The Dolphins of Pern (17 page)

“Can do easy. Not far now.”

“Then tell him Jayge needs his help immediately at the next cove. Over there.” T’lion jabbed his hand in the appropriate direction.

“Where ship is?”

“You saw them?”

“Northern ship smelly. In wrong place?”

“You bet your safety straps they are,” T’lion said. “They are invading Paradise River Hold.”

“Invade no good?”

“That’s right. Those men do no good to Alemi, Jayge, and Readis.”

T’lion was amazed by the hostile notes in the clicking and squeeing, which came out in a deeper, almost menacing, tone and tempo.

“Go. Find Alemi. Tell him trouble comes here. Be at next cove by moonrise to help Jayge and his men.”

Kib wriggled himself on his tail, waving his flippers. “Find Alemi. Tell him trouble. Moonrise. We know where! We go!”

In one of their incredible maneuvers, the three dolphins simultaneously launched themselves high above the water and, turning their agile bodies, dove back. T’lion saw them emerge briefly, traveling at great speed out to sea, as if they knew exactly where they were going.

They probably
do
know exactly where they’re going
, T’lion told Gadareth. “Well, we’d better get back home as fast as we can or someone might wonder how long it took us to get Master Fandarel home.”

You were given food when you arrived
, Gadareth remarked as T’lion settled himself again between his neck ridges.

T’lion chortled as he slapped the dragon’s neck. “That’s right, and a good meal it was. I had seconds! Let’s go home!”

Several days later at dinner in the Weyr Hall, T’lion heard that a group of northerners had been forcefully expelled from Paradise River Hold. The master of the ship that had brought them would be severely disciplined by Master Idarolan and deprived of his command. Ingenuously T’lion asked for details.

“You know, I used to go there a lot,” T’lion remarked. “Nice folk.”

He was told about the clever way in which Holder Jayge and his small force of men had emerged from the forest, caught the intruders asleep in their hastily set-up camp, and tied them up. The Paradise River Fishmaster Alemi and his fishmen had boarded their transport ship and, with a crew from his own fish-hold, had sailed it and the unwelcome immigrants into Ista Harbor, where the vessel was impounded and its crew and passengers transported back to their point of departure in Igen. Lord Holder Laudey of Igen was not best pleased by this escapade, and the men and women were sentenced to work in the mines. The episode was well spread by harpers, with
the moral that those who wished to settle on the Southern Continent had to obtain permission.

“There’ll be more of such occurrences,” V’line remarked. “Paradise River Hold’s already had a couple of problems along that line.”

“You mean when that self-styled Lady Holdless Thella attacked the hold a couple of Turns back?” one of the Wingleaders asked.

“That was the worst,” V’line replied.

“The Weyrs can’t involve themselves in hold matters,” the brown rider M’sur said, frowning, “It’s enough that we have to convey people in and out of Landing all the time.” He nodded at T’lion. “Not to mention having to survey every inch of this continent to prepare for the day Threadfall stops forever.”

T’lion shrugged and grinned when several other riders glanced in his direction. No one had even noticed his return after full dark on the night in question. And after all, he hadn’t really been involved. The dolphins had! And who would know that?

Lord Toric heard about the attempted intrusion and smiled. So long as they kept away from his zealously guarded holding, it amused him that more people were illegally attempting to invade the South and ignoring the Benden Weyrleaders’ edict that immigration must be to sites they had approved. That only verified Toric’s suspicions that the Weyrleaders were indeed keeping the best sites for the dragonriders. He was hoping that some of the tries would succeed, if only to prove that people could survive very well, thank you, wherever they were willing to work hard enough to “hold.” It didn’t matter to Toric that these
would-be settlers could die from sampling exotic-looking and sweet-smelling tree fruits, that there were hungry and feral beasts quite able to take down a full-grown adult, that there were the most insidious dangers from thorn-poisoning and fevers. Toric’s notion was that the strong survived—and if the unfit died, they merited no mourning. What irked him most was that the Benden Weyrleaders felt they had the right to apportion the South where they wished to bestow it. Just because they’d found some document that told how the Ancients had dealt with settling? Land was held by those strong enough to hang on to it and improve it.

And then there was that infamous meeting of Weyrleaders and Lord Holders—which he had been unable to attend while he was involved with ousting the renegade Denol from Ierne Island. That’s when all those old-womanish Lords had actually established that the dragonriders had the right to control the Southern Continent land grabbings, “Out of respect for the services dragonriders have given Hold and Hall over the centuries of Threadfall.” As if tithing to support the indolent riders hadn’t been reward enough for dragons doing what they had been bred to do. Much less the gratuities that had always been lavished on dragonriders.

When Toric had heard of that decision, he had been infuriated, especially as it had been voted on behind his back. He’d have stopped the whole notion right then if he’d been able to come. The first insult to him had been that the northern Lords hadn’t waited until he could come to a meeting that, when all was said and deplorably done, affected him more
than any of them, since he
was
the only confirmed Lord Holder in the South. And lord of a Hold so much larger than anything in the North, including Telgar, that it had been ludicrous to
hold
such a meeting without him. Of course, the Weyrleaders had planned it that way, knowing he would protest. Knowing he would have been able to sway some of the indecisive idiots who had their titles by default and certainly wouldn’t have been able to survive a season in the South. He’d’ve seen that the Southern Continent would be wide open for those with the guts to
work
to hold any land—and apply for confirmation to
a full
Council of Lord Holders and no Weyrleaders present, for it
wasn’t
up to dragonriders who held and where! Not in Toric’s lexicon.

On his bedroom and office walls were outsized maps of the Southern Continent: several aspects, including one that had cost him a sack of marks, a spatial view of the south, its terrain stretching out and out to the curve of the horizon. That view caused him the most irritation, since it was proof positive that he had been cheated. The Weyrwoman had shown him only a small section of the continent when she and F’lar had tricked him into settling for only the land between the two rivers. He had been deceived into settling for a tiny portion when he could have had more, much more. And those two Weyrleaders had known it. Although his wife had tried to convince him that they couldn’t have known the extent of Southern: not until Master Idarolan and Master Rampesi had sailed, one west and one east, until they had met, was the size of the Southern Continent truly discovered. Toric could not be convinced otherwise.
He had wanted
more
, and since the Weyrleaders had thwarted him in that devious meeting, he would have more. Especially when the dragonriders had not helped him regain the big island from Denol’s clutches. He was especially bitter about that.

Right now, of course, with everyone scurrying about following the orders of that machine, Aivas, he had to bide his time. It was as essential to his future plans as everyone else’s that Thread be stopped from ever falling on Pern again. He had even allowed his brother Hamian, the Hold’s Mastersmith, to spend full time experimenting and contriving the new machines and equipment needed to end the airborne menace. He had informants in place so that anything of any significance occurring at Landing was reported to him. He appeared when vital decisions were being discussed. He also tagged those who would be of use to him later on.
If
, and Toric entertained some doubts, Aivas managed to do as it had promised: rid the planet of Thread.

He had already started to make his plans—spurred by his animosity for the Benden Weyrleaders. He still had the notes that young Piemur had made of his explorations along the coast. He himself had taken short trips—no absences long enough to arouse suspicion, and never where dragonriders might inconveniently overfly him. He would personally select those he placed where he wanted them, and sufficient numbers on large enough holdings so that, after Threadfall, there would be enough Lord Holders grateful to him, Toric, to vote a majority over the northern idiots. When the time was ripe … And he smiled again. The domination of the Weyrs over the Southern Continent would
suffer a major curtailment. He had no doubt he would find support among the Lord Holders, especially since he could use that Ancient document to justify the actions. Ah, yes, when the time was ripe …

The next morning was the seventh day, when Boojie was supposed to report to Persellan. Healer and dragonrider arrived at first light on the beach and saw dolphins cavorting in the water on a shoreward course.

“I do hope Boojie isn’t one of those leapers,” Persellan said in a grouchy tone. “He’ll pull his stitches and I won’t sew him up again.”

T’lion gave the bell a few pulls to be sure their presence was noticed. Then he and Persellan, who was dressed in short-legged pants and had put what he needed out of his healer’s bag in a small pouch slung over one shoulder, waded out to meet the incoming sea creatures.

The one who glided in across their path stopped right in front of them and eased over onto his back. The long gash was visible, just under the water.

“Gaddie, we may need you again …” T’lion began.

“No, I don’t think we need trouble, Gadareth,” Persellan said. The dolphin was holding steady, presenting the injury well enough for the purpose of removing the sutures. “Here, hold this for me.” He had removed a blunt-ended pair of scissors from his pack and now pushed them at T’lion.

Running skilled fingers along the injury, Persellan gave one of his meditative hums, his expression registering approval and satisfaction. “It’s well closed, not a single suture torn or pulled. Really, if I’d
known they heal so quickly, I could have removed the stitches earlier. Remarkable recovery.”

“The saltwater?”

“Could be, and the excellent state of health these wild creatures enjoy. Now, tell him not to move. I don’t want to inadvertently puncture him at this stage of his recovery.”

T’lion bent close to Boojie’s head, noticed the brightness of the eye regarding him, and patted the melon. “Hold as still as you can, Boojie. Won’t hurt.”

Boojie dropped his jaw in token of understanding. T’lion nearly fell backward, though, as the tip of another dolphin snout protruded from the water just beyond Boojie’s head. He hadn’t been aware that another dolphin lurked that close–Tana probably.

“Hold your hand out, please, T’lion. I need to be sure I’ve removed
all
the stitches.”

T’lion obeyed, and the procedure was very quickly accomplished. Persellan bent his head to peer at the closed wound.

“Hmmmm. Yes, remarkable. I really should encourage patients to swim. Or at least to immerse themselves in the water here for its curative powers. Good fellow, Boojie. You’ve been a grand patient, Where do I scratch?”

“Not there,” T’lion said hastily and grabbed Persellan’s hand away from what was indecently close to dolphin privates. “Here, under the chin. They love it.”

Persellan caressed Boojie. “You’ve been a good patient. I could wish humans were as well behaved. But then I didn’t have to oversee you in your watery ward, did I?” Persellan’s hum turned into a chuckle.
“Dragonriders do not take kindly to having to remain in bed. Shards!” The healer backed away in surprise as Boojie suddenly loomed up out of the water until he was on eye level with him.

“Thank you, Peerrssss-lan,” Boojie said with an enthusiastic squee to emphasize his statement.

“You are very welcome, Boojie. Very welcome in-deed,” Persellan said, executing a few short bows at the dolphin. “Hmmm. I don’t always get thanked by my human patients either. You know, T’lion, I don’t think I’d mind being healer to the dolphins after all. D’you think I should see what other information Aivas has on sea-mammal ailments and cures?”

T’lion grinned as he handed the healer back his pouch and they both waded out of the sea.

“I don’t see why not. The more we learn from Aivas the better. Have you heard anything from Master Oldive?” T’lion asked.

“Yes, I have. Most gratifying. Oddly enough, it was the Harper Hall—Master Menolly, in particular—which supported my suggestion.” Persellan glanced quizzically at T’lion.

“She was at Paradise River Hold and Alemi is her brother. He might have told her what he was doing with the dolphins,”

“Which is?”

“Much what I’m doing, getting to know them and teach them our words.”

“But they know them …”

“No, they know the words people used to use,” T’lion said, mastering an urge to grin at the healer’s confusion. “Our language has shifted slightly from what the dolphins learned long ago from us.”

“Language shifted?” Persellan was indignant.

“Aivas told me.”

“For a rider who hasn’t even flown Thread yet, you seem to be remarkably well connected.”

“Me? Shards, no, Persellan, I just have to convey a lot of people here and there,” T’lion said in an earnestly self-deprecating tone. He didn’t wish to give Persellan the impression that he was boasting or anything. “I was conveying Master Alemi when
he
rang that old bell they dredged up from Monaco Bay and summoned the dolphins. That’s how I got involved.”

“But you’ve put up a bell here.”

“Aivas asked me to. I’m supposed to help count how many dolphins there are these days.”

“Doing well, I see. Hmmm. What does Gadareth think about all this?”