When he delivered Fancy to the Beastmaster at Benden Hold, Jayge handed over Master Briaret’s packet of information about her breeding, and the mare’s hair whorls checked against those on her papers. The man inspected the mare thoroughly, legs, hooves, barrel, neck, and teeth, and had Jayge trot her up and down the inner court until the young trader was a bit short of breath. Master Conwy could find no fault in her condition or appearance. Jayge waited silently, indolently feeding Kesso’s reins through his fingers.
“You’ve earned your marks, Jayge Lilcamp,” the man said finally. “She’s a fine animal. Come with me. You can put your own mount up for the night here. Benden Hold keeps a good table. I’ll speak to the steward about your pay and see if there’re any messages you can take back with you.”
“I’m not going back to the Beasthold,” Jayge said. Then he caught himself. “I have to go north to Bitra.”
“You’d best leave your marks here with honest men, young man. Those Bitrans are terrible folk for relieving a man of his coin.”
Jayge could not help but grin at Conwy’s dour and disapproving expression. “I’m a trader by craft, Master Conwy. It’d take more than a wily Bitran to relieve me of my marks.”
“If you say so, so long’s you know their tricks.” Master Conwy clearly thought little of Jayge’s understanding and less of Bitran “tricks,” but he did not let that interfere with hospitality. First he put the mare into her stall, telling Jayge to put his runner next to her so that she would settle down more quickly. Then he took Jayge to the bathing rooms, offered to have a drudge launder his clothes, directed him to where he could find a cubicle for the night, and told him where to go before mealtime.
Clean and dressed in his newly pressed spare clothes, Jayge found Master Conwy’s hold and was given the marks. To his surprise, the Master asked for the warranty again and added a second recommendation on the end of Swacky’s.
“Doesn’t hurt for someone out and about to have proof of honesty and diligence.”
Master Conwy then walked him up the steps of the main Hold and into the dining hall, which was full of bustle and enticing aromas wafting up from the kitchens below. Jayge took the place offered him, on the far right with the other men and women of journeyman rank, and Master Conwy left him.
Such a main Hold was sinfully luxurious, Jayge thought, looking at the smooth, painted walls, the deep window apertures, and the burnished and etched shutters. The upper potions of the walls were embellished with brilliantly colored paintings, some of them quite old, to judge by the clothing depicted. It was the habit of the very old Holds to include portraits of notable lords, ladies, and prominent crafters. Some had been done in miniature on the borders, and some were so high up the wall as to be practically invisible. Idly Jayge wondered if any of those portraits could be Perschar’s work.
He answered the polite queries put to him and responded noncommittally to a rather blatant come-on from the handsome journeywoman beside him, but he listened more than he talked. When the soup was passed around—Jayge was rather flattered to be served first—the journeywoman contrived to brush her full bosom against his shoulder. Her touch reminded him of how long he had been on the road alone.
But all thought of casual dalliance faded from his mind with his first clear look at the head table on its dais and the black-haired girl seated at the right-hand edge. A fosterling then, Jayge realized, but not of sufficient rank to sit closer to Benden’s lord, lady, and their own children. She wore a low-cut deep maroon dress that offset her creamy skin. She smiled often, laughed seldom, and ate neatly—and Jayge could not stop staring.
“She’s not for the likes of you, journeyman,” his seatmate said in his ear. “She’s for Benden Weyr. Next Hatching, and she’s sure to be Impressed.”
Jayge had thought that girls found on Search went immediately into the Weyr, but if she was a fosterling of Benden’s, maybe that made a difference. He did know that there was no clutch on the Hatching Grounds at the moment.
“She was in the hunting party that passed me on the track,” Jayge said casually. He tried to keep his eyes from her but could not. There was a sweet calmness about her; it was soothing just to watch her deal with her food platter. Jayge thought that he had never seen a girl quite like her. And she was not for him. He wrenched himself away and turned, smiling, to the journeywoman, who was eager to continue conversation.
The next morning, somewhat to Jayge’s dismay, the first person he encountered was the black-haired girl. She was in Fancy’s stable as he arrived from a quick breakfast to saddle Kesso.
“I think she’s going to settle in all right,” she said, smiling with obvious relief up at Jayge. “Master Conwy said you’d brought her all the way from Keroon Beasthold without so much as a scratch. Do you like all animals? Or just runners?”
Jayge was having trouble organizing a suitable answer, so he just smiled. Yes, he thought, he had been right about that sadness in her face. “Oh, I get on well with most animals. Treat ‘em right, they work well for you. Feeding’s important. Enough for the work they’ve got to do.”
“Are you a beastman, or a herdsman?”
“I’m a trader.”
“Ah, so you’d how burden beasts better.” For some reason the girl’s smile was tinged by wistfulness. “We had a yoke—I called them Nudge and Shove. They did a lot of it, but they never let us down.
Jayge had completed saddling and stowing his pack without realizing that he had done so, and he was suddenly very shy in her presence. “Gotta go,” he said. “Long way still. Nice meeting you. Keep your eye on Fancy.”
“Fancy?”
“I always name animals. Even just for a journey.” He shrugged diffidently, wondering what had gotten into him. He usually had no trouble talking to girls at all. Last night had proved that, though if he had known that he would be talking to her again today, he would not have settled for a quick tumble with that journeywoman. He backed Kesso out of the stall.
“Fancy’s a very good name for her.” The girl’s voice followed him out of the beasthold. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of her. Good luck.”
Jayge swung up on Kesso and trotted smartly out of the beasthold, wishing he could have thought of some excuse to stay. But she was for the Weyr, and that was that!
9: Benden Hold, Benden Weyr, PP 13
THOUGH THE TRAIL was good, the weather was cold and the hilly going sometimes so treacherous in the early mornings that Jayge delayed starting until the sun was well up. He preferred to find or make his own overnight shelters, though several times he shared a midday meal with holders he met up with. He lent assistance to one farmer, changing a damaged wheel, and when Kesso’s shoes were noticed and admired, he made the man a new set for his barefoot runner. That time he agreed, when pressed, to stay the night, as it was too late to continue.
But despite the occasional encounter, Jayge spent far too much time on his own, thinking of the black-haired girl. He ought to have asked her name. That would not cost him anything, he thought. He would have liked to know her name. He ran through all the variations of women’s names he knew but could not find one that suited her. He found himself fretting over that indefinable sadness in her eyes and in the slight droop of her mouth. She was probably the same age as the other two girls in the hunting party, but she had exhibited an air of maturity that the others lacked. His dreams at night took on an erotic flavor, but they amused more than embarrassed him. On the dancing square all were equal, he reminded himself again. He would get back to that Gather. He would dance with her and clear that sadness from her eyes.