The Renegades of Pern (24 page)

At the touch of a slimy hand on his face, he pulled away, banging his head on the roof of the low tunnel and just barely managing to bite his tongue on his curse.

“Touchy, aren’t we?” Readis commented in a low voice. “We can walk from here, and it’s not far this way. Dushik must be guarding the more accessible entrance.”

As Jayge got to his feet, he was surprised to see a dim light coming from a thin fissure far above their heads.

“Don’t speak loud when we do get to the pit,” Readis instructed, “but
you
do the talking. We’re going to have to haul her up. The faster the better.”

The dim light from the ceiling crack faded, and then they were in a very dark tunnel. Readis laid an arm across him, signalling for silence. For a long while they listened and heard nothing but the dripping of the water down damp walls—until the silence was abruptly broken by a soft moan that reverberated hollowly, as if from a long way down.

Suddenly a light blazed and Jayge crouched in alarm, but as his eyes adjusted, he realized that Readis had lit a dim, almost spent glowbasket. And in the faint light he could see the yawning open pit before them.

“Talk to her, Jayge,” Readis murmured. “I’m rigging a loop at the end. She’s to put it under her arms and hang on tight.”

“Aramina,” Jayge said tentatively, cupping his mouth with both hands to focus the sound as he bent over the awesome edge of the pit. “Aramina, it’s Jayge.”

“Jayge?” His name began as a scream and ended in a gasp.

“Tell her not to let everyone know,” Readis said acidly.

“Quietly, Mina,” he called, the nickname he had misunderstood that day near Benden Hold coming easily to his lips. “You’re found. A rope is being lowered.” He turned to Readis. “Can’t we send the glow down? She can bring it back up with her.”

“Good thinking.” Readis slipped the noose around the glow-basket and lowered it quickly hand over hand down the pit.

They could see the light descending deeper and deeper. Just when Jayge was beginning to think that the pit was bottomless, the glow stopped.

“Put the loop under your arms,” he told Aramina. “We’re going to pull you up fast, so hang tight.”

“Help me, Jayge,” Readis said. Jayge gripped the rope along with Readis, and it writhed in their hands as she secured it under her arms. Then they began to pull.

Aramina was not heavy, but the coarse rope was slimy, and Jayge was afraid of losing his grip. He dug his fingers into the hemp. When the rough upward movement slammed her into the pit wall, she grunted, and Jayge winced. But steadily the light came closer. Finally Jayge leaned down and grabbed her arm, nearly wrenching it from the socket as he heaved her up over the edge. She clung to him, shuddering and panting. He was lifting her farther away from her ghastly prison when they heard Readis’s gasp of warning. A black shape launched itself on Readis, and before Jayge could put out a hand, two bodies went hurtling into the pit, the screams reverberating in horrifying echoes that made Jayge clasp the girl tightly to him, trying to blot the sound from her ears.

“Come. If Thella’s near . . .” He tugged the shaking girl to her feet, grabbed the dying glow, and started back the way they had come.

Aramina stumbled but refused to fall. Jayge could feel the tremors shaking her. She was sobbing, and her fingers dug into the flesh of his hand. He hated to ask her to crawl up the cramped dark burrow.

He turned to her to tell her to take the glow and go first. It was only then that he realized that she was not just slimy—she was naked. Her shivering was more from the cold than from reaction or stress, and she would tear the skin from her bones crawling up that tunnel. He stripped off his jacket and thrust her arms into it. It covered her to the hips. Then he pulled off his shirt and tore it into strips to wrap around her knees and feet.

“That’ll help,” he said. “Push the glow in front of you. It’s not far to the surface. Watch your head. Go!”

An eerie moan resounded down the tunnels and corridors of the ghastly cavern system. The weird sound was enough to send her to her hands and knees to crawl, sobbing with fright, into the burrow. Jayge fervently hoped that it had been Thella who had fallen down the pit with Readis.

Somehow they made it out into the twilight. Enough of the glow remained to light their way down the slope to easier ground. He managed to locate the pack he had left behind when he had set out to investigate the rockslide and unstrapped the blanket to put around her before fumbling for his numbweed jar.

“Can you call the dragons now and get them to come take us away from here?” he asked, slathering numbweed on her legs and feet.

‘’No.’’

He looked up at her face, confused. “Say again?”

“No, I will not call dragons. If I didn’t hear them, this never would have happened to me. Jayge,” she said, putting her cut and bruised hands on his arm, “you can’t know what it’s like. I can hear them now. Particularly Heth, who’s crying inside. I’m crying, too, but I won’t answer him. I can’t! They’d make me stay at Benden Weyr, and I’ll hear, and hear, and hear!” She was weeping, her fingers flexing on his arms. “It was better for a while at Benden Hold. There was only the watchdragon, and he was asleep so much of the time. If I heard the sweepriders talking, I could get very busy and pretend not to hear them.”

“But—you hear dragons! You belong in the Weyr.”

“No, Jayge, I don’t think I do,” she said, daubing numbweed on a bleeding knee. “Not the way I am. Oh, I stood on the Hatching Ground, and the little queen made a straight-line dash for Adrea. A very nice girl and welcome to Wenreth. And I’m very fond of K’van and Heth. They saved me from Thella once already. You saved me this time. You went all that long way to Benden Weyr, and they didn’t believe how serious it all was. Yes, I heard them talking about you. But I had two strong fine men with me when I went to Gardilfon’s.” She took a bong shuddering breath. “I saw Dushik break Brindel’s neck and Thella slit Hedelman’s throat. They liked doing it. The third man had the grace to look sick. Was he helping you get me out of there? Was it Thella or Dushik that dropped?” Her voice was low and urgent, but she sounded rational.

“I don’t know who took Readis down, and I’m not going back to look. We’d better get out of this vicinity. If you won’t call the dragon . . .” Looking down at her he saw that she had set her jaw resolutely, so he shrugged. He slung the pack over his shoulder and picked her up.

At first, she seemed to weigh nothing in his arms, but gradually he tired. He had to rest several times.

“I’m trying to think light,” she said once, and he patted her shoulder reassuringly.

The glow died just as they reached the cave he had been booking for. He stumbled in, nearly dropping her. It was little more than a hollow where a large boulder had once lodged, but it was free of snakes and would do for shelter for the night. When he had shared his rations with her and made her take several long pulls at his spirit bottle, he got her to wrap up in the blanket.

“You get a good sleep and it’ll all seem better in the morning,” he said, echoing his long-dead mother’s advice.

“At least there’ll be light,” she said in a composed voice. Then she yawned, and very shortly he heard her breathing slow to a sleeping rhythm.

Jayge was accustomed to night vigils, but he wished that a dragonrider would land nearby whom he could shout to, or that he dared risk a fire without being sure if Thella had died down in that pit. And most earnestly he wished that Heth or Ramoth would hear him shouting at them with his mind.

Aramina’s cries roused him. She was thrashing about, sobbing, and she fought at first when he tried to quiet her. He had to wake her up with a rough shake, and then she collapsed against him, panting.

“See, there’s the moon,” he said, slewing about so she could see Belior setting. Her face was ghastly in the pale light, but he was relieved to see her taking deep breaths to calm herself “You’re not in the pit, you’re not in the pit!”

“Giron! He was there! Chasing me. Only he suddenly turned into another man, much bigger, who turned into Thella. And then I woke up in the pit again. And the other voice I keep hearing, that had turned into a roar. It had been such a comfort to me, much more than just hearing dragons, even if I couldn’t understand what it was saying to me. But it was there, just as lonely as I was and wanting so much to be
with
someone. Only it wasn’t comforting in my dream. It was screaming at me.”

He comforted her, murmuring soothing nothings and not arguing with her irrational words. He rocked her in his arms, and eventually she fell asleep again, twitching and moaning occasionally. Her movements served to wake him up when he dozed off, but eventually both slept quietly.

In the morning he found her sitting cross-legged, gazing out at the rain that cascaded down like a waterfall over the cave mouth. She had built a little dam of earth and stones to keep the water from running into their shelter.

“Jayge, you must help me,” she said when he hunkered down beside her. “I cannot go back to either Hold or Weyr.”

“Where will you go? To Ruatha? I heard Lord Jaxom gave your father back his old place.”

She was shaking her head before he finished his sentence. “They would be appalled.” She gave a weary smile. “Me hearing dragons embarrassed them enough. To think I would leave the Weyr would crush them.”

Jayge nodded, since she seemed to expect some response of him.

“I shall go to the Southern Continent. I hear that there’s lots of it no one’s ever seen.”

“And that the Oldtimers don’t take their dragons out often,” Jayge said with a sly grin.

“Exactly,” she said, with a gracious nod. Then her expression altered. “Oh, please Jayge, help me. The dragons say that they’ve found no one.” Seeing his unspoken query she explained, “I can hear them whether I want to answer them or not.” She laid another pebble carefully where water threatened to spill over her little dam. She seemed so absorbed in her occupation that for a minute Jayge did not realize that she was adding slow tears of despair to the rainwater.

“What do you want me to do?”

Closing her eyes, she let out a relieved sigh and looked up at him, eyes still brimming with tears but a wan smile on her mouth. “Would that lean, wicked-looking-runner of yours carry two?”

“He could, but there’re plenty of others to buy around here. I’m a trader, after all. And?”

She pulled at the edge of his jacket, a rueful expression on her face. “I’ll need something to wear. Dushik slit mine off me . . .” An involuntary convulsion shook her, and he put a comforting arm about her shoulders until it passed.

“I’m a trader, remember,” he said again.

“On rainy days, they often hang clothes to air in the bathing rooms.” She bit her lip, realizing that she had just suggested he steal for her.

“Leave it to me.” He dragged the pack over and sorted out the rest of the food; she refused to keep the spirits bottle, though he made her take a drink for its warmth.

“You have to take back your jacket,” she said. “I’ll have the blanket to keep me warm. No one will question your losing a blanket, but shirt and jacket . . . and as soon as you leave here, I’m going to go out in that rain and get clean.”

“Then you’ll need the sweetsand.” He found the little bag in his pack and gave it to her. “Don’t stay out long. Thella could still be hanging around.”

Aramina had swathed herself in the blanket and was wriggling out of his jacket as he spoke. “I don’t think so. It had to have been Dushik who charged Readis. Thella would have thrown a knife.”

Jayge grimaced at the acuteness of Aramina’s observation. She
was
thinking clearly. So he would do exactly as she asked and get them out of Benden Hold. Back to . . . then he remembered the shipment of breeding pairs, slated to go to the Southern Continent. Well now, he might just do a bit of real trading and see if it solved Aramina’s problem. So long as he went, too. He had found her! He loved her! He would help her. The Weyrs and the Holds be damned. Hold and Weyr could not provide her with safety. He could and would!

10

Southern Continent,
PP 15.05.22–15.08.03

A
S
P
IEMUR ENTERED
Toric’s private room, he shot a quick glance at the inner wall to his left and saw that the hold map was, as usual, covered. Since Piemur had contributed many of the latest entries, he was amused by the man’s paranoid secrecy. Saneter was sitting on the edge of his bench, agitatedly rubbing his swollen knuckles. Piemur could tell nothing from Toric’s expression, which was a bad sign, especially when considering that he had returned from Big Lagoon to find the entire hold in a frenzy of indignation, outrage, and fright. Farli had chittered irrationally about dragons flaming her, then had disappeared. He had noticed that there were not many fire-lizards about, but there had been no time to look into the matter, as he had been ordered to report to Toric immediately.

“So, what have I done wrong this time?” Piemur asked brazenly.

“Nothing, unless your conscience is heavy,” Toric said edgily and Piemur immediately altered his expression and manner to respectful attentiveness. “Why would all the dragonriders leave?” the Holder went on.

“They’ve left?” Piemur wondered that Toric was not ecstatic. He glanced at Saneter for confirmation and the old harper flapped his fingers in a confusing sign that the boy could not interpret. When T’ron had died, T’kul had insisted that he was Weyrleader, and the situation at Southern Weyr had deteriorated rapidly. None of the other bronze riders had contested T’kul, but no one was happy with his irrational attitudes and demands.

“There isn’t a male dragon anywhere,” Toric said, rubbing his chin on his fist. “Only Mardra’s queen is weyred, and she’s more dead than asleep.” Toric was rarely without some course of action; not always one that Saneter—and sometimes Piemur—approved, but one generally guaranteed to protect Southern Hold. “There isn’t Threadfall,” he went on, not hiding his contempt for the Southern dragonriders who so seldom stirred themselves to perform traditional duties. “So I can’t think why all the males would just take off.”

“Nor I,” Piemur agreed. His voice must have sounded a little too cheerful, for Toric gave him a long measuring stare. Piemur waited patiently. Toric obviously had something in mind.

“You like it here, don’t you?” the holder finally asked.

“My first loyalty is to my Craftmaster,” Piemur replied, holding Toric’s gaze. So far Piemur had managed to retain his first allegiance, warped a trifle, but unsullied.

“Understood.” Toric flicked his fingers in acceptance of Piemur’s response. “But
my
first loyalty is not to those—those sisters’ mothers.”

“Understood.” Piemur grinned at the description of the Oldtimers, though the incestuous implications drew a gargled protest from Saneter. “And I’m sure you already know that you’ve got your Southern holders behind you all the way,” he added, thinking that was the reassurance Toric wanted.

“Of course I do!” Toric flicked his fingers again impatiently. “What I
need
is to be distanced, officially, from whatever that lot is now up to.”

“What could they be up to?” There were not that many Oldtimers to be effective at anything: both men and dragons were old, tired and more pathetic than dangerous. Except T’kul—lately no hold woman was safe from that womanizer.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t worry. I do so now, officially, in the presence of two journeyman harpers, disclaim any knowledge or part in any Southern dragonrider activity.”

“Heard and witnessed,” Saneter said, and Piemur echoed the formal words. “But I do think that you should inform the Weyrleaders. They are, after all, the best ones to deal with other dragonriders.”

“They can’t, and they won’t,” Toric said, his voice grating angrily, “interfere with the Oldtimers. They made that clear enough to me.”

“At beast Benden keeps
its
word,” Piemur muttered, aware of just how much latitude Toric had given himself after his discussion two Turns before with the Benden Weyrleaders. When Toric gave him a cold and calculating stare, Piemur held up both hands in apology for his impudence. “I could send Farli—if I can get my hands on her—with a warning to T’gellan that the Oldtimers have all vacated. You owe Benden that.”

Toric considered, scowling and rattling his fingers on the worktable.

“I did report those peculiar exercises they were doing a few days ago, popping in and out of
between.
It still makes no sense, but maybe the Weyr can figure it out.” Piemur realized that Toric would rather see the Oldtimers do something so dire and unforgivable that the Northern Weyrs would be forced to confront the problem they posed.

Neither could have guessed what the Oldtimers were attempting until three days later. Abruptly Mnementh appeared in the sky over Southern, Ramoth following a second later, swooping across the Hold clearing toward the Weyr. Piemur was astonished enough to see the two great Benden dragons, but when he realized that they were riderless, his heart began to pound with dread. Had some incredible disaster occurred in Benden? What could possibly have caused Mnementh and Ramoth to come here on their own? He raced for Toric’s hold to find the holder and old Saneter outside, staring skyward in consternation.

“Why would dragons come here without their riders?” Toric asked, his eyes never leaving the beasts as they wheeled above the Weyr, heads down, eyes a brilliant orange. “Those are too big to be Oldtimer beasts.”

“It’s Ramoth and Mnementh,” Piemur replied, his anxiety increasing as he noted the color of their eyes.

“What are they doing here?” Toric’s voice sounded slightly strained.

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Piemur admitted, shading his eyes and hoping to see the dragons’ eyes turning a less agitated shade.

“They’re searching the Weyr. What for?” Saneter asked in a fearful murmur.

Suddenly Ramoth flung her head up, uttering the most poignantly sorrowful cry Piemur had ever heard. Not the keen of mourning, but a weird and terrible anguished plaint. Despite the heat of the day he shuddered, the flesh on his arms rising in chill bumps. Even Toric paled slightly, and Saneter gave a moan. Mnementh’s deeper voice echoed his queen’s in a discordant tone that increased the pathos of their call.

Then, as abruptly as they had arrived, the two dragons disappeared. For a long moment, the holder and the two harpers remained motionless. Finally Toric exhaled in gusty relief. “Now what was that all about, Piemur?”

Piemur shook his head. “Whatever’s happened, it’s bad.”

“Bloody Oldtimers! If they’ve compromised me . . .” Toric shook his fist at the Weyr.

“Oh!” Saneter’s astonished exclamation brought their attention to the nine bronzes that were sweeping in. One circled to land, while the others began a quartering search, their feet flicking the topmost foliage, making it look as if they were walking on the forest roof.

“That’s Lioth and N’ton,” Piemur said. He was relieved until he saw the bronze rider’s dark expression as he dismounted and strode purposefully up to them. Then anxiety came flooding back. “Ramoth and Mnementh were just here—riderless. What’s happened?”

“Ramoth’s queen egg has been stolen from the Hatching Ground.”

“Stolen?” The word erupted from Toric’s lips as he stared with utter disbelief at the bronze rider. Saneter gasped and covered his eyes. Piemur swore.

“It is regrettable that we hesitated to inform you of their recent erratic behavior—” Toric lifted both hands in mute apology. “But who would have expected them to commit such a heinous crime against the Weyrs?” He sounded unusually subdued. “How could they hope to . . . how could that help? Where could they
hide
—no, not here!” He lifted his hands, fending off the mere hint of any complicity. “Search! Search!” He gestured expansively. “Look everywhere!”

“It is apparently a matter of every
when
,” N’ton said grimly. Piemur groaned, suddenly understanding the significance of the Oldtimers’ latest exercises: They had been practicing going
between
times, a dangerous use of draconic abilities, even for the best of reasons—which Lessa’s famous ride had been, but which stealing an egg was not.

Toric looked inquiringly at N’ton, expecting an explanation; then he gave Piemur a hard and significant look.

“Toric has nothing to hide, N’ton,” Piemur said solemnly, recalling their recent interview and Toric’s request. “Saneter and I give you our oath on that!”

N’ton nodded gravely and returned to Lioth, springing to take his place on the bronze’s back. Toric and the two harpers watched until the dragons had swept beyond their line of sight, frantically inspecting the surrounding forest.

“What do we do now?” Toric asked in a low voice.

“Hope,” Piemur replied, wishing fervently that he had sent Farli when he could. Although who could have suspected those depraved fools to be mad enough to
steal
an egg from Ramoth? How could any strange dragons have got into the Benden Hatching Ground? Ramoth rarely left it. And how could they have left the Ground without being intercepted?

The next few hours were exceedingly anxious. But just when Piemur had made himself ill with imagining the consequences—for the Oldtimers as well as for Southern Hold—Tris, N’ton’s brown fire-lizard, appeared with a message on his leg for Piemur. He was also wearing an intricate neck design, an addition so recent that the paint still glistened.

Unrolling the message as he ran, Piemur raced for Toric’s office. “It’s all right, Toric! The egg’s back!”

“What? How? Let me see!” Toric grabbed the note from Piemur’s hands and, with unusual openness, muttered the tightly written words aloud.

“The egg has been returned—no one knows by what agency. Ramoth had left the clutch to eat. Three bronzes appeared, and before the watchdragon realized their intent, they’d flown into the Ground. Ramoth screamed, but the bronzes were away and
between
with the queen egg before she could act. As you will appreciate, Ramoth and Mnementh suspected the Oldtimers and instantly overflew the Southern Weyr without finding any trace. It was then obvious that the absconding dragons had gone
between time
to secure their theft. Before a disciplinary move could be made, the egg was returned. One moment it was not in the Hatching Ground, in the next breath it was there. However, it was taken somewhere for long enough to be quite hard, a condition that incenses the Weyrwoman, for it confirms the elapse of considerable time. Where is not known. The Oldtimers are suspected, for what other Weyr would steal what it can produce? Master Robinton urged caution and deliberation, even spoke out against a punitive search, and has been peremptorily dismissed from Benden Weyr. N’ton.”

“So!” Toric said, leaning back in his chair. He tapped the message against his desk. “So the Oldtimers have compromised only themselves. That is a relief.”

“If you see it as one,” Piemur murmured, and abruptly strode out of the hold. Toric could be as relieved as he wished, but Piemur was far from easy. The Masterharper exiled from Benden? That was bloody awful. The more he thought of the consequences of such an estrangement, the more depressed he became. It had come so frighteningly near the worst catastrophe that could afflict Pern—dragon fighting dragon. Those accursed Oldtimers! What consummate fools! Especially T’kul, who undoubtedly had instigated the senseless scheme. There would be retribution for their act, and Piemur devoutly hoped that the future of Southern Hold—and Toric’s ambitions—had not been jeopardized. But he worried most of all about Master Robinton’s anomalous situation.

The Oldtimers returned late that afternoon. It was a small satisfaction to Piemur, when Toric sent him to check, to note the utter dejection and the drained color of every single Oldtimer dragon. The dragons were too exhausted by their failure even to eat and most of the riders were intent on getting very drunk.

“That’s nothing new,” Toric replied when Piemur reported to him. “Shards, but I don’t think there’s much to choose between Northern and Southern dragonriders,” Toric went on, pacing the length of his workroom. He did not seem to notice that he was kicking furniture out of his way and knocking objects off tables with impatient sweeps of his hands. He had kept his temper during the day and was still wound tight as a screw. “But how could I have suspected they’d try something like stealing Ramoth’s queen egg? Believe me, boy, T’kul and those randy riders of his
did
steal that egg. No question of it in my mind.” Piemur nodded agreement, hoping Toric would just leave matters lie for a while. “I should have guessed that they’d be desperate for a queen to mate with those bronzes while there’s enough energy in any of them to fly her. I’d say they waited too long! I don’t know who did restore Ramoth’s egg, but by Faranth, I’m grateful to him. It was close there today, boy. Damned close. Those Northern dragons could have charred everything—Hold and Weyr.” Another wide sweep of Toric’s hand knocked Records to the floor. “I don’t like the Oldtimers, but not even I would want dragon to fight dragon.”

“Don’t even think about it, Toric,” Piemur said and shivered. That possibility had been so frighteningly imminent.

“For a little while there, I saw everything I’ve worked twenty Turns to accomplish about to be ruined.” Another sweep of Toric’s arm knocked a glowbasket from the wall bracket and spilled its contents over the Records. Piemur grabbed them out of the way and closed the basket, stamping at the spillage. “I’m going to set a watch on those Oldtimers, Piemur. I’ll have Saneter draw up a roster. I can’t let something else happen. I was hoping to have a few words with F’lar . . .” Piemur nearly choked at that bit of arrogance. “No, I guess this wasn’t the time for it,” the holder added with a rueful shake of his head. “That Masterharper of yours has good ideas. I’d like you to get in touch with him about this.” Toric turned to look sharply at Piemur.

The boy cleared his throat and scratched his head, avoiding Toric’s eyes. He did not wish to mention Master Robinton’s now tenuous influence on the Benden Weyrleaders.