"Not that it will take me long to change the face on it. But it's last on my list. I've to finish K'vin's portrait, and a few more of the Telgar riders, and then I'll come. I can probably make it after Turn's End."

"Well, I'll give you until then, young man, but no longer," Bridgely said, sounding aggrieved. Then he smiled to Iantine's obvious anxiety. "Don't worry about it, lad. I just want to know where my lady and I fit into your appointment calendar."

With that he walked away.

K'vin was hiding his grin behind his gloved hand. "One can be too successful, you know," he said. Then he gestured for Iantine to mount Charanth, while he held the painting which he pa.s.sed up to the artist when he was settled. "I'm glad you're going to fix this."

"Lord Holder Vergerin specifically requested me to. And I must say, I'm glad to do the sitter - justice."

"Justice?" K'vin laughed as he landed neatly between the bronze neck ridges. "I think that's possibly a dirty word to Chalkin now!" Iantine grunted as the dragon suddenly launched himself.

Not only was Iantine going to be able to set right that inaccurate portrait - he felt he had demeaned himself and Hall Domaize by succ.u.mbing to Chalkin's coercion, in spite of having no viable alternative - but he had given himself more time at Telgar Weyr. And Turn's End was nearing: Turn's End and the festivities that the mid-winter holiday always incurred. Maybe then he could come to some agreement with Debera.

Dragonriders could and often did take mates from non riders It would have been easier if his profession was one that he could offer the Weyr in return for staying on in Telgar.

But, once Morath was able to fly, Debera could fly him wherever his commissions took him.

That is, if she felt anywhere near the same about him as he did about her. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he'd be in a Weyr at all. He could almost have thanked Chalkin for being the catalyst on that score: almost. Until he remembered the stark horror of what Chalkin had done at the borders and in the cold storage cells.

He shuddered.

"Thought you'd be used to this by now," K'vin said, leaning back to speak into Iantine's ear.

"It isn't this," Iantine said, shaking his head and grinning.

He thoroughly enjoyed flying and, after the first experience with the utter cold and nothingness of between, had not been nervous about that transfer. He took a firmer grip on the strings about the painting. Charanth was now high enough above Bitra Hold to go between.

Meranath, bearing Tashvi and Salda as well as Zulaya, zoomed up beside his right wing: the dragon's golden body gleaming in the bright morning sun as her riders waved at him.

As he waved back, Iantine was surprised to think it was still morning. The invasion of Bitra Hold had begun in such early hours that the day was not that old. So much happened these days!

BLACKNESS! Iantine couldn't feel the cord on the painting, his b.u.t.t on Charanth's neck, and then they were out in the sun, hanging over Telgar's familiar cone.

Far below, above the prow of Telgar Hold, a sparkle showed that Meranath had arrived. The big bronze now turned gracefully on one wing and headed down towards the Weyr.

For Iantine, this happened all too swiftly, for he saw so much more from this vantage point than he did from the ground: the dragons sleeping in the sun on their weyr ledges, the younger riders practicing catch and throw with firestone sacks, even the weyrlings getting their morning scrub around the lake. Debera would be among them. He tried to see if he could identify her, and Morath, but at that height details were lost. Two dragons, browns both, were eating their kill further down the valley. Another rider burst into the air above a watch rider who gestured broadly for him to land. Then Charanth had spiraled close enough to be identified, too, and welcomed back. Iantine could feel a rumble in the bronze's body. Did dragons speak out loud to each other? He had to tighten his hold on the painting or have the wind of their descent pull it free.

As they dropped, K'vin turned his head. "At the Cavern?"

"Please," and Iantine nodded, struggling to keep a grip on the painting. Not that losing it would bother him, but then he'd have to waste another board.

He swung his leg over and slid down Charanth's shoulder as quickly as he could.

"My thanks, K'vin," he said, grinning up, having to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Not needed. You more than earned it with today's doings." Charanth rumbled again, his gently whirling blue eyes focused on Iantine who saluted him in grat.i.tude. Then the bronze leaped up, flapped his wings twice and was landing on the ledge of the Weyrwoman's quarters.

"You're back, you're back, and safe," and Leopol came racing out of the Lower Cavern, leaping towards Iantine who put out a restraining hand so the boy wouldn't carom off the edge of the painting.

"What have you done now?" Leopol demanded, taking care not to batter it.

"It's to be redone," Iantine said, knowing the uselessness of avoiding Leopol's interest.

"Oh, the Chalkin portrait?" Leopol reached for it and Iantine pivoted, putting his body between it and the lad's acquisitive hands.

You're clever, aren't you?"

"Yup," and Leopol's grin bore not a single trace of remorse.

"So? What happened when you deposed him?" Iantine stopped in his tracks and stared at him.

"Deposed whom?" Leopol planted his fists on his belt, c.o.c.ked his head and gave Iantine a long and disgusted look, finally shaking his head.

"One, you rode away on a Fort Weyr dragon. Two, you've been gone overnight so something was up. Especially when the Weyrleaders are gone, too. Three, we all know that Chalkin's for the chop, and four, you come back with a portrait and it isn't one you've done here." Leopol spread his hands. "It's obvious. The Lords and Leaders have got rid of Chalkin. Impeached, deposed and exiled him. Right?" He grinned at the summation, c.o.c.king his head over the other shoulder.

"Right?" he repeated.

Iantine sighed. "It's not my place to confirm or deny," he said tactfully, and started again for his quarters.

Leopol dodged in front, halting him again. "But I'm right about Chalkin, aren't I? He won't get ready for Threadfall, he's been far too hard on his people and half the Lord Holders owe him huge sacks of marks in gambling debts."

Iantine stopped. "Gambling debts?" He brushed past, determined to get to the dubious safety of his room without giving anything away to such a gossip as Leopol.

"Ah, Iantine." Tisha caught sight of him and moved her bulk through the tables with surprising speed and agility to intercept him.

"Did they catch Chalkin all right? Did he struggle? Did that spouse of his go with him, which frankly would surprise me? Did they find Vergerin alive? Will he take Hold, or does he have to wait till the Conclave at Turn's End?" Leopol bent double with laughter at Iantine's expression.

"Yes, no, no, yes and I don't know," he answered in reply to her rapid-fire questions.

"You see? I'm not the only one," Leopol said, hanging on to a chair with one hand to keep his balance while he brushed laugh tears from his eyes with the other, thoroughly delighted with himself and Iantine's reaction.

"I'd like to hear all, Iantine," Tisha said and deposited the klah mugs and the plate of freshly baked cookies on the table nearest him.

"Do sit. You've had a hard day already and it's not noon yet."

"I'll take it and put it very carefully in your room," Leopol said, grabbing hold of the wrapped painting and then s.n.a.t.c.hing it out of Iantine's unconsciously relaxed grip. "And I won't look until you tell me I can."

"No, wait, Leo," said Tisha. "I want to see what Chalkin considered 'satisfactory'"

"Do I have no privacy around here?" Iantine demanded, raising his hands in helplessness." Is there no way to keep secrets?"

"Not in a well-run Weyr, there isn't," said Tisha. "Eat. Drink. And, Leo, take the basket I made ready for K'vin up to his weyr. I didn't see Zulaya and Meranath, so she may have stopped over at Telgar Hold."

His knees weakened, as did his resolve, and Iantine collapsed into the chair Tisha had invitingly pulled out for him.

"Shall I?" Leopol asked in his best wheedling tone, one hand on the cord knot.

"I'm not sure I could stop you," Iantine said, and caught the pad he had stuffed inside the wrapping as Leopol made short work of opening.

Iantine put the pad to one side. He didn't really want to show the latest drawings he'd done. The two castrati had died shortly after he had finished the sketches. He intensely regretted how pleased he had been with their sentences. Had they had any idea of what additional torment Chalkin would inflict on them when they asked to be returned to their Hold?

No, or they wouldn't have gone. Then Iantine caught Tisha's sharp eye on his face and wondered if she had read his expression which he had tried to keep blank. Fortunately, the much-glamorized Chalkin stared out of the painting at them and Tisha's first good look sent her into gales of laughter, with Leopol whooping nearly as loud.

The head woman had an infectious laugh under any condition: a mere chuckle from her would have anyone in her vicinity grinning in response. Iantine was in sore need of a good laugh and, if his inner anxieties kept him from joining in wholeheartedly, at least he was made to grin.

Tisha's amus.e.m.e.nt alerted the rest of the weyrfolk to Iantine's return, and the table was shortly surrounded by people having a good laugh over what Chalkin had considered to be a 'satisfactory portrait' of himself. He sated their curiosity by giving a brief report of what had happened.

Everyone was much relieved that Chalkin was not only no longer Bitra's Lord, but also that he had been exiled far away from the Mainland.

"Too good for him, really," someone said.

"Ah, but he's lord of all he surveys, ain't he? Suit him!"

"No-one was hurt?"

"Who's going to take Hold there now, with so much to do close to Fall?" Iantine answered as circ.u.mspectly as he could, though he was amazed at how accurately the weyrfolk had guessed what had happened. They also seemed to know a great deal about a Hold that was not beholden to Telgar Weyr. He didn't think he'd talked much about his uncomfortable stay at Bitra, so they must have had their information from other sources.

Weyrfolk did get to travel more than holders, so perhaps their level of information was more comprehensive.

Riders drifted in, early for the noontime meal but just as interested in what had happened at Bitra Hold. Some of the older ones remembered the wager that had cost Vergerin the Holding, and other details about that Bloodline that certainly showed them well informed.

Iantine was grateful for the klah and cookies Tisha had brought and equally pleased to have Leopol bring him bread, cheese and the sliced wherry meat that was being served for lunch. He did have a moment's anxiety when he saw K'vin, at the edge of the crowd, gesturing for his attention. Maybe he shouldn't have said a thing.

He told Leopol to take the notorious portrait to his quarters, bundled his pad under his arm - because he knew nothing would keep Leopol from looking all through it - and then made his way to K'vin.

Since he had obviously told all he was going to tell, he was allowed to pa.s.s, with good-natured mauling on his way.

"I'm sorry, Weyrleader, if I was speaking out of turn."

K'vin regarded him with widened eyes. "Speaking out of turn? Ha, they had probably figured out everything on their own. What could you possibly tell them that they didn't know?"

"How many people Chalkin had in those appalling cells," Iantine said, blurting out the words before he realized what he was saying.

K'vin put a sympathetic arm around his shoulders. "I think I'll have a few bad dreams over that myself," and he gave a deep shudder.

"Perhaps you'd best get some rest."

"No, I'd rather not, if you'd something else for me to do," Iantine said truthfully. He didn't even need to stop off at his own quarters as his tubes of oil and brushes were already in the Weyrleaders' quarters.

K'vin's solicitous expression brightened. "I've some time now, and you've the painting to finish of me... unless you'd rather redo Chalkin... but Bridgely made it very plain to me that he'd like you at Benden to do his commissions by Turn's End. You're much sought after, you know."

Iantine made a disparaging noise in his throat, embarra.s.sed by his notoriety. K'vin, grinning at his reaction, slapped him lightly on his back in affection.

"So what's it to be?" the Weyrleader asked.

"You, of course. Did you..." and he hesitated, not wanting to be thought pushy, "did you like Zulaya's portrait?" K'vin gave a low laugh and turned his face away. "You've done her proud, Iantine. Proud."

"She's easy. She's beautiful," Iantine said.

"Yes, isn't she?" Something about the tone of his voice made Iantine wonder at such a response. They were Weyrleaders, together, weren't they? They always made such a stance of a good partnership.

But Iantine was getting as good at hearing things that weren't expressed as he was at seeing all that could be seen. Not his place to comment, though, despite a growing admiration for K'vin as Weyrleader.

Zulaya was a bit reserved, he knew from having spent so much time painting her, but she was much older than Iantine. And older than K'vin, too, for that matter.

"That gown was perfect for her," Iantine remarked to break an awkward silence.

"Yes, she had it made for the last Hatching," K'vin said and the smile he turned towards Iantine was easy, relaxed.

Iantine wondered if all he'd seen that morning hadn't skewed his judgment. They were at the weyr stairs now and climbed up. At the top of the steep flight, Iantine was glad he wasn't even out of breath.

"You're in good shape," K'vin said, with another friendly slap to his back to push him on into the high-ceilinged entrance to the weyr.

"I'd need to be, wouldn't I?" Iantine replied with a droll laugh.

He paused briefly, his eyes seeking the weyrlings at the lake. Yes, Debera was there, oiling Morath. He'd have a chance to talk to her later: maybe even take dinner with her and show her Chalkin's portrait before he made the changes.

Could he, he wondered as he watched K'vin change into the Gather clothes he wore for his portrait, add to that face what went on in that man's miserable soul? Was he good enough to attempt such a portrayal?

Amid all the frantic preparations for Turn's End, Clisser braved S'nan's displeasure to request transport to the Telgar Engineering Hall to discuss the feasibility of the Stonehenge installation for Pern's purposes. Well, Clisser kept his request to a need to discuss something vital with Kalvi since S'nan felt such bells, whistles and signals should be unnecessary if the Weyrs were kept on their toes during Intervals.

Jemmy had meticulously drawn a replica of the prehistoric stone circle, plus another of a reconstruction of what it had originally looked like, and such description as might be valuable to Kalvi and his team.

Kalvi took one quick, almost derisive glance at the drawings, and then a second, more respectful one.

"Eye Rock? Finger Rock? Solstice?" He gave Clisser a broad smile. "I do believe it will suffice and rather neatly."

Then he frowned. "Couldn't you have given me a little more time? Solstice is only two weeks off.

"I..." Clisser began.

"Sorry, friend," Kalvi said with a self-deprecating smile, "you'd be busy with rehearsing and all that. Hmmm. Just leave it with me. I think we can contrive something." and he riffled through Jemmy's sketches. "Hmmm, yes, the lad has real talent."

"Don't you dare seduce him away from the College," Clisser said, a.s.sembling as fierce a frown on his face as he gave to wayward students.

Kalvi grinned, pretending to recoil in terror but his eyes were on the drawings. "We'll manage." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "It's what we're good at." Clisser left, rea.s.sured that he would not fail the Conclave on this matter.

Turn 5 End at Fort Hold and Telgar Weyr

Traditionally the Lords Holder and the Weyrleaders and the invited heads of the various Professions - met in Conclave the day before Turn's End - the Winter Solstice - to discuss what matters should be brought to those who would a.s.semble for the festivities. Should a referendum figure on the agenda, its details would have been previously circulated. It would also be read out that evening in every main Hold and Hall. If voting was required, votes were cast the morning of the First Day of Turn's End, the results counted and returned to the second traditional sitting of the Conclave on the day after Turn's End, when the New Year started.

The tradition was even more important in this 258th year after Landing with the Pa.s.s so imminent. Although Vergerin had been in charge but twenty days before the Conclave, it was obvious that he was taking a firm, but just Hold on Bitra. year after Landing with the Pa.s.s so imminent. Although Vergerin had been in charge but twenty days before the Conclave, it was obvious that he was taking a firm, but just Hold on Bitra.

He was also working his a.s.sistants hard but fairly. None of them had any complaint to register when adroitly queried by their fathers or mothers. Vergerin's first official act had been to send riders to every single known holding and announce Chalkin's removal and that as many as could attend Turn's End at Bitra Hold would be made welcome. Vergerin paid for additional supplies out of his own funds.