“ ‘When man came to Pern, he established a good Hold in the South,’ ” Sebell murmured, his eyes shining almost reverently, “ ‘but found it necessary to move north to shield.’ ”
Toric snorted at such ambiguous nonsense, although he had to admit that the first part of the Fragment did seem to be true. Had they held the entire South? “I’ll get my flying gear, D’ram.”
“Oh, no, not now, Toric,” D’ram said, grinning. “It’s late in the night there now. I assure you, we shall leave here in an appropriate time to arrive when the interested persons have gathered tomorrow morning. But I’ve matters to organize. And so must you. I’m as eager to go as you, Holder, believe me.” D’ram’s smile faded as he saw the concern on the Masterharper’s face. “Sebell?”
“I just don’t like so much excitement for my Master. He’s not fully recovered.”
“He has Menolly in constant attendance, as well as Sharra,” D’ram assured him. “They won’t let him tire himself.”
Sebell gave an uncharacteristic snort. “You don’t know Master Robinton as I do, D’ram. He’ll wear himself out, puzzling through the whys and wherefores of this.”
“It’ll do him good, Sebell,” D’ram replied. “Keep his mind occupied. Not that he would interfere with your Mastering, but an—” He changed word midthought. “An older man needs interests that involve him in life. Don’t worry, Sebell.”
“At least about your Master’s health,” Toric said sardonically. “He’s got both Menolly and Sharra, hasn’t he?”
D’ram realized that his mention of Toric’s sister had not been as circumspect as it might have been, just as he also remembered that Menolly was Sebell’s wife. “I’ll leave you to the reading and collect you in six hours’ time.”
“Isn’t there a lad from Ruatha Hold in this new batch of dimwits?” Toric asked Sebell when D’ram had left. He wanted to settle the latest arrivals immediately.
“Yes.” Sebell skimmed over the careful lists he had helped Toric make of abilities and ambitions. “Dorse: comes with a good recommendation from Brand, steward of the Ruatha Hold.”
“I don’t remember him offhand.”
“I knew him from Ruatha,” Sebell began in a tone that Toric was coming to identify as discreet. “You can trust Brand’s warranty. Says he does well if overseen.”
“Anyone does well overseen,” Toric said in a derisive tone. “What I need is someone who can initiate and carry through.”
“There’s a very competent man, Denol—came here from Boll on Lady Marella’s recommendation. Brought many of his family with him. Crop pickers by occupation, but they’ve settled in here well and obey him implicitly…”
“Ah, Denol. Yes, I know the man you mean. Well, then, give him a gaggle of these Northern louts, have him take his kin with him to that new holding at Great Bay, and we’ll see what he makes of it.”
“Send Dorse with him?”
“Not yet. I’ve something else in mind for that lad.”
As the bronze Tiroth emerged from between just east of Two-Faced Mountain, the volcano dominating the plain on which the settlement had been discovered, Toric tugged at D’ram’s sleeve and inscribed circles with his gloved finger. He wanted a good look around. Clearly he was not alone: two dragons were still airborne, and four more sat on the ground below, Ruth’s white hide standing out among them. Groups of people were wandering aimlessly around, and Toric wondered just how many had been informed of the amazing discovery. A positive rainbelt of fire-lizards, soaring and diving, was exulting in a cascade of sound that Toric could hear even through his padded helmet as a swarm swooped in greeting to Tiroth.
He bitterly resented the fact that the news had been spread with such a lavish hand. Southern had been his! It was enough that he had had to spend much of the past month delegating holdings to Northerners who would probably kill themselves with either enthusiasm in the heat or their ignorance of Southern dangers. He had been forced to recognize that the Southern Continent was not his to dispose of. But was it really Benden’s, either?
He shook his head. One man could only Hold so much. Fax’s depredations in the north had proven that. He had not made Fax’s greatest mistake, controlling by fear. Greed, he knew, served as well for holdless men and women. But such speculations were useless at the moment, so he concentrated on the truly awe-inspiring panorama that spread below him as Tiroth circled slowly over an incredible sweep of meadow, broader and deeper than any expanse Toric had seen before.
The mountain dominated the scene. Its eastern lip had blown out, and the three smaller volcanoes crouching on its southeastern flank had also erupted at some time. Lava had flowed down, south toward the rolling plains. Was that what his fire-lizards had been screaming about recently? Toric was rarely aware of his dreams, but lately he had recalled vivid ones, totally incomprehensible. A man should not be plagued by fire-lizards in his sleep—yet there he was circling over the very site that matched their mental images.
He had no doubt that the plain at the foot of the volcanoes had once been inhabited. The morning sun threw outlines in bold relief. Such outlines could not have been the result of natural forces. The mounds, with straight lines setting them apart from one another, were formed in squares and rectangles. There was row upon row, square upon square of mounds, some large, some small; those nearest the lava flow had collapsed, proving that not even the ancients had been impervious to the planet’s restless internal forces. Rather stupid, Toric thought, to have built out in the open, totally vulnerable to Thread and volcanic eruptions.
D’ram looked back at him with an unspoken query, and reluctantly Toric nodded. He was honed with eagerness to see what Benden proposed to do about the discovery. And to see who else had gathered to view this wonder. Toric was not often impressed, but today he was awed.
Tiroth deposited them on the plain, not far from the distinctive figure of Mastersmith Fandarel, towering above the diminutive Benden Weyrwoman. Toric strode toward them, nodding to Masterminer Nicat, Mastersmith Fandarel, F’nor, and N’ton.
As he greeted F’lar and Lessa, he glanced sharply over at the small knot of younger folk standing beyond, noticing that Menolly and Piemur acknowledged his presence. He decided the tall young man standing by Sharra must be Jaxom, Ruathan Lord Holder, still a boy, much too young and insignificant for his sister. He would put a stop to that immediately—as soon as he was through dealing with Benden’s encroachment on his continent. He returned his attention to F’lar.
“Actually, Toric,” F’lar was saying, “it was young Jaxom who made this discovery, along with Menolly, Piemur, and your sister, Sharra.”
“And quite a discovery, it is, too!” Toric replied, seething inside. Smoothly he steered the discussion to the question of the ruins themselves. Soon he found himself caught up in the excitement as, shovel and picks in hand, he joined the others in attacking the mounds.
With its thick grass cover and dry, grayish soil the ground was not easy to break, but Toric, working alongside Mastersmith Fandarel, soon made good headway. The Southern holder was in excellent condition, but quickly found that he had to extend himself to keep up with the indefatigable and powerful Craftmaster. Toric had heard about the man’s energy: now he believed it. He used the infrequent rests he permitted himself to observe the impudent young scut who had kept Sharra away so long. Weyrless lordling boy, he thought. A few scowls would send him scurrying.
The next time he took a breather, he saw that Jaxom’s runt of a white dragon and some of the fire-lizards had joined in the digging. Dirt was being shifted at an amazing rate. He called his own fire-lizards to him just as Ramoth, Benden’s proud queen, began to assist at the small mound that Lessa had chosen to excavate. Toric redoubled his efforts beside Fandarel.