The Renegades of Pern (29 page)

The excavation that followed yielded marvel after marvel, only beginning with the green button that, when pushed, caused the vehicle’s door to open on its own. But for Piemur and Master Robinton, the most wonderful find was the maps, covering the walls of one of the rooms, showing both continents in their entirety. Thinking of his own arduous mapping expeditions, Piemur was awed by the extent and the detail. Briefly he struggled with the dilemma of conflicting interests. He admired Toric and respected what he had achieved, but such a vast land was more than any one man had a right to Hold. From now on, Piemur would take a harper’s view.

Toric did not expect Sharra to appreciate what he was doing for her sake. He did not expect wife, sister, and both brothers to oppose him.

“And what’s wrong with Sharra making such a good match?” Ramala demanded, displaying an anger and force of will that astonished him.

“With Ruatha? A table-sized Hold in the north?” Toric dismissed it with a flick of his fingers. “Why, you could fit the place in one corner of my hold and it’d rattle.”

“Ruatha is a powerful Hold,” Hamian said, his face expressionless except for an angry tightening around the eyes. “Don’t dismiss Jaxom because he’s young and rides a sport dragon. He’s extremely intelligent . . .”

“Sharra can do better for herself!” Toric seethed. He was tired. After two days of digging and trying to keep up with that blasted smith, he wanted a bath, a good meal, and a chance to go over the maps Piemur had sent him. He was determined to learn exactly where the incredible Plateau was located—flying
between
with D’ram had given him no useful direction other than east.

“Sharra has done very well for herself,” Murda said, raising her voice as if volume would impress their opinion on him. She did not bother to conceal her approval and scowled fiercely at Toric.

“How would you know?” Toric demanded. “You’ve never met him.”

“I have,” Hamian said. “But that’s not as important as the fact that Sharra has chosen him. She’s been too long complying with your demands and suppressing her own needs. I think she’s done bloody well.”

“He’s younger than she is!”

Ramala shrugged. “A Turn or two. I’m warning you, Toric. Her feelings for Jaxom are genuine. She’s old enough to know her own heart and marry to suit herself.”

“Any one of you,
any
one of you,” Toric exclaimed, shaking his fist at each in turn, “meddle in this, and you can leave! Leave!” With that he dismissed them all, slumping into his chair and fuming over their reception of his decision.

A man should be able to trust his own family. That was the basis of the Blood relationship: trust. Give her a few days back home, away from that gawky lordling and the glamorous atmosphere of Cove Hold, and she would see reason. Meanwhile, he would see she stayed at home. He sent a drudge in search of the Ruathan he had previously noticed.

“Dorse, do you know that Ruathan lordling well?” he asked when the young man arrived.

Dorse was surprised and then guarded. “I gave you the warranty note from Brand, steward at Ruatha.”

“He said nothing to your discredit.” Toric put an edge on his tone. “I repeat, did you know this young Jaxom?”

“We were milkbrothers.”

“Then you’d know if he’d ever come to Southern on any errand?”

“Him? No.” Dorse was positive. “He was never let go anywhere without everyone knowing. Afraid he’d lose himself or crease the hide of that precious white dragon of his.”

“I see.” And Toric did: milkbrothers were rarely fond of each other, despite the popular myth. “You know that my sister, Sharra, has returned.” Very few in the hold would have failed to note that. “I want her to stay here, see no one, and neither receive nor send messages. Do I make myself understood?”

“Perfectly, Lord Holder.”

That had a nice ring to it, Toric thought. Another important matter to be resolved. “Use Breide as relief guard. He’s in the same dormitory. He’s got a good memory for faces and names. If the pair of you keep her safely here, I shall find a special hold for you later.”

“That’s easily done, Lord Toric.” Dorse grinned. “I had a lot of practice keeping my eyes on people, if you know what I mean.”

Toric dismissed him and, calling up his two queens, gave them particular instructions about Meer and Talla, Sharra’s fire-lizards. Satisfied with his preparations, he then bathed, ate, and figured out which reliable aspiring young holder he could spare to keep an eye on his interests at the Plateau. If something useful was found in any of those abandoned buildings, he wanted full details. He had secured a magnificent hold, far richer and more extensive than even Telgar. Dorse had automatically accorded him the title that he should long before have been accorded, and it had sounded very pleasant indeed. While the Benden Weyrleaders and the others were dazzled by the empty promises of that Plateau, he must force the issue on the matter of rank and be confirmed by the Conclave as Lord Holder of Southern.

Maybe then Sharra would appreciate how much he had achieved for them all, and consent to his arrangements. She did need a husband and children. Why had Ramala turned against him? Fatigue eroded his concentration. He rolled upon the floor in a spare fur he kept in his work chamber. When he returned to the Plateau he would warn off that boy, and that would be the end of it.

The next day, when Tiroth and the other dragons deposited him and his holders on the mound, Toric looked first for Lessa and found her standing with others at Nicat’s mound door. Then he saw Jaxom with the Harper and changed direction. Let the Harper know, he thought, and all Pern would.

“Harper!” Toric came to a halt with a courteous nod to the old man, who looked surprisingly hale for one whom half Pern had had in his grave.

“Holder Toric,” the boy said casually, over his shoulder.

“Lord Jaxom,” Toric replied in a drawl that made an insult of a title.

Jaxom turned slowly. “Sharra tells me that you do not favor an alliance with Ruatha.”

Toric smiled broadly. This was going to be entertaining. “No, lordling, I do not! She can do better than a table-sized Hold in the North!” He caught the Harper’s surprised look.

Suddenly Lessa, a hint of steel in her eyes, appeared beside Jaxom. “What did I hear, Toric?”

“Holder Toric has other plans for Sharra,” the boy said, more amused than aggrieved. “She can do better, it seems, than a table-sized Hold like Ruatha!”

Toric would have given much to know who exactly had repeated his words to Sharra. “I mean no offense to Ruatha,” he said, catching the flicker of anger in Lessa’s face though her smile remained in place.

“That would be most unwise, considering my pride in my Bloodline and in the present Holder of that title,” the Weyrwoman said.

Toric did not like the casual tone of her voice.

“Surely you might reconsider the matter, Toric,” Robinton said, as affable as ever despite the warning in his eyes. “Such an alliance, so much desired by the two young people, would have considerable advantages, I think, aligning yourself with one of the most prestigious Holds on Pern.”

“And be in favor with Benden,” Lessa added, smiling too sweetly.

Toric absently rubbed the back of his neck, trying to keep his smile in place. He felt unaccountably light-headed. The next thing he knew, Lessa had put her arm through his and was escorting him to the privacy of her mound.

“I thought we were here to dig up Pern’s glorious past,” he said, managing a good-natured laugh. His head still swam.

“There’s surely no time like the present,” Lessa continued, “to discuss the future. Your future.”

Well, that was more like, Toric thought. F’lar was there, beside Lessa, and the Harper had followed them. The Southern holder shook his head to clear it.

“Yes, with so many ambitious holdless men pouring into Southern,” F’lar was saying, “we’ve been remiss in making certain you’ll have the lands you want, Toric. I don’t fancy blood feuds in the South. Unnecessary, too, when there’s space enough for this generation and several more.”

Toric laughed. The man didn’t realize just how much space there was in the South. He seized his opportunity. “And since there’s so much space, why should I not be ambitious for my sister?”

“You’ve more than one, and we’re not talking of Jaxom and Sharra just now,” Lessa said with a hint of irritability. “F’lar and I had intended to arrange a more formal occasion to set your Holding, but there’s Master Nicat wanting to formalize Minecraft affairs with you, and Lord Groghe is anxious that his two sons do not hold adjacent lands, and other questions have come up recently which require answers.”

“Answers?” Toric leaned against one wall of the cot and crossed his arms on his chest.

“One answer required is how much land any
one
man should Hold in the south?” F’lar said, idly digging dirt from under his thumbnail. The light emphasis was not lost on Toric.

“And? Our original agreement was that I could Hold all the lands I had acquired by the time the Oldtimers had passed on.”

“Which, in truth, they haven’t,” Robinton said.

“I shan’t insist on waiting,” Toric replied, nodding, “since the original circumstances have altered. And since my hold is thoroughly disorganized by the indigent and hopeful lordlings and holdless men and women, as well as, I am reliably informed, by others who have eschewed our help and landed wherever their ships can be beached.”

“All the more reason to be sure you are not deprived of one length of your just Hold,” F’lar said—far too agreeably, Toric thought. “I know that you have sent out exploring teams. How far have they actually penetrated?”

“With the help of D’ram’s dragonriders”—and Toric saw that F’lar did know of that agency—“we have extended our knowledge of terrain to the foot of the Western Range.” That was safe enough to admit. He had not said when he had extended that knowledge.

“That far?”

“And, of course, Piemur reached the Great Desert Bay to the west,” the Southerner went on determinedly.

“My dear Toric, how can you possibly Hold all that?”

Toric knew the rights of Holding as well as the Weyrleader did. “I’ve small cotholders with burgeoning families along most of the habitable shoreline and at strategic points in the interior. The men you sent me these past few Turns proved most industrious.” The Weyrleaders would have to accept the accomplished fact.

“I suspect they have pledged loyalty to you in return for your original generosity?” F’lar asked.

“Naturally.”

Lessa laughed. She was really a very sensual woman when she wanted to be, Toric realized. “I thought when we met at Benden that you were a shrewd and independent man.”

“There’s land, my dear Weyrwoman, for any man who can hold it.”

“I’d say then,” Lessa went on, “that you’ll have more than enough to occupy you fully and to Hold, from sea to Western Range to the Great Bay . . .”

Suddenly Toric heard his fire-lizards’ warning. Sharra was running away. He had to leave the Plateau, to get back to the hold.

“To the Great Bay in the West, yes, that is my hope. I do have maps. In my hold, but if I’ve your leave . . .” He had managed one stride to the door when the Benden queen bugled a warning. Another male voice chimed in, all but drowning his fire-lizards out. F’lar moved swiftly to block his way.

“It’s already too late, Toric.”

And so it was. For when they all filed out of that all too provident meeting, Toric saw the white dragon landing, Sharra and the young lordling on his back. Unsmiling and impotent, Toric watched them approach.

“Toric,” Jaxom said, “you cannot contain Sharra anywhere on Pern where Ruth and I cannot find her. Place and time are no barriers to Ruth. Sharra and I can go anywhere, anywhere on Pern.”

One of Toric’s fire-lizard queens attempted to land on his shoulder. He ignored her piteous chirps and brushed her away. He hated disloyalty.

“Furthermore,” Jaxom went on, “fire-lizards obey Ruth! Don’t they, my friend?” The white sport had followed his rider. “Tell every fire-lizard here on the Plateau to go away.”

In an instant the meadow was empty of the little creatures. Toric did not like the young upstart’s demonstration. When the fire-lizards returned, he allowed his little queen to land on his shoulder, but he never took his eyes from Jaxom’s.

“How did you know so much about Southern? I was told that you’ve never been there!” So that milkbrother had lied. Toric half-turned, looking across the meadow, wondering if Piemur had had a hand in this. That unweyred lordling could not have snatched Sharra back from Southern all by himself: he wouldn’t have had the courage or the knowledge.

“Your informant erred,” Jaxom continued. “Today is not the first time I’ve retrieved something from the Southern Weyr which belongs to the North.” He laid his arm possessively about Sharra’s shoulders.

Toric felt his composure leave him.
“You!” He
thrust his arm out at Jaxom, wanting to do many things at once, especially swat down that—that—impudent excresence. He was livid with the indignation of being under obligation to that—that lordling! That leggy, undeveloped
boy
! He wanted to rend Jaxom limb from body, but little though the white dragon might be, he was bigger than Toric, stronger than any man, and both dam and sire were not far away. There was
nothing
Toric could do but swallow his humiliation. He could feel the blood suffusing his face, pumping through his extremities. Impossible as it was for him to believe, he was faced with the fact that the boy had dared to retrieve Sharra—dared and done—and now faced him coolly. He had been in error to call the lad a coward! He had allowed himself to be swayed in his judgment by the jaundice of a milkbrother. Young Jaxom had acted like a proper lord, reclaiming the woman of his choice in spite of precautions. “
You
took the egg back! You and that—but the fire-lizards’ images were black!”

“I’d be stupid not to darken a white hide if I make a night pass, wouldn’t I?” Jaxom asked scornfully.

“I knew it wasn’t one of T’ron’s riders.” Toric was reduced to clenching and unclenching his fists as he struggled to regain his composure. “But for you to . . . Well, now . . .” He forced himself to smile, a trifle sourly, as he looked from the Benden Weyrleaders to the Harper. Then he started to laugh, losing anger and frustration as he roared away the stress. “If you knew, lordling,” and this time it was a respectful title as he pointed his finger at Jaxom, “the plans you ruined, the— How many people knew it was you?” He turned accusingly on the dragonriders.