Thella was trying to marshal her thoughts. “Could the Weyrs have found out about her?”
“Weyrs have plenty of people who hear dragons,” he said scornfully.
“She could have been Searched, couldn’t she? I heard there were eggs on Benden’s Hatching Ground. That’s why. C’mon. They’re not going to take that girl. She’s mine!”
It was well they were on foot, the runners still hidden, for they were able to hide when the troop of mounted men rode by.
“Asgenar’s foresters,” Thella said, brushing leaf mold from her face. “Shells and shards.”
“No girl with them.”
“They were looking for us! I know it,” she said, cursing as she veered around a thicket. “C’mon, Giron. We’ll find that girl. We’ll find her. Then we’ll pay back that Lilcamp trader boy. Cripple his beasts, burn the wagons. They won’t get as far as the lake, you can be sure of that. I’ll get him for informing on me. I’ll get him!”
“Lady Holdless,” Giron said in such a derisive tone that she paused in her furious progress. “You’ll be got if you’re not quieter moving through this forest. And look, someone’s been this way recently. The bushes are broken. Let’s follow the signs.”
The broken bushes led them to the scuffed marks and prints on the track of horses, men, and dragons. Through the trees they could see movement and caught a glimpse of a man. He was not Dowell, for Dowell did not wear leather or a weapon’s harness. They crossed the track carefully, working slowly uphill toward the edge of a nut forest. Then Giron pulled her down.
“Dragon. Bronze,” he whispered in her ear.
She felt a flush of irritation with Giron. He had been right to be so cautious. That annoyed her almost as much as finding her quarry guarded by a dragon. Why had the dragonriders not just taken the girl away? Or was this a trap for Thella? How could they possibly know that she wanted Aramina? Had Brare spoken out of turn? Or that impudent fellow at the trader wagons? Did he talk to dragons, too?
Then she caught sight of someone moving through the grove. Picking nuts? Thella stared in astonishment. Yes, the girl was picking nuts. And there was a guard helping her. Thella closed her eyes to blot out the sight of her quarry so near and so unattainable. She and Giron would be lucky to get out of there with their skins. She pulled her arm away resentfully when she felt Giron tug at her sleeve. Then she saw him pointing.
The girl was moving farther and farther from the guard. Just a little farther, Thella thought. Just a little farther, you dear sweet child. And she began to grin as she indicated to Giron to help her outflank the girl. The guard was not looking downhill. If they were careful…they would be. Thella held her breath as she moved forward.
Giron got to Aramina first and grabbed her, one hand on her mouth, the other pinning her arms to her side.
“It falls out well, after all, Giron,” Thella said, snatching a handful of hair and pulling the girl’s head back, giving her a little pain back for all the trouble she had caused. Thella thoroughly enjoyed the fright and terror in Aramina’s eyes. “We have snared the wild wherry after all.”
They began to pull her back down the hill, out of sight of the guard. “Don’t struggle, girl, or I’ll knock you senseless. Maybe I ought to, Thella,” he added, cocking his fist in preparation. “If she can hear dragons, they can hear her.”
“She’s never been to a Weyr,” Thella replied, but she was struck with the possibility. She gave Aramina’s hair a savage jerk. “Don’t even think of calling for a dragon.”
“Too late!” Giron cried in a strangled voice. He heaved the girl from him, toward the point where the ground fell away at the edge of the grove.
Thella let out a hoarse cry as the bronze dragon blocked the girl’s fall. The dragon bellowed, his breath hot enough to startle Thella into running as fast as she could, Giron a stride behind her. As they slithered and fell, they could hear others calling. Thella spared one look over her shoulder and saw the dragon crashing among the trees, unable to dodge through them as agilely as the humans could. The dragon roared his frustration. Thella and Giron kept running.
6: Southern Continent, Telgar Hold, PP 12
MASTER RAMPESI ARRIVED at Toric’s hold, swearing and ranting about stupid northerners who thought the Southern Sea was some kind of mountain lake or placid bay.
“I’m bloody fed up with such idjits, Toric. I rescued another six—and there’re twenty who drowned when the tub capsized—a day’s sail from Ista. Any decent seaman would have warned them about the storms at this time of year, but no! They must set out in holey buckets and not a seaman among ‘em!”
“What are you on about, Rampesi?” Toric interrupted the tirade with bad temper of his own. “Didn’t you get the men we’d contracted for with the Mastersmith?”
“Oh, I’ve them, as well, never fear. But word got about that I was sailing south, and I had to move out of Big Bay Harbor and anchor in a cove to keep the clods from swarming aboard me. The situation’s getting out of hand, Toric.” Rampesi scowled, but he took the fortified wine that Toric poured him, knocked it back, and exhaled appreciatively. Then, some of his irritation soothed by the smooth spirit, he sat down, turning his keen eyes on Southern’s holder. “So, what do we do to keep Benden and the Lord Holders off our backs? A little honest trading is one thing; a wholesale immigration of holdless another. And there’s Telgar’s lord trying to recruit more men for his mines, Asgenar wanting his forests patrolled against devilish clever marauders, and all kinds of queer goings-on down to Ista’s Finger.”
Toric pursed his lips, rubbing his palm on his chin. “You say it’s become known that common northerners are let in here?”
“That’s the rumor. Of course”—Master Rampesi shrugged, throwing one hand up, fingers splayed—“I deny it. I trade with Ista, Nerat, Fort, and the Great Dunto River.” He gave Toric a slow, conniving wink. “I admit to being blown off course from time to time, and even to being blown as far as Southern once or twice. So far not even Master Idarolan has questioned that. But it’s going to be harder to escape, shall we say, official attention.”
“Clearly something must be done to stem the rumors…” Toric was annoyed; his arrangement with Masters Rampesi and Garm had been very profitable.
“Or sanction proper passage south.”
Rampesi charged Toric hefty fees to transport Craftsmen to Southern, so he could well imagine the profit the mariner would realize on a regular service.
“You did tell me,” Toric began, “last time you were here, that there is a shortage of lead and zinc?”
“And you know the prices you’ve been getting for what I’ve smuggled in. Those northern mines have been worked a long, long time.” Master Rampesi caught Toric’s drift. “I’m only a Mastermariner, Holder Toric, so I’m not in a position to speak out for you where it matters.”
“Yes, where it matters. And I’d be taking Lord Larad’s trade from him.”
“Not Mastersmith Fandarel’s though,” Rampesi replied quickly. “He’s the one’s crying for metals and whatnot for all those projects of his.” Master Rampesi did not have a high opinion of them, but he was quite willing to supply the raw materials.
“But he’s at Telgar…”
“Ah, but he’s also Mastersmithcraft, and Halls don’t need to ‘please and yes’ Lord Holders. They’re as much captains in their Halls as I am on my Bay Lady. Were I you, I’d seek Master Robinton’s help on this. He’d know best whom you should approach. I’m due to dock at Fort with this cargo so I can carry a message for you, and happy to do it. Wisest course is to sail straight into this one, Toric.”