“I know, I know,” Toric replied irritably. Then he remembered how dependent he was on Master Rampesi’s services and smiled. “I may just have a passenger for you, Rampesi, when you sail.”
“That will be a novelty,” the Bay Lady’s Master remarked sardonically, holding out his glass for another charge of wine.
Toric found Piemur, as usual, in Sharra’s workshop, laughing and chattering in far too intimate a manner to his liking. They were busy—so he could not fault them there—packing the medicinal supplies that Rampesi would take to the Masterharper. Toric would miss Piemur. The apprentice had been very useful indeed, setting up the drum towers; and his maps of the Island River stretch had proved as accurate as Sharra’s, with shrewd notations of possible hold sites, natural plantations of edible fruits, and the concentration of wild runners and herdbeasts. But he was far too often in Sharra’s company, and the young harper did not figure in Toric’s plans for his pretty sister. Still, if Toric handled him astutely, the boy could serve him well. Piemur had been Master Robinton’s special apprentice and was on excellent terms with Menolly and Sebell. He had all too often demonstrated his eagerness to remain in Southern. Let him prove it now.
“Piemur, a word with you?”
“What have I done wrong?’”
Without answering, Toric gestured back down the hall to his office. He decided, as he followed the boy, that it was more to his purpose to speak plainly. Piemur did not miss much; he knew about the restrictions on commerce between north and south, knew how much leeway had already been tacitly accepted in the matter of Southern medicines transported North, and knew, from his own experience, of the illicit commerce carried on between the Oldtimers and Lord Meron in Nabol before the man’s death had ended it. Yes, the boy did not miss much—but he had never, to Toric’s knowledge, been indiscreet.
“Rampesi just brought in another bunch of shipwrecked fools trying to cross the Southern Sea,” Toric said as he slid the door shut.
Piemur rolled his eyes at such folly. “Fools indeed. How many did he find alive this time?”
“Twenty, Rampesi says. With as many more trying to board the Bay Lady before he sailed.”
“That’s not good,” Piemur said, sighing.
“No, it’s not good. Rampesi’s getting nervous, and we can’t have that.” When Piemur shook his head, Toric went on. “You and Saneter have often said that I should speak with your Masterharper about officially easing those restrictions. I’ve wanted nothing to do with the Northerners, but it seems they want plenty to do with me. And I must control the influx. There are thousands of holdless, useless commoners expecting an easy life here, and I won’t have it. You know what I’ve created, what I’d like to do. You’re no fool, Piemur, and I’m no altruist. I’m working for myself, for my Blood, but I want folk who’re willing to work as hard as I do to hold for themselves. I can’t permit all I’ve done to be wasted on the indigent.”
Piemur was nodding agreement with most of his arguments. “You couldn’t risk being absent from Southern for the length of a journey North. So I guess you’re asking me to make the trip.”
“I think it might serve several purposes for you to go.”
“Only if it’s not a one-way trip, Toric.” The boy looked him squarely in the eye, and Toric was slightly surprised. “I mean it, Holder Toric.” A shrewd gleam in the young man’s eye reminded Toric that Piemur was older in some ways than he looked. He also knew the stakes.
“I appreciate your point, young Piemur,” Toric assured him candidly. “Yes, I would like you to explain how heavy those restrictions weigh on Southern’s hold population—how an easement would profit the North in more ways than better medicines. You can admit to the mineral and metal deposits—” Toric held up his hand warningly. “Discreetly, of course.”
“Always.” Piemur grinned knowingly.
“There would be another reason why you ought to make the trip, besides, of course, your association with the Masterharper. If I can be blunt, you’re overold now as an apprentice.” Seeing that the boy was startled, Toric went on smoothly. “Saneter’s getting older, and I prefer to have a harper who is sympathetic to my aims, especially one already familiar to the Oldtimers so that the substitution will go unnoticed. Get your journeyman’s knot while you’re back at the Harper Hall, and you’re welcome back here when you’ve waked the tables. I promise you.”
“And exactly what do you wish me to say to Master Robinton?”
“I believe I can trust you, journeyman-elect, to tell your Craftmaster what he needs to know?” Toric saw how quick the boy was to catch his slight emphasis on “needs.”
Piemur winked. “Oh, definitely. Just what he needs to know.”
When Piemur was gone, Toric began to wonder just what that impudent wink had meant. It never occurred to him that the Masterharper would sail south to find out for himself what he felt he needed to know before presenting the matter to the Benden Weyrleaders. And that voyage would have many repercussions.
Jayge fretted over the encounter all the way to Lemos Great Lake—especially after comparing his impression of the Lady Thella with descriptions he had heard of the worst of the Lemosan marauders. No one mentioned her by name, and fortunately Armald was not bright enough to make the connection. Lady Holders remained Lady Holders, just as traders remained traders. Armald was less certain about dragonless men, but that person would have unsettled anyone.
What worried Jayge was the knowledge that the renegade had command of a disciplined band that was well able to cause trouble for the Lilcamp-Borgald train. He had irritated her, and though Temma had called him foolish to stew over it, he could not help himself. He was also certain that Thella’s appraisal had been too purposeful—and the trader train had a long way to go to get to Far Cry.
They had taken shelter from Threadfall not far from Plains Hold, and, as customary, Crenden and Borgald offered to send men for ground crew the next day. Nazer and Jayge rode into Plains Hold to find out where Holder Anchoram wanted them to crew.
To Jayge’s surprise, Lord Asgenar himself came in on a blue dragon, dismounting with the ease of long practice, smiling, and greeting the many extra folk assembled at the Hold. He seemed popular, and Jayge halted his runner near the anxious trio of mountain holders Asgenar stopped to speak to. The Lemos Lord Holder was tall and slightly stooped in the shoulder, with a full head of blondish hair, slightly dampened from his riding helmet. He had an open face, a clear eye, and an easy manner—a different sort of lord to Corman, Laudey, or Sifer, the other Lord Holders Jayge had seen. But Asgenar, like Larad of Telgar, was a relatively young man and not so hidebound as the others who had enjoyed the independence of Interval.
Listening, and Jayge prided himself on his keen hearing, he heard that the major complaint of the anxious holders was lack of adequate protection from raids.
“If they just came at us, fair and square, and it was a matter of strength or skill, Lord Asgenar, it would be one thing,” a Beastmaster was saying. “But they sneak in when we’re out in the far meadows or doing our Hold duty, and they whip in and are gone before anyone knows they’ve been. Like that Kadross Hold theft.”
“All the eastern Lord Holders are being hit, not just Lemos…”
“And the Bitrans are turning honest folk away,” someone muttered angrily.
“Some of you already know that I’ve started mounted patrols on random swings. I need your help. You’ve got to inform the Hold when you see anything unusual, have unexpected visitors of any kind, or are expecting carters or journeymen to deliver. Be sure to lock up your holds—”
“Shells, Lord Asgenar, they broke open all my locks and took what they were after,” a mountain holder complained bitterly. “I live up yonder.” He pointed to the north. “How’m I going to send you word in time?”
“I don’t suppose you have a fire-lizard?” Asgenar asked.
“Me? I don’t even have a drum!”
Asgenar regarded him with what Jayge though
t was genuine sympathy and concern. “I’ll think of something, Medaman. I’ll think of something for folk like you.” And Jayge could hear the sincerity in his voice. Then Asgenar raised his arms to quiet the sudden spate of questions. “Telgar, Keroon, Igen, Bitra, and I are convinced that all the major thefts are the work of one group, despite the range of their strikes. We don’t know where they are based, but if any of you living up in the Barrier Range see any traces of large group movements, anything unusual, bring word to the nearest drum tower. You’ll be compensated for your loss of time.”
“Will if we can, lord,” Medaman said. “We’ll be snowed in for the winter anytime now.”
“That’s easier,” Asgenar said, grinning broadly. “Just tack out a bright cloth—or your wife’s Gather shawl—on the snow. F’lar and R’mart keep sweepriders out all the time now. They’ll be told to check it out.”
That suggestion went down favorably, and Asgenar was able to continue on to the Hold. Jayge wanted to hang around a little longer, but Nazer, once he had packed the new agenothree cylinders on the burden beasts, wanted to start back.
“I need my sleep if I’m to work ground crew tomorrow,” the other man told Jayge with a huge yawn. Jayge grinned and shooed one of the pack beasts back into line.
The ground crew did not have much to do, as extra wings of dragonriders had been assigned to protect Asgenar’s forests. Only one tangle of Thread got through and was quickly flamed into char. Nevertheless, Borgald was punctilious about duties to the Weyr and never let members of his trains skimp ground crew service. Crenden complained of the loss of two days’ travel but only to Temma and Jayge. A brown rider stopped to thank the crew, but though he was courteous enough, he kept the exchange to a minimum and flew off southeast instead of back toward Benden Weyr.
To make up for the time lost in discharging their Weyr duties, they started the train rolling again as soon as the massive beasts could be prodded out of the cavern shelter and yoked up. They kept on the road night and day until they reached their usual campsite on the far edge of Great Lake. A patrol from Lemos Hold stopped by for a cup of klah and general gossip but declined an invitation to stop the night.
“They offered us escort,” Crenden told his son disdainfully.
“All the way to Far Cry.”
Jayge snorted. “We can handle ourselves.”
“That’s what Borgald said.”
Jayge thought he caught a hint of uncertainty in his father’s eyes. “They have a patrol. We can mount a patrol.”
“We could also—” Crenden’s eyes narrowed as he looked deep into the campfire’s flames. “—take a different route.”
“If Thella hadn’t been scared off by Asgenar’s guards,” Temma said, emerging from the darkness to join them, “I’d worry more.”
“What say, Temma?”
She grinned as she hunkered down and swung the klah kettle over to pour herself a cup. “Chatted up one of the hold ground crew before we pulled out. Thella’s quarry—those thieves of hers—are a harmless joiner and his family, and they’re now in Benden’s charge, you’ll be glad to know.” She winked at Jayge. “Let your conscience be easy, lad. Though it’s a shame Asgenar didn’t catch that pair.” Temma pulled her mouth down in regret, then smiled. “But they didn’t take the girl either. That’s who Thella was after, the girl who hears dragons!” Temma looked skyward for a moment, her expression briefly envious. “That could make very useful listening in times like these. And more reliable than one of those fire-lizard creatures they’re bringing up in droves from the Southern Continent.”
“Southern?” Crenden regarded her in surprise.
“Brother, I think we’re going to have to talk to Borgald. He’s far too traditional in his attitude. I think we ought to look for trade possibilities with the south ourselves.” Temma chuckled at Crenden’s surprised reaction. “We’ll get through this journey first and see what we hear at Far Cry. They’re always up on the latest rumor.” She rose. “Nazer and I will be first patrol. Wake you at second moonrise, Jayge. Get some sleep.”
“Don’t you fall asleep,” Jayge countered with a snicker. “Private joke,” he added as he felt his father’s disapproval.
After resting the beasts three days, the Lilcamp-Borgald train yoked up to begin the final leg of the long journey up the Igen River Valley. The track ran partly through forest and partly along the riverbank. They did not have to worry about Thread, for they would not be far enough north to be involved in the Telgar Fall.
Halfway to Far Cry, just where the track narrowed, with a steep drop to the river on one side and rocky forested slopes on the other, the raiders struck. Afterward, Jayge realized that they had chosen the best possible point for an ambush. There was no room for his people to maneuver to avoid the rockslides that were loosed, battering the lighter wagons and sending three down the drop into the river. Even one of the big ones, hit with an enormous mass of rocks, was tilted off-balance and fell, the legs of the helpless burden beasts pawing for footing.
It was just pure luck that everyone was out of the wagons at the time, lightening the load for the beasts straining up the slope. It was lucky, too, that no one had discarded their arms, even though they had felt a false safety so close to Far Cry.
Choking on the dust, listening to the bawl of frightened, injured animals, the screams of wounded people, and unintelligible shouted orders from both Crenden and Borgald, Jayge kicked Kesso past the milling runner and burden beasts he was herding. He reached the last wagon, one of the biggest, just as the raiders piled down the slopes, hollering and slashing at whatever was in their way.
Jayge saw an attacker leap to Armald’s back from the height of the bank. Roaring, the big man tried to dislodge the raider who was stabbing at his chest. Jayge, trying to come to his aid, was beset by a half dozen, trying to pull him from his runner. Kesso was a fighter, hooves and teeth, whirling on his hindquarters so that no one could get within sword’s length of his rider. But before Jayge could help, Armald had been overcome, a bloody lifeless lump on the ground.
Slicing at his attackers, Jayge broke loose just as he heard Temma and Nazer shouting for help. Individual fights were in progress up and down the wagonline. Jayge caught a glimpse of Crenden, Borgald, and two of the drivers trying to protect the animals. Some of the women and several of the older children had armed themselves with prod poles and were doing what damage they could.
There was no room to maneuver Kesso on the track, so Jayge spurred the excited beast up the steep hill, managing incredible leaps over the uncertain surface and then reversing, to skid down the slope to attack from behind the men opposing Temma and Nazer. Nine, Jayge counted. Wicked odds, and Nazer and Temma fighting brilliantly. Rising in his stirrups, he launched his belt daggers, each blade finding its mark in a back. Then, using his boot dagger, Jayge leaned over Kesso’s left side and sliced the nearest man from buttock to shoulder just as he saw a spear catch Temma in the shoulder, pinning her to the side of the wagon. Nazer shielded Temma with his body, his swordwork dazzling as he tried to defend them both, but he was too close set and wounded in arm and leg. Jayge hauled Kesso to his hindlegs, walking him forward to drop him and bringing two more down. Then he flung his knife at the man with sword raised to slice off Nazer’s head. As he dropped from the saddle, something came whizzing past his head, and he heard his sister Alda’s triumphant shriek as a heavy iron pan caught a toothless woman in the chest. More heavy pots rained down on the attackers as Tino yelled encouragement. Kesso continued to kick back, effectively clearing Temma’s right side.
“Knock them over! Knock them over!” The shout reverberated above the shouts and cries, the noise of fighting and bawling beasts. “Get as many over as possible!”
“No, leave off. Dragons in the sky! Leave off!” someone else bellowed. “Dragons!”
Abruptly the attackers fell back, scrambling up the bank. Jayge was of no mind to let a single one of them leave alive. He took Nazer’s sword from the wound
ed man and retrieved his own daggers before he leaped over the debris. He had as much trouble finding good footing on the sliding bank as the retreating raiders, but he slashed and prodded, hoping to strike flesh and bone.
“Dragons? Where? Sear your hide!” Despite the distortion of fury and volume, Jayge recognized the voice. Thella! The raiders were Thella’s! Temma would wish she had listened to him and been more wary. But they were so close to Far Cry Hold!
“In and out! A bronze!” was the answering shout, and Jayge, also recognizing the second voice, missed his next stroke. “Let’s get out of here!”
Jayge could not spare time to find either speaker as he clawed up the slope, his quarry just managing to keep out of reach. He had to catch the man before he could disappear into the forest. There was enough sense left to Jayge to realize that it would be foolhardy to attempt pursuit there, unless the dragonrider returned to sweep the forest. With a desperate surge, Jayge felt the sword slice deeply across the raider’s foot and heard the man’s scream. But the man was suddenly hauled up and out of Jayge’s reach. Jayge, overbalanced by his effort, rolled heavily down the bank, landing on a pile of rocks.
Dazed and winded, it took him a few moments to struggle to his feet. There were cries for assistance all along the train. Jayge saw her then, poised on a boulder that jutted out over the track, surveying the damage her ambush had caused. Then he saw her bring her arm back to throw. The dagger snicked across the tendon of one of Borgald’s beasts, casting it to its knees. Filled with rage at such viciousness, Jayge launched one of his own blades. But Thella did not wait to be someone else’s target. She whirled, leaping up the bank and disappearing quickly from view. And the last of her raiders had gained the heights and were quickly lost up the slope.
“No, don’t follow,” Crenden bellowed from the front of the train. “We’ve got people and beasts to help.”
Cursing at his bad luck, Jayge clambered over dead raiders on his way to the last wagon. Tino was already trying to help Nazer, while Alda was making her way down from the wagon top.
The Renegades of Pern (dragon riders of pern) Page 15
