Piemur stopped his speculations. “You’ll never know till I go look, Toric,” he said wistfully. “Just Stupid and me, with Farli to send back my findings. I plan to live off the land.” He knew that Toric hated to give out supplies that he could count on Piemur to break or lose.
The holder’s ill humor began to fade. “All right, all right, you may go. I want accurate maps, accurate readings, all along the coast. I want details about terrain, fruits, edibles, depth of rivers, navigable or otherwise…”
“You don’t want much from one pair of feet, do you?” Piemur asked sarcastically, but he was secretly elated. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it. Garm’s sailing to Island River tomorrow. Stupid and me’ll hitch a ride. Why waste my time walking what’s already well and truly mapped, huh?”
Garm sailed him to Island River, and Piemur spent the night with the holders there, an enthusiastic fisherman and his wife who turned out to be cousins of Toric’s. They had dug out the ruins Piemur had noticed, painstakingly slated the roof, and rebuilt the wide porches that allowed air to circulate during the hottest weather through the rather spacious, high-ceilinged rooms. They chattered about their plans, which Toric had approved, and they wearied Piemur with all the good qualities they ascribed to the marvelous cousin who had rescued them from a holdless existence, quite by chance, and now they had such a bright future and weren’t they the luckiest of folk?
Piemur felt himself the luckiest of folk the next morning, as he hauled Stupid from the fishing skiff in which the holder had ferried him across the Island River delta. In an hour he was slicing his way through bushes to reach a coastline where no man had ever set foot, happy as a fed weyrling despite the sweat running down his face, back, and legs and down to the thick cotton socks Sharra had knit for him.
Jayge got on well with the drovers, even though Kesso won every informal race from their prize runners. He would have liked to have raced the mare, too, for she was beautifully conformed for speed, but he had promised to deliver her safely to Benden Hold, and an overreach or a cut, while bad enough on Kesso, was not to be risked on Fancy, as he had taken to calling the mare. He was almost sorry when they got to the Keroon River, where he would go north and the drovers would go east to Bayhead. However, he was able to move much more quickly without having to hold Kesso to the herd’s plodding progress. He made good time the first full day on his own and reached the fork where Little Benden River struck right toward Benden Hold, while the broader waters of Big Benden took a curve to the left past the cliffs. He chose the ferry over the sway bridge across the gorge at High Plateau Hold. To make the crossing, he had to put a twitch on Fancy to keep her quiet over the turbulent rough waters, and even Kesso was restless. Most people, according to the ferryman, preferred to swim animals across where Big Ben met the waters of Nerat Bay.
There were some grand trails up the banks of Little Benden River, and several times he galloped Kesso, the mare beside him stride for stride. She had the most enjoyable paces. Not that Kesso was not a very comfortable animal for long-distance riding, but Kesso had just happened; Fancy had been bred for it. Such a quality animal was certainly destined for one of Lord Raid’s own women, he thought. He had the impression that the Lady Holder was an older person, so perhaps the horse was a gift for a daughter or a favored fosterling. He hoped she would be a good rider, with light hands for the mare’s soft mouth.
On the second night the weather turned fierce, with high winds blowing right up the mare’s tail and dirty sheeting rain, and Jayge was forced to approach a farmhold for shelter. When he produced both the travel note from Master Briaret and his own warranty, the slightly suspicious holder agreed to share quarters and meals. When Jayge admitted that the mare was to be delivered to Benden Hold, the holder’s wife, a romantic type, went through the list of fosterlings at Benden Hold, trying to decide who the lucky recipient was. There seemed to be ever so many fosterlings at Benden, she said. She did hope there would be a Gather soon—it had been such a long tedious winter, and the children had had a tenacious fever, and she had had to drum for a healer to come down from the Hold, and the Lady Holder had sent her own special medication for rasping cough.
Jayge made his escape the next morning, limiting his time at her hearth to a cup of klah, even though she urged porridge on him, as garrulous as if she had not stopped talking all night. The trace by the river soon widened out to a wide roadway, well surfaced and maintained, and intersected a similarly good road heading north. His map indicated excellent roads all the way to Benden Weyr. All he had to do was deliver the mare at the Hold, and then he could complete his journey to the Weyr, and Aramina.
He paused at noon to eat, letting the two runnerbeasts graze. He brushed mud off the mare’s legs and tail, and gave Kesso a few swipes, too. He would rub Fancy down again before they actually got into the Hold, so that she would look her best as they entered. He was soon close enough to Benden Hold to see its splendid proportions, the multitude of windows in the sheltering cliff face, and the south end of the broad east-facing inner yard. It was an hour or so of good riding away, but already small cotholds were visible on either side of the river, making use of cliff and cave. Behind and to the northeast were the Benden Mountains, and almost directly north—Benden Weyr.
Suddenly a group of riders burst out of a ravine just beyond him, startling the two runnerbeasts. By the time Jayge had Kesso under control, he was surrounded by a party of young people, admiring Fancy and Kesso and demanding, in a high-spirited fashion, all sorts of answers from him.
“My name is Jayge Lilcamp, and I’m to deliver this mare to the Beastmaster at Benden Hold. Without injury,” he added in a louder tone as some of the boys began to crowd in around Fancy, who rolled her eyes and threw up her head in fright.
“Jassap, Pol, rein back. You’re riding stallions,” a girl said. Jayge threw her a grateful glance that turned into a long and incredulous stare.
She was not the prettiest of the three girls in that group. She had black hair, plaited in one long, thick braid down her back and covered with a blue scarf; her face was oval, strong-featured without being the least bit coarse. He could not tell what color her eyes were under rather level black eyebrows, but she had a nice straight, longish nose, a sweet shape to her mouth, a firm chin—and an odd sadness in her expression.
“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?”