The Skies of Pern (12 page)

Sharra, standing close to Oldive, could feel the man beginning to shake. The cold was penetrating her boots, and he was only wearing soft leather shoes.

“You must go in, Master. This has been a terrible shock to you,” Sharra murmured and began to withdraw him from the scene.

“No, I must stay. It is my Hall they have defiled.” He hunched into the wrap, pulling it tighter against him.

Sebell stepped close, offering Oldive a small flask.

“It’s some of that fortified wine of yours,” the Masterharper murmured. Oldive gratefully took a hefty swig.

“Father!” Haligon’s cry was triumphant as he held up a thin wallet. He hastened to put it in Groghe’s hands.

As the crowd watched in anticipation, the Lord Holder made an exaggerated inspection of the wallet’s contents.

Groghe held up a piece of paper by an edge. “What? You make use of abominations?” he cried, eyes glinting with malice as he turned to the leader. “No less than a map printed by Master Tagetarl’s
abominable
press. Useful things, abominations!”

Sharra tried not to grin at Groghe’s style; he’d always appeared so pragmatic. Mockery was unusual for him, but today the gatherers loved it. Dancing and singing was all very well, but this was the most unusual diversion! They must remember every detail to tell missing friends and kin in hold and hall.

“B?’ ” Groghe read by dropping the single sheet to eye level. “That’s you?” He fixed the leader with an inquiring look.

“One of ’em comes from Crom, Lord Groghe,” shouted a holder busy examining a runnerbeast. “Brand on this one’s rump. Under the mud!” He shot a disdainful glare at the prisoners for such shoddy animal care.

“This one’s Crom, too,” a harper reported.

“They could have been stolen,” N’ton remarked. “But even that’s significant enough to start a search there for stolen runnerbeasts.”

“B?”

“Father,” Horon began, “if there’s a B, could there also be an A and C, and Abominators raiding other healer halls today, when they’re apt to be empty?”

The sound of distant drumming echoed down the canyon, startling everyone. As one, heads were turned toward the Harper Hall Drum Heights.

“I’m sorry you’re right, son,” Groghe said with a weary sigh as he, and the others familiar with the drum messages, identified the source—Boll—and the message: vandalism.

Sharra became rigid with renewed anger as the message provided crisp details. “Janissian sending. Healer hall destroyed. Two journeymen and one apprentice injured!”

“Don’t hold with hurting healers!” Groghe cried and his mount danced as he tightened his legs in angry reaction and barely missed knocking into the intruders. The Lord Holder began to give crisp orders.

“Use the cart. Take ’em to the Hold. Horon, put them in one of those rooms on the lower level.” His expression was malicious. “One without abominable lights. No contact with anyone for any reason. Give ’em only water. Bottled water!”

The onlookers cheered.

“Him!” And Groghe’s finger jabbed at the leader. “Take B to the small room. N’ton, Sebell, we’ll question him there. Will you attend, Master Oldive?”

“I must oversee …” The Healer waved vaguely at the Hall. Sharra moved to support him.

“Yes, yes, of course, you’ve better things to do with your time, Master,” Groghe agreed, circling his mount while he decided what else needed organizing.

“But she’s unconscious,” cried the woman with the rash, pointing to the wounded one who was still in a heap on the ground.

“Then she can’t object to being handled by abominable hands,” Groghe said dismissively, motioning to the nearest men to put her in the cart that had been backed up to receive its load of prisoners. There were certainly enough hands and clubs to ensure that the prisoners quickly obeyed.

“Take all that gear up to the Hold, lads,” Groghe told the men still inspecting the saddled runners. “Bring me that bony-backed Crom nag. Haligon, throw B over the beast and tie his hands. I’m not about to stay here in the cold any longer. I’ve other duties today.” He made his mount pivot on its hindquarters, for a final survey of the scene. He kneed it to the stairs as Master Oldive, with Sharra and Sebell beside him, started to ascend.

“Dreadful display of ignorance. Dreadful,” Groghe said bending from the saddle to sympathize with the Healer. “You took no hurt, Master Oldive? I shall deal with that rabble to the full extent of my power as Lord Holder. They expected to wreak their worst and disappear to the pits they came from. Ha!” The runnerbeast sidled, sensitive to his rider’s anger. “Abomination! I’ll show them abomination! I will find and punish all who perpetrated these outrages.”

Oldive shook his head sadly. “I doubt they will be the last.”

Sebell shot him a wary glance, pursing his lips tight.

Groghe scowled fiercely. “I thought we’d got rid of the lot of ’em after … after … the problem at the Ruatha Gather. Didn’t I see Ruth here?” he added, looking about.

“He’s probably gone for Jaxom,” Sharra replied.

Groghe cleared his throat and reined his runnerbeast back to where B was being trussed aboard the nag. Haligon, bareback on
his gray, held the lead rope. Standing up in his stirrups, the Lord Holder addressed the crowd.

“Any of you who care to help the healers restore order to their Hall will be well rewarded,” he shouted, circling again to be sure all heard his message. “Let’s clear the way, then. Thanks for your help, every one of you.”

He led the way back to Fort Hold, Haligon just behind him while those not tempted by his reward followed at the brisk pace he set.

The dragons and riders who had not gone on search sweep sprang off into the air and, with great wings working, made the short flight back to the square.

They were halfway up the canyon when the air exploded with new arrivals of dragons, from several directions. Surprised, Meer and Talla set their talons into the cloth on Sharra’s shoulders.

“What else can have happened?” she cried in alarm. She recognized not only Ramoth and Mnementh, but also Golanth carrying F’lessan, and Heth with K’van.

“I fear Master Oldive may be right,” Sebell murmured, “that the attacks here and at Boll were not isolated.”

Ruth, the last to arrive, uttered a squawk of surprise and agilely winged in under the others who were still hovering. He dropped precipitously to the ground, a maneuver that sent a sharp current of air up to lift the skirts of Sharra’s coat. Her compulsive shudder was stilled when Jaxom’s arms encircled her.

“Did they attack Ruatha, too?” she cried, horrified by the thought of all her carefully prepared and preserved medications destroyed.

“No, no,” Jaxom hastily reassured her, hugging her tight.

“But Boll was attacked.”

“I heard the drums.” He held her tighter.

Alerted by the arrival of more dragons, Groghe came galloping back, his cloak flying and his expression fiercer than ever. He dismounted very agilely for someone his age and joined the newcomers. In that brief interval, Sharra fretted that Ruth had inadvertently alarmed too much support. F’lessan might not be annoyed by a needless summons, but she doubted the Benden Weyrleaders would be so charitable. Not when they were close
enough for her to see their stern expressions. They both looked tired.

“The Healer Hall, too, huh?” F’lar said in a far too accurate assessment of the scene as he strode over toward Sharra, Oldive, and Sebell.

“What d’you mean by that, F’lar?” Groghe demanded.

“The same sort of thing has happened at Benden Hold and Landing,” F’lar said.

“And Southern,” K’van said, nodding courteously to Lessa and Sharra.

“We had just got Toronas calmed down when F’lessan contacted us,” Lessa said, her voice as weary as her face.

“This can no longer be considered random damage,” F’lar said, “but a planned and coordinated attack!”

“Let’s go inside,” Oldive said, his voice low with fatigue.

“The dining hall is warm—and wasn’t touched,” Keita said encouragingly, appearing on the top step.

“We could all use something hot,” Sharra said, urging Oldive to lead the way.

“These incursions were far too widespread not to have been planned,” Lessa said when they had all been served klah fortified with the Healer Hall’s restorative liqueur. “Making too much good use of the laxity everywhere at Turnover.”

“Not well-enough executed or timed, though,” F’lessan remarked sardonically. “One of T’gellan’s green riders investigated the sound of breaking glass and forestalled a more comprehensive destruction.” His usually amiable expression was harsh. “T’gellan is questioning the three that were caught.”

“The Benden Healer was not as lucky,” F’lar said, “though his journeywoman says he’ll recover. Our wings will search until full dark.”

“Sintary got just a glimpse of the vandals,” K’van said, and added in an apologetic tone, “The jungle’s too thick to hope we’ll find them easily.”

“We’ve got
this
lot,” Groghe said with great satisfaction as his fist came down on the table in emphasis.

“That leader looked an obstinate sort,” Sebell remarked. “The kind who might die for a principle.”

“I doubt the others are of similar fortitude,” Sharra said wryly. “Scalp Wound is a moaner.”

“Itch’s rash is going to spread all over her body,” Keita said, passing around a tray of tiny, hot Gather rolls.

Sharra tsked-tsked in mock pity. “Let them get thirsty, too?”

“Thirsty, Itchy, Scalp Wound?” Lessa asked pointedly.

Sebell explained and Lessa’s grin of understanding turned into a wide yawn.

“My apologies, but we didn’t get much sleep last night,” she said.

“There are guest quarters here, Lessa,” Oldive offered quickly.

“We’re not that decrepit,” F’lar said stiffly.

“Maybe you’re not, F’lar,” Lessa said, rising slowly to her feet, “but I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep eight hours ago. And I would be grateful for some of it. Anywhere.”

“Of course, of course,” Groghe said. “You’re always welcome at Fort.”

“And Ruatha,” Jaxom and Sharra said in unison, knowing how much Lessa liked to visit at her birthplace.

The Benden Weyrwoman shook her head with a rueful smile.

“Ramoth and Mnementh are already ensconced in the sun on Fort’s fire-heights,” she said, rising. “I’m for a quiet room. Here.” She pointed downward. “No Gather noise.”

“Shards! I have to get back to the Gather. Explain this mess and collect petitions,” Groghe said, getting his feet under him to stand. “Those Abominators can bloody wait. Do them good.”

“If anything will do that wretched lot any good,” Sharra added bleakly.

Keita hurried forward, to escort the Benden Weyrleaders to guest rooms.

“I must return to report to Lord Toric,” K’van said ruefully, pushing back from the table. “I doubt he’ll appreciate that he’s only one of many targets.”

“Toric does indeed prefer to be singular,” F’lar said, lifting a hand to acknowledge K’van’s uneasy truce with the Southern Holder.

“We’ll keep him informed,” Groghe promised with a curt nod of his head. He had his own quarrel with the testy man.
“Landing, Benden, Boll, Southern? How, ah, many targets could there be?”

“I wonder did they count on blizzards at High Reaches?” Lessa asked drolly and followed Keita out of the dining hall.

F’lar paused briefly. “F’lessan, are you coming with us?”

“No, sir, though I’m tempted. I want to see if that green rider’s all right. They messed her about before her dragon arrived.”

As the meeting broke up, no one was tactless enough to voice the customary Turnover good wishes.

Before Groghe, Sebell, and N’ton reached the Gather Square, more drum messages came rolling in.

“Alert,” Sebell said, translating the initial beat and setting himself to hear more bad news, “from the Smithcrafthall.”

“Not Fandarel, too? He’s been extraordinarily conscientious in locking his Halls and stores against incursions. Ah, yes, I see …” Groghe’s face relaxed into a pleased expression as the drumrolls ended. “They tried! I wonder what he’ll find out from them. Oh, shards, everyone’s waiting!”

They could all hear the harpers playing a sprightly tune to a sparsely populated dance square. Around all four sides, knots of people were warming their hands at the braziers, murmuring among themselves, and anxiously watching the progress of their Lord Holder on his big mount.

“Father!” Horon’s shout reached their ears as he came down the wide hold steps at an almost dangerous clip. He rushed over, waiting till he was close before he gasped out his message. “Father, we’ve found something you have to see!”

“Later, Horon, later.”

“It’s extremely important.”

“Sharding Abominators! Thought we’d seen the last of their kind,” Groghe said impatiently. “Sebell, go see what’s so bloody important. I’d better deal with them.” His gesture indicated the waiting Gatherers. “Damnable way to start Turnover.” With that he kneed his mount to a trot all the way to the harpers’ platform. The tune was brought to a conclusion with a flourish that Sebell wryly approved, and the crowd flowed forward to hear what the Lord Holder had to say.

Sebell caught the eye of the nearest person in harper blue, an apprentice girl who rushed up to him.

“Worla, I’ll be at the Hold with Lord Horon. Bring me the text of all the messages coming in. I’ll send any replies directly to the Drummaster.” He summoned his gold fire-lizard, Kimi. Holding her to his shoulder, he and Horon jogged up the wide staircase to the freezing expanse of Fort’s upper court. He heard the cheers as Lord Groghe stepped up on the harpers’ platform.

“So what is so important, Horon?” Sebell asked once they were out of the wind.

Horon gulped. “The most—ghastly …” His face contorted with revulsion.

“Abominator cant?” Sebell was surprised.

Horon gave a shudder. He opened the door into the Lord Holder’s five-sided office. A table had been set up on which the vandals’ gear was spread. Grainger, the trusted steward of Fort Hold, was busy searching a saddle pack.

“That!” Horon pointed to a thin pamphlet with a dirty cover, its pages roughly fastened by crude stitches. His nostrils flared and it was plain he wanted nothing more to do with it. Grainger’s expression was similarly revolted.