The Renegades of Pern (dragon riders of pern)

by Anne McCaffrey

  Lord Larad assigned Eddik, a trustworthy, diligent herdsman, as temporary holder. Most of Thella’s band were genuinely relieved that they were not to be made holdless again. They were all afraid of the possibility of Dushik’s reappearance and were reassured by Eddik’s presence. Larad and Asgenar reinforced that sense of security by offering a substantial reward for any sight of the man in the vicinity, and double that for his capture.

  Jayge was driven by mixed emotions, chief of which was revenging the deaths of Armald and his other friends and exacting retribution for the economic losses sustained by the train from Thella’s attack. And in the back of his mind was always the thought that if Readis had had sufficient loyalty to risk death to stop the attack on his Bloodkin, then perhaps he could be persuaded to leave Thella’s malign influence. Jayge had always admired his big uncle. Readis’s departure from Kimmage Hold had seriously depressed the young Jayge, who could not comprehend why Readis had deserted them in that terrible situation. His father had explained that Readis had every right to leave in search of more suitable employment. And before long Jayge had come to recognize Childon’s many little ways of humiliating the impoverished traders, giving them the most unsavory chores and condescending even about the food they ate and the quarters they were crowded into. Proud Readis could not have endured such treatment. Jayge, only ten Turns old, had had no choice.

  Even if he had been old enough to strike out on his own, he would never have left his sick mother, Gledia, behind.

  But at twenty-three, and driven by revenge rather than humiliation, Jayge could take the winter, while the trader train was snowbound, to set out to settle his debt. He reasoned that if he could stay close to the amazing girl who heard dragons, whose ability had caused so much trouble for those he loved, he might also find Thella. He did not think that Thella would give up on her own pursuit of Aramina, either because without her secure mountain camp she would need the girl’s talent more than ever, or out of revenge for the loss of that fine base. When Jayge had seen her there on the track to Far Cry, surveying the damage her plans had wreaked on his train, he had thought her malevolence unusual. Her knifing that burden beast had been an act of savage, almost deranged, vengeance. And her imbalance had been further demonstrated by her willingness to let everyone in her hold be killed by that avalanche—once she and her chosen followers were safe.

  Aramina might have been taken to Benden Weyr. But was she truly safe there if Thella was still at large?

  The fugitives had been forced to flee with little preparation and would certainly steal without hesitation. To make it across the winter trails to Benden Weyr, they would need supplies and information, both of which were most easily acquired at Igen low caverns. According to Perschar, Thella, Giron, Dushik, and Readis had often gone there, so Jayge made the caverns his first stop, pushing Kesso to his limits in order to arrive before his quarry.

  To his chagrin, he learned that the best “eyes and ears” of the place had been found dead of a broken neck. Everyone was bemoaning the death of the footless old seaman, Brare, out of one side of their mouths, while calling him a dreadful cheat, rogue, extortionist, and pervert out of the other. Still, the Igen low caverns seemed a good place to start looking.

  The cavern was buzzing about the spectacular raid on Thella’s base, all sorts of people relating the tale with many fanciful embellishments that Jayge did not bother to correct. There was considerable confusion about how many raiders there had been and what had become of them. Some believed that Lord Larad—and who could have blamed him—had had them transported to his mines. Everyone knew the Holder needed help in those black pits of his, considering the shortage of metals needed to make the weapons for fighting Thread, not to mention those other queer things the Mastersmith was always banging away at. Others were of the opinion that the offenders had been shipped South, and there was a curiously fearful sort of envy over that fate. Jayge listened closely, wondering if there were any substance to the rumor. Would Thella and Giron have gone South with Readis—to disappear in what some claimed was a vast continent and others thought was merely an island, like Ista, only larger? Were they on their way to the boiling waters of the Southern Seas? Everyone knew how hot it was there, hotter than Igen ever could be. No, somehow he was positive that Thella would still attempt to secure Aramina—if only to kill the girl. And he particularly did not want Readis to be involved if it came to that.

  By Jayge’s reckoning, the fugitives would have made very slow progress out of the mountains, even using snowstaves, which were more help on snowy hillslopes than in wooded areas. Benden dragonriders were making frequent random sweeps over the mountains during the daylight hours; and even desperate people would not attempt to travel that terrain in the dark. Despite a grudging admiration for dragonriders like F’lar, T’gellan, and the young K’van, Jayge did not hold out much hope that they would actually catch the fugitives. That would spoil everything. He did not wish it to be that easy.

  Jayge felt he had time to spare to search for a possible lair within the complex. Exploring the less frequented passages, he found several promising sites, none with any signs of recent occupation but all with small entrances partially or completely concealed from casual observation.

  From one old trader friend of his father’s, Jayge did establish that Thella and Giron had been in the low caverns during the time the Lilcamp-Amhold train had been taking on its shipments for Far Cry. He showed the sketch of Readis to the trader, and although the man had not seen Readis with Thella at that time, the sketch was much admired for itself.

  “Why, you expect the man to draw breath. Nice-looking chap. Your kin, you say? Aye, no one could deny the Blood between you. Now whoever did this so handy? What’d they use? Charcoal would have smudged. Leads, you say? They’d be expensive—a’ course, you being trader connected, you’d have the chance.”

  With one of his few marks, Jayge bought from a trader a tattered but fairly accurate map of the eastern stakes shores: Keroon to Benden, including Bitra and the easternmost section of Lemos. While in several spots the creases of the hide made the lines difficult to decipher, caves were marked, large and small, watered or dry, as well as all the holds and the best routes for various sorts of haulage. He also listened carefully to the nighttime conversations around the main fires, when the jugs were passed, encouraging conviviality. Apparently Dowell and his family had been such long-term residents that they were well-known. Everyone was still amazed that “their” Aramina had made it to Benden Weyr, where eggs were hardening. Everyone was rather pleased with the notion that “their” Aramina, raised in Igen low caverns, was certain to Impress the queen egg on Benden’s Hatching Ground, and they were basking in her achievement. It had become known fact that Dowell, Barla, and the other two children had gone back to Ruatha, reinstated into their original home by Lord Jaxom, who had given them workmen to repair it, and who generally treated Barla as long-lost Bloodkin. The family was half the world away from Thella, and Aramina was safe in Benden Weyr.

  Jayge did not agree. No one was safe from that woman while she drew breath. In his travels as a trader, Jayge had met all sorts of people, most of whom he could forget as soon as he moved on. But Thella was unique. She was the most evil person he had ever encountered. She deserved to be dropped down a smooth hole in the ground and left there.

  Finally, with the valuable map and the sketches of Readis carefully wrapped and secured against his chest, Jayge turned Kesso southeast along the bright waters of Keroon Bay. He kept to the well-traveled routes, as a lone rider on back trails would be easy prey for petty thieves, looking for what they could get. Thella’s gang may have been the best organized and most successful, but it was hardly the only one.

  Despite the fatigues of travel Jayge did not sleep well. He kept going over and over that fateful raid: the rockfalls, the wagons toppling, and the stones that missed their targets and went on rumbling down the river ravine. He kept reliving his own part in the fight and wondering how
he could have saved Temma from her frightful wound; protected Nazer; killed more of the raiders. He was haunted by the sight of that foot and hand sticking out of the rubble. They seemed to twitch in his dreams, as did Armald’s pitiful hulk sprawled on the gravel road. He kept seeing Temma with her shoulder pinned by that barbed spear to the wall of her own wagon, and always Thella, poised on that boulder, directing all that horror—and throwing the knife that severed Borgald’s pet beast’s tendons. To keep from dreaming, he would walk, around and around, watching the sharp, clear stars out over the sea, conjuring the vision of himself lowering Thella by rope into a deep, smooth-sided pit and hearing her screams and then her pleas to be released.

  At Keroon Hold, a trader friend of Crenden’s suggested that Jayge help out one Beastmaster Uvor, who was taking four fractious mares to the stallions at the Beastmasterhold in Keroon. At the moment he was resting them from their sea voyage. “Resting his belly from seasickness,” the trader remarked with a sniff. “Anyway, he lost his apprentice to a broken leg, so he’s on his own. You’re good with the beasties, young Jayge, and he’s going your way. Doesn’t hurt to close your hand on the odd mark, as well. He’ll be in this evening, like as not. Come back then.”

  With Kesso comfortably stabled and muzzle-deep in a good grain feed, Jayge set out to explore Keroon Hold. He had never been that far south before, and the busy Hold was full of new sights, including a port facility that handled cargo bound for Ista and the west. Jayge walked down to the port and spent a long nooning in a harbor alehold, listening to seamen, listening to people, and listening for any word of Thella. He never asked about her directly but instead discreetly inquired about a dragonless man or showed the sketch of Readis.

  He always asked about Benden Weyr, for news of the dragonriders. Courteous interest went down well with the Holds and Halls, which were intensely loyal to their Weyrfolk. He learned that there had been a Hatching and a queen egg but the lucky girl who Impressed Beljeth was Adrea and came from Greystone Hold in Nerat. The Neratians had been exceedingly proud of her, and she was said to be a very attractive but biddable girl.

  When Jayge returned to the trader’s, Uvor was there, a lean, likable man who cared for the mares and his own sturdy mount as if they were his children. On the circuitous route to the Beastmasterhold, Uvor named sire and dam of each of his mares for generations back, and never once put a name to his wife or any of his sons. He taught Jayge a few tricks of living off barren land, and what insects and semitropical plants could supplement a diet of the ever present snakes.

  It was in the Beastmasterhold that Jayge first got wind of the unusual tradings with the Southern Continent. Four breeding pairs of fine burden beasts and four of runners were to be shipped to Toric at Southern Hold as soon as the winter storms had abated. A Master Rampesi would collect them in a ship outfitted with special belowdeck accommodations for such valuable animals. Jayge questioned the journeymen closely, for it had been his understanding that the Benden Weyrleaders had interdicted all commerce between north and south while the Oldtimer dragonriders remained in the Southern Weyr.

  “There’re reasons, you know, new reasons to reestablish trade south. There’re reasons,” an older journeyman assured Jayge, looking as if there was plenty he could add but he was being discreet. “Some say it has to do with mines dwindling down and plenty of rich ore just lying loose over the ground in the South. Some say it’s because the Holders have put pressure on the Weyrleaders to give land to younger sons. A couple of Fort Holder’s Bloods are going, and now that that raider group has been knocked into a deep pit, some of Corman’s might foller.”

  Jayge snorted. “And what about the holdless folk in Igen low caverns who’ve no decent place of their own?”

  “Them!” The journeyman’s expression was disdainful. “There’s plenty of jobs for them what’s willing to work and please their Lord Holder.”

  “Now, Petter,” a younger journeyman said, “you know that’s not always the case. You remember that ragtag of folk that came through from Bitra when Thread started. Lord Sifer had turfed ‘em out, and they was hard-working people.”

  Petter sniffed. “Lord Sifer may have had good reasons; it’s not for you and me to question. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. They’d no warranty to show like this young man.”

  Had Jayge not had other considerations foremost in mind, he would have argued the journeyman on that point. Holders, major and minor, had taken advantage of Fall: he remembered all too vividly the humbling and belittling work that Childon had taken great pleasure in forcing him and his family to do. He knew of other cases where pride—and sheer exhaustion—had forced people to holdlessness rather than endure such drudgeries any longer.

  “Is the Southern Continent so big it can handle more Fort and Keroon holders?” Jayge asked, directing his comments to the younger journeyman. “Seems to me the first thing you’d need are men and women who know how to work, not holders’ sons.”

  “You thinking of resettling, trader?”

  Jayge was put in mind of what Temma had said to him before he left Far Cry. “You know traders,” he countered with a disarming grin. “Always looking for new routes, new items that travel well and sell better. The beasts would be sailed across then? And their handlers chosen?” It might be best if Jayge could persuade Readis to shift south for a while. He could always give his own warranty to his uncle.

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” Petter said stiffly. “Uvor was chatting w’ the Master about it. C’mon, you.” He tapped his foot on his junior’s boot. “We’ve got feet to trim and teeth to rasp.”

  Jayge asked the Smithcrafter’s permission to use his forge to make new shoes for Kesso.

  “D’you know how, an’ all?” the smith asked, skeptical.

  “Traders learn a lot of this and that,” Jayge replied, selecting the iron bar, already fullered and swaged, and crunching off the length he needed. It was not the first time he had shod Kesso, and by no means the first time he had made shoes from scratch. Crenden had taught him what he had known, and then had him work under Maindy’s farrier for a season. He was aware of the smith’s scrutiny. But when he had heated, hammered, shaped, and clinched the first hind shoe, the smith turned back to his own work.

  Jayge made two sets and paid for them and a small packet of nails. He had a long way to go to Benden Weyr. While he was eating his evening meal, Uvor and the Masterherdsman came up to his corner seat.

  “I’ve told Master Briaret that you’re a sensible young man and know how to care for animals properly,” Uvor said with the air of someone happy to confer a favor on the worthy. “He’s got a well-trained young runner to be delivered to Benden Hold. I know you’re heading that way and that you’d take good care of her, fog, fire, or Fall.”

  Briaret was a short man, balding, with a rider’s lean stature and the odd, bowed legs of someone who had ridden all his life. His keen eyes searched Jayge as intently as those of a Bitran giving odds. He smiled at Jayge, and the young man knew that he had passed the test.

  “You’ve a warranty, I understand,” the Master said in a slightly raspy voice.

  Jayge passed over Swacky’s useful recommendation and finished his meal while Briaret read. Finally the older man folded it neatly and gave it back. Then he held out his hand.

  “Will you take charge of the mare? She’s nearly as well bred as that runner of yours.” He grinned. “As well he’s a gelding. My drovers are going as far as Bayhead, so there’s safe passage for you, and the journey’s been timed to get all to safe cave during Fall. We haven’t been as much troubled by raiders as the northwest, but there’s comfort in numbers. I’ve a mark for you now, plus travel food and grain, and you’re to get two marks at Benden Hold if the mare arrives in good condition.”

  Jayge shook the man’s hand, well pleased. He would have some escort, he would make some marks, and he would still be making better time than Thella and her companions could.

  Piemur was back at Southern
and had finally cornered Toric into fulfilling his promise to let him explore freely in the South. He had arrived armed with a polite request from Master Robinton, a request that, since it bore F’lar’s signet, was more of an indirect order.

  “I’ve got my journeyman’s knot, I spent hours with Wansor, Terry, and that oaf of a Fortian, Benelek, so I’m qualified to keep Records that will be accurate as long as the Dawn Sisters remain in place. So you’ll know, my Lord Holder—”

  “Don’t call me that,” Toric snapped, his eyes flashing so angrily that Piemur wondered if he had overplayed his hand.

  “I get the impression,” the boy said in his most conciliatory tone, “that that is a formality that the Benden Weyrleaders will bring before the Conclave at the next possible occasion. You’re as much a Lord Holder as Jaxom is, and you’re working at it. But–” He held up his hand. “It would be wise to know how much you’re going to Hold. You prove, one—” He ticked off each point on his fingers. “—how diligent you’ve been; two: how serious you are about all this; three: limit what their idiot sons—presuming some of them survive their initiation here—can possibly think to control; and four: make legal and binding your own claim by virtue of the fact that that’s how much you’ve been holding.”

  Toric stared across the room to the map of what he already, by virtue of having accurately charted it, held. Much of the cartographic detail had been filled in by Sharra, Hamian, and Piemur, but that only whetted Toric’s appetite to establish how much more there was. He had no intention of sharing it with any northern holders’ sons—possibly not even his own, although he was proud of the twin sons Ramala had just delivered…again. Piemur was astonished, and secretly envious, of Toric’s large family. The man would need every one of them to hold for him, that was certain. And Toric had plans for Sharra’s offspring—whenever he did find someone he felt worthy of his beautiful sister. Piemur had about given up that daydream. He knew that Sharra liked him, enjoyed his company, and accepted him as a partner in their explorations, but whether she was careful to keep the friendship objective because she felt nothing stronger for him than platonic affection, or because she did not wish to bring Toric’s wrath down on him, Piemur was not sure.