The Renegades of Pern (dragon riders of pern)

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Rained two nights ago. That’d help you find their tracks,” Armald added, nodding amiably.

  The harm was done, and Jayge shrugged. “Good day to you,” he said and eased himself up out of the saddle, hoping that the pair would leave.

  Lilcamps never got involved with local disputes and had learned to be very careful who traveled the road with them, but Jayge’s sympathies were clearly on the side of those fleeing this woman. She hauled her mount around—Jayge saw the lather marks of hard travel and the exhausted look of all three animals—and kicked it toward the foothills. The silent man turned, jerking the pack animal into motion, and followed her.

  “Armald,” Jayge and Temma said at the same time over the noise of their departure. “When I do the talking, I do the talking!” Jayge continued, shaking his whip handle at the big man. “That was a Lady Holder. She was after thieves. Lilcamps and Borgalds don’t harbor thieves.”

  “They weren’t holders, Jayge,” Temma said, her expression anxious. Her mount had calmed down, so Temma had been maneuvering to get a good look at the pair. “The man lost his dragon at Telgar Weyr some Turns back. He went missing from Igen a long time ago. And that woman…” Temma moved uneasily in the saddle.

  “That’s Lady Thella. I told you,” Armald said. “That’s why I told her what she wanted to know.” Temma stared at him. “You know, Jayge, he’s right. I thought she looked familiar.”

  “Who’s Lady Thella? I’ve never heard of her.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Temma said with a derisive snort.

  “I knew her,” Armald insisted.

  Temma ignored him. “She’s Lord Larad’s older sister. The one who wanted to become Lord Holder when Tarathel died. She’s no good. No good at all.”

  “I used to see her in Telgar Hold; always riding about, she was.” Armald said defensively, in a sulk from the scolding. “She’s a fine-looking lady.”

  Temma rolled her eyes. She was not a plain woman herself, but she was a good judge of her own sex.

  “Angry sort,” Nazer said, fastening his dagger back into its sheath. “Wouldn’t bargain with that one and make a profit.”

  “I think we should see them out of our range,” Temma said. “Jayge, wait until their dust dies, then follow. Make sure which track they do take. I’ll tell Crenden.”

  “I’m point,” Jayge reminded her. He would not relinquish his assigned duty.

  “Armald’ll finish the day for you.” She gave Jayge a wink and a nod. “He is good at noticing holes in the ground.”

  “Point?” Armald’s face brightened. “I’m a good point.”

  Nazer snorted. “Then get to it.” Smiling, Armald started off and Nazer turned to Temma. “What say we ride flank?”

  Temma shrugged. “I don’t see the need. The mist’s lifting. We’ll get a clear view. We’ll just hang back in the rear awhile.” Then she grinned at Nazer, and Jayge, pretending not to see, ducked his head to hide his own smile. Well, Temma had been alone a long time. If she liked Nazer, Jayge would take himself off and leave them alone. Now that they were out and about, instead of in a hold, they could all spread out a bit. “Your saddlebags full enough?”

  Jayge nodded, slapping the travel rations always kept on saddled mounts and, turning Kesso, began to walk him back toward the foothills.

  When Giron’s sharp eyes finally found the tracks of Dowell’s cart, they had lost several more days. Thella was going to make that snotty young trader pay for his impudence. She was sure he had known exactly which of those many switchback trails the fugitives had taken. Giron said nothing that first day, still upset by the sight of those dragons, no doubt. When the creatures had appeared in the skies, winging directly toward them, he became all but paralyzed. Only because his mount was used to following hers did it keep on.

  When they had stopped for the first night, she had had to make camp, force him to dismount, and peel back his fingers from the lead rope. She debated leaving him to recover on his own, but she might need assistance separating the girl from her family.

  She was glad she had not left him because he did, in the end, revive sufficiently to catch what she nearly missed: the mark of wagon wheels on the soft mud of the track.

  “Smarter than I figured, for he must have tried to hide his tracks,” she muttered, incensed by Dowell’s shrewdness. She could not figure out why he had left so precipitously. She was certain that she had been tactful and careful—he had started work on the carvings just as if he had planned to finish them. Ten marks would have been a goodly addition for one planning a long journey.

  Suddenly Brare came to mind. Had that crippled fool warned Dowell? Not likely, if the girl was as valuable to the cavern’s hunters as Brare had said. They would not have done anything to scare her away. Could it have been Giron’s surveillance? Maybe the dragonless man had unnerved the family. Giron could unsettle her from time to time, as he had yesterday going into that trance fit. Or perhaps someone had let slip her identity, and Dowell had panicked. Well, she would make sure of Brare’s loyalty the next time she came to the Igen low caverns!

  “Thread?” That was the first word Giron had said in three days, but for once he did not sound certain. He tried to see past the branches obscuring the sky. The forest was thick there, though a lot of it was new growth. Throwing the lead rope at her, he forced his runner up the bank and then, using the beast as a prop, agilely climbed a well-branched tree.

  “Watch yourself” she called when the trunk swayed with his weight. “Well, what do you see?” He gave her no answer, and she was ready to follow him when he started down. His face was bleak. “Dragons? Is there Thread?” He shook his head.

  “Well, one dragon, two, how many? Hunting?”

  “One, hunting. Hide.”

  The trace was not completely sheltered by the branches, and most of the shedding trees had lost their leaves. She and Giron would be visible from the air. Thella, urging her mount up the bank, was nearly pulled from the saddle by the recalcitrant lead runner, but she got in among a copse of evergreens, while Giron, his body flattened against the trunk, kept his eyes skyward. His mouth opened, almost as if he wanted to cry out to the rider, to make himself known. Thella caught her breath, but he seemed to thin against the trunk, as if all the substance drained from him. He stood there so long that Thella was afraid he was paralyzed again.

  “Giron? What’s happening?”

  “Two more dragons. Looking.”

  “For us? Or Dowell?”

  “How would I know? But they carry firestone sacks.”

  “You mean, there’s Thread coming?” Thella cast about in her mind, trying to remember the nearest shelter. “Get down out of there. We’ve got to move!”

  Giron gave her a faintly contemptuous look, but she said nothing to challenge it, she was so relieved that he had not frozen in the tree.

  “These are Lord Asgenar’s precious woods,” he said. “There’ll be plenty of dragomen to see no Thread penetrates here.”

  “That’s all well and good, and I’m no more afraid of Threadfall than you are, but I can’t say the same for these runners. We’ve got to get them out of sight.”

  When they found it, the shelter was barely adequate, but at least it was deep enough so they could fit the three runners inside. What the stupid beasts did not see would not upset them. By the time the Thread had passed, Thella had fretted herself into a frenzy. As soon as Giron was certain that the final Edge had passed them, she insisted on moving out.

  “If that girl is Threadscored…” She left the threat hanging as she swung up onto her runner. She had an awful vision of the girl’s body twisting as Thread engulfed it. Seeing the scorn in Giron’s eyes, she clamped down on her anxiety, but the thought that she might have lost her quarry to Thread made her frantic to know, one way or the other.

  “Thella,” Giron said with unexpected authority. “Keep an eye skyward. They’ll be extra-thorough over forest.” He was right, she knew, and she spurred the beast forward. �
�There’s not much light left, and I need to know!”

  It was she who saw the next telltale. Someone had rubbed out wheel marks, for the signs of sweeping were obvious once she had seen the cake of dirt, too obviously prized out of a wheel hub. Dismounting, each searched one side of the track; Giron found the wagon on the left, reasonably well hidden behind screening evergreens. He was peering within when Thella reached him and pushed him out of the way in her impatience.

  “Rummaged around looking for what to take with them,” Giron said.

  “Then they’re nearby.”

  Giron shrugged. “Too dark to look now.” He held up his hand warningly as she jerked the reins on the runner to bring him close enough to be mounted. “Look, if they’re dead, they’re dead, and your stumbling around in the dark isn’t going to revive them. If they’re safe, they’re not going anywhere now.” The fact that he was right did little to soothe Thella. “I’ll sleep in the wagon tonight.”

  “No, I’ll sleep in the wagon tonight. You take the runners back to the cave. Join me at first light tomorrow.” She took the blanket and journey rations out of her pack and sent him away. “First light! Remember!”

  This might be even better, Thella thought. Stay by the wagon and see who comes by in the morning to check on it. Aramina was the oldest. That would be too much luck, she realized, chewing the dry food. But she would prefer not to be encumbered with the whole family. If she could just spirit Aramina away…

  “More dragonriders?” Thella was incredulous. “What are they doing around here?”

  “How should I know?” Giron replied, showing the first sign of anger she had ever seen from him. He sank down, knees cocked, forearms lax across them, staring straight in front of him.

  “But Threadfall was yesterday. They should be gone!” She shook his arm. How dare he look away like that! “A bad Thread infestation?” Accustomed as she was to Thread, her breath caught at the idea of a burrow taking hold in the forest anywhere near her. “Is that why?”

  Giron shook his head. “If Thread had burrowed overnight, there wouldn’t be any forest left. And we’d be dead.”

  “Well, then, why? Could that dragon yesterday have seen you?”

  Giron made a mirthless sound and got to his feet. “If you want that girl, you’d better find out where she is. They can’t have gone far. They wouldn’t have left the wagon.”

  Thella was trying to marshal her thoughts. “Could the Weyrs have found out about her?”

  “Weyrs have plenty of people who hear dragons,” he said scornfully.

  “She could have been Searched, couldn’t she? I heard there were eggs on Benden’s Hatching Ground. That’s why. C’mon. They’re not going to take that girl. She’s mine!”

  It was well they were on foot, the runners still hidden, for they were able to hide when the troop of mounted men rode by.

  “Asgenar’s foresters,” Thella said, brushing leaf mold from her face. “Shells and shards.”

  “No girl with them.”

  “They were looking for us! I know it,” she said, cursing as she veered around a thicket. “C’mon, Giron. We’ll find that girl. We’ll find her. Then we’ll pay back that Lilcamp trader boy. Cripple his beasts, burn the wagons. They won’t get as far as the lake, you can be sure of that. I’ll get him for informing on me. I’ll get him!”

  “Lady Holdless,” Giron said in such a derisive tone that she paused in her furious progress. “You’ll be got if you’re not quieter moving through this forest. And look, someone’s been this way recently. The bushes are broken. Let’s follow the signs.”

  The broken bushes led them to the scuffed marks and prints on the track of horses, men, and dragons. Through the trees they could see movement and caught a glimpse of a man. He was not Dowell, for Dowell did not wear leather or a weapon’s harness. They crossed the track carefully, working slowly uphill toward the edge of a nut forest. Then Giron pulled her down.

  “Dragon. Bronze,” he whispered in her ear.

  She felt a flush of irritation with Giron. He had been right to be so cautious. That annoyed her almost as much as finding her quarry guarded by a dragon. Why had the dragonriders not just taken the girl away? Or was this a trap for Thella? How could they possibly know that she wanted Aramina? Had Brare spoken out of turn? Or that impudent fellow at the trader wagons? Did he talk to dragons, too?

  Then she caught sight of someone moving through the grove. Picking nuts? Thella stared in astonishment. Yes, the girl was picking nuts. And there was a guard helping her. Thella closed her eyes to blot out the sight of her quarry so near and so unattainable. She and Giron would be lucky to get out of there with their skins. She pulled her arm away resentfully when she felt Giron tug at her sleeve. Then she saw him pointing.

  The girl was moving farther and farther from the guard. Just a little farther, Thella thought. Just a little farther, you dear sweet child. And she began to grin as she indicated to Giron to help her outflank the girl. The guard was not looking downhill. If they were careful…they would be. Thella held her breath as she moved forward.

  Giron got to Aramina first and grabbed her, one hand on her mouth, the other pinning her arms to her side.

  “It falls out well, after all, Giron,” Thella said, snatching a handful of hair and pulling the girl’s head back, giving her a little pain back for all the trouble she had caused. Thella thoroughly enjoyed the fright and terror in Aramina’s eyes. “We have snared the wild wherry after all.”

  They began to pull her back down the hill, out of sight of the guard. “Don’t struggle, girl, or I’ll knock you senseless. Maybe I ought to, Thella,” he added, cocking his fist in preparation. “If she can hear dragons, they can hear her.”

  “She’s never been to a Weyr,” Thella replied, but she was struck with the possibility. She gave Aramina’s hair a savage jerk. “Don’t even think of calling for a dragon.”

  “Too late!” Giron cried in a strangled voice. He heaved the girl from him, toward the point where the ground fell away at the edge of the grove.

  Thella let out a hoarse cry as the bronze dragon blocked the girl’s fall. The dragon bellowed, his breath hot enough to startle Thella into running as fast as she could, Giron a stride behind her. As they slithered and fell, they could hear others calling. Thella spared one look over her shoulder and saw the dragon crashing among the trees, unable to dodge through them as agilely as the humans could. The dragon roared his frustration. Thella and Giron kept running.

  6: Southern Continent, Telgar Hold, PP 12

  MASTER RAMPESI ARRIVED at Toric’s hold, swearing and ranting about stupid northerners who thought the Southern Sea was some kind of mountain lake or placid bay.

  “I’m bloody fed up with such idjits, Toric. I rescued another six—and there’re twenty who drowned when the tub capsized—a day’s sail from Ista. Any decent seaman would have warned them about the storms at this time of year, but no! They must set out in holey buckets and not a seaman among ‘em!”

  “What are you on about, Rampesi?” Toric interrupted the tirade with bad temper of his own. “Didn’t you get the men we’d contracted for with the Mastersmith?”

  “Oh, I’ve them, as well, never fear. But word got about that I was sailing south, and I had to move out of Big Bay Harbor and anchor in a cove to keep the clods from swarming aboard me. The situation’s getting out of hand, Toric.” Rampesi scowled, but he took the fortified wine that Toric poured him, knocked it back, and exhaled appreciatively. Then, some of his irritation soothed by the smooth spirit, he sat down, turning his keen eyes on Southern’s holder. “So, what do we do to keep Benden and the Lord Holders off our backs? A little honest trading is one thing; a wholesale immigration of holdless another. And there’s Telgar’s lord trying to recruit more men for his mines, Asgenar wanting his forests patrolled against devilish clever marauders, and all kinds of queer goings-on down to Ista’s Finger.”

  Toric pursed his lips, rubbing his palm on his chin. “You say it�
�s become known that common northerners are let in here?”

  “That’s the rumor. Of course”—Master Rampesi shrugged, throwing one hand up, fingers splayed—“I deny it. I trade with Ista, Nerat, Fort, and the Great Dunto River.” He gave Toric a slow, conniving wink. “I admit to being blown off course from time to time, and even to being blown as far as Southern once or twice. So far not even Master Idarolan has questioned that. But it’s going to be harder to escape, shall we say, official attention.”

  “Clearly something must be done to stem the rumors…” Toric was annoyed; his arrangement with Masters Rampesi and Garm had been very profitable.

  “Or sanction proper passage south.”

  Rampesi charged Toric hefty fees to transport Craftsmen to Southern, so he could well imagine the profit the mariner would realize on a regular service.

  “You did tell me,” Toric began, “last time you were here, that there is a shortage of lead and zinc?”

  “And you know the prices you’ve been getting for what I’ve smuggled in. Those northern mines have been worked a long, long time.” Master Rampesi caught Toric’s drift. “I’m only a Mastermariner, Holder Toric, so I’m not in a position to speak out for you where it matters.”

  “Yes, where it matters. And I’d be taking Lord Larad’s trade from him.”

  “Not Mastersmith Fandarel’s though,” Rampesi replied quickly. “He’s the one’s crying for metals and whatnot for all those projects of his.” Master Rampesi did not have a high opinion of them, but he was quite willing to supply the raw materials.

  “But he’s at Telgar…”

  “Ah, but he’s also Mastersmithcraft, and Halls don’t need to ‘please and yes’ Lord Holders. They’re as much captains in their Halls as I am on my Bay Lady. Were I you, I’d seek Master Robinton’s help on this. He’d know best whom you should approach. I’m due to dock at Fort with this cargo so I can carry a message for you, and happy to do it. Wisest course is to sail straight into this one, Toric.”