The White Dragon

CHAPTER II

DUSK WAS SETTLING in Benden Weyr as Robinton climbed the stairs to the queen's weyr, something he had done so many times in the past thirteen Turns. He paused as much to catch his breath as to speak to the man just behind him.

«We've timed it well, Toric. I don't think anyone noticed our arrival. And they'll certainly not question N'ton,» he said gesturing to the Fort Weyrleader dimly seen crossing the Bowl to the lighted kitchen caverns.

Toric wasn't looking at him. He was staring up at the ledge where bronze Mnementh was seated on his haunches, regarding the new arrivals, his jewel faceted eyes gleaming in the dim light. Robinton's Zair reacted by digging his claws sharply into the Harper's ear and twining his tail more tightly about his neck.

«He won't hurt you, Zair,» Robinton said, but he hoped the message would also satisfy the Southern Holder whose face and bearing were taut with surprise.

«He's almost twice as big as any of the Oldtimers' beasts,» Toric said in a respectfully hushed voice. «And I thought N'ton's Lioth was big!»

«I believe that Mnementh's the largest bronze,» Robinton said, continuing up the last few steps. He was concerned by that twinge in his chest. He'd have thought that all his recent and unexpected rest would have eased that condition. He must remember to speak to Master Oldive about it. «Good evening, Mnementh,» he said as he reached the top step, inclining his body toward the great bronze. «It strikes me as disrespectful to barge by without acknowledging him,» he said in an aside to Toric. «And this is my friend, Toric, whom Lessa and F'lar are expecting.»

I know. I have told them you are come.

Robinton cleared his throat. He never expected an answer to his pleasantries but was always extremely flattered on those occasions when Mnementh responded. However, he did not share the dragon's comment with Toric. The man seemed unnerved enough as it was.

Toric moved quickly toward the short corridor, keeping Robinton between himself and bronze Mnementh.

«I'd better warn you,» Robinton said, keeping amusement out of his voice, «that Ramoth's even larger!»

Toric's response was a grunt which dissolved into a gasp as the corridor opened up into the large rocky chamber which served as the home of Benden's queen. She was asleep on her stone couch, her wedge shaped head pointing in their direction, gleaming golden in the glows that illuminated the weyr.

«Robinton, you are indeed safely back,» Lessa cried, running toward him, a wide smile lighting her unusual face. «And so tanned!»

To the Harper's delighted surprise, she threw her arms about him in a brief and totally unexpected embrace.

«I should get storm lost more often,» he managed to say in a light tone, grinning as raffishly as he could with his heart pounding in his chest. Her body had been so vibrant, so light against him.

«Don't you dare!» She flashed him a look compounded of anger, relief and outrage, then her mobile face assumed a more dignified smile for the other guest. «Toric, you are very welcome here, and thank you for rescuing our good Masterharper.»

«I did nothing,» Toric said, surprised. «He'd a dollop of pure unadulterated good luck. He ought to have drowned in that gale.»

«Menolly's not a Seaholder's daughter for naught,» the Harper said, clearing his throat as he remembered those grim hours. «She kept us afloat. Though at one point, I wasn't at all sure I wanted to stay alive!»

«You're not a good seaman, then, Robinton?»

F'lar asked with a laugh. He gripped the Southerner's arm in greeting and with his left hand gave the Harper an affectionate crack on the arm.

Robinton suddenly realized that his adventure had had disturbing repercussions in this Weyr. He was both gratified and chagrined. True, at the time of the gale, he'd been far too occupied with his rebellious stomach to think beyond surviving the next wave that crashed over their little boat. Menolly's skill had kept him from realizing the acute danger they were in. Afterward he had come to appreciate their position and wondered if Menolly had suppressed her own fear lest she lose honor in his eyes. She'd gone about her seamanship, managing to save most of the wind torn sail, rigging a sea anchor, lashing him to the mast as he'd been made weak by nausea and retching.

«No, F'lar, I'm no seaman,» Robinton said now, with a shudder. «I'll leave that to those born to the craft.»

«And follow their advice,» Toric warned, somewhat tartly. He turned to the Weyrleaders. «He's got no weather sense either. And, of course, Menolly didn't realize the strength of the Western Stream at this time of the year.» He raised his shoulders to indicate his helplessness against such stupidity.

«Is that why you were dragged so far from Southern?» F'lar asked, gesturing at the newcomers to seat themselves at the round table set in the corner of the big room.

«So I'm informed,» said Robinton, grimacing over the long lectures he'd received on current, tide, drift and wind. He knew more than he'd take care ever to need about those aspects of the seaman's craft. Lessa laughed at his droll tone and poured wine.

«Do you realize,» he asked, twirling the glass in his fingers, «that there wasn't a drop of wine on board?»

«Oh, no!» Lessa cried in comic dismay. F'lar's laughter joined hers. «What deprivation!»

Robinton then got down to the purpose of this visit. «It was, however, a felicitous accident. There is, my dear Weyrleaders, considerably more of the Southern Continent than we'd ever thought.» He glanced at Toric, who produced the map he'd hastily copied from the larger one in his Hold. F'lar and Lessa obligingly held the comers to flatten the stiff hide. The Northern Continent was detailed as was the known portion of the Southern Continent. Robinton pointed to the thumb of the Southern peninsula which contained the Southern Weyr and Toric's Hold, then gestured to the right and left of that landmark where the coastline and a good part of the interior, marked off by two rivers, had been topographically detailed. «Toric has not been idle. You can see how much he has extended knowledge of the terrain beyond what F'nor was able to do during his journey south.»

«I asked permission of T'ron to continue the exploration,» the Southerner's expression mirrored contempt and dislike, «but he barely heard me out and said I could do as I liked just as long as the Weyr was properly supplied with game and fresh fruit.»

«Supplied?» exclaimed F'lar. «They'd only to walk a few dragon lengths from the weyrs and pick what they needed.»

«Sometimes they do. Mostly I find it easier to have my holders supply their demands. They don't bother us then.»

«Bother you?» Lessa's voice was indignant.

«That's what I said, Weyrleader,» Toric replied, a steely note in his voice; he turned back to the map. «My holders have been able to penetrate this far into the interior. Very difficult going. Tough jungle growth that dulls the keenest chopping blade in an hour. Never seen such vegetation! We know there are hills here and a mountain range farther back,» he tapped the relevant area on the map, «but I'd not fancy carving my way there length by length. So we scouted along the shoreline, found these two rivers and proceeded up them as far as we could. The western river ends in a flat marshy lake, the southeastern one at a falls, six seven dragon lengths high.» Toric straightened, regarding the small portion of explored land with mild disgust. «I'd hazard the guess that even if the land went no farther south than that range, it's twice the size of South Boll or Tillek!»

«And the Oldtimers are not interested in examining what they have?» F'lar found that attitude unpalatable, Robinton realized.

«No, Weyrleader, they are not! And frankly, without some easier way to penetrate that vegetation,» Toric tapped the hide, «I don't have the men, much less the energy to bother. I've all the land I can hold right now and still be sure my people are safe from Thread.» He paused. Although Robinton had a fair idea what he was hesitating about, the Harper wanted the Weyrleaders to know firsthand what this energetic Southerner thought. «Most of the time the dragonmen don't bother on that score, either.»

«What?» Lessa exploded, but F'lar touched her shoulder.

«I'd wondered about that, Toric.»

«How dare they?» Lessa continued, her gray eyes flashing. Ramoth stirred on her couch.

«They dare, all right,» Toric said, looking nervously at the queen.

However, Robinton could see that Lessa's appalled reaction to the Oldtimers' delinquency gratified the man.

«But… but…» Lessa spluttered with indignation.

«Are you able to manage, Toric?» F'lar asked, calming his weyrmate with a firm hand.

«I've learned,» he said. «We've plenty of flamethrowers, F'nor made sure they were left in my care. We maintain our holds grass free and keep the beasts in the stone stables during Fall.» He gave a diffident shrug, then grinned slightly at the indignant expression of the Weyrwoman. «They don't do us any harm, Lessa, even if they don't do us any good. Don't worry. We can handle them.»

«That isn't the point,» Lessa said angrily. «They are dragonmen, sworn to protect «

«You sent them south because they weren't,» Toric reminded her. «So they couldn't injure people here.»

«That still doesn't give them any right to «

«I told you, Lessa, they're not harming us. We manage fine without them!»

A sort of challenge in Toric's tone made Robinton hold his breath. Lessa had a quick temper.

«Is there anything you need from the North?» asked F'lar, in oblique apology.

«I was hoping you'd ask,» the Southerner said, grinning. «I know you can't break your honor by interfering with the Oldtimers in the South. Not that I mind…» he added quickly as he saw Lessa about to protest again. «But we are running out of some things, like properly forged metal for my Craftsmith, and parts for the flamethrowers that he says only Fandarel can make.»

«I'll see that you get them.»

«And I'd like a young sister of mine, Sharra, to study with that healer the Harper was telling me about, a Master Oldive. We've some odd sorts of fevers and curious infections.»

«Naturally she's welcome,» Lessa said quickly. «And our Manora is adept in herb brews.»

«And…» Toric hesitated a moment, glancing at Robinton, who quickly reassured him with a smile and an encouraging gesture, «if there were some adventurous men and women who'd be willing to make do at my Hold, I think I could absorb them without the Oldtimers' knowing. Just a few, mind, because though we've all the space in the world, some people become unsettled when there aren't dragons in the sky during Threadfall!»

«Why, yes,» F'lar said with a nonchalance that caused Robinton to stifle a laugh, «I believe there are a few hardy souls who would be interested in joining you.»

«Good. If I've enough to Hold properly, then I can see my way clear to extending beyond the rivers next cool season.» Toric's relief was visible.

«I thought you said it was impossible…» F'lar began.

«Not impossible. Just difficult,» Toric replied, adding with a smile, «I've some men keen to continue despite the odds, and I'd like to know what's out there.»

«So would we,» Lessa said. «The Oldtimers won't last forever.»

«That fact often consoles me,» Toric replied. «One thing, though…» He paused, looking through narrowed eyes at the two Benden Weyrleaders.

So far, Toric's audacity had delighted Robinton. The Harper was very pleased at how he'd managed to prime the man into requesting the very thing that the North needed the most a place to send the independent and capable men who had no chance of attaining holds in the North. The big Southerner's manner was quite a change for the Benden Weyrleaders: neither subservient and apologetic nor aggressive and demanding. Toric had become independent as a result of having no one, dragonmen, Craftmasters or Lord Holders, to fall back on. Because he had survived, he was self confident and he knew what he wanted, and how to get it. Therefore he was addressing Lessa and F'lar as equals.

«One small matter,» he continued, «which I'd like clarified?»

«Yes?» F'lar prompted him.

«What happens to Southern, to my holders, to me, when the last of those Oldtimers is gone?»

«I'd say that you will have more than earned the right to Hold,» F'lar said slowly, with an unmistakable accent on the final word, «what you have managed to carve out of that jungle for yourself!»

«Good!» Toric gave a decisive nod of his head, his eyes never leaving F'lar's. Then, suddenly, his tanned face dissolved into a smile. «I'd forgotten what you Northerners can be like. Send me some more «

«Will they hold what they have carved?» Robinton asked quickly.

«What they hold, they have,» Toric replied in a grave manner. «But don't flood me with people. I've got to sneak them in when the Oldtimers aren't looking.»

«How many can you sneak in… comfortably?» asked F'lar.

«Oh, six, eight, the first time. Then when we've got holds, the same again.» He grinned. «The first ones build for themselves before the new ones come. But there's lots of room in the South.»

«That's comforting because I've plans for the South myself,» said F'lar. «That reminds me, Robinton, how far to the east did you and Menolly go?»

«I wish I could answer you. I know where we got to, when the storm finally blew out. The most beautiful place I've ever seen, a perfect semicircle of a white sanded beach, with this huge cone shaped mountain far, far in the distance, right in the center of the cove…»

«But you came back along the shore, didn't you?» F'lar was impatient. «What was it like?»

«It was there,» Robinton said uninformatively. «That's all I can say…» He glared at Toric, who was chuckling at his discomfiture. «We had a choice Of sailing very close to land which Menolly said was impossible as we didn't know the bottom, or with sufficient searoom to keep beyond the Western Current which would evidently have brought us right back to the cove. It is, as I've said, a very beautiful spot, but I was glad to leave it for a while. Consequently, while land was there, it was not close enough for any inspection by me.»

«That's too bad.» F'lar looked very unhappy.

«Yes and no,» replied Robinton. «It took us nine days to sail back along that coast. That's a lot of land for Toric to explore.»

«I'm willing, and I'll be ready if I get the supplies I need…»

«How do we get shipments to you, Toric?» F'lar asked. «Don't dare send them on dragonback, though that would be easiest and best from my point of view.»

Robinton chuckled and gave a broad wink to the others. «As to that, if another ship should by chance be blown off course, south from Ista Hold… I had a word or two with Master Idarolan recently and he mentioned how bad the storms have been this Turn.»

«Is that how you chanced to be South in the first place?» asked Lessa.

«How else?» Robinton said, assuming a very innocent expression. «Menolly was attempting to teach me to sail, a storm came up unexpectedly and blew us straight into Toric's harbor. Didn't it, Toric?»

«If you say so. Harper!»