Almost absently, Piemur stroked the furry head and scratched behind the ear cup, feeling its rough tongue licking his skin. Then he saw the long shallow scrape on the little beast’s right leg.
“So that’s why you didn’t make it to the river, huh, you poor stupid thing?” said Piemur, gathering it closer to him. “And your dam sheltered you with her body. Brave thing to do.” It bleated again, looking anxiously up at him.
Farli chirped and stroked her body against the uninjured leg before she moved on to start making a meal off the dead runner. With a sense of propriety, Piemur took the youngster off to the river to bathe its wound, treat it with numbweed and wrap it with a broad river plant to keep off insects. He tethered it with his fishing line and then went back to slice off enough meat for several meals. The wherries were closing in.
Farli was sated enough not to resist leaving the carcass. Nor did she object when Piemur carried little Stupid back to their forest shelter.
As Piemur settled down to sleep that night, he had Stupid curled tightly against him along his back and Farli draped across his shoulders. He had fully intended to use the interval between this Fall and the next to make his way to the Southern Hold, but he really couldn’t leave Stupid, crippled as well as motherless. The leg would heal with care and rest. Once Stupid was walking easily, after the next Threadfall, he would definitely make tracks to Southern.
Despite the lateness of the hour, the Masterharper could see light coming from his study window as he wearily made his way from the meadow where Lioth and N’ton had just left him. He was very tired, but well satisfied with the results of his efforts over the last four days. Zair, balancing on his shoulder, cheeped an affirmative. Robinton smiled to himself and rubbed the little bronze’s neck.
“And Sebell and Menolly are going to be satisfied, too. Unless, of course, there has been word from that scamp that they haven’t been able to send me.”
He saw the half of the great Hall door swing into darkness and wagered with himself who waited for him there in the dark.
“Master?”
He was right; it was Menolly.
“You were away so long, Master,” she cried in a soft voice as she closed the door behind him and spun the wheel to lock the bolts tightly in floor and ceiling.
“Ah, but I’ve accomplished much. Any news from Piemur?”
“No,” and her shoulders drooped noticeably. “We would’ve sent you word instantly.”
He put his arm around her slender shoulders comfortingly. “Is Sebell awake as well?”
“Yes, indeed!” She gave a chuckle. “N’ton sent Tris to warn us. Or you’d’ve been locked out of your own Hall.”
“Not for long, my dear girl, not for long!”
They were climbing the steps now, and he noticed that she slowed her pace to match his. He was tired, true, but, worse, he no longer commanded the resilience that made no bother of late hours.
“Lord Groghe was back two days ago, Master. Why did you have to stay so long at Nabol?” He felt her shoulders give a convulsive shudder under his arm. “I wouldn’t have stayed at that place a moment longer than I had to.”
“Not the most of congenial of Holds, to be sure. I can’t think what can have happened to all the wine Lord Fax appropriated in his conquests. He had some good pressings, too. Meron can’t have drunk it all in a bare thirteen or fourteen Turns.”
“You’d no Benden wine, then?” Menolly teased him.
“None, you unfeeling wretch.”
“Then I’m more amazed than ever that you stayed so long.”
“I had to!” he replied, amazed at the irritation in his voice. But they had reached his rooms now, and he opened the door, grateful for the sight of the familiar disorder of his workroom and the welcoming smile on Sebell’s face. The journeyman was on his feet, helping his master out of his flying gear and guiding him to a chair, while Menolly poured a goblet of a decent Benden wine.
“Now, sir, have you a tale to tell?” asked Sebell, lightly taunting with his Master’s usual greeting. “Could we not have come to Nabol and helped speed matters?”
“I would have thought you’d seen enough of Nabol Hold to last a Turn or two,” said Master Robinton, sipping at his wine.
“He’s got news, Sebell,” said Menolly, narrowing her eyes to glare at her master. “I can tell that look on his face.
“Smug, that’s what he is. Did you learn what happened to Piemur at Nabol?”
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t find out about Piemur, but among other, equally important, things, I have arranged matters so that we don’t have to worry about Nabol Hold supplying the Oldtimers with northern goods or receiving a further embarrassing riches of fire lizard eggs in that otherwise impoverished Hold.”
“Then, none of the disappointed heirs caused trouble during the confirmation?” asked Sebell.
Master Robinton waggled his fingers, a sly smile on his face. “Not to speak of, though Hittet is a master of the snide remark. They could scarcely contend the nomination, since it had been made before such notable witnesses. Besides, I never bothered to disabuse them of the notion that Benden and the other Lord Holders would call the heir to account for the sins of his predecessor.” Master Robinton beamed at the reactions of his journeyman to his strategy. “It afforded me considerable pleasure to help the new Lord Deckter send the worthless lot back to improve their beggared holds.”
“And Lord Deckter?” asked Sebell.
“A good choice, however unwilling. I pointed out to him, adroitly, that if he merely regarded his Hold as a flagging business and applied the same ingenuity and industry with which he had built a flourishing carting trade, he would find that the Hold would respond and repair. I also pointed out that in his four sons he has able assistants and ministers, a fortune few Lords can enjoy. However, he did have one matter he was particularly anxious to resolve.” The Harper paused. He looked at the expectant faces. “A matter that just happens to march kindly with a problem we face.” He turned to Menolly. “You’d best ready that boat of yours…” he had started referring to her skiff in that manner after he and Menolly had been storm-lost on his one voyage to the southern hold the previous Turn. Now Menolly’s face brightened, and Sebell sat up straight, eyes wide with anticipation. “We won’t locate Piemur by whistling for him from the north. You two go south. Make certain that Toric lets the Oldtimers know, if you can’t carry the message discreetly to them yourselves, that Meron is dead and that his successor supports Benden Weyr. I believe that Master Oldive wants you to bring back some of those herbs and powders. He used up a large portion of his supplies on Meron.
“But don’t you dare return until you’ve found Piemur.”
Chapter 10
Stupid bleated, his rump, as he struggled to his feet, pushing sharply into Piemur’s belly. Curled on Piemur’s shoulder, Farli gave a sleepy complaint, which rapidly changed to a squeak of alarm. Piemur rolled over, away from both his friends for fear of injuring either and got stiffly to his feet. There wasn’t anything alarming in the clearing about his small shelter but, as his eyes swung about, he caught the unexpected distant blur of bright red on the river. Startled, he brushed aside an obscuring bough and saw, just where the river began to narrow between the plains, three single-masted ships, carrying brilliant red sails. Even as he watched in surprise, the ships altered course, their red sails flapping as they were first turned into the wind and then were carried by momentum up onto the muddy beach.
Fascinated at the sight of ships on his river, Piemur moved further from his shelter, stroking to reassure Farli, who chittered questions at him. He was marginally conscious of Stupid brushing against his bare leg as he reached the outermost screen of trees. Not that anyone from the ships could possibly see him at this distance. He watched, as one will review a dream, while people jumped out of the ships: men, women and children. Sails were furled fully, not just thrown across the boom. A line was formed to convey bundles and packages from the ships across the muddy beach to the higher, dry banks. Holdless men from the north? wondered Piemur. But surely he’d heard that they were passed through Toric first, so that their inclusion in the Southern Hold was unobtrusive and the Oldtimers had no cause to complain. Whoever these people were, they looked as if they intended to stay awhile.