The White Dragon

  Nearly gone, was I? Is that what it feels like to be so close to death? Like being very tired?

  You will stay now, Harper. We can let you sleep. But we will be with you. We love you.

  Dragons talking to me? Dragons keeping me from death? How kind they are for I did not want to die yet. There is so much to be done. Problems to be solved. There’d been a problem on my mind . . . about dragons, too . . .

  “Who flew Caylith?”

  Did he manage to say that out loud? He didn’t even hear his own voice in his ears.

  “Did you hear what he said, Oldive?”

  “Something about Caylith.”

  “Wouldn’t you know he’d worry about that at a time like this?” Lessa sounded more like herself, acerbic. “Barnath flew Caylith, Robinton. Now, will you sleep?”

  Sleep, Master. We will listen.

  The Harper drew a deep breath into his lungs and relaxed gratefully into sleep.

  CHAPTER XV

  Evening at Jaxom’s Cove and Late

  Evening at Ista Weyr, 15.8.28

  SHARRA WAS SHOWING Brekke and Jaxom how to play a children’s game in the sand with pebbles and sticks when Ruth, sleeping just beyond them with the fire-lizards, woke up. He reared to a sitting position, stretching his neck and keening the long piercing note that marked a dragon’s passing.

  “Oh no!” Brekke reacted just a shade faster than Jaxom. “Salth is gone!”

  “Salth?” Jaxom wondered who that was.

  “Salth!” Sharra’s face drained of color. “Ask Ruth where!”

  “Canth says he was trying to fly Caylith and burst his heart!” Brekke answered the question, her shoulders sagging in new grief and a poignantly remembered tragedy. “The fool! He must have known that the younger dragons would be faster, stronger than poor old Salth!”

  “Serves T’kul right! And don’t soar over me, Brekke.” Sharra’s eyes flashed as Brekke turned to reprimand her. “Remember, I’ve had to deal with T’kul and the rest of those Oldtimers. They are not like your Northern dragonfolk at all. They’re . . . they’re impossible! I could burn your ears with tales! If T’kul was fool enough to set his bronze to fly a young queen, with the competition there’d be for the Istan Weyrleadership, then he deserves to lose his beast! I’m sorry. Harsh words for you, Brekke, and Jaxom, but I know what those Southerns are like. You don’t!”

  “I knew there’d be real trouble sometime, exiling them like that,” Brekke said slowly, “but . . .”

  “From what I’ve heard, Brekke,” Jaxom said from a compulsion to erase the desolate look from her face, “that was the only way to handle them. They weren’t honoring their responsibilities to the people beholden to them. They were greedy, over and above proper tithing. Further,” and he brought out his strongest point, “I heard Lytol criticizing those dragonriders!”

  “I know, Jaxom. I know all that but they did come forward from their own time to save Pern . . .” Jaxom wondered if she realized she was wringing her hands till the knuckles showed white.

  “To save Pern, yes, and then they demanded that we remember that every time we drew breath in their presence,” Jaxom went on, recalling all too clearly the arrogant and contemptuous manner with which T’ron had treated Lytol.

  “We ignore the Oldtimers,” Sharra said, with a shrug. “We go about our business, keep our Hold green clear, pen up our animals during Fall. We just run a quick search with the flamethrowers to be sure the grubs have done their work.”

  “Don’t they ride a Fall?” Brekke asked in surprise.

  “Oh, now and again. If they feel like it, or if their dragons get too upset . . .” Sharra’s contempt was trenchant. Then she noticed the dismay on the other two faces and added, “Oh, what’s happened is not the dragons’ fault, mind you. And I don’t suppose that it’s really the riders’ either. I do think they should at least try to act what they are. To be sure, most of the Oldtimers stayed north. So just a few are giving dragonmen a poor reputation in Southern. Still . . .if they’d met us halfway . . . we would have helped.”

  “I should go, I think,” Brekke said, rising and facing west. “T’kul is half a man now. I know how that feels . . .” Her voice petered out and her face drained of all color as she stared to the west, her eyes getting larger until a cry of horror burst from her lips. “Oh no!” Her hand went to her throat and she turned it palm outward as if warding off an attack.

  “Brekke, what is it?” Sharra leaped to her feet, her arms about the woman.

  Ruth whimpered and nudged against Jaxom for reassurance.

  She is very afraid. She is speaking to Canth. He is unhappy. It is terrible. Another dragon is very weak. Canth is with him. It is Mnementh who talks now. T’kul fights F’lar!

  “T’kul fights F’lar?” Jaxom reached out to Ruth’s shoulder for balance.

  The fire-lizards picked up the agitation, dipping and swooping, chittering in harsh cacophony that made Jaxom wave his arms at them to be silent.

  “This is ghastly, Jaxom,” Brekke cried. “I must go. They must see that T’kul is not responsible for what he’s doing. Why don’t they just overpower him? There must be someone with wits at Ista! What is D’ram doing? I’ll get my flying things.” She ran back to the shelter.

  “Jaxom.” Sharra turned to him, one hand raised, appealing for his reassurance. “T’kul hates F’lar. I’ve heard him blame F’lar for everything that happens in Southern. If T’kul’s dragonless, he’d be insane. He’d kill F’lar!”

  Jaxom drew the girl close to him, wondering which of them needed comfort more. T’kul trying to kill F’lar? He asked Ruth to listen hard.

  I hear nothing. Canth is between. I only hear trouble. Ramoth is coming . . .

  “Here?”

  No, where they are! Ruth’s eyes deepened to the purple of worry. I do not like this.

  “What, Ruth?”

  “Oh, please, Jaxom, what’s he saying? I’m scared.”

  “He is, too. And so am I.”

  Brekke came back through the woods, her flying gear in one hand, in the other her small pack of medicines, half-closed, and in danger of spilling its contents. She halted just before stepping onto the sands, blinked, frowning with impatience and dismay.

  “I can’t get there! Canth must stay with B’zon’s Ranilth. We can’t lose two bronzes today!” She looked this way and that as if the beach could sprout an answer to her dilemma. She bit her underlip and then exclaimed in frustration. “I’ve got to go!”

  The second shock struck both Brekke and Jaxom at the same time as Ruth bugled in fear.

  “Robinton!” Brekke reeled and would have fallen if Sharra and Jaxom had not jumped to her support. “Oh, no, not Robinton? How?”

  The Master Harper.

  “Not dead?” Sharra cried.

  The Master Harper is very ill. They will not let him go. He will have to stay. As you did.

  “I’ll take you, Brekke. On Ruth. Just let me get my flying gear.”

  Both women reached out to restrain him.

  “You can’t fly yet, Jaxom. You can’t go between!” The fear in Brekke’s eyes was for him now.

  “You really can’t, Jaxom,” Sharra said, shaking her head and pleading with her eyes. “The cold of between . . . you’re just not well enough yet. Please!”

  They are afraid for you now, Ruth said, sounding confused. Very afraid. I do not know why it is wrong for you to ride me but it is!

  “He’s right, Jaxom, it would be disastrous,” Brekke said, her body slumping with defeat. Wearily she raised her hand to her head, and pulled off the now unnecessary helmet. “You mustn’t attempt going between for at least another month or six sevendays. If you did, you’d risk headaches for the rest of your life and the possibility of blindness. . . .”

  “How do you know that?” Jaxom demanded, struggling with fury at having been kept ignorant of such a restriction, with frustration at not being able to help either Brekke or the Harper.

  “I know that,” Sha
rra said, turning Jaxom to face her. “One of the dragonriders at Southern took fire-head. We didn’t know the dangers of going between. He went blind first. Then mad with the pain in his head and . . . died. So did his dragon.” Her voice caught, remembering that tragedy, and her eyes were misted with tears.

  Jaxom could only stare at her, stunned.

  “Why wasn’t I told that before?”

  “No reason to,” Sharra said, her eyes never leaving his, pleading with him for understanding. “You’re getting stronger daily. By the time you realized the restriction existed, it might not have been necessary to warn you anymore.”

  “Another four to six sevendays?” He ground the words out, conscious that he was working his fists and that his jaw muscles ached with the effort to control his temper.

  Sharra nodded slowly, her face expressionless.

  Jaxom took a deep breath, forcing emotion down. “That does make it awkward, doesn’t it, because right now we need a dragonrider.” He looked toward Brekke. Her head was turned slightly to the west. Jaxom could sense her longing to be where she was urgently needed, the restraint that kept her from claiming Canth’s help when he was needed elsewhere. “We have a dragonrider!” he exclaimed, whooping. “Ruth, would you take Brekke to Ista without me?”

  I would take Brekke anywhere. The little white dragon raised his head, his eyes wheeling quickly as he stepped forward, toward Brekke.

  Brekke’s face cleared miraculously of sorrow and helplessness. “Oh, Jaxom, would you really let me?”

  He was well repaid by the overwhelming gratitude in that breathless question.

  He took her arm, hurrying her to Ruth’s side.

  “You must go. If Master Robinton . . .” Jaxom choked on the rest of that sentence, panic at the thought closing his throat.

  “Oh, thank you, Jaxom. Thank you, Ruth.” Brekke fumbled with the strap of her helmet. She struggled with her jacket before she could get her arm into the sleeve, and buckled the riding belt in place. When she was ready Ruth dipped his shoulder for Brekke to mount, then turned his head to be sure she was safely seated.

  “I’ll send Ruth directly back, Jaxom. Oh, no, don’t let him go! Don’t let him sleep!” The last two sentences were directed to distant minds.

  We will not let him go, Ruth said. He briefly nosed Jaxom on the shoulder and then sprang up, showering his friend and Sharra with dry sand. He was barely wing height above the waves before he winked out.

  “Jaxom?” Sharra’s voice was so unsteady that he turned to her in concern. “What can have happened? T’kul couldn’t have been mad enough to attack the Harper, too?”

  “The Harper may have tried to stop the fight, if I know him. Do you know Master Robinton?”

  “I know more of him,” she said, biting her underlip. She expelled her breath in a deep shudder, struggling to control her fears. “Through Piemur, and Menolly. I’ve seen him, of course, in our Hold and heard him sing. He’s such a wonderful man. Oh, Jaxom! All those Southerners have run mad. Mad! They’re sick, confused, lost!” She dropped her head against his shoulder, surrendering to her anxieties. Tenderly, he drew her against him.

  He lives! Ruth’s reassurance rang faint but true in his head.

  “Ruth says he lives, Sharra.”

  “He must continue to live, Jaxom. He must! He must!” Her fists beat on his chest to emphasize her determination.

  Jaxom caught her hands, holding them flat, and smiled into her wide, flashing eyes.

  “He will. I’m sure he will, if it’s in our power to think him so.”

  Jaxom was intensely aware, at this highly inappropriate moment, of Sharra’s vibrant body pressing against his. He could feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her shirt, the long line of her thighs against his, the fragrance of her hair, scented with sun and a blossom she had tucked behind her ear. The startled look that crossed her face told him that she, too, was aware of the intimacy of their positions—aware and, for the first time since he had known her, confused.

  He eased his grip on her hands, ready to release her completely if necessary. Sharra was not Corana, not a simple Hold girl obedient to the Lord of her Hold. Sharra was not a bed partner for a passing indulgence of desire. Sharra was too important to him to risk destroying their relationship with an ill-timed demonstration. He was also aware that Sharra thought that his feelings for her stemmed from a natural gratitude for her nursing. He’d thought of that possibility in himself and decided that she was wrong. He liked too many things about her, from the sound of her beautiful voice, to the sure touch of her hands: hands he was aching to have caress him. He’d learned a good deal about her in the past few days, but he was aware of a hungry curiosity in himself to know much, much more. Her reaction to the Southerners had surprised him; she often surprised him. Part of her attraction, he supposed, was that he never knew what she’d say or how she’d say it.

  Suddenly he broke their partial embrace and, circling her shoulders lightly with his arm, guided her to the mats where they’d been so blithely playing a child’s game. He put both hands on her shoulders and gave a gentle downward push.

  “We may have a long wait, Sharra, before we know for certain the Harper’s all right.”

  “I wish I knew what was wrong! If that T’kul has harmed our Harper . . .”

  “What about his harming F’lar?”

  “I don’t know F’lar, although I’d naturally be very sorry if he were hurt by T’kul.” She absently folded her legs as he sat down beside her, just close enough so that their shoulders nearly touched. “And, in a sense, F’lar ought to fight T’kul. After all, he sent the Oldtimers into exile so he ought to finish it.”

  “And he’ll finish it by killing T’kul?”

  “Or being killed by him!”

  “We’d be in a far worse state,” Jaxom replied with more heat than he intended at her callous dismissal of F’lar’s fate, “if the Benden Weyrleader gets killed! He is Pern!”

  “Really?” Sharra was willing to be converted. “I’ve never seen him . . .”

  There are many dragons here and many many people, Ruth told him, his tone still faint but clear. Sebell is coming. Menolly cannot.

  “Is Ruth talking to you?” Sharra asked anxiously, leaning forward and grasping his arm. He covered her fingers with his, silencing her in that gesture. She bit her underlip and studied his face. He tried to reassure her with emphatic nods.

  Her fire-lizards are here. The Harper sleeps. Master Oldive is with him, too. They wait outside. We will not let him go. Should I return to you now?

  “Who are they?” Jaxom asked though he was fairly sure of the identity.

  Lessa and F’lar. The man who attacked F’lar is dead.

  “T’kul’s dead, and F’lar is not hurt?”

  No.

  “Ask him what is wrong with the Harper,” Sharra whispered.

  Jaxom wanted to know, too, but there was a long pause before Ruth answered, and the little dragon sounded confused.

  Mnementh said Robinton’s chest hurt and he wanted to sleep. Wine helped him. Mnementh and Ramoth knew he should not sleep. He would go. May I come back now?

  “Does Brekke need you?”

  There are many dragons here.

  “Come home, my friend!”

  I come!

  “His chest hurt?” Sharra repeated when Jaxom told her what Ruth had said. She frowned. “It could be the heart. The Harper is not a young man and he does a great deal!” She looked about her for her fire-lizards. “I could send Meer . . .”

  “Ruth says there’s an awful lot of people and dragons at Ista right now. I think we’d better wait.”

  “I know,” and Sharra gave a long sigh. She picked up a handful of sand and let it run through her fingers. Then she gave Jaxom a sad smile. “I know how to wait, but that doesn’t mean I like to!”

  “We know he’s alive, and F’lar . . .” Jaxom gave her a sly look.

  “I didn’t mean any disrespect to your Weyrleader, Jaxom
, I want you to know that . . .”

  Jaxom laughed, having managed to tease her. She let out an exclamation of annoyance and threw the handful of sand toward him, but he ducked and the sand went over his shoulder, some of it falling in the gentle waves that lapped up the shore.

  Brushed out of existence by the next wave, no ripples lasted in this water. There was a fallacy in the Harper’s analogy then, Jaxom thought, amused by this irrelevant thought.

  Meer and Talla suddenly squawked, both heads turned toward the western arm of the cove. They raised their wings and crouched on their haunches, ready to spring into the air.

  “What is it?”

  As quickly as they had become alert, the two fire-lizards relaxed, Meer preening one wing as if she hadn’t been startled the moment before.

  “Is someone coming?” Sharra asked, turning to Jaxom with amazement.

  Jaxom jumped to his feet, scanning the skies. “They wouldn’t object to Ruth’s return.”

  “It must be someone they know!” The possibility was as improbable to Sharra as it was to Jaxom. “And he’s not flying in!”

  They both heard the noises of something large moving through the forest on the point. A muffled curse indicated the visitor was human but the first head that penetrated the screen of thick foliage was undeniably animal. The body that followed the head belonged to the smallest runner beast Jaxom had ever seen.

  The muffled curses resolved into intelligible words. “Stop snapping the branches back in my face, you ruddy, horn-nosed, flat-footed, slab-hided dragon-bait! Well, Sharra, so this is where you got to! I was told, but I was beginning to doubt it! Hear you’ve been ill, Jaxom? You don’t look it now!”

  “Piemur?” Although the appearance of the young Harper was the unlikeliest of events, there was no mistaking the characteristic swagger in the short, compact figure that limped jauntily down the beach. “Piemur! What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you, of course. Have you any idea how many coves along this stretch of nowhere in the world answer the description Master Robinton gave me?”

  “Well, the Weyr’s all organized,” F’lar told Lessa in a quiet voice as he joined her in the foreroom of the Weyr which had been hastily vacated by its occupants so that the Masterharper of Pern could be accommodated. Master Oldive would not have him moved even as far as Ista Hold. The Healer and Brekke were with him now in the inner room as he slept, propped up in the bed, Zair perched above him, his glowing eyes never leaving the face of his friend.