“What’s the matter with them?” a gruff male voice called over the creaking of cartwheels and the shuffling sound of the burden beasts.
“Who knows? Who cares? We’m most to Nabol now!” Piemur redoubled his efforts to think of nothing, and heard the faint flutter of fire lizards taking flight. To think of nothing took more effort than to concentrate on something. A great many carts, too, Piemur thought, for a Nabol Gather when there was another, better one at Fort Hold. He opened his eyes now and saw the flicker of winging fire lizards in the gathering daylight, and the point-lights of their eyes in gloom. And these were carters? Small holders? The anger that injustice roused warmed Piemur long after the caravan and the comfort of their glowbaskets passed from his angle of vision.
The cold dawn wind rose, and Piemur wished that Sebell would put in his promised appearance. He ought to have asked N’ton if Lioth had seen Sebell as he glided to his landing. Then Piemur chided himself that this was scarcely the first time he’d waited on his lonesome in the dark of dawn. He’d done his watches with his father’s herds. Of course, there’d usually been someone sleeping in the cot within voice range during those long, slow hours. What if something had happened to Sebell? Or he was delayed? Should Piemur go on to Nabol by himself? And how was he to return to the Harper Hall? He’d forgotten to ask N’ton that, presuming it was the Fort Weyrleader who’d collect him. Or was he to be collected? Did Sebell plan to sell those suitable beasts of his during the Gather? Or would they have to herd them back whence they’d come? There was a great deal that Sebell hadn’t told him in spite of the journeyman’s candid explanation about their surreptitious appearance at Nabol Hold.
Piemur relieved his anxieties by remembering that he wasn’t going to have to attend the Fort Hold festivities, or listen to Tilgin sing music that Domick had written for him. He sighed, depressed that he wasn’t going to be singing the role of Lessa, that he wasn’t still comfortably in his bed in the senior apprentices’ dormitory, waking to anticipate the applause of Lord Groghe’s guests, the accolades of his friends and Domick. And quite likely Lessa’s approval, since the Weyrwoman was Lord Groghe’s special guest today.
Here he was, cold, miserable, and uncomfortably aware that he hadn’t had so much as a cold cup of klah before he was bundled onto a dragon’s back and dumped here to await a man who might not arrive for hours if he was walking a herd of beasts in from Ruatha Hold all by himself!
And when they found out what they’d come to discover and returned to the Harper Hall, what would Piemur do tomorrow?
He grinned, hugging his knees in smug satisfaction, remembering Rokayas’ surprise the day before when he had perfectly dead-sticked the complicated message Rokayas had thought up to test his knowledge of the drum language. Piemur was almost sorry he wouldn’t be—
He groped on the ground beside him and found a rock, gave it an experimental whack against the boulder that sheltered him. The resultant sound echoed about the small valley. Piemur found another rock and, rising, went to the now visible track. He beat the rocks together in the monotone code for “harper,” adding the beat for “where,” grinning as the sharp staccato sounds reverberated. He repeated the two measures, then waited. He beat his measures again to give Sebell time to find his own rocks. Then in the pause he heard distantly a muffled reply: “journeyman comes.”
Immeasurably relieved, Piemur was wondering whether to proceed down the track and intercept Sebell when he heard a “stay” as the message was repeated. He was a bit daunted by the “stay” and restlessly scuffed at the loose gravel on the track. Surely Sebell wasn’t far away. what did it matter if Piemur did go to meet him? But the message had been clear—“stays”—and Piemur decided that Sebell must have a reason, other than obedience to Master Oldive’s instruction about Piemur’s dented head.
Sullenly, Piemur resumed his position behind the boulder. And none too soon. He heard then the sharp clatter of hooves against stone, the jangle of metal against metal, and a rumble of encouraging shouts. A fair of fire lizards arrowed out of the graying southern skies, heading straight up the track. Piemur thought of cold between’s nothingness, as the fire lizards, intent on keeping ahead of the swiftly pacing riders, swept on. The ground beneath Piemur’s rump trembled with the runners’ passage.
There was so much dust raised that Piemur couldn’t be sure how many rode by, but he estimated a dozen or more. A dozen riders with a full fair of fire lizards escorting them?
Again anger consumed Piemur. He knew that he wouldn’t have resented this latest concentration of fire lizards, obviously companioning holders prosperous enough to own fast pacers, if the earlier caravan hadn’t been just as well favored with the creatures. It wasn’t fair. He agreed wholeheartedly with Lord Oterel! There were many, too many fire lizards abroad in Nabol.
He was so incensed over such inequity, since the caravaners obviously hadn’t appreciated the capabilities of the little creatures, that at first he didn’t hear the shluff-shluff of the approaching herd.
Kimi’s quizzical cheep nearly frightened him out of his wits. She cheeped again, apologetically, and her eyes whirled a little faster as she peered at him from the top of the boulder.
“Well?” asked Sebell, appearing around one side. “You took me too literally.”
“They all have fire lizards,” cried Piemur, too indignant to make polite greeting.
“Yes, I had noticed.”
“I don’t mean that lot,” and Piemur jerked his thumb in the direction of the riders. “There was a caravan that had two or three full fairs—”
“Did they see you?” asked Sebell, suddenly wary.
“The fire lizards did, but no human paid any attention to their alert!” Then Piemur caught sight of the beasts that Sebell had herded and whistled.
“So? They meet with your approval?”
The leader had ambled past, eyes half-closed against the dust, and the rest, nose to the tail in front, with eyes fully closed, followed. Piemur counted five: all were well-fleshed, with good, thick, furry hides, moving steadily without a stumble, which meant their feet were sound.
“You’ll sell them all right,” said Piemur.
“Happen Ah will!” said Sebell in proper accent and, passing his arm about Piemur’s shoulders, urged him ahead of the herd. “Here,” and Sebell passed Piemur a padded flask. “It should still be hot. I only broke camp when Kimi told me Lioth had flashed by.”
Piemur mumbled his gratitude for the klah, which was hot enough to warm his belly. Then Sebell handed Piemur a dried meat roll of the sort that was standard journey rations, and Piemur began to view the imminent day in a much improved frame of mind.
As soon as he’d finished eating, he voluntarily dropped back to the apprentice’s uncomfortable position at the end of the single file. He’d be properly coated with dust by the time they arrived at Nabol Hold.
The first thing Piemur did when they got to the Gather meadow was head toward the nearest watering trough, fighting against his thirsty charges for a space at the edge. He also remembered exactly where to pinch their noses to make them turn from him.
“Ar, lad, let th’beasts drink deep farst!” Sebell unceremoniously hauled him away, his voice angry, though his eyes twinkled as he warned Piemur to play the proper part.
“Ar, sor, tongue that dry can’t move.”
Two young boys were approaching the trough with pails, but they waited, as custom dictated, until the beasts had drunk their fill and the cold mountain water flowed clear again. Piemur and Sebell then herded their charges toward the area of the meadow set aside for animal sales. The Hold Steward, a pinch-faced man with a runny nose, all but pounced on them, demanding the Gather fee. Sebell immediately protested the amount, and the two set to haggling. Sebell brought the fee down a full mark before he surrendered his token, but he didn’t protest when the Steward waved them contemptuously toward the smallest enclosure at the end of the rank. Piemur was about to object when Sebell’s hand closed warningly on his shoulder. Looking at the journeyman in surprise, Piemur saw the imperceptible jerk of his head over his shoulder. Piemur waited a few discreet seconds and then casually glanced about him. Three men had started to follow them toward their allotted space. A thrill of fear made Piemur catch his breath until he recognized the unmistakable herder gait and knew these were prospective buyers.