The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [300]
“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.
“One small matter,” he continued, “which I’d like clarified?”
“Yes?” F’lar prompted him.
“What happens to Southern, to my holders, to me, when the last of those Oldtimers is gone?”
“I’d say that you will have more than earned the right to Hold,” F’lar said slowly, with an unmistakable accent on the final word, “what you have managed to carve out of that jungle for yourself!”
“Good!” Toric gave a decisive nod of his head, his eyes never leaving F’lar’s. Then, suddenly, his tanned face dissolved into a smile. “I’d forgotten what you Northerners can be like. Send me some more—”
“Will they hold what they have carved?” Robinton asked quickly.
“What they hold, they have,” Toric replied in a grave manner. “But don’t flood me with people. I’ve got to sneak them in when the Oldtimers aren’t looking.”
“How many can you sneak in . . . comfortably?” asked F’lar.
“Oh, six, eight, the first time. Then when we’ve got holds, the same again.” He grinned. “The first ones build for themselves before the new ones come. But there’s lots of room in the South.”
“That’s comforting because I’ve plans for the South myself,” said F’lar. “That reminds me, Robinton, how far to the east did you and Menolly go?”
“I wish I could answer you. I know where we got to, when the storm finally blew out. The most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, a perfect semicircle of a white sanded beach, with this huge cone-shaped mountain far, far in the distance, right in the center of the cove . . .”
“But you came back along the shore, didn’t you?” F’lar was impatient. “What was it like?”
“It was there,” Robinton said uninformatively. “That’s all I can say . . .” He glared at Toric, who was chuckling at his discomfiture. “We had a choice of sailing very close to land which Menolly said was impossible as we didn’t know the bottom, or with sufficient searoom to keep beyond the Western Current which would evidently have brought us right back to the cove. It is, as I’ve said, a very beautiful spot, but I was glad to leave it for a while. Consequently, while land was there, it was not close enough for any inspection by me.”
“That’s too bad.” F’lar looked very unhappy.
“Yes and no,” replied Robinton. “It took us nine days to sail back along that coast. That’s a lot of land for Toric to explore.”
“I’m willing, and I’ll be ready if I get the supplies I need . . .”
“How do we get shipments to you, Toric?” F’lar asked. “Don’t dare send them on dragonback, though that would be easiest and best from my point of view.”
Robinton chuckled and gave a broad wink to the others. “As to that, if another ship should by chance be blown off course, south from Ista Hold . . . I had a word or two with Master