F'nor, stripping off his flying gear, walked slowly up to Jaxom, squinting against the brilliant glare from the sands as he surveyed the activity in the once peaceful cove. He sighed deeply but began to nod his head as if unexpectedly satisfied by something.
«Yes, it'll work out all right,» he said, more to himself than to Jaxom because he turned then, smiling, and gripped Jaxom by the shoulder. «Yes, they'll make the transition easily.»
«Transition?»
F'nor clearly didn't mean the present building frenzy.
«Dragonfolk going back to the land, the hold. How much exploring have you been able to do around here?»
«The coves, as far back as those river meadows, and some of the immediate interior the day before yesterday with Piemur.»
As one, the two men turned toward the cone of the volcano that lay, cloud clad, in the distance.
«Yes, it does sort of draw your eye, doesn't it?» F'nor grinned. «You'll get there first, Jaxom. In fact, I'd prefer it if you and Piemur began some serious explorations with that as your goal. Yes, that pleases you, doesn't it? Better for you, too, and Piemur. Now, before I forget it again, where's that fire lizard clutch you reported?»
«There're twenty one eggs and I'd like to have five of them, if I may…»
«Of course!»
«To be taken to Ruatha!»
«By evening.»
«You know, that's curious.» Jaxom craned his body about, looking everywhere.
«What?»
«Usually there're a lot more fire lizards around. I don't count more than a double handful. And they're all banded.»
CHAPTER XVII
WHEN THE THREE fire lizards had made the first overtures of greeting, the three men, grinning at the enthusiasm shown by their friends, made themselves comfortable around the table in the small room at Fort Hold where Lord Groghe held his private meetings. Sebell had been there frequently, but never as spokesman for his Crafthall and never when Lord Groghe had summoned the Fort Weyrleader as well, in what was obviously a matter of some importance.
«Not sure how to begin,» Lord Groghe said as he poured the wine. Sebell thought that was a very good way to begin, especially since the Lord Holder had honored them with Benden wine. «Might as well plunge. Problem's this… I backed F'lar when he fought T'ron,» Groghe nodded at the current Fort Weyrleader, «because I knew he was right. Right to exile those misfits where they'd do no one any harm. While the Oldtimers were in the Southern Weyr, made sense to leave them alone, just as long as they left us alone which they mostly did.» Lord Groghe peered from under his heavy brows first at N'ton and then at Sebell.
Since both men were aware that there had been occasional depredations in Fort Hold which could only be attributed to the dissident Oldtimers, they nodded acknowledgment of that point. Lord Groghe cleared his throat, and folded his hands across his thick middle.
«Point is, they're mostly dead, or waiting to die. No trouble anymore. D'ram, being sort of F'lar's representative, is bringing in dragonfolk from other Weyrs, to make it a proper Weyr again, fighting Thread and all that! I approve!» He favored the Harpercraftmaster and then the Weyrleader with long meaningful glances. «Hmmm. Well, that's all to the good, isn't it? Protecting the South against Thread! Thing of it is, with the Southern Weyr working again, as it were, that Southern land is safe. Now I know there's a hold established there. Young Toric. Wouldn't want to interfere with his Holding. No way! He's earned it. But a working Weyr can protect more than one small hold, now, can't it?» He pinned his gimlet stare on N'ton, who contrived to maintain an attitude of courteous interest, forcing Lord Groghe to continue without any help.
«Well, hmmm. Trouble is, you bring up a fair of young 'uns to know how to hold proper and that's what they want to do. Hold! Terrible fights they get into. Terrible quarrels. Fostering 'em don't help much. Just got to foster others and they quarrel and fight. Scorch it! They all need holds of their own.» Lord Groghe banged his fist on the table emphasizing this point. «I can't split my land more'n it is and I'm Holding every square length that isn't bare rock. Can't put out men who're beholden to me as their fathers and grandfathers and greats were? That's not proper Holding on my side. And I won't turn 'em out to please my kin. Not that it would.
«Thing of it is, while the Oldtimers were south, wouldn't have dreamed of suggesting it. But they aren't in command anymore. D'ram is and he's F'lar's man and he'll make it a proper Weyr so there could be more holdings, couldn't there?»
Lord Groghe glanced from Harper to Weyrleader, daring them to contradict him. «There's plenty of un held land in the South, isn't there? No one really knows how much. But I heard Masterfisherman Idarolan say one of his ships cruised for days along a coastline. Hmmm yes, well.» Then he started to chuckle, a mirth that increased into a wheeze that shook the large well fleshed frame of the Lord Holder. He was reduced to speechlessness and impotently pointed his thick forefinger first at one and then the other, trying to indicate something by gesture which his laughter kept him from explaining by word.
Helplessly, N'ton and Sebell exchanged grins and shrugs, unable to perceive what amused Lord Groghe or what he wanted to convey to them. The monumental mirth subsided, leaving Lord Groghe weak to the point of wiping tears from his eyes.
«Well trained! That's what you pair are! Well trained!» he gasped, pounding his chest with his fist to stop his wheezing. He coughed long and then, as abruptly as the laughter had seized him, he turned solemn. «Can't fault either of you. Won't. Shouldn't give up Weyr secrets easily anyhow. Appreciate that. Do me one favor. Tell F'lar. Remind him that it's better to attack than defend. Not but what he doesn't already know that! I think,» Lord Groghe stabbed at his chest with his thumb, «he'd better be prepared… soon. Trouble is, everyone in Pern knows that the Masterharper is going south to get well. Everyone wishes Master Robinton the best of luck. Yet everyone is beginning to wonder about that Southern Continent now it's not closed anymore.»
«Southern is too big to be adequately protected against Thread which still falls there,» N'ton said.
Lord Groghe nodded, mumbling that he was aware of that. «Point is, people know you can live without hold and survive Threadfall!» The Lord Holder's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Sebell. «That Menolly girl of yours did it! Hear tell Toric in Southern got little help from those Oldtimers during Falls.»
«Tell me, Lord Groghe,» Sebell asked in his quiet way, «have you ever been out in Fall?»
Lord Groghe shuddered a bit. «Once. Ohhh, well, yes, I take your point, Harper. I take your point. Still, one way to separate boys from men!» He gave a sharp nod of his head. «That's my notion. Separate boys from men!» He gazed up at N'ton, a sly look in his eyes though his expression continued bland. «Or don't the Weyrs want the boys separated?»
N'ton laughed, to the Lord's surprise. «It's time we separated more than the boys. Lord Groghe.»
«Huh?»
«We will convey your message to F'lar today.» The Fort Weyrleader raised his cup to the Lord Holder as a seal on that promise.
«Can't ask fairer than that! What news, Master Sebell, of Master Robinton?»
Sebell's eyes lit with amusement. «He's four days out of Ista Hold, resting comfortably.»
«Ha!» Lord Groghe begged to disbelieve that.
«Well, I'm told he's comfortable,» Sebell replied. «Whether he is of the same opinion or not.»
«Going to that pretty place where young Jaxom's trapped, huh?»