CHAPTER III
Morning at Ruatha Hold, and Smithcrafthall 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, staring 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 milkmother whose lower lip was quivering at her 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 purposefully from the Hall, elated at having finally said something 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 incidents, manfully swallowed or overlooked for any number of logical reasons, swept aside every consideration except to put as much distance between himself and his invidious position, his too reasonable and conscientious 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. Twice! You’re better at everything! Everything!” Jaxom’s thought was so turbulent that Ruth trumpeted defiance.
The startled brown watchdragon queried them from the fire-heights and the entire Hold population of firelizards materialized around Ruth, dipping and swooping, chirping in echoed agitation.
Ruth cleared the fire-heights and then winked into between, unerringly going to the high mountain lake above the Hold which had become their special retreat.
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, slamming 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 objectivity Robinton talks about ought to operate … and doesn’t.”