The Renegades of Pern (dragon riders of pern)

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Best possible find’d be their main base, but any caves, hiding places, are a help.”

  “She won’t be moving anywhere in the snow.”

  “Aye, true, but cave holds stand out in snow, don’t they? Then we map ‘em, check ‘em out, and if there’re supplies hidden or buried, we fix ‘em so they can’t be used come spring.”

  And with that Swacky moved off.

  Toric in a rage at any time was a problem for his household. Toric fuming in the midday summer heat, without the calming influence of either Sharra, who had gone to the Healer Hall at Fort Hold, or Ramala, who had gone to midwife a difficult birth down the west coast, was a burning firestone looking for something to char.

  Piemur and Saneter locked eyes and, with a few deft harper signals passing between them, elected to take a positive—and humorous—tack.

  “Well, for sure, they’re all inlanders. Never been in so much as a rowing boat before,” Piemur exclaimed, casting a jaundiced eye over at the limp figures on Master Garm’s deck. “Wilted, that’s what they are. Wilted northern lilies. Ah, we’ll take them in hand.” He beckoned to a youngster hovering nearby. “Sara, go get some numbweed to slather on their sunburns and some of those pills Sharra uses for stomach disorders. Your mother’ll know which ones.”

  “Master Garm,” Toric said, seething with wrath and indignation. “You will pause only long enough to deliver the cargo from your hold and then you will take those—those excrescences back where they came.”

  “Now, Holder Toric,” Garm began placatingly. The sea crossing had been rough, and his passengers had deafened him with their complaints, threats, and unwelcome eruptions. He was certain he would never get the smell out of his big aft cabin. He did not care how much he got paid to take the puny bastards south—he would not go through it again. Those he had smuggled in for Toric had kept their distress to themselves. The pampered lot he had just legitimately brought over had bitched the entire crossing! “Toric, they’re still alive! When they gets over being so sick, you can get a lot of work out of them! Well growed! Fed well, too, to judge by what came up the first day out!”

  Toric was scowling as blackly as ever. “The last thing I need here is a gaggle of spoiled useless turds who’ve never done an honest day’s work and think they’re going to walk into ready-made holds! I never should have agreed. That Harper talks so smooth…”

  “Sure he does, or he’d be no good at being Harper.” Piemur would not stand for anyone to denigrate Master Robinton. “But there’s no reason you have to treat that stomach– and sunburn-sick bunch any differently than you’ve treated anyone else that fetched up in this harbor.” He could not help grinning at the dawning comprehension on Toric’s face. “You didn’t promise F’lar or Robinton—nor would either of them expect it—to give these younger holdless sons preferential consideration. They can sweat right alongside everyone else here. If they thought they’d wander aimlessly, picking ripe fruit from the trees and basking in the breezes and southern sun, you’ll soon put ‘em right.”

  “But—” Toric stopped, flicking his angry eyes from the wretched young men on Garm’s deck to the sandy coastline spreading east.

  “No buts, Toric,” Piemur went on while Saneter’s fingers flew in a cautionary sign. “They get a day or two to recover, and then they get assigned tasks—” Piemur grinned slyly. “—suitable to their abilities. You’re still Toric, Southern holder, and you’ve the right to hold any way you choose. At least they’re used to jumping when a Holder says ‘jump’—they’re better disciplined than some of those holdless louts Garm’s brought you. In fact, I’d say once those lads recover from sunburn and seasickness, they might surprise you.” Piemur sounded very positive and sure of himself. Toric just kept looking at the figures sprawled on the deck and over the rails of Garm’s ship.

  “You whipped more into line than I thought you would, Toric,” Garm said, beginning to warm to Piemur’s line. “You can do it again. Just leave ‘em loose. The good ones’ll survive.”

  Toric was wavering. Then he scowled. “You’ll take no messages back with you, Garm, that I haven’t seen first. How many of ‘em have fire-lizards?”

  “Oh, five or six,” Garm said after a moment’s thought.

  “They’re all younger sons,” Piemur added reassuringly.

  “No queens or bronzes, then?”

  “No, two blues, a green, and one brown,” Garm answered. “The critters didn’t hang around that long after the lads started getting seasick. And they’re not back yet.”

  Toric snorted, his manner relaxing a trifle.

  “Send ‘em out to Hamian, or over to Big Lagoon. Most of ‘em should know drum code.” With Toric calmed down, Piemur was full of useful suggestions. He did not want to get stuck with another drum tower assignment, not when Toric had not yet kept his part of their bargain and let Piemur loose to explore. “Let ‘em go. The smart ones’ll want to learn. The dumb ones’ll kill themselves off.”

  “Listening to them natter before we set sail, they all sort of thought they were going to be given holds,” Garm put in hesitantly.

  “First they’ve got to prove their ability. To me!” Toric jerked his thumb at his chest. “Oh, bring them in. Piemur, Ramala’s not here. You know how to dose ‘em. Saneter, see if Murda can find beds for them tonight. I’ll see where to send ‘em. Shards! Why did they have to get here so soon?”

  “We had good winds,” Garm replied, misunderstanding Toric’s complaint as he wiped sweat from his weathered brow. “Made a nice fast trip.” He caught his dinghy’s painter and hauled the boat in for the row back to his ship.

  “Too fast,” Piemur said softly, catching Saneter’s eye. They could have used a few more days to prepare Toric for the “invasion.”

  “I devoutly hope that there are a few sensible ones.”

  “D’you recognize any of them?” Saneter asked as the two climbed the harbor steps. At the top small groups of children, having seen Toric’s departure, began to line the railing, pointing to the ship. Piemur could hear their giggles and unkind comments.

  “Not from here, or in their condition.” Piemur shrugged. “I expect Groghe sent a couple. The one really smart son stayed at Smithcrafthall. A couple weren’t bad. He kept ‘em all, fosterlings and the Bloods, in line. Lord Sangel’s would be accustomed to heat—might even know something about crops. Corman’s lot are probably still charging around the eastern holds, looking for Thella, the clever Lady Holdless.”

  “Piemur! One day that quick tongue of yours is going to get you in trouble.”

  “It has,” Piemur said, grinning wryly. Then his smile changed to one of unforced approval as young Sara came up with a basket full of lotions and vials. “Good girl. Pills for their ills. Go help Murda, sweetness.”

  Asgenar alighted from the dragon, landing heavily—which was exactly how he felt: heavy, disturbed, and knowing no other alternative to the problem. Certainly it was kinder for him, Larad’s fosterbrother, to break the news.

  K’van, looking no less enthusiastic but more determined, dropped lightly to the ground beside the Lemos Lord Holder. Heth turned his head toward the two, eyes glinting green-blue in reassurance. K’van gave him a solid slap on the shoulder and crunched over the newly fallen snow to the impressive steps leading up to Telgar Hold’s main entrance. It was cold enough not to linger, and Asgenar followed the young bronze rider.

  They reached the top step just as the door was opened and just as Heth took wing up to keep the watchdragonrider company on the sun-struck fire heights.

  “A’ton sent word down that you were coming,” Larad said, looking pleased to see them. “You’ll be surprised at what a fine lad he is.”

  Asgenar was thrown off balance. “A’ton?”

  “Your nephew. Or had you forgotten I’ve a third fine son?” Larad gestured diffidence. “You’ve other concerns. Good day to you, K’van. Are you part of this?”

  K’van nodded, shedding his helmet and loosening his flying ja
cket, then making work of matching his gauntlets and tucking them into his belt.

  “My office then, but surely you’ll both have some klah or a mulled wine?”

  “Later perhaps.”

  “Dulsay’s close by, and I think I’d like to finish my cup while you explain this visit. Dulsay?” Larad called. His wife appeared with a tray and three steaming cups.

  “I took the liberty, Asgenar, K’van. It’ll help loosen the chill from your tongues,” Larad said while Dulsay served them. Then she discreetly withdrew to the Great Hall, and Larad led the way to his private room.

  “There’s no way to buffer this one, Lar,” Asgenar said, taking one of the chairs. He put down his cup, opened his double-fronted fleece jacket, and hauled out the sketches, which he dropped on the table. “Have a look at them.”

  Asgenar had put the sheet with the drawings of Thella on the bottom. Larad, his frown growing deeper as he examined each face, exhaled when Thella’s likeness appeared and sank slowly to his chair. “I thought her dead since the Pass began.”

  “I’m sorry, Lar, but she’s very much alive, and far too active.”

  Larad flicked the sheets back and forth, always returning to the ones of Thella. The fingers of his left hand drummed an irregular rhythm on the polished wood of his worktable. Then he tapped Giron’s face. “This is R’mart’s missing brown rider?”

  “A dragonless man. Temma of the Lilcamp train—the one that was ambushed six days ago—identified him and Thella as those who were looking for Dowell and his family.”

  Larad looked baffled.

  “Dowell’s daughter, Aramina, hears dragons, “Asgenar said.

  K’van shifted restlessly in his chair.

  “I fail to see a connection,” Larad said hesitantly.

  “A girl who heard dragons would be of inestimable help to a raider,” Larad said after Asgenar had explained. “And you were her rescuer, K’van?”

  “Not me, sir.” K’van smiled, relieved that Lord Larad seemed disposed to be helpful. “My dragon, Heth!” Heth’s bugle was audible even through the thick walls of the Hold.

  Lord Larad merely nodded. “But I don’t see why…why Thella”—he looked even more distressed, as if the use of her name amounted to an actual accusation—“would savagely attack a harmless wagon train.”

  Asgenar shrugged. “When goods were missing it was bad enough, but to kill innocent people…”

  “I agree. A heinous crime. Inexcusable. Contemptible.”

  “You know we’ve thought that only one group was responsible for the systematic looting all along our eastern range.”

  “All Thella’s work?” Larad was incredulous and obviously hoped to hear a negative reply.

  “Certainly the largest part of it. She’s the obvious leader of her own band.”

  “And—” Larad paused, then leaned forward and shuffled the damning sheets into a neat pile. “Who drew these? Someone buying leniency?”

  “We’re assuming it was a harper infiltrator. Robinton did say that he’d help all he could.”

  “Oh, yes, I recall that. So, how can I assist you?”

  “She’s found somewhere to use as a base camp,” Asgenar said, gesturing to detailed Hold maps on Larad’s wall. “She also uses others as waycamps, burying travel supplies and grain for her runners.”

  “The grain that was stolen from Kadross Hold?”

  Asgenar nodded. He felt considerable sympathy for Larad, who was still fighting against the evidence that his own Blood was responsible for the scavenging. “I’m hoping that you might know of a cave, somewhere in the mountains of Telgar, which Thella might be using.”

  Larad passed a hand across his face, but when he dropped the shield, his expression was obdurate, and Asgenar knew that he had made his difficult decision.

  “When Thella left here, spring of the Turn before the Present Pass, she took with her copies of the Hold maps.”

  “Well, that explains a lot,” Asgenar said admiringly. “She’d know every nook and cranny in your Hold to hide in. And don’t be too upset. I’m certain she managed to get copies from me, Bitra, Keroon, and Igen. Nothing if not thorough, your sister.”

  “As of this moment, Asgenar—and K’van, you bear witness—she is no longer of my Bloodkin. I shall have the harper disown her.”

  Asgenar nodded acknowledgment of that rejection; K’van raised his right hand, accepting the witness.

  Larad strode purposefully to the map and studied it fingerlength by fingerlength. Suddenly he stabbed his forefinger on one spot. “Here is where she is likely to be. Our father, Tarathel, gave her her own way in most things, mounted her well, and took her with him on his trips around the holds. She mentioned once in my hearing that she had a place she could hold against all comers. She often disappeared on her own for days at a time. She was seen several times by the herdsmen in that vicinity. I hadn’t remembered it till now. She’d be entirely too familiar with the resources. She was bloody clever, you know! “ There was a hint of respect in the level voice. “She didn’t rob Telgar holds often enough to make me suspicious. Or, to be quite candid,” he amended with a grim smile, “to be suspicious enough to take it further. I did think she was dead. We found a set of runnerbeast shoes in a ravine. Our farrier said he’d hot-shod those to one of Thella’s mares. I assumed she’d been caught by Threadfall at the same time.”

  “Lord Larad, might it be a good idea to send one of your fire-lizards to see if anyone’s in that hold?” K’van asked. “I’m always taught not to assume anything.” He chuckled. “Ass—you—me!”

  Asgenar suddenly found that his ear was extremely itchy and ducked his head, while Larad gave K’van a long thoughtful look.

  “Now, that is an extremely constructive suggestion, K’van,” the Telgar Holder said. “You’ll make wingleader when you’re grown. My thanks.”

  “Our thanks,” Asgenar said. “She’d have a watch out for sweepriders but not for our clever little friends. If you can tell them just where to look?”

  Larad called for his fire-lizard queen and Dulsay’s bronze, cracking the door to let them in. “I think I know a landmark to give them to find the place. I’ve not been in that vicinity often, but the map indicates a wide plateau. They’d have to be using the hearths, and in this chill weather, smoke, wood, or blackstone would be obvious.”

  K’van approved of the fire-lizards’ prompt appearance and the intelligence obvious in their attention to Larad’s instructions.

  They chirruped happily, and Larad let them out his office window, a narrow slit, which the two fire-lizards navigated by flying up it sideways.

  “This is marked as a holding. Are the inhabitants in her band, too?” Asgenar asked.

  “No one’s held there for a hundred or more Turns. It was one of the places which a plague of those times wiped out. No one else was willing to take it over.”

  “Is the entire complex marked? Would there be Hold Records showing the extent of it? I’d prefer to know exactly how to catch the whole gang.”

  “I would, too.” Larad walked his finger along the dates on the tomes of Records on his shelves before he took one down and placed it on the table. “These diagrams are exceedingly old, but we have them for almost every mine and cave system,” he told them with a touch of pride in his voice.

  Asgenar, examining the pages spread open for him, thought that Larad had every right to be proud. “By the First Egg, that’s remarkable!” At first he had eyes only for the remarkable clarity of the drawing. “What sort of ink did they use? How old is this?”

  “That I can’t guess. Nor the substance used.” Asgenar ran respectful fingers along the edge of the opaque sheet.

  Larad grinned wryly. “Thicker than your sheets, Asgenar, but no give to it. You can’t erase or reuse it, either.” He sounded as if he found that a disadvantage.

  K’van had turned from the drawing to its legend. “Look, even the height of each section of tunnel is recorded.” He gave a soft whistle. “No
w that’s mapping!”

  “They knew how in those days,” Larad said, beginning to shake off the shock of his sister’s intransigence. “Telgar was the third Hold established.”

  “Yes, yes, some of those subsidiary shafts, even the narrow, low ones, would make ideal bolt holes,” Asgenar said, eagerly addressing the real issue. He strode back to the map, examining the area around the suspect cave. “Yes, and access to it along a number of tracks. Larad, you don’t need to feel obliged…”

  Larad drew himself up straight. “I do and I am. We’ll need copies of that quadrant of the area and of that old cave map. Who else have you asked to join us in this sortie?”

  Asgenar grimaced, scratching his right ear. “I would rather we kept it between us, Larad. K’van volunteered, since he’s already involved. The fewer who know, the better I’d feel. And I mean, just in this room for the time being. Now that I have your understanding and cooperation—” Asgenar conveyed his sympathy and respect by giving his brother-in-law’s shoulder a brief, firm squeeze. “—it’s a matter of organization and strategy, making sure none of them escape us. We both have trained men; I’ve roving troops of foresters in that general area right now. F’lar and Lessa—because of the girl—have offered Benden’s assistance. So a quick in-and-out would see us in position at all these exits,” he explained, tapping the relevant points, “and for a frontal assault. If we keep the whole affair between us, it could be managed quickly and with the least fuss.”

  “Lord Larad, that mountainhold you sent the fire-lizards to is definitely occupied,” K’van surprised them by saying.

  Larad looked at the window, then turned to K’van for an explanation.

  “Heth listened,” the dragonrider said.

  Asgenar grinned uninhibitedly. “Lad, you’re a marvel!”

  “Dragons make useful go-betweens,” K’van said in a droll voice. Asgenar stared at him for one second before he broke out in a peal of laughter. Even Larad, who was not quite as quick to see a pun, chuckled at last.

  Wild happy chirps announced the return of the fire-lizards. They swooped to Larad’s shoulders and made much of rubbing their cold bodies against his face. He stroked their delicate heads before finding tidbits for them in his pocket.