Chap. 87 The Saddle Man

Chap. 87  The Saddle Man

He was on his way to the horse pens. Putza, Terylin's green fire lizard, followed him until Terylin was assured that he was no longer being followed.

He weaved his way through the throngs of Gather goers when he spied several saddles and dragon harnesses spread out in the shade of a tree. He stopped to look a little closer at them. All appeared to have been used, but had been expertly repaired and reconditioned. 

He was learning fast-when he saw something like this, he knew it was the work of someone fallen on hard times.

The seller was an old man, sitting with his back to the tree. The man smiled at him, hopefully. 

He was wearing dragonrider boots.

 "Good day, sir," he said to the old man, 'are you an Oldtimer?"

"I am, lad, I am. Good on eye ye, it is. Mine aren't worth a thing, now. Too many betweens. Are you interested in buying a saddle? These are used, you can see, but they're in good shape and I'm not asking too much for them."

"I'm sorry, sir, but no, I have a good saddle, but you're right, they're in good shape, for used. So you're a saddlemaker, now?"

The old man shook his head.

"A saddle repairer, now. We dragonriders have to 'make a living now'. Harness and saddle repair are the only things I'm good at, other than fighting thread and flying dragons."

He looked forlornly at the saddles. "Does you have a minute to talk to me? I've not had a chance to talk to a youngster in many a long turn."

Something about the man made K'ndar put his plans to head for the horse pens on hold.

"I have time, sir, thank you."

He beckoned K'ndar come closer. "Sit down, lad, sit down. I wisht I'd something to offer you to drink, but…times be hard."

"It's okay, sir, I'm not thirsty.." He noted that the man's boots were worn to almost nothing, and his clothing was threadbare. Thinking of how well his weyr's sole surviving Oldtimer was cared for, he wondered at the man's impoverished appearance, especially at a Hold as rich as Toric's.

"What…why are times hard for you? Is your dragon still alive? Aren't you retired now?"

 "Aye, lad, he's alive and well, but my dragon, oh, he's old, like me, so he sleeps most of the day. He's a good 'un. I can't see myself bothering him anymore. He's earned his retirement."

"But, sir, what about your own? Can't you enjoy your own retirement?"

Nay, lad, nay. I made a mistake, young man, a big 'un, one I wisht I'd never done."

"What? A mistake?"

The man sighed. 

"Aye, laddie. I came forward with many others. We was bored, you see, without a job to do, no thread to fight. The Holders, they treated as if we were no better than bloodfish. So we came forward. Laddie, I never want to do that sort of time jump again. It were enough to knock a man down for a month, you see, and I was a strong virile man then. But. That wasn't the mistake. In fact, it were the smart thing to do, we had thread to fight in this time, and the weyrs of this time were full of good food, good ale, fine women.

But as we aged, we decided you youngsters weren't doing things the way we were used to, and we didn't like that. We didn't want to change. We didn't want to use the new things you youngsters have made. We were…afraid to change. 

So most of us migrated here, to Southern. Lord Toric, you know, invited us. He insisted we move to his Hold. At first, it was easy, he treated us well. There was no thread to fight here, grubs eat the thread before it does any harm. So we had everything like we used to do in the Old time, without having to do much more than transport duty. Lazy. We got lazy. You could have used our help, but we didn't like the New Ways, and  Toric, he made us welcome, made us believe that we were being mistreated up North.

"That was the mistake. Toric knew that Thread would end, permanent like this time. For ever. He wanted dragonriders for his own ends. He couldn't get the young ones, the ones from your time, to join him. So he told us a story, of how rich Southern is, how we didn't have to fight Thread, how well we would be treated, were we only to stay here at his Hold.

And, for a few Turns, it was true. Whilst you Northern Weyrs were fighting thread, we were getting fat and lazy. Like a watchwher or an old ox. Toric kept his plans to hisself. We got used to the easy life here, lad, we did. What we did for him was search his Hold lands for things left, left by the Ancients. We found many. MANY. Never saw them again after we brought them to Toric.

"Then, he …' The man stopped, wary of the passing throngs of people. "I must keep my voice down, lad, move closer. Toric has spies everwhere. Today they's looking for a dragonrider, but everything one says eventually gets back to Toric, and when he's a mind to, he punishes."

"I don't want to get you in trouble," K'ndar said, lowering his voice.

"Nay, lad, I'm so old, no matter what he does to me, it's a blessing. But my wife is ill, I don't want her mistreated, and my dragon so old I'm surprised he's still alive."

"What happened? Why are you selling saddles now?"

"What happened? Thread stopped falling, that's what happened. The day after it were done for good, Toric called us Oldtimers together and dropped rocks on our heads. There was more of us, then, but all of us old and tired. No young'uns here, you know, today's dragon riders are smarter than we were. But then, they all grew up knowing Toric's ways…so they was wise to him."

Toric stood up afore us and said that now, we dragonriders, we who fought thread for 40 years, would now have to earn a living. We need to make money, something I'd never done, and it goes to him. For food, for weyr, for everything. If we didn't, our wives would be confined to quarters and our dragons wouldn't be fed. WE wouldn't be fed. 

We had go out and do the drudge work. We had to clean latrines, muck out herdbeasts, dig the soil and plant. I never learned to do that, laddie, I were weyr suckled and weyr bred, and knew naught but dragons. I was proud, don't you see, too proud. Too pigheaded to admit what my eyes were seeing. 

 It were that, or search the jungles, running from the striped felines and bandits, looking for things the ancients left. If we found anything, it were given up to Toric. And don't to say a word to anybody, not a soul, you know. He didn't pay us a mark, but he did feed us. 

But only enough to keep us up and moving. I'm skin and bones, laddie, skin and bones. The only reason we're still being fed and weyred is when Toric wants dragon transport he wants it immediately. Otherwise he never has a thing to do with us, and the others, those men working for him, hardly know we exist. My wife, she's so sickly now, just barely alive. That and my blue, who sleeps a lot. So I must earn a living, you see, doing this, and what money I make goes to Toric."

"Can't you just leave? Get on your dragon and go to another weyr?"

"There's nowhere for us to go."

 K'ndar almost blew his cover, but caught himself at the last moment.

"But sir," he said, "that's not true. The weyrs here on Southern, have lots of room for dragonriders. Many dragonriders have been moving here. There are dragonriders here, right now, here at the Gather, who would help you. Why not leave? No one owns you. You're a free man, you and your family, always have been free to go where you please. Especially now!"

"Other weyrs have room?"

"Yes, sir, at least at mine. Why don't you go to the drinking tent, talk to the dragonriders there. I was in there, there must be fifty dragonriders there, from every weyr on Pern. They can help you. What would it take to get you to leave? How many Oldtimers are left here?"

"There's four of us left. Four dragons left."

"FOUR? That's all?"

"Aye. The rest of my mates, those what came forward, they've all died off. There's just us four riders and three of us have wives, left. That's it, that and our dragons.

"What would Toric do to you if he knew you were going to escape?"

"His men keep our harnesses locked up. Only pull them out when Toric or someone needs transport. If they thought we were trying to escape, they'd grab our wives and put them in a cell til we bowed down to Toric. Even then, he might keep her there a while, or like he did me, throw me in with her."

"Sir. Go talk to the dragonriders in the tent. You all need to get out of here before you starve to death. Now. You need to leave NOW.  Before the end of the Gather." 

"Some of them will want to think it over," he said, doubtful. He began to pack the harnesses into the wagon. "And I'll have to figure out a way to get my harness."

K'ndar was thinking fast. "Sir. You can't force them to leave. It's got to be you and your wife, and whomever thinks he'd be better off. You carried these out here, yes? By yourself?"

"Aye, there's my wagon here, behind me."

"So take the harnesses…they know you're selling harnesses, right? Leave the saddles, they will think you're just going somewhere for a while. They won't think about you with a bunch of harnesses, that's what you DO, right? A harness is a harness. You don't need to get YOURS, you have several right HERE. 

Get your wife, pack a backpack with just what is important to you, harness your dragon and leave. His men can't tell one dragon from another. Have your dragons join the others, get in with them. There's dozens and dozens of dragons here right now. Then  LEAVE. I bet my boots Toric's got every man of his out in this Gather right now, searching, they're not watching an Oldtimer. Leave. Tonight. Even before the end of Gather. It will give you time, a headstart, before he figures out you've fled."

The man looked at him, his soul in his eyes. He shook his head, unwilling to admit that the opportunity had been before him all this time and he'd not seen it.

"I've been foolish, laddie. I've been so bloody stupid. STUPID! We all thought you youngsters were stupid. Nay, nay, I'm the stupid one.  I've been lulled into acceptance. You're right. We already have nothing, just the clothes on our backs. I've…we've had this chance all this time and never thought to take it."

"I'll have my dragon talk to my wingleader's. They'll let them know you're coming and need help. Please. Please, listen to me. I know I'm just a youngster, but…"

Oops. He'd just let the man know he was a dragonrider. In fact, he'd let it slip several times.

The old man held up his hand and nodded his head.

"But wiser than me."

 He looked at K'ndar again.

"You're the one they're looking for, aren't you?"

K'ndar wondered if he should trust the man.

He chose.

"Aye."

"You're safe with me. I'll do it. I'll get the others to go, too."

He loaded four harnesses into the wagon and was about to push off when he stopped. 

"Thank you, laddie. You knocked some sense into this old man's head."

_____________________________________________________________________

Four of Toric's men were gathered near the beer tent.

They were getting desperate.

"Where is that bloody fool, I've walked this sharding Gather ground a dozen times, looking for 'im."

"He ain't here. Bet my boots he ain't here."

"Toric won't hear that. He wants this man and he wants him bad. I'm not going to be the one to tell him he wasn't ever here…or we didn't find 'im."

"Bloody Toric wants him so bad, he should move his arse outa that…"

"Shhh, you idiot. You want us all beheaded?"

"Well, I’m getting tired of him riding me like I were a runner. He's all hot and lathered about this man, and don't want to hear that there's hundreds of people here. Hundreds."

"Here comes one of the Oldtimers. Mebbe we should take him up to Toric and say he's K'ndar…"

"Now you're truly talking nonsense. Toric knows very well who his transport dragonriders are." 

"What we should do, is just grab one. Just any dragonrider, one of them who's too drunk, comes out of this tent to take a piss, you know? We'll say he was drunk on his arse, admitted to being K'ndar, mebbe a young one, take him into Toric. He won't know no different. He don’t even know what this K'ndar looks like or where he's from."

"But he 'spects US to find him."

"Yeah."

"Here, you old man, hold up," the leader said, grasping the front end of the wagon. "We saw you talking to that one dragonrider. What were his name?"

The Oldtimer felt fear seize his heart, but he maintained his demeanour.

"R'bor.''

"What?"

"R'bor. You got wax in your ears? His name was R'bor. Now leave me be, I've sold these harnesses and have to get them to the man what bought them."

"Let's see the money," one said, greedily.

The old man looked him dead in the eye.

"And you'll give it direct to Lord Toric, aye? My boot you will. Leave me be, or I'll tell Toric you are shaking his Holders down for the money they make."

The man backed off.

"Move on, you old bast."

R'bor moved on, still shaking, but smiling behind his eyes.