Chap. 88 Showdown at the horse auction

Chap.88 Showdown at the horse auction

There was a very large crowd of people around the main auction ring. Many of them were ranchers and farmers, but there were others as well, hold dwellers, craftsmen, traders.

Lizard had told him he'd be selling a black bay horse and would be in disguise. In one of the auction rings, a dark bay draft horse was being circled as bids were called. The auctioneer was calling at the top of his voice. The noise was almost as loud as in the beer tent, despite being outdoors.

Did I miss it? Did I miss it? he worried. He looked at the man in the ring with the draft horse. If that was Lizard, he reflected, he'd lost a lot of his hair and grown a pot belly.

He worked his way, gently and politely, to the front of the crowd, just enjoying being around horses and horsefolk, when Raventh touched him.

Francie's green says Francie and her weyrmate see you

He looked around and finally saw Francie and her husband, Raylan on the far side of the ring.  Her three fire lizards were NOT with her.

They are perched in the trees surrounding the ring

Careth said D'mitran said there are men going through the beer tent, asking for you. And Oldtimers are talking to them, their dragons are here, with us

How many?

Four. They will be coming to our weyr.

K'ndar smiled at that. The Oldtimer had wasted no time, it seems. 

He relaxed, a little. This game of hide and seek from Toric's men was getting old. Soon as he learned if Lizard sold his horse and needed a ride, he'd head to Honshu Hold.  

He met Francie's eye from across the ring, and nodded a hello. 

"Is that a bid, sir?" the auctioneer cried. The crowd shut up and several ringmen looked at him. The crowd followed their gaze until he realized that HE was the target of attention. 

"What? What?" he said, caught off guard.

The auctioneer yelled, "You nodded your head, what is your bid on this draft beast?"

"NO! NO! I was just…"

"Then, ye daft fool, don’t make a bid you have no intention of keeping."

"Sorry," he said, humiliated, and withdrew as far as he could to the edge of the crowd. 

Several comments were made as he fled the front edge, all insulting or at the least, uncomplimentary.  Hopefully, no one in the crowd was a Toric goon. Slipups like that will cost you, K'ndar, he thought to himself.

When he was safely away from the bidding edge, he found a spot and turned around to watch.

"That little gaffe almost bought you a plug of a draft beast," said a tall, stately man next to him. One of his eyes was covered with a black patch.

Still scanning the crowd for Lizard, K'ndar said, "Aye. I thought I saw a friend of mine, but I was mistaken."

"Never been to an auction before?"

"No. Never been HERE before. But I love horses, been around them all my life. Just had to get close."

"Best thing to do at an auction is keep your hands in your pockets, and your eyes on the animal. That way they don't mistake you for a buyer."

He had a strong Northwestern accent. K'ndar couldn't quite place it, but then, he'd only been to that corner of the Northern continent a few times, and hadn't dealt with people.

"You have a horse here?" he asked, trying very hard to do what the man advised. The bidding had just ended on the draft horse. He could see, even from here, that the horse was old and had been doctored just enough to be sound. He'd be able to work, but not hard. Poor beast.

"Yes. In fact, mine is up next. Good day," he said in departing.

Something niggled in K'ndar's mind. He caught Francie's eye again. Her eyes were laughing, but she kept her head very still on her neck.

Francie wants to know why you didn't want that horse.

He grimaced at her, making sure the ringmen didn't see. She laughed back. It would make for a funny story later on.

Several minutes later, the man with the patch led a tall black horse into the ring. He noticed that the man was obviously well off, his clothes made of excellent material and his riding boots, of fine leather, shining almost as brightly as the horse.

And the horse!

"Whoa," he said, in awed tones. He was instantly smitten. What a horse!

He was absolutely gorgeous. His black hide shone like polished obsidian, the muscles rippling in the sunshine. The gelding was tall, perfectly formed and had a kind, intelligent eye. His nostrils flared in excitement, but he was calm in the presence of his owner. This, K'ndar thought, is a true aristocrat-both the man, and the horse. WHERE had the horse come from, how was he bred? 

He wanted the horse. Badly.

I have money, he thought, I have money WITH me. I wish that man was here next to me, I need to talk to him about that horse! What would I do with a horse, I can always ride Jordan, how to get him to the Weyr? Ride him to Southern Weyr and then ship him? But you can't ride a horse AND a dragon at the same time. Would Lizard take him? I'd have to find a way back here. I can't be the only one who sees this majestic beast as a horse of a lifetime. Look at those legs, they're perfect.  

The thoughts racing in his head were stopped when the horse's owner unclipped the lead rope. With a flick of the hand, he sent the horse to the rail and with a chirp, put the horse into a trot. 

This is when you know who's a horseman in a crowd and who isn't, he thought. The people who could appreciate this perfection of horseflesh spoke in awed tones. The horse could move. The trot was balanced, and even. He was so well trained that he needed only a whispered word, or the flick of a hand. What a horse. What a horse!

The auctioneer began to describe the horse prior to opening the bidding. 

"My friends, this 6 year old gelding is perfectly formed and perfectly trained. He was bred as a riding horse, not a racer. He's been ridden by a child and an old woman. His feet are rock solid, never needing a shoe. He's got good bone, nothing more than a minor blemish on his hide here and there. Never had a sick day in his life. Mouth is soft as butter, and his teeth are sound and true. Not a bit of mean in him, he's lamb gentle, and, as you can see, obedient to the man or woman who handles him kindly. What is your opening price, sir?"

"Twelve marks."

The crowd gasped. Twelve marks was a lot of money. The draft horse had gone for just under seven.

A woman standing next to him said, "Whew. Thank the stars I don't have that kind of money, because right now, I'd probably sell one of my kids to buy him." She giggled, and K'ndar laughed.

"Aye, he's worth it. I don't think I've ever seen a better horse, and that's doing mine an injustice.  I'd give a lot to know who trained him. They know what they're doing." K'ndar said. 

He knew he should keep mum, but-he  was a horseman, and horsefolk always talked horses when together.

The auctioneer let the crowd talk themselves into a buying mood. This horse, if he ran the auction right, would bring the owner…and himself..a lot of money.

"Twelve marks, folks! That be a lot of money, but in this horse's case, he seems worth it."

He stayed silent for several moments, just as enthralled by the gelding as everyone else. The way it moved, and it's condition would be better selling points than anything he could say.

He resented the fact that it would be here, wouldn't it, on the blasted Toric's hold? Toric would make sure he got a big cut of the sale price, more than was considered fair, and there wasn't the money, here on Southern, not yet, anyway. A few more years of independent weyrs and holds and maybe Southern would be better money for him. If this horse were to go to auction up north, he'd get twice as much money as down here. Now then, let's get started.

"Before I begin the bidding, are there any questions?"

A voice called from the crowd, "Where was he foaled?"

The auctioneer looked at the owner.

"Sir, where did this horse come from?"

"From the western steppe."

"He's STEPPE bred?" the auctioneer said, incredulous.

"Yes, sir, he's steppe bred. From wild stock, no less."

The crowd was amazed. 

The woman beside him said, "Huh. I'll have to find a way to get to the steppe someday, even if it's just for a broodmare. Or two."

The voice came again.

"Then he can't be sold. He's already owned."

The auctioneer gaped. The crowd shut up. 

"What did you say?"

The man who'd voiced it stepped out. Instinct told K'ndar this was one of Toric's men. The man made his way to the auctioneers platform.

"I said, he can't be sold, he's not for sale. He's already owned."

"His owner is in the ring," the auctioneer said.

"Nay, his owner is in the Hold. Lord Toric owns the steppe."

K'ndar throttled the shout of anger in his throat. Many of the crowd, though, did not.

"You're daft, man." "Get on with you, where do you get this?" "You're wrong, what is this noise?"

The man entered the ring, approaching the owner of the horse. The horse completed a round, and then, at a hand signal, came to a stop behind him.

"I'll take the horse, thank you for returning him. WHEREVER you got him."

"I don't think so," the owner said. "He's mine. I bought him."

"Toric owns the steppe, thus he owns the place you took him from and he owns the horses bred on it. To include this one."

"He does not. The steppe, and all lands not specifically deeded to Toric at the time Southern was established, belong to dragon riders."

"That's LORD HOLDER Toric to you, One Eye. And he'll be expecting this horse to be returned to him. Now. Be glad we don't put you in a cell for horse theft."

"I didn't steal this horse. I bought him fair and square from the man who bred him, a free man on the steppe."

"Dragon riders aren't needed anymore. You must be blind in both eyes, to see this is not your horse. How DID you lose that eye, anyway? Running with scissors?"

"No. A sword fight."

"Huh. Not a very good swordsman, then, for you to lose an eye."

"Maybe so. I don't have much use for a sword. He got my eye. I got his manhood."

"Oh." The man froze. The crowd roared in appreciation.  

The owner pulled out a dagger. "I'm much better with a dagger. No one calls me a thief and gets away with it. Care to try your luck?"

Entranced by the interchange, just as everyone else in the crowd was, K'ndar suddenly recognized the horse's owner. 

It was Lizard.

The crowd began to murmur in anger. "Gut him, Patch, he's wrong. I own my cothold, free and clear." "Toric be stealing land!"

"Gerout of there, you beggar. Toric don't own the steppe, he don't own the lands outside his Hold."

The goon began to look around, for support. Four of Toric's men-the same ones who'd been at the beer tent, were approaching the back side of the crowd. He felt encouraged. He turned back to the auctioneer and the horseman.

"That horse belongs to Toric."

K'ndar looked behind him, and noticed D'mitran, F'mart and at least a dozen other dragonriders from theirs and other weyrs, had quietly joined the crowd.

The leader of the four said, softly, "Just grab one. It don't matter which, Toric's wanting somebody right now."

They moved up behind the dragonriders and two of them grabbed F'mart.

"HEY, leave off, what are you up to?" F'mart shouted, trying to spin around in their grasp.

"Got you, K'ndar, got you!"

"Me?" F'mart roared in laughter, surprising them.

 D'mitran and the other dragonmen surrounded the men, and "You're wrong, he's not…,"

"Nay, sir, if they want me to be K'ndar, I'll be K'ndar, I'm just drunk enough to be itching for a fight!" F'mart roared in glee.

He exploded into a whirlwind of fists and kicks, breaking one man's nose almost immediately. The other two men pounced on him-and the crowd as a whole pounced on them.

K'ndar backed off, not wishing to be identified and yet wanting to wade in. He was very appreciative that he'd never challenged F'mart to a fight. The man could most definitely fight.

Lizard looked up into the sky. That multicolored cloud could only be dragons coming. Many.

He jumped onto the horse bareback and galloped out of the ring.

The sky over the melee was full of roaring dragons, making the fighters freeze. Their wings blew up clouds of dust, blinding everyone, blowing several nearby tents over, frightening the horses waiting their turn in the auction ring.

The crowd stampeded in all directions save for the dragonriders and Toric's men, all five of whom of whom were on the ground and injured in one way or another. F'mart, heaving for breath, was whooping with a savage joy, clearly having enjoyed unleashing himself and begging for more. 

The dragonriders grabbed them and stood them up. The one with the broken nose was bleeding and crying.

The dragons landed, hissing, eyes whirling blood red, surrounding the men. Every dragonrider whose dragon was there felt enormously proud of his mount.

D'mitran pushed the five men together. "How dare you assault an innocent man. You goons have been hunting a dragonrider all day. Why?'"

The leader, frightened now that he and his thugs were heavily outnumbered, said, "Toric…Lord Toric demands an explanation as to why K'ndar stole artifacts from his Hold."

"Does he now? Are those the artifacts, then, that were found on the steppe? The steppe is owned by dragonriders. NOT Lord Toric. Lord Toric also has no jurisdiction over ANY dragonrider, for any reason." 

F'mart looked them all in the eye, as alpha a male as one could have wished. 

"And, may I add, those artifacts belong to everyone on Pern, NOT TORIC."

"Toric is Holder of SOUTHERN. ALL of it. You dragonriders, you cheated him. He's not about to forget that," the leader said, wishing it sounded as frightening as when Toric said it. 

"Toric owns this Hold. No weyr, no crafthall, not the steppe, not the mountains, not the sea. Were it my decision, the only thing Toric would own would be his own head."

The goons hissed in fear. Even hearing such talk meant trouble from Toric.

F'mart was unstoppable. D'mitran let him be. 

"And, if he's so angry, why is Toric not here, personally? Eh? I don't think anyone here gives you any credit for being anything but Toric's dog. Just a dog, you know, the kind that turns his roasting spit. But not as smart," he smirked.

The man roared and lunged at F'mart. Hands grabbed him, roughly. 

"Oh, let him at me," F'mart begged, laughing, "I've just gotten warmed up!"

K'ndar grinned. Having been on the receiving end of F'mart's taunts in the past, he knew just how well the bronze rider could insert needles to enrage a person past common sense. I'd bet my boots, he thought, D'mitran…or D'nis, merely unleashed him, and he's enjoying it.

F'mart looked the goon up and down. "Let's see. Should I let these dragonriders release you and let the man you called a horse thief cut your bollocks off? Oh, how silly of you, to bring your mouth to a knife fight! Or should it be just you and me, one on one, like real men do?"

The man spat, but said nothing.

"You say we dragonriders are useless? Aye, I suppose we are. Let's see how well your Toric does without a single dragonrider, ever again.  Because, we might-all of us dragonriders, every one of us, might just decide together to never have another thing do with Toric. Because think of it, spit dog. We have our lands, now, and Holds to provide what we can't produce ourselves."

"We got Southern Weyr," one of them said.

"No, you don't," called a Southern rider. "We're just as tired of you thugs as the rest of Pern. Don't think we don't know about your raids on our weyr," he snapped.

" We don't NEED Toric. Nay, we're able to support ourselves now. Just think of that, eh? Or can you not get it through that dogfaced head of yours what we provide? Oh, I think not. If anyone is a thief, it is your Lord Toric, and once we let you go, we dragonriders-all of us, here at your Hold's Gather, from all over Pern! will depart. Forever. We will take our MONEY, Bowwow, and isn't that what Toric loves more than anything? We'll let YOU do the explaining to him, the next time he needs transport and the only thing he can find is a horse."

The crowd, behind the dragons, were listening and watching avidly.

"Rough 'im up, dragonrider, he and his like have been doing it to us long enough. Toric won't lift a finger to help 'im, or stop 'im," a voice called. 

"Let us go," the man said, but he wasn't fighting too hard to be released.

"Aye, we'll do that. I'm betting that Toric won't be happy with YOU, and I have a good idea what happens to spit dogs that make him angry. With as many spies as he's got out here in this Gather, I'm sure he already knows you've all failed to find that dragonrider he wants, and you weren't able to steal the horse."

The man paled. He knew very well how Toric treated people who'd failed to carry out his orders.

F'mart said, in an icy voice, "It means you'll be dead meat, aye? Just something to toss to the wherries. Like the others-others who've just disappeared, without a trace. Think we don't know of those disappearances. Eh?"

The man gulped. 

"I'm already dead meat," he said, glumly, "Just still walking."

______________________________________________________________________

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" D'mitran asked F'mart, late that night in the security of their own Weyr.

F'mart laughed. "My dad taught me an important lesson. "Boy," he used to say, "Don't let your mouth make promises your arse can't keep."