The group of men moved away from Piemur, their numbers reduced, possibly by half, he reckoned, and he could no longer hear what they were saying. Were they still in the brewhouse yard, he worried, or had they all left? Piemur didn’t want to miss any of their talk, but he couldn’t be too obvious and brazenly follow them around. There was nothing for it: He’d have to play the drunkard in the hope the men would see no threat in his behavior and carry on with their conversation.
Piemur pulled the soft cap down firmly on his head, slopped a little cider onto his tunic and boots, and then pulled the collar of his jacket up around his ears. In his best imitation of a legless drunk, he tottered out of the booth, cup in hand, and made the drunk’s equivalent of a straight line for the service counter, zigging and zagging a little as he walked. He completely ignored the men, now numbering only three, he noted from the corner of his eye, and continued toward the counter with what he hoped looked like great determination.
He ordered another glass of cider, a large one this time, so as to appear fully committed to furthering his state of inebriation, and then made an impressive show of looking for someone around the courtyard before finally taking a seat at a table beside a brazier that was near to where the three men were now seated. Pretending to take a long pull from his glass, he then leaned back in his seat, resting the glass on his chest. He nodded slightly from time to time as he peered around the courtyard, an asinine grin on his face. Moments later, he allowed his chin to settle on his chest and let his glass list slightly in his hand as he feigned sleep.
“Are you certain we should go for Ruatha?” Piemur heard one of the men ask in a hushed tone. “Crom’s closer.”
“Have you seen those men Lord Nessel has holding with him? Some of ’em are as big as herdbeast bulls! Nah, I’d put my chances on Ruatha—the Hold is barely guarded, if at all,” the deep-voiced man said.
“That young dragon-lord spends his time flittin’ here an’ there, doing nothin’ for his Hold. What a waste! Who’d miss him?” another voice said.
“Aye, but his connections make him that extra bit special for our purposes.”
Piemur nearly sucked in his breath and was hard-pressed to keep up his pretense of slumber.
“Might make ’em sit up and take—” the deep-voiced man continued, but his words were suddenly drowned out as Hedamon shouted from several paces away: “There you are! Thought I’d lost ye! It’s your round for the drink.”
Piemur felt like groaning. Thinking fast, he guessed that now Hedamon had drawn attention to him it was probably best if he didn’t give the three men an opportunity to scrutinize him too closely. He reacted quickly, harrumphing and clearing his throat as he stood up, turning away from the three men as he left his seat and swaying slightly when Hedamon laid a possessive arm across his shoulders. Piemur didn’t resist, allowing the older man to lead him back toward the bar.
What can I do now? Piemur thought frantically. He was too far away to hear what the other men were saying, and even if he could manage to lead Hedamon back to his table, the older man would drown out all other conversation or, worse, drive the three men from the courtyard altogether. Think, think! Piemur ordered himself.
Piemur pushed his half-full glass at Hedamon’s chest, gesturing for him to take it before he staggered away from the older man, claiming, “I’m gonna be sick.”
Keeping up his drunken pretense, he half staggered, half tottered across the courtyard and into Skal’s house. Once over the threshold, he quickly made his way through the hallway and out into the night. He would find somewhere to hide in wait for the three men, then follow in the hope that they would talk more about their plans for Lord Jaxom. It was a weak plan, but it was the only thing he could think of.
In the end, the three men came out of Skal’s house and split up, two of them walking together in one direction and the other walking on his own the opposite way. Piemur felt he had failed: He hadn’t found out anything truly useful. But then, after the men made their farewells for the night, the lone man stopped and called out to the other two.
“Jerrol!”
The deep-voiced man stopped and turned, his sullen-looking companion stopping, too.
“I’ve changed my mind,” the lone man said. “You can count me in. Meet at your place in two nights’ time?”
“Yes, Jentis,” Jerrol replied with a nod, and then he lifted one hand briefly and continued on his journey.
Making a snap decision, Piemur followed Jerrol and his companion. Even if he didn’t hear more about their plan, at least he now knew the names of the men and that they planned to meet again in two nights. And soon he’d know exactly where that meeting was going to take place.
Jerrol and his companion walked for almost an hour, leading Piemur up to the edge of the settlement of dwellings close to the ramparts of Nabol Hold. When Piemur finally saw them enter a small cothold, he retraced his steps to Skal’s and didn’t have much farther to go before he was back at Marek’s cot. It was very late at night when Piemur wearily climbed up the ladder into the loft and flopped onto the straw. He was physically worn out but had, fortunately, walked off the effects of the cider, and now his head was ringing with thoughts.
He wanted to tell Sebell what he’d found out, but where was Farli? She was never around when he needed her. He steadied his breathing to slow his thoughts and then pushed out hard for his little queen, calling her to him with quiet urgency. But as his breathing steadied and Farli failed to show up, fatigue overtook him, and Piemur couldn’t fight against his body’s need for sleep.
* * *
—
A single, solitary shape—an egg, bathed in darkness—edged into his mind. He felt cold. Suddenly the face of a dragon flashed before him, eyes spinning bright red with anger and a gush of fiery breath spraying from his mouth. Then the dragon faded away, and Piemur saw the lone egg once more before it, too, faded away and he drifted into darkness again.
A muffled chirp and then a twitter filtered through his hearing, gently pulling Piemur up from his sleep. Something warm pushed against his shoulder. He pushed back. As he grew more alert, he realized that whatever was pushing against his shoulder extended over the crown of his head in a curve, touching either ear. He opened his eyes and lay still for a moment, trying to get his bearings. Had he really seen an egg, or was it a dream? And what was all this about a flaming dragon? As he rolled onto his side, the faint, sweet-musky scent of fire-lizard filled his nostrils, and without looking he knew Farli had found him and curled up around his head during the night.
“Hey, Farli,” he whispered. The little queen sat up and stretched slowly, her back arching languorously, the motion extending through her front and back legs as she opened her eyes and peered at Piemur. She chirped once and then her eyes quickly changed from a calm cobalt color to anxious amber.
“What is it, Farli? Why are you so upset?” He reached a hand tenderly toward his fire-lizard and rubbed just above her eye ridges, trying to calm her, but the same image of an egg in darkness and angry dragons flashed through his head again.
“You’ve been sharing your dreams with me, I see. Well, Farli, I can’t explain it, but if the egg you’re seeing is what I think it is, you needn’t worry any longer. The egg is safe. D’you hear me, girl? The egg is safe.” Piemur reached for his bag, quickly writing a message on a piece of cloth with his scriber.
“I need you to take a message to Sebell. It’s important,” he said, looking fixedly at Farli as he showed her an image of Sebell. “Take this to Sebell, Farli, and then come back to me.” He pushed the image of Sebell at her and then, pushing his thoughts harder, he showed Farli an image of her flying back to him. The little fire-lizard squawked once, as if he’d pushed a little too hard, but she hopped onto his arm. As soon as Piemur had secured the message to Farli’s leg, the little queen flew out of the building and was gone.
Piemu
r didn’t have to walk far from Marek’s cothold to their meeting point, on the edge of a heavy copse of trees, and was there when Sebell arrived, riding behind the Fort dragonrider, T’ledon, on his blue dragon, Serith. Piemur offered a respectful bow to the blue dragon and his rider and then nodded to Sebell, who was attired in a tunic made from the distinctive blue cloth of the Harper Hall. It had been a very long time since Piemur had seen his mentor in clothing other than nondescript holder or trader garb.
“Piemur,” Sebell called when Serith touched down. “Tell Farli to meet us back at Fort. The Masterharper wants a full report from you, in person.” Sebell offered Piemur a hand onto Serith’s back.
Once Piemur had settled on the blue’s back, Sebell tapped T’ledon on the shoulder, and the dragonrider signaled to his dragon. Serith, in no way burdened by the extra weight, loped several paces away from the trees and then made his leap up into the air, unfurling his wings before beating them down to gain lift. It was a brief flight between from Nabol to Fort Hold; nevertheless Piemur felt the cold clamping into his bones as he counted to three, waiting for the moment they’d leave the dark nothingness and arrive back in the light again.
Piemur was surprised, when they’d made their way through the Great Hall and into the Masterharper’s workroom, to find not only Master Robinton but also N’ton, Menolly, J’hon, Candler, and Finder. The group exchanged greetings and, at the Masterharper’s urgings, helped themselves to steaming cups of klah and warm bread rolls.
They conversed amicably as they sipped their klah. Piemur hungrily ate two bread rolls and gulped down his klah between mouthfuls. Once replete, Piemur asked Menolly and Candler if they’d found out who had returned Ramoth’s egg, but no one knew.
Piemur was relieved when he heard that Menolly and the other members of the group had experienced exactly the same frantic behavior from their fire-lizards, and that they had also been shown identical images of an egg in darkness along with flaming dragons. Clearly, Farli wasn’t the only one to have been deeply affected by the theft of Ramoth’s egg. At least the fire-lizards could settle down now that the danger was over.
“Very good,” Robinton said, beckoning to the group for silence, “everyone’s here so we may as well begin. N’ton informs me that Lord Jaxom is suitably occupied in the company of Lytol and Brand, so we need not worry about his safety while we convene this meeting.” He paused for a moment and then looked at Piemur intently. “What have you discovered in Nabol, Journeyman Piemur?”
Piemur dove right in: “About half a dozen men met in Skal’s brewhouse last night to discuss their lack of holdings and how Lord Meron had deprived them of their right to hold land. It’s safe to say that they all still feel hard done by. But when talk turned more serious, such as how they could—” He hesitated, trying to find the appropriate word. “—acquire lands of their own, three of the men had no stomach for it and left the group soon after.” Piemur glanced at the Masterharper, realizing as he paused to gather his thoughts that the room had gone completely silent. He looked over at Menolly, who winked at him encouragingly from her seat next to Sebell. Then he looked to N’ton and J’hon, who stood side by side, both nodding at him to continue; and then he glanced at Candler and Finder and saw something in their expressions he’d never noticed before: respect for his harper skills, not merely his singing.
“When the three remaining men resumed their conversation, I only had a short amount of time to hear what they were talking about before I was interrupted. But the gist was this.” He held up his hands, touching one finger at a time as he listed off the key points of the Nabolese men’s discussion: “Although Crom Hold is closer, they still think it’s best to take their chances with Ruatha because they reckon the Hold isn’t guarded well enough.” Piemur saw Robinton and Sebell exchange glances before returning their attention back to him.
He went on, “They know that Lord Jaxom has been distracted. In their opinion, he does a scant amount of work for his Hold. One of the men said something very curious—that Lord Jaxom has ‘connections which make him that extra bit special’ for their purposes. He probably meant his blood connection to Weyrwoman Lessa. Unfortunately, I was interrupted at that point and couldn’t eavesdrop safely any longer.”
Piemur could see the disappointment in Master Robinton’s eyes when he looked at him, so he continued quickly. “I followed the men when they left the brewhouse and heard the names of two of them: Jerrol and Jentis. They made a plan to meet again in two nights in Jerrol’s hold.” He dropped his hands at his sides, his report complete.
“Very good, Piemur,” Robinton said. “We can use this!”
The room, which moments before had been silent and still, erupted into excited chatter, and Piemur realized with a dawning sense of awe that he could now command the attention of those whom he once thought he would never be equal to. The realization made him glow with a burgeoning sense of pride.
Robinton cleared his throat, subtly calling everyone back to order.
“Piemur, I want you to go back to Nabol and try and get more information when those men meet again. And I think Sebell should go with you. Two men can do twice as much as one.” The Masterharper didn’t have to say what everyone was thinking: that there was safety in numbers, and that the youthful form of Piemur, by all accounts, was no match for three deeply disgruntled men should the situation turn sour.
“Menolly, I want you to continue to guard Jaxom with the roster we already have in place. Finder and Candler can relieve you when necessary—or when the young lord grows tired of you tagging around after him,” Robinton added, a note of mirth in his voice. Menolly chuckled.
“N’ton and J’hon,” the Masterharper said, looking at the two dragonriders, “can we count on you to help Menolly and Finder keep Lord Jaxom protected?” They nodded again, and Robinton was on the point of continuing when N’ton held up a hand. The expression on his face changed suddenly, and Piemur knew that the Fort Weyrleader was speaking with Lioth. J’hon’s face, too, had that distracted, almost dazed look that meant his dragon was speaking to him.
“Ramoth calls us,” N’ton said, and Piemur instinctively held his breath, fearful that more bad news had come from Benden. Everyone else in the room stood perfectly still, obviously thinking the same. Then both N’ton and J’hon smiled.
“We’re called to Benden for the Impression. The queen egg is ready to hatch.”
Once again Robinton’s work room erupted into a melody of talking voices.
“Master Robinton?” N’ton asked, a smile spreading across his handsome face as he gestured to the harper. “It would be our great pleasure if you’d accompany Lioth and me to Benden. As usual,” he added.
“I’d like Sebell, Menolly, and Piemur to come along, N’ton. Additional pairs of harper eyes and ears will be useful in judging the prevailing mood in Benden. Things have been too fraught there of late. Candler and Finder, you two will have to keep an eye on Jaxom for now,” Robinton instructed.
The group quickly disbanded, filing out of the Masterharper’s rooms to retrieve their flying gear before reassembling in the courtyard of the Harper Hall. Robinton and Menolly would fly on Lioth with N’ton, and Sebell and Piemur would go with J’hon on Mirth.
Piemur could hardly believe his luck! Earlier in the day, he’d thought he’d be stuck in Nabol with no respite in sight. Now he was going to a Hatching! Maybe there were some advantages to doing all this legwork for the Master.
Farli chirped in the air above Piemur, and Menolly, who was walking ahead with the Masterharper, turned. “You’d best tell your little queen to stay behind, Piemur. We haven’t the time to band her now, and she’d receive a harsh welcome if she arrived in Benden as is. I’m leaving mine behind, even though they are banded.” Four of Menolly’s fire-lizards were flitting around overhead, and Piemur noticed they all wore bands with harper blue on top of Fort’s background of lattice yellow. “
Best not to upset the Weyrwoman,” Menolly explained.
“Menolly’s right, Piemur,” Robinton added. “It’s the least we can do to show our respect to Benden in light of what’s happened. I know I shall feel naked without my Zair as company, but it must be so.” He looked up at N’ton, who had already mounted Lioth and was clipping extra flying straps onto the dragon’s harness to accommodate the additional passengers. “Are we going to arrive there in good time, N’ton? I don’t want to be late for this Hatching.”
Piemur and Sebell were standing behind the Masterharper and heard him murmur quietly, “I’d do anything to ease matters with Benden Weyr right now.”
“Your concern is appreciated, Masterharper. Lioth is certain we’ll arrive in good time,” N’ton replied.
Piemur thought he saw one of N’ton’s brows lift briefly, and he wondered if the dragonrider had also heard the Master’s heartfelt wish. Sebell subtly nudged Piemur’s arm. So Sebell had seen that momentary acknowledgment from the dragonrider as well!
“This will blow over soon,” N’ton assured Robinton, reaching down a hand to the older man while Lioth dipped his shoulder and proffered a foreleg to help him mount.
Ha! Piemur mused. So he was right: N’ton had heard what the Master had said.
“I cannot imagine, N’ton, what will ensue if this queen does not hatch whole and hearty, or if she fails to make a fast and firm Impression.”
“Never fear,” N’ton said, and Piemur watched with pride as the dragonrider bowed, a gesture of high regard for the foremost custodian of Pern’s heritage, the man who held the welfare of every person, not merely those of his own craft, close to his heart.
The group from Fort Weyr and the Harper Hall were not among the first guests to arrive at Benden Weyr, so the lower tiers of the viewing stands were nearly full when they made their way across the Bowl to the Hatching Grounds. Master Robinton took the seat reserved for him, and N’ton and Menolly flanked him on either side. Piemur and Sebell happily took seats farther up the viewing stands. Any seat at a Hatching, no matter how far from the floor of the sands, was a treasured one, Piemur mused as he rubbed his hands together in eager anticipation and looked around at all the open, expectant faces, nodding or smiling in greeting to his immediate neighbors.
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