Iantine smiled at the affection that softened Debera’s voice.
He got to his feet, swaying slightly. “You’re right. I need sleep.”
“Good night, Debera.” He watched her, striding purposefully out of the cavern, observing the proud tilt to her head and set of her shoulders. She’d changed a great deal since she Impressed Morath.
He grinned, picked up his pad and slowly made his way to his quarters.
He wasn’t sharing with any refugee, but Leopol sprawled on a bed-pad along one wall and didn’t even stir as Iantine prepared himself for bed.
There were more refugees than originally estimated and while the resources of the two Weyrs were stretched, the Lord Holders immediately sent additional supplies and offered shelter. Some of those rescued were in bad shape from the cold and could not be immediately transferred to the sanctuaries offered by Nerat, Benden and Telgar Holds.
Zulaya had headed a rescue team of the other queens and the green riders. She came back, seething with rage.
“I knew he was a greedy fool and an idiot, but not a sadist. There were three pregnant women at the Forest Road border and they’d been raped because, of course, they couldn’t sue the guards later on a paternity claim.
“Are the women all right?” K’vin asked, appalled by yet another instance of the brutality. “We arrived at the North Pass just in time to spare three lads from very unkind attentions by the guards. Where does Chalkin find such men?”
“From holds which have tossed them out for anti-social behaviour or criminal activities, of course,” Zulaya replied, almost spitting in anger. “And that blizzard’s closed in. We moved just in time. If we hadn’t, I fear most of these people would be dead by morning. Absolutely nothing allowed them! Not even the comfort of a fire!”
“I know, I know,” he said, as bitter about the sadistic behaviour as she was. “We should have treated those guards to a taste of absolute cold. Like a long wait between. Only that would have been a clean death.”
“We still can,” Zulaya said in a grating tone. K’vin regarded her in astonishment and she glared at him, clenching her fists at her sides. “Oh, I know we can’t, but that doesn’t keep me from wanting to!”
“Did you take Iantine with you? I thought of how useful on-the-spot sketches might be.”
“In fact, he asked to come. He’s got plenty to show Lord Paulin and the Council,” he said. He swallowed, remembering the stark drawings that had filled one pad. Iantine’s quick hand had captured the reality, made even more compelling by the economy of line, depicting horrific scenes of deliberate cruelty.
The Weyrleaders introduced themselves to the first of the refugees, and started off by interviewing an older couple.
“M’grandsir’s grand sir came to Bitra with the then Holder,” the man said, his eyes nervously going from one Weyrleader to the other. He kept wiggling his bandaged fingers, though N’ran had assured them the pain and itch had been dulled by fellis and numb weed “I’m Brookie, m’woman’s Ferina. We farmed it since. Never no reason to complain, though the Holder keeps asking for more tithe and there’s only so much comes out of any acre, no matter who tills it. But he’d the right.”
“Not to take our sow, though, his mate added, her expression rebellious. We needed that un to make more piggies to meet the tithe he set.” Like her man, she laid a stress on the pronoun. “Took our daughter, too, to work in the Hold when we wanted her land grant. Said we didn’t work what we had good enough so we couldn’t have more.”
“Really?” said Zulaya, deceptively mild as she shot K’vin a meaningful glance. “Now that’s interesting, holder Ferina.”
K’vin envied Zulaya’s trick of remembering names.
You could’ve asked me, Charanth said helpfully.
You’ve been listening?
The people needed dragons’ help. I listen. We all do.
When the pity of dragons has also been aroused, surely that’s enough justification for what we’ve just done, thought K’vin, if the Council should turn up stiff. I must remember to tell Zulaya.
“But he says we got it wrong and we ain’t had no teacher to ask,” the man said. An’ that’s another thing - we should have a teacher for our kids.”
“At least so they can read the Charter and know what rights you all do have,” Zulaya said firmly. “I’ve a copy we can show you right now, so you can refresh your memories.”
The two exchanged alarmed glances.
“In fact,” Zulaya went on smoothly, “I think we’ll have someone read you your rights… since it would be difficult for you to turn pages with bandaged hands, Brookie. And you’re not in much better case, Ferina.”
Ferina managed a nervous smile. “I’d like that real well, Weyrwoman. Real well. Our rights are printed out”?
“In the Charter and all?”
“Your rights as holders are part of the Charter,” Zulaya said, shooting K’vin another unhappy look. “In detailed paragraphs.”
She rose to her feet abruptly. “Why don’t you sit over there in the sun, Ferina, Brookie?” And she pointed to the eastern wall, where some of the Weyr’s elderlies were seated, enjoying the warmth of the westering sun. “We’ll make sure you hear it all, and you can ask any questions you want.”
She helped the two to their feet and started them on their way across the Bowl as K’vin whistled for Leopol.
“Go get the Weyr’s copy of the Charter, will you, lad?”
“You want me to read it to them, too?” the boy asked, eyes glinting partly in mischief and partly because he enjoyed second-guessing errands.
“Smart pants, are we?” K’vin said. “No, I think we need T’lan for this.” He pointed towards the white-haired old brown rider who was serving klah to the refugees. “Just get the Charter now. I’ll request T’lan’s services.”
Leopol moved off at his usual sprint and K’vin went over to speak to the elderly brown rider. He had exactly the right manner to deal with nervous and frightened holders.
Bridgely arrived in Benden Weyr, his face suffused with blood, torn between fury and laughter.
“The nerve of the man, the consummate nerve!” he exclaimed and threw down the message he carried. It landed closer to Irene than M’shall, so she picked it up.
“From Chalkin?” she exclaimed, looking up at Bridgely.
“Read it… and pour me some wine, would you, M’shall?” the Lord Holder said, slipping into a chair. “I mean, I know that man’s got gall, but to presume… to have the effrontery.”
“Ssssh,” Irene said, her eyes widening as she read. “Oh, I don’t believe it! Just listen, M’shall.”
“This Hold has the right to dragon messengers. The appropriate red striped banner has been totally ignored though my guards have seen dragons near enough to see that an urgent message must be delivered. Therefore I must add…”
She peered more closely at the written page. “His handwriting’s abominable. Ah. ‘dereliction’ - -“.
“Really, where does he get off to cry ‘dereliction’?”
“- -of their prime duty to the other complaints I am forced to lay at their door. Not only have they been interfering with the management of this Hold but they fill the minds of my loyal holders with outrageous lies. I demand their immediate censure. They are not even reliable enough to perform those duties which fall within their limited abilities.”
“Limited abilities?” Irene turned pale with fury. “I’ll un limit him!”
“Especially when we’ve had an earful of how he treats his loyal holders.” M’shall said, his expression grimmer than ever. “Wait a minute. What’s the date on his letter?”
“Five days ago,” Bridgely answered, with a malicious grin.