The White Dragon

CHAPTER XVII

WHEN THE THREE fire lizards had made the first overtures of greeting, the three men, grinning at the enthusiasm shown by their friends, made themselves comfortable around the table in the small room at Fort Hold where Lord Groghe held his private meetings. Sebell had been there frequently, but never as spokesman for his Crafthall and never when Lord Groghe had summoned the Fort Weyrleader as well, in what was obviously a matter of some importance.

«Not sure how to begin,» Lord Groghe said as he poured the wine. Sebell thought that was a very good way to begin, especially since the Lord Holder had honored them with Benden wine. «Might as well plunge. Problem's this… I backed F'lar when he fought T'ron,» Groghe nodded at the current Fort Weyrleader, «because I knew he was right. Right to exile those misfits where they'd do no one any harm. While the Oldtimers were in the Southern Weyr, made sense to leave them alone, just as long as they left us alone which they mostly did.» Lord Groghe peered from under his heavy brows first at N'ton and then at Sebell.

Since both men were aware that there had been occasional depredations in Fort Hold which could only be attributed to the dissident Oldtimers, they nodded acknowledgment of that point. Lord Groghe cleared his throat, and folded his hands across his thick middle.

«Point is, they're mostly dead, or waiting to die. No trouble anymore. D'ram, being sort of F'lar's representative, is bringing in dragonfolk from other Weyrs, to make it a proper Weyr again, fighting Thread and all that! I approve!» He favored the Harpercraftmaster and then the Weyrleader with long meaningful glances. «Hmmm. Well, that's all to the good, isn't it? Protecting the South against Thread! Thing of it is, with the Southern Weyr working again, as it were, that Southern land is safe. Now I know there's a hold established there. Young Toric. Wouldn't want to interfere with his Holding. No way! He's earned it. But a working Weyr can protect more than one small hold, now, can't it?» He pinned his gimlet stare on N'ton, who contrived to maintain an attitude of courteous interest, forcing Lord Groghe to continue without any help.

«Well, hmmm. Trouble is, you bring up a fair of young 'uns to know how to hold proper and that's what they want to do. Hold! Terrible fights they get into. Terrible quarrels. Fostering 'em don't help much. Just got to foster others and they quarrel and fight. Scorch it! They all need holds of their own.» Lord Groghe banged his fist on the table emphasizing this point. «I can't split my land more'n it is and I'm Holding every square length that isn't bare rock. Can't put out men who're beholden to me as their fathers and grandfathers and greats were? That's not proper Holding on my side. And I won't turn 'em out to please my kin. Not that it would.

«Thing of it is, while the Oldtimers were south, wouldn't have dreamed of suggesting it. But they aren't in command anymore. D'ram is and he's F'lar's man and he'll make it a proper Weyr so there could be more holdings, couldn't there?»

Lord Groghe glanced from Harper to Weyrleader, daring them to contradict him. «There's plenty of un held land in the South, isn't there? No one really knows how much. But I heard Masterfisherman Idarolan say one of his ships cruised for days along a coastline. Hmmm yes, well.» Then he started to chuckle, a mirth that increased into a wheeze that shook the large well fleshed frame of the Lord Holder. He was reduced to speechlessness and impotently pointed his thick forefinger first at one and then the other, trying to indicate something by gesture which his laughter kept him from explaining by word.

Helplessly, N'ton and Sebell exchanged grins and shrugs, unable to perceive what amused Lord Groghe or what he wanted to convey to them. The monumental mirth subsided, leaving Lord Groghe weak to the point of wiping tears from his eyes.

«Well trained! That's what you pair are! Well trained!» he gasped, pounding his chest with his fist to stop his wheezing. He coughed long and then, as abruptly as the laughter had seized him, he turned solemn. «Can't fault either of you. Won't. Shouldn't give up Weyr secrets easily anyhow. Appreciate that. Do me one favor. Tell F'lar. Remind him that it's better to attack than defend. Not but what he doesn't already know that! I think,» Lord Groghe stabbed at his chest with his thumb, «he'd better be prepared… soon. Trouble is, everyone in Pern knows that the Masterharper is going south to get well. Everyone wishes Master Robinton the best of luck. Yet everyone is beginning to wonder about that Southern Continent now it's not closed anymore.»

«Southern is too big to be adequately protected against Thread which still falls there,» N'ton said.

Lord Groghe nodded, mumbling that he was aware of that. «Point is, people know you can live without hold and survive Threadfall!» The Lord Holder's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Sebell. «That Menolly girl of yours did it! Hear tell Toric in Southern got little help from those Oldtimers during Falls.»

«Tell me, Lord Groghe,» Sebell asked in his quiet way, «have you ever been out in Fall?»

Lord Groghe shuddered a bit. «Once. Ohhh, well, yes, I take your point, Harper. I take your point. Still, one way to separate boys from men!» He gave a sharp nod of his head. «That's my notion. Separate boys from men!» He gazed up at N'ton, a sly look in his eyes though his expression continued bland. «Or don't the Weyrs want the boys separated?»

N'ton laughed, to the Lord's surprise. «It's time we separated more than the boys. Lord Groghe.»

«Huh?»

«We will convey your message to F'lar today.» The Fort Weyrleader raised his cup to the Lord Holder as a seal on that promise.

«Can't ask fairer than that! What news, Master Sebell, of Master Robinton?»

Sebell's eyes lit with amusement. «He's four days out of Ista Hold, resting comfortably.»

«Ha!» Lord Groghe begged to disbelieve that.

«Well, I'm told he's comfortable,» Sebell replied. «Whether he is of the same opinion or not.»

«Going to that pretty place where young Jaxom's trapped, huh?»

«Trapped?» Sebell regarded Lord Groghe with mock horror. «He's not trapped, only restricted from flying between for a while longer.»

«Been at that cove. Beautiful. Whereabouts is it exactly?»

«In the South,» Sebell answered.

«Humph. All right, you won't tell? You won't tell! Don't blame you. Beautiful place. Now, off with the pair of you and tell F'lar what I've said. Don't think I'll be the last but it'd be a help to be the first. Help to him. Help to me! Dratted sons of mine drive me to drinking!» The Lord Holder rose and so did the two younger men. «Tell your Master I was asking for him when you see him next, Sebell.»

«I will, sir!»

Lord Groghe's little queen, Merga, chirped brightly at Sebell's Kimi and N'ton's Tris as the three men walked to the Hall door. To Sebell, it indicated that Lord Groghe was well pleased with the interview.

Neither man made any comment until they were well down the wide ramp that led from the courtyard of Fort Hold to the main paved roadway of the complex Hold.

Then N'ton heard Sebell's soft and satisfied chuckle. «It worked, N'ton, it worked.»

«What worked?»

«The Lord Holder's asking the Weyrleaders' permission to go south!»

«Why shouldn't they?» N'ton seemed perplexed.

Sebell grinned broadly at his friend. «By the Shell, it worked with you, too! Do you have time to take me to Benden Weyr? Lord Groghe's right. He might be the first though I doubt it, knowing Lord Corman's ways, but he won't be the last.»

«What worked with me, Sebell?»

Sebell's grin deepened and his brown eyes danced. «Now I'm well trained not to give away craft secrets, my friend.»

N'ton made a noise of disgusted impatience and stopped in the middle of the dusty pavement. «Explain or you don't go.»

«It should be so obvious, N'ton. Do think on it. While you take me to Benden. If you haven't figured out what I mean, I'll tell you there. I'll have to inform F'lar what's been done anyhow.»

«Lord Groghe, too, eh?» F'lar regarded the two younger men thoughtfully.

He'd just returned from fighting Thread over Keroon and a surprising after Fall interview with Lord Corman, punctuated with much honking of the Lord's large and perpetually runny nose.

«Threadfall over Keroon today?» Sebell asked and when F'lar grimaced sourly, the young Craftmaster grinned at N'ton. «Lord Groghe wasn't first!»

Giving vent to the irritation he felt, F'lar slapped his riding gauntlets down on the table.

«I apologize for barging in when you must wish to rest, Weyrleader,» Sebell said, «but if Lord Groghe has thought of those empty lands to the south, others have, too. He suggested that you'd better be warned.»

«Warned, huh?» F'lar brushed the forelock out of his eyes and grimly poured a cup of wine for himself. Recalling courtesy, he poured wine for N'ton and Sebell.

«Sir, the matter's not yet out of hand.»

«Hordes of holdless men wanting to swarm south, and it's not out of hand?»

«They have to ask Benden's permission first!»

F'lar was in the act of swallowing wine and nearly choked in surprise.

«Ask Benden's permission? How does that come about?»

«Master Robinton's doing,» N'ton said, grinning from ear to ear.

«Excuse me, I don't seem to be following you,» F'lar said, sitting down. He dabbed the splattered wine from his lips. «What has Master Robinton, who is, I trust, safely at sea, to do with Groghe, Corman and who knows who else wanting Southern lands for their many sons?»

«Sir, you know that I've been sent about Pern north and south by the Masterharper? Lately I've had two important tasks to accomplish above and beyond my normal duties. First I was to take the temper of every small Hold as regarded duty to Hold and Weyr. Secondly I was to reinforce the belief that it is to Benden Weyr everyone on Pern must look!»

F'lar blinked, shook his head as if to clear his mind and then leaned forward to Sebell.

«Go on. This is very interesting.»

«Benden Weyr only could appreciate the changes that had occurred to Hold and Craft during the Long Interval, because only Benden had changed with the Turns. You, as Benden Weyrleader, saved Pern from Thread when no one else felt Thread would ever fall again. You also protected your Time from the excesses of those Oldtimers, who could not accept the gradual changes of Hold and Craft. You upheld the rights of Hold and Craft against your own kind and exiled those who would not look to you for leadership.

«Hmm. I hadn't ever heard it put quite like that,» F'lar said.

To N'ton's amusement, Benden's Weyrleader squirmed, partly embarrassed but mostly gratified by the summation.

«And so the South became closed off!»

«Not precisely closed off,» F'lar said. «Toric's people always came and went.» He grimaced at the present repercussions of that liberty.

«They came north, true, but traders or anyone else only went south with the permission of Benden Weyr.»

«I don't remember saying that at Telgar Hold the day I fought T'ron!» F'lar struggled to recall clearly what had happened that day other than a wedding, a fight and a Threadfall.

«You didn't actually say so in so many words,» Sebell replied, «but you asked for and received the support of three other Weyrleaders, and every Lord Holder and Craftmaster..»

«And Master Robinton construed that to mean Benden gives all orders regarding Southern?»

«More or less.» Sebell made that admission cautiously.

«But not in so many words, eh, Sebell?» F'lar asked, appreciating afresh the devious mind of the Harper.

«Yes, sir. It seemed the course to take, sir, considering your own wish to secure some part of the Southern Continent for the dragonfolk during the next Interval.»

«I'd no idea that Master Robinton had taken a chance remark of mine so much to heart.»

«Master Robinton has always had the best interests of the Weyrs clearly in mind.»

Grimly F'lar thought of the painful estrangement when the Harper had intervened on the day the egg had been stolen. But again, though it hadn't seemed so at the moment, the Harper had acted in the best interests of Pern. If Lessa had carried out her intention of setting the Northern dragons against the poor old beasts at Southern..

«We owe the Masterharper much.»

«Without the Weyrs…» Sebell spread his hands wide to indicate that there was no other option.

«Not all the Holds would agree to that,» F'lar said. «There is still that notion that the Weyrs do not destroy the Red Star because the end of Thread would mean the end of their dominance in Pern. Or has Master Robinton cleverly changed that notion, too?»

«Master Robinton didn't have to,» Sebell said with a grin. «Not after F'nor and Canth tried to go to the Red Star. The notion is Dragonmen must fly/When Threads are in the sky.»

«Isn't it current knowledge now,» F'lar tried to keep the contempt from his tone, «that the Southerners rarely stirred themselves to fly Thread in the South?»

«That is, as you believe, now known. But, sir, I think you fail to appreciate that it is one thing to think about being holdless in the Fall, and quite another matter to endure it.»

«You have?» F'lar asked.

«I have.» Sebell's expression was solemn. «I would prefer above all else to be within a Hold.» He shrugged his shoulders. «I know that it's a question of changing the habits of my early years, but I definitely prefer to be sheltered during Fall. And to me that will always imply protection by dragons!»

«So, in the final analysis, I've got the problem of Southern right back in my lap?»

«What's the problem with Southern now?» Lessa asked, entering the weyr just then. «I thought it was understood that we have first rights in Southern!»

«That,» F'lar chuckled, «does not appear to be in contention. Not at all. Thanks to good Master Robinton.»

«Then what is the problem?» She nodded at Sebell and N'ton by way of greeting, then looked sternly at her weyrmate for his answer.

«Only which part of the Southern Continent we'll open to the holdless younger sons of the North before they become a problem in themselves. Corman spoke to me after Fall.»

«I saw you two talking. Frankly, I've been wondering when the subject would come up now that we've had to interfere with the Oldtimers again.» Lessa loosened her riding belt, and sighed. «I wish I knew more. Has Jaxom done nothing with his time down at the cove?»

Sebell extracted a bulky packet from his tunic. «He has, among others. Perhaps this will ease your mind, Lessa.» With an air of quiet triumph, Sebell unfolded the carefully joined leaves of a large chart, portions of which remained white. A clearly defined coastline was occasionally expanded inland with colored and shaded areas. In the margins were dates and the names of those who had surveyed the various sections. The thumb of land pointing at Nerat Tip was completely filled in and familiar to the Weyrleader as Southern Weyr and Hold. On either side of that landmark was an incredible sweep of continent, bounded on the west by the delineation of a great sandy waste on two sides of a huge bay. On the east, ever further from the thumb of Southern, a longer coastline stretched, dipping sharply south, punctuated at its most easterly point by the drawing of a high, symmetrical mountain and a small, starred cove.

«This is what we know of the Southern Continent,» Sebell said after a long interval while the dragonriders studied the map. «As you see, we still haven't managed to chart the entire coast, let alone the interior. This much has taken three full Turns of discreet survey to do.»

«By whom?» Lessa inquired, now deeply interested. «By many people, myself included, N'ton, Toric's holders, but most of it by a young harper named Piemur.»

«So that's what happened to him when his voice changed,» Lessa said in surprise.

«By the scale of this map,» F'lar said slowly, «you could fit the North of Pern in the western half of the Bay.»

Sebell laid his left thumb on the protuberance of Southern and planted the rest of his hand, fingers splayed on the western section of the map. «This area could easily occupy the Lord Holders.» He heard Lessa's sharp intake of breath and smiled at her, spreading his right hand over the eastern portion. «But this, Piemur tells me, is the best part of the South!»

«Near that mountain?» Lessa asked.

«Near that mountain!»

Piemur, leading Stupid while Farli circled above him, reappeared from the forest just as full dark was falling on the cove. He swung a plaited string of ripe fruit to the ground in front of Sharra.

«There! That's to make up for cutting out this morning,» he said, a tentative grin on his face as he squatted on his haunches. «Stupid wasn't the only one scared of that mob this morning.» He made a show of wiping his forehead. «I haven't seen that many people in… since the last gather I attended a South Boll. That was two Turns ago! I was afraid they'd never leave! They'll be back tomorrow?»

Jaxom grinned at his plaintive question and nodded. «I wasn't much better than you, Piemur. I got away by having to hunt. Then I tracked down that clutch and spent the afternoon rigging fishnet.» He gestured toward the next cove.

Piemur nodded. «Funny thing that, not wanting to be among people. Felt as if I couldn't breathe with so many using the same air supply. And that's downright foolish.» He looked about him, at the black bulks of supplies lining the cove. «We're not stuffed in a Hold, with fans going!» He shook his head. «Me, Piemur, harper, a social fellow. And I turn and run from people… faster than Stupid did!» He gave a snort of laughter.

«If it'll make you two feel any better, I was a bit overwhelmed myself,» Sharra said. «Thank you for the fruit, Piemur. That… that horde ate all we had. I think there's some roast wherry left, and a few rib bones from the buck.»

«I could eat Stupid, only he'd be too tough.» Piemur breathed a sigh of relief and eased himself down to the sand.

Sharra chuckled as she went to get him something to eat.

«I don't like to think of a lot of people here,» Jaxom told Piemur.

«Know what you mean.» The young harper grinned. «Jaxom, do you realize that I've been places no man has ever stepped before? I've seen places that scared me to leaking, and other spots that I had trouble leaving because they were so beautiful.» He exhaled in resignation. «Oh, well, I got there first.» Suddenly he sat up, pointing urgently into the sky. «There they are! If only I had a far viewer!»

«Who are?» Jaxom slewed himself around to see where Piemur was pointing, expecting dragonriders.

«The so called Dawn Sisters. You can only see them dusk and dawn down here and much higher in the sky. See, those three very bright points! Many's the time I've used them as guides!»

Jaxom could scarcely miss the three stars, gleaming in an almost constant light. He wondered that he hadn't noticed them before now.

«They'll fade soon,» Piemur said, «unless one of the moons is out. Then you see them again just before dawn. Must ask Wansor about that when I see him. They don't act like proper stars. The Starsmith's not scheduled to come down and help build the Harper's hold, is he?»

«He's about the only one who isn't,» Jaxom replied. «Cheer up, Piemur. The way they worked today, it won't take long to finish that hold. And what do you mean about the Dawn Sisters?»

«They just don't act like proper stars. Didn't you ever notice?»

«No. But we've been in most evenings and certainly every dawn.»

Piemur pointed with several stabs of his right arm at the Dawn Sisters. «Most stars change position. They never do.»

«Sure they do. In Ruatha they're almost invisible on the horizon…»

Piemur was shaking his head. «They're constant. That's what I mean. Every season I've been here, they're always in the same place.»

«Can't be! It's impossible. Wansor says that stars have routes in the sky just like «

«They stay still! They're always in the same position.»

«And I tell you that's impossible.»

«What's impossible? And don't snarl at each other,» Sharra said, returning with a tray piled high with food and a wineskin slung over her shoulder. Giving Piemur the food, she filled cups all around.

Piemur guffawed as he reached for a buck rib. «Well, I'm going to send a message to Wansor. I say it's bloody peculiar behavior for stars!»

A change in the breeze awakened the Master Harper. Zair chirped softly, curled on the pillows above Robinton's ear. A sunscreen had been rigged above the Harper's head but it was the airless heat that roused him.

For a change, no one was seated in watch over him. The respite of surveillance pleased him. He had been touched by the concern of everyone, though at times the attention bade fair to smother him. He'd curbed his impatience. He had no choice. Too weak and tired to resist the ministrations. Today must be another small indication of his general improvement: leaving him alone. He reveled in the solitude. Before him, the jib sheet flapped idly and he could hear the mainsail, behind him aft, he corrected himself abruptly rumbling windless as well. The gentle rolling swells seemed to be all that drove the ship forward. Waves, curls of foam on their crests, were mesmeric in their rhythm and he had to shake his head sharply to break their fascination. He raised his glance above the swell and saw nothing but water, as usual, on all sides. They would not see land for days more, he knew, though Master Idarolan said they were making good speed on their southeasterly course now that they had picked up the Great South Current.

The Master Fisherman was as pleased with this expedition as everyone else connected with it. Robinton snorted to himself with amusement. Everyone else apparently was profiting by his illness.

Now, now, Robinton chided himself, don't be sour. Why did you spend so much time training Sebell if not to take over when it became necessary? Only, Robinton thought, he hadn't ever expected that to happen. He wondered fleetingly if Menolly was faithfully reporting the daily messages from Sebell. She and Brekke could well be conspiring to keep any worrying problem from him.

Zair stroked his cheek with his soft head. Zair was the best humor vane a man could have. The fire lizard knew, with an instinct that outshone his own reliable sense of atmosphere, the emotional climate of those about Robinton.

He wished he could throw off this languor and use the journey time to good effect catching up on Craft business, on those songs he had in mind to write, on any number of long delayed projects that the press of immediate concerns had pushed further and further from completion. But Robinton had no ambition at all; he found himself content to lie on the deck of Master Idarolan's swift ship and do nothing. The Dawn Sister, that's what Idarolan called her. Pretty name. That reminded turn. He must borrow the Fisherman's far viewer this evening. There was something odd about those Dawn Sisters. They were visible, higher up than they ought to be, in the sky at dusk as well as dawn. Not that he'd been allowed to be awake at dawn to check. But they were mostly in the sky at sunset. He didn't think that stars should act that way. He must remember to write Wansor a note.

He felt Zair stir, heard him chirp a pleasant greeting before he heard the soft step behind him. Zair's mind imagined Menolly.

«Don't creep up on me,» he said with more testiness than he intended.

«I thought you were asleep!»

«I was. What else do I do all day?» He smiled at her to take the petulance from his words.

Surprisingly, she grinned and offered him a cup of fruit juice, lightly laced with wine. They knew better now than to offer him plain juice.

«You sound better.»

«Sound better? I'm as peevish as an old uncle! You must be heartily tired of my sulks by now!»

She dropped beside him, her hand on his forearm.

«I'm just so glad you're able to sulk,» she said. Robinton was startled to see the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

«My dear girl,» he began, covering her hand with his.

She laid her head on the low couch, her face turned from him. Zair chirped in concern, his eyes beginning to whirl faster. Beauty erupted into the air above Menolly's head, cluttering in echoed distress. Robinton set down his cup and raised himself on one elbow, leaning solicitously over the girl.

«Menolly, I'm fine. I'll be up and about any day now, Brekke says.» The Harper permitted himself to stroke her hair. «Don't cry. Not now!»

«Silly of me, I know. Because you are getting well, and we'll see to it that you never strain yourself again…» Menolly wiped her eyes impatiently with the back of her hand and sniffled.

It was an endearingly childlike action. Her face, now blotchy from crying, was suddenly so vulnerable that Robinton felt his heart give a startling thump. He smiled tenderly at her, stroked tendrils of her hair back from her face. Tilting her chin up, he kissed her cheek. He felt her hand tighten convulsively on his arm, felt her lean into his kiss with an appeal that set both fire lizards humming.

Perhaps it was that response from their friends, or the fact that he was so startled that caused him to stiffen, but Menolly swiveled away from him.

«I'm sorry,» she said, her head bent, her shoulders sagging.

«So, my dear Menolly, am I,» the Harper said as gently as he could. In that instant, he regretted his age, her youth, how much he loved her the fact that he never could and the weakness that caused him to admit so much. She turned back to him, her eyes intense with her emotion.

He held up his hand, saw the quick pain in her eyes, as the merest shake of his fingers forestalled all she wanted to say. He sighed, closing his eyes against the pain in her loving eyes. Abruptly he was exhausted by an exchange of understanding that had taken so few moments. As few as at Impression, he thought, and as lasting. He supposed he had always known the dangerous ambivalence of his feelings for the young SeaHold bred girl whose rare talent he had developed. Ironic that he should be weak enough to admit it, to himself and to her, at such an awkward moment. Obtuse of him not to have recognized the intensity and quality of Menolly's feelings for him. Yet, she'd seemed content enough with Sebell. Certainly they enjoyed a deep emotional and physical attachment. Robinton had done everything in his subtle power to insure that. Sebell was the son he had never had. Better that!

«Sebell…» he began, and stopped when he felt her fingers tentatively closing over his.

«I loved you first. Master.»

«You've been a dear child to me,» he said, willing himself to believe that. He squeezed her fingers in a brisk grip which he broke and, elbowing himself off the pillows, retrieved the cup he had set down and took a long drink.

He was able, then, to smile up at her, despite the lingering ache in his throat for what could never have been. She did manage a smile in return.

Zair flew up and beyond the sunscreen, though Robinton couldn't imagine why the approach of the Masterfisher would startle the creature.

«So, you wake. Rested, my good friend?» the Seamaster asked.

«Just the man I wanted to see. Master Idarolan, have you noticed those Dawn Sisters at dusk? Or has my eyesight deteriorated with the rest of me?»

«Oho, the eye is by no means dimmed, good Master Robinton. I've already sent word back to Master Wansor on that account. I confess that I have never sailed so far easterly in these Southern waters so I'd never observed the phenomenon before, but I do believe that there is something peculiar about the positioning of those three stars.»

«If I'm allowed to stay up past dusk this evening,» the Harper glared significantly at Menolly, «may I have the loan of your distance viewer?»

«You certainly may. Master Robinton. I'd appreciate your observations. I know you've had a good deal more time to study Master Wansor's equations. Perhaps we can figure out between us this erratic behavior.»

«I'd like nothing better. In the meantime, let us complete that game we started this morning. Menolly, have you the board handy?»