Anne McCaffrey - Dragondrums

“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.