“Hey, I don’t want to get in trouble here, too,” he said when he realized they were heading still farther into the caves. It was one thing, according to Jaxom’s lexicon, to be adventurous in one’s own Hold, but quite another to invade the sanctity of another’s, much less a Weyr! That was close to blasphemy, or so he’d been taught by his ex-dragonrider guardian. And while he could weather Lytol’s wrath, he never, never, never wanted to anger Lessa…or—his mind whispered the name—F’lar!

“Trouble? We won’t get caught. Everybody’s too busy this near dinner. I’d’ve had to help if you hadn’t come,” and the boy grinned smugly. “C’mon!”

They had arrived at a fork in the passageway, one leading left, deeper into the Weyr, the other bending right. This one was ill-lit and Jaxom faltered. You didn’t waste glows on unused corridors.

“What’s the matter?” Felessan asked, frowning back at his reluctant guest. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

“Afraid?” Jaxom quickly stepped to Felessan’s side. “It’s not a question of fear.”

“C’mon then. And be quiet.”

“Why?” Jaxom had already lowered his voice.

“You’ll see. Only be quiet now, huh? And take this.”

From a hidey-hole, Felessan handed Jaxom a half-shielded basket with one feebly gleaming glow. He had another for himself. Whatever objections Jaxom might have had were stilled by the challenge in the younger boy’s eyes. He turned haughtily and led the way down the shadowy corridor. He was somewhat reassured by the footprints in the dust, all leading the same way. But this hall was not frequented by adults. All the footprints were smallish, not a bootheel among ’em. Where did it lead?

They passed locked, covered doorways, long unused and scary in the flickering light of the dim glows. Why couldn’t Felessan have stolen some new ones while he was about it? These wouldn’t last too long. Jaxom earnestly wanted to know how far they were going. He had no liking for a trip through back halls and dangerous corridors without full illumination to aid his vision and reduce his imagination. But he couldn’t ask. What could there possibly be this far back in the Weyr? A huge rectangle of absolute black rose on his left and he swallowed against terror, as Felessan marched purposefully past it, his weak glow back-lighting the threatening maw into another innocently empty corridor junction.

“Hurry up,” Felessan said, sharply.

“Why?” Jaxom was pleased with the steady, casual tone he managed.

“Because she always goes to the lake about this time of day and it’s the only chance you’ll ever get.”

“Chance to what? Who’s she?”

“Ramoth, thickwit,” Felessan stopped so quickly that Jaxom bumped into him and the glow in his basket began to flicker.

“Ramoth?”

“Sure. Or are you afraid to sneak a look at her eggs?”