“And the Oldtimers are not interested in examining what they have?” F’lar found that attitude unpalatable, Robinton realized.
“No, Weyrleader, they are not! And frankly, without some easier way to penetrate that vegetation,” Toric tapped the hide, “I don’t have the men, much less the energy to bother. I’ve all the land I can hold right now and still be sure my people are safe from Thread.” He paused. Although Robinton had a fair idea what he was hesitating about, the Harper wanted the Weyrleaders to know firsthand what this energetic Southerner thought. “Most of the time the dragonmen don’t bother on that score, either.”
“What?” Lessa exploded, but F’lar touched her shoulder.
“I’d wondered about that, Toric.”
“How dare they?” Lessa continued, her gray eyes flashing. Ramoth stirred on her couch.
“They dare, all right,” Toric said, looking nervously at the queen.
However, Robinton could see that Lessa’s appalled reaction to the Oldtimers’ delinquency gratified the man.
“But … but …” Lessa spluttered with indignation.
“Are you able to manage, Toric?” F’lar asked, calming his weyrmate with a firm hand.
“I’ve learned,” he said. “We’ve plenty of flamethrowers, F’nor made sure they were left in my care. We maintain our holds grass-free and keep the beasts in the stone stables during Fall.” He gave a diffident shrug, then grinned slightly at the indignant expression of the Weyrwoman. “They don’t do us any harm, Lessa, even if they don’t do us any good. Don’t worry. We can handle them.”
“That isn’t the point,” Lessa said angrily. “They are dragonmen, sworn to protect-”
“You sent them south because they weren’t,” Toric reminded her. “So they couldn’t injure people here.”
“That still doesn’t give them any right to-”
“I told you, Lessa, they’re not harming us. We manage fine without them!”
A sort of challenge in Toric’s tone made Robinton hold his breath. Lessa had a quick temper.
“Is there anything you need from the North?” asked F’lar, in oblique apology.
“I was hoping you’d ask,” the Southerner said, grinning. “I know you can’t break your honor by interfering with the Oldtimers in the South. Not that I mind …” he added quickly as he saw Lessa about to protest again. “But we are running out of some things, like properly forged metal for my Craftsmith, and parts for the flamethrowers that he says only Fandarel can make.”
“I’ll see that you get them.”
“And I’d like a young sister of mine, Sharra, to study with that healer the Harper was telling me about, a Master Oldive. We’ve some odd sorts of fevers and curious infections.”
“Naturally she’s welcome,” Lessa said quickly. “And our Manora is adept in herb-brews.”
“And …” Toric hesitated a moment, glancing at Robinton, who quickly reassured him with a smile and an encouraging gesture, “if there were some adventurous men and women who’d be willing to make do at my Hold, I think I could absorb them without the Oldtimers’ knowing. Just a few, mind, because though we’ve all the space in the world, some people become unsettled when there aren’t dragons in the sky during Threadfall!”
“Why, yes,” F’lar said with a nonchalance that caused Robinton to stifle a laugh, “I believe there are a few hardy souls who would be interested in joining you.”
“Good. If I’ve enough to Hold properly, then I can see my way clear to extending beyond the rivers next cool season.” Toric’s relief was visible.
“I thought you said it was impossible …” F’lar began.
“Not impossible. Just difficult,” Toric replied, adding with a smile, “I’ve some men keen to continue despite the odds, and I’d like to know what’s out there.”
“So would we,” Lessa said. “The Oldtimers won’t last forever.”
“That fact often consoles me,” Toric replied. “One thing, though …” He paused, looking through narrowed eyes at the two Benden Weyrleaders.
So far, Toric’s audacity had delighted Robinton. The Harper was very pleased at how he’d managed to prime the man into requesting the very thing that the North needed the most-a place to send the independent and capable men who had no chance of attaining holds in the North. The big Southerner’s manner was quite a change for the Benden Weyrleaders: neither subservient and apologetic nor aggressive and demanding. Toric had become independent as a result of having no one, dragonmen, Craftmasters or Lord Holders, to fall back on. Because he had survived, he was self-confident and he knew what he wanted, and how to get it. Therefore he was addressing Lessa and F’lar as equals.