Dragon's Fire (23 page)

“So you’ve reached your judgment on a hunch,” Veran declared.

“As have you,” Tarri responded, her tone gently chiding.

“Hmmph,” Veran muttered thoughtfully. There was a moment’s silence while the trader reflected on Tarri’s point. “So why do you want to let her go?”

“She could lead us to the others,” Tarri said.

Halla pushed her head through the gap in the thick curtains and said, “I can track them if they’ve stolen from you.”

Tarri glanced back at her and smiled. Before Tarri could utter a greeting, Halla’s face clouded and she asked anxiously, “My traps?”

“Checked, cleared, removed, or recovered before we set out,” Tarri told her, adding with a grin, “We’ve got breakfast
and
lunch thanks to you.”

Halla sighed deeply, and said with relief, “I’d hate the thought of leaving trapped animals to die.”

Veran, who was a good ten Turns older than Tarri, gave her a startled look, which settled into one of keen appraisal.

“Why would you track the others?” he asked in a deep rumble.

“Because I don’t like walking, I like running even less, and I hate the thought of spending all my time worrying that someone might brand me Shunned,” Halla told him honestly.

“How did you come to be with the others?”

“I don’t know who my parents were,” Halla said. In fact, she had only dim memories of a sad-faced but smiling mother, and none of her father. “Moran says he found my brother and me wandering around a Gather Turns ago—”

“Where’s your brother?” Tarri asked, her forehead creased in a frown.

“Dead,” Halla said. “He broke his leg and the wound festered.” She was surprised that she hadn’t thought of Jamal in so long, and ashamed that his memory had faded so much from her thoughts.

“But—” Veran started to protest and then cut himself off. “Was he Shunned, then, that he couldn’t get to a healer?”

“No,” Halla said. “But to see a healer you’ve got to be known to the holders or the crafters.

“If they don’t know you,” she continued, shrugging, “they don’t even ask if you’re Shunned.”

“A trader, then—”

“Traders want marks,” Halla said. “Or trade.” Her tone when she said “trade” made Tarri blush.

Veran blustered at her words. “We traders—”

“—were happy enough to see that girl yesterday,” Tarri interjected. “At least the men.”

Veran weighed her words; from his expression it was obvious that he couldn’t argue with them but he didn’t like the way they set on his mind either. He peered critically at Halla and demanded, “So tell me that you’ve never stolen, then.”

“I won’t lie,” Halla replied, torn between shame, anger, and a strong desire to tell the truth.

“I trap when I can, earn my food and keep like everyone else—” She met his eyes squarely. “—but when I’m starving or the little ones have gone without food so long they can’t even cry anymore, then I’m not above taking from those who’ve more and won’t share even with a starving baby.”

“I’d do the same,” Tarri admitted.

Veran frowned thoughtfully for a moment, glanced away from Halla’s intense eyes, and finally nodded in reluctant agreement.

“If there was another way, I’d do it,” Halla declared, her brown eyes flashing fiercely. “Whenever there
is
another way, I do it.”

Veran could only glance in her direction for a moment before the intensity of her gaze proved too much for him again.

“The little ones,” Halla asked after a moment, “where are they?”

“We’ve got them,” Veran said.

“So who left?”

“The girl and the lad,” Tarri said.

“What’d they take?”

“You don’t sound surprised,” Veran growled.

“She learned from her mother,” Halla said. “Her mother had bangs.”

Tarri gave Veran a meaningful look.

“I see you don’t name her,” Veran said pointedly.

“Her name’s Milera,” Halla replied. “Her mother’s name is Conni. We were looking for her and Moran—”

“Moran?” Veran interrupted. “That’s the second time you’ve said that name. That wouldn’t be Harper Moran, would it?”

“You mean he’s really a harper?” Halla asked in surprise. When Veran nodded, she explained, “He taught me to read but I was never sure.”

“Master Zist’s had the word out about him for Turns now,” Veran said. Tarri looked at him quizzically—obviously this was news to her, as well. Veran shrugged and sighed before continuing, “What I heard was that Zist had sent Moran to work with the Shunned—”

Halla snorted derisively and Veran nodded in agreement.

“They say,” he continued, “that the Harper Hall is worried about what will happen to the Shunned when Thread comes again.”

“Thread?” Halla peered up to the skies, wondering if the dreaded menace would fall at any moment.

“We’ve Turns before then,” Tarri reassured her. She looked to Veran. “Why would the harpers worry about the Shunned?”

“They didn’t say,” Veran replied. “But we’ve talked about it among ourselves, and it’s thought that perhaps the Shunned might cause problems when Thread falls.”

“They’ll all die,” Halla declared in a dead voice. “They’ve nowhere to go; the Thread will devour them in one Fall.” She looked up imploringly at Veran. “Would you take the little ones? They didn’t do anything wrong, you know.”

“Of course we would,” Veran declared stoutly. “We traders know what’s right and we do it, even if the holders and crafters don’t.

“Besides,” he added quietly, “there’s been dealings between traders and Shunned before.”

Halla nodded. She’d heard as much and expected as much. The Shunned were rootless and desperate, the traders were rootless by choice; it was obvious that the two groups would be in contact, sometimes to mutual advantage.

“We don’t like to admit it,” Tarri confessed. “If the holders or crafters found out we were helping…”

“Besides, some of the Shunned were traders who went bad,” Veran said. He raised his eyes to Halla’s and nodded emphatically. “Most of the Shunned were sent out for good cause.”

“I don’t know what my parents did,” Halla told him. “But my brother didn’t do anything more than he needed to survive, nor do I.”

“Then you’d make a good trader,” Veran declared.

“I’d like to settle someplace, I think.”

“That’s harder,” Veran replied, shaking his head. “Holders don’t like giving up their lands.”

“I thought Pern belonged to everyone,” Tarri said.

“That’s what the traders say,” Veran replied with a smile.

“The little ones, would you take them
now
?”

“We’d have to talk it over,” Veran said. “But there are some who’ve lost children recently and—”

“Of course we’ll do it,” Tarri said, overriding Veran’s caution. “You can stay, too.”

Halla shook her head. “I’ve got to find Moran.”

“What about the others?” Veran asked.

“I’d prefer to avoid them,” Halla confessed.

Veran nodded understandingly. He pursed his lips thoughtfully and then declared, “Tell us about Moran and the others, and you can go with a pack full of food.”

“The truth?” Halla asked.

“Traders don’t trade in lies,” Tarri warned her. Halla looked at her quizzically while she absorbed her words then nodded in assent.

She spoke for a good twenty minutes, surprised by what she said and how well Tarri and Veran drew her out. She was relieved to unburden herself and glad not to have to worry about shading the truth or having to decide what to leave out of her tale.

“I’ve heard of Conni,” Veran said when she’d finished. “I hadn’t heard about her daughter.”

“She’s a woman now,” Tarri said. Veran gave her a funny look and it took Halla a moment before she realized that Tarri was several Turns older than Milera and so a woman herself.

“They say some men died near the mother,” Veran said, his voice cold. “Enough was proved that she was Shunned.”

“Where was the father?” Tarri asked.

“The father was the first to die,” Veran told her. Tarri and Halla shuddered. Veran gave Halla an admonishing look. “You stay clear of both of them.”

Halla nodded in agreement.

“You could stay with us,” Tarri offered once more.

Halla shook her head again, sadly.

“You can come back if you want,” Veran told her.

“Thank you,” Halla said, smiling. “I’d like to visit again, at the least.”

“I’ll spread the word,” Tarri told her. “You’ll be welcome at any trader fire across Pern by the end of the next sevenday.”

Veran disappeared behind the curtains into the back of the wagon and reappeared some time later with a pack, full, as promised, with provisions.

“Fair trade,” he said, offering the pack to her.

“Thanks.”

“‘Fair trade’ is what you say,” Tarri corrected her.

Halla smiled. “Fair trade.”

“Fair trade,” Tenim said as he left the body lying in the gully. Milera had been a pleasant diversion, but she’d been a fool to think she could stab him while he was sleeping. She’d gotten closer than he’d liked; his shoulder was sore and hot where the dagger had scored.

She’d forfeited her purse and her life when she’d tried to take his. Now Tenim traveled by himself with a pack provisioned for two.

He turned his attention to the trail ahead. Not only had his purse profited—twice—from his stay with the traders, but he’d gained considerably on Moran and Conni. Soon his purse would be even fuller. Tenim liked the idea. A full purse could buy a full belly, a good night’s rest, even a willing partner.

Conni’s purse had bought them a good berth on the barge that sailed down from Crom to Keogh. Her mouth had bought them an abrupt dislodgement on their arrival.

“He was rude,” Conni muttered again, her face buried in a mug full of cheap wine. She was drunk and getting nastier with every sip.

Moran eyed her distastefully. He had allowed his passion to cloud his thinking—again—and, again, he was paying far too much for his error. At least, he consoled himself, the bargeman’s wife had looked upon his charges kindly, so he had reason to hope that they’d be adopted, clearly a better fate for them than remaining close to Conni. Now all he had to do was achieve a similar distance and perhaps he could return, prodigally, to the Harper Hall.

For a moment Moran imagined the look on the faces of the harpers as he returned from his impossible mission. Why, he might even gain his Mastery straight out. He was old enough, nearing his thirtieth Turn even if he looked older.

His pleasant rumination was rudely interrupted by a clatter as Conni’s fingers let slip her mug, and her head fell to the table, insensate. Moran looked at her critically for a long while, reached carefully to remove her hidden purse—at least that’s what she believed it to be—and rose in one fluid motion to head for the door.

“What about her?” a voice growled.

Moran turned and a mark flew out of his hand directly into the innkeeper’s. “She’ll need a place for the night.”

The innkeeper nodded and smiled, the gaps in his teeth showing only slightly darker than the rest of his teeth. “She’ll have one.”

As he left, Moran found himself wondering less where Conni would be sleeping than how far he would be from wherever that was when she woke.

As he made his way out of Keogh, following the river southward, he made a decision and turned sharply right, to the west hills.

Three days later he began to regret his decision. The weather was cold in the foothills, and he could see only mountains ahead of him. His food ran out that night.

The next morning, Moran wished he hadn’t always left the chores of hunting and trapping to Tenim and Halla. He wasn’t a bad trapper—he had taught Tenim when he was little, and Tenim had passed his knowledge on to Halla—but his skills were long-unused.

He caught nothing in a nearby stream, and although he’d been smart enough to remove his pack and boots and roll up his trousers, a misjudged step had sent him into the cold, snow-fed stream so now he had warm feet and a cold backside. He pressed on, knowing that his exertions would soon warm him back up and his body heat would dry his clothes.

Snow started falling before nightfall. Moran found a sheltered cave with difficulty and huddled into it.