The Renegades of Pern (33 page)

“Inhabited?” everyone echoed.

“Inhabited?” Lessa asked pointedly, her eyes wide.

“Only a pair of shipwrecked northerners and their baby son,” Piemur began and saw from the gleam in the Harper’s eye that he had made a good beginning. He glowered back before he returned Lessa’s inquiring stare. He was not certain why he was to become the culprit in the matter. He looked across the table at Jaxom, who shrugged helplessly. Lytol merely watched, his face unreadable. “A resourceful couple. They’ve survived two Turns or more.”

“These illegal sailings . . .” Lessa began, scowling and sitting back in her chair. She crossed her arms, emphasizing her dislike of such adventuring.

“Not at all,” Piemur replied. “They were on an authorized voyage from Keroon Beasthold, bringing Toric—I mean, Lord Toric—some breeding pairs. Five people survived the storm, but injuries killed one before they found out his name, and two died of fire-head the following spring.”

“And?” Lessa’s foot tapped, but Piemur noticed a gleam of interest in F’lar’s eyes and a sympathetic grin on N’ton’s face. Fandarel listened, one eye on the ambiguous chart before him, while Wansor could be heard tutting happily to himself, his nose a scant fingertip from the map he was assiduously studying.

“They repaired some dilapidated buildings they found on the riverbanks and have done pretty well for themselves, I think,” Piemur continued. “Knocked together a little skiff, tamed some runnerbeasts, planted a garden . . .”

Jaxom leaned forward on the table, keenly interested.

“Paradise River?” Lessa closed her eyes and uncrossed her arms to throw them up in an exasperated gesture of surrender. “And you like them, Robinton, and want them to hold?”

“Well, someone will have to, Lessa,” Robinton said, looking abashed. “If you ask my opinion . . .” He glanced at Lytol and Jaxom for support.

“I haven’t.” Lessa glared at Jaxom and Lytol in a clear order not to encourage the Masterharper.

“I think too much is being made of ‘permission’ to come here,” Robinton went on, ignoring her sarcasm. “Master Idarolan has, it is true, issued warnings that all shipmasters must report Southern landings to him. But just look at the breadth of land here. This big map—” He rapped his knuckles on the largest continental map. “—shows us just how
much
inhabitable land there is.”

“And no Weyrs,” F’lar put in sardonically.

Robinton waved that aside. “The land here protects itself.”

“D’ram’s worrying himself to the bone over the Plateau and Cove Hold as it is,” Lytol said, speaking for the first time.

“The young Lilcamps have been careful to shelter both themselves and their beasts,” Robinton went on, “in buildings they’ve restored from ancient remains.”

“What kind of remains?”

“These.” From a cabinet behind him Robinton produced a sheaf of sketches; Piemur recognized Perschar’s work. The Harper skidded each sheet down over the map, casually describing the scene. “The beach as seen from the verandah of the house. The house—it has twelve rooms—as seen from the eastern strand, with Jayge’s boat. Another view of the harbor with the fishnetting—Jayge cobbled up nets from material he found in one of the storehouses. This is the storehouse. You can just make out the beasthold. Ah, this is looking south from the verandah. And another of the western bank and some of the ruins. This charming little fellow playing in the sand is young Readis.” By the clever order in which Robinton was presenting the pictures, Piemur guessed his intention. “This is Jayge—son of the traders Lilcamp-Amhold. Quite a reliable train. He plans to bring over some of his Bloodkin. And this is his wife!”

“Aramina!” Lessa snatched up that sketch before it could settle to the table.

F’lar gave an exclamation of surprise and looked over her shoulder, a startled expression on his face. “Robinton, you have some explaining to do!”

Seeing that Lessa had gone quite pale under her weather-tanned skin, Piemur quickly poured out a cup of wine for her. She took it absently, her narrowed eyes on the Harper.

“Do calm yourself, my dear,” Robinton said. “I’ve been trying to think of a way of breaking this good news, but there have been so many demands on your time and energy, and so much has been happening over the last few months . . .”

“You’ve known Aramina was alive for months?”

“No, no. No, only a few days, in fact. Piemur met them months ago, before he got to Cove Hold. The very day that—”

“That Baranth flew Caylith,” Jaxom put in when the Harper faltered. Glancing sharply at Piemur, the young Ruathan Lord Holder added, “A lot happened that day, too.”

“Piemur wouldn’t have known about Aramina, my dear Lessa. He wasn’t even north during that period. But she confided in me, if you’ll listen.”

Lessa was quite willing to hear everything that Aramina had told the Harper, though she was furious that Benden had been allowed to believe the girl dead. The heat in her eyes suggested that her first meeting with Jayge and Aramina might include some recriminations.

“She no longer hears dragons,” the Harper said gently when the retelling was done.

Lessa sat very still, except for her fingers, which tapped out an uneven rhythm on the armrests of her chair. She looked up at F’lar, then across to N’ton; her gaze flicked from Jaxom to Lytol’s expressionless face and rested on Fandarel, who looked back at her without concern.

“And she is happy with this Jayge?” the Weyrwoman asked.

“One fine son already and another baby due.” When Lessa discounted that as a measure of contentment, the Harper continued. “He’s a resourceful and provident man.”

“Jayge adores her,” Piemur said with a broad grin. “And I’ve seen the way she looks at him. They could do with some company, though.” As neatly as the Harper could have done it himself, Piemur suggested the possibility of what had already been accomplished. “It’s been pretty lonely. Even for Paradise!”

“How big is Paradise?” Lessa asked. There was noticeable relief as she appeared to relent.

Piemur and N’ton both reached to pull the appropriate chart in front of Lessa.

“Not as much as this is marked, certainly,” Piemur said, tapping the squared-off section. The site actually extended much farther east and west; the map went as far as the bend in the river that Jayge had mentioned.

“A rough estimate,” Lessa suggested, a half-smile turning up the left-hand side of her mouth. She knew very well that Piemur could provide a reasonably accurate one.

The Masterharper handed over his copy of the witnessed hold map. “Here!”

“Does this establish a precedent, old friend?” Lytol asked quietly.

“A better one, I feel, than the method Toric employed.” He held up his hand to ward off Lessa’s rebuke. “Different circumstances now obtain. But very soon now, you Weyrleaders, Craftmasters, and Lord Holders must decide which precedent to follow. Toric’s or Jayge’s? In my opinion, a man ought to be able to Hold what he has proved.”

Master Wansor’s rather squeaky voice broke the silence that followed Master Robinton’s quiet challenge. “Did they have dragons then?”

“Why?” Realizing that she had spoken more curtly than she had meant to, Lessa softened her bluntness with a smile.

Wansor blinked at her. “Because I don’t see how the ancients got about such vast holdings. There are no tracks or trails listed. The coastline or river situations would be easy enough to reach, but this Cardiff isn’t near a river and not very close at all to Landing. I suppose the mining facilities marked here at Drakee’s Lake used to be one of the rivers, but that isn’t specified, or a seaport marked. I really don’t understand how they kept in touch unless they had dragons.”

“Or other flying ships?” Jaxom asked.

“More efficient sailing vessels?” N’ton suggested.

“We have found many broken parts that were beautifully crafted,” Master Fandarel said, “but not a single complete motor or engine or other mechanical device that requires such pieces. Not in the oldest of the Records in my Hall. We have found three immense disabled vehicles that the fire-lizards inform us once were airborne. I do not think their design would be efficient over short distances—too awkward and heavy. The tubes in the rear suggest that their motion was upward.” He tilted his hand and massive forearm in demonstration. “They must have had other vehicles.”

“This is so exasperating,” Lessa exclaimed, scowling. “We cannot do everything at once! You may be reasonably safe from Threadfall in the South, but every wing is vital in keeping the north and all its people protected. We just can’t move everyone South!”

“Once everyone moved north,” Robinton said, beaming at her. “To ‘shield.’ ”

“Until the grubs spread themselves to protect the land,” F’lar added, laying one reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“While the Weyrs protected Hold and Hall,” N’ton put in.

“We have such a lot to learn about this world,” Robinton said quite happily.

“There are answers somewhere.” Master Fandarel sighed heavily. “I would be content with just a few.”

“I would be content with one!” F’lar said, looking out the window to the moonlit scene. Jaxom nodded in sympathy.

“So, the Paradise River Hold is confirmed to Jayge and Aramina Lilcamp?” the Harper asked with sudden briskness.

“It is much the better precedent to follow,” Lytol agreed. “I shall, if you wish, suggest this at the next Conclave.”

“That’s going to be a full meeting,” F’lar said wryly, but he nodded.

“Why is it that what is forbidden,” the Harper said drolly, “is all the more exciting?”

“You can take it from one who knows,” Piemur made bold to add, “that the Southern Continent has a way of making or breaking you.”

“Just what is it doing to you, Master Robinton?” Lessa asked in her sweetest and most dangerous voice. But she smiled, and the smile was genuine.

The news of a second hold gradually filtered to the North, to be commented on by Lord Holders and Crafthall Masters. There were those who delighted in Jayge’s elevation, and some who found his new eminence distasteful for a variety of reasons. Toric was one such, but he slowly overcame chagrin and resentment. In the North, a gaunt, scar-faced woman swore savagely when she heard, kicking her saddle across the narrow interior of her cave dwelling, throwing about her other belongings, and damaging the breakable without relief to her fury and bitter disappointment.

When her temper had abated sufficiently for her to think clearly, she sat down by the ashes of her fire and the spilled kettle that had contained her evening meal and began to plot.

Jayge and Aramina! How had he found the girl? Surely Dushik would have been on guard. She had had cause to doubt Readis’s loyalty ever since she had killed Giron, who had become a useless handicap in their desperate flight from her hold. Readis had openly opposed her plan to abduct Aramina and then, suddenly, he had acquiesced, a reversal she had not trusted. But once down that pit, the girl had been as good as dead.
How
had that wretched little trader man rescued her?

Her mind seethed over that now indisputable fact. Aramina had been rescued and was alive and well in the south, enjoying prestige and comfort while she, Thella, had nearly died from a noxious and debilitating infection that had left her scarred. Had either Dushik or Readis reached the appointed meeting place, she would have fared much better. As it was, it had been weeks before she had recovered from the fever.

Weak and unable to focus her mind on new plans, Thella had drifted, carefully avoiding holds until she found herself a secluded valley in Nerat, where quantities of food easily gathered had somewhat restored her to health. She had been appalled at the scarring on her face and the wisps that were all that was left of her once luxuriant hair. All Thella’s misfortunes could be traced back to that whelp spawned by an insignificant trader, who had prevented her from finding a miserable girl who could have made life so much more predictable.

Periodically she had comforted herself with the torments Aramina would have suffered before succumbing to terror and starvation in that dark and slimy pit. She still had to settle accounts with the trader, and she thought long and pleasantly about how she would wreak her revenge on Jayge and the entire Lilcamp train.

To do so, she would have to recover full strength, and though the time it took to do so became another cause to resent Jayge, Thella achieved it. A deep tan reduced the shock of her facial scars, and her hair was reasonably thick again by the time she saddled her runner to take up her task.

She replenished her empty pouch with marks after a fortunate evening encounter with a farmer journeyman. She appropriated his clothing once he no longer needed it. Before his demise, he had genially brought her up to date on nearly a full Turn’s news. His enthusiasm for the opening of the Southern Continent almost made her abandon her initial plans to go south and stake out in the tropical wilderness the holding which had so long been denied her.

As she knew the Lilcamp-Amhold train initiated its sweeps from Igen, she took herself back to the low caverns. To her satisfaction she learned that, while Borgald Amhold had given up trading, the Lilcamp folk were still traveling. She began to make plans, first revisiting all her old caves to see which were still undiscovered and usable. And she began recruiting.

At first she was not too successful. The stories about her had made many people wary of flouting the authority of Hold and Weyr; so although the population of the low cavern had changed sufficiently that most of those who might recognize her were gone, and those that remained were confused by her altered appearance, she found few willing accomplices. But once she had heard of Paradise River Hold, her energies were redirected and galvanized. Jayge and Aramina would live only as long as it took her to recruit sufficient men, acquire a ship, and sail south.

14

Southern Continent,
PP 15–17

O
VER THE NEXT
two Turns, Piemur had reason to recall Lessa’s comment—or had it been a challenge?—to Master Robinton. There were changes of all kinds, but that was only natural, though some were rather spectacular, such as Menolly, Sharra, and Brekke all having sons on the same day. According to Silvina, Menolly gave birth to Robse between one note and the next; Sharra had slightly more difficulty producing Jarrol; and Nemekke arrived, two weeks before he was due, just before midnight, Benden Weyr time. Robinton and Lytol, deciding that they were the spiritual grandfathers of Menolly’s and Sharra’s sons, drank to their health, and that of Brekke’s second boy, with sufficient wine to have drowned all three.

And there were other changes: Piemur’s prediction that Southern hazards would sort out aspiring holders proved correct. As tales from discouraged immigrants circulated north, the wave of northerners venturing south lost its impetus. Piemur knew that Master Robinton had had a hand in that through Master Sebell’s offices. The Southern Continent was having an effect on the Harper, fascinating him, as it had Piemur, with its lush beauty and incredible bounty and the allure of the mystery still locked in the ruins of another time.

During the first Turn, Master Rampesi and Master Idarolan finally sighted each other, halfway around the world from Cave Hold. To mark the historic occasion, the two captains hammered a stout red stake into a hillside above the bay, and the festivities lasted well into the early dawn hours. There was a good deal of friendly banter over which ship had sailed the farthest, but as
Dawn Sister
was clearly the bigger, faster vessel, Master Rampesi finally gave way to his Craftmaster. Then they continued their explorations of the Southern shores, one heading eastward and the other westward, back to their ports of origin. Both shipmasters’ reports, delivered to the Conclave of Weyrleaders, Lord Holders, and Craftmasters, indicated a varied terrain, including precipitous cliffs and arid desert with sparse and unattractive vegetation but also a reassuringly large portion of inhabitable lands. That information considerably reduced the friction that was developing over titular possession of choice areas. The Weyrleaders were implacable on the point that northern Lord Holders, already well established, should not look to the South for their own benefit.

Piemur was proud of and impressed by Master Robinton’s continued insistence on small holdings. Paradise River Hold, rather than Southern, was constantly cited as the acceptable precedent. The Weyrleaders, besieged by petitioners, finally conceded that point, adding the provision that no one already in possession of a hold could expect to be granted one in the South. With greatly increased supplies of all raw materials available from the South, Craftmasters increased their numbers of apprentices and more walked the tables as journeymen to support broader holder requirements.

With no need any longer to limit mating flights to keep the dragon population down to that which the existing Weyrs could accommodate, there were soon sufficient weyrlings to populate a new Weyr in the thick forest between Landing and Monaco. T’gellan, rider of bronze Monarth, was appointed as Weyrleader to the Eighth Weyr, designated as Eastern until a suitable name could be agreed upon. T’gellan found his new position no sinecure, since he had to deal both with older dragons and riders, unable to fly full Falls, and weyrlings sent to Eighth for a season to perfect their fighting skills before being added to Northern wings.

Southern dragonriders turned out to be useful after all, despite the land’s defenses—in the form of those amazing grubs—against Thread. After a storm of nasty tangles ripped through some of the dense forests, Weyrleader T’gellan increased sweepriders, and even Lord Toric, once he had seen the damage done by a series of tangles, lost his complacence and organized ground crews.

A nearby Weyr, with an old friend as Weyrleader, provided Piemur and his master with any number of willing beasts to help them explore, far more extensively than perhaps Benden might realize. To their delight, they found more ruins along the river that flowed on Mount Garben’s western flank. And Master Robinton knew of suitable folk to move into those old holdings—ostensibly for onsite excavations.

D’ram passed his leadership on to K’van, whose Heth surprised complacent older bronze riders by flying Adrea’s Beljeth in her mating flight. D’ram retired to Cove Hold, where he was well received by Master Robinton and Lytol, the retired Lord Warder of Ruatha Hold.

The fears that another Toric, or worse yet, a second Fax, might emerge began to recede as more and more small holds were established along the coast and rivers. The sheer size of the Southern Continent, and the difficulty of communications—solving that problem was a major priority of the Smithcrafthall—served as inhibiting factors.

There were regular passages back and forth between the continents, both by sail and by dragon. The harbor facilities at Monaco Bay were still functional, though the dwelling at the point had been battered into ruins by storms. The harbor was superb, and several Masterfishermen vied with each other for Master Idarolan’s permission to take hold there. Paradise River Hold was thriving; it had its own seahold, Mastered by Alemi, formerly of Half Circle Seahold, who had command of two small coastal skiffs and one deep-water vessel.

During those Turns, excavations continued at the Plateau, though the work became somewhat slow and desultory during the long stretches during which little or nothing was found. Whenever minor finds were uncovered, interest would be temporarily revived, and Master Robinton would seize that renewal of energy to get other sites dug up, clinging to his belief that somewhere in the ruins would be the answers to his questions about the Dawn Sisters and the origin of their ancestors. The maps had only whetted his appetite.

Meanwhile Master Fandarel had assembled an astounding array of mechanical pieces, including the shell of what he insisted had to be one of the ancients’ small flying ships. The starboard side had been badly dented, the durable material fractured, stained, and mottled with tiny cracks. The stripped hull raised more questions than it answered, but encouraged the hopes of those who thought that a complete vessel might be found abandoned at one of the ancient sites.

To assist in the tagging and cataloging at Cove Hold, Menolly and Brekke sent a variety of young people, serving informal apprenticeships. Piemur suspected his friends of matchmaking, but there was no doubt that the girls were useful—and, Piemur conceded, decorative. They seemed to enjoy D’ram’s occasional teasing and were understanding of Lytol’s quiet introspection. Still, none of them caught Piemur’s fancy, especially since they had a tendency to moon over Master Robinton.

For the additional residents at Cove Hold, small private cots had been constructed, though most evenings everyone met for their meal in the main Hall. A large area adjacent to D’ram’s cot was cleared for Piroth’s weyr. A second guest house was constructed when the facilities in Cove Hall were constantly strained; then an archive hall—Lytol’s domain—was added as repository for the mass of records, sketches, charts, maps, ruin diagrams, and artifact samples. Soon an annex was required to allow space for the craftswomen determined to piece together some of the splinters and shards. Wansor’s large distance-viewer was housed on the eastern point, where he continued his observations of the Dawn Sisters, the baleful Red Star, and those other celestial bodies which, with the help of the ancients’ star maps, he managed to identify.

And still the excavation of Landing continued. Fandarel’s mound, the last of the original choices to be excavated, had added to the frustration. He had been correct that the heat of the volcano had kept the building from being cleared by the ancient refugees, but whatever had been in it had been so badly damaged—or, in some cases, completely destroyed—that it was impossible to identify. A flurry of further digging in that sector proved unenlightening: the buildings thus found seemed to have been used as beastholds.

That raised the questions of how so many beasts could have been accommodated in the Dawn Sisters, how many people had made the voyage, how far they had come, and how long had Landing been inhabited. The fire-lizards’ peculiarly tenacious memory evidently contained only unusual occasions: the initial landing, the volcanic eruption, and the far more recent incident of the retrieval of Ramoth’s stolen egg, when dragons had actually flamed at fire-lizards. It was still not common knowledge that Jaxom and Ruth had stolen back the egg for the North—all most people knew was that the miraculous return of the egg had made it unnecessary for the Northern dragon wings to exact retribution from Southern Oldtimers and prevented the worst catastrophe anyone could imagine: dragon fighting dragon.

There was a certain contentment on both sides of the sea now that the Southern Continent had been opened up, leaving those interested in the ancients free to pursue the puzzles posed by the excavations. One rainy week, the frustration level of those kept holdbound at the cove was particularly high, and even Piemur, racking his brain, could not come up with a diversion.

“It may well be, Robinton,” Lytol suggested, “that we shall never know the answers.”

“Now
that
I won’t accept!” The Harper propelled himself out of his chair, pausing the tiniest bit as his joints prevented a smooth rising. “Bloody rain always seizes me up.” He straightened his back, stood on one leg to jiggle the other, then repeated the process with his night leg. “What was I going to do?”

“Pace with frustration,” Piemur said, looking up from the object he was studying under an enlarging glass. “I’ll join you. There is no way this—thing—was useful.” He flicked the rectangular board away from him. “Beads and wires and tiny joins!”

“Decorative?” D’ram asked.

“Unlikely. It’s more of the same sort of thing we found in the forward portion of the flying ship.”

“What was I going to do?” Robinton demanded of no one in particular, one hand on his forehead, the other propped at his belt. “And I’ve got enough wine.”

“I was talking about generations,” Lytol patiently cued him. “You wouldn’t accept the delay . . .”

“Ah, yes, thank you.” Robinton went over to the map stand that stood across one window. He leafed through the charts until he found the one he wanted and then pulled it up to hook it to the top of the frame. “Has anyone done anything about these?” He indicated the symbols in red, blue, and green, positioned like miniature flags between the landing strip and the far southern edge of the settlement.

Piemur swiveled in his chair to look. “No, sir. There doesn’t seem to be anything there now.”

“But caves were discovered in that general area, weren’t they?”

“Yes, caves that had obviously been adapted for use as living quarters,” Piemur admitted. “Probably for greens, since the dragon couches were very small.”

“What if—what if the caves here,” Robinton said excitedly, tapping the flags, “had concealed entrances?”

“Master, haven’t we found
enough
junk?” Piemur’s sweeping gesture took in the entire Cove Hold complex.

“But no answers!” Robinton shook his head. “There have to be some answers, so that we can understand more than what we’ve gleaned from fire-lizards!” Roused from his sleep on the back of Robinton’s chair, Zair chirped in reassurance. “And that’s enough from you, impudence with wings. As I’ve said before, people who could execute the wonders we have seen would have kept records!”

“They did, and they’re the dust in the back corridors of Fort Hold and Benden Weyr,” Piemur broke in. “And we’re none the wiser.”

“They can’t have kept so
few
copies!” the Harper insisted. “And we have the maps as examples of the durability of their materials—so where are the rest?”

“There were lapses in record-keeping,” Lytol agreed solemnly. “We now know there must have been a terrible fire in one portion of Fort Hold’s lowest level; we are also agreed that plague decimated Hall, Hold, and Weyr on three separate occasions. We may never learn our history.” He seemed as resigned to that possibility as the Harper was resistant to it.

“So, when the rain decides to stop,” Piemur asked on a long-suffering note, “do you want me to take some rodmen and find these caves for you?”

When the next day brought a clearing of the heavy rains, Piemur sent Farli to Eastern Weyr for a dragon to convey himself and the Harper to the Plateau. V’line, a young bronze rider, arrived and duly transported them. Once at the Plateau, the Harper requested V’line and Clarinath to circle over the site. So often an aerial search produced visual clues not apparent on the surface. Carefully scrutinizing the terrain below, neither Piemur nor Robinton noticed the absence of fire-lizards.

But as the wide circling brought them to face north, they could not fail to notice the map building, which had been completely unearthed, visibly tremble and slowly, almost majestically, collapse. Then people were erupting from the Plateau buildings in panic.

“Clarinath says the ground isn’t steady,” V’line exclaimed.

“Earthshake?” Piemur suggested.

“Can we land?” V’line asked.

“I don’t see why not,” the Harper said. “There’s nothing out here to fall on us. Pity about the ‘hill.’ Perhaps we shouldn’t have uncovered it.”

“Perhaps you should have let Master Esselin shore up the weak section,” Piemur replied.

“Shall we land?” V’line was dubious, and Clarinath was swinging his head anxiously, peering down at the unreliable surface. “Is it still rocking?”

“How can we tell up here?” Piemur demanded. “Tell Clarinath the Harper says it’s all right to land.”

“I’m glad you’re so certain about it,” the Harper said, his expression reflecting his qualms. “But I feel we ought to proceed first to Plateau and see if all is well.”

The rest of that day was spent in establishing that there had been little damage, with the exception of the old “hill,” at the Plateau. The earthshake had been more noticeable at Monaco Bay and Eastern Weyr, but had been the merest shiver at Cove Hold, noticed only because of the disappearance of the fire-lizards.