12
Southern Continent, PP 15.10.19
“Young Lord Jaxom, with Piemur, Sharra, and Menolly, has found a vast settlement, buried under volcanic ash and dirt,” D’ram announced excitedly. He had brought the news to Toric immediately, a sign of the growing mutual respect between Weyrleader and Southern Holder.
Toric hid his dismay as he read through the lengthy message that D’ram had brought from Master Robinton. He had swallowed his chagrin the previous month when he learned that the cove had been claimed for the Masterharper. One small cove Toric could allow without regret, however beautiful the place was rumored to be. With the help of Piemur’s maps and more eager dragonrider assistance than he really wanted, he had made other advantageous discoveries. For the first time, he had been able to fly over a good deal of his own holding—and he could begin to appreciate how large the continent was. But it had also been made tacitly clear to him that he could not have it all. The latest discovery made clear that “one small cove” was the thin edge of a big wedge.
He would have liked to digest the news without the presence of the new Masterharper, Sebell, but they had been trying to reach an understanding about which and how many new settlers Toric would permit in his hold. He was going to have to remind the Benden Weyrleaders of the promise made to him two and a half Turns before—and hold them to it. Aware that Sebell was watching his reactions, he expressed amazement at the new discovery.
“I shall, of course, convey you there myself,” D’ram replied, looking more like an eager weyrling than a seasoned leader. “I saw that mountain peak when I was in Cove Hold. I saw it, and never realized how significant it was.”
“ ‘When man came to Pern, he established a good Hold in the South,’ ” Sebell murmured, his eyes shining almost reverently, “ ‘but found it necessary to move north to shield.’ ”
Toric snorted at such ambiguous nonsense, although he had to admit that the first part of the Fragment did seem to be true. Had they held the entire South? “I’ll get my flying gear, D’ram.”
“Oh, no, not now, Toric,” D’ram said, grinning. “It’s late in the night there now. I assure you, we shall leave here in an appropriate time to arrive when the interested persons have gathered tomorrow morning. But I’ve matters to organize. And so must you. I’m as eager to go as you, Holder, believe me.” D’ram’s smile faded as he saw the concern on the Masterharper’s face. “Sebell?”
“I just don’t like so much excitement for my Master. He’s not fully recovered.”
“He has Menolly in constant attendance, as well as Sharra,” D’ram assured him. “They won’t let him tire himself.”
Sebell gave an uncharacteristic snort. “You don’t know Master Robinton as I do, D’ram. He’ll wear himself out, puzzling through the whys and wherefores of this.”
“It’ll do him good, Sebell,” D’ram replied. “Keep his mind occupied. Not that he would interfere with your Mastering, but an—” He changed word midthought. “An older man needs interests that involve him in life. Don’t worry, Sebell.”
“At least about your Master’s health,” Toric said sardonically. “He’s got both Menolly and Sharra, hasn’t he?”
D’ram realized that his mention of Toric’s sister had not been as circumspect as it might have been, just as he also remembered that Menolly was Sebell’s wife. “I’ll leave you to the reading and collect you in six hours’ time.”
“Isn’t there a lad from Ruatha Hold in this new batch of dimwits?” Toric asked Sebell when D’ram had left. He wanted to settle the latest arrivals immediately.
“Yes.” Sebell skimmed over the careful lists he had helped Toric make of abilities and ambitions. “Dorse: comes with a good recommendation from Brand, steward of the Ruatha Hold.”
“I don’t remember him offhand.”
“I knew him from Ruatha,” Sebell began in a tone that Toric was coming to identify as discreet. “You can trust Brand’s warranty. Says he does well if overseen.”
“Anyone does well overseen,” Toric said in a derisive tone. “What I need is someone who can initiate and carry through.”
“There’s a very competent man, Denol—came here from Boll on Lady Marella’s recommendation. Brought many of his family with him. Crop pickers by occupation, but they’ve settled in here well and obey him implicitly …”
“Ah, Denol. Yes, I know the man you mean. Well, then, give him a gaggle of these Northern louts, have him take his kin with him to that new holding at Great Bay, and we’ll see what he makes of it.”
“Send Dorse with him?”
“Not yet. I’ve something else in mind for that lad.”
As the bronze Tiroth emerged from between just east of Two-Faced Mountain, the volcano dominating the plain on which the settlement had been discovered, Toric tugged at D’ram’s sleeve and inscribed circles with his gloved finger. He wanted a good look around. Clearly he was not alone: two dragons were still airborne, and four more sat on the ground below, Ruth’s white hide standing out among them. Groups of people were wandering aimlessly around, and Toric wondered just how many had been informed of the amazing discovery. A positive rainbelt of fire-lizards, soaring and diving, was exulting in a cascade of sound that Toric could hear even through his padded helmet as a swarm swooped in greeting to Tiroth.
He bitterly resented the fact that the news had been spread with such a lavish hand. Southern had been his! It was enough that he had had to spend much of the past month delegating holdings to Northerners who would probably kill themselves with either enthusiasm in the heat or their ignorance of Southern dangers. He had been forced to recognize that the Southern Continent was not his to dispose of. But was it really Benden’s, either?
He shook his head. One man could only Hold so much. Fax’s depredations in the north had proven that. He had not made Fax’s greatest mistake, controlling by fear. Greed, he knew, served as well for holdless men and women. But such speculations were useless at the moment, so he concentrated on the truly awe-inspiring panorama that spread below him as Tiroth circled slowly over an incredible sweep of meadow, broader and deeper than any expanse Toric had seen before.
The mountain dominated the scene. Its eastern lip had blown out, and the three smaller volcanoes crouching on its southeastern flank had also erupted at some time. Lava had flowed down, south toward the rolling plains. Was that what his fire-lizards had been screaming about recently? Toric was rarely aware of his dreams, but lately he had recalled vivid ones, totally incomprehensible. A man should not be plagued by fire-lizards in his sleep—yet there he was circling over the very site that matched their mental images.
He had no doubt that the plain at the foot of the volcanoes had once been inhabited. The morning sun threw outlines in bold relief. Such outlines could not have been the result of natural forces. The mounds, with straight lines setting them apart from one another, were formed in squares and rectangles. There was row upon row, square upon square of mounds, some large, some small; those nearest the lava flow had collapsed, proving that not even the ancients had been impervious to the planet’s restless internal forces. Rather stupid, Toric thought, to have built out in the open, totally vulnerable to Thread and volcanic eruptions.
D’ram looked back at him with an unspoken query, and reluctantly Toric nodded. He was honed with eagerness to see what Benden proposed to do about the discovery. And to see who else had gathered to view this wonder. Toric was not often impressed, but today he was awed.
Tiroth deposited them on the plain, not far from the distinctive figure of Mastersmith Fandarel, towering above the diminutive Benden Weyrwoman. Toric strode toward them, nodding to Masterminer Nicat, Mastersmith Fandarel, F’nor, and N’ton.
As he greeted F’lar and Lessa, he glanced sharply over at the small knot of younger folk standing beyond, noticing that Menolly and Piemur acknowledged his presence. He decided the tall young man standing by Sharra must be Jaxom, Ruathan Lord Holder, still a boy, much too young and insignificant for his sister. He would put a stop to that immediately—as soon as he was through dealing with Benden’s encroachment on his continent. He returned his attention to F’lar.
“Actually, Toric,” F’lar was saying, “it was young Jaxom who made this discovery, along with Menolly, Piemur, and your sister, Sharra.”
“And quite a discovery, it is, too!” Toric replied, seething inside. Smoothly he steered the discussion to the question of the ruins themselves. Soon he found himself caught up in the excitement as, shovel and picks in hand, he joined the others in attacking the mounds.
With its thick grass cover and dry, grayish soil the ground was not easy to break, but Toric, working alongside Mastersmith Fandarel, soon made good headway. The Southern holder was in excellent condition, but quickly found that he had to extend himself to keep up with the indefatigable and powerful Craftmaster. Toric had heard about the man’s energy: now he believed it. He used the infrequent rests he permitted himself to observe the impudent young scut who had kept Sharra away so long. Weyrless lordling boy, he thought. A few scowls would send him scurrying.
The next time he took a breather, he saw that Jaxom’s runt of a white dragon and some of the fire-lizards had joined in the digging. Dirt was being shifted at an amazing rate. He called his own fire-lizards to him just as Ramoth, Benden’s proud queen, began to assist at the small mound that Lessa had chosen to excavate. Toric redoubled his efforts beside Fandarel.
Lessa and F’lar, each working at separate mounds, were the first to reap any results of their hard work, and everyone rushed to see. Toric followed the crowd, but he was confident that all the digging would prove to be wasted effort. All previous evidence suggested that the ancients would have stripped everything before they left their settlement behind. He took only one look into each dragon-dug trench. What he saw was the same rocklike substance that had been used in the mine building he had found, except that in F’lar’s an amber panel was set in the curve of the mound. Uninterested, he stood to one side while the others argued about what to do next. Finally the Mastersmith took charge: they would unite their efforts and concentrate on Lessa’s mound.
Toric was disgusted that people he had admired should be so caught up by vain hopes. But he found that he, too, could not turn his back on the project, even supposing he was able to talk D’ram into leaving. There was always the chance, despite all his previous disappointments, that there was something left behind, and he could not miss that. It would show him what to look for in the other mounds Sharra and Hamian had discovered, the ones whose existence had not been reported to the world at large.
Late in the day a door was discovered, and amid much excitement, the mound was entered. And, as luck—good or bad, Toric wondered—would have it, Toric was the one who found the strange spoon, made of a smooth, clear, and incredibly strong nonmetal substance. Lessa was thrilled, and as they all enthusiastically trooped out to excavate another mound, Toric wished he had not encouraged them. Night had fallen before they quit for the day and he could make his escape. When Lessa invited him to join them overnight at Cove Hold, he summoned up as much politeness as he could manage and declined, calling for D’ram to give him a ride home.
That night Piemur composed a message for Jayge and Ara. With all the new wonders of the excavation to fully occupy the Halls and Weyrs, he was more sanguine about the couple’s safety. If they had found the only remaining settlement of the ancients, he would have felt compelled to mention it, out of Hall loyalty, to Master Robinton. But there was plenty of time for that—he could wait until the excitement about Two-Faced Mountain died down. In his message, Piemur told Jayge briefly that a huge settlement of great antiquity had been found and that he would try to visit them again soon. He sent Farli with the note.
In the morning she swooped to his shoulder, a brief message on the reverse side of his. “We are well. Thank you.” He just had time to thrust it into his pocket when Menolly appeared, wanting to know if he had seen either Jaxom or Sharra. Before he could frame an answer, Jaxom and Ruth, accompanied by a multitude of fire-lizards, burst into the air above the cove. The noise roused Master Robinton, who roared for silence.
“I have found the ancients’ flying machines,” Jaxom insisted, his eyes wide with wonder and excitement. “The fire-lizards have been driving me and Ruth crazy with memories of the scene. As if they could have a memory that old! I had to see, to believe,” he explained earnestly. “So Ruth and I dug down to the door into one of them. There are three, did I mention that? Well, there are. They look like this—” He grabbed a stick and, in the sand, sketched an irregular cylindrical design that had stubby wings and a straight-up section over the tail. He drew smaller rings at one end and outlined a long oval door. “That’s what Ruth and I found!”
At every sentence, there were choruses of approval from the fire-lizards outside and inside Cove Hold until Master Robinton once again begged for silence. By that time, both Menolly and Piemur had been bombarded with confirming images from their own fire-lizards, vivid scenes of men and women coming down a ramp, interwoven with views of the cylinders gliding in to land and taking off again. Everyone was thrilled at the idea of seeing the actual ships that had very likely brought their ancestors from the Dawn Sisters to Pern. Jaxom’s only disappointment was that Sharra was not there to share in his glory; she had, he learned, been called back to Southern Hold to deal with some illness there.
F’nor arrived on Canth just after they had eaten, none too pleased to be rousted by F’lar and sent out at such an early hour. But he changed his tune when he learned why Master Robinton had sent word to Benden Weyr. He was instantly ready to head right out to see the ancient ships.
When the Harper insisted on going along, they all protested, but he refused to be left on his own again at Cove Hold—it would be inhumane, he said, to deprive him of witnessing such a historic moment. He promised not to dig, but he simply had to be there! So despite their misgivings, they set off, F’nor taking Robinton and Piemur on Canth, and Jaxom taking Menolly, accompanied by an increasing storm of fire-lizards that could only be silenced by Ruth.
The excavation that followed yielded marvel after marvel, only beginning with the green button that, when pushed, caused the vehicle’s door to open on its own. But for Piemur and Master Robinton, the most wonderful find was the maps, covering the walls of one of the rooms, showing both continents in their entirety. Thinking of his own arduous mapping expeditions, Piemur was awed by the extent and the detail. Briefly he struggled with the dilemma of conflicting interests. He admired Toric and respected what he had achieved, but such a vast land was more than any one man had a right to Hold. From now on, Piemur would take a harper’s view.
Toric did not expect Sharra to appreciate what he was doing for her sake. He did not expect wife, sister, and both brothers to oppose him.
“And what’s wrong with Sharra making such a good match?” Ramala demanded, displaying an anger and force of will that astonished him.
“With Ruatha? A table-sized Hold in the north?” Toric dismissed it with a flick of his fingers. “Why, you could fit the place in one corner of my hold and it’d rattle.”
“Ruatha is a powerful Hold,” Hamian said, his face expressionless except for an angry tightening around the eyes. “Don’t dismiss Jaxom because he’s young and rides a sport dragon. He’s extremely intelligent …”
“Sharra can do better for herself!” Toric seethed. He was tired. After two days of digging and trying to keep up with that blasted smith, he wanted a bath, a good meal, and a chance to go over the maps Piemur had sent him. He was determined to learn exactly where the incredible Plateau was located—flying between with D’ram had given him no useful direction other than east.
“Sharra has done very well for herself,” Murda said, raising her voice as if volume would impress their opinion on him. She did not bother to conceal her approval and scowled fiercely at Toric.
“How would you know?” Toric demanded. “You’ve never met him.”
“I have,” Hamian said. “But that’s not as important as the fact that Sharra has chosen him. She’s been too long complying with your demands and suppressing her own needs. I think she’s done bloody well.”
“He’s younger than she is!”
Ramala shrugged. “A Turn or two. I’m warning you, Toric. Her feelings for Jaxom are genuine. She’s old enough to know her own heart and marry to suit herself.”
“Any one of you, any one of you,” Toric exclaimed, shaking his fist at each in turn, “meddle in this, and you can leave! Leave!” With that he dismissed them all, slumping into his chair and fuming over their reception of his decision.
A man should be able to trust his own family. That was the basis of the Blood relationship: trust. Give her a few days back home, away from that gawky lordling and the glamorous atmosphere of Cove Hold, and she would see reason. Meanwhile, he would see she stayed at home. He sent a drudge in search of the Ruathan he had previously noticed.
“Dorse, do you know that Ruathan lordling well?” he asked when the young man arrived.
Dorse was surprised and then guarded. “I gave you the warranty note from Brand, steward at Ruatha.”
“He said nothing to your discredit.” Toric put an edge on his tone. “I repeat, did you know this young Jaxom?”
“We were milkbrothers.”
“Then you’d know if he’d ever come to Southern on any errand?”
“Him? No.” Dorse was positive. “He was never let go anywhere without everyone knowing. Afraid he’d lose himself or crease the hide of that precious white dragon of his.”
“I see.” And Toric did: milkbrothers were rarely fond of each other, despite the popular myth. “You know that my sister, Sharra, has returned.” Very few in the hold would have failed to note that. “I want her to stay here, see no one, and neither receive nor send messages. Do I make myself understood?”
That had a nice ring to it, Toric thought. Another important matter to be resolved. “Use Breide as relief guard. He’s in the same dormitory. He’s got a good memory for faces and names. If the pair of you keep her safely here, I shall find a special hold for you later.”
“That’s easily done, Lord Toric.” Dorse grinned. “I had a lot of practice keeping my eyes on people, if you know what I mean.”
Toric dismissed him and, calling up his two queens, gave them particular instructions about Meer and Talla, Sharra’s fire-lizards. Satisfied with his preparations, he then bathed, ate, and figured out which reliable aspiring young holder he could spare to keep an eye on his interests at the Plateau. If something useful was found in any of those abandoned buildings, he wanted full details. He had secured a magnificent hold, far richer and more extensive than even Telgar. Dorse had automatically accorded him the title that he should long before have been accorded, and it had sounded very pleasant indeed. While the Benden Weyrleaders and the others were dazzled by the empty promises of that Plateau, he must force the issue on the matter of rank and be confirmed by the Conclave as Lord Holder of Southern.
Maybe then Sharra would appreciate how much he had achieved for them all and consent to his arrangements. She did need a husband and children. Why had Ramala turned against him? Fatigue eroded his concentration. He rolled up on the floor in a spare fur he kept in his work chamber. When he returned to the Plateau he would warn off that boy, and that would be the end of it.
The next day, when Tiroth and the other dragons deposited him and his holders on the mound, Toric looked first for Lessa and found her standing with others at Nicat’s mound door. Then he saw Jaxom with the Harper and changed direction. Let the Harper know, he thought, and all Pern would.
“Harper!” Toric came to a halt with a courteous nod to the old man, who looked surprisingly hale for one whom half Pern had had in his grave.
“Holder Toric,” the boy said casually, over his shoulder.
“Lord Jaxom,” Toric replied in a drawl that made an insult of a title.
Jaxom turned slowly. “Sharra tells me that you do not favor an alliance with Ruatha.”
Toric smiled broadly. This was going to be entertaining. “No, lordling, I do not! She can do better than a table-sized Hold in the North!” He caught the Harper’s surprised look.
Suddenly Lessa, a hint of steel in her eyes, appeared beside Jaxom. “What did I hear, Toric?”
“Holder Toric has other plans for Sharra,” the boy said, more amused than aggrieved. “She can do better, it seems, than a table-sized Hold like Ruatha!”
Toric would have given much to know who exactly had repeated his words to Sharra. “I mean no offense to Ruatha,” he said, catching the flicker of anger in Lessa’s face though her smile remained in place.
“That would be most unwise, considering my pride in my Bloodline and in the present Holder of that title,” the Weyrwoman said.
Toric did not like the casual tone of her voice.
“Surely you might reconsider the matter, Toric,” Robinton said, as affable as ever despite the warning in his eyes. “Such an alliance, so much desired by the two young people, would have considerable advantages, I think, aligning yourself with one of the most prestigious Holds on Pern.”
“And be in favor with Benden,” Lessa added, smiling too sweetly.
Toric absently rubbed the back of his neck, trying to keep his smile in place. He felt unaccountably light-headed. The next thing he knew, Lessa had put her arm through his and was escorting him to the privacy of her mound.
“I thought we were here to dig up Pern’s glorious past,” he said, managing a good-natured laugh. His head still swam.
“There’s surely no time like the present,” Lessa continued, “to discuss the future. Your future.”
Well, that was more like, Toric thought. F’lar was there, beside Lessa, and the Harper had followed them. The Southern holder shook his head to clear it.
“Yes, with so many ambitious holdless men pouring into Southern,” F’lar was saying, “we’ve been remiss in making certain you’ll have the lands you want, Toric. I don’t fancy blood feuds in the South. Unnecessary, too, when there’s space enough for this generation and several more.”
Toric laughed. The man didn’t realize just how much space there was in the South. He seized his opportunity. “And since there’s so much space, why should I not be ambitious for my sister?”
“You’ve more than one, and we’re not talking of Jaxom and Sharra just now,” Lessa said with a hint of irritability. “F’lar and I had intended to arrange a more formal occasion to set your Holding, but there’s Master Nicat wanting to formalize Minecraft affairs with you, and Lord Groghe is anxious that his two sons do not hold adjacent lands, and other questions have come up recently which require answers.”
“Answers?” Toric leaned against one wall of the cot and crossed his arms on his chest.
“One answer required is how much land any one man should Hold in the south?” F’lar said, idly digging dirt from under his thumbnail. The light emphasis was not lost on Toric.
“And? Our original agreement was that I could Hold all the lands I had acquired by the time the Oldtimers had passed on.”
“Which, in truth, they haven’t,” Robinton said.
“I shan’t insist on waiting,” Toric replied, nodding, “since the original circumstances have altered. And since my hold is thoroughly disorganized by the indigent and hopeful lordlings and holdless men and women, as well as, I am reliably informed, by others who have eschewed our help and landed wherever their ships can be beached.”
“All the more reason to be sure you are not deprived of one length of your just Hold,” F’lar said—far too agreeably, Toric thought. “I know that you have sent out exploring teams. How far have they actually penetrated?”
“With the help of D’ram’s dragonriders”—and Toric saw that F’lar did know of that agency—“we have extended our knowledge of terrain to the foot of the Western Range.” That was safe enough to admit. He had not said when he had extended that knowledge.
“That far?”
“And, of course, Piemur reached the Great Desert Bay to the west,” the Southerner went on determinedly.
“My dear Toric, how can you possibly Hold all that?”
Toric knew the rights of Holding as well as the Weyrleader did. “I’ve small cotholders with burgeoning families along most of the habitable shoreline and at strategic points in the interior. The men you sent me these past few Turns proved most industrious.” The Weyrleaders would have to accept the accomplished fact.
“I suspect they have pledged loyalty to you in return for your original generosity?” F’lar asked. “Naturally.”
Lessa laughed. She was really a very sensual woman when she wanted to be, Toric realized. “I thought when we met at Benden that you were a shrewd and independent man.”
“There’s land, my dear Weyrwoman, for any man who can hold it.”
“I’d say then,” Lessa went on, “that you’ll have more than enough to occupy you fully and to Hold, from sea to Western Range to the Great Bay …”
Suddenly Toric heard his fire-lizards’ warning. Sharra was running away. He had to leave the Plateau, to get back to the hold.
“To the Great Bay in the West, yes, that is my hope. I do have maps. In my hold, but if I’ve your leave …” He had managed one stride to the door when the Benden queen bugled a warning. Another male voice chimed in, all but drowning his fire-lizards out. F’lar moved swiftly to block his way.
“It’s already too late, Toric.”
And so it was. For when they all filed out of that all too provident meeting, Toric saw the white dragon landing, Sharra and the young lordling on his back. Unsmiling and impotent, Toric watched them approach.
“Toric,” Jaxom said, “you cannot contain Sharra anywhere on Pern where Ruth and I cannot find her. Place and time are no barriers to Ruth. Sharra and I can go anywhere, anywhen on Pern.”
One of Toric’s fire-lizard queens attempted to land on his shoulder. He ignored her piteous chirps and brushed her away. He hated disloyalty.
“Furthermore,” Jaxom went on, “fire-lizards obey Ruth! Don’t they, my friend?” The white sport had followed his rider. “Tell every fire-lizard here on the Plateau to go away.”
In an instant the meadow was empty of the little creatures. Toric did not like the young upstart’s demonstration. When the fire-lizards returned, he allowed his little queen to land on his shoulder, but he never took his eyes from Jaxom’s.
“How did you know so much about Southern? I was told that you’ve never been there!” So that milkbrother had lied. Toric half-turned, looking across the meadow, wondering if Piemur had had a hand in this. That unweyred lordling could not have snatched Sharra back from Southern all by himself: he wouldn’t have had the courage or the knowledge.
“Your informant erred,” Jaxom continued. “Today is not the first time I’ve retrieved something from the Southern Weyr which belongs to the North.” He laid his arm possessively about Sharra’s shoulders.
Toric felt his composure leave him. “You!” He thrust his arm out at Jaxom, wanting to do many things at once, especially swat down that—that—impudent excrescence. He was livid with the indignation of being under obligation to that—that lordling! That leggy, undeveloped boy! He wanted to rend Jaxom limb from body, but little though the white dragon might be, he was bigger than Toric, stronger than any man, and both dam and sire were not far away. There was nothing Toric could do but swallow his humiliation. He could feel the blood suffusing his face, pumping through his extremities. Impossible as it was for him to believe, he was faced with the fact that the boy had dared to retrieve Sharra—dared and done—and now faced him coolly. He had been in error to call the lad a coward! He had allowed himself to be swayed in his judgment by the jaundice of a milkbrother. Young Jaxom had acted like a proper lord, reclaiming the woman of his choice in spite of precautions. “You took the egg back! You and that—but the fire-lizards’ images were black!”
“I’d be stupid not to darken a white hide if I make a night pass, wouldn’t I?” Jaxom asked scornfully.
“I knew it wasn’t one of T’ron’s riders.” Toric was reduced to clenching and unclenching his fists as he struggled to regain his composure. “But for you to … Well, now …” He forced himself to smile, a trifle sourly, as he looked from the Benden Weyrleaders to the Harper. Then he started to laugh, losing anger and frustration as he roared away the stress. “If you knew, lordling,” and this time it was a respectful title as he pointed his finger at Jaxom, “the plans you ruined, the—How many people knew it was you?” He turned accusingly on the dragonriders.
“Not many,” the Harper answered, also glancing at the Weyrleaders.
“I knew,” Sharra said, “and so did Brekke. Jaxom worried about that egg the whole time he was fevered.” She gazed up at the boy proudly.
They made a handsome pair, Toric thought inconsequentially.
“Not that it matters now,” Jaxom said. “What does matter is, do I now have your permission to marry Sharra and make her lady of Ruatha Hold?”
“I don’t see how I can stop you,” Toric had to admit, sweeping his arm up in irritation.
“Indeed you couldn’t, for Jaxom’s boast about Ruth’s abilities is valid,” F’lar said. “One must never underestimate a dragonrider, Toric.” Then he grinned, softening the implicit warning. “Especially a Northern dragonrider.”
“I shall bear that firmly in mind,” Toric replied, letting chagrin color his voice. Indeed, he had become far too complacent about the distinction. “Especially in our present discussion. Before these impetuous youngsters interrupted us, we were discussing the extent of my Hold, were we not?”
He turned his back on his sister and her lordling and gestured to the others to return to their temporary hall.