Dragonquest

She was oblivious. To Jaxom, it seemed she didn’t care. She seemed limp, broken, pathetic, listing to one side. A dragon crooned softly and she shook her head as if only then aware of her surroundings.

The queen’s head turned to Brekke, the glistening eyes enormous in the outsized skull. The queen lurched forward a step.

At that moment a small blur of bronze streaked across the hatching Ground. With defiant screams, a fire lizard hung just above the queen’s head. So close, in fact, that the little queen reared back with a startled shriek and bit at the air, instinctively spreading her wings as protection for her vulnerable eyes.

Dragons protested from their ledges. Talina interposed her body between the queen and her small attacker.

“Berd! Don’t!” Brekke moved forward, arm extended to capture the irate bronze. The little queen cried out in protest, hiding her face in Talina’s skirts. The two women faced one another, their bodies tense, wary.

Then Talina stretched her hand out to Brekke, smiling. Her pose lasted only a moment for the queen butted her legs peremptorily. Talina knelt, arms reassuringly about the dragonet. Brekke turned, no longer a statue immobilized by grief, and retraced her steps to the figures waiting at the entrance. All the time, the little bronze fire lizard whirred around her head, emitting sounds that ranged from scolding to entreaty. The racket sounded so like the cook at Ruatha Hold at di

“She didn’t want the queen,” Felessan said, stu

“That fire lizard wouldn’t let her,” Jaxom said, wondering why he was defending Brekke.

“It would be wrong, terribly wrong for her to succeed,” Lytol said in a dead voice. He seemed to shrink in on himself, his shoulders sagging, his hands dangling limply between his knees.

Some of the newly Impressed boys were begi

“Didja see, Jaxom?” Felessan was saying, pulling at his sleeve. “Didja see? Birto got a bronze and Pellomar only Impressed a green. Dragons don’t like bullies and Pellomar’s been the biggest bully in the Weyr. Good for you, Birto!” Felessan cheered his friend.

“The littlest egg hasn’t cracked yet,” Jaxom said, nudging Felessan and pointing. “Shouldn’t it be hatching?”

Lytol frowned, roused by the anxiety in his ward’s voice.

“They were saying it probably wouldn’t hatch,” Felessan reminded Jaxom, far more interested in seeing what dragons his friends had Impressed.

“But what if it doesn’t hatch? Can’t someone break it and help the poor dragon out? The way a birthing woman does when the baby won’t come?”

Lytol whirled on Jaxom, his face suffused with anger.

“What would a boy your age know of birthing?”

“I know about mine,” Jaxom replied stoutly, jerking his chin up. “I nearly died. Lessa told me so and she was there. Can a dragonet die?”

“Yes,” Lytol admitted heavily because he never lied to the boy. “They can die and better so if the embryo is misformed .”

Jaxom looked at his body quickly although he knew perfectly well he was as he should be; in fact, more developed than some of the other Hold boys.

“I’ve seen eggs that never hatched. Who needs to live – crippled?”

“Well, that egg’s alive,” Jaxom said. “Look at it rocking right now “

“You’re right. It’s moving. But it isn’t cracking,” Felessan said.

“Then why is everyone leaving?” Jaxom demanded suddenly, jumping to his feet. For there was no one anywhere near the wobbling small egg.

The Ground was busy with riders urging their beasts down to help the weyrlings, or to escort guests of the Weyr back to their Holds. Most of the bronzes, of course, had gone with the new queen. Vast as the Hatching Ground was, its volume shrank with so many huge beasts around. Yet not even the disappointed candidates spared any interest for that one small remaining egg.

“There’s F’lar. He ought to be told, Lytol. Please!”

“He knows,” Lytol said, for F’lar had beckoned several of the brown riders to him and they were looking toward the little egg.

“Go, Lytol. Make them help it!”

“Small eggs can occur in any queen’s laying life,” Lytol said “This is not my concern. Nor yours.”

He turned and began to make his way toward the steps, plainly certain that the boys would follow.

“But they’re not doing anything,” Jaxom muttered, rebelliously,

Felessan gave him a helpless shrug. “C’mon. We’ll be eating soon at this rate. And there’s all kinds of special things tonight.” He trotted after Lytol.

Jaxom looked back at the egg, now wildly rocking. “It just isn’t fair! They don’t care what happens to you. They care about that Brekke, but not you. Come on, egg. Crack your shell! Show ‘em. One good crack and I’ll bet they’ll do something!”

Jaxom had edged along the tier until he was just over the little egg. It was rocking in time with his urgings now, but there was no one within a dragonlength. There was something frenzied about the way it rocked, too, that made Jaxom think the dragonet was desperate for help.

Without thinking, Jaxom swung over the wall and let himself drop to the sands. He could now see the minute striations on the shell, he could hear the frantic tapping within, observe the fissures spreading. As he touched the shell, it seemed like rock to him, it was so hard. No longer leathery as it had been the day of their escapade.

“No one else’ll help you. I will!” he cried and kicked the shell.

A crack appeared. Two more stout blows and the crack widened. A piteous cry inside was followed by the bright tip of the dragonet’s nose, which battered at the tough shell.

“You want to get born. Just like me. All you need is a little help, same as me,” Jaxom was crying, pounding at the crack with his fists. Thick pieces fell off, far heavier than the discarded shells of the other hatchlings.

“Jaxom, what are you doing?” someone yelled at him but it was too late.

The thick i

Before F’lar or anyone could intervene, the white dragon had raised adoring eyes to the Lord of Ruatha Hold and Impression had been made.

Completely oblivious to the dilemma he had just originated, the incredulous Jaxom turned to the stu

“He says his name is Ruth!”

CHAPTER XV

Evening at Benden Weyr: Impression Banquet

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IT HAD been like coming up out of the very bowels of the deepest hold, thought Brekke. And Berd had shown her the way. She shuddered again at the horror of memory. If she slipped back down . . .

Instantly she felt F’nor’s hand tighten on her arm, felt the touch of Canth’s thoughts and heard the chitter of the two fire lizards.

Berd had led her out of the Ground to F’nor and Manora. She’d been surprised at how tired and sad they both looked. She’d tried to talk but they’d hushed her. F’nor had carried her up to his weyr. She smiled now, opening her eyes, to see him bending over her. Brekke put her hand up to the dear, worried face of her lover; she could say that now, her lover, her Weyrmate, for he was that, too. Deep lines from the high-bridged nose pulled F’nor’s mouth down at the corners. His eyes were darkly smudged and bloodshot, his hair, usually combed in crisp clean waves back from his high forehead, was stringy, oily.

“You need cozening, love,” she said in a low voice which cracked and didn’t seem to be hers at all.