Robinton was on his feet, his tall, lean frame bent over a workbench, intently studying a large piece of fine-grade animal skin that was covered in a series of star charts.
“Ah, there you are. Well, I hope, Sebell?” Master Robinton said without looking up. “Do come in, please.”
Sebell smiled slightly at Robinton’s acute awareness as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. At the sound of the door latch clicking home, Robinton looked up and Sebell offered a bow of respect. Slowly, Robinton straightened, rubbing a knot out of his lower back as he peered at his second, fatigue evident in his eyes.
“As bad as that, is it?” the Masterharper asked, giving the closed door a quick glance as he lowered himself into a chair.
“Matters in Nabol have moved on apace.” Sebell’s tone was bleak, and Robinton looked closely at him, searching the younger man’s brown eyes.
“Go on,” Robinton said.
“Any hopes we may have had of tensions easing among Lord Meron’s kin have been dashed,” Sebell said.
Robinton rubbed a hand over his eyes and then sighed, gesturing for Sebell to continue, though his manner showed that he’d really prefer not to hear any more.
“It’s remarkable, really: All these Turns after his demise, Lord Meron’s plans to sow conflict within his family have, quite unbelievably, taken seed. Though Lord Deckter has a firm hand and has vastly improved the Hold since he inherited, it seems he’s been powerless to undo the damage created by Meron when he was alive.”
“Shells, but the man’s reached out from beyond to disoblige us yet again! He behaved vilely to all beholden to him, playing one branch of his family off the other for the sheer pleasure it gave him. And with the tenacity of a tunnel snake, he fell ill and stubbornly took an age to die! His legacy, it seems, is set to thwart us once more.” Robinton spoke heatedly and then held up a hand in a beg-pardon gesture at his uncharacteristic outburst.
“He was a deviant, indeed,” Sebell said, a fleeting look of distaste on his face before his features settled back into their usual benevolent demeanor. “The latest news from Candler in Nabol,” he continued, “is that a group of his kin, and a few holdless rogues from farther afield, are bucking to take matters into their own hands.”
“But it’s been Turns since Meron died! Why would his kin cause a stir now?”
“We heard they tried to branch out on their own, and worked odd jobs to earn the marks for passage to the Southern Continent. That took a long time, but it seems they believed they could get holdings of their own there. I don’t know exactly what happened between then and now, but they’re back in Nabol and stirring up old grievances.”
“Trust Lord Meron to have the last laugh—he deliberately created discord when he was alive because his every little whim wasn’t appeased, as he thought was his due,” Robinton said with disgust. “I never did like that hard-flung crud of a man,” he added under his breath.
“It’s a pity those few men never found a way to fit in with Lord Deckter,” Sebell said, shrugging.
Robinton’s expression turned grave. “Do you think Lord Deckter’s position is in peril, Sebell?”
“No, I believe his position is secure. He’s kept his head down and gotten on with improvements that have satisfied his holders, and he has a strong body of loyal men around him,” Sebell said, adding, “But there are those few, disgruntled by the treatment they received from Lord Meron and unwilling to recognize Deckter as their lord.”
“And they’re tolerated by Lord Deckter?”
“Oh, yes. He hopes they’ll come around in the end. We know that a small group of them left the safety of Nabol recently. They didn’t venture far, toward Ruatha’s border, though Candler wasn’t able to confirm their exact destination. He thinks he followed too close, because one of Meron’s kin, Jerrol, has grown suspicious. That’s why we can’t use Candler anymore to watch them.”
“So what could that gang of rabble be up to, I wonder?” Robinton asked.
“Piemur mentioned something, Masterharper, after he reported to you in Southern Hold,” Sebell said carefully, watching the Masterharper to gauge his reaction. Robinton raised one brow briefly and then nodded for Sebell to continue.
“Piemur said he overheard the Nabolese talking about getting a holding. I think what he heard may have more merit than we gave him credit for.”
Robinton’s expression changed to one of alarm and he leaned closer toward his second. “What did Piemur hear?”
“He was worried they’re going to oust his family from their holding in Crom. But now that I think of it, Piemur said the men spoke about getting a holding near Nabol. That doesn’t actually mean they’re focusing on Crom, does it? Both Crom and Ruatha are Holds near to Nabol.” Sebell began to pace the length of Robinton’s workroom, his hands clasped behind his back. “Sun-addled though he was, Piemur was distressed by what he saw and heard in Southern, and he believes something is going to happen. At least one of the men he spied on was from Nabol. He and the other man met with an Oldtimer named T’reb. Piemur said Mardra was mentioned, too.”
“Yes, he did, though none of what he said made much sense, Sebell. The lad’s been traipsing about all alone for too long. It’s my fault, I fear,” Robinton said.
“He mentioned T’reb hiding something in one of those isolated coves,” Sebell continued.
“More of their illegal trades, most likely,” Robinton offered.
“Probably,” Sebell said. He’d halted his pacing and gave a little shake of his head, as if something was niggling at the back of his thoughts, then he continued. “I guess the Oldtimers are the least of our concerns compared with these men from Nabol.”
There was the clattering of footsteps on stone outside Robinton’s room, and both Sebell and the Masterharper fell silent before a knock sounded on the closed door. Robinton called out: “Come!”
Piemur entered Robinton’s room, slightly out of breath and exuding an air of urgency; his eyes were bright with excitement. N’ton followed Piemur into the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
“Piemur, this is unexpected. What’s brought you to Fort?” Robinton asked.
“I have a report, Masterharper.” Piemur walked over to Robinton’s desk and stood in front of it, his shoulders squared and his eyes shining in his deeply tanned face.
Robinton shot a quick look at N’ton and gestured for Piemur to proceed.
“After I mapped the steep bluff to the west of Southern as you instructed, Masterharper, and was forced back to the Hold because of Threadfall, I decided to go back to the Weyr,” Piemur explained. When he saw a puzzled expression flit across Robinton’s face he swallowed hard, focusing his attention so he could report what he had heard clearly and concisely. “Southern Weyr, Masterharper.” Piemur could see the open expression on the Master’s face slowly changing to a frown, so he continued quickly.
“What I overheard led me to believe that a small group of men from Nabol plan to oust settled holders and take their lands from them. I thought they were going after land in Crom, but now I know differently.”
Sebell, who had come to stand beside Master Robinton’s chair, placed his hands on the table and leaned forward intently. “Tell us exactly what happened, Piemur,” he said.
“I decided to follow T’reb. Been following him for the last two days. He seems to be behind what’s going on. I wasn’t able to get past the watch dragon at the entrance to the Weyr, but by creeping around the margins of the compound I was able to overhear enough. T’reb spoke with some other riders. I couldn’t see who, but I know Mardra and T’kul were there.” Piemur drew in a deep breath, silently telling himself to get to the point and stop adding unnecessary details. “I heard them mention Lord Jaxom.”
“Jaxom?” Robinton exclaimed, but then he flapped a hand at Piemur to disregard his interruption and continue
.
“I only arrived at the tail end of their conversation, but T’reb told Mardra they had to ensure Lord Jaxom was out of the way or the men from Nabol wouldn’t keep silent.”
Against all the odds, Jaxom, the young Lord-to-be of Ruatha, had Impressed a dragon five Turns past and now straddled two disparate social spheres: He was a dragonrider but did not live in a Weyr or fight Thread, and he was a Lord Holder, though his Hold was managed on his behalf to allow him to tend to his dragon. Jaxom’s tenuous position would remain so until he was formally confirmed by the other Lord Holders.
“Sweet shards, I knew we should’ve pushed the point and had Jaxom confirmed with the Lord Holders at the last Council meeting.” Robinton shook his head with regret, his lips clamped together in a taut line.
“Wouldn’t keep silent? About what?” N’ton asked very quietly. Piemur looked at Sebell quickly; he had noticed how N’ton had come to rigid attention when Jaxom’s name was mentioned. Everyone knew that N’ton helped Jaxom with his dragon, Ruth, and that he had become protective of the young lord.
“I’m not certain, N’ton, but something else has been bothering me—T’reb meeting with those two men in the secluded cove—it doesn’t make sense.” Piemur frowned and shook his head. “Perhaps he meant they wouldn’t keep silent about the Oldtimers’ involvement in ousting Jaxom.”
“What else did you hear, Piemur?” N’ton asked tersely. Piemur thought the atmosphere in the Master’s rooms couldn’t get any more intense.
“T’reb asked the other riders if they were certain they knew exactly where they were going. They said they did, and then T’kul asked when it would happen. T’reb said within the week, but they’d have to wait for the message telling them when the time was right. T’reb sounded quite certain that a message would arrive. That’s all I heard,” Piemur finished, letting his arms fall to his sides.
“Very good, Journeyman Piemur, you’ve done well,” Robinton said, standing up behind his desk.
Sebell reached across the worktable and clapped a hand on Piemur’s shoulder, squeezing it briefly. Piemur felt deeply relieved that he had avoided a reprimand for his surreptitious foray back into Southern Weyr.
“Do you think they could pull it off?” he asked, searching first Sebell’s face and then Robinton’s.
“It’s a good-sized holding, and with no real means of protection—not since Fax’s day. They could easily split Ruatha into several smaller holdings,” Robinton said, slicing his hand through the air several times to punctuate his next words, “and carve up that noble Hold to suit their needs.”
Piemur felt queasy at the thought of the repercussions such an act would provoke. Pern in turmoil once again—and just when the Masterharper thought they were making progress. Memories from the not-so-distant past, when the tyrannous, self-styled Lord Fax invaded Ruatha to further expand his acquired, rather than inherited, holdings, were still fresh in the collective consciousness. It had been a dark period indeed, nearly culminating in senseless, province-wide bloodshed.
N’ton’s expression darkened, and Robinton cleared his throat.
“This is a serious concern. If these men are successful in taking Ruatha, then others, elsewhere, could also try to buck the system and take whatever they want. The order we live by is far too fragile to endure such a fracture.” Robinton’s tone was solemn.
“I agree,” Sebell said, “but nothing has happened yet.”
“I wonder why someone is always trying to run the rightful Lords out of Ruatha?” Piemur muttered under his breath.
“They must not see Ruth as much of a threat if they think Ruatha could so easily be plucked,” N’ton said.
“Hm…yes. That’s where I need to clarify some other news Candler reported hearing,” Sebell said, looking at the Masterharper.
“What was that?” Robinton asked.
“Exactly how hard it would be to get rid of a dragon like Ruth.”
Piemur felt a wave of unease ripple around the room. All four men fell still, as if all holding their breath.
How could anyone in their right mind think to harm one of the noble creatures who unconditionally risked their lives for their world and everyone on it? Piemur was shocked. The very idea beggared belief!
Sebell drew a deep breath and continued. “They were debating whether Ruth was fierce like other dragons—they know he hasn’t learned to flame yet. Candler heard one of them say they’d have no real difficulty in dealing with a runt like Ruth.”
“He’s not a runt!” N’ton exclaimed, trying to keep his voice under control. “He’s a sport!”
“Yes, of course, but these men are not well educated in the ways of dragons and the Weyr. They only know about land.”
“All they need do to put Ruth out of the picture is get rid of Jaxom.” Piemur realized too late that his uncensored thoughts had just tumbled out of his mouth.
“Oh, no! My pardon, please, N’ton. I meant no disrespect at all. I like Jaxom! And what little I know of Ruth, too.” Piemur’s face started to color under his deep tan.
“Piemur has a point, blunt though it may be,” Sebell said, raising one brow as he shot a look at Piemur.
“The lad has a dragon to protect him, for shards’ sake! It’s no matter that he’s different,” Robinton said, referring to Ruth’s unusual color. As a white dragon, he was the only one of his kind.
“But he hasn’t yet flamed,” N’ton cut in quickly.
“Yes, and being smaller, Ruth might be an easier target, especially as he’s living in Ruatha Hold, outside the protection of the Weyr,” Sebell said.
“Only a dim-glow would try and meddle with him. As small as he is, Ruth is still a dragon,” Piemur said.
“But your point is correct, Piemur: If someone interfered with Jaxom,” N’ton offered, “and killed him for his holdings, Ruth would suicide.”
“No, no, we cannot have that,” Robinton said, shaking his head. “We must watch out for the young lord of Ruatha until I can convince the Lord Holders to confirm him. And the sooner the better,” he added, planting a fist on the worktable to punctuate his point.
“More than just watch over him, Master Robinton, we have to ensure that Jaxom is protected—and discreetly.” N’ton sounded deadly serious. “Just as a coup of Ruatha would upset the balance of the holders’ lives, so would the death of the little white dragon affect our Weyrs. Difficulties with the Oldtimers have caused disquiet among dragonmen, and the needless death of one of our dragons would make matters far worse.”
Piemur listened to N’ton, realizing that Robinton had wisely allowed the Weyrleader to speak on behalf of the Weyrs even though the Masterharper was well aware of how delicately the balance of life on Pern swayed in tune with the sum of its parts.
“Can you help us, N’ton, and spare another man, too? We’ll need more than one pair of wings if we’re to keep up with Jaxom,” Sebell asked.
The Fort Weyrleader nodded his immediate assent. “I’ll ask J’hon to help. He’s a good man,” he said, referring to his wingsecond.
“I’ll get Menolly in on this, too,” Robinton offered. “She’s friendly with Jaxom. If she works with Finder, our harper in Ruatha, and you and J’hon, N’ton, we should avoid raising Jaxom’s suspicions. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.”
“Perhaps it would be better if as few people as possible knew the exact details of what we’ve heard regarding Lord Jaxom and his Ruth. Would you agree, Masterharper?” Sebell said, looking to his mentor for the definitive word.
“Indeed, Sebell.”
“I dread to think how the Weyrs would respond if they learned what that lot had in mind for Ruth,” N’ton added.
“Those men from Nabol,” Robinton said, gesturing vaguely with one hand, a look of distaste on his face. “The sooner we can expose their plans and halt them, the sooner they’ll be dealt with by
their own. Piemur,” the Master added, looking at his protégé with a smile, “I have a very special task I want you to undertake.”
“Yes?” Piemur said expectantly, reassured that he was now firmly back in favor with the Masterharper.
“I want you in Nabol. First thing tomorrow.”
Piemur felt his heart sink; he hated that rotten, landlocked, dreary old place. Why him? Didn’t the Masterharper realize that sending him to Nabol would be like a punishment? Piemur had never been secretive about his complete distaste for that northern Hold.
“We could do with a good set of eyes up there, Piemur, and a clever head, too.” Sebell smiled at Piemur.
“But Nabol? I never thought I’d have to go back there, Master,” Piemur said, unable to hide his disbelief.
“My apologies, Master Robinton,” N’ton said, interrupting, “but I’m overdue at the Weyr.”
“Yes, of course, N’ton, and thank you.” Robinton smiled at the dragonrider. “We’ll work out the finer details now and let you know precisely how we plan to keep Lord Jaxom out of harm’s way. Piemur, you can go now, too. Well done, lad.”
With a weak smile and a single nod, Piemur followed N’ton out of the Masterharper’s rooms. N’ton swiftly descended the stairs to the outer courtyard where Lioth waited. Piemur watched as the big bronze dragon uncurled his long tail and pushed himself upright, ready to fly the short distance from Fort’s Harper Hall to the adjacent Weyr.
“Don’t look so glum, Piemur. You’re clever enough to insert yourself quickly in Nabol and find out what we need to know. I bet you’ll be out of there in three winks of a dragon’s eyelids,” N’ton said as he grabbed Piemur’s forearm in a firm grasp. Then he turned on his heels and, in a few short strides, closed the distance to his lifemate. Leaping effortlessly onto Lioth’s proffered foreleg, N’ton pulled himself up onto the dragon’s shoulder and was settled astride the base of the dragon’s neck before Piemur had time to insert his thumbs into the loops of his belt.
Dragon's Code Page 8