Jaxom gave a snort. "I assure you that from now on, I intend to pick my companions carefully. But I don't think an accident could be easily contrived."
"The two trips you've already made were not without dangers."
Jaxom shook his head vigorously. "Not with Ruth so close at hand. Not with Aivas in constant communication with me. Piemur, and Farli and Trig, as well, were with us the first time. Sharra's to go up tomorrow-you knew that? Good. Mirrim and S'len are scheduled for the day after. None of them would conspire against me. Besides which, Ruth wouldn't let anything happen to me."
You may be very sure of that!
Jaxom grinned, and Brand, recognizing the signs of a Ruth-Jaxom exchange, began to relax and even allowed himself a slight smile.
"Clearly they underestimate both you and Ruth, and now that you're forewarned..." Brand frowned, his eyes narrowing into slits. "I'll have a word or two with young Pell. And young he is, proud of his heritage but not so foolish as to wish to become Holder by way of your demise. Besides you and your sons, there're also those three lads of F'lessan's. Their claim to Ruatha is direct through Lessa, even if she did defer to you at your birth. I can't see the older Lord Holders denying their claim because F'lessan's a dragonrider. The Bloodline would be the important aspect, so I don't think Pell would have a chance. At least not with the present composition of the Council. Not that the circumstance will ever arrive!" Brand's conviction did much to assuage the niggling anxiety in Jaxom's mind.
Then Brand squared his shoulders the way he always did when he was about to change the topic. "That was quite an inauguration," he commented. As Chief Steward of Ruatha, he had also attended the festivities at Tillek Hold. "Can't say as how Tillek Hold ever looked as inviting. We'll see some grand changes now Ranrel's Lord Holder. Good for you to have another Holder nearer your age."
Jaxom grimaced. "Yes, maybe then I can speak now and again at these Councils."
Brand smiled broadly. "I heard that Toric finally got your message."
"Hmm, yes, even if it was Groghe who delivered it. Now, what have you for me? I've Fall after the noon meal."
"More or less minor details to be discussed, Lord Jaxom. Let's see." Brand lifted the top sheet from the pile he had brought with him.
As Jaxom and Ruth circled down to Fort Weyr, Jaxom once again wondered what it had been like for the first dragonriders who had inhabited the old crater. Had they ranged themselves in preparation for their leader's commands as this century's dragons did, along the rim from the Star Stones to where Fort Weyr's bowl had crumbled in an ancient landslide? How many dragonriders had there been before they had needed to expand into Benden Weyr? There was no way of knowing-and Jaxom felt a pang of regret for the lost history, a regret made all the more bittersweet for the history they had been able to reclaim through Aivas. Still, whatever the glory of the past, the sight of the Weyr displayed was as breathtaking as ever. And Fort was right now at full strength, with this Turn's young riders taking their places in the wings. Green, blue, brown ranked in their wings beyond the bronze Wingseconds, every hide glistening with health in the midday sun.
Bronze Lioth, carrying N'ton, stood statuesquely in front of the Star Stones. Ruth answered Lioth's bugle of welcome and neatly took his customary position to the right of the Fort Weyrleader. N'ton gave Jaxom a salute and pointed down to the Bowl, where four queenriders were being accoutered with flamethrowers. A blue rider, returning from a preliminary sweep, emerged abruptly into the air, giving the ancient two-armed signal that Thread was imminent. N'ton acknowledged that even as the assembled dragons, almost simultaneously, turned their heads to receive firestone from their riders. The queens bellowed their readiness and one by one lifted from the floor of the Bowl and spiraled up to take their positions to the left of N'ton and Lioth. The big bronze was carefully masticating the first of the many lumps of firestone that he would chew before the end of the Fall. Jaxom offered Ruth his hunk and listened, awed as ever to the sound of draconic teeth chomping on the phosphine-bearing rock. Knowing as he did now the scientific explanation for the process by which dragons digested the rock in their second stomach and belched the phosphine gas forth in flame did not in the least destroy his reverence for dragonkind.
Jaxom carefully watched Ruth chew, for now and then every dragon bit his own tongue or cheeks, a minor accident that nevertheless would disqualify him from flying that Fall.
When Lioth had finished his chewing, he let out another roar, and N'ton pumped his arm in the age-old signal to take to the skies. With a powerful upward lunge, Lioth left the Rim, Ruth a breath behind him. The queens with effortless grace were airborne the next second. Making height, Lioth veered to the southeast, and one by one the wings rose into the air, maneuvering into their fighting positions: three on the level above, three just behind N'ton and Ruth, and the third carefully on a lower level with the queens' wing just below them.
All human eyes were trained on N'ton; all dragons listened for Lioth's word. As often as Jaxom had seen the flights of dragons go between, as often as he had himself been a part of that transfer, it never ceased to thrill him.
Between is colder than space, he told Ruth. A breath later they were above Ruatha's southern border, the expanse of the river a silver snake below them. And to the east was the silver rain they had come to destroy.
The wings met Thread, breathing fire on the thick strands and watching them curl and twist in flame and drop harmlessly as ash on the ground far below. The upper wings streaked across the sky, and at the lowest level, the queenriders sent flaring gouts of liquid fire after those few Threads that escaped the upper wings.
Once again, Jaxom and Ruth were part of the ancient defense of Pern, falling into its rhythm, escaping its hazards, flicking in and out of between, weaving across the breadth of Thread, flaming swathes through the deadly rainfall. Together they acted by reflex born of long practice, quite apart from conscious direction of either partner.
They had done at least eight traverses of the Fall, drifting farther and farther south and east, when a blue dragon just ahead of them screamed and ducked between. Jaxom tensed and waited a heartbeat, scanning for the blue's return. The blue reentered hundreds of lengths below his point of exit. His left wingsail was dotted with Threadchar.
He's badly hit, Ruth told Jaxom as the blue winked out again, no doubt to return to the Weyr and the waiting weyrfolk who would drench his injury in numbweed, ending his pain. One of the new young riders. There's always one who doesn't keep his eyes open.
Jaxom wasn't sure if Ruth meant the rider or the dragon. Suddenly Ruth veered, the riding straps cutting into Jaxom's left thigh as the white dragon evaded a thick clump. He did a reverse turn, almost on his tail, and flung himself down at the receding cluster, blowing mightily. Righting himself, he turned his head peremptorily to his rider, and Jaxom obediently offered more firestone. Chomping as he rose to see where his flame would next be useful, Ruth swerved to his right, once again throwing Jaxom's weight against the riding straps. Abruptly Jaxom felt the front strap stretch, leaving him far too loose in the saddle. Quickly he grabbed a neck ridge with his right hand, clamped his legs tight to the saddle, and hung on tight to the left-hand straps.
Ruth reacted on the instant, halting midair to allow Jaxom to regain his balance. A dribble of flame escaped his lips as he turned wondering eyes on his rider.
The strap broke? Ruth's query was laced with astonishment.
Jaxom felt along the length of it with gloved fingers. The worn spot was easy to locate, right below the belt clip, the leather stretched but not parted. It had been a very near thing. A little more pressure, and the strap would have snapped, flinging the rider dangerously out of the saddle.