CHAPTER XVII
Fort Hold, Benden Weyr, at Cove Hold, and at Sea aboard the Dawn Sister, 15.10.1-15.10.2
WHEN THE THREE firelizards had made the first overtures of greeting, the three men, grinning at the enthusiasm shown by their friends, made themselves comfortable around the table in the small room at Fort Hold where Lord Groghe held his private meetings. Sebell had been there frequently, but never as spokesman for his Crafthall and never when Lord Groghe had summoned the Fort Weyrleader as well, in what was obviously a matter of some importance.
“Not sure how to begin,” Lord Groghe said as he poured the wine. Sebell thought that was a very good way to begin, especially since the Lord Holder had honored them with Benden wine. “Might as well plunge. Problem’s this … I backed F’lar when he fought T’ron,” Groghe nodded at the current Fort Weyrleader, “because I knew he was right. Right to exile those misfits where they’d do no one any harm. While the Oldtimers were in the Southern Weyr, made sense to leave them alone, just as long as they left us alone-which they mostly did.” Lord Groghe peered from under his heavy brows first at N’ton and then at Sebell.
Since both men were aware that there had been occasional depredations in Fort Hold which could only be attributed to the dissident Oldtimers, they nodded acknowledgment of that point. Lord Groghe cleared his throat, and folded his hands across his thick middle.
“Point is, they’re mostly dead, or waiting to die. No trouble anymore. D’ram, being sort of F’lar’s representative, is bringing in dragonfolk from other Weyrs, to make it a proper Weyr again, fighting Thread and all that! I approve!” He favored the Harpercraftmaster and then the Weyrleader with long meaningful glances. “Hmmm. Well, that’s all to the good, isn’t it? Protecting the South against Thread! Thing of it is, with the Southern Weyr working again, as it were, that Southern land is safe. Now I know there’s a hold established there. Young Toric. Wouldn’t want to interfere with his Holding. No way! He’s earned it. But a working Weyr can protect more than one small hold, now, can’t it?” He pinned his gimlet stare on N’ton, who contrived to maintain an attitude of courteous interest, forcing Lord Groghe to continue without any help.
“Well, hmmm. Trouble is, you bring up a fair of young ‘uns to know how to hold proper and that’s what they want to do. Hold! Terrible fights they get into. Terrible quarrels. Fostering ‘em don’t help much. Just got to foster others and they quarrel and fight. Scorch it! They all need holds of their own.” Lord Groghe banged his fist on the table emphasizing this point. “I can’t split my land more’n it is and I’m Holding every square length that isn’t bare rock. Can’t put out men who’re beholden to me as their fathers and grandfathers and greats were? That’s not proper Holding on my side. And I won’t turn ‘em out to please my kin. Not that it would.
“Thing of it is, while the Oldtimers were south, wouldn’t have dreamed of suggesting it. But they aren’t in command anymore. D’ram is and he’s F’lar’s man and he’ll make it a proper Weyr so there could be more holdings, couldn’t there?”
Lord Groghe glanced from Harper to Weyrleader, daring them to contradict him. “There’s plenty of un-held land in the South, isn’t there? No one really knows how much. But I heard Masterfisherman Idarolan say one of his ships cruised for days along a coastline. Hmmm yes, well.” Then he started to chuckle, a mirth that increased into a wheeze that shook the large well-fleshed frame of the Lord Holder. He was reduced to speechlessness and impotently pointed his thick forefinger first at one and then the other, trying to indicate something by gesture which his laughter kept him from explaining by word.
Helplessly, N’ton and Sebell exchanged grins and shrugs, unable to perceive what amused Lord Groghe or what he wanted to convey to them. The monumental mirth subsided, leaving Lord Groghe weak to the point of wiping tears from his eyes.
“Well trained! That’s what you pair are! Well trained!” he gasped, pounding his chest with his fist to stop his wheezing. He coughed long and then, as abruptly as the laughter had seized him, he turned solemn. “Can’t fault either of you. Won’t. Shouldn’t give up Weyr secrets easily anyhow. Appreciate that. Do me one favor. Tell F’lar. Remind him that it’s better to attack than defend. Not but what he doesn’t already know that! I think,” Lord Groghe stabbed at his chest with his thumb, “he’d better be prepared … soon. Trouble is, everyone in Pern knows that the Masterharper is going south to get well. Everyone wishes Master Robinton the best of luck. Yet everyone is beginning to wonder about that Southern Continent now it’s not closed anymore.”