Masterharper of Pern Page 10

  “This is Raid, my eldest son, Mastersinger,” the Lord Holder said with pride, laying an arm across the boy’s shoulders.

  A shaft of totally incomprehensible envy swept Robinton. His father had never done that. His father didn’t even touch him—that he could remember. And then a girl, not as old as Raid, pushed through to Raid’s other side, neatly pushing Lady Hayara aside. And Robinton caught a quickly hidden flare of dismay on Lady Hayara’s face and the indifferent look on the girl’s.

  “And this is my eldest daughter,” Lord Maidir said, “Maizella.”

  “I’m so glad you’ve come, Mastersinger,” Maizella began in a fervent tone, and stepped forward to grab and cling to Merelan’s hand, her eyes round with excitement and her voice coming out breathily.

  “Our Maizella has a lovely voice,” Maidir said, proudly, “and Raid, if you can overcome his shyness, has an excellent baritone. Falloner there, the one with all the curls, still has a fine clear treble . . .”

  As Falloner was just then standing close to Robinton, he gave him a “what can you do with adults” shrug and grin—and that was their first meeting.

  “Oh, you,” Lady Hayara said, stepping closer to her spouse now that Maizella had moved.

  Robinton sighed. He knew by the expression on Maizella’s face and her stance that his mother was going to have trouble with this one. He saw by the quirk of his mother’s mouth that she realized it, too. But Merelan smiled soothingly and said that she’d be delighted to teach any and all who wanted to learn how to sing properly.

  “Actually, she shrieks more than she sings,” Falloner said in a low voice to Robinton, and the merriment in his eyes was conspiratorial. “Did you like riding Spakinth? C’rob won the toss. He usually does.” Then, when the lad saw that he had confused Robinton with this confidence, he added, “I’m weyrbred, but my father insisted that I get some teaching here. So here I am.”

  “You’re weyrbred?” Robinton eyed the lad.

  “I am, and I don’t have a tail or fangs, nor will I, even if I Impress a bronze.” The boy’s thin face momentarily stiffened with determination before the careless grin replaced it. “And I will. And be Weyrleader and save Pern from Threadfall.”

  “Really? Cortath said that dragons must fly when Thread is in the sky.”

  “You better believe it,” Falloner said stoutly. Then he blinked in surprise. “Cortath spoke to you?”

  “Falloner.”

  Both boys turned at Lord Maidir’s voice.

  “You know the quarters made ready for the Mastersinger and young Robinton,” Benden’s Lord went on. “Why don’t you show him the way and take up his things?”

  “Of course, Lord Maidir,” Falloner said with quick courtesy. He turned to Robinton. “Which are yours?”

  Robie looked at the pile on the steps and wasn’t quite sure. Their departure had certainly been swift. Mother had packed for him.

  “The two with the red straps,” Merelan said, pointing and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “And that small one there.” Robinton did recognize that as the one in which she had put the contents of his desk, and while that wasn’t very long ago, it seemed to him that a great deal had happened in a very short time.

  Falloner threw the school sack at him and then hefted the other two, though Robinton tried to take one from him.

  “Nah, let me. This once,” Falloner said and added, grinning, “You don’t know how many steps there are to your quarters. C’mon.”

  They started into the Hold then, hearing Maizella and Raid squabble briefly over who was to have the honor of taking the Mastersinger’s carisaks. The other youngsters were vying for the chance to show her the schoolroom, and the adults were attempting to contain all the youthful spirits and enthusiasm.

  Robinton had been in the Great Hall of Fort Hold often enough to recognize immediately that Benden was not as big. Fort had been the first Hold; Benden had come much later and had had to be made without all the Ancients’ equipment that would have made the job so much faster and easier. It faced southeast, so the Hall was quite sunny, and it was as big as the Harper Hall’s main one.

  “We’re not supposed to use those stairs,” Falloner said, pointing to an impressive flight that centered at the north end of the Hall, dividing at the first landing and then curving left and right. “Holder’s family lives to the right, the outside tier.” He led Robinton through a door to a little hallway. “These are what we use, and don’t make a mistake and get caught taking the shortcut.”

  The Hall seemed to go up forever, where a dim rectangle cast some light down it, abetting the glowbaskets that were spaced along the walls. The steps seemed to have been carved out of the solid stone of the Hold and were slightly worn in places from centuries of use.

  They seemed to be climbing a long way before Falloner struck to his right at what was actually the third landing. Then they were in a long corridor that stretched in both directions, covered with a thin padding that deadened the noise of their boots. Falloner turned left, and Robinton thought they were traveling parallel to the outer wall of the Hold. There were doors on either side of the corridor, though some of the glowbaskets clearly needed to be changed.

  “One of the jobs we get,” Falloner said, grinning over his shoulder at Robinton as they passed the third of several dull ones.

  “At Harper Hall the apprentices have to do it,” Robinton said, panting a bit as he tried to keep up with the longer-legged weyrboy.

  “Lord Maidir’s fair and so’s Lady Hayara, so don’t believe anything Maizella says about her,” Falloner added. “How old are you?”

  “Nine Turns.”

  “Good,” Falloner said with approving relief.

  “Why?” Robinton asked, but then they turned into a much broader corridor, its floor carpeted so they moved more quietly. It was just like the masters’ level in the Harper Hall.

  “We’re nearly there,” Falloner said, “and we beat the others here.” He grinned in triumph and pushed wide the half-opened door, gesturing for Robinton to precede him.

  “This is where we’ll be living?” Robinton exclaimed, pivoting on one heel to see all around him. There were four high but narrow windows, letting sunlight spill into a room that was much bigger than theirs at the Harper Hall. There was even a standing harp in one corner, which made Robinton decide that this must be a schoolroom, too, which would account for its generous size—except there were no desks or enough tables to seat even half the children who had thronged the courtyard entrance.

  “You’ll be in here,” Falloner told him, striding across the thick rugs to a door on the right. Robinton crossed quickly to join him and looked in at a room much the same size as his had been at home. He was much relieved. Falloner took his school sack from him and lobbed it to the bed and dropped the other two on the floor. Then, tugging Robinton by the arm, he took him across the room toward the two doors set in the left-hand wall. “Even have your own bath,” he said, opening the innermost door and uncovering a glowbasket to show the sanitary amenities. At home, they had a toilet and a wash basin in their quarters, but not a full bath like this, with a tub long enough for his height. His mother would love that.

  The outer door opened into another bedroom, as grandly furnished but not as large as the main room, and still bigger than the one his mother and father shared at the Harper Hall.

  He whistled in surprise and approval, turning his head this way and that to take in all the furniture and even the paintings hung on the walls.

  “Will it do?” Falloner asked, cocking his head, obviously amused by Robinton’s goggle-eyed inspection.

  “Mother will certainly like it. She loves dark red things.”

  Then they heard voices in the hall, and the others arrived. Nodding in surprise to see that the two lads had arrived so quickly, Lady Hayara gestured for Merelan to precede her into the room.

  “We even have a bathtub, Mother,” Robinton exclaimed. “Over my head, at least!”

  Me
relan laughed at him, but behind her Maizella raised her eyebrows contemptuously. Robinton was about to bristle when Falloner winked at him, reminding him of what he’d said about the girl a few minutes before.

  “More high than wide like ours at the Hall,” he added defensively.

  “We tap into the Weyr’s heat source here at the Hold,” Lady Hayara said, “which is such a blessing. So many holds have to heat bathing water. I do hope you’ll be comfortable, Merelan,” she added as she led the way to the larger bedroom. “I think there’s enough room for a small bed in here, if you’d rather your son sleeps—”

  “Goodness me,” Merelan said with a laugh, “Robinton’s much too big a lad not to have his own room.”

  Robinton wanted to put his tongue out at Maizella for the haughty expression on her face, but he knew his mother wouldn’t like him to. She reminded him of Halanna, and he really didn’t need to have to deal with another Halanna disliking him.

  “Well, we’ll let you get settled in then. Come on, children, you can make friends at suppertime,” Lady Hayara said, resettling the child she carried in her arms as she gestured for the others to clear out. “Ah, I see there’s a tray for you since I know you’ve missed your usual lunchtime coming here. We’ll be eating in another two hours, you know, what with the time difference coming east and all.”

  Merelan smiled her gratitude and escorted her hostess to the door, the rest of the children following. When they were gone, she turned to Robie.

  “Well!” she said with a big sigh, and then she smiled—a sad sort of smile—at her son. “Let me see your room, love.”

  “It’s a lot like mine at the Hall, Mother . . .” And Robinton trailed off, the sadness in her smile suggesting he’d better not ask why they had left so abruptly and with no warning.

  Though he did not follow her, his mother did look into his room in a perfunctory fashion.

  “Did you and Falloner make friends on your way up?” she asked, wandering about the living room and touching this and that.

  “He’s weyrbred,” Robinton replied, still somewhat awed.

  “Yes, he is. And I hope he’s as eager to learn as the others. That’s why I’m here.” And then she sat down in a chair and burst into tears.

  Robinton rushed to her side, patting her arm and stroking her hair. His mother rarely cried. She hugged him to her, her tears soaking his shirt, but he knew only to hold on to her and repeat that they’d be fine, they were together, and Benden Hold seemed nice and the Lord Holders were so friendly and wanted them here.

  “Yes, they do want us here, don’t they?” she said finally, giving herself a little shake and sitting up straight. “I’m sorry to have sprung this on you so abruptly, Robie, but Lord Maidir’s been after me to come and teach music to these very promising youngsters. Suddenly, I thought it might be a good idea for both of us to take a break from the Hall. Master Gennell thought so, too, and urged me to take the posting. And there was the dragon . . .”

  “Spakinth is his name,” Robinton said when she paused.

  She smiled through the last of her tears. “How do you know that?”

  “He told me.”

  “C’rob told you?”

  “No, Spakinth.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “You can hear dragons?”

  “Well, when they want me to, I do.”

  “Oh, Robie!” She embraced him tightly. “Not many do. It might even mean you’d Impress, and that would solve everything.” She spoke the last over his shoulder as if more to herself than to him.

  “But I could still be a harper, couldn’t I?” He hadn’t had a definitive answer to that question from the dragons. Maybe his mother would know.

  “I think that depends on many things,” she said, drying her eyes, and suddenly she seemed more like herself. “Like if there’s a clutch when you’re the right age. Dragons don’t have as many eggs during an Interval, you see, and you’re only Impressionable until you’re twenty, and the weyrbred have preference. At least, you’ll get to understand more about the Weyrs, and that’s all to the good.”

  Again her remark was not meant for him, but he didn’t mind because he’d like to know more about the Weyrs. The abandoned Fort Weyr was forbidden by order of Lord Grogellan. That might have been one reason why every boy had to go up there alone for a night when he turned twelve, or he’d be considered cowardly.

  “Will I be able to visit the Weyr?” Robinton asked eagerly. That way, he’d know what a Weyr was like, and then an empty one wouldn’t be as scary.

  “I think that’s likely. One of the reasons I’m here is to help C’gan, their current Weyrsinger. He desperately wants more training.” His mother gave a little laugh. “I’ll be so busy I won’t—” She broke off and stood up. “Well, let’s get ourselves settled in, shall we? Or are you hungry enough to sample what’s here?”

  Robinton spotted the large selection of sweet biscuits and pointed.

  “Well, just two of them, so as not to spoil your appetite. I’ll have one, too—they smell so good. Fresh . . . every bit as good as Lorra makes.” And she chattered away as she insisted on helping him put his things away. “I didn’t want to overload the dragon,” she said, “so I didn’t bring everything you own, love, but your newest drum and pipes . . . we’ve my gitar to practice on, and maybe we can get enough wood for you to start your own, because I know Master Bosler said you could start preparing the wood, which takes most of the time it takes to make a gitar, you know. I’m sure we can find gut for strings when it comes time to do that step. And your new Gather clothes, because they entertain quite a bit here at Benden, Lord Maidir and Lady Hayara being so popular on this coast. There’s a schoolroom, too, so we’ll just leave these in the carisak now, shall we? Now, that’s done and you can help me.”

  As he did, Robinton knew that his mother hadn’t brought many of her own clothes. Only one Gather dress and one of the long, fine dresses she’d use when she gave concerts. And while she had lots of new musical scores, mainly the ones she’d teach from, there was nothing in his father’s familiar broad script. That was odd. His stomach felt a little queasy suddenly, and it wasn’t from eating the sweet biscuits.

  “Mother, will Father come visit us?”

  She paused, her back to him at that moment, and slowly turned, her expression unusually bleak.

  “That will be up to your father, Robinton,” she said, and turned back to fuss with the things in the top drawer of the chest. “Likely he’ll come to the Spring Gather here at Benden,” she added in a totally different tone of voice, as if it made no difference to her at all. “Now, let’s wash up, shall we? I think that soon enough it’ll be time to eat.” She gestured toward the fading light and then pulled the heavy drapes across each of the narrow windows, as if shutting out more than the end of this day.

  At dinner that night, Robinton had a place with the Hold children. It was a crowded table for his age-group—he counted twenty-four—but Falloner had held a place for Robinton beside him.

  “No, you got to take his things up,” one of the Holder boys said, rushing to crowd into the space on Robinton’s right. “Mother said we’ve all got to make him feel at home, and you had your chance.”

  “Rob and I are buddies,” Falloner said loftily, “but you can sit on the other side, Hayon. He’s Lady Hayara’s oldest son,” he added and started naming everyone at their end of the table. “Rasa’s beside him, then there’s Naprila, Anta, Jonno, and Drevalla on the other side.”

  Robinton had a moment to glance up at the head table where his mother sat beside Lord Maidir, with Raid on her other side and Maizella by her stepmother.

  “They got graduated off the younglings’ table last year,” Falloner said with a sniff. He took the bread and board from the serving drudge and started cutting neat slices from the loaf, flipping them from the knife point up and down this end of the table until everyone had a piece. “Stew, I betcha,” he added. His bet was a fair one, because the next thing to com
e was a big pot.

  “My turn,” Anta said, standing up and grabbing the ladle before he could.

  “Fair enough, only don’t slop,” he said, sitting down again and shoving a friendly elbow into Robinton’s side as he grinned.

  The upper table was not receiving stew, Robinton noted, but bowls of soup first and then slices of what looked like wherry, sauces, dishes of vegetables, and individual loaves of bread. He also noticed that his mother was mushing her food around her plate instead of eating, although she was talking to both father and son and seemed her usual self. Except she didn’t smile as much as she usually did at the head table in the Harper Hall. He didn’t hear her laugh once. The stew was good, and so was the bread, and he was hungry. And the “afters” served at their table were small cakes and fruit that disappeared with amazing rapidity, though Robinton didn’t see them all eaten at the table. Maybe his mother was getting special treatment what with her being Mastersinger, which he felt was only right and proper. Especially as he was getting specials, too.

  His mother sang, too, after the head table finished eating. And there were good voices joining in the choruses, so he wondered why Benden Hold would need a Mastersinger of his mother’s standing. A good journeyman would have done as well. No, she was also here to teach Maizella. Robinton wrinkled his nose: It was obvious from the loud way the girl was singing that she thought her voice was good. It wasn’t bad, he had to admit, but she didn’t need to shriek and she hadn’t much breath control.

  His mother sang only four songs, though, and smiled and nodded encouragingly when instruments appeared and she gestured for the musicians to come forward into a unit closer to the head table. There were two gitarists, a tall, pale older man and a younger one who looked enough like the older to be son or nephew; one violinist who played with his instrument held on his knee instead of under his chin, but his fingering was very good; a woman playing flute; two pipers, both young; and a drummer who had the sense to keep to a mute beat. Of course, when Merelan gestured encouragingly, the rest of the Hold sang the choruses to her first song. The harmonies weren’t bad either, Robinton decided, though he didn’t sing out as he would have done back in the Hall. Falloner sang lustily in a good strong alto treble, however, as did all the other younglings at the table—showing off to him, probably, but Robinton was used to the way new-come apprentices to the Harper Hall acted, so he pretended not to notice.