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Lemos and Telgar Holds, Southern Continent, PP 12

It took Thella and her seventeen raiders seven days to make their way to her objective, Kadross Hold in the forested hills of Lemos. For four days they rode; then they left their runnerbeasts in a well-hidden cave with a guard and made the final leg of the journey to a cramped hole in the mountainside an hour’s climb from Kadross Hold.

As they ate cold travel rations—they would not risk smoke being sighted by Asgenar’s sharp-eyed foresters—she reviewed her plan once more. Some of the new men still resented her. That would end after they learned that a good plan meant good results. With her dagger, she sawed off a sliver of the smoked meat, but she did not sheathe the blade. Instead she began flipping it in her right hand as she walked. It never hurt to remind them all that she had acquired a convincing accuracy with any sort of knife, and she was not shy about displaying that skill to maintain discipline.

“Resist the urge to take anything else that might come to your hand,” she said, “or you’ll take a short walk with Dushik.” She paused again, letting the significance of that threat sink in. “The raids I plan,” she went on, thumping her chest with the hilt end of her dagger, “secure us everything we need to make us quite comfortable and—” She paused, letting her attention fall on Felleck until he looked at her, startled. “—allow us to show our faces at most halls, holds, and Gathers,” she finished.

One of her recruits, Readis, had contacts with traders, which Thella had made good use of. She generally knew what trains were moving where between Falls. She always knew what each was likely to carry—and had mapped the best places on every route to lay an ambush, snatch what she needed, and disappear. She had no hesitation about lifting Craft messages from couriers while they slept in the way-caves that were thought to be safe from robbery. Like most Bloodline Holderkin, she had been taught drum rolls and understood most of the messages she heard, pounding back and forth in the valleys. She had profited in very unexpected ways from her Turns in a major Hold.

“Remember that?” And she made a dramatic turn as she reached the back of the cave. “We can’t always rely on paid mouths to tell us what we need to know. Some of the holdless would sell their mothers and profit more by informing on us.

“I don’t foresee any need for violence, either. Thread will fall early in the morning across Lord Asgenar’s prime forestry. As soon as leading Edge passes this cave, we move out.” Some of the men muttered. She shot a look at Giron, the dragonless man, who had unexpectedly volunteered to come on the raid. It had been an encouraging change from his months of apathy; she had expected to get some use out of him a lot sooner. “We move into position and wait until the Kadross people leave on ground crew duty. Their track leads downhill. They always feed their stock before Threadfall, so we’re not likely to run into anyone coming out to check. There’re only elderlies and a few kids left. Asgenar doesn’t realize how helpful he’ll be tomorrow!”

The men laughed or smiled, as they were supposed to. She encouraged their disrespect of tradition and smiled to herself as she turned again. Her boot caught briefly against Readis’s flamethrower tank. He immediately shifted it. Readis was the link to too many sources of information for her to object to his obsession. She had seen the Thread scars on his back, so she permitted him to bring the flamer when they would be out in Fall. It was perhaps a wise enough precaution, and he never slowed them up, even lugging that deadweight.

“Now, settle down. We all need sleep. Dushik, sleep over here. Then if you snore I can kick you off your back.” She drew sour laughs from those who knew the big man’s habit. As usual he grinned at her as he arranged his blanket. She turned away, satisfied. “Readis, you’ll wake us all at dawn?” The man nodded and took his place.

She lay down by the low opening to the cave, where she would not have to endure the smell of many bodies in a confined space. The others soon settled, Dushik breathing heavily. But tired as she was, Thella could not slow her mind sufficiently to fall asleep. She was always exhilarated just before a strike; anticipation was usually the best part as she waited to see her plans work, proving once more to her men just how good she was!

And to think that once she would have settled for having a Hold of her own, to be acknowledged by the Conclave as a Lady Holder in her own right. So much had changed since she met Dushik. She had found far more to excite her: the thrill of planning and executing a raid, and taking exactly what she had set out to acquire, but no more. Success inspired her to set more hazardous goals, more difficult puzzles. Dushik was beginning to snore, and she prodded him with her heel. He grunted and turned over.

Since that Gather day she had found a far more satisfying challenge: choosing victims instead of being one. When she and Dushik had returned to the Gather tents to hire some carefully selected holdless men and women, she had already begun to plan. There would be many laden runners and carts leaving the Gather, and if all went well—and why would it not?—not all of them would reach their original destinations. She and Dushik would choose what they needed to supply her mountainhold—and the desperate holdless who hovered on the edges of Igen’s Gather would bear all the blame.

The success Thella had since achieved with successful, well-spaced raids across the eastern Holds gave her immense satisfaction. If brother Larad held any suspicions that it was his own sister who was plundering his prosperous minor holds, he certainly had not mentioned it to the other four Lord Holders. Not that those thickwits would have believed him or taken any punitive action. Yes, it was inordinately satisfying to plunder in Telgar. But not too often there, or anywhere else.

By bribery and threat, Thella had obtained copies of detailed maps of the Holds in which she wished to operate, just as she had taken Telgar’s master charts from her brother’s office. While those were useful to her, she became increasingly adept in drawing out information from unlikely sources, and in attracting valuable men like Readis—and Giron, now that he seemed to be recovering.

Four Turns earlier one of her men had brought her a copy of the Harper Records on Lord Fax’s activities in the Western Ranges. Now there had been a man whose vision and grasp she could admire! A real pity that the man had died so early in what had promised to be a spectacular Holding. With cunning, he had outrageously taken over seven holds. Several times she had used his surprise tactics, scaling the heights of well-positioned holds and coming stealthily in through upper windows just at dawn, when the watchwher’s night vision was useless. He had probably been tricked into the duel that had killed him. Or good judgment had deserted him—no one challenged a dragonrider. Dragons had unusual powers, and they did not let their riders get injured. She still hoped to learn exactly what dragons did for their riders, apart from going between and fighting Threadfall. Giron would not talk about Weyrlife—yet. She would have to encourage him.

The most depressing part of that harper account was that no one had attempted to take charge of what Fax had so ingeniously secured. Ruatha Hold had been given to a baby, Meron had taken hold only of Nabol, and the other five had been reclaimed by Bloodkin of those Fax had supplanted. Then Meron, who ought to have learned more from Fax, had become enamoured of Thella’s half-sister, Kylara. Well, Kylara had not been very smart in Thella’s estimation: she had lost her dragon queen. And Meron was dead, too.

Dushik’s crescendo of snores distracted her, and she kicked him twice.

In her ceaseless quest to reduce risks and improve the profit of her strikes, she had thought long and hard about acquiring some fire-lizards, as they were said to hear dragons. One constant threat to her plans was the possibility of sweepriders noticing unusual numbers of mounted men and loaded animals on unfrequented tracks. If she had some way of knowing when dragons were approaching, she would have time to reach proper cover. But at her first encounter with fire-lizards at a Bitran Gather, she had realized that they were much too noisy for her purposes. The success of her raids very often depended on stealth.

She prided herself that she probably knew more about their Holds than the Lord Holders did themselves. Except perhaps Asgenar, Lord of Lemos. Word had come to her that he was beginning to see the seemingly unrelated thefts as a serious problem. Any attempt to infiltrate his Holding would be too risky, but Sifer, Lord Holder of Bitra, was a much poorer manager. Seeing her chance, she had sent Keita to live with one of his stewards. It was proving necessary to get the flirt away from camp because she would not leave off teasing the woman-hungry men. In Bitra she could satisfy her itch and listen to Thella’s advantage.

Dushik began to snore again, but before she could kick him, the man on the other side did. Finally she fell asleep.

The next morning Readis roused them at false dawn. They ate, washing down the dry rations with water fetched from a nearby stream. When the men slipped out to attend to private needs, she reminded Dushik to keep an eye on Felleck. Neither trusted the man who had complained throughout the entire trip, but he had proved to be an expert at snaring wherries and knew the most edible of tunnel and rock snakes, and had been chosen because of his strength.

Perschar would be at Giron’s elbow. Thella still had not figured out why the dragonless man had volunteered for the foray. Over the last months his awareness had increased, his disturbingly blank expression becoming more alert. Readis had found him in the Igen caverns where so many holdless sheltered, thinking that a former Weyrman might prove useful to Thella. Perschar, who was capable of patching wounds and setting bones, suggested that Giron’s vagueness was probably the result of the long head gash. And, of course, once he had entered her hold, even Thella would not be so cruel or stupid as to turn him out. Meanwhile his improvement had been steady, if slow. With more animation in his face, he was also rather attractive and quite intelligent, though he rarely offered information. As a dragonless man, he was held in a certain respect by the other men. She had resented that at first, but she was beginning to think that she could make use of it.

The first indication of Threadfall’s leading Edge was a darkening of the bright day. There was a noticeable shift to the rear of the cramped cave. Readis armed his flamethrower and stood across the opening. Incurious and unafraid, the dragonless man hunkered down behind him.

Although every man could see that trailing Edge was flowing across the valley, Thella had to threaten Felleck and three others with her whip before they moved out of the cave. Readis had already signalled that their descent held no Thread horrors, and he and Giron were on their way down. Thella was furious that the others had not moved at her word. So much depended on being in position before the ground crew left Kadross Hold.

But at last they had all made the descent and were safely hidden behind the ridge. She crouched where she had a clear view of Hold, beasthold, and the track that dropped down into the valley, the track the holders would soon follow.

What was taking those wretched holders so long to organize themselves? Thread was well past. She could see no more dragonfire bursts in the sky. Then she heard the grate of metal and saw the hold door swing out, and she could not suppress her inadvertent gasp. Excitement raced through her veins, her senses heightened with a singing in her blood, and her hands reset themselves on dagger hilt and lash handle. She could feel the pounding of her pulses. She contained that energy as she counted the men and women who emerged from the safety of their hold. Good, they were trudging innocently out to do their duty, leaving behind one old uncle and two aunties to take care of the smallest children.

When the ground crew were out of sight down the hilltrack, Thella gave the signal to move toward the beasthold. From her spies’ reports she knew that the holders fed and watered their animals before Fall. No one was likely to check until the ground crew returned late that evening. She watched her raiders advance, all of them keeping low and pausing behind cover just in case someone did open one of the shuttered windows.

Dushik and Felleck reached the thick metal-clad door and carefully opened it just wide enough to admit them. Instantly the next group, five men led by Giron, slithered across the open ground and were safely inside. Thella joined the third group, and the fourth slid in behind with no trouble.

“Just look at this,” Felleck said, lifting handsful of the golden grain that they had come for. It was of good quality, Thella thought, noticing that no dust drifted away. Giron gave Felleck a prod in the ribs for unnecessary chatter. Felleck scowled, but he took the pail Giron gave him and began scooping grain into the sack that the dragonless man held open. The others worked in silence.

The grain that was disappearing into sacks and out of Kadross beasthold would enable her to load her runnerbeasts up with enough feed for raids at a safe distance from her main bases. She already had a large band of holdless folk to be fed and quartered that winter, but she needed more she could count on, strategically placed in the five Holds. Any dim-witted renegade could steal, but few could acquire exactly what they needed exactly when they needed it. Thella, Lady Holdless, could.

When Dushik caught her arm, she realized that she had been distracted from the progress of the raid. The last of the sacks was filled. Most of her men had filed out, heading for shelter where they would wait out any alarm. She took one of the remaining sacks and heaved it with a practiced motion to her shoulder. Dushik grabbed two, then turned to help her secure the bars across the door. They moved as fast as they could to the rocks. The return climb to the cave took longer, but they were well below the far ridge when Thella heard the rumble of drums.

“Calling Lemos Hold,” Giron surprised her by saying. So far she had been the only one knowledgeable about drum messages.

“Shards!” Thella stopped, listening hard to the sequences. But the ridges distorted the sounds, so she could not make out the content of the message. She could guess, though. She wiped the sweat from her face, furious at having the theft discovered so soon. She would have to alter her plans, move more cautiously to deposit the grain where it was needed.

Giron grunted. “No dragons’ll come looking today. Too tired,” he said. Adjusting the sacks on his shoulder, he continued his descent.

The next day, she had her raiders split up into groups of three and four, each group headed for a different destination. They had orders to try to hide the grain if they saw any signs of pursuit and then return to the main Hold by a circuitous route.

“My minor holds are constantly being raided,” Asgenar told T’gellan, bronze Monarth’s rider, who had conveyed the Lord Holder back to Lemos after the Fall. “Kadross is not the first to have suffered but probably the quickest to let me know.” He grimaced, crumbling the drummed message in one fist as he strode to the map on the wall of his office. “Grain today, harness there, blankets stolen where they dried at a streamside, tools from a miner’s hold, seasoned timbers carefully stored in a cavern that the holder was certain no one knew about. Little things, but it’s no longer minor pilfering by the holdless. It’s well planned and executed, and it’s beggaring my small holders.”

T’gellan scratched his head—though he kept his hair cropped short, his scalp still itched with sweat after a long Fall. He had been hoping to get himself and Monarth back to their weyr, and a bath, but Lord Asgenar was scrupulous in his duty to the Weyr, so T’gellan could not skimp the courtesies. He took another sip of the excellent mulled wine that had been served as soon as they walked into the Hold. The Fall—a fourth in the new pattern—had been right over Asgenar’s cherished forestry, and F’lar had borrowed extra riders from Igen and Telgar to be certain that the invaluable trees were adequately protected. There had been additional ground crews, conveyed in from “safe” areas, to be sure that whatever Thread might possibly escape the dragonriders in the air would never burrow in the forest. It had been a very properly managed Fall, on the ground and in the air.

“Kadross Hold?” the dragonrider said. “And while they were all out on ground crew? Just grain?” He joined Asgenar at the wall chart, noting the meticulous detail of the terrain, the contour and height of every ridge and hill, and the type and size of every forest plantation. He wished once again that Lords Sifer and Raid were half as well informed as Lemos’s young Holder.

Asgenar laid his finger on the spot, then moved it so that T’gellan could see the tiny numbers jotted in the square of the hold complex. “No, not just grain. Half their winter’s supply. Ferfar received the grain only yesterday morning. I’d sent two escort riders—at the carter’s request. He’s had trouble with holdless raiders recently and was fearful of a long, unprotected trek.”

“Someone spoke out of turn, d’you think? Or was the thief just lucky?”

“Thieves. They emptied four barrels, so there had to be a good few in on this,” Asgenar replied, gesturing for T’gellan to hold out his winecup to be refilled. “There have been too many—ah, how shall I put it?—timely thefts—to be good luck. These thieves know what they want and where to get it.”

“And no doubt in your mind that Ferfar is honest?”

“Not the day after receipt, with extra marks spent to insure safe delivery.” Asgenar gave a snort of disbelief. “The escort saw no one on the track, coming or going. And with Threadfall, who’d be on a trail?” He grimaced, having answered himself. “Clever thieves! With all the able-bodied members of the hold out on ground crew. We wouldn’t have known of it today, but Ferfar’s uncle needed something in the store and saw a spillage. He was on the drums immediately.”

T’gellan frowned, and at first Asgenar thought that the bronze rider would prefer to ignore the report. Then T’gellan looked him straight in the eye. “I’ve asked Monarth to tell everyone still airborne to do a low-level return. If they see any movement or anyone traveling, they’ll get a closer look and report it to me. Tell me, have you any idea where the thieves’d be headed? Men heavily laden with sacks of grain won’t be able to move quickly or far.”

“That’s another problem. All this part of Lemos, and well into Telgar—” Asgenar pointed at the various-sized brown stars that dotted the map “—is pocked with large and small caves. We mark any new ones we discover. There’re probably plenty we haven’t found. But my foresters report recent fires and occasionally buried trail supplies in off-trail caves. Far too frequently to be coincidence.” Asgenar rubbed at his face and then massaged the back of his neck. “I’m not of a suspicious nature, but there is a pattern, not in the raids themselves, but in what is stolen. Certainly more food and practical items than valuables. There are renegades somewhere in those mountains who are living very well without doing a stroke of work. I resent that. And so do my holders.”

“Indeed, they should,” T’gellan agreed warmly. Lemos Hold had generously tithed to the Weyrs even before Fall.

“I don’t have enough guards or holders and foresters to keep any sort of a watch on so many caves. And I’m beginning to think that some of the holdless accused of theft were indeed, as they claimed, innocent.”

T’gellan looked thoughtful. “How many such innocents do you have in safekeeping at the moment?”

Asgenar grunted in disgust. “Far too many. You can’t turn whole families with toddlers away. And I need all the able bodies I can get to fill out ground crews.”

“Any you could trust for light duty? Like doing regular rounds of the more likely caves for a while to see who turns up?”

A smile replaced the anxiety on Asgenar’s face. “By the First Egg, T’gellan, I’m disgusted I didn’t think of that myself. What the holdless want most, after all, is a place to live and enough to eat. A minor holding in exchange for work well done. I can provide that,” he added with a pleased smile.

“I am perhaps far more aware of the problem,” Masterharper Robinton said, peering around at the sober expression of the five assembled Lord Holders, “than any of you. My harpers keep me informed of major thefts so valuables can be restored. This list—” Robinton flicked the sheets that Asgenar had compiled for him beforehand. “—is most unsettling.” He paused briefly, to let his sympathy and concern be noticed. “I’m glad that you approached me on this rather than tax your Weyrleaders. It is essentially, I think you will agree, a holder problem and must not interfere with the primary responsibility of the Weyrs.” He made a mental note of Sifer’s frown.

“But the dragonriders would be invaluable in tracking down these renegades,” Corman said, banging the table with his big fist, his rugged features stern.

“In those copious free moments they have between Falls,” Master Robinton replied drolly.

“At T’gellan’s suggestion,” Asgenar said to indicate that Benden Weyr was helpful, “I’ve put trustworthy holdless families in the caves nearest regular trader routes.”

“And what good will that do?” Sifer demanded. “They’d be in league with thieves. I don’t trust holdless men. Won’t have them hanging around in Bitra, you may be sure. Why, I ask you, are they holdless in the first place?”

“I’ll tell you,” Laudey said, pointing a bony finger at the Bitran Lord Holder. “Because the elderlies and the crippled were turned out of their rightful places as soon as the Pass started, to make room for ablebodied men and women. Those caves on my eastern banks are full of that kind of holdless folk.”

Sifer plainly did not approve of Laudey’s altruism.

“You and your lady have been exceedingly generous,” the harper said to Laudey.

“My men have their orders,” Laudey said with a tinge of defensiveness in his voice. “We don’t let just anybody shelter there.”

“I’ll bet some renegades get in no matter how good your guards are,” Sifer muttered. “But I want the men responsible for these raids found and punished. It’d be an example to others with any idea of making Threadfall an excuse for indiscriminate pilfering.”

“It’s my opinion that we should be looking for a well-organized and well-informed band,” Asgenar said. “They know what they want and they take it. We didn’t find so much as a speck of grain leading from the Kadross Hold the next morning. They had to have gone up the mountain and reached shelter somewhere, or they’d’ve been seen by T’gellan’s wing on their way home. Fifteen, twenty men would have been needed to carry that much grain. That raid was accomplished with clever planning, good information, and discipline.”

“Then how do we track ’em if not by dragonriders?” Sifer asked. “Besides, the holdless are too spineless to do any of that.” He pointed at the long list of thefts the Harper had set in the middle of the round table. “In fact, I’d lay odds against it being holdless.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, across the table. “I’ll bet it’s those Oldtimers, striking back at us across the sea, whipping away what they can’t tithe out of Hold and Hall.” He peered around the table to gauge reactions.

“I don’t think I’d take bets on that, Lord Sifer,” Robinton said, his tone courteous. “When you consider that Benden dragonriders would know if any Oldtimers appeared in the north for any reason.”

“Harper’s right, you know,” Corman agreed, giving Sifer a cold and quelling look. “We’ve some advantage in Keroon, being wide open. You can generally see travelers a good distance off. My sons have been riding, at random, from hold to hold, and since they started that, we’ve had fewer incidents.” He looked at Asgenar. “Wouldn’t work as well in your Hold, though, being up and down.”

“Chased ’em out of Keroon up into Bitra is what you’ve done,” Sifer said in outrage, his face flushed.

“Stop griping, Sifer,” Laudey said with impatience. “Igen’s only across the river from Keroon, and the living’s easier—so I don’t think you’re as put upon as you think.”

“There’s a very old saying,” Robinton began, raising his voice to stop the exchange. “Set a thief to catch a thief.” His devious smile was not lost on the others. Asgenar and Larad leaned forward attentively.

“Catch what?” Sifer looked scornful. “Not if the first one’s on to a good thing like this.”

“Not a real thief, Lord Sifer,” Robinton went on, “but a clever journeyman of mine with a knack of mixing in with all sorts of people. As Lord Asgenar said, the targets are all well chosen, and the raids show considerable familiarity with trade routes, unoccupied caves, and the routines and management of Holds and Halls.” Because he was looking in Larad’s direction, the Harper noticed his fleeting look of apprehension and dismay.

“He’d do well to start in those caves of mine,” Laudey said, drumming his fingers irritably on the surface of the table. “All sorts of folk come and go, though, as I said before,” he added defensively, “my guards keep order. The cave system is vast—lots of corridors and tunnels no one’s been bothered with. I did block up as many of the smaller entrances as I could, but I’ve had other priorities, you know.”

“With as many as you’re sheltering, Laudey, there’d be someone to want a few marks in his hand for noticing irregularities or sudden prosperity,” Asgenar said.

“Nonsense, most of the holdless wouldn’t think twice about concealing a thief for a spill of his takings,” Sifer said. “I’ve seen the way they operate myself.”

Robinton raised his eyebrows in affected surprise, and Corman snorted since it was rather a joke that Bitrans drove bargains hard enough to be called cheats.

“Then you’ll permit me to see what my journeyman can find out?” Robinton scanned their faces. They wanted something done without extending their already strained resources. It was as well, he thought, that he had anticipated their agreement. In actual fact his spy was already in place, harper sources having informed him of the situation well in advance of the Lord Holders’ appeal. “I suggest that we keep this matter to ourselves, with no exceptions outside this room.”

“You’ve got clever men in your Hall,” Corman said, adding hastily, “and women.” He was exceedingly fond of Menolly. “But what if he should find something going on in one of our Holds and needs our help?”

“If he needs help, Lord Corman,” the Harper said with a sly smile, “then he’s not been as clever as he should be. Leave the matter with me for this cold season. There’s too much snow around for anyone needing to hide his tracks.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Sifer muttered.

Keita’s orders from Thella included reporting any break in the usual Hold routine. Keita did not know much more than that Lord Sifer had been away overnight, conveyed by a dragonrider to his destination, but she did hear that upon his return he ordered his warders to let him know of any traces of occupation in way-caves or sites, and in particular of any tracks on back trails. The Bitra drum tower had been busy, but she did not know what the messages were about, as they had not used an open code.

Thella read and reread that message, almost pleased that she would have the challenge that the search would offer. Sifer did not worry her; his guards were more fond of gambling and prodding the holdless beyond Bitra’s borders. But he was more likely than Corman, Laudey, or Asgenar to drop useful information if he was irritated.

Come to think of it, lately there did seem to be more sweepriders doing low-level flights above the forested hills and ridges. She had not quite counted on that. She gave orders to keep travel to a minimum—her storerooms were well stocked, so that meant no hardship—and gave strict instructions that those who did move across open areas must cover their tracks as they went. Dushik, Readis, and Perschar carried those orders to her other bases. For a while she would lie low.

It was Readis who returned six days later to tell her that the Masterharper had been seen at Lemos Hold, along with Corman, Laudey, Larad, and Sifer.

“So, they’ve called the Harper in for advice. So what?”

“He’s no simpleton, Thella,” Readis said, frowning at her casual dismissal of what he considered disturbing news. “He’s the most powerful person on Pern, next to F’lar.”

Thella widened her eyes in mock surprise and alarm. “Spare me!”

“The Harper Hall knows things. You pride yourself that you’ve got ears all over the Eastern Range, Thella.” Readis wanted to shake the complacence out of her. “Well, he’s got ears, and drums, all over this continent and, some say, in the southern one, too.”

“Harper Hall doesn’t even have guard units!” she scoffed.

But even Dushik looked worried. “Harper doesn’t need them,” he said. “What the Harper knows gets around, if that’s what he wants.” He scowled. “I had to come east to get away from Harper words.”

“I know, Dushik, I know.” Thella said. Her voice was testy, but she smiled placatingly at her devoted crony. “You check over anyone who suddenly gets the urge to join our stalwart crew. Harpers always have callused fingertips from plucking strings all the time.”

Dushik nodded, reassured, but Readis frowned.

“I wouldn’t leave it at just that, Thella,” he began.

“Who’s holder here, Readis? Aren’t we living well and far more comfortably than most lousy mountain holders? Certainly far better than any other holdless?” Her voice rang out, echoing down the tunnels to other chambers. She liked the effect, liked the vibrant sound of her own voice, and it never hurt to remind her folk just how much they had acquired under her guidance. “It’s taken the Lord Holders nearly twelve Turns to realize what’s been happening.”

Readis stared back at her. “Lady Holdless Thella, you did take great interest in Fax’s doings in the west. Don’t underestimate harpers as he did. That’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

“Readis is right about harpers, Lady Thella,” Giron said, surprising everyone by speaking up. “And that Robinton is the cleverest man on Pern.”

“You have both made good points,” Thella said, and beside her Dushik relaxed. He was very sensitive to any criticism of her. “We’ve been so very successful, and that can make one careless. Giron, how many of the harpers do you know?”

Giron shrugged. “A few. The Weyrwoman Bedelía liked music. Harper Hall sent them to Telgar Weyr whenever she asked.”

“I’d be far more concerned with those bloody sweepriders that we can’t see until they’re above us,” Dushik said, pointedly looking at Giron. “They’re the real problem.”

Abruptly Giron left the chamber, and Thella turned angrily on Dushik. “You let me handle him, Dushik!”

“Hamian!” Piemur called to the Masterminer, pointing toward the bluff on the right-hand side of the Island River. “Those mounds! They’re not natural!”

“No, they’re not,” Hamian answered without even looking up from the line he was neatly coiling. Minercrafter he might be, but he had been a sailor from his earliest Turns both in Southern and at High Palisades. He would no more leave untidy decks than he would an untidy forge or shaft. “There’re some more, farther down the river on the left bank. Don’t know what they used to be, but the piles haven’t been washed away.”

“But don’t you want to look?” Piemur was astonished by Hamian’s disinterest. Sometimes he thought the man took for granted all the beauty and wealth around him.

Hamian grinned at the young harper. “I’ve enough on my plate without haring off to look at ruins I can’t waste time searching.” His grin broadened, and he ruffled Piemur’s sun-bleached hair. “I make good use of the ones in the open pit. They even marked the direction of the veins. I don’t know how they did that!”

Piemur ducked away. “But who are ‘they’? You said there wasn’t any mention of Southern workings in the Smithcrafthall records.”

Hamian shrugged. “That doesn’t mean much. As far back as they’re legible, they’re all about mine yields and tons smelted, and who bought what and where it was shipped. Except for Master Fandarel, the Craftmasters didn’t look much beyond the main hall. Put your backs in it!” he roared at the oarsmen. Once past the delta region, he hoped for a good westerly breeze to fill the sails and make some headway over the broad portion of the Island River. He licked a finger and held it up. “The wind’s picking up!” He cupped his hands and yelled encouragement to the rowers. “Not long now!” But to Piemur, he muttered, “Those shiftless mongrels,” before he raised his voice again. “I can see who’s leaning on his oars! Number four oar, you there, Tawkin—you and your partner, number six, put your backs into it, damn your hides, or there’ll be no beer tonight unless you—that’s more like it!

“I tell you what, Piemur,” Hamian added, relenting as he saw the disappointment on the young man’s face. “You and Stupid can investigate on our way back. An independent study to show Toric you’re good at charting and measuring. Keep an eye on those starboard banks—” He outlined the area he meant. “See how long that bank is. This shallow draft sloop is fine for river traffic but, as we both know, not all that great in coastal waters. If we’d a collecting point here …” Hamian thought for a moment, then slowly began to grin. “We could set up a permanent hold up there, in those ruins, and transship ore direct to Nerat or Keroon Sea Hold. Save a lot of time and effort, and give some responsible man a proper hold. Hmm, yes, you do that.”

Hamian had already calculated that they had made better time coming east along the coast than they did beating around the Southern cape and having to wait for the tide to ride over the reef into the lagoon. They had enjoyed a couple of days of easy sailing down the Island River before they came to the fork where a smaller tributary came down out of the central hills to join the flow. Just beyond that conjoining was where Hamian hoped to set up a hold, if the river proved navigable that far.

Wanting to avoid the miserable haul down Lagoon River and through the swamps that his sister Sharra found so fascinating, he had taken several days off to sail east. Somewhere in that direction the Island River must start. It had been an easy trek down the foothills to a point where he could see the river shimmering in the distance. The terrain was perfect for a burden-beast route. It had taken some pretty sharp dealing with Toric, but with some subtle help from Sharra and their brother, Kevelon, he had convinced the holder to see the benefit of cutting down travel time. There had been another load of northerners to absorb, so Hamian had volunteered to take all of them off Toric’s hands and put them to work building pier and hold above the spring flood level. There was enough grassland for herdbeasts, and the mountains were close enough to quarry stone.

Hamian was backing his own judgment about the alternate route. He needed to prove to Toric that someone else could know something about Southern besides the self-styled Lord Holder. Sometimes Toric’s attitudes bothered Hamian; and Toric was always accusing him of being tainted by northern notions during his Turns at the Smithcrafthall.

Hamian had organized his arguments well. Lagoon River might appear to be the shorter route, but trying to pole ore-laden barges through the swampland halfway down the river made it quite another story. Hamian was not afraid of hard work, and he was remarkably effective in getting a similar effort out of his teams, but between trips, the channel markings got broken or swallowed by the shifting bottom mud. Hunting for deep waters, while being eaten by insects, bitten by swamp snakes, and harried by wherries who regarded anything that moved as fair game, was not an efficient use of available labor. Hamian had become infected by Master Fandarel’s overriding compulsion for efficiency.

“Pull that oar, Tawkin, don’t stroke it!” he yelled as the longboat began to veer slightly to port. Hamian intended to watch that fellow. He was getting to have as good an eye as Toric and Sharra for who would work out in Southern. “Now, there could have been some shipwrecked fisherfolk who built there,” he suggested to Piemur as the mounds slowly slipped out of sight.

Piemur was shaking his head. “Fisherfolk don’t build in stone, and that’s all that would have lasted four hundred or more Turns. Besides, there was nothing about this place in the Harper Hall Records, which are legible a long way back. I know,” he added, wrinkling his nose as if he could still smell the reek of decaying hides. “I had to copy ’em for old Master Arnor.” Piemur drew in a deep breath of the forest-scented air as if cleansing his lungs of the remembered smell. He exhaled gustily.

Hamian laughed. “Well, you can see what your harper-trained eye makes of the mine fittings.” The single big square sail of the wide-bellied narrow draft ship began to fill. “Belay that, lads!” he shouted to the rowers. “Make ready to take the longboat aboard,” he ordered the nearest crewmen. “That’s more like it. We’ll make some headway today. Both moons are out tonight, so if the wind lasts, we’ll be there in two days. That’s a damn sight better than six trying to wade through swamp. Too bad we can’t get as far as the Falls. They’re spectacular.”

“Falls?”

“Yes, Toric sent an exploratory party down this river, oh, just before I left for Telgar Smith Crafthall. They got as far as the Falls before they turned back. Sheer rock cliffs that no one could scale.” He saw the determined look on Piemur’s face. “Not even you, but maybe Farli. Look, you’d better go stand with Stupid. He’s getting restless.”

“He’d rather walk than sail,” Piemur said, though the motion on the river was not as unpleasant as on open water. He never could understand why Menolly and Sebell were so enthusiastic about sea voyages. At the moment, Stupid was stomping on the deck, and Piemur hurried over to calm him. It would not do to put gouges in the smooth deck planks. Farli was still doing her lazy circles far above, and Piemur wished he had the view she had from up there.

He sat down, leaning back against Stupid’s front legs—the best way to keep the beast still—and peered over the portside rail at the passage of the plain, wondering what lay in the dense forest beyond. Piemur hoped to prove his worth on this trip. Sharra had talked Hamian into taking him on in a scouting capacity and to record the alternate route. He had gotten a taste of exploring two Turns back and was becoming increasingly bored at setting up drum towers. He had done all he could, and Saneter was talking of sending him back to Harper Hall to get his journeyman’s knot. But Piemur wanted to explore uncharted lands.

From the edges of the Swamp, down to Numbweed Plain and Big Lagoon, across that headland to Southern, and east along the coast to the Mountain Rift and Dry Holds, Toric had installed small settlements with men and women beholden to him for the opportunities. It had been fun for Piemur to teach drum codes to pupils so much older than himself. He had been diligent, too, because Toric was a totally different personality than Master Robinton, Master Shonagar, or Master Domick and his drum tower masters. Piemur had felt Toric’s hard hand once and took great care not to feel it again. He knew that the Southerner was very ambitious, far more than anyone—except possibly Master Robinton—knew.

But the provident, beautiful, amazing, fantastic land that was Southern was more than the people who grabbed a hold on it. Looking to a seemingly limitless eastern stretch of forest and hill, Piemur wondered just how far Southern did extend—and just how much Toric thought he could take into one Hold under his orders! Soon Piemur’s first loyalty to the Harper Hall was going to come into abrupt conflict with his sneaking admiration for Toric’s ambitions. Or the ambitions of someone like Lord Groghe, who had that mess of sons to settle, or Corman, who had nine. If they found out how much good land was available, they might even defy Benden’s orders. Saneter kept telling Piemur that Master Robinton was well informed of all Toric’s doing, but Piemur was beginning to wonder if Saneter really knew!

Just then, Piemur gasped. Through the gaps in the weather rail, he had a perfect view of the port banks. There, lounging in the sun, unperturbed by the ship floating past, were two huge spotted felines. They were probably some of the sports that Sharra had mentioned. Piemur realized that he should call attention to them, but Hamian was on the starboard rail, watching the boat being lifted aboard. And somehow, Piemur did not want to share the moment with anyone, or scare the magnificent creatures away.

“I came as soon as I could, Lady Thella,” the bedraggled wight said through lips blue with cold. The first line of sentinels had passed him through to her hold guards. “I wasn’t seen. I hide a lot. No tracks. See?” He thrust a long-needled tree branch at her. “I tied this to my belt, and it swept up my tracks as I made ’em.”

Thella made herself relax, but she worried that the thickwit before her could have led searchers to her lair in his hasty rush to tell her some insignificant rumor.

“But this could be important, Lady,” the ragged man went on, trying to stop his teeth from chattering.

Thella signalled to one of the cook drudges to get the man a cup of klah. She could barely understand him as it was. If he had something important to say, she wanted to hear it quickly or dismiss him.

He nearly prostrated himself, all but spilling the klah when it was handed to him, but a few sips appeared to control his spasms.

“I mean, you always wanted to know just when Thread starts and stops,” he said. “And which lord is going where, and more about the Weyrs then us’ns is supposed to know. Well, I got the way for you to hear dragons—all the time! This girl, well she can hear dragons! That’s good, isn’t it? She can hear ’em at a distance, too, and what they say to each other.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Thella said expressionlessly, glancing quickly at Giron. The dragonless man slowly swung his head around to look at the newcomer.

“Oh, no, Lady Thella. She can. She really can. I watched her. She’d call the children back into the caverns, telling ’em dragonriders was on their way over. The first time, she said they’d be coming to Igen Hold. I saw the dragons headed that way myself. I heard her tell her brother when they were on their way back to Benden Weyr. At least she said they were from Benden Weyr and there wasn’t no way—no reason, either—to think she was lying. She did it all quietlike. She didn’t know I heard ’er.”

“If you were close enough to hear her do it all quietlike,” Thella began sourly, “then why wouldn’t she know you heard her?”

The man winked and grinned, an appalling sight since he had so few front teeth left. “Because in the caverns, I’m deef! I don’t hear nuffing. I’m good at that, I am. I get fed ’cause I’m helpless.” He demonstrated, saliva spattering from his loose lower lip.

“I see,” Thella drawled. Awful man, cleverer than he looked. Readis often said that the holdless survived more by deception than by strength. The “deaf” man would not have passed her outer sentinels if he had not been an accepted spy. She glanced at Dushik, who gave her a reassuring nod. “She has one of those little fire-lizards?”

“Her?” The man guffawed, and more spittle drooled from his mouth. He seemed to sense her disgust and swallowed, mopping at his mouth with the blanket someone had thrown across his shoulders. “Nah! Fire-lizzuds cost ya. The way I heard it, her dad and ma were chased out of Ruatha by Fax. The ma’s still a looker, got big—” Hastily he caught himself, realizing he spoke to a well-endowed woman. “Fax did like a good piece to warm his furs. If the ma was Ruathan Bloodline like she claims, it could be in the Blood for the girl to hear dragons. The Benden Weyrwoman’s Ruathan, you know.”

In the face of her cold silence, he lost all brashness. He gulped down the rest of the klah as if afraid the cup would be dashed from his hand and looked warily about him.

Let him stew, Thella thought, setting her elbow on the armrest and cushioning her chin in the palm of her hand, looking anywhere but at the disgusting messenger. He was right: Ruathans had produced too many dragonriders—far more than any of the other Bloodlines. Lessa was the current insult.

“Tell me again,” she ordered, gesturing for Dushik and Readis to listen carefully. Giron kept on watching, his face blank.

But the man seemed to be telling the truth. He had heard the girl’s younger brother boasting of his sister’s ability, that she always knew when Thread would fall “because the dragons talked to each other about it.”

Giron nodded at Thella as he regarded the “deaf” man with incurious but seeing eyes, very much aware of what had been said.

“I think,” Thella said after mulling over the risks involved, “I think I must speak with this fascinating child. Do you know her name, deaf man?”

“Aramina, Lady Thella. Her name’s Aramina. Her da’s Dowell, and he’s a woodjoiner; her ma’s named Barla; the boy’s Pell, and there’s another—”

She cut him off. “And they’re all at Igen cave site?” At his hasty nod she asked, “Would they be likely to move?”

“They been there a good few Turns. He does work he sells at the Gathers, and makes furniture—”

“I don’t need to know that, my good man,” she said coldly. He had a gargling voice, as if phlegm constantly lodged in his throat; it was not only a disgusting sound but an irritating monotone. “They’re not liable to take off?”

“Where to, lady?” he replied ingenuously, raising both hands in appeal.

She motioned to Dushik and Readis. “I’ll go. Dushik, you must stay here.” She looked at the dragonless man. “Giron, you’ll come with me.” She was annoyed that her words sounded more like a question than an order, but Giron nodded, an odd twitch pulling at his mouth. “You’d know if she can actually hear dragons, wouldn’t you?” she asked him.

Ignoring his silence, which usually meant Giron’s consent, Thella rose and left the room with Dushik. The smell from the informant warming up by the fire was offensive.

“Dushik, take care of him!” she ordered.

If deaf men could tell tales, dead men would not. Dushik obliged her, as always.