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?”
“Perfectly, Lord Holder.”
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!”