“Such measures are best invoked during a direct assault, when they are most effective.”
“What exactly did you do?” Jaxom gestured to the limp bodies.
“Sonic barrage,” Piemur said, grinning. “Pure and penetrating sound. Must have hurt.” He gestured to one man who lay faceup wearing a contorted expression that suggested the pain he had endured before unconsciousness had relieved it. Piemur gave the body a contemptuous push with his toe. “I don’t know where Norist got them.”
“Norist?” Robinton exclaimed.
Piemur shrugged. “Has to be Norist. He’s the one who’s most vocal about destroying the ‘Abomination.’ And look . . .” He bent and lifted the limp hand of one of the attackers. “Those look like glass-pipe calluses, and he’s certainly got old burn scars on his arms. He’s the only one who has them. But once they wake up, we can ask a few questions. And get answers!” Piemur’s voice took on a harsh edge.
“Who knows about this?” the Masterharper asked.
“Everyone presently in Landing,” Piemur said with a shrug, and then grinned impishly. “Which isn’t many, since everyone who could grabbed a dragonride to Telgar. How’d that go?”
“Impressively,” Robinton said almost absently as he moved to check the other would-be vandals. “The dragons
and
the fire-lizards accorded her their own tribute.”
“Ruth didn’t even warn me,” Jaxom added with a wry grin.
It was fitting. The dragons were in agreement. The fire-lizards imitated them, but that was fitting, too,
Ruth told Jaxom, who told the others.
Robinton didn’t recognize a single face among the attackers. Gloomily he wondered if Norist had indeed planned and organized the assault. “Lytol’s truly all right?” he asked in a low voice, glancing back toward the front entrance.
“He’s got a terrible bump,” Jancis said, “and the healer says he cracked a rib, falling on the edge of the desk, but his pride’s more injured than his skull. You should have heard him complaining that Ker and Miskin were too slow on their feet to be of any assistance.”
“Against eight men armed with axes and bars?” Robinton said, appalled at the possible harm such implements could have done to his friend, much less to Aivas. He found himself swaying a bit on his feet.
Immediately Piemur grabbed him, roaring at Jaxom to take the other side and ordering Jancis to get the healer and some wine, and they helped him into the nearest room and into a chair. Protestingly, he flailed at their hands, but even to his own ears his voice held a quaver of weakness that appalled him.
“It’s time to bespeak Lessa and F’lar,” Jaxom said, “and I don’t bloody care what excuse they give Larad. Ruth!”
As Robinton lifted a hand to object, Jaxom’s expression told him that he had already given Ruth the message to forward. Jancis arrived with a huge mug of wine, which Robinton sipped gratefully while the healer fussed at him.
“The Masterharper has taken no harm; his vital signs are restored to acceptable levels,” Aivas said. “Do not distress yourself, Master Robinton, for there has been no lasting harm done to humans and none to this facility.”
“That is not the point, Aivas,” Jaxom said, whirling around. “No harm should have been considered, much less attempted.”
“The winds of change create a climate of resistance. That is to be expected.”
“By you?” Jaxom asked, irritated by Aivas’s imperturbability. Why hadn’t they realized how ideal this day was to dissidents like Norist, who would have known that Robinton and D’ram would attend the honors done Sallah Telgar, that anyone who could grab a ride a-dragonback would be gone from Landing?
“And me. Ease up, lad,” Lytol said, entering the room just then. “I figured an attempt might be made. That’s why I made Ker and Miskin stay back. But I didn’t think there’d be so many of ’em. Rushed us, and we’d no chance.” He looked keenly at Robinton. “Humpf. You look much the way I feel, Robinton.” He lowered himself carefully into the nearest chair. “Master Esselin was with me at the time, but he fainted when that gang barged in. I hadn’t thought to arm the students. They were nearby, and fifteen of ’em should have been sufficient deterrent.”
Just then two of Esselin’s young apprentice archivists came running down the corridor, shouting for Piemur.
“Quietly!” Piemur bellowed, then grimaced in apology.
“Harper, we found their runners, tied up in a copse just off the old sea road,” the older lad reported. “Silfar and I rode a pair back after we’d moved ’em from where they was in case someone escaped. Trestan and Rona stayed ‘cos Rona has a fire-lizard.” His eyes were big in his flushed young face, and he was panting from excitement, as well as exertion. The eyes of the bronze fire-lizard clinging to his shoulder were whirling in violent patterns of red and orange.
“Well done, Deegan,” Piemur said. “Have you winded your runners?”
“No, sir, Harper.” Deegan’s expression became indignant at the thought of injuring a valuable beast. “They’re sweet movers. Cost a pouch or two for that sort of runner, sir.”
“Send your bronze to reassure Rona and go back and bring in the others. We might find something interesting in their gear.”
“All they had in their saddle packs was food, sir,” Deegan added apologetically. “I looked, ‘cos I thought there might be some clues.”
Again Piemur nodded approval. “Off you go, then.” He turned grimly to the others. “There’re more in on this than Norist and his cranks. How’d expensive runners get south? Who put up the marks to buy eight and send ’em here?”
“Meaning a dissident Masterfisher is also involved?” Jaxom asked.
“That’s the one craft that has not benefited very much from Aivas’s stored information,” Piemur said, frowning.
Robinton shook his head, but it was Lytol who spoke. “Not at all, Piemur. Master Idarolan was exceedingly grateful to Aivas for the detailed charts of depths and currents that Captain Tillek compiled. The overviews from space are truly astounding.” Lytol paused in respectful awe, then shrugged. “Of course, there have been alterations in coastlines since then, but the accuracy of the charts makes it all that much easier to update them. Every master has been given copies, and specific area charts are being supplied to every fisherman. What Master Idarolan approves is accepted by every master of his craft.”
“True enough,” Piemur replied, but added in a sardonic tone, “though I can think of one or two extremely conservative and hidebound Masterfishers, without naming any names, who might sympathize with Norist’s discontent. Look at how many people made it to Southern who weren’t supposed to.”
“A full purse can close many a mouth,” Lytol added cynically.
“Let us not make rash assumptions,” Robinton said.
“Lessa says it’s impossible for either herself or F’lar to come,” Jaxom reported at that point. “But F’nor can. The Weyrleaders’re both livid and want to know how such an attack could occur.”
One of the assault group stirred, moaning.
“We’ll find out!” Jaxom and Piemur said simultaneously, and exchanged grimly determined glances.
“Might I suggest we tie these fellows up before they regain their wits?” Robinton asked, eyeing the sizes and comparing them to the slighter frames of the student guards.
“Yes, and we’ve just the thing to hand.” Piemur reached for a coil of thick flex, a savage grin on his face. “C’mon, you lot,” he said, turning to the students, “let’s truss these sharding dimwits up properly.”
Once restraints were in place, each man’s clothing was searched, but the exercise proved fruitless. Old scars, thick ears, and broken noses suggested that five of the eight had fought often. Only the one bore marks of the glass-smith craft, but the remaining two were equally rough livers.
“Swacky might know some of ’em,” Piemur suggested. “He’s been sergeant at arms in enough Holds over the Turns to know a lot of the regulars.”
“They’d hardly pick men we’d recognize, now would they?” Robinton said. “But if Swacky could identify any one of them, that might give us a direction for inquiry. Aivas, how long will they remain unconscious?”
Aivas said that the period was variable. “The duller the subject, the more sonic barrage is required. As you see, they survived to the very threshold.”
“I don’t like that at all,” Robinton said explosively.
“However, they would not have passed the threshold,” Aivas assured him.
Robinton shuddered and drank down the rest of his wine. “Let’s get them out of the hall. Surely we have some secure building to hold them in. It’s almost—almost obscene leaving them sprawled in the hallway like this.”
“Assistance just arrived,” Jaxom said.
They heard the bugling challenge of many dragons—F’nor, T’gellan, Mirrim, and nearly a full wing of Eastern Weyr riders.
“From now on there will be full dragon surveillance for Aivas,” F’nor said when he had heard Lytol’s concise report.
“Eastern insists on the honor,” T’gellan said.
“I just wish it hadn’t come to this,” Robinton said, shaking his head wearily.
“My dear friend,” Lytol said, placing a consoling hand on the Harper’s shoulder, “it was bound to happen. You should have taken time to read the histories as I did. You would then have been better prepared for the cultural upheaval which is occurring in every Hold, Hall, and Weyr.”
“I had hoped that Aivas would insure a bright future for us all . . .” Robinton began, raising his arms in an expansive gesture before letting them fall limply to his knees.
“That’s because you’re the eternal optimist,” Lytol said with a sad smile.
“That’s no bad way to be,” Piemur said firmly, shooting Lytol a quelling glare. It pained the young journeyman to see his master so depressed and listless. The warder shrugged and turned away to hide his cynicism.
T’gellan dispatched a rider to bring Swacky from Paradise River Hold in the hope that he might recognize one of the intruders. Jayge, reckoning that he, too, might be of some help since he had seen so much of the Eastern Holds during his trading days, arrived with Swacky.
“Yeah, I recognize this pair,” Swacky said, reaching out to turn one lolling head from side to side. “Bitrans, if I remember rightly. Bitrans’ll do anything if you give ’em enough marks.”
“Any name come to mind, Swacky?” F’nor asked, frowning.
Swacky gave a shrug of his thick shoulders. “No. Bitrans aren’t friendly, and I don’t think you’re going to get much out of this lot. They’re too stubborn to give in and too stupid to give up. They do stay bought,” he added with grudging respect.
Jayge, kneeling by another man, shook his head. “I know him. I don’t know where I know him from. I’ll tell you one thing, though—he’s worked fishnets. Look at these three-corner tears on his fingers and palms. That’s net damage.”
Robinton heaved a long sigh, and Lytol looked grimmer than ever.
When the first of them finally regained consciousness late that evening, he stared around with bleak panic in his face; it soon became obvious that he had lost his hearing. To written questions he merely shook his head. Consultations between Aivas and the healer about a return of hearing produced no helpful results.
“As a consequence to the extreme deterrent required to prevent their entry, regrettably permanent damage may have been inflicted,” Aivas said.
When the vandals’ animals were brought in, none of the gear identified its source. The saddles were new but bore no leatherman’s stamp; the runners were not ear-notched or branded and betrayed the nervousness of very green animals.
“Probably stolen from Keroon or Telgar herds before spring culls” was the opinion of Masterherder Briaret, who came the next day to assist in the inquiry. “Whoever chose them knew his runners and picked those that don’t show any particular characteristics from sire or dam. They was rough broke,” he added, looking into the mouth of one and pointing out biting scars, “never been shod, and came by sea.” He indicated the marks on hips, ramps, and shoulders that had been caused by rubbing against the sides of the narrow stalls used to transport animals by ship. “Don’t think we’ll find out where they was stolen from, but I’ll put the word out to my Halls.”
The tack, he said, was all apprentice-made, pointing out the flaws that would have made them unsalable at any reputable Tannerhall.
“These could have been picked up from various Halls over the course of a Turn or two, from ‘prentices needing Gather marks. I’d say that whoever planned this has planned long and well,” the Masterherder stated.
The sturdy but worn clothing was of a style and fabric available all across the continent, and the camping equipment had seen considerable use.
“Could’ve staked out here for a spell, just waiting for a good opportunity,” Briaret guessed. “Like the ceremony at Telgar.”
In one saddlebag the searchers found a small collapsible telescope of the sort used by fishermen, but it bore no other mark than the usual Telgar Smith stamp on the metal rim of the eyepiece.
When Master Idarolan was asked his opinion, he was outraged that any of his Craft could have been involved. He promised to investigate, admitting that there were some who were, unfortunately, no credit to their calling and were not above making a clandestine voyage for a full purse of marks after a bad season. He would name no one as yet, but he knew whom to watch, he assured everyone.
Swacky volunteered to stay at Landing as warder of the invaders, hoping that he might yet get one of them to confide in him.
Jayge lingered, too, finally admitting to Piemur and Jancis that he would very much like an interview with Aivas, if that was at all possible.
“No problem, Jayge,” Piemur reassured him. He grinned broadly. “Beginning to think all this new technology has some use?”
Jayge gave a wry chuckle. “I need to know if Readis and Alemi are both losing their wits. They swear they’ve had more conversations with shipfish—dolphins. The dolphins say they came with the original settlers.” Jayge set his jaw as if waiting for derision.
“Dolphins did come with the settlers, Jayge,” Piemur reassured him. Jancis nodded, as well. Then the young harper’s expression turned rueful. “We’ve been so busy with space that we really still haven’t caught up on other important details. C’mon. Everyone else’s busy with the intruders right now, so Aivas is free.”