“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 Menolly’s company because he couldn’t put aside his feeling that she knew he’d brought the egg back. The fact that 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. Benelek 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 tables 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 ministrations of the firelizards.
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 upset 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 Oldtimer. 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 another sort of grunt, disgusted and contemptuous. Then he asked if there were any firelizard eggs available; 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 firelizards, I wonder anyone wants them,” the Fort Weyrleader remarked 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 understand?”
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 firelizards were grooming Ruth’s neck ridges, Jaxom did a careful brushing of the scar on his leg.