I'll tell his fire-lizard, Ruth said suddenly, his tone anxious. What's worrying you? I can feel it. Is the fisherman ill?
No, Ruth, he's only very drunk. Ask Kimi to tell Sebell to get a move on. Though I think it's too late now, he added glumly. He had not recognized any of the voices, and none of them had betrayed any particular twang that might have identified which Hold or Hall they came from.
He heard the door crash open. "Jaxom? What's wrong?"
"You didn't happen to see three men leaving here, did you?" Jaxom called anxiously.
"What's wrong? Kimi said it was urgent. Which three men? Everyone and his cousin is packed into the courtyard."
Sebell fumbled with the stall door until Jaxom threw the latch over. Anxiously the Masterharper looked down at the comatose Masterfisher and then in astonishment at Jaxom. He had a pitcher in one hand and a mug tucked under his arm.
"Never mind, too late now," Jaxom said, feeling defeated.
He decided not to worry Sebell by reporting a conversation that might well have been just disgruntled speculation. Talking was harmless, he told himself, though the conversation he had overheard had sounded anything but harmless. He sighed in fateful resignation.
"What happened?"
Sebell's harper instincts were very good, Jaxom thought grimly. But then the man was trained to observe, to hear the unsaid.
Jaxom managed a detached manner. "I suppose one has to expect that not everyone is happy about Ranrel's Holding."
Sebell gave him a shrewd look. "No, but here's one who is. Hold his head up. Maybe the aroma of klah will revive him. And we've got reinforcements coming."
"I don't mind..." Jaxom began. He hated people to think him pretentious and unwilling to cope with an inebriated friend.
Sebell grinned as he passed the full cup of klah back and forth under Idarolan's nose. The man began to stir. "Yes, you're good about such things, Jax, but his people are worried about him, so let them handle it discreetly."
Once again the door crashed open and several men entered in haste. "Master Sebell?"
Sebell swung the stall door open. "In here!"
The switchover of attendants was quickly made, and just as Sebell and Jaxom swung out of the place they heard the unmistakable sounds that Idarolan had foretold and grinned at each other.
"My timing has always been excellent," Sebell said. "Even Master Shonagar agreed. Ah, the music has begun."
In the doorway, Jaxom hesitated, seeing very well why Sebell would not have noticed three men emerging from the head. In just the short time that they had been assisting Idarolan, the courtyard had filled up with celebrants, all merry with wine and stuffing themselves on whatever was on the trays the drudges were carrying.
"When are you and Menolly doing a turn?"
Sebell winked. "Whenever the good Lord Ranrel asks us to!"
"A new song?"
"What else for a Lording!"
Jaxom took heart from Sebell's merriment. No use borrowing trouble. It had probably just been talk. But he would keep his eyes open.
Jaxom was feeling decidedly better by the time he and Sharra reluctantly retired from the dancing square. But duty called: Threadfall was scheduled to begin over water but creep forward over the southern border of Ruatha Hold. Jaxom never missed flying against Thread, no matter how involved he was with Aivas at Landing, and obligingly joined the wings of T'gellan's Eastern Weyr when Thread fell there. It wasn't simply a point of honor with Jaxom; both he and Ruth were stimulated by the implicit danger of Fall and reveled in being part of a fighting Weyr.
"Look, Jaxom," Sharra said as they readied themselves to leave the Hold. She pointed upward, to the mass of dragon bellies just visible in the glow of the myriad lights that had blossomed at sundown on every wall, hold, cot, and ship. "I'll bet that's all of Fort Weyr going home!"
Jaxom was trying to adjust the riding straps so as not to damage Sharra's gown and spared only a glance. "You'd be right about that."
"Don't worry about my skirts, Jax, not after all the dust they've picked up from the dance square."
Jaxom humphed and felt Sharra's hand ruffling his hair. Then he grinned. He had worried that she had worn herself out with the dancing, but if she was still so playful, she wasn't too tired. They would get back to Ruatha in good time. Ruth?
I'll time it for you for good reason, but that isn't.
Oh, and isn't it? Jaxom swung up on the white dragon with a huge smile on his face. Sharra smiled back as she wrapped both arms tightly about him, trying to work her fingers up under his flying jacket to his bare skin.
You've time enough in hand. And Ruth sprang lightly from the ground, his wings making that crucial downward sweep.
"It's so beautiful!" Sharra shouted in Jaxom's ear. "Ask Ruth to hover. We'll never see Tillek look so beautiful again."
Ruth considerately began to glide in a wide slow circle, head down so that he, too, could enjoy the sight. Jaxom could see that the white dragon's eyes were sparklingly blue; each of the many facets of his eyes reflected tiny points of the bright lights of Tillek. The Hold, all the cots, and every ship in the harbor were outlined in radiance. There couldn't be a glowbasket left indoors.
Jaxom felt Ruth's sigh through his buttocks and, replacing this with a vision of Ruatha's unadorned heights, told Ruth to take them there.
It was not easy to climb out of bed the next morning, even though Sharra had already left it to comfort young Shawan, who had cried fretfully about dawn. Fall was not due until early afternoon, so Jaxom allowed himself a few more moments to savor the first morning cup of klah. Sharra came in with Shawan, once more a cheerful child. Jarrol appeared the moment he heard his father's voice and bounced across the bed, demanding a tickle, his cheeks still rosy with sleep and his curly hair mashed on one side of his head. The tickle duly administered, Jarrol followed his father as he washed and dressed. By then, breakfast was ready in the main room of their apartment.
Jaxom sent Jarrol to request Brand's company. Now was a good time to clear up any urgent Hold business that might have come up in the past seven days of his latest absence from Ruatha. With Sharra and Jarrol planning to accompany him back to Landing the next day, there were other details to be arranged, as well.
It was while Sharra took the boys off on her own rounds that Jaxom remembered the strange conversation in the Tillek head.
"Tell me, Brand, what's young Pell, Barla and Dowell's son, doing with himself these days?"
"Learning his Craft from his father, but he'd rather be in Landing."
"Like half the Northern youngsters," Jaxom replied, leaning back in the fine wooden chair that Dowell had carved for him. "Has he any ability as a joiner?"
"He's capable enough when he gets into a task." Brand shrugged carelessly. "Why do you ask?"
"In the head at Tillek, I heard a rather odd conversation. It could be no more than disgruntled supporters spouting disappointment with the decision, I suppose. Pell would have a good claim to Ruatha, wouldn't he?"
Brand sat up, a look of consternation on his face. "What are you talking about, Jaxom?" he scolded, in the tone he had used to scold the erring boy that Jaxom had once been. "There's not a thing wrong with you, and you've two fine sons and probably more to come." He scowled. "What exactly was said? Have you told Lytol?"
"No, and you're not to either. This is between us, Holder to Steward, as well as friend to friend, Brand. I want that understood."
"Yes, of course," Brand hastily assured him, then waggled a finger. "But only if you tell me what you heard."
It was a relief to unburden himself, for Jaxom trusted Brand completely. He had hoped that, in the telling, the sentences would lose their burden of dread, but Brand took the implications quite seriously.
"Could anyone plan an accident for you or Ruth up there?" Brand asked.