The Renegades of Pern (22 page)

“Go on, Jassap and Pol. You, too, Ander and Forris. It’s not fair, and she’s such a pretty thing. She shouldn’t arrive all sweated up. Lord Raid won’t like it, you know.” She was handling her own mount with quiet competence, and the others complied with her suggestion. It had not exactly been an order, but she had quietly taken charge.

“You’re mean—a—!” one of the boys protested, but he obeyed, and they all set their mounts to a trot, chanting “meana, meana, meana!” They were laughing, but Jayge did not see what amused them so.

“She’s a very elegant runnerbeast,” one of the other girls said, pulling her mare abreast of Kesso on Jayge’s left. “Did you come all the way yourself?” She smiled winningly at Jayge, who smiled back, knowing a flirt when he saw one.

“Master Briaret put her in my charge,” he told her.

Another girl had kneed her mount beside the flirt, her expression fearful. “From the Beasthold itself? But that’s a long way, and there was Fall, wasn’t there?”

“Fall was allowed for, and we were safe in a beasthold,” he said. He had discovered that most holdbred people found it upsetting to learn that he was not frightened by Fall. Casually, he glanced to his right and was relieved to see that the dark-haired girl had pulled into line with him, leaving a good space between her mount and Fancy, who was settling down again.

“We’ve been hunting,” the flirt said, pointing to the boys ahead of them, on whose saddles hung some plump, young wherry bucks.

“We’re going to have a Gather in a few sevendays. Will you be around?” The second girl had turned as coquettish as the first.

Jayge looked at the dark girl who was watching Fancy’s high movement, smiling to herself as the mare gave that extra little flick to her front hooves. The girl appreciated a good mover, he saw. He found himself wondering if there was any chance that he could complete his mission before that Gather. In the dancing square all were equal.

“I wouldn’t miss it, fog, fire, or Fall,” Jayge said with a courtly half bow to the tease and the flirt, but he ended with a questioning glance directed at the black-haired girl. She smiled, a very nice smile without a hint of the others’ coy archness.

“We’d better catch up with the others,” the first girl said. “See you later.” She waved as she dug her heels into her mount. Fancy pulled back on her tether rope, and Jayge wound it more tightly around his hand, waiting for the others to charge off. The dark-haired girl rode ahead more slowly, looking back at him over her shoulder.

When he delivered Fancy to the Beastmaster at Benden Hold, Jayge handed over Master Briaret’s packet of information about her breeding, and the mare’s hair whorls checked against those on her papers. The man inspected the mare thoroughly, legs, hooves, barrel, neck, and teeth, and had Jayge trot her up and down the inner court until the young trader was a bit short of breath. Master Conwy could find no fault in her condition or appearance. Jayge waited silently, indolently feeding Kesso’s reins through his fingers.

“You’ve earned your marks, Jayge Lilcamp,” the man said finally. “She’s a fine animal. Come with me. You can put your own mount up for the night here. Benden Hold keeps a good table. I’ll speak to the steward about your pay and see if there’re any messages you can take back with you.”

“I’m not going back to the Beasthold,” Jayge said. Then he caught himself. “I have to go north to Bitra.”

“You’d best leave your marks here with honest men, young man. Those Bitrans are terrible folk for relieving a man of his coin.”

Jayge could not help but grin at Conwy’s dour and disapproving expression. “I’m a trader by craft, Master Conwy. It’d take more than a wily Bitran to relieve me of my marks.”

“If you say so, so long’s you know their tricks.” Master Conwy clearly thought little of Jayge’s understanding and less of Bitran “tricks,” but he did not let that interfere with hospitality. First he put the mare into her stall, telling Jayge to put his runner next to her so that she would settle down more quickly. Then he took Jayge to the bathing rooms, offered to have a drudge launder his clothes, directed him to where he could find a cubicle for the night, and told him where to go before mealtime.

Clean and dressed in his newly pressed spare clothes, Jayge found Master Conwy’s hold and was given the marks. To his surprise, the Master asked for the warranty again and added a second recommendation on the end of Swacky’s.

“Doesn’t hurt for someone out and about to have proof of honesty and diligence.”

Master Conwy then walked him up the steps of the main Hold and into the dining hall, which was full of bustle and enticing aromas waiting up from the kitchens below. Jayge took the place offered him, on the far right with the other men and women of journeyman rank, and Master Conwy left him.

Such a main Hold was sinfully luxurious, Jayge thought, looking at the smooth, painted walls, the deep window apertures, and the burnished and etched shutters. The upper portions of the walls were embellished with brilliantly colored paintings, some of them quite old, to judge by the clothing depicted. It was the habit of the very old Holds to include portraits of notable lords, ladies, and prominent crafters. Some had been done in miniature on the borders, and some were so high up the wall as to be practically invisible. Idly Jayge wondered if any of those portraits could be Perschar’s work.

He answered the polite queries put to him and responded noncommittally to a rather blatant come-on from the handsome journeywoman beside him, but he listened more than he talked. When the soup was passed around—Jayge was rather flattered to be served first—the journeywoman contrived to brush her full bosom against his shoulder. Her touch reminded him of how long he had been on the road alone.

But all thought of casual dalliance faded from his mind with his first clear look at the head table on its dais and the black-haired girl seated at the right-hand edge. A fosterling then, Jayge realized, but not of sufficient rank to sit closer to Benden’s lord, lady, and their own children. She wore a low-cut deep maroon dress that offset her creamy skin. She smiled often, laughed seldom, and ate neatly—and Jayge could not stop staring.

“She’s not for the likes of you, journeyman,” his seatmate said in his ear. “She’s for Benden Weyr. Next Hatching, and she’s sure to be Impressed.”

Jayge had thought that girls found on Search went immediately into the Weyr, but if she was a fosterling of Benden’s, maybe that made a difference. He did know that there was no clutch on the Hatching Grounds at the moment.

“She was in the hunting party that passed me on the track,” Jayge said casually. He tried to keep his eyes from her but could not. There was a sweet calmness about her; it was soothing just to watch her deal with her food platter. Jayge thought that he had never seen a girl quite like her. And she was not for him. He wrenched himself away and turned, smiling, to the journey-woman, who was eager to continue conversation.

The next morning, somewhat to Jayge’s dismay, the first person he encountered was the black-haired girl. She was in Fancy’s stable as he arrived from a quick breakfast to saddle Kesso.

“I think she’s going to settle in all right,” she said, smiling with obvious relief up at Jayge. “Master Conwy said you’d brought her all the way from Keroon Beasthold without so much as a scratch. Do you like all animals? Or just runners?”

Jayge was having trouble organizing a suitable answer, so he just smiled. Yes, he thought, he had been right about that sadness in her face. “Oh, I get on well with most animals. Treat ’em right, they work well for you. Feeding’s important. Enough for the work they’ve got to do.”

“Are you a beastman, or a herdsman?”

“I’m a trader.”

“Ah, so you’d know burden beasts better.” For some reason the girl’s smile was tinged by wistfulness. “We had a yoke—I called them Nudge and Shove. They did a lot of it, but they never let us down.”

Jayge had completed saddling and stowing his pack without realizing that he had done so, and he was suddenly very shy in her presence. “Gotta go,” he said. “Long way still. Nice meeting you. Keep your eye on Fancy.”

“Fancy?”

“I always name animals. Even just for a journey.” He shrugged diffidently, wondering what had gotten into him. He usually had no trouble talking to girls at all. Last night had proved that, though if he had known that he would be talking to
her
again today, he would not have settled for a quick tumble with that journeywoman. He backed Kesso out of the stall.

“Fancy’s a very good name for her.” The girl’s voice followed him out of the beasthold. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of her. Good luck.”

Jayge swung upon Kesso and trotted smartly out of the beasthold, wishing he could have thought of some excuse to stay. But she was for the Weyr, and that was that!

9

Benden Hold,
Benden Weyr, PP 13

T
HOUGH THE TRAIL
was good, the weather was cold and the hilly going sometimes so treacherous in the early mornings that Jayge delayed starting until the sun was well up. He preferred to find or make his own overnight shelters, though several times he shared a midday meal with holders he met up with. He lent assistance to one farmer, changing a damaged wheel, and when Kesso’s shoes were noticed and admired, he made the man a new set for his barefoot runner. That time he agreed, when pressed, to stay the night, as it was too late to continue.

But despite the occasional encounter, Jayge spent far too much time on his own, thinking of the black-haired girl. He ought to have asked her name. That would not cost him anything, he thought. He would have liked to know her name. He ran through all the variations of women’s names he knew but could not find one that suited her. He found himself fretting over that indefinable sadness in her eyes and in the slight droop of her mouth. She was probably the same age as the other two girls in the hunting party, but she had exhibited an air of maturity that the others lacked. His dreams at night took on an erotic flavor, but they amused more than embarrassed him. On the dancing square all were equal, he reminded himself again. He would get back to that Gather. He would dance with her and clear that sadness from her eyes.

Benden Weyr’s peak grew to dominate the horizon, serene and invulnerable with its high steep sides. The bigger it got, the faster Jayge urged Kesso, and the longer he traveled each day. He was up at dawn on what he judged to be the last morning on the track, when he saw the unmistakable bloom of a fire being stoked up on a ledge across the river. He was instantly alert.

Studying his map again, Jayge saw that his campsite was not the only cave in the immediate vicinity. Could Thella have come over the mountains directly? Without bothering with her informants in Igen low caverns? And who had killed old Brare? He told himself that the fire could well have been made by a herdsman, checking on his flocks, but he felt compelled to take a look. Aramina was in Benden Weyr, and if Thella was outside it, the dragonriders should know.

He tied Kesso up again, gathered some dry grasses to keep the runner occupied, and after testing the edges of his daggers, he made his way in the dawn-dark down to the river. A bridge, somewhat rickety and probably dating from the time the Lord Holders had attempted to storm Benden Weyr, provided him with a quick, dry, and quiet crossing. He caught sight not of the fire itself but of its glow on the rock face that sheltered it from the northeast. There was light enough now in the sky for him to pick a careful route. He soon crossed a narrow, twisting path and nearly slipped on some herdbeast dung. Judging that the faint path was safer than a more direct line, he followed it, climbing to a point higher than the spot from which he had seen the fire. Then he left the trace, parting the scraggly bushes with a care to thorns and stiff branches, and crept ahead a step at a time.

He heard their voices—two men, and a voice he recognized as Thella’s. He could distinguish no words, nor could he get any closer, as the steep ridge before him was too smooth to be climbed and he could not see a way around it in the semidark.

Hunkered down, he waited—until suddenly he realized that the voices had stopped. He moved as quickly as he could in the growing light, but when he reached his objective, the only evidence that anyone had been there was the warmth of the stone where the fire had been, and a few fragments of charcoal. The interior of the small cave was clean—far too clean, Jayge realized. He could see the river below him, and not a sign of travelers. Could his quarry have gone west, up and over the hill, and down to another concealed spot?

Just as Jayge craned his neck to examine the slope above him, he caught sight of dragons emerging from the crater mouth of Benden Weyr, soaring majestically into the sky as if welcoming the sun’s rising with their own. His first encounter with a dragonrider had given him a warped opinion of them, but that had been tempered gradually as he met others when working ground crew. He had heard the high opinion in which Benden riders were held, and had actually ridden Heth to Thella’s hideout. The early morning flight before him was so beautiful that his whole perception of dragons and riders altered completely.

Absorbed in that beauty, Jayge gave no thought to the possibility of his being discovered there. He watched until they had either returned to the Weyr or winked out
between,
an ability that the young trader found frightening even after surviving a demonstration of it on Heth. Then it occurred to him to wonder why the dragons, known to be long-sighted, had not reacted to his presence, sprawled there as he was across the rock face. They had not seemed to be alert at all. True, he had not moved, but surely Thella and her companions were on the move! Were the dragons even watching out for her? Clearly not. Those dragonriders were so secure in their bloody Weyr, they did not bother to keep sentries, he thought in disgust. And what was to keep Thella from brazening her way right into the Weyr and making off with Aramina?

Jayge took the fastest way down, racing across the bridge and back to the cave, hoping that a dragon would appear to bar his way, his rider demanding to know who he was and the nature of his errand. But no one stopped him, and Jayge tightened Kesso’s girth with unusual violence. Vaulting to the saddle, he had the gelding galloping at full stretch up the valley to the tunnel that was the only surface entrance to Benden Weyr.

There he met with resistance. And while he was somewhat reassured by the evidence that not everyone could enter the tunnel, he was irritated at the way his concise statement of danger to Aramina by Thella’s covert presence in the valley was questioned by every member of the guard, none of them dragonriders and all of them taking far too long looking over his warranty. Then his sketch of Readis, which he accidentally dislodged from his chest pocket in his haste to show his warranty, was picked up by one of the guards.

“This guy was here yesterday. Kin of yours?”

Jayge was paralyzed for a moment with shock. “He’s in Benden?”

“Why should he be? He only wanted to deliver a packet of letters to Aramina, and she’s in Benden Hold.”

“And you told him that? You smokeless weyrling, you consummate dimwit.” Jayge was primed to elaborate on the antecedents of all six guards when the oldest man suddenly held his spearpoint right against Jayge’s throat.

“State your business.” The spearman pricked the sharp point encouragingly.

Jayge swallowed both ire and insolence and, raising his hand, moved the point away from his neck, all the while staring back at the hard-eyed guard. “I must see K’van, Heth’s rider, immediately,” he said more reasonably. He kept his tone urgent. “Thella was camped last night in the valley. I heard her this morning. And if she knows Aramina’s at Benden Hold, the girl is in grave danger.”

The spearman gave him a faint reassuring grin. “Someone who hears dragons has all the protection she needs. But if that raider female is in the vicinity, Lessa will wish to hear all about it. Ride through. I’ll inform them you’re coming.”

Kesso did not like the tunnel despite the glows that illuminated it at frequent intervals. He sidled, spooked, and twitched his ears constantly at the echoes of his own rattling hooves. When he stumbled on the ruts made in the floor by hundreds of Turns of cart wheels, Jayge kicked him smartly to make him pay attention. Finally they came to a second, inner gate, whose guards waved him on through into a vast, high-ceilinged area furnished with platforms of varying heights for the unloading of any sized wagon or cart. From there Jayge was directed to a second, longer tunnel, its far end a mere circle of brightness. He trotted Kesso, disliking the sensation of being enclosed in rock. He kept hearing noises that reminded him a shade too much of the avalanche in Telgar, and he resisted the urge to gallop Kesso out of the place.

Then he was out in the Bowl of Benden and gawking like the most ignorant back-of-the-hill hold apprentice. The immense crater was an imperfect oval—actually two coalescing craters, rather than a single one. The irregular sides loomed high and were dotted with the dark mouths of individual weyrs. Many of the protruding ledges already held dragons lolling in the sunlight. One whiff of the dragons’ scent, and Kesso threw his head up until Jayge could see the whites of his frantic eyes.

A youngster came trotting up to him. “If you’ll come with me, Trader Lilcamp, you can put your runner where the dragons won’t scare him.” The boy pointed to his right. “The blackrock bunker’s not too full right now, so there’s enough space. I’ll get him some water and hay.”

Jayge had his hands full with the beast’s terrified behavior, and by the time they got safely inside, Kesso was lathered with sweat. Fortunately the acrid dusty smell of the blackrock masked dragonspoor, and Kesso, his fright forgotten, was glad to slake his thirst in the water pail. After checking that the hay was of good quality, Jayge left him to it.

“Now, if you’ll come this way, Lessa’s waiting for you,” the boy said.

As Benden Weyr was an amazement to Jayge, Lessa was only slightly less of a surprise. He could feel the force of her personality as strongly as he had felt Thella’s, but there all resemblance ended. Despite her slight stature, Lessa carried herself with authority, gracious but firm. She was more courteous to a trader than he had expected, and she listened with such interest that he found himself telling her the whole story, from his first encounter with Thella and Giron, to that dawn’s surveillance, and his fears, assumptions, and anxieties—with one exception. He made no mention of Readis.

“Please, Lady Lessa, bring Aramina back here before it’s too late,” Jayge said, stretching his hand across the table to Lessa’s and then pulling it back as he realized his forwardness.

“As soon as I learned of your errand, Jayge Lilcamp, I sent word to Lord Raid. They’ll keep her safe, I assure you.” She gave him a radiant smile, then explained her method. “Ramoth, my queen, told Benden’s watchdragon.”

“But the girl’d be safer here,” Jayge insisted, fretting. Anyone could walk into Benden Hold; anyone could find her out on a hunt.

Lessa frowned just slightly, then leaned toward Jayge, putting her small hand on his arm, strong fingers pressing in reassurance. “I do understand your concern. And I would prefer to have Aramina right here in Benden until she Impresses but . . . the girl
does
hear dragons.” She grimaced in frustration. “All the time, and every dragon.” She sighed extravagantly, then tilted her head slightly and smiled at him. Suddenly Jayge knew why so many people respected, even worshipped her, and he found himself smiling back at her, half-embarrassed by his reaction. “The conversations were driving her crazy.”

“Not as crazy as Thella could,” Jayge heard himself saying.

“Tubridy at the outer gate said you had a picture of a man who purportedly had letters from her family,” Lessa said.

Jayge pulled his warranty from his pocket, opening it as if expecting to find the sketch folded up in it. Then he fumbled in his chest pocket, feigning dismay and annoyance and checking the other pockets in his jacket. “I must have dropped it. My runnerbeast did not like the tunnel, or the dragons.” He attempted an ingratiating smile and an abashed shrug.

To his surprise, she spread out a sheet, much bigger than any of the ones Perschar had used, but which included all the sketches the craftsman had done, including a new pose of Readis, by no means as accurately drawn from memory as from life. The resemblance of uncle to nephew did not seem as pronounced—at least Jayge hoped that Lessa would notice none. Without hesitation, he pointed to Dushik.

“I’d know that one anywhere,” he said. He knew he was taking a chance but he was irrationally determined to save his uncle. How, he did not know—but he had to try.

Lessa was looking at him oddly, her eyes slightly narrowed. “How did you have come to have a sketch?”

“Well, as I told you, I thought they’d make for Igen low caverns: On my own like that, I might just be told something holders, and dragonmen”—his smile was respectfully apologetic—“might not get to hear. So I was given one of Perschar’s sketches to show. I’ve a score to settle with Thella and her friends.” Jayge had no need to counterfeit the hatred and determination that welled up in him. Then he was startled to hear a dragon rumble nearby.

“Private scores have a habit of getting out of hand, Jayge Lilcamp,” Lessa said with a strange smile.

Suddenly Jayge was reminded again of Thella. He shook the comparison out of his head and got to his feet as the Weyrwoman rose.

“And getting in the way of more honorable qualities,” Lessa continued. “You can leave this matter in Weyr hands. We’ll protect Aramina.” A dragon bugled, and the noise reverberated. Lessa smiled dotingly. “You have Ramoth’s word on it.”

“Does she hear everything?”

Lessa laughed. It was an astonishingly young laugh. She shook her head reassuringly. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

Jayge turned away to avoid her shrewd eyes and perceptive mind. He had never heard anything about dragons being able to hear everyone’s thoughts—just those of their riders.

“Go across to the kitchen on your way out, Jayge Lilcamp. You’ll need a good meal to start your way back home.”

Thanking her, he followed the boy out of the weyr but came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the golden dragon sitting on the ledge. She had not been there when he had entered. Her tail was wrapped around her front legs and her wings tucked flat to her dorsal ridge, but she was looking squarely at him as he came out.

“She likes it if you speak to her. ‘Good morning, Ramoth’ is appropriate,” the boy suggested when he realized that Jayge had not moved.

“Good morning, Ramoth,” Jayge repeated in a dry voice and edged carefully toward the first step. The dragon loomed above him, and he had never felt so insignificant in his life. Although he was of reasonable height, he came no higher than her short foreleg. He swallowed and took another step. “Give my greetings to Heth, would you? I liked meeting Heth.” Jayge knew he was babbling, but somehow or other his words seemed appropriate.