The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [299]
“Bother you?” Lessa’s voice was indignant.
“That’s what I said, Weyrleader,” Toric replied, a steely note in his voice; he turned back to the map. “My holders have been able to penetrate this far into the interior. Very difficult going. Tough jungle growth that dulls the keenest chopping blade in an hour. Never seen such vegetation! We know there are hills here and a mountain range farther back,” he tapped the relevant area on the map, “but I’d not fancy carving my way there length by length. So we scouted along the shoreline, found these two rivers and proceeded up them as far as we could. The western river ends in a flat marshy lake, the southeastern one at a falls, six-seven dragon lengths high.” Toric straightened, regarding the small portion of explored land with mild disgust. “I’d hazard the guess that even if the land went no farther south than that range, it’s twice the size of South Boll or Tillek!”
“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 flame-throwers, 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