All the Weyrs of Pern (48 page)

“Come, we must greet Ranrel,” Sharra said, grabbing him by the hand. “And it’s high time the Lord of Ruatha Hold showed himself to his diligent Stewards and staff.”

The Gather attracted hordes from every Hold, Hall, and Weyr. This was one of those few days when there was no Fall to be met, and it would be one of the last of the Northern Gathers before winter weather made roads impassable. Jaxom and Sharra, accompanied by Jarrol and Shawan, now a sturdy toddler, walked the long line of booths until Shawan had to be carried and Jarrol revived by one of the first bubbly pies out of the oven. There was an exuberance and buoyancy to the day that affected everyone and was mirrored in the gay new clothing and high spirits. Harpers strolled up and down the Gather line, playing and singing; children congregated in knots to play their favorite games; adults settled in their own groupings or at tables around the huge dancing square where brewers and wine sellers were doing a brisk business.

Jaxom and Sharra hosted a midday meal in the Hold at which those Lord Holders, Weyrleaders, and Craftmasters gracing the day were entertained. Robinton, Menolly, and Sebell gave a special performance of the latest ballads and airs with full orchestral accompaniment, conducted by Master Domick. It was a leisurely meal, and Jaxom enjoyed it, though he noted that Lords Sigomal, Begamon, and Corman were conspicuous by their absence—which caused him to recall the abduction plot.

The racing went very well, with one Ruathan sprinter winning its first race and their other runners taking placings in almost every one of the eight starts. Among the beasts for sale, Jaxom and Sharra found a well-trained little runner to start Jarrol riding, for they had nothing in the beasthold suitable for a beginner. Saddlery then had to be arranged with the Tanner Hall. In between these chores, Jaxom and Sharra circulated among their guests, speaking to all the small holders that looked to Ruatha.

About midafternoon, young Pell brought his intended to meet his lord and lady, and Sharra was warm in her responses to the darkly pretty girl, daughter of a hill holder from Fort. There was nothing in Pell’s manner to suggest that he was not totally engrossed in his future as a joiner, especially after his lady showed Jaxom and Sharra the beautiful little coffer Pell had made her.

Ruth, his white hide radiant after a restoring sleep, had emerged sometime in the morning and was on the fireheights, sunning himself with the other dragons. Hundreds of fairs swarmed about the Hold, their cheerful voices a descant to whatever music the harpers were making.

Whether it was the long sleep or the stimulation of the day, or both, Jaxom found himself in fine fettle for the Gather exertions. He and Sharra led several of the energetic dance figures, and then he allowed Sharra to be swirled away by N’ton, then F’lar, while he partnered Lessa. During one of the breaks, he sat at the harpers’ table with Robinton, D’ram, and Lytol and made certain that the Masterharper had sufficient wine. A dark-haired young drudge whom Jaxom did not recognize—so many were hired temporarily to assist during a Gather—kept the Harper supplied with food, even bringing some tidbits for Zair.

It was no wonder then that Robinton would need a short nap, and because Jaxom was busy doing his duty dances with Lady Holders, he only noticed as he danced past that Robinton was alone at his table, asleep, Zair curled up beside him.

It was Piemur who discovered that it was not Robinton asleep at the table, but a man dressed in clothing similar to Robinton’s Gather suit—a dead man. And it was Piemur who realized that Zair was barely breathing, his color dangerously dull and his weak breath tainted with a sickly odor. Piemur had the good sense not to alarm anyone, sending Farli to summon Jaxom and Sharra, then D’ram, Lytol, and the Benden Weyrleaders.

“This man’s been dead a long time,” Sharra said, putting her hand on a cold cheek and testing the muscular resistance. She shuddered. “This is too macabre!”

“Robinton’s ill?” Lessa asked in a hoarse whisper as she and F’lar arrived. “That isn’t Robinton!” First relief and then fury distorted her features. “They
did
abduct him! Right out of a Gather.”

She, Jaxom, F’lar, and D’ram alerted their dragons.

“Don’t just jump about in panic,” Lytol said, even as the big dragons landed quietly in the shadows beyond the dancing square. “Let us decide what to do and who is to search where. There’re enough dragons here to cover every possibility. Why did it have to be
here,
where that device of Aivas’s won’t reach to Landing?”

Sharra was bending over the limp Zair. “He’d find Robinton no matter where he is. C’mon, Zair.”

“D’you need your medical kit?” Jaxom asked.

“I’ve already sent for it.” But her face as she turned to Jaxom was anxious. “Lessa, is your healer here? She knows more about dragon and fire-lizard care than I do. Zair’s been poisoned, but I don’t know what was used.”

Jaxom picked up a half-eaten piece of meat from the table, sniffed cautiously at it, and promptly sneezed vociferously. Sharra took it from him and smelled more daintily.

“Fellis, all right,” she announced, “but mixed with something else to disguise taste and smell. Poor Zair. He doesn’t look good. How wicked!”

F’lar picked up the wine goblet Robinton had been using and carefully sipped. He spat it out immediately. “Fellis in the wine, too. I should have known Robinton wouldn’t pass out from mere wine.” The Weyrleader was disgusted with himself.

Jaxom groaned. “I saw him sleeping, and I ought to have known he never sleeps at a Gather . . .”

“Many’s the night he’s outlasted everyone else at a Gather,” Lessa said. “How much of a head start do these miserable fiends have? Which way would they go?”

Jaxom snapped his fingers. “There are marshals on every road. They would have seen who left and in which direction.”

“We’ll each take a different road,” F’lar said, gesturing for all the riders to mount their beasts and check with the marshals. “You stay here as if there was nothing amiss,” he told Lytol, Piemur, and Sharra.

But each dragonrider returned shortly. No one, the marshals had assured them, had been seen leaving the Gather, no riders or wagons on any road.

Tell the fire-lizards to search
, Ruth said to Jaxom.

“Ruth says to tell all the fire-lizards to hunt for Robinton,” Jaxom said aloud.

“That’s exactly what Ramoth just said,” Lessa said. The noise of sudden winged exodus could be heard above the rollicking dance tune that was encouraging the dancers to outdo themselves.

“If we announce this to the Gather,” Lytol suggested, “we’d have sufficient people to search the entire Hold from border to border.”

“No,” Jaxom said. “There’d be a panic! You know how well loved Robinton is. It can’t be more than an hour, at the most. That’s not enough time to get to the coast . . .”

“Up into the hills?” Lytol suggested. “There are so many caves up there we’d never be able to search them all.”

“The fire-lizards can—and will,” Piemur said.

“There are only so many tracks to the hills,” Jaxom said. “Ruth and I will start the search. Lytol . . .” And then Jaxom hesitated.

Lytol clutched his arm. “D’ram and Tiroth will take me. I know Ruatha as well as you do, lad.”

“So do I,” Lessa said roughly.

“I’ll go northeast to the Nabol Pass,” F’lar said.

“We’ll need some Fort Riders,” Lessa said.

“And some to follow the river to the sea,” Lytol added.

“We’ll stay here for the fire-lizards,” Piemur said, nodding to Sharra. There were tears running down his cheeks. “Just find him!” Then abruptly he sat down, where the shadow of his body fell across the dead man dressed in harper blue.

Dawn was breaking by the time the dragonriders, augmented by Fort Weyr riders, admitted defeat and returned to Ruatha. A few folk were awake, preparing to return home, but most of the Gather area was populated by those sleeping off the night’s excesses.

“Not a single wagon is leaving here without being searched,” Sharra told Jaxom when he got back. “That was Piemur’s notion.”

“And a good one,” Jaxom said, gratefully taking the cup of klah she handed him. “For there was nothing moving on the tracks, and I went as far as the Ice Lake, and Ruth was particularly vigilant over the wooded areas.”

He saw then that someone had thrown a blanket across the dead man’s shoulders. Piemur and Jancis sat nearby as if guarding their master’s sleep.

“We thought it wiser to pretend it’s Master Robinton,” Sharra murmured. “Sebell and Menolly know, of course, and her ten fire-lizards have been out searching all night. Sebell’s gone back to the Harper Hall to alert everyone. You heard the drums?”

“You can’t miss them.” She grimaced. “Asgenar and Larad know harper codes, and they were talking of mounting an attack on Bitra.”

“They’d never have been fool enough to imprison the Harper there. Sigomal’s not stupid. He’d know it would be the first place we’d look.”

“That’s what Lytol told them, but they feel badly because they heard of the abduction first. Larad says that he ought to have confronted Sigomal immediately and demanded that he forget such a heinous scheme.”

“That would have done no good,” Jaxom said wearily.

“And it was such a lovely Gather . . .” Sharra said, turning into his shoulder and weeping softly.

Jaxom put his arms about her, smoothing her rumpled hair back from her forehead and wanting very much to give way to the tears that burned his eyes.

“Zair?” he asked, suddenly remembering the little creature.

“Oh! Yes.” Sharra pulled herself from his arms, mopping her eyes and sniffing. “He’ll recover, Campila says. She purged him and,” she added managing a little smile, “he looked so embarrassed. I’ve never seen that particular shade in fire-lizard eyes before.”

“When will he be able to help us find Master Robinton?”

Sharra bit her lower lip. “He’s terribly weak and awfully confused. I didn’t ask her that, because if they’ve drugged Master Robinton and he’s comatose, not even Zair could find him.”

Suddenly the air was full of agitated fire-lizards, shrieking and bugling.

They’ve found him!
Ruth cried. In three mighty hops, he landed at Jaxom’s side.

Jaxom was astride the white dragon before he realized his own intention and then Ruth was aloft with such speed that his rider was nearly unseated. Other dragons were airborne as quickly. Like an arrow composed of many bodies—all flying so closely together that many must have been winglocked—the fire-lizards pointed the southeastern direction.

Can you understand who or where from them?
Jaxom asked Ruth.

It is not far, and they picture a wagon. You can see the tracks plainly.

And then Jaxom saw the marks, visible over the headlands of fields recently plowed under. The abductors had been clever, taking to the fields instead of the roads, and the cart had to be a small one, or they could not have maneuvered over muddy fields and the rocky terrain beyond the cultivated lands. The dragons had not been airborne long when they saw the first of the foundered runners, splay-legged and gasping, its feet bound in thick rags to muffle its passage. Ten minutes onward, another exhausted beast lay on the ground, breathing its last, its sides covered with bloody welts that indicated how it had been driven.

Tell the others, Ruth, that they must be heading to the sea. Have some riders go on ahead.

They go,
Ruth replied, and Jaxom saw spaces opening up all around him as dragons went
between
.

But dragon wings were quicker than the fleetest of runners, even with a head start of some six hours, and at last Jaxom saw the cart bouncing its way down the final slope to the sea and the small ship waiting for this clandestine cargo. Dragons had encircled the ship, and from his vantage point, Jaxom could see men diving from it, vainly attempting to evade capture.

Then Ruth and the Benden contingent swooped down to halt the cart.

There was a brief attempt at innocence by the three men: two on the driving seat, and one inside, lying on a thick mattress and pretending to be ill.

The fire-lizards, however, were far more interested in the unusual dropped load bed, swarming over it, crooning encouragement, bugling triumph. The “sick” man was unceremoniously dumped out of the cart, the mattress rolled out of the way, and the boards of the false bottom pulled free. And there they discovered the Masterharper, looking ashen and almost wizened.

Carefully they lifted him out, rearranging the mattress for his comfort.

“He may just need air,” F’lar said, “stuffed in that pit and jostled like a package . . .”

He glared at the three who were struggling in the rough grip of angry riders. Overhead, fire-lizards made as if to bombard them, claws and beaks held in attack readiness.

“We need Sharra,” Lessa told Jaxom urgently. “Unless Oldive is still at the Gather . . .”

Jaxom vaulted to Ruth’s back.

“Don’t meet yourself coming, Jaxom!” Lessa shrieked at him.

Despite his anxiety and fury, Jaxom recognized the sense of that warning; still, he didn’t waste any time returning with Sharra and her medical case.

“I think they gave him too much,” she said, her face paler than the Harper’s. “We must get him back to Ruatha where I can treat him properly.”

The limp figure was handed up to Jaxom astride Ruth, with Sharra to help hold the Harper between them. When they arrived back at Ruatha, N’ton was already in the courtyard with Oldive, so Jaxom knew that the Fort Weyrleader had risked timing his errand.

“Hold on, Sharra,” Jaxom told her. “Ruth’s going to take us straight to our room.”

“Will he fit—” Sharra broke off as they reappeared in the large living room; Ruth quickly folded his wings and scrunched down, and managed to knock over only a few pieces of furniture.

By the time N’ton and Oldive arrived, Jaxom and Sharra had the Harper in their bed, his clothing removed. Sharra held the Harper’s head, and Master Oldive quickly emptied a vial down his throat. Then he examined Robinton’s eyes and listened to his heart.