“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 lording and gestured to the others to return to their temporary hall.
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.