13

Southern Continent, Nerat Hold, PP 15.10.23

Two days after Jaxom had triumphantly returned to Cove Hold with Sharra, and Toric had concluded his Holding agreement with the Benden Weyrleaders, contingent on confirmation by the Lord Holder Conclave, Piemur managed to find an opportunity to tell Master Robinton about Jayge and Ara.

“Another ancient settlement? Restored and lived in?” Astonished, Master Robinton leaned back in his great chair. Zair, asleep on his desk in the sun, woke up, blinking. “Bring me the relevant map.” He tossed Piemur the key that unlocked the drawer in which his secret documents were kept. Masterscrivener Arnor had had his most discreet and accurate journeyman make three copies of all the maps found on the walls of the “flying ship,” after which access to the ship had been restricted to Master Fandarel’s most trusted Mastersmiths. “How kind of you, Piemur, to save something to amuse me just when it was beginning to be humdrum again,” Robinton went on.

After Piemur had shown him the location of Paradise River, the Harper pored over the map a long time, murmuring to himself and occasionally grimacing. Well accustomed to his Master’s ways, Piemur filled Robinton’s goblet with wine and put it by his right hand. Piemur had been officially reassigned by the new Masterharper Sebell as journeyman to Cove Hold. He did not bother asking the new Masterharper if Toric had refused to have him back, or if Master Robinton had specifically requested him. What mattered to Piemur was that he was back with Master Robinton where, despite the old man’s wistful complaints, things were never dull—especially since, having been given a clean bill of health by Master Oldive, the Harper had great plans for further exploration.

“A vast and marvelous land, Piemur,” Robinton said, taking a sip of his wine. “And when one thinks of the plight of the holdless in Igen low caverns, those terrible rock cells in Tillek and High Reaches …” He sighed. “I think—” He broke off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I let them talk me into retiring too soon is what I think.”

Piemur laughed. “You’re no more retired than I am, Master Robinton. Merely looking for a different kind of mischief to get into. Let Sebell cope with the Lord Holders, Craftmasters, and Weyrleaders. I rather thought you liked delving into the mounds?”

The Harper’s gesture was testy. “If they’d find anything! Fandarel and Wansor have the best part of what has been discovered so far and are happy as gorged weyrlings with those totally undecipherable star maps. The few empty bottles—albeit made of a very curious substance—and broken mechanical parts simply do not stimulate my imagination. I want to know so much more than what the ancients threw away or left behind as too bulky to dismantle. I want to know their style of living, what they used, ate, wore, why they moved North, where they came from originally, how they got here, apart from using the Dawn Sisters as vehicles. That really must have been a staggering voyage. I want to reconstruct Landing and … Just how much was left there at—what did you call it?”

“Paradise River? You’d best judge yourself,” Piemur said, at last getting his suggestion in edgewise. The journeyman was certain that once the Harper had met the resourceful and thoroughly likable Jayge and Ara, he would sponsor them—certainly against any claims Toric might make against them. “They’ve a stoutly built and pleasant house; they’ve tamed wild stock and made do with what they could find and put to use. As you can see, they’re far away from Southern’s boundary.” Journeyman and Master shared a smile, and then Piemur ventured a question. “What, may your humble journeyman ask, is going to determine who holds what and where from now on?”

Master Robinton eyed his journeyman closely. “A very good question, humble Journeyman Piemur.” He winked. “But not my problem.”

“I’ll believe that when watchwhers fly.”

“Seriously, I’ve been provided with this magnificent residence”—the Harper’s eyes sparkled—“sufficiently far away from stress and strain to preserve me. I cannot offend the many who built it for my use by leaving it even if I could talk a dragonrider into taking me North now and then.” He frowned. “Lessa took too narrow an interpretation of Oldive’s advice.” He sighed and, glancing out his window at the turquoise sea, smiled with resignation. “And I am nominally in charge of excavations above.” Then he said more briskly, “Of course, if Weyrleaders or Lord Holders care to ask my opinion—” He ignored Piemur’s derisive snort. “—I would remind them of the long-standing tradition of autonomy: Hall, Hold, and Weyr their own masters except when the safety of our world is at stake.”

“There’s been a lot of traditions lying about in shards these days,” Piemur remarked dryly.

“To be sure, but some were long past their usefulness.”

“Who decides that?”

“Necessity.”

“Does ‘necessity’ decide who gets to hold what where?” Piemur asked acerbically. Privately he felt that Toric had been granted far too much by the Benden Weyrleaders, even if, at that time, Lessa had also been bargaining for Jaxom’s happiness with Sharra. He had the feeling that Master Robinton agreed with him on that score.

“Ah, we’re back to your young friends again, are we?”

“That’s where we started, and no more diversions, Master Robinton. I’m asking you for your ‘opinion’ on this matter. And, with you in charge of excavations and other ancient puzzles, I feel you should meet Jayge and Ara and see what they’ve found!”

“Quite right.” The Harper drained his wine, rolled up the map and stood. “As well Lessa assigned old P’ratan to Cove Hold. He’s discreet and willing enough if I don’t ask him to do too much,” he said as he reached for his riding gear. “Why do you call it ‘Paradise River’?”

“You’ll see,” Piemur replied.

Jayge was hauling in his net when he saw the dragon in the sky.

It came gliding in from the east. He watched it in awe for all of a minute as astonishment and then anxiety made him relax his grip on the full heavy net. As it slid from his grasp, he recovered enough sense to snap a buoy on the last strand so he could retrieve the valuable net later. In another moment, he had hoisted the skiff’s sail, seen the fresh offshore breeze fill it, and wondered if he could possibly beat the dragon to the shore.

Maybe, just maybe, Aramina was still asleep. He knew she only heard dragons when she was awake, and he had left both his wife and the boy fast asleep when he had crept out to catch the dawn run of fish. If he could just warn her. While she heard fire-lizards—they both did—and had laughed about their recent astonishing images, she generally found their meaningless chitter more amusing than disturbing.

The green dragon, an old beast to judge by her whitened muzzle and the puckering wing scars, carried three people. She appeared to be taking her time about landing, circling slowly down. It even seemed as if she had timed her landing with Jayge’s arrival at the strand. Just as Jayge hauled up the rudder-board, one of the passengers dismounted and came running down to the beach, unlatching his helmet. Piemur!

“Jayge, I’ve brought the Masterharper. P’ratan kindly conveyed us on Poranth.” Piemur spoke quickly, smiling to reassure Jayge about the unexpected visitors. “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right for you and Ara,” he added, lending a hand to help Jayge pull the little skiff above the high-tide mark on the sand.

Movement on the verandah of the house attracted Jayge’s attention, and he caught just a glimpse of Ara collapsing in a faint.

“Ara!” he cried, and without even a nod in the direction of the two older men, he pelted up to the house and Ara’s unconscious body. Hearing a dragon after all those years must have given her a terrible fright.

He had laid her on her bed and Piemur was offering her a cup of Jayge’s brew by the time the Harper and the dragonrider had joined them in the house. Readis, bawling with fright at the sight of the strange faces, turned rigid in Piemur’s arms when the journeyman attempted to comfort him. Then he abruptly stopped his squawling. Piemur caught the direction of his look and saw Master Robinton making such absurd grimaces that the baby was too fascinated to howl, his tear-filled eyes fixed on the Harper.

When Ara regained consciousness, she stared white-faced at the visitors. Jayge felt her relax only a fraction, and somehow the pressure of her fingers on his arm suggested to him that she knew neither of them.

“Ara,” he told her in urgent reassurance, “P’ratan’s Poranth has brought Piemur and Master Robinton. They mean us to have what we’ve got here. It’ll be our hold. Our own hold!”

Ara kept staring at the men, who were attempting by their manner and smiles to reassure her.

“I can appreciate the shock, dear lady, to be confronted with visitors so unexpectedly,” Master Robinton said. “But today was really the first opportunity I’ve had to come.”

“Ara, it’s all right,” Jayge reassured her, stroking her hair and patting her fingers where they clutched frantically at his vest.

“Jayge,” she said in a low, constricted voice. “I didn’t hear her!”

“You didn’t?” Jayge thought to keep his voice low. “You didn’t?” he repeated with more confidence. “Then why did you faint?”

“Because I didn’t!” In that pained reply, Aramina managed to convey her conflicting emotions to Jayge.

He pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently and murmuring over and over that it was all right. It did not matter if she did not hear dragons anymore. She had no need to. And she must not be afraid. No one would censure her. She must relax and compose herself. Such a shock was not good for the baby.

“Here! This’ll help,” Piemur said, again offering the cup of fermented drink. “Believe me, Aramina, I know how it can be when you don’t see anyone else for Turns and suddenly you’ve got callers.”

At the use of his wife’s full name, Jayge looked up in wary surprise.

“I recognized you from a sketch that was circulated after your disappearance,” the Masterharper explained kindly. He was jouncing Readis on his knee, and the toddler was gurgling with delight.

“My dear child,” he went on when Aramina had recovered sufficiently. “It will be the best of all possible news that you are alive and so well, here in this fine Southern Hold. We all thought you dead at the marauders’ hands!” There was a hint of rebuke in the glance he gave Jayge but none in his voice for Aramina. “I’ve had more surprises these past few weeks than ever in my lifetime. It’s going to take me Turns to absorb it all.”

“Master Robinton is very interested in ancient ruins, Jayge, Ara,” Piemur said. “And I think yours have more to offer than the empty ones up on the Plateau.”

Still amusing the baby, Master Robinton went on eagerly. “Piemur mentioned that you have found and are using articles of obvious antiquity, besides this most unusual dwelling. I saw the nets, boxes, and kegs, and I am amazed. The Plateau settlement will take us Turns to dig out, and so far we’ve found no more than a spoon, while you …” He gestured with his free hand to the various items he could see in the main room and included the dwelling itself.

“We haven’t been able to do much,” Ara said modestly, her courage restored. “Once we had the house finished—” she broke off apologetically and looked anxiously at Jayge. He was sitting beside her, one arm lightly around her shoulders, the other hand clasping hers.

“You’ve done marvels, my dear,” Robinton corrected her firmly. “A skiff, fishing; we saw the animal pens and your garden—the undergrowth you’ve cleared!”

“Haven’t you been troubled by Threadfall?” P’ratan asked anxiously, speaking for the first time.

“We stay out of it,” Jayge replied with a wry grin, then smiled apologetically at the startled dragonrider. “I’m of trader Blood and survived the first Telgar Fall. So I’m used to being holdless.”

“We never know just how our lives take shape, do we?” Master Robinton remarked, smiling with great good humor.

Jayge offered their guests klah and slices of fresh fruit, and bread Aramina had baked the previous day. She apologized for the texture, saying that she had not quite worked out the right grinding stones. Then she insisted on joining the Harper and the green rider on a tour of the other buildings on the river banks. Readis was persuaded to leave Master Robinton and go with his father and Piemur to salvage the nets and any fish they still contained.

“Impressive, truly impressive,” Robinton kept saying as they moved from one place to the next, touching a wall, checking a door’s closure, scuffing his boots on the floor. P’ratan said little, but his eyes were round, and he kept shaking his head in wonder, regarding Aramina with some awe. “Quite an extensive place. There must have been at least a hundred people living here, working the fields, fishing and—” He waved his hand distractedly. “—doing whatever else they did to create such durable materials.”

When they reached the shed that was being used as a beasthold, he leaned against the rail, another remnant of the ancients’ manufacture. “And you say you tamed all these animals yourselves?” He smiled at her as a little queen swooped gracefully to land on her shoulder. “Do you hear what they say?”

He spoke kindly, but Aramina flushed and ducked her head in momentary embarrassment. “They talk a lot of nonsense,” she said so disparagingly that the Harper sensed that recent fire-lizard conversations might have distressed her. “They are very good, minding Readis when we both have to be out of the hold. And Piemur showed us that they can be far more useful than we thought.” She slid open a high, wide door in the biggest of the buildings. “This is where we found most of the useful stuff,” she told them just as Jayge and Piemur rejoined them. With a brief apology, P’ratan wandered back to his green, who was basking on the sand.

“What we need,” the Harper said, planting his fists on his belt, “is an accurate rendering of the settlement.” He looked around the dim storehouse, at the pile of nets and the tumble of crates and barrels. “Where each building is, the state of it—a list, if you wouldn’t mind, of the items you’ve made use of, what’s left! I think I must send for Perschar. He finds it tedious to draw straight rows of empty buildings.”

“Perschar?” Jayge exclaimed.

“You’ve met him?” Robinton was surprised.

“I was one of those who assaulted Thella’s mountain base,” Jayge replied with a bark of laughter. “I know him! I didn’t know that you did.”

“Of course I did. I prevailed on him to use his talents for the Harper Hall, and so I’d been informed of many of the thefts and the ingenious ways in which they were carried out long before Asgenar and Larad realized what was happening. Would you mind Perschar coming here for a few days on my behalf?”

Jayge hesitated, caught Ara’s nod, and agreed. “A very clever man, and brave.”

“Likes a bit of a challenge now and then, but he’s as discreet as they come.” The Harper smiled reassuringly at Ara. “I think some company would do you both the world of good. You can be on your own too long.” Piemur noticed the sly glance directed at him and snorted. “My Zair,” Master Robinton said, indicating the bronze fire-lizard that had landed on his shoulder only moments before, “could also take a message to your parents at Ruatha Hold if you’d like, Aramina. In fact, he’s quite capable of carrying several, you know,” he added, looking inquiringly at Jayge.

“Master Robinton—” Jayge began in a rush and then hesitated, looking helplessly at Aramina. She put her arm about his waist.

“Yes?”

“What are we?” And when the Harper regarded him in surprise, he elaborated. “Trespassers? Or what?” He gestured to the other buildings and the rich fields beyond. “Piemur says this isn’t anybody’s hold?” His voice lifted questioningly, and his eyes held an eloquent appeal.

Just as Piemur had hoped, the Masterharper had taken a liking to the couple. He beamed at them. “In my opinion,” he said, shooting his journeyman a stern look, “you have undeniably established a secure and productive hold here. In my opinion, Holder Jayge, Lady Aramina, you may now do as you see fit. You have two Harper witnesses here to properly attest to your claim. We’ll even wake P’ratan up,” he offered, gesturing to the beach where the old green and his rider were dozing in the sun, “and ride a sweep of what should be included in this Paradise River Hold.”

“Paradise River Hold?” Jayge asked.

“That’s what I’ve been calling it,” Piemur explained a bit sheepishly.

“It’s a perfect name, Jayge,” Ara put in. “Or should it be called ‘Lilcamp Hold?’ ” she added noncommittally.

“I think,” Jayge said, taking her hands in his and looking deeply into her eyes, “that naming it ‘Lilcamp Hold’ just because we got shipwrecked here would be presumptuous. I think out of gratitude we ought to use the name the ancients had for it.”

“Oh, Jayge, I do, too!” She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him.

“Is becoming a holder as simple as this, Master Robinton?” Jayge asked, his face a bit red under his tan.

“In the south it will be,” the Harper announced firmly. “I shall, of course, submit this matter to the Benden Weyrleaders, who should be consulted, but you have demonstrated your ability to Hold on your own, and according to traditional methods”—he gave Piemur a stern glance as the journeyman guffawed—“that has always been the rule!”

“Then if you don’t mind, sir, if a message could be sent, could it be more than just that we’re alive?” Jayge’s face was eager, all trace of patient resignation erased. “There’s so much more that could be done with more hands. If that’s allowed?”

“It’s your hold,” the Harper said, and Piemur thought his tone defiant. The journeyman wondered just what the new Lord Toric’s reaction would be.

Jayge was looking across the river with a proprietary smile, reexamining buildings and the lush forestry crowding against them. Aramina whispered to him, and he looked down at her, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

“I’d like to send for some of my Bloodkin,” Jayge said.

“Always a good idea to have them share your good fortune,” the Harper said approvingly.

Although the Harper would have been happy to sift through the contents of the storehouse, Piemur, with some assistance from Jayge and Ara, urged him to come back to the cool house and compose the messages. Zair was dispatched to Ruatha Hold with reassurances to Barla and Dowell, while Farli went to the harper at Igen Hold, who would locate the Lilcamp-Amhold train and deliver Jayge’s missive.

“I’ve asked my aunt Temma and Nazer if they’d be willing to join us,” Jayge said tentatively as he finished writing. “Only how will they get here? I’m still not sure where we are!”

“Paradise River Hold,” Piemur replied irrepressibly.

“The Southern Continent is much more extensive than we originally believed,” Robinton said after a reproving glance at his journeyman. “Master Idarolan is still sailing eastward and updating me by means of his second mate’s fire-lizard. I believe that Master Rampesi is continuing westward past the Great Bay. In the meantime, I think we might prevail on P’ratan to convey your kin here, if they’re willing to come and wouldn’t overload Poranth. Would Temma and Nazer object to flying between on a dragon?” His eyes twinkled.

“Nothing fazes Temma or Nazer,” Jayge replied with conviction.

After a refreshing lunch, Piemur suggested firmly that perhaps the time had come for Aramina to give the Harper a full account of the past two years, while he and Jayge figured out boundaries for Paradise River Hold.

“A fine thing when a harper has to teach a trader to bargain,” Piemur said, mildly scoffing, though he found Jayge’s reluctance a refreshing change from Toric’s rampant greed. Jayge had to be reminded of Readis’s and any future children’s needs, as well as the requirements of Temma and Nazer, if they joined him. “You told me how far you and Scallak had walked west, east, and south. Well, we’ll just make those your boundaries. I’m good at figuring out how far one can travel in a day over what kind of terrain. This’ll be a good spread and still won’t take that much of a bite out of the continent.”

When the heat of the day had passed, P’ratan was quite willing to take harper and holder on an aerial sweep. Bright red stakes of the ancients’ durable manufacture were taken from the storehouse and pounded into the ground; trees were distinctively cut and distances confirmed. Piemur marked two maps, properly witnessed them with Master Robinton and P’ratan, and left one with Jayge.

The Masterharper assured the young couple that he would personally speak to the Weyrleaders and the Conclave on their behalf at an imminent meeting.

“Please come back whenever you can, Master Robinton, Rider P’ratan,” Aramina told them as they escorted them to green Poranth. “Next time it won’t be such a shock not to hear the dragon coming!”

Master Robinton took her hands in his, smiling kindly down at her. “Do you regret that you no longer hear dragons?”

“No.” Aramina shook her head violently. Her smile was more wistful than sad. “It’s better this way. Listening to the fire-lizards is quite enough, thank you. Have you any idea why I should stop hearing them?” she asked shyly.

“No,” the Harper replied honestly. “It’s an unusual enough ability. Only Brekke and Lessa can hear other riders’ dragons—and then only with conscious effort. It could have something to do with moving from girlhood to womanhood. I’ll ask Lessa—she will not chide you, my dear,” he added when Aramina’s hands clenched nervously in his. “I’ll see to that.”

When the dragon took off and suddenly disappeared, the baby in Jayge’s arms was startled into crying, looking wide-eyed at his mother for reassurance.

“They’ll be back, lovey. Now it’s time for you to be in bed.”

“Are you truly glad you don’t hear dragons anymore, Ara?” Jayge asked much later, after they had lain in bed for long hours discussing their plans for Paradise River Hold. He raised himself on his elbow to see her face in the moonlight flooding in through the window.

“When I was a little girl, I loved to hear them talking. They didn’t know I was listening.” Her mouth curved in a little smile. “I could pretend to have conversations with them. It was exciting to know where they were going, or where they’d been, and desperately saddening when I knew who had been injured. But I used to pretend, and this used to be terribly important to me, that they knew who Aramina was.” The smile disappeared. “Mother was always very strict with us. Even when my father was working at Keroon Beasthold, she wouldn’t let me play with many of the cothold children, and we weren’t allowed in the main Hold. When we were forced to live in Igen low caverns, Mother got even stricter. We weren’t allowed to play with anyone. So the dragons became even more important to me. They were freedom, they were safety, they were so marvelous! And when the hunters started taking me with them, my hearing dragons was my way of getting a larger share of what was available in Igen low caverns.”

She was suddenly silent, and Jayge knew she was remembering the trouble that her ability to hear dragons had caused. Gently, to remind her he was there, he began to stroke her hair.

“It was a wonderful gift for a child to have,” she murmured. “But I grew up. And the gift became dangerous. Then you found me.” She began to fondle him, as she often did when she wished them to make love. He held her closely for a long moment, trembling with the gift that Aramina gave to him.

Perschar was more than willing to go to Paradise River. “Anything to get me away from Master Arnor’s precise journeyman. I detest having to measure everything before I draw it. My eye is quite keen, you know. It will be nice to have something other than squares and rectangles to draw. Did the ancients have no imagination at all?”

“Rather a lot,” Robinton replied. “They got here, you know.” He pointed downward, meaning Pern.

“Oh, yes, rather.” Perschar was hauling watercolored scenes of things other than straight lines out of his carrysack.

“Where’s this?” Piemur asked, nicking one out of the pile and holding it up.

“That hill?” Perschar craned his neck. “Oh, that’s down by the grid that Fandarel’s young men are trying to pry out of the ground.”

Master Robinton turned the drawing so that he could see it. “I don’t think that’s a real hill,” he mused.

“Of course it is. Trees, bushes—quite irregular. Nothing like the others. Too tall for their one-level buildings, and sort of—” He paused, his eye arrested suddenly by what the harpers had seen. “You know, it just could be.” He made gestures indicating several levels with his hands. “Well, don’t dig it all up until I get back, will you?”

After Perschar was handed over to P’ratan to be conveyed to Paradise River, Master Robinton propped the sketch up on his desk and stared at it. Piemur picked up a charcoal and, thriftily using a corner of a scrap leaf, did some alterations.

“Hmm, more than one level, huh?” Robinton murmured.

“It’s sort of halfway down the grid strip the flying ships used,” Piemur said.

“We could go have a look,” the Masterharper suggested. “I’d like to find something myself! Wouldn’t you?”

“Not if I have to dig it out by myself,” Piemur replied.

“Would I ask you to do something I wouldn’t do?” Master Robinton demanded, wide-eyed with an innocence that appeared remarkably genuine.

“Frequently! Fortunately there’re enough willing hands up at the Plateau, so I’ll see that I have help.”

P’ratan returned from Paradise River later that afternoon, apologizing for taking so long on a simple errand. “Rather a lot going on down at your Paradise now,” he told the harpers as they left Cove Hold for the beach to rouse Poranth. The old green tended to doze off whenever she was not moving. “He’s got Temma, Nazer, and their youngster, and the young holder traded some of those things he’s got stored for Master Garm to sail some holdless Craftsmen down. There’s talk now of setting up a seahold. Told ’em to get in touch with Crafthalls. They’ve usually got a few journeymen’d like to change around for the experience. Place is bustlin’ now. Nice to see.”

Fortunately Poranth was of the opinion that it did not matter where she did her dozing and conveyed them to the Plateau. As she circled lazily for a landing, Piemur noted that the work was progressing systematically: Minercraftmaster Esselin was in charge of the excavations, using the larger building F’lar had discovered as storage for the artifacts so far uncovered, and Lessa’s building as an onsite office. Several more in her section had been dug out and were being used as living quarters for the diggers and rodmen. At least one building in each immediately adjacent section had been cleared enough to permit inspection.

Master Robinton and Piemur found Master Esselin in his office and begged the loan of several workers. Breide, Toric’s ubiquitous representative, hurried in to hear what was going on.

“The hill, you say?” Master Esselin said, consulting his map, “Which hill? What hill? There’s no hill down on my list for excavating. I really can’t divert men from my schedule to dig out a hill.”

“Which hill?” Breide asked. He and Master Esselin had an uneasy truce. Breide, blessed with an unusually sharp and copious memory, could remember such details as how many teams to excavate which shaped mound, how much water and how many meals they needed, and exactly where what had been found in which building. He knew which Crafthall and hold had sent men and supplies, and how many hours they had worked. He was useful, and he was a nuisance.

Silently Master Robinton unrolled Perschar’s sketch and presented it to them.

“That hill?” Master Esselin was clearly not impressed by its potential. “It’s not even on the list.” But he looked inquiringly at Breide.

“A few sample rod holes, including the walk to and from the site!” Breide said in the flat voice of the slightly deaf. “It would take about an hour.” He shrugged, waiting for Esselin’s decision.

“It’s a hunch,” Master Robinton said. He spoke with so much winning confidence that Breide gave him a sharp glance.

“Two rodmen, for an hour,” Master Esselin conceded and, according Master Robinton a respectful bow, left his office to give the necessary orders.

“I should think, Master Robinton, that those flying ships would have a priority,” Breide said as he followed the two harpers, the rodmen resignedly plodding after them.

“Well, they are clearly Master Fandarel’s responsibility,” Master Robinton said, dismissing Breide’s implicit and repeated argument. “He is so ingenious. These rods he designed especially for excavation work, for example, make it possible to tell, with a few strokes of the hammer, the depths of earth above a mound. I understand that he’s trying to develop a more efficient way of digging, a revolving scooping apparatus.”

Piemur admired the way the Harper handled Breide. The man’s persistence annoyed the journeyman. A person could not go anywhere on the Plateau without him popping up and asking questions.

“I really don’t see why you would want to bother with this,” Breide said as they came down the slope to the site in question. He was a man who sweated hard and wore a band on his forehead to keep the moisture from spilling over his brows into his eyes. He was perspiring freely and uncomfortably. Piemur wondered why he did not get himself one of the grass hats that some enterprising craftsman had been weaving as head protection. “An hour, Master Esselin said,” Breide reminded them as if he had a timekeeper in his head.

“I’m sure we’re keeping you from other duties, Breide. Look, there, Piemur!” The Harper pointed to the south, where Smithcrafthall journeymen were trying to dig up a section of the massive grid that the ancients had laid. Something glinted brightly in the sunlight.

“They do seem to have raised something,” Piemur remarked, quick to catch the Harper’s intention. Breide, his attention caught by the sight of men wrestling with crowbars and shouting, trotted off to investigate.

Free of Breide’s unwelcome presence at last, the harpers neared their destination and scrutinized it carefully.

“I think Perschar’s right about levels,” Robinton said, taking off his hat and mopping his brow. They walked all around it, then stood off a ways and inspected it, the rodmen waiting patiently.

“I’d say three levels,” Piemur remarked judiciously. “A central tower on a wider base. The lip of the south wall has fallen in, which makes that side look like a natural slope.”

“How convenient,” Master Robinton said, grinning mischievously at his journeyman. “Then let us try the other end, which hasn’t collapsed and is out of Breide’s sight.” He gestured to the rodmen. “The ancients were rather big on windows. We’d best try here, where a corner might be.”

Piemur held the point of the rod at shoulder height while the hammer man tapped. The rod went in two handspans before they all heard the thunk! as it met resistance.

“Could be a rock,” the hammerman said with the shrug of experience. “Try it a little higher.”

Soon they had made a series of vertical thrusts, each meeting resistance within a finger joint of the others.

“If you ask me, you’ve got a wall in there,” the hammerer said. “Want to try for a window? Or d’you want us to get some diggers down here? We’re rodmen, you know.”

“I certainly appreciate that,” Master Robinton assured him. “Now, in your experience, where would a window be situated? That is, if indeed we’ve struck a wall.”

“Oh, you have, Master. And I’d say, if this is your ordinary sort of place, there’d be a window … here.” The man measured off ten handspans and, resting his fist on the place, turned for the Harper’s approval. “That is, a’ course, if this is your ordinary sort of place.”

“Clearly you don’t think it’s ordinary,” Master Robinton ventured.

“Not being so far away from all the rest of ’em, I’d say it isn’t.”

“Hour’s near up,” the rodman who had not spoken before said. Continual work on the Plateau had burned his skin a deep brown.

“Humor an old man and drive the rod in,” Robinton said, gesturing with uncharacteristic impatience.

The rod was set, and the fourth blow sunk it to its head.

“Got a hollow in there,” the hammerman said as the rodman struggled to pry the probe out. “Not a window. You crash in windows. Can hear it. Sorry about that.”

“Time’s up,” the other said and, settling the rod to his shoulder, began to hike back up to the main settlement.

“Want I should ask Master Esselin to send you some diggers?” the hammerer asked helpfully, wiping the inside of his grass hat with a colorful kerchief.

“We’ve hit a hollow, haven’t we?” The Masterharper said dispiritedly. “Well, it was just a hunch.” He sighed heavily, leaning back against a tree and fanning himself with his hat.

“Lots of people got hunches in this place,” the man replied. “Breeds ’em, you might say. Good day to you, Masterharper, Journeyman!” He resettled his own hat and followed in the other’s footsteps.

“I want to widen that hole, Piemur,” Master Robinton said when he was sure the men were out of earshot. “See what you can find.”

“They took the hammer with them.”

“There’s plenty of branches and rocks,” the Harper said, beginning to search.

Piemur found a sturdy stick and began to pound around the rod hole. The Harper kept ducking around the side of the hill, to be sure that the men were still trudging back to Master Esselin’s and that Breide was occupied with the Smith’s men. Then, becoming impatient, Piemur held the branch firmly and made a run at the wall. The branch knocked a substantial hole in the dirt and took Piemur off his feet. He brushed himself off and peered inside.

“It’s hollow all right, Master. And dark!”

“Good. Zair, come over here and be useful. Piemur, call Farli to help. They’re better diggers than anyone Esselin has.”

“Yes, but that’ll leave a hole for Breide to see.”

“Let’s worry about that when the time comes. My hunch is stronger than ever!”

“This place breeds ’em, you know!” Piemur muttered, but Zair and Farli busily began to dig. “Easy, easy!” he cried as clods of grass and dirt flew out in all directions.

“Can you see anything yet, Piemur?” Master Robinton asked from his post.

“Give us time!” Piemur could feel the sweat running down his back under the loose shirt he wore. I should get a sweatband like Breide’s, he thought, if the Harper plans more of this sort of activity. When the opening was large enough for entry, Piemur peered through. “Not enough light to see much, but this is definitely manmade. Shall I send Farli for a candle?”

“Do, please!” The Harper’s voice was full of pained entreaty. “How big is the hole?”

“Not big enough.” Piemur paused long enough to retrieve his thick branch before he renewed his efforts alongside Zair, battering the soil into the hollow in preference to removing it.

By the time Farli had returned with a candle in each claw, Piemur had an opening large enough to crawl through. The two fire-lizards, upside down on clawholds at the top of the hole, peered in. Their inquiring chirps echoed. Then Zair pushed off and Farli followed him, their chittering reassuring Piemur as he struggled to strike a sulfur stick ablaze and light a candle.

“Anything? Anything?” The Masterharper fairly jiggled with impatience, anxious to succeed without Breide’s interference.

“Give me a chance!” As the journeyman extended the candle inside, the flame bent and nearly went out before it straightened and illuminated the interior. “I’m going in.”

“I’m coming, too.”

“You’ll never make it! Well … don’t bring in half the hill with you!”

Piemur grabbed Master Robinton’s arm to steady him. They both heard the crunch of something under their feet. Adjusting their candles’ light, they saw the shimmer of glass shards littering the floor. The Harper toed a clear space and hunkered down to touch the floor.

“This is some kind of cement, I think. Not as smooth a job as in others.” As he rose, both candles flickered. “Air’s fresher in here than it usually is in long-enclosed places,” he remarked.

“That collapsed side may account for that. We should have looked on the side of the hill for fissures,” Piemur remarked.

“And let Breide come bouncing up for something to tell Toric?” The Harper snorted and began to look around, now that his eyes were accustomed to the dim light. Holding his candle high, Piemur took a few steps to his left, then uttered a suppressed “yipe!” of discovery.

“Your hunch pays off, Master,” he said, striding to the wall. Candlelight illuminated a group of dusty rectangles pinned there. “Maps?” With a reverent touch, Piemur brushed aside the accumulation of grit and ash to reveal a transparent coating that had protected its treasure for unknown Turns. “Maps!”

“What did they use?” Master Robinton whispered, softly brushing dust from another. “By the First Egg!” He turned with incredulous disbelief to his journeyman. “Not just outlines this time, but names! Landing! They called the Plateau ‘Landing.’ ”

“How original!”

“Monaco Bay, Cardiff! The biggest volcano is Garben. It’s all here, Piemur.”

“Even Paradise River!” Piemur had been following the coastline with his index finger, making a zigzagging trail in the dust as he moved it eastward. “Sadrid, Malay River, Boca … and would you look at this, they hadn’t got as far as Southern!”

Zair and Farli flitting back from their own explorations recalled them from their wonder.

“Quickly, Piemur. See if you can pry the nails up. We mustn’t let Breide find these!” Robinton had his beltknife out and was working on one of the larger maps. The nails popped easily out. “Roll them up. We’ll give them to Zair and Farli to convey for us. Quickly. Take a strip off your shirttail to tie them. It would be premature indeed for Toric to discover what a relatively small portion of Southern he has actually acquired. Then we’ve got to see if there’s anything else important on this site.”

“Breide was way off up at the other end, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, but he’ll have seen the rodmen leaving without us. He’s a suspicious sort.”

“I’m amazed that he’s allowed here,” Piemur said, tying up his three maps.

“Better the rogue you know,” the Harper said. “Zair! Take this to Cove Hold. Quickly now!”

Zair clutched the tube, as long as the span of one wing, settled it to a balance between his claws, and promptly disappeared. Piemur gave Farli her burden and instructions, and she followed the bronze.

Distantly the harpers heard someone calling them.

“Let’s see what’s to be seen,” Master Robinton said in an unnecessary whisper and moved to the door still half ajar.

“What if there’s more that should be hidden?” Piemur asked, but he followed.

“If there is, I’ll think of something.”

They were in a corridor, with doors opening onto it. Quick glances inside each discovered nothing more promising than the usual discarded bits and pieces. At the end of the corridor there was a hall, filled with the debris of what must have been stairs before the collapse of the southern wall and seeping water had destroyed that end of the building. They both heard the unmistakable soft noises of tunnel snakes retreating.

“Do you think snakes breed in here like hunches, Piemur?” The Harper held his candle high, craning his neck to see up the stairwell. “How unusual! So much of what they built seems indestructible.”

“Maybe this was a temporary building, something to do with the flying ships.”

“I wonder what’s up there,” the Harper said, gesturing for Piemur to add his light. They saw glimpses of white root tendrils and the glisten of wet walls but nothing informative.

“Master Robinton!” The strident shout made the Harper wince.

“Let’s put a brave face on our disappointment, Piemur!”

As they retraced their steps, Piemur noticed a square placard on the door of the room by which they had entered the corridor. It came off easily. He held up his candle to see the usual bold letters, as bright as the day they had been first inscribed.

Breide came stumbling into the room. “Are you all right? Did you find anything?”

“Snakes for the main part,” Piemur replied glumly. “And this!” He held up the sign, which read “OUT TO LUNCH.”

The Benden and Fort Weyrleaders, Lord Holders Jaxom and Lytol, and Masters Fandarel, Wansor, and Sebell met at Cove Hold to view the new maps. A damp cloth had cleaned away the dust and grit, and Master Fandarel was in awe of the clear film that had protected the surfaces. Some of the numerals that had been printed on the covering had apparently faded, though Piemur’s careful washing had not blurred others.

There were two maps of the Southern Continent, each with different legends on them: the largest one was inscribed with the ancient names and showed clearly defined areas. A second showed the terrain in great detail, including hill and plain contours, and river and ocean depths. The third and smallest continental map, the labels done in minute lettering, had superscriptions of numerals below each name. The fourth map was of “Landing” itself, with each of the squares named and other sections marked INF, HOSP, WRHSE, VET, AGRI, MECH, and SLED REP. A fifth plate, which Piemur and N’ton suggested could represent the area to the south of the grid, indicated underground caves. The last one showed several sites, one clearly labeled MONACO BAY, another the pointed peninsula just east of Cove Hold, and the third Paradise River. The wide strand along the sea on both sides was covered with figures in orange, yellow, red, blue, and green.

“Ah, yes, Paradise River,” Master Robinton said in a fond voice and then cleared his throat. Piemur closed his eyes and held his breath. He was at the meeting only because he had been with the Harper when the maps had been found. “Lovely place. Piemur, we really must trace that river to its source.”

“Oh?” Lessa said, looking up from the maps to give her old friend a long look. “You are supposed to be taking it easy, Robinton.” A worried frown creased her forehead.

“Well, it’s really not that far away, as you can see for yourself,” Robinton replied, sounding slightly annoyed as he used finger and thumb to measure the distance between Cove Hold and Paradise River. “And I am also supposed to be supervising excavations and artifacts.”

“The excavations at the Plateau,” Lessa stated, eyeing the Harper suspiciously.

“It was Piemur who found these fascinating ruins on his way here,” Robinton replied, looking abused. “Inhabited.”

“Inhabited?” everyone echoed.

“Inhabited?” Lessa asked pointedly, her eyes wide.

“Only a pair of shipwrecked northerners and their baby son,” Piemur began and saw from the gleam in the Harper’s eye that he had made a good beginning. He glowered back before he returned Lessa’s inquiring stare. He was not certain why he was to become the culprit in the matter. He looked across the table at Jaxom, who shrugged helplessly. Lytol merely watched, his face unreadable. “A resourceful couple. They’ve survived two Turns or more.”

“These illegal sailings …” Lessa began, scowling and sitting back in her chair. She crossed her arms, emphasizing her dislike of such adventuring.

“Not at all,” Piemur replied. “They were on an authorized voyage from Keroon Beasthold, bringing Toric—I mean, Lord Toric—some breeding pairs. Five people survived the storm, but injuries killed one before they found out his name, and two died of fire-head the following spring.”

“And?” Lessa’s foot tapped, but Piemur noticed a gleam of interest in F’lar’s eyes and a sympathetic grin on N’ton’s face. Fandarel listened, one eye on the ambiguous chart before him, while Wansor could be heard tutting happily to himself, his nose a scant fingertip from the map he was assiduously studying.

“They repaired some dilapidated buildings they found on the riverbanks and have done pretty well for themselves, I think,” Piemur continued. “Knocked together a little skiff, tamed some runnerbeasts, planted a garden …”

Jaxom leaned forward on the table, keenly interested.

“Paradise River?” Lessa closed her eyes and uncrossed her arms to throw them up in an exasperated gesture of surrender. “And you like them, Robinton, and want them to hold?”

“Well, someone will have to, Lessa,” Robinton said, looking abashed. “If you ask my opinion …” He glanced at Lytol and Jaxom for support.

“I haven’t.” Lessa glared at Jaxom and Lytol in a clear order not to encourage the Masterharper.

“I think too much is being made of ‘permission’ to come here,” Robinton went on, ignoring her sarcasm. “Master Idarolan has, it is true, issued warnings that all shipmasters must report Southern landings to him. But just look at the breadth of land here. This big map—” He rapped his knuckles on the largest continental map. “—shows us just how much inhabitable land there is.”

“And no Weyrs,” F’lar put in sardonically.

Robinton waved that aside. “The land here protects itself.”

“D’ram’s worrying himself to the bone over the Plateau and Cove Hold as it is,” Lytol said, speaking for the first time.

“The young Lilcamps have been careful to shelter both themselves and their beasts,” Robinton went on, “in buildings they’ve restored from ancient remains.”

“What kind of remains?”

“These.” From a cabinet behind him Robinton produced a sheaf of sketches; Piemur recognized Perschar’s work. The Harper skidded each sheet down over the map, casually describing the scene. “The beach as seen from the verandah of the house. The house—it has twelve rooms—as seen from the eastern strand, with Jayge’s boat. Another view of the harbor with the fishnetting—Jayge cobbled up nets from material he found in one of the storehouses. This is the storehouse. You can just make out the beasthold. Ah, this is looking south from the verandah. And another of the western bank and some of the ruins. This charming little fellow playing in the sand is young Readis.” By the clever order in which Robinton was presenting the pictures, Piemur guessed his intention. “This is Jayge—son of the traders Lilcamp-Amhold. Quite a reliable train. He plans to bring over some of his Bloodkin. And this is his wife!”

“Aramina!” Lessa snatched up that sketch before it could settle to the table.

F’lar gave an exclamation of surprise and looked over her shoulder, a startled expression on his face. “Robinton, you have some explaining to do!”

Seeing that Lessa had gone quite pale under her weather-tanned skin, Piemur quickly poured out a cup of wine for her. She took it absently, her narrowed eyes on the Harper.

“Do calm yourself, my dear,” Robinton said. “I’ve been trying to think of a way of breaking this good news, but there have been so many demands on your time and energy, and so much has been happening over the last few months …”

“You’ve known Aramina was alive for months?”

“No, no. No, only a few days, in fact. Piemur met them months ago, before he got to Cove Hold. The very day that—”

“That Baranth flew Caylith,” Jaxom put in when the Harper faltered. Glancing sharply at Piemur, the young Ruathan Lord Holder added, “A lot happened that day, too.”

“Piemur wouldn’t have known about Aramina, my dear Lessa. He wasn’t even north during that period. But she confided in me, if you’ll listen.”

Lessa was quite willing to hear everything that Aramina had told the Harper, though she was furious that Benden had been allowed to believe the girl dead. The heat in her eyes suggested that her first meeting with Jayge and Aramina might include some recriminations.

“She no longer hears dragons,” the Harper said gently when the retelling was done.

Lessa sat very still, except for her fingers, which tapped out an uneven rhythm on the armrests of her chair. She looked up at F’lar, then across to N’ton; her gaze flicked from Jaxom to Lytol’s expressionless face and rested on Fandarel, who looked back at her without concern.

“And she is happy with this Jayge?” the Weyrwoman asked.

“One fine son already and another baby due.” When Lessa discounted that as a measure of contentment, the Harper continued. “He’s a resourceful and provident man.”

“Jayge adores her,” Piemur said with a broad grin. “And I’ve seen the way she looks at him. They could do with some company, though.” As neatly as the Harper could have done it himself, Piemur suggested the possibility of what had already been accomplished. “It’s been pretty lonely. Even for Paradise!”

“How big is Paradise?” Lessa asked. There was noticeable relief as she appeared to relent.

Piemur and N’ton both reached to pull the appropriate chart in front of Lessa.

“Not as much as this is marked, certainly,” Piemur said, tapping the squared-off section. The site actually extended much farther east and west; the map went as far as the bend in the river that Jayge had mentioned.

“A rough estimate,” Lessa suggested, a half-smile turning up the left-hand side of her mouth. She knew very well that Piemur could provide a reasonably accurate one.

The Masterharper handed over his copy of the witnessed hold map. “Here!”

“Does this establish a precedent, old friend?” Lytol asked quietly.

“A better one, I feel, than the method Toric employed.” He held up his hand to ward off Lessa’s rebuke. “Different circumstances now obtain. But very soon now, you Weyrleaders, Craftmasters, and Lord Holders must decide which precedent to follow. Toric’s or Jayge’s? In my opinion, a man ought to be able to Hold what he has proved.”

Master Wansor’s rather squeaky voice broke the silence that followed Master Robinton’s quiet challenge. “Did they have dragons then?”

“Why?” Realizing that she had spoken more curtly than she had meant to, Lessa softened her bluntness with a smile.

Wansor blinked at her. “Because I don’t see how the ancients got about such vast holdings. There are no tracks or trails listed. The coastline or river situations would be easy enough to reach, but this Cardiff isn’t near a river and not very close at all to Landing. I suppose the mining facilities marked here at Drakee’s Lake used to be one of the rivers, but that isn’t specified, or a seaport marked. I really don’t understand how they kept in touch unless they had dragons.”

“Or other flying ships?” Jaxom asked.

“More efficient sailing vessels?” N’ton suggested.

“We have found many broken parts that were beautifully crafted,” Master Fandarel said, “but not a single complete motor or engine or other mechanical device that requires such pieces. Not in the oldest of the Records in my Hall. We have found three immense disabled vehicles that the fire-lizards inform us once were airborne. I do not think their design would be efficient over short distances—too awkward and heavy. The tubes in the rear suggest that their motion was upward.” He tilted his hand and massive forearm in demonstration. “They must have had other vehicles.”

“This is so exasperating,” Lessa exclaimed, scowling. “We cannot do everything at once! You may be reasonably safe from Threadfall in the South, but every wing is vital in keeping the north and all its people protected. We just can’t move everyone South!”

“Once everyone moved north,” Robinton said, beaming at her. “To ‘shield.’ ”

“Until the grubs spread themselves to protect the land,” F’lar added, laying one reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“While the Weyrs protected Hold and Hall,” N’ton put in.

“We have such a lot to learn about this world,” Robinton said quite happily.

“There are answers somewhere.” Master Fandarel sighed heavily. “I would be content with just a few.”

“I would be content with one!” F’lar said, looking out the window to the moonlit scene. Jaxom nodded in sympathy.

“So, the Paradise River Hold is confirmed to Jayge and Aramina Lilcamp?” the Harper asked with sudden briskness.

“It is much the better precedent to follow,” Lytol agreed. “I shall, if you wish, suggest this at the next Conclave.”

“That’s going to be a full meeting,” F’lar said wryly, but he nodded.

“Why is it that what is forbidden,” the Harper said drolly, “is all the more exciting?”

“You can take it from one who knows,” Piemur made bold to add, “that the Southern Continent has a way of making or breaking you.”

“Just what is it doing to you, Master Robinton?” Lessa asked in her sweetest and most dangerous voice. But she smiled, and the smile was genuine.

The news of a second hold gradually filtered to the North, to be commented on by Lord Holders and Crafthall Masters. There were those who delighted in Jayge’s elevation, and some who found his new eminence distasteful for a variety of reasons. Toric was one such, but he slowly overcame chagrin and resentment. In the North, a gaunt, scar-faced woman swore savagely when she heard, kicking her saddle across the narrow interior of her cave dwelling, throwing about her other belongings, and damaging the breakable without relief to her fury and bitter disappointment.

When her temper had abated sufficiently for her to think clearly, she sat down by the ashes of her fire and the spilled kettle that had contained her evening meal and began to plot.

Jayge and Aramina! How had he found the girl? Surely Dushik would have been on guard. She had had cause to doubt Readis’s loyalty ever since she had killed Giron, who had become a useless handicap in their desperate flight from her hold. Readis had openly opposed her plan to abduct Aramina and then, suddenly, he had acquiesced, a reversal she had not trusted. But once down that pit, the girl had been as good as dead. How had that wretched little trader man rescued her?

Her mind seethed over that now indisputable fact. Aramina had been rescued and was alive and well in the south, enjoying prestige and comfort while she, Thella, had nearly died from a noxious and debilitating infection that had left her scarred. Had either Dushik or Readis reached the appointed meeting place, she would have fared much better. As it was, it had been weeks before she had recovered from the fever.

Weak and unable to focus her mind on new plans, Thella had drifted, carefully avoiding holds until she found herself a secluded valley in Nerat, where quantities of food easily gathered had somewhat restored her to health. She had been appalled at the scarring on her face and the wisps that were all that was left of her once luxuriant hair. All Thella’s misfortunes could be traced back to that whelp spawned by an insignificant trader, who had prevented her from finding a miserable girl who could have made life so much more predictable.

Periodically she had comforted herself with the torments Aramina would have suffered before succumbing to terror and starvation in that dark and slimy pit. She still had to settle accounts with the trader, and she thought long and pleasantly about how she would wreak her revenge on Jayge and the entire Lilcamp train.

To do so, she would have to recover full strength, and though the time it took to do so became another cause to resent Jayge, Thella achieved it. A deep tan reduced the shock of her facial scars, and her hair was reasonably thick again by the time she saddled her runner to take up her task.

She replenished her empty pouch with marks after a fortunate evening encounter with a farmer journeyman. She appropriated his clothing once he no longer needed it. Before his demise, he had genially brought her up to date on nearly a full Turn’s news. His enthusiasm for the opening of the Southern Continent almost made her abandon her initial plans to go south and stake out in the tropical wilderness the holding which had so long been denied her.

As she knew the Lilcamp-Amhold train initiated its sweeps from Igen, she took herself back to the low caverns. To her satisfaction she learned that, while Borgald Amhold had given up trading, the Lilcamp folk were still traveling. She began to make plans, first revisiting all her old caves to see which were still undiscovered and usable. And she began recruiting.

At first she was not too successful. The stories about her had made many people wary of flouting the authority of Hold and Weyr; so although the population of the low cavern had changed sufficiently that most of those who might recognize her were gone, and those that remained were confused by her altered appearance, she found few willing accomplices. But once she had heard of Paradise River Hold, her energies were redirected and galvanized. Jayge and Aramina would live only as long as it took her to recruit sufficient men, acquire a ship, and sail south.