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“I wish I could believe you, Sebell,” Menolly said sighing heavily, but she. leaned trustingly against him for his comfort. “If he was anywhere in the vicinity. Beauty and Rocky ought to have found him.”
“He’s somewhere,” replied Sebell firmly, and daring more than ever, he gave her a quick hug, turning abruptly from her as he caught her startled look. “The wretch!” he added, more of a growl than a comment. At that moment, they both heard the message drum roll across the mountains, and Sebell hastily strode back to the drums.
Candler arrived, just as Sebell beat “receive” for the last of the messages. The Nabol Harper was panting with the exertion of his climb, for he carried not only a well-laden tray, but a full wine skin slung over his shoulder. The three harpers had time to make a leisurely meal before the first of the visitors arrived. The harpers then escorted the Lord Holders and T’bor to the Master Harper.
Sebell almost gagged and lost his breakfast when he brought Lords Holder Nessel and Bargen into Lord Mer-on’s inner room. Menolly was already there with Lord Oterel and “Weyrleader T’bor. He saw her mouth working to control the revulsion she was obviously feeling. Only Candler seemed impervious to the odor.
Although Sebell had seen Lord Meron the day before, he was appalled by the change in the man propped up in the bed: the eyes were sunken, pain had lined his face deeply, his skin was a pale yellow, and his fingers, plucking nervously at the fur rug that covered him, were claws with hanging bags of flesh between the knuckles. It was as if, Sebell thought, all life was centered in those hands, feebly holding onto life through the hair of the fur.
“So, I’m granted my own private gather, is that it? Well, I’ve no welcome for any of you. Go away. I’m dying. That’s what you all wished me to do these past Turns. Leave me to it.”
“You’ve not named your successor,” said Lord Oterel bluntly.
“I’ll die before I do.”
“I think we must persuade you to change your mind on that count,” said the Masterharper in a quiet, amiable tone.
“How?” Lord Meron’s snarl was smug in his self-assurance.
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“There is friendly persuasion. …”
“If you think I’ll name a successor just to make things easy for you and those dregs at Benden, think again!” The force of that remark left the man gasping against his props, one hand feebly beckoning to Master Oldive, whose attention was on the Harper.
“… Or unfriendly persuasion,” continued Master
Robinton as if Lord Meron hadn’t spoken.
“Ha! You can do nothing to a dying man. Master Robinton! You, Healer, my medicine!”
Master Robinton lifted his arm, effectively barring Berdine from approaching the sick man.
“That’s precisely it, my Lord Meron,” said the Harper in an implacable voice, “we can do … nothing … to a
dying man.”
Sebell heard Menolly’s catch of breath as she understood what Master Robinton had in mind to force this issue with Lord Meron. Berdine started to protest, but was silenced by a growl from Lord Oterel. The healer turned appealingly to Master Oldive, whose eyes had never left the face of the Harper. Although Sebell had known how desperately Master Robinton wished for a peaceful succession in this Hold, he had not appreciated the steel in his pacific Mas-ter’s will. Nabol Hold must not come into contention, not with every Holder’s younger sons eager and willing to fight to the death to secure even as ill-managed a Hold as this. Such fighting could go on and on, until no more challengers presented themselves. What little prosperity Nabol enjoyed would have been wasted in the meantime with no one holding the lands properly.
““What do you mean?” Meron’s voice rose to a shriek. “Master Oldive, attend me. Now!”
Master Oldive turned to the Lords Holder and bowed. “I understand, my Lords, that there are many seeking my aid at the Hold gates. I will, of course, return when my presence is required here. Berdine, accompany me!”
When Lord Meron screamed for the two healers to halt, to attend him. Master Oldive took Berdine by the arm and firmly led him out, deaf to Meron’s orders. As the door closed behind him, Meron ceased his entreaties and turned to the impassive faces that watched him.