The White Dragon

  Ramoth and Ruth bugled overhead, startling the fire-lizards into wilder extravagances of motion. Lessa embraced the Harper by standing on tiptoe and imperiously pulling his head down so she could kiss him soundly. Tears sparkled on her cheeks and, to Jaxom’s surprise, he realized his own eyes were wet, too. He stood politely back while Fandarel gently thumped the Harper off balance, sticking out a hamlike hand to steady his friend. Then he turned to assist Brekke and Menolly down the bouncing plank. Everyone began talking at once. Brekke looked anxiously from Robinton to Jaxom, demanding if the latter had had any headaches or eye spots, then urging the Harper to get out of the fierce sun as if he hadn’t been baking in it on board ship day after day.

  Good-naturedly everyone seized bundles from those the seamen were passing from ship to shore—everyone except Robinton, who was only allowed to carry his gitar.

  Brekke began to walk up the shore toward the old shelter when Fandarel, laughing hugely in anticipation, placed his big hand on her back and gently propelled her toward the sanded path that led to the new Cove Hold. When Brekke began to protest, Lessa hushed her and pointed decisively at the path, taking her arm and half-pulling her along.

  “I’m sure the shelter was that way . . .”

  “It was,” replied Master Fandarel, striding along beside the Harper. “We found a better site, more suitable for our Harper!”

  “More efficient, my friend?” Robinton asked, laughing as he clapped his hand on the Smith’s bulging shoulder.

  “Much more efficient. Much!” The Smith nearly choked with his laughter.

  Brekke had reached the bend of the path and stared incredulously at the sight of the new Hold. “I don’t believe it!” She glanced quickly from Lessa to the Smith to Jaxom. “What have you done? How have you done it? It just isn’t possible!”

  Robinton and Fandarel had reached the two women, the Smith beaming so broadly that every tooth in his head showed and his eyes were mere squints in the folds of his cheeks.

  “I thought Brekke said the shelter was small,” Robinton said, peering at the structure and smiling hesitantly. “Otherwise I’d have asked for . . .”

  Lessa and Fandarel could bear the suspense no longer and, each taking one of the Harper’s arms, urged him toward the wide porch steps.

  “Just you wait until you see what’s inside,” Lessa said with a crow of satisfaction.

  “Everyone on Pern helped, either sending craftsmen or material,” Jaxom told Brekke, taking her limp arm and escorting her on. He beckoned Menolly to hurry and join them.

  Menolly glanced about and saw only the peaceful cove, carefully raked sand, trees and flowering shrubs which bordered the beach looking as unscathed as the day she and Jaxom had arrived. Only the bulk of the Hold, with its peripheral path of sand and shells, gave evidence of any change. “I just don’t believe it.”

  “I know, Menolly. They took pains to keep it lovely. And just wait till you see inside Cove Hold . . .”

  “It’s already been named?” That seemed to irritate her, but Jaxom could appreciate her reaction.

  “Well, it is a hold in a cove, so ‘Cove Hold.’ ”

  “It’s all so beautiful,” Brekke said, turning her head this way and that to see everything. “Menolly, don’t be annoyed. It’s such a marvelous surprise. When I think what I thought we were coming to . . .” She laughed, a happy sound. “I must say, this is much more the suitable thing!”

  They had reached the steps of black reef rock, filled with white hardset, making it sturdy and attractive at the same time. A creamy orange tile roof extended over the porch which ringed the Hold almost to the surrounding trees, their blooms adding spicy fragrance to the air. The metal shutters were folded back from the unusually wide windows so that they could see through the house and catch glimpses of the furnishings within. The Harper’s voice was raised in delight and amazement as he moved about the main room. As Jaxom, Brekke and Menolly entered, Robinton had been peering into the room set aside as his study, and his expression was dazed as he realized that Silvina had sent down everything from his crowded workroom in the Harper Hall. Zair echoed his confusion, chittering high and excitedly from his perch on a crossbeam. Beauty and Berd flew to join him, and suddenly, Meer, Talla and Farli appeared. They all seemed to be comparing notes, Jaxom thought.

  “That’s Farli! I thought I’d heard that Piemur was here. But where is he?” The Harper sounded surprised and a trifle hurt.

  “Sharra and he are tending the spits,” Jaxom said.

  “We didn’t want too many people about, tiring you . . .” Lessa added in a soothing tone.

  “Tiring me? Tiring me! I need a little tiring! PIEMIUR!” If his tanned and relaxed face had not been proof enough of his return to health, the bellow he let loose, as vigorous and deafening as ever, left no further doubts of his vitality.

  Clearly audible was the distant startled reply: “Master?”

  “REPORT, PIEMUR!”

  “Thank goodness we put him on a ship to rest,” Brekke said, smiling at the Weyrwoman. “Can you imagine the time we’d have had with him on land?”

  “What you two cannot appreciate is how much my momentary disability has set back some very important—”

  “Momentary disability?” Fandarel’s eyes protruded in amazement. “My dear Robinton—”

  “Master Robinton?” Menolly took a cup from the crowded cabinet, a beautiful glass goblet, its base stained harper blue, its cup incised with the Master’s name and a harp. “Have you seen this?” She held it out to him, her eyes round with approval.

  “My word, harper blue!” Robinton took and examined the beautiful thing.

  “From my crafthall,” Fandarel said, beaming. “Mermal thought to tint the entire glass blue but I argued that you would prefer to see the red of Benden wine in a clear cup.”

  Robinton’s eyes gleamed with appreciation and gratitude as he examined the cup carefully. Then his long face fell into a sorrowful expression.

  “But it’s empty,” he said in a plaintive, mournful tone. At that moment a commotion started in the kitchen corner of the Hold. The curtain was flung roughly aside as Piemur, all but losing his balance in an effort not to careen into Brekke, lurched into the room.

  “Master?” he gasped.

  “Ah, yes; Piemur,” the Harper drawled, eyeing his young journeyman as if he had momentarily forgotten why he had summoned the young man. The two regarded each other steadily, a puzzled frown on the Harper’s face while Piemur’s chest heaved as he panted, blinking sweat from his eyes. “Piemur, you’ve been here long enough to know where they store the wine? I’ve been given this lovely goblet and it’s empty!”

  Piemur blinked again and then shook his head slowly and said to the room at large, “There’s nothing wrong with him anymore! And if that roast wherry burns . . .”

  He gave the Harper a thoroughly disgusted look, turned on his heel, whipped aside the curtain and could be heard noisily opening doors.

  Jaxom caught Menolly’s eye and she winked at him. Piemur’s gruff manner and cracking voice had not disguised his emotion to those who knew him. He stamped back into the main hall, swinging a wineskin, with Benden wax on its stopper.

  “Don’t swing it, lad,” the Harper cried, holding up a restraining hand at such sacrilegious treatment. “Wine must be handled with respect . . .” He took the skin from Piemur and peered at the seal. “Hmmm. One of the better vintages! Tsk, tsk, Piemur, have you learned nothing from me of how to treat wine?” He made a grimace as he expertly cracked the seal and sighed with relief as he saw the condition of the stopper’s end. He passed it under his nose, sniffing delicately. “Ah! Yes! Beautiful! Took no harm from its travel! There’s a good lad, Piemur, pour for us all, will you, please? I can see this Hold is admirably supplied with cups.”

  Jaxom and Menolly were already distributing them as Piemur, with the courtesy due good Benden vintages, poured. The Harper, holding his cup high, watched the ceremony with growing impatience. br />
  “Your continued good health, my friend.” Fandarel proposed the toast which was repeated firmly by everyone.

  “I am truly overwhelmed by all this,” the Harper said, giving strength to his claim by taking only a small sip of the excellent wine. He looked from one to another of his friends, nodding his head and then shaking it. “Truly overwhelmed!”

  “You haven’t seen everything yet, Robinton,” Lessa said and took him by the hand. “Brekke, you come see, too. Piemur, Jaxom, bring the bundles.”

  “Not so fast, Lessa. I’ll spill the wine!” The Harper watched his glass as Lessa pulled him behind her.

  He was guided through the sliding panel into the small corridor that separated the main Hall from the sleeping quarters. Brekke followed, her face alight with keen interest and curiosity.

  The Harper’s sleeping room was the largest, occupying the corner opposite his workroom. Four more sleeping rooms had been furnished to accommodate two guests in each but, as Lessa pointed out, the porch itself could comfortably sleep half a Hold of guests. Not that Robinton was to be allowed that many. He expressed pleasure at the bathing room and was suitably impressed by the large kitchen, and dutifully peered at the auxiliary hearth outside. He sniffed as the aroma of roasting meat wafted on the sea breeze.

  “Where’s that being done, might I ask?”

  “We’ve steaming and roasting pits on the beach,” Jaxom said, “to use when there’s a horde here.”

  The Harper laughed, agreed that horde was probably the proper term.

  “Try your chair,” Fandarel said, striding to the armed chair when they returned to the main room. He turned it about for the Harper to see. “Bendarek made it exactly to your measure. See if it suits. Bendarek will be anxious to hear.”

  The Harper took time to examine the beautifully carved, high-backed chair, covered with wherhide dyed a deep harper blue. He sat down, put his hands along the armrests, found they were precisely the length of his forearm, and that the seat of the chair admirably fit his long legs and torso.

  “It is beautiful, tell Master Bendarek. And a perfect size. How considerate Bendarek is. How overwhelmed I am by this and every other single item in this Hold. It is . . . magnificent. That’s the only word for it. I’m speechless. Rendered completely speechless. Never in my wildest flights of fancy did I expect such luxury in unexplored wilds, such beauty, such thoughtfulness, such comfort.”

  “If you’re speechless, Robinton, spare us your eloquence,” came a dry voice. All turned to see the Masterfisherman standing in the open main door.

  Everyone laughed, and Master Idarolan was beckoned forward and given a cup of wine.

  “There are more bundles for you, Master Robinton,” the Seaman said, gesturing toward the porch.

  “You and your crew are to eat with us, Master Idarolan,” Lessa called out.

  “I was hoping so. Don’t noise it about, but occasionally I do get the craving for red meat, not white.”

  “Master Robinton! Look here!” Menolly’s voice was high with surprise. She was looking inside one of the cabinets that lined the walls between windows. “I’d swear it’s Dermently’s hand! And every single Traditional song and ballad, newly written on leaves and bound in blue wherhide! Just what you’ve been wanting to have Arnor do for you.”

  The Harper exclaimed with surprise and nothing would do but he had to open each folder and appreciate the craftsmanship and collection. Then he began to investigate all the cupboards and presses of Cove Hold until the midafternoon heat drove everyone to the beach to swim and cool off. Brekke fretted that the Harper should rest, quietly by himself, but Fandarel dismissed the notion, gesturing to Robinton, who was sporting in the water with the others.

  “He is indulging in another type of rest right now. Leave him. Night’s soon enough for sleeping!”

  The evening breezes sprang up as the sun dipped closer to the western horizon. Rugs and woven mats as well as benches were brought out so that all the guests could be comfortable. When F’lar and F’nor arrived, they were enthusiastically welcomed by the Harper, who wanted to show them his beautiful Hold and was somewhat disappointed that they were already quite familiar with it.

  “You forget how many people helped build it, Robinton,” F’lar said. “It’s probably the best known Hold on the entire world.”

  At that moment Sharra and the ship’s cook—a thin man because that’s the only sort, he told her, who could fit in the closet-sized excuse for a galley on the Dawn Sister—proclaimed that the feast was ready and were nearly run down by the hungry guests.

  When no one could eat another morsel and even the Harper was reduced to small sips of wine, the guests settled into smaller groups: Jaxom, Piemur, Menolly and Sharra in one, the seamen in the largest, and the dragonriders and craftsmen in the third.

  “I wonder what they’re plotting for us to do now,” Piemur said in a sour mutter after staring at the intense expressions of the third group.

  Menolly laughed. “More of the same, I expect. Robinton’s been going over those charts and reports of yours on shipboard until I thought he’d wear the ink out from looking.” She pulled her knees up under her chin, a shy smile lighting her eyes. “Sebell’s coming tomorrow with N’ton and Master Oldive.” She went on quickly, before anyone could comment: “As I understand it, Sebell, N’ton and F’lar are overseeing Toric’s people and that herd of holders’ sons coming from the North. They’ll chart the western part . . . the dividing line is that black rock river of yours, Piemur!”

  Piemur groaned, writhing dramatically on the sand. “That place! May I never see it again!” He lifted one fist skyward to emphasize his determination. “Took me days to find a break in the cliffs on the other shore that we could climb out of. At that I had to ride Stupid off the cliffs into the water and swim him across. The fishes nearly made us their lunch.”

  “And the rest of us,” Menolly continued, “with F’nor and the Harper, will explore this side.”

  “Inland, I hope?” Piemur asked sharply.

  She nodded. “I understand,” and she glanced over her shoulder at the Weyrleaders and Craftmasters, “that Idarolan may sail the coast . . .”

  “More power to him. I’ve walked far enough!”

  “Oh, hush, Piemur. No one forced you to . . .”

  “Oh?”

  “Enough, Piemur,” Jaxom said, impatiently. “So we’re to go inland?” Menolly nodded.

  As one they looked over their shoulders toward the mountain, invisible though it was from their recumbent position.

  Jaxom grinned at Menolly. “And Master Oldive’ll be here tomorrow so I’ll be able to go between again!”

  “Lot of good that’ll do you,” Piemur said with a snort. “You still have to fly the route straight first.”

  “That doesn’t put me out one little bit.”

  A fire-lizard squabble in the trees startled all of them and diverted Piemur from what Jaxom was certain was a renewal of his usual sour theme. Two gold streaks could be seen against the darker green of the foliage.

  “Beauty and Farli to settle the matter!” Menolly cried, then looked around, curiously. “There’re just our fire-lizards here now, Jaxom. Has all the activity frightened the Southern ones away?”

  “I doubt it. They come and go. I suspect some of them are in the trees, fussing because they don’t dare come near Ruth.”

  “Did you ever find out more about their men?”

  Jaxom was chagrined to say that he hadn’t even tried. “There’s been too much else happening.”

  “I’d have thought you’d have given it one go.” Menolly sounded irritated.

  “What? And deprive you of the pleasure?” Jaxom affected surprised hurt. “I wouldn’t dream of it . . .” He stopped abruptly, remembering those very peculiar dreams, as if he’d been seeing something out of hundreds of eyes. He also recalled what Brekke had said, the first day Ruth had flown Thread: “It was difficult to see the same scene through three pairs of eyes.??
? Had he in fact been seeing, in his dreams, a scene from many fire-lizard eyes?

  “What’s wrong, Jaxom?”

  “Maybe I did dream of it, after all,” he said, with a hesitant laugh. “Look, Menolly, if you dream tonight, remember it, huh?”

  “Dream?” Sharra asked, curious. “What kind of dreams?”

  “Have you been having some?” Jaxom turned toward her. Sharra had assumed her usual intricate fold of leg, a posture which evidently fascinated and confounded Menolly.

  “Certainly. Only . . . like you, I don’t remember them, except that I couldn’t seem to see clearly. As if my dream eye gets unfocused.”

  “That’s a nice concept,” Menolly said. “A dream eye unfocused.”

  Piemur groaned and flailed at the sand with his fists. “Here comes another song!”

  “Oh, do be quiet!” Menolly regarded him with impatience. “All that lone traveling has changed you, Piemur, and I for one don’t like the change.”

  “No one says you have to,” Piemur snapped at her and, with a fluid motion, was on his feet and striding into the forest, angrily batting the underbrush out of his way.

  “How long has he been so touchy?” Menolly asked Jaxom and Sharra.

  “Since he arrived here,” Jaxom said, shrugging to indicate that they hadn’t been able to change him.

  “Remember, he’s been very worried about Master Robinton,” Sharra said slowly.

  “We’ve all been worried about Master Robinton,” Menolly said, “but that’s no reason to change one’s temperament!”

  There was an awkward silence. Sharra unfolded her legs and rose abruptly.

  “I wonder if anyone remembered to feed Stupid this evening!” She walked off, not quite in the same direction as Piemur.

  Menolly looked after her for a long moment. Her eyes were dark with concern as she turned back to Jaxom and then a wicked gleam changed them to their normal sea-blue.

  “While they’re out of earshot, Jaxom,” she glanced about to be sure no one had come up behind her, “I’d better mention that it’s been pretty well established now that no one at Southern Weyr returned Ramoth’s egg.”