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to perfect new techniques and a full understanding of Art.
Bitra Hold had been an eye-opener. So, of course, was the
Weyr, but in a far more positive manner. Grimly, Iantine
realized that one had to know the bad to properly appreciate
the good. He smiled wryly to himself while his right hand now
rapidly completed the sketch of the Weyrleaders in earnest
collaboration with the Liliencamp trail bosses.
That Bloodline had been the first of the peripatetic traders,
bringing goods and delivering less urgent messages on their
way from one isolated hold to another. A Liliencamp had
been one of the more prominent First Settlers. Iantine thought
he'd been portrayed in the great Mural in Fort Hold, with the
other Charterers: a smallish man with black hair, depicted
with sharp eyes and a pad of some sort depending from his
belt, and - Iantine had of course noted them - several writing
implements stuffed in his chest pocket, and one behind his
ear. It had seemed such a logical place to store a pencil that
Iantine had taken to the habit himself.
He peered more closely at the trail bosses. Yes, one of them
had what looked like a pencil perched behind one ear - and
he also had an empty pouch at his belt: one that probably
accommodated the pad on the table before him.
But, even with such wayside precautions, would such traders
be able to continue throughout the fifty dangerous years of a
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Pass? It was one thing to plan and quite another, as Iantine
had only just discovered, to put plans into operation. Still,
considerable hardship would result in transporting items from
Hall to Hold to Weyr during Threadfall, especially since
dragons would be wholly involved in protecting the land from
Thread. They could not be asked to perform trivial duties.
After all, dragons were not a transportation facility; they had
been bio-engineered as a defensive force, and conveying
people and goods was only an Interval occupation.
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He wondered if the traders had any paper in their great
wagons. Not that he had even a quarter mark left in his pouch,
but maybe they'd take a sketch or two in trade.
As quickly as he neatly could, he filled his last empty page
with a montage: the train entering the Weyr Bowl, people
rushing out to meet it, the goods being exhibited, deals being
made, with the central portion the scene of the trail bosses
discussing shelters with the Weyrleaders. He held the pad at
arm's length and regarded it critically.
'That's marvellous,' a voice said behind him, and he twisted
about in surprise. 'Why, you did it in a flash!'
The green rider, her dragonet lounging beside her, smiled
self-consciously, her green eyes shining with something akin
to awe. Leopol had pointed this new rider out to him the other
day and related the circumstances of her precipitous arrival
at the Hatching.
'Debera?' he asked, remembering the name. She gasped,
slightly recoiling from him in her startlement. Her dragon
came immediately alert, eyes twirling faster with alarm. 'Oh,
say, I didn't mean to...'
'Easy, Morath, he means me no harm,' she said to the
dragon and then smiled reassuringly up at him. 'I was just
surprised you'd know my name...'
'Leopol,' and Iantine pointed his pencil to where the boy
stood in earnest bargaining with a trader lad about the same
age, 'used to tell me everything that happened in the Weyr
while I was recovering.'
'Oh, yes,' and the girl seemed to relax and even managed
a wider smile, 'I know him. He's into everything. But kind-
hearted,' she added hastily, glancing up at Iantine. 'You've
had some adventures, too, or so Leopol told me.' Then she
indicated his sketch. 'You did that so well and so quickly.
Why, you can almost hear them bargaining,' she added,
pointing to the trader with his mouth open.
Iantine regarded it critically. 'Well, speed is not necess-
arily a good thing if you want to do good work.' He deftly
added a fold to the head trader's tunic, where he now saw
there was a bulge over the belt. 'Let's see if the subject likes
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it.' He was amazed to hear the edge in his volv, ..... ,~
warily up at him.
'If that's what you can do quickly,' she said reassur-
ingly. 'I'd like to see what you do when you take your
time.'
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He couldn't resist and flipped over pages to where he had
made a sketch of her oiling Morath.
'Oh, and I didn't see you doing this...' She reached out
to touch it, but he was flipping to the page where he had
sketched her and Morath listening to T'dam at the lecture.
She'd had one arm draped over her dragon's neck and he
thought he had captured the subtle bond that had prompted
the embrace.
'Oh, that's marvellous,' and Iantine was amazed to see tears
in her eyes. In a spontaneous gesture, she clung to his arm,
feasting her eyes on the drawing and preventing him from
turning the page over. 'Oh, how I'd...' 'You like it?'
'Oh, I do,' and she snatched her hands away from his arm
and clasped them behind her back, blushing deeply. 'I do ...'
and bit her lip, swaying nervously. 'What's the matter?'
She gave an embarrassed laugh. 'I haven't so much as the
shaving of a mark...'
He tore the sketch out of the pad and handed it to her.
'Oh, I couldn't . . . I couldn't,' and she stepped back,
although the look in her eyes told Iantine how much she
wanted it.
'Why not?' He pressed the paper against her, pushing it at
her when she continued to resist. 'Please, Debera? I've had
to get my hand back in after my fingers freezing, and it's only
a sketch.'
She glanced up at him, nervously and with some other fear
lurking in the shadows of her lovely green eyes.
'You should have it, you know, to remind you of Morath
at this age.'
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