Her recognition reduced his grievance.
We fought well and no Thread passed us, Ruth said in a hopeful tone. I was quite comfortable sustaining my flame.
"You were marvelous, Ruth. You were such a clever dodger, we didn't have to go between once." Jaxom slapped with affectionate force the flight-extended neck. "Do you have more gas to exhale?"
He felt Ruth cough and just the merest trickle flicked beyond his head.
No more flame but I shall be very glad to be rid of the fire-ash. This is the most firestone I have ever chewed!
Ruth sounded so proud of himself that despite his general discomfort, Jaxom laughed, his own spirits buoyed up by Ruth's ingenuous satisfaction.
It was also obscurely comforting to find the Hold occupied by a few drudges only. The other Thread fighters were hours away from the rewards he could now enjoy. While Ruth drank long and deep at the courtyard well, Jaxom asked a drudge to bring him any warm food available and a mug of wine.
As Jaxom entered his own quarters to change out of his stinking fighting gear, he passed his worktable and, seeing the cove sketch, remembered his promise of the previous evening. He thought longingly of the hot sun in that cove. It'd bake the cold out of his bones and dry the wetness in his head and chest.
I would like to swim in the water, Ruth said.
"You're not too tired, are you?"
I am tired but I would like to swim in the cove and then lie in the sand. It would be good for you, too.
"It'd suit me down to the shell," Jaxom said as he stripped off the fighting clothes. He was pulling on fresh riding furs when the drudge, tapping nervously on the half-open door, arrived with the food.
Jaxom gestured toward the worktable and then asked the man to take the discarded clothing to be cleaned and well aired. He was sipping the hot wine, blowing out against the sting of it in his mouth, when he realized that it would be hours before Lytol returned to the Hold and so he couldn't inform his guardian of his intention. But he needn't wait. He could be there and back before Lytol had returned to the Hold. Then he groaned. The cove was halfway on the other side of the world, and the sun which he had wanted to bake the illness out of his body would be well down now on the cove's horizon.
It will remain warm enough long enough, Ruth said. I really want to go there.
"We'll go, we'll go!" Jaxom gulped down the last of the hot wine, and reached for the toasted bread and cheese. He didn't feel hungry. In fact the smell of the food made his stomach queasy. He rolled up one of his sleeping furs, to keep the sand off his skin, slung the small pack over his shoulder and started out of his quarters. He'd leave word with the drudge. No, that wasn't sufficient. Jaxom whirled back to his table, the pack banging against his ribs. He wrote a quick note to Lytol and left it propped up between mug and plate where it was clearly visible.
When are we going? Ruth asked, plaintive now with his impatience to be clean and to wallow in the warm sands.
"I'm coming. I'm coming!" Jaxom detoured through the kitchens, scooping up some meatrolls and cheese. He might be hungry later.
The head cook was basting a roast and the smell of it, too, made him feel nauseated.
"Batunon, I've left a message for Lord Lytol in my room. But, if you see him first, tell him I've gone to the cove to wash Ruth."
"Thread is gone from the sky?" Batunon asked, ladle poised above the roast.
"Gone to dust, all of it. I'm away to wash the stink from both our hides."
The yellow tinge in Ruth's whirling eyes was reproachful but Jaxom paid that no heed as he scrambled to the dragon's neck, loosely fastening the fighting straps which would need to be soaked and sunned as well. They were airborne in such haste that Jaxom was glad he had the straps about him. Ruth achieved only the barest minimum of wing room before he transferred them between.
CHAPTER XIII
A Cove in the Southern Continent, 15.7.7-15.8.7
JAXOM ROUSED, felt something wet slip down from his forehead across his nose. He irritably brushed it aside.
You are feeling better? Ruth's voice held a volume of wistful hope that astonished his rider.
"Feel better?" Not quite awake, Jaxom attempted to lift himself up on one elbow but he couldn't move his head, which seemed to be wedged.
Brekke says to lie still.
"Lie still, Jaxom," Brekke ordered. He felt her hand on his chest preventing his movement.
He could hear water dripping somewhere nearby. Then another wet cloth, this one cool and aromatic with scent, was placed on his forehead. He could feel two large blocks, padded because they lay along his cheeks to his shoulder, on either side of his head, presumably to keep him from moving his head from side to side. He wondered what was wrong. Why was Brekke there?
You've been very sick, Ruth said, anxiety coloring his tone. I was very worried. I called Brekke. She is a healer. She heard me. I couldn't leave you. She came with F'nor on Canth. Then F'nor went for the other one.
"Have I been sick a long time?" Jaxom was dismayed to think he'd needed two nurses. He hoped that the "other one" wasn't Deelan.
"Several days," Brekke replied, but Ruth seemed to think a longer period of time. "You'll be all right now. The fever's finally broken."
"Lytol knows where I am?" Jaxom opened his eyes then, found them covered by the compress and reached to pull it away. But spots danced in front of his eyes, even shielded by the fabric of the compress, and he groaned and closed his lids.
"I told you to lie still. And don't open your eyes or try to remove the bandage," Brekke said, giving his hand a little slap. "Of course Lytol knows. F'nor took word to him immediately. I sent word when your fever had broken. Menolly's has too."
"Menolly? How could she catch my cold? She was with Sebell."
Someone else was in the room because Brekke couldn't speak and laugh at the same time. She began quietly explaining that he hadn't had a cold. He'd had an illness known as fire-head to Southerners; its initial symptoms were similar to those of a cold.
"But I'm going to be all right, aren't I?"
"Are your eyes bothering you?"
"I don't really want to open them again."
"Spots? As if you were staring at the sun?"
"That's it."
Brekke patted his arm. "That's normal, isn't it, Sharra? How long do they generally last?"
"As long as the headache. So keep your eyes covered, Jaxom." Sharra spoke slowly, almost slurring her words but her low voice had a rich lilt that made him wonder if she looked as good as her voice sounded. He doubted it. No one could. "Don't you dare look about. You've still got that headache, haven't you? Well, keep your eyes closed. We've got the place as dark as we can but you could do permanent damage to your eyes if you're not careful right now."
Jaxom felt Brekke adjust the compress. "Menolly got sick, too?"
"Yes, but Master Oldive sent word that she's responding to the medicine very well." Brekke hesitated. "Of course, she hadn't flown Thread or gone between, which aggravated the illness for you."
Jaxom groaned. "I've gone between with a cold before and got no worse for it."
"With a cold, yes, not with fire-head," Sharra said. "Here, Brekke. This is ready for him now."
He felt a reed placed at his lips. Brekke told him to suck through it as he should not lift his head to drink.
"What is this?" he mumbled around the straw.
"Fruit juice," Sharra said so promptly that Jaxom sipped warily. "Just fruit juice, Jaxom. You need liquid in your body right now. The fever dried you out."
The juice was cool in his mouth and so mild in taste that he couldn't figure out from which fruit it came. But it was just what he wanted, not tart enough to irritate moisture-starved tissues in his mouth and throat, and not sweet enough to be nauseating to his empty stomach. He finished it and asked for more, but Brekke told him he'd had enough. He should try to sleep now.