From the edges of the Swamp, down to Numbweed Plain and Big Lagoon, across that headland to Southern, and east along the coast to the Mountain Rift and Dry Holds, Toric had installed small settlements with men and women beholden to him for the opportunities. It had been fun for Piemur to teach drum codes to pupils so much older than himself. He had been diligent, too, because Toric was a totally different personality than Master Robinton, Master Shonagar, or Master Domick and his drum tower masters. Piemur had felt Toric’s hard hand once and took great care not to feel it again. He knew that the Southerner was very ambitious, far more than anyone—except possibly Master Robinton—knew.
But the provident, beautiful, amazing, fantastic land that was Southern was more than the people who grabbed a hold on it. Looking to a seemingly limitless eastern stretch of forest and hill, Piemur wondered just how far Southern did extend—and just how much Toric thought he could take into one Hold under his orders! Soon Piemur’s first loyalty to the Harper Hall was going to come into abrupt conflict with his sneaking admiration for Toric’s ambitions. Or the ambitions of someone like Lord Groghe, who had that mess of sons to settle, or Corman, who had nine. If they found out how much good land was available, they might even defy Benden’s orders. Saneter kept telling Piemur that Master Robinton was well informed of all Toric’s doing, but Piemur was beginning to wonder if Saneter really knew!
Just then, Piemur gasped. Through the gaps in the weather rail, he had a perfect view of the port banks. There, lounging in the sun, unperturbed by the ship floating past, were two huge spotted felines. They were probably some of the sports that Sharra had mentioned. Piemur realized that he should call attention to them, but Hamian was on the starboard rail, watching the boat being lifted aboard. And somehow, Piemur did not want to share the moment with anyone, or scare the magnificent creatures away.
“I came as soon as I could, Lady Thella,” the bedraggled wight said through lips blue with cold. The first line of sentinels had passed him through to her hold guards. “I wasn’t seen. I hide a lot. No tracks. See?” He thrust a long-needled tree branch at her. “I tied this to my belt, and it swept up my tracks as I made ‘em.”
Thella made herself relax, but she worried that the thickwit before her could have led searchers to her lair in his hasty rush to tell her some insignificant rumor.
“But this could be important, Lady,” the ragged man went on, trying to stop his teeth from chattering.
Thella signalled to one of the cook drudges to get the man a cup of klah. She could barely understand him as it was. If he had something important to say, she wanted to hear it quickly or dismiss him.
He nearly prostrated himself, all but spilling the klah when it was handed to him, but a few sips appeared to control his spasms.
“I mean, you always wanted to know just when Thread starts and stops,” he said. “And which lord is going where, and more about the Weyrs then us’ns is supposed to know. Well, I got the way for you to hear dragons—all the time! This girl, well she can hear dragons! That’s good, isn’t it? She can hear ‘em at a distance, too, and what they say to each other.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Thella said expressionlessly, glancing quickly at Giron. The dragonless man slowly swung his head around to look at the newcomer.
“Oh, no, Lady Thella. She can. She really can. I watched her. She’d call the children back into the caverns, telling ‘em dragonriders was on their way over. The first time, she said they’d be coming to Igen Hold. I saw the dragons headed that way myself. I heard her tell her brother when they were on their way back to Benden Weyr. At least she said they were from Benden Weyr and there wasn’t no way—no reason, either—to think she was lying. She did it all quietlike. She didn’t know I heard ‘er.”
“If you were close enough to hear her do it all quietlike,” Thella began sourly, “then why wouldn’t she know you heard her?”
The man winked and grinned, an appalling sight since he had so few front teeth left. “Because in the caverns, I’m deef! I don’t hear nuffing. I’m good at that, I am. I get fed ‘cause I’m helpless.” He demonstrated, saliva spattering from his loose lower lip.
“I see,” Thella drawled. Awful man, cleverer than he looked. Readis often said that the holdless survived more by deception than by strength. The “deaf” man would not have passed her outer sentinels if he had not been an accepted spy. She glanced at Dushik, who gave her a reassuring nod. “She has one of those little fire-lizards?”
“Her?” The man guffawed, and more spittle drooled from his mouth. He seemed to sense her disgust and swallowed, mopping at his mouth with the blanket someone had thrown across his shoulders. “Nah! Fire-lizzuds cost ya. The way I heard it, her dad and ma were chased out of Ruatha by Fax. The ma’s still a looker, got big—” Hastily he caught himself, realizing he spoke to a well-endowed woman. “Fax did like a good piece to warm his furs. If the ma was Ruathan Bloodline like she claims, it could be in the Blood for the girl to hear dragons. The Benden Weyrwoman’s Ruathan, you know.”
In the face of her cold silence, he lost all brashness. He gulped down the rest of the klah as if afraid the cup would be dashed from his hand and looked warily about him.
Let him stew, Thella thought, setting her elbow on the armrest and cushioning her chin in the palm of her hand, looking anywhere but at the disgusting messenger. He was right: Ruathans had produced too many dragonriders—far more than any of the other Bloodlines. Lessa was the current insult.
“Tell me again,” she ordered, gesturing for Dushik and Readis to listen carefully. Giron kept on watching, his face blank.
But the man seemed to be telling the truth. He had heard the girl’s younger brother boasting of his sister’s ability, that she always knew when Thread would fall “because the dragons talked to each other about it.”
Giron nodded at Thella as he regarded the “deaf” man with incurious but seeing eyes, very much aware of what had been said.
“I think,” Thella said after mulling over the risks involved, “I think I must speak with this fascinating child. Do you know her name, deaf man?”
“Aramina, Lady Thella. Her name’s Aramina. Her da’s Dowell, and he’s a woodjoiner; her ma’s named Barla; the boy’s Pell, and there’s another—”
She cut him off. “And they’re all at Igen cave site?” At his hasty nod she asked, “Would they be likely to move?”
“They been there a good few Turns. He does work he sells at the Gathers, and makes furniture—”
“I don’t need to know that, my good man,” she said coldly. He had a gargling voice, as if phlegm constantly lodged in his throat; it was not only a disgusting sound but an irritating monotone. “They’re not liable to take off?”
“Where to, lady?” he replied ingenuously, raising both hands in appeal.
She motioned to Dushik and Readis. “I’ll go. Dushik, you must stay here.” She looked at the dragonless man. “Giron, you’ll come with me.” She was annoyed that her words sounded more like a question than an order, but Giron nodded, an odd twitch pulling at his mouth. “You’d know if she can actually hear dragons, wouldn’t you?” she asked him.
Ignoring his silence, which usually meant Giron’s consent, Thella rose and left the room with Dushik. The smell from the informant warming up by the fire was offensive.