Anne McCaffrey - Dragondrums

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