“It’s a misuse of historical relics.”

“Besides the building slab, Master Fandarel’s using some of those drills—sharpest steel he’s ever seen.”

“Grandfa is not wasting them!”

“These aren’t being wasted either,” Piemur declared. He raised his hands up high in frustration, then brought them down smartly to his sides. “Go read the bloody carton labels! That’s what you came down here to do. I’m going back to the hold. Jayge’s right about the heat of the day. It affects some people’s thinking.”

Farli accompanied him, chittering questions at him which he could not have answered even if he had understood them. When he got back to the wide verandah, he went to the clay pitcher that hung at the shady corner and poured himself several long, cool drinks. Then he strung up one of the hammocks and tried to figure out why he and Jancis were quarreling.

The canines’ excited barking roused him from a light doze. Then Farli swooped, tugging at his sleeveless vest to emphasize her urgent little squeaks.

“Huh? Whassamatter? Easy, Farli. You scratch!” But the instancy of her alarm was inescapable. He blinked sleep from his eyes and made an awkward attempt to jump out of the hammock; it swung out from under him, and he landed with an ignominious thump on the porch floor.

The resident fire-lizards were swarming into the house through window and door, chittering with great agitation. Piemur could hear Jayge’s drowsy protest. Outside, the pitch of the canines’ alarm went up several notches to a frenzy, a commotion that further agitated the fire-lizards.

Just as Piemur was getting to his feet, he saw furtive movements on the beachfront, and the last of his torpor abated. Small wonder the canines were hysterical. Piemur had relied on Farli and Stupid too long to argue with animal instincts or wonder why anyone was creeping up on Paradise River Hold. At the sound of a strangled cry from the line of fishers’ cots farther up the beach, he unsheathed his hefty jungle blade, crept to the porch railing, and peered cautiously out.

There! More movement! It looked as if a number of people were spreading out to surround the hold—and more invaders seemed to be crawling down to the other holds. He heard Jayge muttering irritably at the interruption to his nap. Silently Piemur crept to the hammock, reaching up to release first one end from its wall hook and then the other. Maybe he could use it as a second weapon. Dragging the hammock with him, he scooted around the corner of the porch and climbed in through the side window, anxiously scanning the walls for possible weapons.

“Jayge!” he called softly, seeing the holder sleepily stumbling down the corridor.

“Huh?” Still groggy, Jayge just stared at him.

“Grab something. You got invaders!”

“Don’t be silly!” Jayge said in a normal voice. Then his fire-lizards came swooping into the room, squeaking in their panic. “Huh?”

Outside, the canines’ racket took on a new note, almost jubilant. Someone had had the wit to loose them from their pen. Galvanized, Jayge yanked two kitchen knives from their rack just as they heard a sudden shout from the beach.

“Ara! Get the children and run!” he roared, bounding forward with Piemur to meet the enemy outside.

It proved an embarrassingly short defense. Six sunburnt tattered men, brandishing swords, pikes, and long daggers, rushed Piemur and Jayge at the base of the short porch steps. Piemur slashed with his knife and thrashed about with the hammock, which was soon cut to shreds despite the clumsiness of the attackers. Curses and shrieks told him that Jayge was making full use of his knives. Someone was yelling orders in a strident voice, screaming with impatience at the attackers’ ineptitude and demanding results. A concerted rush by the attackers pushed both Piemur and Jayge awkwardly against the steps. Piemur heard someone behind him, but before he could react, he felt the crashing blow on his head and slid into oblivion.

Jayge came to, facedown in sand, head pounding fiercely, ribs and right shoulder aching, aware of the burn of sand-filled cuts all over him. He quickly discovered that he could not shift and ease his discomfort—he was trussed up like a wherry on a spit. He was about to spit out a mouthful of sand when he heard a groan, then a thud, and finally a smug chuckle.

“Back to sleep, Harper,” a harsh-voiced woman said. “And that’s how to deal with jumped-up holders, lads. It also prevents them from getting any assistance from those fire-lizards. Or anyone else. Now—” Her voice went from cajolery to sheer venom. “I want the woman and her brats. Without them, this whole effort is worthless.”

Inadvertently Jayge stiffened, straining against his bonds. Thella! He had never believed his own words when he had reassured Aramina over and over that the woman must have perished, or been apprehended. Of late, when their formal acquisition of the Paradise River Hold had meant that their names would be circulated, he had had twinges of anxiety. If Thella lived, would she hear? Would she care? Would she act? Common sense made that seem unlikely. But common sense was not a likely virtue in someone as vindictive as Thella.

Fortunately Ara had managed to escape with the children. Also, he was relieved to recall that V’line was due back to collect Piemur and Jancis! A dragon in the sky could be quite a deterrent to the type of holdless men that would fall in with a renegade like Thella. How long had he been unconscious? The heat was still oppressive, so he might have been out…just long enough, he thought sourly, to be trussed up so thoroughly.

“I thought it was him you wanted to kill?” someone complained indignantly.

“Killing’s easy. I want him to suffer! As he’s made me suffer for the past two Turns. But that can be best accomplished by forcing him to watch what I’ve planned for her! And you imbecilic dolts let her get away from you!” Jayge heard the sound of startled grunts.

“‘Why kick us? We did our best,” someone complained. “You never said nothing about canines! Vicious, they was. Couldn’t get past ‘em. Fangs a hand long. Great brutes as big as herdbeasts!”

“There were six of you, with swords and spears! More than enough to take a drudge slut. Are these all tied up now? And the women in the fisherholds? All right, then, now we go after her. She can’t go far with small kids. She may be holed up in those big ruins. If she took to the forest, that underbrush is so thick she’ll have to have left some sort of a trail even tunnel turds like you could find. I want her and those children. She’ll wish she’d never been born before I’m through with them. And her.”

“Now, look, Thella,” the spokesman protested. “You didn’t say nothin’ about savaging anybody! I don’t hold with—” There was a loud and sickening gasp, and then a silence more telling than any words.

“I trust that answers any question?” Thella challenged, her voice edged despite a mockingly light tone. “Bloors, your leg may be sliced, but you’ve two good arms. Take this club, and when anyone so much as twitches, you clout ‘em good. Just behind the ear! Got it? If I find that one of them has moved so much as a muscle when I get back, I’ll hamstring you. You, pick up that rope. You, the nets, to wrap our guests up in. You others, grab some of those spears. Those should do for the canines. Now, follow me.”

Jayge tried to figure out how many men Thella had with her. He knew that he had sunk the longer knife in someone’s belly and blooded some of the others who had pressed in on him. Piemur had made good use of that jungle blade of his before he had been overcome. He heard the grate and grind of sand underfoot and cracked his eyes a bare fraction to count four sets of feet going past him, flicking sand in his face. Thella’s voice went off to his right, down past Temma’s and Swacky’s holds and toward the warehouse. Jancis? Had it been she who had loosed the canines?