Piemur snorted. “Shards, Toric, they were looking for a place an egg could harden, or for Oldtimer browns and bronzes. They wouldn’t have noticed anything else in the state they were in. Well, T’bor might have, but you’ve been mighty careful where you’ve allowed all our new arrivals to site their holds.” Piemur grinned slyly. “Hamian’s mine would appear to be basically the same from the air, all the other adits look like the holes in the ground they are; the wharf and hold on Island River shouldn’t be visible from the sky; Big Lagoon Hold is large, that’s true, and there’d have been fishing ships out in that direction…” Piemur shrugged. “Maybe later T’bor or F’nor, someone familiar with Southern, will ask some awkward questions. I doubt it. The interdiction still holds. They came to retrieve the egg. It got back all by itself. They left.” Piemur was beginning to suspect who might have returned the egg, but he had absolutely no evidence with which to prove it.
“And we still have those bloody Oldtimers to deal with.” But there was less force in the kick Toric gave the table leg.
“They haven’t hindered your plans all that much, now, have they?” Piemur said drolly. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them. I’d bide my time, Toric.”
“You’re with me, then?”
“If today didn’t prove that, I don’t know what will,” Piemur said, cocking his head to one side. He liked Toric, admired him, but he did not entirely trust him. Which was fair. Toric did not completely trust Piemur, especially not too often in Sharra’s company. Piemur had noticed how Toric tried to keep them apart; the holder had just given Sharra her long-sought permission to go on an adventurous trip south, beyond Hamian’s mines. “So, if we’re back to normal tomorrow, I’d like to see what’s beyond that headland east of Island River. Maybe even get as far as the cove that Menolly found when they were storm-lost.” He noticed the alertness in Toric’s eyes. The holder had not liked that inadvertent excursion; he had always been suspicious of just how far Menolly and the Masterhaper had gone, though he could never deny that they had been storm-driven, and that only Menolly’s sea skills had kept the small boat afloat. “A dragon can’t go between to a place he’s never seen,” Piemur reminded the Southerner. “Likewise, a man can’t hold what he hasn’t beheld! How about it, Toric?”
Stupid led the way out of the brushland, pushing through the tangle with his sturdy front end, his hide too tough to be pierced by branch and thorn. From above, Farli was giving directions, and Piemur thrashed at the vegetation with the thick blade Hamian had forged for him.
He came out on a beach that sloped down to the sea, a pale green expanse of water ruffled with whitecaps from the onshore breeze. He sighed at the splendid view, then looked back the way he had come, at the thick trees waving their fronds and leaves. He took a redfruit from the pack on Stupid’s back, nicked it expertly with his chopper, and sucked at the sweet, thirst-quenching flesh. Stupid complained. He chopped off a hunk and fed it to the little runnerbeast, who munched contentedly.
But when Piemur turned to look down the narrow bay, he froze. He could not believe his eyes. He fumbled for the small distance-viewer he had wheedled away from Master Rampesi, who had just received a more powerful device from Starmaster Wansor; it had not done him much good with his nighttime star-gazing, but it had been useful in surveying terrain. When he had focused it, there was no doubt that smoke was rising languidly from the chimney of a good-sized building, high up on the riverbank. It was roofed, big, and had a wide porch, probably on all four sides, with steps leading up to it on the two sides visible to him. Other buildings, large and small, were positioned nearby, making it a sizable settlement. A small sloop was drawn up on the shore, although he could see the stumps of pilings jutting out into the river that might once have been a pier, and fishnets hung on a rack to dry. Colored fishnets! Even through the distance-viewer, he could make out the yellows, greens, blues, and reds.
“There isn’t anyone in all this part of the world, Stupid. There just isn’t. I haven’t seen anyone in months. Toric certainly doesn’t know. Shipwreck?” Piemur searched his memory. There had been quite a few Shipwrecks—and the number was growing. “That’s what they are. Shipwrecked. And colored fishnets? Toric won’t like this.”
A pair of fire-lizards appeared overhead, but they did not fly low enough for him to get a close look. Farli joined them in the usual aerial dance. He had seen numerous fire-lizard nests along the coast, even some unplundered golds. But Toric had definitely stated that there would be no more trade of eggs with the north. Farli swooped to his shoulder, wrapping her tail about his neck and chittering unintelligibly about men and lots of things piled on the beach.
“Houses are not piles,” Piemur stated firmly. But the incident with the northern dragons had taught him to pay attention to Farli’s incomprehensible statements. For the last few days she had been trying to tell him something that she had learned only recently. Eventually it would all make sense to him, just as he had deciphered her comments about the Black Rock River, which they had had such trouble negotiating. He had not expected such an immense inland sea, with distant islands lost in the misty rain.
Piemur’s cautionary instinct had sharpened on the long and solitary eastward journey. And though he was eager to talk to someone besides himself, he was also strangely loath to initiate a meeting. Nevertheless he proceeded down the long strand to the river’s mouth, struggling up dunes and treading carefully through the salt grasses, prodding ahead of his feet with his snake-stick, Stupid a pace behind him, Farli swooping up and back, flitting away and returning.
There were people, she told him, but not the men. Not the other men.
It was almost time for the precipitous sunset of those parts when Piemur finally got close enough to see that some of the buildings were derelict, with plants growing out of the windows and through cracks in the roofs. Several were bigger than anything Toric had yet permitted to be built, and they tended to be more wide open to air and sun than anyone dared build in the north, though the facing material was beautifully fit stone. The roofs seemed to be sheer slabs, finger thick. He remembered the exceedingly durable mine props that Hamian had found solidly in place after who knew how many Turns.
And there were people. He dropped down on the sand, getting a mouthful, when he saw a man walking from what had to be a beasthold toward the steps of the wide verandah. Canines, large ones to judge by their deep voices, began to bark somewhere behind the house.
“Ara!” The man’s call brought a woman out of the house, followed by a toddling child. There was a touching moment of embrace, then the man scooped the child up and, with one arm around the woman, entered the house.
“A family, Stupid. There’s a family living here, with a big house, lots of rooms, more than three people need. Why’d they build it so big? Or are there others inside?”
Four fire-lizards, two gold, a bronze, and a brown, suddenly came out of nowhere and hovered on wing above him before disappearing. Although Farli was not alarmed, Piemur was.
“O-ho, we’ve been spotted. Well, fire-lizard friends can’t be all bad, can they, Stupid? Let’s go forth like brave men and get this over with.” He got to his feet and approached the building, shouting at the top of his well-trained lungs. “Hello the house! Let’s hope there’s enough dinner for four, huh, Stupid? Hello there!”
There was glad astonishment and a warm, if shy, welcome from the shipwrecked couple, as well as an immediate invitation to share their meal, which was cooking over a most fascinating stove. The man, Jayge, tanned and well-muscled, was several Turns older and taller by several handwidths than the harper. He had an open face, a nose slightly bent out of line from some brawl, light-colored eyes, and a steady gaze. He wore a sleeveless vest and short pants of roughly spun cotton, and around his lean hips was a fine leather belt from which hung a bone-handled knife. On his feet were rather ingenious sandals that protected toes and heels but were open across the foot. They looked much more comfortable and cooler than the heavy boots Piemur wore.