Dragonsong (dragon riders of pern) Read online

  “Why, they were singing along with her and Oharan last night.”

  “Hmmm, now that’s very interesting. Here’s what we shall do.”

  Menolly was tired now, and most of the visitors had left. Still the Masterharper did not appear to collect his fire lizard eggs. She wouldn’t leave until she’d seen him again. He’d been so kind; she hugged to herself the memory of their meeting. It was hard for her to believe that the Masterharper of Pern had carried her, Menolly of…Menolly of the Nine Fire Lizards. She propped her elbows up on the table and rested her head on her hands, feeling the rough scar against her left cheek and not even minding that at the moment.

  She didn’t hear the music at first, it was soft, as if Oharan was playing to himself at a nearby table.

  “Would you sing along with me, Menolly?” asked Oharan softly, and she looked up to see him taking a place at the table.

  Well, no harm in singing. It would help keep her awake until the Masterharper arrived. So she joined in. Beauty and Rocky roused at the sound of her voice, but Rocky went back to sleep after a peevish complaint. Beauty, however, dropped down to Menolly’s shoulder, her sweet soprano trill blending with Menolly’s voice.

  “Do sing another verse, Menolly,” said Manora, emerging from the shadows of the darkened cavern.

  She took the chair opposite Menolly, looking weary, but sort of peaceful and pleased. Oharan struck the bridging chords and started the second verse.

  “My dear, you have such a restful voice,” Manora said when the last chord died away. “Sing me another one and then I’m away.”

  Menolly could scarcely refuse, and she glanced at Oharan to see what she should sing.

  “Sing this one along with me,” the Weyr Harper said, his eyes intent on Menolly’s as his fingers struck an opening chord. Menolly knew the song, which had such an infectious rhythm that she began to sing before she realized why it was so familiar. She was also tired and not expecting to be trapped, not by Oharan and certainly not by Manora. That’s why she didn’t realize at first what Oharan was playing. It was one of the two songs she’d jotted down for Petiron: the ones he’d said he’d sent to the Masterharper.

  She faltered. “Oh, don’t stop singing, Menolly,” Manora said, “it’s such a lovely tune.”

  “Maybe she should play her own song,” said someone standing just behind Menolly in the shadow; and the Masterharper walked forward, holding out his own gitar to her.

  “No! NO!” Menolly, half-rose, snatching her hands behind her back. Beauty gave a startled squawk and twined her tail about Menolly’s neck.

  “Won’t you please play it…for me?” asked the Harper, his eyes entreating her.

  Two more people emerged from the darkness: T’gelan, grinning fit to crack his face wide open, and Elgion! How did he know? From the gleam of his eyes and his smile, he was pleased and proud. Menolly was frightened and hid her face in confusion. How neatly she had been tricked!

  “Don’t be afraid now, child,” said Manora quickly, catching Menolly’s arm and gently pressing her back into her chair. “There’s nothing for you to fear now: for yourself or your rare gift of music.”

  “But I can’t play…” She held up her hand: Robinton took it in both of his, gently fingering the scar, examining it.

  “You can play, Menolly,” he said quietly, his kind eyes on hers, as he continued to stroke her hand, much as she would have caressed her frightened Beauty. “Elgion heard you when you were playing the pipes in the cave.”

  “But I’m a girl…” she said. “Yanus told me…”

  “As to that,” replied the Masterharper somewhat impatiently, though he smiled as he spoke, “if Petiron had had sense enough to tell me that that was the problem, you might have been spared a great deal of anguish: and I certainly would have been spared a great deal of trouble searching all Pern for you. Don’t you want to be a harper?” Robinton ended on such a wistful, distressed note that Menolly had to reassure him.

  “Oh yes, yes. I want music more than anything else in the world…” On her shoulder, Beauty trilled sweetly and Menolly caught her breath sharply in distress.

  “Now what’s the matter?”asked Robinton.

  “I’ve got fire lizards. Lessa said I belong in the Weyr.”

  “Lessa will not tolerate nine singing fire lizards in her Weyr,” said the Harper in a voice that brooked no contradiction. “And they do belong in my Harperhall. You’ve a trick or two to teach me, my girl.” He grinned down at her with such mischief dancing in his eyes that she smiled timorously back at him. “Now,” and he waggled a finger at her, in mock seriousness, “before you can think of any more obstacles, arguments or distractions, will you kindly bundle up my fire lizard eggs, get whatever you have, and let us be off to the Harper-hall? This has been a day of many tiring impressions.”

  His hand pressed hers reassuringly, and his kind eyes urged her acquiescence. All Menolly’s doubts and fears dissolved in an instant.

  Beauty bugled, releasing the stranglehold of her tail about Menolly’s neck. Beauty called again, rousing the rest of the fair, her voice echoing Menolly’s joy. She

  rose slowly to her feet, her hand clinging to the Harper’s for support and confidence. “Oh, gladly will I come, Master Robinton,” she said, her eyes blurred by happy tears.

  And nine fire lizards bugled a harmonious chorus of accord!

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