Dragonseye

by Anne McCaffrey

  “We’ve set one precedent today,” Bastom said, “why not give Bitra a break and put in someone trained and competent. Especially since there’s so much to be done to get that hold cleared for the spring action.”

  “Good point. How about a team? Give some young eager scions some practice in day-to-day management?” Tashvi suggested.

  “All those with younger sons and daughters available for the job, raise your hands,” said M’shall, not quite as facetiously as he sounded.

  “No, you have to replace Chalkin with a member of the Bloodline,” S’nan said loudly, pounding the table with both fists.

  “Then it has to be Vergerin.”

  “If we can find him . . .”

  “ORDER! ORDER!” and Paulin banged his gavel forcefully until silence prevailed. “There. Now, we can think again. First, we must remove Chalkin . . .”

  “What good does that do if we’ve no one to put in authority in a hold that will be totally demoralized to find itself leaderless?” S’nan said, so incensed that he was speaking faster than anyone had ever heard him talk.

  “Ah, but we could put in a new holder so quickly no one will have time to become demoralized,” Tashvi suggested.

  “I suspect that we will,” Paulin said. “Vergerin is not in his known holding and indeed the place looks to have been deserted for some length of time.”

  S’nan was aghast. “Chalkin has removed him?”

  “Probably to that cold storage he’s said to have in his lower levels,” M’shall said grimly.

  “He couldn’t have.” One would think from S’nan’s distressed expression that this latest evidence of Chalkin’s complicity and dishonor was his final disillusionment. Sarai leaned over to pat his hand soothingly.

  “We do not know that such suspicions are any more than that,” Paulin said tactfully. “So, let us all be calm for a moment. Chalkin must be removed . . .”

  “What do you do with him, then?” asked S’nan in a shaking voice.

  “Exile him,” Paulin said, glancing around the table and catching complete agreement with that decision. “That’s the safest measure, and also the kindest. There are so many islands in that archipelago that he can have one all his own.” Others chuckled at Paulin’s droll tone.

  “Yes, that would be fitting and proper,” the Fort Weyrleader said, brightening somewhat from his gloom.

  “We find Vergerin—” When others started to interrupt Paulin once more, he cracked the gavel hard once. “And to start preparing the hold for Thread and reassuring the holders right now, each of you will send a member of your family: one already competent in hold management. It’s going to take a lot of work and time to get Bitra prepared. Too much responsibility for just one man or woman. If we find Vergerin and he’s willing, he would in any case need assistants.”

  There was considerable murmuring at that, but the notion seemed to please all, even S’nan.

  “We’re back again to removing Chalkin,” M’shall said. “And Bitra has more exits than a snake tunnel. If Chalkin suspects what we’ve just done, he’ll make a break for it.”

  “Well, he can’t! He’s been impeached,” S’nan said.

  “He doesn’t know that yet, S’nan,” D’miel of Ista Weyr said, his tone tetchy.

  “Considering how often he knows things he shouldn’t,” B’nurrin of Igen Weyr said, “we ought to do it now! He mightn’t suspect me of anything devious,” the young bronze rider said, grinning around the table. “I barely know the man. I’ll volunteer.”

  “At the moment, I don’t think any dragonriders are welcome at Bitra Hold,” Bridgely said with a cynical lift of one eyebrow.

  “You may be right,” Irene said, “but only a dragon-rider could get into Bitra easily right now. All the roads are snowbound. So it has to be one of us. I’ll go.”

  “No, you won’t,” M’shall said firmly. “I don’t want you anywhere near that lecher.”

  “Ah, but I could transport others in, you know, and drop them off quietly. He wouldn’t be quite so upset at a queenrider coming.” Irene gave a nasty chuckle. “He doesn’t consider us dangerous, you know.” She winked at Zulaya.

  “If the snow’s so bad at Bitra, where could he escape to anyhow?” Zulaya wanted to know.

  “A good point, but he could also hide within the hold and impede progress when our deputies try to get things working again,” Bastom said.

  “Iantine was there for several weeks,” Zulaya said. “Maybe he would know more about Bitra’s levels and exits.”

  “Issony’s been in and out for the past few years as teacher,” M’shall said as he rose. “They’re both still outside, aren’t they? I’ll just bring them in.”

  When the problem was explained to Iantine and Issony, they both hauled out writing implements, but it was Iantine who had paper.

  “I did some explorations on my own,” Iantine said, blocking out an irregular figure on the clean sheet.

  “He didn’t catch you?” Issony asked, his eyes on Iantine’s fingers as the interior levels of Bitra were delineated in swift, sure strokes.

  “I had a perfect excuse—I got lost. He lodged me down on the scullery level when I first got there,” Iantine said.

  Issony looked surprised. “Didn’t anyone warn you about his contracts?”

  “Yes, but not strongly enough. I learned.”

  “I could never do this!” Issony said in admiration. “And you’ve got the dimensions right, too.”

  “Master Domaize insisted that we learn the rudiments of architectural drafting,” the young portraitist said.

  “There’s another level,” Issony said, tapping the right-hand corner of the paper. “You were lucky not to visit it.” He gave a snort. “Chalkin calls it his cold storage.” The teacher glanced around the table. “A lot of small cubicles, some horizontal, some vertical, and none of them long enough or wide enough for the poor blighters shoved in ’em.”

  “You can’t be serious?” S’nan’s eyes protruded in dismay.

  “Never more,” Issony said. “One of the kitchen girls spilled a tub of sweetener and she was immured for a week. She died of the damp cold of the place.” Then, as Iantine’s pencil slowed, “There’re steps down from his rooms here. They come out in the kitchen. He’s always complaining that delicacies disappear from storage, but I know for a fact he’s the one snitching.” Issony grinned. “I was trying to get some food one night and he nearly caught me at it.”

  “There’s an upper level over this section,” Iantine said, his pencil poised. “But the door was padlocked.”

  “Supposedly due to subsidence,” Issony said with a bit of a snort. “But there wasn’t as much dust in the hail as usual in his back corridors. I think it could be an access to the panel heights.”

  “We’ll have a dragon up there, too,” Paulin said. He wasn’t the only one to stand behind the artist to watch him work. “Quite a warren. Glad you looked about you when you were there, Iantine.” He patted the young man’s shoulder in approval. “So how many . . . ah, discreet exits are there?”

  “I know of nine, besides the front one and the kitchen door,” Issony said, pointing out the locations.

  Paulin rubbed his hands together and, waving everyone to resume their seats at the table, stood for a long moment, looking at the floor plan.

  “So, let us not waste time and agree on the . . . ah, strategy here and now. Irene, I appreciate your willingness to be bait, but let us use surprise instead. Issony, Iantine, when would the hold be at its most vulnerable?”

  The two men exchanged glances. Issony shrugged. “Early morning, about four, five o’clock. Even the watchwher’s getting tired. Most of the guards would be asleep.” He glanced toward Iantine, who nodded.

  “So, we will need dragonriders . . .”

  “Let’s stick to those of us in this room, if we can,” M’shall said.

  “It’s totally improper to hound a man in his own hold,” S’nan began, starting to rise from his seat.
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  G’don of High Reaches, seated just beyond him, pulled his arm to reseat him. “Give over, S’nan,” he said wearily.

  “You’re excused from the force, S’nan,” Paulin said, equally exasperated.

  “But . . . but . . .”

  Even his weyrmate shushed him.

  “There’re more than enough of us quite willing,” Shanna of Igen said with a withering glance at the dismayed Fort Weyrleader.

  “Good. Then we’ll cover all the exits . . .”

  “There’s one window in the kitchen that they always forget to lock,” Iantine said. “And I don’t think they ever feed the watchwher enough. He’s all bones. Something juicy might occupy him. And I think the window’s beyond his chain’s reach.”

  “Good points, Iantine,” Paulin said. “Through the window, then, and we’ll infiltrate immediately up to Chalkin’s private quarters through the back stairs.”

  “The hidden door’s the panel next to the spice cupboard. If you take me along, I can find it in a jiffy,” Issony said, his eyes bright with anticipation.

  “If you’re willing . . .” Paulin said.

  “I am, too,” Iantine added.

  “I rather thought you might be,” Paulin said, and then rapidly issued the details of the plan.

  With the exception of S’nan, all the Weyrleaders were involved, and even young Gallian was persuaded to come.

  “I might as well be hanged for the sheep as the lamb,” he said with a fatalistic shrug.

  “You’ll not suffer from this day’s work, Gallian,” Bastom assured him. “It’s a unanimous decision and our presence there will make that plain to Chalkin. He has no allies among us,” the Tillek Lord said, with a reproving glance at S’nan, who sat with face set in such a mournful expression that Bastom was nearly sorry for the punctilious Weyrleader.

  “So we are agreed, Lords, Ladies, and Leaders?” Paulin said when he was sure everyone had grasped their roles in the deposition. “Then let us refresh ourselves and rest until it’s time to depart.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  Bitra Hold and Telgar Weyr

  EXCEPT FOR THE FACT that the watchwher did not succumb to the choice bits of meat brought to lure it from its duty, and M’shall had to have Craigath speak sharply to it, entry was obtained easily. Whoever should have heard the watchwher’s one bellow did not. Issony had no trouble entering by the unlocked window and opening the kitchen door to that contingent. Those who were assigned to watch the various other exits from the hold were by then in place. Iantine sped through the kitchen and up into the main reception rooms, where he opened the front entrance for the rest of the group. Meanwhile, Issony had found the hidden door in the kitchen. Although the stairway was lit by dying glows, there was enough illumination for Paulin and the “arresting” Lords, Ladies, and Leaders.

  Paulin opened the access door at the top and entered Chalkin’s private apartments first. Behind him came eight Lord and Lady Holders and M’shall, who insisted on representing the Weyrs. To their surprise, the room was brightly lit, glows shining from wall sconces so that the sleeping figures in the massive fur-covered bed were quite visible. All three of them. Chalkin’s portly frame bulked the largest under the soft sleeping furs, though his head was covered by a fold of the fine white bedsheet.

  One of the girls woke first. She opened her mouth to scream and did not when she saw Paulin’s abrupt gesture for silence. Instead, she slithered across the mattress, sheet held up to her chin, to the edge of the bed and grabbed a discarded dress from the pile on the floor. Paulin indicated that she could clothe herself. As smoothly as she moved, or perhaps because she had the sheet up to her chin and let cold air in, the other girl was awakened. She did scream.

  “As loud as a green in season,” M’shall said later, chuckling at the memory. “At that, Chalkin didn’t rouse.”

  His guards had been alerted, though, and charged into the room, to be flabbergasted by the sight of so many armed folk in Chalkin’s most private apartment.

  “Chalkin has been impeached for failure to prepare this hold for Threadfall, for abuse of his privilege as Lord Holder, and for denying his holders their Charter-given rights,” Paulin said in a loud voice, sword drawn.

  “Unless you wish to join him in his exile, put up your weapons.”

  To a man they did, just as the reinforcements, led by Iantine, burst in from the hall.

  That was what finally roused Chalkin from a drunken sleep.

  Later Paulin remarked that he’d been disappointed at such an anticlimactic outcome of their dawn invasion.

  “S’nan will be reassured,” K’vin said. “I think he was certain we intended to humiliate Chalkin.”

  “We have,” Tashvi said with a chuckle.

  Chalkin showed every fiber of his cowardice, trying to bribe one Lord Holder after another, with hints of unusual treasure if they assisted him. If anyone had been in the least bit tempted, their resolve was strengthened when the broken, shivering wrecks were released from “cold storage.”

  “The place was full,” Issony said, looking shattered by what he had seen on that level. “Border guards, most of them, but they didn’t deserve that from Chalkin!”

  Even the hardiest of them would bear the marks of their incarceration for the rest of their lives.

  “Iantine? Did you bring . . . ah, you did. Do a quick sketch of them, will you,” Issony said, pointing to the two so close to death: the two who had been castrated for rape. All that could be done for them was to ease their passing with fellis juice. “To show S’nan. In case he has lingering doubts as to the justice of what was done here today.”

  “Any sign of Vergerin?” Paulin asked when all the cells had been emptied.

  “No,” M’shall said grimly. “That shouldn’t reassure you any.” He jerked his thumb at some of the stretcher bearers who had previously been the “cold storage” guards. “They said there were four dead ones who were slipped into the lime pits day before yesterday. We may have moved too late for Vergerin.”

  Paulin cursed under his breath. “Did you ask if any had heard the name?”

  M’shall grunted. “No one down there had a name.”

  Paulin winced. “We’d best send for the holder team.”

  “I have already dispatched riders to collect the deputies. They should be here . . .”

  There was a commotion in the hall, with cheering and shouts of welcome.

  “They can’t have got here this soon,” M’shall said, surprised. Both men went to investigate.

  A tall man was shrugging out of thin and dirty furs and smiling at the riders clapping him on the back or whatever part of him they could touch.

  “Guess who just walked in?” B’nurrin of Igen cried, seeing Paulin and M’shall.

  “Vergerin?” Paulin asked.

  “Optimist,” M’shall muttered, and then, taking a second hard look at the face no longer hidden by a big furred hat, exclaimed, “It is!”

  “It is?” Paulin hastened across the broad hall.

  “Has the family eyebrows,” M’shall said with a chuckle. “Where’ve you been hiding, Vergerin?”

  “M’shall?” Vergerin peered around, a hopeful smile breaking across his weather-beaten face. He did bear a facial resemblance to Chalkin: as if Chalkin’s features had been elongated and refined. “You don’t know how glad I was to see all those dragons on the heights. I figured you had to come to your senses and get rid of him . . .” He jerked his thumb ceilingward. “You’ve no idea . . .”

  “Where did you hide? When did you hide?” Paulin asked, clasping Vergerin’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically.

  Vergerin’s grin turned wry. “I figured the safest place was under Chalkin’s nose.” He gestured in the general direction of the cotholds. “He houses his beasts better than his folk, so the smell of me is at least clean horse manure. I’ve been earning my keep at the beasthold.”

  “But your holding has been empty . . .”

  “By my design, I
assure you,” Vergerin said, running a grubby hand through greasy hair and smiling apologetically. “I’ve a strong survival streak, my Lord Holders, and when I realized my nephew really was not going to do a single thing about the imminence of Thread, I knew I had better disappear before he thought of possible retaliation . . . and me as his only too obvious replacement.”

  He had unwound the layers that clothed him and stood with a quiet dignity in the midst of the warmly dressed riders and Lord Holders. It was that innate dignity that impressed Paulin. Nor was he alone in noticing it.

  “Admittedly, my Blood claim to the hold was squandered foolishly, but then, I should have known that Chalkin was likely to cheat that night, if ever, with such stakes. It took me quite some while to figure out how he managed it, for I’m not without knowing a few tricks myself, and most of those that can be played on the unwary.” He gave a self-deprecating little smile. “I forgot just how hungry Chalkin was for a Lord Holder’s power.”

  “But you kept your promises,” Paulin said, nodding approval.

  “The least I could do to restore self-esteem,” and Vergerin executed a little bow to Paulin and the others. “Dare I hope that you wish to keep this Bloodline in Bitra Hold?” He cocked one of his heavy dark eyebrows, his glance candid and accepting.

  Paulin did a quick check of the expressions on the other four Lord Holders who had arrived on the scene.

  “You will certainly be considered by the Conclave when it meets at Turn’s End,” Paulin said, nodding. The others murmured.

  Loud protestations of innocence suddenly broke up the tableau as Chalkin, bracketed by Bastom and Bridgely, was walked down the main stairs. The tears of his wife and the frightened shrieks of his children added to the tumult.

  At the last landing Chalkin halted, wrenching his arms free from the two Lords as he flung himself down the stairs at Vergerin.

  “You! You! You betrayed me! You broke your word! You did it. You did it all!”

  Bastom and Bridgely, moving with creditable speed, managed to recapture Chalkin and restrained him from physically attacking Vergerin, who did not so much as recoil from his nephew.