Maybe if he successfully broadened Toric’s holding, he might also broaden Toric’s appreciation of him. Maybe not broad enough to encompass Sharra, but then Piemur’s motto always had been “You never know till you try.”
What Piemur kept very much to himself was that he would be doing the survey as much for Master Robinton as for Toric. Just where his loyalties would be tested remained to be seen. In no fashion would Piemur risk Master Robinton’s good relationships with the Benden Weyrleaders. He had a suspicion that perhaps F’lar and Lessa wanted a good bit of Southern to be dragonriders’ territory. He hoped that the continent would be big enough for all. How much did Toric possibly think he could manage to Hold? Should someone—maybe Saneter could get away with it—remind Toric of what had happened to Fax, the self-styled Lord of Seven Holds? In any event, as long as Piemur got to set one foot in front of the other until he ran out of land, he would let the disposition of it rest with others—such as the Masterharper and the Benden Weyrleaders. They deserved more of the South than Toric ever did. But then, Lessa had a habit of giving perfectly good Holds away.
Piemur stopped his speculations. “You’ll never know till I go look, Toric,” he said wistfully. “Just Stupid and me, with Farli to send back my findings. I plan to live off the land.” He knew that Toric hated to give out supplies that he could count on Piemur to break or lose.
The holder’s ill humor began to fade. “All right, all right, you may go. I want accurate maps, accurate readings, all along the coast. I want details about terrain, fruits, edibles, depth of rivers, navigable or otherwise…”
“You don’t want much from one pair of feet, do you?” Piemur asked sarcastically, but he was secretly elated. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it. Garm’s sailing to Island River tomorrow. Stupid and me’ll hitch a ride. Why waste my time walking what’s already well and truly mapped, huh?”
Garm sailed him to Island River, and Piemur spent the night with the holders there, an enthusiastic fisherman and his wife who turned out to be cousins of Toric’s. They had dug out the ruins Piemur had noticed, painstakingly slated the roof, and rebuilt the wide porches that allowed air to circulate during the hottest weather through the rather spacious, high-ceilinged rooms. They chattered about their plans, which Toric had approved, and they wearied Piemur with all the good qualities they ascribed to the marvelous cousin who had rescued them from a holdless existence, quite by chance, and now they had such a bright future and weren’t they the luckiest of folk?
Piemur felt himself the luckiest of folk the next morning, as he hauled Stupid from the fishing skiff in which the holder had ferried him across the Island River delta. In an hour he was slicing his way through bushes to reach a coastline where no man had ever set foot, happy as a fed weyrling despite the sweat running down his face, back, and legs and down to the thick cotton socks Sharra had knit for him.
Jayge got on well with the drovers, even though Kesso won every informal race from their prize runners. He would have liked to have raced the mare, too, for she was beautifully conformed for speed, but he had promised to deliver her safely to Benden Hold, and an overreach or a cut, while bad enough on Kesso, was not to be risked on Fancy, as he had taken to calling the mare. He was almost sorry when they got to the Keroon River, where he would go north and the drovers would go east to Bayhead. However, he was able to move much more quickly without having to hold Kesso to the herd’s plodding progress. He made good time the first full day on his own and reached the fork where Little Benden River struck right toward Benden Hold, while the broader waters of Big Benden took a curve to the left past the cliffs. He chose the ferry over the sway bridge across the gorge at High Plateau Hold. To make the crossing, he had to put a twitch on Fancy to keep her quiet over the turbulent rough waters, and even Kesso was restless. Most people, according to the ferryman, preferred to swim animals across where Big Ben met the waters of Nerat Bay.
There were some grand trails up the banks of Little Benden River, and several times he galloped Kesso, the mare beside him stride for stride. She had the most enjoyable paces. Not that Kesso was not a very comfortable animal for long-distance riding, but Kesso had just happened; Fancy had been bred for it. Such a quality animal was certainly destined for one of Lord Raid’s own women, he thought. He had the impression that the Lady Holder was an older person, so perhaps the horse was a gift for a daughter or a favored fosterling. He hoped she would be a good rider, with light hands for the mare’s soft mouth.
On the second night the weather turned fierce, with high winds blowing right up the mare’s tail and dirty sheeting rain, and Jayge was forced to approach a farmhold for shelter. When he produced both the travel note from Master Briaret and his own warranty, the slightly suspicious holder agreed to share quarters and meals. When Jayge admitted that the mare was to be delivered to Benden Hold, the holder’s wife, a romantic type, went through the list of fosterlings at Benden Hold, trying to decide who the lucky recipient was. There seemed to be ever so many fosterlings at Benden, she said. She did hope there would be a Gather soon—it had been such a long tedious winter, and the children had had a tenacious fever, and she had had to drum for a healer to come down from the Hold, and the Lady Holder had sent her own special medication for rasping cough.
Jayge made his escape the next morning, limiting his time at her hearth to a cup of klah, even though she urged porridge on him, as garrulous as if she had not stopped talking all night. The trace by the river soon widened out to a wide roadway, well surfaced and maintained, and intersected a similarly good road heading north. His map indicated excellent roads all the way to Benden Weyr. All he had to do was deliver the mare at the Hold, and then he could complete his journey to the Weyr, and Aramina.
He paused at noon to eat, letting the two runnerbeasts graze. He brushed mud off the mare’s legs and tail, and gave Kesso a few swipes, too. He would rub Fancy down again before they actually got into the Hold, so that she would look her best as they entered. He was soon close enough to Benden Hold to see its splendid proportions, the multitude of windows in the sheltering cliff face, and the south end of the broad east-facing inner yard. It was an hour or so of good riding away, but already small cotholds were visible on either side of the river, making use of cliff and cave. Behind and to the northeast were the Benden Mountains, and almost directly north—Benden Weyr.
Suddenly a group of riders burst out of a ravine just beyond him, startling the two runnerbeasts. By the time Jayge had Kesso under control, he was surrounded by a party of young people, admiring Fancy and Kesso and demanding, in a high-spirited fashion, all sorts of answers from him.
“My name is Jayge Lilcamp, and I’m to deliver this mare to the Beastmaster at Benden Hold. Without injury,” he added in a louder tone as some of the boys began to crowd in around Fancy, who rolled her eyes and threw up her head in fright.
“Jassap, Pol, rein back. You’re riding stallions,” a girl said. Jayge threw her a grateful glance that turned into a long and incredulous stare.
She was not the prettiest of the three girls in that group. She had black hair, plaited in one long, thick braid down her back and covered with a blue scarf; her face was oval, strong-featured without being the least bit coarse. He could not tell what color her eyes were under rather level black eyebrows, but she had a nice straight, longish nose, a sweet shape to her mouth, a firm chin—and an odd sadness in her expression.
“Go on, Jassap and Pol. You, too, Ander and Forris. It’s not fair, and she’s such a pretty thing. She shouldn’t arrive all sweated up. Lord Raid won’t like it, you know.” She was handling her own mount with quiet competence, and the others complied with her suggestion. It had not exactly been an order, but she had quietly taken charge.
“You’re mean—a—!” one of the boys protested, but he obeyed, and they all set their mounts to a trot, chanting” meana, meana, meana!” They were laughing, but Jayge did not see what amused them so.
“She’s a very elegant runnerbeast,” one
of the other girls said, pulling her mare abreast of Kesso on Jayge’s left. “Did you come all the way yourself?” She smiled winningly at Jayge, who smiled back, knowing a flirt when he saw one.
“Master Briaret put her in my charge,” he told her.
Another girl had kneed her mount beside the flirt, her expression fearful. “From the Beasthold itself? But that’s a long way, and there was Fall, wasn’t there?”
“Fall was allowed for, and we were safe in a beasthold,” he said. He had discovered that most holdbred people found it upsetting to learn that he was not frightened by Fall. Casually, he glanced to his right and was relieved to see that the dark-haired girl had pulled into line with him, leaving a good space between her mount and Fancy, who was settling down again.
“We’ve been hunting,” the flirt said, pointing to the boys ahead of them, on whose saddles hung some plump, young wherry bucks.
“We’re going to have a Gather in a few sevendays. Will you be around?” The second girl had turned as coquettish as the first.
Jayge looked at the dark girl who was watching Fancy’s high movement, smiling to herself as the mare gave that extra little flick to her front hooves. The girl appreciated a good mover, he saw. He found himself wondering if there was any chance that he could complete his mission before that Gather. In the dancing square all were equal.
“I wouldn’t miss it, fog, fire, or Fall,” Jayge said with a courtly half bow to the tease and the flirt, but he ended with a questioning glance directed at the black-haired girl. She smiled, a very nice smile without a hint of the others’ coy archness.
“We’d better catch up with the others,” the first girl said. “See you later.” She waved as she dug her heels into her mount. Fancy pulled back on her tether rope, and Jayge wound it more tightly around his hand, waiting for the others to charge off. The dark-haired girl rode ahead more slowly, looking back at him over her shoulder.
When he delivered Fancy to the Beastmaster at Benden Hold, Jayge handed over Master Briaret’s packet of information about her breeding, and the mare’s hair whorls checked against those on her papers. The man inspected the mare thoroughly, legs, hooves, barrel, neck, and teeth, and had Jayge trot her up and down the inner court until the young trader was a bit short of breath. Master Conwy could find no fault in her condition or appearance. Jayge waited silently, indolently feeding Kesso’s reins through his fingers.
“You’ve earned your marks, Jayge Lilcamp,” the man said finally. “She’s a fine animal. Come with me. You can put your own mount up for the night here. Benden Hold keeps a good table. I’ll speak to the steward about your pay and see if there’re any messages you can take back with you.”
“I’m not going back to the Beasthold,” Jayge said. Then he caught himself. “I have to go north to Bitra.”
“You’d best leave your marks here with honest men, young man. Those Bitrans are terrible folk for relieving a man of his coin.”
Jayge could not help but grin at Conwy’s dour and disapproving expression. “I’m a trader by craft, Master Conwy. It’d take more than a wily Bitran to relieve me of my marks.”
“If you say so, so long’s you know their tricks.” Master Conwy clearly thought little of Jayge’s understanding and less of Bitran “tricks,” but he did not let that interfere with hospitality. First he put the mare into her stall, telling Jayge to put his runner next to her so that she would settle down more quickly. Then he took Jayge to the bathing rooms, offered to have a drudge launder his clothes, directed him to where he could find a cubicle for the night, and told him where to go before mealtime.
Clean and dressed in his newly pressed spare clothes, Jayge found Master Conwy’s hold and was given the marks. To his surprise, the Master asked for the warranty again and added a second recommendation on the end of Swacky’s.
“Doesn’t hurt for someone out and about to have proof of honesty and diligence.”
Master Conwy then walked him up the steps of the main Hold and into the dining hall, which was full of bustle and enticing aromas wafting up from the kitchens below. Jayge took the place offered him, on the far right with the other men and women of journeyman rank, and Master Conwy left him.
Such a main Hold was sinfully luxurious, Jayge thought, looking at the smooth, painted walls, the deep window apertures, and the burnished and etched shutters. The upper potions of the walls were embellished with brilliantly colored paintings, some of them quite old, to judge by the clothing depicted. It was the habit of the very old Holds to include portraits of notable lords, ladies, and prominent crafters. Some had been done in miniature on the borders, and some were so high up the wall as to be practically invisible. Idly Jayge wondered if any of those portraits could be Perschar’s work.
He answered the polite queries put to him and responded noncommittally to a rather blatant come-on from the handsome journeywoman beside him, but he listened more than he talked. When the soup was passed around—Jayge was rather flattered to be served first—the journeywoman contrived to brush her full bosom against his shoulder. Her touch reminded him of how long he had been on the road alone.
But all thought of casual dalliance faded from his mind with his first clear look at the head table on its dais and the black-haired girl seated at the right-hand edge. A fosterling then, Jayge realized, but not of sufficient rank to sit closer to Benden’s lord, lady, and their own children. She wore a low-cut deep maroon dress that offset her creamy skin. She smiled often, laughed seldom, and ate neatly—and Jayge could not stop staring.
“She’s not for the likes of you, journeyman,” his seatmate said in his ear. “She’s for Benden Weyr. Next Hatching, and she’s sure to be Impressed.”
Jayge had thought that girls found on Search went immediately into the Weyr, but if she was a fosterling of Benden’s, maybe that made a difference. He did know that there was no clutch on the Hatching Grounds at the moment.
“She was in the hunting party that passed me on the track,” Jayge said casually. He tried to keep his eyes from her but could not. There was a sweet calmness about her; it was soothing just to watch her deal with her food platter. Jayge thought that he had never seen a girl quite like her. And she was not for him. He wrenched himself away and turned, smiling, to the journeywoman, who was eager to continue conversation.
The next morning, somewhat to Jayge’s dismay, the first person he encountered was the black-haired girl. She was in Fancy’s stable as he arrived from a quick breakfast to saddle Kesso.
“I think she’s going to settle in all right,” she said, smiling with obvious relief up at Jayge. “Master Conwy said you’d brought her all the way from Keroon Beasthold without so much as a scratch. Do you like all animals? Or just runners?”
Jayge was having trouble organizing a suitable answer, so he just smiled. Yes, he thought, he had been right about that sadness in her face. “Oh, I get on well with most animals. Treat ‘em right, they work well for you. Feeding’s important. Enough for the work they’ve got to do.”
“Are you a beastman, or a herdsman?”
“I’m a trader.”
“Ah, so you’d how burden beasts better.” For some reason the girl’s smile was tinged by wistfulness. “We had a yoke—I called them Nudge and Shove. They did a lot of it, but they never let us down.
Jayge had completed saddling and stowing his pack without realizing that he had done so, and he was suddenly very shy in her presence. “Gotta go,” he said. “Long way still. Nice meeting you. Keep your eye on Fancy.”
“Fancy?”
“I always name animals. Even just for a journey.” He shrugged diffidently, wondering what had gotten into him. He usually had no trouble talking to girls at all. Last night had proved that, though if he had known that he would be talking to her again today, he would not have settled for a quick tumble with that journeywoman. He backed Kesso out of the stall.
“Fancy’s a very good name for her.” The girl’s voice followed him out of the beasthold. “Th
ank you. I’ll take good care of her. Good luck.”
Jayge swung up on Kesso and trotted smartly out of the beasthold, wishing he could have thought of some excuse to stay. But she was for the Weyr, and that was that!
9: Benden Hold, Benden Weyr, PP 13
THOUGH THE TRAIL was good, the weather was cold and the hilly going sometimes so treacherous in the early mornings that Jayge delayed starting until the sun was well up. He preferred to find or make his own overnight shelters, though several times he shared a midday meal with holders he met up with. He lent assistance to one farmer, changing a damaged wheel, and when Kesso’s shoes were noticed and admired, he made the man a new set for his barefoot runner. That time he agreed, when pressed, to stay the night, as it was too late to continue.
But despite the occasional encounter, Jayge spent far too much time on his own, thinking of the black-haired girl. He ought to have asked her name. That would not cost him anything, he thought. He would have liked to know her name. He ran through all the variations of women’s names he knew but could not find one that suited her. He found himself fretting over that indefinable sadness in her eyes and in the slight droop of her mouth. She was probably the same age as the other two girls in the hunting party, but she had exhibited an air of maturity that the others lacked. His dreams at night took on an erotic flavor, but they amused more than embarrassed him. On the dancing square all were equal, he reminded himself again. He would get back to that Gather. He would dance with her and clear that sadness from her eyes.
The Renegades of Pern (dragon riders of pern) Page 20