The Renegades of Pern (dragon riders of pern)

by Anne McCaffrey

  Jayge was looking across the river with a proprietary smile, reexamining buildings and the lush forestry crowding against them. Aramina whispered to him, and he looked down at her, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

  “I’d like to send for some of my Bloodkin,” Jayge said.

  “Always a good idea to have them share your good fortune,” the Harper said approvingly.

  Although the Harper would have been happy to sift through the contents of the storehouse, Piemur, with some assistance from Jayge and Ara, urged him to come back to the cool house and compose the messages. Zair was dispatched to Ruatha Hold with reassurances to Barla and Dowell, while Farli went to the harper at Igen Hold, who would locate the Lilcamp-Amhold train and deliver Jayge’s missive.

  “I’ve asked my aunt Temma and Nazer if they’d be willing to join us,” Jayge said tentatively as he finished writing. “Only how will they get here? I’m still not sure where we are!”

  “Paradise River Hold,” Piemur replied irrepressibly.

  “The Southern Continent is much more extensive than we originally believed,” Robinton said after a reproving glance at his journeyman. “Master Idarolan is still sailing eastward and updating me by means of his second mate’s fire-lizard. I believe that Master Rampesi is continuing westward past the Great Bay. In the meantime, I think we might prevail on P’ratan to convey your kin here, if they’re willing to come and wouldn’t overload Poranth. Would Temma and Nazer object to flying between on a dragon?” His eyes twinkled.

  “Nothing fazes Temma or Nazer,” Jayge replied with conviction.

  After a refreshing lunch, Piemur suggested firmly that perhaps the time had come for Aramina to give the Harper a full account of the past two years, while he and Jayge figured out boundaries for Paradise River Hold.

  “A fine thing when a harper has to teach a trader to bargain,” Piemur said, mildly scoffing, though he found Jayge’s reluctance a refreshing change from Toric’s rampant greed. Jayge had to be reminded of Readis’s and any future children’s needs, as well as the requirements of Temma and Nazer, if they joined him. “You told me how far you and Scallak had walked west, east, and south. Well, we’ll just make those your boundaries. I’m good at figuring out how far one can travel in a day over what kind of terrain. This’ll be a good spread and still won’t take that much of a bite out of the continent.”

  When the heat of the day had passed, P’ratan was quite willing to take harper and holder on an aerial sweep. Bright red stakes of the ancients’ durable manufacture were taken from the storehouse and pounded into the ground; trees were distinctively cut and distances confirmed. Piemur marked two maps, properly witnessed them with Master Robinton and P’ratan, and left one with Jayge.

  The Masterharper assured the young couple that he would personally speak to the Weyrleaders and the Conclave on their behalf at an imminent meeting.

  “Please come back whenever you can, Master Robinton, Rider P’ratan,” Aramina told them as they escorted them to green Poranth. “Next time it won’t be such a shock not to hear the dragon coming!”

  Master Robinton took her hands in his, smiling kindly down at her. “Do you regret that you no longer hear dragons?”

  “No.” Aramina shook her head violently. Her smile was more wistful than sad. “It’s better this way. Listening to the fire-lizards is quite enough, thank you. Have you any idea why I should stop hearing them?” she asked shyly.

  “No,” the Harper replied honestly. “It’s an unusual enough ability. Only Brekke and Lessa can hear other riders’ dragons—and then only with conscious effort. It could have something to do with moving from girlhood to womanhood. I’ll ask Lessa—she will not chide you, my dear,” he added when Aramina’s hands clenched nervously in his. “I’ll see to that.”

  When the dragon took off and suddenly disappeared, the baby in Jayge’s arms was startled into crying, looking wide-eyed at his mother for reassurance.

  “They’ll be back, lovey. Now it’s time for you to be in bed.”

  “Are you truly glad you don’t hear dragons anymore, Ara?” Jayge asked much later, after they had lain in bed for long hours discussing their plans for Paradise River Hold. He raised himself on his elbow to see her face in the moonlight flooding in through the window.

  “When I was a little girl, I loved to hear them talking. They didn’t know I was listening.” Her mouth curved in a little smile. “I could pretend to have conversations with them. It was exciting to know where they were going, or where they’d been, and desperately saddening when I knew who had been injured. But I used to pretend, and this used to be terribly important to me, that they knew who Aramina was.” The smile disappeared. “Mother was always very strict with us. Even when my father was working at Keroon Beasthold, she wouldn’t let me play with many of the cothold children, and we weren’t allowed in the main Hold. When we were forced to live in Igen low caverns, Mother got even stricter. We weren’t allowed to play with anyone. So the dragons became even more important to me. They were freedom, they were safety, they were so marvelous! And when the hunters started taking me with them, my hearing dragons was my way of getting a larger share of what was available in Igen low caverns.”

  She was suddenly silent, and Jayge knew she was remembering the trouble that her ability to hear dragons had caused. Gently, to remind her he was there, he began to stroke her hair.

  “It was a wonderful gift for a child to have,” she murmured. “But I grew up. And the gift became dangerous. Then you found me.” She began to fondle him, as she often did when she wished them to make love. He held her closely for a long moment, trembling with the gift that Aramina gave to him.

  Perschar was more than willing to go to Paradise River. “Anything to get me away from Master Arnor’s precise journeyman. I detest having to measure everything before I draw it. My eye is quite keen, you know. It will be nice to have something other than squares and rectangles to draw. Did the ancients have no imagination at all?”

  “Rather a lot,” Robinton replied. “They got here, you know.” He pointed downward, meaning Pern.

  “Oh, yes, rather.” Perschar was hauling watercolored scenes of things other than straight lines out of his carrysack.

  “Where’s this?” Piemur asked, nicking one out of the pile and holding it up.

  “That hill?” Perschar craned his neck. “Oh, that’s down by the grid that Fandarel’s young men are trying to pry out of the ground.”

  Master Robinton turned the drawing so that he could see it. “I don’t think that’s a real hill,” he mused.

  “Of course it is. Trees, bushes—quite irregular. Nothing like the others. Too tall for their one-level buildings, and sort of—” He paused, his eye arrested suddenly by what the harpers had seen. “You know, it just could be,” He made gestures indicating several levels with his hands. “Well, don’t dig it all up until I get back, will you?”

  After Perschar was handed over to P’ratan to be conveyed to Paradise River, Master Robinton propped the sketch up on his desk and stared at it. Piemur picked up a charcoal and, thriftily using a corner of a scrap leaf, did some alterations.

  “Hmm, more than one level, huh?” Robinton murmured.

  “It’s sort of halfway down the grid strip the flying ships used,” Piemur said.

  “We could go have a look,” the Masterharper suggested. “I’d like to find something myself! Wouldn’t you?”

  “Not if I have to dig it out by myself,” Piemur replied.

  “Would I ask you to do something I wouldn’t do?” Master Robinton demanded, wide-eyed with an innocence that appeared remarkably genuine.

  “Frequently! Fortunately there’re enough willing hands up at the Plateau, so I’ll see that I have help.”

  P’ratan returned from Paradise River later that afternoon, apologizing for taking so long on a simple errand. “Rather a lot going on down at your Paradise now,” he told the harpers as they left Cove Hold for the beach to rouse Poranth. The old green t
ended to doze off whenever she was not moving. “He’s got Temma, Nazer, and their youngster, and the young holder traded some of those things he’s got stored for Master Garm to sail some holdless Craftsmen down. There’s talk now of setting up a seahold. Told ‘em to get in touch with Crafthalls. They’ve usually got a few journeymen’d like to change around for the experience. Place is bustlin’ now. Nice to see.”

  Fortunately Poranth was of the opinion that it did not matter where she did her dozing and conveyed them to the Plateau. As she circled lazily for a landing, Piemur noted that the work was progressing systematically: Minercraftmaster Esselin was in charge of the excavations, using the larger building F’lar had discovered as storage for the artifacts so far uncovered, and Lessa’s building as an onsite office. Several more in her section had been dug out and were being used as living quarters for the diggers and rodmen. At least one building in each immediately adjacent section had been cleared enough to permit inspection.

  Master Robinton and Piemur found Master Esselin in his office and begged the loan of several workers. Breide, Toric’s ubiquitous representative, hurried in to hear what was going on.

  “The hill, you say?” Master Esselin said, consulting his map. “Which hill? What hill? There’s no hill down on my list for excavating. I really can’t divert men from my schedule to dig out a hill.”

  “Which hill?” Breide asked. He and Master Esselin had an uneasy truce. Breide, blessed with an unusually sharp and copious memory, could remember such details as how many teams to excavate which shaped mound, how much water and how many meals they needed, and exactly where what had been found in which building. He knew which Crafthall and hold had sent men and supplies, and how many hours they had worked. He was useful, and he was a nuisance.

  Silently Master Robinton unrolled Perschar’s sketch and presented it to them.

  “That hill?” Master Esselin was clearly not impressed by its potential. “It’s not even on the list.” But he looked inquiringly at Breide.

  “A few sample rod holes, including the walk to and from the site!” Breide said in the flat voice of the slightly deaf. “It would take about an hour.” He shrugged, waiting for Esselin’s decision.

  “It’s a hunch,” Master Robinton said. He spoke with so much winning confidence that Breide gave him a sharp glance.

  “Two rodmen, for an hour,” Master Esselin conceded and, according Master Robinton a respectful bow, left his office to give the necessary orders.

  “I should think, Master Robinton, that those flying ships would have a priority,” Breide said as he followed the two harpers, the rodmen resignedly plodding after them.

  “Well, they are clearly Master Fandarel’s responsibility, “ Master Robinton said, dismissing Breide’s implicit and repeated argument. “He is so ingenious. These rods he designed especially for excavation work, for example, make it possible to tell, with a few strokes of the hammer, the depths of earth above a mound. I understand that he’s trying to develop a more efficient way of digging, a revolving scooping apparatus.”

  Piemur admired the way the Harper handled Breide. The man’s persistence annoyed the journeyman. A person could not go anywhere on the Plateau without him popping up and asking questions.

  “I really don’t see why you would want to bother with this,” Breide said as they came down the slope to the site in question. He was a man who sweated hard and wore a band on his forehead to keep the moisture from spilling over his brows into his eyes. He was perspiring freely and uncomfortably. Piemur wondered why he did not get himself one of the grass hats that some enterprising craftsman had been weaving as head protection. “An hour, Master Esselin said,” Breide reminded them as if he had a timekeeper in his head.

  “I’m sure we’re keeping you from other duties, Breide. Look, there, Piemur!” The Harper pointed to the south, where Smithcrafthall journeymen were trying to dig up a section of the massive grid that the ancients had laid. Something glinted brightly in the sunlight.

  “They do seem to have raised something,” Piemur remarked, quick to catch the Harper’s intention. Breide, his attention caught by the sight of men wrestling with crowbars and shouting, trotted off to investigate.

  Free of Breide’s unwelcome presence at last, the harpers neared their destination and scrutinized it carefully.

  “I think Perschar’s right about levels,” Robinton said, taking off his hat and mopping his brow. They walked all around it, then stood off a ways and inspected it, the rodmen waiting patiently.

  “I’d say three levels, “Piemur remarked judiciously. “A central tower on a wider base. The lip of the south wall has fallen in, which makes that side look like a natural slope.”

  “How convenient,” Master Robinton said, grinning mischievously at his journeyman. “Then let us try the other end, which hasn’t collapsed and is out of Breide’s sight.” He gestured to the rodmen. “The ancients were rather big on windows. We’d best try here, where a corner might be.”

  Piemur held the point of the rod at shoulder height while the hammer man tapped. The rod went in two handspans before they all heard the thunk! as it met resistance.

  “Could be a rock,” the hammerman said with the shrug of experience. “Try it a little higher.”

  Soon they had made a series of vertical thrusts, each meeting resistance within a finger joint of the others.

  “If you ask me, you’ve got a wall in there,” the hammerer said. “Want to try for a window? Or d’you want us to get some diggers down here? We’re rodmen, you know.”

  “I certainly appreciate that,” Master Robinton assured him. “Now, in your experience, where would a window be situated? That is, if indeed we’ve struck a wall.”

  “Oh, you have, Master. And I’d say, if this is your ordinary sort of place, there’d be a window…here.” The man measured off ten handspans and, resting his fist on the place, turned for the Harper’s approval. “That is, a’ course, if this is your ordinary sort of place.”

  “Clearly you don’t think it’s ordinary,” Master Robinton ventured.

  “Not being so far away from all the rest of ‘em, I’d say it isn’t.”

  “Hour’s near up,” the rodman who had not spoken before said. Continual work on the Plateau had burned his skin a deep brown.

  “Humor an old man and drive the rod in,” Robinton said, gesturing with uncharacteristic impatience.

  The rod was set, and the fourth blow sunk it to its head.

  “Got a hollow in there, “the hammerman said as the rodman struggled to pry the probe out. “Not a window. You crash in windows. Can hear it. Sorry about that.”

  “Time’s up, “the other said and, settling the rod to his shoulder, began to hike back up to the main settlement.

  “Want I should ask Master Esselin to send you some diggers?” the hammerer asked helpfully, wiping the inside of his grass hat with a colorful kerchief.

  “We’ve hit a hollow, haven’t we?” The Masterharper said dispiritedly. “Well, it was just a hunch.” He sighed heavily, leaning back against a tree and fanning himself with his hat.

  “Lots of people got hunches in this place,” the man replied. “Breeds ‘em, you might say. Good day to you, Masterharper, Journeyman!” He resettled his own hat and followed in the other’s footsteps.

  “I want to widen that hole, Piemur,” Master Robinton said when he was sure the men were out of earshot. “See what you can find.”

  “They took the hammer with them.”

  “There’s plenty of branches and rocks,” the Harper said, beginning to search.

  Piemur found a sturdy stick and began to pound around the rod hole. The Harper kept ducking around the side of the hill, to be sure that the men were still trudging back to Master Esselin’s and that Breide was occupied with the Smith’s men. Then, becoming impatient, Piemur held the branch firmly and made a run at the wall. The branch knocked a substantial hole in the dirt and took Piemur off his feet. He brushed himself off and peered inside.r />
  “It’s hollow all right, Master. And dark!”

  “Good. Zair, come over here and be useful. Piemur, call Farli to help. They’re better diggers than anyone Esselin has.”

  “Yes, but that’ll leave a hole for Breide to see.”

  “Let’s worry about that when the time comes. My hunch is stronger than ever!”

  “This place breeds ‘em, you know!” Piemur muttered, but Zair and Farli busily began to dig. “Easy, easy!” he cried as clods of grass and dirt flew out in all directions.

  “Can you see anything yet, Piemur?” Master Robinton asked from his post.

  “Give us time!” Piemur could feel the sweat running down his back under the loose shirt he wore. I should get a sweatband like Breide’s, he thought, if the Harper plans more of this sort of activity. When the opening was large enough for entry, Piemur peered through. “Not enough light to see much, but this is definitely manmade. Shall I send Farli for a candle?”

  “Do, please!” The Harper’s voice was full of pained entreaty. “How big is the hole?”

  “Not big enough.” Piemur paused long enough to retrieve his thick branch before he renewed his efforts alongside Zair, battering the soil into the hollow in preference to removing it.

  By the time Farli had returned with a candle in each claw, Piemur had an opening large enough to crawl through. The two fire-lizards, upside down on clawholds at the top of the hole, peered in. Their inquiring chirps echoed. Then Zair pushed off and Farli followed him, their chittering reassuring Piemur as he struggled to strike a sulfur stick ablaze and light a candle.

  “Anything? Anything?” The Masterharper fairly jiggled with impatience, anxious to succeed without Breide’s interference.

  “Give me a chance!” As the journeyman extended the candle inside, the flame bent and nearly went out before it straightened and illuminated the interior. “I’m going in.”

  “I’m coming, too.”

  “You’ll never make it! Well…don’t bring in half the hill with you!”