Dragonriders of Pern 6 - Dragondrums

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Lord Meron’s still alive?”

  “Yes.” Menolly sighed with distaste, then cocked her head slightly. “You know, your bruises might just come in very handy. They’re just purpling beautifully now, so they won’t have faded…”

  “You mean,” and Piemur affected a tremulous whine in his voice, “I’m the poor apprentice lad whose master beats up on him?”

  Menolly chuckled. “You’re on the mend.”

  Late that evening, a dust-grayed, raggedly dressed man peered around the door and shuffled slowly into the room, never taking his eyes from Piemur’s face. At first, Piemur thought that the man might be a cotholder, looking for Master Oldive’s quarters on the Hall’s social level; but the fellow, though initially hesitant and almost fearful in his attitude, altered perceptibly in manner and stance as he came closer to the bed.

  “Sebell? ”There was something about the man that made Piemur suspicious. “Sebell, is that you?” The dusty figure straightened and strode across the floor, laughing.

  “Now I’m sure I can gain a discreet arrival at the Nabol Hold Gather! I fooled Silvina, too. She says you still have some rags that will be appropriate to the status of a rather stupid herder’s boy!”

  “Herder’s boy?”

  “Why not? Kum in handy, like, tha’ knowin’ the way from tha’ bluid, like.” As Sebell affected the speech mannerisms of the uprange herders, he became completely the nondescript person who had first entered the infirmary.

  Despite his chagrin at being told to resume a role he’d hoped never to play again, Piemur was enchanted by the journeyman’s dissembling. If Sebell would do it, so would he.

  “Master Robinton’s not angry with me, is he?”

  “Not a mite.” Sebell shook his head violently for emphasis. Kimi swooped in, scolding because Sebell had made her wait outside. Then his expression became serious, and he waggled a finger at Piemur. “However, you will have to watch your step with Master Oldive. We’ve sworn blue to him that this isn’t going to be an energetic adventure for you. Even heads as hard as yours must be treated with caution after such a fall. So, instead of hiking you in from Ruatha Hold as I’d planned,” and Sebell gave a mock scowl at Piemur’s burst of laughter, “N’ton will drop you off at dawn in the valley before Nabol Hold. Then we’ll proceed at a proper pace with beasts suitable for sale at the Nabol Gather.”

  “Why?” asked Piemur bluntly. Discretion had got him nothing but misery, confusion and unwarranted accusations. This time he would know what he was about.

  “Two things,” Sebell said without so much as a pause for consideration. “If it’s true that there are more fire lizards in Nabol Hold than—”

  “Is that what they meant?”

  “Is that what who meant?”

  “Lord Oterel. At the Hatching. I overheard him talking to someone…didn’t know the man…and he said, ‘Meron gets more than he ought and we have to do without.’ Didn’t make sense then, but it would if Lord Oterel was talking about fire lizards. Was he?”

  “He very likely was, and I wish you’d mentioned that snip of talk before.”

  “I didn’t know you’d want to know, and it made no sense to me then.” Piemur ended on a plaintive note, seeing Sebell’s frown of irritation.

  The journeyman smiled a quick reassurance. “No, you couldn’t’ve known. Now you do. We know that Lord Meron had his first fire lizards from Kylara nearly four Turns ago, so they could have clutched at least once, possibly twice. And he’d’ve made certain he had control of the distribution of those new eggs. Nonetheless, he has distributed more in Nabol than we can account for. What is equally important is the amount of other supplies that are being brought into the Hold and…disappearing!

  “Meron’s trading with the Oldtimers?”

  “Lord Meron, lad you don’t forget the title even in your thoughts…and yes, that’s the possibility.”

  “And he’s getting whole clutches of fire lizard eggs for trading for ’em? As well as the eggs of his original pairs?” Piemur was assailed by a variety of emotions: anger that Lord Meron of Nabol Hold was getting more than a fair share of the fire lizard eggs when other, more worthy persons, Piemur included himself, ought to have a chance to Impress the precious creatures; a righteous indignation that Lord Meron (and he slurred the title into an insult in his thoughts) was deliberately flouting Benden Weyr by trafficking in any way with the Oldtimers; and an intense excitement at the possibility that he, Piemur, might help discredit further this infamous Lord Holder.

  “Those are two of the main things to listen for. The third, which is the most important in some ways, is which of Lord Meron’s male heirs would be most acceptable to craft and cot.”

  “He is dying then?” He’d been sure that the message to Master Oldive was spurious.

  “Oh, yes, a wasting disease.” Sebell’s grin was malicious, and there was an unpleasant gleam in his eyes as he met Piemur’s astonished gaze. “You might say, a very proper disease to fit Lord Meron’s…peculiar ways!”

  Piemur would have liked to have particulars, but Sebell rose. “I must be away now, Piemur. You’re to rest, without getting into any mischief.”

  “Rest? I’ve been resting—”

  “Bored? Well, I’ll ask Rokayas to give you drum measures to learn. That ought to ease your boredom without taxing your strength.” Sebell laughed at Piemur’s snort of dismay.

  “As long as it’s Rokayas.”

  “It will be. He’s of the mind that you learned a great deal more than Dirzan believes.”

  Piemur grinned at the subtle question in Sebell’s words, but before he could retort, the door was closing behind the journeyman and Kimi, who fluttered above him. Piemur hugged his knees to his chest, rocking slowly on his tail bones as he thought over all that Sebell had confided to him. And tried to figure out what it was Sebell hadn’t told him.

  One thing Sebell hadn’t mentioned was how cold and how dark it would be when N’ton collected him before dawn. Menolly with Beauty and Rocky had roused him from a fitful sleep, for he’d been afraid he’d oversleep and consequently spent a restless night. He could sense Menolly’s amusement as the two of them, guided by the encouraging chirrups of the fire lizards, stumbled across the dark courtyard toward the Gather meadow. Then Lioth turned his brilliant jewel-faceted eyes in their direction, and they moved more confidently forward.

  Menolly giggled as she boosted Piemur up to catch the fighting straps, and then he felt N’ton’s downstretched hand and was aided into position. He heard her softly wish him luck, then she blended into the shadows, her actual position discernible only by four points of light that were fire lizard eyes.

  “D’you want the fighting strap about you, Piemur? Night flying unnerves a lot of people.”

  Piemur wanted to say yes, but instead took a good hold on the leathers that encircled Lioth’s neck. He replied that since this was only a short trip, he wouldn’t need them. Then clutched convulsively as Lioth sprang upward. They were above the rim of Fort Hold’s fireheights before Piemur caught his breath. N’ton gave the bronze dragon the audible command to Nabol, and Piemur knew he screamed into the nothingness of between. He choked off the noise as he felt the change from intense cold and blackness to frosty chill and the faint lightening in what must be the eastern sky.

  Two whirling points of light danced above N’ton’s left shoulder, and a fire lizard’s complacent chirp informed Piemur that N’ton’s bronze, Tris, had turned to look at him. Then Lioth swerved and Piemur’s fingers became numb as he increased the pressure on the straps, unconsciously leaning backward against the angle of descent into darkness. Tris chirruped encouragingly, as if he were completely aware of Piemur’s internal confusion. Piemur prayed fervently that Tris wouldn’t inform N’ton of how scared he was. Abruptly the bronze dragon backwinged and settled with the lightest of bumps in black shadow.

  “Lioth says there are people not far down the road, Piemur,” said N’ton in a low voice. “Give me your f
lying gear.”

  “Isn’t it Sebell?” asked Piemur, shedding helmet and jacket and thrusting them blindly toward N’ton. “Lioth says no, but Sebell is not far behind. He hears Kimi.”

  “Kimi?” Piemur’s surprise made him speak louder than he intended, and he winced at N’ton’s warning.

  “You forget,” whispered N’ton, “Sebell can bring Kimi because fire lizards are so common here in Nabol. Or so we’re led to understand.” Displeasure colored the Fort Weyrleader’s amendment. Then Piemur felt the strong gloved hand curl about his wrist, and he obediently threw his right leg back over Lioth’s neckridge, sliding down the massive shoulder, aware as he slipped beyond N’ton’s guiding hand, that the dragon had cocked his leg to allow an easier slope of descent. He let his knees take the shock of his landing and patted Lioth’s shoulder, wondering as he did so if that were bold of him.

  “Good luck, Piemur!” N’ton’s muted voice just reached his ears.

  He stepped back, turning his head against the shower of dust and sand as the huge bronze launched himself skyward.

  Once his eyes were accustomed to the variations of black and dark gray, Piemur located the winding road and whistled softly as he realized how accurately the dragon had landed in the one flat area big enough to accommodate him. Piemur’s respect for draconic abilities rose to new heights.

  He heard now the occasional sound of voices and saw the erratic wavering of light from the glowbaskets of the leading file. A creaking of wheeled carts and the familiar sluff-sluff of plate-footed burden beasts reached his ears. He looked about him for a place to hide. He had a choice of boulders and ledges, and found a shielded spot that faced the track but gave him a clear view of the dimly seen exit. He curled up small, hugging knees to chest, secure in the belief that he couldn’t be seen.

  A chirrup disabused him of that notion and, startled, he glanced up and saw three pairs of fire lizard eyes gleaming at him.

  “Go away, you silly creatures. I’m not even here!” To prove this, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the awful nothingness of between.

  The fire lizards responded with an agitated chorus.

  “What’s the matter with them?” a gruff male voice called over the creaking of cartwheels and the shuffling sound of the burden beasts.

  “Who knows? Who cares? We’m most to Nabol now!” Piemur redoubled his efforts to think of nothing, and heard the faint flutter of fire lizards taking flight. To think of nothing took more effort than to concentrate on something. A great many carts, too, Piemur thought, for a Nabol Gather when there was another, better one at Fort Hold. He opened his eyes now and saw the flicker of winging fire lizards in the gathering daylight, and the point-lights of their eyes in gloom. And these were carters? Small holders? The anger that injustice roused warmed Piemur long after the caravan and the comfort of their glowbaskets passed from his angle of vision.

  The cold dawn wind rose, and Piemur wished that Sebell would put in his promised appearance. He ought to have asked N’ton if Lioth had seen Sebell as he glided to his landing. Then Piemur chided himself that this was scarcely the first time he’d waited on his lonesome in the dark of dawn. He’d done his watches with his father’s herds. Of course, there’d usually been someone sleeping in the cot within voice range during those long, slow hours. What if something had happened to Sebell? Or he was delayed? Should Piemur go on to Nabol by himself? And how was he to return to the Harper Hall? He’d forgotten to ask N’ton that, presuming it was the Fort Weyrleader who’d collect him. Or was he to be collected? Did Sebell plan to sell those suitable beasts of his during the Gather? Or would they have to herd them back whence they’d come? There was a great deal that Sebell hadn’t told him in spite of the journeyman’s candid explanation about their surreptitious appearance at Nabol Hold.

  Piemur relieved his anxieties by remembering that he wasn’t going to have to attend the Fort Hold festivities, or listen to Tilgin sing music that Domick had written for him. He sighed, depressed that he wasn’t going to be singing the role of Lessa, that he wasn’t still comfortably in his bed in the senior apprentices’ dormitory, waking to anticipate the applause of Lord Groghe’s guests, the accolades of his friends and Domick. And quite likely Lessa’s approval, since the Weyrwoman was Lord Groghe’s special guest today.

  Here he was, cold, miserable, and uncomfortably aware that he hadn’t had so much as a cold cup of klah before he was bundled onto a dragon’s back and dumped here to await a man who might not arrive for hours if he was walking a herd of beasts in from Ruatha Hold all by himself!

  And when they found out what they’d come to discover and returned to the Harper Hall, what would Piemur do tomorrow?

  He grinned, hugging his knees in smug satisfaction, remembering Rokayas’ surprise the day before when he had perfectly dead-sticked the complicated message Rokayas had thought up to test his knowledge of the drum language. Piemur was almost sorry he wouldn’t be—

  He groped on the ground beside him and found a rock, gave it an experimental whack against the boulder that sheltered him. The resultant sound echoed about the small valley. Piemur found another rock and, rising, went to the now visible track. He beat the rocks together in the monotone code for “harper,” adding the beat for “where,” grinning as the sharp staccato sounds reverberated. He repeated the two measures, then waited. He beat his measures again to give Sebell time to find his own rocks. Then in the pause he heard distantly a muffled reply: “journeyman comes.”

  Immeasurably relieved, Piemur was wondering whether to proceed down the track and intercept Sebell when he heard a “stay” as the message was repeated. He was a bit daunted by the “stay” and restlessly scuffed at the loose gravel on the track. Surely Sebell wasn’t far away. what did it matter if Piemur did go to meet him? But the message had been clear—“stays”—and Piemur decided that Sebell must have a reason, other than obedience to Master Oldive’s instruction about Piemur’s dented head.

  Sullenly, Piemur resumed his position behind the boulder. And none too soon. He heard then the sharp clatter of hooves against stone, the jangle of metal against metal, and a rumble of encouraging shouts. A fair of fire lizards arrowed out of the graying southern skies, heading straight up the track. Piemur thought of cold between’s nothingness, as the fire lizards, intent on keeping ahead of the swiftly pacing riders, swept on. The ground beneath Piemur’s rump trembled with the runners’ passage.

  There was so much dust raised that Piemur couldn’t be sure how many rode by, but he estimated a dozen or more. A dozen riders with a full fair of fire lizards escorting them?

  Again anger consumed Piemur. He knew that he wouldn’t have resented this latest concentration of fire lizards, obviously companioning holders prosperous enough to own fast pacers, if the earlier caravan hadn’t been just as well favored with the creatures. It wasn’t fair. He agreed wholeheartedly with Lord Oterel! There were many, too many fire lizards abroad in Nabol.

  He was so incensed over such inequity, since the caravaners obviously hadn’t appreciated the capabilities of the little creatures, that at first he didn’t hear the shluff-shluff of the approaching herd.

  Kimi’s quizzical cheep nearly frightened him out of his wits. She cheeped again, apologetically, and her eyes whirled a little faster as she peered at him from the top of the boulder.

  “Well?” asked Sebell, appearing around one side. “You took me too literally.”

  “They all have fire lizards,” cried Piemur, too indignant to make polite greeting.

  “Yes, I had noticed.”

  “I don’t mean that lot,” and Piemur jerked his thumb in the direction of the riders. “There was a caravan that had two or three full fairs—”

  “Did they see you?” asked Sebell, suddenly wary.

  “The fire lizards did, but no human paid any attention to their alert!” Then Piemur caught sight of the beasts that Sebell had herded and whistled.