“If that girl is Threadscored…” She left the threat hanging as she swung up onto her runner. She had an awful vision of the girl’s body twisting as Thread engulfed it. Seeing the scorn in Giron’s eyes, she clamped down on her anxiety, but the thought that she might have lost her quarry to Thread made her frantic to know, one way or the other.
“Thella,” Giron said with unexpected authority. “Keep an eye skyward. They’ll be extra-thorough over forest.” He was right, she knew, and she spurred the beast forward. “There’s not much light left, and I need to know!”
It was she who saw the next telltale. Someone had rubbed out wheel marks, for the signs of sweeping were obvious once she had seen the cake of dirt, too obviously prized out of a wheel hub. Dismounting, each searched one side of the track; Giron found the wagon on the left, reasonably well hidden behind screening evergreens. He was peering within when Thella reached him and pushed him out of the way in her impatience.
“Rummaged around looking for what to take with them,” Giron said.
“Then they’re nearby.”
Giron shrugged. “Too dark to look now.” He held up his hand warningly as she jerked the reins on the runner to bring him close enough to be mounted. “Look, if they’re dead, they’re dead, and your stumbling around in the dark isn’t going to revive them. If they’re safe, they’re not going anywhere now.” The fact that he was right did little to soothe Thella. “I’ll sleep in the wagon tonight.”
“No, I’ll sleep in the wagon tonight. You take the runners back to the cave. Join me at first light tomorrow.” She took the blanket and journey rations out of her pack and sent him away. “First light! Remember!”
This might be even better, Thella thought. Stay by the wagon and see who comes by in the morning to check on it. Aramina was the oldest. That would be too much luck, she realized, chewing the dry food. But she would prefer not to be encumbered with the whole family. If she could just spirit Aramina away…
“More dragonriders?” Thella was incredulous. “What are they doing around here?”
“How should I know?” Giron replied, showing the first sign of anger she had ever seen from him. He sank down, knees cocked, forearms lax across them, staring straight in front of him.
“But Threadfall was yesterday. They should be gone!” She shook his arm. How dare he look away like that! “A bad Thread infestation?” Accustomed as she was to Thread, her breath caught at the idea of a burrow taking hold in the forest anywhere near her. “Is that why?”
Giron shook his head. “If Thread had burrowed overnight, there wouldn’t be any forest left. And we’d be dead.”
“Well, then, why? Could that dragon yesterday have seen you?”
Giron made a mirthless sound and got to his feet. “If you want that girl, you’d better find out where she is. They can’t have gone far. They wouldn’t have left the wagon.”
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.”