The Renegades of Pern (13 page)

The man winked and grinned, an appalling sight since he had so few front teeth left. “Because in the caverns, I’m deef! I don’t hear nuffing. I’m good at that, I am. I get fed ’cause I’m helpless.” He demonstrated, saliva spattering from his loose lower lip.

“I see,” Thella drawled. Awful man, cleverer than he looked. Readis often said that the holdless survived more by deception than by strength. The “deaf” man would not have passed her outer sentinels if he had not been an accepted spy. She glanced at Dushik, who gave her a reassuring nod. “She has one of those little fire-lizards?”

“Her?” The man guffawed, and more spittle drooled from his mouth. He seemed to sense her disgust and swallowed, mopping at his mouth with the blanket someone had thrown across his shoulders. “Nah! Fire-lizzuds cost ya. The way I heard it, her dad and ma were chased out of Ruatha by Fax. The ma’s still a looker, got big—” Hastily he caught himself, realizing he spoke to a well-endowed woman. “Fax did like a good piece to warm his furs. If the ma was Ruathan Bloodline like she claims, it could be in the Blood for the girl to hear dragons. The Benden Weyrwoman’s Ruathan, you know.”

In the face of her cold silence, he lost all brashness. He gulped down the rest of the klah as if afraid the cup would be dashed from his hand and looked warily about him.

Let him stew, Thella thought, setting her elbow on the armrest and cushioning her chin in the palm of her hand, looking anywhere but at the disgusting messenger. He was right: Ruathans had produced too many dragonriders—far more than any of the other Bloodlines. Lessa was the current insult.

“Tell me again,” she ordered, gesturing for Dushik and Readis to listen carefully. Giron kept on watching, his face blank.

But the man seemed to be telling the truth. He had heard the girl’s younger brother boasting of his sister’s ability, that she always knew when Thread would fall “because the dragons talked to each other about it.”

Giron nodded at Thella as he regarded the “deaf” man with incurious but seeing eyes, very much aware of what had been said.

“I think,” Thella said after mulling over the risks involved, “I think I must speak with this fascinating child. Do you know her name, deaf man?”

“Aramina, Lady Thella. Her name’s Aramina. Her da’s Dowell, and he’s a woodjoiner, her ma’s named Barla; the boy’s Pell, and there’s another—”

She cut him off. “And they’re all at Igen cave site?” At his hasty nod she asked, “Would they be likely to move?”

“They been there a good few Turns. He does work he sells at the Gathers, and makes furniture—”

“I don’t need to know that, my good man,” she said coldly. He had a gargling voice, as if phlegm constantly lodged in his throat; it was not only a disgusting sound but an irritating monotone. “They’re not liable to take off?”

“Where to, lady?” he replied ingenuously, raising both hands in appeal.

She motioned to Dushik and Readis. “I’ll go. Dushik, you must stay here.” She looked at the dragonless man. “Giron, you’ll come with me.” She was annoyed that her words sounded more like a question than an order, but Giron nodded, an odd twitch pulling at his mouth. “You’d know if she can actually hear dragons, wouldn’t you?” she asked him.

Ignoring his silence, which usually meant Giron’s consent, Thella rose and left the room with Dushik. The smell from the informant warming up by the fire was offensive.

“Dushik, take care of him!” she ordered.

If deaf men could tell tales, dead men would not. Dushik obliged her, as always.

5

Igen and Lemos Holds, PP 12

T
HELLA WAS NOT
pleased when she and Giron arrived at the labyrinthine Igen caverns to find that their usual discreet entrance had been blocked up again. She was angry enough to help Giron destroy the barrier.

“Someone didn’t do a good job,” Giron said as the hardset that sealed the stones crumbled at the touch of his steel.

“I’d skin a stoneman who did such shoddy work,” Thella said through gritted teeth. She was tired, and she had counted on getting safely inside without being caught by the Igen patrol they had seen in the distance.

The site had been excellent for her purposes. A tangle of young sky-broom saplings partially concealed an opening just high enough to permit runners to enter. Inside, the ceiling was sufficient for tall men to stand erect. A small chamber to the right of the entrance made an excellent beast shelter, with water oozing into a pool. There were four other tunnels leading from the entrance, two of them falling into dangerous shafts; the widest led deep into the bowels of the cave system; the fourth and narrowest seemed to end within a dragonlength but, in fact, turned abruptly right and came out at one of the intersecting main passages of the inhabited portions of the cave system.

It was easy enough to get into the vaulted chambers where people congregated during the day without encountering any of Lord Laudey’s guards. Although Thella contacted one of her regular informers, it took all morning before she caught a glimpse of her quarry. She was not impressed.

Aramina was a slender brown girl, her pants rolled to her knees, and traces of mud on her legs and arms. Her clothing was muddy, as well, and as she passed by Thella’s vantage point, the odor of the mudflats lingered about her, along with the stench of the net full of shellfish she carried. A small, muddier boy tagged along, calling, “Aramina, wait for me!”—and Thella had the positive identification she needed.

She saw Giron’s cold eyes following the pair, and the ominous expression on his face made her uncomfortable.

“I’ll want some proof of her abilities,” she said. “She’s of an age to be difficult. Too old to be malleable, and too young to be reasoned with. Find out what you can about her. I’ll see where she squats.” She caught his arm as he turned away. “And be sure you eat before you come back. It looks like some scavenger smelled out the supplies we left here.”

“Snake, more likely,” Giron said unexpectedly, his gaze following the girl as she made her way among those sitting about the wide, low-ceilinged cavern.

Thella went in search of her most reliable source of information. As she made her way to a largish side chamber, not far from the main entrance, she realized that there were more folk living in the caverns than ever before. The place stank of its throng. Thella estimated that there must have been hundreds sitting or standing about. From snatches of conversation she overheard, she understood them to be waiting for the arrival of Lady Holder Doris, who came every morning with three healers to examine the injured or ailing and distribute the day’s ration of flour and root vegetables. The ablebodied apparently added to those supplies, to judge by Aramina’s net. Shellfish from Igen’s tidal flats were very tasty. Those holdless drifters were living better than she, of Telgar’s Bloodline, had in her first Turn of the Pass. Well, if the Igen Lord Holder and his Lady had food to give to beggars, then she would not mind lifting more of their goods in the future, Thella decided, skirting the crowd deftly. No one seemed to take note of her as she ducked down the passageway to Brare’s squat.

“It’s tough times,” the footless seaman told her, and expected her to believe it as he dipped out a bowl of thick fish chowder for her, rich with roots, a variety of fish meats, and even some shellfish. “Laudey’s men search now at odd times—you couldn’t be sure when it’s safe.”

Thella gave a quick glance to position the exits from Brare’s cave. “How recent a custom is this search? What can they expect to find in here?” Brare had been one of her first and most useful contacts. He despised Craftsmen and had few good words for Holders, despite the fact that he was living fairly well off the softhearted Igenish.

“Aye, last few weeks.” He cocked his head and regarded her through slitted eyes, a sly smile on his face. “Aye, since all of Kadross Hold’s grain was lifted one morning during Threadfall. Up Lemos way.”

Thella did not change expression as she thanked him for the chowder and blew on the surface to cool it. “You make a great chowder, Brare,” she said.

“I’d lay low were I the ones who cleaned out Kadross. I’d find a new shore to cast my nets. Lotta questions being asked, casual like.”

“About me?”

“About likely souls who’d turn renegade. They seem to want to catch a good-sized, well-disciplined band. They’d pay high for a proper lead.”

She smiled to herself, pleased that her skill had been noticed but irritated that the search had fanned out as far as Igen’s caverns. Maybe she should not raid Igen, after all.

“You been real clever, Lady Thella.”

He timed his casual use of her name well—she had just taken a mouthful of chowder, still too hot to swallow quickly. He grinned at her discomfort, but they were alone, and Brare was not fool enough to let her name drop where others could hear it. He had known who she was for the past few Turns and she wondered how much she would have to hand over before he would “forget” that he knew it.

“No fear, lady.” Brare chuckled. “It’s my secret!” He chuckled again. “I like a good secret. I know to keep it close, too. Here!” He patted his belt pouch.

Fair enough, and curiously she did trust Brare. She had paid him well over the last Turns. She took his hint and slipped him thirty quartermarks, coins he could most easily change without question. Readis had confirmed that the old fisherman had never been known to betray anyone. The old man, who moved only between his sunny place outside the main entrance and his cave, probably knew anything of interest that occurred throughout the eastern rank of Holds. She had used his information to advantage in the past.

His sharp gray eyes sparkled as his hand confirmed the new size of his pouch. “That’s a tidy price for a cup of chowder, lady.” He gave her a wide smug grin without opening his lips, screwing up the sun-scored wrinkles about his eyes.

“Not just chowder, Brare,” she said, putting an edge on her voice. “What do you know about this girl who can hear dragons?”

Brare regarded her with widened eyes and an appreciative stare, pulling the corners of his mouth down knowingly. “Thought you’d hear about her. Who tol’ja?”

“A deaf man.”

Brare nodded. “He was bound and determined he’d get to you. I told him to wait. Too many looking to find you. He could lead ’em to your door.”

“He didn’t. I’ve rewarded him well. Gave him a hold all his own for the winter.” Brare accepted her lie with an amiable nod, and Thella pursued the information she needed. “About the girl?”

“Is that why you brought the dragonless man with you?”

It was Thella’s turn to grin. He
did
have ears in the walls and eyes on every ceiling!

“He’s improved in health since you told Readis he was here. The girl?” She did not intend to spend the whole morning chatting with a coy old man in a smelly inner cave, even if he did make a fine chowder.

“Aye, that’s true enough. Our Aramina, daughter to Dowell and Barla. She hears dragons, right enough. Or so the hunters say, for they take her with them if there’s any fear of Fall.”

“Where is she? I’m not prowling about in this warren without direction.”

“That’s wise of you. Two passages to the right here, turn left. Follow the main branch—it’s now lighted—to the fourth intersection. Family dosses down in an alcove on the right. Pink downers,” he added, referring to the cave’s stalactites. “Dowell carved me my stick, you know.” He reached beside him and offered the crutch for her inspection. When she caught sight of the intricate carving, she grabbed the end for a closer look. Father, as well as daughter, would be useful to her. “Broom wood,” Brare said with understandable pride. “Hardest wood anywhere. Not even Thread scores it. This came from a piece blown down by that big gale we had several Turns back. Took Dowell all winter to decorate it. Paid him what it was worth, too.” His fingers caressed the dark wood, rubbed shiny by use.

“Fine work.”

“Stout crutch. Best I’ve ever had!” Then bitterness seemed to overcome him and he snatched it from her, throwing it down beside him and out of sight. “You’ve had your chowder. Get away from me. I’d be thrown out of the best berth a footless man could have if you’re found in here.”

She went immediately, and not to please him—once he started brooding on his injury, he turned maudlin. As she followed his directions, she mused on the idea that a man who could carve with such skill would be living among the Igen holdless. She would have thought he could find a place in any Hold.

Not for the first time, she wondered why no one had taken Igen’s cave complex to Hold. There were plenty of large chambers, even if they were not so high and vaulted as those of Igen Hold itself across the river. Floodwaters washing into the main chamber would be a disadvantage, she admitted. Igen Proper stood well back from the river, on a high bank, well above any overflow.

The labyrinth was not so well ventilated, but some of the stalactites and stalagmites that formed natural divisions between alcoves had an eerie luminous beauty in their shaded layers. The deeper in she went, the more she was aware of the settled odors of damp and concentrated human living. She was glad of the glow baskets, for she would have been quickly lost without light.

The alcove with pink stalactites was empty but neat. Belongings were locked away in carved chests, straw pallets rolled up on top of them. Propped in one corner and chained to a stalactite was a heavy dray beast yoke, though with its distinctive carving anyone would be a fool to steal it. She stood in the center of the chamber, trying to get a feeling for its inhabitants. She would have to find out what pressures could be put on Dowell and Barla so that Aramina would come of her own accord.

When she heard the echo of cheering and many conversations, she turned inward, moving swiftly to less used corridors and back to her lair. She had taken another few hours’ rest and. was mulling over possibilities when Giron returned, calling softly to warn her of his coming. Wise man, she thought. She had already heard the scraping and had her knife out, poised to throw. He grunted when he saw her arm still raised and waited to enter until she had sheathed it. He had a covered earthenware bowl in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other.

“I waited for my share,” Giron said, offering half the loaf to her. The tempting odor of steamed shellfish filled the little room when he opened the pot and peered in. “There’s enough.”

She wanted to say that she did not eat dole food, that Thella, Lady Holdless, did not accept Igenish charity, but the bread looked crusty and was still warm, and the shellfish would be succulent.

“You can bury the shells later,” she muttered, reaching into the pot. “What did you hear? Was the place searched? Did you see her again? A reliable source tells me she’s genuine.”

Giron grunted, and his face had a closed expression, not quite concealing intense and conflicting emotions. She waited until they had both eaten before she prompted him again. She could not let his black mood take precedence over her requirements.

“She hears them, right enough,” he murmured, eyes unfocused and features set. “The girl hears dragons.”

His tone made her examine him more closely, and she got a sense of a bitter poignant envy, an unsettling rancorous anger seething in the dragonless man. They had done him no favors restoring his health. So why had he come with her, knowing her quest?

“She could be useful to me, then,” she said finally to break the dense brooding silence. She spoke in a brisk tone. “Look to the beasts after you bury the shells. Save the pot. Were Igen guards in evidence? I’m told they search frequently and without warning.”

He shoveled the shells back into the pot, then shrugged. “No one bothered me.”

That did not surprise Thella. One look at his expression would have been sufficient to warn off questions, even from guards. She was sorry she had not brought someone else to leaven such dour company. She rolled up in her sleeping fur before he returned from his tasks. She knew he knew she was not asleep, but he settled himself for the night with a minimum of sound.

The next morning she changed to appropriate holder clothing, with Keronian colors and a beasthold journeyman’s shoulder knot. With a knitted hat over her plaits, she strolled confidently to Dowell’s alcove, giving a greeting at the entrance as she swiftly surveyed the occupants.

“Dowell, I’ve heard of your carving expertise and have a commission for you.”

Dowell rose and gestured for her to enter, nudging the boy off one of the chests and telling him to get a clean mug for the holder. Aramina, in skirt and loose blouse, reached for the klah jug and poured a generous cup, which the woman, Barla, passed courteously to Thella.

“Be seated, holder,” Barla said with the air of someone embarrassed to offer only a chest and struggling to hide it.

Thella took what was offered, thinking that the woman might well have been coveted by Fax: Barla was still a handsome woman, despite deep worry lines about mouth and eyes. The boy was goggle-eyed about an early visit; the youngest child was still asleep along the far wall.

“I don’t come by much good wood, holder,” Dowell said.

“Ah,” Thella said, airily dismissing that consideration. “That can be remedied. I’m in need of two armchairs, in a fellis leaf pattern, as a bride present. They must be finished before snow blocks the pass to High Ground Hold. Can you oblige me?”

She could see Dowell hesitate and could not understand why. Surely he took commissions. He wore no color or journeyman knot. He shot an anxious glance at his wife.

“It’d be worth a quartermark to me to see design sketches by evening.” Thella took a handful of marks from her pouch, selected a quarter, and held it up. “A quarter for sketches. We can discuss price when I’ve chosen what I like, but you’ll find me generous.” She saw the anxious glint in the wife’s eye, saw her unobtrusively nudge her husband’s arm.