“Dorse, do you know that Ruathan lordling well?” he asked when the young man arrived.

Dorse was surprised and then guarded. “I gave you the warranty note from Brand, steward at Ruatha.”

“He said nothing to your discredit.” Toric put an edge on his tone. “I repeat, did you know this young Jaxom?”

“We were milkbrothers.”

“Then you’d know if he’d ever come to Southern on any errand?”

“Him? No.” Dorse was positive. “He was never let go anywhere without everyone knowing. Afraid he’d lose himself or crease the hide of that precious white dragon of his.”

“I see.” And Toric did: milkbrothers were rarely fond of each other, despite the popular myth. “You know that my sister, Sharra, has returned.” Very few in the hold would have failed to note that. “I want her to stay here, see no one, and neither receive nor send messages. Do I make myself understood?”

“Perfectly, Lord Holder.”

That had a nice ring to it, Toric thought. Another important matter to be resolved. “Use Breide as relief guard. He’s in the same dormitory. He’s got a good memory for faces and names. If the pair of you keep her safely here, I shall find a special hold for you later.”

“That’s easily done, Lord Toric.” Dorse grinned. “I had a lot of practice keeping my eyes on people, if you know what I mean.”

Toric dismissed him and, calling up his two queens, gave them particular instructions about Meer and Talla, Sharra’s fire-lizards. Satisfied with his preparations, he then bathed, ate, and figured out which reliable aspiring young holder he could spare to keep an eye on his interests at the Plateau. If something useful was found in any of those abandoned buildings, he wanted full details. He had secured a magnificent hold, far richer and more extensive than even Telgar. Dorse had automatically accorded him the title that he should long before have been accorded, and it had sounded very pleasant indeed. While the Benden Weyrleaders and the others were dazzled by the empty promises of that Plateau, he must force the issue on the matter of rank and be confirmed by the Conclave as Lord Holder of Southern.

Maybe then Sharra would appreciate how much he had achieved for them all and consent to his arrangements. She did need a husband and children. Why had Ramala turned against him? Fatigue eroded his concentration. He rolled up on the floor in a spare fur he kept in his work chamber. When he returned to the Plateau he would warn off that boy, and that would be the end of it.

The next day, when Tiroth and the other dragons deposited him and his holders on the mound, Toric looked first for Lessa and found her standing with others at Nicat’s mound door. Then he saw Jaxom with the Harper and changed direction. Let the Harper know, he thought, and all Pern would.

“Harper!” Toric came to a halt with a courteous nod to the old man, who looked surprisingly hale for one whom half Pern had had in his grave.

“Holder Toric,” the boy said casually, over his shoulder.

“Lord Jaxom,” Toric replied in a drawl that made an insult of a title.

Jaxom turned slowly. “Sharra tells me that you do not favor an alliance with Ruatha.”

Toric smiled broadly. This was going to be entertaining. “No, lordling, I do not! She can do better than a table-sized Hold in the North!” He caught the Harper’s surprised look.

Suddenly Lessa, a hint of steel in her eyes, appeared beside Jaxom. “What did I hear, Toric?”

“Holder Toric has other plans for Sharra,” the boy said, more amused than aggrieved. “She can do better, it seems, than a table-sized Hold like Ruatha!”

Toric would have given much to know who exactly had repeated his words to Sharra. “I mean no offense to Ruatha,” he said, catching the flicker of anger in Lessa’s face though her smile remained in place.

“That would be most unwise, considering my pride in my Bloodline and in the present Holder of that title,” the Weyrwoman said.

Toric did not like the casual tone of her voice.

“Surely you might reconsider the matter, Toric,” Robinton said, as affable as ever despite the warning in his eyes. “Such an alliance, so much desired by the two young people, would have considerable advantages, I think, aligning yourself with one of the most prestigious Holds on Pern.”

“And be in favor with Benden,” Lessa added, smiling too sweetly.

Toric absently rubbed the back of his neck, trying to keep his smile in place. He felt unaccountably light-headed. The next thing he knew, Lessa had put her arm through his and was escorting him to the privacy of her mound.

“I thought we were here to dig up Pern’s glorious past,” he said, managing a good-natured laugh. His head still swam.

“There’s surely no time like the present,” Lessa continued, “to discuss the future. Your future.”

Well, that was more like, Toric thought. F’lar was there, beside Lessa, and the Harper had followed them. The Southern holder shook his head to clear it.

“Yes, with so many ambitious holdless men pouring into Southern,” F’lar was saying, “we’ve been remiss in making certain you’ll have the lands you want, Toric. I don’t fancy blood feuds in the South. Unnecessary, too, when there’s space enough for this generation and several more.”

Toric laughed. The man didn’t realize just how much space there was in the South. He seized his opportunity. “And since there’s so much space, why should I not be ambitious for my sister?”

“You’ve more than one, and we’re not talking of Jaxom and Sharra just now,” Lessa said with a hint of irritability. “F’lar and I had intended to arrange a more formal occasion to set your Holding, but there’s Master Nicat wanting to formalize Minecraft affairs with you, and Lord Groghe is anxious that his two sons do not hold adjacent lands, and other questions have come up recently which require answers.”

“Answers?” Toric leaned against one wall of the cot and crossed his arms on his chest.

“One answer required is how much land any one man should Hold in the south?” F’lar said, idly digging dirt from under his thumbnail. The light emphasis was not lost on Toric.

“And? Our original agreement was that I could Hold all the lands I had acquired by the time the Oldtimers had passed on.”

“Which, in truth, they haven’t,” Robinton said.

“I shan’t insist on waiting,” Toric replied, nodding, “since the original circumstances have altered, And since my hold is thoroughly disorganized by the indigent and hopeful lordlings and holdless men and women, as well as, I am reliably informed, by others who have eschewed our help and landed wherever their ships can be beached.”

“All the more reason to be sure you are not deprived of one length of your just Hold,” F’lar said—far too agreeably, Toric thought. “I know that you have sent out exploring teams. How far have they actually penetrated?”

“With the help of D’ram’s dragonriders”—and Toric saw that F’lar did know of that agency—“we have extended our knowledge of terrain to the foot of the Western Range.” That was safe enough to admit. He had not said when he had extended that knowledge.

“That far?”

“And, of course, Piemur reached the Great Desert Bay to the west,” the Southerner went on determinedly.

“My dear Toric, how can you possibly Hold all that?”

Toric knew the rights of Holding as well as the Weyrleader did. “I’ve small cotholders with burgeoning families along most of the habitable shoreline and at strategic points in the interior. The men you sent me these past few Turns proved most industrious.” The Weyrleaders would have to accept the accomplished fact.

“I suspect they have pledged loyalty to you in return for your original generosity?” F’lar asked.

“Naturally.”

Lessa laughed. She was really a very sensual woman when she wanted to be, Toric realized. “I thought when we met at Benden that you were a shrewd and independent man.”