“Why?” asked Piemur bluntly. Discretion had got him nothing but misery, confusion and unwarranted accusations. This time he would know what he was about.
“Two things,” Sebell said without so much as a pause for consideration. “If it’s true that there are more fire lizards in Nabol Hold than—”
“Is that what they meant?”
“Is that what who meant?”
“Lord Oterel. At the Hatching. I overheard him talking to someone…didn’t know the man…and he said, ‘Meron gets more than he ought and we have to do without.’ Didn’t make sense then, but it would if Lord Oterel was talking about fire lizards. Was he?”
“He very likely was, and I wish you’d mentioned that snip of talk before.”
“I didn’t know you’d want to know, and it made no sense to me then.” Piemur ended on a plaintive note, seeing Sebell’s frown of irritation.
The journeyman smiled a quick reassurance. “No, you couldn’t’ve known. Now you do. We know that Lord Meron had his first fire lizards from Kylara nearly four Turns ago, so they could have clutched at least once, possibly twice. And he’d’ve made certain he had control of the distribution of those new eggs. Nonetheless, he has distributed more in Nabol than we can account for. What is equally important is the amount of other supplies that are being brought into the Hold and…disappearing!
“Meron’s trading with the Oldtimers?”
“Lord Meron, lad you don’t forget the title even in your thoughts…and yes, that’s the possibility.”
“And he’s getting whole clutches of fire lizard eggs for trading for ’em? As well as the eggs of his original pairs?” Piemur was assailed by a variety of emotions: anger that Lord Meron of Nabol Hold was getting more than a fair share of the fire lizard eggs when other, more worthy persons, Piemur included himself, ought to have a chance to Impress the precious creatures; a righteous indignation that Lord Meron (and he slurred the title into an insult in his thoughts) was deliberately flouting Benden Weyr by trafficking in any way with the Oldtimers; and an intense excitement at the possibility that he, Piemur, might help discredit further this infamous Lord Holder.
“Those are two of the main things to listen for. The third, which is the most important in some ways, is which of Lord Meron’s male heirs would be most acceptable to craft and cot.”
“He is dying then?” He’d been sure that the message to Master Oldive was spurious.
“Oh, yes, a wasting disease.” Sebell’s grin was malicious, and there was an unpleasant gleam in his eyes as he met Piemur’s astonished gaze. “You might say, a very proper disease to fit Lord Meron’s…peculiar ways!”
Piemur would have liked to have particulars, but Sebell rose. “I must be away now, Piemur. You’re to rest, without getting into any mischief.”
“Rest? I’ve been resting—”
“Bored? Well, I’ll ask Rokayas to give you drum measures to learn. That ought to ease your boredom without taxing your strength.” Sebell laughed at Piemur’s snort of dismay.
“As long as it’s Rokayas.”
“It will be. He’s of the mind that you learned a great deal more than Dirzan believes.”
Piemur grinned at the subtle question in Sebell’s words, but before he could retort, the door was closing behind the journeyman and Kimi, who fluttered above him. Piemur hugged his knees to his chest, rocking slowly on his tail bones as he thought over all that Sebell had confided to him. And tried to figure out what it was Sebell hadn’t told him.
One thing Sebell hadn’t mentioned was how cold and how dark it would be when N’ton collected him before dawn. Menolly with Beauty and Rocky had roused him from a fitful sleep, for he’d been afraid he’d oversleep and consequently spent a restless night. He could sense Menolly’s amusement as the two of them, guided by the encouraging chirrups of the fire lizards, stumbled across the dark courtyard toward the Gather meadow. Then Lioth turned his brilliant jewel-faceted eyes in their direction, and they moved more confidently forward.
Menolly giggled as she boosted Piemur up to catch the fighting straps, and then he felt N’ton’s downstretched hand and was aided into position. He heard her softly wish him luck, then she blended into the shadows, her actual position discernible only by four points of light that were fire lizard eyes.
“D’you want the fighting strap about you, Piemur? Night flying unnerves a lot of people.”
Piemur wanted to say yes, but instead took a good hold on the leathers that encircled Lioth’s neck. He replied that since this was only a short trip, he wouldn’t need them. Then clutched convulsively as Lioth sprang upward. They were above the rim of Fort Hold’s fireheights before Piemur caught his breath. N’ton gave the bronze dragon the audible command to Nabol, and Piemur knew he screamed into the nothingness of between. He choked off the noise as he felt the change from intense cold and blackness to frosty chill and the faint lightening in what must be the eastern sky.
Two whirling points of light danced above N’ton’s left shoulder, and a fire lizard’s complacent chirp informed Piemur that N’ton’s bronze, Tris, had turned to look at him. Then Lioth swerved and Piemur’s fingers became numb as he increased the pressure on the straps, unconsciously leaning backward against the angle of descent into darkness. Tris chirruped encouragingly, as if he were completely aware of Piemur’s internal confusion. Piemur prayed fervently that Tris wouldn’t inform N’ton of how scared he was. Abruptly the bronze dragon backwinged and settled with the lightest of bumps in black shadow.
“Lioth says there are people not far down the road, Piemur,” said N’ton in a low voice. “Give me your flying gear.”
“Isn’t it Sebell?” asked Piemur, shedding helmet and jacket and thrusting them blindly toward N’ton. “Lioth says no, but Sebell is not far behind. He hears Kimi.”
“Kimi?” Piemur’s surprise made him speak louder than he intended, and he winced at N’ton’s warning.
“You forget,” whispered N’ton, “Sebell can bring Kimi because fire lizards are so common here in Nabol. Or so we’re led to understand.” Displeasure colored the Fort Weyrleader’s amendment. Then Piemur felt the strong gloved hand curl about his wrist, and he obediently threw his right leg back over Lioth’s neckridge, sliding down the massive shoulder, aware as he slipped beyond N’ton’s guiding hand, that the dragon had cocked his leg to allow an easier slope of descent. He let his knees take the shock of his landing and patted Lioth’s shoulder, wondering as he did so if that were bold of him.
“Good luck, Piemur!” N’ton’s muted voice just reached his ears.
He stepped back, turning his head against the shower of dust and sand as the huge bronze launched himself skyward.
Once his eyes were accustomed to the variations of black and dark gray, Piemur located the winding road and whistled softly as he realized how accurately the dragon had landed in the one flat area big enough to accommodate him. Piemur’s respect for draconic abilities rose to new heights.
He heard now the occasional sound of voices and saw the erratic wavering of light from the glowbaskets of the leading file. A creaking of wheeled carts and the familiar sluff-sluff of plate-footed burden beasts reached his ears. He looked about him for a place to hide. He had a choice of boulders and ledges, and found a shielded spot that faced the track but gave him a clear view of the dimly seen exit. He curled up small, hugging knees to chest, secure in the belief that he couldn’t be seen.
A chirrup disabused him of that notion and, startled, he glanced up and saw three pairs of fire lizard eyes gleaming at him.
“Go away, you silly creatures. I’m not even here!” To prove this, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the awful nothingness of between.
The fire lizards responded with an agitated chorus.