr for a peek at Ramoth's
latest clutch of eggs in the Hatching Ground. The boys
became frightened by the unexpected return of the
queen and quickly lost their way in the dark corridors,
inadvertently discovering some long-forgotten rooms. A
search party found the boys unconscious and dis-
covered musty rooms in which they found a variety
of curious objects, including an instrument which en-
larged small things that quickly became the Master-
smith's special treasure. F'lar suggested that a discreet
search be made of the older Holds and Weyrs to see
if anything interesting should turn up to fill in the gaps
of lost knowledge.

Shortly thereafter Kylara and Lord Meron appeared

The White Dragon

at the wedding of Lord Asgenar and Telgar's sister at
Telgar Hold with fire-lizards on their arms, causing con-
siderable commotion. Suddenly a dragonrider appeared,
disrupting the wedding feast with the news that Thread
was unaccountably falling at Igen. F'lar requested the
, help from the other Weyrieaders and T'ron found this
an excuse to challenge the Benden Weyrleader to a duel
from which F'lar, though wounded, emerged the victor
and banished T'ron and any other Oldtimer who
would not acknowledge that he was to be the overall
Weyrleader. Lord Holders and Craftmasters alike sup-
ported F'lar. Oldtimer Weyrieaders, D'ram of Ista,
G'narish of Igen and R'mart of Telgar, likewise stood
by him. T'kul of High Reaches joined T'ron in exile
with seventy other Oldtimers and Dragonfolk. F'lar,
despite his wound, insisted on flying Thread at Igen,
by going between time to the start of Threadfall.

The former Southern dragonriders, ousted by T'ron,
settled in the High Reaches Weyr which had been left
in a shocking state. Brekke, unaware that her queen
Wirenth was about to rise for her first mating, began to
restore order to the Weyr while Kylara enjoyed her-
self with Lord Meron. Unfortunately Kylara's queen,
Prideth, was also close to mating and when Wirenth
rose, so did Prideth. A battle ensued between the two
queens in which the other queens tried to separate the
combatants. Canth desperately attempted to save
Wirenth. But both queens were mortally wounded and
went between, leaving Kylara a mindless idiot and
Brekke hanging on the edge of sanity. Only F'nor's love
and Canth's devotion, and the constant companionship
of the little fire-lizards kept her alive.

Meanwhile, guided by the principles of the Benden
device, Fandarel and Wansor constructed a powerful
distance-viewer that made it possible to see both the
cloud-swirled surface of the Red Star and something of
the other planets in the system. Lessa, Robinton and
the dissident Lord Meron among others, arrived at Fort
Weyr, intent on testing the new far-viewer. But Meron
insisted that now that the face of the Red Star could
be seen, dragonmen somehow ought to be able to get
there. So he attempted to send his little fire-lizard on
the journey. The little creature not only disappeared in

The White Dragon

fright, but managed to frighten the other fire-lizards as

well.

When Ramoth's clutch was finally ready to Hatch,
among the many guests were Lord Lytol and young
Jaxom. An attempt to rouse Brekke from her stupor by
presenting her as a candidate to the new queen failed
but her bronze fire-lizard, Berd, succeeded in scolding
her out of her grieving trance. When Jaxom noticed
that the smallest egg—the very one he had been drawn
to during his fateful peek at the clutch—was rocking
but not cracking, he went to the assistance of the crea-
ture and made an Impression on the small white dragon
he rescued. Jaxom, who had to remain Lord Holder
of Ruatha, nonetheless became a weyrling. So it was
decided to permit him to take Ruth to his Hold as it
was possible that the tiny dragon might not survive his
first Turn. F'lar, recovered from his wounds, used the
opportunity of the Hatching to prove to various Craft-
masters and Holders that grubs do attack and devour
Thread. They also seem to restore and protect vegetation
Thread damages. Then Masterfarmer Andemon re-
membered an ancient warning: Watch the grubs, and
he realized that this saying had been misinterpreted
and grubs had been systematically burned from the land
when they should have been encouraged to proliferate.

So, after centuries, the secondary phase of protection
initiated by the colonists was finally recognized as
such. That being the case, F'lar began two campaigns
with the help of P'nor and N'ton: the first to seed
the Northern Continent with the grubs; the second, the
dissemination of special knowledge to insure that no
more important information would become lost or dis-
torted.

But Lord Holders, prodded by Meron, continued to
agitate for the dragonriders to go to the Red Star and
remove the menace of Thread at its source. To forestall
such dangerous attempts by F'lar, F'nor directed
Canth to a cloud formation on the Red Star's surface.
They took the massive leap between and nearly died in
the Red Star's turbulent atmosphere, but were somehow
called back from certain death by Brekke's need of
them. F'nor's attempt made it obvious to every dragon-
rider and to everyone possessing a fire-lizard that the

The White Dragon

Red Star could not be attacked directly. It was just

too dangerous.

Having come to grips with the reality of the situa-
tion, F'lar directed his energies to spreading grubs and
keeping a discreet watch on the South which, for the
time being, would have to remain the province of the
dissident Oldtimers whose situation, with no queens

young enough to mate, was rapidly becoming critical.

Other pressures, too, were being felt, pressures which

Robinton believed were equally critical.

And now we begin THE WHITE DRAGON—the Third

Volume of THE DRAGONRIDERS OF PERN . . .

CHAPTER I

At Ruatha Hold, Present Pass, 12th Turn

"IP HE ISN'T clean enough now," Jaxom told N'ton
as he gave Ruth's neck ridge a final swipe with the
oiled cloth, "I don't know what clean is!" He wiped
his sweaty forehead on his tunic sleeve. "What do you
think, N'ton?" he asked politely, suddenly aware that
he had spoken without due regard for his companion's
rank as Weyrleader of Fort.

N'ton grinned and gestured toward the grassy bank
of the lake. They squelched through the mud created
by rinsing soapsand from the little dragon and, as one,
turned for a full view of Ruth gleaming wetly in the
morning sun.

"I've never seen him cleaner," N'ton remarked after
due consideration, adding hastily, "not to imply that
you haven't always kept him immaculate, Jaxom.
However, if you don't ask him to move out of that
mud, he won't stay clean long."

Jaxom passed on the request hastily. "And keep
your tail up, Ruth, till you are on the grass."

From the comer of his eye, Jaxom noticed that
Dorse and his cronies were creeping away, just in case
N'ton had any further hard work for them. Jaxom had
somehow managed to keep the smugness he felt under
control all during Ruth's bath. Dorse and the others
hadn't dared disobey the dragonrider when N'ton had

The White Dragon

blithely pressed them into service. To see them sweat-
ing over the "runt," the "oversized fire-lizard," unable
to tease and taunt Jaxom as they'd planned to do this
morning, had raised Jaxom's spirits considerably. He
entertained no hopes that the situation would last long.
But, if today the Benden Weyrleaders decided Ruth
was strong enough to bear his weight in flight, then
Jaxom would be free to fly away from the taunts he'd
had to endure from his milk-brother and his cronies.

"You know," N'ton began, frowning slightly as he
folded his arms across his damp-spattered tunic, "Ruth
isn't really white."

Jaxom stared incredulously at his dragon. "He's
not?"

"No. See how his hide has shadows of brown and
gold, and ripples of blue or green on the near flank."

"You're right!" Jaxom blinked, surprised at discov-
ering something totally new about his friend. "I guess
those colors are much more noticeable because he's so
clean and the sun's so bright today!" It was such a
pleasure to be able to discuss his favorite topic with an
understanding audience.

"He's . . . more ... all dragon shades than the lack
of any," N'ton continued. He slanted one hand against
the angle of Ruth's heavily muscled shoulder, then
cocked his head as he stared at the powerful hind-
quarters. "Beautifully proportioned, too. He may be
small, Jaxom, but he's a fine-looking fellow!"

Jaxom sighed again, unconsciously straightening his
shoulders and pushing out his chest with pride.

"Not too much flesh, not too little, eh, Jaxom?"
N'ton shot an elbow to catch Jaxom on the top of his
shoulder, a sly grin on his face for all the tunes Jaxom
had had to call on the Weyrleader to help him cope
with Ruth's indigestion. Jaxom had erroneously con-
cluded that if he could stuff the proper amount of
food down Ruth's gullet, the little dragon would grow
to mtach the size of his clutch-mates. The results had
not been good.

"Do you think he's strong enough to fly me?"
N'ton awarded Jaxom a thoughtful gaze. "Let's see,

12

The White Dragon

you Impressed him a Turn last spring, and we're inl
cool weather now. Most dragons achieve their fu
growth in their first Turn. I don't think Ruth's grown
half-hand in the last six months so we have to cor
elude that he has reached his full growth. Hey, now,
N'ton reacted to Jaxom's sad sigh, "he's bigger tba
any runner beast by half a head, isn't he? They can b
ridden for hours without tiring, right? And you're nc
exactly a heavyweight like Dorse there."

"Flying's a different sort of effort, isn't it?"

"True, but Ruth's wings are proportionately larg
enough to his body to support him in flight..."

"So he is a proper dragon, isn't he?"

N'ton stared at Jaxom. Then he put both hands on
the boy's shoulders. "Yes, Jaxom, Ruth is a prope
dragon, for all he's half the size of his fellows! An<
he'll prove it today when he flies you! So let's get yoi
and him back to the Hold. You've got to get yoursel
fancied up to match his beauty!"

"C'mon, Ruth!"

7 would rather sit here in the sun, Ruth replied
moving to Jaxom's left, his stride graceful as he kepi
pace with his friend and with the Fort Weyrleader.

"There's sun in our court, Ruth," Jaxom assured
him, resting a light hand on Ruth's headknob, awar(

of the happy blue tone of Ruth's lightly whirling;

jewel-faceted eyes.

As they walked on in silence, Jaxom raised his eyes
to the imposing cliff face which was Ruatha Hold, the
second oldest human habitation on Pem. It would be
his to Hold when he came of age or when his guard-
ian, Lord Lytol, former weaver-journeyman, former
dragonrider, decided that he was wise enough—that
is, if the other Lord Holders finally overcame their ob-
jections to his inadvertent Impression of the half-sized
dragon, Ruth. Jaxom sighed, resigned to the fact that
he would never be allowed to forget that moment.

Not that he wanted to, but Impressing Ruth had
caused all kinds of problems for the Benden Weyr-
leaders, F'lar and Lessa, for the Lord Holders, and
for himself since he was not allowed to be a real

13




The White Dragon

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 mo-
ment 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 con-
stant 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 trag-
edy 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 drag-
ons. 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."

4 J

The White Dragon

"There's my milk-brother. Dorse, and his friends
from the cothold."

"Yes, that's true."

Something in the Weyrieader's tone made Jaxom
glance at him but the man's expression told him noth-
ing.

"See much of Felessan 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 Felessan 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 des-
tined its occupant to be his!

"I don't see much of Felessan 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, utter-
ing 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.

"Yes, I've noticed that too, and not just today when
they were helping us wash him," N'ton said.

"Why do they?" Jaxom had always wanted to ask
N'ton that, but he had never had the courage. He
didn't like to take up the Weyrieader's valuable time
with silly questions. But, today, it didn't seem like
such a silly question.

N'ton turned his head to his fire-lizard and, in a

The White Dragon

moment, Tris gave a quick chirp and then busily
cleaned his forepaw. N'ton chuckled. "He likes Ruth.
That's all the answer I get from him. I'd hazard the
notion that it's because Ruth is nearer their size. They
can see him without having to back up several dragon-
lengths to do so."

"I suppose so." Jaxom still had reservations. "What-
ever it is, fire-lizards come from all over to visit him.
They tell him the most outrageous stories but that
makes him happy, especially when I can't be right

there with him."

They had reached the roadway and were heading

for the ramp into the Great Court.

"Don't be long dressing, will you, Jaxom? Lessa
and F'lar ought to arrive soon," N'ton said as he kept
going straight on through the great gates toward the
massive metal Hold door. "Finder'U be in bis quarters
at this hour?"

"He should be."

Then, as Jaxom and Ruth turned toward the
kitchen and the old stables, the youth began to worry
about the trial set for today. N'ton surely would not
have raised his hopes about getting permission to fly
Ruth if he wasn't pretty sure the Benden Weyrlead-
ers would be agreeable.

To fly Ruth would be so marvelous. Besides it
would prove once and for all that Ruth was a real
dragon and not just an overgrown fire-lizard as Dorse
so often teased him. And, too, he'd finally be able to
get away from Dorse. Today was the first time in
Turns he hadn't had to endure Dorse's teasing as he
washed Ruth. Not that the boy was just jealous of
Jaxom's having Ruth. Dorse had always taunted
Jaxom, ever since he could remember. Before Ruth
had come, Jaxom had managed to make himself
scarce in the dark recesses of Ruatha's many levels.
Dorse didn't like the dark, stuffy corridors and stayed
away. But with Ruth's arrival, Jaxom no longer was
able to disappear and avoid Dorse's attentions. He of-
ten wished that he didn't owe Dorse so much. But he
was Lord of Ruatha and Dorse was his milk-brother

16

The White Dragon

so he owed him his life. For if Deelan hadn't given
birth to Dorse two days before Jaxom's unexpected
arrival, Jaxom would have died in his first hours.
Therefore, Jaxom had been taught by Lytol and the
Hold harper, he must share everything with his milk-
brother. As far as Jaxom could see, Dorse benefited
far more than he did. The boy, a full hand taller than
Jaxom and heavier set, certainly hadn't suffered for
sharing his mother's milk. And Dorse made sure he
got the best part of anything else Jaxom had.

Jaxom waved cheerily to the cooks, busy preparing
a fine midday meal to celebrate, he fervently hoped,
the occasion of his first flight on Ruth. He and the
white dragon continued past the gates to the old sta-
bles which had been refitted as their quarters. Small
though Ruth had been when he first arrived at Ruatha
a Turn and a half ago, it had been obvious that he
would quickly grow too large to enter the traditional
apartment of the Lord Holder within the Hold proper.

So Lytol had decided that the old stables, with the
vaulted ceiling, could be refurbished suitably for
sleeping quarters and a work room for Jaxom and a
fine spacious Weyr for the little dragon. New doors
had been specially designed by Mastersmith Fandarel
and hung with such ingenuity that a slightly built lad
and an awkward hatchling could manage them.

/ will sit here in the sun, Ruth told Jaxom, poking
his head past the entrance to their quarters. My bed
hasn't been swept.

"Everyone's been so busy cleaning for Lessa's visit,"
Jaxom said, giggling as he remembered the terror in
Deelan's face when Lytol had told her that the Weyr-
woman was coming. In his milk-mother's eyes, Lessa
was still the only full-blooded Ruathan left alive after
Fax's treacherous attack on the Hold over twenty
Turns ago.

Jaxom stripped off his damp tunic as he entered his
own room. The water in the jar by his sink was tepid
and he grimaced. He really ought to be as clean as his
dragon but he didn't think he'd have time to get to the
Hold's hot baths before the Weyrleaders came. It

17

The White Dragon

wouldn't do for him to be absent when they arrived.
He washed with soapsand and the tepid water.

They come, Ruth announced the words in Jaxom's
mind just before old Wilth and Lioth heralded the vis-
itors with appropriate trumpetings.

Jaxom rushed to the window and peered out, catch-
ing a glimpse of huge wings as the newcomers settled
into the great courtyard. He didn't wait long enough
to see the Benden dragons remove themselves to the
fire-heights, accompanied by excited fairs of fire-
lizards. Drying himself hurriedly, he wriggled out of
his wet trousers. It didn't take him long to don his
good new clothes and stamp into the boots made
especially for this occasion and lined with downy
wherry-hide for warmth in flight. Recent practice
made it easy for him to rig the riding straps on the
eager little dragon.

As Jaxom and Ruth emerged from their quarters,
Jaxom was again assailed by apprehension. What if
N'ton had been wrong? What if Lessa and F'lar de-
cided to wait just a few more months to see if Ruth
would grow? What if Ruth, being such a small dragon,
didn't have enough strength to fly him? Supposing he
hurt Ruth?

Ruth crooned encouragingly. You couldn't hurt me.
You are my friend. And he butted Jaxom affectionately,
whiffling against his face with warm sweet breath.

Jaxom inhaled deeply, hoping to settle his agitated
belly. He then became aware of the gathering on the
steps of the Hold. Why did there have to be so many
people here today?

There are not many, Ruth told him, his tone sur-
prised as he lifted his head to observe the gathering.
And many fire-lizards to see me, too. I know everyone
here today. So do you.

Jaxom realized that he did. Taking courage from
his dragon's acceptance of such a large audience, he
straightened his shoulders and strode forward.

F'lar and Lessa, as the chief dragonriders, were the
most important guests. F'nor, brown Canth's rider and
mate of the sad Brekke, was also present but he was a

18

The White Dragon

good friend to Jaxom. N'ton, of course, was there since
he was Fort's Weyrleader and Ruatha was beholden to
Fort Weyr. Master Robinton as Harper of Pern was
here and, beside him, Jaxom was glad to see Menolly,
the Harper girl who had often been his champion.
Jaxom reluctantly admitted the right of Lord Sangel of
South Boll and Lord Groghe of Fort to be present as
representatives of the Holders.

At first Jaxom couldn't see Lord Lytol. Then Finder
moved to say something to Menolly and Jaxom spotted
his guardian. He hoped Lytol would really look at
Ruth this once, if never again.

They had crossed the courtyard now and stood before
the steps, Jaxom resting his right hand on Ruth's strong,
gracefully curved neck, and squarely faced the judges.

Extending one hand in greeting towards Ruth, Lessa
smiled at Jaxom as she stepped down to welcome him.
"Ruth has filled out a great deal since last spring,
Jaxom," she said, her manner reassuring as well as
appreciative. "But you ought to eat more. Lytol, does
Deelan never feed the child? He's nothing but bones."

Jaxom was shocked when he realized that he now was
taller than Lessa, and she was cocking her head to
look up at him. He'd always thought of Lessa as big.
To be looking down on the Weyrwoman of Benden was
somehow embarrassing.

"I'd say you've the advantage of Felessan still, and
he's getting longer every time I look," she added.
Jaxom began to stammer an apology.
"Nonsense, Jaxom, stand up to your inches," F'lar
said, coming up beside his weyrmate. His attention was
centered on Ruth, and the white dragon raised his head
slightly to be at eye level with the tall Weyrleader.
"You've made more hands of height, Ruth, than I'd
have given you at your Hatching! You've done well by
your friend. Lord Jaxom." The Benden Weyrleader put
a slight emphasis on the title as he turned his gaze from
dragon to rider.

Jaxom winced, disliking the reminder of his equivocal
position.

"However, I can't see that you'll ever reach the
19

The White Dragon

stature of our good Mastersmith, so I don't think you'll
overburden Ruth in flight." F'lar glanced at the others
on the steps. "Ruth's a full head higher in the shoulder
than runner beasts. Sturdier, too."

"What's his wingspan now?" Lessa asked, her brows
drawn in a thoughtful frown. "Jaxom, please ask him

to extend?"

Lessa could easily have. asked Ruth directly since

she was able to speak to any dragon. Jaxom was con-
siderably heartened to be accorded such a courtesy and
he passed the request on to Ruth. Eyes whirling with
excitement, the white dragon raised himself to his
haunches and spread his wings, the muscles rip-
-pling through chest and shoulder with the clouded

shades of all dragon colors.

"He's completely in proportion to himself," F'lar

said, dipping under the wing to inspect the upper side of
the broad, transparent membrane. "Oh, thank you,
Ruth," he added as the white dragon obligingly tilted
his wing. "I take it he's as eager to fly you as you are!"
"Yes, sir, because, sir, he is a dragon, and dragons

all fly!"

The look F'lar shot him caused Jaxom to hold his

breath, wondering if his quick answer had been too
bold. When he heard Lessa laugh, he looked over at
her. But she wasn't laughing at him, or at Ruth. Her
eyes rested on her weyrmate. F'lar's right eyebrow
arched as he grinned back at her. Jaxom felt they

weren't aware of him or Ruth at all.

"Yes, dragons do fly, don't they, Lessa?" the Weyr-
leader said softly, and Jaxom realized they were shar-
ing some private joke.

Then F'lar raised his head to the fire-heights where
golden Ramoth, bronze Mnementh, and the two
browns, Canth and Wilth, maintained keen interest
in the scene in the courtyard below.

"What does Ramoth say, Lessa?"

Lessa grimaced. "You know she's always said Ruth

would do well."

F'lar glanced first at N'ton, who grinned, and then
at F'nor, who shrugged acquiescence. "It's unanimous,

The White Dragon

Jaxom. Mnementh doesn't understand why we're all
making such a fuss. Mount then, lad." F'lar stepped
forward as if to give Jaxom a leg up to the neck of
the white dragon.

Jaxom was torn between pleasure at having the Weyr-
leader of all Pern to assist him and indignation that
F'lar thought him incapable of mounting unaided.

Ruth intervened by swinging his wings out of
the way and bending his left knee. Jaxom stepped
lightly on the proffered limb and swung to the proper
position between the last two neck ridges. Those protu-
berances in a full dragon were sufficient to keep a man
steady in ordinary flight, but Lytol had insisted that
Jaxom use riding straps as a safety measure. As Jaxom
secured the strap buckles to his belt's metal loops, he
cast surreptitious glances at the crowd. But no one
showed a trace of surprise or contempt for this pre-
caution. When he was ready, that awful coldness of
doubt rose once more in his belly. Supposing that Ruth
couldn't ...

He caught the confident grin on N'ton's face and saw
Master Robinton and Menolly hold up their hands in
salute. Then F'lar lifted his fist above his head in the
traditional signal to rise.

Jaxom took a deep breath. "Let's fly, Ruth!"

He felt the bunching of muscle as Ruth assumed a
semi-crouch, felt the tension through the back, the shift
of musculature under his calves as the huge wings lifted
for the all-important first downsweep. Ruth deepened
his crouch slightly just as he kicked away from the
ground with his powerful hind legs. Jaxom's head
snapped on his neck. Instinctively he grabbed for the
security of the straps, then hung on tightly as the little
white dragon's powerful wing strokes lifted them up-
ward, past the first rank of windows and the startled
faces of the holders, up so quickly to the fire-heights
that Jaxom saw the other tiers of windows in a blur.
Then the great dragons extended their wings, bugling
encouragement to Ruth. Fire-lizards swirled about
them, adding their silvery voices. Jaxom just hoped
they wouldn't startle Ruth or get in his way.

The White Dragon

They are pleased to see us in the air together. Ramoth
and Mnementh are very happy to see you on my back
at last. I am very happy. Are you happier now?

The almost plaintive question caused a lump to lodge
in Jaxom's throat. He opened his mouth to respond,
only to have sound torn from his lips by the press of
wind against his face.

"Of course, I'm happy. I'm always happy with you,"
he said joyfully. "I'm flying with you, just like I
wanted to. This'll show everyone that you're a right
dragon!"

You're shouting!

"I'm happy. Why shouldn't I shout?"

I'm the only one to hear you and I hear you very well

indeed.

"You ought to. You're the one I'm happiest for."

They began a glide turn now and Jaxom leaned back
away from the curve, holding his breath. Not that he
hadn't flown on a dragon innumerable times before.
But then he had been a passenger, usually crammed
between two adult bodies. The intimacy of this flight
was another sensation entirely, exhilarating, pleasantly
scary and utterly marvelous.

Ramoth says you must grip more tightly with your
legs as you do on runners.

"I didn't want to interfere with your breathing."
Jaxom pressed his legs tightly into the warmth of the
silken neck, heartened by the security the grip gave him.

That's better. You can't hurt my neck. You can't
hurt me. You're my rider. Ramoth says we must
land. Ruth sounded rebellious.

"Land? We just got airborne!"

Ramoth says I must not strain. Flying you is no
strain. It is what I want to do. She says we may fiy
a little farther every day. I like that idea.

Ruth corrected his descending plane so that they ap-
proached the court from the southeast. People on the
roadway stopped to stare and then to wave. Jaxom
thought he heard cheers but the wind rushed past, mak-
ing it difficult to be sure. Those in the court turned to

22

The White Dragon

follow his path. Every window on the second and first
tier of the Hold had its observers.

"They'll all have to admit you're a proper flying
dragon now, Ruth!"

The only thing Jaxom regretted was that this flight
was so brief. A little longer every day, huh? Not Fall,
fire or fog would keep him from flying every single day,
longer and farther away from Ruatha.

Abruptly he was thrown forward, bruising his chest
on a neck ridge as Ruth backwinged to settle neatly on
the spot he had so recently vacated.

Sorry about that, Ruth said contritely. I see that
there are things I must learn now.

Savoring the triumph of the airborne experience,
Jaxom sat for a moment, rubbing his chest and reas-
suring Ruth. Then he was aware of F'lar, F'nor and
N'ton coming towards him with expressions of ap-
proval. But why was the Harper looking so thought-
ful? And why was Lord Sangel frowning?

The dragonriders say we can fly. They are the ones
who matter, Ruth told him.

Jaxom could discern no expression at all on the face
of Lord Lytol. That dulled Jaxom's pride in their
achievement. How he had hoped that today of all
days he might receive some flicker of approval, some
kindly response from his guardian.

He never forgets Larth, Ruth said in his softest tone.
"See, Jaxom? I told you," N'ton cried as the three

dragonriders ranged themselves by Ruth's shoulder.

"Nothing to it."

"Very good first flight, Jaxom," F'lar said, running

his eyes over Ruth for any signs of stress. "No bother
to him at all."

"This fellow'll turn on a wing tip. Make sure you
keep the straps on till you're used to each other," F'nor
added, reaching up to grab Jaxom's forearm. It was
the greeting gesture of equals, and Jaxom was enor-
mously gratified.

"You've been mistaken then. Lord Sangel," Lessa's
voice rang clearly to Jaxom. "There's never been any
doubt that the white dragon could fly. We merely

23

The White Dragon

postponed the event until we were sure Ruth had

reached his full growth."

F'nor winked at Jaxom and N'ton grimaced, while
F'lar raised his eyes upward, indicating the need for
patience. That intimacy made Jaxom realize that he,
Jaxom of Ruatha, had indeed been admitted to a .
kinship with the three most powerful dragonriders of

Pem.

"You're a dragonrider now, lad," N'ton said.

"Yes." F'lar frowned as he lengthened the word.
"Yes, but you may not fly all over the world tomorrow,
nor may you try going between. Not yet. You do realize
that, I trust. Fine! You're to exercise Ruth in flight
every day. Do you have a slate on those drills, N'ton?"
F'lar passed N'ton's slate over to Jaxom. "Those wing
muscles have got to be strengthened slowly, carefully,
or you will place too great a strain on them. That's the
danger. The time might come when you'd need
speed or maneuverabiUty and those unfit muscles
wouldn't respond! You heard about that tragedy at
High Reaches?" F'lar's expression was stern.

"Yes, sir. Finder told me." Jaxom didn't bother to
mention that Dorse and his friends, once they'd heard
of the incident, never let Jaxom forget the weyrling who
had been dashed to death on the mountain slopes be-
cause he'd overflown his young dragon.

"You've a double responsibility at all times, Jaxom,

to Ruth and to your Hold."

"Oh, yes sir; I know it, sir."

N'ton laughed and clapped Jaxom on the knee. "I'll
wager you do, young Lord Jaxom, right up to the

teeth!"

F'lar turned to the Fort Weyrleader, surprised at the

tone of the rejoinder. Jaxom held his breath. Did Weyr-
leaders speak without thinking? Lord Lytol was al-
ways after Jaxom to think before he opened his mouth.

"I'll oversee Jaxom's initial training, F'lar, no need
to worry about his sense of responsibility on that score.
It's well ingrained," N'ton went on. "And, with your
permission, I'll instruct him on flying between when I
feel he's ready. I think," he gestured toward the two

The WTiite Dragon

Lord Holders arguing with Lessa, "the less publicity for
that phase of training, the better."

Jaxom could feel the slight tension in the air as N'ton
and F'lar regarded each other. Suddenly Mnementh
and then Ramoth bugled from the heights.

"They agree," N'ton said in a soft voice.

F'lar shook his head slightly and brushed away the
lock of hair that fell into his eyes.

"It's obvious, F'lar, that Jaxom deserves to be a
dragonrider," F'nor said in the same persuasive tone;

"It's a question of Weyr responsibility in the final
analysis. But it's not for those Lord Holders to decide.
Besides Ruth is a Benden dragon."

"Responsibility is the overriding factor," F'lar said,
frowning at the two riders. He glanced up at Jaxom,
who wasn't certain exactly what they were talking about
except that he knew he and Ruth were under discussion.
"Oh, very well. He's to be trained to fly between.
Otherwise, I suppose you'd try it on your own anyhow,
wouldn't you, young Jaxom, being of Ruathan Blood?"

"Sir?" Jaxom really didn't quite believe his good for-
tune.

"No, F'lar, Jaxom wouldn't try such a thing on his
own," N'ton replied in a curious tone. "That's the
trouble. I think Lytol has done his job too well."

"Explain," F'lar said curtly.

F'nor held up his hand. "Here's Lytol himself," he
said in quick warning.

"Lord Jaxom, if you would settle your friend in his
quarters, and then join us all in the Hall?" The Lord
Warder bowed politely to everyone. A muscle in his
face started to twitch as he quickly turned and walked
back to the steps.

He could have said something then ... if he'd wanted
to, Jaxom thought, staring sadly at his guardian's broad
back.

N'ton gave him another clout on his knee and,
when Jaxom looked at the Fort Weyrleader, he
winked. "You're a good lad, Jaxom, and a good

rider." Then he sauntered after the other dragon-
riders.

The White Dragon

"You wouldn't by any chance be serving a Benden
wine on this auspicious occasion, would you, Lytol?"
the Masterharper's voice rang across the court.

"What else would anyone dare serve you, Robin-
ton?" 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 win-
dows, he saw people pulling back. He sincerely hoped
that Dorse and all his pals had witnessed every mo-
ment, had noticed the handgrasp of F'nor and seen
how he'd been talking to the three most important
dragonriders on all Pem. 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 swal-
low!

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 any-
where we want on Pem. You flew just beautifully, and
I'm sorry I was such a poor rider, walloping you like
that on your ridges. I'll leam. 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.

The White Dragon

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 of-
ten 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. Cu-
rious, Robinton leaned forward to see what had at-
tracted 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 antici-
pated, 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 joumeywoman had a
queen fire-lizard so that he could dispose of the eggs
where he deemed it would do everyone the most good.

The White Dragon

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 disad-
vantage, 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 an-
noyed 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 Robin-
ton 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 oc-
casionally 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, dra-
matically 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.

The White Dragon

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 ex-
amined 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 busi-
ness of swishing the wine in his mouth.

"Hmmm, yes, well. There's no trouble in recogniz-
ing 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.




The White Dragon

"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 undeni-
ably 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 tp be. I
was given to undertand 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 dip-
lomatically. "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 Weyr-
woman 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 dragon-
rider."

The White Dragon

"Just like to set matters straight," Sangel said, step-
ping 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 danger-
ous. 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 apolo-
getic 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, pull-
ing 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, look-
ing about the room as if she had somehow over-
looked 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..."

The White Dragon

"Nor do I," Lytol said, "but it is necessary to re-
ciprocate 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 prosper-
ous, Lytol, the lad would leam 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 P'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, am-
bitious 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 eye-
brows. "Best place for 'em, they don't bother us, they
do what they want, without making honest folk suf-
fer." There was a commendable lack of acrimony in
Groghe's tone, Robinton noticed, considering how
badly Fort Hold had suffered from Tron's irrespon-
sible 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
32

The White Dragon

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 Beneiek had
an idea to improve a harvesting implement. The Fort
Smithcraftmaster suggested that Fandarel ought to
be interested. Indeed the good Mastersmith was.
Young Beneiek 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."

"What are you suggesting, Robinton?"

"Mischief needs idle hands. I'd like to see a special
group of young people, recruited from all Crafts and
Holds, exchanging ideas instead of insults."

Groghe grunted. "They want land to hold, not ideas.
What about Southern?"

"That solution can surely be investigated," Robin-
ton said, treating Groghe's insistence as offhandedly
as he dared. "The Oldtimers won't live forever."

"In truth, Lord Groghe, we're by no means against
expanding holds in the Southern," F'lar said. "It's
just that . . ."

"The time must be chosen," Lessa finished when
he faltered. There was a curious gleam in her eyes
that suggested to the Harper she had other reserva-
tions as well.

"We'll not have to wait until the end of this Pass,
I hope," Sangel said peevishly.

33




The White Dragon

"No, just until we are in no danger of dishonoring
our word," F'lar said. "If you'll think back, the
Weyrs have agreed to explore the Southern Conti-
nent ..."

"The Weyrs agreed to get rid of Thread and the

Red Star, too," Sangel said, irritated now.

"F'nor here and Canth still bear the scars of that
Star," Lessa reminded him, indignant at having the

Weyrs criticized.

"Meaning no offense, Weyrwoman, F'lar, F'nor,"

Sangel said, mumbling and not very subtly masking

his annoyance.

"Another reason why it might be salutary to have

young minds trained to discover new ways of-doing
things," Robinton said, smoothly diverting Lord Sangel.

Robinton was no end pleased at Sangel's attitude.
He'd reminded F'lar and Lessa recently that the older
Lord Holders persisted in believing that the dragon-
riders could, if they would put their minds to it, char
Thread at its source on the Red Star and end forever
the menace that kept people hold-fast. Mention,
however, he deemed sufficient and quickly changed

the subject.

"My archivist. Master Amor, is going blind from

trying to decipher eroding Record hides. He does
well, but sometimes I think he doesn't at all under-
stand what it is he is saving and thus unwittingly mis-
copies blurred words. Fandarel has commented on
this problem, too. He's of the firm opinion that some
of the mysteries from those old Records stem from
miscopying. Now, if we had copyists who knew the

discipline—"

"I'd like Jaxom to have some training that way,"

Lytol said.

"I was hoping you'd suggest him."
"Don't go back on your offer to take my son,

Lytol," Groghe said.
"Well, if Jaxom's ..."
"I see no reason why both solutions cannot be

used," Robinton said. "We'd have boys his own age
and rank fostering here where Jaxom must leam to

34

The White Dragon

Hold, but Jaxom would also leam skills with others
of different rank and background."

"After the famine, a feast?" N'ton said in so low
a voice that only Robinton and Menolly heard him.
"And speaking of feasts, here's our honored guest!"

Jaxom stood, hesitating, on the threshold, remem-
bering his manners sufficiently to swing a bow to the
assembled.

"Ruth's settled, has he, Jaxom?" Lessa asked in a
kind voice, gesturing the boy to come to her side.

"Yes, Lessa."

"Some other settlings been done, too, kinsman,"
she went on, smiling when she saw his apprehensive
look.

"You know my son, Horon, don't you? Your age?"
Groghe asked.

Jaxom nodded, startled.

"Well, he's going to foster here as company for
you."

"And possibly some other lads," said Lessa.
"Would you like that?"

Robinton noticed the incredulous widening of
Jaxom's eyes as he glanced from Lessa to Groghe
and back to Lytol where his glance remained until
Lytol had nodded solemnly.

"And, when Ruth is flying well, how about coming
to my Hall to see what I can teach you about Pern
that Lytol doesn't know?" Robinton asked.

"Oh, sir," and Jaxom looked again to his guardian,
"may I really do all this?" There was unadulterated
relief and joy in Jaxom's voice.




CHAPTER II

Benden Weyr, Present Pass, 13th Turn

DUSK WAS SETTLING in Benden Weyr as Robinton
climbed the stairs to the queen's weyr, something he
had done so many times in the past thirteen Turns.
He paused as much to catch his breath as to speak to
the man just behind him.

"We've timed it well, Toric. I don't think anyone
noticed our arrival. And they'll certainly not question
N'ton," he said gesturing to the Fort Weyrleader
dimly seen crossing the Bowl to the lighted kitchen

caverns.

Toric wasn't looking at him. He was staring up at
the ledge where bronze Mnementh was seated on
his haunches, regarding the new arrivals, his jewel-
faceted eyes gleaming in the dim light. Robinton's
Zair reacted by digging his claws sharply into the
Harper's ear and twining his tail more tightly about

his neck.

"He won't hurt you, Zair," Robinton said, but he
hoped the message would also satisfy the Southern
Holder whose face and bearing were taut with sur-
prise.

"He's almost twice as big as any of the Oldthners'

beasts," Toric said in a respectfully hushed voice.
"And I thought N'ton's Lioth was big!"

"I believe that Mnementh's the largest bronze,"

36

The White Dragon

Robinton said, continuing up the last few steps. He
was concerned by that twinge in his chest. He'd have
thought that all his recent and unexpected rest would
have eased that condition. He must remember to
speak to Master Oldive about it. "Good evening,
Mnementh," he said as he reached the top step, in-
clining his body toward the great bronze. "It strikes
me as disrespectful to barge by without acknowledg-
ing him," he said in an aside to Toric. "And this is
my friend, Toric, whom Lessa and F'lar are expect-
ing."

/ know. I have told them you are come.

Robinton cleared his throat. He never expected an
answer to his pleasantries but was always extremely
flattered on those occasions when Mnementh re-
sponded. However, he did not share the dragon's
comment with Toric. The man seemed unnerved
enough as it was.

Toric moved quickly toward the short corridor,
keeping Robinton between himself and bronze
Mnementh.

"I'd better warn you," Robinton said, keeping
amusement out of his voice, "that Ramoth's even
larger!"

Toric's response was a grunt which dissolved into
a gasp as the corridor opened up into the large rocky
chamber which served as the home of Benden's
queen. She was asleep on her stone couch, her
wedge-shaped head pointing in their direction,
gleaming golden in the glows that illuminated the
weyr.

"Robinton, you are indeed safely back," Lessa
cried, running toward him, a wide smile lighting her
unusual face. "And so tanned!"

To the Harper's delighted surprise, she threw her
arms about him in a brief and totally unexpected
embrace.

"I should get storm-lost more often," he managed
to say in a light tone, grinning as raffishly as he could
with his heart pounding in his chest. Her body had
been so vibrant, so light against him.

37

The White Dragon

"Don't you dare!" She flashed him a look com-
pounded of anger, relief and outrage, then her mobile
face assumed a more dignified smile for the other
guest. "Toric, you are very welcome here, and thank
you for rescuing our good Masterharper."

"I did nothing," Toric said, surprised. "He'd a dol-
lop of pure unadulterated good luck. He ought

to have drowned in that gale."

"Menolly's not a Seaholder's daughter for naught,"
the Harper said, clearing his throat as he remem-
bered those grim hours. "She kept us afloat. Though
at one point, I wasn't at all sure I wanted to

stay alive!"

"You're not a good seaman, then, Robinton?"

Plar asked with a laugh. He gripped the Southern-
er's arm in greeting and with his left hand gave the
Harper an affectionate crack on the arm.

Robinton suddenly realized that his adventure had
had disturbing repercussions in this Weyr. He was
both gratified and chagrined. True, at the time of
the gale, he'd been far too occupied with his rebel-
lious stomach to think beyond surviving the next
wave that crashed over their little boat. Menolly's
skill had kept him from realizing the acute danger
they were in. Afterward he had come to appreciate
their position and wondered if Menolly had sup-
pressed her own fear lest she lose honor in his eyes.
She'd gone about her seamanship, managing to save
most of the wind-torn sail, rigging a sea anchor, lash-
ing him to the mast as he'd been made weak

by nausea and retching.

"No, F'lar, I'm no seaman," Robinton said now,
with a shudder. "I'll leave that to those born to the

craft."

"And follow their advice," Toric warned, some-
what tartly. He turned to the Weyrleaders. "He's got
no weather sense either. And, of course, Menolly
didn't realize the strength of the Western Stream at
this time of the year." He raised his shoulders to in-
dicate his helplessness against such stupidity.

"Is that why you were dragged so far from South-
38

The White Dragon

em?" F'lar asked, gesturing at the newcomers to
seat themselves at the round table set in the corner
of the big room.

"So I'm informed," said Robinton, grimacing over
the long lectures he'd received on current, tide, drift
and wind. He knew more than he'd take care ever to
need about those aspects of the seaman's craft.

Lessa laughed at his droll tone and poured wine.

"Do you realize," he asked, twirling the glass in his
fingers, "that there wasn't a drop of wine on board?"

"Oh, no!" Lessa cried in comic dismay. F'lar's
laughter joined hers. "What deprivation!"

Robinton then got down to the purpose of this visit.
"It was, however, a felicitous accident. There is, my
dear Weyrleaders, considerably more of the Southern
Continent than we'd ever thought." He glanced at
Toric, who produced the map he'd hastily copied
from the larger one in his Hold. F'lar and Lessa
obligingly held the comers to flatten the stiff hide.
The Northern Continent was detailed as was the
known portion of the Southern Continent. Robinton
pointed to the thumb of the Southern peninsula which
contained the Southern Weyr and Tone's Hold, then
gestured to the right and left of that landmark where
the coastline and a good part of the interior, marked
off by two rivers, had been topographically detailed.
"Toric has not been idle. You can see how much he
has extended knowledge of the terrain beyond what
F'nor was able to do during his journey south."

"I asked permission of T'ron to continue the ex-
ploration," the Southerner's expression mirrored con-
tempt and dislike, "but he barely heard me out and
said I could do as I liked just as long as the Weyr
was properly supplied with game and fresh fruit."

"Supplied?" exclaimed F'lar. "They'd only to
walk a few dragon lengths from the weyrs and pick
what they needed."

"Sometimes they do. Mostly I find it easier to have
my holders supply their demands. They don't bother
us then."

"Bother you?" Lessa's voice was indignant.
39




The White Dragon

"That's what I said, Weyrleader," Tone replied, a
steely note in his voice; he turned back to the map. "My
holders have been able to penetrate this far into the
interior. Very difficult going. Tough jungle growth
that dulls the keenest chopping blade in an hour.
Never seen such vegetation! We know there are hills
here and a mountain range farther back," he tapped
the relevant area on the map, "but I'd not fancy carv-
ing my way there length by length. So we scouted
along the shoreline, found these two rivers and pro-
ceeded up them as far as we could. The western river
ends in a flat marshy lake, the southeastern one at a
falls, six-seven dragon lengths high." Toric straight-
ened, regarding the small portion of explored land
with mild disgust. "I'd hazard the guess that even if
the land went no farther south than that range, it's
twice the size of South Boll or Tiliek!"

"And the Oldtimers are not interested in examin-
ing what they have?" F'lar found that attitude un-
palatable, Robinton realized.

"No, Weyrleader, they are not! And frankly, with-
out some easier way to penetrate that vegetation,"
Toric tapped the hide, "I don't have the men, much
less the energy to bother. I've all the land I can hold
right now and still be sure my people are safe from
Thread." He paused. Although Robinton had a fair
idea what he was hesitating about, the Harper wanted
the Weyrieaders to know firsthand what this energetic
Southerner thought. "Most of the time the dragonmen
don't bother on that score, either."

"What?" Lessa exploded, but F'lar touched her

shoulder.

"I'd wondered about that, Toric."

"How dare they?" Lessa continued, her gray eyes
flashing. Ramoth stirred on her couch.

"They dare, all right," Toric said, looking nerv-
ously at the queen.

However, Robinton could see that Lessa's appalled
reaction to the Oldtimers' delinquency gratified the

man.

40

The White Dragon

'•But ... but ..
tion.

." Lessa spluttered with indigna-

"Are you able to manage, Toric?" F'lar asked,
calming his weyrmate with a firm hand.

"I've learned," he said. "We've plenty of flame-
throwers, F'nor made sure they were left in my care.
We maintain our holds grass-free and keep the beasts
in the stone stables during Fall." He gave a diffident
shrug, then grinned slightly at the indignant expres-
sion of the Weyrwoman. "They don't do us any
harm, Lessa, even if they don't do us any good. Don't
worry. We can handle them."

"That isn't the point," Lessa said angrily. "They
are dragonmen, sworn to protect—"

"You sent them south because they weren't,"
Toric reminded her. "So they couldn't injure people
here."

"That still doesn't give them any right to—"

"I told you, Lessa, they're not harming us.
We manage fine without them!"

A sort of challenge in Toric's tone made Robinton
hold his breath. Lessa had a quick temper.

"Is there anything you need from the North?"
asked F'lar, in oblique apology.

"I was hoping you'd ask," the Southerner said,
grinning. "I know you can't break your honor by in-
terfering with the Oldtimers in the South. Not that I
mind . . ." he added quickly as he saw Lessa about
to protest again. "But we are running out of some
things, like properly forged metal for my Craftsmith,
and parts for the flamethrowers that he says only
Fandarel can make."

"I'll see that you get them."

"And I'd like a young sister of mine, Sharra, to
study with that healer the Harper was telling me
about, a Master Oklive. We've some odd sorts of fe-
vers and curious infections."

"Naturally she's welcome," Lessa said quickly. "And
our Manora is adept in herb-brews."

"And . . ." Toric hesitated a moment, glancing at
Robinton, who quickly reassured him with a smile

41




The White Dragon

and an encouraging gesture, "if there were some ad-
venturous men and women who'd be willing to make
do at my Hold, I think I could absorb them without
the Oldtimers' knowing. Just a few, mind, because
though we've all the space in the world, some people
become unsettled when there aren't dragons in the sky

during Threadfall!"

"Why, yes," F'lar said with a nonchalance that

caused Robinton to stifle a laugh, "I believe there are
a few hardy souls who would be interested in joining

you."

"Good. If I've enough to Hold properly, then I can

see my way clear to extending beyond the rivers next

cool season." Tone's relief was visible.

"I thought you said it was impossible . . ." Flar

began.

"Not impossible. Just difficult," Toric replied, add-
ing with a smile, "I've some men keen to continue
despite the odds, and I'd like to know what's out

there."

"So would we," Lessa said. "The Oldtimers won't

last forever."

"That fact often consoles me," Toric replied. "One

thing, though . . ." He paused, looking through nar-
rowed eyes at the two Benden Weyrleaders.

So far, Toric's audacity had delighted Robinton.
The Harper was very pleased at how he'd managed to
prime the man into requesting the very thing that the
North needed the most—a place to send the in-
dependent and capable men who had no chance
of attaining holds in the North. The big South-
erner's manner was quite a change for the Benden
Weyrleaders: neither subservient and apologetic nor
aggressive and demanding. Toric had become inde-
pendent as a result of having no one, dragonmen,
Craftmasters or Lord Holders, to fall back on. Be-
cause he had survived, he was self-confident and he
knew what he wanted, and how to get it. Therefore

he was addressing Lessa and F'lar as equals.

"One small matter," he continued, "which I'd like

clarified?"

42

The White Dragon

"Yes?" F'lar prompted him.

"What happens to Southern, to my holders, to me,
when the last of those Oldtimers is gone?"

"I'd say that you will have more than earned the
right to Hold," F'lar said slowly, with an unmistakable
accent on the final word, "what you have managed to
carve out of that jungle for yourself!"

"Good!" Toric gave a decisive nod of his head, his
eyes never leaving F'lar's. Then, suddenly, his tanned
face dissolved into a smile. "I'd forgotten what you
Northerners can be like. Send me some more—"

"Will they hold what they have carved?" Robinton
asked quickly.

"What they hold, they have," Toric replied in a
grave manner. "But don't flood me with people. I've

got to sneak them in when the Oldtimers aren't look-
ing."

"How many can you sneak in ... comfortably?"
asked F'lar.

"Oh, six, eight, the first time. Then when we've got
holds, the same again." He grinned. "The first ones
build for themselves before the new ones come. But
there's lots of room in the South."

"That's comforting because I've plans for the South
myself," said F'lar. "That reminds me, Robinton, how
far to the east did you and Menolly go?"

"I wish I could answer you. I know where we got
to, when the storm finally blew out. The most beau-
tiful place I've ever seen, a perfect semicircle of a
white sanded beach, with this huge cone-shaped

mountain far, far in the distance, right in the center
of the cove..."

"But you came back along the shore, didn't you?"
Flar was impatient. "What was it like?"

"It was there," Robinton said uninformatively.
"That's all I can say. . . ." Heglared at Toric, who was
chuckling at his discomfiture. "We had a choice Of
sailing very close to land which Menolly said was im-
possible as we didn't know the bottom, or with suffi-
cient searoom to keep beyond the Western Current
which would evidently have brought us right back to

43




The White Dragon

the cove. It is, as I've said, a very beautiful spot, but
I was glad to leave it for a while. Consequently, while
land was there, it was not close enough for any in-
spection by me."

"That's too bad." F'lar looked very unhappy.
"Yes and no," replied Robinton. "It took us nine
days to sail back along that coast. That's a lot of land

for Toric to explore."

"I'm willing, and I'll be ready if I get the supplies I

need..."

"How do we get shipments to you, T6ric?" F'lar

asked. "Don't dare send them on dragonback, though
that would be easiest and best from my point of view."

Robinton chuckled and gave a broad wink to the
others. "As to that, if another ship should by chance
be blown off course, south from Ista Hold ... I had a
word or two with Master Idarolan recently and he
mentioned how bad the storms have been this Turn."

"Is that how you chanced to be South in the first

place?" asked Lessa.

"How else?" Robinton said, assuming a very inno-
cent expression. "Menolly was attempting to teach me
to sail, a storm came up unexpectedly and blew us
straight into Tone's harbor. Didn't it, Toric?"

"If you say so. Harper!"

CHAPTER III

Morning at Ruatha Hold, and Smithcraft-
hall at Telgar Hold, Present Pass, 15'. 5.9

WITH A FORCE that set all the cups and plates
bouncing, Jaxom brought down both fists on the
heavy wooden table.

"That is enough," he said into the stunned silence.
He was on his feet, jerking his broad, bony shoulders
back because his arms had been jarred by the blows.
"That is quite enough!"

He didn't shout, he was oddly pleased to recall
later, but his voice was deepened by this explosion of
long suppressed anger and carried clearly to the edge
of the Hall. The drudge who was bringing in another
pitcher of hot klah paused in confusion.

"I am the Lord of this Hold," Jaxom went on, star-
ing first at Dorse, his milk-brother. "I am Ruth's rider.
He is unmistakably a dragon." Jaxom now bent his
gaze on Brand, the head steward whose jaw had
dropped in surprise. "He is, as usual," and Jaxom's
glance flickered across Lytol's blankly puzzled face,
"in the very good health he has enjoyed since his
Hatching." Jaxom passed over the four fosterlings who
were all too new at Ruatha Hold to have started jibing
at him. "And yes," he said directly to Deelan, his
milk-mother whose lower lip was quivering at her




The White Dragon

nursling's startling behavior, "this is the day when I
go to the Smithcrafthall where, as you all well know,
I shall be served with the food and courtesy adequate
to my needs and station. Therefore," and his glance
swept the faces around the table, "the subjects of this
morning's conversation do not need to be aired again
in my presence. Have I made myself clear?"

He didn't wait for an answer but strode purpose-
fully from the Hall, elated at having finally said some-
thing and half-guilty because he had lost control of
his temper. He heard Lytol call his name but for once

that summons did not exact obedience.

This time it would not be Jaxom, however young a
Lord or Ruatha Hold he still was, who apologized for
his behavior. The enormous backlog of similar inci-
dents, manfully swallowed or overlooked for any num-
ber of logical reasons, swept aside every consideration
except to put as much distance between himself and
his invidious position, his too reasonable and consci-
entious guardian and the obnoxious group of people
who mistook daily intimacy for license.

Ruth, picking up his rider's distress, came charging
out of the old stable which made his weyr at Ruatha
Hold. The white dragon's fragile-seeming wings were
half-spread as he rushed to give whatever aid his

mate needed.

With a breath that was half a sob, Jaxom vaulted

to Ruth's back and urged him up out of the courtyard
just as Lytol appeared at the massive Hold doors.
Jaxom averted his face so that later he'd be able to
say truthfully that he hadn't seen Lytol waving.

Ruth beat strongly upward, his lighter mass
launched more readily than that of the regular-sized

dragons.

"You're twice the dragon the others are. Twicel

You're better at everything! Everything!" Jaxom's
thought was so turbulent that Ruth trumpeted defi-
ance.

The startled brown watchdragon queried them from

the fire-heights and the entire Hold population of fire-

The White Dragon

lizards materialized around Ruth, dipping and swoop-
ing, chirping in echoed agitation.

Ruth cleared the fire-heights and then winked into
between, unerringly going to the high mountain Inke
above the Hold which had become their special re-
treat.

The penetrating cold of between, brief passage
though it was, reduced Jaxom's temper. He began
shivering, since he wore only his sleeveless tunic, as
Ruth glided down effortlessly to the water's edge.

"It's completely and utterly unfair!" he said, slam-
ming his right fist into his thigh so hard that Ruth
grunted with the impact.

What is troubling you today? the dragon asked as
he landed daintily on the lake verge.
"Everything! Nothing!"

Which? Ruth reasonably wanted to know and
turned his head to gaze at his rider.

Jaxom slid from the soft-skinned white back and
encircled the dragon's neck with his arms, pulling the
wedge-shaped head against him, for comforting.

Why do you let them upset you? Ruth asked, his
eyes whirling with love and affection for his weyrmate.

"A very good question," Jaxom replied after a full
moment's consideration. "But they know exactly
how." Then he laughed. "This is where all that ob-
jectivity Robinton talks about ought to operate . . .
and doesn't."

The Masterharper is honored for his wisdom. Ruth
sounded uncertain, and his tone made Jaxom smile.

He was always being told that dragons had no abil-
ity to understand abstract concepts or complex rela-
tionships. Too often Ruth surprised him by remarks
that cast doubt on the theory. Dragons, particularly
Ruth in Jaxom's biased opinion, obviously perceived
far more than others credited to them. Even Weyr-
leaders like F'lar or Lessa and even N'ton. Thinking
about the Fort Weyrieader reminded Jaxom that he
now had a particular reason for going to the Master-
snuthhall this morning. N'ton, who would be there to




The White Dragon

hear Wansor, was the only rider Jaxom felt would be

likely to help him.

"Shells!" Jaxom kicked rebelliously at a stone,

watching the ripples it caused when it skittered across
the surface of the lake and finally sank.

Robinton had often used the ripple effect to demon-
strate how a tiny action produced multiple reactions.
Jaxom let out a snort, wondering how many ripples
he'd caused this morning by storming out of the Hall.
And just why had this morning bothered him
so much? It had begun like other mornings, with
Dorse's trite comments about oversized fire-lizards,
with Lytol's habitual query about Ruth's health—as
if the dragon were likely to deteriorate overnight—
and with Deelan snidely repeating that sickeningly old
hoot about visitors starving at the Smithcrafthall. To
be sure, Deelan's mothering had lately begun to irri-
tate Jaxom, especially when the dear soul invariably
fondled him in front of her seething natural son,
Dorse. All the time-honored, worn-out nonsense that
started a day, every day, at Ruatha Hold. Why, today,
should it jerk him to his feet in a fury and drive him
from the Hall he was Lord of, fleeing from people over
whom, in theory, he had all control and right?

And there was nothing wrong with Ruth. Nothing.
No. / am fine, Ruth said, then added in a plaintive
tone, except that I didn't have time for my swim.

Jaxom stroked the soft eye ridges, smiling indul-
gently. "Sorry to spoil your morning, too."

You haven't. I'll swim in the lake. Quieter here,
Ruth said and nuzzled Jaxom. It's better here for you,

too.

"I hope so." Anger was foreign to Jaxom and he

resented the violence of his inner feelings and those
who had driven him to such a point of fury. "Better
swim. We've got to go on to the Smithcrafthall, you

know."

Ruth had no sooner spread his wings than a clutch

of fire-lizards appeared in the air above him, wildly
cluttering and loudly broadcasting thoughts of smug
satisfaction at their cleverness in finding him. One

48

The White Dragon

winked out immediately and Jaxom felt another stab
of resentment. Keeping track of him, huh? That'd be
one more order from him when he got back to the
Hold. Who did they think he was, an unbreeched child
or an Oldtimer?

He sighed, repentant. Of course, they'd be worried
about him when he'd stormed out of the Hold like
that. Not that he was likely to go anywhere but to the
lake. Not that he could possibly come to harm with
Ruth, and not that he and Ruth could go anywhere on
Pern where fire-lizards couldn't find them.

His resentment flared anew, this time against the
silly fire-lizards. Why, of all dragons, did every fire-
lizard have an insatiable curiosity about Ruth?
Wherever they went on Pern, every fire-lizard in the
neighborhood came popping in to gawk at the white
dragon. This activity used to amuse Jaxom because the
fire-lizards would give Ruth the most incredible images
of things they remembered, and Ruth would pass the
more interesting ones to him. But today, as with
everything else, amusement had soured to irritation.

"Analyze," Lytol was fond of directing him. "Think
objectively. You can't govern others until you can

control yourself and see the broader, forward-looking
view."

Jaxom took a couple of deep breaths, the kind Lytol
recommended he take before speaking, to organize
what he was going to say.

Ruth had winged over the deep-blue waters of the
little lake now, fire-lizards outlining his graceful figure.
He suddenly folded his wings and dove. Jaxom shud-
dered, wondering how Ruth could enjoy the biting
cold waters fed by the snowcapped peaks of the High
Ranges. In the muggy midsummer heat, Jaxom often
found it refreshing, but now, with winter barely past?
He shuddered again. Well, if dragons didn't feel the
three-times-more-intense cold of between, a plunge
in an icy lake would not be bothersome.

Ruth surfaced, waves lapping against the bank at
Jaxom's feet. Jaxom idly stripped a branch of its thick
needles and launched them one after another into the

49




The White Dragon

incoming ripples. Well, one wave of reaction to this
morning's outburst was the dispatch of fire-lizards to

find him.

Another, the look of stunned amazement on
Dorse's face. That had been the first time Jaxom had
ever rounded on his milk-brother, though, Shells, it
was only the thought of Lytol's displeasure at his loss
of control that had kept Jaxom's temper in check so
long. Dorse loved nothing better than to taunt Jaxom
about Ruth's lack of stature, masking his malicious
jibes in mock-brotherly quarrels, knowing all too well
that Jaxom could not retaliate without a rebuke from
Lytol for conduct unbecoming his rank and station.
Jaxom had long outgrown the need for Deelan's fuss-
ing but innate kindness and gratitude to her for the
milk which had nourished him after his premature
birth had long prevented Jaxom from asking Lytol to

retire her.

So why, today, had all this suddenly come to a boil?
Ruth's head emerged from the waters again, the
many-faceted eyes reflecting the bright morning sun
in greens and brilliant clear blues. The fire-lizards at-
tacked his back with rough tongues and talons, scrub-
bing off infinitesimal motes of dirt, splashing water
over him with their wings, their own hides darkened

by the wetting.

The green turned to batter her nose at one of the
two blues and swatted the brown with her wing to
make him work to her satisfaction. Despite himself,
Jaxom laughed to see her scolding. She was Deelan's
green and so much in manner like his milkmother
that he was reminded of the weyr axiom that a dragon
was no better than his rider.

In that way, Lytol had done Jaxom no disservice.
Ruth was the best dragon in all Pern. If—and now
Jaxom recognized the underlying cause of his rebel-
lion—Ruth was ever allowed to be. Immediately all
the frustrated anger of the morning returned, disrupt-
ing what little objectivity he had gained at the peaceful
lakeside. Neither he, Jaxom, Lord of Ruatha, nor

The White Dragon             "

Ruth, the white runt of Rarnoth's clutch, were allowed
to be what they really were.

Jaxom was Lord Holder in name only, because
Lytol administered the Hold, made all its decisions,
spoke in Council for Ruatha. Jaxom had yet to be con-
firmed by the other Lord Holders as Lord of Ruatha.
True, a matter of form only since there was no other
male on Pern with Ruathan Blood. Besides, Lessa, the
only living full-blooded Ruathan, had relinquished her
blood right to Jaxom at the moment of his birth.

Jaxom knew he could never be a dragonrider be-
cause he had to be Lord Holder of Ruatha. Only he
was not really a Lord Holder because he couldn't go
up to Lytol and just say: "I'm old enough to take over
now! Thanks and good-bye!" Lytol had worked too
hard and long to make Ruatha prosper to take second
place to the bumblings of an untried youth. Lytol only
lived for Ruatha. He'd lost so much else: first his own
dragon, then his small family to Fax's greed. All his
life now centered about Ruathan fields and wheat, and
runners, and how many wherry bucks ...

No, in all fairness, he would simply have to wait
until Lytol, who enjoyed vigorous health, died a
natural death before he started Holding at Ruatha.

But, Jaxom continued his thoughts logically, if
Lytol is active so that Ruatha Hold is not in dispute,
why couldn't he and Ruth occupy their time learning
to be proper dragon and rider. Every fighting dragon
was needed now, what with Thread falling from the
Red Star at unexpected intervals. Why should he have
to trudge about the countryside, lugging a clumsy
flamethrower when he could more effectively fight
Thread if Ruth were only allowed to chew firestone?
Just because Ruth was half the size of the other drag-
ons didn't mean he wasn't a proper dragon in all other
respects.

Of course I am, Ruth said from the lake.
Jaxom grimaced. He'd been trying to think quietly.
/ heard your feelings, not your thoughts, Ruth said
calmly. You are confused and unhappy. He arched
out of the water to shake his wings dry. He half-




The White Dragon

paddled, half-flew to the shore. / am a dragon. You
are my rider. No man can change that. Be what you

are. I am.

"But not really. They won't let us be what we are,"

Jaxom cried. "They're forcing me to be everything but

a dragonrider."
You are a dragonrider. You are also, and Ruth said

this slowly as if trying to understand it all himself,
a Lord Holder. You are a student with the Master-
smith and the Masterharper. You are a friend of
Menolly, Mirrim, F'lessan and N'ton. Ramoth knows
your name. So does Mnementh. And they know me.
You have to be a lot of people. That is hard.

Jaxom stared at Ruth, who gave his wings a final
flick and then folded them fastidiously across his back.

/ am clean. I feel well, the dragon said as if this
announcement should resolve all of Jaxom's internal

doubts.

"Ruth, whatever would I do without you?"

/ don't know. N'ton comes to see you. He went to
Ruatha. The little brown who followed looks to N'ton.

Jaxom sucked in his breath nervously. Trust Ruth
to know which was whose fire-lizard. He had assumed
the brown looked to someone at Ruatha Hold.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Hurriedly Jaxom
made to mount Ruth. He did most urgently want to
see N'ton, and he wanted with equal intensity to keep
in N'ton's good favor. The Fort Weyrieader didn't

have that much free time to chat.

/ wanted my swim, Ruth replied. We will be in

time. Ruth rose from the ground when Jaxom had
barely settled on his back. We will not keep N'ton
waiting. Before Jaxom could remind Ruth that they
weren't supposed to go between time, they had.

"Ruth, what if N'ton finds out we've been timing it,"
Jaxom said through chattering teeth as they broke out
of between into the hot midmoming sun of Telgar

over the Mastersmithcrafthall.

He will not ask.

Jaxom wished that Ruth wouldn't sound so com-
placent. But then, the white dragon wouldn't have to

The White Dragon            \

take N'ton's tongue-lashing. Timing was bloody dan-
gerous!

7 always know when I'm going, Ruth replied, not at
all perturbed. That's something few other dragons can
say.

They were barely in a landing circle above the
Smithcrafthall complex before N'ton's great bronze
Lioth burst into the air above them.

"And how you know how to time it that close, I'll
never know," Jaxom said.

Oh, Ruth said easily, / heard when the brown re-
turned to N'ton and just came to that when.

Jaxom knew that dragons were not supposed to
laugh but the feeling from Ruth was so close to
laughter as to make no difference.

Lioth winged close enough to Jaxom and Ruth for
the young Lord to see the bronze rider's expression—
a pleased grin. Jaxom thought Ruth had said N'ton
had been at Ruatha first. Then Jaxom noticed that
N'ton raised his hand and was holding what could
only be Jaxom's wherhide riding jacket.

As they circled downward, Jaxom saw that they
were by no means the first arrivals. He counted five
dragons, including Plessan's bronze Golanth and
Mirrim's green Path who warbled a greeting. Ruth
landed lightly on the meadow before the Smithcraft-
hall with Lioth touching down the next moment. As
N'ton slid down the bronze shoulder, his brown fire-
lizard, Tris, appeared and settled impertinently on
Ruth's upper crest, chirping smugly.

"Deelan said you'd gone off without this," N'ton
said and tossed the jacket at Jaxom. "Well, I suppose
you don't feel the cold the way my old bones do. Or
are you practicing survival tactics?"

"Ah, N'ton, not you, too!"

"Me, too, what, young fella?"

"You know..."

"No, I don't know." N'ton gave Jaxom a closer look.
"Or did Deelan's babbling this morning have real sig-
nificance?"

"You didn't see Lytol?"

The White Dragon

"No. I just asked the first person in the Hold where
you were. Deelan was weeping because you'd gone
off without your jacket." N'ton drolly pulled down his
lower lip in a trembling imitation of Deelan. "Can't
stand weeping women—at least women that age—so
I grabbed the jacket, promised on the shell of my
dragon to force it about your frail body, sent Tris to
see where Ruth was and here we are. Tell me, did
something momentous happen this morning? Ruth

looks fine."

Embarrassed, Jaxom looked away from the quiz-
zical regard of the Fort Weyrleader and gave himself
a bit more time by shrugging into his jacket.

"I told the entire Hold off this morning."

"I told Lytol it wouldn't be long now."

"What?"
"What tipped the scales? Deelan's blubbering?"

"Ruth is a dragon!"

"Of course he is," N'ton replied with such emphasis
that Lioth turned his head to regard them. "Who says

he's not?"

"They do. At Ruatha. Everywhere! They say he's

nothing but an overgrown fire-lizard. And you know

that's been said."

Lioth hissed. Tris took wing in surprise, but Ruth

warbled complacently and the others settled.

"I know it's been said," N'ton replied, taking hold
of Jaxom's shoulders. "But there isn't a dragonrider
I know who hasn't corrected the speaker—somewhat

forcefully on occasion."

"If you consider him a dragon, why can't he act

like one?"

"He does!" N'ton gave Ruth a long look as if the

creature had somehow changed in the last moment.
"I mean like other full fighting dragons."
"Oh." N'ton grimaced. "So that's it. Look, lad . . ."
"It's Lytol, isn't it? He's told you not to let me fight

Thread on Ruth. That's why you'll never let me teach

Ruth how to chew firestone."
"It's not that, Jaxom . .."
"Then what is it? There isn't a place on Pem we




The White Dragon

can't get to, first time, right on. Ruth's small but he's
faster, turns quicker midair, less mass to move—"

"It's not a question of ability, Jaxom," N'ton said,
raising his voice slightly to make Jaxom hear what he
had to say, "it's a matter of what is advisable."

"More evasions."

"No!" N'ton's firm negative cut through Jaxom's re-
sentment. "Flying with a fighting wing during Thread-
fall is bloody dangerous, lad. I'm not impugning your
courage, but bluntly, however keen you are, however
quick and clever Ruth is, you'd be a liability to a
fighting wing. You haven't the training, the disci-
pline ..."

"If it's only training—"

N'ton grabbed Jaxom by the shoulders to stop his
contentiousness.

"It isn't." N'ton drew a deep breath. "I said it's not
a question of Ruth's abilities or yours; it is solely a
question of advisability. Pem can't afford to lose either
you, young Lord of Ruatha, or Ruth, who is unique."

"But I'm not Lord of Ruatha either. Not yet! Lytol
is. He makes all the decisions ... I just listen, and nod
my head like a sunstruck wherry." Jaxom faltered,
aware he was implying criticism of Lytol. "I mean, I
know Lytol has to manage until the Lord Holders con-
firm me ... and I don't really want Lytol to leave
Ruatha Hold. But if I could be a dragonrider, it
wouldn't come to that. You see?"

As Jaxom caught the expression in N'ton's eyes, his
shoulders slumped in defeat. "You see, but the an-
swer's still no! It would just make different ripples,
probably bigger ones, wouldn't it? So I've got to muck
on as something in between everything. Not a real
Lord Holder, not a real dragonrider . . . not a real
anything except a problem. A real problem to every-
body!"

Not to me, Ruth said clearly and reassuringly
touched his rider with his muzzle.

"You're not a problem, Jaxom, but I do see that
you have one," N'ton said with quiet sympathy. "If it
were up to me, I'd say it would do you a world of good

yy

The White Dragon

to join a wing and teach Ruth to chew firestone. For
the firsthand knowledge no other Lord Holder could

contest."

For one hopeful moment, Jaxom thought N'ton was
offering him the chance he so wanted.

"// it were my decision, Jaxom, which it isn't and
can't be. But," and N'ton paused, his eyes searching
Jaxom's face, "this is a matter that had better be dis-
cussed. You're old enough to be confirmed as Lord
Holder or to do something else constructive. I'll speak
to Lytol and F'lar on your behalf."

"Lytol will say that I am Lord Holder, and F'lar
will say Ruth isn't big enough for a fighting wing—"

"And I won't say anything if you act like a sulky
boy."

A bellow overhead interrupted them. Two more
dragons were circling, indicating that they wanted to
land. N'ton waved acknowledgment, and then he and
Jaxom jogged out of the way toward the Smithcraft-
hall. Just short of the door, N'ton held him back.

"I won't forget, Jaxom, only . . ." and N'ton grinned,
"for the sake of the First Shell, don't let anyone catch
you giving Ruth firestone. And be bloody careful when

you go!"

In a state of mild shock, Jaxom stared at N'ton as
the Weyrieader hailed a friend inside the building.
N'ton had understood. Jaxom's depression lifted in-
stantly.

As he crossed the threshold of the Smithcrafthall,
he hesitated, adjusting his sight to the interior after
the bright spring sun. Intent on his own problems, he'd
also forgotten how important a session this was to be.
Masterharper Robinton was seated at the long work
table, cleared for this occasion of its usual clutter, and
F'lar, Benden's Weyrieader, was beside him. Jaxom rec-
cognized three other Weyrleaders and the new Master-
herdsman Briaret. There were a good half a wing of
bronze riders and Lord Holders, the leading smiths
and more harpers than any other craft to judge by the
color of tunics on men he didn't recognize immedi-
ately.

The White Dragon

Someone was calling his name in an urgent hoarse
whisper. Looking to his left, Jaxom saw that F'lessan
and the other regular students had gathered humbly
by the far window, the girls perched on stools.

"Half Pern's here," F'lessan remarked, pleased, as
he made room against the back wall for Jaxom.

Jaxom nodded to the others who appeared far more
interested in watching the new arrivals. "Didn't think
there'd be so many people interested in Wansor's stars
and maths," Jaxom said in a low voice to F'lessan.

"What? And miss a chance to ride dragon-
back?" Plessan asked with good-natured candor. "I
brought four in myself."

"A lot of people have assisted Wansor in collating
the material," Beneiek said in his usual didactic man-
ner. "Naturally they want to hear what use has been
made of their time and effort."

"They sure didn't come for the food," F'lessan said
with a snicker.

Now why, wondered Jaxom, doesn't F'lessan's re-
mark annoy me?

"Nonsense, F'lessan," Beneiek replied, too literal-
minded to understand when someone was being face-
tious. "Food's very good here. You eat enough of it."

"I'm like Fandarel," F'lessan said. "I make efficient
use of anything edible. Sush! Here he is himself.
Shells!" The young bronze rider grimaced with disgust.
"Couldn't someone have made him change his
clothes?"

"As if clothes mattered for a man with a mind like
Wansor's." Beneiek dropped his voice but he was
nearly sputtering with contempt for F'lessan.

"Today of all days, Wansor should look tidy,"
Jaxom said. "That's what F'lessan meant."

Beneiek grunted but did not pursue the subject.
Then F'lessan nudged Jaxom in the ribs with a wink
for Benelek's reaction.

Halfway inside the door, Wansor suddenly realized
that the hall was filled. He stopped, peered around
him, at first timidly. Then, when he recognized a face,
he bobbed his head and smiled hesitantly. From all

The White Dragon

sides he met with encouraging grins and murmured
greetings and gestures for him to continue to the front

of the hall.

"Well, my, my . . . All for my stars? My stars, my,
my!" His reaction sent a ripple of amusement through
the hall. "This is most gratifying. I'd no idea . . . Most
gratifying. And Robinton, you're here ..."

"Where else?" The Masterharper's long face was
suitably serious but Jaxom thought he saw the man's
lips twitch in an effort not to smile. Robinton then
half-guided, half-pushed Wansor toward the platform

at the far end of the hall.

"Come on, Wansor," Fandarel said in his rolling

tones.

"Oh yes, so sorry. Didn't mean to keep you waiting.

Ah, and there's Lord Asgenar. How very good of you
to come. I say, is N'ton here, too?" Wansor executed
a full circle. Being nearsighted, he peered closely at
faces, trying to spot N'ton. "He really should be—"
"Here I am, Wansor," N'ton raised his arm.
"Ah." The worried frown vanished from the round
face of the Starsmith as Menolly had impudently, if
accurately, labeled him. "My dear N'ton, you must
come up front. You've done so much work, watching
and looking at the most dreadful hours of the night.

Come, you must—"

"Wansor!" Fandarel half-rose to project his com-
manding bellow. "You can't put everyone up front
and they've all watched. That's why they're here.
To see what their watching was all for. Now get
up here and get on with it. You're wasting time. Sheer

inefficiency."

Wansor muttered protestations and apologies as he
bounced up the short distance to the platform. He did
indeed look, Jaxom noticed, as if he'd been sleeping
in those clothes. He probably hadn't changed since the
last Threadfall to judge by the sharpness of the
creases in the back of his tunic.

But there was nothing sloppy about the charts of
star positions which Wansor now tacked up on the
wall. Where did Wansor get that lurid red color for

The White Dragon

the Red Star—the color almost pulsed on the paper.
Nothing dithering about his spoken presentation. Out
of deference and respect for Wansor, Jaxom tried to
pay close attention but he had heard it all before and
his mind returned inexorably to N'ton's parting shot.
"Don't let anyone catch you giving Ruth firestone!"

As if he would be that foolish. Here Jaxom hesi-
tated. Although he knew in theory the whys and hows
of teaching a dragon to chew firestone, he had also
learned in his classes that between theory and prac-
tice anything could happen. Maybe he could enlist
F'lessan's help?

He glanced at the friend of his boyhood, who had
Impressed a bronze two Turns ago. Candidly, Jaxom
did not consider F'lessan more than a boy and cer-
tainly not serious enough about his responsibilities
as a bronze rider. He was grateful that F'lessan had
never told anyone that Jaxom had actually touched
Ruth's egg when the dragon was still in its shell on the
Hatching Ground. Of course, that would have been a
serious offense against the Weyr. F'lessan would
scarcely regard teaching a dragon to chew firestone as
anything at all remarkable.

Mirrim? Jaxom glanced toward the girl. The mom-
ing sun slanted through her browny hair, catching
golden glints which he'd never noticed before. She
was oblivious to anything but Wansor's words. She'd
probably give Jaxom an argument about not precipi-
tating the Weyr into more problems and then set one
of those fire-lizards of hers on him to be sure he didn't
set himself ablaze.

Jaxom was privately convinced that T'ran, the other
young bronze rider from Ista Weyr, thought Ruth was
essentially an overgrown fire-lizard. He'd be even less
help than F'lessan.

Beneiek was out, too. He ignored dragons and fire-
lizards as completely as they ignored him. But give
Beneiek a diagram or a machine, even the as-
sorted parts,of a machine found in the old holds and
weyrs, and he'd spend days trying to figure out what
it was supposed to be or do. Generally he could make




The White Dragon

a full machine work, even if he had to dismantle the
whole thing to find out why it wasn't operating. Bene-
lek and Fandarel understood each other perfectly.

Menolly? Menolly was just the person, if he did
need someone, in spite of her predilection for putting
anything she heard into a tune—a trick that was oc-
casionally a real nuisance. But that talent made her
an excellent Harper, in fact she was the first girl to be
one in living memory. He stole a long look at her.
Her lips were vibrating slightly and he wondered if
she were already putting Wansor's stars to music.

"The stars mark time for us in every Turn and help
us distinguish one Turn from another," Wansor was
saying and Jaxom brought his attention guiltily back
to the speaker. "The stars guided Lessa on her coura-
geous trip back through time to bring the Oldtimers
forward." Wansor cleared his throat at his somewhat
unfortunate mention of the two dragonrider factions.
"And the stars will be our constant guides in future
Turns. Lands, seas, people and places may change
but the stars are ordered in their courses and re-
main secure."

Jaxom remembered hearing some talk of trying to
alter the course of the Red Star, deflecting it away
from Pern. Had Wansor just proved that that couldn't

be done?

Wansor went on to emphasize that once you under-
stood the basic orbit and speed of any star, you
could compute its position in the heavens as long as
you also calculated the effect of its nearest neighbors

at conjunction; at any given time.

"So, there is no doubt in our minds that we can
now accurately predict Threadfall, according to the
position of the Red Star when in conjunction with
our other near neighbors in the skies."

Jaxom was amused that, whenever Wansor made
a sweeping statement, he said we but when he an-
nounced a discovery, he said /.

"We believe that as soon as this blue star is released
from the influence of the yellow star of our spring

60

The White Dragon

horizon and swings to the high east, Threadfall will
resume the pattern which F'lar originally observed.

"With this equation," Wansor rapidly jotted the fig-
ures down on the board, and Jaxom again noticed that
for a sloppy looking person, bis notations were con-
versely precise, "we can compute further conjunctions
which will affect Threadfall during this Pass. Indeed,
we can now point to where the various stars have
been at any time in the past and will be at any time
in the future."

He was writing equations at a furious pace and ex-
plaining which stars were affected by which equations.
He turned then, his round face settling into a very
serious expression. "We can even predict, on the basis
of this knowledge, the exact moment when the next
Pass will begin. Of course, that's so many Turns in
the future that none of us need worry about it. But
I think it's comforting to know nonetheless."

Scattered chuckles caused Wansor to blink and
then hesitantly grin, as if he belatedly realized that
he'd said something humorous.

"And we must make sure that no one forgets in the
long Interval this time," Mastersmith Fandarel said, his
bass voice startling everyone after Wansor's light
tenor. "That's what this union is all about, you know,"
Fandarel added, gesturing to the audience.

Several Turns before, when Ruth's life expectancy,
had been short, Jaxom had held a private if egocentric
theory about the sessions at the Smithcrafthall. He
had convinced himself that they had been initiated to
give him an alternative interest in living in case Ruth
died. Today's meeting let the substance out of that no-
tion, and Jaxom snorted at his self-centered whimsy.
The more people—in every Hold, in the Weyrs—who
knew what was being done in each of the Crafthalls,
by the individual Craftmasters and by their chief tech-
nicians, the less chance there was that the ambitious
plans to preserve all Pern from the ravages of Thread
would be lost again.

Jaxom, F'lessan, Beneiek, Mirrim, Menolly, Tran,
Piemur, various other likely successors to Lord Holders

61




The White Dragon

and advanced junior craftsmen formed the nucleus of
the regular school at the Smith and Harper crafthalls.
Each student learned to appreciate the other crafts.

Communication is essential. That was one of Rob-
inton's tenets. Wasn't he always saying, "Exchange in-
formation, learn to talk sensibly about any subject,
leam to express your thoughts, accept new ones, ex-
amine them, analyze. Think objectively. Think toward

the future."

Jaxom let his eyes drift about the room at the gath-
ering, wondering how many of them could accept all
of Wansor's explanations. True, with this lot he had
the advantage that most of them had watched the stars
form and reform their patterns, night after night, sea-
son after season until those stately patterns could be
reduced to Wansor's clever diagrams and numbers.
The trouble was that everyone was here in this room
because he was willing to listen to new ideas and ac-
cept new thoughts. The ones who needed to be influ-
enced were those who hadn't listened—such as the
Oldtimers now exiled to the Southern Continent.

Jaxom surmised that some sort of a discreet watch
was kept on happenings there. N'ton had once made
an oblique reference to the Southern Hold. The stu-
dents had a very detailed map of the land about the
Hold and of some of the neighboring areas which in-
dicated that the Southern Continent extended far
deeper into the Southern seas than anyone had guessed
even five Turns ago. During one of his talks with
Lytol, Robinton had once let slip something that led
Jaxom to believe the Masterharper had been in the
Southern lands recently. It amused Jaxom to wonder
how much the Oldtimers knew of what occurred on
the mainland. There were some obvious changes
which even those with the most closed minds would
have to admit seeing. What of the ever-increasing
spreads of forestland about which the Oldtimers bad
protested—expanses now protected by the burrowing
grubs that farmers had once tried to exterminate, er-
roneously considering them a bane instead of a care-
fully contrived blessing and safeguard.

The White Dragon

Jaxom's attention was reclaimed by the stamping of
feet and the clapping of hands. He hastily added his
own applause, wondering if he'd missed anything vital
during his ruminations. He'd check with Menolly later.
She remembered everything.

The ovation continued long enough to make
Wansor blush with pleased embarrassment, until
Fandarel rose and spread his tree-limb arms for si-
lence. But Fandarel no more got his mouth open to
speak when one of the Ista Hold watchers jumped to
his feet to ask Wansor to clarify an anomaly concern-
ing the fixed position of the trio of Stars known as the
Day Sisters. Before Wansor could answer him, some-
one else informed the man that no anomaly existed
and a spirited argument began.

"I wonder if we could use Wansor's equations to go
ahead in time safely," F'lessan mused.

"You deadglow! You can't go to a time that hasn't
happened!" Mirrim answered him tartly before the
others could. "How would you know what's happen-
ing there? You'd end up in a cliff or a crowd, or sur-
rounded by Thread! It's dangerous enough to go back
in time when at least you can check on what hap-
pened or on who was there. Even then you could, and
you would, muddle things. Forget it, F'lessan!"

"Going ahead could serve no logical purpose at this
time," Beneiek remarked in his sententious way.

"It'd be fun," F'lessan said, undeterred. "Like
knowing what the Oldtimers are planning. F'lar's sure
they're going to try something. They've been far too
quiet down there."

"Close your jaw, F'lessan. That's Weyr business,"
Mirrim said sharply, glancing anxiously around her
for fear some of the adults might have overheard his
indiscreet remark.

"Communicate! Share your thoughts!" F'lessan
spouted back some of Robinton's taglines.

"There's a difference between communication and
gossip," Jaxom said.

F'lessan gave his boyhood friend a long measuring
look. "You know, I used to think this school idea was




The White Dragon

a good one. Now I think it's turned the whole lot of us
into do-nothing talkers. And thinkers!" He rolled his
eyes upward in disgust. "We talk, we think everything
to death. We never do anything. At least I have to do
first and think later when we fight Thread!" He turned
on his heel and then, brightening, announced, "Hey,
there's food!" He began to weave through the crowd
to the doors where heavily laden trays were being
passed through to the central table.

Jaxom knew F'lessan's remarks had been general,
but the young Lord keenly felt the jibe about fighting

Thread.

"That F'lessan!" Menolly said at his ear. "He
wants to keep glory in the bloodline. A bit of
derring-do . . ." and her sea-blue eyes danced with
laughter as she added, "for me to tune about!" Then
she sighed. "And he's not the type at all. He doesn't
think beyond himself. But he's got a good heart.
C'mon! We'd better lend a hand with the food."

"Let us do!" Jaxom's quip was rewarded by
Menolly's smile of appreciation.

There was merit in both viewpoints, Jaxom decided
as he relieved an overburdened woman of a tray of
steaming meatrolls, but he'd think about it later.

The Mastersmith's kitchen had prepared for the
large gathering, and besides succulent meatrolls there
were hot fish balls, bread slabbed with the firm cheeses
of the High Range, two huge kettles of klah.

As he passed food around, Jaxom became con-
scious of something else that annoyed him. The other
Lords Holder and Craftmasters were all cordial, in-
quiring courteously after Ruth and Lytol. They all
seemed quite willing to exchange pleasantries with
him but would not discuss Wansor's theories. Perhaps,
Jaxom thought cynically, they hadn't understood what
Wansor had said and were ashamed to show their
ignorance before the younger man. Jaxom sighed.
Would he ever be old enough to be considered on equal

terms?"

"Hey, Jaxom, dump that," F'lessan grabbed his

sleeve. "Got something to show you."

The White Dragon

Believing he had done his duty, Jaxom pushed his
tray onto the table and followed his young friend out
the door. F'lessan kept going, grinning like a dimwit,
and then swung round to point at the roof of the
Smithcrafthall.

The Hall was a large building with steep gables.
The roof appeared to be in colorful motion, rippling
with sound. A veritable fair of fire-lizards were
perched on the gray slates, chirping and humming to
one another in earnest conversation—a perfect parody
of the intent discussions going on inside the building;-
Jaxom began to laugh.

"There can't be that many fire-lizards looking to
those inside," he said to Menolly, who had just
joined them. "Or have you acquired a couple more
clutches?"

Brushing the laugh-tears from her eyes, she denied
guilt. "I've only the ten and they go off on their own,
sometimes for days. I don't think I could account for
more than two besides Beauty, my queen. She sticks
by me constantly. You know," she turned a serious
face to him, "they're going to be a problem. Not
mine, because I make mine behave, but this sort of
thing." She gestured toward the covered roof. "They're
such dreadful gossips. I'll wager most of those don't
look to the people within. They've been attracted by
the dragons and by your Ruth in particular."

"A fair gathers like that wherever Ruth and I go,"
Jaxom said a bit sourly.

Menolly looked across the valley to where Ruth
was lying on the sunny riverbank with three other

dragons and the usual wing or two of ministering fire-
lizards.

"Does Ruth mind?"

"No," Jaxom grinned tolerantly, "I think he rather
enjoys it. They keep him company when I have to be
elsewhere on Hold business. He says they have all
sorts of fascinating and unlikely images in their minds.
He likes looking . . . most times. Sometimes he gets
annoyed—says they get carried away."

"How can they?" Menolly was bluntly dubious.




The White Dragon

"They don't have much imagination, not really. They

only tell what they see."

"Or think they see, maybe?"

Menolly considered that. "What they see is usu-
ally pretty reliable. I know . . ." Then she stopped,

looked dismayed.

"Never mind," Jaxom said. "I'd be as thick as a

hold door if I didn't realize you Harpers keep busy
down South." Jaxom then turned around to say some-
thing to F'lessan, who was nowhere to be seen.

"I'll tell you something, Jaxom," Menolly dropped
her voice, "F'lessan was right. Something is going on
down South. Some of my lot have been very agitated.
I get an image of a single egg but it's not in an en-
closed weyr. I thought maybe my Beauty had hidden
another clutch. She sometimes does that. Then I got
the impression that what she was seeing happened
long ago. And Beauty's no older than Ruth, so how
could she remember any more than five Turns back?"
"Fire-lizards with delusions of locating the First

Shell?" Jaxom laughed heartily.

"I can't quite seriously laugh at their memories.
They do know the oddest sorts of things. Remember
F'nor's Grail not wanting to go to the Red Star? For
that matter all the fire-lizards are terrified of the Red

Star."

"Aren't we all?"
"They knew, Jaxom, knew before the rest of Pern

had any knowledge."

Instinctively they both turned eastward, toward the

malevolent Red Star.

"So?" Menolly asked cryptically.

"So? So what?"
"So fire-lizards have memories."
"Ah, leave off, Menolly. You can't ask me to be-
lieve that fire-lizards could remember things Man

can't?"

"Got another explanation?" Menolly asked bellig-
erently.

"No, but that doesn't mean there isn't one," and

Jaxom grinned at her. His smile turned to alarm. "Say,

The White Dragon

what if some of those fellows up there are from the
Southern Hold?"

"I'm not worried. The fire-lizards are outside, for
one thing. For another, they can only visualize what
they've understood." Menolly chuckled, a habit of
hers which Jaxom found a pleasant change from the
giggling of Holder girls. "Can you imagine what non-
sense someone like T'kul would make of Wansor's
equations? Seen through lizard eyes?"

Jaxom's personal recollections of the High Reaches
Oldtimer Weyrleader were sparse, but he'd heard
enough from Lytol and N'ton to realize that man's
mind was closed to anything new. Though nearly six
Turns of fending on his own down in the Southern
Continent might have broadened his outlook.

"Look, it isn't me alone who's worried," Menolly
went on. "Mirrim is, too. And if anyone today under-
stands fire-lizards, it's Mirrim."

"You don't do badly yourself—for a mere Harper."

"Well, thank you, my Lord Holder." She gave him
a facetious salute. "Look, will you find out what the
fire-lizards are telling Ruth?"

Don't they talk to Mirrim's green dragon?" Jaxom
was reluctant to have more to do with fire-lizards at the
moment than was absolutely necessary.

"Dragons don't remember things. You know that.
But Ruth's different, I've noticed ..."

"Very different..."

Menolly caught the sour note in his voice. "What's
got your back up today? Or has Lord Groghe been to
see Lytol?"

"Lord Groghe? What for?"

Menolly's eyes glinted with devilment and she beck-
oned him closer, as if anyone were near enough to hear
what they'd been saying. "I think Lord Groghe fan-
cies you for that beast-bosomed third daughter of his."

Jaxom groaned in horror.

"Don't worry, Jaxom. Robinton squashed the idea.
He wouldn't do you a disservice there. Of course,"
Menolly glanced at him from the comers of her laugh-




The White Dragon

ing eyes, "if you have anyone else in mind, now's the
time to say so."

Jaxom was furious, not with Menolly but with her
news, and it was hard to dissociate tidings and bearer.
"The one thing I don't want just now is a wife."
"Oh? Got yourself taken care of?"

"Menolly!"

"Don't look so shocked. We Harpers understand the
frailties of human flesh. And you're tall, and nice-
looking, Jaxom. Lytol's supposed to be giving you in-
struction in all the arts . .."

"Menolly!"

"Jaxom!" She mimicked his tone perfectly. "Doesn't
Lytol ever let you off to have some fun on your own?
Or do you just think about it? Honestly, Jaxom," her
tone became acerbic and her expression registered im-
patience with him, "between Robinton, though I love
the man, and Lytol, F'lar, Lessa and Fandarel, I think
they've turned you into a pale echo of themselves.
Where is Jaxom?"

Before he could sort out a suitable answer for her
impertinence, she gave him a piercing look through
slightly narrowed eyes. "They do say the dragon is
the man. Maybe that's why Ruth is so different!"

On that cryptic remark she rose and made her way
back to the others.

Jaxom had half a mind to call Ruth and leave if
all he was going to get were insults and slights.

"Like a sulky boy!" N'ton's words came back to
him. Sighing, he settled back to the grass. No, he
would not depart hastily from an awkward scene for the
second time that morning. He would not act in an
immature fashion. He would not give Menolly the
satisfaction of knowing that her provocative comments
bothered him at all.

He stared down the river where his dear companion
played, and wondered. Why is Ruth different? Is the
dragon the man? To be sure, if Ruth were different,
he shared it. His birth had been as bizarre as Ruth's
Hatching—he from a dead mother's body, Ruth from
an eggshell too hard for the half-sized beak to break.

68

The White Dragon

Ruth was a dragon, but no weyrbred- He was Lord

Holder, but not confirmed so.
Well then, to prove one would be to prove the other and hail the difference!

Don't let anyone catch you giving Ruth firestone!

N'ton had said.

Wellaway, that would be his first goal!

69

CHAPTER IV

Ruatha Hold, Fidello's Hold, and Various
Points Between. 15.5.10-15.5.16

OVER THE NEXT few days, Jaxom realized that it
was one thing to form the resolution to teach Ruth to
chew firestone, and quite another to find the time to do
so. It was impossible to contrive a free hour. Jaxom
entertained the unworthy thought that perhaps N'ton
had tipped his plan to Lytol so that the Warder had
consciously found activities to fill his days. As quickly,
Jaxom discarded the notion. N'ton was not a treacher-
our or sly man. On sober examination, Jaxom had
to admit that his days had always been full: with
Ruth's care first, then lessons. Hold duties and, in past
Turns, meetings at other Holders which Lytol felt he
must attend—as a silent observer—to extend his knowl-
edge of Hold management

Jaxom simply hadn't realized the extent of his in-
volvement until now, when he desperately wanted time
to himself which did not have to be explained or

arranged in advance.

The other problem which he hadn't seriously con-
sidered was that no matter where he and Ruth went,
a fire-lizard was sure to appear. Menolly was correct in
calling them gossips and be had no wish for them to
oversee his unauthorized instruction. He experimented
by popping Ruth up to a mountain ledge in the High
Reaches which had been a practice ground when he was

70

The White Dragon

teaching Ruth to fly between. The area was deserted,
barren, without so much as mountain weed peeping up
from under the late hard snow. He'd given Ruth
directions while they were airborne and, at that par-
ticular moment, unaccompanied by fire-lizards. He'd
counted no more than twenty-two breaths before
Deelan's green and the Hold steward's blue arrived
over Ruth's head. They squeaked in astonishment and
then began to complain about the location.

Jaxom then tried two more equally unfrequented
locations, one in the plains of Keroon and another on
a deserted island oft the coast of Tillek. He was fol-
lowed to both places.

At first he seethed over such surveillance and en-
visioned himself tackling Lytol on the matter. Com-
mon sense urged that Lytol would scarcely have asked
either the steward or Deelan to set their creatures on
Jaxom. Misplaced zeal! If he tried to tell Deelan
straight out, she'd weep and wail, wring her hands and
run straight to Lytol. But Brand, the steward, was a
different matter. He had come from Telgar Hold two
Turns back when the old steward had proved unable
to control the lustiness of the fosterlings. Jaxom
paused. Now then, Brand would understand the prob-
lems of a young man.

So, when Jaxom returned to Ruatha Hold, he
found Brand in his office, giving out discipline to
some drudges for the depredations of tunnel-snakes in
the storage rooms. To Jaxom's astonishment, the
drudges were instantly dismissed with the injunction
that if they didn't present him with two dead tunnel-
snake carcasses apiece, they'd do without food for a
few days.

Not that Brand had ever been lacking in courtesy to
Jaxom, but such prompt attention surprised him, and
he required a breath or two before he spoke. Brand
waited with all the deference he would show to Lytol or
a ranking visitor. With some embarrassment Jaxom re-
membered his outburst of a few mornings before and
wondered. No, Brand wasn't the obsequious type. He
had the steady eye, the steady hand, firm mouth and

71

The White Dragon

stance that Lytol had often told Jaxom to look for in

the trustworthy man.

"Brand, I can't seem to go anywhere without fire-
lizards from this Hold appearing. Deelan's green, and if
you don't mind my saying so, your blue. Is all that
really necessary anymore?"

Brand's surprise was honest.

"Occasionally," Jaxom hurried on, "a fellow likes to
get off by himself, completely by himself. And, as you
know, fire-lizards are the world's greatest gossips. They
might get the wrong impression ... if you know what

I mean?"

Brand did but, if he was- amused or surprised, he

dissembled well.

"I do apologize, Lord Jaxom. An oversight, I assure

you. You know how anxious Deelan used to be
when you and Ruth first started flying between and the
fire-lizards followed as a safeguard. I should have
long ago altered that arrangement."

"Since when am I Lord Jaxom to you, Brand?"
The steward's Ups actually twitched. "Since the

other morning ... Lord Jaxom."

"I didn't mean it like that, Brand."

Brand inclined his head slightly, forestalling further
apology. "As Lord Lytol remarked, you are well old
enough to be confirmed in your rank. Lord Jaxom, and
we—" Brand grinned with uninhibited ease "—should

act accordingly."

"Ah, well, yes. Thank you." Jaxom managed to

leave Brand's office without further loss of poise and
strode rapidly to the first bend of the corridor.

There he stopped, mulling over the implications of
that interview. "Old enough to be confirmed in your
rank . . ." And Lord Groghe thinking to marry him to
his daughter. Surely the canny Fort Holder wouldn't
do that if there was any doubt of Jaxom's being con-
firmed in rank. The prospect now alarmed and annoyed
Jaxom whereas the day before it would have pleased
him enormously. Once he officially became Lord of
Ruatha, any chance he might have had of flying with
the fighting wings would be gone. He didn't want to be

The White Dragon

Lord of Ruatha—at least not yet. And he certainly
didn't want to be saddled with a female not of his own
choosing.

He should have told Menolly that he had no trouble
with any of the Holder girls . . . when he was of the
mind. Not that he had followed some of the bawdier
fosterlings' examples. He wasn't going to have the re-
putation of a lecher like Meron or that young fool of
Lord Laudey's, whom Lytol had sent back to his home
Hold with some cover excuse that no one really be-
lieved. It was all right for the Lord Holder to beget
a few halfbloods, quite another to dilute Holder Blood
with other lines. Nonetheless, he would have to find
a pleasant girl to give him the alibi he needed, and
then take the time for more important things.

Jaxom pushed himself off the wall, unconsciously
straightening his shoulders. Brand's deference had been
rather bracing. Now that he thought about it, he re-
membered other evidences of a change of attitude to-
ward him, something his preoccupation with firestone
had blinded him to until now. He suddenly realized
that Deelan had not pestered him at the breakfast table
to eat more than he wanted, that Dorse had been inex-
plicably absent the past few days. Nor had Lytol's
morning remarks been prefaced with inquiries after
Ruth's health but, rather, had concerned the day's up-
coming business.

The night he had returned from the Mastersmithhall,
Lytol and Finder had been eager to leam about
Wansor's stars and that recital had taken up the whole
evening. If the fosterlings and others had been un-
usually silent, Jaxom had only attributed that state of
affairs to their interest in the discussion. Lytol, Finder
and Brand had not had trouble finding their tongues.

The next morning there had been no time for more
than a cup of klah and a meatroll as Thread was due
to fall across the spring-planted fields in the southwest
and they had a long ride ahead.

I should have spoken out months ago, Jaxom
thought as he entered his own quarters.
It had been established that Jaxom was not to be

The White Dragon

disturbed when he was caring for Ruth; a privacy
that he was only now beginning to appreciate. Gen-
erally, Jaxom attended his dragon, oiling his skin and
grooming him in the early morning or late evening.
He hunted with Ruth every fourth day since the white
dragon required more frequent meals than the larger
ones. The Hold's fire-lizards usually accompanied
Ruth, feasting with him. Most people fed their pets
daily by hand, but the urge for hot, fresh-killed or
self-caught food could never be trained out of the
fire-lizards and it had been decided not to interfere
with that instinct. Fire-lizards were quixotic creatures
and although there was no doubt that they became
genuinely attached at Hatching, they were subject to
sudden fits and frights and would disappear, often for
long periods of time. When they returned, they acted
as if they'd never been gone, except for transmitting

some rather outrageous images.

Ruth would be ready to hunt today, Jaxom knew.
He heard his weyrmate's impatience to be off. Laugh-
ing, Jaxom shrugged on the heavy riding jacket and
stamped into his boots as he politely inquired what

sort of eating Ruth fancied.

Wherry, a juicy plain wherry, none of those stringy
mountain ones. Ruth emphasized his distaste for the

latter with a snort.

"You even sound hungry," Jaxom said, entering the

dragon's weyr and approaching him.

Ruth laid his nose lightly on Jaxom's chest, his
breath cool even through the heavy riding jacket. His
eyes were wheeling with the red overtone of active
appetite. He made his way to the huge metal doors
that opened onto the stable courtyard and pushed them

open with his forelegs.

Alerted by Ruth's hungry thoughts, the Hold's fire-
Hzards swirled about in eager anticipation. Jaxom
mounted and directed Ruth aloft. The old brown
- watchdragon called good hunting from the fire-
heights, and his rider waved.

From Hold tithings, the six Weyrs of Pern main-
tained their own herds and flocks on which the Weyr

74

The White Dragon

dragons fed. No Lord Holder ever objected to an occa-
sional rider feeding his dragon off his land. As Jaxom
was Lord Holder and technically had the right to any-
thing within Ruatha's borders, Ruth's hunting was
primarily a matter of courtesy. Lytol had not needed
to instruct Jaxom to spread his beast's appetite so that
no holder was overburdened.

On this particular morning Jaxom gave Ruth co-
ordinates of a rich grass holding where Lytol had
mentioned buck-wherries were being fattened for spring
slaughtering. The holder was out on his runner when
Jaxom and Ruth appeared, and he greeted the young
Lord politely enough and replied to Jaxom's cour-
teous inquiries for his health, the progress of the flock
and the laying weight of the hens.

"A thing I'd like you to mention to Lord Lytol," the
man began, and Jaxom detected resentment in his man-
ner. "I've asked for a fire-lizard egg time and again.
It's my due as a holder and I've the need. I can't hatch
wherry eggs proper if vermin burrow under and crack
shells. There are four or five from each clutch gone,
lost to snakes and the like. Fire-lizard would keep
'em off. They do for your man down at Bald Lake
Hold and others I've spoken to. Fire-lizards are mighty
handy creatures. Lord Jaxom, and being a holder now
these past twelve Turns, it's only my due. Bald Lake

Palon, now he's got a fire-lizard and he's only held for
ten Turns."

"I can't imagine why you've been slighted, Tegger.
I'll see that something is done about it. We haven't a
clutch at the moment but I'll do what I can when we
have."

Tegger gave surly thanks and then suggested that
Jaxom hunt the buck flock to be found browsing at the
far end of the plain meadow. He wanted to take the
nearer flock for slaughter and a hunting dragon ran
a sevenday's weight off bucks.

Jaxom thanked the man and Ruth warbled his
gratitude, startling Tegger's runner into bucking.. Teg-
ger grimly yanked the beast's head about, preventing
a bolt.

7?




The White Dragon

Tegger was unlikely to Impress a fire-lizard, Jaxom

thought as he leaped to Ruth's shoulder.

Ruth agreed. That man had an egg once. The
little one went between and never returned to its hatch-
ing place.

"How did you remember that?"

The fire-liwrds told me.

"When?"
When it happened. I have just remembered it. Ruth

sounded very pleased with himself. They tell me many
things that are interesting when you're not with me.

Jaxom only then became aware that the usual fire-
lizard escorts weren't about, even though Ruth was
hunting. He hadn't meant that Brand should curtail

all fire-lizards excursions with them.

Ruth plaintively asked if they couldn't get on with the
hunting since he was hungry. So they proceeded to the
suggested area and Ruth let Jaxom down on a grassy
rise with a good view of the hunt where he made him-
self comfortable. No sooner had Ruth become airborne
than a flight of fire-lizards appeared, courteously land-
ing to await the dragon's summons to join him after

his kill.

Some dragons took their time selecting their meal,

swooping on flock or herd to scatter it and isolate the
fattest. Either Ruth made up his mind quickly or else he
was influenced by Jaxom's knowledge that Tegger
would not appreciate overrun wherries. Whatever, the
white dragon dispatched the first buck in one deft
swoop, cracking the creature's long neck as he brought

it down.

Ruth left the delighted fire-lizards picking the bones

and killed a second time, eating as daintily as ever. The
flock had barely settled at the far end of the meadow
when he launched himself unexpectedly for the third.

/ told you I was hungry, Ruth said so apologetically
that Jaxom laughed and told him to stuff himself with

all he wanted.

I am not stuffing myself, Ruth replied with a mild

rebuke that Jaxom would think such a thing of him. I
am very hungry.

The White Dragon

Jaxom regarded the feasting fire-lizards thoughtfully.
He wondered if any were from Ruatha. Ruth replied

immediately that they had come from the surround-
ing area.

So, mused Jaxom, I've only solved the problem of
keeping Ruathan fire-lizards from following. But what
one fire-lizard knew, they all seemed to know so he
would still have to keep his activities from their sight.

Jaxom knew a dragon needed time to chew and di-
gest firestone for the best effect. Dragonriders would
begin to feed their beasts stone several hours before
Thread was due to fall. How fast could Ruth work
up a full enough gullet of stone to produce the .fire
breath? He wondered. He'd have to go carefully. Since
dragons differed in capacity and readiness, each rider
had to find out for himself what his beast's peculiar-
ities were. If only he could have trained Ruth in a
Weyr and have the benefit of a weyrlingmaster's ex-
perience ...

Well, firestone was no problem. The old watch-
dragon had to be supplied so there was a goodly pile
on the fire-heights. And Ruth wouldn't need as much
as a big dragon.

When still remained the problem. Jaxom had his
morning free because Ruth was to hunt and it wasn't
sound practice to take a full dragon between—all that
rich warm food would sour a dragon belly in cold be-
tween. So Jaxom would have to take the time to fly
Ruth straight to Ruatha Hold. This afternoon would
be taken up with overseeing spring planting, and if
Lytol were really going to arrange for him to be con-
firmed as Lord Holder, he couldn't get out of making
an appearance.

Idly Jaxom wondered if the Lord Holders ever wor-
ried whether he might try to imitate his tyrannical fa-
ther's taking ways or not. They would run on about
Bloodlines, and blood telling, but weren't they the least
bit nervous about his Fax blood telling? Or were they
counting on the influence of his mother's blood. Every-
one was right willing to discuss his Lady Mother
Gemma with him, but did they ever fumble and fight

The White Dragon

to find another subject if he mentioned his unlamented
father. Were they afraid to have him get ideas from
his father's aggressive ways? Or was it merely cour-
tesy not to talk about the dead unkindly? They cer-
tainly had no bar about discussing the living in

destructive terms.

Jaxom toyed with the idea of conquest. How would
he set about reducing Nabol or—since Fort Hold was
too big a bite—Tiliek? Or Crom, perhaps, though he
liked Lord Nessel's oldest son, Kem, far too much to
do him out of what was rightfully his. Shells, he was
a fine one to talk of conquest, when he couldn't even
control the destiny of himself and his dragon!

Ruth, waddling with a full, bulging belly, belched
happily as he made his way to his rider. He settled
himself in the sun-warmed sweet grasses and began to
lick his talons. He was always neat.

"Can you fly when you're stuffed?" Jaxom asked
when Ruth had finished tidying up.

Ruth turned his head, his eyes whirling in reproach.
7 can always fly. The dragon exhaled, his breath rather
meaty and sweet. You are worried again.

"I want us to be proper dragon and rider, and fight
Thread, me on your back, you flaming."

Then we will do it, Ruth said with unshakable faith.
/ am a dragon, you are my rider. Why does this be-
come a problem?

"Well, wherever we go the fire-lizards come."

You told the thick man with the blue—Ruth's iden-
tification of Brand—they were not to follow. They did

not come here.

"Others did, and you know how fire-lizards chatter."
Then Jaxom recalled Menolly's comments. "What are
that lot thinking of now?"

Their full bellies. The wherries were juicy and ten-
der. Very good eating. They do not remember better

in many Turns.

"Would they go away if you told them to?"
Ruth snorted, his eyes whirling a bit, more with

amusement than irritation. They would wonder why

78

The White Dragon

and come to see. I will tell them if you want me to.
Maybe they would stay away long enough.

"Just like them: they've more curiosity than sense.
Well, as Robinton is always saying, there's a way to
solve every problem. We'll just have to find a way."

On their return to Ruatha Hold, Ruth's digestion
was working noisily. He wanted nothing more than
to curl up on a sun-warmed rock and sleep, and since
the brown watchdragon was away from his usual post,
Ruth settled there. Jaxom waited in the Great Court-
yard until he saw Ruth safely ensconced, and then he
sought Lytol.

If Brand had commented on Jaxom's request to
Lytol, the Lord Warder gave no sign, greeting
Jaxom with his usual reserve and enjoining him to eat
quickly as they had rather a long ride to make. Tordril
and one of the other older fosterlings living under
Lytol's supervision would accompany them. Master-
farmer Andemon had sent a new seed he had devel-
oped for a high-yield, fast-growing wheat. Southern
fields, grub-infested and planted with this wheat seed,
had produced phenomenally healthy, blight-resistant
crops, that were able to survive long dry spells.
Andemon wondered how the wheat would fare in a
rainier. Northern climate.

Many of the older small holders were stubborn
about trying something new. "As hidebound as Old-
timers," Lytol would mutter, but somehow or other he
managed to prevail. For instance, Fidello, who owned
the hold they were seeding, was only two Turns in the
holding, the previous man having died of a fall while
tracking wild wherries.

So, after a quick meal, the travelers set off on some
of the specially bred runners that could pace a long
summer's day without thing. Though Jaxom used to find
it tedious to take hours to cross country he could
fly between on Ruth in a few breaths, he did enjoy
an occasional runner ride. Today, with spring in the
air and secure in the knowledge that he was still in
Lytol's good graces, he enjoyed the trip.

Fidello's holding was in northeast Ruatha, on a

79




The White Dragon

plateau with the snow-capped mountains of Crom in
the background. When they reached the plateau, the
blue fire-lizard that rode on Tordril's arm shrilled a
greeting and took off to make an aerial circle of intro-
duction to a brown that was probably looking to
Fidello and set to watch for the visitors. Immediately
the two fire-lizards winked between. Tordril and Jaxom
exchanged glances, knowing that a welcoming cup of
klah and sweetbreads would be waiting at the holding.
Their ride had given them an appetite.

Fidello himself rode out to escort them on the last
part of the road. He was mounted on a sturdy work-
beast whose summer coat gleamed with health through
the rough and patchy winter fur. His hold, to which he
welcomed them in an earnest but restrained manner,
was small and well kept. His dependents, including
those of the last holder, had assembled to serve the

visitors.

"He's got a good cook," Tordil said in an aside to
Jaxom as the three younger men made conspicuous
inroads on the food laid out on the long Hall table.
"And a deuced pretty sister," he added as the girl ap-
proached them bearing a steaming pitcher of klah.

She was pretty, Jaxom agreed, looking at her closely
for the first time. Trust Tordril to spot the prettiest
girl. Brand would have to keep his eye on this one
when he ventured out of the Hold to the workers' cots
below the bridge. This pretty girl, however, had a
timid smile for Jaxom, not Tordril, and even though
the prospective Lord of Ista tried to engage her in
conversation, she gave him short answers, keeping her
smiles for Jaxom. She left his side only when her
brother joined them to say that perhaps they'd better
seed the fields or it would be a long, dark ride back to

the Hold.

"I wonder would you have got her so quick if I'd
been Lord of Ruatha?" Tordril asked Jaxom as they
checked their saddle girths before mounting.

"Got her?" Jaxom stared blankly at Tordril. "We

only chatted."

"Well, you could have her next time you ... ah,

80

The White Dragon

have a chance to chat. Or does Lytol mind a few half-
bloods around? Father says it keeps the full ones on
their toes! Ought to be easy for you with Lytol weyr-
bred, and not as stuffy about such things."

Lytol and Fidello joined them at that point but
Tordril's envious comment set Jaxom's thoughts on a
very fruitful tack. What was her name? Corana? Well,
Corana could be very useful. There was only the one
fire-lizard about the Plateau Hold—and, if Ruth could
just dissuade that creature from following them ...

When they returned to the Hold late that night,
Jaxom quietly climbed to the fire-heights and took a
good sackful of firestone from the brown's supply while
the old watchdragon and his rider were having a brief
evening flight to stretch wings.

The next morning he casually asked Lytol if he
thought they had brought enough seed for Fidello.
Theirs did seem to be a very large field. Lytol re-
garded his ward from under half-closed lids for a mo-
ment and then agreed that perhaps another half-sack
might be to the wise. Tordril's expression mirrored
surprise, envy and, Jaxom felt, some respect for plausi-
bility. Lytol duly ordered a half-sack of Andemon's
seed from Brand's locked stores, and Jaxom sauntered
off with it to don his riding gear.

Ruth, full of himself after a good feed, wanted to
know if there was a nice lake near the hold. Jaxom
thought that the river was wide enough for a respecta-
ble dragon's bath, but they weren't going there for
water sports. They managed to take off without any-
one seeing the second sack slung on Ruth—or the
fighting straps. Although the fire-lizards engaged in
their usual dizzy pattern around them while Ruth was
becoming airborne, none emerged with them at the
Plateau Hold.

Fidello himself took receipt of the additional
seed with such profuse thanks that Jaxom was a bit
abashed at his duplicity.

"Didn't like to mention it in front of the Lord
Warder, Lord Jaxom, but that's a fair big field I've
ready for this seed and I'd want to see a good return

81




The White Dragon

to justify Lord Lytol's opinion of me. Would you care
for refreshment? My wife ..."

Only his wife? "It would be welcome. The mom-
ing's nippy." He patted Ruth affectionately and dis-
mounted, following Fidello into the hold. He was
pleased to notice that the main Hall was as tidy as it
had been for their expected visit. Corana was not in
evidence, but Fidello's very pregnant wife was in no
way misled by his casual return.

"Everyone else has gone to the river, to the place
where it forms an island, to gather withies. Lord
Jaxom," she said, glancing at him coquettishly, as she
served him hot klah. "On your beautiful dragon, that's
no more than a moment's trip for you, my Lord."

"Now why would Lord Jaxom want to see withies
gathered?" Fidello asked, but received no direct an-
swer.

The social amenities discharged, Jaxom directed
Ruth aloft, circled while waving down at Fidello, and
then took them between to the mountain well beyond
the keenest eye of any hold. The brown fire-lizard
followed.

"Shells! Ruth, tell him to get lost."
Immediately the brown winked out.
"Good, now I can teach you to chew firestone."
/ know.

"You think you know. I've been around dragon-
riders long enough to know that doing so is not quite
as simple as that."

Ruth gave a sort of sniff as Jaxom dug a lump of
firestone the size of his own generous fist out of the
sack.

"Now think of your other stomach!"
Ruth lidded his eyes completely as he accepted the
firestone. The noise as he chewed the lump startled
him. His eyes came wide open, making Jaxom exclaim:

"Should you make that much noise?"
/(is rock.

He threw one lid over his eyes as he suddenly swal-
lowed. / am thinking of my other stomach, he told
Jaxom before he could be reminded. Later Jaxom

82

The White Dragon

swore that he could all but hear the chewed fragments
rolling down the dragon's gullet. The two sat and re-
garded each other, waiting for the next step.

"You're supposed to belch."

I know. I know how to belch. But I can't.

Jaxom politely offered him another largish piece of
firestone. This time the chewing did not resound so
noticeably. Ruth swallowed, then seemed to settle
more on his haunches.

OH!

On the heels of the mental exclamation, a rumble
started that made Ruth look quickly at his white belly.
His mouth opened. With a startled shout, Jaxom
launched himself to one side just as a tiny trickle of
flame appeared at the white dragon's muzzle. Ruth
jerked backward, only saved from falling over by the
set of his tail.

/ think I need more firestone to make a respectable
flame.

Jaxom offered several smallish lumps. Ruth made
quick work of the chewing. And quicker work of the
eruption of gas.

That was much more the thing, Ruth said with sat-
isfaction.

"Wouldn't do much against Thread."

Ruth just opened his mouth for more firestone. What
Jaxom had brought was all too quickly consumed. But
with it, Ruth managed to sear a fair swath among the
rock weeds.

"I don't think we've got the hang of it."

We also haven't burned any Thread midair.

"We aren't exactly ready to do that yet. But we
have proved that you can chew firestone."

/ never doubted it.

"I never did either, Ruth, but," Jaxom sighed
heavily, "we're going to need a lot of firestone at hand,
until you learn the way of sustaining a continuous
eruption."

Ruth looked so disconsolate that Jaxom hastily re-
assured him, stroking his eye ridges and caressing his
headbone.

83

The White Dragon

"We should have been allowed to train you properly
with the other weyrlings. It's just not fair. I've always
said so. You can't help your difficulties today. But, by
the First Shell, we'll eventually succeed together."

Ruth allowed himself to be reassured, then bright-
ened. We will work harder, that's all. But it would be
easier with more ftrestone. Brown Wilth never uses
much anymore. He's really too old to chew at all.
"That's why he's a watchdragon."
Jaxom emptied the sack of any firestone rubble,
tied it up by the neck thong and looped it around his
belt. He hadn't needed the rope for fighting straps,
after all. He was about to tell Ruth to transfer directly
to Ruatha when he remembered that he had better
consolidate his alibi for future use. He had no trouble
finding the withie gatherers by the river island, and
Corana eagerly came to meet him. She was very
pretty, he realized, with a delicate flush to her skin
and round greenish eyes. Her dark hair had escaped
the braids about her face and now clung to her cheeks

in damp waves.

"Has there been Thread?" she asked, her green

eyes becoming round with alarm.
"No. Why?"

"I can smell firestone."
"Oh, these riding clothes. I always use them during

Fall. Smell must cling to them. I just didn't notice."
That was one hazard he hadn't considered and he'd
have to do something about it. "I flew up with more

seed for your brother ..."

She thanked him sweetly for taking so much trouble
for such a small hold as theirs. Then she became shy.
Jaxom rather liked drawing her out and sent her into
another spin by insisting on helping with the withie

gathering.

"This Lord Holder wants to know how to do every-
thing he requires of his holders," he said, to silence

her protests.

Actually, he enjoyed himself. When they had

amassed a huge bundle, he offered to fly it home on
Ruth if she'd ride with him. Corana was honestly

The White Dragon

frightened but he assured her they'd only fly straight
since she wasn't dressed for cold between. Jaxom got
in a couple of kisses before Ruth circled to land his
passengers at the hold. He decided that one way or
another, Corana would no longer be just an excuse.

When he had deposited her and the withies, he di-
rected Ruth between to their mountain lake. Though
he was in no mood for a cold bath, Jaxom knew they'd
better scrub off the firestone stink before going back
to Ruatha. It took time to sandscrub the smell from
Ruth's fair hide. Then Jaxom had to dry his im-
pregnated shirt and pants, spreading them in full sun
on the bushes. By that time the sun was well past
zenith and he had spent far more time than dallying
with Corana would cover. So he took a risk and re-
turned to Ruatha between time to when the sun was
still on the morning side of the sky. But one detail he
forgot to take into his calculations nearly gave away
their endeavor.

He was at dinner when his dragon let out a call for
him, an urgent call. "Ruth!" he explained as he sprang
from his chair at the table and raced across the Hall
to the corridor to his quarters.

My stomach burns, Ruth began telling him in great
distress.

"Shells, it's the stones," Jaxom replied as he ran
down the deserted hallway. "Go outside, to the fire-
heights. Where Wilth leaves his."

Ruth wasn't sure he could fly in his condition.

"Nonsense. You can always fly." Ruth had to dis-
gorge his second stomach outside the weyr. Lytol
might just follow to see what ailed the beast for him
to interrupt Jaxom at dinner.

/ can't move. I'm weighed down in the middle.

"You're just going to regurgitate the firestone ash.
Dragons don't keep that in their stomachs: they can't
pass it. The stuff has got to come back up."

/ feel as if it will.

"Not in the weyr, Ruth. Please!"

Scarcely a second later, Ruth eyed him apologeti-
cally. In the middle of the weyr floor, a small pile of

The White Dragon

what looked like brownish gray wet sand exuded

steam.

/ feel much better now, Ruth said in a very small

voice.

"Can you hear Lytol coming?" Jaxom asked Ruth,

because his heart was pounding so from running that
that was all he could hear. He dashed out the metal
doors and into the kitchen yard to fetch a bucket
and shovel. "If I can just get this outside before it
smells up the place . . ." He worked as fast as he
could and fortunately the mess just filled the one
bucket. It wasn't as if Ruth bad chewed enough fire-
stone for a full four-hour Threadfall.

Jaxom pushed the bucket out and sprinkled sweet

sand on the spot.

"No Lytol?" he asked, somewhat surprised.

No.

Jaxom exhaled heavily with relief, patted Ruth re-
assuringly. He wouldn't forget to have Ruth regurgi-
tate in a safe spot next time.

When he resumed his place at the table, Jaxom
offered no explanation and none was asked—one
more example of the new respect from his familiars.

The next night he and Ruth filched as much fire-
stone as the dragon could carry from the most
logical place—the firestone mines in Crom. Half a
dozen fire-lizards appeared during their raid, and
Ruth merely sent each one on its way as soon as it

appeared.

"Don't let them follow us."

They were only being courteous. They like me.

"There's such a thing as being too popular."

Ruth sighed.
"Is this too much firestone?" Jaxom asked, not

wanting to overburden the beast.

Of course not. I'm very strong.

Jaxom directed Ruth between to the Keroon desert
destination. There was the sea to bathe in afterward
and plenty of sweetsand to scrub off firestone stench,
and sun hot enough to dry his clothing in next to no

time.

CHAPTER V

Morning in Harpercraft Hall, Fort Hold,
Afternoon in Benden Weyr, Late
Afternoon in Harpercraft Hall, 15.5.26

ANOTHER THREADFALL PASSED before Jaxom could
get off to the Plateau hold again. He seemed to have
more success with Corana than in getting Ruth
to sustain flame properly. The white dragon's throat
was nearly burned from keeping in belches when fire-
lizards would suddenly appear at the most inoppor-
tune times. Jaxom was certain that every single one
in Keroon Hold had had a look-in. Even Ruth's pa-
tience was tried and they had to time it by a six-hour
span so that their absence from Ruatha would not be
considered exceptional. Timing it tired him, Jaxom
realized, as he fell into bed that night, exhausted and
frustrated.

To make matters worse he would have to go to the
Masterharperhall the next day with Finder because
the Ruathan Harper was scheduled to learn how to use
Wansor's star equations. Every Harper was expected to
master that so at least one other person besides the
Holder could make an accurate check on Threadfall.

The Masterharperhall was part of the sprawling
complex of dwellings inside and outside the Fort Hold
cliffs. When Jaxom and Finder, on Ruth, burst into
the air above the Harpercrafthall, they met chaos.
Fire-lizards were swooping and diving, screaming in




The White Dragon

an ecstasy of agitation. The watchdragon on Fort Hold's
fire-heights was up on his hind legs, front ones paw-
ing the air, wings fanning at the stretch, bellowing in
fury.

Angry! They are angry! was Ruth's startled com-
ment. Ruth! I am Ruth! Ruth! he called in his inim-
itable tenor bugle.

"What's happened?" Finder demanded in Jaxom's
ear.

"Ruth says they're angry."

"Angry? I've never seen a dragon that angry be-
fore!"

Filled with apprehension, Jaxom directed Ruth to
the courtyard of the Harpercrafthall. So many people
were dashing around, with fire-lizards zipping wildly
about, that he had trouble finding a clear spot.
No sooner had ^ie landed than a wing of fire-
lizards danced about him, projecting anxious, agitated
thoughts that Ruth told Jaxom made no sense to him
—and even less to Jaxom when he received them sec-
ondhand. He did perceive that these were Menolly's
beasts, sent to find out where he was.

"There you are! You got my message?" Menolly
came racing out of the Hall up to them, dragging on
her flying gear as she ran. "We've got to go to
Benden Weyr. They've stolen the queen egg."

She was scrambling up behind Finder on Ruth's
back, apologizing for crowding him and urging Jaxom
to get a move on. "Are three too many for Ruth?"
Menolly asked with belated concern as the white
dragon seemed to hesitate before launching himself.

Never.

"Who stole Ramoth's egg? How? When?" Finder
asked.

"This half-hour past. They're calling in all the
bronzes and the other queens. They're going to South-
ern in force and make them give the egg back."

"How do they know it was Southern?" asked
Jaxom.

"Who else would need to steal a queen egg?"

Then all conversation was suspended as Ruth took

The White Dragon

them smartly between. They erupted into the air over
Benden, and suddenly three bronzes were arrowing
out of the sun right at them, flaming. Ruth let out a
squeal and went between, emerging over the lake and
chattering at his would-be attackers at the top of his
voice.

I'm Ruth. I'm Ruth. I'm Ruth!

"That was close!" Finder said, gulping. His hands
were pinching Jaxom's arms nerveless.

You just missed my wing tip. I'm Ruth! They apol-
ogized, the white dragon added in a calmer tone to his
rider. But he turned his wing tip for a close look.

Menolly groaned. "I forgot to tell you we were to
come in yelling who we were. You'd think Ruth at
least would be passed without challenge."

As she spoke, more dragons appeared, trumpeting
to the three bronzes guarding from the heights. The
new arrivals circled tightly to land their riders by a
crowd gathered around the entrance to the Hatching
Ground. Jaxom, Finder and Menolly started across the
Bowl to join them.

"Jaxom, have you ever seen so many dragons?"
Menolly looked around at the crowded Weyr rim, at
the dragons on weyr ledges, all with wings spread,
ready for instant flight. "Oh, Jaxom, what if it comes
to dragon fighting dragon?"

The terror in her voice echoed his own feelings
perfectly.

"Those fool Oldtimers must be desperate," Finder
said grimly.

"How could they get away with such bare-faced
thievery?" Jaxom wanted to know. "Ramoth never
leaves a clutch." Not since the time F'lessan and I
disturbed her eggs, he added guiltily to himself.

"Fnor brought us the news," Menolly said. "He
said she'd gone to feed. Half the Benden fire-lizards
were in the Ground. They always are—"

"With an odd one or two visiting from the Southern
Weyr, no doubt," Finder added.

Menolly nodded. "That's what F'nor said. So the
Oldtimers would have known when she wasn't there.




The White Dragon

F'nor said she'd just killed when three bronzes ap-
peared, passed the watchdragon. ... I mean, why
would the watchdragon question bronze dragons'^
They ducked in the upper tunnel to the Hatching
Ground, Ramoth gave an almighty shriek and went
between. The next thing three bronzes came flying out
of the upper entrance, they had heard Ramoth scream.
She came charging out of the Hatching Ground but
they had gone between before she'd got a winglength
off the ground."

"Didn't they send dragons after them?"

"Ramoth went after! With Mnementh but a breath
behind her. Not that it did any good."

"Why not?"

"The bronzes went between time."

"And not even Ramoth would know when."

"Exactly. Mnementh checked the Southern Weyr
and Hold and half the hot beaches."

"Not even the Oldtimers could be stupid enough to
take a queen egg straight back to Southern."

"But surely the Oldtimers would not know," Finder
added wearily, "that we know they took the egg."

By that time they had reached the outskirts of
the crowd, where dragonriders from other Weyrs as
well as Lords Holder and Craftmasters had gathered.
Lessa stood on the ledge of her weyr, F'lar beside
her along with Fandarel and Robinton, who both
looked extremely grim and anxious. N'ton stopped
hallway down the steps, talking earnestly and with
angry gestures to two other bronze riders. Slightly to
one side were the three other Benden weyrwomen, and
several other women who must be queenriders from
the other Weyrs. The atmosphere of outrage and
frustration was oppressive. Dominating the entire
scene was Ramoth, who paced up and down in front
of the Hatching Ground, pausing now and again to
peer in at the eggs remaining on the hot sands. Her tail
started lashing and she let out angry buglings that
obscured the discussions going on above her on the
ledge.

The White Dragon

"It's dangerous to take an egg between," someone
in front of Jaxom and Menolly said.

"I suppose it could go a ways, so long as the
egg was good and warm to start and took no hurt."

"We ought to just mount up and go down and war
those Oldtimers out of the Weyr."

"And have dragon fight dragon? You're as bad as
the Oldtimers."

"But we can't have dragons stealing our queen
eggs! This is the worst insult Benden's ever taken from
the Oldtimers. And I say, make them pay for it."

"The Southern Weyr is desperate," Menolly said in
an undertone to Jaxom. "None of their queens has
risen to mate. The bronzes are dying, and they don't
even have any young greens."

Just then Ramoth gave a piteous cry, throwing her
head up toward Lessa. Every dragon in the Weyr
answered her call, deafening the humans. Jaxom
could see Lessa leaning over the ledge, one hand out-
stretched toward the despairing queen. Then, because
he was a good head above most of the crowd and
looking that way, Jaxom saw something dark fluttering

in the Hatching Ground. He heard a muffled cry of
pain.

"Look! What's that? In the Hatching Ground!"
Only those around him heard his exclamation or
noticed him pointing. All Jaxom could think of was
that if the Southern bronzes were indeed dying, the

Oldtimers might use this confusion to try and steal
a bronze egg as well.

He took to his heels, followed by Menolly and
Finder, but he was overcome by such a wave of
weakness that he was forced to stop. Something

seemed to be sapping his strength, but Jaxom had no
idea what it could be.

"What's the matter, Jaxom?"
"Nothing." Jaxom pulled MenoIIy's hands from his

arm and all but pushed her toward the Ground. "The
eggs. The eggs!"

His injunction was drowned in Ramoth's bellow
of surprise and exultation.




The White Dragon

"The egg. The queen egg!"

By the time Jaxom had recovered from his inex-
plicable vertigo and reached the Hatching Ground,
everyone was staring with relief at the sight of the
queen egg, now safely positioned once again between
Ramoth's forelegs.

A fire-lizard, reckless with curiosity, got a scant
winglength into the Ground before Ramoth's bellow
of fury sent it streaking away.

In relief, people began to chatter, as they moved
back out of the Hatching Ground to where the sand
was not so uncomfortable underfoot. Someone sug-
gested that perhaps the egg had merely rolled away
and Ramoth only thought it had been taken. But too
many had seen the empty place, where the queen egg
had too obviously been missing. And what about the
three strange bronzes streaking out of the high en-
trance to the Ground. More acceptable was the no-
tion that the Oldtimers had had second thoughts
about the theft, that they, too, were reluctant to pit
dragon against dragon.

Lessa had remained in the Ground, trying to per-
suade Ramoth to let her see if the egg had come to
any harm. Soon she came hurrying out of the Ground
to F'lar and Robinton.

"That's the same egg but it's older and harder,
ready to Hatch anytime now. The girls must be
brought."

For the third time that morning, Benden Weyr
was in a state of high excitement—happier for-
tunately, but still generating as much chaos. Jaxom
and Menolly managed to keep out of the way but
remained close enough to hear what was going on.

"Whoever took that egg kept it at least ten days or
more," they heard Lessa saying angrily. "That de-
mands action."

"The egg is back safely," Robinton said, trying to
calm her.

"Are we cowards to ignore such an insult?" she
asked the other dragonmen, turning away from
Robinton's calmer words.

92

The White Dragon

"If to be brave," Robinton's voice laid scorn on
the quality, "means to pit dragon against dragon, I'd
rather be a coward."
Lessa's white-hot outrage noticeably cooled.
Dragon against dragon. The words echoed through
the crowd. The thought turned sickeningly in Jaxom's
mind and he could feel Menolly beside him shutting
off the implications of such a contest.

"The egg was somewhen for long enough to be
brought close to hatching hardness," Lessa went on,
her face set with her anger. "It's probably been han-
dled by their candidate. It could have been influenced
enough so that the fledgling won't Impress here."

"No one has ever proved how much an egg is in-
fluenced by pre-Hatching contact," Robinton was
saying in his most persuasive voice. "Or so you've had
me understand any number of times. Short of dumping
their candidate on top of the egg when it hatches, I
can't think their conniving can do them any good or
the egg any more harm."

The assembled dragonfolk were still very tense but
the initial impetus to rise in wings and destroy the
Southern Weyr had cooled considerably with the re-
turn of the egg, however mysterious that return was.

"Obviously, we can no longer be complacent,"
said F'lar, glancing up at the watchdragons, "or se-
cure in the delusion of the inviolability of the Hatch-
ing Ground. Any Hatching Ground." Nervously he
pushed the hair back from his forehead. "By the First
Shell, they've a lot of gall, trying to steal one
of Ramoth's eggs."

"The first way to secure this Weyr is to ban those
dratted fire-lizards," Lessa said heatedly. "They're
little tattlers, worse than useless ..."

"Not all of them, Lessa," Brekke said, stepping up
beside the Weyrwoman. "Some of them come on le-
gitimate errands and give us a lot of assistance." ,

"Two were playing that game," Robinton said with-
out humor.

Menolly dug Jaxom in the ribs, reminding him that
93




The White Dragon

the Harperhall's fire-lizards, hers included, did a lot of
assisting.

"I don't care," Lessa told Brekke and glared
around at the assembled, looking for fire-lizards. "I
don't want to see them about here. Ramoth's not to be
pestered by those plaguey things. Something's to be
done to keep them where they belong."

"Mark 'em with their colors!" was Brekke's quick
reply. "Mark 'em and teach them to speak their
name and origin the way dragons do. They're quite
capable of learning courtesy. At least the ones who
come to Benden by order."

"Have them report to you, Brekke, or Mirrim,"
Robinton suggested.

"Just keep them away from Ramoth and me!"
Lessa peered in at Ramoth and then whipped
around. "And someone bring up that wherry that
Ramoth didn't eat. She'll be the better for something
in her belly right now. We'll discuss this violation of
our Weyr later. In detail."

F'lar ordered several dragonmen to get the wherry
and then courteously thanked the rest of the assem-
bled for their prompt reply to his summons. He ges-
tured to several of the Weyrieaders and Robinton to
join him in the weyr above.

"There's not a fire-lizard in sight," Menolly said to
Jaxom. "I told Beauty to stay away. She's answered
me scared to her bones."

"So's Ruth," Jaxom said as they crossed the Bowl
to him. "He's turned almost gray."

Ruth was more than scared, he was trembling with

anxiety.

Something is wrong. Something is not right, he told
his rider, his eyes whirling erratically with gray tones.

"Your wing was injured?"

No. Not my wing. Something is wrong in my head.
I don't feel right. Ruth shifted from all four legs to
his hindquarters, and then back again to all four,
rustling his wings.

"Is it because all the fire-lizards have gone? Or the
excitement about Ramoth's egg?"

The White Dragon

Ruth said it was both and neither. The fire-lizards
were all frightened; they remembered something
which frightened them.

"Remembered? Huh!" Jaxom felt exasperated
with fire-lizards and their associative memories, and
their ridiculous images which were making his sensi-
ble Ruth miserable.

"Jaxom?" Menolly had detoured to the Lower
Caverns and shared with him the handful of meat-
rolls, she'd cadged from the cooks. "Finder says
Robinton wants me to go back to the Harpercrafthall
and let them and Fort Hold know what's been hap-
pening. I'm also to start marking my fire-lizards.
Look!" She pointed to the Weyr rim and the Star
Stones. "The watch dragon is chewing firestone. Oh,
Jaxom!"

"Dragon against dragon." He shuddered violently.
"Jaxom, it can't come to that," she said in a

choked voice.
Neither of them could finish their meatrolls.

Silently they mounted Ruth, who took them aloft.

As Robinton climbed the steps to the queen's
weyr, he was thinking faster than he had ever done.
Too much was going to depend on what happened
now—the whole future course of the planet, if he
read reactions correctly. He knew more than he
ought about conditions in the Southern Weyr but his
knowledge had done him no service today. He
berated himself for being so naive, as unseeingly ob-
tuse as any dragonrider for assuming that the Weyrs
were inviolable and a Hatching Ground untouchable.
He had had warnings from Piemur; but he simply
hadn't correlated the information properly. Yet, in
light of today's occurrence, he ought to have arrived
at the logical conclusion that the desperate South-
erners would make this prodigious attempt to revive
their failing Weyr with the blood of a new and viable
queen. Even if he had reached the proper conclusion,
Robinton thought ruefully, how ever would he have
been able to persuade Lessa and F'lar that that was

The 'White Dragon

what the Southerners planned today. The Weyrleaders
would have been properly scornful of such a ridicu-
lous notion.

No one was laughing today. No one at all.
Strange that so many people had assumed that the
Oldtimers would meekly accept their exile and remain
docilely on their continent. They had not been
cramped in their accommodation, merely in their
hope of a future. T'kul must have been the motivat-
ing force—T'ron had lost all his vigor and initiative
after that duel with F'lar. Robinton was reasonably
certain that the two Weyrwomen, Merika and Mardra,
had had no part in the plan; they wouldn't wish to
be deposed by a young queen and her rider. Had one
of them returned the egg?

No, thought Robinton, it had to be someone with
an intimate knowledge of the Benden Weyr Hatch-
ing Ground ... or someone possessed of the blindest
good luck and skill to go between into and out of the
cavern.

Robinton relived briefly the compound terror he
had experienced during the egg's absence. He winced
thinking of Lessa's fury. She was still likely to arouse
the Northern dragonriders. She was quite capable of
sustaining the unthinking frenzy that had all but
dominated the events of the morning. If she contin-
ued in her demand for vengeance against the guilty
Southerners, it could be as much a disaster for Pern
as the first Threadfall had been.

The egg had been returned. Robinton clung to the
comforting fact that it was apparently unharmed de-
spite its ageing in that elapsed subjective time. Lessa
could choose to make its condition an issue. And, if the
egg did not hatch an unimpaired queen, there was
no doubt in Robinton's mind that Lessa would insist
on retribution.

But the egg had been returned! He must drum in
that fact, must emphasize that obviously not all
Southerners had been party to this heinous action.
Some Oldtimers still honored the old codes of con-
duct. No doubt one of them had been perceptive

96

The White Dragon

enough to guess what punitive action would be
launched against the criminals and wished, as
fervently as Robinton, to avoid such a confrontation.

"This is indeed a black moment," someone with a
deep sad voice said. The Harper turned, grateful for
the sane support of the Mastersmith. Fandarel's
heavy features were etched with worry and, for the
first time, Robinton noticed the puffiness of age blur-
ring the man's features, yellowing his eyes. "Such
perfidy must be punished—and yet it cannot be!"

The thought of dragon fighting dragon again
seared Robinton's mind with terror. "Too much
would be lost!" he said to Fandarel.

"They have already lost all they had, being sent
into exile. I often wondered why they didn't rebel be-
fore."

"They have now. With a vengeance."

"To be met with more vengeance. My friend, we
must keep our wits today as never before. I
fear Lessa may be unreasonable and unthinking. Al-
ready she has let emotion dominate common sense."
The Smith indicated the leather patch on Robinton's
shoulder where his fire-lizard, Zair, customarily
perched. "Where is your little friend now?"

"Brekke's weyr with Grail and Berd. I wanted
him to return to the Harpercrafthall with Menolly,
but he refused."

The Smith shook his great head again in sad slow
sweeps as the two men entered the Council Cham-
ber.

"I do not have a fire-lizard myself but I know only
good of the little creatures. I never occurred to me
that they constituted any threat for anyone."

"You will support me in this then, Fandarel?"
asked Brekke, who had entered behind them with
F'nor. "Lessa is not herself. I do really understand
her anxiety but she cannot be allowed to damn all
fire-lizards for the mischief of a few."

"Mischief?" F'nor was perturbed. "Don't let Lessa
hear you call what happened mischief. Mischief?
Stealing a queen egg?"

97

The White Dragon

"The fire-lizard's part was only mischief . . . pop-
ping in to Ramoth's cave like how many others have
been doing since the eggs were laid." Brekke spoke
more sharply than she usually did, and a tightness
about F'nor's eyes and mouth indicated to Robinton
that this couple were not in accord. "Fire-lizards
have no sense of wrong or right."

"They'll have to leam . . ." P'nor began with more
heat than discretion.

"I fear that we, who have no dragons," said
Robinton, quickly intervening—lest today's event
fracture the bond between the two lovers—"have
been making too much of our little friends, carting
them about with us wherever we go, doting as par-
ents of a late child, permitting too many liberties of
conduct. But a more restrained attitude toward fire-
lizards in our midst is a very minor consideration in
today's affair."

F'nor had dampened his aggravation. He nodded
now at the Harper. "Suppose that egg hadn't been
returned, Robinton . . ." His shoulders jerked in a
convulsive shake and he pushed at his forehead as if
trying to eliminate all memory of that scene.

"If the egg hadn't been returned," Robinton said
implacably, "dragon would have fought dragon!" He
spaced out his words, putting as much force and dis-
taste as he could in his tone.

F'nor quickly shook his head, denying that out-
come. "No, it would not have come to that, Robin-
ton. You were wise..."

"Wise?" Spat out by the infuriated Weyrwoman,
the word cut like a knife. Lessa stood at the entrance
to the Council Room, her slender frame taut with the
emotions of the morning, her face livid with her an-
ger. "Wise? To let them get away with such a crime?
To let them plot even more base treacheries? Why
did I ever think it necessary to bring them forward?
When I remember that I pleaded with that excres-
cence T'ron to come and help us? Help us? He helps
himself! To my queen's egg. If I could only undo my
stupidity..."

98

The White Dragon

"Your stupidity is in carrying on in this fashion,"
the Harper said coldly, knowing that what he had to
say before the Weyrieaders and Craftmasters assem-
bled in the Council Room might well alienate them
all. "The egg has been returned—"
"Yes, and when I—"

"That was what you wanted half an hour, an hour
ago, was it not?" Robinton demanded, raising his
voice commandingly. "You wanted the egg returned.
To achieve that end you were within your rights to
send dragon against dragon, and no one to fault you.
But the egg has been returned. To set dragon against
dragon for revenge? Oh, no, Lessa. That you have
no right to do. Not in revenge.

"And if you must have revenge to satisfy your
queen and your angry self, just think: They failed!
They don't have that egg. Their actions have put all
the Weyrs on guard so they could never succeed a
second time. They have lost their one chance, Lessa.
Their one hope of reviving their dying bronzes has
failed. They have been thwarted. And they face . . .
nothing. No future, no hope.

"You can do nothing worse to them, Lessa. So
with the return of that egg, you have no right in the
eyes of the rest of Pem to do anything more."

"I have the right to revenge that insult to me, to my
queen, and to my Weyr!"

"Insult?" Robinton gave a short bark of laughter.
"My dear Lessa, that was no insult. That was a com-
pliment of the highest order!"

His unexpected laughter as well as his startling in-
terpretation stunned Lessa into silence.

"How many queen eggs have been laid this past
Turn?" Robinton demanded of the other Weyriead-
ers. "And in Weyrs the Oldtimers would know more
intimately than Benden. No, they wanted a queen of
Ramoth's clutch! Nothing but the best that Pern could
produce for the Oldtimers!" Adroitly Robinton left
that argument. "Come, Lessa," he said with great
sympathy and compassion, "we're all overwrought by
this terrible event. None of us is thinking clearly . . ."

99

The White Dragon

He passed his hand across his face, no sham gesture
for he was perspiring with the effort to redirect the
mood of so many. "Emotions are running far too
high. And you've borne the brunt of it, Lessa." He
took her by the arm and led the shocked but unresist-
ing Weyrwoman to her chair, seating her with great
concern and deference. "You must have been half-
crazed by Ramoth's distress. She is calmer now, isn't
she?"

Lessa's jaw dropped in amazement and she contin-
ued to stare at Robinton with wide-open eyes. Then
she nodded, closing her mouth and moistening her
lips.

"So you'll be more yourself then, too." Robinton
poured a cup of wine and passed it to her. Still
bemused by his startling attitude, she even sipped it.
"And able to realize that the worst catastrophe that
could happen to this world would be for dragon to
fight dragon."

Lessa set the cup down then, spilling wine on the
stone table. "You . . . with your clever words . . ."
and she pointed at Robinton, rising from the chair
like an uncoiling spring. "You..."

"He was right, Lessa," F'lar said from the en-
trance where he'd been watching the scene. He
walked into the room, toward the table where Lessa
sat. "We only had cause to invade Southern to search
for our egg. Once it was returned, we would be
damned by all Pern to pursue venegeance." He
spoke to her but his eyes had gone to each Weyr-
leader and Craftsmaster to judge their reactions.
"Once dragon fights dragon, for whatever reason,"
his gesture wiped away any possible consideration,
"we, the dragonriders of Pern, lose the rest of Pem!"

He gave Lessa a long hard look which she re-
turned with frozen implacability. Squarely he faced
the room. "I wish with all my heart that there'd been
some other solution that day at Telgar for T'ron and
T'kul. Sending them to the Southern Continent
seemed to be the answer. There they could do the
rest of Pern scant harm ..."

100

The White Dragon

"No, just us—just Benden!" Lessa spoke with
palpable bitterness. "It's T'ron and Mardra, trying to
get back at you and me!"

"Mardra would not favor a queen to depose her,"
said Brekke, who did not turn aside when Lessa
whirled on her.

"Brekke's right, Lessa," F'lar said, putting his
hand on Lessa's shoulder with apparent casualness.
"Mardra wouldn't like competition."

Robinton could see the pressure of the Weyrlead-
er's fingers whitening his knuckles, although Lessa
gave no sign.

"Neither would Merika, T'kul's Weyrwoman," said
D'ram, the Istan Weyrleader, "and I knew her well
enough to speak with surety now."

More than any of the others in this room, Robinton
thought that the Oldtimer felt this turn of events most
keenly. D'ram was an honest, loyal, fair-minded man.
He had felt compelled to support F'lar against those
of his own Time. By such backing, he had influenced
R'mart and G'narish, the other Oldtime Weyrleaders,
to side with the Benden Weyr at Telgar Hold. So
many undercurrents and subtle pressures abounded
in this chamber, Robinton thought. Whoever had con-
ceived of kidnapping the queen egg might not have
succeeded in that stratagem, but they had effectively
shattered the solidarity of the dragonriders.

"I can't tell you how badly I feel about this, Lessa,"
D'ram continued, shaking his head. "When I heard,
I couldn't believe. I just don't understand what good
such an action would do them. T'kul's older than I.
His Salth couldn't hope to fly a Benden queen. For
that matter, none of the dragons in the South could
fly a Benden queen!"

D'ram's puzzled comment did as much as Robin-
ton's pointed remarks to ease the multiple strains in
the Council Room. Unconsciously D'ram had sup-
ported Robinton's contention that an oblique compli-
ment had been paid Benden Weyr.

"Why, for that matter, by the time the new queen
was old enough to fly to mate," D'ram added as if he'd

101




The White Dragon

just realized it, "their bronzes would likely be dead.
Eight Southern dragons have died this past Turn. We
all know that. So they tried to steal an egg for nothing
... for nothing." His face was lined with tragic re-
gret.

"Not for nothing," Fandarel said, his voice heavy
with sadness. "For just look at what has happened to
us who have been friends and allies for how many
Turns? You dragonriders," his great forefinger stabbed
at them, "were a fingernail away from setting your
beasts against the old ones at Southern." Fandarel
shook his head slowly from side to side. "This has
been a terrible, terrible day! I am sorry for all of
you." His gaze rested longest on Lessa. "But I think
I am sorrier for myself and Pern if your anger doesn't
cool and your good sense return. I will leave you
now."

With great dignity he bowed to each of the Weyr-
leaders and their women, to Brekke and last to Lessa,
trying to catch her eyes. Failing, he gave a little sigh
and left the room.

Fandarel had clearly stated what Robinton wanted
to be sure Lessa heard and understood—that the
dragonriders stood in grave peril of losing control over
Hold and Craft if they permitted their outrage and
indignation to control them. Enough had been said,
in the heat of the moment, in front of those Holders
summoned to the Weyr during the crisis. If no further
action was to be taken now that the egg had been
returned, no Holder or Craftmaster could fault
Benden.

But how was anyone to get through to that stubborn
Lessa, sitting there wallowing in fury and determined
on a disastrous course of revenge? For the first time
in his long Turn as Masterharper of Pern, Robinton
was at a loss for words. Enough that he had lost
Lessa's goodwill already! How could he make her
see reason?

"Fandarel has reminded me that dragonriders can
have no private quarrels without far-reaching effect,"

102

The White Dragon

F'lar Said. "I permitted insult to overcome sanity once.
Today is the result."

D'ram's bowed head came up and he stared fiercely
at F'lar, then shook his head vigorously. There were
' murmured disclaimers from other dragonriders, that
F'lar had acted in all honor at Telgar.

"Nonsense, F'lar," Lessa said, roused from her im-
mobility. "That wasn't a personal fight. You had to
fight T'ron that day to keep Pem together."

"And today I cannot fight T'ron, or the other
Southerners, or I won't keep Pem together!"

Lessa stared back at F'lar for another long moment
and then her shoulders sagged as she reluctantly ac-
cepted that distinction.

"But ... if that egg does not hatch, or if the little
queen is in any way damaged..."

"If that should happen, we will certainly review the
situation," F'lar promised her, raising his right hand
to honor the condition.

Fervently Robinton hoped that the little hatchling
would prove healthy and vigorous, not a whit the
worse for its adventuring. By the Hatching, he ought
to have some information that might appease Lessa
and save F'lar's now pledged honor.

"I must return to Ramoth," Lessa announced. "She
needs me." She strode from the room, past dragon-
riders who deferentially moved aside.

Robinton looked at the cup of wine he had poured
for her and, taking it up, downed the contents in one
gulp. His hand was trembling as he lowered the cup
and met F'lar's gaze.

"We could all use a cup," F'lar said, gesturing the
others to gather about while Brekke, rising quickly to
her feet, began to serve them.

"We will wait until the Hatching," the Benden
Weyrleader went on. "I don't think I have to suggest
that you all take precautions against a similar occur-
rence."

"None of us have any clutches hardening right now,
Flar," said R'mart of Telgar Weyr. "And none of us
have Benden queens!" He had a sly twinkle in his eye

103

The White Dragon

as he glanced toward the Harper. "So, if eight of their
beasts died this past Turn, I make it that there are now
two hundred and forty-eight dragonriders left, and only

five bronzes. Who brought the egg back?"

"The egg is back: that's all that matters," F'lar

said then half-emptied his cup at the first swallow.

"Though I am deeply grateful to that rider."
"We could find out," N'ton said quietly.
F'lar shook his head. "I'm not sure I want to know.

I'm not sure we need to know—just as long as that

egg hatches a live and kicking queen."

"Fandarel has his finger in the sore," Brekke said,
moving gracefully to refill cups. "Just look what has
happened to those of us who have been friends and
allies for many Turns. I resent that more than any-
thing else. And," she looked at everyone in turn, "I
also resent the antagonism for all fire-lizards because
some few, who were only being loyal to their friends,
had a part in this hideous affair. I know I'm prej-
udiced," she smiled sadly, "but I have so much reason
to be grateful to our little friends. I would like to see

sense prevail as regards them, too."

"We'll have to go softly on that score, Brekke,"
F'lar said, "but I have taken your point. Much was
said this morning in the heat and confusion that was

not meant to stand!"

"I hope so. I sincerely hope so," said Brekke. "Berd
keeps telling me that dragons have flamed fire-
lizards!"

Robinton let out a startled exclamation. "I got that

wild notion from Zair, too, before I sent him to stay
in your weyr, Brekke. But no dragon flamed here . . ."
He looked about at the other Weyrleaders, some of
whom were agreeing with Brekke's remark, others ex-
pressing concern over such an unlikely occurrence.
"Not yet . . ." Brekke said, nodding significantly

toward Ramoth's weyr.

"Then we must make sure that the queen is not
further upset by any sight of fire-lizards," F'lar said,
his glance sweeping around the room for agreement.
"For the time being," he added, raising his hand to

104

The White Dragon

stop the half-formed protests. "It is the better part of
wisdom for them not to be seen or heard right now. I
know they've been useful, and some are proving to be
very reliable messengers. I know many of you have
them. But direct them to Brekke if it is absolutely
necessary to send them here." He looked directly at
Robinton.

"Fire-lizards do not go where they are not wel-
come," Brekke said. Then she added with a wry smile
to take the sting out of her comment: "They're
scared out of their hides right now anyway."

"So we do nothing until the egg has Hatched?"
N'ton asked.

"Except to assemble the girls found on Search.
Lessa will want them here as soon as possible, to ac-
custom Ramoth to their presence. We'll all assemble
again for the Hatching, Weyrleaders."

"A good Hatching," D'ram said with a fervor that
was sincerely seconded by everyone.

Robinton half-hoped that F'lar might hold him
back as the others dispersed. But F'lar was in conver-
sation with D'ram, and Robinton sadly decided that
his absence would be appreciated. It grieved Robin-
ton to be at odds with the Benden Weyrleaders and he
felt weary as he made his way back to the weyr en-
trance. Still, F'lar had supported Robinton's plea for
deliberation. As he reached the last turning of the
corridor, he saw Mnementh's bronze bulk on the
ledge, and he hesitated, suddenly reluctant to ap-
proach Ramoth's mate.

"Don't fret so, Robinton," N'ton said, stepping to
his side and touching his arm. "You were so right and
wise to speak out as you did, and probably the only
one who could stop Lessa's madness. F'lar knows it."
N'ton grinned. "But he does still have to contend with
Lessa."

"Master Robinton," F'nor's voice was low as if he
didn't wish to be overheard, "please join Brekke and
me in my weyr. N'ton, too, if you're not pressed to re-
turn to Fort Weyr."

"I can certainly spare any time you need today,"

10?




The White Dragon

the younger bronze rider replied with cheerful com-
pliance.

"Brekke will be right along." Then the wing second

led the way across the Bowl, unnaturally silent except
for the moans and mutters that issued in muffled
echoes from Ramoth in the Hatching Ground. On
his ledge, Mnementh swung his great head constantly
so that every portion of the rim was scrutinized.

No sooner had the men entered the weyr than they
were assaulted by four hysterical fire-lizards that had
to be petted and reassured that no dragon would
flame them—a fear which seemed to be common and

persistent.

"What is this large darkness that I get from Zair's

images?" Robinton asked when he had caressed his
little bronze into a semblance of order. Zair shivered
frequently and, whenever the Harper's gentle strokes
lapsed, the bronze pushed imperiously at the negli-
gent hand.

Meanwhile Berd and Grail were perched on F'nor's

shoulders, stroking his cheeks, their eyes bright yellow
with anxiety and still whirling at a frantic rate. "When
they're calmer, Brekke and I will try to sort the whole
thing out. I get the impression that they are remem-
bering something."

"Not something like the Red Star?" N'ton asked.

At his unfortunate reference, Tris, who had been
lying quietly on his forearm, began to bat his wings
and the others squealed in fright. "I'm sorry. Calm

down, Tris."

"No, not something like that," F'nor said. "Just

something ... something they remembered."

"We do know that they communicate instantly
with one another and apparently broadcast anything
seen that is strongly felt or experienced," Robinton
said, picking his words as he vocalized his thoughts.
"So this could be evidence of a mass reaction. But
picked up from which fire-lizard or fire-lizards? How-
ever, Grail and Berd, and certainly that little creature
of Meron's, could not have known through one of
their own kind that the . . . you know what . . . was

106

The White Dragon

dangerous to them. So how did they know to the
point of hysterics? How could it be something they
remembered?"

"Runner beasts seem to know when to avoid treach-
erous ground ..." N'ton offered.

"Instinct." Robinton pondered. "Could be instinct."
Then he shook his head. "No, avoiding treacherous
ground is not the same use of an instinctive fear:

that's a generality. The . . . R-E-D-S-T-A-R," he
spelled letter by letter, "is a specific. Ah, well!"

"Fire-lizards are basically gifted with the same
skills as dragons. Dragons, however, have no memo-
ries to speak of."

"Which, let us fervently hope," F'nor said, raising
his eyes toward the ceiling, "wipes out what happened
today in record time."

"Lessa does not suffer that gift," Robinton said
with a heavy sigh.

"She's not stupid either, Masterharper," N'ton
said, adroitly reaffirming his respect for the man by
the use of his title. "Nor is F'lar. Just worried. They'll
both come round and appreciate your intervention
today." Then N'ton cleared his throat and looked
the Masterharper squarely in the eyes. "Do you
know who took the egg?"

"I had heard that something was being planned. I
knew, which would have been obvious to anyone
counting Turns, that the Southern men and dragons
are slowing .with age, and desperate. I've had only the
experience of Zair wanting to mate . . ." Robinton
paused, remembering that astounding revival of de-
sires he had thought himself well past, shrugged and
met the understanding twinkle in N'ton's eyes. "So I
can appreciate the pressures that randy brown and
bronze dragons can exert on their riders. Even a will-
ing green, young enough to be flown, would help . . ."
He looked questioningly at the two dragonriders.

"Not after today," F'nor said emphatically. "If
they'd approached one of the Weyrs . . . D'ram for
instance," he glanced at N'ton for corroboration,
"perhaps a green would have gone, if only to prevent

107




, .               The White Dragon

something disastrous. But to attempt to solve their
problems by kidnapping a queen egg?" F'nor
frowned. "How much do you know, Robinton, about
what goes on down in the Southern Weyr? I know I
gave you all the maps I'd made when I was timing it

in the South."

"Frankly, I know more about happenings in the

Hold. I did get a message from Piemur recently that
the dragonriders had been more private than is their
custom. They don't mix much with holders, following
the pattern of their own Time, but a certain amount
of coming and going into the Weyr was permitted.
That ceased abruptly and then no holders were al-
lowed near the Weyr. Not for any reason. Nor was
there much flying done. Piemur says the dragons
would be seen midair and then they'd pop between.
No circling, no cruising. Just going between."
"Timing it," P'nor said thoughtfully.
Zair squeaked piteously and Robinton soothed him.
Again the fire-lizard inserted in his mind the image
of dragons flaming fire-lizards: the black nothingness,

and a glimpse of an egg.

"Did you both get that picture, too, from your

friends?" he asked though their startled expression

made the question unnecessary.

Robinton pressed Zair for a clearer image, a view
of where the egg was, and received nothing but the

impression of flame and fear.

"I wish they'd a bit more sense," Robinton said,

forcing down his irritation. Tantalizing to be so close,
thwarted by the limited scope of fire-lizard vision.

"They're still upset," F'nor said. "I'll try, with Grail
and Berd later on. I wonder if Menolly's getting the
same reaction from hers. You might ask her when
you've got back to the Harpercrafthall, Master Robin-
ton. With ten, she might get that much more clarity."

Robinton agreed as he rose, but thought of one last
thing. "N'ton, weren't you among the bronzes who
went to Southern Weyr, to see if the egg had been

taken there?"

108

The White Dragon

"I was. The Weyr was deserted. Not even an old
dragon left behind. Completely deserted."
"Yes, that would follow, wouldn't it?"

When Jaxom and Menolly, on Ruth, entered the
air above Fort Hold, Ruth called his name to the
watch dragon and was almost smothered by fire-
lizards. They so impeded his progress that he dropped
a few lengths before he could get them to give him
wing room. The moment he landed, the fire-lizards
swarmed over him and his riders, keening with anxi-
ety.

Menolly called out reassurances as fire-lizards clung
to her clothing, got tangled in her hair. Jaxom found
two trying to sit on his head, several had tails wrapped
around his neck and three were beating their wings
frantically to remain at eye level with him.

"What's got into them?"

"They're terrified! Dragons breathing fire at them,"
Menolly cried. "But no one's doing that to you, you
silly chinches. You only have to stay away from the
Weyrs for a bit."

Other harpers, attracted by the commotion, came
to their rescue, either taking the fire-lizards bodily
from Jaxom and Menolly, or sternly recalling the ones
that looked to them personally. When Jaxom started
to shoo them away from Ruth, the dragon told him
not to bother—he, Ruth, would calm them down him-
self shortly. They were frightened because they re-
membered being chased by dragon fire. Since the
harpers were all now clamoring for news from
Benden, Jaxom decided to let Ruth handle the fire-
lizards.

The Harpers had received some pretty distorted
images from the fire-lizards returning, terrified, to the
Harpercrafthall: Benden full of immense bronze drag-
ons, breathing fire, ready to fight; Ramoth acting like
a blood-maddened watchwher, and curious images of
the queen egg solitary in the sand. But what made the
Harpers extremely apprehensive was the vision of
dragons flaming at fire-lizards.

109




The White Dragon

"Benden dragons did not flame any fire-lizards,"

Jaxom and Menolly both said.

"But all the fire-lizards must stay away from
Benden unless they're sent to either Brekke or Mir-
rim," Menolly added firmly. "And we're to mark all
those that look to harpers with harper colors."

Jaxom and Menolly were ushered into the Harper-
hall and given wine and hot soup. Neither of them got
to eat it hot because no sooner were they served than
some of the Hold people arrived, soliciting the news.
Menolly recounted the major portion of the happen-
ing, being the trained Harper. Jaxom's respect for the
girl increased greatly as he listened to her flowing
voice evoke the emotions appropriate to each part of
her narrative, without distorting what he knew to have
happened. One of the senior Harpers, soothing the
blue fire-lizard in the crook of his arm, kept nodding
his head as if approving her use of Harper tricks.

When Menolly stopped speaking, a respectful mur-
mur of thanks was heard throughout the room. Then
the listeners became the speakers, dissecting the news,
wondering who had returned the egg and how—and
why, which Was still the biggest question. How were
the Weyrs going to protect themselves? Were the main
Holds in any danger? Who knew to what lengths the
Oldtimers might go if they'd steal a Benden egg. Now,
there'd been some mysterious occurrences—insignifi-
cant in themselves but in total highly suspicious—
which the Harpers felt ought to be reported to Benden
Weyr. Those mysterious shortages at the iron mines,
for instance. And what about those young girls who
were carried off and no one could trace where? Could
the Oldtimers be looking for more than dragon eggs?

Menolly eased her way out of the center of the
audience and beckoned Jaxom to follow her. "I'm
talked dry," she said with a heavy sigh and led him
down the corridor to the huge copyroom where moldy
Records were transcribed before their messages were
lost forever. Her lizards suddenly appeared and she
signaled them to land on one of the tables. "You lot
are about to wear the very latest design for fire-

110

The White Dragon

lizards!" She rummaged in the cabinet under the
table. "Help me find white and yellow, Jaxom. This can
is dried up." She chucked it into a bin in the corner.
"And what is your design for fire-lizards?"
"Hmmmm. Here's white. Harper blue with journey-
man light blue, separated by white and framed by
Fort Hold lattice yellow. That ought to label them ac-
curately, don't you think?"

Jaxom agreed and found himself required to hold
fire-lizard necks still. This assignment was rendered
all the more difficult because the fire-lizards seemed
to want to look him straight in the eye.

"If they're trying to tell me something, I'm not get-
ting the message," Jaxom told Menolly as he pa-
tiently endured the fifth soulful scrutiny.

"I suspect," Menolly said, speaking in disjointed
phrases as she carefully applied her root colors, "what
you've got—hold him still, Jaxom—is the only . . .
dragon on Pern . . . that . . . they're not—hold him—
scared silly of right now. Ruth doesn't . . . after all
... chew firestone."

Jaxom sighed because he could see that Ruth's sud-
den popularity was going to ruin his private plans.
Much as he was loath to do so, he was going to have
to time it because if the fire-lizards didn't know when
they went they couldn't follow him! That reminded
him of his original errand to the Harpercrafthall.

"I started out this morning to get Wansor's equa-
tions from you...."

"Hmmm, yes." Menolly grinned at him over a
squirming blue fire-lizard. "That seems like Turns ago.
Well, we'll just patch the white on Uncle, and I'll give
'em to you. I've also got some winter-summer season
charts you might as well have, seeing as you've been
so cooperative. Piemur hasn't written out many yet."

A blue fire-lizard came zipping into the paint room,
chirping with relief when it saw Jaxom.

It is the thick man's blue, Ruth said from outside.
"I've only the one blue fire-lizard and we just did

him, didn't we?" Menolly asked in surprise, glancing

about the room at the others.

Ill




The White Dragon

"It's Brand's. I'd better get back to Ruatha Hold. I

should've gone back hours ago."

"Well, don't be a fool and meet yourself coming,"

she said with a laugh. "You've been on legitimate

business this time."

Managing a light laugh, Jaxom caught the roll of

charts she threw in his direction. She couldn't know
what he had in mind. He was entirely too sensitive to
her random remarks. Sign of a guilty conscience.
"Then you'll alibi me to Lytol?"

"Anytime, Jaxom!"
Back at Ruatha Hold, he had the whole tale to tell

again with an audience as rapt, astonished, angered
and relieved as the harpers and the Fort Holders. He
found himself unconsciously using Menolly's turns of
phrase and he wondered how long before she'd make

a Ballad of the event.

He finished by directing everyone owning a fire-
lizard to band the creature with Ruatha colors: brown
with red squares, banded by white and black. He got
that task organized when he noticed that Lytol was
still seated in his heavy chair, one hand playing with
the corner of his lower lip, his eyes fixed on some in-
distinct point on the flagstones.

"Lytol?"
The Lord Warder recalled himself to the present

with an effort and frowned at Jaxom. Then he sighed.
"I've always feared that the conflict might come to

dragon against dragon."

"It's not come to that, Lytol," Jaxom said quietly

and as persuasively as he could.

The man looked intently into Jaxom's eyes. "It

could, lad. It so easily could. And I, and you, owe so
much to Benden. Should I go there now?"

"Finder remained."
Lytol nodded and Jaxom wondered if the Lord

Warder felt he'd been slighted. "Better for Finder to
travel on dragonback." He passed his hand over his

eyes and shook his head.

"You're not well, Lytol. A cup of wine?"
"No, I'll be all right, lad." Lytol pushed himself

112

The White Dragon

vigorously to his feet. "I don't suppose in all the fuss

that you remembered what you went to the Harper-
crafthall for?"

Much relieved to hear Lytol sound like himself,
Jaxom lightly announced that he had not only
Wansor's equations but some charts to work with.
From then until the evening meal, Jaxom wished he'd
not been so thoughtful because Lytol had him instruct-

' ing Brand and himself in accurately timing Thread-
fall.

Teaching someone else a method is a very good
way to make it easier to do yourself, as Jaxom found
later that night when he worked some private equa-
tions of his own, poring over the rough map he had of
the Southern Continent. There was too much activity
all over Pern for him to go to an alternate "when"
with any safety. And since he was going to time it, he
might just as well go back at least twelve Turns, be-
fore anyone had started using the Southern Continent
at all. He knew just where firestone could be mined
so there'd be no problem supplying Ruth. The night
stars were halfway to morning before he felt he could
find his way to the then he wanted to find.

Just before daybreak, he was awakened by the
sound of Ruth's whimpering. He struggled from his
furs and stumbled barefoot on the cold stones, blink-
ing sleep from his eyes. Ruth's forelegs were churning
and his wing elbows twitched with whatever dream
disturbed him. Fire-lizards burrowed about him; most
of them did not wear Ruathan colors. He shooed the

creatures away and Ruth, sighing, dropped into a
deeper, quiet sleep.

113




CHAPTER VI

Ruatha Hold and Southern Hold,
15.5.27-15.6.2

THE HOLD DAY began by sending out fire-lizards
with messages to all the smaller holds and craftcot-
tages, ordering that every fire-lizard be appropriately
marked and individually warned about approaching
any Weyr. Some of the nearby holders had ridden in
during the morning for reassurances about the garbled
accounts the fire-lizards had given. So Lytol, Jaxom
and -Brand were kept busy all day. The next day,
Thread was due to fall, and it fell at precisely the mo-
ment Lytol had calculated. This gave him great pleas-
ure and reassured the more nervous holders.

Jaxom good-naturedly took his place with the
flamethrower crew, not that any Thread escaped the
Fort Weyr dragons. It amused Jaxom to think that at
the next Threadfall, he too might be above ground on
a fire-breathing Ruth.                          *

The third day after the egg was stolen, Ruth was
famished and wanted to hunt. But the fire-lizards
came in such droves to accompany him that he killed
only once and ate the beast up, bones and hide.

/ will not kill for them, Ruth told Jaxom so fiercely
that he wondered if Ruth might eventually flame the

fire-lizards.

"What's the matter? I thought you liked them!"

114

The White Dragon

Jaxom met his dragon on the grassy slope and ca-
ressed him soothingly.

They remember me doing something I do not re-
member doing. I did not do it. Ruth's eyes whirled
with red sparks.

"What do they remember you doing?"

/ haven't done U. And there was a tinge of fearful
uncertainty to Ruth's mental tone. / know I haven't
done it. I couldn't do such a thing. I am a dragon. I
am Ruth. I am of Benden! His last words sounded in
a despairing tone.

"What do they remember you doing, Ruth? You've
got to tell me."

Ruth ducked his head, as if he wished he could
hide, but he turned back to Jaxom, his eyes wheeling
piteously. / wouldn't take Ramoth's egg. 1 know I
didn't take Ramoth's egg. I was there by the lake all
the time with you. I remember that. You remember
that. They know where I was. But somehow they re-
member that I took Ramoth's egg too.

Jaxom clung to Ruth's neck to keep from falling.
Then he took several very deep breaths.

"Show me the images they've been giving you,
Ruth!"

And Ruth did, the projections growing more clear
and vivid as Ruth calmed in response to his rider's
encouragement.

That's what they remember, he said finally with a
deep sigh of relief.

Jaxom told himself to think logically so he said out
loud, "Fire-lizards can only tell what they've seen.
You say they remember. Do you know when they re-
member seeing you take Ramoth's egg?"

/ could take you to that when.

"Are you sure?"

There are two queens—they've bothered me most
because they remember best.

"They wouldn't just happen to remember it at night,
when the stars are out, would they?"

Ruth shook his head. Fire-lizards are not big
enough to see enough stars. And that's when they got

II?

The White Dragon

flamed. The bronzes who guard the egg chew firestone.
They don't want any fire-lizards near.
"That's smart of them."

None of the dragons like fire-lizards anymore. And
if they knew what the fire-lizards remember about
me, they won't like me, either.

"Then it's just as well that you're the only dragon
who'll listen to fire-lizards, isn't it?" That observation
wasn't much comfort to either Ruth or Jaxom. "But
why, if the egg is already back in Benden Weyr, are
the fire-lizards bothering you about it?"

Because they don't remember me going yet.

Jaxom felt he'd better sit down. This last statement
would take a lot of thinking. No, he contradicted
himself. F'lessan had been right. We think and talk
things to death. He wondered briefly if Lessa and
F'nor had been seized by this same sort of irrational
compulsion at the moment of their decisions. He de-
cided he'd better not think about that either.

"You're sure you know when we have to go?" he
asked Ruth once more.

Two queens flitted up, crooning lovingly: one even
bold enough to light on Jaxom's arm, her eyes wheel-
ing with joy.

They know. I know.

"Well, I'm glad they're willing to take us. I sure
wish they'd seen stars!"

Jaxom permitted himself one more deep breath and
then he swung to Ruth's neck and told him to take
them home.

Once he'd made his decision to act, it was amazing
how easy it was to go ahead, just as long as he didn't
think about it. He assembled his flying gear, the rope,
a fur robe to cover the egg. He gobbled down some
meatrolls, casually winked at Brand as he sauntered
out of the Hall, overwhelmingly glad that he had a
handy excuse in his suspected affair with Corana.

It took longer to persuade Ruth to roll in the black
tidal mud of the Telgar River delta, but Jaxom man-
aged to persuade his weyrmate that a white hide was
remarkably visible against the black tropical night or

116

The White Dragon

in full daylight inside the Hatching Ground where he
planned for them to stay in the shadows.

From the images given Ruth by the two queens,
Jaxom felt he could safely assume that the Oldtimers
had taken the egg back in time but lodged it in the
most logical and fitting spot for an egg, in the warm
sands of the old volcano that would eventually be-
come Southern Weyr in the appropriate time. He had
already memorized the positions of Southern night
stars so he'd probably be able to tell when he was,
within a Turn or two. He'd have to count heavily on
Ruth's boast that he always knew when he was.

The fire-lizards arrived in full fair at the delta and
enthusiastically helped him sully Ruth's white coat
with the clinging black mud. Jaxom dabbed it on his
hands and face, and the shiny parts of his accoutre-
ments. The fur robe was already dark enough.

Somehow Jaxom wasn't quite sure that all this was
happening to him, that he could be mixed up in such
a wild venture. But he had to be. He was moving in
inexorable steps toward a predestined event and noth-
ing could stop him now. So he mounted Ruth calmly,
trusting as he had never done before in his dragon's
abilities. Jaxom took two deep breaths.
"You know when, Ruth.We'd better get there!"
It was without doubt the longest, coldest jump he
had ever made. He had one advantage over Lessa,
he expected it. But that didn't keep the jump from be-
ing frighteningly dark, or relieve a silence that was a
noisy pressure in his ears, or keep the cold from strik-
ing his bones. He couldn't come straight back with the
egg; he'd have to take several steps to warm it.

Then they were above a darkened moist warm
world that smelled of lush greenery and slightly decay-
ing fruit. For a moment Jaxom had the hideous feel-
ing that this was all a sun-dream of the fire-lizards.
But something in the eerie way that Ruth glided as
noiselessly as possible, a part of the gentle night
breeze, made it real and immediate. Then he saw the
egg below, a luminescent spot slightly to the right of
Ruth's searching head.

117

The White Dragon

Jaxom let him glide a little farther to catch a glimpse
of the Weyr's eastern edge, the point from which he
wanted to enter at all possible speed, at early dawn.
Then he told Ruth to change and there seemed to be
no time spent between. All at once the rising sun was
warm on their backs. Ruth arrowed in, winging low
and fast, over the backs of the drowsy bronzes and
their napping riders. A quick deft swoop, Ruth grab-
bing the egg in his sturdy forearms, a lunge up and,
before the startled bronzes could rise to their feet, the
little white dragon had enough free air to go between

again.

Ruth was still only a winglength above the Weyr
when they came out of between, a Turn in time ahead

of Ruth's sunrise plunge.

Ruth had just enough strength left in his forearms
and wings to let the egg down carefully into the warm
sands. Jaxom dropped from the dragon's neck to check
the egg for any cracks, but it looked all right. Cer-
tainly it was hard enough and still warm. With his
gloved hands, he shoveled sun-hot sand over the egg
and then, like Ruth, collapsed to catch his breath.

"We can't stay long. They might just try it day by
day. They'd know we can't take the egg far at once."

Ruth nodded, his breath still coming in ragged
gasps. Then he stopped, taut until Jaxom started with
alarm. Two fire-lizards, a gold and a bronze, were
watching them from the edge of the Weyr. In the
brief glimpse Jaxom had of them before they winked
out, he saw no colored bands about they necks.

"Do we know them?"

No.

"Where're those two queens?"

They showed me when. That's all you wanted.

Jaxom felt bereft of their fragile guidance and
stupid because he hadn't insisted they stay.

There's firestone, Ruth said. And flame scar. The
bronzes did flame at the fire-lizards here! A long time
ago. The scar is growing weed.

"Dragon against dragon!" Apprehension nagged at
Jaxom. He didn't feel safe here. He wouldn't feel safe

118

The White Dragon

until they actually had that egg back in Benden where
it belonged.

"We've got to make another jump, Ruth. We don't
dare wait here."

Resolutely he unlooped the rope from about his
waist and started making a rough sling with the fur
rug. There'd be less strain on Ruth if the egg were
strapped between his forelegs. Jaxom had completed
the comers when he heard a loud crunching.

"Ruth! You're not going to flame dragons!"

No, of course I'm not. But will they dare approach
me if I am flaming?

Jaxom was unsettled enough not to protest. When
Ruth had a gulletful, he called him over and got the
sling around the egg. He looped the rope comfortably
over Ruth's shoulders to take the weight. He started to
check the knots again and then, some inner caution
prompting him, he just mounted.

"We'll go five Turns more into Keroon, to our place
there. Do you know when?"

Ruth thought a moment and then said he knew
when.

In between Jaxom had time to worry if he was mak-
ing the jumps too long to keep the egg warm. It hadn't
actually Hatched before he'd left. Maybe he should
have waited, to find out if the egg had Hatched prop-
erly: then they'd've known how to judge the forward
jumps. Maybe he'd even killed the little queen trying
to save her. No, his mind reeled with between and
paradoxes; the most important act, returning the queen
egg, was in process. And dragon had not fought
dragon—not yet.

The shimmering heat of Keroon desert warmed his
failing spirit as well as his body. Ruth looked a ghastly
shade under the caking black mud. Jaxom released
the rope and lowered the egg to the sand. Ruth helped
him cover it. It was midmorning, and not far from
the hour when the egg must be back but at least six
Turns in time-distance.

Ruth asked if he couldn't wash off the mud in the
sea but Jaxom told him they'd have to wait until they'd

119

The White Dragon

got the egg safely back. No one had known who'd
done it then: no one should know, and the safest
way was not to have a white hide showing.

The fire-lizards?
That had worried Jaxom but he thought he had the

answer. "They didn't know who brought the egg back
that day. There weren't any in the Hatching Ground,
so they don't know what they haven't seen." Jaxom
decided not to think further on that subject.

He was very tired as he leaned back against Ruth's
warm flank. They'd rest a little while and let the egg
warm up well in the midmoming sun before they'd
make that last and trickiest jump. They had to position
themselves to land just inside the Hatching Ground,
where the arch of the entrance sloped abruptly down
and obscured the view of anyone looking from the
Bowl into the Ground. In fact, directly opposite the
peephole and slit that F'lessan and Jaxom had used
so many Turns ago. It was just luck that Ruth was
small enough to risk going between inside the Ground
but it'd been his own Hatching place so his feeling
was innate. Thus far he'd lived up to his boast that he

always knew when he was going....

Even in the hot desert plains of Keroon there was
some noise: infinitesimal rustlings of insect life, hot
breezes riming through dead grasses, snakes burrow-
ing in the sand, the distant rush of water on the beach.
The cessation of such sounds can be as remarkable as
a thunderclap, and so it was the utter stillness and a
minute change of air pressure that roused Jaxom and

Ruth from somnolence to alarm.

Jaxom glanced up, expecting bronze dragons to ap-
pear and reclaim their prize. The sky above was clear
and hot. Jaxom glanced around and saw the danger,
the silver mist of descending Thread raining down
across the desert. He slithered and scrambled to the
egg. Ruth right beside him, both digging it free, pushing
it into the sling, frantically trying to judge the leading
edge of Fall, wondering and worrying that the skies

weren't full of fighting dragons.
120

The White Dragon

As fast as they worked to secure the precious bur-
den to Ruth for flight, they were not quite quick
enough. The leading edge of Threadfall fell hissing to
the sand around them as Jaxom got to Ruth's neck and
directed him upward. Ruth, giving a belch of flame,
valuted skyward, trying to sear a path far enough above
the ground to go between.

A ribbon of fire sliced Jaxom's cheek, his right
shoulder through the wherhide tunic, his forearm, his
thigh. He felt, rather than heard, Ruth's bellow
of pain, lost in the black of between.

Somehow Jaxom kept his mind on where and when
they should be. They were finally in the Hatching
Ground, Ramoth bellowing outside. Ruth could not
quite suppress his cry as the hot sand rubbed the raw
Threadscore on his hind foot. Jaxom bit his lips
against his pain as he struggled with the rope. There
was so little time and it seemed to take ages to release
the sling. Ruth lowered the egg to the sand but it
rolled down the slight incline from their shadowy cor-
ner of the Ground. They couldn't wait. Ruth sprang
up toward the high ceiling and went between.

Dragon would not now fight dragon!

It was no surprise to Jaxom that Ruth came out of
between above the little mountain lake. In what rela-
tive when, Jaxom was too concerned for his dragon to
care at that moment. Ruth was whimpering with the
pain in his foot and leg; all he wanted was to cool that
Threadfire. Jaxom leaped from his neck to the shal-
lows and splashed water on the sweaty gray hide, curs-
ing himself that the nearest numbweed was at Ruatha
Hold. He was so clever, he was, that he never thought
one of them might get hurt.

The cool lake water was taking the sting from the
Threadscores but Jaxom worried now about the mud
causing an infection. Surely he could have used some-
thing less dangerous for camouflage than river mud.
He didn't dare scour the wounds with sand: it would
be too painful for Ruth and might just rub the cursed
mud deeper into the wounds. For the first time in
many days, Jaxom regretted the total absence of fire-

The White Dragon                     ,

lizards who could have helped him scrub his very dirty    |
dragon. Once again he briefly wondered when, besides
high noon of the day, they were.

/( is the day after the evening we left, Ruth an-
nounced. / always know when I am, he added with
justifiable pride in his ability. Along the left dorsal, a
terrible itch. You've left some mud.

Jaxom could and did use sand on the rest of Ruth's
hide and managed to ignore the way it smarted in his
own scores. He was dead weary and aching by the
time Ruth allowed that he was clean enough for a last
plunge in the deeper part of the lake.

The ripples lapping around his soaked ankles
brought Jaxom's memory back to that not so distant
day of his rebellion.

"Well," he said with a self-deprecatory chuckle,
"among other things, we did get to fight Thread." And
what a dismal showing they'd made of it with proof
patent on their hides.

We weren't exactly giving our complete attention to
Thread, Ruth reminded him with a note of reproach.
/ know how now. We'll be much better at it next time.
I'm faster than any of the big dragons. I can turn on
my tail and go between in a single length from the
ground.

Jaxom told Ruth fervently and gratefully that he
was without doubt the best, fastest, cleverest beast in
all Pern, North and South. Ruth's eyes whirled greenly
with pleasure and he paddled to the shore, wings ex-
tended to dry.

You are cold and hungry and sore. My leg hurts.
Let's go home.

Jaxom knew that was the wisest course; he had to
get numbweed on Ruth's leg and on his own injuries.
But scores they were and undeniably caused by
Thread. How in the name of the First Shell was he
ever going to explain all of this to Lytol?

Why explain anything? Ruth asked logically. We
only did what we had to do.

"Think logically, huh?" Jaxom replied with a laugh,
and patted Ruth's neck before he wearily pulled him-

122

The White Dragon

self up. With understandable reluctance and apprehen-
sion, he toiu R.itii to take them home.

The watchdragon caroled a greeting and a mere
half-dozen fire-lizards, all banded in Hold colors,
swarmed up to escort Ruth down to his weyr court-
yard.

One of the drudges came hurrying out of the kitchen
entrance, eyes wide with excitement.

"Lord Jaxom, there's been a Hatching. The queen
egg Hatched, it did. You were sent to come but no one
could find you."

"I had other business. Fetch me some numbweed!"

"Numbweed?" The drudge's eyes widened further
with concern.

"Numbweed! I'm sunburned."

Rather pleased with his resourcefulness considering
he was shivering in wet clothes, Jaxom saw Ruth com-
fortably situated in his weyr, his injured leg propped
up.

It hurt Jaxom to get the tunic over his shoulder be-
cause Thread had scored right down the muscle,
caught him at the wrist and continued to cut a long
furrow down his thigh.

A timid scratching on the door to the main Hold
announced the incredibly speedy return of the drudge.
Jaxom opened the door wide enough to get the jug of
numbweed, and still keep his Threadscores from the
curious eyes.

"Thanks, and I'll want something hot to eat, too.
Soup, klah, whatever's on the fire."

Jaxom closed the door, scooped up a bathing sheet
which he knotted about his middle as he made his way
to Ruth. He slathered a fistful of the numbweed on his
dragon's leg and grinned at the sigh of intense relief
that Ruth gave as the salve took immediate effect.

Jaxom gratefully echoed the sentiments as he
smeared his own wounds. Blessed, blessed numbweed.
Never again would he begrudge his labor in gathering
the plaquey, thorny greenery from which this incred-
ible balm was stewed. He peered into his looking glass
as he daubed his face cut. It'd leave a finger-long scar.

123




The White Dragon

No getting around that. Now if he could get around
Lytol's wrath ...

"Jaxom!" •

Lytol strode into the room after the most perfunc-
tory knock at the door. "You've missed the Hatching
at Benden Weyr and—" At the sight of Jaxom, Lytol
stopped so quickly in midstride that he rocked back on
his heels. Clad only in a bathing sheet, the marks on
Jaxom's shoulder and face were quite visible.

"The egg Hatched all right then? Good," Jaxom re-
sponded, picking up his tunic with a nonchalance he
wasn't feeling. "I . . ." then he stopped, as much be-
cause his voice would be muffled in the fabric of his
tunic as because he had been about to explain with
his customary candor his bizarre night's work. He
balked at the task. Ruth perhaps was right—they had
only done what they had to. It was sort of his and
Ruth's private affair. You might even say his actions
reflected his unconscious wish to atone for violating
Ramoth's Hatching Ground as a boy. He pulled the
shirt over his head, wincing as it caught the numb-
weed on his cheek. "I heard at Benden," he said then,
"that they were worried whether it would Hatch after
all the coming and going between."

Lytol approached Jaxom slowly, his eyes on the
young man's face, begging the question.

Jaxom settled his tunic, belted it, then smoothed the
numbweed into the cut again. He didn't know what to

say.

"Oh, Lytol, would you mind taking a look at Ruth's
leg? See if I doctored it right?" Jaxom waited then,
facing Lytol calmly. He noticed, with a sadness for the
inevitability of this moment of reserve, that Lytol's
eyes were dark with emotion. He owed the man so
much, never more than at this moment. He wondered
that he had ever considered Lytol cold or hard and

unfeeling.

"There's a trick of ducking Thread," Lytol said
quietly, "that you'd better teach Ruth, Lord Jaxom."

"If you'd be kind enough to tell me how. Lord
Lytol..."

124

CHAPTER VII

Morning at Ruatha Hold, 15'.6.2

"I CAME TO TELL you that we have guests. Lord
Jaxom; Master Robinton, N'ton and Menolly are
above, just back from the Hatching. First, let's see to
Ruth."

"Didn't you go to Benden for the Hatching?" Jaxom
asked.

Lytol shook his head as he walked toward Ruth's
weyr. The white dragon was settling in for a well-
deserved nap. Lytol bowed courteously to him before
peering closely at the thickly smeared scorings.

"You washed first in the lake, I presume." Lytol's
glance took in Jaxom's damp hair. "That water's pure
enough, and the numbweed's been applied in good
time. We'll check again in a few hours. But I think he's
all right." Lytol's gaze went then to Jaxom's all-too-
obvious scoring.

"I had no reason to excuse you to our guests." He
sighed. "Be grateful it's N'ton above and not F'lar. I
suppose Menolly knew what you were about?"

"I told no one what I intended. Lord Lytol," Jaxom
said with some formality.

"At least you've learned discretion." The Lord
Warder hesitated, his eyes sweeping the figure of his
ward. "Ah, well, I'd best ask N'ton to take you for
weyrling practice—safer that way and you'd be with

12?




The White Dragon

others. Robinton will guess what you've been about,
but he'd leam in due course no matter how we evaded.
Come then, they'll not give you too hard a time for
your clumsiness. Not that you don't deserve more than
a ribbing, taking such a chance with yourself and
Ruth. And right now, when order is all in pieces any-
how ..."

"I apologize for distressing you. Lord Lytol..."

The man subjected his charge to another shrewd

scrutiny.

"No distress, Lord Jaxom. Any apologies are on

my head. I ought to have realized your need to prove
Ruth's abilities. I wish that you were a few Turns older
and that matters were in such order that I could let

you take Hold—"

"I don't want to take Hold from you. Lord Lytol—"
"I don't think I'd be permitted to step down right
now anyway, Jaxom. As you'll hear for yourself.
Come, we've kept our guests waiting long enough as it

is."

N'ton was facing the door of the smaller hall used

at Ruatha when guests required privacy for their
discussions. The bronze rider took one look at Jaxom's
face and groaned. At his reaction. Master Robinton
slewed round in his chair, his tired eyes registering
surprise and, Jaxom hoped, a certain measure of

approval.

"You're Threadscored, Jaxom," Menolly cried, and

her expression was one of shocked dismay. "How
could you take such a risk right now?" She, who had
taunted him about thinking, not doing, was now furi-
ous with him.

"I should have known you'd try it, young Jaxom,"
N'ton said with a weary sigh, a rueful smile on his
face. "You were bound to break out soon, but your

timing is atrocious."

Jaxom would have liked to say that, in point of fact,

his timing had been faultless, but N'ton went on:

"Ruthwasn't hurt, was he?"

"A single score on thigh and foot," Lytol replied.

"Well doctored."

The White Dragon

"I do sympathize with your ambition, Jaxom,"
Robinton said, unusually solemn, "to fly Ruth with
other dragons but I must counsel you to patience."

"I'd rather he learned how to fly properly now,
Robinton. With my other weyrlings," N'ton interrupted
unexpectedly, winning Jaxom's gratitude. "Particularly
if he's mad enough, brave enough, to try it on his own
without any guidance."

"I doubt we could get Benden to approve," Robin-
ton said, shaking his head.

"I approve," Lytol said in a firm voice, his face set.
"I am Lord Jaxom's guardian, not F'lar or Lessa. Let
her manage her own concerns. Lord Jaxom is my
charge. He can come to little harm with the Fort
Weyrlings." Lytol stared fiercely at Jaxom. "And he
will agree not to put his teaching to the test without
consulting us. Will you abide by that. Lord Jaxom?"

Jaxom was relieved enough to know that the Benden
Weyrleaders would not be queried so that he agreed
to more stringent conditions than he might have. He
nodded and was immediately beset by conflicting emo-
tions—amusement because everyone had assumed the
obvious and annoyance because, having achieved so
much more that day, he was now reduced to appren-
tice level. Yet, his experience at Keroon had demon-
strated too sharply how much he still had to leam
about fighting Thread if he wished to keep whole his
and his dragon's hides.

N'ton had been peering intently at Jaxom and his
frown deepened so that, for one moment, Jaxom
wondered if N'ton had somehow guessed what he and
Ruth had actually been doing when they were
Threadscored. If they ever found out, Jaxom would
be twice bound with added restrictions.

"I think I'll require a further promise from you,
Jaxom," the bronze rider said. "No more timing it.
You've been doing far too much of that lately. I can
tell from your eyes."

Startled, Lytol examined his ward's face more
closely.

"I'm in no danger on Ruth, N'ton," Jaxom said,

The White Dragon

relieved at being accused of a lesser transgression. "He
always knows when he is."

N'ton dismissed that talent impatiently. "Possibly,
but the danger lies in the rider's mind—an inadvertent
time clue that could set both in jeopardy. Coming too
close to yourself in subjective time is dangerous. Be-
sides it's draining for both dragon and rider. You don't
need to time it, young Jaxom. You'll have time enough
for all you need to do."

N'ton's words caused Jaxom to recall the inexplicable
weakness that had overcome him in the Hatching
Ground. Was it possible that at that very moment—

"I don't think you can have realized, Jaxom,"
Robinton began, interrupting Jaxon's thoughts, "just
how critical matters are in Pem right now. And you

should know."

"If you mean about the egg-stealing, Master Robin-
ton, and how close it came to dragon attacking dragon,
I was in Benden Weyr that morning ..."

"Were you?" Robinton was mildly surprised and
shook his head as if he ought not to have forgotten.
"Then you can guess at Lessa's temper today. If
that egg hadn't hatched properly ..."

"But the egg was returned. Master Robinton." Jaxom
was confused. Why would Lessa still be upset?

"Yes," the Harper replied, "apparently not every-
one in Southern was blind to the consequences of the
theft. But Lessa is not appeased."

"An insult was given Benden Weyr, and Ramoth
and Lessa," N'ton said.

"Dragons can't fight dragons!" Jaxom was appalled.
"That's why the egg was returned." If his risk and
Ruth's injury had been futile ...

"Our Lessa is a woman of strong emotions, Jaxom
—revenge being one of those most highly developed
in her. Remember how you came to be Lord here?"
Robinton's expression indicated regret for reminding
Jaxom of his origin. "I do not belittle the Benden
Weyrwoman when I say that. Such perseverance in
the face of incredible odds is laudable. But her te-
nacity over the insult could have a disastrous effect on

128

The White Dragon

all Pem. So far, reason has prevailed but currently
that balance is shaky indeed."

Jaxom nodded, perceiving that he could never
admit to his part, relieved that he had not blurted out
his adventure to Lytol. No one must ever know that
he, Jaxom, had returned the egg. Particularly Lessa.
He sent a silent command to Ruth, who drowsily re-
plied that he was too tired to talk to anyone about
anything and couldn't he please sleep?

"Yes," Jaxom said in reply to Robinton, "I quite
understand the need for discretion."

"There is another event," Robinton's mobile face
drew into a sorrowful grimace as he sought the proper
word, "an event which will shortly compound our
problems." He glanced at N'ton. "D'ram."

"I think you're right, Robinton," the bronze rider
said. "He's unlikely to remain Weyrleader if Fauna
dies."

. "If? I'm afraid we must say when. And, according
to what Master Oldive told me, the sooner it hap-
pens, the kinder it will be."

"I didn't know that Fanna was ill," Jaxom said, and
his thoughts leaped ahead to the sorrowful knowledge
that Fanna's queen, Mirath, would suicide when her
Weyrwoman died. A queen's death would upset every
dragon—and Lessa and Ramoth!

Lytol's expression was bleak, as it always was
whenever he was reminded of his own dragon's death.
Jaxom swallowed the remainder of his pride and dis-
may about apprenticing as a weyrling; he would never
risk injuring Ruth again.

"Fanna's been declining gradually," Robinton was
saying, "a wasting sickness that nothing seems to halt.
Master Oldive is at Ista with her now."

"Yes, his fire-lizard will summon me when he's
ready to leave. I want to be available to D'ram," N'ton
said.

"Fire-lizards, yes, hmmm," said Robinton. "An-
other sore subject at Benden Weyr." He glanced at
his bronze, perched contentedly on his shoulder. "I
felt naked without Zair at that Hatching. Upon my

129




The White Dragon

word!" He stared at his somnolent bronze, then over to
N'ton's Tris, drowsy-eyed on the rider's arm. "They've
calmed down!"

"Ruth's here," N'ton said, stroking Tris. "They feel
safe with him."

"No, that isn't it," Menolly said, her eyes resting on
Jaxom's face. "They were worried even with Ruth.
But that wild restlessness is gone. No more visions of
the egg!" She peered sideways at her little queen. "I
suppose that makes sense. It's Hatched and healthy.
Whatever was plaguing them hasn't happened. Or,"
she stared at Jaxom suddenly, "or has it?"

Jaxom affected surprise and confusion.

"They were worried about the egg hatching, Me-
nolly?" Robinton asked. "Too bad we can't tell Lessa
how concerned they've all been. It might help restore
them to her good graces."

"I think it's high time something was done about
fire-lizards," Menolly said severely.

"My dear girl . . ." Robinton was surprised.

"I don't mean ours, Master Robinton. They've
proved to be extremely useful. Too many people take
them for granted and make no effort to train them."
She gave a peculiar laugh. "As Jaxom can vouch.
They congregate wherever Ruth goes till he's driven
between by their attentions. Isn't that right, Jaxom?"
There was a strange quality about her gaze that puz-
zled him.

"I wouldn't say he objects . . . most of the time,
Menolly," he replied coolly, casually stretching his long
legs under the table. "But a fellow likes a little time to
himself, you know."

Lytol gave a knowing snort which told Jaxom that
Brand had had a word with the Warder about Corana.

"Why? To chew firestone?" N'ton asked, grinning.

"Was that what you were doing with your . . . time,
Jaxom?" Menolly asked him, her eyes wide, affecting
innocent inquiry.

"You might say so."

"Do the fire-lizards really present you with prob-

130

The White Dragon

lems?" Robinton asked, "in their preference for Ruth's
company?"

"Well, sir," Jaxom replied, "no matter where we go,
every fire-lizard in the vicinity pops in to see Ruth.
Generally it's no bother because they keep Ruth
amused if I'm busy with Hold matters."

"They wouldn't by any chance have told Ruth why
they've been troubled? Or did you know about those

images?" Robinton leaned forward, eager to have
Jaxom's answer.

"You mean fire-lizards being flamed? The dark
nothingness and the egg? Oh yes, they've been driving
Ruth frantic with that nonsense," said Jaxom. He
scowled as if annoyed for his friend, and was careful
not to look in Menolly's direction. "But that seems to
have passed. Perhaps the disturbance was connected
with the stolen egg. But it's hatched now and look,
they're not the least bit as agitated as they've been,
and they're letting Ruth sleep by himself again."

"Where were you when the egg was being Hatched?"
Menolly pounced on Jaxom so swiftly with her ques-
tion that Robinton and N'ton regarded her with sur-
prise.

"Why," and Jaxom laughed as he touched his scored
cheek, "trying to sear Thread!"

His ready answer threw Menolly into quiet con-
fusion while Robinton, Lytol and N'ton all had another
go at him for his foolhardiness. He endured the scold-
ing in good part because it kept Menolly from plagu-
ing him. She'd been suspicious after all. He wished
that he could tell her the truth. Of all the people on
Pern, she was the only one he could trust now that he
knew how infinitely wiser it was to let everyone else
believe a Southern dragonrider had returned the egg.
He was discontented, though, because it would be a

relief, a pleasure, to be able to tell someone what he'd
done.

Food was served them and they kept the discussions
to the problem of the fire-lizards—whether they were
more nuisance than valuable—until Jaxom pointed
out that everyone about the table was converted. What

131

The White Dragon

they needed was a way to pacify Lessa and Ramoth.

"Ramoth will forget her aggravation soon enough,"
N'ton said.

"Lessa won't, although I doubt there'll be that much
reason for me to send Zair to Benden Weyr."

As N'ton and Lytol vigorously reassured the Harper,
Jaxom realized there was a curious restraint about the
man, an odd note in his voice when he mentioned
Benden or the Weyrwoman. Robinton wasn't wor-
ried simply that Lessa had prohibited fire-lizards at

Benden.

"There's another aspect of this affair that is nagging
at the back of my overactive imagination," Robinton
said. "The matter has brought Southern to everyone's

attention."

"Why is that a problem?" Lytol asked.

Robinton took a sip of his wine, delaying his an-
swer as he savored the taste. "Just this: these recent
events have made everyone realize that that huge con-
tinent is occupied by a mere-handful of people."

"So?"

"I know some restless Lord Holders whose halls are
crowded, whose cots are jammed. And the Weyrs, in-
stead of protecting the inviolability of the Southern
Continent, were half-set to force their way in. What's to
prevent the Lord Holders from taking the initiative
and claiming whole portions of it?"

"There wouldn't be dragons enough to protect that
much area, that's what," Lytol said. "The Oldtimers

surely wouldn't."

"They don't really need dragonriders in the South,"

Robinton said slowly.

Lytol stared at him, aghast at such a statement.

"It's true," he said. "The land is thoroughly sowed
by grubs. Traders have told me that they more or less
ignore Falls; Holder Toric just makes certain every-
one's safe and all stock is under cover."

'^There will come a time when no dragonriders will
be needed in the North either," N'ton said, slowly,
compounding Lytol's shock.

"Dragonriders will always be needed on Pern while

132

The White Dragon

there is Thread!" Lytol emphasized his conviction by
banging the table with his fist.

"At least in our lifetimes," Robinton said soothingly.
"But I could have wished less interest in Southern.
Think it over, Lytol."

"More of your thinking ahead, Robinton?" Lytol
asked, a sour note in his voice and a jaundiced ex-
pression on his face.

"Looking ahead is far more constructive than look-
ing behind," said Robinton. He held his clenched fist
up. "I'd all the facts in my grasp and I couldn't see the
water for the waves."

"You've been down to the Southern Continent often,

Masterharper?"

Robinton gave Lytol a long considering look. "I
have. Discreetly, I assure you. There are some things
that must be seen to be believed."

"Such as?"

Robinton idly stroked Zair as he gazed out, over
Lytol's head, at some distant view.

"Mind you, there are times when looking back can
be helpful," he said and then turned back to the Lord
Warder. "Are you aware that we originally, all of us,
came from the Southern Continent?"

Lytol's first surprise at such a sudden turn of the
conversation melded into a thoughtful frown. "Yes,
that was implicit in the oldest Records."

"I've often wondered if there aren't older Records,
laddering somewhere in the South."

Lytol snorted at the notion. "Moldering is right.
There'd be nothing left after so many thousands of
Turns."

"They had ways of tempering metal, those ancestors
of ours, ways that made it impervious to rust and
wear. Those plates found at Fort Weyr, the instruments,
like the long-distance viewer that fascinates Wansor
and Fandarel. I don't believe that time can have
erased all traces of such clever people."

Jaxom glanced at Menolly, recalling hints that she'd
let slip. Her eyes were sparkling with suppressed ex-
citement She knew something that the Harper wasn't

133

The White Dragon

saying. Jaxom looked then at the Fort Weyrleader and
realized that N'ton knew all about this.

"The Southern Continent was ceded to the dissident
Oldtimers," Lytol said heavily.

"And they have already broken their side of the

agreement," N'ton said.

"Is that any reason for us to break ours?" Lytol
asked, drawing his shoulders back and scowling at

both Weyrleader and Harper.

"They occupy only a small tongue of land, jutting
out into the Southern Sea," said Robinton in his
smooth way. "They have been unaware of any activity

elsewhere."

"You've already been exploring in the South?"

"Judiciously. Judiciously."
"And you'd not have your . . . judicious intrusions

discovered?"

"No," answered Robinton slowly. "I shall make the

knowledge public soon enough. I don't want every dis-
gruntled apprentice and evicted small holder running
about indiscriminately, destroying what should be pre-
served because they haven't the wit to understand it."

"What have you discovered so far?"

"Old mine workings, shored up with lightweight but
so durable a material that it is as unscratched today as
when it was put in place in the shaft. Tools, powered
by who can guess—bits and pieces that not even young

Beneiek can assemble."

There was a long silence which Lytol broke with a
snort. "Harpers! Harpers are supposed to instruct the

young."

"And first and foremost, to preserve our heritage!"

134

CHAPTER VIII

Ruatha Hold, Fort Weyr, Fidello's Hold,
15.6.3-15.6.17

JAXOM WAS DISAPPOINTED that all Lytol's coaxing
could not draw more facts from the Harper about his
explorations in the South. At the point where Jaxom's
fatigue made it difficult for him to keep his eyes open,
it occurred to him that Robinton had indeed succeeded
in rousing Lytol to support his and N'ton's desire to
keep interest in the South to a minimum.

Jaxom's last waking thought was one of admiration
for the Harper's devious methods. No wonder he had
not objected to Jaxom training with N'ton when he saw
Lytol was in favor of it. The Harper needed the older
man as the Lord Holder at Ruatha. Training Ruth to
chew firestone kept the young Lord from wanting to
take Hold in Lytol's place.

The next morning Jaxom was positive that he
couldn't have moved during the night. He was bindingly
stiff, his face and shoulder stung with the Threadscore
and that reminded him of Ruth's injury. With no re-
gard for his own discomfort, he whipped aside the
furs and, grabbing the numbweed pot as he went,
burst into Ruth's weyr.

The faintest rumble told him that the white dragon
was still sound asleep. He also seemed not to have
moved for his leg was propped in the same position.

13?




The White Dragon

That made it easier for Jaxom to work and he smeared
a new coating of numbweed along the line of the score.
Only then did it occur to Jaxom that he and Ruth
might have to wait until they'd healed before they could
join the weyrlings at Fort Weyr.

Lytol did not share his thought. The reason Jaxom
was going to Fort Weyr was to avoid scoring, to learn
how to take care of his dragon and himself during
Threadfall. If he got teased because he hadn't ducked
fast enough, he deserved it. So, after breaking his fast,
Jaxom flew Ruth to the Weyr.

Fortunately two of those in training were near his
own age of eighteen Turns—not that being older would
have bothered Jaxom as long as he could train Ruth
properly. He did have to suppress the insidious urge to
excuse Ruth's scoring with the real reason for the sup-
posed clumsiness. He took refuge in knowing that he
had achieved more than they'd ever guess—a small
consolation.

His first problem in the weyrling class was to
relieve Ruth of the embarrassment of the endless fire-
lizards that settled on him. No sooner was one group
dislodged and sent off than another appeared, to the
disgust and exasperation of K'nebel, the weyrlingmaster.

"Does this go on all day wherever you are?" the man
asked Jaxom irritably.

"More or less. They just . . . come. Especially since
. . . what happened at Benden Weyr."

K'nebel snorted his aggravation even as he nodded
his understanding. "I don't like to put truth to these
notions that dragons flamed fire-lizards, but you'll never
get Ruth going if the fire-lizards don't leave him alone.
And if they don't leave him alone, one of 'em will get
flamed!"

So Jaxom had Ruth shoo the fire-lizards away
as quickly as they arrived. It took time before Ruth
remained unencumbered for any appreciable period.
Then, either all the fire-lizards in the vicinity had
looked in, or Ruth had been sufficiently firm and the
rest of the morning's class was undisrupted.

Despite all the interruptions, K'nebel kept the weyr-

136

The White Dragon

lings working until the noonday meal was called.
Jaxom was invited to stay and, as a mark of his rank,
was shown to the large table reserved for senior dragon-
riders.

The conversation was dominated by continued
speculation about the return of the egg and which one
of the queen riders had returned it. The discussions
served to reinforce Jaxom's decision to remain silent.
He cautioned Ruth, needlessly, it appeared since the
white dragon was more interested in chewing firestone
and dodging Thread than in past events.

The fire-lizards about him had lost all their previous
agitation. Their primary concern now was eating, the
secondary one was their hides. With the advent of the
warmer weather, they had begun shedding and were
plagued by itching. The images they projected to
Ruth no longer had alarming content.

Since he was engaged at Fort Weyr in the mornings,
Jaxom had to forego the classes at the Harper and
Smith crafthalls. That meant he wouldn't have to en-
dure Menolly's tendency to ask searching questions,
and he was well pleased. He was also heartily amused
when he realized that Lytol was leaving him several
uncommitted hours in the afternoons. Obligingly he
and Ruth took off for the Plateau Hold to see bow the
new wheat was prospering—of course.

Corana was about the hold these days since her
brother's wife was near her time. When she showed a
pretty concern for his healing score, he did not abuse
her notion that he'd acquired it in a legitimate Fall,
protecting the Hold from Thread. She rewarded him
for that protection in a fashion that embarrassed him
even as it relieved him. He'd as soon save his favors for
honest endeavor. But he couldn't be annoyed with her
when, in the languor that followed their pleasure,
she made several references to fire-lizards and asked
if he'd ever had a chance to find a clutch when he was
fighting Thread.

"Every beach in the North is well staked," he told
her and, noting her intense disappointment, added,

137

The White Dragon

"Of course, there are lots of empty beaches in the
Southern Continent!"

"Could you fly in on your Ruth without those Old-
timers knowing?" Clearly Corana knew little of the
most recent events, another relief to Jaxom, who was
beginning to be bored by the Weyr's preoccupation
with that topic.

Fly in on Ruth made the whole thing seem simple
enough; especially as Ruth would not upset strange fire-
lizards since he had apparently made friends with

them all.

"I suppose I could." His hesitation was due to the
complications of planning an absence long enough to
allow him to go South. Corana misconstrued what he
said, and again, he was too tenderhearted and too
gratified to correct her.

As he and Ruth winged homeward from the Plateau,
it occurred to Jaxom that the ripples from his initial
outburst just a short while ago were still spreading. He
had finally achieved proper training for Ruth and, if he
hadn't taken Hold, at least he was finally enjoying
more of the prerogatives of a Lord Holder. He grinned,
savoring Corana's sweetness. Judging by her sister's
warm welcome, he assumed the Plateau Hold would not
object to a half-blooded addition. Success in that area
would do him no harm in the eyes of Lord Holders.
He considered bringing Corana to the Hold, but decided
against it. That would be unfair to the other fosterlings
and cause trouble for Brand and Lytol. It wasn't as if
he didn't have Ruth and couldn't come and go at his
leisure and speedily. Furthermore, if he brought Corana
to his quarters, she'd demand more of his attention
at Ruth's expense than he was willing to give.

The third afternoon he went to the Plateau Hold,
Fidello's wife was in labor and Corana too distracted to
do more than beg his pardon for the fuss and excite-
ment. He asked if they wished the Hold's healer, but
Fidello said that one of his dependents was skillful in
such matters and had said that his wife would have no
trouble with the birth. Jaxom made all the appropriate

138

The White Dragon

remarks, then left, feeling slightly put off by this
unanticipated obstacle to his expectations.

Why are you laughing? Ruth asked as they winged
back to the Hold.

"Because I'm a fool, Ruth. I'm a fool."
7 don't think you are. She makes you feel good, not
a fool.

"That's why I'm a fool now, silly dragon. I went
up there expecting . . . expecting to feel good and she's
too busy. And only a few sevendays ago I wouldn't have
dreamed I'd be as lucky with her. That's why I'm a
fool now, Ruth."

1 will always love you, was Ruth's reply because he
felt that was the response Jaxom needed.

Jaxom reassuringly caressed his dragon's neck ridge,
but he couldn't suppress his self-deprecatory mirth. He
discovered a second obstacle when he returned to the
Hold. Lytol informed him that the remainder of
Ramoth's clutch would probably Hatch the next day,
and that Jaxom would have to put in an appearance at
Benden. The Lord Warder peered intently at Jaxom's
healed score and nodded.

"Do try to keep out of the Weyrieaders' sight. They'd
know at a glance what that was," Lytol said. "No
sense advertising your folly."

Jaxom privately thought the scar gave him a more
mature appearance but he promised Lytol he'd stay well
away from Lessa and F'lar.

,   Jaxom rather enjoyed Hatchings, more so when Lytol
was not present. He felt guilty about that but he knew
that, at each Hatching, painful memories of Lytol's
beloved Larth tortured the man.

News of the imminent Hatching came to Fort
Weyr while Jaxom was flying wing tip in weyrling Fall
practice. He finished the maneuver, begged the weyr-
lingmaster's pardon and took Ruth between to Ruatha
so that he could change into proper clothing. Lytol
along with Menolly's Rocky reached him at the same
moment and requested that he collect Menolly, since
Robinton was already at Ista Weyr with the Harper-
hall's dragon and rider.

139

The White Dragon

Jaxom put a good face on the request since he could
think of no excuse to refuse. Well, he'd hurry her out
of the Hall and into the Weyr so quickly that she
wouldn't have time to ask any questions.

When he and Ruth arrived at the Harpercrafthall,
Ruth bellowing his name to the watchdragon on the
fire-heights, Jaxom became furious. Why, there were
enough Fort Weyr dragons on the meadow to take
half the Hall. Why hadn't she asked one of them? He
was determined that she wouldn't have a chance to
nag at him and asked Ruth peremptorily to tell her
fire-lizards that he was here and waiting in the meadow.
He had barely formed the words in his mind when
Menolly came dashing out of the archway toward him,
Beauty, Rocky and Diver chittering in circles above her
head. She began shrugging into her riding jacket, awk-
wardly juggling something from one hand to the other.

"Get down, Jaxom," she ordered imperiously. "I
can't do it when your back's to me."

"Do what?"

"This!" She held up one hand to show him a small
pot. "Get down."

"Why?"

"Don't be dense. You're wasting time. This is to
cover that scar. You don't want Lessa and F'lar to
see it, do you, and ask awkward questions? Come
down! Or we'll be late. And you're not supposed to
time it, are you?" She added the last comment as he still
hesitated, not altogether reassured by her altruism.

"I've got my hair brushed over—"

"You'll forget and push it back," she said, gesturing
him to do so now as she unscrewed the pot lid. "I got
Oldive to make some without scent. There. Only takes
a dab." She had applied it to his face and then brushed
the residue on the skin of his wrist above his glove.
"See? It blends in." She stared critically at him. "Yes,
that does the trick. No one would ever know you've
been scored." Then she chuckled. "What does Corana
think of your scar?"

"Corana?"

"Don't glare at me. Get up on Ruth. We'll be late.

140

The White Dragon

Very clever of you, Jaxom, to cultivate Corana.
You'd've made a good harper with your wits."

Jaxom mounted his dragon, furious with her but
determined not to rise to her lure. It was just like
her to find out such things, hoping to aggravate him.
Well, she wasn't going to succeed.

"Thanks for thinking of the salve, Menolly," he said
when he got his voice under control. "It certainly
wouldn't do to annoy Lessa right now, and I do have
to be at this Hatching."

"Indeed you do."

Her tone was loaded but he'd no time to figure out
what she meant as Ruth took them up and, with no
further direction, between to Benden Weyr. No, he

wouldn't let her rouse him. But she was bloody clever,
this Harper girl.

Ruth came out of between midsyllable. "... uth.
I'm Ruth. I'm Ruth."

Which reminded Jaxom and he twisted his head
about to look at Menolly's left shoulder.
"Don't worry. They're safely in Brekke's weyr."
"All of them?"

"Shells, no, Jaxom. Only Beauty and the three
bronzes. She may be mating soon and the boys won't

leave her alone for a moment." Menolly chuckled
again.

"Are all that clutch spoken for?"

"What? Count the eggs before they're laid? Not at
all!" Menolly sounded repressive. "Why? You don't
want one, do you?"

"Not I."

Menolly burst out laughing at his telling re-
joinder and he groaned. Well, let her have her laugh.

"What would I do with a fire-lizard?" he went on
to settle her. "I promised Corana I'd see if I could
get one for her. She's been very . . . kind to me, you

know." He was rewarded by the sound of Menolly's
gulp of surprise.

Then she smacked him across the shoulder blade
with her closed fist and he winced, then ducked away
from her.

141




The White Dragon

"Leave off, Menolly! I've a score on that shoulder,
too." He spoke with more irritation than he meant
and then cursed himself for reminding her of what he
avoided mentioning.

"I am sorry, Jaxom," she said with such contrition
that Jaxom was mollified. "How much scoring did
you get?"

"Face, shoulder and thigh."

She caught at his other shoulder. "Listen! They're
thrumming wildly. And, look, there are candidates
entering the Hatching Ground. Can we fly right in?"

Jaxom directed Ruth in through the upper entrance
of the Hatching Ground. Bronzes were still bearing
visitors to the Ground. As Ruth entered, Jaxom found
his gaze going immediately to the spot by the arch
where he and Ruth had transferred to return the egg.
He felt a sudden surge of pride at his feat.

"I see Robinton, Jaxom. There on the fourth tier.
Near the Istan colors. Would you sit with us, Jaxom?"
There was an entreaty in her tone, and a slight em-
phasis that puzzled Jaxom. Who wouldn't want to sit
with the Masterharper of Pern?

Ruth angled close to the tier, catching at the ledge
with his claws and hovering long enough to permit
Menolly and Jaxom to dismount.

As Jaxom settled his tunic before seating himself,
he got a good long look at Master Robinton. He
could understand Menolly's entreaty. The Harper
seemed different. Oh, he had greeted Jaxom and
Menolly brightly enough with a smile for his journey-
man and a buffet on the shoulder for Jaxom but he
had turned back to his own thoughts which, to judge
by his expression, were sad. The Masterharper of
Pern had a long face, generally mobile with quick
expressions and reaction. Now, while the Harper ap-
parently watched the progress of the young candidates
as they moved across the warm sands of the Hatching
Ground, his face was lined, his deep-set eyes shad-
owed with fatigue and worry, the skin of his cheeks
and chin sagged. He looked old, tired, and bereft.
Jaxom was appalled and looked quickly away, avoid-

142

The White Dragon

ing Menolly's gaze because his thoughts must have
been all too apparent to the observant Harper girl.

Master Robinton old? Tired, worried, yes. But age-
ing? A cold emptiness assailed Jaxom's innards. Pern
deprived of the humor and wisdom of the Master
Harper? Even harder to contemplate was being with-
out his vision and eager curiosity. Resentment
replaced the sense of loss as Jaxom found himself,
loyal to Robinton's precepts, trying to rationalize this
wave of unpalatable reflection.

An urgent thrumming brought his attention back to
the Hatching Ground. He'd been to enough Hatchings
to realize that Ramoth's presence, when there was no
queen egg, was unusual; her attitude was daunting.
He wouldn't have wanted to brave her red whirling
eyes, or the stabs of her head as she kept poking to-
ward the oncoming candidates. Instead of fanning out
so that they loosely circled the rocking eggs, the boys
were in a tight group, as if that way they stood a bet-
ter chance against her attentions.

"I don't envy them," Menolly said to Jaxom in an
undertone.

"Will she let them Impress, sir?" Jaxom asked the
head from side to side. What if, Jaxom thought with
a pang of cold in his guts, Ruth had not found me
suitable? Almost all the candidates had left the
Ground when he'd freed Ruth from the overhard
shell.

The searching dragonet stumbled, its nose burying
into the warm sand. It righted itself, sneezed and cried
again. Ramoth called out in warning and the boys
nearest her retreated hurriedly. One of them, a dark-
haired, long-legged lad whose bony knees were
scarred, almost stumbled over the little brown. He
caught himself with a wild flailing of his arms, started
to back away and then halted, staring at the brown
dragon. Impression occurred!

I was there. You were there. We are now together,
said Ruth, responding to Jaxom's emotion at that
scene. Jaxom blinked away an excess of moisture that

143




The White Dragon

collected in his eyes at that reaffirmation of their

bond.

"It's all over so soon," Menolly said, her voice

petulant with regret. "I wish it wouldn't all happen

in such a rush!"

"I'd say we'd had quite an afternoon," Robinton
stated, gesturing toward Ramoth. The queen was now
glowering at the retreating pairs and shifting from

foreleg to foreleg.

"D'you suppose now that they're all safely Hatched
and Impressed, her temper will improve?" Menolly

asked.

"And Lessa's as well?" Robinton's lips twitched to
suppress his amusement. "No doubt once Ramoth can
be persuaded to eat, both will feel more charitable."

"I hope so." Menolly's reply was low and fervent,
not meant, Jaxom thought, to be heard by Robinton,
for the Harper had turned to the back of the tiers,
evidently looking for someone.

Robinton had heard, however, and gave his jour-
neyman a warm grin. "Too bad we can't postpone this
meeting until the happy restoration has occurred."
Harper, momentarily forgetting his awareness of the

man's mortality.

"You'd think she was inspecting each one to see if
he smelled of the Southern Weyr, wouldn't you?" the
Harper replied, his voice light with humor.

Jaxom glanced at him and wondered if there hadn't
been some unflattering trick of lighting for the Harper
grinned with mischief, very much his customary self.

"I'm not sure I'd care for such a scrutiny right
now," he added, giving his left eyebrow a quirk up-
ward.

Menolly coughed, her eyes dancing. Jaxom sup-
posed they'd been South recently and wondered what

they had learned.

Shells, he thought, in a sudden sweaty panic, the

Southerners knew that none of them had returned the
egg. Suppose Robinton had found that out?

An angry hiss from the Hatching Ground brought
such a reaction from the audience that Jaxom quickly

144

The White Dragon

transferred his attention. One of the eggs had split,
but Ramoth had moved so protectively over it that
none of the candidates dared approach. Mnementh
bellowed from his ledge outside and the bronzes within
thrummed. Ramoth's head went up, her wings, shim-
mering gold and green, extended and she warbled
a defiant answer. The other bronzes answered her in
conciliating tones but Mnementh's bugle was clearly
an order.

Ramoth is very upset, Ruth said to Jaxom. The
white dragon had discreetly retired to a sunny spot
by the Bowl lake. His absence did not keep him from
knowing what was happening within the Ground.
Mnementh tells her she is being silly. The eggs must
Hatch; the Hatchlings must make Impression. Then
she will not have to worry about them again. They
will be safe with men.

The croon of the bronzes deepened and Ramoth,
still protesting an inevitable cycle of life, stepped
slowly away from the eggs. Whereupon one of the
older boys who had bravely led the first rank bowed
formally to her and then stepped up to the split egg
from which a young bronze was emerging, squealing
as it tried to balance itself on wobbly legs.

"That boy has good presence of mind," Robinton
said, nodding his approbation. He was intent on the
scene below. "Just what Ramoth needed, that cour-
tesy. Her eyes are slowing and she's retracting her
wings. Good. Good!"

Following the example set, two more of the older
candidates bowed to Ramoth and moved quickly to-
ward eggs that had begun rocking violently with the
efforts of the Hatchlings to pierce their shells. If sub-
sequent obeisances were jerky or skimped, Ramoth
had been mollified although she emitted curious little
barks as each dragonet made its Impression.

"Look, he got the bronze! He deserved him!"
Robinton said, applauding, as the newly linked pair
moved toward the entrance of the Ground.

"Who's the lad?" Menolly asked.

«

14?




The White Dragon

"From Telgar Hold; he's got the build and coloring

of the old Lord—and his wits."

"Young Kirnety from Fort Hold has another
bronze," Menolly reported, delighted. "I told you he'd

do it."

"I have been wrong before and will be again, my

dear girl. Infallibility would be a bore," Master
Robinton replied equably. "Are there any lads here

from Ruatha, Jaxom?"

"Two, but I can't recognize them from this angle."
"It's a good-sized clutch," Robinton replied. "Plenty

to choose from."

Jaxom was watching five boys who had circled one

large egg covered with green splotches. He caught his
breath as the dragonet's head emerged, turning to look
at each of the boys as it shook shell fragments from
its body. "And many boys disappointed," Jaxom said
as the little brown dragon pushed past the five boys,
out into the sands, crooning piteously, swinging its

"Can't I come with you this once?"

"To protect me, Menolly?". The Harper gripped her
by the shoulder, smiling affectionately. "No, it's not a
general meeting and I cannot offend by including

you."

"He can come . . ." Menolly jerked her thumb at I

Jaxom, glaring at him with resentment.                 (

"I can what?"
"You hadn't learned from Lytol that a meeting's

been called after the Impression?" the Harper asked.

"Ruatha must attend."

"They couldn't exclude you as Masterharper," said

Menolly in a tight voice.

"Why would they?" Jaxom asked, surprised by

Menolly's uncharacteristic defensiveness.

"Because, you dim glow . .."

"That's enough, Menolly. I appreciate your con-
cern, but all things come to pass in the fullness of
time. My head is neither bloodied or bowed. Once
Ramoth has killed, I'll have no fear of being dragon
bait, either." Robinton patted her shoulder, reassur-
ingly.

146

The White Dragon

The queen was making her way out of the Hatch-
ing Ground and, as they watched, she took wing.

"There, you see. She's gone to feed," the Harper
said. "I have nothing to fear anymore."

Menolly gave him a long sardonic look. "I just
wish I could be with you, that's all."

"I know. Ah, Fandarel," The Harper raised his
voice and waved to catch the eye of the big Master-
smith. "Come, Lord Jaxom, we've business in the
Council Chamber."

This must be what Lytol had meant by his being
required to attend the Hatching. But oughtn't Lytol to
have been there if the meeting was as important as
Menolly intimated? Jaxom was flattered by his guard-
ian's confidence.

The two Masters, having met on their way down
the tiers, attached other Craftmasters who nodded
greetings with more solemnity than a Hatching gen-
erally occasioned. Menolly's hint that this was to be
an unusual meeting was reinforced. Again Jaxom
wondered that Lytol was not here. He had, Jaxom
knew, agreed to support Robinton.

"Thought Ramoth was going to prevent Impression
for a moment there," Fandarel said, nodding at
Jaxom. "Hear you've deserted me for your favorite
pastime, huh, lad?"

"Training only. Master Fandarel. All dragons
must leam to chew firestone."

"Upon my soul," Masterminer Nicat exclaimed.
"Never thought he'd live long enough to do that."

Jaxom caught the Masterharper's warning expres-
sion as he was about to reply with some heat, and
rephrased his answer. "Ruth is very good at it, thank
you."

"One forgets the passage of time, Master Nicat,"
Robinton said, smoothly, "and that growth and ma-
turity come to those we remember first as very young.
Ah, Andemon, how are you today?" The Harper
beckoned to the Masterfarmer to join them as they
made their way across the hot sands.

Nicat fell in beside Jaxom, chuckling. "Teaching




The White Dragon

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 eyes 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 com-
plaints. 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 men-
tion 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 sor-
row. 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

148

The White -Dragon

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 de-
mands 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 watch-
dragon 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 Thread-
fall 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 Master Harper'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
comer 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

149

The White Dragon

glimpse of the Masterharper's ageing, he was shocked
by the change in D'ram's .appearance. The man
seemed to have shrunk in the past Turn to a husk,
dried up and frail. The Istan Weyrleader's step was
jerky and his shoulders rounded.

Lessa rose in one of her swift graceful gestures
and went to meet the Istan, her hands outstretched,
her expression unexpectedly compassionate. Jaxom
had had the impression that she had been totally
immersed in her brooding. Now, all her attention was
centered on D'ram.

"We're all assembled as you asked, D'ram," Lessa
said, pulling him to the chair beside her and pouring
him a cup of wine.

D'ram thanked her for the wine and welcome, took
a sip but, instead of seating himself, he turned to face
the meeting. Jaxom could see that his face was marred
by lines of fatigue as well as of age.

"Most of you already know my situation and
Fanna's . . . illness," he said in a low hesitant voice.
He cleared his throat, took a deep breath. "I wish to
step down now as Istan Weyrleader. None of our
queens is due to mate but I have no heart to continue
longer. My Weyr has agreed. G'dened," and D'ram
indicated the man who had accompanied him, "has
led the past ten Falls on his Barnath. I should have
stepped down sooner but . . ." he shook his head,
smiling sadly, "we so hoped the illness would pass."
He straightened his shoulders with an effort. "Caylith
is oldest queen and Cosira a good Weyrwoman.
Barnath has flown Caylith already and there's been a
large strong clutch to prove them." Now he hesitated,
glancing warily at Lessa. "It was the custom in the
Oldtime, when a Weyr was leaderless, -to throw open
the first queen's flight in that Weyr to all young bronzes.
In this fashion a new leader was fairly chosen.
I would invoke that custom now." He said it almost
belligerently and yet his manner toward Lessa was en-
treating.

"You must be very sure of G'dened's Barnath then,"

1?0

The White Dragon

R'mart of Telgar Weyr said in a disgusted tone of
voice that rose over the startled murmurs.

G'dened, grinning broadly, managed to avoid
meeting anyone's glance.

"I want the best leadership for Ista," D'ram said,
stiffly, resenting R'mart's implication of a token flight.
"G'dened has proved his competence to my satisfac-
tion. But he ought to prove it to everyone's."

"That's fairly put." F'lar rose to his feet, holding up
his hands for silence. "I don't doubt G'dened has a
good chance, R'mart, but D'ram's offer is exceedingly
generous at this critical time. I'll inform all my bronze
riders but I, for one, will permit only those whose
dragons haven't yet had a chance to mate with a
queen. I don't think it's fair to pile too many odds
against Barnath, now is it?"

"Isn't Caylith a Benden queen?" Lord Corman of
Keroon Hold asked.

"No, she's one of Mirath's laying. Pirith is the
Benden Hatched queen."

"CayUth's an Oldtimer queen?"

"Caylith is an Istan queen," Flar said firmly but
quickly.

"And G'dened?"

"I was born in the old time," the man said in a
quiet voice but the expression he turned to Lord
Corman bore no trace of apology.

"He is also a son of D'ram," Lord Warbret of
Ista Hold said, speaking directly to Lord Corman as if
that qualification should ease the Holder's tacit ob-
jection. .

"Good man. Good blood," Corman replied, not at
all ruffled.

"His leadership is in question, not his bloodline,"
F'lar said. "The custom is a good one ..."

Jaxom clearly heard someone remark that it was
the only good Oldtime custom he'd ever heard about,
and he hoped that the low whisper hadn't carried
far.

"D'ram would be within his right to keep to the
Weyr for leadership," F'lar continued, addressing the

1?1

The White Dragon

craftmasters and Lord Holders. "I, for one, deeply
appreciate his offer and the willingness of the Weyr to
open the mating flight."

"I only want the best leadership for my Weyr,"
D'ram repeated. "This is the only way to be certain
Ista gets it. The only way, the only right way."

Jaxom suppressed the urge to cheer and glanced
about the room, willing the reactions to be favorable.
All the Weyrleaders seemed to agree. As they should,
since one of their riders might gain from it. Jaxom
hoped that G'dened's Barnath would fly Caylith any-
how. That would prove there was good metal in the
younger Oldtimers. No one would be able to say any-
thing against Ista leadership once it was proved by
competition!

"I have stated Ista's intention," D'ram said, raising
his tired voice over the murmur of individual conver-
sations. "It is the will of my Weyr. I must go back
now. My duty to you, Lords, Masters, Weyrleaders,

all."

He gave a quick sweeping nod to everyone, bowed
more formally to Lessa, who rose, touched his arm in
sympathy and let him pass.

To Jaxom's surprise and elation, everyone rose as
D'ram left, but the Istan Weyrleader's head remained
down. Jaxom wondered if he'd been aware of that
spontaneous show of respect and felt a lump rise in
his throat.

"I will take my leave as well, in case I'm needed,"
G'dened said, bowing formally to Benden's leaders and
the others.

"G'dened?" Lessa incorporated a wealth of ques-
tion in his name.

The man shook his head slowly. "I will inform all
the Weyrs when Caylith is ready to fly." He quickly
followed D'ram.

As the sound of his footsteps diminished down
the corridor, voices began to rise. The Lord Holders
weren't certain they approved of such an innovation.
The Craftmasters were apparently divided, though
Jaxom rather thought Robinton had known of D'ram's

152

The White Dragon

decision and was neutral. The Weyrleaders expressed
complete satisfaction.

"Hope Fanna doesn't expire today," Jaxom heard
a Craftmaster murmur to his neighbor. "A death at a
Hatching is a bad sign."

"Besides spoiling the feast. I wonder just how
strong G'dened's bronze is. Now if a Benden bronze
rider got into Ista ..."

Speaking of the feast reminded Jaxom that his
stomach was roiling for lack of food. He'd been up
early for his training as usual, and had had no more
than time to change into good clothing at his Hold so
he began to sidle to the exit. He could always coax a
meatroll or a sweetbread from one of the Lower Cav-
ern women to stay his hunger.

"Is this all the meeting there is?" Lord Begamon
of Nerat Hold asked, his rasping voice falling into a
momentary silence. He sounded peevish. "Haven't the
Weyrs yet found out who took the egg? Even who re-
turned it? That's what I thought we'd hear today."

"The egg was returned. Lord Begamon," F'lar said,
extending his hand to Lessa.

"I know the egg was returned. I was right here
when it happened. Was at its Hatching, too."

F'lar continued to lead Lessa down the length of
the room.

"This is another Hatching, Lord Begamon," F'lar
said. "A happy occasion for all of us. There will be
wine below." And the two Weyrleaders had left the
room.

"I don't understand." Begamon turned in confusion
to the man beside him. "I thought we'd learn some-
thing today."

"You did," F'nor said, guiding Brekke past him.
"That D'ram is stepping down as Weyrleader at Ista."

"That doesn't concern me," Begamon was growing
more, rather than less, annoyed with the replies he
was getting.

"That concerns you more than any puzzle over the
egg," F'nor said as he and Brekke left the room.

1?3

The White Dragon

"I think that's all the answer you're going to get,"
Robinton said to Begamon, a wry smile on his face.

"But . . . but aren't they doing anything about it?
They're not just letting the Oldtimers insult them like
that and not doing something?"

"Unlike Lord Holders," N'ton said, coming for-
ward, "dragonriders are not free to indulge their pas-
sions or honors at the expense of their primary duty,
which is to protect all of Pern from Thread. That is
the important occupation of dragonriders, Lord

Begamon."

"C'mon, Begamon," Lord Groghe of Fort Hold said
as he took the man by the arm. "It's Weyr business,
not ours, you know. Can't interfere. Shouldn't. They
know what they're doing. And the egg was returned.
Too bad about D'ram's woman. Hate to see him go.
Sensible fellow. F'lar didn't say but it must be Benden

wine."

Jaxom saw Lord Groghe searching the faces about

him.

"Ah, Harper, it ought to be Benden wine here?"
The Harper agreed and left the Council room in the
company of the two Lords, Begamon still protesting
the lack of information. Jaxom followed them out as
the room was clearing. When he got to the base of the
weyr steps, Menolly pounced on him.

"Well, what happened? Did they speak to him at

all?"

"Did who speak to whom?"

"Did F'lar or Lessa address the Harper?"

"No reason why they would."

"Plenty of reason why they wouldn't. What hap-
pened?"

Jaxom sighed for patience with her as he rapidly

reviewed what had occurred.

"D'ram came here to ask—no, to tell them that
he's stepping down as Istan Weyrleader . . ." Menolly
nodded encouragingly as if this were no news to her.
"And he said he was invoking an Oldtime custom to
throw the first queen's mating flight open to all

bronzes."

154

The White Dragon

MenoIIy's eyes widened and she made her mouth
round with surprise. "That must have rocked 'em back
on their heels. Any protests?"

"From the Lord Holders, yes." Jaxom grinned.
"From the other Weyrleaders, no. Except that R'mart
made a snide remark about G'dened being so strong
there'd be no contest."

"I don't know G'dened, but he's a son of D'ram's."

"That doesn't always mean anything."

"True."

"D'ram kept saying that he wanted the best leader-
ship for Ista Weyr and this was the way to achieve it."

"Poor D'ram..."

"Poor Fanna, you mean."

"No, poor D'ram. Poor us. He was very strong as a
leader. Did Master Robinton speak at all?" she asked
then, throwing off her reflections on D'ram for the
more important consideration.

"He spoke to Begamon."

"Not to the Weyrleaders?"

"No reason to. Why?"

"They've been such close friends for so long . . .
and they're so unfair about it. He had to speak up.
Dragons can't fight dragons."

To which Jaxom stoutly agreed, his comment
echoed by a rumble from his stomach so audible that
Menolly glared at him. Jaxom was torn between em-
barrassment and amusement at such an internal be-
trayal. The laughter won and, even as he apologized
to Menolly, he could see that the incident had trig-
gered her sense of the ridiculous.

"Oh, come on. I won't get any sense out of you
until you've eaten."

It was not the most memorable of Hatching feasts
nor particularly merry. A restraint touched the
dragonriders. Jaxom did not try to figure out how
much was due to D'ram's resignation or how much
to the theft of the egg. He preferred not to hear any
more about that. He was uncomfortable in MenoIIy's
company because he couldn't put aside his feeling that
she knew he'd brought the egg back. The fact that

I??




The White Dragon

she said nothing about her suspicions worried him
more because he also felt that she was leaving him in
suspense on purpose; He didn't particularly wish to
share a table with F'lessan and Mirrim, who might
notice the Threadscore. Beneiek was not his choice of
a companion at any time and he certainly wouldn't
have been at ease taking the place at the main tabies
to which his rank entitled him. Menolly had been
dragged away from him by Oharan, the Weyr's
Harper, and he could hear them singing. Had there
been new music he might have stayed by them, just to
be part of some group. But the Lord Holders were
asking for their favorite songs and so were the proud
parents of boys who had Impressed.

Ruth was enjoying the emotional feast of the
newly Hatched dragons but he did miss the ministra-
tions of the fire-lizards.

They don't like being cooped up in Brekke's weyr,
Ruth told his rider. Why can't they come out?
Ramoth's asleep with a very full belly. She wouldn't

even know.

"Don't be too sure of that," Jaxom said, glancing
up at Mnementh, curled on the queen's ledge, his
softly glowing eyes bright points on the other side of
the darkening Weyr Bowl.

The outcome was that he and Ruth left the feast
as soon after eating as courtesy permitted. While they
were circling in to Ruatha Hold Jaxom began to worry
about Lytol. His guardian would be extremely up-
set when Fanna died and her queen suicided. He
wished he didn't have to bring the news of D'ram's
resignation. He knew that Lytol respected the Old-
timer. He wondered what Lytol's reaction would be
to the open mating flight.

Lytol merely grunted, gave a sharp nod of his head
and asked Jaxom if any further development over
the theft of the egg had been discussed. For Jaxom's
recital of Lord Begamon's complaint, Lytol issued an-
other sort of grunt, disgusted and contemptuous. Then
he asked if there were any fire-lizard eggs available;

1?6

The White Dragon

two more small holders had been pressing him for
eggs. Jaxom said he'd ask N'ton in the morning.

"Considering the bad odor of fire-lizards, I won-
der anyone wants them," the Fort Weyrleader re-
marked the next day when Jaxom told him his errand.
"Or maybe that's why there's so many requests.
Everyone is convinced no one else will want 'em, so
they get in there now. No, I don't have any. But I
wanted to speak with you. Fort Weyr flies with the
High Reaches Weyr tomorrow during the northernly
Fall. If it were over Ruatha, I'd ask you to join the
weyrling wing. As it is, I'd better not. Can you under-
stand?"

Jaxom allowed that he could, but did N'ton mean
that he would be able to fight Ruth the next time
Thread was over Ruatha.

"I discussed it with Lytol." N'ton grinned, his eyes
twinkling. "Lytol's reasoning is that you'd be so far
above ground no Ruathan would realize his Lord
Holder was risking his life and word wouldn't get
back to Benden."

"I risk my life and limbs far more surely on the
ground with that flamethrower crew."

"Quite likely, but we still don't want someone
blurting the truth out to Lessa and F'lar. I've bad a
good report of you from K'nebel. Ruth is all you told
me he could be—fast, clever and unusually quick in
the air." N'ton grinned again. "Between you and me,
K'nebel says the little beast changes direction on his
tail. His chief concern is that some of the others
might get the notion that their dragons can do the
same thing, and we'd have riders coming adrift."

So the following morning, while the Weyr dealt
with falling Thread, Jaxom hunted Ruth and then
directed him to the lake for a good scrub and swim.
While the fire-lizards were grooming Ruth's neck
ridges, Jaxom did a careful brushing of the scar on
his leg.

Suddenly the white dragon whimpered. Apologetic,
Jaxom looked around and noticed that the fire-lizards

15-7




The White Dragon

had suspended their labors. All the animals had their
heads cocked, as if listening to something beyond
Jaxom's hearing.

"What's the matter, Ruth?"

The woman dies.

"Take me back to the Hold, Ruth. Hurry."

Jaxom gritted his teeth as his wet clothing froze
against his body in the cold of between. Teeth chat-
tering, Jaxom glanced toward the watchdragon on
the fire-heights. Strangely enough, the beast was in-
dolent in the sun when he ought to be responding to
the death.

Now she is not yet dying, Ruth said.

It took Jaxom a moment to realize that Ruth had
acted on his own initiative and timed it to just before
the fire-lizards' alarm at the lake.

"We promised not to time it, Ruth." Jaxom could
appreciate the circumstances but he didn't like the
notion of going back on his word for any reason.

You promised. I did not. Lytol will need you in
time.

Ruth landed Jaxom in the courtyard and the young
Lord pelted up the stairs to the main Hall. He startled
the drudge who was sweeping the dining hall with a
demand to know Lytol's whereabouts. The drudge
thought Lord Lytol was with Master Brand. Jaxom
knew that Brand kept wine in his office but he ducked
into the serving hall, grabbed up a wineskin by its
thong, swept two cups into his other hand and
strode to the steps of the inner hall, which he took
two at a time. Catching the heavy inner door with
the point of his shoulder, he worked the latch with
his right elbow and continued without much loss of
forward speed down the corridor to Brand's quarters.

Just as he threw open the door, Brand's little blue
fire-lizard struck the very listening pose that had
alerted Jaxom at the lake.

"What's the matter, Lord Jaxom?" Brand cried,
rising to his feet. Lytol's face showed his disapproval
of such a mannerless entrance and he was about to
speak when Jaxom pointed to the fire-lizard.

1?8

The White Dragon

The blue suddenly sat back on his haunches,
opened his wings and began the shrill high ululation
that was the keening of the fire-lizards. As all color
drained from Lytol's face, the men heard the deeper,
equally piercing cries of the watchdragon and Ruth,
each giving voice to the passing of a queen dragon.
Jaxom splashed wine in a cup and held it to Lytol.
"It doesn't stop the pain, I know," he said in a
rough tone, "but you can get drunk enough not to
hear or remember."

l?9




CHAPTER IX

Early Summer, Harpercraft and Ruatha
Hold, 15.7.3

THE FIRST HINT Robinton had was from Zair,
who woke abruptly from a sound morning's sleep in
the sun on the window ledge and flew to Robinton's
shoulder, wrapping his tail firmly about the Harper's
neck. Robinton, not having the heart to rebuke his
friend, tried to ease the tension of the tail so that he
didn't have the sensation of choking to death. Zair
rubbed his cheek against the Harper's, crooning.

"Whatever is the matter with you?"

Just then the watchdragon on the fire-heights rose
to his haunches and bugled. A dragon appeared in
midair, answered the summons smartly before begin-
ning a circle to land.

A knock on the door was followed so closely by its
opening that the courtesy was hardly observed.
Robinton was forming a reprimand as he slewed
round in his chair and saw Menolly, with Beauty
clinging tightly to her shoulder. Rocky, Diver and
Poll doing an aerial dance about her.

"It's F'lar and Mnementh," she cried.

"So I had just perceived, my dear. Why the
panic?"

"Panic? I'm not in a panic. I'm excited. This is

The White Dragon

the first time since the egg was taken that Benden
has come to you."

"Then be a polite child and see if Silvina has any
sweetbreads to eat with our klah. It is," he sighed
wistfully, "a shade too early in the morning to offer
wine."

"It's not too early in Benden's morning," Menolly
said as she left the room.

Robinton sighed again, sadly, as he looked at the
empty doorway. She had grieved over the estrange-
ment of the Harper Hall and Benden Weyr. So, in
his own way, had he. He brought his thoughts sharply
away from that. There'd been no hint of distress in
Mnementh's acknowledgement of the watchdragon's
challenge. What had brought F'lar to Benden? And,
more important, did the Weyrleader come with
Lessa's knowledge? And consent?

Mnementh had landed now. F'lar would be strid-
ing across the meadow. Robinton began to twitch
with more impatience for that final walk than he had
felt during the four sevendays of coolness between
Weyr and Hall.

Robinton rose and paced to the window just as
F'lar entered the inner courtyard of the Crafthall. He
was walking with long strides, but F'lar always did,
so there did not seem to be any baste in his errand.
Then why was he coming to the Hall?

F'lar spoke to a journeyman, who was packing a
runner for a trip. Fire-lizards congregated on the
roof. Robinton saw F'lar raise his head and notice
them. The Harper briefly considered whether he
ought to ask Zair to leave while F'lar was present.
No sense filing resentment of any consequence right
now.

F'lar had entered the Hall. Through the open win-
dow, Robinton could hear the Weyrleader's voice
and the pause for an answer. Silvina? More likely
his journeyman, he thought, smiling to himself, lying
in wait for the Weyrleader. Yes, he was right. He
could hear Menolly's voice and F'lar's as they came

The White Dragon

up the stairs. The sounds of the voices were un-
marked by emotion. Good girl! Easy does it.

"Ah, Robinton, Menolly informs me that her fire-
lizards refer to Mnementh as 'the biggest one,' " F'lar
said with a slight smile on his face as he entered the
room.

"They're chary of awarding accolades, F'lar,"
Robinton replied, taking the tray from Menolly, who
withdrew, closing the door. Not that her absence pre-
cluded her knowing what would happen, not with
Beauty attuned to Zair.

"There's no trouble at Benden, is there?" Robin-
ton asked the Weyrleader as he handed him a cup of
klah.

"No, no trouble." Robinton waited. "But there is a
puzzle that I thought you might be able to answer
for us."

"If I can, I will," the Harper said, gesturing to
F'lar to seat himself.

"We can't find D'ram."

"D'ram?" Robinton almost laughed in surprise.
"Why can't you find D'ram?"

"He's alive. We know that much. We don't know
where."

"Surely Ramoth could touch Tiroth?"

F'lar shook his head. "Perhaps I should have said
when."

"When? D'ram's timed it somewhere? I mean, some-
when?"

"That's the only explanation. And we can't see
how he could possibly have gone back to his own
Time. We don't believe that Tiroth has that much
strength in him. Timing it, as you know, is very
draining on both dragon and rider. But D'ram has
gone."

"That's not unexpected surely," Robinton said
slowly, his mind turning rapidly over the possibilities
of when.

"No, not unexpected."

"He wouldn't have gone to the Southern Weyr?"

"No, because Ramoth would have no trouble locat-

The White Dragon

ing him there. And G'dened went back quite a dis-
tance, before Threadfall, at Ista itself, thinking
D'ram would stay where his memories are."

"Lord Warbret offered D'ram. any one of those
caves on the south side of Ista Island. He seemed
agreeable." Then as F'lar's shrug negated that sug-
gestion, the Harper added, "Yes, he was too agree-
able."

F'lar rose, striding restlessly about, turning back to
the Harper. "Have you any ideas where the man
could have gone? You were with nun a great deal.
Can you remember anything?"

"He wasn't talking very much toward the end, just
sat there holding Fanna's hand." Robinton found
that he needed to swallow. As accustomed as he was
to mortality, D'ram's devotion to his Weyrwoman
and his silent grief at her death had the power
to bring tears to the Harper's eyes. "I tendered offers
of hospitality to him from Groghe and Sangel. In
fact, I gather he could have gone anywhere on Pem
and been welcome. Obviously he prefers the com-
pany of his memories. Might I ask if there is any
reason to know where he is?"

"No reason other than our concern for him."

"Oldive said that he was completely in possession
of his reason, F'lar, if that's your worry."

F'lar made a grimace and impatiently stroked
back a forelock which invariably fell into his eyes
when he was agitated. "Frankly, Robinton, it's Lessa.
Ramoth can't find Tiroth. Lessa's certain he's gone
far enough back in time to suicide without giving us
distress. It's in D'ram's nature to do so."

"It is also his option," Robinton said gently.

"I know. I know. And no one would fault him but
Lessa is very worried. D'ram may have stepped
down, Robinton, but his knowledge, his opinions are
valuable and valued. Right now more than ever.
Bluntly we need him . . . need him available to us."

Robinton thought briefly about the possibility that
D'ram had realized this and deliberately removed

The White Dragon

himself and Tiroth from easy access. But D'ram
would serve Pern, and dragonfolk at any time.

"He perhaps needs time to recover from his grief,

F'lar."

"He was worn out with tending Famia. You know
that. He could also be sick and who would be there
to help? We're both worried."

"I hesitate to suggest this, but has Brekke tried
with the fire-lizards? Hers as well as those at Ista

Weyr."

A grin tugged at the worried line of F'lar's mouth.
"Oh, yes. She insisted. No luck. The fire-lizards need
a direction to go between time just like dragons."

"I didn't exactly mean sending them. I mean, ask-
ing them to remember a lone bronze dragon."

"Asking those creatures to remember?" F'lar
laughed with incredulity.

"I'm serious, F'lar. They have good memories
which can be triggered. For instance, how could the
fire-lizards have known that the Red Star . . ." He
was interrupted by a squeal of protest from Zair, who
launched himself so quickly from Robinton's shoulder
that he scratched the Harper's neck. "I will mention
it in his presence!" Robinton said, ruefully patting
the scratch. "My point is, F'lar, that the fire-lizards
all knew that the Red Star was dangerous and could
not be reached before F'nor and Canth tried to go
there. If you can get a fire-lizard to make any sense
when you mention the Red Star, they say they
remember being afraid of it. They? Or their ancestors
when our ancestors first attempted to go to it?"

F'lar gave the Masterharper a long searching stare.

"That isn't the first memory of theirs that has
proved to be accurate," Robinton went on. "Master
Andemon believes that it's entirely possible that
these creatures can remember unusual events that
one of their number has witnessed or felt. Instinct
plays a part with all animals—why not in their mem-
ories, too?"

"I'm not sure I see how you intend to get this—

164

The White Dragon

this fire-lizard memory to work in helping to find
D'ram, whenever he's got to."

"Simple. Ask them to remember seeing a lone
dragon. That would be unusual enough to be noted
.. . and remembered."

F'lar was not convinced it would work.

"Oh, I think so if we ask Ruth to ask them."

"Ruth?"

"When every fire-lizard was scared to death of
the other dragons, they beleaguered Ruth. Jaxom's
told me that they talk with his white wherever they
are. With so many, there's bound to be one that
might remember what we want to know."

"If I could relieve Lessa's fears, I'd even forget
my antipathy to those nuisances."

"I trust you'll remember that statement." Robin-
ton grinned to soften the remark.

"Will you come with me to Ruatha Hold?"

In that moment, Robinton remembered Jaxom's
Threadscoring. Of course, it would be long healed.
But he couldn't remember if N'ton had ever dis-
cussed Jaxom's training with Benden Weyr.

"Shouldn't we find out if Jaxom's at the Hold?"

"Why wouldn't he be?" F'lar asked, frowning.

"Because he's often about the Hold, learning the
land, or at Fandarel's with the other young people."

"A point." F'lar looked away from the Harper,
out the window, his eyes unfocused. "No, Mnementh
says Ruth's at the Hold. See, I have my own message
sender," F'lar added with a grin.

Robinton hoped that Ruth would think to tell
Jaxom that Mnementh had bespoken him. He wished
that he'd had time to send Zair with a message to
Ruatha but he had no excuse and certainly no wish
to jeopardize this gesture of F'lar's.

"More reliable than mine and farther reaching
than Fandarel's little wire." Robinton donned the
thick wherhide jacket and helmet he used when fly-
ing. "Speaking of Fandarel, he's got his lines as far
as Crom's mines, you know." He gestured F'lar to
precede him out of the room.

16?

The White Dragon

"Yes, I know. That's another reason to locate
D'ram."
"It is?"

F'lar laughed at the Harper's bland question, a
laugh that held no constraint so that Robinton sin-
cerely hoped that this visit mended their relationship.

"Hasn't Nicat been at you, too, Robinton? Togo
south to those mines?"

"The ones Tone's been trading from?"

"I thought you'd know."

"Yes, I know that Nicat's worried about mining.
The ores are getting very poor. Fandarel's a good
sight more worried than Nicat. He needs the better
quality metals."

"Once we allow the Crafts into the South, the Lord
Holders will press for entry . . ." F'lar instinctively
lowered his voice though the courtyard they were
crossing was empty.

"The Southern Continent is large enough to take
all of Northern Pern and rattle it. Why, we've only
touched the fringes of it, F'lar. Great Shells and
Shards!" Robinton slapped his forehead. "Talk about
fire-lizards and associative memories. That's it! That's
where D'ram has gone."

"Where?"

"At least I think that's where he might have gone."

"Speak, man. Where?"

"The problem is still when, I fancy. And Ruth is
still our key."

They had only several dragonlengths to go before
they reached Mnementh in the meadow. Zair flut-
tered above Robinton's head, chittering anxiously
well away from the bronze dragon. He refused to
alight on Robinton's shoulder, though the Harper ges-
tured for him to land.

"I'm going to Ruatha to the white dragon, to Ruth.
Join us there, then, you silly creature, if you won't
ride on my shoulder."

"Mnementh doesn't mind Zair," F'lar said.

"It's still the other way round, I'm afraid," Robin-
ton said.

166

The White Dragon

A hint of anger danced in the bronze rider's eyes.
"No dragon flamed a fire-lizard."

"Not here, Weyrleader, not here. But all of them
remember seeing it happen. And fire-lizards can only
tell what they or one of them have actually seen."

"Then let's get to Ruatha and see if one of them
has seen D'ram."

So the fire-lizards were still tender subjects, thought
Robinton sadly as he climbed up Mnementh's shoul-
der to sit behind F'lar. He wished that Zair had not
been so wary of Mnementh.

Jaxom and Lytol stood on the Hold steps as
Mnementh bugled his name to the watchdragon and
circled to land in the huge courtyard. As the two vis-
itors were being greeted, Robinton scanned Jaxom's
face to see if the Threadscore was obvious. He
couldn't see a trace of it and wondered if he was ex-
amining the right cheek. He could only hope that
Ruth had healed as well. Of course, F'lar was so in-
volved with this business of D'ram he wouldn't be
looking for scoring on Ruth or Jaxom.

"Ruth said Mnementh inquired for him, F'lar,"
Jaxom said. "I trust nothing is wrong?"

"Ruth may be able to help us find D'ram."

"Find D'ram? He hasn't . . ." Jaxom paused, look-
ing anxiously at Lytol, who was frowning and shaking
his head.

"No, but he has timed it somewhen," Robinton
said. "I thought perhaps if Ruth asked the fire-lizards,
they might tell him."

Jaxom stared at the Harper, who wondered why
the lad looked so stunned and, curiously, scared.
Robinton did not miss the quick flick of Jaxom's eyes
toward F'lar nor the convulsive swallowing.

"I remembered hearing you comment that fire-
lizards often tell Ruth things," Robinton went on in a
casual manner, giving Jaxom time to recover his com-
posure. Whatever was bothering the boy?

"Where? Possibly. But when. Master Robinton?"

167

The White Dragon

"I've a hunch I know where D'ram went. Would
that help?"

"I'm not sure I understand," Lytol said, looking
from one to the other. "What's this all about?" Lytol
had been guiding the visitors into the Hold and to-
ward the small private room. Wine and cups had been
set on the table, together with cheese, bread and
fruits.

"Well," Robinton said, eyeing the wineskin, "I'll
explain . . ."

"And you'll be dry, I'm sure," Jaxom said, as he
strode to the table to pour. "It's Benden wine, Master
Robinton. Only the best for our distinguished visitors."

"The lad's growing up, Lytol," F'lar said, taking the
cup and raising it approvingly toward Lytol.

"The lad has grown up," Lytol said in a half-growl.
"Now, about those fire-lizards ..."

Zair appeared midair, squealed and swooped to
Robinton's shoulder, wrapping his tail tightly about
the Harper's neck and cluttering in a nervous tone as
he reassured himself that Robinton had taken no
harm riding the biggest one.

"Pardon me," Robinton said, and soothed Zair to
silence. Then he explained to Lytol his theory that
fire-lizards shared a vast pool of common knowledge
which would explain their fear of—he cleared his
throat and pointed east to spare them all his bronze's
antics. Fire-lizards were able to communicate strong
emotions as evidenced by Brekke's call to Canth that
fateful night. They had had this fright about the
queen's egg and all had been in a high state'of turmoil
until the egg had Hatched properly. They seemed to
remember seeing it near a black nothingness, and they
seemed to remember being flamed. Jaxom had told
him on several occasions that the fire-lizards regaled
Ruth with incredible things they said they'd remem-
bered seeing. If this curious talent of theirs was not
the sun-dreams of silly creatures—he had to placate
an outraged Zair—then here was a case in which it
could be proved, with Ruth's cooperation. D'ram
had apparently gone off on his own, to a time when

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The White Dragon

Ramoth could not reach the mind of his dragon. It
was upsetting Ramoth and Lessa, who were worried
that D'ram might be in physical distress. Despite his
resignation as Weyrleader, Pern still had a need of
and a place for D'ram and certainly did not wish to
lose contact with him.

"Now," Robinton went on, "there have been occa-
sions in recent Turns . . ." He cleared his throat,
glanced toward F'lar for permission and received the
nod. ". . . occasions when I have ventured South. On
one such instance, Menolly and I were blown off
course, far to the east where we came to rest in a
beautiful cove, white-sanded, with red fruit trees
abounding; the waters of the cove teemed with yel-
lowtail and white fingerfish. The sun was warm and
the waters of a stream just inland was sweet as wine."
He looked into his cup wistfully. With a laugh, Jaxom
refilled it. "I told D'ram of it, I've forgotten why now.
I'm reasonably certain I described it well enough for
a dragon of Tiroth's abilities to find his way there."

"D'ram would not wish to cause complications
here," Lytol said slowly. "He'd have gone to a time
when the Oldtimers were not in the South. A jump
back of ten-twelve Turns wouldn't overtax Tiroth."

"A point, Robinton, that might complicate mat-
ters," F'lar said. "If these creatures can remember
significant events that happened to their predecessors"
—and F'lar was patently skeptical—"then none of
the fire-lizards here could possibly have any recollec-
tions for our purpose. No ancestors from the area."
He indicated Zair. "He's from that clutch Menolly
brought up from below Half-Circle Sea Hold, isn't
be?"

''Fire-lizards from all over converge on Ruth,"
Robinton said, looking to the young Lord for corrob-
oration.

"P'lar has made a good point," Jaxom said.

"Not if you go to that cove, Jaxom. I'm sure the
fatal fascination fire-lizards all have for Ruth will op-
erate even there."

"You want me to go to the Southern Continent?"

169

The White Dragon

Robinton noted the incredulity and sudden start of
intense interest in Jaxom's eyes. So, the boy had dis-
covered that flying a fire-breathing dragon was not
enough to keep him content with his life.

"I don't want anyone to go South," F'lar replied,
"since that ... is a breach of our agreement, but I
can't see any other way of locating D'ram."

"The cove is a long way from the Southern Weyr,"
Robinton said gently, "and we know the Oldtimers
don't venture far from it."

"They ventured far enough from it a little while  (
ago, didn't they?" F'lar asked with considerable heat  |
in his voice and an angry shine in his amber eyes.

Wearily Robinton saw that the breach between
Harper Hall and Benden Weyr was only thinly

healed.

"Lord Lytol," the Benden Weyrleader continued,
"I am remiss. May we have your permission to recruit
Jaxom to this search?"

Lytol shook his head and gestured toward Jaxom.
"It is entirely up to Lord Jaxom."

Robinton could see F'lar digesting the implications
of that referral, and he gave Jaxom a long keen look.
Then he smiled. "And your answer. Lord Jaxom?"

With commendable poise, Robinton thought, the
young man inclined his head. "I'm flattered to be asked
to assist, Weyrleader."

"You don't happen to have any maps of the South-
ern Continent in this Hold, do you?" asked F'lar.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Then Jaxom added a
hasty explanation. "Fandarel gave us several sessions
of chartmaking at his Hall."

The charts were, however, incomplete. F'lar recog-
nized them as copies of F'nor's original explorations
of the Southern Continent when the Benden wing-
second had taken Ramoth's first clutch back ten Turns
to mature before Thread would fall again—an under-
taking marked by partial success.

"I have more comprehensive maps of the coast-
line," Robinton said casually and scribbled a note to
Menolly which he attached to the clasp on Zair's

170

The White Dragon

collar. He sent the little bronze back to the Harper
Hold with an entreaty not to forget his errand.

"And he'll bring the charts back directly?" F'lar
asked, skeptical and somewhat contemptuous. "Brekke
and F'nor keep trying to convince me of their useful-
ness, too."

"I suspect with something as important as the
charts, Menolly will wheedle the watchdragon into
bringing her." Robinton sighed, wishing he'd thought
to insist she return the charts by fire-lizard. No oppor-
tunity should be wasted.

"How much timing it have you done, Jaxom?" F'lar
asked suddenly.

A flush suffused Jaxom's face. With a start, Robin-
ton saw the thin line of scar white against the red-
dened cheek. Luckily that side of Jaxom's face was
turned away from the Weyrleader.

"Well, sir..."

"Come, lad, I don't know any young dragonrider
who hasn't used the trick to be on time. What I want
to establish is how accurate Ruth's time sense is. Some
dragons don't have any at all."

"Ruth always knows when he is," Jaxom replied
with quick pride. "I'd say he has the best time mem-
ory on Pern."

F'lar considered that for a long moment. "Have you
ever tried any long jumps?"

Jaxom nodded slowly, his eyes flicking to Lytol
whose face remained impassive.

"No wavering of the leap? No unduly long stay
between?"

"No, sir. It's easy to be accurate anyhow if you
jump at night."

"I'm not sure I follow that reasoning."

"Those star equations that Wansor worked out. I
think you were at that session in the Smithcraft-
hall . . ." The young man's voice trailed off un-
certainly until F'lar caught his drift and looked his
surprise. "If you work out the position of the domi-
nant stars in the skies, you can position yourself most
accurately."

171

The White Dragon

"If you jump at night," the Masterharper added,
never having thought to put that use to Wansor's
equations,

"Never occurred to me to do that," F'lar said.

"There is a precedent," Robinton remarked, grin-
ning, "in your own Weyr, F'lar."

"Lessa used the stars from the tapestry to go back
for the Oldtimers, didn't she?" Jaxom had clearly for-
gotten that, and also, to judge by the sudden comic
dismay on his face, forgotten that his reference to the
Oldtimers was not adroit.

"We can't ignore them, can we?" the Weyrleader
said with more tolerance than Robinton had antici-
pated. "Well, they exist and can't be ignored. To the
present problem, Robinton. How long is it likely to
take your fire-lizard?"

Just outside the Hold window a multivoiced squab-
bling arose, so obviously that of fire-lizards that they
all hurried to the window.

"Menolly did it," Robinton said in an undertone to
Jaxom. "They're here, F'lar."

"Who? Menolly with the watchdragon?"

"No, sir," Jaxom said, his voice triumphant, "Zair,
and Menolly's queen and her three bronzes. They've
all got charts strapped to their backs."

Zair flew in, cluttering in a combination of anger
concern and confusion. Menolly's four followed. The
little queen. Beauty, started scolding all of them as
she circled about the room. Robinton easily lured
Zair to his arm. But Beauty kept her bronzes in cir-
culation, out of reach, while F'lar, grinning sardoni-
cally, and Lytol, expressionless, watched the attempts
of Robinton and Jaxom to land the other four fire-
lizards.

"Ruth, would you tell Beauty to behave and come
to my arm?" Jaxom cried as his futile attempts to
coax the little queen began to assume ludicrous pro-
portions in front of someone he was trying to impress.

Beauty let out a startled squawk but immediately
came to rest on the table. She scolded Jaxom furiously
as he undid the chart. She kept up her monologue as

172

The White Dragon

the bronzes timidly landed, not quite furling their
wings, to have their burdens removed. Once free of
their encumbrances, the bronzes retreated out the
window. Beauty gave everyone in the room one final
raucous harangue and then, with a flick of her tail,
disappeared from sight. Zair let out one sort of apolo-
getic cheep and hid his face in Robinton's hair.

"Well," Robinton said as welcome silence settled
on the room, "they did return promptly, didn't they?"

F'lar burst out laughing. "Return, yes. Delivery was
another problem. I'd hate to have to argue for every
message brought me."

"That was just because Menolly wasn't here,"
Jaxom said. "Beauty wasn't certain whom she could
trust, you know. Meaning no offense, F'lar," he added
hastily.

"Here's the one I need," Robinton said, unwinding
it fully. He gestured for the others to unroll the seg-
ments they held. Shortly the maps were placed in se-
quence across the table, the curling ends weighted
down with pieces of fruit and wine cups.

"It would appear," Lytol said mildly, "that you
have been blown off course in every direction, Master
Robinton."

"Oh, not me, sir," the Harper replied ingenuously.
"SeaHolders have been very helpful here, here and
here," and he pointed to the western portions where
an intricate coastline was carefully delineated. "This
is the work of Idarolan and the captains reporting to
him." He paused, toying with the notion of mentioning
just how much of Idarolan's explorations had been
assisted by the various fire-lizards of the crews. "Toric
and his holders, of course," he went on, deciding
against gilding the matter now, "have a perfect right
to discover their land. They've detailed this por-
tion . . ." His hand swept across the peninsular thumb
that was the Southern Hold and Weyr and substantial
portions of the territory on either side.

"Where're those mines located that Toric's trading
from?"

"Here." Robinton's finger dropped to the foothilled

173

The White Dragon

shading, slightly to the west of the settlement and well
inland.

F'lar considered the location, walking his fingers
back across the well-stretched hide to the Weyr's lo-
cation. "And where's this cove of yours?"

Robinton pointed to a spot which was as far distant
from the Southern Weyr as Ruatha was from Benden.
"In this area. There're quite a few small coves in the
coastline. I couldn't say exactly which one it was, but
in this general location."

F'lar mumbled about his recollection being all too
general and how would a dragon take the specific di-
rection he'd need to go between.

"Dead center in the cove is the cone of an old
mountain, perfectly symmetrical." Robinton gestured
appropriately. "Zair was with me and could give Ruth
the proper image." Robinton turned his head slightly
and gave Jaxom a private wink.

"Could Ruth take a direction from a fire-lizard?"
F'lar asked Jaxom, frowning at the unreliability of the
source.

"He has," Jaxom remarked, and Robinton caught
the glint of amusement in the lad's eyes. He began to
wonder where fire-lizards had already led the white
dragon. Would Menolly know?

"What is this?" F'lar demanded suddenly. "A con-
spiracy to restore fire-lizards to good odor?"

"I thought we were forming a cooperative venture
to locate D'ram," Robinton replied in mild rebuke.

F'lar snorted and bent to study the maps.

The cooperation, Robinton realized, would be all on
Ruth's part. The outcome would finally depend on
whether or not the Southern fire-lizards were attracted
to the white dragon. Otherwise, Jaxom had agreed to
try judicious time jumps backward in the cove ... if,
F'lar amended, Jaxom was able to find the proper
one.

The subject of fire-lizard memory was discussed
again; F'lar unwilling to concede that, unlike the drag-
ons they otherwise resembled, the little creatures were
capable of recall. Their tales might all be imaginary,

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The White Dragon

the results of sun-dreams and insubstantial. To that
Robinton replied that imagination relied on memory—
without one, the other was impossible. The afternoon
drew to a close, emphasized by the return of the fos-
terlings to the Hold after a day's field tour with Brand.
F'lar noted that he'd been gone far longer than he
had intended when he set out from Benden. He cau-
tioned Jaxom to be careful timing it—advice which
Robinton suspected F'lar had best take to heart him-
self—and to take no risks with himself or his dragon.
If he didn't locate the cove, he was not to waste time
and energy but return. If he did find D'ram, preferably
he was to mark the time and place and return imme-
diately to Benden with the coordinate for F'lar. F'lar
did not want to intrude on D'ram's grief unnecessar-
ily, and if Jaxom could avoid being seen, so much the
better.

"I think you could trust Jaxom to handle the situa-
tion diplomatically," Robinton said, watching the
young man through the side of his eyes. "He's al-
ready proved to be discreet." Now why would Jaxom
react so to a simple compliment, Robinton wondered
and smoothly made a fuss of rolling up the charts to
divert attention from the discomposed young rider.

Robinton told Jaxom to get a good night's sleep, a
good morning's breakfast, and to report to the Harper-
crafthall immediately thereafter to acquire his guide.
Then Robinton and F'lar left the Hold. As the Weyr-
leader and Mnementh brought the Harper back to
his Hall, Robinton forebore to go beyond offering
ordinary courtesies. The needs of Pern had brought
the Benden Weyrleader back to the Hall. One step at
a time!

As Robinton watched F'lar and bronze Mnementh
climb above the fire-heights and wink out. Beauty ap-
peared, scolding at Zair, who resumed his customary
perch on the Harper's shoulder. Zair did not respond
to her crackling, causing Robinton to grin. Menolly
must be agitating for an account of the afternoon's
doings. She wasn't presumptuous enough to nag at him,
but that didn't keep Beauty from badgering his bronze.

175

The White Dragon

A good child, Menolly, and worth her weight in marks.
He hoped she'd approve of a trip with young Jaxom.
He hadn't mentioned her participating in front of
Lytol since F'lar had long ago enjoined him to the
strictest secrecy about his Southern trips. Zair would
not have been enough for Jaxom to find the right
cove, but with Menolly, who had been with him on
that stormy trip, and her fire-lizards to act as rein-
forcement, they'd have no trouble at all. But the
fewer people who knew about it the better.

The next day when the Harper informed Jaxom of
this added insurance for success, Jaxom looked re-
lieved and surprised.

"Mind you, young Jaxom, it's not to be discussed
that Menolly and I have been exploring so far south.
In point of fact, we hadn't planned that trip ..."

Menolly chuckled. "I told you there'd be a storm."

"Thank you. I've heeded your weather wisdom
since, as you well know." He grimaced as he recalled
three days of storm-sickness and a desperate Menolly
clinging to the tiller of their light craft.

He saddled them with no further advice, urged
them to take a supply of food from the kitchens and
said he hoped they'd have a favorable report.

"Of D'ram's whereabouts?" Menolly asked, her
eyes dancing at him, "or the performance of the fire-
lizards?"

"Both, of course, saucy girl. Away with you."

He had decided not to query Jaxom about his
strong reactions to timing it and discretion. When he
had told Menolly of his intention to send her and her
fire-lizards to accompany Jaxom, she, too, had re-
acted in an unexpected fashion. He had casually
asked her what was so amusing and she had merely
shaken her head, convulsed in laughter. He couldn't
imagine what the two of them had been up to to-
gether. Now, as he watched Ruth circle into the skies
above the Hold, he reviewed their interactions. Good-
natured chaffing, certainly—a dollop of contention
for leadership but nothing beyond the exchanges of
old friends. Not, he hastily told himself, that Menolly

176

The White Dragon

would not make an excellent Lady Holder for Jaxom
if the two were sincerely attached. It was mst that
... the Harper chided himself for interfering and
turned to dull matters of Craft management which he
had been delaying far too long.

177

CHAPTER X

From Harpercraft Hall to the Southern
Continent, Evening at Benden Weyr, 15.7.4

As RUTH FLEW upward from the meadow, Jaxom
experienced a tremendous sense of relief and excite-
ment as well as the usual tension that gripped him
when making a long jump between. Beauty and Diver
were perched on Menolly's shoulders, tails twined
about her neck. He had given shoulder room to Poll
and Rocky since these four had accompanied the
Harper and Menolly on that initial trip. Jaxom would
have liked to ask what they'd been doing sailing in
the Southern Continent. The boat made some sense
since Menolly, being SeaHold-bred, was a good sailor.
But there'd been a challenging gleam in Menolly's
eyes that had kept him from asking. He was wonder-
ing, too, if she had told the Harper anything of her
suspicions about his part in returning the egg.

They went between first to Nerat's tip, circling
again while Menolly and her fire-lizards concentrated
on imagining the cove far to the southeast. Jaxom had
wanted to time it to the night before; he'd spent hours
working out star positions in the Southern Hemi-
sphere. Menolly and Robinton had overruled him
unless Ruth couldn't get a vivid enough picture of the
cove from the combination of Menolly and the fire-
lizards.

178

The White Dragon

Somewhat to Jaxom's disgruntlement, Ruth an-
nounced that he could clearly see where he was to go.
Menolly makes very sharp pictures, he added.

Jaxom had no option but to ask him to change.

The quality of the air was Jaxom's first impression
of the new location: sorter, cleaner, less humid. Ruth
was gliding toward the little cove, expressing pleasure
in anticipation of a good swim. Their guiding moun-
tain peak glistened in the sun, distant, serene and un-
usually symmetrical.

"I'd forgotten how lovely it was," Menolly said,
breathing out a sigh in his ear.

The water had a clarity that made the sandy bot-
tom of the cove quite visible, though Jaxom was sure
that the water was by no means shallow. He noticed
the brilliant reflection of yellowtails and the darting
movements of whitefingers in the clear waters. Ahead
of them was the perfect crescent of a white-sanded
cove, trees of all sizes, some bearing yellow and red
fruits, forming a shady border. As Ruth descended to
the beach, Jaxom could see dense forest extending un-
broken toward the low range of foothills that culmi-
nated m that magnificient mountain. Just beyond this
cove, on both flanks, were other little bays, not per-
haps as symmetrically shaped, but equally peaceful
and untouched.

Ruth came to a back-winging halt on the sands,
urging his passengers to disembark as he intended to
have a proper bath.

"Go ahead, then," Jaxom said, patting Ruth's muz-
zle affectionately and laughing as the white dragon,
too eager to dive, waddled ungracefully into the sea.

"These sands are as hot as at Hatching Grounds,"
Menolly explained, picking up her feet in fast order
and heading toward the shaded area.

"They're not that hot," Jaxom said, following her.

"My feet are sensitive," she replied, casting herself
down on the beach. She glanced up and down and
then grimaced.

"No signs, huh?" Jaxom asked.

"OfD'ram?"

179

The White Dragon

"No, fire-lizard."

She unslung the pack with their provisions.

"They're likely sleeping off their eariy-moming
feed. You're still on your feet. See if there're some
ripe redfruits in that tree there, would you, Jaxom?
Meatroll makes dry eating."

Jaxom found sufficient ripe fruit to feed a Hold and
brought as much as he could carry back to Menolly.
He knew her fondness for them. Ruth was disporting
himself in the water, diving and surfacing to tail length
before crashing down with great splashings and wave-
makings, the fire-lizards encouraging him with shrieks
and buglings.

"Tide's full in," Menolly said as she bit into red-
fruit peel, tearing off a large hunk and squeezing the
pulp for the juice. "Oh, this is heavenly! Why does
everything Southern taste so good?"

"Forbidden, I guess. Does the tide make a differ-
ence to the fire-lizards' appearing?"

"Not that I know of. Ruth will make the difference,
I think."

"So we have to wait until they notice Ruth?"

"That's the easiest way."

"Do we actually know there are fire-lizards in this
part of the South?"

"Oh, yes, didn't I mention?" Menolly pretended to
be contrite. "We saw a queen mating, and I nearly
lost Rocky and Diver to her. Beauty was furious."

"Anything else that hasn't been mentioned that I
should know?"

Menolly grinned at him. "I need to have the old
memory jogged by association. You'll know what is
needed when the time comes."

Jaxom decided that two could play that word game
and grinned back at her, before choosing a redfruit
to eat. It was so warm that he set aside his riding
jacket and helmet. Ruth continued to enjoy a leisurely
and lengthy bath as Menolly's fire-lizards performed
alongside him, their combined show affording their
indulgent audience considerable amusement.

It got hotter, the white sands reflecting the sun's

180

The White Dragon

rays and baking the cove even where they were in
shade. The clear water and the fun the beasts were
having was too much for Jaxom to watch any longer.
He unlaced his boots, wriggled out of his trousers,
whipped off his shirt and raced for the water. Menolly
was soon splashing beside him before he was a drag-
onlength from the shore.

"We'd better not take too much sun," she told him.
"I got a colossal burning the last time." She grimaced
in recollection. "Peeled like a tunnel snake."

Ruth erupted beside them, blowing out water, all
but swamping them with strokes from his wings, and
then, solicitously extending a helping tail as the two
choked and spluttered from the water they'd swal-
lowed.

Menolly's body was trimmer than Corana's, Jaxom
noticed as they waded out, happily exhausted by
their swim with Ruth. She was longer in the leg and
not nearly as rounded in the hip. A bit too flat in the
breast, but she moved with a grace that fascinated
Jaxom more than courtesy allowed. When he looked
back, she had put on pants and overtunic, so that her
slim bare arms were exposed to the sun as she dried
her hair. He preferred long hair in a girl though, with
all the dragonriding Menolly did, he could see why
she'd keep it short enough to wear under a helmet.

They shared a yellow fruit which Jaxom had never
eaten before. Its mild taste was well seasoned by the
salt in his mouth.

Ruth emerged from the water, shaking water all
over Jaxom and Menolly.

The sun is warm, he said when they complained of
the shower. Your clothes will dry quickly. They al-
ways do at Keroon.

Jaxom shot a glance at Menolly but she evidently
hadn't caught the significance of the remark. She was
resettling herself, disgusted by the wet sand that now
speckled her clothes and bare arms.

"It's not the wet that bothers," Jaxom told Ruth, as
he brushed his face before lying down again, "it's the
gritty sand."

181

The White Dragon

Ruth worked himself into a good wallow of dry
sand and the fire-lizards, giving little tired cheeps,
nestled down against him.

Jaxom thought that one of them should stay awake
to see if local fire-lizards responded to the lure of the
white dragon, but the combination of exercise, food,
sun and the limpid air of the cove were too much.

Ruth's soft call woke him. Do not move. We have
visitors.

Jaxom was on his side, his head pillowed on his left
hand. Opening his eyes slowly, he looked directly at
Ruth's shade-dappled body. He counted three bronze
fire-lizards, four greens, two golds and a blue. None
of them wore neck paint or bands. As he watched, a
brown came gliding in to land by one of the golds. The
two exchanged nose touches and then cocked their
heads at Ruth's head which was on the sand at their
level. Ruth had the lids of one eye half-opened.

Beauty, who had been asleep on the other side of
Ruth, minced carefully across the white dragon's
shoulders and returned the courtesies of the strangers.

"Ask them if they remember seeing a bronze
dragon?" Jaxom thought to Ruth.

/ have. They're thinking about it. They like me.
They've never seen anything like me before.

"Nor will again." But Jaxom was amused at the de-
light in his dragon's tone. Ruth did so like to be liked.

A long time ago there was a dragon, a bronze one,
and a man who walked up and down the beach. They
did not bother him. He didn't stay long, Ruth added,
almost as an afterthought.

Now what did that mean? Jaxom wondered, appre-
hensive. Either we came and got him. Or he and
Tiroth suicided.

"Ask them what else they remember about men,"
Jaxom said to Ruth. Maybe they saw F'lar with
D'ram.

The new fire-lizards became so excited that Ruth's
head came up out of the sand and his eyes flashed
.open and began to whirl with alarm. At his move-
ment, Beauty lost her grip on his ridge and slid out of

The White Dragon

sight, reappearing with wings working furiously as she
repositioned herself, squawking over her disarrange-
ment.

They remember men. Why don't I remember such
things?

"And dragons?" Jaxom suppressed a spurt of alarm,
wondering how on earth the Oldtimers could know he
and Menolly were here. Then his common sense as-
serted itself. They couldn't know.

He nearly jumped to his feet at the touch on his
arm.

"Find out when, Jaxom," Menolly said in a soft
whisper, "when was D'ram here?"

No dragons. But many many men, Ruth was saying
and added that the fire-lizards were too excited now to
remember anything about one man and a dragon. He
didn't understand what they were remembering; each
one seemed to have different memories. He was con-
fused.

"Do they know we're here?"

They haven't seen you. They've only looked at me.
But you aren't their men. Ruth's tone indicated he was
as perplexed by this message as Jaxom.

"Can't you get them back to the subject of D'ram?"

No, Ruth said sadly and with some disappointment.
All they want to remember is men. Not my men, but
their men.

"Maybe if I stand up they will recognize me as a
man." Slowly Jaxom got to his feet, gesturing cau-
tiously to Menolly to rise as well. What the fire-lizards
needed was the proper perspective.

You aren't the men they remember, Ruth said as
the fire-lizards, startled by the two figures rising from
the sands, took wing. They circled once, at a safe dis-
tance, and then disappeared.

"Call them back, Ruth. We've got to find out when
D'ram is."

Ruth was silent for a moment, his eyes decreasing
the speed of their whirl. Then he shook his head
as he told his rider that they had gone away to re-
member their men.

The White Dragon

"They couldn't mean Southerners," Menolly said,
having received some images from her friends. "That
mountain is in the background of their images." And
she turned in that direction though she couldn't see
the mountain for the trees. "And they wouldn't have
meant Robinton and myself when we got storm-tossed
here. Did they remember a boat, Ruth?" Menolly
asked the white dragon, then looked at Jaxom for the

answer.

No one told me to ask about a boat, Ruth said
plaintively. But they did say they saw a man and a
dragon.

"Would they react if ... if Tiroth had gone be-
tween, Ruth?"

By himself? To the end? Yes, they didn't remem-
ber sadness. I remember sadness. I remember Mirath's
going very well. The white dragon's tone was sad.

Jaxom hurried to comfort him.

"Did he?" Menolly asked anxiously, not hearing

Ruth.

"Ruth doesn't think so. And besides, a dragon
wouldn't let his rider harm himself. D'ram can't sui-
cide with Tiroth alive. And Tiroth won't if D'ram is
still alive."

"When?" Menolly sounded upset. "We still don't

know when."

"No, we don't. But if D'ram was here, long enough
for the fire-lizards to remember him, if he planned to
stay here as he must have, he would have had to build
some sort of shelter for himself. There are rains in this
part of the world. And Thread . . ." Jaxom had started
toward the verge of the forest to test his theory. He
called, "Hey, Menolly, Thread's only been falling for
the past fifteen Turns. That wouldn't be too long a
jump for Tiroth, They came forward in time at twenty-
five Turn intervals. I'll bet anything that's his when,
before Thread. D'ram's had enough of Thread for sev-
eral lifetimes." Jaxom scrambled across the sand back
to his clothes and continued talking as he got dressed.
That sense of rightness colored his speculation. "I'd
say Dram's gone back about twenty or twenty-five

184

The White Dragon

Turns. I'll try then first. If we see any sign of D'ram
or Tiroth, we'll come right back, I promise." He
vaulted to Ruth's back, fastening his helmet as he
urged the white dragon to wing.

"Jaxom, wait! Don't be so quick ..."

Menolly's words were lost in the noise of Ruth's
wings. Jaxom grinned to himself as he saw her jumping
up and down in the sands in her frustration. He con-
centrated on the moment in time to when he wished
to jump: predawn, with the Red Star far east, a pale,
malevolent pink, not yet ready to swoop down on an
unsuspecting Pern. But Menolly had a final say. He
felt a tail wrapping about his neck just as he told
Ruth to transfer between time.

It seemed a long moment, suspended in that cold
nothingness that was between. He could feel that chill
inching its way through skin and bones warmed by a
kind sun. He steeled himself for the ordeal. Then they
were out in the cool dawn, the pink gleam of the Red
Star low on the horizon.

"Can you sense Tiroth, Ruth?" Jaxom could see
nothing in the crepuscular light of this new day so
many Turns before his birth.

He sleeps, so does the man. They are here.

Elation brimming inside him, Jaxom told Ruth to
get back to Menolly but not too soon. Jaxom pictured
the sun well over the forests and that was what he saw
as Ruth burst back into now over the cove.

For a moment he couldn't see Menolly on the
beach. Then Beauty and the other two bronzes—it
was Rocky who had accompanied him—exploded be-
side them. Beauty blistering the air with her angry
comments, while Diver and Poll chittered anxiously.
Then Menolly appeared from the forest, planted both
hands on her hip bones and just watched. He didn't
need to see her face to know she was furious. She con-
tinued to glare balefully at him while Ruth settled to
the sand, careful not to flick it over the girl.

"Well?"

Menolly was very pretty, Jaxom thought, with her
eyes flashing like that, but she was daunting, too.

18?




The White Dragon

"D'ram was then. Twenty-five Turns back. I used
the Red Star as a guide."

"I'm glad you used something constant. Do you
realize that you've been gone from this time for
hours?"

"You knew I was all right. You sent Rocky with
me."

"That didn't help! You went so far Beauty couldn't
touch him. We had no idea where you were!" She
flung her arms wide with her exasperation. "You
could've met up with those men the other fire-lizards
saw. You could've miscalculated and never come
back!"

"I'm sorry, Menolly, really I am." Jaxom was gen-
uinely contrite, if only to spare himself the sharp edge
of her tongue. "But I couldn't remember what time it
was when we left, so I made sure we didn't double up
on ourselves coming back."

She calmed down a trifle. "You didn't need to be
that cautious. I was about to send Beauty for F'lar."

"You were worried!"

"Bloody right." She swooped and gathered up the
pack, shrugging into her jacket and slapping her hel-
met on. "Incidently I found the remains of a lean-
to, near a stream back there," she said as she
slung him the pack. Vaulting neatly to Ruth's back,
she looked around for her fire-lizards that had disap-
peared. "Off again." She gave a call, and Jaxom in-
stinctively ducked from the rush of wings about his
head.

Menolly settled them down, Beauty and Poll on her
shoulders, Rocky and Diver on Jaxom's, and they
were ready.

When they emerged above Benden Weyr, Ruth
caroled his name. Menolly's fire-lizards cheeped un-
certainly.

"I wish I dared take you into the queen's weyr,
but that wouldn't be smart. Off you go to Brekke!"

As they disappeared, the watchdragon let out an
outraged roar, wings extend'-'d, neck arching, eyes
flashing with angry red. Startled, Menolly and Jaxom

The White Dragon

turned to see a fair of fire-lizards arrowing toward
them.

"They followed us from the South, Jaxom. Oh, tell
them to go back!"
The fair winked out abruptly.

They only wanted to see where we came from,
Ruth said to Jaxom in an aggrieved tone.
"At Ruatha Hold, yes. Here, no!"
They won't come again, Ruth said sadly. They got
frightened.

By that time the watchdragon's alarm had stirred
up the Weyr. With sinking spirits, Jaxom and Menolly
saw Mnementh raise himself on his ledge. They could
hear Ramoth's bellow and before they had landed in
the Bowl, half the dragons were bellowing, too. The
unmistakable figures of Lessa and F'lar appeared on
the ledge by Mnementh.

"We're in for it now," Jaxom said.
"Not as bearers of good tidings, we're not. Concen-
trate on that."

"I'm too bloody tired to concentrate on anything,"
Jaxom replied with more feeling than he'd intended.
His skin itched, probably the sand. Or too much sun,
but he was uncomfortable.

/ am very hungry, Ruth said, looking wistfully to-
ward the fenced killing ground of the Weyr.

Jaxom groaned. "I can't let you hunt here, Ruth."
He gave his friend an encouraging pat and, noticing
F'lar and Lessa waiting for them, he hitched up his
trousers, settled his tunic and gestured to Menolly
that they'd better go.

They'd taken no more than three steps, during
which time Mnementh had turned his wedge-shaped
head to Plar, when the Weyrleader had spoken to
Lessa and the two Benden leaders started down the
steps, F'lar gesturing to Jaxom to move Ruth on to
the killing ground.

Mnementh is a kind friend, Ruth said. I may eat
here. I am very very hungry.

"Let Ruth go, Jaxom," F'lar was calling across the
intervening distance. "He's gray!"

The White Dragon

Ruth did indeed look gray, Jaxom realized, which
was the shade he himself felt, now that the exhilara-
tion of their quest was ebbing. Relieved, he signaled
the white dragon to proceed to the ground.

As he and Menolly walked toward the Weyrieaders,
he felt his knees weaken unaccountably and he
lurched against Menolly. She had her hand under his
arm instantly.

"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
re-established 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 be-
tween F'lar and Menolly, with Manora and Lessa in
front of him, everyone looking extremely anxious.

A high-pitched squeal told him that Ruth bad killed
and, curiously, he felt better immediately.

"Drink this slowly," Lessa ordered, curling his fin-
gers 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 Weyr-
woman 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 weyr-
mate. "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

188

The White Dragon

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 spend-
ing 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
tamed 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

189

The White Dragon

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 look at her.

F'lar, alerted by the tone in her voice, returned to
the table with the wine and cups he'd taken from the
wall chest.

"Acquire what? Oh ho, the young man has trained
his dragon to chew firestone but not to duck!"

"I thought it was decided that Jaxom was to remain
in Holding at Ruatha."

"I thought you said you wouldn't scold him," F'lar
replied as he winked at Jaxom.

"About timing it. But this . . ." she gestured angrily
at Jaxom, "this is entirely different."

"Is it, Lessa?" F'lar asked in a tone that embar-
rassed Jaxom. They were momentarily unaware of
him. "I seem to remember a girl wanting desperately
to fly her queen."

"Flying was no danger. But Jaxom could be—"

"Jaxom has evidently learned a lesson. Haven't
you? About ducking, that is."

"Yes, sir. N'ton's put me in with the weyrlings at
Fort."

"Why wasn't I informed?" Lessa demanded.

"Jaxom's training is Lytol's responsibility and we've
no complaints on that score. As far as Ruth is con-
cerned, I'd say that he too falls under N'ton's jurisdic-
tion. How long has this been going on, Jaxom?"

"Not that long, sir. I asked N'ton because . . .
well . . ." Here Jaxom's conscience interfered with his
glibness. Above all else, Lessa must not think he had
any part in returning that blasted egg.

F'lar rescued him. "Because Ruth is a dragon, and

The White Dragon

dragons ought to fight Thread with firestone? Right?"
He shrugged at Lessa. "What did you expect? He's
Ruathan-blooded, like. yourself. Just keep your hide
and Ruth's intact."

"We haven't flown in a Threadfall yet," Jaxom
admitted realizing as he spoke how much resentment
showed in his voice.

F'lar gave him a friendly clout on the shoulder.

"He's a sound lad, Lessa, stop glowering. If he's
singed himself once, he's less likely to risk doing so
again. Was Ruth hurt?"

"Yes!" The anguish of that experience was plain in
Jaxom's admission.

F'lar gave a laugh and waggled a finger at Lessa,
who was still glaring at Jaxom. "There! That's the
best deterrent in the world. Ruth wasn't badly hurt, was
he? I can't say I've seen you that often recently . . ."
F'lar turned toward the killing ground as if conjuring
up the white dragon.

"No," Jaxom said quickly and F'lar grinned again
at the relief in his reply. "It's well healed. You can
barely see the scar. On his left thigh."

"I can't say that I like all this," Lessa said.

"We would have asked you, Weyrwoman," Jaxom
began, not entirely truthful, "but there was so much
trouble just then. ..."

"Well. .." she began.

"Well," echoed F'lar, "it really isn't up to you,
Lessa, but you do understand, Jaxom, how awkward it
would be for you to be seriously hurt right now. We
can't afford to have a major Hold in contention."

"I appreciate that, sir."

"Nor, I'm afraid, is it wise to press your confirmation
as Lord Holder—"

"I don't want Lytol to have to step down, sir. Not
ever."

"Your loyalty does you credit but I really can under-
stand and appreciate your ambiguous position. It's
never easy to be patient, my friend, but patience can be
rewarding."

The White Dragon

Again Jaxom was embarrassed by the look that
Lessa and F'lar exchanged.

"And," the Weyrleader continued more briskly, as
if he realized Jaxom's discomfiture, "you've already
proved your resourcefulness today, though, believe
me, had I known you to be so thorough, I'd have been
more explicit in my instructions." F'lar's expression
was severe but Jaxom found himself grinning in
relief. "Twenty-five Turns timing it . . ." The Weyr-
leader was both appalled and impressed.
Lessa gave a snort.

"It was your jumps, Lessa, that first gave me the
notion," Jaxom said, and when he saw her startled
expression, explained: "Remember, you came forward
in twenty-five Turn jumps when you brought the Old-
timers forward. So I thought it likely that D'ram would
go back that interval. It left him time enough be-
fore the Pass started so he wouldn't have to worry

about Thread."

F'lar nodded approvingly, and Lessa appeared
somewhat mollified.

Ramoth turned her head toward the entrance.

"Your meal is coming," Lessa said, smiling. "No
more talk till you've eaten. Ruth's way ahead of you,
just brought down his third wherry, Ramoth says."

"Don't worry about a bird or three or four," F'lar
said, for Jaxom had winced at this report of Ruth's
greed. "The Weyr can support the meal."

Menolly entered, breathing heavily from the climb
and, to judge by the beads of perspiration on her brow,
her haste. When Lessa exclaimed that she'd brought
enough food to feed a fighting wing, Menolly replied
that Manora said it was nearly dinnertime and they
might as well all eat in the weyr.

If anyone had told Jaxom that morning that he'd
enjoy a comfortable diner with the Benden Weyr-
leaders, he'd have told them to open their glow baskets.
Despite the reassurances of Mnementh and Ramoth
that were conveyed to him, he wouldn't sit still and
eat until he'd checked on Ruth. So Lessa permitted him
to walk to the ledge and see the white dragon grooming

The White Dragon

himself by the lake. When Jaxom resumed his place at
the table, he found himself shaking, and he applied
himself to the roast meats to restore his energy.

"Tell me again what those fire-lizards said about
men," F'lar asked when they were relaxing around the
table.

"You can't always get fire-lizards to explain," Men-
olly said, glancing first at Jaxom to see if he wished to
answer. "They got so excited when Ruth asked them if
they remembered men that their images made no sense.
Actually," Menolly paused, drawing her brows together
in concentration, "the images were so varied that you
didn't see much."

"Why would their images be varied?" Lessa asked,
interested in spite of her present antagonism to fire-
lizards.

"Generally a group will come up with one specific
image ..."

Jaxom inhaled wearily: she couldn't be foolish
enough to mention the egg pictures.

"They echoed Canth's fall from the Red Star. My
friends will often come back with rather good images,
I think each reinforcing the other, of places they've
been."

"Men!" F'lar said thoughtfully. "They could mean
men elsewhere in the South. It is a vast continent."

"F'lar!" Lessa's voice was sharp and warning. "You
are not exploring the Southern Continent. And, might I
suggest that if there were men there, somewhere, they
would certainly have ventured far enough north to
be seen at some stage or another by F'nor when he was
south, or by Toric's groups. There would have been
signs of them other than the unreliable recollections
of some fire-lizards."

"You're quite likely correct, Lessa," F'lar said,
looking so disappointed that Jaxom realized for the
.first time that being Benden's Weyrleader and First
Dragonrider of Pern might not be as enviable a posi-
tion as he'd previously assumed.

So often lately he'd come to realize that things were
not as they seemed. There were hidden facets to every-

The White Dragon

thing. You'd think you had what you wanted in your
grasp and, when you looked closely, it wasn't what it
had seemed to be from a distance. Like teaching
your dragon to chew firestone—and getting caught at
it, in one sense, as he had. Now he had to train ear-
nestly with N'ton's weyrlings, which was fine as far
as it went but it didn't go far enough to please Jaxom—
flying high in a Fort Weyr wing so his holders wouldn't
even know he was there!

"The problem is, Jaxom, that we," F'lar indicated
Lessa, himself and the entire Weyr, "have other plans
for the South—before the Lord Holders start parcel-
ing it out to their younger sons." He brushed his hair
back from his face. "We learned a lesson from the
Oldtimers, a valuable one. And I know what happens
to a Weyr in a long Interval." Plar grinned broadly at
Jaxom. "We've been mighty busy protecting land by
seeding the grubs. By the next Pass of the Red Star,
all the Northern Continent," and the Weyrieader's
gesture was wide, "will be seeded. And safe at least
from Thread burrowing. If the Holds thought dragon-
riders were superfluous before, they certainly will have
more cause then."

"People always feel better seeing dragons flame
Thread," Jaxom said hastily, from a sense of loyalty
although, from the expression on F'lar's face, the
Weyrleader didn't seem to be in need of any reassur-
ance.

"True, but I'd prefer it if the Weyrs no longer needed
the bounty of the Holds. If we had land enough of our
own..."

"You want the South!"

"Not all of it."

"Just the best part of it," said Lessa firmly.

194

CHAPTER XI

Late Morning at Benden Weyr, Early
Morning at Harpercraft Hall, Midday
at Rdello's Hold, 15.7.5

JAXOM AND RUTH SPENT the night in an empty
weyr, but Ruth felt sufficiently uneasy in a full-sized
dragon bed that Jaxom bundled his furs and curled up
against his mount. Jaxom was conscious of having to
pull himself out of a soft, black enfolding pit from
which he was loath to move.

"I know you must be flattened with fatigue, Jaxom,
but you've got to wake up!" Menolly's voice penetrated
the comfortable darkness. "Besides, you'll get a pain in
your neck sleeping like that."

Menolly was upside down, Jaxom thought as he
opened his eyes. Beauty was precariously perched, hind
legs on the girl's shoulder, her forepaws well down
Menolly's breast, peering anxiously at him. He felt Ruth
stir.

"Jaxom, wake up! I've brought you all the klah you
can drink." Mirrim moved into his line of vision. "But
F'lar's eager to go and he wants Mnementh to talk to
Ruth first."

Menolly winked solemnly at Jaxom, turning her
shoulder to mask her action from Mirrim. Jaxom
groaned because he was never going to keep straight in
his mind who knew what was to be kept secret or who

195




The White Dragon

could be told. He groaned again because his neck was
indeed stiff.

Ruth opened his inner lid just a crack, regarding his
rider with displeasure. / am tired. I need to sleep.

"You can't sleep any longer now. Mnementh needs
to speak to you."

Why didn't he speak to me last night?

"Because he probably wouldn't have remembered to-
day."

Ruth's head came up and he turned one eye fully on
Jaxom. Mnementh would. He is the biggest dragon on
all Pern.

"Just because he let you gorge yourself on his killing
ground, you like him. But he wants to speak to you
so you'd better. Are you awake?"

If I am able to speak to you, I am not dreaming.
I am awake.

"You are a bold fellow today," Jaxom said. In one
massive heave, he pulled himself out of his impromptu
bed. Dragging the furs about him, he half-fell toward
the table where Menolly and Mirrim had politely with-
drawn. The smell of klah was very welcome and he
thanked the girls.

"What time is it?"

"M'dmorning, Benden time," Menolly said, her face
expressionless but her eyes dancing as she lightly
stressed the last two words.

Jaxom grunted. They could all hear the creaks,
groans and rumblings of Ruth as the dragon stretched
himself in preparation for the day.

"When did you get Threadscored, Jaxom?" Mirrim
asked with her usual forthrightness. She leaned
over and traced the scar with a light touch, flattening
her lips together in patent disapproval of the disfigure-
ment.

"Teaching Ruth to chew firestone. At Fort Weyr," he
added, after a malicious pause as he saw her gathering
herself to scold him.

"Does Lessa know?" Mirrim asked, emphasizing the
last word.

The White Dragon

"Yes," Jaxom replied. Let Mirrim digest that truth.
But Mirrim wouldn't let some matters alone.

"I don't think much of N'ton's weyrlingmaster then,"
she said, sniffing disapproval, "letting you get scored
that way."

"Not his fault," Jaxom mumbled through half-
chewed bread.

"Wasn't Lytol furious? You shouldn't be risking
yourself."

Jaxom shook his head vigorously. He did wish
Menolly hadn't brought Mirrim with her.

"And I just don't see what good it's going to do you.
You can't expect to fight Ruth."

Jaxom choked. "I am too going to fight Ruth
Mirrim."

"He already has," Menolly remarked, indicating the
Threadscore. "Now shut your mouth and let the man
eat."

"Man?" Mirrim's voice took a derisive swoop and
she gave Jaxom a scathing glance.

Menolly made an exasperated sound. "If Path
doesn't fly soon, Mirrim, you're not going to be on
terms with anyone!"

Surprised, Jaxom looked at Mirrim, who was flush-
ing deeply red.

"Oh ho. Path's ready to be flown! That'll sort out
some of your high-headed notions." He couldn't resist
crowing at her dismay. "Has Path shown a preference?
Ha! Look at her blush! Never thought I'd see the day
you'd lose the use of your tongue! And you'll be losing
something more soon. I hope it's the wildest flight
they've had at Benden since Mnementh first flew
Ramoth!"

Mirrim exploded, her eyes narrowed with her anger,
hands clenched into fists at her sides. "At least my
Path will be flown! That's more than you'll ever do,
with that white runt of yours!"

"Mirrim!" Menolly's sharp voice made the girl
wince, but not soon enough to erase the angry retort
that sank coldly into Jaxom's mind. He stared at Mir-
rim, trying to reject her taunt. "You take too much on




The White Dragon

yourself, Mirrim," Menolly was saying. "I think you'd
better leave."

"You just bet I'll leave. And I don't care if you
have to climb down from this weyr, Menolly. Indeed
I don't." Mirrim ran from the room.

"Shells and Shards, but it'll be a relief when that
green of hers rises to mate. And it might even be today
the way Mirrim's reacting." Menolly spoke in a casual
tone, almost chuckling at her friend's behavior.

Jaxom swallowed against the dryness in his mouth.
Rigidly he controlled his intense emotional reaction
for Ruth's sake. A surreptitious glance at the white
dragon showed that his friend was still stretching and
extending wings and legs. Jaxom only hoped that the
dragon had been too sleepy to attend to what they had
been saying. He leaned toward Menolly.

"Do you know anything about . . ." he jerked his
head at Ruth, "that I don't know?"

"About Path?" Menolly deliberately misconstrued
his direction. "Well, if you've never seen a rider re-
action to a proddy dragon, Mirrim's given you a classic
example."

Path is a well-grown dragon, Ruth said thoughtfully.
Jaxom groaned, covering his face with one hand; he
should have known that Ruth missed little.

Menolly tapped his hand imperiously, her eyes de-
manding an explanation.

"Would you like to fly Path?" Jaxom asked Ruth,
his eyes meeting Menolly's.

Why should I fly her? I have already outflown her
in every race we flew at Telgar. She isn't as fast as I

am in the air.

Jaxom repeated to Menolly exactly what Ruth had
said, trying to keep his voice as close to Ruth's puzzled

tone as possible.

Menolly burst out laughing. "Oh, I wish Ruth had
said that in Mirrim's hearing. That would bring her

down a peg or two."

Mnementh wishes to speak to me, Ruth said in a
very respectful manner, raising his head and turning
toward Mnementh's ledge.

198

The White Dragon

"Do you know something I don't? About Ruth?"
Jaxom asked in a fierce whisper as he caught hold of
Menolly's hand to bring her closer to him.

"You heard him, Jaxom." Menolly's eyes were
bright with amusement. "He's simply not interested in
dragons, not that way yet."

Jaxom gave her hand a hard squeeze.

"Just think logically,, Jaxom," she said, leaning over
to him. "Ruth's small, he's maturing more slowly than
other dragons."

"You mean, he may never mature enough to mate,
don't you?"

Menolly regarded him steadily and he searched her
eyes for pity or evasion, and found neither. "Jaxom,
aren't you enjoying Corana?"

"Yes, I am."

"You're upset. I don't think you need be. I have
never heard a word to suggest you should worry. Only
that Ruth is unusual."

I have told Mnementh what he wishes to know.
They go now, Ruth said. Do you think I could take a
bath in the lake?

"Didn't you get enough bathing yesterday in the
cove?" Jaxom was relieved to find himself answering
his dragon calmly.

That was yesterday, Ruth replied equably. / have
eaten since then and slept on a dusty surface. You
need a bath, too, I think.

"All right, all right," Jaxom replied. "Go along with
you then. But don't let Lessa see you with any fire-
lizards."

How will I get my back properly cleaned? Ruth
asked in mild reproach. He stepped down from the
bedstone.

"What's his problem?" Menolly wondered aloud,
grinning at Jaxom's expression.

"Wants his back scrubbed."

"I'll send my friends to you, Ruth, once you're at
the lake. Lessa won't notice."

Ruth paused in his progress to the weyr entrance,
cocking his head, patently considering. Then he

199




The White Dragon

arched his neck and moved forward confidently. Yes,

Mnementh has gone and Ramoth with him. They will
not know that I will have a real bath with fire-lizards
to scrub my ridges property.

Jaxom couldn't help but laugh at the smug satis-
faction in Ruth's tone as he left the weyr.

"Sorry about inflicting Mirrim on you, Jaxom, but
I couldn't get up to this level without Path. And her."

Jaxom took a long sip of klah. "I suppose, if Path's
proddy, she has to be excused."

"Mirrim usually is, one way or another." Menolly's
tone was acid.
"Huh?"

"Mirrim generally gets away with outrageous be-
havior—"

A sudden thought caused Jaxom to interrupt the
harper girl abruptly. "You don't think Mirrim did
sneak onto the Ground before that Hatching? I know
she swears she didn't but I do know she wasn't sup-
posed to Impress. ..."

"Not any more than you were! Oh, for goodness
sake, Jaxom, can't I tease you? No, I don't think she
tried to influence Path in the shell. She had her fire-
lizards and was always content with them. Who
wouldn't be with three? Also, you surely know how
furious Lessa was after she Impressed Path? Well, no
one came forward then to say they'd ever seen Mirrim
sneaking onto the Ground and they would have! Mir-
rim can be managing, tactless, difficult and exasperat-
ing, but she's not devious. Weren't you at the Hatching?
Oh, well, I was. Path came staggering over to the
spot where Mirrim was sitting, crying her heart out
and refusing every single candidate on the Ground un-
til F'lar was forced to decide that Path wanted some-
one sitting among the spectators."

Menolly shrugged. "Someone who turned out to be
Mirrim. Oddly enough, her fire-lizards never uttered
a chirp of objection. No, I think the partnering was as
much . . . well, destined to be as you and Ruth. Not at
all like my acquisition of Poll. As if I needed another
fire-lizard." She grimaced ruefully. "But his shell

200

The White Dragon

cracked just as I was passing him to that addle-handed
child of Lord Groghe's. He's never faulted me, and
the child got a green. A bronze would have been
wasted on that brat!"

Jaxom pointed a forefinger at Menolly. "You are
blathering! What is it you're hiding? What is it that
you know about Ruth that I don't?"

Menolly looked Jaxom straight in the eye. "I don't
know anything, Jaxom. But, by your own account to
me a few minutes gone by, Ruth greeted the news of
Path's imminent mating with all the enthusiasm of a
weyrling asked to change glow baskets."

"That doesn't mean—"

"Doesn't mean anything. So don't get defensive.
Ruth is maturing late. That's all you need to think
about it... especially with Corana on hand."

"Menolly!"

"Don't explode! You'll undo all the good rest you
had last night. You were faded!" She put her hand on
his arm, giving it a squeeze. "I'm not prying about
Corana. I'm commenting, although you might not ap-
preciate the distinction."

"It does occur to me that Ruatha Hold is not Harper
business," he said, gritting his teeth against the words
he'd like to use.

"You, Jaxom, rider of white Ruth, are the Harper's
business—not young Jaxom, Lord of Ruatha."

"You're making distinctions again."

"Yes, I am, Jaxom," and although her voice was
serious, her eyes twinkled. "When Jaxom influences
what happens to Pern, then he becomes Harper busi-
ness."

Jaxom stared at her, still baffled by her silence on
the matter of the egg's return. Then he caught the odd
warning expression in her eyes; for some reason be-
yond his comprehension, she did not want him to con-
firm that adventure.

"You're several people at once, Jaxom," she went
on, earnestly. "The Lord of a Hold which cannot be
in contention, the rider of an unusual dragon and a
young man who's not quite sure who or what he should

201




The White Dragon

be. You can, you know, be all and more, without be-
ing disloyal to anyone, or yourself."

Jaxom snorted. "Who's speaking? The Harper, or

Menolly the Meddler?"

Menolly shrugged, gave a rueful twist of her mouth,
neither smile nor denial. "Partly Harper, because I
can't look at most things without thinking Harper, but
Menolly mostly, right now, I think, because I don't
want you to be upset. Particularly not after that feat
you pulled off yesterday!" There was no doubt of the

warmth of her smile.

Her fair of fire-lizards came swooping into the weyr.
Jaxom suppressed his annoyance at the interruption
because he'd have preferred to keep Menolly talking
in this unusually expansive mood. But the fire-lizards
were clearly excited and, before Menolly could calm
them enough to find out, Ruth came into the weyr,

his eyes whirling with myriad colors.

D'ram and Tiroth are here, and. everyone is very
excited, Ruth said, pushing his nose at Jaxom to be
caressed. Jaxom obliged, and went on to rub eye
ridges damp from Ruth's swimming. Mnementh is very
pleased with himself. There was a note of grievance in

that addition.

"Well, Mnementh couldn't have brought D'ram and

Tiroth back without your help, Ruth," Jaxom replied

staunchly. "Right, Menolly?"

I could not have found D'ram and Tiroth without
the fire-lizards' help, Ruth remarked graciously. And
you thought of going back twenty-five Turns.

Menolly sighed, unable to hear Ruth's last comment.

"Actually, we owe more to those Southern fire-
lizards."

"That's just what Ruth said . . ."

"Dragons are honest people!" Menolly exhaled
heavily and rose. "Come on, my friend. You and I
had better return to our own halls. We've done what j
we were sent to do. Done it well. That's all the satis- '
faction we're likely to have." She shot him an amused
look. "Isn't that so?" She gathered up her pack.

The White Dragon

"Which is the way some matters have to remain.

Right?"

She slipped her arm through his, hauling him to his
feet, grinning in a se'ni-conspiratorial fashion that
oddly enough did dispel the resentment he was begin-
ning to feel.

As they came out on the ledge, they could see the
activity about the queen's weyr, as riders and women
from the Lower Caverns came streaming across to greet
D'ram and his bronze.

"I must admit, it's rather nice to leave Benden with
everyone in a pood frame of mind for a change,"
Menolly said as Ruth bore her and Jaxom upward.

Jaxom expected to deposit Menolly safely in the
Harperhall and return home. No sooner had Ruth an-
nounced himself to the watchdragon on the fire-heights
than Zair and a harper-banded little queen attached
themselves with precarious talon holds to Ruth's neck.

"That's Sebell's Kimi. He's back!" There was an ex-
ultant ring to Menolly's voice that Jaxom had never
heard before.

The watchdragon says that the Harper wants to see
us. So does Zair, Ruth told Jaxom. He means me, too,
Ruth added with a note of pleasant surprise.

"Why shouldn't the Harper want to see you, Ruth?
He's sure to give you the credit you're due," Jaxom
said, still nursing a bit of resentment as he slapped the
arched neck affectionately. Ruth had turned his head
to choose a landing space in the courtyard.

Master Robinton and a man with a master's knot
on his shoulder came striding down the Hail's steps.
Master Robinton's arms were outstretched so he could
encircle both Menolly and Jaxom with an enthusiasm
that almost embarrassed Jaxom. Then, to his compiete
surprise, the other Harper grabbed Menolly from
Robinton's grasp and began to swing her around and
around, all the time kissing her soundly. Instead of
protesting this treatment of their friend, the fire-lizards
went into spectacular aerial maneuvers of twned
necks and overlapped wings. Jaxom knew that fire-
lizard queens rarely indulged in tactile contact with




The White Dragon

queens, but Beauty and the strange gold were as joy-
ously indulging as Menolly and the man. Glancing to
see what the Harper's reaction was to such excess,
Jaxom was astonished to see Master Robinton grin-
ning with smug pleasure, an expression quickly altered
when he noticed Jaxom's regard.

"Come, Jaxom, Menolly and Sebell have several
months' news to exchange and I want to hear your
version of D'ram's discovery."

As Robinton guided Jaxom toward the Hall,
Menolly cried out and pushed herself free of Sebell's
arms, although Jaxom noticed that her fingers re-
mained entwined in Sebell's as she took a hesitant step
toward Robinton. "Master?"

"What?" Robinton affected dismay. "Cannot Sebell
command a measure of your time after so long an
absence?"

Jaxom was gratified to see Menolly caught by un-
certainty and confusion. Sebell was grinning.

"Hear what he has to tell you first, girl," Robinton
said, more kindly. "I'll make do admirably with
Jaxom."

Glancing back at the pair as Robinton escorted him
into the Hall, Jaxom saw their arms linked about each
other's waists, heads inclined together. Their fire-
lizards spiraled above, following them as they walked
slowly toward the meadow beyond the Harper Hall.

"You brought D'ram and Tiroth back?" the Harper
asked Jaxom.

"I found them. The Benden Weyrleaders returned
them this morning, Benden time."

Robinton hesitated, his foot nearly missing the top
step as he led Jaxom to his own quarters. "They were
there, though, in that cove, all along? Just as I sur-
mised."

"Twenty-five Turns back," and, with no further urg-
ing, Jaxom recounted the adventure from the begin-
ning. His listener was more sympathetic and attentive
than either Lessa or F'lar had been, so Jaxom began
to enjoy his unaccustomed role.

"Men?" The Harper, who had been lounging in his

204

The White Dragon

chair, one booted foot propped on the table, abruptly
came off the end of his spine. His heel rang on the
stone floor. "They'd seen men?"

Jaxom was momentarily startled. Whereas the
Weryleaders had been alarmed and skeptical, the
Master Harper acted almost as if he'd expected this
news.

"I've always maintained that we came from the
Southern Continent," the Harper said, more to him-
self than anyone else. Then he signaled Jaxom to con-
tinue.

Jaxom obeyed but was soon aware that only half
the Harper's attention was on his narrative, though
the man nodded and asked occasional questions.
Jaxom told of his and Menolly's safe return to
Benden Weyr, remembered to mention his gratitude
to Mnementh for permitting Ruth to eat. He fell silent
then, wondering how to ask a question of his own of
the Harper, but Robinton was frowning at some pri-
vate reflections.

"Tell me again what the fire-lizards said about
these men," the Harper asked, leaning forward, elbows
on the table, eyes fixed on Jaxom. On his shoulder,
Zair echoed a querying note.

"They didn't say much, Master Robinton. That's
the trouble! They got so excited, they made little
sense at all. Menolly could probably tell you more
because she had Beauty and the three bronzes with
her. But—"

"What did Ruth say?"

Jaxom shrugged, unhappily aware that his half-
answers were inadequate.

"He said the images were too confused, even if they
were all about men, their men. And we, Menolly and
I, weren't their sort of men."

Jaxom reached for the pitcher of klah, to slake the
dryness of his mouth. He courteously filled a cup for
the Harper who absently drained half of it while deep
in thought.

"Men," Master Robinton said again, extending the
last consonant and ending the sound with a click of

20?




The White Dragon

his tongue. He got to his feet in such a fluid motion
that Zair squawked, clawing for balance. "Men, and so
long ago that the images the fire-lizards retain are
vague. That is very interesting, very interesting in-
deed."

•The Harper began to pace, stroking Zair, who chit-
tered reprovingly.

Jaxom glanced out the window at Ruth, sunning
himself in the courtyard, the local fire-lizards clus-
tered about him. Jaxom listened idly to the chorus,
wondering why they were stopped so often in the
Ballad, for he couldn't detect discord in their har-
monies. The breeze coming in the window was pleas-
ant, soft with summer scents, and he was jerked back
to his surroundings when Robinton's hand gripped
his shoulder.

"You've done very well, lad, but you'd better get
back to Ruatha now. You're half asleep. That time
jump took more out of you than I think you realize."

As Master Robinton accompanied Jaxom to the
courtyard, he had him rehearse the conversation
with the fire-lizards just once more. This time the
Harper nodded his head sharply at each point as if
to insure accurate recall.

"That you found D'ram and Tiroth safe, Jaxom,
is the least of this affair, I think. I knew I was right
to involve you and Ruth. Don't be surprised if you
hear more from me on this business, with Lytol's per-
mission, of course."

With a final affectionate grip of his arm, Robinton
stepped back to let Jaxom mount Ruth, the fire-
lizards shrilling their disappointment at the end of their
friend's visit. As Ruth obediently climbed higher,
Jaxom waved a cheery farewell to the diminishing
figure of the Master Harper. Then Jaxom looked
down toward the river for Menolly and Sebell. He
was annoyed with himself, at the same time, for
wanting to know where they were—and further ir-
ritated, because, when he did spot them, the inti-
macy of their attitude proved that they enjoyed a
relationship of which he had been totally unaware.

206

The White Dragon

He did not go straight back to Ruatha Hold. Lytol
would not be expecting him at any particular hour.
As he also saw no fire-lizards abroad to betray his
delinquency, he asked Ruth to take him to the Pla-
teau Hold. hi Ruth's cheerful compliance, he won-
dered if the white dragon knew his mind better than
he did himself.

Now, it was close to midday in western Pem, and
Jaxom wondered how he was going to attract Corana's
attention without every dependent in the hold knowing
of his visit. His need of her was great enough to make
him irritable.

She comes, Ruth said, dipping his wing so that
Jaxom could see the girl emerging from the hold,
walking in the direction of the river, a basket balanced
on one shoulder.

What could have been more fortuitous! He told
Ruth to take them to the river edge where the women
of her hold generally did their washing.

The stream is not very deep, Ruth said casually,
but there is a large rock in the sun where I can be
comfortable and warm. And before Jaxom could an-
swer, he began to glide down to the river, past the
rapid boiling waters flowing across treacherously
strewn boulders, to the calm pool and the flat stone
outcropping. Angling himself neatly so as not to foul
his wings in the branches of the heavy shade trees
that bordered the river, Ruth landed lightly on the
biggest rock. She comes, he repeated, ducking his
shoulder so that Jaxom could dismount.

Suddenly Jaxom was assailed by a conflict of de-
sires and doubts. Mirrim's angry remarks resounded
in his head. Ruth was indeed well beyond the usual
age of mating and yet...

She comes and she is good for you. If she is good
for you, it is good for me, Ruth said. She makes you
feel happy and relaxed and that is good. The sun here
makes me warm and happy, too. Go.

Startled by the strength of his weynnate's tone,
Jaxom stared up at Ruth's face. The eyes were

207

The White Dragon

whirling gently, with the blues and greens of a con-
tentment at odds with the force of his voice.

Then Corana reached the last loop in the path to
the river's edge and saw him. She dropped her basket,
spilling the linen, and ran, embracing him so fiercely,
kissing his face and neck with such uninhibited delight,
that he was soon too involved to think.

Together they moved toward the soft moss that car-
peted the ground beyond the stones, out of sight of the
river bank, out of Ruth's actual vision. Corana was
as willing and eager as he was to satisfy desires
thwarted on his previous visit to the hold. As his
hands touched her soft flesh and he felt her body
press against his, he wondered briefly if she'd have
been as willing a lover had he not been Ruatha's Lord.
But he didn't care! He was her lover now! He gave
himself to that pursuit with no further reservation.
At the precise moment of his release, exquisite to the
point of pain, he was aware of a gentle touch and
knew, with a sense of relief that enhanced his own,
that Ruth was joined to him then, as always.

CHAPTER XII

Ruatha Hold, Fidello's Hold, Threadfall,
15.7.6

KEEPING A SECRET from one's dragon was not easy.
About the only safe time for Jaxom to think of any-
thing he didn't wish Ruth to perceive was very late
at night when his friend was sound asleep, or in the
morning if Jaxom happened to wake before Ruth.
He had seldom needed to shield his thought from
Ruth, which further complicated and inhibited the
process. Then, too, the pace of Jaxom's life—the
now-boring training with the weyrling wing, helping
Lytol and Brand to gear up the Hold to full sum-
mer activity, not to mention excursions to the Pla-
teau Hold—caused Jaxom to fall asleep as soon as
he pulled his bed furs about his shoulders. Mornings,
he was often dragged out of his bed by Tordril or
another fosterling just in time to keep appointments.

Nevertheless, the problem of Ruth's maturity
cropped up in Jaxom's mind at inconvenient times
during his waking hours and had to be rigidly sup-
pressed before a hint of his anxiety reached his
dragon.

Twice at Fort Weyr, to intensify the problem, a
proddy green had taken off on a flight, pursued by
such browns and blues as felt able to rise to her. The
first time, Jaxom was in the middle of drill sequence

The White Dragon

and only happened to notice the flight above and
beyond the weyrlings' wing. His attention was
abruptly diverted from them as a most unconcerned
Ruth continued in the wing's maneuver. Jaxom had
to grab at the fighting straps to remain in place.

The second time, Jaxom and Ruth were aground
when the mating shrieks of a green blooding her kill
startled the Weyr. The other weyrlings were immature
enough to be disinterested but the weyrlingmaster
looked in Jaxom's direction for a long moment. All at
once, Jaxom realized that K'nebel was apparently
wondering if Jaxom and Ruth were going to join
those waiting for the green to launch herself.

Jaxom was assailed by such a gamut of emotions
—anxiety, shame, expectation, reluctance, and pure
terror—that Ruth reared, wings wide, in alarm.

What has upset you? Ruth demanded, settling to
the ground and curving his neck about to regard his
rider, his eyes whirling in quick response to Jaxom's

emotions.

"I'm all right. I'm all right," Jaxom said hastily,

stroking Ruth's head, desperately wanting to ask if
Ruth felt at all like flying the green and hoping in a
muted whisper deep inside him that Ruth did not!

With a challenging snarl, the green dragon was
airborne, the blues and browns after her while she
repeated her taunting challenge. Quicker, lighter than
any of her prospective mates, her facility strengthened
by her sexual readiness, she achieved a conspicuous
distance before the first male had become airborne.
Then they were all after her. On the killing ground,
their riders closed into a knot about the green's rider.
All too quickly, challenger and pursuers dwindled to
specks in the sky. The riders half-ran, half-stumbled
to the Lower Caverns and the chamber reserved

there.

Jaxom had never witnessed a mating flight of drag-
ons. He swallowed, trying to moisten his dry throat.
He felt heart and blood thudding and a tension that
he usually experienced only as he held Corana's
slender body against him. He suddenly wondered

The White Dragon

which dragon had flown Mirrim's Path, which rider
had—

The touch on his shoulder made him Jump and
cry out.

"Well, if Ruth isn't ready to fly, you certainly are,
Jaxom," K'nebel said. The weyrlingmaster glanced up
at far-distant specks in the sky. "Even a green's mating
can be unsettling." K'nebel's expression was under-
standing. He nodded at Ruth. "He wasn't interested?
No, well, give him time! You'd better be off. Drill
was all but over today, anyhow. I've just got to keep

these younger ones occupied someplace else when that
green gets caught."

Then Jaxom realized that the rest of the wing had
dispersed. With a second encouraging clap on
Jaxom's back, K'nebel walked off toward his bronze,

agilely mounting and urging the beast up toward their
weyr.

Jaxom thought of the skybome beasts. Unwillingly
he thought of their riders in the inner room, linked to
their dragons in an emotional struggle that was re-
solved in a strengthening and fusing of the links be-
tween dragons and riders. Jaxom thought of Mirrim.
And of Corana.

With a groan, he sprang on Ruth's neck, fleeing the
emotional atmosphere of Fort Weyr, trying to flee
from his sudden realization of what he had probably
always known about riders but had only this very
morning assimilated.

He had intended to go to the lake to immerse him-
self in the cold waters and let that icy shock cure his
body and chill the torment in his mind. But Ruth
took him instead to the Plateau Hold.
"Ruth! The lake. Take me to the lake!"
It is better for you to be here right now, was
Ruth's astonishing reply. The fire-lizard says the girl
is in the upper field. Once again Ruth seized the
initiative, gliding toward the field where young grain
waved, brilliantly green in the noonday sun, where
Corana was diligently hoeing away the tenacious

211

The White Dragon

creeper vine that grew from the borders of the field
and threatened to strangle the crop.

Ruth achieved a landing on the narrow margin
between grain and wall. Corana, recovering from sur-
prise at his unexpected arrival, waved a welcome.
Instead of rushing toward him as she usually did,
she smoothed back her hair and blotted the perspira-
tion beading her face.

"Jaxom," she began as he strode toward her, the
urgency in his loins increasing at the sight of her,
"I wish you wouldn't—"

He silenced her half-teasing scold with a kiss, felt
something hard clout him along his side. Pinning her
against him with his right arm, he found the offending
hoe with his left hand. Wrenching it from her grasp,
he spun it away from them. Corana wriggled to get
free, as unprepared for this mood in him as he was.
He held her closer, trying to temper the pressures
rising within him until she could respond. She smelled
of the earth and her own sweat. Her hair, covering
his face as he kissed her throat and breast, also
smelled of sun and sweat, and the odors excited him
further. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a
green dragon, shrieking her defiance. Somewhere, too
close to his need, was that vision of dragonriders in
an inner room, waiting, with an excitement that
matched his own, waiting until the green dragon had
been captured by the fastest, the strongest or the
smartest of her pursuers. But it was Corana he was
holding in his arms, and Corana who was beginning
to respond to his need. They were on the warm
ground, the dampness of earth she had just hoed soft
under his elbows and knees. The sun was warm on
his buttocks as he tried to erase the memory of those
riders half-stumbling toward the inner room, and the
mocking taunt of a green dragon in flight. He did not
resist or deny Ruth's familiar beloved touch as his
orgasm released the turmoil of body and mind.

Jaxom could not bring himself to go to weyrling iB
practice the next morning. Lytol and Brand were out *

212

The White Dragon

early, riding to a distant holding with the fosterlings
so no one questioned his presence. When he left the
Hold in the afternoon, he firmly directed Ruth to the
lake and scrubbed and scrubbed his dragon until Ruth
meekly asked what was the matter.

"I love you, Ruth. You are mine. I love you,"
Jaxom said, wanting with all his heart to be able to
add, with his former blithe confidence, that he would
do anything in the world for his friend. "I love you!"
he repeated through gritted teeth and dove from
Ruth's back as deeply as he could into the ice-cold
waters of the lake.

Perhaps I am hungry, Ruth said as Jaxom fought
the pressure of water and airlessness in his lungs.

That could certainly provide a diversion, Jaxom
thought as he erupted to the surface, gasping for
breath. "There's a hold in South Ruatha where there're
wherries fattening."

That would do very nicely.

Jaxom dried himself quickly, shrugged into his
clothes and boots, absently coiling the damp bath
sheet over his shoulders as he mounted Ruth and
directed him up and between to the Southern Holding.
He realized his foolishness the moment the deathly
chill of between compounded the dampness about his
neck. He'd surely contract a distressingly uncomfort-
able head cold from such stupidity.

Ruth hunted with his usual dispatch. Fire-lizards,
local by their band colors, arrived, apparently invited
by the white dragon to share the feast. Jaxom
watched, freer to think while Ruth was totally in-
volved with hunting and eating. Jaxom was not
pleased with himself. He was thoroughly disgusted and
revolted by the way he had used Corana. The fact
that she seemed to have matched what he had to
admit was a violent lust dismayed him. Their relation-
ship, once innocent pleasure, had somehow been
sullied. He wasn't at all certain that he cared to con-
tinue as her lover, an attitude that posed another
unpleasant burden of guilt. One point in his favor,
he had helped her finish the hoeing his importunity

213

The White Dragon

had interrupted. That way she'd not be in trouble with
Fidello for shorting her task. The young grain was
important. But he ought not to have taken Corana like

that. Doing so was inexcusable.

She liked it very much. Ruth's thought touched him
so unexpectedly that Jaxom jerked straight.
"How could you possibly know?"
When you are with Corana, her emotions are also
very strong and just like yours. So I can feel her, too.
Only at that time. Otherwise I do not hear her. Ac-
ceptance rather than regret colored Ruth's tone. Al-
most as if he were relieved that the contact was

limited.

Ruth was padding up from the field as he spoke,

having disposed of two fat wherries without leaving
much for the fire-lizards to pick over. Jaxom regarded
his friend, the whirl of the jeweled eyes slowing as
the red of hunger paled into dark violet and then the

blue of contentment.

"Do you like what you hear? Our lovemaking?"

Jaxom asked, abruptly deciding to air his concern.
Yes. You enjoy it so much. It is good for you. I

like it to be good for you.

Jaxom jumped to his feet, consumed by frustration
and guilt. "But don't you want it for yourself? Why
are you always worried about me? Why didn't you go

fly that green?"

Why does that worry you? Why should I fty the

green?

"Because you're a dragon."

I am a white dragon. Blues and browns, and oc-
casionally a bronze, fly greens.

"You could have flown her. You could have flown

her, Ruth!"

I did not wish to. You are upset again. I have up-
set you. Ruth extended his neck, his nose gently
touching Jaxom's face in apology.

Jaxom threw his arms about Ruth's neck, burrow-
ing his forehead against the smooth, spicy-smelling
hide, concentrating on how very much he loved his

214

The White Dragon

Ruth, his most unusual Ruth, the only white dragon
on all Pern.

Yes, I am the only white dragon there has ever
been on Pern, Ruth said encouragingly, moving his
body so that he could gather Jaxom closer within the
circle of his foreleg. I am the white dragon. You are
my rider. We are together.

"Yes," Jaxom said, wearily admitting defeat, "we
are together."

A chill shook Jaxom and he sneezed. Shells, if he
was heard sneezing about the Hold, he'd be sub-
jected to some of those noxious medicines Deelan
foisted on everyone. He closed his jacket, folded the
now dry bathing sheet about his neck and chest and,
mounting Ruth, suggested that they get back to the
Hold as fast as possible.

He escaped the dosing only because he kept out of
Deelan's way by staying in his own quarters. He an-
nounced that he was occupied in a task for Robin-
ton and did not care to interrupt it for the evening
meal. He hoped that his sneezing would abate by
evening. Lytol would be sure to visit him, which re-
minded Jaxom that if he didn't have something to
show for his afternoon's occupation Lytol might be
difficult. Actually, Jaxom had wanted to set down his
observations about that beautiful cove, with the cone
of the huge mountain center so neatly in its curve.
Using the soft carbon stick that Master Bendarek had
developed to use on his paper leaves, Jaxom became
absorbed in the project. Much easier to work with
these tools, he thought, than with sandtable. Errors,
since his memory of the cove did not appear to be
that precise, could be rubbed out with a blob of soft-
wood tree sap as long as he was careful not to abrade
the leaf's surface too much.

He had achieved a respectable map of D'ram's cove
when a knock on the door broke his concentration.
He sniffed mightily before calling permission to enter.

His voice didn't seem too affected by the congestion
in his head.

Lytol entered, greeted Jaxom and approached the
21?




The White Dragon

worktable, eyes courteously averted from the con-
tents.

"Ruth did eat today?" he asked, "because N'ton

sent to remind you that Thread falls north and you
could fly with the wing. Ruth will have sufficient time

to digest, won't he?"

"He'll be just fine," Jaxom replied, aware of both
an excitement and a sense of inevitability at the pros-
pect of fighting Thread from Ruth's back.

"Have you then completed your training with the

weyriings?"

So Lytol had noticed his morning's delinquency

from the Weyr. Jaxom also heard the faint note of
surprise in his guardian's voice.

"Well, you might say that I've learned about all
I'd need to know since I'm not to fly regularly with a
fighting wing. I've done this sketch of D'ram's cove.
That's where we found him. Isn't it beautiful?" He

offered the leaf to Lytol.

To Jaxom's satisfaction, Lytol's expression changed
to one of surprised interest as he peered intently at

the sketch and diagram.

"Your rendering of the mountain is accurate? It
must surely be the largest volcano on Pern! You've
' got the perspective correct? How magnificent! And
this area?" Lytol's hand washed across the space
beyond the trees which Jaxom had carefully drawn
in their variety and as accurately in position along the

cove's edge as he could recall.

"Forest extends to low hills, but we stayed on the

beach, of course—"

"Beautiful! One can appreciate why the Harper re-
membered the place so clearly."

With a noticeable reluctance, Lytol replaced the

leaf on Jaxom's table.

"The drawing is a poor image of the real place," he
said to his guardian, letting his voice end on an up-
ward note. It wasn't the first time Jaxom regretted
Lytol's aversion to riding on dragonback for any but

the most vital excursions.

Lytol favored Jaxom with a brief smile, shaking bis

216

The White Dragon

head. "It is good enough to guide a dragon, I'm sure.
But do remember to tell me when you've the notion
to return there."

With that Lytol bade him good evening, leaving
Jaxom a trifle unsettled. Was Lytol giving him oblique
permission to go back to the cove? Why? Critically,
Jaxom examined the sketch, wondering if he really
had drawn the trees correctly. It would be nice to go
back there again. Say, after Threadfall, if flying didn't
overtire Ruth ...

/ would like to swim off firestone stench in the
cove waters, Ruth said sleepily.

By tilting his chair back, Jaxom could see the white
bulk of Ruth on his couch, head facing Jaxom's door,
though both sets of the dragon's eyelids were closed.

/ would like that very much indeed.

"And maybe we could find out more about those
men from the fire-lizards." Yes, thought Jaxom, re-
lieved to have a definite objective, it would be very
good. Neither F'lar nor Lessa had forbidden him to
return to the cove. It was certainly far enough away
from the Southern Hold to put him in no danger of
compromising the Weyrleaders. Now if he could learn
more about the men, he'd be doing Robinton a favor.
He might even be able to find a clutch somewhere
along that coastline. Maybe that's what Lytol had had
in mind by giving him that oblique permission. Of
course! Why hadn't Jaxom realized that before?

Threadfall was calculated to arrrive the next morn-
ing at just past the ninth hour. Although Jaxom was
not to ride out in his usual place with the flamethrower
crews, he was nevertheless awakened early by a
drudge who brought him a tray of klah and sweet-
bread as well as a package of meatrolls for his lunch.

Jaxom was conscious of a stuffiness in his head, a
tightness in his throat and a general sense of unfit-
ness. Under his breath he cursed himself for that mo-
ment's thoughtlessness that was going to make his first
Threadfall mighty uncomfortable. What under the
sun had possessed him to dive into a chill-watered
lake, go between half-soaked, then cavort in lustful

217

The White Dragon

exercise on damp, just-turned earth? He sneezed sev-
eral times as he dressed. That cleared his nose, but
left his head aching. He put on his warmest underfur,
heaviest tunic, pants and extra liners in his boots. He
was sweltering when he and Ruth left their quarters.
Holders were bustling about the courtyard, mounting
runners, securing flamethrowers and equipment. The
watchdragon and the hold fire-lizards were chewing
firestone on the heights. Catching Lytol's eye where
the Lord Warder stood on the top step of the Hold
entrance, Jaxom gestured skyward, saw Lytol salute
in reply before he continued giving orders for the
day's emergency. Jaxom sneezed once more, an ex-
halation that rocked him back on his heels.

Are you all right? Ruth's eyes whirled faster in
concern.

"For a damn fool who's caught a cold, yes, I'm all
right. Let's get going. I'm boiling inside these furs."

Ruth complied and Jaxom was more comfortable
with wind cooling the sweat from his face. He had
Ruth fly direct to the Weyr for they had plenty of
time. He would never be foolish enough to go between
again in a sweat. Maybe he'd better change to lighter
flying gear once at the Fort. He'd be warm enough
once they were fighting Thread. However, the Weyr
was situated higher in the mountains than Ruatha
Hold and he did not feel overheated once they
landed.

Following instructions well drilled into him, Jaxom
took Ruth to collect their firestone sack. Then he di-
rected Ruth to take stones from the supply laid about
the Bowl for that purpose. Ruth began to chew fire-
stone, preparing his second stomach for flame. With
a good start, he'd have a steady flame that could be
easily replenished in flight by additional stone from
the sack he carried. While Ruth was chewing, Jaxom
got himself a large mug of steaming klah, hoping that
would revive him. He felt miserable, his nose clogging
repeatedly.

Fortunately the noise of so many dragons chewing
stone masked his fits of sneezing. If this wasn't to be

218

The White Dragon

his very first time to fight Ruth, Jaxom might have
hesitated about continuing. Then he convinced him-
self that since the weyrlings would undoubtedly be
flying in the wake of the other wings on the after-edge
of Threadfall, he could probably keep from having
to go between frequently, if at all, and so he would
run little risk of aggravating the congestion. He didn't
fancy sneezing just as Ruth had to duck between to
avoid Thread.

N'ton and Lioth appeared on the Star Stones, Lioth
bugling for silence as the Weyrleader raised his arm.
Fort's four queens flanked the big bronze, larger than
he but, in Jaxom's eyes, only enhancing his magni-
ficence with their brilliance. Dragons on all weyr
ledges listened to Lioth's silent orders and then the
wings formed. Jaxom needlessly tested the fighting
straps that held him securely to his ridge seat on
Ruth's neck.

We are to ride with the queens' wing, Ruth told his
rider.

"All of the weyrlings?" Jaxom asked, since he'd
heard nothing from K'nebel about a change of posi-
tion.

No, just us. Ruth sounded pleased but Jaxom
wasn't at all sure of the honor.

His hesitation was noticed by the weyrlingmaster,
who gave him a curt signal to take his assigned posi-
tion. So Jaxom directed Ruth upward to the Star
Stones. As Ruth landed neatly on the left-hand side
of Selianth, the youngest Fort queen, Jaxom wondered
if he looked as silly as he felt, dwarfed by the golden
dragon.

Lioth bugled again and the Weyrleaders took off
from the Star Stones, dropping far enough for wing
room before rising on strongly beating wings to the
sky. Ruth needed no room at all for takeoff and hov-
ered briefly before taking his position beside Selianth.
Prilla, her rider, waved an encouraging fist and then
Ruth told Jaxom that Lioth was giving him the com-
mand to go between to meet Threadfall.

When they emerged above the barren hills of

219

The White Dragon

northern Ruatha, Jaxom found himself responding to
an exhilaration he had never before experienced on
Ruth. The wings of the fighting dragons spread above
and all around his lower level position in the queens'
wing. The sky appeared to be full of dragons, all fac-
ing east, the highest wing the first to contact the im-
minent Fall of Thread.

Jaxom snuffled back the mucus, irritated thafhis
condition was dampening this personal triumph:

Jaxom, Lord of Ruatha Hold, was actually going to
fly his white dragon against Thread! Between his legs,
he could feel Ruth's body rumbling with the stored
gas and wondered if the feeling were in any way
analogous to his own congested, heavy-headed state.

In a burst of speed, the uppermost wing moved
forward and Jaxom had no further time for specula-
tion as he, too, glimpsed the filming of the clear sky,
that graying that heralded the advent of Thread.

Selianth wants me to stay above her at all times so
her flamethrower won't singe me, Ruth said, his men-
tal tone muffled as he retained fire-breath. He altered
his position and now all the wings began to move.

The gray film visibly turned into the silver rain of
Thread. Gouts of flame blossomed in the sky as the
forward dragons seared their ancient mindless enemy
into charred dust. Jaxom's excitement was tempered
by the endless drills he had performed with the weyr-
lings, and by the cold logic of caution. He and Ruth
would not return Threadscored today!

The queens' wing nosed slightly earthward, to fly
under the first wave of dragons, set to destroy what-
ever shred might have eluded the first flames. They
flew through patches of fine dust, the residue of
crisped Thread. Wheeling sharply, the queens' wing
tamed back and now Jaxom did spy a silver strand.
Urging an all too willing Ruth upward, Jaxom heard
his white dragon warn others off as the novice team
encountered and demolished Thread in proper style.

Proudly, Jaxom wondered if anyone else noted the
economy of Ruth's deadly flame: just enough, no
more than was necessary. He stroked his friend's neck

220

The White Dragon

and felt Ruth's delight in the praise. Then they were
told off on another tangent as the queens' wing headed
for a heavier concentration of Thread, eluding an east-
erly flying wing.

From that moment onward, throughout the Fall,
Jaxom had no time for further thought. He became
aware of the rhythm to the queens' wing pattern.
Margatta on her golden Luduth seemed to have an
uncanny instinct for those heavier patches that could
escape even the closest flying wing. Each time the
queens would be under the silver rain, destroying it.
It became apparent to Jaxom that his position in the
queens' wing was neither sinecure nor protective. The
golden dragons could cover more territory in the air,
but they were not as maneuverable. Ruth was. Ever
maintaining his upper position, the little white dragon
could flit from one side of the queens' V formation
to the other, assisting wherever he was needed.

Abruptly, the Thread stopped falling. The upper
reaches of the sky were clear of the graying mist. The
highest wing began to circle down leisurely, to begin
the final phase of the defense, the low-level sweep
which assisted ground crews in locating any trace of
viable Thread.

The exhilaration of combat drained from Jaxom
and his physical discomfort began to manifest itself.
His head felt twice its proper size, his eyes were un-
accountably filled with grit and ached hotly. His chest
felt tighter, his throat raw. The illness had a good hold
on him now. He'd been a fool to fight Thread. To
compound his miseries, he didn't even have any sense
of personal achievement after four hours of bloody
hard work. He was thoroughly depressed. He ear-
nestly wished that he and Ruth could retire now but
he had made such an issue of flying with the fighting
wings that he must complete the exercise. Dutifully
he continued on above the queens.

The big queen says we must go, Ruth said sud-
denly, before the ground crews see us.

Jaxom glanced down at Margatta and saw her sig-
nal of dismissal. He could not suppress the sense of

221

The White Dragon

./

injury that gesture gave him. He hadn't expected a
round of cheers but he did think that he and Ruth
had acquitted themselves well enough to rate some
indication of approval. Had they done something
wrong? He could not think with his head hot and
aching. But he obeyed, directing Ruth to change flight
to the Hold when he saw Selianth rise toward him.
Prilla gave her right fist the pumping motion that sig-
naled well done and thanks.

Her recognition reduced his grievance.

We fought well and no Thread passed us, Ruth said
in a hopeful tone. I was quite comfortable sustaining

my flame.

"You were marvelous, Ruth. You were such a
clever dodger, we didn't have to go between once."
Jaxom slapped with affectionate force the flight-
extended neck. "D'you have more gas to exhale?"

He felt Ruth cough and just the merest trickle
flicked beyond his head.

No more flame but I shall be very glad to be rid of
the fire-ash. This is the most firestone I have ever

chewed!

Ruth sounded so proud of himself that despite his
general discomfort, Jaxom laughed, his own spirits
buoyed up by Ruth's ingenuous satisfaction.

It was also obscurely comforting to find the Hold
occupied by a few drudges only. The other Thread
fighters were hours away from the rewards he could
now enjoy. While Ruth drank long and deep at the
courtyard well, Jaxom asked a drudge to bring him
any warm food available and a mug of wine.

As Jaxom entered his own quarters to change out
of his stinking fighting gear, he passed his worktable
and, seeing the cove sketch, remembered his promise
of the previous evening. He thought longingly of the
hot sun in that cove. It'd bake the cold out of his
bones and dry the wetness in his head and chest.

/ would like to swim in the water, Ruth said.

"You're not too tired, are you?"

J am tired but I would like to swim in the cove and
then lie in the sand. It would be good for you, too.

222

The White Dragon

"It'd suit me down to the shell," Jaxom said as he
stripped off the fighting clothes. He was pulling on
fresh riding furs when the drudge, tapping nervously
on the half-open door, arrived with the food.

Jaxom gestured toward the worktable and then
asked the man to take the discarded clothing to be
cleaned and well aired. He was sipping the hot wine,
blowing out against the sting of it in his mouth, when
he realized that it would be hours before Lytol re-
turned to the Hold and so he couldn't inform his
guardian of his intention. But he needn't wait. He
could be there and back before Lytol had returned
to the Hold. Then he groaned. The cove was halfway
on the other side of the world, and the sun which he
had wanted to bake the illness out of his body would
be well down now on the cove's horizon.

/( will remain warm enough long enough, Ruth
said. / really want to go there.

"We'll go, we'll go!" Jaxom gulped down the last
of the hot wine, and reached for the toasted bread
and cheese. He didn't feel hungry. In fact the smell
of the food made his stomach queasy. He rolled up
one of his sleeping furs, to keep the sand off his skin,
slung the small pack over his shoulder and started
out of his quarters. He'd leave word with the drudge.
No, that wasn't sufficient. Jaxom whirled back to his
table, the pack banging against his ribs. He wrote a
quick note to Lytol and left it propped up between
mug and plate where it was clearly visible.

When are we going? Ruth asked, plaintive now
with his impatience to be clean and to wallow in the
warm sands.

"I'm coming. I'm coming!" Jaxom detoured through
the kitchens, scooping up some meatrolls and cheese.
He might be hungry later.

The head cook was basting a roast and the smell of
it, too, made him feel nauseated.

"Batunon, I've left a message for Lord Lytol in my
room. But, if you see him first, tell him I've gone to
the cove to wash Ruth."

223




The White Dragon

"Thread is gone from the sky?" Bafunon asked,
ladle poised above the roast.

"Gone to dust, all of it. I'm away to wash the stink
from both our hides."

The yellow tinge in Ruth's whirling eyes was re-
proachful but Jaxom paid that no heed as he
scrambled to the dragon's neck, loosely fastening the
fighting straps which would need to be soaked and
sunned as well. They were airborne in such haste that
Jaxom was glad he had the straps about him. Ruth
achieved only the barest minimum of wing room be-
fore he transferred them between.

224

CHAPTER Xffl

A Cove in the Southern Continent,
15.7.7-15.8.7

JAXOM ROUSED, felt something wet slip down from
his forehead across his nose. He irritably brushed it
aside.

You are feeling better? Ruth's voice held a volume
of wistful hope that astonished his rider.

"Feel better?" Not quite awake, Jaxom attempted
to lift himself up on one elbow but he couldn't move his
head, which seemed to be wedged.

Brekke says to lie still.

"Lie still, Jaxom," Brekke ordered. He felt her hand
on his chest preventing his movement.

He could hear water dripping somewhere nearby.
Then another wet cloth, this one cool and aromatic
with scent, was placed on his forehead. He could
feel two large blocks, padded because they lay along
his cheeks to his shoulder, on either side of his head,
presumably to keep him from moving his head from
side to side. He wondered what was wrong. Why was
Brekke there?

You've been very sick, Ruth said, anxiety coloring his
tone. I was very worried. I called Brekke. She is a
healer. She heard me. I couldn't leave you. She came
with F'nor on Canth. Then F'nor went for the other
one.

"Have I been sick a long time?" Jaxom was dis-

22?

The White Dragon

mayed to think he'd needed two nurses. He hoped
that the "other one" wasn't Deelan.

"Several days," Brekke replied, but Ruth seemed to
think a longer period of time. "You'll be all right now.
The fever's finally broken."

"Lytol knows where I am?" Jaxom opened his eyes
then, found them covered by the compress and reached
to pull it away. But spots danced in front of his eyes,
even shielded by the fabric of the compress, and he
groaned and closed his lids.

"I told you to lie still. And don't open your eyes or
try to remove the bandage," Brekke said, giving his
hand a little slap. "Of course Lytol knows. F'nor
took word to him immediately. I sent word when your
fever had broken. Menolly's has too."

"Menolly? How could she catch my cold? She was
with Sebell."

Someone else was in the room because Brekke
couldn't speak and laugh at the same time. She began
quietly explaining that he hadn't had a cold. He'd had
an illness known as fire-head to Southerners; its initial
symptoms were similar to those of a cold.

"But I'm going to be all right, aren't I?"

"Are your eyes bothering you?"

"I don't really want to open them again."

"Spots? As if you were staring at the sun?"

"That's it."

Brekke patted his arm. "That's normal, isn't it,
Sharra? How long do they generally last?"

"As long as the headache. So keep your eyes covered,
Jaxom." Sharra spoke slowly, almost slurring her
words but her low voice had a rich lilt that made
him wonder if she looked as good as her voice sounded.
He doubted it. No one could. "Don't you dare look
about. You've still got that headache, haven't you?
Well, keep your eyes closed. We've got the place as
dark as we can but you could do permanent damage
to your eyes if you're not careful right now."

Jaxom felt Brekke adjust the compress. "Menolly
got sick, too?"

"Yes, but Master Oldive sent word that she's re-

226

The White Dragon

spending to the medicine very well." Brekke hesitated.
"Of course, she hadn't flown Thread or gone between,
which aggravated the illness for you."

Jaxom groaned. "I've gone between with a cold be-
fore and got no worse for it."

"With a cold, yes, not with fire-head," Sharra said.
"Here, Brekke. This is ready for him now."

He felt a reed placed at his lips. Brekke told him to
suck through it as he should not lift his head to drink.

"What is this?" he mumbled around the straw.

"Fruit juice," Sharra said so promptly that Jaxom
sipped warily. "Just fruit juice, Jaxom. You need liquid
in your body right now. The fever dried you out."

The juice was cool in his mouth and so mild in
taste that he couldn't figure out from which fruit it
came. But it was just what he wanted, not tart enough
to irritate moisture-starved tissues in his mouth and
throat, and not sweet enough to be nauseating to his
empty stomach. He finished it and asked for more, but
Brekke told him he'd had enough. He should try
to sleep now.

"Ruth? Are you all right?"

Now that you are yourself again, I will eat. I will not
go far. I don't need to.

"Ruth?" Alarmed by the thought that his dragon had
neglected himself, Jaxom injudiciously tried to raise his
head. The pain was incredible.

"Ruth is perfectly all right, Jaxom," Brekke said in
a stem voice. Her hands had already pushed his
shoulders flat to the bed. "Ruth's been covered with
fire-lizards, and he's been bathed regularly morning
and evening. He's never been more than two lengths
from you. I've reassured him on every concern." Jaxom
groaned, having completely forgotten that Brekke
could speak to any dragon. "F'nor and Canth have
hunted for him because he wouldn't leave you so he's
by no means the skin and bones you are. He'll hunt
now, none the worse for the waiting. You go to sleep."

He had no option and suspected as he drifted away
from consciousness that there had been something be-
sides fruit in that drink.

227




The White Dragon

When he woke, feeling rested and restless, he re-
membered not to move his head. He began to cast back
through distorted memories of being hot and cold. He
distinctly remembered reaching the cove, staggering
into the shade, collapsing at the base of a redfruit tree,
struggling to reach the cluster of fruit, longing for the
liquid to cool his parched mouth and throat. That must
have been when Ruth realized he was ill.

Jaxom could vaguely recall fevered glimpses of
Brekke and F'nor, could remember pleading with them
to bring Ruth to him. He supposed they had erected
some kind of temporary hold for shelter. Sharra had
said something to that effect. He extended his left arm
slowly, moved it up and down, without contacting
more than the frame of the bed. He extended his right
arm.

"Jaxom?" He heard Sharra's soft voice. "And Ruth
too fast asleep himself to warn me. Are you thirsty?"
She didn't sound contrite that she'd been asleep. She
made a small sound of dismay as she touched the now
dry compress. "Don't open your eyes."

She removed the bandage and he heard her dipping
it in liquid, wringing it out and then he shivered at
its touch on his skin. He reached up, holding the
bandage against his forehead, lightly at first and then
with more confident pressure.

"Hey, it doesn't hurt—"

"Ssssh. Brekke's asleep and she wakes so easily."
Sharra's voice had been muted; now her fingers closed
his lips.

"Why can't I move my head from side to side?"
Jaxom tried not to sound as startled as he felt.

Sharra's low laugh reassured him. "We've got two
blocks wedging your head so you can't move. Remem-
ber?" She guided his hands to them, then moved the
restraints aside. "Turn your head, just a little now,
from side to side. If your skin is no longer sensitive,
you may be over the worst of the fire-head."

Gingerly he rotated his head, left and then right. He
made a bolder motion. "It doesn't hurt. It actually
doesn't hurt."

The White Dragon

"Oh, no, you don't." Sharra grabbed his wrist as he
reached for the compress. "I've a night light on. Wait
till I shield it. The less light, the better."

He heard her fumbling with a glow-basket shield.
"All right now?"

"I'm only permitting you to try," she stressed the
last word as she covered his hand on the bandage
with hers, "because it's a moonless hour of night and
you couldn't do any harm. If you see even the tiniest
patch of glare, cover your eyes instantly."

"It's that dangerous?"

"It can be."

Slowly she peeled the bandage back.

"I don't see anything!"

"Any glare or spots?"

"No? Nothing. Oh!" Something had been obscuring
his vision for now he could see dim outlines.

"I had my hand in front of your nose, just in case,"
she said.

He could make out the dark blur of her body beside
him. She must be on her knees. Slowly his sight
improved as he blinked sandy incrustations from his
lashes.

"My eyes are full of sand."

"Just a moment." Suddenly water was dribbled care-
fully into his eyes. He blinked furiously, complained
loudly. "I told you to hush, you'll wake Brekke. She's
worn out. Now, does that clear the sand?"

"Yes, it's much better. I didn't mean to be so much
trouble."

"Oh? I thought you'd planned all this on purpose."

Jaxom caught one of her hands and brought it to his
lips, holding it as fast as his weakened condition per-
mitted because she gasped at the kiss and withdrew her
hand.

"Thanks!"

"I'm putting your bandage back on," she said, the
reproach in her voice unmistakable.

Jaxom chuckled, pleased to have disconcerted her.
His only regret was the lack of light. He could see that
she was slender. Her voice, despite her firmness,

The White Dragon

sounded young. Would her face be lovely enough to
match that voice?

"Please drink all this juice," she said, and he felt
the straw against his lips. "Another good sleep now
and you're over the worst of it."

"You're a healer?" Jaxom was dismayed. Her voice
had sounded so young. He'd assumed she was a foster-
ling of Brekke's.

"Certainly. You don't think they'd entrust the life of
the Lord of Ruatha Hold to an apprentice? I've had a
lot of experience getting people through fire-head."

The familiar floating sensation induced by fellis juice
flooded him and he couldn't have answered her no
matter how urgently he wanted to.

To his disappointment, when he awoke the next day,
Brekke answered his call. It didn't seem courteous to
inquire where Sharra was. Nor could he ask Ruth
since Brekke could hear the exchange. But Sharra had
evidently told Brekke of his middle-of-the-night awak-
ening because her voice sounded lighter, almost gay
as she greeted him. To celebrate his recovery, she
permitted him a cup of weak klah and a bowl of moist-
ened sweetbread.

Warning him to keep his eyes closed, she changed
the bandage but the replacement was not as dense and
when he opened his eyes, cautiously, he could dis-
tinguish light and dark areas about him.

Midday he was allowed to sit up and eat the light
meal Brekke provided, but even that slight activity
exhausted him. Nonetheless he complained petulantly
to Brekke when she offered him more juice to drink.

"Fellis-laced? Am I expected to sleep my life
away?"

"Oh, you'll be making up for this lost time, I as-
sure you," she replied, a cryptic remark that puzzled
him as he drifted off to sleeo again.

The next day he chafed further at the restrictions
imposed on him. He chafed but, when Sharra and
Brekke assisted him to the bench so they could ex-
change rushbags on the bed, he was so weak after
sitting up a few minutes that he was very grateful to

The White Dragon

be down again. He was all the more surprised then,
that evening, to hear N'ton's voice in the other room.

"You look a lot better, Jaxom," N'ton said, walk-
ing quietly up to the bed. "Lytol will be immensely
relieved. But if you ever," N'ton's harsh voice re-
flected his anxieties, "attempt to fight Thread again
when you're ill, I'll ... I'll . . . I'll throw you
to Lessa's mercies."

"I didn't think I'd more than a stuffed head, N'ton,"
Jaxom replied, nervously poking at grassy bumps in
his bedbag. "And it was my first Fall on Ruth . . ."

"I know, I know," N'ton said, his tone consider-
ably less reproving. "You couldn't have known you
were coming down with fire-head. You owe your
life to Ruth, you know. F'nor says Ruth has more
sense than most people. Half the dragons on Pem
wouldn't have known what to do with their rider de-
lirious; they would have been totally confused by the
confusion in their riders' minds. No, you and Ruth
are in very good odor at Benden. Very good! You
just concentrate on getting your strength back. And
when you're feeling stronger, D'ram said he'd be glad
to bear you company and show you some of the inter-
esting things he found while he was here."

"He didn't mind me and Ruth following him?"

"No." N'ton was genuinely surprised at Jaxom's
question. "No, lad, I think he was surprised that he'd
been missed and gratified that he's still needed as a
dragonrider."

"N'ton!" Brekke's call was firm.

"I was told I couldn't stay long." Jaxom could
hear N'ton's feet scraping on the ground as he rose.
"I'll come again, I promise." Jaxom could hear Tris
complaining and he visualized the little fire-lizard
clutching N'ton's shoulder for balance.

"How's Menolly? Is she recovering? Tell Lytol
that I'm very sorry to cause him worry!"

"He knows that, Jaxom. And Menolly's much bet-
ter. I've seen her, too. She had a lighter touch of fire-
head than you did. Sebell recognized the symptoms

The White Dragon

almost immediately and called in Oldive. Don't be in
a msh to get up, though."

As glad as he'd been for N'ton's visit, Jaxom was
relieved that it had been short. He felt limp and his
head began to ache.

"Brekke?" Could he be having a relapse?

"She's with N'ton, Jaxom."

"Sharra! My head is aching." He couldn't help the
waver in his voice.

Her cool hand touched his cheek. "No fever,
Jaxom. You tire quickly, that's all. Sleep now."

The reasonable words, spoken in her gentle rich
voice lulled him and, though he wanted to remain
awake, his eyes closed. Her fingers massaged his fore-
head, descended to his neck, gently smoothing the
tension, all the while her voice encouraged him to
rest, to sleep. And he did.

The cool, moist sea breeze roused him at dawn,
and he fumbled irritably to cover his exposed legs
and back for he'd been sleeping on his stomach,
tangled in the light blanket. Having rearranged him-
self with some difficulty, he couldn't drop back to
sleep again though he had closed his eyes, expecting
to do so. He opened them again, fretfully gazing be-
yond the raised curtains of the shelter. He ex-
claimed in surprise, tensing, just then aware that his
eyes were no longer bandaged and his vision was un-
impaired.

"Jaxom?"

Twisting around, he saw Sharra's tall figure swing
from the hammock, noticed the length of dark hair
streaming about her shoulders, obscuring her face.

"Sharra!"

"Your eyes, Jaxom?" she asked in a hushed wor-
ried tone and walked swiftly to his bed.

"My eyes are just fine, Sharra," he replied, catch-
ing her hand in his, keeping her where he could see
her face clearly in the dim light. "Oh, no, you don't,"
he said with a low laugh as she tried to break his
hold. "I've been waiting to see what you looked like."

The White Dragon

With his free hand, he pushed aside the hair that
covered her face.

"And?" She drawled the word in proud defiance,
unconsciously straightening her shoulders and tossing
her hair back.

Sharra was not pretty. He'd expected that. Her
features were too irregular, in particular her nose
was too long for her face, and though her chin well
shaped it was a shade too firm for beauty. But her
mouth had a lovely double curve, the left side twitch-
ing as she contained the humor which her deep-set
eyes echoed. She arched her left eyebrow slowly,
amused by his scrutiny.
"And?" she repeated.

"I know you may not agree but I think you're
beautiful!" He resisted her second attempt to free her
hand and rise. "You must be aware that you have a
beautiful speaking voice."

"I have tried to cultivate that," she said.
"You've succeeded." He exerted pressure on her
hand, pulling her still closer. It was immensely im-
portant to him to determine her age.

She laughed softly, wriggling her fingers in his tight
grasp. "Let me go now, Jaxom, be a good boy!"

"I am not good and I am not a boy." He
had spoken with a low intensity which drove the
good-natured amusement from her expression. She
returned his gaze steadily and then gave him a small
smile.

"No, you're neither good nor a boy. You've been
a very sick man and it's my job," she stressed the
word just slightly as he let her withdraw her hand
from his, "to make you well again."

"The sooner, the better." Jaxom lay back, smiling
up at her. She'd be nearly his height when he stood,
he thought. That they would be able to look eye to
eye appealed to him.

She gave him one long, slightly puzzled look and
then, with a cryptic shrug, turned away from him,
gathering her hair and twining it neatly about her
head as she left the room.

The White Dragon

Although neither of them mentioned that dawn
confidence, afterward Jaxom found it easier to accept
the restraints of his convalescence in good grace. He
ate what he was given without complaint, took the
medicines, and obeyed instructions to rest.

One worry fretted him until he finally blurted it

out to Brekke.

"When I was fevered, Brekke, did I ... I

mean..."

Brekke smiled and patted his hand reassuringly.

"We never pay any attention to such ramblings. Gen-
erally, they're so incoherent they make no sense what-
ever."

Some note in her voice bothered him, though.

". . . so incoherent, they make no sense?" He had
babbled his head off, then. Not that he minded about
Brekke if he had said something about that dratted
queen egg. But if Sharra had heard? She was from
the Southern Hold. Would she be as quick to discount
his ramblings about that double-blasted shard-shelled
egg? He couldn't relax. What wretched luck to fall
ill when you had a secret that must be kept! He wor-
ried over that until he fell asleep, and picked right
up on the same train of thought the next morning,
though he forced himself to be cheerful as he
listened to Ruth bathing with the fire-lizards.

He comes, Ruth said suddenly, sounding startled.

And D'ram brings him.

"D'ram brings whom?" Jaxom asked.
"Sharra," Brekke called from the other room, "our
guests have arrived. Would you escort them from the
beach?" She came quickly into Jaxom's room,
smoothing the light blanket and peering intently at
his face. "Is your face clean? How are your hands?"
"Who's coming that has you in a flurry? Ruth?"
He's pleased to see me, too. Ruth's sound of sur-
prise was colored with delight.

Jaxom was forewarned by that remark, but he could
only stare, stunned, as Lytol came striding into the
room. His face was tense and pale under the flying
helmet, and he hadn't bothered to unfasten his jacket

The White Dragon

on the walk up from the beach, so perspiration beads
formed on his forehead and upper Up. He stood in
the doorway, just looking at his ward.

Abruptly, he turned toward the outside wall,
harshly clearing his throat, stripping off helmet and
gloves, unbelting his jacket, grunting in surprise when
Brekke appeared at his elbow to relieve him of the
gear. As she passed Jaxom's bed on her way out of
the room, she gave him such an intense look that he
couldn't fathom what she was trying to convey.

She says that he is crying, Ruth told him. And that
you are not to be surprised or embarrass him. Ruth
paused. She is also thinking that Lytol is healed, too?
Lytol hasn't been ill.

Jaxom didn't have time to sort out that oblique
reference because his guardian had already recovered
his composure and turned.

"Hot here after Ruatha," Jaxom said, struggling to
break the silence.

"You want a bit of sun, boy," Lytol said at the
same moment.

"I'm not allowed out of bed, yet."
"The mountain is just as you sketched it."

They spoke again simultaneously, answering each
other's comments.

It was too much for Jaxom, who burst out laugh-
ing, waving Lytol to sit beside him on the bed. Still
laughing, Jaxom grabbed Lytol's forearm, holding it
firmly, trying in that grasp to apologize for all the
concern he'd caused. Abruptly he was engulfed in
Lytol's rough embrace, his back soundly thumped
when the man released him. Tears sprang to Jaxom's
eyes, too, at the unexpected demonstration. Lytol
had always been scrupulous in caring for his ward but
the older Jaxom had grown, the more he had won-
dered if Lytol really liked him at all.

"I thought I had lost you."

"I'm harder to lose than you'd think, sir."

Jaxom couldn't stop grinning foolishly because
Lytol actually had a smile on his face: the first one
Jaxom recalled.

The White Dragon

"You're nothing but bones and white skin," Lytol
said in his customary gruff manner.

"That'll pass. I'm allowed to eat all I want,"
Jaxom replied. "Care for something?"

"I didn't come to eat. I came to see you. And I'll
tell you this, young Lord Jaxom, I think you'd better
go back to the Mastersmith for more drafting les-
sons: you did not accurately place the trees along
the cove shore in that sketch of yours. Though the

mountain is very well done."

"I knew I had the trees wrong, sir, one of the
things I planned to check out. Only when I got back
here, it went clean out of my head."

"So I understand," and Lytol gave a rusty laugh.
"Give me the news of the Hold." Jaxom was sud-
denly eager for those minor details that had once

bored him.

They chatted away in a companionable fashion
that astonished Jaxom. He'd been ill at ease
with Lytol, he realized now, ever since he had inad-
vertently Impressed Ruth. But that strain had evap-
orated. If this illness of his did no other good, it had
brought him and Lytol closer than Jaxom in his boy-
hood could ever have imagined.

Brekke entered, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry,
Lord Lytol, but Jaxom tires easily."

Lytol obediently rose, glancing anxiously at

Jaxom.

"Brekke, after Lytol has come all this distance, on

dragonback, he must be allowed to .. ."

"No, lad, I can return." Lytol's smile startled
Brekke. "I'd rather not take a risk with him." He gave
Brekke a second surprise then as he embraced Jaxom
with awkward affection before striding from the room.

Brekke stared at Jaxom, who shrugged to indicate
she could put her own interpretation on his guardian's
behavior. She quickly left to escort the visitors back

to the beach.

He was very glad to see you, Ruth said. He is smil-
ing-

Jaxom lay back, wriggling his shoulders into the

236

The White Dragon

rushes to get comfortable. He closed his eyes, chuck-
ling to himself. He had got Lytol to see his beautiful
mountain.

Lytol wasn't the only one to come to see the moun-
tain, and Jaxom. Lord Groghe arrived the next after-
noon, grunting and puffing from the heat, shouting at
his little queen not to get lost with all those strangers,
and not to get completely soaked because he didn't
want a wet shoulder on the way back.

"Heard you'd got ill of that fire-head stuff like the
harper girl," Lord Groghe said, swinging into Jaxom's
room with a vigor that produced instant fatigue in the
convalescent.

More unnerving was Lord Groghe's scrutiny. Jaxom
was certain the man counted his ribs, he had looked
at them so long. "Can't you feed him up better than
this, Brekke? Thought you were a top-flight healer.
Boy's a rake! Can't have that. Must say you picked a
beautiful place to fall ill in. Must have a look about
me since I'm down here. Not that it took all that long
to come. Hmmm. Yes, must have a look about."
Groghe stuck his chin out at Jaxom, frowning again.
"Did you? Before that sickness got hold of you?"

Jaxom realized that Lord Groghe's totally un-
expected visit might have several objectives: one, to
assure the Lord Holders that the Lord of Ruatha was
in the land of the living, all rumor to the contrary.
The second purpose made Jaxom a little uneasy when
he could so clearly recall Lessa's remark about want-
ing "the best part of it."

When Brekke tactfully reminded the blustering and
genial Lord Holder that he mustn't tire her patient,
Jaxom nearly cheered.

"Don't worry, lad. I'll be back again, never fear."
Lord Groghe waved cheerfully to him from the door-
way. "Beautiful spot. Envy you."

"Does everyone in the North know where I am?"
Jaxom asked when Brekke returned.

"D'ram brought him," she said, sighing heavily and
frowning.

"D'ram ought to have known better," Sharra said,

237

The White Dragon

collapsing on the bench and plying a tree frond as a
fan in exaggerated relief at the Lord's departure. "The
man's enough to wear the healthy down, much less

the convalescent."

"I would guess," Brekke continued, ignoring Shar-

ra's remarks, "that the Lord Holders needed verifica-
tion of Jaxom's recovery."

"He looked Jaxom over like a herdsman. Did you

show him your teeth?"

"Don't let Lord Groghe's manner fool you, Sharra,"

Jaxom said. "He's got a mind as sharp as Master
Robinton's. And if D'ram brought him, then P'lar and
Lessa must have known he was coming. I don't think
they'll like him returning—or scouting around here."

"If Lessa did permit Lord Groghe to come, she'll
hear from me about it, you may be sure," Brekke re-
plied, thinning her lips in disapproval. "He is not an
easy visitor for a convalescent. You might as well
know now, Jaxom, that you were ill of that fever for

sixteen days..."

"What?" Jaxom sat upright in the bed, stunned.

"But... but..."

"Fire-head is a dangerous disease for an adult,"

Sharra said. She glanced at Brekke, who nodded,

"You nearly died."

"I did?" Appalled, Jaxom put his hand to his head.

Brekke nodded again. "So, if we seem to be re-
stricting you to a very slow recovery, you will agree

that we have cause."

"I nearly died?" Jaxom couldn't absorb that news.

"So we will go slowly to ensure your health. Now, I
think it's time you had something to eat," Brekke said

as she left the room.

"I nearly died?" Jaxom turned to Sharra.
"I'm afraid so." She sounded more amused by his
reaction than concerned. "The important thing is that
you didn't die." Involuntarily she glanced toward the
beach and sighed, a quick exhalation of relief. She
smiled, a brief one, but Jaxom noticed that her ex-
pressive eyes were dark with remembered sorrow.
"Who died of fire-head that saddens you, Sharra?"

238

The White Dragon

"No one you know, Jaxom, and no one I knew very
well. It's just . . . just that no healer likes to lose a
patient."

He could tease no more from her on the subject
and stopped trying to when he saw that she had felt
that death so keenly.

The next morning, cursing with embarrassment at
the unreliability of his legs, Jaxom was assisted to the
beach by Brekke and Sharra. Ruth came charging up
the sands, almost dangerous in his delight at seeing
his friend. Brekke sternly ordered Ruth to stand still
lest he knock Jaxom off his unsteady feet. Ruth's eyes
rolled with concern and he crooned with apology as
he extended his head very carefully toward Jaxom, al-
most afraid to muzzle him in greeting. Jaxom flung his
arms about his dragon's neck, Ruth tightening his mus-
cles to take the drag of his friend's body, almost
thrumming with encouragement. Tears flowed down
his cheeks which he quickly dried against his friend's
soft hide. Dear Ruth. Marvelous Ruth. Unbidden
came the thought to Jaxom's mind: "If I had died of
fire-head..."

You did not, Ruth said. You stayed. I told you to.
And you are much stronger now. You will get stronger
every day and we will swim and sun and it will be
good.

Ruth sounded so fierce that Jaxom had to soothe
him with words and caresses until Brekke and Sharra
insisted that he had better sit down before he fell.
They had arranged a matting of woven streamer
fronds against a landward-leaning trunk, well back
from the shore, to avoid full exposure to the sun. To
this couch they assisted him. Ruth stretched out so that
fiis head rested by Jaxom's side, the jeweled eyes
whirling with the lavenders of stress.

F'lar and Lessa arrived at midday, after Jaxom had
had a short nap. He was surprised to find that Lessa,
for all her abrasiveness on other occasions, made a
soothing visitor, quiet and soft-voiced.

"We had to let Lord Groghe come in person, Jaxom,
though I'm sure you didn't appreciate the visit. Rumor

The White Dragon

had you dead and Ruth, too." Lessa shrugged expres-
sively. "Bad news needs no harper."

"Lord Groghe was more interested in where I was
than how I was, wasn't he?" Jaxom asked pointedly.

F'lar nodded and grinned at him. "That is why we
had D'ram bring him. The Fort Hold watchdragon is
too old to take a placement from Lord Groghe's mind."

"He also had his fire-lizard with him," Jaxom said.

"Those pesky creatures," Lessa said, her eyes

sparkling with annoyance.

"These same pesky creatures came in very handy
saving Jaxom's life, Lessa," Brekke said firmly.

"All right, they have uses but, as far as I'm con-
cerned, their bad habits still outweigh the good ones."

"Lord Groghe's little queen may be intelligent,"
Brekke went on, "but not clever enough to get him

back here on his own."

"That isn't the real problem," F'lar grimaced. "He's
now seen that mountain. And the scope of the land."

"So, we put in our claim here first," Lessa replied
decisively. "I don't care how many sons Groghe wants
to settle, the dragonriders of Pem have first choice.

Jaxom can help—"

"Jaxom has some time to go before he can do very
much of anything," Brekke said, breaking in so
smoothly that Jaxom wondered if he'd misinterpreted

the surprise on Lessa's face.

"Don't worry, I'll think of some way to stall Lord

Groghe's ambitions," F'lar added.

"If one gets in, the others will follow," Brekke said
thoughtfully, "and I can hardly blame them. This part
of the Southern Continent is so much more beautiful

than our original settlement."

"I have a yearning to get closer to that mountain,"
F'lar said, turning his head to the south. "Jaxom, I
know you've not been very active yet, but how many
of those fire-lizards about Ruth are Southerners?"

"They're not from the Southern Weyr, if that's what

you're worried about," Sharra said.
"How can you tell?" Lessa asked.
Sharra shrugged. "They won't be handled. They go

240

The White Dragon

between if anyone gets close to^hem. It's Ruth that
fascinates them. Not us."

"We are not their men," Jaxom said. "Now that I
can get to Ruth, I'll see what I can find out about
them from him."

"I wish you would," Lessa said. "And if there are
any from the Southern Weyr . . ." She let her sentence
trail off.

"I think we ought to let Jaxom rest," Brekke said.
F'lar chuckled, gesturing for Lessa to precede him.

"Fine guests we are. Come to see the man and never

let him talk."

"I've done nothing lately to talk about," and Jaxom
shot a fierce look at Brekke and Sharra. "When you
come back, I will."

"If anything interesting occurs, have Ruth bespeak
Mnementh or Ramoth."

Brekke and Sharra left with the Weyrieaders, and
Jaxom was grateful for the respite. He could hear Ruth
talking to the two Benden dragons and he chuckled
when Ruth told Ramoth firmly that there were no
fire-lizards from the Southern Weyr among his new
friends. Jaxom wondered why it hadn't occurred to
him sooner to ask Ruth's acquaintances about their
men. He sighed. He hadn't been thinking about much
lately except his extraordinary brush with death, and
that occupied his mind too morbidly. Much better for
him to explore a living puzzle.

He had several. The most worrisome was still what
he m'^ht have said in his delirium. Brekke's rejoinder
had been no real assurance. He tried to force his
thought back to that time but all he remembered was
heat and cold, vivid but vague nightmares.

He thought about his guardian's visit. So Lytol did
like him! Shells! He'd forgotten to ask Lytol about
Corana. He ought to have sent her some kind of word.
She must have heard of his illness. Not but what this
didn't make it easier for him to complete the break in
their relationship. Now that he'd seen Sharra, he
couldn't have continued with Corana. He must re-
member to ask Lytol.

241




The White Dragon

What Aad he said when he was fevered? How did a
fever patient talk? In bits and snatches? Whole
phrases? Maybe he needn't worry. Not about what he
could have said in fever.

He didn't like Lord Groghe just appearing like that,
to check up on him. And, if he hadn't taken ill. Lord
Groghe would never have known about this part of
Southern. At least, until the dragonriders wanted him
to know. And that mountain! Too unusual a feature
to forget. Any dragon would be able to find it. Or
would they? Unless the rider had a very clear picture,
the dragon did not always see vividly enough to jump
between. And a secondhand vision? D'ram and Tiroth
had done so from Master Robinton's description. But
D'ram and Tiroth were experienced.

Jaxom wanted to be well. He wanted to get closer
to that mountain. He wanted to be first. How long
would it take him to recover?

He was allowed to swim a bit the next day, an ex-
ercise which Brekke said would tone his muscles but
which succeeded in proving he had none left. Ex-
hausted, he was no sooner on his beachside couch
than he fell deeply asleep.

Roused by Sharra's touch, he cried out and sat bolt
upright, looking about him.

"What's the matter, Jaxom?"

"A dream! A nightmare!" He was sure something
was wrong. Then he saw Ruth, stretched out, fast
asleep, his muzzle only a handsbreadth from his feet,
at least a dozen fire-lizards curled on and about him,
twitching in their own dreams.

"Well, you're awake now. What's wrong?"

"That dream was so vivid . . . and yet it's all gone.
I wanted so much to remember it."

Sharra placed a cool hand on his forehead. He
pushed it away.

"I'm not fevered," he said, cranky.

"No, you're not. Any headache? Spots?"

Impatient and angry, he denied them, then sighed

242

The White Dragon

and smiled an apology at her. "Bad-tempered, aren't
I?"

"Rarely." She grinned, then eased to the sand be-
side him.

"If I swim a little longer and further every day,
how long will it take me to recover fully?"

"What makes you so anxious?"

Jaxom grinned, jerking his head back in the di-
rection of the mountain. "I want to get there before
Lord Groghe does."

"Oh, I think you'll manage that quite easily."
Sharra's expression was mischievous. "You will get
stronger every day now. We just don't want you to
push yourself too quickly. Better a few more days now,
than suffer a relapse and go through all this again."

"A relapse? How would I know if I was having
one?"

"Easy. Spots and headaches. Do please do it our
way, Jaxom."

The appeal in her blue eyes was genuine, and
Jaxom liked to think it was for him, Jaxom, not for
him, the patient. Not taking his eyes from hers, he
nodded slowly in acquiescence and was rewarded by
her slow smile.

F'nor and D'ram arrived late that afternoon, in
fighting gear, with full firestone sacks draped across
their dragons.

"Thread tomorrow," Sharra told Jaxom as she
caught his look of inquiry.

"Thread?"

"It falls on all Pern, and has fallen here in this
cove three times since you took ill. In fact, the day
after you took ill!" She grinned at his openmouthed
consternation. "It's been a rare treat to watch dragons
in the sky. We'd only to keep the shelter area free.
Grub takes care of the rest," She chuckled. "Tiroth
complains that he's not fighting full when he doesn't
follow the Fall to its end. Just wait till you see Ruth
in action. Oh, yes, nothing could keep him out of the
sky. Brekke keeps her ear open for him and, of

243

The White Dragon .

course, Tiroth and Canth are directing. He's so proud

of himself, protecting you!"

Jaxom swallowed against a variety of emotions,
chagrin being foremost as he heard Sharra's casual

explanation.

"You were aware of Thread, by the way. Once a
dragonrider, one evidently doesn't forget—even in
fever. You kept moaning about Thread coming and
not being able to get off the ground." Fortunately she
was looking at the dragons as they glided to a landing
on the beach because Jaxom was certain that his ex-
pression gave him away. "Master Oldive says that we
humans have instincts, too, hidden deep in our minds,
to which we respond automatically. As you reacted
to Threadfall, sick as you were. Ruth is such a dote.
I made much of him after each Fall, I assure you, and
I made sure that the fire-lizards got all firestone stink

out of his hide."

She waved a greeting to F'nor and D'ram as they
strolled up the beach, loosening their fighting gear.
Canth and Tiroth had already shrugged off the fire-
stone sacks on the beach and, wings extended high,
waddled with groans of pleasure into the soft warm
water. Ruth came slithering through the water to join
them. A great fair of fire-lizards chittered above the
three dragons, overjoyed with such company.

"You've more color, Jaxom, you look better!" F'nor
said, grasping Jaxom's arm in greeting.

D'ram nodded his head, agreeing with F'nor.

Aware of his indebtedness to both riders, Jaxom

stammered out his gratitude.

"Tell you something, Jaxom," F'nor said, squatting

on his haunches, "it's been a rare treat to watch your
little fellow work in the air. He's a superb chop-and-
change artist. Caught three times as much Thread as
our big fellows could. You trained him well!"
"I don't suppose I'll be considered strong enough

to fight Thread tomorrow?"

"No, nor for some time to come," F'nor replied
firmly. "Know how you're feeling, Jaxom," he con-
tinued as he dropped beside him on the mats. "Felt

244

The White Dragon

the same way when I was wounded and not allowed
to fly Thread. But now, your only responsibility to
Hold and Weyr is to get fit. Fit enough to take a
good look about this country! I envy you that chance,
Jaxom. Indeed I do!" F'nor's grin was candidly envi-
ous. "Haven't had the time to fly far, even after
Thread, down here. Forest extends a long way on
either side." F'nor gestured broadly with one arm.
"You'll see. Shall I bring you writing materials next
trip down so you can make a Record? You may not
fly Thread yet awhile, Jaxom, but you'll be working
hard enough to make that a treat!"

"You're only saying that. . ." Jaxom broke off, sur-
prised at the bitterness in his voice.

"Yes, because you need something to look forward
to since you can't do what you want most," F'nor said.
He reached out and gripped Jaxom's arm. "I under-
stand, Jaxom. Ruth's been giving Canth a full report.
Sorry. Awkward for you, but Ruth worries when
you're upset, or didn't you know that?" He chuck-
led.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, F'nor,"
Jaxom said.

Just then Brekke and Sharra emerged from the
trees, Brekke walking quickly to her weyrmate. She
did not, as Jaxom half-expected, embrace the brown
rider. But the way she regarded him, the gentle, al-
most hesitant way she rested her hand on his arm,
spoke more tellingly of the love between the two than
any more demonstrative welcome. A bit embarrassed,
Jaxom turned his head and saw Sharra watching
Brekke and F'nor, a peculiar expression on her face
which she erased the moment she realized that Jaxom
was looking at her.

"Drinks all round," she said in a brisk tone, handing
a mug to D'ram as Brekke served F'nor.

It was a pleasant evening and they ate on the
beach, Jaxom managing to suppress his frustration in
the face of the morning's Threadfall. The three drag-
ons made nests in the still warm sands above the high-

245




The White Dragon

tide lines, their eyes glistening like jewels in the dark

beyond the firelight.

Brekke and Sharra sang one of Menolly's tunes
while D'ram added a rough bass line. When Brekke
noticed Jaxom's head lolling to one side, he didn't re-
sist her ordering him back to the shelter. He drifted
to sleep, face turned toward the fireglow, lulled by the

singing voices.

Ruth's excitement roused him and he blinked with-
out comprehension as the dragon's voice penetrated
his sleep. Thread! Ruth was going to fight Thread to-
day with D'ram's Tiroth and F'nor's Canth. Jaxom
threw aside the blanket, struggled into his trousers,
and strode quickly from the shelter to the beach.
Brekke and Sharra were helping the two dragonriders
load their beasts with the firestone sacks. With the
four fire-lizards on the ground at his feet, Ruth was
industriously chewing away at the pile of stone on the
beach. Dawn was just breaking in the east. Jaxom
peered through the dim light, straining to see the
filmy discoloration that meant Thread. The three
Dawn Sisters winked with unexpected brilliance high
above him, paling to insignificance the other morning
stars in the west. Jaxom frowned at their display. He
hadn't realized how bright they were, how close they
seemed. In Ruatha, they were duller, barely visible
points on the southeastern horizon at dawn. He re-
minded himself to ask if F'nor could have the use of a
long-distance viewer, and if Lytol would send down
his star equations and maps. Then Jaxom noticed the
absence of the fairs of Southern fire-lizards which

haunted Ruth day and night.

"Jaxom!" Brekke noticed him. The two riders
waved a greeting and swung up on their beasts.

Jaxom checked Ruth to be sure he had enough
stone in his gullet, caressing his friend and applauding
his willingness to fly Thread though riderless.

/ remember all the drills we were taught at Fort
Weyr. I have F'nor and Canth, and D'ram and Tiroth
to help. Brekke always watches me, too. I have never
listened to a woman before. But Brekke is good! She

246

The White Dragon

is also sad but Canth says it is good for her to hear us.
She knows that she is never alone.

They were all facing east where the Red Star
pulsed, round and brightly orange-red. A film seemed
to float across it and F'nor, raising his hand, called
Ruth to take wing. Canth and Tiroth leapt strongly
into the air, their wings beating in powerful strokes to
assist their rising. Ruth was well aloft before them and
straining ahead. Beside him four fire-lizards appeared,
as dwarfed by him as he was by Canth and Tiroth.

"Don't meet Thread alone, Ruth!" Jaxom cried.

"He won't," Brekke said, her eyes twinkling. "He
is young enough to want to be first. At that, he saves
the older dragons a lot of effort. But we must go in."

As one, the three paused for a last look at their
defenders and then moved quickly inside the shelter.

"You can't see much," Sharra told Jaxom, who had
gone to stand by the open doorway.

"I'd see if Thread got into this greenery."

"It won't. We've clever riders."

Jaxom felt the skin on his back begin to crawl and
he gave a massive shudder.

"Don't you dare catch a cold," Sharra said. She
collected a shirt from his room which she threw at
him.

"I'm not cold. I'm just thinking of Thread and this
forest."

Sharra made a disparaging sound. "I forget. You're
Northern Hold-bred! Thread can't do any more than
tear or hole leaves which heal in Southern forests. It's
all grubbed. And, in case you're interested, that's the
first thing F'nor and D'ram did—check to be sure the
land here is well-grubbed. It is!"

We have met Thread, Ruth told him, sounding
elated. / am ftaming well. I am to do V-sweeps while
Canth and Tiroth pass east and west. We are high.
The fire-lizards flame well, too. Over there! Berd.
You are closest! Meer, get it to your offside. Talla!
Help him. I come, I come. Down. I come. I flame!
I protect my friend!

Brekke caught Jaxom's eyes, smiling at him. "He

247




The White Dragon

delivers a running comment so we all know how well
he fights!" Her eyes lost their focus on him and then
she blinked. "Sometimes I see the Fall through three
sets of dragon eyes. I don't know where I'm looking!

It goes well!"

Later, Jaxom could not have said what he ate or
drank. When Ruth's monologue resumed, Jaxom paid
strict attention to what his dragon said, looking now
and again at Brekke whose face reflected the intense
concentration of listening to three dragons and four
fire-lizards. Suddenly Ruth's commentary stopped and

Jaxom gasped.

"It's all right. They don't pursue Thread through

the Fall," Brekke said. "Just enough to insure our
safety. Benden flies Thread tomorrow evening over
Nerat. F'nor and Canth ought not overtire themselves

today."

Jaxom rose so abruptly that his bench clattered to

the floor. He mumbled an apology, righted it and then
strode out the door in the direction of the beach. As
he reached the sands, he kept peering westward and
barely discerned the distant film of Thread. Another
shudder gripped him and he had to smooth the hair
down on the back of his neck. The cove before him,
generally calm with leisurely waves, was roiled with
the activity of fish diving, lifting their bodies above
the surface and crashing awkwardly down again as if

in the throes of pain.

"What's the matter with them?" he asked Sharra,

who had joined him.

"The fish are having a good feed off Thread. They

generally manage to clean up the cove in time for our
dragons to bathe when they return. There! There they

all are! Just popped back!"

It was a good Fall! Ruth was jubilant, then rebel-
lious. But we are not to follow it. Canth and Tiroth
said that once across the big river there is nothing but
stony waste and it is stupid to waste flame above what

cannot be hurt by Thread. Ooooh!

Sharra and Jaxom laughed as the little white
dragon emitted a trail of flame, almost singeing his

The White Dragon

muzzle because he was at the wrong flight angle. He
corrected instantly, continuing his downward glide on
the correct plane.

Even as the big dragons landed, the waters had
calmed. Ruth was full of boast that he'd not needed
to replenish his fire once, that he now knew how much
to take to last the Fall. Canth turned his head toward
the little white in an attitude of amused tolerance.

Tiroth snorted and, relieved of his firesack, nodded
once toward D'ram then waded into the water.
Abruptly the air was full of fire-lizards, hovering ea-
gerly above Tiroth. The old bronze threw his head
skyward, snorted again and, with a loud sigh, rolled
over in the water. The fire-lizards descended, drop-
ping mouthsful of sand on him before attacking his
hide with all four feet. Tiroth's eyes, lidded once
against the water, gleamed just beneath the surface in
an eerie submarine rainbow.

Canth bellowed and half the fair left Tiroth to min-
ister to him as he splashed about. Ruth watched this
pre-emption of his friends, blinked, gave himself a bit
of a shake and meekly took to the water at some dis-
tance from the bronze and brown. Four fire-lizards,
the banded ones, detached themselves from the big
dragons and began to scrub the little white.
"Here, I'll help you, Jaxom," Sharra said.
Scrubbing a dragon's hide free of firestone stink
is a tiring job under any circumstances and, although
he only had to do one side of Ruth, Jaxom had to
grit his teeth to finish.

"I told you not to overdo, Jaxom," Sharra said,
her voice sharp as she straightened from scrubbing
the fork of Ruth's tail and noticed Jaxom leaning
against the dragon's rump. She gestured imperiously
toward the beach. "Get out! I'll bring you some food.
You're whiter than he is!"
"I'm never going to get myself fit if I don't try!"
"Stop muttering at me under your breath ..."
"And don't tell me you're doing it for my own
good..."

The White Dragon

"No, for mine! I don't want to have to nurse you

through a relapse!"

She glared at him so fiercely that he gathered him-
self erect and stalked out of the water. Though it
wasn't far to his informal bed under the trees, his
legs were leaden as he dragged them through the wa-
ter. He lay down, heaving a sigh of relief, and closed

his eyes.

When he opened them again someone was shaking

him, and he discovered Brekke peering at him quiz-
zically. "How do you feel now?"

"I was dreaming?"

"Hmmm. Bad ones again?"

"No, curious ones. Only nothing was in focus."
Jaxom shook his head to clear the miasma of night-
mare. He realized that it was midday. Ruth was asleep
snoring, at his left. On the far right, he could see
D'ram resting against Tiroth's front legs. There was

no sign of F'nor or Canth.

"You're probably hungry," Brekke said, holding out

the plate of food and the mug she'd brought.

"How long did I sleep?" Jaxom was disgusted with
himself. He stretched his shoulders, feeling muscles
stiff from the exercise of scrubbing a dragon.

"Several hours. Did you good."

"I dream an awful lot lately. Aftereffect of the fire-
head?"

Brekke blinked, then frowned thoughtfully. "Come

to think of it, I've been dreaming rather more than

usual myself. Too much sun perhaps."

At that point, Tiroth woke, bellowed, struggled to
his feet, sprinkled his rider with sand. Brekke gasped
and rose quickly, her eyes on the old bronze as he
shook his body free of sand and extended his wings.

"Brekke, I must go!" D'ram shouted. "Did you

hear?"

"Yes, I heard. Do go quickly!" she called back,

raising her hand in farewell.

Whatever had roused Tiroth excited the fire-lizards'
who began wheeling, diving, chittering raucously. Ruth
raised his head, looked at them sleepily, then laid his

250

The White Dragon

head back on the sand, unmoved by the excitement.
Brekke turned to regard the white dragon, with a
curious frown.

"What's wrong, Brekke?"

"The bronzes at Ista Weyr are blooding their kills."

"Oh, Shards and Shells!" Jaxom's initial surprise
melded into disappointed disgust with his weakness.
He'd hoped to be allowed to attend that mating flight.
He'd wanted to cheer G'dened and Bamath on.

"I'll know," Brekke said soothingly. "Canth will be
there as well as Tiroth. They'll tell me all. Now, you
eat!"

As Jaxom obeyed, still cursing his unfortunate con-
dition, he noticed that Brekke was staring at Ruth
again.

"What's the matter with Ruth?"

"Ruth? Nothing. Poor dear, he was so proud to fly
Thread for you, and he's too tired to care about any-
thing else right now."

She rose and as she left him Berd and Grail landed
on her shoulders, murmuring softly as she disappeared
into the shady forest.

251

CHAPTER XIV

Early Morning at Harpercraft Hall,
Midmoming at Ista Weyr, Midaftemoon
at Jaxom's Cove, 15.8.28

IN THE DARK of the early morning Robinton was
awakened by Silvina.

"Master Robinton, word has come from Ista Weyr.
The bronzes are blooding their kill. Caylith will fly
soon. You're wanted there."

"Oh, yes, thank you, Silvina." He blinked against
the light from the glow baskets she was unshielding.
"You didn't by any chance bring me . . ." He saw
the steaming mug by his bed. "Oh, good woman! My
undying thanks!"

"That's what you always say," Silvina replied,
chuckling as she left him to proceed with his wake-up

routine.

He dressed quickly to avoid the predawn chill. Zair
took his accustomed shoulder perch, squeaking softly
as Robinton paced down the corridor.

With a glow torch to cast some light in the dark
lower hall, Silvina awaited him at the massive iron
doors. She whirled the release wheel and the great
bar lifted from ceiling and floor. He gave the yank
required to open the huge door and wondered at
the sudden stitch in his side. Then Silvina passed

The White Dragon

him his gitar, stoutly encased against the bitter cold
of between.

"I do hope Bamath flies Caylith," she said. "Look,
here's Drenth now."

The Harper saw the brown dragon backwinging to
land and he ran down the hall steps. Drenth was ex-
cited, his eyes gleaming orange and red in the night.
Robinton greeted the dragon's rider, paused to sling
his gitar across his back and then, reaching for D'fio's
hand, climbed to the brown's back.

"How does the wagering stand?" he asked the
rider.

"Ah, now Harper; Bamath is a fine beast. He'll
fly Caylith. Although," a certain element of doubt
tinged the man's voice, "the four bronzes N'ton is
permitting to try are good strong young beasts, and
mighty eager for the chance. It could be an upset.
Put your mark where you will, it'll give you good
value."

"I wish I could bet, but it's not the sort of thing I
ought to do ..."

"Now, if you were to pass me the marks. Master
Robinton, I'd swear on the Shell of Drenth here that
they were mine!"

"After the flight as well as before?" Robinton
asked, amusement warring with his unprofessional de-
sire to gamble.

"I'm a dragonrider, Master Robinton," D'fio said
gruffly, "not one of those faithless Southerners."

"And I'm Master Harper of Pern," said Robinton.
But he leaned into the man's back, pressing a two-
mark piece into his hand. "Bamath, of course, and
please let none be the wiser."

"As you wish. Master Robinton," D'fio sounded
pleased.

They rose above the black shadow of the Fort Hold
cliffs, the lighter darkness of night sky, moonless at
this hour and season, just barely discernible. He felt
the tension in D'fio's back, drew his own breath in
sharply as they transferred between, and abruptly

The White Dragon

emerged with Drenth calling out his name to the Ista

Weyr watchdragon.

Robinton shielded his eyes from the brilliance of the
sun slanting off the water. As he glanced below, he
saw the dramatic half-peak of Ista Weyr, the black
stone like giant jagged fingers pointing to the bright
blue skies. Ista was the smallest of the Weyrs, some of
its complement of dragons making weyrs in the forest
that surrounded the base. But the broad plateau be-
yond the cone was crowded with bronze beasts, their
riders forming a cluster close to the golden queen
who was crouched over her kill, sucking the blood
from its body. At a farther and safe distance from
this spectacle a large group of people looked on.

Toward this area, Drenth glided.

Zair took wing from Robinton's shoulder, to join
other fire-lizards in an aerial display of excitement.
Robinton noticed that the little creatures kept a dis-
tance from the dragons. At least the fire-lizards were

appearing at Weyrs again.

D'fio dismounted, too, and sent his brown for a
swim in the warm waters of the bay below the Weyr
plateau. Other dragons, uninvolved in this flight, were
already taking advantage of the bathing at Ista Island.

Caylith vaulted from the ground toward the herd
of beasts in the Weyr's corral. Cosira half-followed,
keeping a firm control on her young queen so that she
wouldn't gorge the meat and be too heavy for this all-
important mating flight. Robinton counted twenty-six
bronzes ringing the killing ground, gleaming in the
harsh sunlight, their eyes wheeling red in rut agitation,
their wings halt-furled, their bodies at a crouch that
would send them skyward the instant the queen as-
cended. They were all young, as F'lar had recom-
mended, almost equal in size as they waited, never
taking their glistening eyes from the object of their

interest.

Caylith growled deep in her throat as she sucked

the blood from the buck carcass. She raised her head
to snarl contemptuously back at the bronze ring.

Suddenly the watch dragon roared a challenge and

254

The White Dragon

even Caylith turned to look. Arrowing in from the
south, over the sea, came two bronzes.

Just as Robinton realized that the beasts must
have flown in at sea level to get this close to the
Weyr undetected, he also realized that these were
older beasts, muzzles graying, necks thickened. South-
erners. Two of the Oldfimers' bronzes. That had to
be T'kul with Salth, and probably B'zon with
Ranilth. Robinton began to run toward the killing
ground, toward the queen's prospective mates, for
that was the obvious goal of the two bronzes sweeping
in from the south.

Their timing had been perfect, Robinton thought
then saw two others making for the landing bronzes
—the stocky figure of D'ram and F'lar's lean body.
T'kul and B'zon jumped off their beasts. The dragons
took one final leap to range themselves with the other
bronzes who hissed and growled at the newcomers.
Robinton prayed under his breath that none of the
bronze riders would act first, think later. Most of
them were so young they'd not recognize T'kul or
B'zon. But D'ram and F'lar certainly had.

Robinton felt his heart pounding in his chest and a
totally unfamiliar ache that caused him to grimace
and slow his trot momentarily. B'zon was facing him,
a set smile on his face. The Oldtimer touched T'kul's
arm and the former High Reaches Weyrleader spared
the Harper a quick glance. T'kul considered him no
threat and turned back toward the two Weyrleaders.

D'ram reached T'kul first. "You fool, this is for
young beasts. You'll kill Salth."

"What option have you left us?" B'zon demanded
just as F'lar and Robinton skidded to either side of
the two Southerners. There was a hysterical note in the
man's voice. "Our queens are too old to rise: there are
no greens to give the males relief. We must..."

Caylith bugled as she left the blood-sucked corpse
of the buck and half-flew, half-ran to scatter the herd,
one sweeping forepaw impaling another victim on its
flank and dragging it back to her.

"D'ram, you declared this flight open, didn't you?"

2??

The White Dragon

Tkul asked in a harsh voice, his features fine-drawn
despite the tan of Southern suns. He looked from

D'ram to F'lar.

"I did, but your bronzes are too old, T'kul." He
gestured toward the eager young dragons. The differ-
ence between them and the two older ones was pa-
thetically obvious.

"Salth's dying anyway. Let him go out flying. I made
that choice, D'ram, when I brought him here." T'kul
stared hard at F'lar, the bitterness and hatred so vivid
that Robinton sucked in his breath. "Why did you
take back the egg? How did you find it?" Despera-
tion broke briefly through T'kul's cold pride and ar-
rogance.

"Had you come to us, we would have helped you,"

F'lar said quietly.

"Or I," D'ram said, miserable before the plight of

his one-time acquaintance.

Ignoring F'lar altogether, Tkul gave the Istan
Weyrleader a long scornful glance then, straightening
his shoulders, jerked his head at B'zon to move for-
ward. F'lar was in his direct path to the other bronze
riders. The Benden Weyrleader opened his mouth to
speak, shook his head in regret and stepped to one
side. The Southern riders moved the few paces for-
ward just in time. Caylith, raising her bloody muzzle,
seemed to pulse more golden than ever. Her eyes were
whirling opalescence. With a fierce scream, she
launched herself upward. Bamath was the first dragon
off the ground after her, and, to Robinton's surprise,
T'kul's Salth was not far behind the Istan bronze.

T'kul swung back to F'lar, the triumph on his face
an insult. Then he strode to Cosira's side. The Weyr-
woman was swaying with the effort of staying in men-
tal contact with her queen. She didn't notice that it
was G'dened and T'kul who were leading her back to
her quarters to await the outcome of the flight.

"He'll kill Salth," D'ram was muttering, his face

stricken.

That odd pressure against his chest kept Robinton

from reassuring the worried man.
256

The White Dragon

"And B'zon,, too!" D'ram grabbed F'lar's arm. "Is
there nothing we can do to stop it? Two dragons?"

"If they had come to us ..." F'lar began, placing
his hand consolingly on D'ram's. "But those Oldtimer
riders always took! That was they error at the out-
set!" His face hardened.

"They're still taking," Robinton said, wanting to
ease D'ram's distress. "They've taken what they
wanted from the north all along. Here, there. What
pleased them. Young girls, material, stone, iron, jew-
els. They looted with quiet system ever since they
were exiled. I've had the reports. I've given them to
F'lar."

"If only they had asked!" F'lar looked upward at
the fast-dwindling specks of dragons in flight.

"What was that all about?" Lord Warbret of Ista
Hold hurried up to them. "Those last two were old or
I don't know dragons as well as I thought I did."

"The mating flight was open," F'lar replied, but
Warbret was looking at D'ram's anxious face.

"To old dragons? I thought you stipulated young
ones that hadn't had a chance at a queen before! I
don't see the point myself, in having another older
Weyrleader. No offense intended, D'ram. Change upsets
holders." He gazed at the sky. "How'11 they keep up
with the younger ones? That's a gruelling pace."

"They have the right to try," F'lar said. "While we
await the outcome, some wine, D'ram?"

"Yes, yes, wine. Lord Warbret . . ." D'ram recov-
ered his composure sufficiently to gesture the Lord
Holder to accompany him toward the living cavern.
He beckoned to the other guests to follow, but his
step was heavy and slow.

"Don't worry, D'ram. That other dragon might have
been quick off the mark," Lord Warbret said as he
thumped D'ram's shoulder encouragingly, "but I've
all the faith in the world in G'dened and Bamath.
Fine young man! Splendid dragon. Besides he's mated

Caylith before, hasn't he? That always tells, doesn't
it?"

While Robinton breathed with relief that the Lord
257

The White Dragon

Holder was misinterpreting D'ram's concern, F'lar re-
plied to the questions.

"Yes, Caylith had thirty-four eggs of her first clutch
with Barnath. You don't want a young queen to over-
lay herself, but her hatchlings were healthy and strong.
No queen egg, but that's often the case when a Weyr
has enough queens. The bond of a previous mating can
be a strong factor despite a queen's captiousness, but

you never know."

Robinton noticed that the weyrfolk appeared to be
somewhat tense as they served the visitors. He won-
dered how many had indeed identified the Southerners.
He hoped no one blurted out their suspicions in front

of the Lord Holder.

T'kul's Salth must have flown his queen dozens of
times and won her. He'd be a canny old fellow, all right,
but all his cleverness would be no good if he couldn't
catch the queen in the first few minutes of flight. He
simply wouldn't have the staying power of the younger
dragons, and possibly not even the speed for the surge
to catch her up. He flew against some fine beasts.
Robinton knew how carefully N'ton had chosen the
four bronze riders to present themselves from Fort.
Each had been wing-seconds for Turns, men already
proven in Falls as leaders with strong dragons. F'lar
had also limited Benden's three contenders to men well
able to lead a Weyr. Robinton could only assume that
Telgar, Igen and High Reaches had honored D'ram's
Weyr with good men. Ista was the smallest of the six
Weyrs and needed a united folk.

He sipped at his wine, hoping his side would stop
aching, wondering what had caused that unnerving
pressure. Well, wine cured many ills. He waited until
D'ram turned his head and then he refilled the man's
cup, catching F'lar's approving gaze as he did.

Weyrfolk began to stop at the table now, greeting
D'ram and Lord Warbret. Their obvious pleasure
in seeing their former Weyrleader was a tonic for
D'ram, and he responded with smiles and chatting. He
looked tense but anyone would attribute that to under-
standable concern for the outcome of this flight.

258

The White Dragon

Robinton had a puzzle to chew over: T'kul's bitter
words about the egg. "Why did you take back the egg?
How did you find it?" Didn't T'kul realize that some-
one from Southern had returned the egg? Then the
Harper stiffened. No Southerner had returned that egg,
for surely T'kul would have discovered the culprit by
now.

Robinton began to hope fervently that neither of the
two old dragons would die in their attempt to fly the
young queen. Just like the Oldttmers to add a sour
note to what ought to be a joyous occasion! Surely life
in the Southern Weyr was not so unbearable that T'kul
would cold-bloodedly allow his dragon to court death
rather than continue there? Robinton knew the Weyr
well; the setting in its own small valley was beautiful—
a considerable improvement on T'kul's dour, barren
High Reaches Weyr. There was a huge well-constructed
hall in the center of a flagstone court where no Thread
could find grass to burrow. Food for the picking, wild
beasts in plenty to feed dragons, ideal weather, and their
only obligation as dragonriders to the small Hold on
the coast.

Then Robinton recalled the pulsing hatred for F'lar
in T'kul's eyes. It was malice and spite that motivated
the former High Reaches Weyrleader—and haired for
an exile not of his choosing.

The queens might be too old to rise, but that was
only a recent occurrence, Robinton thought, and the
bronzes could not be in that hard a case. They were
ageing as well and the blood did not so easily quicken,
so the old urgencies surely could beContained.

There was also the point that T'kul need not have
gone South with Mardra, T'ron and the other obstinate
and inflexible Oldtime weyrfolk. He could have
accepted the leadership of Benden, acknowledged that
Craft and Hold had earned rights for themselves
in the four hundred Turns since the last Pass and
conducted himself and his Weyr affairs accordingly.

Had any of the Southerners come forward, acting
in honor, asking the assistance of the other Weyrs, he
was certain such would have been forthcoming. He

259

The White Dragon

didn't doubt D'ram's sincerity, and he would have
pressed for their requests himself, by the Shell he would

have!

Looking at the worst possible conclusion to the day's
events, what would happen to T'kul if Salth did overfly
himself? The Harper sighed deeply, not liking to con-
sider that possibility at all, but he'd better. The pos-
sibility meant that . . . Robinton glanced toward the
Weyrwoman's quarters. T'kul had been wearing a belt
knife. Everyone wore belt knives. Robinton felt his
heart pounding. He knew it wasn't proper, but shouldn't
he suggest to D'ram that someone be in the queen's weyr
in case of trouble? Someone uninvolved in the mating
flight. When a man's dragon died he could become
insane, not know what he was doing. A vision of T'kul's
hatred flashed vividly before the Harper's eyes. Robin-
ton had many prerogatives but entering the chambers
of a Weyrwoman whose dragon was mating was not one

of them. Still...

Robinton blinked. F'lar was no longer seated at the
table. The Harper glanced about the cavern, but caught
no glimpse of the tall figure of the Benden Weyrleader.
He rose, struggling to keep his progress casual, managed
to nod pleasantly to D'ram and Warbret as he saun-
tered toward the entrance. The Istan Harper intersected

his path.

"F'lar took two of our strongest riders with him,
Master Robinton." The man nodded toward the Weyr-
woman's quarters. "He's afraid of trouble."

Robinton nodded, blowing out with relief, then

halted.

"How did he manage it? I saw no one using the

steps."

Baldor grinned. "This Weyr is full of odd tunnels and

entrances. It wouldn't do to compound the problem,"
he added, gesturing toward the guests in the cavern,

"now would it?"

"Indeed not. Indeed not."

"We'll know what happens soon enough," Baldor
said with a worried sigh. "Our nre-lizards'll tell us."

260

The White Dragon

"True," and Zair on his shoulder cheeped at Baldor's
brown.

Robinton was somewhat relieved by the precautions
and made his way back to the table. He filled his cup
again, and D'ram's. Not Benden wine, but it wasn't al-
together unpalatable, if a trifle sweeter than he liked.
Why was it that happy occasions seemed to fly past and
one like today dragged interminably?

The watchdragon bugled, a fearful, unhappy sound.
But not a keen! Not a death knell! Robinton felt
the muscles in his chest relax. His relief was premature
for there was a rustle of worried whispers sweeping
through the living cavern. Several weyrfolk hurried out,
looking up at the blue watchdragon, his wings ex-
tended. Zair crooned softly but Robinton sensed noth-
ing definite from the creature. The little bronze merely
repeated the dragon's muddled thoughts.

"One of the bronzes must have faltered," D'ram said,
swallowing nervously, his face tinged gray under
his tan. He looked hard at Robinton.

"One of those older ones, I'll wager," Warbret said,
pleased at this justification of his opinion.

"You're likely right," Robinton said easily, "but
the flight was declared open, so they had to be admit-
ted."

"Aren't they taking a long time of it?" Warbret
asked, frowning out at the sky just visible from their
table.

"Oh, I don't think so," Robinton replied with what
he hoped was a casual air, "though it sometimes
seems that way. I expect that's because the outcome
of this particular flight will have such consequences for
the Weyr. Caylith is at least giving the bronzes a good
run for her!"

"D'you think there'll be a queen egg this time?"
Warbret asked eagerly.

"I would never make the error of counting eggs
this soon, my Lord Warbret," the Harper said, trying
to keep his countenance bland.

"Oh, yes, of course. I mean it would be quite an

261

The White Dragon

accomplishment for Bamath, wouldn't it? Having his
queen lay a golden egg this flight?"

"It would indeed. That is, if ... Bamath succeeds

in flying her."

"Really, Master Harper, of course he will. Where's

your sense of justice?"

"Where it generally is, but I doubt that Caylith is

attuned to justice right now."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than
Zair, his eyes the bright yellow of distress, gave a
frightened, gibbering squeak at the Harper. Mnementh
erupted into the air just above the ground of the Bowl,

bugling in alarm.

Robinton was on his feet and running,glancing about
him for Baldor. The Istan Harper was equally alert
to the danger. He and four large riders began pelting

toward the Weyr.

"What's the matter?" Warbret demanded.

"Stay there," Robinton shouted.

The air was suddenly full of dragons, bugling and
keening, barely avoiding midair collisions as they swept
about, riderless, disturbed. Robinton pumped his long
legs as fast as he could, regardless of the fierce pain
in his side that he eased somewhat by digging the heel
of his hand into his flesh. The weight on his chest
seemed worse; it kept breath which he needed for

running.

Zair began squealing over Robinton's head, pro-
jecting an image of a falling dragon and fighting men.
Unfortunately the little bronze could not project the
information Robinton most wanted—which dragon,
which men! F'lar must be involved or Mnementh would

not be here.

The huge bronze was landing on the queen's weyr

ledge, preventing Baldor's men from entering the weyr.
They flattened themselves against the wall, trying to
avoid the frantic sweeps of his wide wings.

"Mnementh! Listen to me! Let us pass! We're going

to aid F'lar. Listen to me!"

Robinton charged right up the steps, past Baldor and
his men, and grabbed one wing dp. He was all but

262

The White Dragon

hauled off his feet as Mnementh pulled it back, bend-
ing his head to hiss at the Harper. The great eyes
whirled violently yellow.

"Listen to me, Mnementhi" the Harper roared.
"Let us pass!"

Zair flew at the bronze dragon, screaming at the
top of his lungs.

/ listen. Salth is no more. Help F'lar!

The great bronze dragon folded his wings, lifted his
head, and Robinton thankfully waved Baldor and his
men to go ahead. He needed a moment to catch
his breath.

As Robinton turned to enter the passage, hand
pressed against his side, Zair zipped in front of him, his
cries full of encouragement now. The Harper wondered
fleetingly if the tiny creature thought that he, and he
alone, had turned aside the great bronze. Robinton
could only be grateful that the bronze dragon would
listen to him.

As Robinton entered the weyr, he could hear the
sounds of fighting in the Weyrwoman's sleeping cham-
ber. The curtain across the entrance was suddenly
ripped from its pole as two struggling bodies stag-
gered out into the larger room. F'lar and Tkul! Baldor
and two of his helpers were close behind, trying to
separate the men. In the room beyond them, locked
in the mating flight contact with their beasts, were
the rest of the bronze riders and the Weyrwoman,
oblivious to the combat. Someone had collapsed on
the floor. B'zon, probably, he thought as the scene
registered in his mind in one split second.

What caught Robinton's horrified attention was the
fact that F'lar had no knife hi either hand. His left
was closed about T'kul's right wrist, straining to keep
the man's long knife—no short-bladed belt but a skin-
ning tool—away from his collarbone. His fingers be-
gan digging into the tendons of T'kul's wrist, trying to
force the fingers open, or to deaden the nerves. His right
hand held T'kul's left arm down and out from their
sides. T'kul writhed savagely; the maniacal gleam in
his reddened eyes told Robinton that the man was be-

263

The White Dragon

yond himself. As he must have intended, thought

Robinton.

One of Baldor's men was trying to shove a knife in
F'lar's hand but F'lar had to keep T'kul's left hand

engaged.

"I'll kill you, F'lar," T'kul said through gritted teeth
as he struggled to force his right hand down, closer
and closer, the blade slanting toward the bronze rider's
neck. "I'll kill you. As you killed my Salth. As you
killed us! I'll kill you!" It sounded like a chant, the
beats emphasized by the spurts of strength T'kul called
up from the depths of his madness.

F'lar saved his breath, the strain of holding on that
knife showing in the cords that stood out in his neck,
in the drag on his face muscles, the tension in his legs

and thighs.

"I'll kill you. I'll kill you as T'ron ought! I'll kill

you, F'lar!"

T'kul's voice now came in ragged gasps as the point
of the knife inched toward its goal.

Abruptly, F'lar kicked out with his left leg and,
twining it about T'kul's left, yanked the foot out from
under the crazed, overbalanced Oldtimer. With a yell,
T'kul fell forward into F'lar, who neatly twisted him
over and down, breaking T'kul's left-hand hold but
keeping his ^own left hand firmly locked on T'kul's
right wrist. The Oldtimer kicked out, caught Flar vi-
ciously in the stomach. Although the bronze rider did
not release the knife hand, he was doubled up, wind-
less. A second kick from T'kul knocked his feet out
from under him. F'lar fell heaving as T'kul wrenched
his knife-hand free and scrambled to fall on the
younger Weyrleader. But F'lar continued the roll with
an agility that astonished the watchers, coming to his
feet again even as T'kul stood up and launched an im-
mediate attack. But that interval had been time
enough for F'lar to grab the belt knife from Baldor.

The two antagonists faced each other. Robinton
knew by the grim determination on P'lar's face that
this time, with the man's beast already dead, the

264

The White Dragon

Benden Weyrleader would finish off his opponent. If
he could.

Robinton disliked having doubts about F'lar's skill
as a fighter, but T'kul was no ordinary antagonist,
driven as he was by the grief-madness of Salth's death.
The man, older by some twenty Turns, had the reach
of F'lar, and a longer, more deadly blade in his hand.
F'lar would have to elude that slashing blade long
enough to wear T'kul past the point of the mad energy
that possessed the Oldtimer.

An exultant shout burst from the Weyrwoman's
room and her piercing shriek followed. That was just
enough to divert T'kul. F'lar was ready for that tiny
break in concentration. He dove at T'kul, knife arm
down and, before the man could parry and guard him-
self at the lower angle, F'lar's thrust went up and
through the ribs to the heart. T'kul, eyes protruding,
fell dead at his feet.

F'lar sagged, dropping to one knee, gasping with his
exertions. Wearily he scrubbed at his forehead with
the back of his left hand, every line of his body em-
phasizing the dejection he was experiencing.

"You could have done nothing else, F'lar," Robin-
ton said softly, wishing he had the strength to move to
F'lar's side.

From the Weyrwoman's chamber came the rejected
suitors, dazed by their participation in the mating
flight. They came out in a mass, and Robinton
couldn't figure out who had remained with the Weyr-
woman as her mate and was now the new Weyrleader
of Ista.

His sudden inexplicable weakness confused the
Harper. He couldn't catch his breath; he hadn't the en-
ergy to quiet Zair, who was chittering the wildest dis-
tress. The pain in his side had moved again to his
chest, like a heavy rock sitting on him.

"Baldor!"

"Master Robinton!" The Istan Harper rushed to his
side, his face expressing horror and consternation as
he assisted Robinton to the nearest bench. "You're

26?




The White Dragon

gray. Your Ups. They're blue. What's wrong with

you?"

"Gray is how I feel. My chesti Winel I need

wine!"

The room began pressing in on the Harper. He

couldn't breathe. He was aware of shouts, sensed
panic in the air and tried to bestir himself to take
control of the situation. Hands pushed him down, then
flat, making it totally impossible to breathe. He strug-
gled to sit up.

"Let him. It will help his breathing."

Dimly Robinton identified the voice as Lessa's.
How did she come to be here? Then he was propped
against someone and could breathe more easily. If

only he could rest, could sleep.

"Clear everyone from the weyr." Lessa was giving

orders.

Harper, Harper, listen to us. Now listen to us. Har-
per, don't sleep. Stay with us. Harper, we need you.

We love you. Listen to us.

The voices in his head were unfamiliar. He wished
they would be silent so that he could think about the
pain in his chest and the sleep he so desperately

craved.

Harper, you cannot leave. You must stay. Harper,

we love you.

The voices puzzled him. He didn't know them. It

wasn't Lessa or F'lar speak ing. The voices were deep,
insistent, and he wasn't hearing them with his ears.
The voices were in his mind where he couldn't ignore
them. He wished they would leave him alone so that
he could sleep. He was so very tired. Tkul had been
too old to fly his dragon or win a fight. Yet he was
older than T'kul, who now slept in death. If only the
voices would let him sleep, too. He was so tired.

You cannot sleep yet. Harper. We are with you.
Do not leave us. Harper, you must live! We love you.

Live? Of course, he would live. Silly voices. He was

just tired. He wanted to sleep.

Harper, Harper, do not leave us. Harper, we lave

you. Do not go.

266

The White Dragon

The voices were not loud, but they held on to him,
in his mind. That was it. They were not letting his
mind go.

Someone else, outside him, was holding something
to his lips.

"Master Robinton, you must try to swallow the
medicine. You must make the effort. It will ease the
pain." That voice he recognized. Lessa. Distraught.

Of course, she would be, with F'lar having to kill a
rider, and all the trouble with the theft of the egg, and
Ramoth being so upset.

Harper, obey Lessa. You must obey Lessa, Harper.
Open your mouth. You must try.

He could ignore Lessa, he could bat feebly at the
cup at his lips and try to spit out the bitter-tasting pill
which was melting on his tongue, but he could not ig-
nore those insistent voices. He let them put wine in his
mouth, and swallowed the pill with it. At least they
had the kindness to give him wine, not water. Water
would have been undignified for the Harper of Pern. He
could never have swallowed water with the pain in his
chest.

Something seemed to snap inside him. Ah, the pain
in his chest. It was easing, as if the snap had been the
loosening of the tight band that constricted his heart.

He sighed at the relief. One didn't fully appreciate
theabsence of pain, he thought.

"Take a sip of the wine, Master." He felt the cup at
his lips again.

Wine, yes, that would complete his cure. Wine al-
ways did revive him. Only he still wanted to sleep. He
was so very tired.

"And another!"

You may sleep later. You must listen to us and
stay. Harper, listen! We love you. You must stay.

The Harper resented their insistence.

"How long does it take the man to get here?" That
was Lessa's voice, sounding fiercer than he'd ever
heard her. Why did she also sound as if she were
weeping? Lessa weeping?

Lessa is weeping for you. You do not want her to

267




The White Dragon

weep. Stay with us, Harper. You cannot go. We will
not let you go. Lessa should not weep.

No, that was right, Lessa should not weep. Robin-
ton didn't really believe that she was. He forced his
eyes to open and saw her bending over nun. She was
weeping! The tears were dropping from her cheeks to
his hand which lay limp and upturned as if to receive

the tears.

"You mustn't weep, Lessa. I will not have you
weeping." Great Shells, he was losing his voice con-
trol. He cleared his throat. This would never do.

"Don't try to talk, Robinton," Lessa said, gulping
back her sobs. "Just rest. You've got to rest. Oldive is
coming. I told them to time it. Just rest. More wine?"

"Have I ever refused wine?" Why was his voice so

faint?

"Never," and Lessa was laughing and crying at the

same time.

"Who's been nagging me? They wouldn't let me go.

Make them let me rest, Lessa. I'm so tiredl"
"Oh, Master Robinton, pleasel"

Please what?

Harper, stay with us. Lessa will weep.

"Oh, Master Oldive. Over herel" That was Lessa
again, leaving his side.

Robinton tried to reach for her.

"Don't exert yourself!" She was holding him down,
but she was staying beside him. Dear Lessa! Even
when he was angry with her, he loved her nonetheless.
Perhaps more, because she was angry so often and

anger intensified her beauty.

"Ah, Master Robinton." Oldive's soothing voice

made him open his eyes. "The chest pain again? Just

nod. I'd rather you didn't make the effort to speak."
"Ramoth says he has great pain and is very tired."
"Oh? Convenient having the dragon listen, too."
Master Oldive was putting cold instruments to his

chest and on his arm. Robinton would have liked to

protest.

"Yes, I know they're cold, my dear Harper, but

necessary. Now listen to me, your heart has been over-
268

The White Dragon

strained. That was the pain in your chest. Lessa gave
you a pill which has relieved that pain for the mo-
ment. But the immediate danger is past. I want you
to try to sleep. You are going to need a lot of rest, my
good friend. A lot of rest."

"Then tell them to be quiet and let me sleep."

"Who's to be quiet?" Oldive's voice was soothing,
and Robinton was vaguely annoyed because he sus-
pected Oldive didn't believe he'd heard them keeping
him awake. "Here, take this pill and a sip of wine. I
know you've never refused wine."

Robinton smiled weakly. How well they knew him,
Oldive and Lessa.

"It's Ramoth and Mnementh talking to him, Oldive.
They said he had nearly gone ..." Lessa's voice broke
on the last note.

Nearly gone, was I? Is that what it feels like to be
so close to death? Like being very tired?

You will stay now. Harper. We can let you sleep.
But we will be with you. We love you.

Dragons talking to me? Dragons keeping me from
death? How kind they are for I did not want to die
yet. There is so much to be done. Problems to be
solved. There'd been a problem on my mind .. . about
dragons, too ...

"Who flew Caylith?"

Did he manage to say that out loud? He didn't even
hear his own voice in his ears.

"Did you hear what he said, Oldive?"

"Something about Caylith."

"Wouldn't you know he'd worry about that at a
time like this?" Lessa sounded more like herself, acer-
bic. "Bamath flew Caylith, Robinton. Now, will you
sleep?"

Sleep, Master. We will listen.

The Harper drew a deep breath into his lungs and
relaxed gratefully into sleep.

269




CHAPTER XV

Evening at Jaxom's Cove and Late Evening
at IstaWeyr, 15.8.28

SHARRA WAS SHOWING Brekke and Jaxom how to
play a children's game in the sand with pebbles and
sticks when Ruth, sleeping just beyond them with the
fire-lizards, woke up. He reared to a sitting position,
stretching his neck and keening the long piercing note

that marked a dragon's passing.

"Oh no!" Brekke reacted just a shade faster than

Jaxom. "Salth is gone!"

"Salth?" Jaxom wondered who that was.
"Salth!" Sharra's face drained of color. "Ask Ruth

where!"

"Canth says he was trying to fly Caylith and burst

his heart!" Brekke answered the question, her shoul-
ders sagging in new grief and a poignantly remem-
bered tragedy. "The fool! He must have known that
the younger dragons would be faster, stronger than

poor old Salth!"

"Serves T'kul right! And don't soar over me,

Brekke." Sharra's eyes flashed as Brekke turned to
reprimand her. "Remember, I've had to deal with
T'kul and the rest of those Oldtimers. They are not
like your Northern dragonfolk at all. They're . . .
they're impossible! I could bum your ears with tales!
If T'kul was fool enough to set his bronze to fly a

The White Dragon

young queen, with the competition there'd be for the
Istan Weyrleadership, then he deserves to lose his
beast! I'm sorry. Harsh words for you, Brekke, and
Jaxom, but I know what those Southerns are like. You
don't!"

"I knew there'd be real trouble sometime, exiling
them like that," Brekke said slowly, "but..."

"From what I've heard, Brekke," Jaxom said from
a compulsion to erase the desolate look from her face,
"that was the only way to handle them. They weren't
honoring their responsibilities to the people beholden
to them. They were greedy, over and above proper
timing. Further," and he brought out his strongest
point, "I heard Lytol criticizing those dragonriders!"

"I know, Jaxom. I know all that but they did come
forward from their own time to save Pem . . ." Jaxom
wondered if she realized she was wringing her hands
till the knuckles showed white.

"To save Pern, yes, and then they demanded that
we remember that every time we drew breath in their
presence," Jaxom went on, recalling all too clearly the
arrogant and contemptuous manner with which T'ron
had treated Lytol.

"We ignore the Oldtimers," Sharra said, with a
shrug. "We go about our business, keep our Hold
green clear, pen up our animals during Fall. We just
run a quick search with the flamethrowers to be sure
the grubs have done their work."

"Don't they ride a Fall?" Brekke asked in surprise.

"Oh, now and again. If they feel like it, or if their
dragons get too upset . . ." Sharra's contempt was
trenchant. Then she noticed the dismay on the other
two faces and added, "Oh, what's happened is not
the dragons' fault, mind you. And I don't suppose that
it's really the riders' either. I do think they should at
least try to act what they are. To be sure, most of the
Oldtimers stayed north. So just a few are giving dragon-
men a poor reputation in Southern. Still ... if they'd
met us halfway ... we would have helped."

"I should go, I think," Brekke said, rising and fac-
ing west. "T'kul is half a man now. I know how that




The White Dragon

feels . . ." Her voice petered out and her face drained
of all color as she stared to the west, her eyes getting
larger until a cry of horror burst from her Ups. "Oh
no!" Her hand went to her throat and she turned it
palm outward as if warding off an attack.

"Brekke, what is it?" Sharra leaped to her feet, her
arms about the woman.

Ruth whimpered and nudged against Jaxom for re-
assurance.

She is very afraid. She is speaking to Canth. He is
unhappy. It is terrible. Another dragon is very weak.
Canth is with him. It is Mnementh who talks now.
T'kul fights F'lar!

"T'kul fights F'lar?" Jaxom reached out to Ruth's
shoulder for balance.

The fire-lizards picked up the agitation, dipping and
swooping, cluttering in harsh cacophony that made
Jaxom wave his arms at them to be silent.

"This is ghastly, Jaxom," Brekke cried. "I must go.
They must see that T'kul is not responsible for what
he's doing. Why don't they just overpower him? There
must be someone with wits at Ista! What is D'ram do-
ing? I'll get my flying things." She ran back to the

shelter.

"Jaxom." Sharra turned to him, one hand raised,
appealing for his reassurance. "T'kul hates F'lar. I've
heard him blame F'lar for everything that happens in
Southern. If T'kul's dragonless, he'd be insane. He'd
kill F'lar!"

Jaxom drew the girl close to him, wondering which
of them needed comfort more. T'kul trying to kill
F'lar? He asked Ruth to listen hard.

I hear nothing. Canth is between. I only hear
trouble. Ramoth is coming . . .

"Here?"

No, where they are! Ruth's eyes deepened to the k.
purple of worry. I do not like this.

"What, Ruth?"

"Oh, please Jaxom, what's he saying? I'm scared."

"He is, too. And so am I."

Brekke came back through the woods, her flying

272

The White Dragon

gear in one hand, in the other her small pack of medi-
cines, half-closed, and in danger of spilling its contents.
She halted just before stepping onto the sands, blinked,
frowning with impatience and dismay.

"I can't get there! Canth must stay with B'zon's
Ranilth. We can't lose two bronzes today!" She looked
this way and that as if the beach could sprout an an-
swer to her dilemma. She bit her underlip and then
exclaimed in frustration. "I've got to go!"

The second shock struck both Brekke and Jaxom
at the same time as Ruth bugled in fear.

"Robinton!" Brekke reeled and would have fallen
if Sharra and Jaxom had not jumped to her support.
"Oh, no, not Robinton? How?"

The Master Harper.

"Not dead?" Sharra cried.

The Master Harper is very ill. They will not let
him go. He will have to stay. As you did.

"I'll take you, Brekke. On Ruth. Just let me get my
flying gear."

Both women reached out to restrain him.

"You can't fly yet, Jaxom. You can't go between!"
The fear in Brekke's eyes was for him now.

"You really can't, Jaxom," Sharra said, shaking her
head and pleading with her eyes. "The cold of between
... you're just not well enough yet. Please!"

They are afraid for you now, Ruth said, sounding
confused. Very afraid. I do not know why it is wrong
for you to ride me but it is!

"He's right, Jaxom, it would be disastrous," Brekke
said, her body slumping with defeat. Wearily she
raised her hand to her head, and pulled off the now
unnecessary helmet. "You mustn't attempt going be-
tween for at least another month or six sevendays. If
you did, you'd risk headaches for the rest of your life
and the possibility of blindness...."

"How do you know that?" Jaxom demanded, strug-
gling with fury at having been kept ignorant of such
a restriction, with frustration at not being able to help
either Brekke or the Harper.

"I know that," Sharra said, turning Jaxom to face

273




The White Dragon

her. "One of the dragonriders at Southern took fire-
head. We didn't know the dangers of going between.
He went blind first. Then mad with the pain in his
head and . . . died. So did his dragon." Her voice
caught, remembering that tragedy, and her eyes were

misted with tears.

Jaxom could only stare at her, stunned.

"Why wasn't I told that before?"

"No reason to," Sharra said, her eyes never leaving
his, pleading with him for understanding. "You're get-
ting stronger daily. By the time you realized the re-
striction existed, it might not have been necessary to

warn you anymore."

"Another four or six sevendays?" He ground the
words out, conscious that he was working his fists and
that his jaw muscles ached with the effort to control

his temper.

Sharra nodded slowly, her face expressionless.

Jaxom took a deep breath, forcing emotion down.
"That does make it awkward, doesn't it, because right
now we need a dragonrider." He looked toward
Brekke. Her head was turned slightly to the west.
Jaxom could sense her longing to be where she was
urgently needed, the restraint, that kept her from
claiming Canth's help when he was needed elsewhere.
. "We have a dragonrider!" he exclaimed, whooping.
"Ruth, would you take Brekke to Ista without me?"

I would take Brekke anywhere. The little white
dragon raised his head, his eyes wheeling quickly as
he stepped forward, toward Brekke.

Brekke's face cleared miraculously of sorrow and
helplessness. "Oh, Jaxom, would you really let me?"

He was well repaid by the overwhelming gratitude

in that breathless question.

He took her arm, hurrying her to Ruth's side.
"You must go. If Master Robinton . . ." Jaxom

choked on the rest of that sentence, panic at the

thought closing his throat.

"Oh, thank you, Jaxor, Thank you, Ruth." Brekke

rumbled with the strap of her helmet. She struggled

with her jacket before she could get her arm into the

The White Dragon

sleeve, and buckled the riding belt in place. When she
was ready Ruth dipped his shoulder for Brekke to
mount, then turned his head to be sure she was safely
seated.

"I'll send Ruth directly back, Jaxom. Oh, no, don't
let him go! Don't let him sleep!" The last two sentences
were directed to distant minds.

We will not let him go, Ruth said. He briefly nosed
Jaxom on the shoulder and then sprang up, showering
his friend and Sharra with dry sand. He was barely
wing height above the waves before he winked out.

"Jaxom?" Sharra's voice was so unsteady that he
tamed to her in concern. "What can have happened?
T'kul couldn't have been mad enough to attack the
Harper, too?"

"The Harper may have tried to stop the fight, if I
know him. Do you know Master Robinton?"

"I know more of him," she said, biting her underiip.
She expelled her breath in a deep shudder, struggling
to control her fears. "Through Piemur, and Menolly.
I've seen him, of course, in our Hold and heard him
sing. He's such a wonderful man. Oh, Jaxom! All those
Southerners have run mad. Mad! They're sick, con-
fused, lost!" She dropped her head against his shoul-
der, surrendering to her anxieties. Tenderly, he drew
her against him.

He lives! Ruth's reassurance rang faint but true in
his head.

"Ruth says he lives, Sharra."

"He must continue to live, Jaxom. He must! He
must!" Her fists beat on his chest to emphasize her
determination.

Jaxom caught her hands, holding them flat, and
smiled into her wide, flashing eyes.

"He will. I'm sure he will, if it's in our power to
think him so."

Jaxom was intensely aware, at this highly inap-
propriate moment, of Sharra's vibrant body pressing
against his. He could feel her warmth through the thin
fabric of her shirt, the long line of her thighs against
his, the fragrance of her hair, scented with sun and a

The White Dragon

blossom she had tucked behind her ear. The startled
look that crossed her face told him that she, too, was
aware of the intimacy of their positions—aware and,
for the first time since he had known her, confused.

He eased his grip on her hands, ready to release her
completely if necessary. Sharra was not Corana, not a
simple hold girl obedient to the Lord of her Hold.
Sharra was not a bed partner for a passing indulgence
of desire. Sharra was too important to him to risk
destroying their relationship with an ill-timed demon-
stration. He was also aware that Sharra thought that
his feelings for her stemmed from a natural gratitude
for her nursing. He'd thought of that possibility in him-
self and decided that she was wrong. He liked too
many things about her, from the sound of her beautiful
voice, to the sure touch of her hands: hands he was
aching to have caress him. He'd learned a good deal
about her in the past few days, but he was aware of a
hungry curiosity in himself to know much, much more.
Her reaction to the Southerners had surprised him; she
often surprised him. Part of her attraction, he sup-
posed, was that he never knew what she'd say or how

she'd say it.

Suddenly he broke their partial embrace and, cir-
cling her shoulders lightly with his arm, guided her to
the mats where they'd been so blithely playing a
child's game. He put both hands on her shoulders and
gave her a gentle downward push.

"We may have a long wait, Sharra, before we know
for certain the Harper's all right."

"I wish I knew what was wrong! If that T'kul has
harmed our Harper . . ."

"What about his harming F'lar?"

"I don't know F'lar, although I'd naturally be very
sorry if he were hurt by T'kul." She absently folded
her legs as he sat down beside her, just close enough
so that their shoulders nearly touched. "And, in a
sense, F'lar ought to fight T'kul. After all, he sent the
Oldtimers into exile so he ought to finish it."

"And he'll finish it by killing T'kul?"

"Or being killed by him!"

The White Dragon

"We'd be in a far worse state," Jaxom replied with
more heat than he intended at her callous dismissal of
F'lar's fate, "if the Benden Weyrleader gets killed! He
yPem!"

"Really?" Sharra was willing to be converted. "I've
never seen him . . ."

There are many dragons here and many many peo-
ple, Ruth told him, his tone still faint but clear. Sebell
is coming. Menolly cannot.

"Is Ruth talking to you?" Sharra asked anxiously,
leaning forward and grasping his arm. He covered her
fingers with his, silencing her in that gesture. She bit
her underlip and studied his face. He tried to reassure
her with emphatic nods.

Her fire-lizards are here. The Harper sleeps. Master
Oldive is with him, too. They wait outside. We will
not let him go. Should I return to you now?

"Who are they?" Jaxom asked though he was fairly
sure of the identity.

Lessa and F'lar. The man who attacked F'lar is
dead.

"T'kul's dead, and F'lar is not hurt?"
No.

"Ask him what is wrong with the Harper," Sharra
whispered.

Jaxom wanted to know, too, but there was a long
pause before Ruth answered, and the little dragon
sounded confused.

Mnementh said Robinton's chest hurt and he
wanted to sleep. Wine helped him. Mnementh and
Ramoth knew he should not sleep. He would go. May
I come back now?

"Does Brekke need you?"

There are many dragons here.

"Come home, my friend!"

I come.

"His chest hurt?" Sharra repeated when Jaxom told
her what Ruth had said. She frowned. "It could be
the heart. The Harper is not a young man and he does
a great deal!" She looked about her for her fire-lizards.
"I could send Meer..."

The White Dragon

"Ruth says there's an awful lot of people and drag-
ons at Ista right now. I think we'd better wait."

"I know," and Sharra gave a long sigh. She picked
up a handful of sand and let it run through her fingers.
Then she gave Jaxom a sad smile. "I know how to
wait, but that doesn't mean I like to!"

"We know he's alive, and F'lar . . ." Jaxom gave

her a sly look.

"I didn't mean any disrespect to your Weyrleader,

Jaxom, I want you to know that..."

Jaxom laughed, having managed to tease her. She
let out an exclamation of annoyance and threw the
handful of sand toward him, but he ducked and
the sand went over his shoulder, some of it falling
in the gentle waves that lapped up the shore.

Brushed out of existence by the next wave, no rip-
ples lasted in this water. There was a fallacy in the
Harper's analogy then, Jaxom thought, amused by this

irrelevant thought.

Mee' and Talla suddenly squawked, both heads
turned toward the western arm of the cove. They
raised their wings and crouched on their haunches,
ready to spring into the air.

"What is it?"

As quickly as they had become alert, the two fire-
lizards relaxed, Meer preening one wing as if she
hadn't been startled the moment before.

"Is someone coming?" Sharra asked, turning to

Jaxom with amazement.

Jaxom jumped to his feet, scanning the skies. "They

wouldn't object to Ruth's return."

"It must be someone they know!" The possibility
was as improbable to Sharra as it was to Jaxom. "And

he's not flying in!"

They both heard the noises of something large
moving through the forest on the point. A muffled
curse indicated the visitor was human but the first
head that penetrated the screen of thick foliage was
undeniably animal. The body that followed the head
belonged to the smallest runner beast Jaxom had
ever seen.

The White Dragon

The muffled curses resolved into intelligible words.
"Stop snapping the branches back in my face, you
ruddy, horn-nosed, flat-footed, slab-hided dragon-
bait! Well, Sharra, so this is where you got to! I was
told, but I was beginning to doubt it! Hear you've
been ill, Jaxom? You don't look it now!"

"Piemur?" Although the appearance of the young
harper was the unlikeliest of events, there was no mis-
taking the characteristic swagger in the short, compact
figure that limped jauntily down the beach. "Piemurl
What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course. Have you any idea
how many coves along this stretch of nowhere in the
world answer the description Master Robinton gave
me?"

"Well, the Weyr's all organized," F'lar told Lessa
in a quiet voice as he joined her in the foreroom of
the weyr which had been hastily vacated by its oc-
cupants so that the Master Harper of Pern could be
accommodated. Master Oldive would not have him
moved even as far as Ista Hold. The Healer and
Brekke were with him now in the inner room as he
slept, propped up in the bed, Zair perched above him,
his glowing eyes never leaving the face of his friend.

Lessa held out her hand, needing her weyrmate's
touch. He pulled a stool beside hers, gave her a
quick kiss and poured himself a cup of wine.

"D'ram has the Weyrfolk organized. He's sent the
older bronzes to help Canth and F'nor bring Ranilth
back. The poor old thing will live only a few more
Turns ... if B'zon does."

"Not another one today!"

F'lar shook his head. "No, he's just dead asleep.
We've got the disappointed bronze riders drunk as
winemakers' apprentices, and from every indication
Cosira and G'dened are ... so involved they haven't
any notion of what else has been happening here in
Ista."

"That's as well," Lessa replied, grinning from ear
to ear.

The White Dragon

F'lar stroked her cheek, grinning right back at her.
"So when does Ramoth rise again, dear heart?"

"I'll remember to let you know!" As she saw F'lar
glance in the direction of the inner room, she added,
"He'll be all right!"

"Oldive wasn't hedging about his full recovery?"

"How could he? With every dragon on Pern listen-
ing in? Now that," she paused in thoughtful reflection,
"was totally unexpected. I know the dragons will call
him by name but... linking?"

"More incredible to me was Brekke arriving on

Ruth, alone!"

"Why ever not?" Lessa asked, piqued. "She's been
a rider! And she's had a special touch with dragons
ever since she lost Wirenth!"

"I can't quite see you offering her Ramoth under
similar circumstances. Now don't soar over me, Lessa.
That was a fine gesture of Jaxom's. Brekke told me
that he hadn't realized till that moment that he couldn't
fly between. It must have been a bitter discovery for
him and it's greatly to his credit that he could respond

so generously."

"Yes, I see your point. It's a relief to have her here,
too." Lessa glanced toward the curtain and sighed.
"You know, I could almost get to like fire-lizards af-
ter today."

"What brought about this change of heart?" F'lar
stared at her in surprise.

"I didn't say I had. I said I could almost—watch-
ing Brekke direct Grail and Berd to bring her things,
and that little bronze of Robinton's. The creatures can
get vicious when their friends are hurt but he just
crouched there, watching Robinton's face and croon-
ing till I thought he'd shake his bones loose. Not that
I didn't feel much the same myself. When I think . .."
Lessa broke off, her face blotchy with tears.

"Don't think of it, dear heart." F'lar squeezed her
hand. "It didn't happen."

"When Mnementh called me, I don't think I've
ever moved so fast. I fell off the ledge onto Ramoth's
back. Bad enough trying to get here before T'kul

280

The White Dragon

tried to kill you, but to find Robinton ... If only
you'd killed T'ron at Telgar Hold ..."

"Lessa!" He gripped her fingers so tightly she
winced. "T'ron's Fidranth was very much alive at
Telgar Hold. I couldn't cause his death no matter what
insult T'ron had given me. T'kul I could kill with
pleasure. Though I admit, he nearly had me. Our
Harper's not the only one who's Turning old."

"So, thank goodness, are whoever's still left of the
Oldtimers in Southern. And now, what are we to do
with them?"

"I will go south and take charge of the Weyr,"
D'ram said. He'd entered, quiet with weariness, while
they were talking. "I am, after all, an Oldtimer . . ."
He gave a deep sigh. "They will accept from me what
they would not endure from you, F'lar."

The Benden Weyrleader hesitated, appealing as this
offer was. "I know you're willing, D'ram, but if it's
going to overset you ..."

D'ram raised his hand to cut off the rest of the sen-
tence. "I'm fitter than I thought. Those quiet days in
the cove worked a miracle. I will need help ..."

"Any help we can give . . ."

"I'll take you at your word. I'll need some greens,
preferably from R'mart at Telgar, or G'narish at Igen,
for there are none to spare here at the moment. If
they, too, are Oldtime, it will be easier for the South-
erns. I'll need two younger bronzes, and enough blues
and browns to make up two fighting wings."

"The Southern dragonriders haven't fought Thread
in Turns," F'lar said with contempt.

"I know that. But it's time they did. That would
give the dragons who remain purpose and strength.
It would give their riders hope and occupation."
D'ram's face was stem. "I learned things from B'zon
today that grieve me. I have been so blind ..."

"The fault is not yours, D'ram. Mine was the de-
cision to send them south."

"I have honored that decision because it was the
right one, F'lar. When . . . when Fanna died . . ."he
got the words out in a rush, "I should have gone to the

281

The White Dragon

Southern Weyr. It would not have been disloyal to
you if I had and it might have ..."

"I doubt it," Lessa said, angry that D'ram was
blaming himself. "Once T'kul plotted to steal a queen
egg . . ." and she gestured her condemnation of the

man.

"If he had come to you..."

Lessa's harsh expression did not alter. "I doubt that
T'kul would have come," she said slowly. An expres-
sion of distaste crossed her mobile features and she
made a sound of annoyance before she looked at
D'ram again; this time her expression was rueful. "And
I'd have probably sent him about his business. But
you," she pointed her finger at D'ram, "wouldn't have.
And I imagine that F'lar would also have been more
tolerant." She grinned at her Weyrmate. "It wasn't
in T'kul's nature to beg," she went on more briskly.
"Nor in mine to forgive! I will never forgive the
Southerns for stealing Ramoth's egg! When I think
they brought me to the point where I was willing to
set dragon against dragon! That I can never forgive!"

D'ram drew himself up. "Do you disagree, Weyr-
woman, with my decision to go south?"

"Great Shells, no!" She was astonished, and then
shook her head. "No, D'ram, I think you're wise and
kind, more generous than I could ever be. Why, that
idiot T'kul might have killed F'lar today! No, you
must go. You're quite right about their accepting you.
I don't think I ever realized what might be happening
in the South. I didn't want to!" she added in candid
acknowledgment of her own shortcomings.

"Then I may invite additional riders to join me?"
D'ram looked first at her and then at F'lar.

"Ask anyone you want from Benden, except F'nor.
It wouldn't be fair to ask Brekke to return to South-

The White Dragon

the South on the grounds that we cannot maintain
order in the Weyrs."

"They'd never . . ." D'ram began, frowning with
indignation.

"They well might. For other very valid reasons—
to their ways of thinking," F'lar replied. "I know,"
he paused to emphasize that surety, "that the South-
erns under T'kul and T'ron would never permit the
Lord Holders to extend their holdings one dragon-
length. Toric's settlement has been steadily growing
over the past Turns, a few people now and then,
craftsmen, the dissatisfied, a few young holder sons
without hope of land in the North. All very quietly,
so as not to alarm the Oldtimers." P'lar rose, rest-
lessly pacing. "This isn't common knowledge ..."

"I knew that there were traders north and south,"
said D'ram.

"Yes, part of the problem. Traders talk, and word
has passed back that there's a lot of land south.
Granted some of this may be exaggeration but I've
reason to believe that the Southern Continent is prob-
ably as large as this one—and one protected against
Thread by thorough grubbing." He paused again,
rubbing forefinger and thumb down the lines from
nose to chin, scratching absently under his jaw. "This
time, D'ram, the dragonriders will have first choice of
land. In the next Interval, I do not intend that any
dragonrider will be beholden to the generosity of Hold
and Craft. We will have our own places, without
prejudice. I, for one, will never beg wine or bread
or meat from anyone!"

D'ram had listened, at first with surprise and then
with a gleam of delight in his tired eyes. He straight-
ened his shoulders and with a curt nod of his head,
looked the Benden Weyrleader straight in the eye.

"You may rely on me, F'lar, to secure the South
for that purpose. A grand purpose! By the First Shell,
that's a superb notion. That lovely land, soon dragon-
rider land!"

F'lar gripped D'ram's arm, affirming the trust. Then
his face broke into a sly smile. "If you hadn't volun-




The White Dragon

teered to go South yourself, D'ram, I was going to
suggest it to you! You're the only man to handle the
situation. And I don't envy you!"

D'ram chuckled at the Benden Weyrleader's admis-
sion and returned the arm grip firmly. Then his ex-
pression cleared.

"I have grieved for my weyrmate as is proper. But
I still live. I liked being in that cove, but it wasn't
enough. I was relieved when you came after me,
and kept me busy, F'lar. It doesn't answer to give up
the only life I've known. I couldn't. Dragonmen
must fly/When Threads are in the sky I" He sighed
once more, inclined his head respectfully to Lessa and
then, turning smartly on his heel, strode from the weyr,
his step firm, his stance proud.

"D'you think he can manage it, F'lar?"

"He's more likely to pull it off than anyone ... ex-
cept possibly F'nor. But I can't ask that of him. Or
ofBrekke!"

"I should think not!" She spoke sharply and, with a
little cry as if regretting her asperity, she ran to em-
brace him. He put his arms about her, absently strok-
ing her hair.

There are too many deep lines in his face, now,
thought Lessa, lines that she hadn't noticed before.
His eyes were sad, his lips thin with worry as he
gazed after D'ram. But the muscles in his arm were
as strong as ever, and his body lean and hard with
the active life he led. He'd been fit enough to pre-
serve his skin against a madman. There'd only been
one time when weakness had frightened F'lar—just
after that knife fight at Telgar, when his wound had
been slow to heal and he'd been sick with fever from
foolishly going between. He'd learned a lesson then
and had started delegating some of the strain of lead-
ership to F'nor and T'gellan in Benden, to N'ton and
R'mart in Pern, and to Lessa herself! Keenly sensible
of her deep need of him, Lessa embraced F'lar
fiercely.

He smiled down at her sudden demonstration, the
tired lines smoothed away.

The White Dragon

"I'm with you, dear heart, don't worry!" He kissed
her soundly enough to leave her no room for doubt of
his vitality.

The sound of boot heels thudding rapidly down the
short corridor interrupted them and they moved apart.
Sebell, face flushed from running, charged into the
room, checking his pace when Lessa signaled him
urgently to be quieter.

"He's all right?"

"He's asleep now, but see for yourself, Sebell,"
Lessa replied and gestured toward the curtained sleep-
ing chamber.

Sebell rocked on his heels, wanting to reassure him-
self with a glimpse of his Master and anxious with
fear he might disturb him.

"Go on, man." F'lar waved him forward. "Just be
quiet."

Two fire-lizards winged into the room, squeaked
when they saw Lessa and disappeared.

"I didn't know you had two queens."

"I don't," Sebell said, glancing over his shoulder to
see where they'd gone. "The other one's Menolly's.
She wasn't allowed to come!" His grimace told both

Weyrleaders how Menolly had reacted to that restric-
tion.

"Oh, tell them to come back. I don't eat fire-
lizards!" Lessa said, curbing her irritation. She didn't
know which annoyed her more, the fire-lizards them-
selves, or the way people cringed about her when the
subject came up. "And that little bronze of Robin-
ton's showed a commendable amount of common
sense today. So tell Menolly's queen to come back.
If the fire-lizard sees, she'll believe!"

Smiling with intense relief, Sebell held up his arm.
Two queens popped in, eyes huge and whirling madly
in their perturbation. One of them, Lessa didn't know
whose, since they all looked alike to her, chirped as
if in thanks. Then Sebell, careful not to disrupt their
balance and set them squeaking, walked with exag-
gerated care toward the sick man's quarters.




The White Dragon

"Sebell takes over the Harper Hall?" Lessa asked.

"Well able for it, too."

"If only the dear man had had the sense to dele-
gate more to Sebell before this ..."

"It's partly my fault, Lessa. Benden has asked
much of the Harper Hall." F'lar poured himself a cup
of wine, looking at Lessa to see if she wanted some
as well, and poured another when she nodded. They
made an unspoken toast. "Benden wine!"

"The wine that kept him alive!"

"Miss a cup of wine? Not Robinton!" She drank
quickly to ease the pressure in her throat.

"And he'll drink many more skins limp," the quiet
voice of Master Oldive said. He glided to the table,
a curious figure with arms and legs apparently too
long for his torso until his back was visible, with its
hump. His handsome face was serene as he poured
himself a cup of wine, regarding the rich crimson color
a moment before he raised it, as Lessa had, and drank
it down. "As you said, this helped keep him alive.
It's seldom that a man's vice sustained life in his
body!"

"Master Robinton will be all right?"

"Yes, with care and rest. He has rallied well. His
pulse and heart are beating evenly again, if slowly.
He cannot be fretted by any worries. I warned him
repeatedly to reduce his activities. Not that I thought
he'd listen! Sebell, Silvina and Menolly have done all
they could to assist, but then Menolly took ill ...
There is so much to be done for his Hall and for
Pem!" Oldive smiled, his long face lighting gently as
he took Lessa's hand and put it in F'lar's. "You can
do no more here, Weyrleaders. Sebell will wait to re-
assure Robinton when he rouses that all is well in his
Hall. Brekke and I, and the good people of this Weyr,
will nurse the Master Harper. You two need rest as
well. Go back to your Weyr. This day has taken its
toll of many. Go!" He gave them a shove toward the '
passage. "Go along now!" He spoke as to recalcitrant
children, but Lessa was weary enough to obey and

The White Dragon

concerned enough to override the objections she saw
rising in F'lar's eyes.

We do not leave the Harper alone, Ramoth said as
Mar helped Lessa mount her queen. We are with
him.

All of us are with him, Mnementh said, his eyes
slowly turning in quiet reassurance.




CHAPTER XVI
At the Cove Hold, 15.8.28-15.9.7

WHEN JAXOM AND SHARRA blurted out to Piemur the
events at Ista Weyr, including the news of the Harper's
illness, the young journeyman treated them to a color-
ful description of his Master's follies, shortcomings,
stupid loyalties and altruistic hopes that quite stunned
the listeners until they saw the tears leaking down

Piemur's cheeks.

At that moment, Ruth returned, scaring Piemur's

runner beast into the forest. Piemur had to coax the
animal, cheerfully called Stupid, to come out again.

"He's really not stupid, you know," Piemur said,
wiping sweat and tears from his face. "He knows that
yon," Piemur jerked his thumb surreptitiously in
Ruth's direction, "like his sort for eating." He tested
the knot on the rope with which he had secured

Stupid to a tree trunk.

/ wouldn't eat him, Ruth replied. He's small and

not very plump.

Laughing, Jaxom passed the message to Piemur,

who grinned and bowed his gratitude to Ruth.

"I wish I could make Stupid understand that,"
Piemur said with a sigh, "but it's difficult for him to
make distinctions between friendly dragons and hun-
gry ones. As it is, his tendency to disappear into the
nearest thicket when dragons come within his senses

288

The White Dragon

has saved my skin any number of times. You see,
I'm not supposed to be doing exactly what I've been
doing. Most of all, I'm not supposed to be caught
doing it."

"Go on," Jaxom urged when Piemur stopped to
assess the effect of his cryptic statement. "You
wouldn't have told us this much if you didn't intend
to say more. You did mention that you'd been look-
ing for us?"

Piemur grinned. "Among other things." He stretched
out on the sand, grunting and making a show of set-
tling himself. He took the cup of fruit juice Sharra
handed him, quaffed the contents and held it out to
be refilled.

Jaxom regarded the young man patiently. He was
used to Piemur's mannerisms from the days they had
spent together in Master Fandarel's and the Harper
Hall.

"Did you never wonder why I left the classes,
Jaxom?"

"Menolly told me you'd been posted elsewhere."

"And everywhere," Piemur replied with a broad
sweep of his arm, his fingers flicking southward in
emphasis. "I'll wager that I've seen more of this
planet than any living thing . . . including dragons!"
He gave a decisive nod of his head to show the
others they should be impressed. "I haven't quite . . ."
he paused to stress the qualifier, "gone all around this
Southern Continent, nor have I gone across it, but I
intimately know everywhere I have been!" He
pointed to the worn boots on his feet. "New they
were, a scant four sevendays ago when I started
east. Oh, the tales these boots could tell!" He
squinted at Jaxom thoughtfully. "It's one thing, my
Lord Jaxom, to soar serenely over land, seeing all
from an exalted height. Quite another, I assure you,
to stomp on it, through it, under it, around it. You
know where you've been then!"

"Does F'lar know?"

"More or less," Piemur replied with a grin. "A lit-
tle less than more, I'd wager. You see, about three

289




The White Dragon

Turns back, Tone started trading North with some
fine samples of iron ore, copper and tin—all of which,
as you might have heard Fandarel complain, Jaxom,
are getting in short supply north. Robinton thought
it prudent to investigate Tone's sources of supply. He
was smart enough to send me over . . . You're sure
he's going to be all right? You're not holding anything
from me?" Piemur's anxiety cut through his brash

manner.

"You know as much as we know, as much as Ruth

knows." Jaxom paused to inquire of his dragon. "And
Ruth says he sleeps. He also says the dragons won't

let h'm go."

"The dragons won't let him go, huh? Don't that

beat all!" Piemur shook his head from side to side.
"Not that I'm surprised, mind you," he added with
customary briskness. "The dragons know who're
their friends. Now, as I was saying, Master Robinton
decided it would be very smart of us to know more
about the South, since he had a notion F'lar had an
eye for this continent during the next Interval."

"How is it that you know so much about what F'lar

and Robinton think?" Sharra asked.

Piemur chortled, wagging a finger at her. "That's.
for me to know and you to guess. But I'm right,

aren't I, Jaxom?"

"I don't know what F'lar's plans might be but he's

not the only one interested in the South, I'd wager."
"Truly spoken! But he's the only one that matters,

don't you see?"

"No, frankly I don't see," Sharra said. "My

brother's Lord Holder . . . Well he is," she added
with some heat when Piemur started to contradict her.
"Or would be, if his Hold had been acknowledged by
the Northern Lord Holders. He risked settling south
with F'nor when he timed it back. No one else was
willing to try. He's put up with the Oldtimers, and
made a fine, big, Threadfree Hold. No one can gain-
say his right to hold what he has . . ."

"Nor do I!" Piemur assented quickly. "But ... for
all Toric's attracted a lot of new people from the

290

The White Dragon

North, he can only Hold so much! He can only pro-
tect and work so much. And there is so much more
of the Southern Continent than anyone realizes. Ex-
cept me! I'll bet I've already walked the breadth of
Pem from Tiliek Head to Nerat Tip on this conti-
nent and not gone its length." Piemur's tone changed
abruptly from derision to awe. "There was this bay,
you see, the opposite shore all but hid in the heat
haze. Stupid and I had been struggling through
really bad sand for two days. I'd only enough water
to go back the way we'd come because I'd thought
that the sand would have to give way to decent land
soon. ... I sent Farii out, first to the far shore, then
down to the mouth of the bay, but all she brought
back to me was more sand. So I knew I'd have to
turn back. Bat," he turned to his listeners, "you see,
there's probably as much land beyond that bay as I'd
already transversed from Toric's Hold and I'd still
not come full circle! Toric could not begin to hold
the half of what I've seen. And that's only the west-
ern side. East now, it's taken me a full three seven-
days to reach you from Toric's and we'd had to
swim part of the way. Good swimmer, that Stupid of
mine! As willing as a new day and never complains.
When I think of how careful my father was to feed
his runner stock on only the best fodder, and what
Stupid makes do on with twice the work out of
him . . ." Piemur broke off to shake his head at the
inequity.

"So," he returned briskly to his narrative, "I've
been exploring as I was told to, and heading in your
general direction, as I was told to, only I expected
to be here long before this! My word, but I'm
tired, and no one knows how much further I've got
to travel before I get where I'm going."

"I thought you were coming here."

"Yes, but I've to go on ... eventually." He raised
his left leg, the one which he'd been favoring, and
squinched his face up in a grimace of pain. "Shards,
but I can't go another step for a while! This leg's been
walked half off, now, hasn't it, Sharra?"

291




The White Dragon

Still elevating the leg, he swiveled in the sand to-
ward the healer who was looking quite concerned.
Deftly she unwound the shreds of what had probably
been Piemur's cloak, and uncovered a long but re-
cently healed scar.

"I can't walk any farther on that, now can I,

Sharra?"

"No, I don't think you should, Piemur," Jaxom

said, critically examining the healed wound. "Do you,

Sharra?"

She looked from one to the other and then began

to shake her head, her eyes dancing.

"No, positively not. It needs soaking in warm salt
water, and plenty of sun, and you're a terrible rascal,
Piemur. Just as well you're not a posted harper!

You'd scandalize any sensible Holder!"

"Have you kept any Records of your traveling?"
Jaxom asked, keenly interested and just a shade jeal-
ous of Piemur's freedom.

"Have / kept Records?" Piemur snorted derisively.
"Most of what Stupid packs is Records! Why do you
think I'm wearing rags? I haven't room to carry spare
clothes." His voice lowered and he leaned urgently
toward Jaxom. "You don't just possibly happen to
have any of Bendarek's leaves down here, do you?

There are a couple of—"

"Plenty of leaves. Drawing tools as well. C'mon!"
Jaxom was on his feet, Piemur not a second be-
hind him with only a trace of a limp, following him to
the shelter. Jaxom had not intended Piemur to see his
bumbling attempts to map their immediate vicinity.
But he'd forgot the young harper's keen eyes missed
little, and Piemur had spotted the roll of neatly con-
nected leaves and, without so much as a by-your-
leave, laid it open. He soon was nodding his head

and muttering under his breath.

"You haven't been wasting your time here, have
you?" Piemur grinned, an oblique compliment to
Jaxom's work. "You used Ruth as measure? Fair
enough. I've taught my queen, Farii, to pace her flight.
I count by the second, watch for her dip at the end

292

The White Dragon

of the run and record the distance by seconds. I figure
it up later when I'm charting. N'ton double-checked
the measure when he worked with me, so I know it's
reasonably accurate, as long as I allow enough for
a wind factor." He whistled as his gaze fell on the
tall stack of fresh sheets. "I might need 'em, I might,
to map what I've traveled over. If you'd give me a
hand..."

"You do have to rest that leg, don't you?" Jaxom
kept his face expressionless.

Piemur caught his eye in surprise and then they
both burst out laughing until Sharra, joining them,
wanted to share the joke.

The next few days passed most agreeably for the
three, starting with Ruth's assurances about the
Harper's continued improvement. The first morning,
noticing that Stupid had cropped all the ground
greens in the area, Piemur asked if there was any
grassland nearby. So Jaxom and Piemur flew Ruth to
the river meadows that lay south and east of the cove,
a good hour's flying inland. Ruth willingly helped har-
vest the tall waving grain grasses which Piemur pro-
nounced fine fodder that might even put poor Stupid
into condition. Ruth told Jaxom that he'd never seen
such a hungry-looking runner.

"We're not fattening him up for you," Jaxom said,
laughing.

He is Piemur's friend. Piemur is my friend. I do not
eat the friends of friends.

Jaxom couldn't resist repeating this rationalization
to Piemur, who howled with laughter and thumped
Ruth with the same rough affection he used on Stupid.

They packed half a dozen heavy sheaves of grass
on Ruth and were airborne when Piemur asked
Jaxom if he'd been to the peak yet.

"€an't fly between." Jaxom didn't bother hiding
his frustration from Piemur.

"Too bloody right you can't. Not with fire-head!"

Jaxom blinked at Piemur's unequivocal agreement.

"Don't worry! You'll get there soon enough."
Piemur squinted at the symmetrical peak, shading his

29&




The White Dragon

eyes with one hand. "May look near, but it's several,
four-five maybe, days' travel. Rough country, I'd
guess. You've . . ." he paused to give Jaxom an un-
expected blow in the midriff which robbed him of
breath, "got to get fit first! I heard you puffing, hack-
ing down that grass. Huh!"

"Wouldn't it be easier to bring Stupid here and let
him graze? There aren't any dragons about, except
Ruth. And he's agreed not to eat Stupid!"

"Once he sees wild ones, he won't come back. He's
too stupid to know he's much safer with me with a
dragon to bring him food, instead of eating him as

food."

Stupid was delighted with the contribution to his

diet and whistled with pleasure as he munched away

at the piled grass.

"Just how intelligent is Stupid?" Sharra asked,

stroking the creature's rough dun-colored neck.

"Not as smart as Farii, but not really stupid. Lim-
ited is a fairer assessment of his scope. Within those
limitations, he's pretty bright."

"For instance?" asked Jaxom. He'd never thought

much of runner beasts.

"Well, for instance, I can send Farii ahead, telling
her to fly so many hours in the direction I've pointed,
land and pick up anything lying on the ground.
Generally she brings back grasses or bush twigs, and
sometimes stone and sand. I can send her to look
for water. That's what fooled me about the Big Bay.
She'd found water, all right, so Stupid and I humped
after her. I didn't specify drinking water." Piemar
shrugged and laughed. "But Stupid and I have to go
on foot, and he's right smart about ground. Kept me
from sinking in mud and those shifting sands time and
again. He's clever about finding the easiest route over
rough going. He's also good at finding water . . . drink-
ing-type water. So I should have listened to him when
he didn't want to cross the sands to the Big Bay. He
knew there wasn't any real water over there, al-
though Farii insisted there was. I trusted Farii that
time. Generally speaking, the two make one good

The White Dragon

reliable guide between them. We're a team—Stupid,
Farii and I.

"Which reminds me, I found a fire-lizard clutch, a
queen's, five . . ." Farii chittered at him, "all right,
maybe six or seven coves back. I kind of lost track
there, but she'll remember where. ... In case some-
one wants some. You know if green fire-lizards
weren't as stupid as they are, we'd be up to our ears
in little green ones. And they're downright useless."

Sharra grinned. "I remember the day I found my
first clutch in the sands. / didn't know the difference
between green and gold nests. Oh, how I watched
that clutch ... for days. Never told a soul. I was
going to Impress all of them ..."

"Four or five?" Piemur asked with a laugh.

"Six, in fact. Only I didn't realize that a sand snake
had got the lot from beneath long before I found the
nest."

"How is it, then, that sand snakes don't get a
queen's eggs?" Jaxom asked.

"She's never far from her clutch," Sharra said.
"She'd spot a snake tunnel right away and kill it."
She gave a shudder. "I hate snakes worse than I hate
Thread."

"Much the same thing, isn't it?" Piemur asked, "ex-
cept for the direction of attack." He gestured with
both hands, one coming down, the other coming up
on an imaginary victim.

During the hot part of the day, Jaxom, Sharra and
Piemur began to turn his Records, measurements and
rough sketches into proper detailed maps. Piemur
wanted to get the report back to Sebell, or Robinton
or F'lar if so directed, as soon as possible.

In the cool of the next morning, with Stupid as
pack animal and Ruth overhead, the three friends
backtracked to Piemur's queen clutch. Twenty-one
eggs were in the nest, all nicely hardened to within a
day or two of Hatching. Their approach had sent the
wild fire-lizard queen to cover so they were able to
excavate the eggs, packing them carefully in the carrier

The White Dragon

they had strapped to Stupid's back. Jaxom asked Ruth
to alert Canth that they had fire-lizard eggs.

Canth says that they are coming tomorrow any-
way, Ruth replied. The Harper ate well.

Ruth gave them such snippets of information about
Master Robinton periodically. It was as good as being
in the same Hall with the invalid, without having to

hear him complain, Piemur observed.

They returned to the shelter cove through the forest.
The fruit trees near the clearing had been picked clean
and if F'nor were coming, he'd surely appreciate
some fresh fruit to take back to Benden Weyr.

"Should you be around when F'nor comes?"

Jaxom asked the young harper.

"Why not? He knows what I've been doing. You
know, Jaxom, when you see how beautiful this conti-
nent is, you wonder why our ancestors went north . . ."

"Maybe the South was too big an area to keep
Threadfree until the grubs had been seeded," Sharra

suggested.

"Good point!" Then Piemur snorted with derision.

"Those old Records are worse than useless; they leave
out the most important things. Like telling farmers
to watch for the grubs in the North and not mentioning
why! Like leaving the Southern Continent alone, and
not why! Though if there were half as many earth-
shakes then as there are now, I can't fault them for
common sense. When I was on the way to Big Bay, I
bloody near got killed in a shake. Nearly lost Stupid
from fright. If it hadn't been for Farii keeping her eye
on him, I never would have caught up with the stupid

idiot!"

"Earth-shakes happen in the North," Jaxom said,

"in Crom and High Reaches and sometimes Igen and

the Telgar Plain."

"Not the kind I've been through," Piemur said,
shaking his head at the memory. "Not where the earth
drops beneath your feet and two paces beyond you
lifts above your head half a dragonlength."

"When did that happen? Three, four months ago?"

"That's when!"

The White Dragon

"Earth only trembled at Southern, but that's scary
enough!"

"Ever seen a volcano pop up out of the ocean and
spew fiery rock and ash about?" asked Piemur.

"No, and I'm not sure you have, either, Piemur,"
Sharra said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I have, and N'ton was with me, so I've a witness."

"Don't think I won't ask him."

"Where was it, Piemur?" Jaxom asked, fascinated.

"I'll show you on the map. N'ton's been keeping
his eye on the place. Last time we met, he said the
volcano had stopped smoking and it had built a reg-
ular island about itself as neat as ... as neat as that
mountain of yours!"

"I'd prefer to see it with my own eyes," Sharra said,
still skeptical.

"I'll arrange it," the harper replied with good hu-
mor. "That's a likely tree!" he added and, leaping in
the air, grabbed the lowest branch and swung himself
neatly up. He began to sever the stems that held the
redfruit, dropping them carefully into the waiting
hands of Jaxom and Sharra.

It had taken them only two hours to walk to the
fire-lizards' clutch along the beach. But it took them
almost three times as long to hack a narrow path back
to the shelter through the thick undergrowth. Jaxom
began to appreciate the arduousness of Piemur's jour-
ney as he slashed valiantly away at the sticky-sapped
bushes. His shoulders ached and he'd branch-spiked
shins and skinned toes by the time they emerged near
the shelter. Jaxom had lost all sense of direction. But
Piemur had an uncanny sense and with Ruth and
three fire-lizards, had kept them on a direct line to
their goal.

Once there, only Jaxom's pride kept him from col-
lapsing on his bed and sleeping off his exertions.
Piemur was all for a swim to wash off the sweat and
Sharra thought that broiled fish would make a good
supper, so Jaxom struggled to keep going.

That might have been why, he thought later, he
had such vivid dreams when he finally did crawl into

The White Dragon

bed to sleep. The mountain, smoking and spewing out
fire-ash and glowing rock, dominated the dream,
which was full of streams of running people. To
Jaxom that was very sensible but he was also part of
those people rushing away and it seemed that he
couldn't run fast enough. The red-orange glowing
river that poured over the lip of the mountain threat-
ened to engulf him and he couldn't make his legs
move fast enough.

"Jaxom!" Piemur shook him awake. "You're
dreaming! You'll wake Sharra." Piemur paused, and in
the dim twilight of predawn, the sound of Sharra's
moaning was clearly audible. "Maybe I should. She
sounds like she's having a bad dream, too."

Piemur started to crawl out of his sleeping furs
when they heard Sharra sigh deeply, and fall into a
quieter sleep.

"I shouldn't have talked about that volcano. I re-
lived that eruption. At least, I think that's what I was
dreaming." Piemur sounded confused. "Probably too
much fish and fruit! I made up for lost meals
tonight." He sighed and made himself comfortable
again.

"Thanks, Piemur!"

"For what?" Piemur asked in the middle of a yawn.

Jaxom turned over, found a good position and
dropped easily back into a dreamless sleep.

Ruth's bugle woke all three the next morning.

"F'nor's coming," Jaxom said, having heard Ruth's
message.

F'nor brings others, Ruth added.

Jaxom, Sharra and Piemur had reached the cove
when four dragons erupted into the air, the other
three dwarfed by brown Canth. Shrieking in surprise,
the fire-lizards who had been draped about Ruth
abruptly disappeared, leaving only Meer, Talla and

Farii.

/( is Piemur, Jaxom heard Ruth tell Canth. And
then F'nor began to wave wildly, clasping two hands
above his head in a signal of victory.

Canth deposited his rider on the sand. Roaring a

The White Dragon

command at the other dragons, he waddled happily
into the water where Ruth was quick to join him.

"Well met, Piemur," F'nor cried, unloosening his
flying gear as he walked toward the others. "Began to
wonder if you'd gotten lost!"

"Lost?" Piemur looked outraged. "That's the trou-
ble with you dragonfliers. You've no respect for
ground distances! You've got it too easy. Up, up and
away! Wink out and you're where you want to be. No
effort at all involved." He made a sound of disgust in
his throat. "Now / know where I've been, every bloody
finger's length of it!"

F'nor grinned at the young harper and pummeled
his back with such vigor Jaxom was surprised to see
Piemur unmoved. "You'll amuse your Master then,
with the full and properly embroidered tale of your
travels..."

"You're to bring me to Master Robinton?"

"Not yet. He's coming to you!" F'nor pointed to the
ground.

"What?"

Pnor was searching in his belt pouch and brought
out a folded leaf. "This is my reason for coming to-
day! And don't let me forget the fire-lizard eggs, will
you?"

"What's that?" Jaxom, Sharra and Piemur clus-
tered close about the brown rider as he made a show
of unfolding the sheet.

"This ... is a hall for the Master Harper, to be
built in this cove!"

"Here?" the three demanded in chorus.

"How'11 he get here?" Jaxom asked. "He surely
wouldn't be allowed to fly between." He couldn't help
the edge of resentment in his voice. F'nor cocked an
eyebrow at him.

"Master Idarolan has put his fastest, largest vessel
at the Master Harper's disposal. Menolly and Brekke
are accompanying him. On a sea voyage there is noth-
ing that can disturb or worry the Harper."

"He gets seasick," remarked Jaxom.

"Only in small boats." F'nor looked at them with a




The White Dragon

very solemn expression. "So. We'll set to work at
once. I've brought tools and extra help," and he ges-
tured toward the three Weyriings who had joined
them. "We'll enlarge that shelter to a proper small
hold," he said as he glanced down at the leaf. "I'll
want every bit of that underbrush cleared off . .."

"Then you'll fry the Harper in the sun which is
unpleasant," Sharra pointed out.

"I beg your pardon ..."

Sharra took the leaf from him, frowning critically
at it. "Small hold? This is a bloody hall," she said,
"and not the least bit suitable to this continent. Fur-
thermore," and she dropped to the sand, picking up
a long shell fragment with which she began another
sketch. "First, I wouldn't build where the old shelter
is—too close to the cove in rough seas and they have
them here. There's a rise . . . with mature fruit trees
screening it, over there . . ." She pointed to the east
of the shelter.

"Mature trees? For Thread to eat?"

"Oh, you dragonriders! This is Southern, not the
North. It's all been grubbed. Thread sears a leaf every
sevenday or so, but the plant heals itself. Meanwhile,
you're coming into the hot season and, believe me,
you'll want as much green about you as possible to
keep cool. You want to build off the ground, on pil-
ings. There's plenty of reef rock for foundations. You
want wide windows, not these tiny slits, to catch every
breeze. All right, you can shutter them if you want to
but I've lived south all my life, so I know how you
should build here. You want windows, and corridors
straight through the interior for breezeways . . ." As
she spoke, she was delineating the revised hold with
strokes that were strong enough to stay in the hot dry
sand. "And you want an outdoor hearth for so many.
Brekke and I did most of our baking here in stone
pits," she pointed to the spot on the cove, "and you .
don't really need a bathing room with the cove a few
steps from the door."

"You don't object to piped water, do you?"

"No, that would be handier than lugging it from

300

The White Dragon

the stream. Only put another tap in the cooking area
as well as one in the house. Perhaps even a tank by
the hearth so we can have heated water, too .. ."

"Anything else, Masterbuilder?" P'nor was more
amused and admiring than sarcastic.

"I'll let you know when the thought occurs to me,"
she replied with dignity.

F'nor grinned at her and then frowned down at
her drawing. "I'm not really certain how the Harper
will like having so much greenery near him. You are,
I know, used to being out during Threadfall..."

"So's Master Robinton," Piemur said. "Sharra's
right about the heat and the building down here. We
can always cut forest down, F'nor, but you can't build
it back up so easily."

"A point. Now you three, B'refli, K'van and M'tok,
loose your dragons. They can swim and sun with Ruth
and Canth. They won't be needed until we've cut
some wood. K'van, let me have your sack. You've got
the axes, haven't you?" F'nor passed out the tools,
ignoring Piemur's mutterings about slogging through
days of forests only to end up cutting one down.
"Sharra, take us to your preferred site. We'll clear
some of those trees and use 'em for supports."

"They're stout enough," Sharra agreed and led the
way.          -

Sharra was correct about the trees: F'nor marked
off the proposed site of the hall and the trees to be
cut. This was a lot easier said than done. The axes
didn't seem to bite the wood, rather bounced off.
F'nor was surprised, muttering about dull axes and
brought out his sharpening stone. Having achieved a
suitably sharp edge at the expense of a slit finger, he
tried again with slightly more success.

"I don't understand it," he said, peering at the cuts
in the trunk. "This wood shouldn't be that tough. It's
a fruitwood, not a northern hardwood. Well, we've got
to clear the site, boys!"

The only one who didn't have a fine set of blisters
by midday was Piemur, who was used to hacking.

301




The White Dragon

More discouraging was the lack of progress—only six
trees were down.

"Not for lack of trying, is it?" F'nor said, mopping
the sweat from his forehead. "Well, let's see what
Sharra's got for us to eat. Something smells good."

They had time for a swim before Sharra's meal was
ready, the salt water stinging in their blisters which
Sharra slathered with numbweed. When they'd eaten
the broiled fish and baked roots, F'nor set them to
sharpening their axes. They spent the rest of the
afternoon lopping off branches before they asked the
dragons to haul the timbers to one side. Sharra
cleared underbrush and, with Ruth's help, brought
black reef rock to mark out the piles of the founda-
tion.

As soon as F'nor took his recruits back to the Weyr
for the night, Jaxom and Piemur collapsed on the
sand, rousing only long enough to eat the dinner
Sharra served them.

"I'd sooner tramp around the Big Bay," Piemur
muttered, wincing as he stretched his shoulders this
way and that.

"It's for Master Robinton," Sharra said.

Jaxom regarded his blisters thoughtfully. "At the
rate we're going it'd better take him months to get

here!"

Sharra took pity on their aching muscles and
rubbed salve that smelled aromatic and burned pleas-
antly into the soreness. Jaxom liked to think that she
spent more time massaging his back than Piemur's.
He'd been glad to see the young harper and was fas-
cinated by the Records and the charts he was drawing
from his travels, but he did wish that Piemur had
taken a day or two longer before he'd reached the
camp. There was no way he could consolidate his
hold on her attentions with a third party about.

There was even less opportunity by the following
morning. Sharra woke them to announce that F'nor
had arrived, with more helpers.

Jaxom should have been more suspicious of her
bland expression, and the calls and orders that he

The White Dragon

beard outside the shelter. But he was totally unpre-
pared for the sight that met his eyes when he and
Piemur, moving stiffly, emerged from the shelter.

The cove, the clearing, the sky—all were full of
dragons and men. As soon as a dragon was unloaded,
he took off to allow another to land. The waters of
the cove were full of splashing, playing dragons. Ruth
was standing on the eastern tip of the cove, head
turned skyward, bugling welcome after welcome. A
full fair of fire-lizards chattered at one another on the
roof of the shelter.

"Sear and scorch it, will you look at that?" Piemur
called at Jaxom's side. Then he chuckled and rubbed
his hands. "One thing for sure, no chopping today!"

"Jaxom! Piemur" The two swung round at F'nor's
cheerful greeting and saw the brown rider striding
toward them. Following close on his heels were the
Mastersmith Fandarel, Masterwoodsman Bendarek,
N'ton and, from his shoulder knots, a wingleader
from Benden. Jaxom thought he was T'gellan.

"Did I give you the two drawings last night,
Jaxom? I can't find them . . . Ah, here they are!"
F'nor pointed to the sheets on the small table—
Brekke's original drawing and the alterations sug-
gested by Sharra. The brown rider retrieved the sheets
and showed them to the Craftmasters. "Now, here,
Fandarel, Bendarek, this is our idea .. ."

Acting as one, the two men lifted the sheets from
F'nor's hands and scrutinized first one then the other.
Both shook their heads slowly from side to side in
disapproval.

"Not very efficient, F'nor, but well meant," the
huge Smith said.

"Weyrleader R'mart allowed me sufficient riders to
bring in well-seasoned hardwoods for the frame,"
Bendarek told the Smith.

"I have piping for water and other conveniences,
metals for a proper hearth and fitments, kitchen im-
plements, windows . .."

"Lord Asgenar insisted that I bring stonesmiths.
Proper foundations and flooring must be well laid . .."

The White Dragon

"First we must correct this design. Master Ben-

darek ..."

"I quite agree. This is a nice enough little cot but
not at all suitable accommodation for the Master-
harper of Pern."

The two Craftmasters became so involved in am-
plifying the rough sketches that, oblivious to the other
occupants of the room, they moved as one toward the
table Jaxom had contrived for his charts. Piemur
leaped forward and rescued his pouch of notes and
sketches. The Masterwoodsman, ignoring any such
interruptions to his thoughts, took a clean sheet,
slipped a writing tool from a pocket and began, with
neat lines, to draw what he had in mind. The Smith,
taking a sheet of his own, began to delineate his ideas.

"Honest, Jaxom," F'nor said, his eyes crinkling
with amusement, "all I did was ask F'lar and Lessa
if I could draft a few more helpers. Lessa gave me
a stern look; F'lar said I was to recruit as many free
riders as I needed and, at dawn, the rim of the Weyr
was packed solid with dragons and half the Craft-
masters of Pern! Lessa must have bespoken Ramoth,
who evidently told everyone in Pern . .."

"You gave them the excuse they needed, F'nor,"
Piemur said, surveying the traffic on the once-quiet
beach, the throngs of riders and craftsmen piling
dragonloads on the already crowded perimeters.

"Yes, I know, but I hadn't expected such a re-
sponse. And how could I tell 'em they couldn't

come?"

"I think," said Sharra, who had joined them, "that

this is quite a tribute to the Masterharper." Her eyes
caught Jaxom's and he knew that she was aware of
his ambivalent feelings about this invasion of their

private, peaceful cove.

Then Jaxom saw F'nor watching him and managed
a weak smile. "Yesterday's blisters will have a chance
to heal, I guess. Right, Piemur?"

Piemur nodded, his jaw muscles working as he ob-
served the activity on the beach. "I'd better find
Stupid. All this confusion has probably scared him

304

The White Dragon

deep into the forest. Farii!" He held up his arm for
his fire-lizard, who swooped down from the roof.
"Find Stupid, Farii. Lead me to him!"

The fire-lizard looked over her left shoulder and
chirped, and Piemur strode off in that direction with-
out a backward glance.

"That young man's been alone too long," F'nor
said.

"Yes!"

"You know how he feels?" F'nor asked, grinning
at Jaxom's terse reply. He clapped him on the shoul-
der. "I wouldn't let it get to me, if I were you, Jaxom.
With the amount of help we've got, the hold will be
up in next to no time. You'll have your peace and
quiet back."

"Idiots!" Sharra exclaimed suddenly.

Jaxom,  avoiding F'nor's quizzical expression,
looked at her. She'd been half-listening to the con-
versation between the two Masters.

"Now I have to have it out with them!" Her fists
were clenched with exasperation as she strode pur-
posefully up to the two Craftsmen. "Masters, I must
point out something you have clearly overlooked.
This is hot country You're both used to cold winters
and freezing rains. If you build this hold on those
lines, people will stifle in the full heat of summer
which is almost upon us. Now, where I live in South-
ern Hold, we build thick walls to keep the heat out
and the cool in. We build off the ground so air cir-
culates under the floor and keeps that cool. We build
lots of windows—wide ones—and you've brought
enough metal shutters, Master Fandarel, to outfit a
dozen holds. Yes, I know, but Thread doesn't fall
every day and the heat does. Now .. ."

F'nor made a clicking noise against his teeth. "She
sounds like Brekke. And if she acts at all like
my weyrmate when she's in that sort of mood, I'd
rather be elsewhere. You," F'nor poked Jaxom in the
chest, "can show us where to hunt. Food was brought
along but since you're in effect the resident Lord

30?




The White Dragon

Holder, it's up to you to play host with some roasting

meat..."

"I'll just get my flying gear," Jaxom said with such

a tone of relief that the three dragonriders laughed.

Jaxom quickly slipped long trousers over the short
pants he'd been wearing for sunning and swimming,
threw his jacket over his shoulder and joined the

three riders by the doorway.

"I think we can mount on the left-hand arm of the

cove, near Ruth," said F'nor.

Something whizzed by Jaxom's ear and instinc-
tively ducking, he looked back as Meer came to a
hover, clutching a piece of black reef rock in his front
paws. Jaxom heard Sharra thanking her fire-lizard

for his prompt return.

He hastily left before she could think of any
errands for him. F'nor had hunting ropes for each of
them which they checked and coiled over their shoul-
ders. As they made their way past piles of assorted
woods in various lengths and widths, past metal shut-
ters and unlabeled bales, men hailed the riders and

inquired how Jaxom was feeling.

Before they completed the short walk to the cove
tip, Jaxom had identified men from every Weyr ex-
cept Telgar—which was expecting Thread that day
—and representatives of every craft in Pern, mostly
journeyman rank and higher. Isolated as he'd been
for so many sevendays, it hadn't occurred to Jaxom
that his illness might have been a subject of widespread
interest through Weyr, Craft, and Hold. He was em-
barrassed as well as gratified, but that did not ease
his sense of being overwhelmed, or this violation,
however well-intentioned, of the privacy and peace

of his cove.

What had F'nor called him? Resident Lord Holder?

He gave himself a shake just as Ruth, dripping wet,

landed lightly beside him.

So many people. So many dragons! This is funi

Ruth's eyes were whirling with excitement and pleas-


ure.

e.
The white dragon, now dwarfed by two huge

306

The White Dragon

bronzes and a nearly as large brown dragon, was so
delighted with all this excitement that Jaxom could
not remain disgruntled.

Laughing, he thumped Ruth affectionately on the
shoulder and sprang to his neck. The other riders
were also mounted so, raising his arm, fist closed, he
pumped it to indicate ascent. Still laughing, he
braced himself as Ruth launched straight upward,
leaving the heavier beasts sandbound while he was
in free air. Politely Ruth circled while the others be-
came airborne and then, heading southeast, he led
the way.

He headed toward the farthest of the river mead-
ows that he and Sharra had found. Wherries and
runner beats generally made their way there about mid-
moming, to wallow in the water and the cool mud.
There would also be sufficient open space for the big-
ger dragons to maneuver and permit their riders good
casts.

Sure enough, herd and flock were wandering about
the river meadows, where the land sloped from the
trees to the flood edges of the river in a series of
banks where successive rainy seasons had made it
impossible for trees to root. Grass abounded now,
about to turn sere as the hotter weather burned it
relentlessly to hay.

We are to hunt singly. F'nor asks that we get a
large wherry. They will try for a buck apiece. That
should be enough for today.

"If it isn't," Jaxom replied, "we can always go af-
ter one of the big fish."

In fact, Jaxom quite looked forward to the oppor-
tunity. He had never had occasion to use a spear-
headed rope but ... He spotted a wherry, a fine big
one, fanning its tail spines as it stalked majestically
after the wherry-fens. Jaxom tightened his legs on
Ruth's neck, tested the weighted loop end of the rope
in his hands. He pictured the wherry-male to Ruth,
who turned his head obediently to point. Then Ruth
dove, his wings back to give Jaxom room to throw,
his tucked-up legs nearly touching the meadow

307.




The White Dragon

grass. Jaxom leaned forward over Ruth's near side
and threw the loop deftly about the wherry's big ugly
head. The creature reared back, helpfully tightening
the noose. As Jaxom dug his heels into Ruth, the
dragon soared upward. With a deft yank, Jaxom
neatly broke the wherry's neck.

It was a heavy bird, Jaxom realized as the dead
weight pulled his arms almost from the sockets. Ruth
took some of the strain as he caught the rope with

his forepaw.
-  F'nor says good catch. He hopes he can do as well!

Jaxom guided Ruth to the edge of the meadow
furthest from the other hunters. Then, letting the car-
cass down lightly, Ruth landed and Jaxom began to
secure the snatch across Ruth's back. They were air-
borne again in time to see T'gellan valiantly pursuing
the buck he'd missed on his first throw. F'nor and
N'ton had their beasts neatly dangling. F'nor pumped
his arm in triumph as he and N'ton circled back to
the cove. As Ruth followed, Jaxom saw T'gellan suc-
ceed in his second throw; none too soon for they'd
had to soar to miss the edge of the forest and nearly
entangled the depending buck in the trees. A good
quick hunt, though, which meant the quarry would
forget quickly the small excitement. Undoubtedly
they'd have to hunt again tomorrow. Jaxom couldn't
see even that enormous work force finishing the
Harper's new hold in a day! Maybe tomorrow they
could go after the big fish.

They had not been gone long, although their return
trip took slightly more time, burdened as they were.
A massive clearing had been made in the center of
the grove. Just as Jaxom wondered how on earth
even that many men had been able to fell the neces-
sary trees, he saw a dragon lift one out of the ground
by the roots, and carry it to the beach of the next
cove east where the tree was neatly stacked on others.
As Ruth and he neared the site, Jaxom saw that pil-
lars of black reef rock were in place and sev-
eral crossbeams of the treated, seasoned hardwoods
Master Bendarek had brought were being secured in

The White Dragon

position. A wide avenue in a graceful curve had also
been cleared and sand dumped from firestone sacks
transported on dragonback. Other workmen on the
edges of the clearing were involved in a variety of
tasks—sawing, planing, nailing, fitting—while an-
other file of men carried black reef rock from piles
on the cove edge.

On the eastern tip, Jaxom could see that pits had
been dug for roasting, metal spits erected and fires
started. Tables had been placed in the shade on which
Jaxom could see the piled mounds of red, orange
and green fruits.

Ruth hovered over the clearing, gently landing.
Two men by the fire-pits leaped to Jaxom's assistance
as he offloaded the wherry. Ruth immediately vaulted
out of the way so that Jaxom could guide the other
carcasses dangling from the hunting ropes of the
bigger dragons.

F'nor, stripping off his flying gear, walked slowly
up to Jaxom, squinting against the brilliant glare
from the sands as he surveyed the activity in the once
peaceful cove. He sighed deeply but began to nod his
head as if unexpectedly satisfied by something.

"Yes, it'll work out all right," he said, more to him-
self than to Jaxom because he turned then, smiling,
and gripped Jaxom by the shoulder. "Yes, they'll make
the transition easily."

"Transition?"

F'nor clearly didn't mean the present building
frenzy.

"Dragonfolk going back to the land, the hold. How
much exploring have you been able to do around

here?"

"The coves, as far back as those river meadows,
and some of the immediate interior the day before
yesterday with Piemur."

As one, the two men turned toward the cone of the
volcano that lay, cloud clad, in the distance.

"Yes, it does sort of draw your eye, doesn't it?"
F'nor grinned. "You'll get there first, Jaxom. In fact,
I'd prefer it if you and Piemur began some serious

The White Dragon

explorations with that as your goal. Yes, that pleases
you, doesn't it? Better for you, too, and Piemur.
Now, before I forget it again, where's that fire-lizard
clutch you reported?"

"There're twenty-one eggs and I'd like to have five
of them, if I may ..."

"Of course!"

"To be taken to Ruatha!"

"By evening."

"You know, that's curious." Jaxom craned his
body about, looking everywhere.

"What?"

"Usually there're a lot more fire-lizards around. I
don't count more than a double handful. And they're
all banded."

CHAPTER XVII

Fort Hold, Benden Weyr, at Cove Hold,
and at Sea aboard the Dawn Sister,
15.10.1-15.10.2

310

WHEN THE THREE fire-lizards had made the first
overtures of greeting, the three men, grinning at the
enthusiasm shown by their friends, made themselves
comfortable around the table in the small room at Fort
Hold where Lord Groghe held his private meetings.
Sebell had been there frequently, but never as spokes-
man for his Crafthall and never when Lord Groghe
had summoned the Fort Weyrleader as well, in what
was obviously a matter of some importance.

"Not sure how to begin," Lord Groghe said as he
poured the wine. Sebell thought that was a very good
way to begin, especially since the Lord Holder had
honored them with Benden wine. "Might as well
plunge. Problem's this ... I backed F'lar when he
fought T'ron," Groghe nodded at the current Fort
Weyrleader, "because I knew he was right. Right to
exile those misfits where they'd do no one any harm.
While the Oldtimers were in the Southern Weyr, made
sense to leave them alone, just as long as they left us
alone—which they mostly did." Lord Groghe peered
from under his heavy brows first at N'ton and then at
Sebell.

311




The White Dragon

Since both men were aware that there had been oc-
casional depredations in Fort Hold which could only
be attributed to the dissident Oldtimers, they nodded
acknowledgment of that point. Lord Groghe cleared his
throat, and folded his hands across his thick middle.

"Point is, they're mostly dead, or waiting to die. No
trouble anymore. D'ram, being sort of F'lar's repre-
sentative, is bringing in dragonfolk from other Weyrs,
to make it a proper Weyr again, fighting Thread and
all that! I approve!" He favored the Harpercraftmaster
and then the Weyrleader with long meaningful glances.
"Hmmm. Well, that's all to the good, isn't it? Protect-
ing the South against Thread! Thing of it is, with the
Southern Weyr working again, as it were, that
Southern land is safe. Now I know there's a hold
established there. Young Toric. Wouldn't want to in-
terfere with his Holding. No way! He's earned it. But
a working Weyr can protect more than one small hold,
now, can't it?" He pinned his gimlet stare on N'ton,
who contrived to maintain an attitude of courteous
interest, forcing Lord Groghe to continue without any

help.

"Well, hmmm. Trouble is, you bring up a fair of
young 'uns to know how to hold proper and that's
what they want to do. Hold! Terrible fights they get
into. Terrible quarrels. Fostering 'em don't help much.
Just got to foster others and they quarrel and fight.
Scorch it! They all need holds of their own." Lord
Groghe banged his fist on the table emphasizing this
point. "I can't split my land more'n it is and I'm
Holding every square length that isn't bare rock.
Can't put out men who're beholden to me as their
fathers and grandfathers and greats were? That's not
proper Holding on my side. And I won't turn 'em out
to please my kin. Not that it would.

"Thing of it is, while the Oldtimers were south,
wouldn't have dreamed of suggesting it. But they aren't
in command anymore. D'ram is and he's F'lar's man
and he'll make it a proper Weyr so there could be
more holdings, couldn't there?"

Lord Groghe glanced from Harper to Weyrleader,

The White Dragon

daring them to contradict him. "There's plenty of un-
held land in the South, isn't there? No one really knows
how much. But I heard Masterfisherman Idarolan say
one of his ships cruised for days along a coastline.
Hmmm yes, well." Then he started to chuckle, a mirth
that increased into a wheeze that shook the large well-
fleshed frame of the Lord Holder. He was reduced to
speechlessness and impotently pointed his thick fore-
finger first at one and then the other, trying to indicate
something by gesture which his laughter kept him from
explaining by word.

Helplessly, N'ton and Sebell exchanged grins and
shrugs, unable to perceive what amused Lord Groghe
or what he wanted to convey to them. The monu-
mental mirth subsided, leaving Lord Groghe weak to
the point of wiping tears from his eyes.

"Well trained! That's what you pair are! Well
trained!" he gasped, pounding his chest with his fist to
stop his wheezing. He coughed long and then, as^
abruptly as the laughter had seized him, he turned
solemn. "Can't fault either of you. Won't. Shouldn't
give up Weyr secrets easily anyhow. Appreciate that.
Do me one favor. Tell F'lar. Remind him that it's bet-
ter to attack than defend. Not but what he doesn't al-
ready know that! I think," Lord Groghe stabbed at his
chest with his thumb, "he'd better be prepared . . .
soon. Trouble is, everyone in Pern knows that the
Masterharper is going south to get well. Everyone
wishes Master Robinton the best of luck. Yet everyone
is beginning to wonder about that Southern Continent
now it's not closed anymore."

"Southern is too big to be adequately protected
against Thread which still falls there," N'ton said.

Lord Groghe nodded, mumbling that he was aware
of that. "Point is, people know you can live without
hold and survive Threadfall!" The Lord Holder's eyes
narrowed as he glanced at Sebell. "That Menolly girl
of yours did it! Hear tell Toric in Southern got little
help from those Oldtimers during Falls."

"Tell me, Lord Groghe," Sebell asked in his quiet
way, "have you ever been out in Fall?"

The White Dragon

Lord Groghe shuddered a bit. "Once. Ohhh, well,
yes, I take your point, Harper. I take your point. Still,
one way to separate boys from men!" He gave a sharp
nod of his head. "That's my notion. Separate boys
from men!" He gazed up at N'ton, a sly look in his
eyes though his expression continued bland. "Or don't
the Weyrs want the boys separated?"

N'ton laughed, to the Lord's surprise. "It's time we
separated more than the boys. Lord Groghe."

"Huh?"

"We will convey your message to F'lar today." The
Fort Weyrieader raised his cup to the Lord Holder as
a seal on that promise.

"Can't ask fairer than that! What news, Master
Sebell, of Master Robinton?"

Sebell's eyes lit with amusement. "He's four days
out of Ista Hold, resting comfortably."

"Ha!" Lord Groghe begged to disbelieve that.

"Well, I'm told he's comfortable," Sebell replied.
"Whether he is of the same opinion or not."

"Going to that pretty place where young Jaxom's

trapped, huh?"

"Trapped?" Sebell regarded Lord Groghe with mock
horror. "He's not trapped, only restricted from flying
between for a while longer."

"Been at that cove. Beautiful. Whereabouts is it ex-
actly?"

"In the South," Sebell answered.

"Humph. All right, you won't tell? You won't tell!
Don't blame you. Beautiful place. Now, off with the
pair of you and tell F'lar what I've said. Don't think
I'll be the last but it'd be a help to be the first. Help
to him. Help to me! Dratted sons of mine drive me to
drinking!" The Lord Holder rose and so did the two
younger men. "Tell your Master I was asking for him
when you see him next, Sebell."

"I will, sir!"

Lord Groghe's little queen, Merga, chirped brightly
at Sebell's Kimi and N'ton's Tris as the three men
walked to the Hall door. To Sebell, it indicated that
Lord Groghe was well pleased with the interview.

The White Dragon

Neither man made any comment until they were
well down the wide ramp that led from the courtyard
of Fort Hold to the main paved roadway of the com-
plex Hold.

Then N'ton heard Sebell's soft and satisfied chuckle.
"It worked, N'ton, it worked."

"What worked?"

"The Lord Holder's asking the Weyrleaders' per-
mission to go south!"

"Why shouldn't they?" N'ton seemed perplexed.

'Sebell grinned broadly at his friend. "By the Shell,
it worked with you, too! Do you have time to take me
to Benden Weyr? Lord Groghe's right. He might be
the first though I doubt it, knowing Lord Corman's
ways, but he won't be the last."

"What worked with me, Sebell?"

Sebell's grin deepened and his brown eyes danced.
"Now I'm well trained not to give away craft secrets,
my friend."

N'ton made a noise of disgusted impatience and
stopped in the middle of the dusty pavement. "Explain
or you don't go."

"It should be so obvious, N'ton. Do think on it.
While you take me to Benden. If you haven't figured
out what I mean, I'll tell you there. I'll have to inform
F'lar what's been done anyhow."

"Lord Groghe, too, eh?" F'lar regarded the two

younger men thoughtfully.

He'd just returned from fighting Thread over
Keroon and a surprising after-Fall interview with Lord
Corman, punctuated with much honking of the Lord's
large and perpetually runny nose.

"Threadfall over Keroon today?" Sebell asked and
when F'lar grimaced sourly, the young Craftmaster
grinned at N'ton. "Lord Groghe wasn't first!"

Giving vent to the irritation he felt, F'lar slapped
his riding gauntlets down on the table.

"I apologize for barging in when you must wish to
rest, Weyrieader," Sebell said, "but if Lord Groghe has

The White Dragon

thought of those empty lands to the south, others have,
too. He suggested that you'd better be warned."

"Warned, huh?" F'lar brushed the forelock out of
his eyes and grimly poured a cup of wine for himself.
Recalling courtesy, he poured wine for N'ton and
Sebell.

"Sir, the matter's not yet out of hand."

"Hordes of holdless men wanting to swarm south,
and it's not out of hand?"

"They have to ask Benden's permission first!"

F'lar was in the act of swallowing wine and nearly
choked in surprise.

"Ask Benden's permission? How does that come

about?"

"Master Robinton's doing," N'ton said, grinning
from ear to ear.

"Excuse me, I don't seem to be following you,"
F'lar said, sitting down. He dabbed the splattered wine
from his lips. "What has Master Robinton, who is, I
trust, safely at sea, to do with Groghe, Corman and
who knows who else wanting Southern lands for their
many sons?"

"Sir, you know that I've been sent about Pern—north
and south—by the Masterharper? Lately I've had two
important tasks to accomplish above and beyond my
normal duties. First I was to take the temper of every
small Hold as regarded duty to Hold and Weyr. Sec-
ondly I was to reinforce the belief that it is to Benden
Weyr everyone on Pern must look!"

F'lar blinked, shook his head as if to clear his mind
and then leaned forward to Sebell.

"Go on. This is very interesting."

"Benden Weyr only could appreciate the changes
that had occurred to Hold and Craft during the Long
Interval, because only Benden had changed with the
Turns. You, as Benden Weyrleader, saved Pern from
Thread when no one else felt Thread would ever fall
again. You also protected your Time from the excesses
of those Oldtimers, who could not accept the gradual
changes of Hold and Craft. You upheld the rights of

The White Dragon

Hold and Craft against your own kind and exiled those
who would not look to you for leadership.

"Hmm. I hadn't ever heard it put quite like that,"
F'lar said.

To N'ton's amusement, Benden's Weyrleader squirm-
ed, partly embarrassed but mostly gratified by the sum-
mation.

"And so the South became closed off!"

"Not precisely closed off," F'lar said. "Tone's people
always came and went." He grimaced at the present
regercussions of that liberty.

"They came north, true, but traders or anyone else
only went south with the permission of Benden
Weyr."

"I don't remember saying that at Telgar Hold the
day I fought T'ron!" F'lar struggled to recall clearly
what had happened that day other than a wedding,
a fight and a Threadfall.

"You didn't actually say so in so many words,"
Sebell replied, "but you asked for and received the sup-
port of three other Weyrieaders, and every Lord Holder
and Craftmaster .. ."

"And Master Robinton construed that to mean Ben-
den gives all orders regarding Southern?"

"More or less." Sebell made that admission cau-
tiously.

"But not in so many words, eh, Sebell?" F'lar asked,
appreciating afresh the devious mind of the Harper.

"Yes, sir. It seemed the course to take, sir, con-
sidering your own wish to secure some part of the
Southern Continent for the dragonfolk during the next
Interval."

"I'd no idea that Master Robinton had taken a
chance remark of mine so much to heart."

"Master Robinton has always had the best interests
of the Weyrs clearly in mind."

Grimly F'lar thought of the painful estrangement
when the Harper had intervened on the day the egg had
been stolen. But again, though it hadn't seemed so at
the moment, the Harper had acted in the best interests
of Pem. If Lessa had carried out her intention of setting




The White Dragon

the Northern dragons against the poor old beasts at
Southern .. .

"We owe the Masterharper much."

"Without the Weyrs . . ." Sebell spread his hands
wide to indicate that there was no other option.

"Not all the Holds would agree to that," F'lar said.
"There is still that notion that the Weyrs do not des-
troy the Red Star because the end of Thread would
mean the end of their dominance in Pern. Or has Mas-
ter Robinton cleverly changed that notion, too?"

"Master Robinton didn't have to," Sebell said with
a grin. "Not after F'nor and Canth tried to go to the
Red Star. The notion is Dragonmen must fly/When
Threads are in the sky."

"Isn't it current knowledge now," F'lar tried to keep
the contempt from his tone, "that the Southerners
rarely stirred themselves to fly Thread in the South?"

"That is, as you believe, now known. But, sir, I
think you fail to appreciate that it is one thing to think
about being holdless in the Fall, and quite another
matter to endure it."

"You have?" F'lar asked.

"I have." Sebell's expression was solemn. "I would
prefer above all else to be within a Hold." He shrugged
his shoulders. "I know that it's a question of changing
the habits of my early years, but I definitely prefer to be
sheltered during Fall. And to me that will always imply
protection by dragons!"

"So, in the final analysis, I've got the problem of
Southern right back in my lap?"

"What's the problem with Southern now?" Lessa
asked, entering the weyr just then. "I thought it was
understood that we have first rights in Southern!"

"That," F'lar chuckled, "does not appear to be in
contention. Not at all. Thanks to good Master
Robinton."

"Then what is the problem?" She nodded at Sebell
and N'ton by way of greeting, then looked sternly at
her weyrmate for his answer.

"Only which part of the Southern Continent we'll
open to the holdless younger sons of the North before

The White Dragon

they become a problem in themselves. Connan spoke to
me after Fall."

"I saw you two talking. Frankly, I've been wondering
when the subject would come up now that we've had
to interfere with the Oldtimers again." Lessa loosened
her riding belt, and sighed. "I wish I knew more. Has
Jaxom done nothing with his time down at the cove?"

Sebell extracted a bulky packet from his tunic. "He
has, among others. Perhaps this will ease your mind,
Lessa." With an air of quiet triumph, Sebell unfolded
the carefully joined leaves of a large chart, portions of
which remained white. A clearly defined coastline was
occasionally expanded inland with colored and shaded
areas. In the margins were dates and the names of those
who had surveyed the various sections. The thumb of
land pointing at Nerat Tip was completely filled in
and familiar to the Weyrleader as Southern Weyr and
Hold. On either side of that landmark was an incred-
ible sweep of continent, bounded on the west by the
delineation of a great sandy waste on two sides of a
huge bay. On the east, ever further from the thumb of
Southern, a longer coastline stretched, dipping sharply
south, punctuated at its most easterly point by the
drawing of a high, symmetrical mountain and a small,
starred cove.

"This is what we know of the Southern Continent,"
Sebell said after a long interval while the dragonriders
studied the map. "As you see, we still haven't managed
to chart the entire coast, let alone the interior. This
much has taken three full Turns of discreet survey to
do."

"By whom?" Lessa inquired, now deeply interested.
"By many people, myself included, N'ton, Toric's

holders, but most of it by a young harper named

Piemur."

"So that's what happened to him when his voice
changed," Lessa said in surprise.

"By the scale of this map," F'lar said slowly, "you
could fit the North of Pern in the western half of the
Bay."

Sebell laid his left thumb on the protuberance of

The White Dragon

Southern and planted the rest of his hand, fingers
splayed on the western section of the map. "This area
could easily occupy the Lord Holders." He heard
Lessa's sharp intake of breath and smiled at her,
spreading his right hand over the eastern portion. "But
this, Piemur tells me, is the best part of the Southi"

"Near that mountain?" Lessa asked.

"Near that mountain!"

Piemur, leading Stupid while Farii circled above
him, reappeared from the forest just as full dark was
falling on the cove. He swung a plaited string of ripe
fruit to the ground in front of Sharra.

"There! That's to make up for cutting out this mom-
ing," he said, a tentative grin on his face as he squatted
on his haunches. "Stupid wasn't the only one scared
of that mob this morning." He made a show of wiping
his forehead. "I haven't seen that many people in ...
since the last gather I attended a South Boll. That was
two Turns ago! I was afraid they'd never leave! They'll
be back tomorrow?"

Jaxom grinned at his plaintive question and nodded.
"I wasn't much better than you, Piemur. I got away
by having to hunt. Then I tracked down that clutch
and spent the afternoon rigging fishnet." He gestured
toward the next cove.

Piemur nodded. "Funny thing that, not wanting to
be among people. Felt as if I couldn't breathe with so
many using the same air supply. And that's downright
foolish." He looked about him, at the black bulks of
supplies lining the cove. "We're not stuffed in a Hold,
with fans going!" He shook his head. "Me, Piemur,
harper, a social fellow. And I turn and run from people
. . . faster than Stupid did!" He gave a snort of laugh-
ter.

"H it'll make you two feel any better, I was a bit
overwhelmed myself," Sharra said. "Thank you for the
fruit, Piemur. That . . . that horde ate all we had. 1
think there's some roast wherry left, and a few rib
bones from the buck."

"I could eat Stupid, only he'd be too tough." Piemur

320

The White Dragon

breathed a sigh of relief and eased himself down
to the sand.

Sharra chuckled as she went to get him something
to eat.

"I don't like to think of a lot of people here," Jaxom
told Piemur.

"Know what you mean." The young harper grinned.
"Jaxom, do you realize that I've been places no man
has ever stepped before? I've seen places that scared
me to leaking, and other spots that I had trouble
leaving because they were so beautiful." He exhaled
in resignation. "Oh, well, I got there first." Suddenly he
sat up, pointing urgently into the sky. "There they are!
If only I had a far-viewer!"

"Who are?" Jaxom slewed himself around to see
where Piemur was pointing, expecting dragonriders.

"The so-called Dawn Sisters. You can only see them
dusk and dawn down here and much higher in the sky.
See, those three very bright points! Many's the time
I've used them as guides!"

Jaxom could scarcely miss the three stars, gleaming
in an almost constant light. He wondered that he
hadn't noticed them before now.

"They'll fade soon," Piemur said, "unless one of the
moons is out. Then you see them again just before
dawn. Must ask Wansor about that when I see him.
They don't act like proper stars. The Starsmith's not
scheduled to come down and help build the Harper's
hold, is he?"

"He's about the only one who isn't," Jaxom replied.
"Cheer up, Piemur. The way they worked today, it
won't take long to finish that hold. And what do you
mean about the Dawn Sisters?"

"They just don't act like proper stars. Didn't you ever
notice?"

"No. But we've been in most evenings and certainly
every dawn."

Piemur pointed with several stabs of his right arm
at the Dawn Sisters. "Most stars change position. They
never do."

321

The White Dragon

"Sure they do. In Ruatha they're almost invisible on
the horizon ..."

Piemur was shaking his head. "They're constant.
That's what I mean. Every season I've been here,
they're always in the same place."

"Can't be! It's impossible. Wansor says that stars
have routes in the sky just like—"

"They stay still! They're always in the same po-
sition."

"And I tell you that's impossible."

"What's impossible? And don't snarl at each other,"
Sharra said, returning with a tray piled high with food
and a wineskin slung over her shoulder. Giving
Piemur the food, she filled cups all around.

Piemur guffawed as he reached for a buck rib.
"Well, I'm going to send a message to Wansor. I say
it's bloody peculiar behavior for stars!"

A change in the breeze awakened the Master Harper.
Zair chirped softly, curled on the pillows above
Robinton's ear. A sunscreen had been rigged above the
Harper's head but it was the airless heat that roused
him.

For a change, no one was seated in watch over him.
The respite of surveillance pleased him. He had been
touched by the concern of everyone, though at times the
attention bade fair to smother him. He'd curbed his
impatience. He had no choice. Too weak and tired to
resist the ministrations. Today must be another small
indication of his general improvement: leaving him
alone. He reveled in the solitude. Before him, the jib
sheet flapped idly and he could hear the mainsail, be-
hind him—aft, he corrected himself abruptly—rumb-
ling windless as well. The gentle rolling swells seemed
to be all that drove the ship forward. Waves, curls of
foam on their crests, were mesmeric in their rhythm
and he had to shake his head sharply to break their
fascination. He raised his glance above the swell and
saw nothing but water, as usual, on all sides. They
would not see land for days more, he knew, though
Master Idarolan said they were making good speed on

322

The White Dragon

their southeasterly course now that they had picked
up the Great South Current.

The Master Fisherman was as pleased with this ex-
pedition as everyone else connected with it. Robinton
snorted to himself with amusement. Everyone else
apparently was profiting by his illness.

Now, now, Robinton chided himself, don't be sour.
Why did you spend so much time training Sebell if not
to take over when it became necessary? Only, Robin-
ton thought, he hadn't ever expected that to hap-
pen. He wondered fleetingly if Menolly was faithfully
reporting the daily messages from Sebell. She and
Brekke could well be conspiring to keep any worrying
problem from him.

Zair stroked his cheek with his soft head. Zair was
the best humor-vane a man could have. The fire-
lizard knew, with an instinct that outshone his own
reliable sense of atmosphere, the emotional climate of
those about Robinton.

He wished he could throw off this languor and use
the journey time to good effect—catching up on Craft
business, on those songs he had in mind to write, on
any number of long-delayed projects that the press of
immediate concerns had pushed further and further
from completion. But Robinton had no ambition at
all; he found himself content to lie on the deck of
Master Idarolan's swift ship and do nothing. The
Dawn Sister, that's what Idarolan called her. Pretty
name. That reminded turn. He must borrow the Fish-
erman's far-viewer this evening. There was something
odd about those Dawn Sisters. They were visible,
higher up than they ought to be, in the sky at dusk
as well as dawn. Not that he'd been alowed to be
awake at dawn to check. But they were mostly in the
sky at sunset. He didn't think that stars should act
that way. He must remember to write Wansor a note.

He felt Zair stir, heard him chirp a pleasant greet-
ing before he heard the soft step behind him. Zair's
mind imagined Menolly.

"Don't creep up on me," he said with more testi-
ness than he intended.

323

The White Dragon

"I thought you were asleep!"

"I was. What else do I do all day?" He smiled at
her to take the petulance from his words.

Surprisingly, she grinned and offered him a cup of
fruit juice, lightly laced with wine. They knew better
now than to offer him plain juice.

"You sound better."

"Sound better? I'm as peevish as an old uncle! You
must be heartily tired of my sulks by now!"

She dropped beside him, her hand on his forearm.

"I'm just so glad you're able to sulk," she said.
Robinton was startled to see the glimmer of tears in
her eyes.

"My dear girl," he began, covering her hand with

his.

She laid her head on the low couch, her face turned
from him. Zair chirped in concern, his eyes beginning
to whirl faster. Beauty erupted into the air above
Menolly's head, cluttering in echoed distress. Robin-
ton set down his cup and raised himself on one elbow,
leaning solicitously over the girl.

"Menolly, I'm fine. I'll be up and about any day
now, Brekke says." The Harper permitted himself to
stroke her hair. "Don't cry. Not now!"

"Silly of me, I know. Because you are getting well,
and we'll see to it that you never strain yourself
again . . ." Menolly wiped her eyes impatiently with
the back of her hand and sniffled.

It was an endearingly childlike action. Her face,
now blotchy from crying, was suddenly so vulnerable
that Robinton felt his heart give a startling thump. He
smiled tenderly at her, stroked tendrils of her hair
back from her face. Tilting her chin up, he kissed her
cheek. He felt her hand tighten convulsively on his
arm, felt her lean into his kiss with an appeal that
set both fire-lizards humming.

Perhaps it was that response from their friends, or
the fact that he was so startled that caused him to
stiffen, but Menolly swiveled away from him.

"I'm sorry," she said, her head bent, her shoulders
sagging.

324

The White Dragon

"So, my dear Menolly, am I," the Harper said as
gently as he could. In that instant, he regretted his
age, her youth, how much he loved her—the fact that
he never could—and the weakness that caused him
to admit so much. She turned back to him, her eyes
intense with her emotion.

He held up his hand, saw the quick pain in her eyes,
as the merest shake of his fingers forestalled all she
wanted to say. He sighed, closing his eyes against the
pain in her loving eyes. Abruptly he was exhausted by
an exchange of understanding that had taken so few
moments. As few as at Impression, he thought, and
as lasting. He supposed he had always known the
dangerous ambivalence of his feelings for the young
SeaHold-bred girl whose rare talent he had devel-
oped. Ironic that he should be weak enough to admit
it, to himself and to her, at such an awkward moment.
Obtuse of him not to have recognized the intensity and
quality of Menolly's feelings for him. Yet, she'd
seemed content enough with Sebell. Certainly they
enjoyed a deep emotional and physical attachment.
Robinton had done everything in his subtle power to
insure that. Sebell was the son he had never had.
Better that!

"Sebell . . ." he began, and stopped when he felt
her fingers tentatively closing over his.

"I loved you first. Master."

"You've been a dear child to me," he said, willing
himself to believe that. He squeezed her fingers in a
brisk grip which he broke and, elbowing himself off
the pillows, retrieved the cup he had set down and
took a long drink.

He was able, then, to smile up at her, despite the
lingering ache in his throat for what could never have
been. She did manage a smile in return.

Zair flew up and beyond the sunscreen, though
Robinton couldn't imagine why the approach of the
Masterfisher would startle the creature.

"So, you wake. Rested, my good friend?" the Sea-
master asked.

"Just the man I wanted to see. Master Idarolan,

32?




The White Dragon

have you noticed those Dawn Sisters at dusk? Or has
my eyesight deteriorated with the rest of me?"

"Oho, the eye is by no means dimmed, good Mas-
ter Robinton. I've already sent word back to Master
Wansor on that account. 1 confess that I have never
sailed so far easterly in these Southern waters so I'd
never observed the phenomenon before, but I do be-
lieve that there is something peculiar about the posi-
tioning of those three stars."

"If I'm allowed to stay up past dusk this evening,"
the Harper glared significantly at Menolly, "may I
have the loan of your distance-viewer?"

"You certainly may. Master Robinton. I'd appre-
ciate your observations. I know you've had a good
deal more time to study Master Wansor's equations.
Perhaps we can figure out between us this erratic be-
havior."

"I'd like nothing better. In the meantime, let us
complete that game we started this morning. Menolly,
have you the board handy?"

326

CHAPTER XVIII

At the Cove Hold the Day of Master
Robinton's Arrival, 15.10.14

WITH so MANY eager hands and skilled craftsmen,
Cove Hold took only eleven days to complete, though
the stonemen shook their heads a bit over rushing the
drying of hardset. Another three days were spent on
the interior. Lessa, Manora, Silvina and Sharra con-
sulted long, and with much shifting of the furnishings
finally achieved what they considered the effective use

—not efficient, Sharra told Jaxom with a wicked grin,
but effective—of the offerings which poured in from
every hold, craft and cot.

Sharra's voice began to take on a tone that mixed
suffering and pride. She'd spent the day unpacking,
washing and arranging things. "What did you fall
into?" she asked Piemur, noticing newly acquired
scratches on his face and hands.

"Doing things his way," Jaxom replied, though he'd
a few marks on his neck and forehead as well.

With so many to build the Hold, N'ton, F'nor, and
F'lar, when he could arrange the time, had joined
Piemur and Jaxom to increase their knowledge of the
lands immediately adjacent to the Cove.

Piemur rather arrogantly told F'lar that dragons
had to be to a place first to get there again between

-—or else get a sharp enough visualization from some-

327




The White Dragon

one who had. But he, with his two feet and Stupid's
four, had to be first so that mere dragonriders could
then follow. The dragonriders ignored the somewhat
disparaging remarks, but Piemur's attitude was begin-
ning to get on Jaxom's nerves.

No matter the method of accomplishment, tempo-
rary camps at a good day's flight by dragon from Cove
Hold were established in a wide arc fanning out from
the new Hold. Each camp consisted of a small tile-
roofed shelter and a stone bunker to secure emergency
supplies and sleeping furs. By a tacit agreement, they
had gone two days' flight on a direct bearing to the
mountain and built a secondary camp.

The restriction on Jaxom flying between would
shortly be removed. He had only to wait now, F'lar
told him, until Master Oldive gave him a final exami-
nation. Since Master Oldive would soon be in Cove
Hold to check Robinton's recovery, Jaxom wouldn't
have long to wait.

"And, if I can go between, so can Menolly," Jaxom
said.

"Why would you have to wait until Menolly can
go between?" Sharra asked, with an edge to her voice
that Jaxom hoped might be a twinge of jealousy.

"She and Master Robinton found this Cove first,
you know." He wasn't glancing in the direction of the
Cove when he spoke, but toward the omnipresent
mountain.

"By sea," Piemur said with some disgust for such a
mode of transport.

"I have to admit, Piemur," Sharra said after re-
garding him for a long moment, "that feet were used
before wings and sail. I, for one, am thankful that
there are other ways of getting from one place to an-
other. And it's no disgrace to use them."

She then turned and walked off, leaving Piemur
to stare after her in surprise.

The incident cleared the air and Jaxom was relieved
to note that Piemur ceased his snide remarks about
flying and riding.

Attesting to the accuracy of Piemur's charting was

328

The White Dragon

the fact that, once the Great South Current curved
shoreward. Master Idarolan was able to identify his
position by the contour of the now visible coast and
to predict the arrival of the Dawn Sister at Cove
Hold. She was twenty-two days out of Istan water
before she rounded the west point of the Cove one
bright morning, an event that was celebrated by a
special, select welcoming committee.

Oldive and Brekke had forbidden a large recep-
tion and party. There was no point in undoing all the
benefit of the long, restful voyage with the strain and
fatigue of a feast. So Master Fandarel represented
the hundreds of craftsmen and masters who had pro-
duced the beautiful Cove Hold. Lessa stood for all
the Weyrs whose dragons had transported men and
material, and Jaxom was the logical spokesman for the
Lord Holders who had contributed the men and sup-
plies.

These last moments, as the graceful three-masted
ship headed up the Cove toward the stubby stone pier,
seemed the hardest to endure. Jaxom strained his eyes
as the ship glided closer and closer on the calm wa-
ters, and let out a jubilant whoop that made the fire-
lizards squeak in surprise when he discerned the figure
of the Harper standing in the prow, waving to those
on shore. The fire-lizards executed aerial dances of
great intricacy above the ship.

"Look, he's almost black with sun," Lessa cried,
clutching Jaxom's arm in her excitement.

"Don't worry, he'll have had a good long rest,"
Fandarel said, grinning from ear to ear in anticipation
of his friend's delight and pleasure in the new Hall. It
was just out of sight from the pier.

The ship suddenly wheeled as Master Idarolan
swung the tiller starboard, to slip his vessel deftly
broadside to the dock. Seamen leapt to the pier, snub-
bing lines on the bollards. Jaxom jumped forward to
lend a willing hand. The ship creaked as her timbers
resisted the sudden halt. Bound bolsters were run over
the side to prevent the ship rubbing against stone.

329

The White Dragon

Then a plank was dropped from an opening in the
ship's rail to the pier.

"I've brought him safely to you, Benden, Master-
smith, Lord Holder," boomed the voice of the Master
Seaman as he jumped to the cabin housing.

A spontaneous cheer burst from Jaxom's throat,
echoed by a roar from Fandarel and a cry from Lessa.
Jaxom and Fandarel stood on either side of the springy
plank to grip Robintoh's hands as he all but slid
ashore.

Ramoth and Ruth bugled overhead, startling the
fire-lizards into wilder extravagances of motion. Lessa
embraced the Harper by standing on tiptoe and im-
periously pulling his head down so she could kiss him
soundly. Tears sparkled on her cheeks and, to Jaxom's
surprise, he realized his own eyes were wet, too. He
stood politely back while Fandarel gently thumped the
Harper off balance, sticking out a hamlike hand to
steady his friend. Then he turned to assist Brekke and
Menolly down the bouncing plank. Everyone began
talking at once. Brekke looked anxiously from Robin-
ton to Jaxom, demanding if the latter had had any
headaches or eye spots, then urging the Harper to get
out of the fierce sun as if he hadn't been baking in it
on board ship day after day.

Good-naturedly everyone seized bundles from those
the seamen were passing from ship to shore—every-
one except Robinton, who was only allowed to carry
his gitar.

Brekke began to walk up the shore toward the old
shelter when Fandarel, laughing hugely in anticipation,
placed his big hand on her back and gently propelled
her toward the sanded path that led to the new Cove
Hold. When Brekke began to protest, Lessa hushed
her and pointed decisively at the path, taking her arm
and half-pulling her along.

"I'm sure the shelter was that way..."

"It was," replied Master Fandarel, striding along
beside the Harper. "We found a better site, more suit-
able for our Harper!"

"More efficient, my friend?" Robinton asked, laugh-

330

The White Dragon

ing as he clapped his hand on the Smith's bulging
shoulder.

"Much more efficient. Much!" The Smith nearly
choked with his laughter.

Brekke had reached the bend of the path and
stared incredulously at the sight of the new Hold. "I
don't believe it!" She glanced quickly from Lessa to
the Smith to Jaxom. "What have you done? How have
you done it? It just isn't possible!"

Robinton and Fandarel had reached the two
women, the Smith beaming so broadly that every
tooth in his head showed and his eyes were mere
squints in the folds of his cheeks.

"I thought Brekke said the shelter was small,"
Robinton said, peering at the structure and smiling
hesitantly. "Otherwise I'd have asked for ..."

Lessa and Fandarel could bear the suspense no
longer and, each taking one of the Harper's arms,
urged him toward the wide porch steps.

"Just you wait until you see what's inside," Lessa
said with a crow of satisfaction.

"Everyone on Pern helped, either sending crafts-
men or material," Jaxom told Brekke, taking her
limp arm and escorting her on. He beckoned Menolly
to hurry and join them.

Menolly glanced about and saw only the peaceful
cove, carefully raked sand, trees and flowering shrubs
which bordered the beach looking as unscathed as the
day she and Jaxom had arrived. Only the bulk of the
Hold, with its peripheral path of sand and shells,

gave evidence of any change. "I just don't believe
it."

"I know, Menolly. They took pains to keep it
lovely. And just wait till you see inside Cove Hold . . ."

"It's already been named?" That seemed to irritate
her, but Jaxom could appreciate her reaction.

"Well, it is a hold in a cove, so 'Cove Hold.'"

"It's all so beautiful," Brekke said, turning her
head this way and that to see everything. "Menolly,
don't be annoyed. It's such a marvelous surprise. When
I think what I thought we were coming to . . ." She

331




The White Dragon

laughed, a happy sound. "I must say, this is much
more the suitable thing!"

They had reached the steps of black reef rock, filled
with white hardset, making it sturdy and attractive at
the same time. A creamy orange tile roof extended
over the porch which ringed the Hold almost to the
surrounding trees, their blooms adding spicy fragrance
to the air. The metal shutters were folded back from
the unusually wide windows so that they could see
through the house and catch glimpses of the furnish-
ings within. The Harper's voice was raised in delight
and amazement as he moved about the main room.
As Jaxom, Brekke and Menolly entered, Robinton had
been peering into the room set aside as his study, and
his expression was dazed as he realized that Silvina
had sent down everything from his crowded workroom
in the Harper Hall. Zair echoed his confusion, chitter-
ing high and excitedly from his perch On a crossbeam.
Beauty and Berd flew to join him, and suddenly, Meer,
Talla and Farii appeared. They all seemed to be com-
paring notes, Jaxom thought.

"That's Farli! I thought I'd heard that Piemur was
here. But where is he?" The Harper sounded surprised
and a trifle hurt.

"Sharra and he are tending the spits," Jaxom said.

"We didn't want too many people about, tiring
you . . ." Lessa added in a soothing tone.

"Tiring me? Tiring me! I need a little tiring!
PIEMUR!"

If his tanned and relaxed face had not been proof
enough of his return to health, the bellow he let
loose, as vigorous and deafening as ever, left no
further doubts of his vitality.

Clearly audible was the distant startled reply:

"Master?"

"REPORT, PIEMUR!"

"Thank goodness we put him on a ship to rest,"
Brekke said, smiling at the Weyrwoman. "Can you
imagine the time we'd have had with him on land?"

"What you two cannot appreciate is how much my

The White Dragon

momentary disability has set back some very im-
portant—"

"Momentary disability?" Fandarel's eyes protruded
in amazement. "My dear Robinton—"

"Master Robinton?" Menolly took a cup from the
crowded cabinet, a beautiful glass goblet, its base
stained harper blue, its cup incised with the Master's
name and a harp. "Have you seen this?" She held it
out to him, her eyes round with approval.

"My word, harper blue!" Robinton took and ex-
amined the beautiful thing.

"From my crafthall," Fandarel said, beaming.
"Mermal thought to tint the entire glass blue but I
argued that you would prefer to see the red of Benden
wine in a clear cup."

Robinton's eyes gleamed with appreciation and
gratitude as he examined the cup carefully. Then his
long face fell into a sorrowful expression.

"But it's empty," he said in a plaintive, mournful
tone.

At that moment a commotion started in the kitchen
corner of the Hold. The curtain was flung roughly
aside as Piemur, all but losing his balance in an effort
not to careen into Brekke, lurched into the room.

"Master?" he gasped.

"Ah, yes, Piemur," the Harper drawled, eyeing his
young journeyman as if he had momentarily forgotten
why he had summoned the young man. The two re-
garded each other steadily, a puzzled frown on the
Harper's face while Piemur's chest heaved as he
panted, blinking sweat from his eyes. "Piemur, you've
been here long enough to know where they store the

wine? I've been given this lovely goblet and it's

empty!"

Piemur blinked again and then shook his head
slowly and said to the room at large, "There's nothing
wrong with him anymore! And if that roast wherry
bums . . ." He gave the Harper a thoroughly dis-
gusted look, turned on his heel, whipped aside the
curtain and could be heard noisily opening doors.

Jaxom caught Menolly's eye and she winked at him.




The White Dragon

Piemur's gruff manner and cracking voice had not dis-
guised his emotion to those who knew him. He
stamped back into the main hall, swinging a wineskin,
with Benden wax on its stopper.

"Don't swing it, lad," the Harper cried, holding up
a restraining hand at such sacrilegious treatment.
"Wine must be handled with respect . . ." He took the
skin from Piemur and peered at the seal. "Hmmm,
One of the better vintages! Tsk, tsk, Piemur, have you
learned nothing from me of how to treat wine?" He
made a grimace as he expertly cracked the seal and
sighed with relief as he saw the condition of the stop-
per's end. He passed it under his nose, sniffing deli-
cately. "Ah! Yes! Beautiful! Took no harm from its
travel! There's a good lad, Piemur, pour for us all,
will you, please? I can see this Hold is admirably sup-
plied with cups."

Jaxom and Menolly were already distributing them
as Piemur, with the courtesy due good Benden
vintages, poured. The Harper, holding his cup high,
watched the ceremony with growing impatience.

"Your continued good health, my friend." Fandarel
proposed the toast which was repeated firmly by every-
one.

"I am truly overwhelmed by all this," the Harper
said, giving strength to his claim by taking only a
small sip of the excellent wine. He looked from one to
another of his friends, nodding his head and then
shaking it. "Truly overwhelmed!"

"You haven't seen everything yet, Robinton," Lessa
said and took him by the hand. "Brekke, you come
see, too. Piemur, Jaxom, bring the bundles."

"Not so fast, Lessa. I'll spill the wine!" The Harper
watched his glass as Lessa pulled him behind her.

He was guided through the sliding panel into the
small corridor that separated the main Hall from the
sleeping quarters. Brekke followed, her face alight
with keen interest and curiosity.

The Harper's sleeping room was the largest, occupy-
ing the comer opposite his workroom. Four more
sleeping rooms had been furnished to accommodate

The White Dragon

two guests in each but, as Lessa pointed out, the porch
itself could comfortably sleep half a Hold of guests.
Not that Robinton was to be allowed that many. He
expressed pleasure at the bathing room and was suit-
ably impressed by the large kitchen, and dutifully
peered at the auxiliary hearth outside. He sniffed as
the aroma of roasting meat wafted on the sea breeze.
"Where's that being done, might I ask?"
"We've steaming and roasting pits on the beach,"
Jaxom said, "to use when there's a horde here."

The Harper laughed, agreed that horde was prob-
biy the proper term.

"Try your chair," Fandarel said, striding to the
armed chair when they returned to the main room. He
turned it about for the Harper to see. "Bendarek made
it exactly to your measure. See if it suits? Bendarek
will be anxious to hear."

The Harper took time to examine the beautifully
carved, high-backed chair, covered with wherhide
dyed a deep harper blue. He sat down, put his hands
along the armrests, found they were precisely the
length of his forearm, and that the seat of the chair
admirably fit his long legs and torso.

"It is beautiful, tell Master Bendarek. And a per-
fect size. How considerate Bendarek is. How over-
whelmed I am by this and every other single item in
this Hold. It is ... magnificent. That's the only word
for it. I'm speechless. Rendered completely speechless.
Never in my wildest flights of fancy did I expect such
luxury in unexplored wilds, such beauty, such thought-
fulness, such comfort."

"If you're speechless, Robinton, spare us your elo-
quence," came a dry voice. All turned to see the Mas-
terfishennan standing in the open main door.

Everyone laughed, and Master Idarolan was beck-
oned forward and given a cup of wine.

"There are more bundles for you, Master Robin-
ton," the Seaman said, gesturing toward the porch.

"You and your crew are to eat with us. Master
Idarolan," Lessa called out.

The White Dragon

"I was hoping so. Don't noise it about, but occasion-
ally I do get the craving for red meat, not white."

"Master Robinton! Look here!" Menolly's voice
was high with surprise. She was looking inside one of
the cabinets that lined the walls between windows.
"I'd swear it's Dermently's hand! And every single
Traditional song and ballad, newly written on leaves
and bound in blue wherhide! Just what you've been
wanting to have Arnor do for you."

The Harper exclaimed with surprise and nothing
would do but he had to open each folder and appre-
ciate the craftsmanship and collection. Then he began
to investigate all the cupboards and presses of Cove
Hold until the midafternoon heat drove everyone to
the beach to swim and cool off. Brekke fretted that
the Harper should rest, quietly by himself, but
Fandarel dismissed the notion, gesturing to Robinton,
who was sporting in the water with the others.

"He is indulging in another type of rest right now.
Leave him. Night's soon enough for sleeping!" .

The evening breezes sprang up as the sun dipped
closer to the western horizon. Rugs and woven mats
as well as benches were brought out so that all the
guests could be comfortable. When F'lar and F'nor
arrived, they were enthusiastically welcomed by the
Harper, who wanted to show them his beautiful Hold
and was somewhat disappointed that they were
already quite familiar with it.

"You forget how many people helped build it,
Robinton," F'lar said. "It's probably the best known
Hold on the entire world."

At that moment Sharra and the ship's cook—a thin
man because that's the only sort, he told her, who
could fit in the closet-sized excuse for a galley on the
Dawn Sister—proclaimed that the feast was ready and
were nearly run down by the hungry guests.

When no one could eat another morsel and even
the Harper was reduced to small sips of wine, the
guests settled into smaller groups: Jaxom, Piemur,
Men oily and Sharra in one, the seamen in the largest,
and the dragonriders and craftsmen in the third.

336

The White Dragon

"I wonder what they're plotting for us to do now,"
Piemur said in a sour mutter after staring at the in-
tense expressions of the third group.

Menolly laughed. "More of the same, I expect.
Robinton's been going over those charts and reports of
yours on shipboard until I thought he'd wear the ink
out from looking." She pulled her knees up under
her chin, a shy smile lighting her eyes. "Sebell's com-
ing tomorrow with N'ton and Master Oldive." She
went on quickly, before anyone could comment: "As
I understand it, Sebell, N'ton and F'lar are overseeing
Toric's people and that herd of holders' sons coming
from the North. They'll chart the western part . . .
the dividing line is that black rock river of yours,
Piemur!"

Piemur groaned, writhing dramatically on the sand.
"That place! May I never see it again!" He lifted one
fist skyward to emphasize his determination. "Took
me days to find a break in the cliffs on the other shore
that we could climb out of. At that I had to ride Stu-
pid off the cliffs into the water and swim him across.
The fishes nearly made us their lunch."

"And the rest of us," Menolly continued, "with
F'nor and the Harper, will explore this side."

"Inland, I hope?" Piemur asked sharply.

She nodded. "I understand," and she glanced over
her shoulder at the Weyrleaders and Craftmasters,
"that Idarolan may sail the coast..."

"More power to him. I've walked far enough!"

"Oh, hush, Piemur. No one forced you to ..."

"Oh?"

"Enough, Piemur," Jaxom said, impatiently. "So
we're to go inland?" Menolly nodded.

As one they looked over their shoulders toward the
mountain, invisible though it was from their recum-
bent position.

Jaxom grinned at Menolly. "And Master Oldive'U
be here tomorrow so I'll be able to go between again!"

"Lot of good that'll do you," Piemur said with a
snort. "You still have to fly the route straight first."

"That doesn't put me out one little bit."

337

The White Dragon

A fire-lizard squabble in the trees startled all of
them and diverted Piemur from what Jaxom was cer-
tain was a renewal of his usual sour theme. Two gold
streaks could be seen against the darker green of the

foliage.

"Beauty and Farii to settle the matter!" Menolly
cried, then looked around, curiously. "There're just
our fire-lizards here now, Jaxom. Has all the activity
frightened the Southern ones away?"

"I doubt it. They come and go. I suspect some of
them are in the trees, fussing because they don't dare

come near Ruth."

"Did you ever find out more about their men?"

Jaxom was chagrined to say that he hadn't even
tried. "There's been too much else happening."

"I'd have thought you'd have given it one go."
Menolly sounded irritated.

"What? And deprive you of the pleasure?" Jaxom
affected surprised hurt. "I wouldn't dream of it . . ."
He stopped abruptly, remembering those very pecul-
iar dreams, as if he'd been seeing something out of
hundreds of eyes. He also recalled what Brekke had
said, the first day Ruth had flown Thread: "It was
difficult to see the same scene through three pairs of
eyes." Had he in fact been seeing, in his dreams, a
scene from many fire-lizard eyes?

"What's wrong, Jaxom?"

"Maybe I did dream of it, after all," he said, with a
hesitant laugh. "Look, Menolly, if you dream tonight,

remember it, huh?"

"Dream?" Sharra asked, curious. "What kind of

dreams?"

"Have you been having some?" Jaxom turned toward

her. Sharra had assumed her usual intricate fold of
leg, a posture which evidently fascinated and con-
founded Menolly.

"Certainly. Only . . . like you, I don't remember
them, except that I couldn't seem to see clearly. As if

my dream eye gets unfocused."

"That's a nice concept," Menolly said. "A dream

eye unfocused."

The White Dragon

Piemur groaned and flailed at the sand with his
fists. "Here comes another song!"

"Oh, do be quiet!" Menolly regarded him with im-
patience. "All that lone traveling has changed you,
Piemur, and I for one don't like the change."

"No one says you have to," Piemur snapped at her
and, with a fluid motion, was on his feet and striding
into the forest, angrily batting the underbrush out of
his way.

"How long has he been so touchy?" Menolly asked
Jaxom and Sharra.

"Since he arrived here," Jaxom said, shrugging to
indicate that they hadn't been able to change him.

"Remember, he's been very worried about Master
Robinton," Sharra said slowly.

"We've all been worried about Master Robinton,"
Menolly said, "but that's no reason to change one's
temperament!"

There was an awkward silence. Sharra unfolded
her legs and rose abruptly.

"I wonder if anyone remembered to feed Stupid this
evening!" She walked off, not quite in the same direc-
tion as Piemur.

Menolly looked after her for a long moment. Her
eyes were dark with concern as she turned back to
Jaxom and then a wicked gleam changed them to their
normal sea-blue.

"While they're out of earshot, Jaxom," she glanced
about to be sure no one had come up behind her, "I'd
better mention that it's been pretty well established
now that no one at Southern Weyr returned Ramoth's
egg."

"Oh? Really?"

"Oh! Really!"

She rose then, cup in hand, and strode across to the
wineskin hanging from a tree branch.

Was she warning him? Not that it made any differ-
ence. His adventure had served a purpose at the time.
Now that the Southern Weyr was being integrated into
the others, there was less need than ever to admit his
part in the affair.

The White Dragon

Menolly wandered over to collect her gitar from the
table and then seated herself at the bench, strumming
softly to herself. A new song, about dream eyes,
Jaxom wondered. Then he looked off in the direction
Sharra had gone. Had he any legitimate reason for fol-
lowing her? He sighed. He liked Piemur, despite his
acid tongue. He'd been glad to see the young Harper,
grateful for his company and assistance. He just wished
that Piemur had taken a day longer, even half a day
longer, to reach the Cove. Since his arrival, Jaxom
had had no time at all alone with Sharra. Was she
avoiding him? Or was it just the circumstances of the
building and getting Cove Hold ready for Master
Robinton? He must figure out some way to separate
Sharra from the others! Or else visit Coranal

340

CHAPTER XIX

Morning at the Cove Hold, Star-gasing in
Late Evening, Next Morning, Discovery
at the Mountain, 15.10.15-15.10.16

BY THE TIME Jaxom and Piemur had reluctantly
struggled from their furs the next morning, Sharra told
them that the Harper had risen at the first light of day,
taken a bracing swim, made himself a breakfast and
been long in his study, muttering over the charts and
making copious notes. He now wished to have a few
words with Jaxom and Piemur, if they didn't mind.

Master Robinton acknowledged their entry with a
sympathetic grin for their deliberate and slow move-
ments, the aftereffects of a very convivial evening. He
then began asking for explanations of their latest ad-
ditions to the main chart. When he had satisfied him-
self on that point, he asked how they had arrived at
their conclusions. When they'd told him, he leaned
back from the desk, fiddling with his drawing stick with
such an unreadable expression on his face that Jaxom
began to worry about what the Harper might be plan-
ning.

"Have either of you happened to notice the trio of
stars we have been calling—erroneously, I might add
—the Dawn Sisters?"

Jaxom and Piemur exchanged glances.

341

The White Dragon

"Do you have a far-viewer with you, sir?" Jaxom

asked.

The Harper nodded. "Master Idarolan has one
aboard his ship. I construe that question to mean that
you've noticed that they also appear at dusk?"

"And whenever there's enough moonlight . . ."

Piemur added.

"And always in the same place!"

"I see you did profit by your classes," the Harper
said, beaming at both of them. "Now, I've asked Mas-
ter Fandarel if we could prevail on Master Wansor to
visit here for a few days. Why, might I ask, are you
two grinning as if you'd eaten all the bubbly pies at a

gather?"

Piemur's grin deepened at this reference to his ap-
prentice pastime.

"I don't think anyone on Pern would refuse to come
here, given the whisper of an invitation," he said.

"Does Master Wansor have his new far-viewer fin-
ished?" Jaxom asked.

"I certainly hope that he does ..."

"Master Robinton . . ." Brekke stood in the door-
way, a curious expression on her face.

"Brekke," the Harper held up a warning hand,
"if you have come to tell me that I have to rest, or
drink a potion of your making, I beg you, don't! I
have far too much to do."

"All I have is a message which Kimi has just brought
from Sebell," she said, handing him the small tube.

"Oh!"

"As to your resting, I've only to watch Zair to know
when that's necessary!" Her glance, as she turned to
leave the study, fell on Jaxom and Piemur. There was
no doubt in Jaxom's mind that he and Piemur were
under tacit orders not to overstrain the Harper's

strength.

Master Robinton raised his eyebrows in surprise as
he read the message "Oh, dear. Toric was invaded by
a shipload of holders' sons last evening. Sebell feels
he should wait till they've settled into temporary quar-
ters." He chuckled and, when he saw the expressions

342

The White Dragon

of Jaxom and Piemur, then added, "I infer that all
did not progress as smoothly as the holder boys could
wish!"

Piemur snorted, with the contempt born of his
Turns' exploring and his knowledge of Toric and his
Hold's accommodations.

"Once you can go between, Jaxom," Robinton con-
tinued, "our investigation can proceed more rapidly.
I've in mind to set you and the girls out as teams."

"Harper and Holder?" Jaxom asked, seizing the op-
portunity he'd been waiting for.

"Harper and holder? Oh, yes, of course. Piemur,
you and Menolly have worked well together, I know.
So Sharra can go with Jaxom. Now . . ." Oblivious to
the sharp look Piemur gave Jaxom, the man went on.
"One sees things from the air in a perspective not al-
ways possible at ground level. The reverse, of course,
applies. So any exploration should involve both meth-
ods. Jaxom, Piemur knows what I'm looking for . . ."

"Sir?"

"Traces of the original habitation of this continent.
I can't for the life of me imagine why our long-dead
ancestors left this fruitful and beautiful continent for
the colder, duller North, but I assume that they had
good reasons. The oldest of our Records states: When
man came to Pern, he established a good Hold in the
South. We used to think," the Harper smiled apolo-
getically for that error, "that Fort Hold was meant,
since it is south in the Northern Continent. But that
particular document goes on to state ambiguously: but
found it necessary to move north to shield. That never
made any sense, but so many of the old Records have
deteriorated past deciphering, much less coherence.

"Well, then Toric discovered an iron mine, worked
in the open fashion. And N'ton and I sighted unnatural
formations set in a mountainside which, when we had
finally reached the spot on foot, were clearly mine
shafts.

"If the ancients had been long enough in the Southern
Continent to discover ore and mine it, there must be

343




The White Dragon

other traces of their habitation somewhere here in the
South."

"In hot weather and rainy forest, nothing survives
very long," Jaxom said. "D'ram built a shelter here a
scant twenty-five Turns back and not much remains of
it. And what F'lessan and I stumbled on in Benden
Weyr had been sealed up, protected from weather."

"Nothing," Piemur said emphatically, "could dent,
scratch or mar the pit supports we found in that mine.
And not even the best stoneman can carve through
solid rock like cheese. Yet the ancients did."

"We have found some traces. There must be more."

Jaxom had never heard the Harper so adamant, but
he couldn't suppress a sigh as he glanced at the size
of the map before him.

"I know, Jaxom, the scope is daunting, but what a
triumph when we find the place. Or places!" Master
Robinton's eyes shone with anticipation. "Now," he
went on briskly, "once Jaxom is pronounced fit enough
to fly between, we will progress southward, using that
symmetrical mountain as our guide. Any objections?"
The man barely waited for an answer. "Piemur will
start out on the ground with Stupid. Menolly can ac-
company him, if she wishes, or can wait for Jaxom to
take her and Sharra on Ruth to the secondary camp.
While the girls survey the immediate vicinity, which I
understand has not been done, you, Jaxom, can fly
ahead with Ruth to set up another camp to which you
can fly between the next day. And so on.

"I think you must have been drilled at Fort Weyr,"
the Harper said, looking at Jaxom, "to be able to
observe and distinguish ground formations from the
air? However, I want to impress on you both that
though this is a joint effort, Piemur is far more experi-
enced, Jaxom, and you will please bear this in mind
when problems occur. And send me your reports for
this . . ." he tapped the chart, "every evening! Off with
you both, now, and organize your equipment and
supplies. And your partners!"

Though explaining the situation to Menolly and
Sharra and organizing their supplies and equipment

The White Dragon

took very little time, the explorers did not leave Cove
Hold that day.

Master Oldive arrived on Lioth with N'ton and was
lavishly welcomed by the Harper, more sedately by
Brekke and Sharra, and with some reservations by
Jaxom. Robinton immediately insisted on showing the
Healer the beautiful new hold before, as Robinton
expressed it, Oldive had to see his old carcass.

"He's not fooling Master Oldive," Sharra said, her
rich voice for Jaxom's ear alone as they watched the
Harper striding vigorously about the holding, Master
Oldive murmuring appropriate comments. "Not one
fingertip is he fooling the Healer."

"That's a relief," Jaxom said. "Otherwise the
Harper'11 be coming with us."

"Not between, he won't."

"No, he'd ride Stupid."

Sharra laughed, but her amusement ended as they
both watched the Healer firmly steer the Harper into
his sleeping quarters and quietly close the door.

"No," Sharra said, shaking her head slowly, "Master
Robinton wasn't fooling Master Oldive!"

Jaxom was very glad he didn't have to try to fool
the Master Healer when it came his turn to be exam-
ined. The ordeal for him was brief—a few questions,
Master Oldive's inspection of his eyes, tapping on his
chest, listening to his heart and the pleased smile on
the Healer's mobile face gave Jaxom the favorable ver-
dict.

"Master Robinton will be all right, too, won't he,
Master Oldive?" Jaxom couldn't resist asking.

When the Harper had emerged from his room, he
had been too quiet, rather thoughtful, and the bounce
had gone out of his step. Menolly had poured him a
cup of wine which he had accepted with a Wistful
smile and a deep sigh.

"Of course. Master Robinton will be all right," Mas-
ter Oldive said. "He's much improved. But," the Healer
held up one long forefinger, "he must learn to pace
himself, conserve his energy and ration his strength or
he will bring on another attack. You young people

The White Dragon

can assist, with your strong legs and stouter hearts,
without seeming to curtail his activities."

"Indeed we will. In fact, we do!"

"Good. Continue and he will soon be completely
recovered. If he keeps in mind the lesson he learned
from this seizure." Master Oldive glanced through the
open window, mopping his forehead a little. "This
beautiful place was a grand idea." He favored Jaxom
with a sly smile. "The heat makes the Harper drowsy
midday and forces him to rest. The prospects on all
sides delight the eyes, and the scent of the air pleases
the nose. How I envy you this spot, Lord Jaxom."

The beauties of Cove Hold had evidently worked
their charm on the Masterharper as well, for he had
recovered his good spirits even before the arrival of
Master Fandarel and Master Wansor from Telgar.
Robinton's delight was doubled when Fandarel and
Wansor proudly exhibited the new distance-viewer that
had occupied the Starsmith's time for the past half-
Turn. The instrument, a tube as long as Fandarel's arm,
and thick enough so that he needed two hands to sur-
round it, was carefully encased in leather, with a curi-
ous eye-piece set, not on its end where Jaxom thought
it ought to be, but on its side.

Master Robinton commented on that variation as
well, and Wansor muttered something about reflective
and refracting, ocular and objective and that this was
the arrangement he thought best for the purposes of
viewing distant objects. Whereas the instrument found
in Benden Weyr made small things larger, the princi-
ples employed here were somewhat similar.

"That is neither here nor there but we are very
pleased to use the new far-viewer in Cove Hold,"
Wansor went on, mopping his brow for he'd been so
busy explaining his new device that he'd not bothered
to remove his wherhide flying clothes.

Master Robinton winked at Menolly and Sharra and
the two girls divested the lecturing Starsmith of his
outer garments while he explained, almost oblivious to
their assistance, that this was his first visit to the South-
ern Continent and yes, he had of course heard of the

346

The White Dragon

aberrant behavior of the three stars known as the
Dawn Sisters. Until recently he had put the anomaly
down to the inexperience of the observers. But, with
Master Robinton himself noting their peculiarities,
Wansor felt justified in bringing his precious instru-
ment to the South to investigate the matter himself.
Stars did not remain in fixed positions in the sky. All
his equations, not to mention such experienced ob-
servers such as N'ton and Lord Larad, had verified this
characteristic. Furthermore the Records handed down
from the ancients, though they were in a shocking state,
mentioned that stars undeniably followed a pattern of
movement. Stars obeyed laws. Therefore when three
stars had been observed to be in defiance of these nat-
ural laws, there had to be some explanation. He was
hoping to find it this evening.

Vot without a good deal of discussion, the site for
this viewing was placed on the slight elevation of the
stony eastern tip of Cove Hold, beyond the spot where
the roasting and baking pits had been dug. Master
Fandarel drafted Piemur and Jaxom to help him erect
a frame on which he placed a swivel to mount the
new viewer. Wansor, naturally, supervised this pro-
ject until he was so in the Smith's way that the good
man sat his Craftmaster on the edge of the promon-
tory, near the trees, where he had a full view of all
the activities but was no longer in his way. By the
time the frame had been completed, Master Wansor
was fast asleep, his head cushioned on his hands, snor-
ing in a soft rhythm.

Finger against his lips to indicate the little man
was not to be disturbed, Fandarel led Jaxom and
Piemur back to the main beach. They all took a re-
freshing swim before joining the others in the after-
noon rest. Rather than miss a single moment of the
dusky display of the Sisters, everyone ate on the
promontory. Master Idarolan brought out his ship's
viewer, and the Smith quickly constructed a second
frame from the materials left over from making
Wansor's.

Sunset, which had previously come upon them all
347

The White Dragon

too quickly, seemed delayed and delayed. Jaxom
thought that if Wansor adjusted either the viewer or
his bench, or his position on the bench, one more
time, he would probably display some aberrant be-
havior of his own. Even the dragons who'd been play-
ing in the water as if the sport had just been invented,
were sprawled quietly on the beach, the fire-lizards
sleeping about Ruth or perched on their friends' shoul-
ders.

The sun finally went down, spreading its brilliant
aftercolors across the western horizon. As the eastern
sky darkened, Wansor put his eye to his instrument,
let out a startled cry and nearly fell backward off his
bench.

"It can't be. There is no possible logical explanation
for such an arrangement." He righted himself and
looked once again through, the viewer, making delicate
adjustments to the focus. "

Master Idarolan- had his eye pressed to his own
viewer. "I see only the Dawn Sisters in their usual
alignment. Just as they have always been."

"But they can't be. They are close together. Stars
do not congregate so closely. They are always far dis-
tant."

"Here, let me have a look, man." The Smith was al-
most dancing in eagerness to have a glimpse through
the instrument. Wansor reluctantly gave way to him,
repeating the impossibility of what he had just seen.

"N'ton, your eyes are younger!" The Seaman passed
his viewer to the bronze rider, who quickly accepted it.

"I see three round objects!" Fandarel announced in
a booming voice. "Round metallic objects. Manmade
objects. Those are not stars, Wansor," he said, looking
at the distressed Starsmith, "those are things!"

Robinton, almost shoving the Smith's bulk to one
side, bent his eye to the viewer, gasping.

"They are round. They do shine. As metal does. Not
as stars do."

"One thing sure," Piemur said irreverently in the
awed silence, "you have now found traces of our
ancestors in the South, Master Robinton."

The White Dragon

"Your observation is eminently correct," the Harper
said in such a curiously muffled tone Jaxom wasn't cer-
tain if the man was suppressing laughter or anger,
"but not at all what I had in mind and you know it!"

Everyone was given a chance to peer through Wan-
sor's device, since Master Idarolan's was not powerful
enough. Everyone concurred with Fandarel's verdict:

the so-called Dawn Sisters were not stars. Equally in-
disputable was that they were round, metallic objects
that apparently hung in a stationary position in the
sky. Even the moons had been observed to turn a dif-
ferent side to Pern in the course of their regular cycles.

F'lar and Lessa as well as F'nor were asked to come
with all urgency before the nightly appearance of the
Dawn Sisters was over. Lessa's irritation at such a
summons evaporated when she saw the phenomenon.
F'lar and F'nor monopolized the instrument for the
short space of time that the peculiar objects remained
visible in the slowly darkening sky.

When Wansor was seen trying to work equations in
the Sand, Jaxom and Piemur hurriedly brought out a
table and some drawing tools. The Starsmith wrote
furiously for some minutes and then studied the result
he'd achieved as if this presented a more inscrutable
puzzle. Bewildered, he asked Fandarel and N'ton to
check his figures for error.

"If there's no error, what is your conclusion. Master
Wansor?" F'lar asked him.

"Those . . . those things are stationary. They stay
in the same position over Pern all the time. As if they
were following the planet."

"That would prove, would it not," Robinton said,
unperturbed, "that they are manmade."

"My conclusion precisely," but Wansor did not
appear to be reassured. "They were made to stay
where they are all the time."

"And we can't get from here to there," F'nor said
in a regretful murmur.

"Don't you dare, F'nor," Brekke said with such fer-
vor that F'lar and the Harper chuckled.

"They were made to stay there," Piemur began,

349

The White Dragon

"but they couldn't have been made here, could they,
Master Fandarel?"

"I doubt it. The Records give us hints of many mar-
velous things made by men but no mention was ever
made of stationary stars."

"But the Records say that men came to Pern . . ."
Piemur looked at the Harper for confirmation. "Per-
haps they used those things to travel from some other
place, some other world, to get here. To Pern!"

"With all the worlds in the heavens to choose from,"
Brekke began, breaking the thoughtful silence that fol-
lowed Piemur's conclusion, "had they no better place
to come to than Pern?"

"If you'd seen as much of it as I have lately,"
Piemur said, his spirit undaunted for any appreciable
length of time, "you'd know that Pern's not all that bad
a world ... if you ignore the danger of Thread!"

"Some of us never can," F'lar replied in a wry tone.

Menolly gave Piemur a sharp jab in the ribs, but
F'lar only laughed when Piemur suddenly realized the
tactlessness of his remark.

"This is a most amazing development," Robinton
said, his eyes sweeping the night sky as if more mys-
teries were to be revealed. "To see the very vehicles
that brought our ancestors to this world."

"A good topic for some quiet reflections, eh, Mas-
ter Robinton?" Oldive asked, with a sly grin on his
face and an emphasis on the quiet.

The Harper made an impatient dismissal of that sug-
gestion.

"Well, sir, you could hardly go there," the Healer

said.

"I cannot," Master Robinton agreed. Then startling
everyone, he suddenly thrust his right arm in the direc-
tion of the Three Sisters. "Zair, the round objects in the
sky? Can you go there?"

Jaxom held his breath, felt the rigidity of Menolly's
body beside him and knew she wasn't breathing either.
He heard Brekke's sharp, quickly muffled cry. Every-
one watched Zair.

The little bronze stretched his head toward Robin-
350

The White Dragon

ton's lips and made a soft quizzical noise in his throat.

"Zair? The Dawn Sisters?" Robinton repeated his
words. "Would you go there?"

Now Zair cocked his head at his friend, clearly not
understanding what was asked of him.

"Zair? The Red Star?"

The effect of that question was instantaneous. Zair
vanished with a squawk of angry fear, and the fire-
lizards nestling by Ruth woke and followed his lead.

"That does seem to answer both questions," F'lar
said.

"What does Ruth say?" Menolly whispered in
Jaxom's ear.

"About the Dawn Sisters? Or Zair?"
"Either."

"He's been asleep," Jaxom replied after consulting
his dragon.

"He would be!"

"So? What did Beauty image before she winked
out?"

"Nothing!"

Despite an evening of earnest debate and discussion,
the humans solved nothing either. Robinton and Wan-
sor would probably have kept the conversation up
all night if Master Oldive hadn't slipped something into
Robinton's wine. No one had actually seen him, but
one moment Master Robinton was arguing forcefully
with Wansor, the next he had wilted at the table. No
sooner was his head down than he began to snore.

"He cannot neglect his health for talking's sake,"
Master Oldive remarked, signaling to the dragonriders
to help him carry the Harper to his bed.

That effectively ended the evening. The dragonrid-
ers returned to their Weyrs, Oldive and Fandarel to
their respective Halls. Wansor remained. A full wing
of dragons could not have dragged him from Cove
Hold.

It had been tactfully decided not to broadcast the
true nature of the Dawn Sisters, at least until such time
as Wansor and other interested starcrafters had had a
chance to study the phenomenon and reach some

35-1

The White Dragon

conclusion that would not alarm people. There'd been
enough shocks of late, F'lar commented. Some might
construe those harmless objects to be a danger, much

as the Red Star was.

"Danger?" Fandarel had exclaimed. "Were there

any danger from those things, we should have known

it many Turns past."

To that, F'lar agreed readily enough but, with every-
one conditioned to believe that disaster fell from sky-

bome things, it was better to be discreet.

F'lar did agree to send anyone who could be spared
from Benden to help search. It was, the Weyrleader
felt, more important than ever to discover just what

this land contained.

As Jaxom pushed his legs into his sleeping blanket,

he tried not to be annoyed with the thought of another
invasion in Cove Hold, just when he thought he and

Sharra would be left alone for a while.

Had she been avoiding him? Or was it simply that

circumstances had intervened? Such as Piemur's pre-
mature arrival in Cove Hold? The worry over Master
Kobinton, the need to explore which left them too tired
to do more than crawl into their furs, the arrival of
half of Pern to complete the Hold for the Harper, then
his arrival, and now this! No, Sharra had not been
avoiding him. She seemed . . . there. Her beautiful rich
laugh, a tone below Menolly's, her face often hidden
by the strands of dark hair which kept escaping thong

and clip...

He wished, intensely, that Cove Hold would not be

overrun again—a wish that did him little good since
he had no control over what was going to happen here.
He was Lord of Ruatha, not of the Cove. If the place
belonged to anyone, it was Master Robinton's and
Menolly's by virtue of their being storm-swept into

it.

Jaxom sighed, his conscience nagging at him. Master

Oldive had rated him fully recovered from the effects
of fire-head. So he could go between. He and Ruth
could return to Ruatha Hold. He ought to return to

The White Dragon

Ruatha Hold. But he didn't want to—and not just
because of Sharra.

It wasn't as if he were needed in Ruatha. Lytol
would manage the Hold as he'd always done. Ruth was
not required to fight Thread either at Ruatha or at
Fort Weyr. Benden had been lenient but F'lar had
made it plain that the white dragon and the young
Lord of Ruatha were not to be at risk.

There had been no prohibition, had there, Jaxom
suddenly realized, to his exploring. In fact no one had
suggested that he ought to return to Ruatha now.

Jaxom took some comfort in that thought, if he took
none at all in the knowledge that tomorrow F'lar would
be sending in riders—riders whose dragons could fly
considerably faster and farther than his Ruth, riders
who'd be able to reach the mountain before him. Rid-
ers who might just discover those traces which Robin-
ton hoped existed somewhere in the interior of the
Southern Continent. Riders who might also see in
Sharra the beauty and gentle warmth of spirit that at-
tracted Jaxom.

He tried, turning on the rushes yet again, to find a
comfortable position, to find sleep. Maybe Robinton's
plan for himself, Sharra, Menolly and Piemur would
not undergo revision. As Piemur constantly reminded
them all, dragons were great for flying over, but you
still had to traverse the ground on foot to really know
it. F'lar and Robinton might well want the dragonriders
to spread out, cover as much territory as possible, and
let the original explorers continue on to the moun-
tain.

Jaxom then admitted to himself that he wanted to
be first to the mountain! That serenely symmetrical
cone had drawn him, sick and fevered, back to the
Cove, had dominated his waking hours and intruded
with nightmarish drama into his dreams. He wanted
to be first to reach it, irrational as the notion might be.

Somewhere in the middle of these reflections, he did
fall asleep. Again those overlapping scenes figured in
his dreams: again the mountain erupted, one whole side
shattering and spewing pulsmgly red-orange flaming




The White Dragon

rocks and hot flows of molten lava down its side. Again
Jaxom was both frightened refugee and dispassionate
observer. Then the red wall began bearing down on
him, so close to his heels that he could feel its hot
breath on his feet...

He woke! The rising sun was slanting through the
trees to caress his right foot which protruded from a
rent in the light blanket. Rising sun!

Jaxom felt for Ruth. His dragon was still asleep in
the clearing for the old shelter where a sandy wallow
had been made to accommodate him.

Jaxom glanced across to Piemur, who slept in a neat
ball, both hands resting under his right cheek. Slipping
out of his bed, Jaxom noiselessly opened the door
and, carrying his sandals, tiptoed out through the
kitchen. Ruth stirred briefly, dislodging a fire-lizard or
two from his back, as Jaxom passed him. Jaxom paused,
struck by some puzzle. He stared at Ruth, then at the
fire-lizards. None of those nestled against his friend
were banded. He must ask Ruth when he woke if the
Southern fire-lizards always slept with him. If they did,
those dreams could be fire-lizard dreams—old mem-
ories triggered by the presence of men! That mountain!
No, from this side a perfect cone appeared to the naked
eye, unblemished by eruptive damage!

As soon as he reached the beach, Jaxom glanced up
to see if he could sight the Dawn Sisters. But it was,
unfortunately, already too late to catch their morning

appearance.

The two viewers, Wansor's carefully covered with
wherhide against morning dew and Idarolan's in its
leather case, were still mounted on their frames.
Grinning at the futility of his action, Jaxom nonetheless
couldn't resist uncovering Wansor's viewer and peering
skyward. He recovered the instrument carefully and
stood looking southeast, toward the mountain.

In his dream the cone had blown out. And there
were two sides to that mountain. Suddenly decisive, he
removed the Seaman's viewer from its case. Though he
might get more definition from Wansor's, he wouldn't
presume to alter that careful focus. Besides, Idarolan's

354

The White Dragon

was strong enough for what he needed. Not that it
could show the damage that Jaxom had half-hoped to
see. Thoughtfully he lowered the instrument. He could
go between now. Further, he was under Master Robin-
ton's orders to explore the Southlands. More important,
he wanted to be first to that mountain!

He laughed. This venture was scarcely as dangerous
as the return of the egg. He and Ruth could go be-
tween and return before anyone in Cove Hold was
aware of their intention. He took the viewer from its
mounting. He'd need this with him. Once he and Ruth
were airborne, he'd have to get a good long look at
the mountain to find a point to which Ruth could move
safely between.

He pivoted on his heel and lurched backward in
surprise. Piemur, Sharra and Menolly were standing in
a row, watching him.

"Do tell. Lord Jaxom, what you saw in the Seaman's
viewer? A mountain, perhaps?" Piemur asked, show-
ing all his teeth in that smug grin.

On Menolly's shoulder. Beauty chirped.

"Did he see enough?" Menolly asked Piemur, ignor-
ing Jaxom.

"I'd say he had!"

"He wouldn't have planned to go without us, would
he?" Sharra asked.

They regarded him with mocking expressions.

"Ruth can't carry four."

None of you are fat. I could manage, Ruth said.

Sharra laughed, covered her mouth to silence the
sound and pointed an accusing finger at him.

"I'll bet anything Ruth just said he could!" she told
the other two.

"I'll bet you're right." Menolly didn't take her eyes
from Jaxom's face. "I think it really is best if you have
some help on this venture." She drawled the last two
words significantly.

"This venture?" Piemur echoed the words, alert as
ever to nuances of speech.

Jaxom clenched his teeth, glaring at her. "You're
sure you could carry four?" he asked Ruth.

3?5




The White Dragon

The dragon emerged on the beach, his eyes glowing
with excitement.

I have had to fly straight for many days now. That
has made me very strong. None of you are heavy.
The distance is not great. We are going to see the
mountain?

"Ruth is obviously willing," Menolly said, "but if
we don't make a move soon . . ." She gestured toward
Cove Hold. "C'mon, Sharra, we'll get the flying gear."

"I'll have to rig flying straps for four."

"Then do it." Menolly and Sharra raced off down
the sand.

Hunting ropes were handiest and Jaxom and Piemur
had them in position when the girls returned with
jackets and helmets. Jaxom hefted the Seaman's viewer
and mentally promised that they'd be back so quickly
that the man wouldn't have had time to notice its dis-
appearance.

Ruth did have to strain to get himself off the beach,
but once airborne, he assured Jaxom that he was fly-
ing easily. He veered southeast as Jaxom focused on
the distant peak. Even at this altitude, he could dis-
cern no damage in the cone. He lowered the viewer
fractionally until, clear and detailed, there was a dis-
tinctive ridge in the foreground of the mountain.

Jaxom asked Ruth if he visualized the objective.
Ruth assured him he could. And took them between
before Jaxom could have second thoughts on this ven-
ture. Abruptly, they were above the ridge, gasping.
Breathless because of the incredible shock of cold be-
tween after months of baking in tropical suns, and be-
cause of the spectacular panorama before them.

As Piemur had once said, distance was deceptive.
The mountain rose on the shoulders of a high plateau
already thousands of dragonlengths above the sea. Far
below them a broad sparkling inlet cut high cliffs:

grassy on the mountain's side, densely forested on
theirs. To the south, a towering range of mountains,
snow-capped and misty in the distance, lay as a bar-
rier east and west.

3?6

The White Dragon

The mountain, still a good distance from them,
dominated the scene.

"Look." Sharra suddenly pointed to their left, sea-
ward. "More volcanoes. Some are smoking!"

Studding the open sea, a long chain of peak tops
bent northeast, some with substantial islands at their
feet, others mere cones poking from the water.

"A loan of the viewer, Jaxom?" Piemur took the in-
strument and peered. "Yes," he replied casually after
a long look, "a couple of them are active. Far out
though. No danger." Then he swung the viewer toward
the barrier range, slowly shaking his head after a mo-
ment. "It could be the same barrier range I -saw in the
west." He sounded dubious. "Take months to get
there! And cold!" He turned the viewer in a short arc.
"Useful thing, this. That water goes deep in-
land. Idarolan could likely sail up if he has a mind
to." He handed the viewer back to Jaxom and stared
ahead at the mountain.

"That is the most beautiful sight," Sharra said on a
long sigh.

"Must be the other side that blew out," Jaxom said,
more to himself than to the others.

"The other side?" Sharra and Menolly spoke at once.
And Jaxom could feel Piemur stiffening behind him.

"Did you dream, too, last night?" Jaxom asked.

"What on earth did you think had awakened us in
time to hear you creeping out?" Menolly asked, a bit
sharply.

"Well, let's go see the other," Piemur said as if he
were merely suggesting a swim.

"Why not?" Sharra replied with the same careless-
ness.

/ would like to see the place of my dreaming, Ruth
said and, without any warning, he dropped from the
ridge height.

Jaxom heard Menolly and Sharra exclaim in surprise
and he was glad that he'd rigged flying straps for them.
Ruth expressed apologies which Jaxom had no time to
relay as the white dragon swooped into a current of
warm air that bore them up and over the broad inlet.

357




The White Dragon

When his flying had leveled, Jaxom used the viewer
and found a distinctive rock formation on the northern
shoulder. He gave Ruth the visualization.

They were between: they were hovering above the
rock formation and the mountain seemed to bend
frighteningly toward them for the space of several
breaths. Ruth recovered his flying speed and veered
further north, beating strongly in a wide arc toward
the eastern face of the mountain.

Momentarily they were all blinded by the full bril-
liance of the rising sun which had been occluded by
the mountain's bulk. Ruth shifted to a southerly head-
ing. Before them lay the most incredible sweep of land
that Jaxom had ever seen—far broader, and deeper
than Telgar's flatlands, or the desert of Igen. His eyes
were drawn quickly from that spectacular vista to the
mountain.

The view was suddenly all too familiar to Jaxom,
the product of so many uneasy nights and unfocused
dreams. The eastern lip of the mountain was gone!
The gaping mouth seemed to snarl^ its left-hand comer
pulled down. Jaxom's eyes followed that line and he
saw, crouching on the southeastern flank, three more
volcano mouths, like malevolent offspring of the larger.
The lava flowed down, south, toward the rolling plains.

Ruth continued to glide instinctively away from the
mountain, toward the kinder valley.

As much as Jaxom had admired and feasted his eyes
on the northern aspect of that volcano, now he turned
from the malevolent teeth of the blown side, the side of
his nightmares.

Jaxom all but anticipated Ruth's words: This place
I know. They say this is where their men were!

Out of the sun, fairs of fire-lizards dove and veered
out of Ruth's flightline. Beauty, Meer, Talla and Farii,
who had ridden their friends' shoulders to this incredi-
ble place, took off to join the newcomers.

"Look, Jaxom! Look down!" Piemur yelled in his
ear while tugging at his shoulder and pointing franti-
cally to a spot below Ruth's left foreleg. The early
sun threw the outlines in bold relief. Regular outlines,

3?8

The White Dragon

mounds, and then straight lines dissecting, forming
curious squares where no such regular formations
should be.

"That's what Master Robinton is looking for!" He
grinned back over his shoulder at Piemur, who had
turned to attract the girls' attention to the ground.

Then Jaxom gasped, pressuring Ruth with his legs to
turn northeast. He felt Piemur clutch at his shoulders
as the Harper, too, saw what he'd seen. Where the haze
from the distant smoking volcanoes in the sea was
joined by a gray haze from the skies—Thread!

"Thread!"

Thread! Before Jaxom could direct him, Ruth had
taken them smartly between. In the next instant they
were hovering above the Cove, its beaches accommo-
dating the bulks of five dragons. Master Idarolan's
fishermen were scurrying from shore to ship, placing
slates on a frame rigged to protect the wooden decks
from Threadfall!

Canth asks where have we been? I must chew fire-
stone immediately. The fire-lizards are to help protect
the ship. Everyone is annoyed with us. Why?

Jaxom asked Ruth to land them near the firestone
pile on the beach and to start chewing.

"I've got to find Stupid!" Piemur dropped to the sand
and was off in a run toward the forest.

"Give me Master Idarolan's viewer," Menolly said
to Jaxom. "I got a look at his face and though I don't
say it's his viewer he's angry about..."

"I'll brave the storm in Cove Hold," Sharra told
Jaxom, grinning at him and gripping his arm in reas-
surance. "Don't look so depressed! I know I wouldn't
have missed this morning's jaunt. Not even if I get
scolded by Lessa."

We have been exploring south as we were told to do
by the Harper! Ruth announced suddenly, lifting his
head and staring in the direction of the other dragons.
We are back here in time to fight Thread. We have
done nothing wrong.

Jaxom flinched, surprised at the determination in
Ruth's tone, particularly since Jaxom was certain the

3?9

The White Dragon

white dragon was answering Canth since the brown
dragon was looking in their direction and his eyes
were whirling. Jaxom saw Lioth next to Canth, Monarth
and two other Benden browns whom he did not know
on sight.

Yes, I will fly across your pattern, Ruth said, again
responding to words Jaxom didn't hear. As 1 have
done before. I have enough stone to flame. Thread is
nearly on the Cove.

He craned his neck toward Jaxom, and his rider
sprang to his neck, truly relieved that the imminence
of Thread delayed a confrontation with either F'nor
or N'ton. Not, Jaxom realized, that he was in the wrong
with either rider.

We have done what the Harper told us to do, Ruth
said as he launched himself into the sky. No one told
us not to fly to the mountain today. I am glad we did.
I will not be bothered with dreams now that I have
seen the place. Then Ruth added with some surprise:

Brekke does not think you are strong enough to fly
Thread the first day you are allowed between. You
are to tell me if you tire!

Nothing would have induced Jaxom to admit fatigue
after that, had they flown the entire four-hour Fall.
As it was, they met Thread three coves east. Met and
destroyed it, Ruth and Jaxom weaving over, under,
through the other five who set the triangle pattern east
and west. Jaxom hoped that Piemur had got Stupid
to safety. After a moment, Ruth replied that Farii said
the beast was on the porch of Cove Hold. She was
ready to flame any Thread that attacked the Hold.

Jaxom noticed, as they wheeled above the Cove it-
self, that the tall masts of the Dawn Sister seemed
to have sprouted fire and then realized that it must be
the other fire-lizards protecting the ship. There seemed
to be rather a lot of them flaming! Had the Southerners
joined forces with the banded ones? Had they decided
for some reason to help men?

He hadn't time for more speculation in the dive,
swoop and flame of Threadfall. He was very tired by
the time the silver rain had dwindled to nothing and

360

The White Dragon

Canth bugled return. Ruth swept east and Jaxom saw
F'nor give the signal: Well done. Then they glided
back to the Cove.

Jaxom landed Ruth on the narrower portion of the
western beach to allow the bigger dragons more space.
He slid from Ruth's back, thumping the sweat-
dampened neck, sneezing when the reek of firestone
blew in his face. Ruth gave a little cough.

/ am getting better and better at chewing. No flame
left. He raised his head then, looking toward Canth,
who had landed near them. Why is F'nor annoyed?
We have flown well. No Thread escaped us. Ruth
craned his neck back at his rider, his eyes beginning
to whirl faster, flicks of yellow appearing. / do not
understand. He snorted once, the firestone fumes mak-
ing Jaxom cough.

"Jaxom! I want a word with you!"

F'nor strode across the sand to him, unbelting his
jacket and stripping off his helmet in sharp angry ges-
tures.

"Yes?"

"Where were the lot of you this morning? Why did
you leave with no word to anyone? What have you to
say for yourself arriving so close to Thread? Did you
forget Thread was due today?"

Jaxom regarded F'nor. The brown rider's face was
suffused with anger and fatigue. The same cold rage
that had erupted within Jaxom that day so long ago in
his own Hold began to possess him. He straightened
his shoulders and raised his head higher. His eyes were
level with F'nor's, a fact he had not previously noted.
He could not, he would not, permit himself to lose
control of his temper as he had that morning in
Ruatha.

"We were ready for Thread when it fell, brown
rider," he responded calmly. "My duty as the rider of
a dragon was to protect Cove Hold. I did. My pleasure
and privilege was to fly with Benden." He gave a slight
bow and had the satisfaction of seeing the anger in
F'nor's face give way to surprise. "I'm sure the others
have by now reported to Master Robinton what we

361




The White Dragon

discovered this morning. Into the water with you,
Ruth. I'll be glad to answer all your questions, F'nor,
when I've cleaned Ruth up." He gave F'nor, who was
staring at him in honest amazement, a second bow and
then stripped off hot and sweaty flying gear, leaving
on only the shortened trousers that were more suitable
to the heat.

F'nor was still staring at him when he ran and dove
neatly into the water, coming up beside his wallowing
white friend.

Ruth twisted, blowing water in a fountain above his
head, his half-lidded eyes gleaming greenly just under
the surface.

Canth says that F'nor is confused. What did you say
that confuses a brown rider?

"What he didn't expect to hear from a white rider.
I can't wash you when you're rolling over all the time."

You are angry. You will tear my hide scrubbing so
hard.

"I am angry. Not at you."

Should we go to our lake? Ruth's question was ten-
tative and he turned his head toward his rider in an
anxious manner.

"What do we need with a freezing lake when we've
an entire warm ocean? I'm just annoyed with F'nor.
It isn't as if I were still sick, or a child that needed a
guardian. I've fought Thread with you, and without
you. If I'm old enough to do that, I don't need to ac-
count for any of my movements to any one for any
reason."

/ forgot that Thread would fall today!

Jaxom couldn't help but laugh at Ruth's humble ad-
mission.

"So did I. But don't you ever let on to anyone."

Fire-lizards descended now to assist, needing a bit
of scrub themselves to judge by the reek their wet
hides exuded. They scolded Ruth much more unkindly
than Jaxom did if he wallowed too deeply in the waves
when they wanted to rinse him. Among the fair were
Meer, Talla and Farli. Jaxom bent to his task. He was
tired but he decided that as long as he kept himself

362

The White Dragon

going, he'd be able to finish bathing Ruth. Then he'd
have all afternoon to rest.

He didn't. He also didn't have to bathe Ruth all by
himself because Sharra joined him.

"Would you like me to take the other side again?"
she asked as she waded up to him.

"I'd appreciate it no end," he said with a grin and
sigh.

She tossed him a handled brush. "Brekke brought
these with her. Thought they'd help clean dragons, and
things. Good stiff bristles. You'll like that, won't you,
Ruth?"

She scooped handsful of sand from the cove floor,
dribbling the wet stuff on Ruth's neck and then apply-
ing the brush with vigor. Ruth whistled through the
water with pleasure.

"What happened to you while I was fighting
Thread?" he asked her, pausing before attacking Ruth's
rump.

"Menolly's still answering questions." Sharra re-
garded him over Ruth's recumbent body, her eyes
dancing, her smile full of mischief. "She talked so fast
he couldn't interrupt, and she was still talking when I
left. I didn't realize anyone could outtalk the Master
Harper. Anyway, he stopped fuming very early on.
Did you get scorched by F'nor?"

"We exchanged ... opinions."

"I'll just bet you did the way Brekke was carrying
on. I told her that you'd got pretty fit while she was
away. She acted as if you'd risen from your deathbed
to ride Fall!" Sharra made a scornful sound.

Jaxom leaned over Ruth's back, grinning at her,
thinking how pretty she was with the mischief in her
eyes, and beads of water on her face where Ruth had
splashed her. She glanced up at him, raising one eye
in query.

"Did we really see what I thought we saw this morn-
ing, Sharra?"

"We surely did!" She pointed her brush at him, her
expression severe. "And you're very lucky that we
were along to vouch because I don't think anyone

363

The White Dragon

would have believed just you." She paused, the twinkle
back in her eyes. "I'm not entirely sure they believe

us anyhow."

"Who doesn't believe us?"

"Master Robinton, Master Wansor and Brekke.
Weren't you listening to me?"

"No," he said, grinning, "I was looking at you."

"Jaxom!"
He laughed as the blush deepened the tan on her

face and neck.

/ have a severe itch where you are leaning against

me, Jaxom.

"There now, you see?" Sharra said, slapping his
hand with the bristles. "You're neglecting Ruth in a
shocking fashion."

"How'd you know Ruth was speaking to me?"

"Your face always gives you away."

"Say, where's the Dawn Sister going?" Jaxom
asked, noticing the ship, her sails billowing out in the
breeze, standing out to sea.

"Fishing, of course. Threadfall always brings out
schools. And our escapade this morning is going to
bring people down here in droves. We'll need the fish

to feed 'em."

Jaxom groaned, closing his eyes and shaking his

head in dismay.

"That . . ." Sharra paused for emphasis, "is our
punishment for the unauthorized jaunt this morning."

They were both dumped into the water as Ruth
unexpectedly lunged out.

"Ruth!"

My friends are coming! The white dragon bugled
happily as Jaxom saw, bleary-eyed from the ducking,
a half-wing of dragons appearing in the sky.

There is Ramoth and Mnementh, Tiroth, Gyamath,
Branth, Orth ...

"All the Weyrleaders, Sharra!"

She was spitting and choking over the water she'd

swallowed.

"Great!" She didn't sound happy. "My brush!" She
began searching about her.

The White Dragon

And Path, Golanth, Drenth and he's here on our
watchdragon!

"There's Lytol! Stand still, Ruth. We've still got your
tail to clean."

/ must give a proper greeting to my friends, Ruth
replied, pulling his tail out of Jaxom's grasp to sit up
on his haunches and warble to the second group of
dragonriders appearing over the Cove.

"He may not be clean," Sharra said with some acer-
bity as she began to wring her long hair dry, "but I
am."

7 am clean enough. My friends will want to swim,
too.

"Don't count on another swim, Ruth. It's going
to be a busy day!"

"Jaxom, did you get a chance to eat anything yet?"
Sharra asked. When he shook his head, she grabbed
his hand. "C'mon, quickly, the back way, before some-
one catches us."

He paused long enough on the shore to collect his
flying gear, then they both ran up the old path to the
kitchen entrance of Cove Hold. Sharra breathed an
exaggerated sigh of relief to discover the place empty.
Ordering him to sit, she poured a cup of klah, and
served him slices of fruit and warm cereal from the
pot on the back of the warming hearth.

They both heard the calls and exclamations from
the new arrivals, Robinton's deep baritone dominating
as he called greetings from the porch.

Jaxom half-rose from his bench, gulping down an-
other mouthful, but Sharra pushed him back.

"They'll find you soon enough. Eat!"

"Ruth is on the beach," Lytol's voice was audible
suddenly, "but I don't see Jaxom anywhere ..."

"I know he's about . . ." Robinton began.

A bronze arrow whizzed into the kitchen, cluttered
and zipped away.

"He's through that door, Lytol, in the kitchen,"
Robinton said with a laugh.

"I could almost agree with Lessa," Jaxom said in a
mutter of disgust. He scraped a huge spoonful out of




The White Dragon

his bowl, cramming it into his mouth. He had to rise,
catching the overflow at the comers of his mouth as
Lytol came striding in.

"Sorry, sir," Jaxom mumbled through his food. "Had
no breakfast!"

Lytol stood, his eyes so intent that Jaxom grinned in
nervous embarrassment. He wondered if Lytol could
already know of his excursion that morning.

"You look a great deal better than when I last saw
you, lad. Good day to you, Sharra." His greeting was
absent-minded courtesy as he crossed the remaining
distance to clasp Jaxom's arm strongly in his. A smile
pulled at his lips before he stepped back. "You're
tanned, you look fit. Now what is this trouble you cre-
ated today?"

"Create it? Me? No, sir." Jaxom couldn't help grin-
ning now. Lytol was delighted, not annoyed. "That
mountain's been there a long time. I didn't create it
But I did want to see it, close up, first!"

"Jaxom!" The Harper's bellow was impossible to ig-
nore.

"Sir?"

"Come here, Jaxom!"

In the hours that followed, Jaxom was grateful that
Sharra had thought to feed him breakfast. He didn't
get much time for more food. The moment he entered
the main Hall, questions were thrown at him by the
Weyrleaders and Craftmasters assembled. Piemur had
been very busy during Fall because Master Robinton
had already completed a sketch of the southeastern
face of the mountain to show the incredulous visitors, j
and a rough, small-scale map of this section of South- j
em. From the almost rhythmic way Menolly described
their jaunt, Jaxom decided she had already repeated
the account many times.

What Jaxom remembered most of that session was
feeling sorry that the Master Harper was unable to see
the mountain first hand. But, if Jaxom had waited until
Master Oldive permitted the Harper to fly between. ..

"I know you've just flown Fall, Jaxom, but if you'd

366

The White Dragon

just give Mnementh the visualization . . ." F'lar began.

N'ton burst out laughing, pointing to Jaxom. "The
look on your face, lad. F'lar, he's got to lead us! Give
him that!"

So Jaxom got back into slightly damp flying gear
and roused Ruth from his sandy baking. Ruth was
pleased enough with the honor of leading the bronzes
of Pern, but Jaxom could barely contain behind a com-
posed expression the thrill he was experiencing. Jaxom
and the white dragon, leading the most important peo-
ple on Pem.

He could have asked Ruth to jump directly to the
southeastern side of the Two-Faced Mountain, his
private designation. Somehow he wanted everyone to
experience the full impact of those two sides—the
benign and beautiful.

From the expressions on the riders' faces as they set-
tled briefly on the ridge, he could see that he had
achieved the desired effect. He allowed them time to
sight the Barrier Range, glistening in the sun, ragged
white teeth on the horizon. He gestured seaward where
neither morning mists nor Thread now obscured the tail
of volcanoes snaking northeasterly out into the sea,
smoke just curling from the curve of the world in that
direction.

At his request, Ruth soared across the inlet as he
had done before, climbing high before he gave the co-
ordinates of the next jump between. They came out
above the broad expanse of the southeastern side of
Two-Face, as dramatic an approach as anyone could
have wished.

Mnementh suddenly surged into the fore and, as
Ruth relayed to Jaxom, said that they should land.
Politely, Ruth and Jaxom circled as the great bronze
settled near the intersection of some of the regular
lines, as far as possible from the three secondary
cones. One by one the great bronze dragons of Pem
settled in the grassy sward, their riders and passengers
striding through the tall waving grasses to join F'lar,
who had hunkered down to dig with his belt knife into
the edge of one of those curious lines.

.367




The White Dragon

"Covered with Turns of blow dirt and old grasses,"
he said, giving up his attempt.

"Volcanoes often blow out quantities of ash," T'bor
of the High Reaches said. He would know since quite
a few old volcanoes were in Tiliek which was beholden
to the High Reaches Weyr. "If all those mountains
blew at once, there'd be half a length of ash before
you'd reach anything."

For a split second, Jaxom thought they were being
threatened with ash. Sunlight was blotted out and a
Chittering, fluttering mass swooped down, almost touch-
ing Mnementh's head before the hundred fire-lizards
lifted up again.

Amid shouts of consternation and surprise, Jaxom
heard Ruth's announcement.

They are happy. Men have returned to them!

"Ask them about the three mountains, Ruth? Do
they remember the mountains blowing up?"

There was no doubt they did. Suddenly there wasn't
an unhanded fire-lizard in the sky.

They remember the mountains, Ruth said. They re-
member fire in the air and fire crawling on the ground.
They are afraid of the mountains. Men were afraid
of the mountains.

Menolly came running up to Jaxom, her face con-
torted with concern- "Did Ruth ask those fire-lizards
about the mountains? Beauty and the others just had a
fit. About those blasted mountains."

F'lar came striding up to them. "Menolly? What was
all that fuss with the fire-lizards? I didn't see any
banded ones. Were they all Southern ones?"

"Of course men were here. They're not telling us
anything we didn't know. But for them to say they re-
membered?" F'lar was scornful. "I could accept your
finding D'ram in the Cove with their aid ... but that
was only a matter of twenty-five Turns in the past.
But . . ." For want of appropriate expression of his
skepticism, F'lar merely gestured at the dead volcanoes
and the long-covered traces of a settlement.

"Two points, F'lar," Menolly said, boldly contradict-
ing the Benden Weyrleader, "no fire-lizard in this

368

The White Dragon

time knew the Red Star, but they were, nonetheless, all
afraid of it. They also . . ." Menolly paused, and
Jaxom was certain she had been about to bring up the
fire-lizard dreams about Ramoth's egg. He hastily in-
terrupted.

"Fire-lizards must be able to remember, F'lar. Ever
since I've been in the Cove, I've been troubled with
dreams. At first I thought it was leftovers from fire-
head fever. The other night I found out that Sharra
and Piemur have had similar nightmares . . . about
the mountain. This side of it, not the one facing the
Cove."

"Ruth always sleeps with fire-lizards at night,
F'lar," Menolly said, pressing their case. "He could be
relaying those dreams to Jaxom! And our fire-lizards
to us!"

F'lar nodded, as if granting them this possibility.

"And last night your dreams were more vivid than
ever?"

"Yes, sir!"

F'lar began to chuckle, looking from Menolly to
Jaxom. "So this morning you decided to see if there
was any substance to the dreams?"

"Yes, sir!"

"All right, Jaxom." F'lar thumped him good-
nature^dly on the back. "I suppose I can't blame you.
I'd have done the same thing given the opportunity.
Now, what do you . . . and those precious fire-lizards
of yours ... suggest we do now?"

"I am no fire-lizard, F'lar, but I would dig," the
Mastersmith said, striding up to them. His face was
aglow with perspiration, his hands grass and dirt-
stained. "We must dig beneath the grass and soil. We
must find out how they managed to make lines straight
as rules that last Turn after Turn. Why did they build
in mounds, if that's what those things are. Dig, that's
what we must do" He pivoted slowly, staring about him
at the desultory digging efforts of some of the dragon-
riders. "Fascinating. Utterly fascina|:ing!" The Smith
beamed. "With your permission, I will ask Masterminer
Nicat for some of his craftmasters. We will need skilled

369




The White Dragon

diggers. Also I promised Robinton that I would return
immediately and tell him what I have seen with my
own eyes."

"I'd like to go back, too, F'lar," Menolly said. "Mas-
ter Robinton is in a swivet. Zair's been here twice.
He must be impatient."

"I'll take them back, F'lar," Jaxom said. Suddenly
he was as possessed by an irrational desire to leave as
he had been eager to come that morning.

F'lar would not permit Ruth to carry weight again,
not after the morning's excursion and Threadfall. He
sent Master Fandarel and Menolly back to Cove Hold
with F'lessan and Golanth, with instructions to the
young bronze rider to take the Mastersmith wherever
he wished to go. If he was surprised at Jaxom's wish
to return, he gave no sign.

He and Ruth were away before the Smith and
Menolly had mounted Golanth. They returned to a
Cove delightfully empty of people. The warm, sultry
air, after the cooler, clear atmosphere of the Plateau,
was like an enveloping blanket, enervating Jaxom. He
took advantage of his unremarked return and let Ruth
take them to his clearing. It was cooler there and, when
Ruth had settled himself, Jaxom gratefully curled up
in the dragon's forearms. He was asleep in two breaths.

A touch on his shoulder roused him. His* flying
jacket had fallen from his shoulder and he felt chilly.

"I said I'd wake him, Mirrim," he heard Sharra say,
her tone one of annoyance.

"Does it matter? Here, Jaxom, I've brought you
some klah! Master Robinton wants to talk to you.
You've slept all afternoon. We couldn't figure out where
you'd got to."

Jaxom muttered under his breath, wishing with all
his heart that Mirrim would go away. He resented her
implication that he hadn't any right to sleep in the
afternoon.

"Come on, Jaxom. I know you're awake."

"You're wrong. I'm half asleep." Jaxom indulged in
a massive yawn before he opened his eyes. "Go away,
Mirrim. Tell Master Robinton I'll be in directly."

The White Dragon

"He wants you now!"

"He'll get me a lot sooner if you go tell him I'm
coming. Now, get out of here!"

Mirrim gave him one more long hard look, brushed
past Sharra and stomped up the stairs to the kitchen.

"You are my true friend, Sharra," Jaxom said. "Mir-
rim irritates me so! Menolly told me that once Path
had flown, she'd improve. I haven't noticed any sign."

Sharra was peering at Ruth, who was still fast
asleep, not even an eyelid twitching.

"I know what you're going to ask . . ." Jaxom said
with a laugh, holding up a hand to forestall her words.
"No, nary a dream."

"Nary a fire-lizard either." She smiled at him, shak-
ing her head and retying her hair thong. "You were
smart to come here and rest. There's none up at the
Hall. Fire-lizards popping in and out, from Cove to the
plateau, nearly hysterical! No one can make any sense
out of what ours say or the Southern ones tell them.
And it's not as if some of the Southern ones hadn't
known we were here."

"And Master Robinton thinks Ruth can sort it all
out?"

"He just might." She regarded the sleeping white
dragon thoughtfully. "Poor darling, he's exhausted with
all he's done today." Her rich voice was a tender
croon and Jaxom could have wished her words included
him. She saw him looking at her and flushed a little.
"I'm so glad we got there first!"

"So'ml!"

"Jaxom!"

At Mirrim's shout, she moved back hastily.

"Scorch her!"

He grabbed Sharra's hand and ran with her toward
the Hold, nor did he relinquish her hand when they
entered the main Hall.

"Was I asleep an afternoon or a whole day?" Jaxom
asked her in an undertone as he saw maps, charts,
sketches and diagrams pinned on the walls and propped
up on tables.

The Harper, his back to them, was bending over the




The White Dragon

long dining table. Piemur was occupied in sketching
something; Menolly was looking at whatever absorbed
the Harper, and Mirrim stood at one side, bored and
irritated. Fire-lizards peered down from the crossbeams.
Every now and then, one would flick out of the
room and another would swoop in the window to take
its place. An aroma of roasting fish filled the air as a
sea breeze began to clear away the day's heat.

"Brekke's going to be furious with us," Jaxom said
to Sharra.

"With us? Why? We're keeping him completely oc-
cupied at a sedentary task."

"Stop mumbling, Sharra. Jaxom, come over here
and add your mark to what the others have told me,"
Robinton said, skewing his body about to frown at
them.

"Sir, Piemur, Menolly and Sharra have done a lot
more exploring than I have."

"Yes, but they don't have Ruth and his way with
fire-lizards. Can he help us sort out their conflicting
and confusing images?"

"I'm certainly willing to help. Master Robinton,"
Jaxom said, "but I think you might be asking more of
Ruth and those fire-lizards than they can dp."

Master Robinton straightened up. "If you'd ex-
plain?"

"Granted that the fire-lizards seem to share violent
mutual experiences like . . ." Jaxom pointed in the di-
rection of the Red Star, "and Canth's fall, and now, of
course, the mountain. But these are all momentous
events . .. not everyday routine."

"You did locate D'ram here in the Cove," Robinton

said.

"And lucky at that. If I'd asked about men first,
we'd never have got an answer," Jaxom replied with

a grin.

"There was scarcely more detail to go on in your

first venture."

"Sir?" Jaxom stared in stunned amazement because
the Harper's drawl had been so deceptively mild, with
just a slight emphasis on "first," yet the implication

372

The White Dragon

had been unmistakable; somehow the Harper knew
Jaxom had rescued the egg. Jaxom shot an accusing
glance at Menolly, whose expression was slightly per-
plexed as if the Harper's subtle reference surprised
her, too.

"Come to think of it, I had much the same informa-
tion from Zair," Master Robinton continued smoothly,
"but not the wit to interpret it as cleverly as you did.
My compliments, however belated," he inclined his
head and went on as swiftly as if this were just some
passing matter, "on the way you handled the feat. Now,
if you and Ruth can turn your fine perceptions to
today's problem, we can save ourselves endless hours
of vain effort. As before, Jaxom, time is against us.
This Plateau," Robinton tapped the sketches before
him, "cannot remain a secret. It is the heritage of
everyone on Pern—"

"But it's in the east. Master Robinton, which is to be
dragonrider land," Mirrim said, her tone almost bel-
ligerent.

"Of course it is, my dear child," the Harper said
soothingly. "Now if Ruth could charm the fire-lizards
enough to focus their memories ..."

"I'll certainly try, Master Robinton," Jaxom said
when the Harper regarded him. expectantly, "but you
know how they are about ..." and he pointed sky-
ward. "They're nearly as incoherent about the erup-
tion."

"As Sharra put it, the dream eye is unfocused,"
Menolly said, grinning at her friend.

"My point exactly," the Harper said, bringing the
flat of his hand down hard on the table. "If Jaxom,
through Ruth, can sharpen the focus, maybe those of
us with fire-lizards can get distinct and helpful images
from their minds, instead of this confusion of per-
spective."

"Why?" Jaxom asked. "We know the mountain
erupted. We know the settlement had to be abandoned,
that the survivors came north ..."

"There's a lot we don't know, and we might find
some answers, perhaps even some equipment left

.373.




The White Dragon

behind, just as the enlarging viewer was left in those
deserted rooms at Benden Weyr. Look how that instru-
ment has improved our understanding of our world and
the heavens above us. Maybe even some models of
those fascinating machines the old Records mention."
He pulled the sketches over the map. "There are a lot
of mounds, great and small, long and short. Some
would have been for sleeping, storage, general living:

some quite likely workhalls . .."

"How do we even know that the ancients did things
the way we do?" Mirrim demanded, "storage, and
workhalls and such."

"Because, my dear child, neither human nature nor
human needs have changed since the earliest Records
we have."

"That doesn't mean they left anything in the mounds
when they left the Plateau," Mirrim said, frankly
dubious.

"The dreams have been consistent in some details,"
Robinton said with more patience for Mirrim's ob-
structionism than Jaxom would have accorded him.
"The fiery mountain, the molten rock and lava raining
down. People running . . ." He paused, looking ex-
pectantly at the others.

"People in a panic!" Sharra said. "They wouldn't
have had time to take anything with them. Or very
little!"

"They could have come back after the worst of the
eruption was over," Menolly said. "Remember that
time in western Tiliek—"

"That's precisely what I had in mind," the Harper
said, nodding approval.

"But, Master," Menolly went on, confused, "the ash
spewed out of that volcano for weeks. The valley was
eventually level with ash," she made a flat gesture with
her hand, "and you could see nothing of what had
been there for the debris."

"The prevailing wind on that plateau is southeast,
and strong," Piemur said, and his gesture was one of
sweeping clear. "Didn't you notice how strong it is?"

"That's precisely why something was left for us to

The White Dragon

see from the air," the Harper said. "I know it's just an
off-chance, Jaxom, but my feeling is that the eruption
caught the ancients completely unaware. Why, I can't
comprehend. Surely people who could hold the Dawn
Sisters in the sky in a stationary position for who
knows how many Turns ought to be wise enough to
identify an active volcano. My surmise is that the erup-
tion was spontaneous, totally unexpected. The people
were caught going about their daily tasks in cot, hold,
crafthall. If you can get Ruth to focus those disparate
views, perhaps we could identify which of the mounds
were important from the numbers of people coming
from it, or them.

"I am not able to get to the Plateau to do my own
exploring, but nothing prevents my brain from suggest-
ing possibilities of what I'd do if I were there."
"We'll be your hands and legs," Jaxom offered.
"They'll be your eyes," Menolly added, gesturing to
the fire-lizards on the crossbeams.

"I thought you'd see it my way," the Harper said,
beaming fondly on them all.

"When would you like us to try?" Jaxom asked.
"Would tomorrow be too soon?" the Harper asked
plaintively.

"All right by me. Piemur, Menolly, Sharra, I'll need
you and your fire-lizards!"

"I can arrange to come, too," Mirrim said.
Jaxom caught Sharra's closed expression and real-
ized that Mirrim's presence would be as unwelcome to
her as to himself.

"I don't think that would work, Mirrim. Path would
scare the Southern fire-lizards away!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Jaxom," Mirrim replied,
brushing aside that argument.

"He's right, Mirrim. Look out in the Cove right now.
Not a single fire-lizard that isn't banded," Menolly
said. "They all disappear the minute they see any
Other dragon but Ruth."

"It's ridiculous. I have three of the best-trained fire-
lizards in Pern..."

"I must agree with Jaxom," the Harper said, smiling

The White Dragon

with sincere apology to the Benden dragongirl. "And,
though I quite agree that yours are undoubtedly the
best-trained fire-lizards in Pern, we don't have time for
the Southern ones to get used to Path."

"Path needn't be in evidence—"

"Mirrim, the decision has been made," Robinton
said firmly, with no trace of a smile now.

"Well, that's plain enough. Since I'm not needed
here .. ." She stalked out of the hall.

Jaxom noticed the Harper's gaze following her, and
he felt acutely embarrassed by her display of tempera-
ment. He could see that Menolly was also disturbed.

"Is her Path proddy today?" the Harper asked
Menolly quietly.

"I don't think so. Master Robinton."

Zair chittered on the Harper's shoulder and his ex-
pression changed to chagrin. "Brekke's come back. I
was supposed to rest."

He half-ran out of the hall, turning briefly at the
door to put his finger to his lips as he quickly ducked
into his room. Piemur, his expression bland, took a step
sideways to fill the space so precipitously vacated. Fire-
lizards zipped into the room. Jaxom spotted Berd and
Grail.

"Master Robinton really should have rested,"
Menolly said, nervously twitching sketches across the
table surface.

"He wasn't exerting himself," Piemur pointed out.
"This sort of thing is bread and meat to him. He was
going out of his skull with boredom and with Brekke
fussing over him when you weren't. It isn't as if he was
up on the Plateau, digging about..."

"I told you, Brekke," F'nor said, his voice carry-
ing from the porch as he and his weyrmate mounted
the last step, "you worried for no reason at all."

"Menolly, how long has Master Robinton been
resting?" Brekke asked, coming right up to the table.

"Half a skinful," Piemur replied, grinning as he
pointed to the wine on the back of the chair, "and he
went without a protest."

Brekke gave the young harper a long and searching

376

The White Dragon

look. "I wouldn't trust you for a moment, Harper Pie-
mur." Then she looked at Jaxom. "Have you been here
all afternoon, too?"

"Me? No indeed. Ruth and I slept until Mirrim woke
us."

"Where is Mirrim?" F'nor asked, glancing about.

"She's outside somewhere," replied Menolly in a
voice so devoid of tone that Brekke glanced at her
apprehensively.

"Has Mirrim been . . ." Brekke pressed her lips in
a thin, disapproving line. "Drat that girl!" She looked
up at Berd, and he immediately darted from the hall.

F'nor was bending over the maps now, shaking bis
head with pleased surprise.

"You lot work like twenty, don't you?" He grinned
at all of them.

"Well, this part of the twenty has done quite enough
work," Piemur said, stretching his arms until his joints
cracked. "I want a swim, to wash the sweat from my
brow, and the ink from my fingers. Anyone coming?"

Jaxom's acceptance was as enthusiastic as the two
girls' and, with F'nor's jocular complaint about being
deserted ringing in their ears, they all made for the
beach. Jaxom managed to grab Menolly by the hand
as Sharra and Piemur pelted around the bend.

"Menolly, how did Master Robinton know?"

She'd been laughing as they raced down the path,
but now her eyes darkened.

"I didn't tell him, Jaxom. I didn't have to. I don't
know when he figured it out. But the facts all point
to you."

"How?"

She-ticked off reasons on her fingers. "To start with,
a dragon had to return the egg. Only way. Prefer-
ably a dragon who was totally familiar with Benden
Hatching Ground. The dragon had to be ridden by
someone who wanted earnestly to return that egg, and
who could find it!" The last qualification seemed to be
the most important. "More people will figure out it was
you now."

"Why now?"

377




The White Dragon

"No one in the Southern Weyr returned Ramofh's
egg." Menolly smiled up at Jaxom, and put her hand
to his cheek, giving him an affectionate slap. "I was
so proud of you, Jaxom, when I realized what you
and Ruth had managed to do! Prouder even because
you didn't noise it about. And it was so critical just
then for Benden to believe that a Southern rider had
relented and restored Ramoth's egg ..."

"Hey, Jaxom, Menolly, c'mon!" Piemur's roar dis-
tracted them.

"Race you?" Menolly said, turning and dashing for
the beach.

They weren't to have much time for their swim. Mas-
ter Idarolan's ship reappeared, the blue full-catch pen-
nant flying from its foremast. Brekke called them to
help gut enough fish for the evening's meal. She wasn't
certain how many of those now at the Plateau would
return to Cove Hold for dinner but cooked fish could
be served in rolls the next day, she said, cheerfully ig-
noring the protests. She sent Mirrim off with supplies
for Master Wansor and N'ton, who planned to make
an evening of star-watching or, as Piemur said irrev-
erently, the Dusk-Dawn and Midnight Sisters.

"And what do you bet Mirrim tries to stay there the
night, too, to see if Path does keep away the Southern
fire-lizards?" Piemur asked, a slightly malicious grin
on his face.

"Mirrim does have well-trained fire-lizards," Men-
olly said.

"And they sound just like her when they scold
everyone else's friends," Piemur added.

"Now that's not fair," Menolly said. "Mirrim's a
good friend of mine ..."

"And as her best friend you ought to explain to her
that she can't manage everyone on Pern!"

As Menolly prepared to take umbrage, dragons be-
gan popping into the air over the Cove, and with their
bugling no one could hear anything else.

The dragons were not the only ones in good moods,
An atmosphere of intense excitement and expectation
pervaded the evening.

378

The White Dragon

Jaxom was grateful for his afternoon's nap, for he
wouldn't have missed that evening. All seven Weyr-
leaders were there, D'ram with some private news for
F'lar's ears about the affairs in the Southern Weyr, and
N'ton, who stayed only part of the evening since he
was sky-watching with Wansor. There were also Mas-
tercraftsmen Nicat, Fandarel, Idarolan, Robinton, and
Lord Lytol.

To Jaxom's surprise, the three Oldtimer Weyrleaders,
G'narish of Igen, R'mart of Telgar and D'ram now of
Southern, were less interested in what might lie hidden
in the settlement than N'ton, T'bor, G'dened and F'lar.
The Oldtimers were far more eager to explore the
broad lands and the distant range than dig to unearth
their past.

"That is past," R'mart of Telgar said. "Past, dead,
and very much buried. We have to live in the present,
a trick, mind you, F'lar, that you taught us." He
grinned to remove any sting from what he said. "Be-
sides, wasn't it you, Flar, who suggested that it's use-
less to muddle our brains thinking how the ancients
did things . . . that it's better to build for ourselves
what is useful for our times and Turn?"

F'lar grinned, amused to have his words returned.
"I suppose I'm hoping that we'll find undamaged
records somewhere, filling in the holes in what came
down to us. Maybe even another useful item like the
enlarger viewer we discovered in Benden Weyr."

"Look where that got us!" R'mart exclaimed,
whooping with laughter.

"Undamaged instruments would be invaluable,"
Fandarel said, very solemn.

"We might just find you some. Master Robinton,"
Nicat said thoughtfully, "because only one section of
that settlement sustained much damage." He had every-
one's attention. "Look," he drew out a sketch of the
general site, "the flow of lava is to the south. Here,
here, and here, the cones of the mountains broke, and
the flow followed the slope of the land, away from
much of the settlement. The prevailing wind also car-
ried the ash away from the place. From the little dig-

379




The White Dragon

ging I did today, I found only a thin layer of volcanic
debris."

"Is there only this one settlement? When they had a
whole world to occupy?" asked R'mart.

"We'll find the others tomorrow," the Harper assured
them, "won't you, Jaxom?"

"Sir?" Jaxom rose, half-startled by his unexpected
inclusion in the main discussion.

"No, to be serious, R'mart, you may be quite cor-
rect," F'lar said, leaning forward across the table. "And
we really don't know if the eruption made the ancients
leave the Plateau immediately afterward."

"We won't know anything until we've entered one
of those mounds and discovered what they left behind,
if anything," N'ton said.

"Go carefully, Weyrleader," Master Nicat told N'ton,
but his glance took in everyone. "Better still, I'll send
a craftmaster and a few steady journeymen to direct
the excavations."

"Show the tricks of your craft, eh. Master Nicat,"
R'mart said. "We'd better learn a thing or two about
mining, right, Masterminer?"

Jaxom stifled a chuckle at the expression of puzzle-
ment and then indignation on the Masterminer's face.

"Dragonriders mining?"

"Why not?" F'lar asked. "Thread will Pass. There'll
be another Interval on us all too soon. I promise you
one thing, with the Southern lands open, never again
will the Weyrs be beholden to anyone during an In-
terval."

"Ah, yes, a very sound idea, Weyrleader, very
sound," Master Nicat prudently agreed, though he
would plainly need time to assimilate such a revolu-
tionary idea.

The dragons lounging on the shore crooned a wel-
come to someone,.

N'ton suddenly rose. "I must join Wansor in our
star-watch. That must be Path and Mirrim returning.
My duty to you all."

"I'll light your way, N'ton," Jaxom said, grabbing a
glow basket and unshielding it.

380

1.

The White Dragon

They were well out of hearing range of the others
when N'ton turned to Jaxom. "This is more to your
fancy, isn't it, Jaxom, than flying tamely in the queens'
wing?"

"I didn't do it on purpose, N'ton," Jaxom said with
a laugh. "I just wanted to see the mountain before any-
one else did."

"No hunch this time?"

"Hunch?"

N'ton threw a companionable arm about his shoul-
ders, chuckling. "No, I suppose it was inspired by the
fire-lizards' images."

"The mountain?"

N'ton gave him a bit of a shake. "Good man!"

They saw the dark bulk of a dragon settling to the
beach and then two gleaming circles as Lioth turned
his head toward them.

"A white dragon has an advantage at night," N'ton
said as he pointed to the visible hide of Ruth a little
to one side of his bronze.

I'm glad you've come. I've an itch I cannot reach,
said Ruth.

"He's in need of attention, N'ton."

"Leave the glows with me then, I'll pass them on to
Mirrim so she can find her way to the point."

They separated as Jaxom moved aside to attend to
Ruth. He heard N'ton greet Mirrim, their voices carry-
ing on the quiet night air.

"Of course, Wansor's all right," Mirrim said, sound-
ing peevish. "He's got his eyes glued to that tube of
his. He never knew I came, never ate the food I
brought, never knew I left. And further," she paused,
taking a deep breath, "Path did not scare away the
Southern fire-lizards."

"Why would she?"

"I'm not allowed to be on the Plateau when Jaxom
and the others try to coax some sense out of the South-
erners."

"Sense? Oh, yes, seeing if Ruth can focus the fire-
lizards' images. Well, I shouldn't worry about it, Mir-
rim. There are so many other things you can do."

381

The White Dragon

"At least my dragon is not an unsexed runt, good for
nothing but consorting with fire-lizards!"

"Mirrim!"

Jaxom heard the coldness in N'ton's voice; it matched
the sudden freezing in his own guts. Mirrim's petulant
comment resounded over and over in his ears.

"You know what I mean, N'ton . . ."

Just like Mirrim, Jaxom thought, not to heed the
warning in N'ton's voice.

"You ought to," she went on with the impetus of
grievance. "Wasn't it you who told F'nor and Brekke
that you doubted if Ruth would ever mate? Where are
you going, N'ton? I thought you were going ..."

"You don't think, Mirrim!"

"What's the matter, N'ton?" The sudden panic in
her voice afforded Jaxom some consolation.

Don't stop, Ruth said. The itch is still there.

"Jaxom?" N'ton's call was not loud, meant to reas-
sure, but the sound carried back.

"Jaxom?" Mirrim cried. "Oh, no!" Then Jaxom
heard her running away, saw the glow basket jolting,
heard her weeping. Just like the girl, speak first, think
later and weep for days. She'd be repentant and hang-
ing on about him, driving him between with her need
to be forgiven her thoughtlessness.

"Jaxom!" N'ton was anxious.

"Yes, N'ton?" Jaxom dutifully continued to scratch
Ruth's backbone, wondering why Mirrim's cruel re-
mark did not rankle as it ought. Sexless runt! As he
saw N'ton striding toward him, he was aware of a
curious sense of relief, of relaxation deep inside him.
The memory of those riders, waiting for the Fort green
to mate, flashed through his mind. Yes, he'd been re-
lieved then that Ruth had proved disinterested. He
could somewhat regret that Ruth would be deprived of
that experience; but he was relieved that he would
never be called upon to endure it.

"You must have heard her." There was a tinge of
hope in N'ton's voice that Jaxom hadn't.

"I heard. Sound carries near water."

"Blast the girl! Scorch the girl! We were going to ex-

382

The White Dragon

plain . . . then you took the fire-head, and now this.
The opportunity hasn't presented itself . . ." N'ton's
explanations came out in a rush.

"I can live with it. Like Mirrim's Path, there are
other things we can do."

N'ton's groan came from his guts. "Jaxom!" His
fingers closed tightly on Jaxom's shoulder, trying in the
contact to express his inarticulate regret.

"It's not your fault, N'ton."

"Does Ruth comprehend what was said?"

"Ruth comprehends that his back itches." Even as
Jaxom said it, he found it curious that Ruth was not
the least bit upset.

There, you have the exact spot. Harder now.

Jaxom could feel the slightly flaky dryness in the
otherwise loose and soft hide.

"I think I guessed, N'ton," Jaxom went on, "that
time at Fort Weyr, that something was wrong. I know
K'nebel expected Ruth to rise for the green. I thought
that Ruth, being born small, maybe would mature later
than other dragons do."

"He's as mature as he'll ever be, Jaxom!"

Jaxom was rather touched by the genuine regret in
the bronze rider's voice.

"So? He's my dragon and I'm his rider. We are to-
gether!"

"He's unique!" N'ton's verdict was fervent, and he
stroked Ruth's hide with affectionate respect. "So, my
young friend, are you!" He gripped Jaxom's shoulder
again, letting the gesture stand for words unsaid. Lioth
crooned in the darkness beyond them and Ruth, turn-
ing his head toward the bronze dragon, made a courte-
ous response.

Lioth is a fine fellow. His rider is a kind man. They
are good friends!

"We are ever your friends," N'ton said, giving
Jaxom's shoulder a final, almost painful squeeze. "I
must get to Wansor. You're sure you're all right?"

"Go along, N'ton. I'll just settle Ruth's itch!"..

The Fort Weyrleader hesitated one more moment

383




The White Dragon

before he pivoted and walked quickly toward his
bronze.

"I think I'd better oil that patch, Ruth," Jaxom said.
"I've been neglecting you lately."

Ruth's head came around, his eyes gleamed more
brilliantly blue in the darkness. You never neglect me.

"I have too, or you wouldn't be patchy!"

There has been much for you to do!

"There's a fresh pot of oil in the kitchen. Hold
tight."

His eyes accustomed to the tropic darkness, Jaxom
made his way to the Hold, found the pot in the kitchen
press and trotted back. He was conscious of a weari-
ness, in mind and body. Mirrinrwas the most awkward
person! If he'd let her and Path come . . . Well, he'd
have learned the verdict on Ruth sooner or later. Why
wasn't Ruth upset? Maybe if he had been completely
willing for his dragon to experience that part of his
personality, Ruth would have matured. Jaxom railed
at the fact that they had always been kept from being
full dragon and rider: brought up as they were in the
Hold, instead of the Weyr where the mating of drag-
ons was an understood and accepted fact of the weyr
life. It wasn't as if Ruth were immune to sexual ex-
perience. He was always present when Jaxom had sex.

/ love with you and I love you. But my back itches
fiercely.

That was clear enough, Jaxom thought as he hur-
ried through the forest to his dragon.

Someone was with Ruth, scratching his back for him.
If it was Mirrim ... Jaxom strode forward angrily.

Sharra is with me, Ruth told him calmly.

"Sharra?" Swallowing an irrational surge of anger,
he acknowledged her presence. "I've got the oil. Ruth's
got a bad flaky patch. I've been neglecting him."

"You've never neglected Ruth," she said so em-
phatically that Jaxom had to smile in surprise.

"Did Mirrim . . ." He began, holding the oil pot
out so she could dip her hand in.

"Yes, and no sympathy from any of us, let me as-
sure you." Her anger translated itself to an overly hard

384

The White Dragon

rub on Ruth's back that made him complain. "Sorry,
Ruth. They sent Mirrim back to Benden!"

Jaxom glanced up the beach to where Path had
landed and, indeed, the green dragon was gone.

"And you were sent to me?" He found he didn't
mind Sharra: her presence was, in fact, a boon.

"Not sent . . ." Sharra faltered. "I was ... I was
called!" She finished her sentence in a rush.

"Called?" Jaxom left off rubbing oil into Ruth's back
and looked at her. Her face was a pale blur with dark
spots for her eyes and mouth.

"Yes, called. Ruth called me. He said Mirrim . . ."

"He said?" Jaxom interrupted her as her words
finally sank in. "You can hear Ruth?"

She needed to hear me when you were sick, Jaxom,
Ruth said at the same moment Sharra was saying out
loud, "I've been able to hear him ever since you were
so ill."

"Ruth, why did you call Sharra?"

She is good for you. You need her. What Mirrim
said, even what N'ton said but he was kinder, has
made you close up. I do not like it when I cannot hear
your mind. Sharra will open it for us.

"Will you do that for us, Sharra?"

This time Jaxom didn't hesitate. He took Sharra's
hands, oily as they were, and drew her to him, inordi-
nately pleased that she was so nearly his height and
her mouth so close to his. All he had to do was tilt his
head slightly.

"I would do anything for you, Jaxom, anything for
you and Ruth!" Her lips moved delightfully against his
until he made more speech impossible.

A warmth began in his belly, dispelling the cold
closeness that distressed his dragon and himself—a
warmth that had to do with Sharra's lithe body
against his, the scent of her long heavy hair in his
nostrils as he kissed her, the pressure of her arms on
the skin of his back. And her hands, flat against his
waist, were not the hands of a healer, but the hands of
a lover.

385




The White Dragon

They made love in the soft warm darkness, delight-
ing in each other and fully responsive to the moment
of ecstasy that came, totally aware that Ruth loved with
them.

CHAPTER XX

At the Mountain and at Ruatha Hold,
15.10.18-15.10.20

386

JAXOM COULD NOT FEEL easy looking at the eastern
face of the mountain. He arranged himself, Sharra and
Ruth so that they did not have to see it. The other five
made themselves comfortable in a loose semicircle
about Ruth.

•The seventeen banded fire-lizards—for at the last
moment, Sebell and Brekke asked to be included in
the group—settled on Ruth's back. The more trained
fire-lizards, the better, reasoned Master Robinton,
which, he went on to say, gave him the chance to in-
clude Zair.

Word of the ancients' settlement at the high Plateau
had spread throughout Pern with a swiftness that had
amazed even the Harper. Everyone clamored to see the
place. F'lar sent the message that if Jaxom and Ruth
were to prod the fire-lizards' memories, they'd better
do so quickly, or not at all.

Once Ruth had settled, the Southern fire-lizards
began arriving in fairs, led by their queens, dipping
toward Ruth who crooned a greeting as Jaxom had
suggested he do.

They are pleased to see me, Ruth told Jaxom. And
happy that men come to this place again.

387




The White Dragon

"Ask them about the first time they saw men."

Jaxom caught an instant image from Ruth of many
dragons arriving over the shoulder of the mountain.

"That's not what I meant."

7 know, Ruth acknowledged with regret. 7 will ask
again. Not the time with the dragons, but a long time
ago, before the mountain blew up.

The reaction of the fire-lizards was predictable and
discouraging. They flew up from their perches on
and about Ruth and did wild sky-dances, cluttering
and bugling in dismay.

Disappointed, Jaxom turned to see Brekke's hand
raised, a look of intense concentration on her face. He
relaxed against Ruth, wondering what arrested her
attention. Menolly also held up her hand. She was sit-
ting near enough to Jaxom so that he saw her eyes
were totally unfocused. On her shoulder, Beauty had
assumed a rigid position, her eyes wheeling violently
red. Above their circle, the fire-lizards chattered and
continued their wild gyrations.

They are seeing the mountain on fire, said Ruth.
They see people running, the fire following them. They
are afraid as they were afraid so long ago. This is the
very dream we used to have.

"Can you see the mounds? Before they were cov-
ered?" In his excitement, Jaxom forgot and spoke
aloud.

7 see only people running, this way and that. No,
they are running toward . . . toward us? Ruth looked
about him as if he half-expected to be overrun, so
vivid were the fire-lizard images.

"Toward us, and then where?"

Down to the water? Ruth wasn't sure himself, and
turned to look toward the distant, invisible sea.

They are afraid again. They don't like remembering
the mountain.

"Any more than they like remembering the Red
Star," Jaxom said imprudently. Every fire-lizard dis-
appeared, including the banded ones.

"That did it, Jaxom," Piemur said in deep disgust

388

The White Dragon

"You can't mention that bloody Red Star in front of
fire-lizards. Flaming mountains, but not red stars."

"Undeniably," Sebell said in his deep quiet voice,
"there are moments that are branded in the minds of
our little friends. When they start remembering, every-
thing else is excluded."

"It is association," Brekke said.

"What we need then," Piemur said, "is another spot
that strikes less distressing memories in them. Mem-
ories . . . useful ... to us ..."

"Not so much that," Menolly considered her words
carefully, "as interpretation. I saw something. I think
I'm right ... it wasn't the big mountain that erupted,
it was . . ." She turned, and pointed to the smallest
of the three. "That's the one that blew in our dreams!"

"No, it was the big one," Piemur contradicted, point-
ing higher.

"You're wrong, Piemur," Brekke said with quiet
certainty. "It was the smallest one . . . everything is
to the left in my images. The big mountain is too much
higher than the one I'm sure I saw."

"Yes, yes," Menolly said, excited. "The angle is im-
portant. The fire-lizards couldn't see that high! Re-
member they're much, much smaller. And see, the
angle. It's right!" She was on her feet, gesturing to
illustrate her points. "People came from there, running
this way, away from the smallest volcano! They came
from those mounds. The largest ones!"

"That's the way I saw it," Brekke agreed. "Those
mounds there!"

"So do we start with these?" F'lar asked, the next
morning, sighing at the task of unearthing a small hill.
Lessa stood beside him, surveying the silent mounds,
with the Master Smith, Masterminer Nicat, F'nor and
N'ton. Jaxom, Piemur, Sharra and Menolly remained
discreetly to one side. "This large one?" he asked, but
his eyes swept down the parallel ranks, squinting with
resignation.

"We could be digging until the Pass is done,"
Lessa said, slapping her riding gloves against her thigh

389




The White Dragon

as she, too, did a slow thoughtful survey of the sprawl
of anonymous earthen lumps.

"A vast area," Fandarel said, "vast! A larger set-
tlement than the combined Holds at Fort and Telgar."
He glanced up in the direction of the Dawn Sisters.
"They all came from those?" He shook his head, stag-
gered by the concept. "Where to start to best effect?"

"Is everyone on Pern coming here today?" Lessa
asked as a bronze dragon burst into the air over their
heads. "D'ram's Tiroth! With Toric?"

"I doubt we could exclude him if we wished, and it
would be unwise to try," F'lar remarked in a droll
tone.

"True," she replied and then smiled at her weyr-
mate. "I rather like him," she added, surprised at her
own verdict.

"My brother makes himself likable," Sharra said
quietly to Jaxom, a curious smile on her lips. "But to
trust him?" She shook her head slowly, watching
Jaxom's face. "He is a very ambitious man!"

"He's taking a good look, isn't he?" N'ton remarked,
watching the circling dragon's lazy downward glide.

"It's worth looking at," F'nor replied, scanning the
broad, mounded expanse.

"Is that Toric aloft?" Master Nicat asked, digging
his boot toe into the large mound. "Glad he's here. He
sent for me when he found those mine shafts in the
Western Range."

"I'd forgot he's already had some experience with
the ancients' handiwork," F'lar said.

"He's also got experienced men to help us without
having to go back to the Lord Holders," N'ton said
with a knowing grin.

"Whom I don't want too interested in these eastern
lands," Lessa said firmly.

When D'ram and Toric had dismounted, Tiroth
glided down the grassy plain to where the other drag-
ons were lounging on an outcropping of sun-warmed
rock. As Toric and the bronze rider walked toward
them, Jaxom regarded the Southerner with Sharra's
remarks in his mind. Toric was a big man, as big as

390

The White Dragon

Master Fandarel in build and height. His hair was sun-
streaked, his skin a deep brown and, while his smile
was broad, there was a certain arrogant self-possession
in the very way he strode that suggested he felt him-
self the equal of any awaiting him. Jaxom wondered
just how that attitude would strike the Benden Weyr-
leaders.

"You certainly have discovered the Southern Con-
tinent, haven't you, Benden?" he said, gripping F'lar's
arm in greeting and bowing as he smiled at Lessa. He
nodded and murmured the name of the other leaders
and masters present, glancing beyond them with a rak-
ing look at the younger people. When Toric's eyes
came back to his face, just briefly, Jaxom knew he'd
been identified. Resenting the way Toric's glance slid
from him, as if he were negligible, he stiffened. Then
he felt Sharra's hand lightly on his arm.

"He does that to irritate," she said in a very soft
voice, with a ripple of her rich laughter in it. "Most of
the time it's effective."

"It puts me in mind of the way my milk-brother
used to tease me in front of Lytol, when he knew I
couldn't retaliate," Jaxom said, surprising himself with
such an unexpected comparison. He saw her approval
in her dancing eyes.

"Trouble is," Toric was saying, his voice carrying
to them, "that the ancients didn't leave much behind.
Not if they could move it elsewhere and use it. Saving
people they were!"

"Oh?" F'lar's exclamation invited Toric to explain.

The Southerner shrugged. "We've been through the
mine shafts they left. They'd even pulled up the rails
for their ore carts, and' the brackets where they must
have hung lights. One place had a largish shelter at the
mouth," he gestured toward the smallest nearby mound,
"about that size, carefully shut against the weather and
totally bare inside. Again, you could see where things
had been bolted to the floor. They'd prized the bolts
out, too."

"If this thriftiness applies here," Fandarel said,
"then if anything is likely to be found, it will be in

391




The White Dragon

those mounds." He pointed to a smaller cluster on the
edge of the settlement nearest the lava flow. "They
would have been too hot or too dangerous to approach
for a long time."

"And if too hot to approach, what makes you think
anything survived the heat?" Toric demanded.

"Because the mound has survived to this time," Fan-
darel replied as if he were only being logical.

Toric regarded him for a moment and then clouted
the Smith on the shoulder. He was oblivious to the
startled look awarded him by Fandarel, whom men
tended to treat with distant respect.

"Point in your favor, Mastersmith," Toric said. "I'll
dig gladly with you and hope you're right."

"I'd like to see what's in the smaller humps," Lessa
said, wheeling and indicating one. "There are such a
lot of them. Maybe they were used as small holds.
Surely something would be left behind in the rush to

leave."

"What would they have had in such big places?"
F'lar asked, kicking at the grassy roundness of the
large one nearest him.

"There're hands enough and . . ." Toric took three
long strides to the pile of digging implements, "plenty
of shovels and picks for everyone to take a dig at the
mound of his choice." He picked up a long-handled
shovel and tossed it to the Mastersmith, who caught it
in a reflex action as he stared, bemused, at the big
Southerner. Toric shouldered another shovel, selected
two picks and with no more discussion strode toward
the cluster of mounds that were the Smith's choice.

"Presuming Toric's theory is correct, is it worth dig-
ging here?" F'lar asked his weyrmate.

"What we found in that long-forgotten room at Ben-
den Weyr was obviously a discard of the ancients.
And after all, mining equipment they could have used
elsewhere. Besides, I want to see what's inside." Lessa
said that with such determination that F'lar laughed.

"I guess I do, too. And I do wonder what they'd do
in this size place! It's big enough to weyr a dragon or
two!"

392

The White Dragon

"We'll help you, Lessa," Sharra said, urging Jaxom
to pick a tool.

"Menolly, shall we assist F'lar?" F'nor directed the
Harper girl toward the tools.

N'ton shook his head as he hefted spade and pick.
"Master Nicat, what's your preference?"

The Masterminer looked about him dubiously but
his eyes kept returning to the mounds nearest the
mountain toward which Toric and Fandarel moved
purposefully. "I think our good Mastersmith might
have the right of it. But we'll spread the effort. And try
those." He pointed with sudden decision toward the
sea side of the Plateau, where six smallish mounds
made a loose circle.

It was not work to which any of them were accus-
tomed despite the fact that Master Nicat had begun as
an apprentice miner in the pits, and Master Fandarel
still took long turns at the forges when he worked on
something particularly intricate.

Jaxom, sweat pouring from his face and body, had
the distinct feeling that he was under surveillance. But
when he leaned on the pick for an occasional breather,
.or lifted colonies of grubs safely to one side, he could
see no one looking in his direction. The sensation
bothered him.

The big one watches you, Ruth said suddenly.

Jaxom shot a glance under his arm at the mound
where Toric and Master Fandarel were working and,
sure enough, Toric was looking in his direction. Beside
him, Lessa groaned suddenly, jamming her shovel
blade into the rough-rooted grass of the mound. She
examined her hands, reddened and beginning to blis-
ter.

"It's a long time since these have worked so hard,"
she said.

"Use your flying gloves?" Sharra suggested.

"A few moments in them and my hands would swim
in sweat," Lessa replied, grimacing. She glanced at the
other work parties and, chuckling to herself, sank grace-
fully to the mound. "Much as I dislike revealing this
site to more people than necessary, I think we shall

393




The White Dragon

have to recruit strong hands and backs." She deftly
captured a tangle of grubs and deposited them to one
side, watching them tunnel back into the rich gray-
black soil. She rubbed particles between her thumbs
and forefinger. "Like ash. Gritty. Never thought I'd be
dealing in ashes again. Did I ever tell you, Jaxom, that
I was cleaning the fireplace in Ruatha Hold the day
your mother arrived?"

"No," Jaxom said, surprised at this unexpected con-
fidence. "But then, few people ever mention my par-
ents to me."

Lessa's expression became severe. "Now I wonder
why I called Fax to mind . . ." she said, glancing in
Toric's direction and adding, more to herself than to
Jaxom and Sharra, "except he was ambitious, too. But
Fax made mistakes."

"Such as taking Ruatha Hold from its rightful Blood-
line," Jaxom said, grunting as he swung the pick.

"That was his worst mistake," Lessa said with in-
tense satisfaction. Then she noticed Sharra staring at
her and smiled. "Which I rectified. Oh, Jaxom, leave
off a moment. Your enthusiasm exhausts me." She
mopped at the perspiration on her forehead. "Yes, I
think some strong backs will have to be drafted. At
least for my mound!" She patted it, almost affection-
ately. "There's no telling how deep the covering goes.
Perhaps," the thought amused her, "the mounds aren't
big at all, just so overloaded. We may end up with
nothing larger than a wherhole for all our digging."  •

Jaxom, conscious of Toric's scrutiny, continued to
dig, though his shoulders ached and his hands were
hot and stiff with blister.

Just then, Sharra's two fire-lizards popped into the
air, chirruping at each other as if they didn't under-
stand what their friend was doing. They dropped lightly
to the spot where Sharra had just planted her shovel
and, with tremendous energy, they began to dig, their
strong forepaws lifting the dirt to either side, their
hindquarters pushing it farther out of the way. They
had tunneled almost an arm's length while Lessa,
Sharra and Jaxom watched in amazement.

394




The White Dragon

"Ruth? Would you lend us your aid?" Jaxom called.

The white dragon obediently rose from his sunny
perch and glided over to his friend, his eyes beginning
to whirl more quickly with curiosity.

"Would you mind digging holes for us, Ruth?"

Where? Here? Ruth indicated a spot to the left of
the fire-lizards who had not stopped their efforts.

"I don't think it matters where, we just want to see
what the grass covers!"

No sooner had the other dragonriders seen what
Ruth was doing than they called on theirs. Even
Ramoth felt inclined to lend her aid, with Lessa giving
her every encouragement.

"I wouldn't have believed it," Sharra said to Jaxom.
"Dragons digging?"

"Lessa wasn't too proud to dig, was she?"

"We're people, but they're dragons!"

Jaxom couldn't help laughing at her incredulity.
"You've got a jaundiced view of dragons, living among
the Oldtimers' lazy beasts." He caught her about the
waist, pulling her toward him before he felt her stiffen.
He looked in Toric's direction. "He's not watching, if
that's what you're worried about."

"He might not have been," she pointed skyward,
"but his fire-lizards are. I'd wondered where they
were."

A trio of fire-lizards, a golden queen and two
bronzes, were circling lazily above Jaxom and Sharra.

"So? I'll just speak to Master Robinton to medi-
ate..."

^oric has other plans for me ..."

"Am I not included in your plans?" Jaxom asked,
experiencing sudden shock.

"You know you are, which is why ... we loved each
other. I wanted you while I could." Sharra's eyes were
troubled.

"Why should he interfere then? My rank is . . ."
Jaxom took both her hands in =his and retained them
when she tried to pull away.

"He doesn't think much of the young Northern
men, Jaxom. Not after coping with fairs of younger

39?

The White Dragon

sons in the past three Turns who are really," Sharra
sounded exasperated, "enough to try the patience of a
harper. I know you're not like them, but Toric . . ."

"I'll prove myself to Toric, never fear." Jaxom
brought her hands to his lips, holding her eyes with
his, determined by the force of his will to banish the
unhappiness in her eyes. "And I'll do it properly,
through Lytol and Master Robinton. You will be my
lady, won't you, Sharra?"

"You know I will, Jaxom. For as long as I can . . ."

"For as long as we live ..." he corrected her, grip-
ping her hands tight enough to make her wince.

"Jaxom! Sharra!" cried Lessa, who had been far
too engrossed in Ramoth's industry to notice their quiet
exchange.

Jaxom felt Sharra's hands struggle but, having de-
cided to confront Toric in all his arrogance, Jaxom
was not about to defer before Lessa. He kept a tight
hold on Sharra as they turned toward the Weyrwoman.

"Come and see. Ramoth has struck something
solid. And it doesn't look like rock ..."

Jaxom pulled Sharra up the slight incline to Lessa's
side of the mound. Ramoth was sitting back on her
haunches, peering over Lessa to look into the trench
her forepaws had scored.

"Move your head slightly, Ramoth. You're in my
light," Lessa said. "Here, take my shovel, Jaxom, and
see what you think. Clear out a bit more dirt."

Jaxom jumped into a trench which reached to mid-
thigh. "Feels solid enough," he said, pressing his
weight down before he tapped with the shovel. "Sounds
like stone?" But it didn't. The shovel thunked echo-
ingly. Scrapping clear a long swath, Jaxom stepped
aside for all to see.

"F'lar, come here! We've reached something!"

"So have we!" came the Weyrieader's triumphant
reply.

There was a mutual inspection from one dragon-dug
trench to the other which exposed much the same ma-
terial, except that in F'lar's case the rocklike substance
had an amber panel set into the curve of the mound.

396

The White Dragon

Finally the Mastersmith raised his huge arms above
his head and roared for silence.

"This is not efficient use of time and energy." A loud
guffaw, almost contemptuous in agreement, came from
Toric. "It is not funny," the Smith said at his most
serious. "We will concentrate on Lessa's mound since
it is smaller. Then we will work on Master Nicat's and
then . . ."He pointed to his own choice as Toric in-
terrupted.

"All in one day?" he asked, again with a tone of
supercilious derision that irritated Jaxom.

"We will do as much as we can, certainly, so let us
begin!"

Jaxom decided that the Smith chose to ignore Toric's
attitude, an example for him to follow.

It also proved inefficient to have more than two
dragons working on Lessa's small mound since it was
scarcely longer than a dragon. So F'lar and N'ton
urged their bronzes to help Master Nicat.

By midafternoon the curving sides of Lessa's mound
had been unearthed to the original floor of the valley.
Six panels, three on an arc of the curved roof, tanta-
lized, but their surface, once undoubtedly transparent,
was now badly scored and darkened. Attempts to see
through to the interior were vain. Disappointing, but
no openings were found on the long sides so one end
was promptly dug out. The dragons, despite the gray-
black dust that now dulled their hides, showed no sign
of fatigue and considerable interest in this unlikely
task. And shortly the access was unearthed.

A door, made of an opaque form of the material
used in the roof panels, slid across the opening on rails.
The dirt-clogged tracks had to be cleared and dragon-
hide oil applied to the runners before the door could
be forced wide enough to permit entry. Lessa, all set
to enter first, was restrained by the Smith's hand.

"Wait! The air inside is sick with age! Smell! Let
fresh air in first. The place has been shut who knows
how many Turns!"

The Smith, Toric and N'ton, set their shoulders to
the door and forced it fully open. The air that flooded

397




The White Dragon

out was fetid, and Lessa stepped back, sneezing and
coughing. Dim rectangles of tan light fell on a dusty
floor, touched cracked and water-stained walls. As
Lessa and F'lar, followed by the others, made their
way into the small building, dust swirled under their
boots.

"What was it for?" Lessa asked in a hushed voice.

Toric, unnecessarily ducking his head, for the top of
the doorway cleared even his height by another hand's
breadth, pointed to a far comer, to .the now-visible
remnants of a wide, wooden frame.

"Someone could have slept on that!" He turned to
the other corner, and then with a sudden movement
that made Lessa gasp, he stooped and came up with
an object which he then made a show of presenting to
her. "A treasure from the past!"

"It's a spoon!" Lessa held it up for all to see, then
ran her fingers over its shape. "But what's it made of?
It's no metal I've ever seen. Certainly it's not wood. It's
more like . . . like the panels, and the door, only trans-
parent. But it's strong," and she tried to bend it.

The Smith asked to examine the spoon. "It does
seem to be a similar material. Spoons and windows,
huh? Hmmmm!"

Overcoming a sense of awe at being inside such an
ancient place, everyone began to examine the interior,
Shelves and cabinets had once hung on the walls, for
marks of paint left outlines. The structure had once
been partitioned into sections and there were distinct
gouges in the tough material of the floor to indicate
that large permanent objects had rested here and there.
In one comer, Fandarel discovered circular outlets,
leading down. When he checked the exterior, he had
to assume that the piping went through the wall and
underground. One, he maintained, was undoubtedly
for water. But the other four puzzled him.

"Surely they can't all be empty!" Lessa said in a
wistful tone, trying to hide a disappointment that
everyone, Jaxom thought, was experiencing.

"One can assume," Fandarel said in a brisk voice
when they had all left Lessa's building, "that many of

398

The White Dragon

these of the same shape were also living quarters for
the ancients. They would, I feel, take all their personal
things with them. I think we ought then to devote more
effort to the larger or the much smaller places."

Then, without waiting to see if anyone concurred
with his opinion, the Smith marched straight to the
interrupted excavation of Nicat's mound. This building
was square and once they had uncovered enough of
the top to notice the same roof panels, they concen-
trated their efforts on the inner end. The tropical night
was quickly descending when they finally unearthed
the entrance, but they couldn't quite clear the door
tracks to open it more than a crack. They were barely
able to make out some sort of decorations on the walls.
No one had thought to bring glow baskets with them
and this second disappointment drained the last of
their energy so that no one even suggested sending fire-
lizards for glows.

Leaning against the half-open panel, Lessa gave a
tired laugh and looked down at her muddied condition.

"Ramoth says she's tired and dirty and wants a
bath."

"She's not the only one," F'lar promptly agreed. He
made a vain effort to close the door, then laughed. "I
don't suppose anything will happen overnight. Back to
Cove Hold."

"You'll join us, Toric?" Lessa asked, cocking her
head to look up at the big Southerner.

"I think not this evening, Lessa. I've a Hold to man-
age and cannot always please myself," he said. Jaxom
saw the Southerner's eyes on him, the implication
obvious to Jaxom. "All things being equal, I'll return
tomorrow for a time to see if Fandarel's mound proves
more profitable. Shall I bring more strong hands and
spare your dragons?"

"Spare the dragons? They're enjoying themselves
hugely," Lessa said. "/ need the relief. What do you
think, F'lar? Or should we draft some Benden riders?"

"I can appreciate that you'd like to keep this for
yourself," Toric went on, smoothly, his eyes on F'lar.

"This Plateau will have to be available to everyone,"

399




The White Dragon

F'lar said, ignoring Toric's implication. "And since
dragons enjoy earth-moving . .."

"I'd like to bring Beneiek with me tomorrow, F'lar,"
said the Master Smith, rubbing his gray-mudded hands
together and flicking oS the dried pellets off his clothes.
"And two other lads with good imaginations . . ."

"Imagination? Yes, you'll need a lot of that here to
make sense out of what the ancients have left for you,"
Toric said, the faintest hint of scorn in his tone. "When
you're ready, D'ram?"

For some reason Toric's manner toward the old
Weyrleader was more respectful than to anyone else.
At least to Jaxom's sensitive ears. He was inwardly
seething over Toric's insinuation that he did not man-
age his own Hold but pleased himself. He seethed be-
cause it was a valid accusation. Yet why, Jaxom sought
to console himself, would anyone have expected him
to return tamely to Ruatha, which prospered under
Lytol's expert management, when all the excitement in
the world was happening here? He felt Sharra's fingers
curl around his arm, and he reminded himself of his
own analogy between Toric and Dorse.

"I'll have a job getting Ruth clean," he said with a
rueful sigh as he undid Sharra's fingers from his arm
and clasped them tightly, drawing her with him to

Ruth.

As the dragons broke from between over the Cove,
the Harper's tall figure was visible on the beach, his
impatience to hear of their explorations echoed by the
fire-lizards who did dizzy spirals about him. When he
saw the state the group was in, and how impatient they
were to swim clean, he simply divested himself of his
clothes and swam from one to another, hearing their

reports.

It was an altogether deflated group that sat about

the fire that evening.

"There's no guarantee, is there," the Harper said,
"that even if we had the energy to excavate all those
hundreds of mounds, we'd find anything of value left

behind."

Lessa held up her spoon with a laugh. "No intrinsic

400

The White Dragon

value, but it does give me a tremendous thrill to hold
something my hundred-times ancestress might have
used!"

"Efficiently made, too," Fandarel said, politely tak-
ing the small object and examining it again. "The sub-
stance fascinates me." He bent toward the flames to
scrutinize it. "If I could just . . ." and he reached for
his belt knife.

"Oh, no you don't, Fandarel," Lessa said in alarm
and retrieved her artifact. "There were other bits and
pieces of the same stuff discarded in my building. Ex-
periment on them."

"Is that all we are to have of the ancients, their bits
and pieces?"

"I remind you, F'lar," Fandarel said, "their discards
have already proved invaluable." The Smith then in-
dicated the spot where Wansor's distance-viewer had
been sited. "What men have once learned to do, can be
releamed. It will take time and experimentation
but..."

"We've only begun, my friends," said Nicat, whose
enthusiasm had not been daunted. "And as our good
Smith says, we can leam even from their discards.
With your permission, Weyrleaders, I'd like to bring
some experienced teams, and go about the excavations
methodically. There may have been good reasons for
the rank system. Each file might belong to a different
craft or—"

"You don't believe, as Toric suggests, that they took
everything with them?" F'lar asked.

"That's irrelevant," Nicat said, dismissing Toric's
contentions. "The bed, for instance, was unneeded
because they knew they could obtain wood wherever
they went. The little spoon for another, because they
could make more. There may be other pieces, useless
to them, which might very well form the missing
elements of the Records which did come down to us,
in whatever mutilated fashion. Just think, my friends,"
Nicat held up one finger along his nose, closing an
eye conspiratorially, "the sheer quantity they had to

401




The White Dragon

take from those buildings after the eruption. Oh, we'll
find things, never fear!"

"Yes, they had to take great loads from those build-
ings after the eruption," Fandarel murmured, frowning
as he lowered his chin to his chest in deep thought.
"Where did they take their possessions? Certainly, not
immediately to establish Fort Hold!"

"Yes, where did they go?" F'lar asked, puzzled.

"As far as we could tell from the fire-lizard images,
they headed toward the sea," Jaxom said.

"And the sea wouldn't have been safe," Menolly
said.

"The sea wouldn't," F'lar said, "but there's a lot of
land between the Plateau and the sea." He stared at
Jaxom a moment. "Can you get Ruth to find out from
the fire-lizards where they did go?"

"Does that mean I can't excavate more thoroughly?"
Nicat asked, sounding irritable.

"By all means, if you've the men to spare."

"I do," Nicat replied a bit grimly. "With three mines
worked out."

"I thought you'd started to reopen the shafts Toric
found in the Western Range?"

"We've been examining them, to be sure, but my
Hall hasn't reached a miner's agreement with Toric
yet."

"With Toric? Does he hold those lands? They're far
to the southwest, well beyond Southern Hold," F'lar
said, abruptly intent.

"It was an exploring party of Toric's which located
the shafts," Nicat said, his eyes shifting from the
Benden Weyrleader's to the Harper's and then to the
Smith's.

"I told you my brother was ambitious," Sharra said
softly to Jaxom.

"An exploring party?" F'lar seemed to relax again.
"That doesn't make it a Holding then. At all events,
mines come under your jurisdiction, Master Nicat.
Benden supports your decision. I'll just have a word
with Toric tomorrow."

402

The White Dragon

"I think we should," Lessa said, holding her hand out
to F'lar to assist her from the sands.

"I was hopeful you'd support my Hall," the Miner
said with a bow of gratitude, his shrewd eyes glinting
in the. firelight.

"I'd say a talk was long overdue," the Harper re-
marked.

The dragonriders took their leave quickly, N'ton to
•deliver Master Nicat to Crom Hold from where they'd
collect him the next morning. Robinton took Master
Fandarel with him to Cove Hall. Piemur dragged
Menolly off to check on Stupid, leaving Jaxom and
Sharra to douse the fire and clear the beach.

"Your brother doesn't plan to hold the entire South-
west, does he?" Jaxom asked when the others had dis-
persed.

"Well, if not all, as much as he can," Sharra replied
with a laugh. "I'm not being disloyal to him telling you
this, Jaxom. You have your own Hold. You don't want
Southern lands. Or do you?"

Jaxom considered that.

"You don't, do you?" Sharra sounded anxious and
put her hand on his arm.

"No, I don't," he said. "No, much as I love this
Cove, I don't want it. Today on the Plateau, I'd have
given anything for a cool breeze from Ruatha's moun-
tain, or a plunge in my lake. Ruth and I will take you
there—it's such a beautiful place. Only a dragon can
get to it easily." He picked up a flat pebble and skated
it across the quiet swells that lapped the white sands of
the beach. "No, I don't want a Southern Hold, Sharra.
I was bom in Ruatha, bred to Ruatha. Lessa obliquely
reminded me of that this afternoon. She reminded me,
too, of the price of my Holding and of all she's done to
insure that I remain Lord of Ruatha. You do realize,
don't you, that her son, F'lessan, is a Ruathan half-
blood. That's more than I am."

"But he's a dragonrider!"

"Yes, and weyrbred, by Lessa's choice so that I
would remain the uncontested Lord of Ruatha. I'd

403




The White Dragon

better start acting like one!" He rose and drew Sharra
up.

"Jaxom?" and her tone was suspicious, "what are
you going to do?"

He put both hands on her arms, looking her squarely
in the eyes. "I've a Hold to manage, too, as your
brother reminded me ..."

"But you're needed here, with Ruth. He's the only
one who can make sense out of fire-lizard images . . ."

"And with Ruth, I can handle both responsibilities.
Manage my Hold and please myself. You'll see!" He
drew her closer to kiss her, but suddenly she broke
away from him, pointing over his shoulder, her face
mirroring hurt and anger. "What's the matter? What
have I done, Sharra?"

She pointed to the tree where two fire-lizards were
intently watching.

"Those are Tone's. He's watching me. Us!"

"Great! Let him have no mistake about my inten-
tions toward you!" He kissed her until he felt her taut
body responding to his, till the angry set of her lips
dissolved into willingness. "I'd give him more to see
but I want to get back to Ruatha Hold this evening!"
He rapidly drew on his riding gear and called to Ruth.
"I'll be back in the morning, Sharra. Tell the others,
will you?"

Do we have to leave? Ruth asked even as he bent
his foreleg for Jaxom to mount.

"We'll be back in no time, Ruth!" Jaxom waved to
Sharra, thinking how forlorn she looked standing there
in the starlight.

Meer and Talla circled once with Ruth, whistling so
cheerfully that he knew Sharra had accepted his pre-
cipitous departure.

His abrupt compulsion to return to Ruatha and set
in train the formalities of his confirmation as Lord
Holder was by no means entirely due to Toric's barbed
comments. His own suppressed sense of responsibility
had been heightened by Lessa's odd nostalgia at the
mound. But it had also occurred to him, at the fireside,
that a man of Lytol's vitality and experience might

404

The White Dragon

find the Plateau's mysteries a challenge sufficient to
replace Ruatha. His return to his birthplace had the
same inexorable quality of his decision to rescue the
egg.

He asked Ruth to take them to Ruatha. The sharp
bitter cold of between was instantly replaced by a
damp moist cold as they entered Ruatha's skies, leaden
and showering a fine light snow that must have been
in progress for some time to have piled drifts in the
southeast corners of the courts.

/ used to like snow, Ruth said as if encouraging him-
self to accept the return.

Wilth trumpeted from the fire-heights in surprised
welcome. Half the fire-lizards of the Hold exploded
into the air about them, giving raucous greetings and
spurts of cluttering complaint about the snow.

"We won't stay long, my friend," Jaxom reassured
Ruth, and shuddered with the damp cold even in his
warm flying gear. How had he forgot the season here?

Ruth landed in the courtyard just as the Great Hall
door opened. Lytol, Brand and Finder surged to the
steps.

"Is anything wrong, Jaxom?" Lytol cried.

"Nothing, Lytol, nothing. Can fires be laid in my
quarters? I forgot it was winter here. Ruth is going to
feel the difference even through dragonhide!"

"Yes, yes," Brand said, jogging across the court
toward the kitchen, yelling for drudges to bring coal
fires, while Lytol and Finder hurriedly ushered Jaxom
up the steps. Ruth obediently followed the steward.

"You'll take a chill changing climates like this,"
Lytol was saying. "Why didn't you check? What
brings you back?"

"Isn't it about time I did return?" Jaxom asked,
striding to the fireplace as he stripped off his flying
gloves and let his hands take warmth from the blaze.
Then he burst out laughing as the other men joined
him there. "Yes, at this fireplace!"

"What? At this fireplace?" Lytol asked, pouring
wine for his ward.

"This morning, in the hot sun of the Plateau, while

405

The White Dragon

we were digging up one of the mounds the ancients left
to puzzle us, Lessa told me that she had been taking
ashes out of this fireplace the day my unlamented
sire, Fax, escorted my lady mother Gemma to this
Hold!" He raised his cup in a toast to the memory of
the mother he had never known.

"Which obliquely reminded you that you are Lord
of Ruatha now?" Lytol inquired, a slight lift to the
comer of his mouth. His eyes, which before had
seemed so expressionless to Jaxom, twinkled in the
firelight.

"Yes, and showed me where a man of your talents
could be better used now, Lord Lytol."

"Oh, tell me more," Lytol said, gesturing to the
heavy carved chair which had been placed to get the
most benefit of the fire.

"Don't let me take your chair," Jaxom said courte-
ously, noticing that the cushions bore the recent im-
print of buttocks and thighs.

"I suspect you're about to take more than that,
Lord Jaxom."

"Not without due courtesy," Jaxom said, dragginga
small footstool beside the chair for his own use. "And
a challenge in its place." He was relieved at Lytol's
placid reaction. "Am I, sir, ready to be Lord of
Ruatha Hold now?"

"Are you trained, do you mean?"

"That, too, but I had in mind the circumstances
which have made it wiser to leave Ruatha in your
charge."

"Ay, yes."

Jaxom keenly watched Lytol to see if there was any
constraint in his manner as he answered.

"The circumstances have indeed altered over the
past two seasons," Lytol almost laughed, "thanks to
you, in great part."

"To me? Oh, that wretched illness. So, there is now
no real bar to my confirmation as Lord Holder?"

"I see none."

Jaxom heard the harper's soft intake of breath but
he was watching Lytol closely.

406

The White Dragon

"So," Lytol almost smiled, "may I know what has
prompted you? Surely not just the realization that
pressure is eased in the North? Or is it that pretty girl?
Sharra, is that her name?"

Jaxom laughed. "She's a large part of my haste,"
lightly emphasizing the last word and then catching
Finder's grin from the corner of his eye.

"A sister to Toric of the Southern Hold, isn't she?"

Lytol pursued the subject, testing the suitability of the
match.

"Yes, and tell me, Lytol, has there been any move
to confirm Toric as a major Lord Holder?"

"No, nor any rumor that he's asked to be." Lytol
scowled as he reflected on that circumstance.
"What's your opinion of Toric, Lord Lytol?"

"Why do you ask? Certainly the match is suitable,
even if he hasn't rank to match yours."

"He doesn't need the rank. He has the ambition,"
Jaxom said with sufficient rancor to attract the un-
divided attention of both guardian and harper.

"Ever since D'ram became Southern Weyrleader,"
Finder remarked in the silence that ensued, "I've
heard it said that no holdless man is turned away."

"Does he promise them the right to hold what they
can?" Jaxom asked, turning so quickly on Finder that
the harper blinked in surprise.

"I'm not sure..."

"Two of Lord Groghe's sons have gone," Lytol said,
pulling at his lower lip thoughtfully, "and my under-
standing from him is that they will hold. Of course,
they retain their "birthrank of Lords. Brand, what was
Dorse promised?" he asked as the steward returned.

"Dorse? Has he gone south looking for a hold?"
Jaxom gave a chuckle of relief and wonder.

"I saw no reason to refuse him the opportunity,"
Lytol replied calmly. "I didn't imagine you would ob-
ject. Brand? What was promised him?"

"I think he was told he could have as much land as
he wanted. I don't believe that the term hold came
into the discussion. But then, the offer was made

407

The White Dragon

through one of the Southern traders, not directly from
Toric."

"Still, if a man offered you land, you'd be grateful
to him, and support him against those who had denied
you land, wouldn't you?" Jaxom asked.

"Yes, gratitude would be reasonably expressed in
loyalty," Lytol moved restlessly, considering another
aspect of the situation. "However, it was clearly stated
that the best land was too far from the protection of the
Weyr. I gave Dorse one of our older flamethrowers, in
good repair of course, with spare nozzles and hose,"
Lytol added.

"I'd give anything to watch Dorse in the open in
Threadfall without a dragonrider in sight," Jaxom said.

"If Toric is as shrewd as he appears to be," Lytol
said, "that may be the final consideration as to who
may hold."

"Sir," Jaxom rose, finishing the rest of his wine, "I'll
return tonight. Our blood's not yet thick enough for a
snowstorm in Ruatha Hold. And there's a task set for
Ruth and myself tomorrow. Would you be free to come
South again? If Brand can hold matters in our ab-
sence?"

"At this time of year, I would welcome the sun,"
said Lytol.

Brand murmured that he could cope.

When Jaxom and Ruth returned to Cove Hold,
grateful for the balmy warmth of the starlight night,
Jaxom was more certain than ever that Lytol would not
find the change hard to make. Even as Ruth circled
to land, Jaxom felt himself relaxing in the warm air.
He'd been very tense at Ruatha—tense not to rush
Lytol and still achieve his own ends, and worried by
the report of Toric's clever machinations.

He slid down Ruth's shoulder to the soft sand, at
just the spot where he had so recently kissed Sharra.
Thoughts of her were comforting. He waited until Ruth
had curled into the still warm sand and then he made
for the Hall, tiptoeing in, surprised to see even the
Harper's room dark. It must be later than be thought
in this part of the world.

408

The White Dragon

He crept into his bed, heard Piemur mutter in his
sleep. Farii, curled beside her friend, opened one lid
to peer at him, before going back to sound sleep.
Jaxom pulled the light blanket over him, thinking of
the snows in Ruatha, and went gratefully to sleep.

He woke, abruptly, thinking that someone had called
his name. Piemur and Farii were motionless in the
crepuscular light that briefly heralded the dawn. Jaxom
lay taut, expecting a repetition of that call, and heard
none. The Harper? He doubted that, for Menolly was
attuned to wake at his call. He touched Ruth's sleepy
mind and knew that the dragon was only just rousing.

Jaxom was stiff. Maybe that was what had awakened
him for his shoulders were cramped, the long muscles
in his arms and across his midriff ached from yester-
day's digging. His back was uncomfortably warm from
the sun on that Plateau. It was too early to be up. He
tried to court sleep but the discomforts of his muscles
and skin were sufficient to keep him wakeful. He rose
quietly so as not to disturb Piemur or be heard by
Sharra. A swim would ease his muscles and soothe his
bum. He paused by Ruth and found the white dragon
waking, eager to join him for Ruth felt certain that all
the mud had not been washed from his hide the eve-
ning before.

The Dawn Sisters were clearly sparkling in a sun
which was not yet visible over the far horizon. Could
his ancestors have gone back to them for refuge after
the eruption? And how?

Wading out to his waist in the quiet Cove, Jaxom
dove and swam under water, mysteriously dark without
the sun to lighten its depths. Then he shot himself to
the surface. No, there must have been some other
sanctuary between the settlement and the sea. The
flight had been channeled in one direction.

He called Ruth, reminding the grumbling white
dragon that the sun would be much warmer on the
Plateau. He collected his flying gear and grabbed some
cold meatrolls from the larder, listening for a long mo-
ment to see if he had roused anyone else. He'd rather

409




The White Dragon

test his theory now and surprise everyone with good
news on waking. He hoped.

They were airborne just as the sun became visible
on the horizon, touching the clear cloudless sky with
yellow and gilding the benign face of the distant cone
mountain.

Ruth took them between and then, at Jaxom's sug-
gestion, circled wide and lazily above the Plateau.
They'd made new mounds of their own, Jaxom noticed
with amusement, from the debris which the dragons
had clawed from the two ancient buildings. He lined
Ruth up in the direction of the sea. That goal would
have been a long day's march for terrified people. He
decided against calling the fire-lizards at this point;

they'd only overexcite themselves repeating memories
of the eruption. He had to get them to a spot where
their associative memories tapped a less frantic mo-
ment. Surely they would have something to recall of
their men in whatever refuge the fleeing people had
set out to reach.

Had there perhaps been stables for beasts and
wherries built at some distance from the settlement?
Considering the scale on which the ancients operated,
such a stable would have been large enough to shelter
hundreds from the burning rain of a volcano!

He asked Ruth to glide toward the sea, in the gen-
eral direction of the panic-driven ancients. Once past
the grassland, shrubs began to hold root in the ashen
soil, giving way to larger trees and thicker vegetation.
They'd be lucky if they could spot anything unusual in
that thick green mass. He was just about to ask Ruth to
turn back and fly another swath when he noticed a
break in the jungle. They glided out over a long scar of
grassland, several dragonlengths wide and several
hundred long. Trees and bushes were sparse on either
side, as if struggling to find soil for their roots. Ribbons
of water glinted at the far end of the curious scar, like
shallow interconnected pools.

Just then the sun rose above the rim of the Plateau,
and turning his head to the left to escape that bril-
liance, Jaxom saw the three shadows lengthening across

The White Dragon

the top end of the grassy scar. Excitedly, he urged Ruth
to the spot, circling until he was certain that these hills
couldn't be hills and certainly were unlike the shape of
the ancients' other buildings. For one thing, their place-
ment was as unnatural as their shape. One was seven
dragonlengths or more in advance of the other two,

and there'd be ten or more dragonlengths between
them.

He had Ruth fly past atfd noticed the curious con-
formation: a larger mass was discernible at one end,
while the other tapered slightly downward, a difference
visible despite grass, earth and the small bushes that
covered these so-called hills.

As excited as he was, Ruth came to rest between the
leading two. The hills were not as obviously unnatural
on the ground but they would have appeared odd even
to someone arriving on foot.

No sooner had he asked Ruth to land than fire-
lizards erupted about them, chittering with wild excite-
ment and unbelievable pleasure.

"What are they saying, Ruth? Let's try to keep them
calm enough to make sense. Do they have any images
about these hills?"

Too many. Ruth raised his head, crooning softly to
the fire-lizards. They were dipping and darting about
so erratically that Jaxom gave up trying to see if any
were banded. They are happy. They are glad you are
come back. It has been so long.

"When was I first here?" Jaxom asked Ruth, hav-
ing learned not to confuse the fire-lizards with genera-
tions. "Can they remember?"

When you came out of the sky in long gray things?

Ruth sounded bewildered even as he relayed the an-
swer.

Jaxom leaned against Ruth, scarcely crediting the

reply. "Show me!"

Brilliant and conflicting images stunned him as he
saw vistas, unfocused at first, then resolving into a
clear picture as Ruth sorted out the myriad impressions
into one single coherent view.

The cylinders were grayish, with stubby wings that




The White Dragon

were poor imitations of the graceful pinions of the
dragons. The cylinders bore rings of smaller tubes at
one end while the other was blunt-nosed. Suddenly an
opening appeared about a third of the way from the
tubed end of the first ship. Men and women walked
down a ramp. A progression of images flashed across
Jaxom's mind then, of people running about, embrac-
ing each other, jumping up and down. Then the images
Ruth obtained from the cluttering bugling fire-lizards
dissolved into chaos—as if each separate fire-lizard
had followed one person and each was trying to give
Ruth his individual image rather than a group view of
the landing and ensuing events.

There was no doubt in Jaxom's mind that here was
where the ancients had taken refuge from the volcano's
havoc, the ships that had brought them from the
Dawn Sisters to Pern. And the ships were still here be-
cause for some reason they couldn't go back to the trio
of stars.

The opening into the vessel had been a third of the
way from the tube end? With ecstatic fire-lizards doing
acrobatics about his head, Jaxom paced the grass cov-
ering the cylinder until he thought he'd reached the
appropriate spot.

They say that you have found it, Ruth advised him,
nudging Jaxom forward. His great eyes were spinning
with yellow fire.

/To support their verdict, scores of fire-lizards settled
on the bush-covered place and began to tug at the
vegetation.

"I should go back to the Hold and tell them," Jaxom
muttered to himself.

They are asleep. Benden is asleep. We are the only
ones awake in the world!

That was, Jaxom had to admit, rather likely.

/ dug yesterday. I can dig today. We can dig until
they wake, when they can come help us.

"You have claws. I don't. Let's get some of the tools
from the Plateau."

They were accompanied in both directions by ex-
cited, happy fire-lizards. With a shovel, Jaxom marked

The White Dragon

out the approximate area he wanted them to unearth
to reach the door to the vessel. Then it was only a
question of supervising Ruth and the sometimes ob-
structive assistance of the fire-lizards. They stripped
the tough grass from the earth, first, the fire-lizards
depositing it in the bushes beyond the scar. Fortunately
the covering was firmly packed dirt blown over the
landing site in the course of thousands of Turns. Even
so, rain and sun had hardened a thick covering. When
his shoulders began to ache, Jaxom eased his pace. He
munched on a breadroll, occasionally urging squab-
bling fire-lizards back to work.

Ruth's claws scrabbled on something. It isn't rock!
Jaxom jumped to the spot, slamming his shovel through
the loose dirt. The edge hit a hard, unyielding surface.
Jaxom let out a wild yell that set all the fire-lizards
gyrating in midair.

Brushing away the last of the covering dirt with his
hands, he stared at what he had unearthed. With cau-
tious fingers, he touched the curious surface. Not metal,
not the stuff of the mounds, rather like—improbable as
it seemed—clouded glass. But no glass could be that
hard!

"Ruth, is Canth awake yet?"

No. Menolly and Piemur are. They wonder where
we are.

Jaxom crowed in triumph. "I think we'll go tell
them!"

They were waiting for him and Ruth when they
arrived from between in Cove Hold—the Harper,
Menolly and Piemur. Over their babble of questions
about his disappearance to Ruatha the night before,
Jaxom tried to explain what he'd found. The Harper
had to silence the babble with a huge bellow that
stunned every fire-lizard into between. Having ob-
tained silence, the Harper took a deeo breath.

"Who could think or hear in such noise? Now,
Menolly, get us some food! Piemur, get drawing ma-
terials. Zair, come here, my beautiful rascal. You've to
take a message to Benden. You are to bite Mnementh's
nose if necessary to wake him. Yes, I know you're

The White Dragon

brave enough to fight the big one. Don't fight! Wake!
High time those lazy louts at Benden were up anyway!"
The Harper was in great spirits, his head high, his
eyes sparkling, his gestures broad. "By Shard and
Shell, Jaxom, you've started a dull day with a bright
promise. I was laggard in bed because there was noth-
ing to rise for but more disappointment!"

"They may be as empty ..."

"You said the fire-lizards imaged the landing? Peo-
ple emerging? Those cylinders could be as empty as
grudging forgiveness but they'd still be worth seeing.
The actual ships which brought our ancestors from
the Dawn Sisters to Pern!" The Harper expelled his
breath slowly, his eyes brilliant with excitement.

"You're not too stimulated, are you, Master
Robinton?" Jaxom asked, looking about for Sharra.
"Where is Sharra?" He saw Menolly and Piemur run-
ning on their errands. Surely Sharra wasn't still asleep.
He glanced among the fire-lizards for Meer and Talla.

"A dragonrider came for Sharra last evening. There's
some illness at Southern and she was urgently needed.
I've been selfish, I suppose, keeping you all about me
when the real need is over. In fact," the Harper said,
"I'm surprised to find you here and not at Ruatha still."
Robinton's eyebrows arched as an invitation to ex-
plain.

"I should have been back in my Hold some time
ago, Master Robinton," Jaxom admitted in a contrite
tone, then he shrugged at his reluctance to leave the
Cove. "Furthermore, it was snowing when I got there.
Lord Lytol and I had a long talk ..."

"There'd be no opposition to you taking Hold now,"
the Harper said with a laugh, "and no more hedging
and hawing about lands and you being a dragon's
rider." The Harper's eyes twinkled as he mimicked
Lord Sangel's pinched tones. Then his face altered and
he put his hand on Jaxom's shoulder. "How did Lytol
react?"

"He wasn't surprised," Jaxom said, allowing his re-
lief and wonder to color his voice. "And I've been
thinking, sir, that if Nicat continues to excavate the

414

The White Dragon

Plateau buildings, someone with Lytol's gift for organ-
izing ..."

"My own thinking exactly, Jaxom," the Harper said,
giving Jaxom another clout on the shoulder in his en-
thusiasm. "The past is a fit occupation for two old
men..."

"Sir," Jaxom cried in outraged tones, "you'U-never
be old. Nor will Lytol!"

"Kind of you to think so, young Jaxom, but I've had
warning. Ah, here comes a dragon—Canth, if I don't
mistake in the sun's glare!" Robinton shielded his eyes
with his hand.

The glare might also account for the frown on
F'nor's face as he strode up the beach toward them.
Zair had given him the most confused images, which
had excited Berd, Grail and every fire-lizard in Benden
Weyr to the point where Lessa had told Ramoth to
banish the whole lot. In proof of which, the air above
the Cove was filled with fair upon fair of fire-lizards,
making a tremendous clamor.

"Ruth, settle them down," Jaxom asked his dragon.
"We'll not be able to see or hear for fire-lizards."

Ruth gave such a bellow he startled himself and
drew an awed whirl of Canth's eyes. The ensuing si-
lence was broken by a frightened lone chirp. And the
sky emptied of fire-lizards as they rapidly found
perches on the tree-ringed beach.

They obeyed me. Ruth sounded amazed, and smug.
The display of control put F'nor in a considerably
better frame of mind.

"Now, tell me what you've been up to so early in
the morning, Jaxom?" F'nor asked, loosening his flying
belt and helmet. "It's getting so Benden can't turn
around without Ruatha's assistance."

Jaxom peered intently at F'nor in surprise, but the
brown rider gave him such a look that Jaxom realized
F'nor was being exceptionally cryptic. Could he be
referring to that damned egg? Had Brekke mentioned
something to him?

"Why not?" he said in answer. "Benden and Ruatha
415




The White Dragon

have the strongest ties, F'nor. Blood, as well as mutual
interest."

F'nor's expression turned from daunting to amused.
He clipped Jaxom hard enough on the shoulder to
make him lose balance.

"Well said, Ruatha, well said! So, what did you dis-
cover today?"

With no little satisfaction, Jaxom recounted his
morning's labor, and F'nor's eyes widened with excite-
ment.

"The ships they landed in? Let's go!" He tightened
his belt, fastened his helmet and gestured for Jaxom to
speed up his dressing. "We've Thread tomorrow at
Benden, but, if this is as you say ..."

"I'm coming, too," the Harper announced.

Not even the boldest fire-lizard chirped in the si-
lence that followed that remark.

"I'm coming, too," Master Robinton repeated in a
firm reasonable tone to override the protest he saw in
every face. "I've missed too much. The suspense is
very bad for me!" He placed his hand dramatically on
his chest. "My heart pounds harder and harder with
every passing moment that I'm forced to wait until you
decide to send me dribbles and drabbles of tantalizing
details." He held up his hand as Menolly recovered her
wits and opened her mouth to speak. "I will do no dig-
ging. I will merely watch! But, I assure you that the
vexation, not to mention the loneliness and suspense
while you are on making Records, will put a totally
unnecessary and dangerous strain on my poor heart.
What if I collapsed from the tension, with no one
here?"

"Master Robinton, if Brekke knew . . ." Menolly's
protest was very weak.

F'nor covered his eyes with one hand and shook his
head at the Harper's base tactics. "Give the man a
finger and he'll take a length." Then he looked up and
shook his finger at Robinton. "If you move a muscle,
pick up a pinch of dirt, I'll... I'll. . ."

"I'll sit on him," Menolly finished, giving her Master

416

The White Dragon

such a fierce glare that he pretended to ward off her
glance.

"Get my flying gear, Menolly, there's a dear child."
The Harper, with a cajoling expression, gave her a
gentle push toward the Hold. "And my writing case
from the worktable in my study. I really will behave
myself, F'nor, and I'm certain I wouldn't come to harm
in such a short journey between. Menolly," he raised
his voice to a carrying roar, "don't forget the half-sack
of wine on my chair! It was bad enough yesterday be-
ing unable to see the Plateau buildings!"

As soon as Menolly returned with his requirements,
the wine sack bouncing on her back, there was no more
discussion- F'nor mounted the Harper and Piemur on
Canth, leaving Jaxom to settle Menolly behind him on
Ruth. Fleetingly he wished that Sharra were still here.
He wondered if Ruth could bespeak her all the way to
Southern and then restrained the impulse. Day had
not yet dawned that far west. The two dragons as-
cended with a dense escort of fire-lizards. Ruth gave
Canth the direction and, even as Jaxom worried that
the Harper's action was very rash, they had gone be-
tween and were gliding toward the three peculiar hills.

Jaxom grinned with delight at the response to his
discovery. Menolly's arms gripped him more tightly
and she cried out an intricate arpeggio in her excite-
ment. He could see the Harper gesticulating wildly,
and hoped he had a good grip on F'nor's belt. Canth,
never taking his eyes from the hole in the hill, veered
to land as close to it as possible. They settled the
Harper in the nearest spot of shade and had Jaxom
ask Ruth to get the local fire-lizards to image things
for himself and Zair while he admired their labors.

To the chirping conversation of fire-lizards, the
others began to dig, Ruth standing to one side since
Canth could move far more earth than he and there
was only room for one dragon. Jaxom was keenly
aware of an internal excitement that had been utterly
lacking at the Plateau.

They dug perpendicularly now, for Jaxom had un-
earthed the top of the vehicle. Canth's enthusiasm often

417

The White Dragon

showered the Harper with clods of dirt as they worked
down to the door area, but they'd been digging only a
short time before the seam of the doorway, a fine crack
in the otherwise smooth surface, came to light. F'nor
had Canth shift the angle of excavation slightly to the
right and very shortly the entire upper edge of the

opening was uncovered.

Much encouraged, fire-lizards joined Canth and the
riders, and dirt flew everywhere. When the opening
was all but clear, they had also uncovered the rounded,
leading edge of one of the stubby wings as well, proving,
as the Harper was quick to point out, that the fire-
lizards did recall accurately what their ancestors had
seen. Once you could get them to remember, of course.

When the whole doorway had been cleared, the
workers stood aside for the Harper to approach and

examine it.

"I think we really had better contact Lessa and

F'lar now. And it would be unkind in the extreme to

exclude Master Fandarel. He might even be able to

tell us what they constructed this ship of."

"That's enough people to know of this," F'nor said

before the Harper could include any other names. "I'll
go for the Master Smith myself. It'll spare time and
prevent gossip. Canth will tell Ramoth." He rubbed
sweat from his face and neck and the worst of the mud
stains from his hands before he shrugged into his flying
gear. "Don't any of you do anything while I'm gone!"
he added, glaring at each one in turn and most fiercely

at the Harper.

"I wouldn't know what to do," the Harper said in a
reproving tone. "We shall take refreshment," he said,
reaching for the wineskin, and gesturing the others to

sit around him.

The diggers welcomed a respite and a chance to
contemplate the marvel they were unearthing.

"If they flew in those things ..."

"If, my dear Piemur. No doubt obtains. They did.
The fire-lizards saw those vehicles land," Master

Robinton said.

"I started to say that if they flew in those things,

418

The White Dragon

why didn't they fly them away from the Plateau after
the explosion?"

"A very good point."

"Well?"

"Perhaps Fandarel can answer, for I certainly
can't," Robinton said truthfully, regarding the door
with some chagrin.

"Maybe they'd need to take off from a height, the
way a lazy dragon does," Menolly said, casting a sly
glance at Jaxom.

""How long does it take F'nor to go between?" the
Harper asked with a wistful sigh, squinting up at the
bright sky for any sign of returning dragons.

"Takes longer to take off and land."

The Benden Weyrleaders arrived first, Canth with
F'nor and Fandarel only a few seconds behind them so
that all three dragons landed together. The Smith was
first off Canth, rushing to the new wonder to run rever-
ent hands over the curious surface, murmuring under
his breath. F'lar and Lessa came striding through the •
long grasses, picking their way past dragon-strewn
dirt; neither took their eyes from the softly shining
doorway.

"Aha!" the Smith cried in sudden triumph, startling
everyone. He'd been examining the rim of the door-
way minutely. "Perhaps this is meant to move!" He
dropped to his knees to the exposed right-hand cor-
ner. "Yes, if one excavated the entire vessel,
this would probably be man-height! I think I ought
to press." He put action to words and a small panel
slid open to one side of the main door. It displayed
a depression occupied by several colored circles.

Everyone crowded about him as his big fingers
wiggled  preparatorily and then hovered first over
the upper rank of green circles. The bottom ones
were red.

"Red has always meant danger, a convention we
undoubtedly learned from the ancients," he said.
"Green we will therefore try first!" His thick forefin-
ger hesitated a moment longer and then stabbed at
the green button.

419




The White Dragon

At first nothing happened. Jaxom felt a clenching,
like a cold hand on his guts, the prelude to intense
disappointment.

"No, look, it's opening!" Piemur's keen eyes caught
the first barely perceptible widening of the crack.

"It's old," the Smith said reverently. "A very old
mechanism," he added as they all heard the faint
protest of movement.

Slowly the door moved inward and then, aston-
ishingly, it moved sideways, into the hull of the ship.
A whoosh of rank air sent them reeling and gasping
backward. When they looked again, the door was
fully retracted, sunlight streaming onto flooring,
darker than the ship's hull but, when the Smith
rapped it with his knuckles, apparently made of the
same peculiar material.

"Wait!" Fandarel restrained the others from enter-
ing. "Give fresh air a chance to circulate. Did any-
one think to bring glows?"

"There're some at the Cove," Jaxom said, reaching
for his flying gear and jamming his helmet on his
head as he raced to Ruth. He never did bother to
belt up and the frigid moment of between was a
shocking cooler after the exertions of digging. He got
as many glow baskets as he could carry. On his return,
he realized no one seemed to have moved in his brief
absence. Awe of the unknown beyond that great en-
trance had restrained them. Awe and perhaps,
Jaxom decided, a reluctance to repeat the disappoint-
ment of the Plateau.

"Well, we will never know anything standing out
here like numbwits," Robinton said, taking a glow
basket from Jaxom and unshielding it as he strode
forward into the ship.

It was mete, Jaxom thought, as he passed out
the other baskets, that the Master Harper should have
the honor of entering first. Fandarel, F'lar, F'nor and
Lessa walked abreast through the opening. Jaxom
grinned at Piemur and Menolly as they fell in behind.

Another great door, with circular wheel for locking
thick bars ceiling and floor, lay open and inviting.

420

The White Dragon

Master Fandarel was making inarticulate noises of
praise and awe as he touched the walls and peered at
what looked to be control levers and more colored
circles. As they penetrated further, they came upon
two more doors, an open one on the left and one
closed on their right which would lead, Fandarel
was certain, to the rear, tube-encircled end of the
vehicle. How could tubes make a cumbersome,
snub-winged thing like this fly? He simply had to
bring Beneiek here, if no one else was to see it.

They all turned to the left and entered a long nar-
row corridor, their boots making muffled noises on
the nonmetallic floor.

"More of the substance they used for pit supports,
I think," Fandarel said, kneeling and pressing his
fingers against the floor. "Ha, what was in these?"
he asked, fingering brackets which were empty now.
"Fascinating. And no dust."

"No air or wind to carry it in here for who knows
how long," F'lar remarked in a quiet tone. "As in
those rooms we discovered in Benden Weyr."

They moved along a corridor of doors, some open,
some closed. None locked, for Piemur and Jaxom
were able to peer into the emptied cubicles. Holes

in the flooring and on the inside walls proved that
there had been fittings.

"All of you, come here!" came the excited voice
of the Harper, who had prowled ahead.

"No, here!" F'nor called from further beyond

the Harper. "Here's where they must have controlled
the ship!"

"No, F'nor, this is important to us!"
And F'lar seconded the Harper's vibrant claim.
As everyone gathered about the two, their glow
baskets adding to the illumination, it was clear what
had arrested their attention. The walls were covered
with maps. In great detail, the familiar contours of
Northern Pern and the not-so-familiar Southern
Continent, all of it in its immensity, had been drawn
eradicably on the wall.

With a sound—half-moan, half-shout—Piemur
421




The White Dragon

touched the map, tracing with his forefinger the coast
which he had so arduously tramped, but which was
only a small portion of the total shoreline.

"Look, Master Idarolan can sail almost to the
Eastern Barrier Range . . . and it's not the same
range I saw in the west. And ..."

"Now what would this map represent?" F'nor
asked, interrupting Piemur's excited comments. He
was standing to one side, his glow basket lighting
another chart of Pern. The outlines were the same,
but the bands of different colors covered the familiar
contours in puzzling configurations. The seas were
depicted with varying shades of blue.

"That would indicate the depth of the water,"
Menolly said, running her fingers along what she
knew was the Nerat Deep, here colored a deep
blue. "Look, here are^ arrows to indicate the Great
South Current. And here's the Western Stream,"

"If that is so," the Harper said slowly, "then this
ought to indicate the height of the land? No. For here
where there should be mountains in Crom, Fort,
Benden and Telgar, the color is the same as this
part of the Telgar Plains. Most puzzling. Whatever
could this have meant to the ancients?" He glanced
from Northern to Southern spheres. "And none of
that shade except this little bit here on the underside
of the world. Perplexing. I shall have to study this!"
He felt along the edges of the map, but it was evi-
dently drawn on the wall itself.

"Here's one for Master Wansor's eyes," Fandarel
said, apparently so engrossed in the section he was
studying that he hadn't attended Robinton's words.

Piemur and Jaxom turned their glows toward the
Smith.

"A star map!" the young Harper cried.

"Not quite," the Smith said.

"Is it a map of our stars?" Jaxom asked.

The Smith's big finger touched the largest circle,
a brilliant orange with licking flames jagging out from
its circumference.

"This is our sun. This must be the Red Star." His

The White Dragon

finger described the orbit about the sun which had
been designated for the wanderer. He now touched the
third, very small, round world. "This is our Pem!"
He grinned at the others, for the humble size of their
world.

"What's this then?" Piemur asked, putting his fin-
ger on a dark-colored world on the other side of the
sun, away from the other planets and their described
lines of orbit.

"I don't know. It ought to be on this side of the
sun, as the other planets are!"

"And what do these lines mean?" Jaxom asked,
having traced the arrowed lines from the bottom of
the chart to the Red Star and then off the edge of
the chart on the far right.

"Fascinating," was all the Mastersmith would
allow, rubbing his chin as he stared at the enigmatic
drawings.

"I prefer this map," Lessa said, smiling with a
great deal of satisfaction at the two continents.

"You do?" F'lar asked, turning from his examina-
tion of the star map. "Ah, yes, I take your point,"
he said as he watched her hand cover the western
section. Then he laughed. "Yes, I quite agree, Lessa.
Very instructive."

"How can that be?" Piemur asked with some
scorn. "It's not accurate. Look," he pointed, "there's
no sea volcanoes beyond the Plateau cliffs. And
there's far too much shore in this section of the
South. And no Great Bay. It doesn't go like that. I
know. I've walked it."

"No, the map isn't accurate anymore," the
Harper said before Lessa could level a criticism at
Piemur. "Notice Tillek. There's a good deal more of
the northern peninsula than there should be. And no
mark for the volcano on the south shore." Then he
added with a deep smile, "But I suspect the map
was accurate, when it was drawn!"

"Of course," Lessa said in a cry of triumph. "All the
Passes, each one stressing our poor world, caused
upheaval and destruction ..."




The White Dragon

"See, this spur of land, where the Dragon Stones
are now?" Menolly cried. "My great-grandsire re-
members the land falling into the sea!"

"No matter that there have been minor changes,"
Fandarel said, dismissing these casually, "the maps
are superb discoveries." He frowned again at the one
with the anomalous shadings. "That shade of brown
designates our first settlements in the North. See,
Fort Hold, then Ruatha, Benden, Telgar," he looked
at F'lar and Lessa, "and the Weyrs. They all are
placed in this same coloration. Is that what it means,
perhaps? Places where people could settle?"

"But they settled the Plateau first of all, and it's
not that same brown," Piemur said, disgruntled.
• "We must seek Master Wansor's opinion. And
Master Nicat's."

"I'd like to see Beneiek look over the controls by
the doors and perhaps investigate the rear of the
ship," F'nor said.

"My dear brown rider," the Smith said, "Beneiek
is very clever with mechanical things but these . . ."
His broad gesture indicated that the highly advanced
technology on the ship was well beyond his apprentice's
skill.

"Perhaps one day, we will know enough to fathom
all the ships' mysteries," F'lar said, smiling with
intense pleasure as he tapped the maps. "But these
... are current and exceedingly valuable to us, and
Pern." He paused to grin at Master Robinton, who
nodded his head in comprehension, and Lessa, who
continued to smile, her eyes dancing with a mischief
only the three seemed to share. "And, for the time
being, no mention is to be made of them!" He was
stern now, and held up his hand when Fandarel be-
gan to protest. "A short time only, Fandarel. I have
very good reason. Wansor must certainly see these
equations and drawings. And Beneiek can puzzk
what he may. As he talks only to inanimate objects,
he's no risk to the necessary secrecy I feel we must
impose on these ships. Menolly and Piemur are
harperbound, and you've already proved your dis-

424

The White Dragon

cretion and abilities, Jaxom." F'lar's glance, direct
and intense, caused Jaxom an inner pang because he
was certain then that the Benden Weyrleader did know
of his episode with the dratted egg. "There's going to
be quite enough to confuse Hold, Craft and Weyr on
that Plateau without adding these riddles." His eyes
went back to the broad expanse of the Southern
Continent and, as he shook his head slowly, his smile
and those of the Harper and Lessa increased. Sud-
denly a shocked expression crossed his face, and he
looked up. "Toric! He said he'd be here today, to
help excavate."

"Yes, and N'ton was to collect me," Fandarel
said, "but not for an hour yet or more. I was dragged
from my couch by F'nor . . ."

"And Southern is in Telgar's time area. Good!
However, I want a copy of this map. Which of you
three can we best spare today?" he asked.

"Jaxom!" the Harper said quickly. "He copies
neatly and when the rider came for Sharra last eve-
ning, Jaxom had gone to Ruatha. Besides, it is wise
to keep Ruth apart. The local fire-lizards will bear
him company here and not chatter to Tone's trio."

The matter was quickly decided and Jaxom left
with copying materials and all the glows. A screen of
branches was contrived to hide the opening from any
chance observer. Ruth was asked to entice the local
fire-lizards to him and hopefully get them to nap.
Because the morning's exertions had tired Ruth, he
was quite willing to curl up in the sun and sleep. The
others departed to Cove Hold and Jaxom began to
copy this peculiarly significant map.

As he worked, he tried to figure out why it had so
pleased the Weyrleaders and Master Robinton. To
be sure, it was a gift to know the extent of Southern
without having to walk it all.

Was that it? Of course. Toric didn't know how
large the Southern Continent was! And now the
Weyrleaders did. Jaxom regarded the Hold peninsu-
la, estimating how much Toric and his holdless men
had managed to explore. Never could Toric, even

42?




The White Dragon

with his Hold swollen by younger sons from every
Hold and cothold in Northern Pem, explore this vast
continent. Why, even if he tried to Hold as far as
the Western Range in the south, to the Great Bay in
the west . . . Jaxom smiled, so pleased with his
deduction that he nearly smeared the line he was
drawing. Should he mark in the Great Bay as they
now knew it, or copy the old map faithfully? Yes,
it was this one that mattered. And when Toric finally
saw it ... Jaxom chuckled, imagining with intense
pleasure the chagrin which Toric would feel at first
sight.

CHAPTER XXI

Next Day at the Mountain, Cove Hold, and
the Southern Hatching Ground, 15.10.21

"I KNOW WHAT was originally conceded to Toric,'*
Robinton was saying to the Benden Weyrleaders as
they sat drinking klah at Cove Hold.

"To Hold what he had acquired when the Old-
timers left the Southern Weyr," F'lar amended.
"The purist would argue that, as the Oldtimers have
not indeed all passed between, Toric may continue
to extend his Holding."

"Or secure the loyalty of others in Holding?"
Robinton remarked.

Lessa stared at him, absorbing his meaning. "Was
that why he was amenable to settling so many hold-
less men?" She looked indignant for a moment
and then laughed. "Toric is a man we shall have to
watch these next Turns. I'd no idea he'd prove so
ambitious."

"Farsighted, too," Robinton said in a dry tone.
"He achieves as much by gratitude as by possession."

"Gratitude has a tendency to sour," F'lar said.

"He's not fool enough to rely on that alone,"
Lessa said with a rueful expression then looked about
her, puzzled. "Did I see Sharra at all this morning?"

"No, a rider collected her last evening. There's
illness at—oh!" The Harper's eyes widened to em-




The White Dragon

phasize his surprised dismay. "Now there's no fool
like an old one. It never occurred to me to doubt that
message. Yes, he'd use Sharra, and his other sisters.
He has several daughters as well to bind men to him.
Jaxom will react to this situation, I think."

"I hope so," Lessa said with some asperity. "I
rather approve of Sharra as a match. If this is not a
simple case of his being grateful for her nursing . . ."
She clucked her tongue at the mention of gratitude.

Robinton laughed. "Brekke feels, and so does
Menolly, that the attachment is sincere on both
sides. I'm delighted you agree. I've been daily hoping
he would ask me to officiate. Especially in view of
today's reflections. By the way, only it isn't exactly
by the way but to our point, Jaxom went back to
Ruatha Hold last evening. He approached Lytol
on the subject of his confirmation as Lord Holder."

"Did he?" F'lar was as pleased as his weyrmate.
"Prompted by Sharra? Or by Toric's not-too-subtle
jibing yesterday?"

"I missed far too much not being permitted to go
to the Plateau yesterday," the Harper said irritably.
"What jibing?"

The bugling of Ramoth and Mnementh outside
effectively prevented further discussion.

"N'ton's here, with Master Nicat and Wansor,"
F'lar said. He turned to Robinton and Lessa as he
rose. "Shall we just let matters proceed naturally?"

"That's usually best," Robinton said.

Lessa smiled cryptically as she strode toward the
door.

N'ton had brought three journeymen miners as
well as their Master. F'nor arrived immediately
thereafter with Wansor, Beneiek and two young ap-
prentices apparently chosen for their generous size.
Without waiting for Toric to appear with D'ram,
they all went between to the Plateau, landing as close
to Nicat's little mound as possible. Daylight provided
the answer to its function—numerals and letters
paraded as design across the far end, and rather fas-
cinating animals, large and small and bearing no re-

The White Dragon

semblance to anything walking Pern's surface, marched
across the two long walls.

"A harper's room, for the very young learning first
Teaching Songs and Ballads," the Harper said, not
nearly as disappointed as the others since the build-
ing applied to his Craft.

"Well, then," Beneiek added and, turning on his
heel, pointed to the mound immediately on the left.
"This is where the advanced students would be. If,
of course," he sounded dubious, "the ancients fol-
lowed a logical sequence and progressed to the right
in any circular formation." He executed a curt bow
to the Weyrleaders and the three Craftmasters and,
gesturing to one of the apprentices, marched de-
cisively out, picked a shovel from the pile and pro-
ceeded to cut the grass from the inner end of the
chosen mound.

Lessa, waiting until Beneiek was out of hearing, gave
way to laughter. "And if the ancients disappoint him,
will he bother with any more mysteries?"

"It's time to unearth my large mound today," F'lar
said, trying to imitate Benelek's decisiveness as he
gestured the others to pick up tools and join him.

Bearing in mind that the entrances tended to be
on the short ends, they abandoned F'lar's original
trench on the roof. Ramoth and Mnementh oblig-
ingly shifted enormous mounds of the curious gray-
black soil from the center of the end. The entrance
was shortly revealed as a door, large enough to admit
a green dragon, sliding on rails; a smaller opening
pierced one comer. "Man size," F'lar said. It opened
on hinges that were not of metal, a fact which de-
lighted and puzzled Masters Nicat and Fandarel.
Just as they opened the small door, Jaxom and Ruth
arrived. No sooner had they landed on the mound's
top, than three more dragons burst into the air.

"D'ram," Lessa said, "and two Benden browns
that went south to help."

"Sorry to take so long, Master Robinton," Jaxom
said, handing the Harper a neat roll as if it were of




The White Dragon

no moment. "Good morning, Lessa. What was in
Nicat's building?"

The Harper tucked the roll carefully in his belt
pouch, pleased with Jaxom's dissembling. "A chil-
dren's hall. Go take a look."

"Could I have a word with you, Master Robinton.
Unless ..." Jaxom waved his hands toward the
mound and the little door hanging so invitingly open.

"I can wait until the air is cleared out," Robinton
said, having noticed the tense look in Jaxom's eyes
and his air of polite entreaty. He moved with the
young man to one side of the others. "Yes?"

"Sharra is being restrained at Southern by her
brother," Jaxom said in a low voice that did not re-
veal his agitation.

"However did you find that out?" Robinton asked,
glancing up at the circling bronze that bore the
Southerner.

"She told Ruth. Toric has plans for her to marry
one of his new holders. He considers the Northern
lordlings useless!" There was a dangerous glint in
Jaxom's eyes and a sternness to his features which,
for the first time since Robinton had known the lad,
gave him the look of his father. Fax, a resemblance
which afforded Robinton some small pleasure.

"Some of the lordlings undoubtedly are," Robinton
replied, amused. "What have you in mind, Jaxom?"
he added, for there was no answering response to
his drollery in the grim-faced young man. Somehow,
the Harper had failed to appreciate the maturing that
had occurred in Ruatha's Lord Holder during the
past eventful two seasons.

"I intend to get her back," Jaxom said in a quiet
firm tone, and gestured to Ruth. "Toric forgot to
reckon with Ruth."

"You'd fly into Southern and just carry her off?"
Robinton asked, trying to keep his expression
straight, though Jaxom's romantic manner made it
difficult.

"Why not?" Suddenly the glint of humor was re-
stored to Jaxom's eyes. "I doubt if Toric expects me

430

The White Dragon

to take direct action. I'm one of those useless North-
ern lordlings!"

"Ah, but not before you receive some direct
action yourself, I fancy," Robinton said in a quick
undertone.

Toric and his group had dismounted in the clear
space between two of the mound ranks. He had left his
people to sort themselves out and, stripping off his
flying gear, was striding toward Lessa and those clus-
tered about the mound door. But, after giving her a
greeting, he changed directions and there was no
doubt his goal was Jaxom.

"Harper!" he said, coming to a halt with a cour-
teous nod for Robinton before he looked at Jaxom.

To Robinton's pleasure, Ruatha's Lord did not so
much as straighten his shoulders or turn to face
Toric.

"Holder Toric," Jaxom said over his shoulder in a
cool indifferent greeting. The title, which was cer-
tainly proper as Toric had never been invited to take
full rank by the other Lord Holders of Pern, brought
the Southerner up short. His eyes narrowed as
he looked keenly at Jaxom.

"Lord Jaxom." Toric's drawl made an insult of
that title, implying that it was not fully Jaxom's as yet.

Jaxom turned slowly toward him. "Sharra tells
me," he said, noting as Robinton did the surprise
twitch of Toric's eye muscles, and a quick darting
glance at the fire-lizards about Ruth, "that you do
not favor an alliance with Ruatha."

"No, lordling. I do not!" Toric flicked a glance at
the Harper, a broad smile on his face. "She can
do better than a table-sized Hold in the North." The
last word held contemptuous emphasis.

"What did I hear. Toric?" Lessa asked, her voice
light but with a hint of steel in her eyes as she
squarely ranged herself beside Jaxom.

"Holder Toric has other plans for Sharra," Jaxom
said, his tone more amused than aggrieved. "She can




The White Dragon

do better, it seems, than a table-sized Hold like
Ruatha."

"I mean no offense to Ruatha," Toric said quickly
when he caught the flicker of anger in Lessa's face,
though the Weyrwoman continued to smile.

"That would be most unwise, considering my pride
in my Bloodline and in the present Holder of that
title," she said in the most casual tone.

"Surely, you might reconsider the matter, Toric,"
Robinton said, as affable as ever despite the palpable
warning he conveyed that the Southerner was on
very dangerous ground. "Such an alliance, so much
desired by the two young people, would have con-
siderable advantages for you, I think, aligning your-
self with one of the most prestigious Holds on Pern."

"And be in favor with Benden," Lessa said, smiling
so sweetly that Robinton almost chuckled at the man's
predicament.

Toric stood there, absently rubbing the back of his
neck, his smile slightly diminished.

"We should discuss the matter. At some length, I
think." Lessa tucked her arm in Toric's and turned
him about. "Master Robinton, will you join us? I
think that little cot of mine would be an admirable
spot in which to talk undisturbed."

"I thought we were here to dig up Pern's glorious
past," Toric said, with a good-natured laugh. But he
did not disengage his arm from Lessa's.

"There's surely no time like the present," Lessa
continued at her sweetest, "to discuss the future. Your
future."

F'lar had joined them, falling in step at Lessa's
left, apparently aware through the link between
Mnementh and Lessa of what had just occurred. The
Harper shot a reassuring look over his shoulder to
Jaxom but the young man was looking at his dragon.

"Yes, with so many ambitious holdless men pour-
ing into Southern," F'lar said smoothly, "we've been
remiss in making certain you'll have the lands you
want, Toric. I don't 'fancy blood feuds in the South.

The White Dragon

Unnecessary, too, when there's space enough for this
generation and several more."

Toric's answer was a full-bodied laugh and al-
though he had adjusted his stride to match Lessa's,
he still gave Robinton the impression of invulnerable
self-assurance.

"And since there's so much space, why should I
not be ambitious for my sister?"

"You've more than one, and we're not talking of
Jaxom and Sharra just now," Lessa added with a hint
of irritability as she dismissed the irrelevant. "F'lar
and I had intended to arrange a more formal occa-
sion to set your Holding," she went on, gesturing to
the ancient, empty structure in which they now
stood, "but there's Master Nicat wanting to formalize
Minecrafthall affairs, and Lord Groghe is anxious
that his two sons do not hold adjacent lands, and
other questions have come up recently which require
answers."

"Answers?" Toric asked politely as he leaned
against one wall and crossed his arms on his chest.

Robinton began to wonder just how much of that
pose of indolence was assumed. Was Toric's ambition
going to overpower good sense?

"One answer required is how much land any one
man should Hold in the South?" F'lar said, idly dig-
ging dirt from under his thumbnail with his knife
point. He had lightly emphasized the one.

"And? Our original agreement was that I could
Hold all the lands I had acquired by the time the
Oldtimers had passed on."
"Which, in truth, they haven't," Robinton said.
Toric agreed to that. "I shan't insist on waiting,"
he admitted with a slight inclination of his head,
"since the original circumstances have altered. And,
since my Hold is thoroughly disorganized by the
indigent and hopeful lordlings, and holdless men and
boys, I am reliably informed that others have eschewed
our help and landed wherever their ships can be
beached."

"All the more reason to be sure you are not de-




The White Dragon

prived of one length of your just Hold," F'lar said.
"I know that you have sent out exploring teams. How
far have they actually penetrated?"

"With the help of D'ram's dragonriders," Toric
said as Robinton noticed how keenly he watched
F'lar's face to see if this unexpected assistance was
known to Benden, "we have extended our knowledge
of the terrain to the foot of the Western Range."

"That far?" The bronze rider appeared surprised
and perhaps a triflfr alarmed.

Robinton knew from that auspiciously discovered
map that, while the area from the sea to the Western
Range was immense, it was but a small segment of
the total area of the vast Southern Continent.

"And, of course, Piemur reached the Great Desert
Bay to the west," Toric was saying.

"My dear Toric, how can you possibly Hold all
that?" F'lar seemed politely concerned.

"I've small cotholders with burgeoning families
along most of the habitable shoreline, and at stra-
tegic points in the interior. The men you sent me
these past few Turns proved most industrious." Tone's
smile was more assured.

"I suspect they have pledged loyalty to you in re-
turn for your original generosity?" F'lar asked with
a sigh.

"Naturally."

Lessa laughed. "I thought when we met at Benden
that you were a shrewd and independent man."

"There's more land, my dear Weyrwoman, for any
man who can hold it. Some small holds could turn
out to be far more valuable than larger spreads, in
the eyes of those who truly appreciate their worth."

"I'd say then," Lessa went on, pointedly ignor-
ing Toric's allusion to Ruatha's size, "that you'll have
more than enough to occupy you fully and to hold,
from sea to Western Range to the Great Bay ..."

Suddenly Toric straightened. Lessa had been look-
ing at F'lar, obliquely seeking his approval for what
she granted Toric, so it was only Robinton who caught
the full alertness, the look of intense surprise and dis-

434

The White Dragon .

pleasure in the Southerner's eyes. He recovered himself
quickly.

"To the Great Bay in the West, yes, that is my
hope. I do have maps. In my Hold, but if I've your
leave..."

He had taken one stride to the door when
Ramoth's bugle halted him. And as Mnementh
chimed in, F'lar moved swiftly to block his way.

"It's already too late, Toric."

As Jaxom watched the Benden Weyrleaders and
the Harper walk toward the excavated house with
Toric, he expelled with a deep breath the anger he
had contained for Toric's belittling manner.

" 'Ruatha a table-sized Hold?' " Indeed! Ruatha, the
second oldest and certainly one of the most prosperous
Holds on Pem. If Lessa hadn't come then, he'd have
shown—

Jaxom took another breath. Toric had the height
and reach of him. He'd have been slaughtered by the
Southerner if Lessa hadn't interfered and saved him
from sheer folly. It had never occurred to Jaxom that
Toric might not be honored by an alliance with
Ruatha. He'd been stunned when Ruth had informed
him of Sharra's contact—that she had been lured
back to Southern—and told that Toric would not
countenance a marriage for her in the North. Nor
would Toric listen to Sharra's avowal of a true attach-
ment to Jaxom. So he had set his queen on her two
fire-lizards to keep her from sending messages to
Jaxom. Toric hadn't known that Sharra could talk
to Ruth, something she had done as soon as she'd
awakened that morning. There was a hint of amuse-
ment in Ruth's tone for the secret exchange.

Jaxom waited until the four had entered the little
dwelling before he moved to Ruth. "Fly into South-
ern and carry her off," the Harper had said in jest,
but that was exactly what Jaxom intended.

"Ruth," he asked in his mind as he closed the dis-
tance between them, "are there any fire-lizards of
Toric's about you?"

43?




The White Dragon

No! We. are going to rescue Sharra? Where shall
1 tell her to meet us? We've only been to the Hatch-
ing Grounds in Southern. Shall I ask Ramoth?

"I'd prefer not to involve the Benden dragons in
this. We'll go to the Hatching Ground. That egg is
coming in useful to us after all," he added, appreciat-
ing the irony of the situation as he vaulted to Ruth's
back. "Give her the picture, Ruth. Ask her if she
can reach the place?"

She says yes.

"Let's get there then!"

Jaxom began laughing openly as Ruth took them
between.

They came in low from the east, just as they had
not quite a Turn before. Now, however, the ring of
warm sand was unoccupied. Only briefly, for fire-
lizards swooped down in cheerful greeting.

"Tone's?" Jaxom asked, wondering if he should
dismount and search for Sharra.

She comes! Toric's queen is with her. Go away!
You displease me, watching my friends!

Jaxom had no time to be astonished by his drag-
on's fierce attitude. Sharra, trailing a blanket which
she was endeavoring to wrap about her thinly clad
body, came running across the Ground. She pelted
toward him, her expression anxious, and she almost
tripped on an edge of her blanket as she looked back
over her shoulder.

She says two of Tone's men are after her. Ruth
half-sprang, half-glided toward Sharra, while Jaxom
leaned down, holding his hands out to catch her and
swing her onto Ruth's neck. Two men, swords drawn,
came tearing onto the Ground. But Ruth launched
himself, leaving the two men swearing helplessly at
them as the Ground dropped away. The watch-
dragon of the Southern Weyr called out to Ruth, who
replied in a greeting as he beat upward on the
warm air.

"I think your brother has miscalculated, Sharra."

"Take me away from here, Jaxom. Take me to
Ruatha! I've never been so furious in all my life. I

436

The White Dragon

never want to see that brother of mine again. Of all
the devious, misguided . . ."

"We have to see your brother again, for I'm not
hiding from him. We'll have it out in the open today!"

"Jaxom!" There was real concern in Sharra's voice
now. She clutched him tightly about the waist. "He'd
kill you in a fight."

"Our affair will cause no duel, Sharra," Jaxom
said with a laugh. "Bundle yourself well in that blan-
ket. Ruth will take us between as quick as he can!'

"Jaxom, I hope you know what we're doing!"

Ruth took them back to the Plateau, caroling a
greeting as he circled down.

"Oh, I'm frozen, but they took my flying gear
away," Sharra cried. Her bare legs on Ruth's neck were
blue with chill. Jaxom leaned over to rub warmth
into them. "And there's Toric. With Lessa, F'lar and
Robinton!"

"And the largest of the Benden dragons!"

"Jaxom!"

"Your brother does things his way, I do them in
mine! In mine!"

"Jaxom!" There was surprise as well as respect in
her voice and her arms tightened again about his
waist.

Ruth landed and when they had dismounted, he
walked to Jaxom's left as the two young lovers went
to meet the others. Toric no longer wore his cus-
tomary smile.

"Toric, you cannot contain Sharra anywhere on
Pem where Ruth and I cannot find her!" Jaxom said
after the barest of nods to the Benden Weyrleaders
and the Harper. There was no hint of compromise in
Toric's hard expression. Nor did he expect it. "Place
and time are no barriers to Ruth. Sharra and I can
go anywhere, anywhen on Pern."

A piteously crying queen fire-lizard attempted to
land on Toric's shoulder, but the man brushed her
away.

"Further, fire-lizards obey Ruth! Don't they, my
friend?" Jaxom rested his hand on Ruth's headknob.

437




The White Dragon

"Tell every fire-lizard here on the Plateau to go
away!"

Ruth did so, adding as the wide meadow was sud-
denly empty of the little creatures, that they didn't
wish to leave.

Toric's eyes narrowed slightly at that show of
ability. Then the fire-lizards were back. This time
he permitted his little queen to land on his shoulder,
but his eyes held Jaxom's.

"How did you know Southern? I was informed
that you've never been there!" He made a half-turn
as if to accuse Lessa and F'lar of complicity.

"Your informant erred," Jaxom said, wondering if
it had been Dorse. "Today is not the first time I've
retrieved something from the Southern Weyr which
belongs to the North." He laid his arm possessively
about Sharra's shoulders.

Tone's composure deserted him. "You!" He ex-
tended his arm, pointing at Jaxom; his face was a
mixture of anger, indignant outrage, disappointment,
frustration and, lastly, a grudging respect. "You
took the egg back! You and that . . . but the fire-
lizards' images were black!"

"I'd be stupid not to darken a white hide if I
make a night pass, wouldn't I?" Jaxom asked with
understandable scorn.

"I knew it wasn't one of T'ron's riders," Tone
cried, his fists clenching and unclenching. "But for
you to ... Well now," and Tone's whole attitude
changed radically. He began to smile again, a trifle
sourly as he looked at the Benden Weyrleaders and
then the Harper. Then he started to laugh, losing anger
and frustration in that laughter. "If you knew,
Lordling . . ." again he pointed fiercely at Jaxom,
"the plans you ruined, the . . . How many people
knew it was you?" Now he did turn accusingly on the
dragonriders.

"Not many," Robinton said, wondering quickly
if indeed Lessa and F'lar had ever guessed.

"I knew," Sharra said, "and so did Brekke. Jaxom

The White Dragon

worried about that egg the whole time he was fe-
vered. Her gaze on his face was proud.

"Not that it matters now," Jaxom said. "What
does matter is, do I now have your permission to
marry Sharra and make her lady of Ruatha HoW"
I don't see how I can stop you." Toric's broad
gesture of frustration took in the people and the
dragons.

"Indeed you couldn't, for Jaxom's boast about
Ruth s abilities is valid," F'lar said. "One must never
underestimate a dragonrider, Toric." Then he grinned
without softening the implicit warning. "Especially a
Northern dragonrider."                          -

,n/'1 shallbearthat firmly in mind," Toric said, the
intensity of his big voice indicating his chagrin. The
anable gnn reappeared on his face. "Especially in
our present discussion. Before these impetuous
youngsters interrupted us, we were discussing the ex-
tent of my Hold, were we not?"

.^e ^"T^1"'5 back °° sharra and -^om, and
gestured to the others to return to their temporary




AFTERWORD

SPRING HAD COME again to Northern Pern and
Ruatha Hold. Once the winter's damages had been
repaired and the first crops set, there had been great
business on the Hold itself, all aimed to have the old
place look its best on the one spring morning when
Wansor's equations said no Thread would fall any-
where but harmlessly far to-the west at sea.

Ruatha's walls were scrubbed, its paving brightly
sealed, and this day banners hung from every un-
shuttered window while flowers decked every corner
of the courts and the Hall. Southern vines had been
flown in the night before to garland the fire-heights.
The broad meadows below the Hold proper were
covered with tents and divided into fields for the
runner beasts of the guests. Dragons began to arrive,
greeted by the old brown watchdragon, Wilth, who
would surely be hoarse from bugling welcome before
the ceremonies began.

Fire-lizards were everywhere and had to be con-
stantly called to order by dragon and friend. But
the atmosphere was so relaxed, so jubilant, that
pranks and antics, human or creature, were amicably
tolerated.

To cater to so many guests, half Pern north and
south it seemed. Fort Hold and Weyr, as well as
Benden, had joined kitchen staffs with Ruatha. Tone
had obligingly sent from Southern meadows dragon-
loads of f-esh fruit, fish, wild bucks and wherries
whose flesh was prized for its tender gamey taste,

The White Dragon

so distinct from Northern meats. Great roasting, bak-
ing and steaming pits had been in operation since
the previous evening, the aromas commingling to set
mouths watering.

There had been festivities the night before, danc-
ing and singing until early morning, for traders had
arrived well in advance, no one minding the multiple
uses of this occasion. Now more people poured up
the roads, flew down from the skies as the momen-
tous hour for the ceremonious confirmation of the
young Lord of Ruatha Hold drew close.

The Harper comes, Ruth told Jaxom and Sharra
as the white dragon pushed open the doors of his
weyr and stepped into his courtyard.

Jaxom and Sharra, in the main room of their
ground-level apartment, heard his joyous bugle of
welcome, just as if he hadn't said goodnight to the
Harper in the early hours of that morning.

Lioth says for you to wait here. Harper and N'ton
want to speak to you without other ears.

Jaxom turned to Sharra in surprise.

"Oh, it can't be anything untoward, Jaxom," she
said, smiling. "Master Robinton would have told us
last night. I still think that tunic is too tight across
your chest."

"All the spring digging at Ship Meadow, my love,"
Jaxom said, inhaling so that the fabric of his brown
tunic strained at the seams.

"If you split this new material, you'll have to
wear it mended!" She smiled as she spoke her scold
then kissed him.

Sharra's kisses were to be enjoyed whenever pos-
sible, so he held her tightly.

"Jaxom! I will not go mussed to your Confirma-
tion."

Ramoth and Mnementh are here! Ruth rose on his
haunches to bugle a sufficiently honorable greeting.

"You'd think he was the one being Confirmed as
Lord Holder," Sharra said, her rich voice filled with

laughter.

"It's been a joint effort," Jaxom said, grinning




The White Dragon

broadly. He hugged her swiftly just once more, re-
lieved that the winter's uncertainty had given way to
spring.

He'd never been busier: managing the Hold and
delving into the ancient mysteries of the Plateau
and the Ship Meadow whenever he could spare a
few hours. Lytol, as Jaxom had hoped, had found
himself tremendously involved in the excavations,
spending more and more time with the Harper at
Cove Hold. With his Confirmation now a certainty,
Jaxom had been admitted to the inner councils of
the Lord Holders, as much because of his association
with Toric as his own rank. Jaxom doubted that
Toric would tolerate much more of the conservatism
that dominated the Lord Holders' attitudes to any-
thing. Larad of Telgar Hold, Asgenar of Lemos,
Begamon and Sigomel seemed more of Tone's mind,
and Jaxom found himself willing to be ranked with
them rather than side with Groghe, Sangel and some
of the older men. Some of the old Lord Holders sim-
ply didn't understand the needs of today—nor the
call of the vast Southern lands with their infinite
variety and challenge.

Today's formalities were token and excuse for a
gathering of Weyr, Craft and Hold, a festival of the
end of the cold months of the Turn, a happy day
when no Thread fell on any part of Pern.

Lioth landed in the small kitchen courtyard, Ruth
backing into his quarters to give the great bronze
dragon sufficient space. The Harper slid from his
shoulder, waving a thick roll, and N'ton's crack-faced
grin indicated they had news of great import.

"Lessa and F'lar must hear our news, too," N'ton
said, as he and the Harper joined the young Hold-
ers. "They're just coming now." He signaled Lioth
to the fire-heights.

The two men removed their flying jackets,
Robinton never relinquishing hold on the roll as he
did so. They watched with growing impatience as
first golden Ramoth and then bronze Mnementh

The White Dragon

discharged their passengers and ascended to the fire-
heights to join Lioth.

"Well, Harper, Mnementh says you're bursting with
news," F'lar said, handing Jaxom his flying gear
as Sharra assisted Lessa.

"Indeed I am, Benden," and the Harper exaggerated
each syllable, brandishing his roll in emphasis.

"So, what have you here?" Lessa asked.

"Nothing but the key to that colored map in the
ship!" the Harper said, grinning at their response.
"Piemur figured it out, working with Nicat, because
we had the feeling it had something to do with the
lay of the land. It does! The rock underneath the
land, to be precise." He was unrolling the map with
Lessa and F'lar holding comers. "These dark-brown
patches indicate very old rock, in places that have
never known earthquake or volcanic action. Never
changed from this map to our present ones. The
Plateau, shaded here as yellow, obviously had to be
abandoned because of the eruption. See, here and
here on the south and in Tiliek, we have the same
coloration. My dear friends, the ancients came to the
North, to Fort, Ruatha, Benden, Telgar, because
that land was safer from natural disasters!"

"Thread being an unnatural disaster?" Lessa asked
in a droll voice.

"I prefer to cope with my disasters one at a time,"
F'lar said. "Being attacked from the ground and the
air would be a bit much!"

"Then Nicat and Piemur have also deduced where
the ancients discovered metals, black water and
black stone. The deposits are clearly marked both
North and South! We've already worked many of the
Northern mines."

"More in the South?" F'lar asked, deeply interes-
ted. "Show me!"

Robinton pointed to half a dozen small markings.
"How rich the deposits are is not yet known but
I'm sure Nicat will tell us soon enough. He and
Piemur make a potent team."




The White Dragon

"How many mines are in Tone's Hold?" F"lar
asked.

N'ton chuckled. "No more than he's already dis-
covered and produced. There're far more to be
worked in dragonrider country," he said, tapping the
southeast. "When this Pass is over, I think I'll turn
miner!"

"When this Pass is over . . ." F'lar echoed the
words, his eyes catching the Harper's, suddenly
aware that neither of them were likely to see that
moment.

"When this Pass is over," Jaxom said eagerly, his
eyes scanning the map, "people can begin to concen-
trate on what we've found at the Plateau, too, and in
those ships. We can rediscover the South! Maybe
even solve the mystery of the ships—and how we
can get dragons to cross that airless void to the Dawn
Sisters . . ." Jaxom's gaze went to the southeast, to
beacons now hidden from his sight.

"And how to wipe out forever the threat of Thread
from the Red Star itself," Sharra said in a whisper.

F'lar gave a rueful laugh, brushing from his fore-
head the lock of hair, now gray-streaked, that fell
across his eyes. "I once thought to reach the Red Star.
Maybe you young people won't find it so daunt-
ing a task once we've caught up on what men used
to know."

"Don't belittle your accomplishments, F'lar,"
Robinton said sternly. "You've kept Pem Threadfree
and united ... in spite of itself!"

"Why, if it hadn't been for you," Lessa said,
looking about her, eyes flashing angrily for F'lar's
self-denigration, "none of this would have hap-
pened!" Her gesture meant Ruatha bannered for a
happy day and secure in the knowledge that
no Thread would mar the occasion anywhere.

"LORD JAXOM!" Lytol's bellow rang clearly
from an upper window of Ruatha Hold.

"Sir?"

"Benden? Fort? The other Weyrleaders and all the

The White Dragon

Lord Holders
gathered!"

of Pem, North and South, have

Jaxom waved his hand in acknowledgment of

the summons. F'lar rolled up the map and handed it

back to Robinton with a bow.

"I'll examine it more closely later, Robinton."
Jaxom offered his arm to his Lady Sharra and

would have gestured for the Master Harper and the

dragonriders to precede them.

"By no means, it's your day. Lord Jaxom of
Ruatha Hold," the Harper said, and he bowed low,

his arm coming up with a flourish to indicate the
honor of precedence.

Laughing, Jaxom and Sharra strode out into
the court, N'ton and Robinton behind them. F'lar
presented his arm to Lessa but she had turned her
eyes about the small kitchen courtyard and it wasn't
hard for the bronze rider to sense her thoughts.

"It's your day, too, Lessa," he said, taking her
hand to his lips. "A day your determination and spirit
made possible!" He turned her into his arms and
made her look up at him. "Ruathan Blood Holds
Ruatha lands today!"

"Which proves," she said, pretending to be
haughty though her body was pliant against his, "that
if you try hard enough, and work long enough, you
can achieve anything you desire!"

"I hope you're right," F'lar said, unerringly turn-
ing his gaze toward the Red Star. "One day dragon-
riders will conquer that Star!"

"BENDEN!" The Harper's roar startled their private
moment of triumph.

Grinning like errant children, Lessa and F'lar
crossed the kitchen courtyard and raced up the steps
to the Great Hall. The dragons on the fire-heights
rose to their haunches, bugling their jubilation on this
happy day while fire-lizards executed dizzy patterns
in the Thread-free skyi