8

Telgar Hold To Keroon Beastmasterhold, Southern Continent, Benden Hold, PP 12

When the dragonriders brought Jayge, Swacky, and the other volunteers back to their camp, Jayge collected his pay and a written warranty from Swacky attesting to his character and service, then strapped his gear on Kesso’s saddle and left. Swacky did his best to talk the younger man out of making such a long trip in winter; even the fairly temperate Lemosan valley would soon be clogged with snow. But seeing that his efforts were in vain, he let the boy go and promised to take the note Jayge wrote his father back to Far Cry. When Jayge took his leave of Lord Asgenar, the Holder expressed his regret at losing such a clever auxiliary.

Perschar was distressed when he discovered that his sketches of Readis were strangely missing from the roll that Asgenar had copied and distributed. Dushik, whom Perschar called the most ruthless and cruel of all Thella’s followers, had not returned from the errand Thella had sent him on. So, in effect, they had failed in achieving the primary aim of the dawn sortie. Thella, Giron, Readis, and Dushik were still at large—and, as Perschar said without mincing words, exceedingly dangerous. There were plenty of holdless folk desperate enough to throw in their lot with such successful renegade leaders. Finding a new base in the hills behind Lemos and Bitra would not be difficult, and the band could start up all over again.

Perschar drew several views of Readis to be distributed along with those of Thella, Giron, and Dushik. Ever cautious, he asked Asgenar and Larad to hint to the captives that he, Perschar, had managed to escape. For, he said with a heavy sigh, he might be called on to help again and wanted to do so with impunity. Meanwhile, he rather thought he would like to go back to Nerat. He had not really felt warm since he left, and he had heard that Anama, Vincet’s pretty daughter, now had children whom he would like to paint.

Lord Larad assigned Eddik, a trustworthy, diligent herdsman, as temporary holder. Most of Thella’s band were genuinely relieved that they were not to be made holdless again. They were all afraid of the possibility of Dushik’s reappearance and were reassured by Eddik’s presence. Larad and Asgenar reinforced that sense of security by offering a substantial reward for any sight of the man in the vicinity, and double that for his capture.

Jayge was driven by mixed emotions, chief of which was revenging the deaths of Armald and his other friends and exacting retribution for the economic losses sustained by the train from Thella’s attack. And in the back of his mind was always the thought that if Readis had had sufficient loyalty to risk death to stop the attack on his Bloodkin, then perhaps he could be persuaded to leave Thella’s malign influence. Jayge had always admired his big uncle. Readis’s departure from Kimmage Hold had seriously depressed the young Jayge, who could not comprehend why Readis had deserted them in that terrible situation. His father had explained that Readis had every right to leave in search of more suitable employment. And before long Jayge had come to recognize Childon’s many little ways of humiliating the impoverished traders, giving them the most unsavory chores and condescending even about the food they ate and the quarters they were crowded into. Proud Readis could not have endured such treatment. Jayge, only ten Turns old, had had no choice. Even if he had been old enough to strike out on his own, he would never have left his sick mother, Gledia, behind.

But at twenty-three, and driven by revenge rather than humiliation, Jayge could take the winter, while the trader train was snowbound, to set out to settle his debt. He reasoned that if he could stay close to the amazing girl who heard dragons, whose ability had caused so much trouble for those he loved, he might also find Thella. He did not think that Thella would give up on her own pursuit of. Aramina, either because without her secure mountain camp she would need the girl’s talent more than ever, or out of revenge for the loss of that fine base. When Jayge had seen her there on the track to Far Cry, surveying the damage her plans had wreaked on his train, he had thought her malevolence unusual. Her knifing that burden beast had been an act of savage, almost deranged, vengeance. And her imbalance had been further demonstrated by her willingness to let everyone in her hold be killed by that avalanche—once she and her chosen followers were safe.

Aramina might have been taken to Benden Weyr. But was she truly safe there if Thella was still at large?

The fugitives had been forced to flee with little preparation and would certainly steal without hesitation. To make it across the winter trails to Benden Weyr, they would need supplies and information, both of which were most easily acquired at Igen low caverns. According to Perschar, Thella, Giron, Dushik, and Readis had often gone there, so Jayge made the caverns his first stop, pushing Kesso to his limits in order to arrive before his quarry.

To his chagrin, he learned that the best “eyes and ears” of the place had been found dead of a broken neck. Everyone was bemoaning the death of the footless old seaman, Brare, out of one side of their mouths, while calling him a dreadful cheat, rogue, extortionist, and pervert out of the other. Still, the Igen low caverns seemed a good place to start looking.

The cavern was buzzing about the spectacular raid on Thella’s base, all sorts of people relating the tale with many fanciful embellishments that Jayge did not bother to correct. There was considerable confusion about how many raiders there had been and what had become of them. Some believed that Lord Larad—and who could have blamed him—had had them transported to his mines. Everyone knew the Holder needed help in those black pits of his, considering the shortage of metals needed to make the weapons for fighting Thread, not to mention those other queer things the Mastersmith was always banging away at. Others were of the opinion that the offenders had been shipped South, and there was a curiously fearful sort of envy over that fate. Jayge listened closely, wondering if there were any substance to the rumor. Would Thella and Giron have gone South with Readis—to disappear in what some claimed was a vast continent and others thought was merely an island, like Ista, only larger? Were they on their way to the boiling waters of the Southern Seas? Everyone knew how hot it was there, hotter than Igen ever could be. No, somehow he was positive that Thella would still attempt to secure Aramina—if only to kill the girl. And he particularly did not want Readis to be involved if it came to that.

By Jayge’s reckoning, the fugitives would have made very slow progress out of the mountains, even using snowstaves, which were more help on snowy hillslopes than in wooded areas. Benden dragonriders were making frequent random sweeps over the mountains during the daylight hours; and even desperate people would not attempt to travel that terrain in the dark. Despite a grudging admiration for dragonriders like F’lar, T’gellan, and the young K’van, Jayge did not hold out much hope that they would actually catch the fugitives. That would spoil everything. He did not wish it to be that easy.

Jayge felt he had time to spare to search for a possible lair within the complex. Exploring the less frequented passages, he found several promising sites, none with any signs of recent occupation but all with small entrances partially or completely concealed from casual observation.

From one old trader friend of his father’s, Jayge did establish that Thella and Giron had been in the low caverns during the time the Lilcamp-Amhold train had been taking on its shipments for Far Cry. He showed the sketch of Readis to the trader, and although the man had not seen Readis with Thella at that time, the sketch was much admired for itself.

“Why, you expect the man to draw breath. Nice-looking chap. Your kin, you say? Aye, no one could deny the Blood between you. Now whoever did this so handy? What’d they use? Charcoal would have smudged. Leads, you say? They’d be expensive—a’ course, you being trader connected, you’d have the chance.”

With one of his few marks, Jayge bought from a trader a tattered but fairly accurate map of the eastern stakes shores: Keroon to Benden, including Bitra and the easternmost section of Lemos. While in several spots the creases of the hide made the lines difficult to decipher, caves were marked, large and small, watered or dry, as well as all the holds and the best routes for various sorts of haulage. He also listened carefully to the nighttime conversations around the main fires, when the jugs were passed, encouraging conviviality. Apparently Dowell and his family had been such long-term residents that they were well-known. Everyone was still amazed that “their” Aramina had made it to Benden Weyr, where eggs were hardening. Everyone was rather pleased with the notion that “their” Aramina, raised in Igen low caverns, was certain to Impress the queen egg on Benden’s Hatching Ground, and they were basking in her achievement. It had become known fact that Dowell, Barla, and the other two children had gone back to Ruatha, reinstated into their original home by Lord Jaxom, who had given them workmen to repair it, and who generally treated Barla as long-lost Bloodkin. The family was half the world away from Thella, and Aramina was safe in Benden Weyr.

Jayge did not agree. No one was safe from that woman while she drew breath. In his travels as a trader, Jayge had met all sorts of people, most of whom he could forget as soon as he moved on. But Thella was unique. She was the most evil person he had ever encountered. She deserved to be dropped down a smooth hole in the ground and left there.

Finally, with the valuable map and the sketches of Readis carefully wrapped and secured against his chest, Jayge turned Kesso southeast along the bright waters of Keroon Bay. He kept to the well-traveled routes, as a lone rider on back trails would be easy prey for petty thieves, looking for what they could get. Thella’s gang may have been the best organized and most successful, but it was hardly the only one.

Despite the fatigues of travel Jayge did not sleep well. He kept going over and over that fateful raid: the rockfalls, the wagons toppling, and the stones that missed their targets and went on rumbling down the river ravine. He kept reliving his own part in the fight and wondering how he could have saved Temma from her frightful wound; protected Nazer; killed more of the raiders. He was haunted by the sight of that foot and hand sticking out of the rubble. They seemed to twitch in his dreams, as did Armald’s pitiful hulk sprawled on the gravel road. He kept seeing Temma with her shoulder pinned by that barbed spear to the wall of her own wagon, and always Thella, poised on that boulder, directing all that horror—and throwing the knife that severed Borgald’s pet beast’s tendons. To keep from dreaming, he would walk, around and around, watching the sharp, clear stars out over the sea, conjuring the vision of himself lowering Thella by rope into a deep, smooth-sided pit and hearing her screams and then her pleas to be released.

At Keroon Hold, a trader friend of Crenden’s suggested that Jayge help out one Beastmaster Uvor, who was taking four fractious mares to the stallions at the Beastmasterhold in Keroon. At the moment he was resting them from their sea voyage. “Resting his belly from seasickness,” the trader remarked with a sniff. “Anyway, he lost his apprentice to a broken leg, so he’s on his own. You’re good with the beasties, young Jayge, and he’s going your way. Doesn’t hurt to close your hand on the odd mark, as well. He’ll be in this evening, like as not. Come back then.”

With Kesso comfortably stabled and muzzle-deep in a good grain feed, Jayge set out to explore Keroon Hold. He had never been that far south before, and the busy Hold was full of new sights, including a port facility that handled cargo bound for Ista and the west. Jayge walked down to the port and spent a long nooning in a harbor alehold, listening to seamen, listening to people, and listening for any word of Thella. He never asked about her directly but instead discreetly inquired about a dragonless man or showed the sketch of Readis.

He always asked about Benden Weyr, for news of the dragonriders. Courteous interest went down well with the Holds and Halls, which were intensely loyal to their Weyrfolk. He learned that there had been a Hatching and a queen egg but the lucky girl who Impressed Beljeth was Adrea and came from Greystone Hold in Nerat. The Neratians had been exceedingly proud of her, and she was said to be a very attractive but biddable girl.

When Jayge returned to the trader’s, Uvor was there, a lean, likable man who cared for the mares and his own sturdy mount as if they were his children. On the circuitous route to the Beastmasterhold, Uvor named sire and dam of each of his mares for generations back, and never once put a name to his wife or any of his sons. He taught Jayge a few tricks of living off barren land, and what insects and semitropical plants could supplement a diet of the ever present snakes.

It was in the Beastmasterhold that Jayge first got wind of the unusual tradings with the Southern Continent. Four breeding pairs of fine burden beasts and four of runners were to be shipped to Toric at Southern Hold as soon as the winter storms had abated. A Master Rampesi would collect them in a ship outfitted with special belowdeck accommodations for such valuable animals. Jayge questioned the journeymen closely, for it had been his understanding that the Benden Weyrleaders had interdicted all commerce between north and south while the Oldtimer dragonriders remained in the Southern Weyr.

“There’re reasons, you know, new reasons to reestablish trade south. There’re reasons,” an older journeyman assured Jayge, looking as if there was plenty he could add but he was being discreet. “Some say it has to do with mines dwindling down and plenty of rich ore just lying loose over the ground in the South. Some say it’s because the Holders have put pressure on the Weyrleaders to give land to younger sons. A couple of Fort Holder’s Bloods are going, and now that that raider group has been knocked into a deep pit, some of Corman’s might foller.”

Jayge snorted. “And what about the holdless folk in Igen low caverns who’ve no decent place of their own?”

“Them!” The journeyman’s expression was disdainful. “There’s plenty of jobs for them what’s willing to work and please their Lord Holder.”

“Now, Petter,” a younger journeyman said, “you know that’s not always the case. You remember that ragtag of folk that came through from Bitra when Thread started. Lord Sifer had turfed ’em out, and they was hard-working people.”

Petter sniffed. “Lord Sifer may have had good reasons; it’s not for you and me to question. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. They’d no warranty to show like this young man.”

Had Jayge not had other considerations foremost in mind, he would have argued the journeyman on that point. Holders, major and minor, had taken advantage of Fall: he remembered all too vividly the humbling and belittling work that Childon had taken great pleasure in forcing him and his family to do. He knew of other cases where pride—and sheer exhaustion—had forced people to holdlessness rather than endure such drudgeries any longer.

“Is the Southern Continent so big it can handle more Fort and Keroon holders?” Jayge asked, directing his comments to the younger journeyman. “Seems to me the first thing you’d need are men and women who know how to work, not holders’ sons.”

“You thinking of resettling, trader?”

Jayge was put in mind of what Temma had said to him before he left Far Cry. “You know traders,” he countered with a disarming grin. “Always looking for new routes, new items that travel well and sell better. The beasts would be sailed across then? And their handlers chosen?” It might be best if Jayge could persuade Readis to shift south for a while. He could always give his own warranty to his uncle.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Petter said stiffly. “Uvor was chatting w’ the Master about it. C’mon, you.” He tapped his foot on his junior’s boot. “We’ve got feet to trim and teeth to rasp.”

Jayge asked the Smithcrafter’s permission to use his forge to make new shoes for Kesso.

“D’you know how, an’ all?” the smith asked, skeptical.

“Traders learn a lot of this and that,” Jayge replied, selecting the iron bar, already fullered and swaged, and crunching off the length he needed. It was not the first time he had shod Kesso, and by no means the first time he had made shoes from scratch. Crenden had taught him what he had known, and then had him work under Maindy’s farrier for a season. He was aware of the smith’s scrutiny. But when he had heated, hammered, shaped, and clinched the first hind shoe, the smith turned back to his own work.

Jayge made two sets and paid for them and a small packet of nails. He had a long way to go to Benden Weyr. While he was eating his evening meal, Uvor and the Masterherdsman came up to his corner seat.

“I’ve told Master Briaret that you’re a sensible young man and know how to care for animals properly,” Uvor said with the air of someone happy to confer a favor on the worthy. “He’s got a well-trained young runner to be delivered to Benden Hold. I know you’re heading that way and that you’d take good care of her, fog, fire, or Fall.”

Briaret was a short man, balding, with a rider’s lean stature and the odd, bowed legs of someone who had ridden all his life. His keen eyes searched Jayge as intently as those of a Bitran giving odds. He smiled at Jayge, and the young man knew that he had passed the test.

“You’ve a warranty, I understand,” the Master said in a slightly raspy voice.

Jayge passed over Swacky’s useful recommendation and finished his meal while Briaret read. Finally the older man folded it neatly and gave it back. Then he held out his hand.

“Will you take charge of the mare? She’s nearly as well bred as that runner of yours.” He grinned. “As well he’s a gelding. My drovers are going as far as Bayhead, so there’s safe passage for you, and the journey’s been timed to get all to safe cave during Fall. We haven’t been as much troubled by raiders as the northwest, but there’s comfort in numbers. I’ve a mark for you now, plus travel food and grain, and you’re to get two marks at Benden Hold if the mare arrives in good condition.”

Jayge shook the man’s hand, well pleased. He would have some escort, he would make some marks, and he would still be making better time than Thella and her companions could.

Piemur was back at Southern and had finally cornered Toric into fulfilling his promise to let him explore freely in the South. He had arrived armed with a polite request from Master Robinton, a request that, since it bore F’lar’s signet, was more of an indirect order.

“I’ve got my journeyman’s knot, I spent hours with Wansor, Terry, and that oaf of a Fortian, Benelek, so I’m qualified to keep Records that will be accurate as long as the Dawn Sisters remain in place. So you’ll know, my Lord Holder—”

“Don’t call me that,” Toric snapped, his eyes flashing so angrily that Piemur wondered if he had overplayed his hand.

“I get the impression,” the boy said in his most conciliatory tone, “that that is a formality that the Benden Weyrleaders will bring before the Conclave at the next possible occasion. You’re as much a Lord Holder as Jaxom is, and you’re working at it. But—” He held up his hand. “It would be wise to know how much you’re going to Hold. You prove, one—” He ticked off each point on his fingers. “—how diligent you’ve been; two: how serious you are about all this; three: limit what their idiot sons—presuming some of them survive their initiation here—can possibly think to control; and four: make legal and binding your own claim by virtue of the fact that that’s how much you’ve been holding.”

Toric stared across the room to the map of what he already, by virtue of having accurately charted it, held. Much of the cartographic detail had been filled in by Sharra, Hamian, and Piemur, but that only whetted Toric’s appetite to establish how much more there was. He had no intention of sharing it with any northern holders’ sons—possibly not even his own, although he was proud of the twin sons Ramala had just delivered … again. Piemur was astonished, and secretly envious, of Toric’s large family. The man would need every one of them to hold for him, that was certain. And Toric had plans for Sharra’s offspring—whenever he did find someone he felt worthy of his beautiful sister. Piemur had about given up that daydream. He knew that Sharra liked him, enjoyed his company, and accepted him as a partner in their explorations, but whether she was careful to keep the friendship objective because she felt nothing stronger for him than platonic affection, or because she did not wish to bring Toric’s wrath down on him, Piemur was not sure.

Maybe if he successfully broadened Toric’s holding, he might also broaden Toric’s appreciation of him. Maybe not broad enough to encompass Sharra, but then Piemur’s motto always had been “You never know till you try.”

What Piemur kept very much to himself was that he would be doing the survey as much for Master Robinton as for Toric. Just where his loyalties would be tested remained to be seen. In no fashion would Piemur risk Master Robinton’s good relationships with the Benden Weyrleaders. He had a suspicion that perhaps F’lar and Lessa wanted a good bit of Southern to be dragonriders’ territory. He hoped that the continent would be big enough for all. How much did Toric possibly think he could manage to Hold? Should someone—maybe Saneter could get away with it—remind Toric of what had happened to Fax, the self-styled Lord of Seven Holds? In any event, as long as Piemur got to set one foot in front of the other until he ran out of land, he would let the disposition of it rest with others—such as the Masterharper and the Benden Weyrleaders. They deserved more of the South than Toric ever did. But then, Lessa had a habit of giving perfectly good Holds away.

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?”

“Fall was allowed for, and we were safe in a beasthold,” he said. He had discovered that most holdbred people found it upsetting to learn that he was not frightened by Fall. Casually, he glanced to his right and was relieved to see that the dark-haired girl had pulled into line with him, leaving a good space between her mount and Fancy, who was settling down again.

“We’ve been hunting,” the flirt said, pointing to the boys ahead of them, on whose saddles hung some plump, young wherry bucks.

“We’re going to have a Gather in a few sevendays. Will you be around?” The second girl had turned as coquettish as the first.

Jayge looked at the dark girl who was watching Fancy’s high movement, smiling to herself as the mare gave that extra little flick to her front hooves. The girl appreciated a good mover, he saw. He found himself wondering if there was any chance that he could complete his mission before that Gather. In the dancing square all were equal.

“I wouldn’t miss it, fog, fire, or Fall,” Jayge said with a courtly half bow to the tease and the flirt, but he ended with a questioning glance directed at the black-haired girl. She smiled, a very nice smile without a hint of the others’ coy archness.

“We’d better catch up with the others,” the first girl said. “See you later.” She waved as she dug her heels into her mount. Fancy pulled back on her tether rope, and Jayge wound it more tightly around his hand, waiting for the others to charge off. The dark-haired girl rode ahead more slowly, looking back at him over her shoulder.

When he delivered Fancy to the Beastmaster at Benden Hold, Jayge handed over Master Briaret’s packet of information about her breeding, and the mare’s hair whorls checked against those on her papers. The man inspected the mare thoroughly, legs, hooves, barrel, neck, and teeth, and had Jayge trot her up and down the inner court until the young trader was a bit short of breath. Master Conwy could find no fault in her condition or appearance. Jayge waited silently, indolently feeding Kesso’s reins through his fingers.

“You’ve earned your marks, Jayge Lilcamp,” the man said finally. “She’s a fine animal. Come with me. You can put your own mount up for the night here. Benden Hold keeps a good table. I’ll speak to the steward about your pay and see if there’re any messages you can take back with you.”

“I’m not going back to the Beasthold,” Jayge said. Then he caught himself. “I have to go north to Bitra.”

“You’d best leave your marks here with honest men, young man. Those Bitrans are terrible folk for relieving a man of his coin.”

Jayge could not help but grin at Conwy’s dour and disapproving expression. “I’m a trader by craft, Master Conwy. It’d take more than a wily Bitran to relieve me of my marks.”

“If you say so, so long’s you know their tricks.” Master Conwy clearly thought little of Jayge’s understanding and less of Bitran “tricks,” but he did not let that interfere with hospitality. First he put the mare into her stall, telling Jayge to put his runner next to her so that she would settle down more quickly. Then he took Jayge to the bathing rooms, offered to have a drudge launder his clothes, directed him to where he could find a cubicle for the night, and told him where to go before mealtime.

Clean and dressed in his newly pressed spare clothes, Jayge found Master Conwy’s hold and was given the marks. To his surprise, the Master asked for the warranty again and added a second recommendation on the end of Swacky’s.

“Doesn’t hurt for someone out and about to have proof of honesty and diligence.”

Master Conwy then walked him up the steps of the main Hold and into the dining hall, which was full of bustle and enticing aromas wafting up from the kitchens below. Jayge took the place offered him, on the far right with the other men and women of journeyman rank, and Master Conwy left him.

Such a main Hold was sinfully luxurious, Jayge thought, looking at the smooth, painted walls, the deep window apertures, and the burnished and etched shutters. The upper portions of the walls were embellished with brilliantly colored paintings, some of them quite old, to judge by the clothing depicted. It was the habit of the very old Holds to include portraits of notable lords, ladies, and prominent crafters. Some had been done in miniature on the borders, and some were so high up the wall as to be practically invisible. Idly Jayge wondered if any of those portraits could be Perschar’s work.

He answered the polite queries put to him and responded noncommittally to a rather blatant come-on from the handsome journeywoman beside him, but he listened more than he talked. When the soup was passed around—Jayge was rather flattered to be served first—the journey woman contrived to brush her full bosom against his shoulder. Her touch reminded him of how long he had been on the road alone.

But all thought of casual dalliance faded from his mind with his first clear look at the head table on its dais and the black-haired girl seated at the right-hand edge. A fosterling then, Jayge realized, but not of sufficient rank to sit closer to Benden’s lord, lady, and their own children. She wore a low-cut deep maroon dress that offset her creamy skin. She smiled often, laughed seldom, and ate neatly—and Jayge could not stop staring.

“She’s not for the likes of you, journeyman,” his seatmate said in his ear. “She’s for Benden Weyr. Next Hatching, and she’s sure to be Impressed.”

Jayge had thought that girls found on Search went immediately into the Weyr, but if she was a fosterling of Benden’s, maybe that made a difference. He did know that there was no clutch on the Hatching Grounds at the moment.

“She was in the hunting party that passed me on the track,” Jayge said casually. He tried to keep his eyes from her but could not. There was a sweet calmness about her; it was soothing just to watch her deal with her food platter. Jayge thought that he had never seen a girl quite like her. And she was not for him. He wrenched himself away and turned, smiling, to the journeywoman, who was eager to continue conversation.

The next morning, somewhat to Jayge’s dismay, the first person he encountered was the black-haired girl. She was in Fancy’s stable as he arrived from a quick breakfast to saddle Kesso.

“I think she’s going to settle in all right,” she said, smiling with obvious relief up at Jayge. “Master Conwy said you’d brought her all the way from Keroon Beasthold without so much as a scratch. Do you like all animals? Or just runners?”

Jayge was having trouble organizing a suitable answer, so he just smiled. Yes, he thought, he had been right about that sadness in her face. “Oh, I get on well with most animals. Treat ’em right, they work well for you. Feeding’s important. Enough for the work they’ve got to do.”

“Are you a beastman, or a herdsman?”

“I’m a trader.”

“Ah, so you’d know burden beasts better.” For some reason the girl’s smile was tinged by wistfulness. “We had a yoke—I called them Nudge and Shove. They did a lot of it, but they never let us down.”

Jayge had completed saddling and stowing his pack without realizing that he had done so, and he was suddenly very shy in her presence. “Gotta go,” he said. “Long way still. Nice meeting you. Keep your eye on Fancy.”

“Fancy?”

“I always name animals. Even just for a journey.” He shrugged diffidently, wondering what had gotten into him. He usually had no trouble talking to girls at all. Last night had proved that, though if he had known that he would be talking to her again today, he would not have settled for a quick tumble with that journeywoman. He backed Kesso out of the stall.

“Fancy’s a very good name for her.” The girl’s voice followed him out of the beasthold. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of her. Good luck.”

Jayge swung up on Kesso and trotted smartly out of the beasthold, wishing he could have thought of some excuse to stay. But she was for the Weyr, and that was that!