"They dare, all right," Toric said, looking nervously at the queen.
However, Robinton could see that Lessa's appalled reaction to the Oldtimers' delinquency gratified the man.
"But… but…" Lessa spluttered with indignation.
"Are you able to manage, Toric?" F'lar asked, calming his weyrmate with a firm hand.
"I've learned," he said. "We've plenty of flamethrowers, F'nor made sure they were left in my care. We maintain our holds grass-free and keep the beasts in the stone stables during Fall." He gave a diffident shrug, then grinned slightly at the indignant expression of the Weyrwoman. "They don't do us any harm, Lessa, even if they don't do us any good. Don't worry. We can handle them."
"That isn't the point," Lessa said angrily. "They are dragonmen, sworn to protect-"
"You sent them south because they weren't," Toric reminded her. "So they couldn't injure people here."
"That still doesn't give them any right to-"
"I told you, Lessa, they're not harming us. We manage fine without them!"
A sort of challenge in Toric's tone made Robinton hold his breath. Lessa had a quick temper.
"Is there anything you need from the North?" asked F'lar, in oblique apology.
"I was hoping you'd ask," the Southerner said, grinning. "I know you can't break your honor by interfering with the Oldtimers in the South. Not that I mind…" he added quickly as he saw Lessa about to protest again. "But we are running out of some things, like properly forged metal for my Craftsmith, and parts for the flamethrowers that he says only Fandarel can make."
"I'll see that you get them."
"And I'd like a young sister of mine, Sharra, to study with that healer the Harper was telling me about, a Master Oldive. We've some odd sorts of fevers and curious infections."
"Naturally she's welcome," Lessa said quickly. "And our Manora is adept in herb-brews."
"And…" Toric hesitated a moment, glancing at Robinton, who quickly reassured him with a smile and an encouraging gesture, "if there were some adventurous men and women who'd be willing to make do at my Hold, I think I could absorb them without the Oldtimers' knowing. Just a few, mind, because though we've all the space in the world, some people become unsettled when there aren't dragons in the sky during Threadfall!"
"Why, yes," F'lar said with a nonchalance that caused Robinton to stifle a laugh, "I believe there are a few hardy souls who would be interested in joining you."
"Good. If I've enough to Hold properly, then I can see my way clear to extending beyond the rivers next cool season." Toric's relief was visible.
"I thought you said it was impossible…" F'lar began.
"Not impossible. Just difficult," Toric replied, adding with a smile, "I've some men keen to continue despite the odds, and I'd like to know what's out there."
"So would we," Lessa said. "The Oldtimers won't last forever."
"That fact often consoles me," Toric replied. "One thing, though…" He paused, looking through narrowed eyes at the two Benden Weyrleaders.
So far, Toric's audacity had delighted Robinton. The Harper was very pleased at how he'd managed to prime the man into requesting the very thing that the North needed the most-a place to send the independent and capable men who had no chance of attaining holds in the North. The big Southerner's manner was quite a change for the Benden Weyrleaders: neither subservient and apologetic nor aggressive and demanding. Toric had become independent as a result of having no one, dragonmen, Craftmasters or Lord Holders, to fall back on. Because he had survived, he was self-confident and he knew what he wanted, and how to get it. Therefore he was addressing Lessa and F'lar as equals.
"One small matter," he continued, "which I'd like clarified?"
"Yes?" F'lar prompted him.
"What happens to Southern, to my holders, to me, when the last of those Oldtimers is gone?"
"I'd say that you will have more than earned the right to Hold," F'lar said slowly, with an unmistakable accent on the final word, "what you have managed to carve out of that jungle for yourself!"
"Good!" Toric gave a decisive nod of his head, his eyes never leaving F'lar's. Then, suddenly, his tanned face dissolved into a smile. "I'd forgotten what you Northerners can be like. Send me some more-"
"Will they hold what they have carved?" Robinton asked quickly.
"What they hold, they have," Toric replied in a grave manner. "But don't flood me with people. I've got to sneak them in when the Oldtimers aren't looking."
"How many can you sneak in… comfortably?" asked F'lar.
"Oh, six, eight, the first time. Then when we've got holds, the same again." He grinned. "The first ones build for themselves before the new ones come. But there's lots of room in the South."
"That's comforting because I've plans for the South myself," said F'lar. "That reminds me, Robinton, how far to the east did you and Menolly go?"
"I wish I could answer you. I know where we got to, when the storm finally blew out. The most beautiful place I've ever seen, a perfect semicircle of a white sanded beach, with this huge cone-shaped mountain far, far in the distance, right in the center of the cove…"
"But you came back along the shore, didn't you?" F'lar was impatient. "What was it like?"
"It was there," Robinton said uninformatively. "That's all I can say…" He glared at Toric, who was chuckling at his discomfiture. "We had a choice Of sailing very close to land which Menolly said was impossible as we didn't know the bottom, or with sufficient searoom to keep beyond the Western Current which would evidently have brought us right back to the cove. It is, as I've said, a very beautiful spot, but I was glad to leave it for a while. Consequently, while land was there, it was not close enough for any inspection by me."
"That's too bad." F'lar looked very unhappy.
"Yes and no," replied Robinton. "It took us nine days to sail back along that coast. That's a lot of land for Toric to explore."
"I'm willing, and I'll be ready if I get the supplies I need…"
"How do we get shipments to you, Toric?" F'lar asked. "Don't dare send them on dragonback, though that would be easiest and best from my point of view."
Robinton chuckled and gave a broad wink to the others. "As to that, if another ship should by chance be blown off course, south from Ista Hold… I had a word or two with Master Idarolan recently and he mentioned how bad the storms have been this Turn."
"Is that how you chanced to be South in the first place?" asked Lessa.
"How else?" Robinton said, assuming a very innocent expression. "Menolly was attempting to teach me to sail, a storm came up unexpectedly and blew us straight into Toric's harbor. Didn't it, Toric?"
"If you say so. Harper!"
CHAPTER III
Morning at Ruatha Hold, and Smithcrafthall at Telgar Hold, Present Pass, 15'. 5.9
WITH A FORCE that set all the cups and plates bouncing, Jaxom brought down both fists on the heavy wooden table.
"That is enough," he said into the stunned silence. He was on his feet, jerking his broad, bony shoulders back because his arms had been jarred by the blows. "That is quite enough!"
He didn't shout, he was oddly pleased to recall later, but his voice was deepened by this explosion of long suppressed anger and carried clearly to the edge of the Hall. The drudge who was bringing in another pitcher of hot klah paused in confusion.
"I am the Lord of this Hold," Jaxom went on, staring first at Dorse, his milk-brother. "I am Ruth's rider. He is unmistakably a dragon." Jaxom now bent his gaze on Brand, the head steward whose jaw had dropped in surprise. "He is, as usual," and Jaxom's glance flickered across Lytol's blankly puzzled face, "in the very good health he has enjoyed since his Hatching." Jaxom passed over the four fosterlings who were all too new at Ruatha Hold to have started jibing at him. "And yes," he said directly to Deelan, his milk-mother whose lower lip was quivering at her nursling's startling behavior, "this is the day when I go to the Smithcrafthall where, as you all well know, I shall be served with the food and courtesy adequate to my needs and station. Therefore," and his glance swept the faces around the table, "the subjects of this morning's conversation do not need to be aired again in my presence. Have I made myself clear?"