“‘What do you want me to do?”
Closing her eyes, she let out a relieved sigh and looked up at him, eyes still brimming with tears but a wan smile on her mouth. “Would that lean, wicked-looking-runner of yours carry two?”
“He could, but there’re plenty of others to buy around here. I’m a trader, after all. And?”
She pulled at the edge of his jacket, a rueful expression on her face. “I’ll need something to wear. Dushik slit mine off me…” An involuntary convulsion shook her, and he put a comforting arm about her shoulders until it passed.
“I’m a trader, remember,” he said again.
“On rainy days, they often hang clothes to air in the bathing rooms.” She bit her lip, realizing that she had just suggested he steal for her.
“Leave it to me.” He dragged the pack over and sorted out the rest of the food, she refused to keep the spirits bottle, though he made her take a drink for its warmth.
“You have to take back your jacket,” she said. “I’ll have the blanket to keep me warm. No one will question your losing a blanket, but shirt and jacket…and as soon as you leave here, I’m going to go out in that rain and get clean.”
“Then you’ll need the sweetsand.” He found the little bag in his pack and gave it to her. “Don’t stay out long. Thella could still be hanging around.”
Aramina had swathed herself in the blanket and was wriggling out of his jacket as he spoke. “I don’t think so. It had to have been Dushik who charged Readis. Thella would have thrown a knife.”
Jayge grimaced at the acuteness of Aramina’s observation. She was thinking clearly. So he would do exactly as she asked and get them out of Benden Hold. Back to…then he remembered the shipment of breeding pairs, slated to go to the Southern Continent. Well now, he might just do a bit of real trading and see if it solved Aramina’s problem. So long as he went, too. He had found her! He loved her! He would help her. The Weyrs and the Holds be damned. Hold and Weyr could not provide her with safety. He could and would!
10: Southern Continent, PP 15.05.22-15.08.03
AS PIEMUR ENTERED Toric’s private room, he shot a quick glance at the inner wall to his left and saw that the hold map was, as usual, covered. Since Piemur had contributed many of the latest entries, he was amused by the man’s paranoid secrecy. Saneter was sitting on the edge of his bench, agitatedly rubbing his swollen knuckles. Piemur could tell nothing from Toric’s expression, which was a bad sign, especially when considering that he had returned from Big Lagoon to find the entire hold in a frenzy of indignation, outrage, and fright. Farli had chittered irrationally about dragons flaming her, then had disappeared. He had noticed that there were not many fire-lizards about, but there had been no time to look into the matter, as he had been ordered to report to Toric immediately.
“So, what have I done wrong this time?” Piemur asked brazenly.
“Nothing, unless your conscience is heavy,” Toric said edgily and Piemur immediately altered his expression and manner to respectful attentiveness. “Why would all the dragonriders leave?” the Holder went on.
“They’ve left?” Piemur wondered that Toric was not ecstatic. He glanced at Saneter for confirmation and the old harper flapped his fingers in a confusing sign that the boy could not interpret. When T’ron had died, T’kul had insisted that he was Weyrleader, and the situation at Southern Weyr had deteriorated rapidly. None of the other bronze riders had contested T’kul, but no one was happy with his irrational attitudes and demands.
“There isn’t a male dragon anywhere,” Toric said, rubbing his chin on his fist. “Only Mardra’s queen is weyred, and she’s more dead than asleep.” Toric was rarely without some course of action; not always one that Saneter—and sometimes Piemur—approved, but one generally guaranteed to protect Southern Hold. “There isn’t Threadfall,” he went on, not hiding his contempt for the Southern dragonriders who so seldom stirred themselves to perform traditional duties. “So I can’t think why all the males would just take off.”
“Nor I,” Piemur agreed. His voice must have sounded a little too cheerful, for Toric gave him a long measuring stare. Piemur waited patiently. Toric obviously had something in mind.
“You like it here, don’t you?” the holder finally asked.
“My first loyalty is to my Craftmaster,” Piemur replied, holding Toric’s gaze. So far Piemur had managed to retain his first allegiance, warped a trifle, but unsullied.
“Understood.” Toric flicked his fingers in acceptance of Piemur’s response. “But my first loyalty is not to those—those sisters’ mothers.”
“Understood.” Piemur grinned at the description of the Oldtimers, though the incestuous implications drew a gargled protest from Saneter.
“And I’m sure you already know that you’ve got your Southern holders behind you all the way,” he added, thinking that was the reassurance Toric wanted.
“Of course I do!” Toric flicked his fingers again impatiently. “What I need is to be distanced, officially, from whatever that lot is now up to.”
“What could they be up to?” There were not that many Oldtimers to be effective at anything: both men and dragons were old, tired and more pathetic than dangerous. Except T’kul—lately no hold woman was safe from that womanizer.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t worry. I do so now, officially, in the presence of two journeyman harpers, disclaim any knowledge or part in any Southern dragonrider activity.”
“Heard and witnessed,” Saneter said, and Piemur echoed the formal words. “But I do think that you should inform the Weyrleaders. They are, after all, the best ones to deal with other dragonriders.”
“They can’t, and they won’t,” Toric said, his voice grating angrily, “interfere with the Oldtimers. They made that clear enough to me.”
“At least Benden keeps its word,” Piemur muttered, aware of just how much latitude Toric had given himself after his discussion two Turns before with the Benden Weyrleaders. When Toric gave him a cold and calculating stare, Piemur held up both hands in apology for his impudence. “I could send Farli—if I can get my hands on her—with a warning to T’gellan that the Oldtimers have all vacated. You owe Benden that.”
Toric considered, scowling and rattling his fingers on the worktable.
“I did report those peculiar exercises they were doing a few days ago, popping in and out of between. It still makes no sense, but maybe the Weyr can figure it out.” Piemur realized that Toric would rather see the Oldtimers do something so dire and unforgivable that the Northern Weyrs would be forced to confront the problem they posed.
Neither could have guessed what the Oldtimers were attempting until three days later. Abruptly Mnementh appeared in the sky over Southern, Ramoth following a second later, swooping across the Hold clearing toward the Weyr. Piemur was astonished enough to see the two great Benden dragons, but when he realized that they were riderless, his heart began to pound with dread. Had some incredible disaster occurred in Benden? What could possibly have caused Mnementh and Ramoth to come here on their own? He raced for Toric’s hold to find the holder and old Saneter outside, staring skyward in consternation.
“Why would dragons come here without their riders?” Toric asked, his eyes never leaving the beasts as they wheeled above the Weyr, heads down, eyes a brilliant orange. “Those are too big to be Oldtimer beasts.”