Dragondrums (dragon riders of pern)

by Anne McCaffrey

  The seawater, not as warm as Sebell had anticipated, was indeed refreshing as well as relaxing. The four fire lizards zipped in and out of the gentle evening waves, chittering with delight to frolic with their friends, though if Menolly disappeared for long beneath the waves, her three fire lizards dove after her, pulling her surfacewards by her hair.

  Suddenly Toric’s queen, who had held herself aloof from the antics of the visitors, hovered above Toric’s head, twittering urgently. Toric glanced around. Following his gaze, Menolly and Sebell saw three red-sailed sloops, their sides lined with people, rounding the arm of land that protected the southern harbor.

  “The harvesters have returned,” said Toric to the harpers. “I’ll just see if all is well. Stay on and enjoy yourselves.”

  With strong strokes of his powerful arms, he made a diagonal line to the shore that would intercept the landing of the lead ship.

  “Sometimes that man is too much,” she said, shaking her head at this latest exhibition of the southerner’s strength.

  “Which is as well for me,” said Sebell, laughing, and pulled her under just to let the fire lizards rescue her.

  They played that game bit, reveling in the freedom of the water and its coolness until Menolly suddenly wondered if she had enough energy left to swim back to shore. But they got there safely, fire lizards escorting, and paused to lean against the seawall to catch their breaths before continuing back up to the hold.

  Toric was now directing the unloading, his tall figure moving here and there. Abruptly, they saw a tall, dark-haired girl, only a head shorter than the big Holder, approach him and hold him in a long conversation.

  “That must be Sharra,” Menolly said, noticing several fire lizards converge over the girl’s head. One of them landed on her shoulder, and Menolly gave a snort. “Toric certainly has his queen well-trained, hasn’t he?”

  Suddenly a sound paralyzed them: the sharp thudding of a practiced hand against what could only be the newly acquired drum round. A practiced hand that beat a measure, “Harper here, anyone else?” and the staccato that was a question.

  “It has to be Piemur!” Menolly’s cry was half-gasp half-scream, but the words weren’t quite out of her mouth before both harpers were on their feet and running toward the ramp up from the harbor.

  “What’s the matter?” they heard Toric yelling after them.

  “That was Piemur!” Sebell managed to gasp out as he charged a bare stride ahead of Menolly. But when they skidded to a halt on the shell-strewn area before the cavern, there was no one about.

  Sebell cupped his hands about his mouth. “PIEMUR! REPORT!”

  “Beauty! Rocky! Where is he?” gasped Menolly, half-angry with Piemur for that heart-stopping shock.

  “SEBELL?”

  The harper’s name echoed and re-echoed coming from the cavern. Sebell and Menolly were halfway there when a tanned, bare-legged, shock-haired figure ran straight into them.

  Menolly, Sebell and Piemur were entangled in mutual cries and thumpings of rediscovery when a tiny fire lizard queen began attacking Sebell, and a small runner beast tried to butt Menolly’s knees from under her. Beauty, Rocky and Diver immediately drove off the little queen, but it wasn’t until Piemur, dashing tears of relief and joy from his eyes, called Farli to order and reassured Stupid, that any sort of coherent conversation was possible. By that time, Sharra, Toric, and half the Southern Hold were aware that the lost had been found.

  A celebration for the successful return of the harvesters would have been held in any case, but the evening was certainly crowned by Piemur’s appearance, especially after he was reassured that his absence would be forgiven by the Masterharper in view of the extraordinary outcome of the initial folly of stealing the queen egg from Meron’s hearth.

  Sebell and Menolly listened intently when Piemur accounted for his continued absence once Farli had been Impressed.

  “He was wiser not to come back right then, anyhow,” said Sharra before Toric could speak. “If you remember, Mardra was in a taking over that unclosed sack and ready to flay the hide off the back of the culprit. Though what she wants with more to wear here, I don’t know!”

  “The wilderness has its own thrall,” said Toric, eyeing Piemur so closely that the boy wondered what he’d done wrong now. “Tell me, young apprentice harper, how did you survive Threadfall the day your queen hatched?”

  “In the water, under a ledge in the lagoon,” said Piemur as if that ought to have been obvious. “Farli didn’t hatch until after Threadfall.”

  Toric nodded approval. “And the other Threadfalls?”

  “Under water. Only by that time I’d sort of found a camp by the river, above the numbweed meadows…” He glanced at Sharra, whose eyes twinkled at the truth he now chose to speak, “where I found a submerged log to hold onto and a long reed to breath through.”

  “Why didn’t you come back after the second Fall?”

  “I found Stupid, and I couldn’t travel far or fast until he was grown up.” Sharra bubbled with laughter then, for the ingenuous expression of Piemur’s face was just short of impudence. “You were certainly making tracks eastward to the sea when our paths crossed,” she said.

  “You expected me to stay anywhere near people making numbweed?” asked Piemur with such disgust that everyone laughed.

  “I’ll bet there were times in the marsh when you wished you were back just harvesting numbweed,” said Sharra, grinning at Piemur, who rolled his eyes upward.

  “You went alone to the marshes?” Toric was not pleased.

  “I know the marshes, Toric,” said Sharra firmly, as if this were a continuation of previous arguments. “I had my fire lizards and, in fact, I had Piemur, Farli and little Stupid. And I’ll add one thing”—now she turned to the harpers—“your young friend is a born Southerner!”

  “He’s apprentice to Master Robinton,” said Sebell, with a warning to Piemur that brought a sudden silence to the main table.

  “He’s wasted as just a harper,” said Sharra after a moment. “Why, I—”

  “And I’m not really a harper right now, either, am I, Sebell?” asked Piemur, suddenly collecting his wits. “I was only good as a singer, and I have no voice. Is there really a place for me at the Harper Hall? I mean,” and he rattled on, his eyes going from Sebell to Menolly, “I know you and Menolly thought you could get me to help you two, but a fine help I turned out to be, getting sacked up and sent south without even knowing it. It’s not as if I was good at anything except getting into trouble—”

  “Useful trouble, as it turned out,” said Sebell, “but I just had an idea…to keep you out of trouble for a while.” The journeyman turned to the Southerner. “You rather like the idea of message drums, Toric? And, Saneter, you say you’ve forgotten most of the measures you learned. Well now, Piemur hasn’t.”

  “I could be drum messenger here?” Piemur was suddenly open-mouthed with shock.

  Sebell held his hand up to get a word in, and the radiance in Piemur’s face faded. “I can’t be certain until I’ve asked Master Robinton, but frankly, Toric, I think Piemur could serve his Hall very well right now as drum…no, drum apprentice-master…if Saneter wouldn’t mind being taught by one of lower rank.” Sebell then turned to the startled hold harper to explain. “Rokayas who is Master Olodkey’s senior journeyman said that Piemur was one of the quickest, cleverest apprentices he’s ever had to beat measures into. If you wouldn’t mind him refreshing your memory…”

  Saneter laughed and beamed encouragingly at Piemur, whose face once again shone. “If he can put up with a fumble-fingered old harper…”

  “Toric, as Southern Holder?” Sebell paused delicately, for he had caught the narrowing of the big man’s eyes and wondered if he had presumed too much.

  “Troublemaker in the Hall?” Toric frowned, giving each one a long, expressionless look, pausing to stare hard at Piemur. The boy held his breath so long his face began to turn bright red under his tan.

  �
��Actually, not a troublemaker, Toric,” said Menolly. “He just has a lot of energy.”

  “We could certainly use drums for messages to the coastal holds,” said Toric in a slow drawl, his face closed on his thoughts. “Can Piemur make the drums?” he asked Sebell.

  “I’d prefer to stay and supervise,” Sebell murmured.

  “Well, in the ordinary way I wouldn’t accept another Northerner, but as Piemur has already proved he can survive on southern lands, I will make an exception in his case.”

  At the shouts of joy, he held up his hand once more, commanding instant silence. “Contingent, of course, on the approval of the Masterharper.”

  “He’ll be so glad to hear that Piemur’s alive and well,” cried Menolly, fumbling in her pouch for the message tube.

  “Aw, Menolly, it’s not as if I hadn’t listened to everything you told me about fire lizards and your life in the Dragonstone cave and all—”

  “You’ll find this lad has ears in every pore of him,” said Sebell, giving Piemur’s right one an affectionate twist.

  “And tell Master Robinton I’ve got a queen and a tame runnerbeast,” Piemur told Menolly who was busily writing. “I wouldn’t have to leave Stupid behind if I have to go back to the Harper Hall, would I, Sebell?”

  Sebell said something soothing and watched as Menolly made the message tube fast to Beauty’s leg, told her to go back to Master Robinton and return as soon as possible.

  “D’you think he’ll let me stay?” Piemur asked Menolly then, his eyes round with hope and anxiety.

  “You did put your time in the drumheights to good advantage,” Menolly said, hoping that this solution to the problem of Piemur’s immediate future did indeed meet with Master Robinton’s favor. The boy so clearly had thrived in his few sevendays’ here. She could swear he was taller and had broadened through chest and neck. And there was no question but what his unexpected trip to Southern had altered him in many subtle ways. She caught Sebell’s glance and knew that he had observed those changes, too. That the journeyman must see that this broad and unexplored southern land could absorb the energies and intelligence of their young friend far better than the more traditional Harper Hall. “Bet you didn’t think it would result in an opportunity like this?”

  Solemnly Piemur shook his head from side to side. Then the laughter that always lurked in his eyes shown through. “Bet you didn’t, either.”

  Most of the Southerners then prevailed on the two visiting harpers for the latest northern songs, always a happy importation. So the time passed quickly for most while Beauty delivered her message.

  The moment the little golden queen swooped into the cavern, every sound died, for by now the prospect of Piemur as drum messager had filtered to every Southerner present and the suspense was universal.

  But Beauty was so attuned to the message she carried that her carolling answered Piemur’s question before the confirming words were read aloud

  “Well done Piemur. Safely stay. Drum-journeyman!”

  Congratulations were loud and cheerful, with Piemur’s back being thumped and hand shaken until he was nearly dizzy with such sudden acclaim after so much solitude. When Sebell saw him take an opportunity to leave the cavern and the continuing festivity, he started to follow, but Menolly shook her head, already halfway to the door.

  So it was only Menolly who heard Piemur say to the tired little golden queen that clung to his neck: “I wish I had a drum big enough to tell the whole world how happy I am!”

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