“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 dark 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 gear in one hand, in the other her small pack of medicines, 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 answer 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 between 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, struggling 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 her. “One of the dragonriders at Southern took firehead. 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 getting stronger daily. By the time you realized the restriction 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?”