“I wasn’t always,” K’van admitted, grinning over Pell’s head at Aramina. “Before I was a dragonrider I was a very lowly weyrboy, and small. Just the right size to set snares for tunnel snakes. My foster mother used to give an eighth of a mark for every fifty snakes we caught.”
“Really?” Pell was awed by the thought of riches beyond the eating. “Well,” and Pell recovered from his awe, “I’m bloody good at snake-snaring, too, aren’t I, Aramina?”
“Not if you use the word ‘bloody’ you aren’t,” she said in reproof, not wishing the soldiers to think that the holdless were also mannerless.
They had reached the clearing—and there was Heth, curled in a tight ball that just fit in the available space. The soldiers grinned as Pell, eyes wide, carefully circled the sleeping bronze dragon.
“The cave is where, young lady?” asked the guard leader.
Aramina pointed. “There!”
“There’s water just to the right,” Pell said hospitably, “and there’s a whole grove of nuts just beyond the copse if you’re hungry.”
“Thank’ee, lad, we’ve rations with us.” The guard patted a bulging pouch. “Though a drink of cold water would be welcome. Traveling between sort of dries a man’s mouth of spit. You go on in, tell your folks not to worry. We’ll be out here on guard.”
“I’d rather stay with you,” Pell said confidentially.
Aramina caught the guard’s expression and hastily vetoed that option.
“Aw, Aramina, you had all the fun yesterday.”
“Fun?” Aramina got a firm grip on his arm and pulled him ruthlessly toward the cave entrance.
“Later, perhaps, Pell,” K’van said in the role of conciliator, “after you’ve eaten your breakfast, for I know I woke you out of a sound sleep. I’ve got enough klah here to serve everyone, and some bread, because Mende knew you wouldn’t have had a chance to bake yesterday.” K’van’s engaging grin dared Aramina to reject the treats.
“Bread? Klah? What else do you have in that sack, K’van?” Pell, displaying the manners of the worst Igen holdless riffraff, tried to pull open the neck of the sack for a glimpse of its contents.
“Pell!” Aramina’s shocked whisper reminded her brother of their sleeping parents as well as his manners.
“But, ’Mina, do you know how long it is since we had klah?”
“I’ve promised to make it for the guards, ’Mina,” K’van said in a voice that had brought many around to indulge his whimsies. “Surely a cup between friends . . .”
She relented, though she was sure to receive a scolding on that account as well as for her other errors. But a cup of klah would do much to ease the trembling in her stomach and knees, and give her the energy to bear whatever other shocks this day might hold for her.
The aroma, as it steeped, roused the sleepers, though Barla’s first conscious act was to peer in her husband’s face, reassured by the soft snores that emanated from his slightly open mouth. Only then did Barla react to the fragrance of the brewing klah.
“We had no klah,” she said, frowning at Aramina before she recognized K’van beside the little hearth.
“My foster mother, Mende, sent it along with fellis and numbweed salve to ease your husband’s injury,” said K’van, rising to bring her a cup of the fresh brew. He smiled with a shy charm to which Barla was scarcely impervious.
Aramina regarded the young bronze rider with astonishment.
“My Weyrleaders insisted that I return to see if he is recovering from the accident.”
“That is kind of you, young K’van, but unnecessary. We do not care to be beholden to anyone.” Barla pretended not to see the cup he offered, but Aramina saw her mother’s nostrils twitch in appreciation of the aromatic steam.
K’van gave her another of his charming smiles. “I’m weyr-bred, you know,” he said, undaunted, “so I know how you feel about being under obligation.” When he saw Barla’s incredulous expression, he went on. “Before the Pass began, Benden Weyr was begrudged every jot and tittle . . . because”—and now his voice became querulous and his eyes took on a merry twinkle for his impersonation—“everyone knows that Thread won’t fall on Pern again!” He grinned impishly at Barla’s astonishment and her sudden realization that Benden had indeed once been relegated to a state not much different from that of the holdless: tolerated when unavoidable, ignored when possible, and condemned on every occasion for uselessness. “Drink, good lady, and enjoy it. Mende also sent along bread, knowing you’d’ve had no chance to bake yesterday.”
“Mother, could we not send Mende one of the wooden spoons Father carved at Igen?” Aramina ventured to suggest to salve her mother’s sensibility.
“Yes, an exchange is always permissible,” Barla replied and, inclining her head graciously, finally accepted the cup of klah.
Relieved by her mother’s capitulation, Aramina carefully cut a thick slice of the round loaf, spreading it generously with the jam that K’van had also extracted from his sack of surprises. She bent a stern glance on Pell when he started to devour the treat ravenously.
Only when she had served the others did Aramina eat, savoring the klah and the thick, crunchy bread spread with the berry jam. Daintily she even rescued the crumbs from her lap with a moistened fingertip. When K’van and Pell went outside to serve the guards, Barla summoned Aramina to the sleeping furs, where she was delicately smearing numbweed salve on the livid bruises on Dowell’s chest.
“Why is that rider still here?”
“He came back this morning, Mother.” Then Aramina took a deep breath, realizing that only the truth would serve. Evasion was as dishonest as lying, whatever her motive. The presence of the dragonriders and Lord Asgenar would ensure the safety of everyone. With complete candor she accounted for her part in the events of the past day and this morning. “And the Benden Weyrleader was just here with Lord Asgenar and his men because Lady Holdless Thella has followed us. Lord Asgenar is using this opportunity to ambush her and that horrid band of hers. So we’ll be safe now because Lord Asgenar and Lord F’lar think father built a fine Gather wagon. And truly, they did call it a Gather wagon just as if that’s all it ever has been.”
“That’s what it was made for,” said Dowell in a sad voice, slightly shaken by the pain of the shallow breaths he took to speak.
“Here, Dowell. Drink this fellis,” Barla said, raising the carved wooden cup to his lips.
“Fellis? We had no fellis!”
“We have it now, Dowell. Don’t be so proud it hurts!” Barla said, suspending pride in the interests of healing her husband.
Thus abjured, Dowell swallowed the dose, closing his eyes at the pain even that minor movement caused his swollen flesh.
Barla saw Aramina’s tender concern. “The numbweed will be taking effect soon. I am truly grateful to this Mende. I think a spoon and one of the sandstone bowls. A woman can never have too many of them.” She sighed. “I am truly grateful to her. And . . .” She turned to Dowell, who had closed his eyes in tacit accord. “I think that we must be grateful to you, daughter . . . in spite of the fact that you seem to have forgotten all we have tried to instill in you of manners and conduct.”
Aramina bowed her head, assuming a contrite pose. Then she realized that although her mother’s voice was sharp, there was no bite to her words. Discipline required a scolding, but this time it was only the form that was obeyed, not the spirit. Aramina looked up and tried not to smile at this unexpected absolution.
“’Mina, if Lord Asgenar . . . ,” Dowell began in a voice no stronger than a whisper, speaking in short phrases between the shallow breaths he took, “. . . favors us . . . with his presence again . . . we must request . . . formal permission to stay . . . in this cave . . . until I am able . . . to continue our journey.”
“I’ll tell him. And I’ll mention it to the guard as well.”
Dowell nodded again, closing his eyes, his mouth beginning to relax a little as fellis and numbweed gave him surcease. Bar
la rose and, motioning Aramina to follow her, left his side.
“It is a good dry cave, ’Mina,” she said, as if this were the first chance she had had to inspect it. “There are guards? We must not fail in hospitality.”
“Pell remembered to offer, Mother, and they say they have their own rations.”
“That is not to the point, ’Mina, and you know it. Would there be more roots in the patch Nexa found yesterday? And nuts, too? For they make a tasty flat bread.”
Aramina schooled her features not to betray her dismay, for it took a great many nuts to make a decent quantity of nut flour, and the grinding took hours.
“I’ll get nuts, and there may be some wild onions, too,” she said, aware of her narrow escape from punishment and determined to be dutiful today.
“Where’s Pell? He ought to accompany you.”
“He’s with K’van, Mother.” Aramina picked up her sack, cleaned her belt knife, and sheathed it. She glanced about in the habit of someone used to thinking ahead on chores before she left.
Pell was not with the guards, nor was K’van, although Heth’s bronze hide was visible through the trees.
“The boys have gone off to set a wherry snare,” the older guard told Aramina with a grin for such youthful pastimes. “There’s roosts there.” He pointed over the rocky saddle leading to a farther dell.
“A roast wherry would be a real treat for all of us,” Aramina said, smiling to include both guards.
“Oh, aye, that it would, young lady.” When Aramina started toward the nut plantation, he caught her by the arm. “It’s you we’re guarding. Where are you going?”
“Only over that ridge”—Aramina pointed to the south—“for nuts.”
“I’ll just have a look-see.” The guard strode along with her, past the sleeping Heth, and up the long slope.
He halted, catching her arm again, as he looked down into the peaceful grove. The nut trees, well grown, were so thick-branched that they had inhibited any undergrowth that the acid of the nut mast had not killed. The approach of humans had sent the wood snakes scurrying, and only the last vestiges of the summer’s insects flitted about. Nuts were visible in plenty.
“I’ll give you a hand,” the guard said, seeing that it was a matter of scooping up the fallen tree fruits.
With two willing pairs of hands, Aramina’s sack was filled in short order.
“How much do you need?” the man asked when Aramina began to make a carryall of her jerkin.
“Mother has a mind for nut bread.”
The man raised his eyes skyward. “It do be tasty, and you might just need enough”—he winked broadly at her—“to stuff that wherry your brother plans to snare. I’ll just fetch these to your mother. Don’t stray now.”
Aramina didn’t stray, but in gathering she headed toward the far edge of the grove, wondering what other edibles might be found. She filled her jerkin as she moved, and had it stuffed to overflowing when she reached the boundary. There the land fell away into broken boulders. She looked up to the top of the mountain on whose flank she stood. She could see down to a twist of the river rushing through a gorge, just visible through the wintry forest. To be alone, after so many Turns of overcrowding, was a rare treat for Aramina. Maybe Lord Asgenar’s gratitude would indeed extend to a longer stay for her family in the cave. It could be made quite tenable, she was sure, even in the coldest weather. Why, they could make stalls for Nudge and Shove, and if Lord Asgenar didn’t object, maybe cut steps up the bank. From the fallen trees, they could fashion furniture. Her father could even season wood in the dry rear of the cave and have his own workshop. Her imagination embellished the dazzling possibilities. And then, being a practical girl, she sighed at her folly. She would be content enough to have a secure and private dwelling for as long as it took her father’s chest to heal. She mustn’t be greedy.
She listened then, as the breeze caressed her face, to what other sounds might be carried up from the river. She wondered if the ambush had been sprung and if she’d hear the sounds of battle. She shivered. Much as she feared Lady Holdless Thella and Giron, she wished only an end to their threat, not their lives.
She heard the faint sound of someone treading close and, thinking it was the guard returning, was taken completely by surprise as a rough hand covered her mouth and strong ones pinned her arms to her sides.
“It falls out well, after all, Giron,” said a harsh voice, and Aramina’s head was pulled cruelly back by her hair so that she looked up into the stained, sweaty face of Lady Holdless Thella. “We have snared the wild wherry after all, and the trap she laid is bare for Asgenar.”
Heth! Heth! Help me! Thella! Even if Giron’s heavy hand had not covered her mouth, Aramina was completely paralyzed by fear. Her mind idiotically repeated the one syllable that meant rescue. Heth! Heth! Heth!
Giron growled at Aramina as he began to manhandle her across the grove. “Don’t struggle, girl, or I’ll knock you senseless. Maybe I ought to, Thella,” he added, cocking his big fist in preparation. “If she can hear dragons, they can hear her.”
“She’s never been near a Weyr!” Thella’s reply was contemptuous, but the notion, now Giron had planted it, gave her a moment’s pause. Her face contorted with anger, she gave Aramina’s hair another savage jerk. “Don’t even think of calling for a dragon.”
Aramina couldn’t have stopped her mind’s chant, but she frantically rolled her eyes as if complying with Thella’s order. Anything to relieve the pain of her scalp.
“Too late!” Giron threw Aramina from him, a heave that left a hunk of her hair and scalp in Thella’s hand and Aramina teetering on the brink of a drop. A drop that was blocked by Heth, his eyes whirling red and orange in anger. He bellowed, sinuously weaving in among the trees, chasing Thella and Giron. From the other side of the grove came the two guards, Pell, and K’van, shouting imprecations. Aramina saw Giron and Thella disappear into the woods. The guards ran past in full pelt, but Heth had to stop at the edge of the grove, the forest being too dense for him to penetrate. He continued to bellow in fury, even after K’van reached him.
Shaking with reaction to her frightening experience, Aramina slumped against the nearest bulge-nut tree, clasping it for support and trying not to weep so childishly.
“’Mina! What happened to you?” Pell knelt beside her, his hand hovering over the bleeding scalp wound. “It was really Thella? Who else was with her?”
K’van was beside her, patting her shoulders.
“You did the right thing, ’Mina. Heth heard you and told me. We were setting snares. Heth’s called for reinforcements. They won’t get away. If there hadn’t been so many trees, Heth would’ve caught ’em already!”
“Dragons,” she said in gasps, “aren’t built . . . to run in forests.” Sniffing, she pointed to Heth, who was retracing his way, weaving in and out of the trees, snarling as one wing caught on a protruding branch. He looked so funny; she oughtn’t to laugh at the dear dragon who had saved her from Thella and Giron, but it was funny, and she began to giggle and then couldn’t stop her laughing.
“What’s so funny!” demanded Pell, outraged by his sister’s laughter.
“I expect she’s a bit hysterical. Not that I blame her. You take her other arm, Pell. We’ve got to get her back to the cave.”
“What about Heth?”
Heth rejoined them, his roars now reduced to belly rumbles.
I told her I was coming! I told her I heard her! Didn’t you hear me, ’Mina? Heth curled his neck around K’van to peer anxiously up at Aramina.
Hiccuping somewhere between laughter and tears, Aramina speechlessly patted Heth’s muzzle.
I was so scared . . . even her thought hiccuped . . . I couldn’t even hear myself.
“Shards!” said K’van as a whoosh of wind signaled the arrival of a wing of dragons. Heth swiveled his head toward the display.
The guards chase them through the woods!
As the three youngsters watched, Aramina m
arveling at the snippets of conversations she caught in the confusion of orders given and received, the dragons began to peel off from the wing formation, going in all directions in a search for the renegades.
“T’gellan’s leading the wing,” K’van informed them, deftly picking out of the stream the information that escaped Aramina. “They’ll search. We’re to get back to the cave.”
“Oh, my sackful of nuts!” cried Aramina.
“Nuts, she worries about! At a time like this!” Pell was disgusted.
Aramina started to cry again, unable to stop the tears. “Mother needs them for bread flour. . . .”
“I’ll come back for ’em,” exclaimed Pell at the top of his voice in frustration. “I’ll come back!”
Not completely reassured, since she knew her brother so well, Aramina was nonetheless willing to be helped back to the cave. Her mother, after her first startlement, bathed and salved Aramina’s scalp and the other scratches she had received from the rough handling. If Barla did so with compressed lips and a decidedly pale face, she did not scold Aramina. Pell, under K’van’s stern eye, had gone back for the nuts and Aramina’s jerkin. K’van brewed more klah, a very welcome cup that infused Aramina’s cold stomach with welcome heat.
Aramina, Lessa waits without, said Heth. For your mother, too.
“Mother, we’re wanted outside,” Aramina said.
“By whom?”
“By Lessa, the Weyrwoman of Pern,” said K’van. “Heth just relayed the message.”
Barla looked at her daughter as if she had never really seen her clearly before.
“You don’t just hear dragons,” she said in a puzzled voice, “they hear you, and they talk to you, and you can answer them?”
“A very useful knack,” K’van said with a grin; then he added, “Lessa’s waiting.”
“Is she angry with me?” Aramina asked timorously.
“Why would she be angry with you?” K’van asked, puzzled.
We could not be angry with you, Aramina, said the most beautiful dragon voice that Aramina had yet heard.
“C’mon.” K’van took Aramina firmly by the arm to haul her out of the cave. “You don’t keep Lessa waiting.”
A Gift of Dragons Page 6