“These illegal sailings…”Lessa began, scowling and sitting back in her chair. She crossed her arms, emphasizing her dislike of such adventuring.

“Not at all,” Piemur replied. “They were on an authorized voyage from Keroon Beasthold, bringing Toric—I mean, Lord Toric—some breeding pairs. Five people survived the storm, but injuries killed one before they found out his name, and two died of fire-head the following spring.”

“And?” Lessa’s foot tapped, but Piemur noticed a gleam of interest in F’lar’s eyes and a sympathetic grin on N’ton’s face. Fandarel listened, one eye on the ambiguous chart before him, while Wansor could be heard tutting happily to himself, his nose a scant fingertip from the map he was assiduously studying.

“They repaired some dilapidated buildings they found on the riverbanks and have done pretty well for themselves, I think,” Piemur continued. “Knocked together a little skiff, tamed some runnerbeasts, planted a garden…”

Jaxom leaned forward on the table, keenly interested.

“Paradise River?” Lessa closed her eyes and uncrossed her arms to throw them up in an exasperated gesture of surrender. “And you like them, Robinton, and want them to hold?”

“Well, someone will have to, Lessa,” Robinton said, looking abashed. “If you ask my opinion…” He glanced at Lytol and Jaxom for support.

“I haven’t.” Lessa glared at Jaxom and Lytol in a clear order not to encourage the Masterharper.

“I think too much is being made of ‘permission’ to come here,” Robinton went on, ignoring her sarcasm. “Master Idarolan has, it is true, issued warnings that all shipmasters must report Southern landings to him. But just look at the breadth of land here. This big map—” He rapped his knuckles on the largest continental map. “—shows us just how much inhabitable land there is.”

“And no Weyrs,” F’lar put in sardonically.

Robinton waved that aside. “The land here protects itself.”

“D’ram’s worrying himself to the bone over the Plateau and Cove Hold as it is,” Lytol said, speaking for the first time.

“The young Lilcamps have been careful to shelter both themselves and their beasts,” Robinton went on, “in buildings they’ve restored from ancient remains.”

“What kind of remains?”

“These.” From a cabinet behind him Robinton produced a sheaf of sketches; Piemur recognized Perschar’s work. The Harper skidded each sheet down over the map, casually describing the scene. “The beach as seen from the verandah of the house. The house—it has twelve rooms—as seen from the eastern strand, with Jayge’s boat. Another view of the harbor with the fishnetting—Jayge cobbled up nets from material he found in one of the storehouses. This is the storehouse. You can just make out the beasthold. Ah, this is looking south from the verandah. And another of the western bank and some of the ruins. This charming little fellow playing in the sand is young Readis.” By the clever order in which Robinton was presenting the pictures, Piemur guessed his intention. “This is Jayge—son of the traders Lilcamp-Amhold. Quite a reliable train. He plans to bring over some of his Bloodkin. And this is his wife!”

“Aramina!” Lessa snatched up that sketch before it could settle to the table.

F’lar gave an exclamation of surprise and looked over her shoulder, a startled expression on his face. “Robinton, you have some explaining to do!”

Seeing that Lessa had gone quite pale under her weather-tanned skin, Piemur quickly poured out a cup of wine for her. She took it absently, her narrowed eyes on the Harper.

“Do calm yourself, my dear,” Robinton said. “I’ve been trying to think of a way of breaking this good news, but there have been so many demands on your time and energy, and so much has been happening over the last few months…”

“You’ve known Aramina was alive for months?”

“No, no. No, only a few days, in fact. Piemur met them months ago, before he got to Cove Hold. The very day that—”

“That Baranth flew Caylith,” Jaxom put in when the Harper faltered. Glancing sharply at Piemur, the young Ruathan Lord Holder added, “A lot happened that day, too.”

“Piemur wouldn’t have known about Aramina, my dear Lessa. He wasn’t even north during that period. But she confided in me, if you’ll listen.”

Lessa was quite willing to hear everything that Aramina had told the Harper, though she was furious that Benden had been allowed to believe the girl dead. The heat in her eyes suggested that her first meeting with Jayge and Aramina might include some recriminations.

“She no longer hears dragons,” the Harper said gently when the retelling was done.

Lessa sat very still, except for her fingers, which tapped out an uneven rhythm on the armrests of her chair. She looked up at F’lar, then across to N’ton; her gaze flicked from Jaxom to Lytol’s expressionless face and rested on Fandarel, who looked back at her without concern.

“And she is happy with this Jayge?” the Weyrwoman asked.

“One fine son already and another baby due.” When Lessa discounted that as a measure of contentment, the Harper continued. “He’s a resourceful and provident man.”

“Jayge adores her,” Piemur said with a broad grin. “And I’ve seen the way she looks at him. They could do with some company, though.” As neatly as the Harper could have done it himself, Piemur suggested the possibility of what had already been accomplished. “It’s been pretty lonely. Even for Paradise!”

“How big is Paradise?” Lessa asked. There was noticeable relief as she appeared to relent. Piemur and N’ton both reached to pull the appropriate chart in front of Lessa.

“Not as much as this is marked, certainly,” Piemur said, tapping the squared-off section. The site actually extended much farther east and west; the map went as far as the bend in the river that Jayge had mentioned.

“A rough estimate,” Lessa suggested, a half-smile turning up the left-hand side of her mouth. She knew very well that Piemur could provide a reasonably accurate one.

The Masterharper handed over his copy of the witnessed hold map. “Here!”

“Does this establish a precedent, old friend?” Lytol asked quietly.

“A better one, I feel, than the method Toric employed.” He held up his hand to ward off Lessa’s rebuke. “Different circumstances now obtain. But very soon now, you Weyrleaders, Craftmasters, and Lord Holders must decide which precedent to follow. Toric’s or Jayge’s? In my opinion, a man ought to be able to Hold what he has proved.”

Master Wansor’s rather squeaky voice broke the silence that followed Master Robinton’s quiet challenge. “Did they have dragons then?”

“Why?” Realizing that she had spoken more curtly than she had meant to, Lessa softened her bluntness with a smile.

Wansor blinked at her. “Because I don’t see how the ancients got about such vast holdings. There are no tracks or trails listed. The coastline or river situations would be easy enough to reach, but this Cardiff isn’t near a river and not very close at all to Landing. I suppose the mining facilities marked here at Drakee’s Lake used to be one of the rivers, but that isn’t specified, or a seaport marked. I really don’t understand how they kept in touch unless they had dragons.”

“Or other flying ships?” Jaxom asked.

“More efficient sailing vessels?” N’ton suggested.

“We have found many broken parts that were beautifully crafted,” Master Fandarel said, “but not a single complete motor or engine or other mechanical device that requires such pieces. Not in the oldest of the Records in my Hall. We have found three immense disabled vehicles that the fire-lizards inform us once were airborne. I do not think their design would be efficient over short distances—too awkward and heavy. The tubes in the rear suggest that their motion was upward.” He tilted his hand and massive forearm in demonstration. “They must have had other vehicles.”